Date: Tue, 29 Mar 2011 22:29:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 17  Gay Male/Authoritarian

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A SEQUEL TO `"A REVERSAL OF FORTUNE"
Chapter 17: "The Dining-room"

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years.

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
"To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"


Chapter 17: `The Dining-room'

It is said that time is of no consequence to a slave. Time rightly belongs
to his Master and it is he who decides how a slave's time will be put to
best use.  Whether a slave spends his time in exhaustive, hard labour or
simply waits upon his Master's pleasure, he is fulfilling his true destiny
-one of serving his owner's wishes. This is an aspect of slavery I'd never
previously considered, but it now takes on a new relevance for me as I wait
in the dining-room for the arrival of my Master and his grandmother.

All four of us are standing in a row with our backs to the wall in the
attitudes of subservience demanded of us. We hold our bodies erect with our
hands clasped behind backs and resting on our asses. And of course our
heads are bowed in humility and our eyes downcast. Our only movements are
the steady rise and fall of our chests, the "in and out" bellowing of our
stomachs as we breathe and the occasional twitching of a distressed muscle
that seeks relief from our enforced stillness. The silence is broken by my
nervous breathing and Cato's frequent impatient sighs as he paces the room.

I have no idea of how long it is since our Mistress took her leave of Cato
and returned to her apartments to dress for dinner. Indeed we don't know if
our Master has yet returned from his day's business in town. But the wait
has been long -of that I'm sure- and poor Cato is beside himself. He has
put so much effort in to ensuring his new Master is impressed with his
organising skills and this long wait threatens to wreak his carefully laid
plans. He worries that the food, waiting in the kitchen below us, will
overcook and spoil but he is powerless to act. He too is a slave like the
rest of us and he must wait for our Master's arrival.

Normally, Cato wouldn't be in the dining-room; he should by right be in
attendance for the arrival home of the Master. But he noted our new
Mistress' declared intention to involve herself in all aspects of the
running of the household - an area in which he had reigned supreme until
her arrival - and he is worried. He knows she will be a formidable opponent
and he is anxious not to give her any complaints about his abilities at
this early stage of what he anticipates will be a difficult relationship.

Nervously, he once more checks the table to re-assure himself that all is
in readiness and then he turns his attention to us. He moves along our line
tightening the ties of our loin-cloths and going to great lengths in
re-arranging our cocks and balls into what he feels are in acceptable
positions.  By my reckoning, this is the fourth time he has this and the
constant attention to my cock has an undesirable effect upon me; my cock
springs to life and "tent poles" the front of my loincloth. Quick sideways
glances at my fellow slaves show they too are similarly affected by Cato's
attention to them. Cato is dismayed at our unwelcome displays; the last
thing he wants is for our Mistress to see four, virile, young slaves
showing so lustily. Desperately, he gives each of our cocks a sharp,
discouraging rap with the handle of his cane.

Cato isn't the only nervous person in the room. I and my fellow slaves
share his anxiety. Although they are used to working in the dining-room -
and over time they have grown more confident in doing so - the other three
slaves are understandably apprehensive. Even though they had served their
Master and Simon Barrow the previous night, they are now charged with
serving a new,daunting Mistress for the first time. This prospect can be
frightening for any slave and the risk of giving offence dominates his
thoughts.

All three slaves are very conscious of their vulnerability when it comes to
serving in the dining-room. Even with the best of intentions - and with all
due care taken - accidents do happen and always the blame rests with the
slave responsible. These infractions can consist of simply slopping coffee
from a cup into a saucer as it is placed on the table, the spilling of
gravy onto the table cloth and worst of all, and the unintentional knocking
over of a glass of wine.  These misdemeanours, while trivial in themselves,
are viewed as serious breaches of etiquette by a Master or Mistress and the
mandatory punishment for the offending slave is swift and results in a
severe caning. Needless to say slaves who serve as waiters go to
extraordinary lengths to prevent such accidents happening; their fear of
the cane makes them just that much more cautious.

My fellow slaves are fully conversant with this; I on the other hand am not
and my fear is that much more palpable.

Suddenly the silence is broken by the sound of approaching voices. Cato
orders all four of us in the obeisance position as he hurries forward to
open the door for our Master and Mistress.

"Good evening, Master. Good evening, Mistress." Cato bows low as Guy and
Charlotte Maratier enter.

"Good evening, Cato. I'm sorry to have held up the dinner. I hope that
hasn't presented you with a problem?"

"Not at all, Master. Do you wish to inspect the slaves who are to serve you
tonight? It has been a long established tradition of the house for the
Master to do so."

"Then let's not break with tradition, Cato. By all means let us inspect
them."

Cato is correct. The inspection of the slaves who were to serve us was a
ritual begun by the Barrois family long before my birth. I don't know the
reasons for these inspections and I never queried them. They existed and so
I continued with them when I became Master. Two nights ago, I stood where
Guy Maratier now stands and conducted my own inspections. Then it was
inconceivable that within forty-eight hours I would stand in a line of
slaves and be subject to such an inspection.

An order from Cato has all four of us standing at "display" while our
Master inspects us. His examinations of the other slaves are cursory but he
subjects me to close scrutiny. As he looks at me, my trembling body betrays
my nervousness.  He ignores me and speaks to Cato.

"How did the slave perform today, Cato? Was he kept busy all day?"

"Yes Master. The slave surprised me. He applied himself to his work with
diligence and he was kept busy all day."

"Good! And his output - was it sufficient?"

"Moderately so, Master. He's new to hard labour as you know and naturally
he struggled at times. But the overseer slave who attended him always
seemed to spur him on whenever he flagged."

"I hope the overseer wasn't too enthusiastic with his whip. Turn around,
Rafe."

I turn around and present my back for my Master's inspection. To say he is
displeased at what he sees is an understatement. My back clearly shows
evidence of Marv's enthusiasm and while it is covered in a criss-cross
pattern of angry, red welts there is no lasting damage done to me. The
stripes I wear are superficial and my skin hasn't been broken and within
days they will begin to fade and disappear. I wonder about my Master's
concern for me; when eventually I'm sent to `La Foret" the fearsome whips
of the overseers will be far more damaging to me than Marv's quirt. But my
Master is angry at what he sees. The stripes of the whip on my sun reddened
back don't make for a pleasant sight.

"Cato. The slave is a mess. I thought I told you he wasn't to be overly
whipped.  I thought you were to warn the overseer he was only to use the
whip with moderation? Isn't that so, Cato?"

Poor Cato! He is covered in confusion at our Master's questions and a
little fearful of his anger.

"Yes, Master. I did warn the overseer as you......................"

"Then he disobeyed me. Tomorrow you're to him give ten strokes of the cane
and you're lucky not to be joining him. Cato, I'm most disappointed in
you."

The threat that he too could be caned panics Cato. All his carefully laid
plans to ingratiate himself into his new Master's good graces have been
rendered useless because of me. He's been publicly rebuked by his Master in
front of the slaves over whom he has authority and threatened with the same
punishment that they are subject to. It's doubtful if a pale-faced Cato
notices the looks of undisguised pleasure in the eyes of my fellow
slaves. They will carry the story of Cato's `fall from favour" back to the
slave quarters and tonight there will be much whispering among the other
slaves.

"You have let me down, Cato - badly!"

"I'm sorry Master, but if you'll let..............."

"No excuses, Cato. I told you the slave wasn't to be over-whipped and I
come home to find him like this. He's not to be returned to the wood-heap
tomorrow."

"What would you have me do with him, Master?"

"I noticed two slaves pulling lawnmowers today. Is that an ongoing job?"

"Yes Master. The lawns are quite extensive and it is the growing season so
the mowers are kept busy."

"Then tomorrow morning, you're to harness him to a mower and he's to remain
at that job until I say otherwise. You're to make sure his body is coated
with lotion to protect him from the sun. Do you understand Cato?"

"Yes Master." A chastened Cato answers.

My Master's sudden concern for me is puzzling. Only yesterday he'd spelt
out his plans for me. Then I was destined to work as a field slave before
being trained as a pony and the treatment of my body would have been far
harsher than what I've suffered today. The whips of the overseers would
have cut into my back far more viciously than the light whip I'd laboured
under today. I would have toiled naked under the fierce heat of the sun and
no measures would be taken to protect me from its harmful rays. So what has
changed? Does he have other plans for me?

What is evident is his ever growing confidence as a slave owner. He has
gained the self-assurance of a Master in a remarkably short time. The
firmness with which he'd dealt with Cato and his tone of authority in doing
so is the hallmark of a true Master -one who'll not tolerate any
insubordination from a slave.

Waiting silently in the background is his doting grandmother, Charlotte
Maratier who notes this growing confidence with pride. There is great
satisfaction in knowing she was instrumental in destroying the Barrois
family, forever sullying its once proud name and reducing its last
surviving member to the miserable slave known as Rafe now standing before
her. She takes enormous pleasure in the fall of the Barrois family and
ascendancy of the Maratier name.

As she looks at the new slave she wonders what his thoughts are. Does he
feel he has reached the depths of despair and degradation and that he can
suffer no more humiliation or pain? She hopes so. If he does think that he
has reached rock-bottom then he is wrong. Her insatiable need for revenge
hasn't yet been satisfied. Grimly, she decides the slave Rafe will have
more indignities thrust upon him - beginning now - and she asks of her
grandson.

"Guy, why are the slaves wearing loincloths? In my recollection that was
never a Barrois practice. They kept their slaves naked - as a slave should
be."

"Well Grandmamma. It was done out of consideration for you. Cato thought
the sight of young, naked slaves might offend you."

"So the idea to cover the slaves was Cato's and not yours. Am I correct?

"Yes, Grandmamma."

"Really Guy," Charlotte's reply is one of exaggerated surprise, "all
decisions are for you to make. You are the Master and Cato is a slave and
has no right to direct you or even to make suggestions. You instruct HIM
and not the other way around. And I won't have a slave anticipate what I
might or might not like."

Cato blanches under the unexpected onslaught of this elderly woman and
suddenly he has a new fear of her. Effectively she has reduced his standing
in the household and in deliberately referring to him as a slave she has
emphasised his true status. Bewildered, he wonders what he has done to
incur her unexpected wrath. Hadn't he worked assiduously to please her?

Of course, Cato isn't to know the true reasons for Charlotte's
animosity. To Charlotte's mind, Cato who began service in the household
many years ago as her late brother's young, personal slave is the last
remaining link to the Barrois family. She hates that brother with such
intensity and passion that she is determined to rid the house of any
lingering reminders of him. She has decided Cato must go and go soon.

"Guy. I think we need to start out as we intend to continue. I suggest you
remove those ridiculous rags from around the slaves' waists and have them
serve us as they should - in their `natural state'. You forget that I grew
up at `La Foret' and I was used to seeing slaves unclothed. Seeing those
slaves dressed in those scraps of material is annoying; it makes fools of
them and it reminds me of some unfortunate, performing animal at a circus
dressed up to provoke laughter from an audience. However, I don't see
anything funny in all of this.  Please have them uncover themselves before
we eat."

"As you wish, Grandmamma. Cato, have the slaves uncover themselves."

I am appalled at this sudden decision to have the four of us serve
naked. I'd taken refuge in my loincloth - and even though these emotions
are denied to slaves - it had afforded me a small degree of dignity and
self-respect. I respond to Cato's order to remove my scant covering and
stand at naked display before my Master and Mistress. If there is any
comfort to be found in this it is in the fact that I'm not alone; my fellow
slaves stand naked alongside me. Lost in my embarrassment, I almost miss
Charlotte Maratier's instruction to Cato.

"You too, Cato!"

"Mistress," a puzzled Cato asks, "what Mistress?"

"Remove your tunic, Cato. You're a slave aren't you? Remove your tunic."

"Master?" Bewildered, Cato looks to his Master for assistance. He is to
receive none.

"You heard your Mistress, Cato. Now remove your tunic."

"But Master, I've always worn my tunic. The old Master..................."

"The old Master is no more, Cato." Charlotte coldly interjects, "You now
have a new Master and he wants you as naked as the rest of his slaves. Now
remove that ridiculous tunic. It makes your look like an organ-grinder's
monkey. QUICKLY!"

Poor Cato! He is unable to grasp this sudden and unexpected turn of
events. His little world - one given to him by my grandfather - has been
swiftly dismantled, his authority taken from him and he has been reduced to
slave nakedness by this spiteful woman who is now our Mistress. My fellow
slaves smile broadly as they watch a tearful Cato remove his tunic; there
will be much to discuss and laugh about in the slave quarters tonight.

I'm as surprised as they are at this but my feelings are mixed. After his
brutal caning of my ass last evening I have some satisfaction in seeing
Cato stand naked and disgraced before us. Yet my own experiences of the
past two days temper this feeling with a degree of sympathy for his
plight. Cato had served my grandfather and me loyally and faithfully over
the years and I suppose there is within me some residual recognition of
this. Yet the speed with which he'd transferred his allegiance to Guy
Maratier and his treatment of me as a slave both surprised and shocked
me. I had expected some small measure of understanding and tolerance from
him and I had received neither. Then I ask myself - did he have any other
option but to give his loyalty to his new Master and to treat me as the
slave I had become? He is after all a slave. And what an impressive slave
he is.

I'd never seen Cato's naked body but his tight fitting tunic had always
emphasised his superb body. Often as I spoke with him, I found myself
admiring his strong muscular arms and the exotic flexing of his
biceps. Even through his tunic I had a sense of his broad shoulders,
powerful chest and hard belly. Now as I look at him unclothed, I see that
my imagination hadn't exaggerated - he really is a fine slave. He is on the
wrong side of forty-five but even so there is still much to admire about
him; his handsome features are topped by his cropped hair which was once a
lustrous black but is now flecked with grey and he has a luxuriant covering
of black hair on his chest and belly. His large circumcised cock nestles in
a thick, pubic bush and his low hanging balls swing freely between the twin
columns of his legs. Viewed from behind he has broad shoulders, a narrow
waist and firm, well-rounded buttocks divided by a deep, inviting cleft.

There'd always been a suspicion that Cato had been my grandfather's "bed
buck" although I'd never seen evidence of this and if it was the case then
they took great pains to conceal it. But Cato was my grandfather' closest
companion - after me - and their relationship had been a unique one for a
Master and slave. Now as I look at Cato's nude body, I can well imagine my
grandfather being smitten by the magnificent, young slave he'd purchased as
an eighteen year old and named Cato.

The years that Cato spent as my grandfather's personal slave and companion
must have been halcyon ones for him and even when I became Master I'd
allowed them to continue. I was aware of my beloved grandfather's feelings
for Cato and so out of my respect for him I saw no reason to change Cato's
special position in our household.

Now however, under the new regime, all this has changed and as I look at
Cato I fear for his future. Because of his closeness to my grandfather he
is as much a victim of Charlotte Maratier's spite as I am. Both of us have
been brought down by her need for revenge and we are fellow victims of our
changed circumstances.

Dazed and uncomprehending, Cato stands in trembling nakedness before our
Master and his grandmother.

"Guy, I'm upset at the way Cato disobeyed my order to remove his tunic and
looked to you for support. This is intolerable. If I'm to assume temporary
control of your household and to make it run efficiently, then I must have
total control over the slaves. Cato disobeyed me and he must be punished."

"Very well Grandmamma. I have placed you in charge of the house and
therefore the slaves are answerable to you. If you decide Cato must be
punished then punished he'll be. I've already ordered one slave to be caned
tomorrow and I suppose we can also have Cato caned at the same time. I'll
see to it - Cato will be given ten strokes of the cane the same as the
other slave."

"Only ten strokes. Is that an appropriate punishment, Guy? The other slave
quite rightly is to get ten but Cato is in a different category I should
think. He carries a position of authority in your household and knows
better than to disobey an order. After all how many slaves has he punished
for disobedience?  Many I would suggest. He should know better than to
hesitate when a legitimate order given to him. No, he needs to be made an
example of. I should think he warrants twenty strokes of the cane as the
very minimum."

"Very well, Grandmamma," Our Master acquiesces, "twenty strokes it is. I'll
have Cato administer the ten stokes to the other slave first- he can
contemplate his own punishment at the same time - and when he's finished he
can take his place on the bench. I'll need to borrow Major Swanston's
steward to administer the cane to Cato. I don't think we have any slaves
capable of using the cane with Cato's ferocity."

"Major Swanston. Who's Major Swanston?"

"He's our next-door neighbour. He watched as Rafe was caned last night and
has offered to assist us in any way possible. He's a stickler for protocol
but quite pleasant. I think he'll be a good neighbour and he does seem to
speak for the other neighbours."

"Good! Then that's been settled." Our Mistress declares her satisfaction,
"Cato, take your place in line with the other slaves and stand at display."

So much has changed for Cato in the space of the last few minutes that I
doubt if he fully aware of what is happening. Yet dutifully, he takes his
place in line with the rest of us and assumes the display position. His
eyes are glazed over with disbelief and his hirsuteness is in sharp
contrast to our sleek, oiled smoothness.

Our now triumphant Mistress confronts us and begins an inspection of all
five slaves. She is fastidious and delights in finding fault with us. She
harangues us with her sharp tongue and tells us we need to look to
ourselves to avoid offending her and our Master or face the
consequences. In turn, we are told to stand straight, tighten our bodies
and to lower our eyes to the floor as she peruses us.

When she stands before me, I tremble; this woman frightens me and I sense
her intense hatred of me. My full, frontal nudity shames me and I feel the
shrinking of my genitals. I feel my scrotum tighten and wrap my balls in a
tight embrace as it retracts closer into my body, my cock shrivels and my
glans seeks to hide itself in the refuge of its prepuce. But as her steely
gaze wanders slowly over my body, she ignores me and discusses me with her
grandson.

"So this is Rafe?"

"Indeed he is. What do you think of him, Grandmamma?"

"He's a sorry sight but as I said to Cato earlier he shows promise of
better things. What do you have planned for him, Guy?"

"Well, my first thought was to send him out to `La Foret' to work in the
fields for a few months to get him used to being a slave. Ultimately, I
plan to use him as a pony paired with my current pony. I see that as his
future. What do you think?"

"He'll make a noble pony. He's got the right build for a pony. He possesses
a good, strong chest, broad shoulders and powerful legs. Yes he'll make a
good pony. But I agree with you, the slave does need a few months of field
work to build him up."

"In view of what happened today it could be a while before he goes out to
`La Foret, I'm afraid."

"Why? What happened?"

The Governor's office was in touch with Simon Barrow - our lawyer - and
asked if I could meet with them."

"What do they want? I'm always suspicious of politicians. Leave them alone
Guy.  Stay away from them."

"It seems the Governor is fighting his campaign very much on the platform
of tightening the slave laws and he's asked if he can use Rafe in his
campaign.  There's a lot of bad feeling against the Barrois name at the
moment and all that hostility is directed at Rafe as the former Lucien
Barrois. The governor feels that if the voters see Rafe standing in chains
as a slave alongside him on the platform it will be tangible proof of his
determination to come down hard on the slaves in contrast to the
abolitionists who want to ease their lot. The governor feels that the anger
generated by the Lucien Barrois/Rafe saga will win him many votes."

"Yes I can see that could be the case. Personally I can't tolerate the
governor; he's a nonentity whose parents were shop-keepers if my memory
serves me right.  My suggestion is that you say no to his request to use
Rafe. But I have to admit his platform is preferable to his opponents who
want to ease the slave laws and we would support them. I think it would be
more appropriate to donate to his campaign but not to use Rafe. There's the
chance that the slave could be injured if one of the governor's rallies got
out of hand. You don't want that, do you Guy?"

"Of course not, Grandmamma. As always there's wisdom in your words. Rafe
won't be made available to the governor."

As I listen, I feel the bile rise and burn in my throat. It's true - as
Lucien Barrois I had promised my support to the incumbent governor. Then I
was a slave-owner and a Master and I was totally opposed to any easing of
the restrictions that controlled our slave population. I was utterly
opposed to the insipid arguments of abolitionists and their partners, the
"be kind to a slave" do-gooders. I had supported the governor with both my
money and the quite considerable authority of my Barrois name. I was
determined to work tirelessly on his behalf to at least maintain the status
quo. Now as a slave, I hope for victory for his opponents.

And I'm glad of Charlotte Maratier's distrust of the governor and her
advice to my Master not to allow me to be used as part of his re-election
campaign. Her argument that I could be damaged in a rally that gets out of
hand is a valid one.

"So what are your plans for him now?"

"Well first, he has to be circumcised and branded." I listen as my Master
and Mistress casually discuss my coming ordeal. "Cato. Did you arrange for
the vet to call?"

Shaken out of his stupor, Cato answers, "Yes Master, he is to call at 1030
hours the day after tomorrow."

"Ah! That's excellent. My new brand will be ready late tomorrow
afternoon. I paid the ironmonger a premium price to have it ready so
soon. That means we can both skin and brand Rafe at the same time. Good
man, Cato!"

"Tell me about this new brand, Guy."

"Basically, Grandmama, it's the same as the old Barrois brand except that
the letter B has been replaced with an M. But in every other detail it
remains the same. Rafe will be the first of our slaves to be branded with
it. He'll be the first slave to wear M for Maratier on his chest."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Guy. It's only fitting that he should be the first
of your slaves to bear your brand."

Charlotte is pleased. Her upstart distant nephew stands before her as a
naked slave and soon he will be branded with the humiliating symbol of her
family and made to undergo the indignity of an enforced circumcision. She
is indeed pleased and now there remains only Cato to humiliate further. She
now turns her attention to him.

"Guy, we need to do something about Cato's body. He is far too hairy. I
mean we can't have him serving in the house like this. I could never abide
a hairy slave. They shed their hair all over the furniture and worse still
there's always a chance of some of it getting into our food."

"I don't see that as too much of a problem, Grandmama. Tomorrow morning
I'll instruct the grooms to body shave him at the same time as they prepare
my pony Norge. I think that will answer your concerns."

"Thank you, Guy. However it could well be a temporary situation as we
really need to talk about his future."

"I don't follow Grandmamma. What about his future?"

"Well Guy, I strongly suggest that Cato has to go. He's too entrenched in
the ways of the former masters to be of much use to you. He's too set in
his stubborn ways and far too wilful to be of use to you. After all you
can't teach an old dog new tricks, can you?"

"I suppose you're right. I hadn't thought about that. Perhaps I could send
him out to `La Foret' as a field hand. He's strong and robust and still has
a few years left in him."

"Guy, I think he is far too valuable a slave to waste in the fields. He's
well trained in managing the affairs of a Master's household. There's
always a demand for such a slave. No I suggest you send him to auction and
use the proceeds from his sale to buy a replacement steward. You could look
for a suitable slave who you can train in your ways. Cato will no doubt be
bought by a discerning owner who will do the same."

As I listen to this exchange between my Master and Mistress, I feel great
pity for Cato. Just a short time ago he confidently sought to ingratiate
himself into our new Master's good graces. He'd not bargained on the
vindictiveness of Charlotte Maratier. She has been instrumental in removing
him from his position of authority within the household and reducing his
status to that of any other of the house slaves. He's been stripped naked
and humiliated by her and tomorrow he is to be further shamed by being body
shaved by Norge's grooms. Then after he has caned Marv, he is to be
strapped down on the bench and given twenty strokes of his own cane. And
now there's the possibility of him being sold at public auction. He is
paying a high price for being my grandfather's favourite slave.
Plaintively he begins to beg.

"Please Master! Please Mistress."

His pleas fall on deaf ears. Charlotte Maratier has closed her heart to
him.  Cheerfully she tells Guy,

"Well Guy, it's getting late. I think it's time we dined."

Quickly all five of us break from our positions against the wall and hurry
forward ready to serve our Master and Mistress. Cato supervises us but he
lacks his usual enthusiasm. No longer the household steward he is now just
another of his Master's slaves.


To be continued .....