Date: Mon, 23 May 2011 21:32:58 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 26  Gay Male/ Authoritarian

'CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES'
A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"

Chapter 26
"An Act of Kindness"

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 26
"An Act of Kindness":

Rafe:

As we move out of the coolness of the building into the courtyard, I'm
reminded once more of the day's heat. The high, brick walls enclosing the
yard and the cobblestoned surface reflect the heat back with furnace like
intensity. One end of the yard is overhung by an awning and Lionel
Schuster, now aware of my Master's low tolerance of heat, suggests that
they move into its welcoming shade. While my Master and my former friends
settle into chairs grouped under the awning, Lionel dispatches one of his
slave assistants to fetch cool drinks and refreshments for his guests. The
other waits with me.

I'm left to stand alone with Lionel Schuster's slave in the full glare of
the sun's heat and within seconds beads of sweat are forming on my naked
body.  The suddenness of this heat after the coolness of the inspection
room affects me. I feel dizzy, my vision is blurred and my parched throat
screams out for water. But gradually I adjust; my dizziness disappears and
my sight clears. Only my thirst is left to bother me.

My curiosity gets the better of me and as I gaze around the yard, I'm
puzzled by what I see. Nearby are six roughly hewn timber beams each
approximately six feet long and of varying thicknesses.  Midway along their
length they are stained dark. I wonder about this and I'm not to know it is
the accumulated sweating of countless slaves who have carried these beams
across their bare shoulders.  Shortly, my own sweat will further darken
these beams.

At the opposite end of the yard is a pile of rocks of various sizes. These
range from very small to very large and I wonder what part they are to play
in my test of strength and endurance. There is no doubt in my mind that the
beams and rocks are to be part of that test.

Enviously, I watch as the slave returns with a tray of iced tea for his
master and his guests. I watch as the slave pours the icy cold beverage
into tall, frosted glasses. I am tormented as I see my Master and my former
friends quickly empty their glasses and ask for refills. I lick my dry lips
and imagine the cool liquid slaking my thirst. However, there's to be none
for me. Oh, how I long for just one sip to ease my parched throat. Just one
sip would suffice. I wonder should I beg my Master for water.

Then I remember how I would have re-acted as a free man had a slave dared
to beg me for water under these circumstances. I would have been outraged
and the slave would have paid a high price for his temerity. Slaves must
wait on their master's pleasure and never pre-empt his decision. That is
one of the fundamentals of a master and slave relationship. Fearing my
Master's displeasure, I decide that I will put up with my thirst and endure
it in silence.

Refreshed, my Master and Lionel Schuster turn their attentions to me. I
hear my Master ask.

"Tell me, Mr Schuster. What's involved in this test?  Could you explain it
to me, please?"

"Certainly, Mr Maratier. What this test will tell us is how strong your
slave is and what level of endurance he has. He looks good, I'll grant you
that and he has a superb musculature. But looks can be deceptive. Sometimes
a slave's muscles can be all "show"- and borrowing a phrase my late father
was fond of quoting - "they're all potato and not much meat."  We need to
know how much "meat" your slave has."

"And how do you do that?"

"Beginning with the lightest, we'll have him carry those beams one at a
time from this end of the yard to the opposite end and place them on the
ground before picking up a rock from the pile you can see down there and
returning with it to this end. The same principle applies to the rocks; he
begins with the smallest and builds up to the largest. Then he repeats the
process until all the beams are at the opposite end of the yard and the
rocks are piled up at this end."

"I see. That's quite ingenious. I'm reminded of a game "throw and fetch" I
used to play with my dog when I was a boy. His name was Rafe too. We both
loved that game - I'd throw a ball or a stick and Rafe would run to pick it
up and fetch it back to me. We used to play for hours."

"It's something like that, I suppose. Usually I start the slave off
lightly; as I said he begins with the lightest beam and rock and gradually
build up to the heaviest. That way I can gauge his strength and see at what
stage his endurance peters out."

"How do you gauge his strength and endurance?"

"As the slave carries his load I look at the stress placed on his
muscles. I like to see a slave's muscles stretched to their fullest. Each
beam increases incrementally in weight and this way I can tell when the
slave has reached the limits of his strength. And it's the same with the
rocks."

"I'm impressed, Mr Schuster. It all sounds very scientific."

"It is, Mr Maratier. Each beam and rock has been carefully weighed and as I
said each is heavier than its predecessor. I'm able to tell when a slave
has reached the limits of his strength by the maximum weight he is able to
carry."

"Then what about his endurance? How do you know when he's reached that?"

"Oh, that's easy." Lionel Schuster laughs. "It's obvious when the slave has
reached the limits of his endurance; his knees buckle under the weight of
his load and he collapses to the ground."

"How does the slave carry his load?"

"I have him carry the beams across his shoulders and the rocks above his
head with his arms fully extended."

"Do many slaves manage to go the whole distance? How many carry all the
beams to the opposite end and fetch all the rocks back to this end?"

"Not many! Very few manage that. On average they are able to carry two,
possibly three beams. That seems to be their limit. Occasionally, I'll have
one who can handle all the beams and the rocks.  They're usually strong,
brutish types and I have to say they're the exception rather than the
rule."

"That few? I expect my slave to do better than to carry only two beams."

"Looking at him, I reckon he'll manage three comfortably and he might even
get to four. But I'd be surprised if he goes beyond that. He looks strong
but something tells me he lacks stamina."

"Why do you say that, Mr Schuster?"

"Well I mean no offence, Mr Maratier. Although your slave looks impressive
and has a good musculature he looks to me to be soft. I feel its all window
dressing - obtained in a gymnasium. That might add to the slave's ascetics
but in my experience a slave only acquires true strength and stamina
through long, hard physical labour. Your slave lacks that, I'm afraid."

"No doubt you're correct. I doubt Rafe would ever have done an honest day's
work in his life as a free man. But I intend to change that. I'm sending
him out to my plantation to work as a field slave for six months. There, I
imagine he'll acquire all the strength and stamina you say he is lacking."

"That's an excellent idea! Hard labour never hurt any slave. Certainly
working in your fields will toughen him up."

"Tell me, Mr Schuster, does the slave walk or run when he carries his
load?"

"Usually I let him walk. Even the lightest beam is quite heavy."

"Well I'd like to see my slave run. Walking sounds too easy"

"Are you sure about that, Mr Maratier?  It might be beyond his
capabilities."

"Well, we won't know until we test him, will we?"

"Right!" The dealer is hesitant. "If you're quite sure you want him to
run..........."

"Yes, I do!" My Master's reply cuts across Lionel Schuster's
question. "Let's get him started, shall we?"

Lionel Schuster points me in the direction of the beams and as I approach
them I see they are numbered from one to six with number one being the
lightest and number six the heaviest. I am ordered by him to pick up number
one beam. As I bend at the waist to do so He shouts angrily at me,

"Not like that you stupid dolt! Pick it up properly. Bend at the knees and
keep your back straight.  We don't want you injuring yourself.  Remember
you are your Master's property and I'm sure he doesn't want to see that
property damaged."

 I have no other choice but to bear his insults. Calling me a "stupid dolt"
is bad enough - how dare he do that - but his reference to me as my
Master's "property" cuts deep. With a sickening feeling deep down in the
pit of my stomach I realise that is what I am to these people. I am an
object to be possessed, abused, bullied, worked and punished at my owner's
whim. And I'm told I mustn't injure myself, not out of any concern for me
as an individual but because I am my Master's property. It is at this
moment that I truly feel like an owned slave.

The beam - although it's the lightest of the six - is still incredibly
heavy. I do as I'm instructed and bend at the knees and keep my back
straight. All the time I'm aware the slaver is watching me intently and
ominously for me, he holds a vicious looking cane in his right hand. He
instructs me to slowly ease the beam into a balancing position my left
shoulder and then he orders me to stand. This is easier said than done.

I use my legs for leverage but the heavy burden on my left shoulder throws
me off balance and I topple sideways. Impatiently, Lionel Schuster puts his
cane to my back and shouts angrily,

"GET UP! Try again."

I struggle into position and once more ease the beam onto my left
shoulder. I strain to stand and fearing the cane I draw on hidden reserves
of strength. Slowly I straighten my legs and ease my body upwards until I'm
standing erect. Now I'm told to position the beam across my shoulders just
behind my head and to hold it steady by looping my arms over it. I try
desperately to do as I'm told. But the unaccustomed weight on my shoulders
makes me wobble precariously as I fight to find my equilibrium. Another
swipe of the cane - this time on my ass - convinces me to do better.

The weight is appallingly heavy and I shudder as I realise this is the
lightest of the six beams that I am to carry on my shoulders. The thought
that each will be heavier than the one before it troubles me - how will I
ever manage. The roughly hewn beam is already chafing my shoulders and my
legs tremble and my knees sag under the intolerable weight I am bearing.

The late morning sun blazes down on my unprotected body and I feel its
intensity burning into my skin. I'm sweating profusely and this loss of
body moisture only adds to my thirst. I convince myself that I am in the
early stages of heat exhaustion and I hear my parched voice begging for
relief.

"Master! Please Master! Can I have some water, please?"

At first my request is ignored and I am punished for my forwardness by yet
two more swipes of Lionel Schuster's cane.

"Shut your mouth, slave. Now start walking. Move your lazy ass."

I watch enviously as my Master and his guests refill their glasses with the
icy-cold beverage and I'm seized with a sense of my own
powerlessness. Little things like spontaneously choosing when to have a
drink of water are now denied me. That decision is no longer mine to make
and I am dependent on my Master's judgement as to when I'm given my food
and water. As a slave I'm not allowed to ask - but I have just broken this
rule - and now I'm fearful of my Master's anger. Will he punish me for my
temerity?

But my thirst is real; my dry tongue clings to the roof of my mouth and my
parched throat cries out for relief. So great is my distress that I decide
to I will do anything for just a sip of water. I put aside my fear of the
cane and risking my Master's displeasure, I once more beg for water.

"Please, Master! Can I have some water? PLEASE?"

"I told you to shut your mouth and start walking."

The two, loud thwacks as Lionel Schuster's cane falls on my unprotected
body reverberates around the enclosed yard and is quickly followed by my
cries of pain.

"NOW MOVE!"

I jump to obey the dealer's order but then the unexpected happens. We are
all startled by Miles shout.

"WAIT!"

Miles walks towards me holding a glass brimming with water. He offers the
glass to me and says simply.

"Here! Drink boy."

His action is unexpected; this is the first act of kindness -if indeed it
is kindness -which I've received this morning and I'm overwhelmed by it. I
look into Miles eyes looking to see if he has pity for my plight. He speaks
encouragingly to me as once more he offers me the glass.

"Here Rafe. Take it!"

I don't need any second bidding; I take the glass and in one quick gulp I
empty it. Never has water tasted better or sweeter. It doesn't completely
quench my thirst but it does ease the dryness in my mouth and throat.

 I'm surprised by Miles unexpected act of kindness and I think perhaps he
does have some residual regard for me even though we are irretrievably
separated by my slavery. Does he still remember our long friendship? Is
that the reason behind his kindness to me? He'll never know the effect his
thoughtful action is having on me. Because I'm a slave, I can't initiate a
conversation with him but my gratitude to him is real -and it's not just
because of his gift of the water. No, it has more to do with his simple act
of compassion for a slave in distress. My tears of gratitude flow freely
down my cheeks and I hear myself blurting my heartfelt thanks to him for
his unexpected act.

"Oh! Thank you sir, Thank you! Thank you!"

 Miles replies softly.

"That's all right, Rafe."

It is then that I become aware of the silence. Suddenly, all talking has
ceased and it is obvious that my Master and the others are stunned by
Mile's action. Suddenly, I become afraid. I realise that my Master hadn't
given his permission for me to be given the water to quench my thirst -
indeed he'd ignored my pleas - and I'm now aware that Miles took it upon
himself to do. And without thinking about the consequences I had accepted
it. I know that I am at fault and my Master has every right to be angry
with both Miles and me. But more so with me.

Miles was wrong to do what he did. He hadn't the right to usurp my Master's
wishes or to interrupt Lionel Schuster's inspection of me. If I was still a
free man, I would be outraged by his action. When I was free, I'd never
have intervened in another free man's control of his slave and as a master
I wouldn't have tolerated Mile's interference. We would have had a vigorous
exchange of words. That my Master remains silent is a reflection of his
inexperience. He is only days into his new role as my Master and, as yet,
he lacks Mile's knowledge of slaves and the easy self -assurance that is
the hallmark of his class.

Still from my perspective, Mile's intervention is welcome. Perhaps it's my
paranoia but I am convinced I'm on the verge of collapsing from the
oppressive heat. It is some hours since I last drank water and I am
sweating profusely. I am rapidly losing my body moisture and it's not being
replaced.  No wonder then that I am feeling weak and light-headed. I am
grateful to Miles for this unexpected kindness.  I don't know the reasons
why he did this but they are immaterial. He showed compassion and helped me
in my moment of need. For that he stands tall in my eyes.

However, Mile's action is a cardinal breach of etiquette. It is an accepted
convention that no free man has the right to interfere between another free
man and his slave. Miles has breached this rule and my Master is entitled
to feel slighted and angry. Of course, he can verbally express his feelings
of annoyance to Miles but if he wants to give physical emphasis to his
angry then it will be directed at me. My request for water caused this
situation and I'm to blame. I look towards my Master and the angry scowl on
his face doesn't bode well for me. I am convinced I'll be punished. Upon
our arrival home, will my Master send next door to the Colonel's and
"borrow' Pug to administer another caning to me? If so, I'm to pay a high
price for my drink.

"Mr Maratier! I must protest," Lionel's Schuster's words are full of self
righteous indignation, "at this unwarranted intrusion into my handling of
your slave. I thought I had control of him whilst he was under my
inspection?"

"And you do Mr Schuster! I'm as surprised as you are at Miles's
interference. I think he owes us an explanation."

"Indeed he does, Mr Maratier!"

"Well Miles! What have you got to say for yourself?"

"OK, Guy! I overstepped myself and I apologise for that. But let me explain
why I did what I did. I could see your slave was very distressed and I
thought he was on the verge of collapse and...."

"I think I'm a better judge of a slave's endurance," Lionel's spits out, "I
know how far I can take a slave before he reaches the end of his
tether. This slave was far from that point, I might add. I think you were
acting out of loyalty to an old friend."

"Rubbish Mr Schuster. Rafe isn't my friend. How can he be? He's a slave. My
point is that you are driving him too hard He's distressed from the heat
and the lack of water. Just look at how he's sweating - it's pouring out of
him. My concern is that Guy's property isn't harmed or damaged in any
way. After all, Rafe's a valuable animal and needs to be treated with that
in mind. It's as simple as that; no more or no less."

"Are you suggesting I don't know how to handle a slave properly?" The
dealer's face is livid with rage. "I've been dealing in slaves longer than
you have lived. How dare you suggest otherwise......BOY?"

 Lionel's use of the word 'boy' is meant to be insulting to Miles. It's a
derogatory term reserved exclusively for addressing male slaves of all
ages. Even if a slave lived to be eighty - highly unlikely as most don't
live much beyond middle age - he'd still be called boy. Therefore its use
to address a free man is highly provocative and insulting. Lionel Schuster
has overstepped the bounds of good taste and manners and, too late, he
realises his blunder. His frustration at the ongoing condescending manner
of these four, intolerable upstarts and his anger at Mile's usurping of his
authority over the slave have caused him to lose perspective. Still there
is no way he'll back down to them. He knows he should offer an apology to
Miles but that won't happen.

Mile's answer is a considered one. His good breeding won't allow him
retaliate in the same angry vein.

"It's unfortunate that you have chosen to personalise our discussion, Mr
Schuster. I didn't suggest for one moment that you lack expertise in your
profession. But it seems to me we have two sets of values at play here. I
see you as a dealer in human flesh interested only in short term gain from
selling a slave. However, I see things quite differently to that.  As a
member of a slave owning family I see the long term potential in a
slave. Slaves are valuable resources that we use to improve our standard of
living and to maximise our profits. A slave is like a valuable piece of
machinery and we don't abuse our machinery do we?  Why then would we abuse
our slaves?  That's the real difference between us, Mr Schuster. You see
things as a slave trader.  On the other hand, I see things from a
slave-holder's perspective."

I'm listening intently to this exchange between the two men. And I realise
I'm the cause of it all by my plea for water to ease my thirst. I look at
my Master - he too is listening to what Miles is saying with great
interest.  It would seem that Miles is getting the better of the
discussion. But I'm not surprised. Miles is an intelligent man and a worthy
representative of his class - the same class to which I'd belonged until
five days ago. I know Miles of old and I know that his answers to Lionel
Schuster would be considered, designed to put the dealer in his place and
meant to show the social disparity between the two. Mile's reference to
Lionel Schuster as a slave-trader does that most eloquently. Miles has
reminded Lionel Schuster of his true position in society - that he is a
despised dealer in slaves.

My own distaste for the dealer takes delight in his discomfiture. He
seethes in anger, the veins in his neck bulge and his face is an apoplectic
red. I'm not aware that I am smiling but I'm now accused of doing so and I
soon regret this. Whether or not my smile is real or imagined, Lionel
Schuster looks at me and screams.

"What are you smiling at boy? Get that fucking smirk of your face"

To give emphasis to his words he begins to lay into me with his cane. He
has lost control and gives full vent to his frustration and rage. As his
blows land on my shoulders, I try to shield myself from his fury. Then
through my cries of outraged pain, I hear my Master's voice.

"STOP! That's enough Mr Schuster."

My Master's words act as a circuit breaker and the blows cease.

My Master's anger is palpable. He walks over to me and instructs me to turn
around while he inspects my back. I feel his fingers trace out the angry
red welts and I flinch at his touch. Finally he is satisfied.

"There's no damage done to my property, Mr Schuster. It's as well for you
he isn't injured or you'd answer to my lawyer. Now put your cane away,
please?"

Then he turns to Miles and asks.

"And now Miles, tell me - why did you interfere with Mr Schuster's
inspection. Why did you give MY SLAVE water when I'd not given permission
for him to drink?"

"Look! I'm sorry Guy if I've offended you but I really was concerned for
your slave. My experience told me he was distressed from the lack of
water. You only need to look at him and see how he's sweating to know
there's a real risk of him becoming dehydrated. And that's a situation any
experienced slave holder does his best to avoid. Once a slave is "down"
from dehydration, no amount of coercion will get him back onto his
feet. The overseer's whip could shred his back and he still wouldn't manage
to stand."

Miles has chosen his words carefully so as not to offend my Master. His
succinct reference to "any experienced slave holder" is meant to
diplomatically remind Guy that he is a new master and of his inexperience
in handling slaves and that he still has much to learn. By his answer, it's
obvious my Master takes the point but tries to save face.

"Of course, you're quite right Miles and if I'd not been in conversation
with Mr Schuster I would have picked up on that. Thank you for stepping in
when you did."

"Think nothing of it Guy. As you say, you were talking at the time and you
hadn't noticed your slave's problem. My father is very particular about
ensuring our slaves don't become dehydrated. He insists our overseers make
sure all our field slaves receive water at regular intervals throughout
their working day to prevent them from succumbing to the heat.  He'd see
the loss of just one slave as an indictment on his slave husbandry."

"Your father's a wise man to take such precautions, Miles."

"Indeed he is, Guy. But I know it's much the same with your slaves out at
La Foret. The previous owners had the same policy. But then all responsible
slave holders do. After all we don't want our slaves suffering and dying
unnecessarily."

Miles speaks the truth. My grandfather had always insisted our field slaves
had ready access to fresh, clean water when they worked in the fields. I
can't recall that we'd ever lost a slave to heat exhaustion or
dehydration. I followed on with this practice but not out of consideration
for the slaves.  It is as Miles said - I did it because my slaves were a
valuable resource.

Lionel Schuster has been left out of the conversation and he'd used this
time to stifle his bad temper and is now much calmer. Still he seethes with
indignation and suppressed anger. He looks at the slave and he now centres
all his loathing for the four "upstarts" on the unfortunate Rafe. He'll
make him pay a high price for the insults and rebuffs he's suffered from
Guy Maratier and Miles. The thought of the slave on his knees before him
and being made to take his cock into his mouth assuages his hurt
feelings. It's a pleasant thought and already he feels the first stirrings
in his loins. Silently he thinks - "let's get this finished with so that I
can claim my reward." He asks.

"Are you ready to continue, Mr Maratier?"

"By all means, let's move on. I have to be gone from here very soon."

"Mr Maratier. You said you wanted your slave to run. Is that still the
case?"

"Yes it is. Now can we begin?" My Master asks impatiently.

"The slave might need encouragement. Do I have your permission to use my
cane?"

"Yes you do, Mr Schuster. But with moderation please. Use just enough force
to keep him moving and no more."

"Very well then Mr Maratier." He acknowledges my Master's instruction. Now
he turns to me

"You boy! Move your lazy ass.  QUICKLY NOW!!"

I step forward unsteadily to resume my interrupted journey to the far end
of the yard.  As I look down to the other end, I wonder how I'll ever make
the distance for it seems an interminably long way from my starting point
to the finishing point.

The first few steps of my journey are difficult. I must first of all find
my footing and at the same time I have to adjust my load so that its weight
is evenly distributed across my shoulders. Slowly I take one step at a time
by carefully putting one foot in front of the other and after some five or
six steps I have struck the right balance. I move forward confident that I
can make it to the far end of the course. Then I am instructed to

"RUN!"

I cry out in pain as I feel the fiery sting of the cane on ass. Desperate
to avoid another cut of the cane, I thrust forward and try my best to
run. I'm not sure if I'm actually running or staggering but I give of my
best. My muscles strain, my chest heaves from my exertions, my heart pounds
furiously within my breast and again I feel the bite of the cane as the
order is given to.

"RUN! Damn you. RUN!"

My situation is intolerable. My breathing is ragged and uneven and my lungs
feel they are at bursting point. I am sweating copiously and it is
trickling down my body in ever flowing rivulets. The sweat enters my eyes
and blinds me. It drips from the end of my nose and cock and stings the
fresh cane marks on my back and ass. Ludicrously, I'm aware of my sweat
soaked, low hanging balls swinging freely and slapping against my inner
thighs as I run Then from somewhere behind me I hear my Master and the
others laughing loudly. Are they laughing at me? Can they be that cruel?

Relentlessly I drive myself forward. Step by painful step I advance towards
my finishing line and I tell myself I can make it. I don't do this as a
personal challenge to my own abilities or because of some foolish pride. I
do it because I'm afraid of what will happen should I fall short of my
Master's expectation of me.

Then miraculously I am at the other end; I have reached my goal. The relief
I feel as I lower the beam to the ground is indescribable. For a few brief
moments, I enjoy the freedom of being unburdened by the beam's heavy
weight. But it is all too brief. Now I am ordered to pick up the smallest
rock from the heap and to hold it at arm's length above my head. Then on
Lionel Schuster's instruction, I run with it to the starting point where my
Master waits watching from the shade of the awning as he sips a cool,
refreshing drink.

 Once I place the rock at his feet, I will be made to pick up the second
beam and repeat the process.  As I run with the rock held high over my head
- and I have to say I this is much easier than the beam - I wonder at what
point my strength will give out and my endurance fail?

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

I can't say whether or not I've passed my strength and endurance tests with
"flying colours".  Certainly the dark expression on my Master's face
indicates I've fallen short of his expectations. An angry scowl furrows his
handsome features and it's an indication of his disapproval. This worries
me; will he punish me for my poor effort? When we arrive home, will he send
next door to borrow Pug to administer yet another caning to my already
sorry ass.  He'd mentioned this possibility just a short time ago and I
know there is every chance of him following through with his threat. I
never knew my Master as a cousin. I only know him as my Master and in the
few days I've belonged to him I have become aware of his volatile nature
and the unpredictability of his moods. In summary, my Master frightens me.

I'd given of my best in my tests but not because I wanted to or to prove
myself capable of them. I had done so out of fear; fear of my Master's
anger and fear of the cane and the whip. It's unbelievable that within the
space of a few short days I have been reduced from a proud, haughty
"aristocrat" to a snivelling, frightened slave. My confidence and
self-assurance are gone and they have been replaced with temerity and
subservience. My fear of the cane is all consuming. I will do anything to
prevent a repeat of the two canings I have already received. I will humble
and debase myself further if necessary to avoid any more punishment.

Therefore I tried with all my strength and all my will to pass these tests.

The enormity of my ordeal was lost on my audience but it provided them with
an erotic diversion.  They watched and salivated as I toiled. As I
struggled with the weight of the beams or the rocks, my physique was
highlighted and my musculature thrown into sharp relief much as one sees in
the male, nude statues of the ancient Greek sculptors. But I wasn't an
inanimate statue of cold, white marble.  Quite the opposite, I was a living
sculpture of bulging muscles and stretched sinews powered by the warm blood
coursing through my veins. And my warm, brown flesh rippled and flexed
beneath the glistening sheen of my copious sweating.  My balls hung low in
the summer heat and my cock was at maximum arousal and like some obscene
signpost it pointed ahead to the finishing point.

As I ran my course under my heavy loads, I was too pre-occupied to notice
my betters' sexual arousals. If I had, I would see my Master, my former
friends and Lionel Schuster all sported erections that strained at the
fronts of their trousers like impatient ponies trying to break free of
their starting stalls.  The two slave assistants however were more obvious;
their ponies had broken free.  Like me they were naked and their delighted
cocks throbbed and bounced with unrestrained freedom.

In the final analysis of both my fitness and endurance, Lionel Schuster was
correct in his earlier assessment of my capacity. He'd predicted I would
manage the first three beams but I would fail on the fourth. And that's
exactly as it worked out. The surprise to me that I'd managed to get that
far into the test without failing.

The first beam had been difficult and the second even more so. The third
had been impossible - or so I thought. I'd not bargained on the
slave-dealer and his coercion. He'd used his cane on my unprotected body
and I had responded under it cruel tutelage I discovered reserves of
strength and a perseverance unknown to me. I'd staggered to my feet with
the beam on my shoulders, swayed under its appalling weight until I found
my footing and finally managed to stagger and run to the opposite end of
the yard.  This run will stay with me until the end of my days. Several
times, I felt my knees buckle and I was sure I was at the point of
collapse. But Lionel Schuster and his cane convinced me I could make the
finishing line and I continued on. Once there however, my legs did give way
under me and I dropped to the cobblestones with the weight of the beam
lying across my back. But there was no respite. Ordered to my feet and made
to pick up a rock, I then ran the return trip to the starting point.  As I
placed this rock with the previous two, I saw my Master look of
disappointment in me.

I had to admit defeat with the fourth beam. I capitulated almost
immediately as I tried to ease its weight onto my left shoulder. My efforts
were in vain and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't lift it up onto my
shoulder. Even the dealer's cane proved ineffectual and after several
attempts to encourage me He gave up in disgust. As I staggered to my feet
and assumed the mandatory display position he gave his verdict on me

"It's as I thought, Mr Maratier." He tells my Master. "Your slave lacks
stamina."

"I have to say I'm disappointed with his performance, Mr Schuster. I really
did expect more of him".  My Master answers darkly. "But I'll soon correct
that. He'll be sent out to 'La Forˆt" at the first opportunity. And I'll
instruct my overseers to work him long and hard."

"That's an excellent plan, Mr Maratier. Well that's it! I've finished his
appraisal. Would you like to hear my verdict and valuation?"

"Indeed I would, Mr Schuster. That's why I'm here."

Both men walk away out of earshot of Miles, Jack and Daniel and are soon
engaged in an earnest conversation. Their voices are lowered and I try
unsuccessfully to judge the content of their discussions by their body
language. But I'm destined not to know how much I am worth to my
Master. Indeed that isn't my concern. Like all slaves I'll have to wait
until I stand on the auction block and listen for the amount as I am
"knocked down" to a new master.

Their conversation is at an end and they re-join the others under the
awning, where out of courtesy, my Master offers his hand to Lionel Schuster
and politely thanks him for his trouble.

"It was my pleasure, Mr Maratier." The slave-dealer has regained his
composure and his manner is ingratiating. "Please remember if at any time
you change your mind and you do decide to sell your slave then I'll happily
act on your behalf. I'll do everything to ensure he is properly promoted
and marketed. He is a most desirable property and I'm sure the buyers will
be lining up to bid for him.  And now, with your permission, it's time for
me to claim my prize. You hadn't forgotten had you, Mr Maratier?"

"No I hadn't." My Master looks impatiently at his watch. "I really do need
to be on my way to my next engagement. Anyway, I've changed my mind. My
slave's no longer available to you."

The dealer is dumbstruck by my Master's sudden withdrawal of my
services. All morning, he'd looked forward to this moment when he would
order me to my knees and instruct me to take his cock into my mouth. Once
more I see the blood rise up his neck and flush his face in barely
concealed anger.

But I am relieved. My morning was dominated by the thought of me being used
so foully by this repulsive creature. All morning this had hung over me
like an ominous pall and now my Master has lifted its oppressiveness from
me. I am overcome with relief that I am to be spared this obscenity and my
gratitude to my Master is boundless. I almost forget myself and I'm about
to thank him when I recall such displays from a slave are unwelcome. No
matter what my feelings I must contain them and remain mute.

"But what about our arrangements?" The dealer splutters angrily. "You
promised and a promise made should be a promise kept. I won the guessing
contest and I'm now entitled to claim............."

"You're entitled to nothing, Mr Schuster" My Master cuts into Lionel's
protest.  "I've decided my slave is too valuable to allow him to be
cheapened by you. I've changed my mind and that's an end to the matter."

"But you can't do this. I acted in good faith and surely ..............."

Again my Master doesn't allow him to finish.

"Mr Schuster! I doubt very much that you acted in good faith. I suggest you
acted out of self-interest and spite - the spite you feel towards the
former Lucien Barrois. Your hatred for my slave is obvious and I think you
had more than your fair share of "fun" with him this morning. All morning,
I've watched as you humiliated him - and I don't have a problem with that -
but you wasted time in doing so. Several times, I asked you to hurry things
along and you chose to take your time. Well my time has now run out and I
need to be on my way immediately. And I have to say I'm most unhappy with
the way you physically abused my slave. Your use of the cane on him was
excessive at times."

"But you owe me....."

"I owe you nothing, Mr Schuster! End of conversation. Do you understand?"

My Master turns his back on the slave-dealer -who is left speechless by
this unexpected "betrayal" - and takes his leave of my former
friends. Then, in an all too obvious slight to Lionel Schuster he reminds
them.

Remember you have an invitation to attend my little gathering. I expect to
see all three of you there.  And I'm sure Rafe is also looking forward to
you being there and attending to your 'needs". That's right, isn't it Rafe?
You're looking forward to your friends visit aren't you?"

"Yes Master."

"Yes what, Rafe?"

I need to choose my answer carefully. I consider how my Master wants me to
reply and I hope my answer is satisfactory.

"Yes Master. I'm looking forward to your guests attending and I'll happily
attend to their needs, Master,"

"Good boy, Rafe! Now we should be on our way. Let's get you hitched to my
cart alongside of Norge and my new slave, Pollux. I still have much to
do. "

I wait on my Master as he says farewell to my three former friends. All
four men are in good humour and Miles, Jack and Daniel are effusive in
thanking him for letting them "sit in" on my appraisal.  They tell him how
instructive it has been to watch Lionel Schuster evaluate me and how they
have found the experience most helpful. They have learned what to look for
in choosing a slave and now they are eager to return to their search for a
suitable birthday present for Daniel. Finally, they shake his hand and wish
my Master well in his "new life" as the heir to the former Barrois fortune.

To my ears their wishes are sincere and well-meant and my Master responds
positively to them. I am watching the establishment of new friendships
between the three younger men and my Master. I choke back tears as I recall
the friendships I had once enjoyed with them; friendships that are no more.

They ignore me and turn to walk away.  As they do so, I realise they are
lost to me forever. They will continue to live the fortunate lives they
were born to while I must live the wretched one that fate has decreed for
me.

Next time we meet, I will greet them as my Master's slave and kneel to
fulfil the promise he made to them.

"Come on, Rafe! Snap out of it.  Stop daydreaming, boy. It's time to go."

My Master's impatient words jerk me out of my reflective mood.

"Yes Master."

"Well come on then!"

His words puzzle me. What does he mean by them?

"What Master?" I ask. "What am I to do?"

"You stupid slave! Think! What task did I assign you when we arrived?"

Momentarily, I'm nonplussed then I remember - the umbrella to shade him
from the Sun's rays.

"Do you mean the umbrella, Master?"

"YES! Are all slaves as dense as you, Rafe? You need to keep your wits
about you. I shouldn't have to remind you of your duties, should I, boy?"

No Master! I'm sorry Master!"

"You're very close to having your ass caned, Rafe. You're very close
indeed!"

I have no other option but to blurt out my apology and my fear of the cane
prompts me to beg.

"I'm so sorry, Master! Please forgive me. Please don't cane me anymore
Master, My ass is still sore from the last caning."

"Well, let me think on it. It will depend on how you conduct yourself for
the rest of the day. Now let's be on our way."

Chastened by the threat of the cane, I move quickly to make amends. I
retrieve the umbrella, open it up and move into position to shade him as he
makes his way back to his pony cart.

My Master is either learning the lessons of how to degrade a slave very
quickly or he is naturally gifted in the art of humiliation. Either way he
grabs hold of my still hard cock and uses it to guide me out to where Norge
stands waiting patiently.

As we walk across the yard, I am glad to be finally leaving this place. I
think of Cato now locked in a holding pen and waiting to be sold. The
thought that I could have joined him in the pen causes me to shudder. How
grateful I am that I'm not to share Cato's fate. But my relief at my
Masters decision not to have me service Lionel Schuster's cock is greater.

 I throw caution to the wind and attempt to show my gratitude for this.

"Thank you, Master.

"What for, Rafe? Why are you thanking me?"

"For sparing me, Master. I didn't want to suck the dealer's cock."

Angrily, my Master reaches out and delivers a stinging slap to my face.

"You presume too much, slave! I didn't spare you out of any consideration
for your feelings. I did it because it's what I wanted. Remember, you do as
you're told. ALWAYS!  I'll decide what cocks you'll suck. Not you! What you
want or don't want isn't important.  You'll do as you're told. Do you
understand?"

"Yes Master! I'm sorry I have offended you Master. Please forgive me,
Master?" I answer forlornly through my tears.

Then, not unkindly, he adds.

"Besides Rafe, you're too valuable a slave to waste on the likes of Lionel
Schuster. I don't want him soiling you with filthy cock."



To be continued.....