Date: Mon, 11 Apr 2011 17:16:26 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 20  Gay Male/Authoritarian

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"

Chapter 20: "Punishments"

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

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

Chapter 20: "Punishments"

"Well grandmama," Guy asks as he stoops to kiss his grandmother's cheek,
"how did you spend the morning? Did you do lots of exploring?"

"Indeed I did, Guy. I found it most rewarding. I had Cato show me around
the house and gardens and I have to say both are exquisite. Cato tells me
it's all due to my late brother's wife. It seems she had complete control
over both the house and its grounds. Of course, I never knew my
sister-in-law but I must say she had good taste. The house is superb and
the gardens are truly magnificent. Why I even found a delightful ly
secluded, little spot where I stopped to rest and I was able to watch the
new slave, Rafe as he worked. Altogether it was quite a rewarding
morning. "

"Excellent and how did Rafe perform?"

"He leaves a lot to be desired, I'm afraid. It seemed to me he wasn't
applying diligently himself to his work so I had Cato hurry him along with
his cane."

"I see. Did it work?"

"Most certainly it did. Cato's cane did spur him to greater effort. There's
nothing like an overseer's cane or whip to motivate a slave. You'll need to
watch that slave, I'm afraid or he'll try and take advantage of your good
nature. "

"You sound just like Major Swanston. He told me the other day nothing
exercises a slave's mind more than the whip and the cane."

"I agree wholeheartedly." Charlotte answers, "The major is quite
right. Spare the cane and spoil the slave. But enough of that. Tell me
about your morning. Has it been a busy one, Guy?"

"It most certainly has been grandmama." Guy sighs as he slumps into an
armchair. "I had so much to do and I didn't think I'd be back in time for
the canings. Why, I had to drive my pony hard and fast on the way home to
make it in time. He was on the point of collapse by the time I pulled into
the courtyard. Poor Norge!"

"Norge- is that the pony's name? Rather an unusual name for a slave, isn't
it?"

"I believe he was Norwegian or Scandinavian or some such nationality before
he became a slave. But the name suits him. He has the right colouring for
someone from that part of the world. He is a first rate pony.  But you'll
see for yourself this afternoon. When we go shopping"

"Shopping? How so, Guy?"

"Well to buy you a new wardrobe."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"To better reflect who you are, of course. You are now the matriarch of the
new Maratier dynasty and your appearance should reflect that."

"It's not something I've given a lot of thought to Guy. In the past I've
always made do with what I had."

"Well grandmother. Those days are over. You are now the senior member of
the family and this morning I gave instructions to our lawyers to deposit a
considerable sum of money into a new banking account in your name with
further payments to be made on the first of each month. I'm sure you'll
find there are sufficient funds to establish you in a lifestyle more
fitting to your new station. The account is yours to do with as you
please."

"Oh Guy! What can I say?  This is so unexpected; I'm overwhelmed."

"There's no need for you to thank me.  After all it's your rightful
due. Without you none of this would have happened. The slave Rafe would
still be Lucien Barrois and we'd be the poor Maratier outcasts. So this
afternoon I will take you shopping. Anyway, you'll need a new dress for
tomorrow night's soiree, won't you?"

"Yes I suppose I will. I hadn't thought about that and of course none of my
poor woman's clothing is suitable for entertaining?"

"Well grandmama. Just as soon as we have finished the slaves' punishments
and had lunch, I'll drive you back into town. You can shop while I attend
to some more legal matters. It looks as though my pony, Norge will have to
very work hard this afternoon - with two of us in the trap. But tell me -
how is Cato?"

"He's been very subdued and hasn't had much to say this morning. No doubt,
he's thinking about his caning. Why do you ask?"

"I called into the auction-house this morning and spoke with one of the
partners, a Mr Schuster and told him I wanted to replace Cato with a new
house steward. He was very attentive and showed me several slaves who'd
served in that role with previous owners. He allowed me to examine them
minutely to see if any of them would meet my requirements."

"Did they? Did you see a possible replacement for Cato?"

"In fact I did. One slave appealed to me. He's younger than Cato -in his
early to mid-thirties I'd guess and quite good-looking. His name is Pollux
and the only reason he's being sold now is because he is part of a deceased
estate. He impressed me."

"He sounds interesting. But what about Cato? What's to happen to him?"

"I've arranged to take Cato into the dealers tomorrow for an appraisal and
he's to be sold at Friday's auction."

"That's very good, Guy. It's always best to move quickly in these
matters. But I suggest you say nothing to Cato about this. It's better to
keep him in the dark. That way there'll be no unnecessary upsets."

"That's true grandmama. Mr Schuster asked me about Cato's age and
condition. He thought Cato's age may be a limiting factor -he described him
as 'long in the tooth' and with possibly limited appeal to the buyers. I
thought it only fair to tell Mr Schuster that Cato is to be caned today and
would also be marked."

"Did that concern him?"

"No not at all. Mr Schuster doesn't see that as a problem as long as the
cane doesn't cause any permanent damage. Oh! I've also arranged to take
Rafe along as well. Of course he's not for sale, but Mr Schuster has kindly
agreed to give me a no obligation appraisal and valuation on him. At least
we'll know what he's worth."

"I don't see any harm in that as long as you're not thinking of selling
him. He still needs breaking in and a spell out at 'La Foret' will do
wonders for him."

"I agree that Rafe's not for sale. Actually, Mr Schuster made the offer. He
asked how Rafe was settling in and about his physical condition. He
expressed an interest in examining Rafe and appraising him. I somehow got
the impression that Mr Schuster wants to humiliate Rafe. He told me about
his loathing for Lucien Barrois. I think his description of Lucien was that
he was impossibly arrogant."

"Well I'm sure that any of Lucien's arrogance that the slave Rafe retains
will be lost tomorrow as he undergoes his examination. I'd like to see him
under inspection and you'll have to tell me all about it, Guy. But tell me
what business do you have in town this afternoon?"

"There are two things, grandmama. First up, I have to formally petition the
courts for full custodianship of my son, Etienne."

"As you should. You can't allow him to remain with his ne'er-do-well
mother. His place is with you.  After all he is now the heir to the
Maratier fortune and he needs to be educated to reflect that.  What was the
second item, Guy?'

"I have to discuss with Simon Barrow how to find a suitable residence for
you, grandmama.  Somewhere close to here where I can watch over you. I want
to set you up in your own household with your own servants and where you
have full control of your own affairs. I want to return to you all the
things that were stolen from you all those years ago."

"Oh Guy. What can I say; you are spoiling me."

"Not at all, grandmama. It's your entitlement and it's long overdue."

"Guy you are a good grandson and I'm so proud of you. Why in only two days
you act and speak as though you have had control of the family fortunes all
your life. But then it is your birthright, so why should I be surprised by
that? But, it's close to punishment time for Cato and the other slave.
Shouldn't you be attending to that?"

"Yes you are right. I should go down to the courtyard and make a start. Are
you coming along to watch?"

"No Guy. There are some things that are unseemly for a woman to do and
being present as a slave is punished is one of them. Anyway, there's an
upstairs gallery that run across the rear of the house and it has windows
looking down into the courtyard. I'll watch from there."

"In that case, I'll leave Ben with you so that you're not alone."

"Who is Ben?"

"Ben is my young body slave."

"There's no need for that. I'll be alright by myself. What harm can I come
to here? It's important that your slave, Ben should witness the
punishments."

"Grandmama, I insist that Ben stay with you. You never know when you may
require his services."

"Oh alright, Guy. If it will make you easier, then the slave can wait with
me and watch proceedings through a window. But Guy, you mustn't fuss
so. I'm quite capable of looking out for myself, you know."



                                           >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

NORGE

I'm standing in the front ranks of the household's slaves as we wait
quietly for our Master's arrival.  He has commanded us to gather and watch
the canings of both Marv and Cato and, as is always the case with these
occasions, our mood is sombre. Each of us is very thankful that other
slaves are to suffer and not us. Canings are always unsettling to any
watching slave and these latest two will both unnerve and subdue
us. Despite any personal animosities we feel towards Cato, we do have a
degree of sympathy for him and Marv. All of us have, at one time or
another, have stood where they now stand and trembled in anticipation of
the awful pain of the cane.

I look at Cato and Marv and see the white pallor of their faces and the
involuntary trembling of their limbs as they wait. Marv of course has been
caned before and he knows 'what to expect'. But Cato doesn't.

For Cato, it's to be a new experience; in the past he'd been the instrument
of our Master's displeasure and had administered the cane to any
recalcitrant slave.  To my knowledge, Cato has never been punished -well
certainly not in my short time as a slave. Cato's punishment is
unprecedented but I know from what Rafe had told me last night Cato had
upset our Mistress and it was she who'd asked our new Master to punish
him. What crime had he committed which warrants him to be so publicly
humiliated in front of us?  But then his humiliation doesn't stop there. He
stands naked before us.

I'd been surprised to see him without his customary clothing when he'd
returned Rafe to our stall late last night and I'd listened with interest
as Rafe told me of the events in the dining-room.  Cato had always been
clothed -certainly it was only by a slave's tunic - but it had been in
sharp contrast to the rest of us who'd always been kept slave-naked. The
tunic had set him 'apart' from the rest of us and like his cane it was a
sign of his authority over us. We - all of us- have felt the excruciating
sting of Cato's cane and the most recent recipient is Rafe who now stands
beside me.

Rafe is into the third day of his slavery and his transformation is
remarkable. Is it only seventy-two hours since he'd driven me into the City
to answer a summons to appear before the courts? Then he'd been the Master
-proud, arrogant and callously indifferent to the suffering of his
slaves. He'd left his home as the imperious Lucien Barrois and returned to
it as a humble slave renamed Rafe.

Now he stands among his former slaves as one of their number. Like us he
now wears the brand and collar of a slave and like us his hair is cropped
short and his ass displays the emerging blue-black bruises of his caning of
two nights ago.

As I look at him I no longer see him as my former Master but as a fellow
slave. At first, I was pleased with his fall from grace and indeed part of
me still rejoices in that. But he has now spent two nights with me in my
stall and I have seen the pitiful state of his mind and I am moved to
compassion for him.

My own transformation from free man to slave just twelve months ago had
been both painful and traumatic. But I was only a common, working class man
who'd run afoul of the law and it was the courts which had enslaved me and
not Lucien Barrois. But it was he who bought me and used me as a slave and
so all my hatred and resentment was centred on him. Perhaps -unfairly -I
blamed Lucien for my enslavement and I'd allowed my hatred of him to fester
and grow deep within me.

Lucien's enslavement wasn't all that dissimilar to my own and followed the
same pattern. He'd made an appearance in court before a judge who'd
sentenced him to lifetime servitude. The shock of instant enslavement
followed immediately by branding and collaring by the court's blacksmith
would have devastated him. I know it did with me; I still bear the mental
scars of my own enslavement and I suspect they'll remain with me until the
end of my miserable existence.  These are the things we share but Lucien
lost so much more than me. Whereas I was very ordinary, Lucien by
comparison had been anything but ordinary. He was rich and powerful and the
scion of one of the country's most illustrious families -not only did he
lose his freedom he'd also suffered humiliation and rejection on an
unparalleled scale.

As he ran alongside of me that first afternoon, I'd been overjoyed at this
change in his circumstances and I had felt great scorn for him. But I was
witness to the humiliation and rejection he'd been subjected to at the
hands of a vindictive public who'd rejoiced to see a 'tall poppy' cut down
and I'd seen his distress and heard his sobs as we ran side by side; at
least I'd not suffered this.  I shared with him the cut of our new Master's
whip as he urged us along demanding that we run faster and lift our feet
higher. Then from nowhere came his deep, heartfelt apology 'I'm sorry, I'm
so sorry". His words cut through my hard resolve and I suddenly felt
compassion for this newest slave.

Last night, although I was exasperated by his self-pity, my compassion had
moved me to 'comfort' Rafe and to advise him to accept the inevitability of
his fate. I'd told him to no longer think of himself as a free man but
rather as the slave he now is. I don't know if he took my words to heart;
really it is up to him whether his transition into slavery is easy or
difficult. But like me -and all those others who are newly enslaved -he
hasn't any other option but to submit to the will of his new Master.

As I look at Rafe, I see his true slave potential; he is truly a
magnificent specimen. Tall and strongly built his body has much to offer
his Master. His powerful frame can be put to the hardest of labour yet it
also hints at the many hidden delights to be discovered should he be used
in the bedroom for the Master's pleasure. As I look at his long, thick cock
resting on top of his large pendulous balls -all enticingly 'gathered'
together by his cinch - and the delicious, flaring curves of his buttocks,
I determine that at some time I will sample those delights.

Rafe wears a woe-be-gone expression on his face as he stands dejectedly
beside me; like the rest of us he maintains his silence. Over the past two
days he has been worked 'hard'. Yesterday he'd spent all the daylight hours
splitting firewood as he was whipped by his temporary overseer, Marv. Marv
had been enthusiastic in his use of the whip and is now to pay the price
for his over-zealousness.  This morning, Rafe had been used as a beast-of
burden and harnessed to one of the two, heavy mowers used in a Sisyphean
effort to keep the vast expanses of the lawn surrounding our Master's home
at the required level.

New to slavery, Rafe is naturally unused to such intense labour and his
sun-reddened body reflects this. The strain shows on his face, his muscles
are stressed, his torso, streaked by his dried sweat, is covered with
insect bites and his back, shoulders and ass wear the criss-cross pattern
of Cato's cane and Marv's overuse of the whip.

It is hard for me to imagine a more forlorn looking slave than Rafe.

                                           >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> RAFE

As I wait by Norge's side for our Master's arrival, I'm distinctly
uneasy. My own recent caning weighs heavily on my mind and simply being
here unsettles me.

The pain I'd endured as Cato caned me is burned deeply into my
consciousness just as clearly as the brand I now wear on my left flank. My
fear of the cane is all consuming and I've promised myself to avoid it at
all costs. Of course this is academic; the decision whether to cane me or
not isn't mine to make. That is the sole prerogative of my Master. Why only
this morning, at the instigation of my Mistress, Charlotte Maratier, I'd
suffered under Cato's cane as he urged me along while I pulled the heavy
mower behind me. However, those cuts, whilst painful, were individual
strokes and as such were 'bearable'.  I have resolved to strive at all
times to do my best and not to be sentenced to another multiple caning.

What is it that Major Swanston said the other day -'the whip and the cane
exercise a slave's mind wonderfully?'  My current state of mind gives
credence to his words.

Now I'm to witness the caning of two of my tormentor s-Marv and Cato. I
can't say I have any sympathy for either of them. Neither had spared me the
cane or the whip and there's a sense of grim satisfaction for me as I look
at them standing apart from the rest of us. I know from my own experience
about the present state of their minds. Both would be in turmoil as they
fearfully anticipate the pain they'll soon endure. This is especially so
for Cato who has never been caned or whipped. I consider how he'd taunted
me prior to my caning and I eagerly anticipate seeing him suffer as I had
done.

Once again the caning bench has been brought out from the stables and
stands ready in the centre of the courtyard awaiting its two, hapless
victims; its straps and other restraints ready to embrace their bodies and
fasten them firmly to its surface.  As I look at it, I tremble at the
memory of the utter helplessness I'd felt as the straps were tightened
around me and my ass positioned for punishment.

All the household slaves have been ordered into the courtyard to witness
these punishments. This is standard practice and one I'd enforced as the
Master. I'd always believed forcing all the house slaves to witness the
punishment of one of their fellows had a beneficial, salutary effect upon
them. Now as a slave, I am forced to watch as Marv and Cato are caned and I
know this to be correct.

Still there is an unintended benefit in this for me. Thankfully I have been
unharnessed from my mower and I'm to enjoy a few brief minutes of rest as I
watch.

My fellow slaves grow restless from waiting and shuffle nervously from foot
to foot. The anxiety of waiting is beginning to show on Marv and Cato and I
note the whiteness of their faces and the shaking of their bodies. Suddenly
there is a low murmur and looking up I see our Master accompanied by Major
Swanston and his steward enter the yard. If I had a watch I would see its
midday and they are on time.

As they approach us, both Cato and Marv begin to plead for leniency.

No time is wasted in administering the punishments. Our Master has much to
attend to this afternoon and he is anxious to be on his way. He ignores
their pleas for clemency and commands Cato to commence; he watches
dispassionately as Cato leads Marv by the arm to the bench.

Marv has been on the bench before. Indeed when I'd first bought him it was
necessary for me to have him caned on a number of occasions to break his
spirit. At first he'd submitted stoically to his canings and it was only
after a particularly severe caning and the threat of selling him to the
mines or quarries that he'd become an obedient slave.

Now, in his submission, he fears the cane, so much so that he breaks free
from Cato's grasp and throws himself at our Master's feet to plead. As I
watch I recall the helplessness I'd felt as I vainly pleaded to be spared
the cane and my despair as my pleas were ignored. I'd not had mercy shown
to me and I hope no mercy is shown to Marv. In view of Marv's harsh
treatment of me at the woodpile I rejoice in his suffering.

As Cato struggles vainly to get Marv to his feet our Master loses patience
and shouts

"Norge! Rafe! Get over here and help Cato."

Norge and I break rank and hurry forward to do our Master's bidding. Marv
is no match for the three of us and we drag him kicking and struggling to
the waiting bench.

Marv continues to shout and plead as we 'belly flop' him onto the bench and
as Norge presses down on his upper body, I try to hold onto his legs to
allow Cato to fasten his ankles in place. As Cato secure one ankle, Marv in
his desperation lashes out at me with his free foot and I need to move
quickly to avoid it making contact with me. With both legs secured he is
easier to handle and he is soon strapped down with his ass positioned
upward and ready for the cane.

I know how helpless Marv now feels and the fear that churns his stomach. I
had experienced both two nights ago. All slaves know these feelings only
too well and from past experience I know it is something that a master
would never understand. How could he unless he found himself on the bench.

Marv is finally aware that his begging is fruitless; his pleas fall on deaf
ears. Now he gives way to tears of frustration and rage. He struggles
uselessly against the restraints holding him to the bench top and his vile
swearing echoes around the confines of the courtyard. Our Master approaches
the bench and places his hand on Marv's body. For some strange reason it
seems to calm the slave and I recall something similar happening to me just
before my own caning. Marv's swearing stops and the only sound to disturb
the stillness is his soft crying.

Norge and I are ordered back into the ranks of the watching slaves and we
listen as our Master dispassionately speaks to Cato.

"How many strokes is the slave to receive, Cato?"

"Ten, Master."

"Then increase it to fifteen for his bad behaviour."

"Nooo!  Oh Master, Please don't?"

Once more Marv's pleas are ignored and we listen as Major Swanston delivers
a double-handed compliment to our Master; he commends him for his firmness
but chides him on the leniency of his sentence.

"Quite right, Guy. The slave deserves his extra punishment for his
disgraceful display of insubordination and his foul language. He's lucky
you are his master and you are treating him so lightly. If he were my slave
he could expect a doubling of his punishment at the very least."

For whatever reason, our Master chooses not to reply to the major but
instead instructs Cato to,

"Carry on! But remember this, Cato; I'm watching to see how hard you apply
the cane. Should I not be satisfied you're giving of your best then your
own punishment will be increased."

Ashen-faced, Cato retrieves his cane- the cruel 'WHIPPISTIK'- and as he
approaches Marv's waiting body, he swishes it through the air.

The frightening whine it makes cowers our group. But we are just
spectators; how much more terrifying it must be for the waiting slave. I
know that terror -just two nights ago I too had experienced it.
                                      >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It took no more than fifteen to twenty minutes to cane Marv. For those of
us made to watch time moved slowly but it would have stopped for Marv. I
know this to be so for I have been there.

Bent double over the bench and strapped down with your body's movements
helplessly restricted to just your heightened breathing and the nervous
twitching of your limbs, time does indeed stand still.  Ask any slave who
has been "on the bench" and he will agree with me. There is a dreadful
sense of anticipation that clouds the mind to the exclusion of everything
else as you wait for the cane to strike your flesh.

An experienced whip-master can add immeasurably to your suffering once he
has you over the bench.  He can feed your fear and add to your mental and
physical anguish by playing with your senses. He can use the cane to
cruelly tease you; simply by going through the motions of applying it to
your body and then stopping short before it makes contact. He can coax out
your fear and reduce you to a quivering, crying mass of heightened
nerves. Strapped to the bench, you listen to the sibilant swish of the cane
as it cuts through the air and you prepare both your mind and body for its
impact: reflexively, your muscles tighten, you hold your breath and you
wait expectantly for the pain. Then there is the sense of anticlimax when
that pain doesn't materialise. Eventually, after several of these 'false
alarms" you do relax and you are thus totally unprepared for the inevitable
first strike. This game of "cat and mouse" plays havoc with your state of
mind and adds enormously to your torment.

Cato knows how to play this game. He'd played it with me two nights ago and
now he subjects Marv to its uncertainties.

He is painfully aware of his own imminent caning and has taken our Master's
words to heart; namely should Guy feel that Cato isn't punishing Marv hard
enough then his own punishment will be made more severe.  He's aware that
nothing will save him from his caning and in his desperation, he seeks to
minimise the risk to himself and limit his punishment to the twenty strokes
to which he's been sentenced. He does everything in his power to curry
favour with his Master. He knows from experience that masters appreciate
how this charade adds to the slave's chastisement and how much they enjoy
watching the hapless victim's struggles. When I was a master, I know I did.

I watch as Marv's body tenses each time Cato toys with him. I'm aware of
what Marv is feeling as he waits for the first blow and despite myself I
begin to feel sympathy for him. From my point of view, his punishment is
well deserved. But I know the anguish he feels and from my own experience I
know what is happening to him is cruel and unjustified. As a slave, I now
recognise the pain of the cane should be sufficient punishment without this
extra dimension of torment. But then, I'd condoned it as a master and now
as a slave I haven't the right to criticise when I fall victim to it.

I stand in the silent ranks of the watching house slaves with Norge at my
side. As we wait for the first strike of the cane, our mood is reflective;
we all have felt the cane and we know that we will do all within our
limited power to avoid further punishment. Whether we'll be successful in
our efforts to do so is open to debate. We aren't in control and whatever
happens to us is dependent on our master's current mood.

Mostly a wise master only punishes a slave when it is warranted; he makes
the punishment relevant to the crime. This way the slave knows he's
transgressed and he understands he's being punished for his offence and
this imprints itself into his consciousness. If he is a sensible slave
he'll accept his punishment as a lesson learned and do all he can not to
repeat his mistake. It's early days yet but I hope our new Master, Guy
Maratier falls into this category.

But there are other masters who rule by the cane and the whip. Their
unfortunate slaves suffer for no other reason than their masters have this
power over them. These slaves spend their days in fearful anticipation of
their masters' anger and live miserable existences. My former neighbour,
Major Swanston falls into this category and as I glance in his direction I
see he is eagerly watching as Cato 'teases' Marv with the cane.  Standing
alongside the Major is his own instrument of authority, his brutish
overseer, Pug.

Once I asked the major how the slave came by his name. I remember him
laughingly telling me that it is short for pugnacious and how he'd scoured
the slave-dealers' yards to find just such a slave; one who was powerfully
built and who possessed the ugly, brutal looks to strike fear into the
hearts of the slaves under his supervision. I'd asked the major if the
overseer met his requirements and as I look at Pug, I remember his answer.

"Indeed he does, Lucien, indeed he does. He's eminently suited to his
job. All my slaves live in terror of him".

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by the sibilant hiss of the cane as
it travels downwards towards Marv's body and the loud "thwack" as it
strikes his upturned ass. Marv grunts out his pain in a valiant but vain
attempt not to cry out. I know what he is thinking; two nights ago, I too
decided not to give my tormentors the satisfaction of hearing me
scream. But my resolve crumbled by the third stroke and through my
suffering, I heard my anguished screams of agony. Marv holds out for longer
than I did; he doesn't scream until the fifth stroke.

Now we watch as Cato applies the cane with vigour and I find myself
flinching with each blow of the cane. The silence of the courtyard is
broken by the hiss and thwack of the cane and the surrounding walls echo
with Marv's agonised cries. Silently, I count each stroke and eventually I
am at fifteen- Marv's ordeal is over and Cato's is about to begin.

Marv is released from the bench and he is ordered by our Master to take his
place among the watching slaves. He stands among us and ruefully rubs his
ass in a vain attempt to ease the pain -a pain that is clearly reflected in
his tear-stained face.

I look towards Cato and see the look of cornered desperation in his eyes
and the fear induced trembling of his body. I wonder -will he plead with
our Master for leniency but to his credit he doesn't.  Perhaps he has
enough residual pride as the household steward not to belittle himself in
the eyes of his subordinate slaves. Despite my desire to see him suffer, I
grudgingly admire him for this.

Our Master orders him on to the bench and once again he commands Norge and
me to assist in strapping him down. Norge presses down on his upper body
and I hold his legs in position whilst Pug fastens the straps that hold him
firmly in place. Finished, Norge and I resume our places among the other
slaves.

Pug retrieves the cane and uses it to limber up. As he goes through his
loosening up exercises, I listen to the hiss and whine of the cane and I
watch the powerful play of his muscles.  I see the enormous strength of his
arm and I'm grateful that it's not me on the bench. It's obvious; Cato is
to pay an awful price for offending our Mistress.

I wonder if Charlotte Maratier is watching. Of course it would be unseemly
for her to be present in person. After all the punishment of a slave is no
place for a woman; especially a woman of refinement.  Instinctively, I know
she is watching from within the house and my guess is she is looking down
into the courtyard from one of the upstairs gallery windows.  I glance
upwards and I do catch a glimpse of her figure through the gauzy haze of a
curtain draped window. She is indeed watching as Cato is caned.

I continue to look up at the window from which Charlotte Maratier is
watching. This woman both intrigues and repels me. I admire her strength of
character, her will-power and determination - these are all noble traits of
the Barrois family which I had shared when I was free - and yet her cruelty
and vindictiveness repulse me. To some extent I can understand her
pathological hatred of me as the usurper but her loathing of Cato is
another matter. He is a slave and isn't responsible for the actions of his
masters. Yet Charlotte hates him for no other reason than he'd once served
her hated brother, my grandfather. He is paying an awful price for that.

She is my blood relative -we share the Barrois bloodline -yet our lives are
so different and until three days ago our paths hadn't crossed.  Then, I'd
been the proud young Barrois heir and she'd been the family outcast
condemned to a life of rejection and poverty. Now she is the Mistress and I
am her grandson's slave. This woman has brought me down and she hates me
with a passion.

I lower my eyes and turn my attention to Cato.

                                     >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Pug is now ready to begin and looks to our Master for direction. Guy
Maratier nods his head and simply says.

"Carry on! Twenty strokes."

Apparently, he is satisfied with Cato's punishment of Marv and doesn't
order any additional cane strokes for his steward.

Now it is Cato's turn to be 'played with" as Pug uses the cane to tease and
frustrate him. I watch the involuntary tightening of his body and the
clenching of his buttocks as he braces for the bite of the cane followed by
the relaxing of them when that pain doesn't materialise. Cato has never
been caned - or whipped - and so this is a new experience for him. I don't
feel sympathy for him -indeed just the opposite; I am enjoying his
discomfort.

It's obvious that Pug is enthusiastic in his taunting of Cato; he enters
wholeheartedly into it. Perhaps he delights in the power he has been given
-even if it's only temporary -over a fellow overseer. Of course, as an
overseer he is kept busy disciplining the major's slaves. But never has he
been called upon to chastise a slave of equal status or of such "high
standing" as Cato. It's a situation he relishes and one which he is
determined to enjoy to the fullest.

He has an audience to play to; there are the watching slaves to cower and
of course there are the two masters to entertain.  Experience tells him his
own master will enjoy watching as Cato is punished but the other master,
Guy Maratier is an unknown quantity.  Still he'll put on a good show
-surely that is what this new master wants; otherwise why had he ordered
Cato to be caned.

Pug looks down on the hapless Cato. The slave is tightly restrained by the
straps holding him to the bench; Pug had made sure of this and the only
movements allowed Cato are the spasmodic twitching of his muscles and the
clenching and unclenching of his powerful buttocks.

Pug plays with Cato; he swings the cane through the air and smiles each
time the slave braces for its impact. He watches the tensing and relaxing
of Cato's body with each false blow. Maliciously, he works Cato's mind and
is determined to catch him "off guard". Cato is not to know when the cane
strikes but he'll feel it for Pug will apply it with the full force of his
considerable strength.

For the slaves watching from the sidelines, this game of "cat-and mouse"
delights them.  They have all been Cato's victims as he played this same
game with them and they take pleasure in the mental torment he is now
undergoing.  There isn't any sympathy for his plight; they had stood in
fear of Cato's ability to do to them what is now being done to him.  As
they watch Pug cruelly tease Cato, they recognise that he has met his
match. They wait expectantly for the first blow to fall.

That blow falls when Cato least expects it and he is caught "off
guard". Pug's game has given Cato a false sense of security and he has
relaxed his body. As the first blow sears across his buttocks, Cato is
unprepared for the unaccustomed pain and cries out. I feel a sense of
satisfaction at this; at least I didn't vocalise my pain until the third
stroke of the cane.

Before my enslavement, I'd seen Pug in action and I knew him to be
mercilessly efficient in carrying out his duties. It had seemed to me that
Pug enjoyed his "work" and derived great pleasure from wielding either the
cane or the whip on his master's behalf and it has to be said that Major
Swanston kept him constantly busy.

My initial delight at seeing Cato's caning soon gives way to unease. As a
master I'd presided over many canings and usually I was left unaffected by
them. But Cato's caning is different; it is the severest I have ever
witnessed and Pug's brutality sickens me. Pug is methodical in his
application of the cane which he applies with unrestrained enthusiasm.

The loud hiss and thwack of the cane testify to the power of Pug's mighty
arm while Cato's agonised cries testify to that arm's strength.  I watch as
the cane lays down the angry, red stripes across the starkly white,
smoothness of his ass and I see these as the visible sign of Cato's
suffering.  Pug's cane continues to rise and fall at regular intervals but
he allows enough time between each stroke for Cato to savour his torment.

Cato's cries echo around the enclosed courtyard and I wonder if our
Mistress can hear them from her vantage point within the house. In her
vindictiveness, is she enjoying the sounds of Cato's suffering?  After all,
she is the instigator of the events being played out before us. She is the
one who'd insisted that Cato be humiliated and punished. It is she who
suggested that Cato be sold.

Silently, I count each stroke of the cane and after the ninth stroke any
resolve or reserves of strength that Cato possesses breaks and he loudly
pleads with our Master for mercy. Pitifully, he cries out.

"OH, Master! PLEASE! No more Master, Please."

Cato's plea is ignored and if anything it spurs Pug to greater
effort. Spitefully, he applies the cane with even more severity than
before.

I continue my silent counting and in a way I'm relieved when I finally
reach twenty -the last stroke.  Cato's ordeal is over. My satisfaction at
watching Cato suffer had dissipated some time ago. Despite my resentment of
his treatment of me I'm appalled at the severity of his beating; it far
surpasses my own caning. My thirst for revenge is quenched but this isn't
shared by my fellow slaves who watch delightedly as Cato is released from
the bench and stands unsteadily on his feet waiting for instructions from
our Master.

Now that I'm one of them, I can understand my fellow slaves' animosity to
Cato but I ask myself is it right to blame him.  Like them he is a slave
who must carry out his master's orders. If the master demands he chastises
a fellow slave does he have any other option than to obey? The choice isn't
his to make.  By right, their anger and resentment should be directed at
the master who ordered the punishment rather than at Cato who is simply
carrying out his master's instructions.

Of necessity, slaves very carefully conceal their true feelings towards
their masters and fearing even worse punishment; they understandably direct
any feelings of anger and frustration away from the master and centre it on
his overseers.

My grandfather had made Cato his steward with authority over the house
slaves and I had re-affirmed it when I became Master. It's true Cato had
revelled in that position and I'd always known of my slaves' resentment
towards him but that had never concerned me -until today. I now see Cato
very much as a victim equally as helpless to govern his affairs as any
other slave.

Pug walks over to where Guy Maratier and Major Swanston are talking and I
hear our Master thank him with the words.

"Well done!"

We stand and wait to be dismissed and ordered back to our duties.  Turning
towards the house, our Master' attention is drawn to his body slave, Ben
who hurries across the courtyard and hands him a note. I'd not noticed that
Ben wasn't among our group of house slaves made to watch the punishments of
Marv and Cato and I now wonder about this. Our Master reads the note and
I'm totally unprepared as he turns to face our group.

"RAFE! STEP FORWARD!"

Puzzled by this turn of events, I hasten to obey.

"Rafe, I have here a note from your Mistress complaining that you'd
disrespectfully looked at her as she stood at an upstairs window and how
you'd brazenly tried to stare her down.  She goes on to say that your eyes
were diverted from Cato's punishment and you weren't giving it your full
attention as I had commanded. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Master, I.........."

Panic stricken my answer trails off into nothingness. I have to be very
careful - if I deny my Mistress' accusation then I'm effectively calling
her a liar. Yet if I don't give a satisfactory answer then that can be
construed as an admission of guilt. I am trapped.

For the first time, I experience the complete helplessness that confronts
all slaves when they are accused of a misdemeanour by their owners.  I'm
suddenly aware that for a slave there can be no defence against an
accusation levelled at him by his Superiors. Frantically, I search my mind
for an answer but there isn't one. Reluctantly, I decide discretion is the
better part of valour and say nothing; sullenly I bow my head in silent
submission before my Master's anger.

"I take your silence as an admission of your guilt. You disappoint me
Rafe. I thought after your last punishment that you'd have learned a
valuable lesson. But it seems I'm wrong. It would appear that you are
determined to be wilful and that is something I won't tolerate. What do you
have to say for yourself?"

What can I say in the face of my Master's anger?  Any argument on my part
is pointless. Instinctively I know he will punish me; intuitively I know
any reply from me will only exacerbate the situation and see me earn
further punishment. I have no other option than to blurt out my apology.

"I'm sorry Master."

"I'm afraid it's too late for you to say you are sorry. Rafe, I know it is
difficult for you to adjust to your new life and your changed
circumstances. But you are now a slave and I'm determined to break your
spirit and bend you to my will. When I've finished you will be a good slave
and you can depend on that.  But for your disrespect to your Mistress and
for your inattention to Cato's punishment you are to receive five strokes
of the cane."

His words fill me with dismay. My legs tremble and stomach lurches at the
severity of his sentence. I'm to receive five strokes of the cane simply
for looking in my Mistress' direction. It all seems so unfair and I begin
to plead.

"Please Master. I'm so sorry!"

Yet even as I utter the words I'm aware they fall on deaf ears and I hear
my Master ask Major Swanston.

"Could I impose on you a little longer, Major and ask that Pug administer
Rafe's punishment."

"Of course, Guy. We're only too happy to oblige aren't we Pug?"

I don't hear Pug's answer.

Through the fog of my fear, I'm aware of Pug guiding me on to the bench and
I hear my Master instructing Cato and Norge to assist him in strapping me
down. Once more, I feel the smooth bench beneath my chest and belly as
Norge presses down on my shoulders and I'm vaguely aware that my ankles are
being fastened in place. I feel the constricting embrace of the leather
straps as Pug tightens them around my body.  All too soon I'm bent double
over the bench with my arms stretched out before me. My ass is now elevated
and for a second time within three days it is positioned ready for the
cane.

Vainly, I try to struggle out of my bonds and fearfully I wait for the
first blow. Now my shallow breathing quickens, my heart beats accelerate
and its palpitations sound like a roaring torrent in my ears. My legs
tremble and I lose control of my bladder. Shamefaced, I hear my
fear-induced piss splattering on to the cobblestones beneath the bench.

My master waits until I've finished urinating before addressing me.

"Rafe I want this punishment to be meaningful and for it to impress itself
upon you. Therefore you are to count out each stroke and after each one you
are to thank me as your Master for the valuable lesson I'm teaching you and
you're also to apologise to your Mistress for offending her. Do you
understand?"

From somewhere within the spinning vortex of my mind I hear my tearful
reply.

"Yes Master!"

"Good! Then let's begin - and Pug lay on hard."

Pug "plays" with me.  He teases my taut body with his cane and he further
fragments my already fraught nerves. I have played this game with Cato but
somehow with Pug it is different. With Cato it was part of the punishment
and it lacked Pug's 'finesse'. With Pug there is another indefinable
element; he has the capacity to torment the mind and to derive great
pleasure from doing so.

How many times does he raise me to that level of expectation where I steel
my body ready for the cruel cut of the cane only to have him "disappoint'
me? How many times do I hear the sinister whine of the cane from behind and
brace myself for its impact only to feel it stop short of my body?  I lose
count of the number of times this happens.

Then suddenly, when I'm least prepared, there is the loud "thwack" as Pug's
cane sears itself across my buttocks. Momentarily, my mind shuts down; it
is oblivious to all else but the fiery, excruciating pain travelling along
my nervous system before finally exploding within my brain. From somewhere
deep within my scream emerges and echoes around the confined walls of the
courtyard. Then, through the red haze of my pain, I remember my Master's
instructions to me and I hear myself shouting.

"ONE! Thank you Master for my lesson! Oh Mistress I'm sorry I have offended
you! Please forgive me."

Four more times I suffer the cruel cut of the cane and four more times I
thank my Master for his valuable lesson to me and four more times I beg for
my Mistress' forgiveness.

Finally my ordeal is over and I am released from the bench and I'm ordered
back into the group with my fellow slaves. As I tearfully re-join them, I
see the sympathy in their eyes and I draw solace from them. Do they now see
me -their former master -as one of their number?  Norge edges close to my
side and surreptitiously squeezes my arm; his simple gesture overwhelms me
and my tears flow.  Somehow, through his gentle touch, I find the strength
to continue.

Quite deliberately, I don't look up at the window from where my Mistress
had watched the punishment of three of her grandson's slaves. However, if I
had been able to see her face I would have been shocked by the look of
satisfaction she'd gained from watching as Cato and I were caned. I would
see in her eyes all the malevolence she feels towards the two of us. I
would also recognise this woman's intense hatred of me and her
determination to make my life unimaginably bleak.

For my part I'll never underestimate her capacity to cause me pain and
suffering.  In future, when I am in her presence, my eyes will be
respectfully lowered to the ground and I'll give her all due deference.

We stand silently as our Master takes his leave of Major Swanston and
Pug. Then he instructs Cato to return us to our duties. As the house slaves
return indoors, Norge, my fellow slave and I are led away to be
re-harnessed; Norge to his trap and I and the other slave to our mowers.

The position of the sun tells me it is a well past 1300 hours. There are
still some six hours of daylight remaining; six exhausting hours when I
must pull the heavy mower behind my tortured body.


To be continued......