Date: Sun, 17 Jul 2011 00:46:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 32  Gay Male/ Authoritarian

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

Chapter 32: The Arrival and Welcome

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

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)

Chapter 32: The Arrival and Welcome

At first, I am too exhausted to pay much attention to what is happening
around me. And fear adds to my exhaustion. I can't say it is fear of the
unknown for I know only too well what now awaits me. Along with my fellow
slave, Pollux, I am about to be inducted into my Master's slave herd.
Tomorrow and all its unimaginable horrors loom large on my horizon.

Gradually my legs cease their jellylike trembling and my gasping, gulping
breathing slows down and returns to normal as I stand motionless, shackled
alongside Norge and Pollux. We wait patiently while our Master and his son,
Master Etienne are welcomed to La Foret by Colton, the 'chef de maison' and
Claymore Jackson the plantation's head overseer and chief of operations.

The successful running of La Foret owes much to these two men. Both men
were long-time, trusted employees of my late grandfather and latterly of me
before my enslavement. As their late employer both had stood high in my
esteem. I considered them indispensable to the good management and
wellbeing of both home and field.

Both men are black, mature aged and of noble bearing and each possess a no
nonsense approach to their respective areas of responsibility.

Colton runs the house and its staff of slaves with a fist of iron. Like
Claymore he holds the view that the black man is superior in every way to
the white man whose proper role is that of a slave.

As their employer I naturally rejected this view but because it served my
purposes, I tolerated it and never entered into debate with them. However,
there were times when I wondered if they regarded me as their "inferior"
who should also serve as a slave. I concluded that they would have to be of
this opinion but because I was Lucien Barrois - and their employer - they
diplomatically kept such thoughts to themselves.

Now of course I return to La Foret not as Lucien Barrois but as the slave
Rafe and they are free to do with me as they please. The thought of this
terrifies me because I'm well aware of what each is capable of.

As Lucien Barrois, I had known these men for all of my life and as a boy I
had spent many hours with them. I have happy memories of those occasions
spent in their company and I always felt they had great affection for
me. For my part, I looked up to both men and I returned their affection in
equal measure. Now I know all that has changed. As a slave they can't show
me any affection or compassion. I can expect no leniency from them and
they'll show me no mercy. Now I must comply with their demands or suffer
the painful consequences.

Over the years, they had taught me much about the control and management of
my slaves.  This was more so with Claymore than with Colton. Even today,
Colton's supervision of the household slaves is less obvious than
Claymore's control and discipline of the field slaves.  While Claymore's
direction of his black overseers and their white charges is open for all to
see; Colton's supervision of his house slaves is more overt and "behind the
scenes" but no less strict than Claymore's.

And like my grandparents before me, Colton knew I demanded peace and quiet
reign within La Foret's household and his efforts on my behalf had made it
a haven of tranquillity. Of course, I accepted this as my due; and yet at
the same time I expected much from my household slaves. They were there to
serve me and to pander to my every need. But I wanted them to be
unobtrusive. To my mind they should be seldom seen as they went about their
duties and NEVER heard. Colton achieved this; how I never knew and I never
bothered to find out. That was his area of responsibility; he knew of my
wishes and as long as these prevailed I didn't care how he achieved them.

I knew Colton was a stern taskmaster and that the slaves feared him but as
the Master that never overly concerned me. After all slaves have their
duties to perform and they need strong direction. Left to their own
initiative - I'd always believed that was a contradiction in terms for, as
any slave-owner will tell you, slaves lack the will to think or act for
themselves - I doubt that anything would be done. So I owed Colton a debt
of gratitude for his meticulous running of my home and the peace and quiet
that reigned within it.

As I said before, slaves should be seldom seen and never heard and I very
rarely saw or paid attention to my slaves as they hurried about their
duties. Inexplicably there seemed to be some type of silent communication
between the slaves. They knew I required they not be in my presence and
whenever I entered a room I usually caught sight of the back of a slave as
he scurried out through another door. How they knew where or when I'd enter
a part of my home puzzled me - but not too much.

I didn't know that Colton would severely punish any slave foolishly caught
in my presence. I didn't know of my household slaves' abject fear of him; a
fear that filled their waking hours and disturbed their sleep. They were
terrified of my black major domo and trembled whenever he approached them.

I didn't pay any attention to the end-of- the-day ritualistic punishments
that were routinely handed out by Colton to his white charges. Vaguely, I
was aware of the daily canings that pertained to most infractions of the
rules but I remained aloof and disinterested. Indeed a slave was fortunate
if he only suffered the temporary withdrawal of his food ration as a
punishment. And I paid no attention to the stocks, caning bench and
whipping post discreetly hidden away in the small courtyard adjacent to the
slave quarters. Obviously, I knew of the courtyard's existence but I never
knew of the suffering that took place within its high walled seclusion. I
never went there for I regarded it as Colton's exclusive domain.

Life for the household slaves perhaps wasn't as dire as it was for my
outdoor slaves; their work load, although constant, wasn't as onerous but
their punishments were every bit a harsh and their fear was every bit as
palpable. And their suffering was the equal to that of their less fortunate
field brethren.

Colton saw to that! His regime might be less obvious but it was no less
stringent and every bit as fearsome as the one Claymore imposed on his
white charges.

The three of us stand and watch as our Master and Master Etienne climb down
from the trap and we listen as Colton steps forward to introduce himself
and Claymore to their new employer. Politely, the other overseer and the
new apprentice hang back as both the plantation's leading black men
cordially greet and vigorously shake Master's hand in welcome before
turning their attention to the new "young Master". Their easy manner with
Master Etienne takes me back to happier times when I was the young Master.

Master listens as he and his son are welcomed and at first he doesn't have
much to say. He stands in awe-struck disbelief. As I steal a furtive glance
in his direction I see the look of wonderment on his face. Clearly he is
overwhelmed at the house's grandeur and the magnificence of its surrounding
gardens and I suppose it takes time for the realisation that all this now
belongs to him to sink in. Temporarily, Master has lost his tongue and
during the lapse in conversation, Colton and Claymore exchange glances as
they wait for their new employer to speak.

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

Guy Maratier has learned much in the short time he has been my Master. At
first his sudden good fortune had overwhelmed him. It was all so unexpected
- his life up to that point had been less than auspicious - and he lacked
the poise and confidence to cope with his changed circumstances. But slowly
he is learning to accept that he is now Guy Maratier, the inheritor of the
former Barrois business empire and he is growing into the role. Of course
he is ably assisted by his grandmother, Charlotte Maratier who both
encourages and tutors him to accept his new exalted station in life.

This change in my Master is best illustrated by his changing attitude to
me. At first, he had shown great animosity towards me. He humiliated and
punished me on the least pretext and I was the target of his hatred. I
suffered much at his hands during those first traumatic days of my
slavery. I despaired of my new life and I wished for an early release from
my torments.

Slowly under the insults, humiliations and suffering to which the Maratier
family subjected me, I saw my situation as hopeless and I wanted to die. I
was now a naked slave who was despised and rejected by all those around
me. My changed circumstances had left me bereft of any dignity or hope and
worst of all - I was friendless. I truly knew despair!

But I had reckoned without Norge. At first he too despised me and I
understood this. As his Master, I had treated him abominably and now that I
am a slave and can relate to that, I am ashamed of my attitude towards my
former pony.

But I'd not known of Norge's generous nature; He took pity on me and nursed
me through those first awful days of my new life. Through his patience -
which I know I sorely tested at times - he never gave up on me. He cajoled
and admonished, lectured and corrected and advised and encouraged me. And
he gave me hope. But best of all he gave me a reason to live.

That reason is the deep love I now bear for him and the love I know he
returns.  It is a love that is yet to be fully fulfilled and which one day
I hope will be consummated between us.

That I am to be parted from him for the next six months devastates
me. There is however the consolation of knowing that at the end of that
time I will have been broken in as a pony destined to run at his side as we
serve our Master.

Gradually, there has been a shift in Master's attitude towards me. With his
growing confidence came a new maturity and he now fits more easily into the
role of a true Master.  His initial hatred of me and his need for revenge
have mellowed and it is being replaced by a more traditional Master and
slave relationship.

I now realise his past treatment of me was a reflection of his
grandmother's vitriolic hatred of her Barrois family in general and of me
in particular. My suffering at Master's hands went in some way to meet her
enduring need for vengeance.

More and more, Master is now treating me like any other of his
slaves. There are still those occasions when he reminds me of whom I was
and he gloatingly tells me that I am now his slave. He still finds pleasure
in humiliating and shaming me, but these times are lessening and I now feel
no different to any other of his slaves. I understand that all slaves are
subject to the insults and jibes of their owners and in this I am no
different to Norge, Pollux or the countless other slaves who labour in my
Master's fields.  And just as my Master is embracing his new status I am
more accepting of my role as his slave. But then - there is no other option
open to me.

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

Colton and Claymore wait politely for Master to speak. Perhaps they realise
he needs these first few moments to adjust his mindset to his new
surroundings and they wait patiently for him to begin the conversation.
But Master quickly regains the initiative and soon the three men are
engaged in an animated conversation about the house, the plantation and its
slaves. Master has broken the ice and all three laugh as they share a
joke. Master even dispenses with formality and good-humouredly invites both
Colton and Claymore to call him - Guy. Very quickly the three men have
established a good rapport.

Colton tells Master he is looking forward to showing him and his son around
their new home and he takes the time to explain the running of the
household to its new owner. He asks about their luggage and Master tells
him it's in the carrying compartment of his trap. Colton turns and
instructs two young slaves standing unobtrusively to one side to carry
their two Masters' cases into the house. The slaves hurry forward to obey.

Colton is keen to impress his new employer and as the two slaves stagger
past him under their heavy loads, he viciously swipes his cane across their
unprotected buttocks and shouts.

"Move your lazy white asses! Move them now! Get those cases into the
house."

He adds emphasis to his instruction by giving each another cut of the
cane. Both slaves yelp in pain and respond positively by quickening their
steps.

Now it is Claymore's turn to speak and he introduces the overseer and the
new apprentice to their employer. Master shakes their hands warmly and in
turn introduces them to Master Etienne. He shows a genuine interest in the
apprentice and asks him his name and for how long he's worked on the
plantation.

The apprentice - I recall that his name is Conn from his interview with
Claymore and me when we'd given him his apprenticeship - impresses with his
easy confidence and lack of shyness as he answers Master's questions. But I
wouldn't expect him to be anything other than the way he is. He is a black
superior and I remember from his interview that he is a firm believer in
the notion of black rule. I recall Claymore telling me after the interview
how impressed he was with Conn and his beliefs in black supremacy. And I
remember Claymore laughingly adding -"pity help any white slave who runs
afoul of him".

"Excuse me for interrupting, Guy."  Claymore cuts into their
conversation. "Jake! Stand still, damn you! Stop fidgeting or you'll feel
my whip on your ass."

My attention is drawn to a pony and trap parked on the far side of the
driveway under a shady tree. I hadn't noticed it before but I now recognise
the trap as the one that Claymore uses exclusively on his inspection trips
around the plantation. However, I don't recognise the pony. He is new to me
but he is looking in our direction and I'm not sure if he is smiling or
grimacing; his bit distorts his mouth so it could be either.

But I sense Norge's excitement and I see his look of recognition as his
attention is drawn to the other pony. I'm not to know this is the Jake that
Norge knew from his time spent at La Foret and of whom he still speaks of
with great affection.

Norge has told me about Jake several times as he spoke of the despair he'd
felt when I had sent him to the plantation for his conditioning and pony
training. Norge and Jake had become friends and had slept side by side in
the slave barracks as a deterrent to their more predatory fellow
slaves. They had provided mutual protection for one another and inevitably
they'd become lovers. Norge has told me that Jake was the only bright spot
in the awfulness of the six months he's spent at the plantation. I'd always
sensed Norge's sadness whenever he spoke of Jake and instinctively I knew
he missed Jake.

"I'm sorry about that, Guy." Claymore continues, "My pony is a bit frisky
as you probably noticed. He's just recognised your pony. They were close
friends when the former owner sent your pony out here for his
training. What's your pony's name? Ah! I remember now -its Norge. It's an
unusual name, isn't it?"

"Mr Jackson, why is he called Norge?" It is Master Etienne's turn to speak

"That's an interesting question, young man!" Claymore begins to explain the
origin of the pony's name. "I understand the former owner gave him that
name. As I recall, the slave is a Scandinavian from Norway. Only in his own
language he wouldn't say Norway. He'd call it - Norge. So the pony is named
after his country of birth."

Twice within the past few minutes, Claymore has referred to me as the
former owner and not as Lucien Barrois. Diplomatically, he has chosen to
ignore my previous identity and bestow on me the innocuous former
owner. From his perspective it is a wise move and I'm sure it finds favour
with my Master. Of course it demeans me and I would be less than truthful
if I said I wasn't hurt by it. In recent times I have been a helpless
participant as my identity as a person and my humanity have been stripped
away from me layer by layer. This is but the latest in a long list of such
insults.

"Tell me, Guy?" Claymore asks. "How is your pony? Is he giving
satisfaction?"

"I've no complaints with him, Claymore. He fulfils all my expectations and
hasn't let me down yet. He a good strong puller and a fast runner and he
always keep something in reserve for when it's needed."

"Excellent!  I'm glad to hear to hear it. But I would expect that from him
- after all I did supervise his training. I was always impressed with
him. He's a beautiful animal with a great body and good looks. Do you mind
if I look him over for old times' sake?"

"Of course not, Claymore. Feel free to check him out."

Claymore asks Conn - I must remember to call him Sir Conn if ever he speaks
directly to me - to unshackle Pollux and me from the trap's shafts so that
Norge stands free for his inspection. Conn unfastens our wrists and orders
us to display. His speaks with authority and the tone of his voice tells me
he'll brook no nonsense from us. Pollux and I hasten into the display
position with our feet the required distance apart, our fingers entwined
behind our heads and our bodies erect. The only movement permitted us is
the anxious rise and fall of our chests and the nervous fluttering of our
stomachs. To give emphasis to his command, Conn unfastens his overseer's
whip from his waist belt and uncurls it allowing its tip to trail on the
ground before us. There is a certain menace in his actions and an unspoken
threat for us to behave.

By my reckoning Conn has only been employed on the plantation for a
fortnight or so but already he has the self-assurance and authority of an
older and more experienced overseer. I see Claymore and I have chosen well
in giving this young man his apprenticeship. There is irony in this for me;
I helped choose him and now I must acknowledge him as my superior and work
under his direction.

Norge stands ready and Claymore wastes no time in beginning his
examination. With an easy expertise he runs his hands down the smoothness
of the pony's torso pausing to test the strength of the shoulder and chest
muscles and the hardness of his belly. He stops to heft Norge's pendulous
ball sac and rolls each testicle between his forefinger and thumb. Norge is
aroused by this attention and slowly his cock thickens and lengthens. It
takes very few strokes of Claymore's fist before Norge stands at
attention. Claymore is fulsome in his praise of Norge and comments that the
pony is "magnificently endowed and shows well".  And all the time Master is
watching intently.

Now he moves behind Norge and his hands sweep down over the broad expanse
of his back to his ass. Lovingly, he manipulates both cheeks squeezing them
in a test for their firmness.  Obviously, they meet with his approval and
he comments to Master that his pony has a "great ass." Deftly, he now slips
a finger into the dividing cleft and seeks out the pony's anus.

As I watch I feel for Norge and I silently seethe at the indignities to
which he is being subjected. Claymore's actions reduce him to the level of
an animal but then I remember that just a few moments ago, Claymore had
described him as such saying he is "beautiful animal".  Bitterly, I realise
these men do regard all slaves as animals and it all seems so unfair.

I note Norge's heightened breathing as Claymore's finger excites him and I
see the sudden tension in his body as he awaits the next assault on his
dignity. I hear his loud grunt of discomfort as the offended finger thrusts
deep into him and tests him for his tightness.

But then there is the inevitable relaxing of Norge's body as the finger
begins to pleasure him and now I hear the first, soft moans of his aroused
delight. Slowly at first, his hips begin a slow movement synchronised to
the deep thrusting of Claymore's finger. Gradually, the head overseer
quickens his pace and then, Norge gasps audibly as Claymore hits the
jackpot - he has found the pony's prostate; I watch as Norge's cock
twitches and jerks in response to this stimulation. Claymore takes Norge
almost to the point of no return before he quickly withdraws his finger and
crudely wipes it clean on the pony's body. Poor Norge! He stands frustrated
as his pre-cum hangs threadlike from his piss slit.

Claymore taps the side of Norge's left leg and orders him to "lift". Norge
is well trained and does as he is told. Claymore examines his leg, his toes
and the sole of his foot and when he is satisfied with their soundness he
moves to Norge's right side and repeats the procedure.

He then inspects the health of Norge's eyes and ears before examining the
mouth and teeth.  He removes the bit from Norge's mouth and tells him to
open wide. Expertly he runs a finger over the teeth and declares them to be
sound. Norge is ordered to "poke out your tongue" and this too is minutely
examined. As Claymore does so, he tells Master.

"A pony's tongue is a good indicator of his overall health. A healthy
tongue should be moist and pink. If a pony's tongue is greyish or dry then
you need to have a vet check him out for some underlying health problem."

However, Claymore hasn't finished with Norge yet and he re-examines his
balls. He sees the red welts that the driver's whip has raised on them and
notes Norge's wince of discomfort at his touch.

"Steady boy!" Claymore speaks soothingly to Norge. "Your balls a bit tender
are they? Let's see if we can ease their soreness."

"Guy, do you have any ball salve in your trap?"

"Ball salve," Master asks nonplussed, "what's that? I've never heard of
it."

Claymore doesn't answer Master immediately. Instead, he speaks to Conn.

"Conn, would you fetch me a jar of ointment from my trap please? You'll
find it in the parcel rack behind the driver's seat."

As Conn moves towards the trap, Claymore talks with my Master.

"I see you used your whip on the pony's balls, Guy. Fair enough! But if
you're going to do that then I'd suggest you carry a jar of ball salve in
your cart with you. It's always good practice to check a pony's balls after
each run to see if there any damage or swelling. And to routinely massage
some salve into them. It helps to stop them swelling and it does ease the
pony's discomfort. In fact, I'd be surprised if there isn't a jar in your
trap. The former owner always carried a jar with him. He was very
fastidious in looking after Norge's balls."

"Claymore, I didn't know that! Thank you for telling me. I guess I was of
the opinion that a pony's balls looked after themselves. Are his balls
alright?" Master asks anxiously.

"Don't concern yourself Guy. Apart from a couple of red welts, his balls
are quite sound.  I'll rub some ointment onto them and by tomorrow the
welts will have all but disappeared. He'll be as right as rain." Claymore
re-assures Master that all is well with Norge but he continues.  "However,
could I suggest you establish the practice of checking him after every run
and if necessary apply the balm?"

Claymore is quite right. I was very solicitous of Norge's wellbeing and at
the end of every driving session; I had always examined his balls for any
damage. And as was my custom, I applied the ball salve to soothe away any
soreness.

But I did wonder about its effects; Norge always seemed reluctant to let me
massage it into his scrotum or onto his cock. He'd back away from me and
this annoyed me. I was applying the ointment for his own good and he should
have known this. Usually it took one or two hard slaps to his ass to get
him to stand quietly as I rubbed the balm onto his genitals.

I never knew what ingredients were in the ointment. It had been introduced
onto the plantation during my grandfather's day by Claymore and it was he
who always prepared it for use on our ponies. He would never tell us what
ingredients he used other than that they were all natural originating from
the herbs and plants found growing in any field or by the roadside.

Once I had pressed him for more details and all he'd say was that it was an
old recipe that had survived from the grim days of black slavery. He told
me it was a concoction which probably had its origins in faraway Africa and
its original purpose was to ease a black slave's pain after a flogging. It
was, Claymore said, very efficacious in helping the whip marks to heal.

Conn has returned with the ointment and waits at Claymore's side.

"Claymore, could I ask you to check the other two slaves please? I was
giving Etienne some driving instructions on the way and both slaves had
their balls whipped too."

"Well then we'd better have a close look at them."  Claymore replies and
turns his attention to Pollux. He takes both balls in his hand and examines
them. "No! They seem sound to me.  There doesn't appear to be any welts and
he's not wincing. Whenever a pony winces it's always a sign that he has
sore balls. A tight squeeze reveals all.  But we'll play safe and put some
balm onto them. Now let's look at the other slave."

As he moves over to me, I stand rigidly erect and my nervous breathing
becomes laboured.  Claymore looks into my face but there's no sign of
recognition and I know this would be a deliberate act on his part. By
Claymore's reasoning, the person I was has ceased to exist and I am now
just another white slave.

Claymore is of imposing stature. He is taller than me by several inches,
more powerfully built and ramrod straight. Now for the first time in my
life, I am intimidated by his physicality and respectfully, dutifully I
lower my gaze. Once I'd looked this man in the face and made eye contact;
now I dare not look at him and I must cast my eyes downwards in humility.
Claymore now towers over me like a black colossus and I am very afraid.

I brace myself for Claymore's inspection of my balls which I have to say
have developed a dull ache after the first, pain filled moments when they
were struck by the driver's whip. That pain was intense; however the pain
has lessened its impact and left me with a sickening feeling in the pit of
my stomach.

I wince audibly as Claymore takes my scrotum in the palm of his hand and
begins his examination of my balls. He notes my re-action to his touch and
speaks to me.

"Steady, boy, steady! Let's see what's troubling you?"

He bends forward to look at my scrotum and comments.

"You have sustained a couple of nasty welts, boy. Your Master certainly
scored a lucky hit with his whip, didn't he?" Then dispassionately, he
squeezes my left testicle and asks.  "Does that hurt you, boy?"

My sudden yelp of pain should have been an adequate affirmation of his
question. But he isn't satisfied with my response and delivers a
teeth-chattering slap to the side of my face.  Angrily, he demands I answer
him.

"I asked you a question!" He emphasises his displeasure with me by, once
again, cruelly squeezing my testicle. "Does this hurt? Answer me!"

I cry out in pain - but my fear of Claymore is such that I blurt out my
answer through my distress

"Yes Sir! It hurts very much, sir!"

"Then, what about this one? Does it hurt too?" He asks as he tests my right
testicle.

"No Sir!"

"This slave isn't as lucky as the other slave" Claymore speaks to my
Master. "He looks to have a very sore left ball. Still a bit of salve on
his balls and he'll be as right as rain in no time at all."

Claymore now turns his attention to my cock. Taking it in his hands, he
pulls and stretches at it. I have seen him do this with a slave many times
in the past and I had watched with great interest as he did so. Years ago,
back in my pubescent years, I'd always been fascinated by the slave's auto
response to Claymore's inspection. My eyes had been fixed on the slave's
burgeoning erection and never on his face and so I'd not noticed his look
of shame and hurt humiliation. Why should I? After all - slaves were devoid
of emotions - weren't they? They didn't have feelings other than the pain
they felt under the whip.

Eventually, my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I had asked
Claymore why he did this and was it really necessary?  Now as he stretches
and pulls at my cock, I recall his answer.

Claymore told me slaves were essentially undisciplined creatures who
indulged their animal lusts in "all types of unsavoury practises" in the
confines of their stables and it was necessary to check them regularly for
any developing health problems. He'd told me that my grandfather insisted
on maintaining a clean slave herd and to this end, he'd put in place a
system whereby the slaves were routinely inspected each morning by their
black overseers.

Obviously, he'd had regard for my youth and he'd chosen his words
carefully. But I think he'd have been surprised at the depth of my
knowledge on the subject. After all, I spent much of my time in the company
of the black overseers and I often heard their lurid descriptions of their
white charges' nocturnal activities. Indeed, it was common practise for the
black overseers to choose a comely, young slave for his own use. This was
seen as one of the perks of the job and one which my grandfather - and
later I - always turned a blind eye to,

And during his daily rounds of inspection, Claymore would 'double-check"
that my grandfather's instructions were being followed. He'd routinely
choose a wretched slave from a work gang and submit him to an impromptu
inspection - much the same as the one he is now subjecting me to.

"I see you've had the slave skinned." It's less of a question and more of a
statement of the obvious as Claymore runs a finger around the still bright
red outline of my recent circumcision. "That's a good move! Keeps the slave
clean and makes it easier for the overseers to inspect him. It's a nice,
clean job too. It looks professional."

"Yes it is!" Master replies. "I had him done by a vet. I wanted him done
properly. I didn't want some amateur spoiling his appearance."

"Quite right too, Guy! He's a fine slave. It would've been a pity to place
him in the hands of some quack butcher. And the vet's professionalism is
evident. It's a nice tight cut and shows his cock off to full
advantage. What plans do you have for him? Is he to stay on the plantation
permanently as a field slave?"

"I need to talk to you about my plans for him, Claymore. I had thought of
using him as a pony eventually. If possible, I want to pair him with
Norge. What do you think? Is he suitable for pony work?"

Claymore doesn't answer immediately. Instead he submits me to a minute
examination.  Slowly he runs his hands down over the front of my body
testing me for my strength and endurance. He is gauging my musculature and,
in the process, he pauses to squeeze my biceps and my thigh muscles. He
places his hands on my chest and orders me to breathe in deeply and to hold
my breath as he tests my lung capacity. Several times I inhale and hold my
breath before exhaling until he is satisfied. Next, he feels for my rapid
heartbeat by placing his fingers on the artery in my neck and, then
suddenly, he punches me in my belly. I'm not prepared for his blow and I
double over with the unexpectedness of it; I am temporarily
winded. Nevertheless, I soon recover.

Now he orders me to turn around while he examines my back. His hands move
over the broad expanse of my shoulders and down my back to my ass. I blush
as he tests the rounded hardness of my buttocks and then, as he taps the
side of each leg in turn, I dutifully obey his instruction to "Lift!" as he
examines my toes and the soles of my feet.

"BEND AND SPREAD!"

I hasten to obey and assume the position he demands of me. Obviously, I
have displeased him. The silence of the garden is broken by the series of
loud, stinging slaps he delivers to my upturned ass as he orders me to.

"Move your feet apart!"

Since I became a slave, I have been placed in this position many times and
you would think that I would now be used to it. But I'm not and I wonder if
I ever will be? My enforced nakedness is now second nature to me and I
marvel at how quickly I have adjusted to it. But this is different. The
degradation of being made to double over and open up the most intimate and
private part my body to public scrutiny is one of the worst aspects of my
slavery.  Certainly, it is the one that appals me the most and I feel great
humiliation whenever I am placed in this position. But I am a slave and I
have no other recourse other than to obey.

Claymore reaches in between my splayed legs and hefts my balls in his
cupped hands. He jiggles them as though he is weighing them before he pulls
them backwards away from my body and rolls each of them, in turn, between
his forefinger and thumb. Despite myself, I am succumbing to his
ministrations. I will myself not to respond to his touch but I am fighting
a losing battle. My cock wilfully defies me and thickens and hardens into a
partial erection.  Claymore reaches in under my belly and quickly uses his
fist to bring it to its full potential.  He continues to arouse me further
by stroking the sensitive underside of my cock and teasing my piss slit.

My body burns with my shame and I'm acutely aware of my audience. Master
and Colton are showing great interest in Claymore's examination of my body
and I'm aware that Conn, the young apprentice has moved in for a closer
look.

And standing quietly to one side are the two young house slaves who, having
delivered their Masters' luggage into the house, have returned and taken up
their positions at foot of the steps. If I'd expected any sympathy from
them then I am to be disappointed. I see their smirking faces and the looks
of undisguised delight in their eyes. Obviously, they derive great pleasure
and satisfaction at the sight of their former master being publicly
humiliated. And the thought flashes through my head - who can blame them?

Claymore's working of my cock has reduced me to a quivering mass of over
stimulated nerve ends and as I feel his finger touching my pulsating
sphincter, I hear my audible gasp of protest. The tip of his finger rests
at the entrance to my innermost being and involuntarily my anal muscles
close up seeking to deny him access. But he isn't to be denied entry. He is
determined to test me for my tightness and he persists in his efforts; he
thrusts the exploratory finger through the barrier of my resistance and
enters me. Casually, he places his free had on top of my buttocks to hold
me steady as he seeks out and arouses my prostate.

His stimulation has the expected affect. My cock throbs in anticipation
and, as I look back between my legs, I see a thin thread of my pre-cum
slowly dribbling down to the ground.  Then as suddenly as it had entered me
the finger is withdrawn and wiped on my body.  Claymore slaps my ass - but
not to cause me pain; it is more a sign of his contempt - and he orders
to:-

"Face the front and display".

At last my ordeal is almost over; all that remains for Claymore to do is to
examine my head for any untoward bumps or blemishes and to check my eyes,
my ears, my nostrils and my mouth. Fortunately, all these check out and I'm
given a clean bill of health. Claymore is satisfied with me and he answers
my Master's question - "is he suitable for pony work?"

"Guy! He'll be eminently suited to pony work -eventually. But not just yet!
Much work will need to done with him before he's ready to go into harness."

"Why? Is there a problem with him, Claymore? My Master sounds anxious.

"Not at all, Guy. No, there's no problem with him. He's a fine slave and
the building blocks are there. He has the right build for carriage
pulling. He's tall with a strong physique, good chest and long legs. He has
all the physical attributes. But he lacks stamina and endurance and we'll
need to develop these if he's to serve a pony. And there's no problem with
that. It'll just take time - that's all".

"How much time, Claymore? How much time would you need?"

"Guy, give me six months with him and I have him prancing nicely in harness
for you. Can I make some suggestions?"

"Please do," my Master answers enthusiastically, "and tell me what you
suggest".

"Well first up, we'll need to condition him. He has the right physique but
his muscles are a bit soft. They'll need to be hardened up. And of course,
as he's a new slave, we'll also need to refocus his mind on that. First up,
I suggest we give him a spell in one of the gangs working on the
harvesting. Anyway, the crops are so heavy this year we need as many slaves
as possible in the fields. That way, he'll acclimatise to his new
life. Apart from toughening up he'll learn to work hard and obey all orders
given to him by his overseers.  And he'll be exposed to the whip's
discipline. That's most important. What do you think, Guy?"

"I'll be guided by your better judgement, Claymore".

"Thank you for your trust, Guy! I appreciate it. I won't let you down. Then
after he's whip- broken and we have hardened his body and tightened his
muscles I will build up his cardio- vascular strength and his legs. Both
these are essential if he is to prove his worth as a pony".

"And how will you do that, Claymore?"

There are two avenues open to us to promote his cardio-vascular fitness and
to strengthen his legs. After he's been field conditioned, I'll move him
over to one the grist mills and give him a spell on the treadmill. And from
time to time, I'll move him out into the fields to work on the
water-wheels. Both should develop him nicely."

"Tell me about the treadmill and the water-wheels."

"I'll do better than tell you about them, Guy! Tomorrow I'll take you on an
inspection tour - if you have the time - and you can see them in
action. I'm sure you'll be impressed. The treadmills in the grist mills are
huge. Each requires twenty slaves to drive them. The water- wheels are
different. Some require two or three slaves to work them but mostly they
are one slave affairs. But any one of them will build up this slave's
fitness. The slave gets lots of practice at walking but it doesn't take him
anywhere. It's all uphill and stationary."

My blood runs cold! As I listen to Claymore's plans for me, I begin to
shiver. In recent days, I have tried to prepare my mind for the horrors of
the plantation and the back-breaking labour I knew would be my lot. But I'd
thought it would be in one of the gangs toiling in the fields. I had never
even contemplated the treadmills or the water-wheels. These dreadful
machines are truly instruments of torture.

The treadmills are the real engines that power the grinding machinery and
keep the mills working. The work is long, hard and repetitious as the
slaves, chained within the tall wooden framework of the wheels, walk
endlessly on the same spot achieving much but going nowhere.

In the past, as I looked at the treadmills, I was always reminded of the
story from Greek mythology which told of the unhappy Sisyphus who had
incurred the wrath of the gods. As punishment, he had been condemned by
them to repetitiously push a large rock to the top of a very steep hill and
once he'd succeeded only to have it roll down to the bottom of the hill
where he must once more recommence his herculean task.  The gods in their
capriciousness had condemned the unhappy Sisyphus to this unending task for
eternity. Whenever, I had visited the mills or the water wheels I was
reminded of the enduring and unending nature of Sisyphus' fate.

 How many times have I stood within the mills and looked on as the unhappy
slaves struggled to keep the heavy grindstones turning. I have seen the
sweat trickling down their naked bodies and heard their ragged breathing. I
closed my ears to the swishing and cracking of the overseers' cruel whips
and I ignored their cries of pain. Now it would seem this is to be my fate
and I am terrified.

"And what happens next, Claymore?"

"Well Guy, once I'm convinced he's reached the required level of fitness,
I'll hand him over to a pony handler for 'breaking-in' and
training. However, I'll take a personal interest in his training and when
he's ready for harness work; I'll use him as my personal pony for a few
weeks to get him used to running and pulling a carriage and responding to
instructions. Then, when I'm convinced he's ready, I'll send him to
you. Are you happy with that, Guy?"

"That sounds good to me, Claymore. So, do you think he'll be ready in six
months time?"

"He should be - give or take a few weeks either way. No two ponies are the
same, however.  Some are quick to learn while others take a little
longer. And what about this slave?"  Claymore points to the luckless
Pollux. "Is he to be trained as a pony too?"

"No he's to serve as a common field hand. Use him where you think he'll
serve best."

"Good! Tomorrow, both slaves will start work on harvesting the crops."

So now I know my fate and I have no say in it; it has been decided for me
by my Master and Claymore Jackson. Tomorrow, Pollux and I begin work in the
fields and I wonder what labours we'll be put to. Will we be scything the
crops or will we be bent double gathering the harvest into sheaves?
Whatever, confronts us will be hard and already I anticipate the feel of an
overseer's whip on my back.

 But that is in the short term and as bleak as that is; my longer term
prospects are infinitely bleaker. I am to be conditioned and broken in as a
pony. I suppose if there is one glimmer of light in the midnight blackness
of my life it is that one day, I will be re-united with Norge as we serve
our Master as his ponies. But my dismal thoughts remind me I will endure
much pain and suffering before that day eventuates.

Then, Claymore's voice cuts through my gloom.

"Conn! Be good lad and apply some of that ointment you're holding to the
balls of the pony and the other two slaves, please?"

I'd temporarily forgotten that the young apprentice was standing by with
the jar of ball salve ready for use. Obviously, this is the first time he
has been asked to use it and I sense reluctance on his part to do
so. Perhaps, he is shy at being asked to touch a slave so intimately; if
this is so then he'll need to overcome any awkwardness very quickly. If he
is to succeed as an overseer, then he'll need to be at ease with touching a
slave's body in any and all parts.

"How do I do that, Sir?" Conn politely asks for Claymore's advice. "What do
I do?"

"It's easy, lad! Just scoop a little ointment out of the jar on the tip of
your fingers and gently massage it into their ball sacs and onto their
cocks. Start with the pony and then do the other two".

Conn moves to do as he's been asked and approaches Norge. However, Norge
shows his reluctance to be salved by backing away from Conn as far as his
harness allows.

I'm amazed at the young trainee's newly found professionalism. Without a
second thought, he cuffs the side of Norge's head and commands him to -

"STAND STILL!"

Norge is confounded by the young apprentice's harshness but does as he is
told and stands placidly as the ointment is massaged into his
genitals. Then it is my turn and Conn approaches me.

Something about Norge's reluctance to be treated sounds an alarm in my
brain and this is re- enforced by his sudden fidgeting. I know from my past
experience that most ponies dislike the treatment. I never did know why and
I'd never taken the trouble to enquire. After all what was the point? A
pony's opinion counts for nothing and anyway the use of the salve is for
his own welfare. And doesn't his master know what's best for him? Of course
he does!

Norge grows more agitated and obviously he is distressed. He stamps his
feet and shakes his body and makes muttering noises through his
bit. Norge's actions alarm me and like him I too back away from the
apprentice. He loses patience with me and cuffs my ear. And like Norge, I'm
ordered to-

"STAND STILL!"

But Conn goes a step further and threatens there'll be worse to come if I
persist in my disobedience-

"Or you'll feel my whip on your useless, white ass!"

In the background, I hear Claymore and Colton laughing loudly as Conn takes
firm control of me.

"That's the way, Conn!" Claymore congratulates his newest
apprentice. "Always let the slaves know you are in CHARGE and if they don't
behave then give them a taste of your whip."

The apprentice's confidence is very evident and, as he handles me, I
reflect bitterly that Claymore and I had chosen well in giving this lad his
apprenticeship. Already he has all the hallmarks of a hard taskmaster. And
over the next six months, I will be an unwilling witness to his development
as he becomes a competent black overseer equal in every way to his older
peers.

Conn has subdued me and I stand docilely as he applies the ointment to my
cock and balls.  Momentarily, we look into each other's face. I see many
things reflected in his eyes. I see his look of revulsion and I wonder if
this is because he is touching me - a white slave - so intimately?

 But most of all I see his contempt for me and I am reminded of the views
on black supremacy that he espoused during his interview with Claymore
Jackson and me.  Instinctively, I know he regards me as an inferior white
whose true role in life is to serve as a slave under the direction and
whips of the superior black man. Despite the difference in our ages, I am
frightened of this black youth and I lower my eyes respectfully to the
ground.

At first, as the ointment is massaged into my genitals, I feel
nothing. Then gradually there is a slight tingling sensation that is
combined with a pleasant warm feeling. Actually, it isn't all that
unpleasant and I ask myself why Norge is making such a fuss. Conn has now
finished with me and he has moved on to Pollux.

Then slowly the warmth intensifies until it becomes a raging inferno. Now,
like Norge I begin to fidget and squirm uncomfortably. Unlike Norge, I
don't have a bit in my mouth and I am able to vocalise my pain -
loudly. And soon Pollux joins Norge and me in our suffering.

"What about your pony, Sir?" Conn asks Claymore. "Will I put some salve on
him too?"

I'd forgotten about Jake. I'm finding slavery is like that. It can make you
very self-centred at times. When you are under inspection, you concentrate
on your own immediate concerns and never think of your fellow slaves. Jake
stands apart from us tethered in the dappled shade of an overhanging
tree. At least he is comfortable. Norge, Pollux and I stand in the full
glare of the sun.

"No thank you, Conn! I'll attend to him at the end of the day. He still has
some running to do before he's finished his duties. But thank you for
asking. I like your initiative, lad. Keep it up and you'll do just fine."

Our Master and his overseers ignore our plight. Our distress doesn't
concern them and it is no more than a necessary consequence of our
treatment. The ointment's effects will wear off - eventually. Meanwhile we
must suffer for our own good. Tomorrow, our balls will be as "good as new"
and in Norge's case ready once more for the driver's whip.

"Claymore, there is one other matter I'd like to raise with you regarding
Rafe."

"What is it, Guy? Tell me."

"Well, it's a little indelicate! I suppose Rafe will be housed with the
other slaves?"

"Yes he will. Let me guess, Guy? You're worried about what will happen to
Rafe in the slave stables, aren't you?  You're worried that the other
slaves will gang up on him and use him sexually? And you should be
concerned. For that will happen - as surely as night follows day. Your new
slave is very comely and he'll appeal to the animal lusts of his fellows."

I listen in horror. When I was wrapped in Norge's warm embrace within the
seclusion of our stable stall, he had tried to prepare me for the
eventuality of which my Master and Claymore now speak. He'd hinted at the
debauched lifestyle of the plantation's brutalised slaves and of their
nocturnal activities.  He'd had exposure to them and he told me how he'd
fought hard to ward off their unwanted attentions. He'd also told me how he
and Jake had paired off from the other slaves and provided mutual
protection and support for one another.

 I could read the underlying meaning of his words and I knew he was worried
about my prospects. He knew I would be alone and helpless in the face of
any concerted effort by my fellow slaves. His words were preparing me for
the awful inevitability of my fate and his concern for my vulnerability
demonstrated his affection for me.

His words had concerned me - but not overly. He was speaking of the future
and, at that time, my attention was focused very much on the present. Now
the future is here and I am very alarmed.

I know I am alone and friendless. And I won't have a Jake who will befriend
and protect me.  There is an awful sense of loneliness in knowing this.

And I know I will provide a tempting target for the sexual attentions of
the other slaves. I am their former owner and I had earned their loyalty
and respect through the whip. Now they owe me nothing. They will despise me
as their former master and who can blame them if they seek their revenge
now that I am a slave.

"Yes that's my concern, Claymore. As far as I know he's intact and I want
to keep him that way for the foreseeable future."

"Well, Guy rest assured. He's unused - believe me. My knowledge of him from
his previous life suggests this and my examination of him just now confirms
that he's still intact. Anyway, he was always dominant in his use of his
slaves - believe me. You want to know if it's possible to keep him this
way. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Claymore! I would prefer that he isn't ravished by the other
slaves. Is it possible to protect him?"

"What are your plans for him, Guy? Are you saving him for your future use?
Are you planning to exercise your 'droit de cuissage' with him?"

My Master blushes at the directness of Claymore's questions and blurts out
his somewhat unconvincing reply.

"No! Not at all, Claymore! My interest is purely mercenary. I'm looking to
retain his full market value. I have been advised that his selling price
will be greatly enhanced if I offer him intact. Who knows? At some time in
the future - I might decide to sell him - and naturally I'd be looking at
getting the highest possible price for him."

"I see!" Claymore's response borders on disbelief. "Well in that case we'll
have to make sure he isn't molested by either the slaves or the overseers.
Mind you, he'll be a tempting target.  The slaves will see him as fresh
meat and the overseers will view him as a new diversion.  Still, I'll
instruct the overseers that he is out of bounds to them. They will obey my
orders - somewhat reluctantly - and he'll be safe from them. The slaves are
another matter. I'll need to take steps to ensure he'll be safe from their
depredations."

"Can you do that, Claymore? How?"

"I'll simply have a portable security cage placed in the slaves' quarters
and Rafe will be locked into it at the end of each day. That way, he'll be
safe from the other slaves' advances but he'll still be sleeping among
them. Why he'll be able to look out from his cage and watch the slaves at
play. However, it could prove frustrating for him - seeing what he's
missing."

"Thank you, Claymore. That sounds most satisfactory. That way his market
value will be assured."

"Of course it will."

I know Claymore and the tone of his voice tells me he isn't convinced by my
Master's reason for preserving my virginity. And neither am I.
Instinctively I know at some future date, my Master will exercise his
"owner's right "over me and use me for his sexual pleasure. But because of
that, I will be spared the abuse by my fellow slaves. I am just so thankful
for this and that I'll sleep safe and secure locked in my cage.

Norge has been silently listening to the conversation and as I look in his
direction, I see his relieved expression that I am to be protected. At
least, he won't have to worry about that aspect of my safety anymore.

And things are improving elsewhere. The fiery feel of the ointment on my
genitals is losing its intensity and my distress is lessening.

"What about this slave?" Claymore points to Pollux. Do you want him
protected too?"

"No!  There's to be no special treatment for him. He's just a field slave.
I won't be selling him and he can take his chances with the other slaves."

Poor Pollux! Despite my initial dislike of him, I now feel sorry for
him. The aggravating arrogance and swaggering overconfidence that had
earned him the enmity of Charlotte Maratier have gone and have been
replaced by sheer terror. His Master has thrown him to the wolves quite
literally and tonight he will be at the mercy of his new slave companions.
He is trembling violently and his face reflects the full horror of his
situation. And his troubles aren't over yet.

For both of us are still to be branded; a subject our Master now mentions
to Claymore.

Master tells Claymore and Colton that the old Barrois brand is now both
disgraced and obsolete. He tells them that he has designed a new brand -
the prototype of which is in the parcel rack of his trap - and that he has
brought it with him to be used on Pollux and me. But he tells Claymore that
I am to have the honour of being the first slave to wear his new brand and
he'd like it done as soon as possible.

He is anxious to see his new brand seared into my flesh and he asks if
Pollux and I can be done this very afternoon?

"Claymore, I have decided that Rafe will be the first of my slaves to wear
the new Maratier brand. After all, given who he was, it is only fitting
that he has this honour. Can he and the other slave be done today? I'm
anxious to see my new brand - on the flesh so to speak."

 "I can't see why not, Guy. You want to strike while the iron's hot, eh?"
Claymore jokes.

"You said the new iron is in your trap?" Colton asks and when Master
confirms this is so, he dispatches one of the waiting house slaves to fetch
it back to the waiting group.

The slave returns and kneels at my Master's feet and holds the new branding
iron at arm's length before him almost as an offering. I notice the slight
trembling of the young slave's arms as he waits on his Master's pleasure.
Perhaps his trembling is caused by the memory of his own painful branding
or does he fear that his new owner will want to put his mark on all his
slaves.

Master takes the brand from the slave and removes its wrapping to reveal
the modified coat- of-arms that now reflects the ascendant Maratier
family. It is greatly admired and commented on by both Claymore and Colton.

"Tell me, Guy," Claymore asks, "is it your intention to rebrand all your
slaves with this new brand?"

Master tells them - yes it is his wish that all his slaves wear the new
Maratier brand and to this end he has commissioned the making of another
six branding irons identical to this one.  He asks Claymore if this
presents him with a problem.

"Guy, it will be a logistical problem-yes! But only in terms of the large
number of slaves to be branded and the time this will take. But it's not an
insurmountable one and we can handle it. I suggest the best way is to do
the slaves in small groups so that there is minimal disruption to their
work. And I would ask that we wait until after harvesting is finished. We
need all hands in the fields at the moment."

"Naturally Claymore, I'll leave the detail to you. You are in charge and
you must decide when the time is right. There's no urgency in rebranding
the main body of slaves but I am keen to have these two done. But more so
with Rafe than the other."

Then Claymore points out that - "time is moving on" - and if we are to be
branded then he'll need to arrange for the blacksmith to prepare the
branding table and to heat up the iron. He entrusts Conn with this task and
as the iron is handed to him, Master Etienne asks can he go with Conn to
see the forge. Master is hesitant, but Claymore convinces him that Master
Etienne will be safe with Conn. Master Etienne's face beams with delight
but I detect Conn's lack of enthusiasm at having Master Etienne's company
thrust upon him.

As I watch Conn and Master Etienne disappear in the direction of the forge,
I begin to tremble. My fear of the branding iron consumes me and my memory
of my first branding - on the day of my enslavement - comes to the
forefront of my mind.

I know nothing will save me from the branding iron; yet knowing this, I
still throw myself at my Master's feet and beg to be spared.
Panic-stricken, Pollux follows suit and kneels beside me and his tears flow
as freely as mine. His pleas join with my own and both fall on deaf
ears. There is to be no mercy shown to us.

Claymore instructs the senior overseer to take the two of us away and to
clean us up before we are taken to the forge. Once there, he is to secure
us and stay with us as we await our Master's arrival to witness our
brandings.

Master asks what is to happen with Norge and Claymore tells him that he'll
take care of his pony. He'll ensure that Norge is hosed down, fed and
watered and housed and rested overnight in a warm, dry stall in the
stables. And he adds, that he'll have Norge back in harness at first light
tomorrow morning and tethered at the front steps ready for his use.

Then Colton intervenes and asks Master if he'd like to freshen up before
going to the forge.  He tells him that refreshments have been laid out for
him within the house. Master thanks Colton and graciously invites him and
Claymore to join him and the three men move indoors leaving us in the care
of the senior overseer.

Pollux and I are left kneeling on the gravelled driveway as Norge looks
on. His eyes reflect his sadness for me and his anguish at the suffering he
knows Pollux and I are to undergo is very evident.

Strangely, I draw comfort from Norge's concern and as the overseer unfurls
his whip and cracks it over our heads; I find the strength to obey his
instructions-

"GET UP ON YOUR FEET - NOW! MOVE YOUR USELESS, WHITE ASSES!"

I hasten to obey and in doing so I am submitting to the dominance of a
black overseer for the first time.


To be continued.......