Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2012 15:54:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 49  Gay Male / Authoritarian

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A Sequel to a Reversal of Fortune
Chapter 49: Master's Bedchamber

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

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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris):  January, 2012
An archive of my stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and
shouldn't be used without permission. Please respect the integrity of the
story and don't do any rewrites, alterations or add pictures."

Chapter 49: Master's Bedchamber

Rafe:

At last I am home!

It has been six, long months since I was last in this house which had once
been my home. Of course, it no longer belongs to me; when I was condemned
to slavery I lost it and all other of my worldly possessions. As a slave, I
am forbidden by law to own any property or other personal goods.

The rationale behind this is quite simple. A slave's legal status is that
of a mere, chattel possession - he belongs to his owner in exactly the same
manner as a farm animal or a domestic pet and like them he can own
nothing. To be truthful, a slave ranks below a loved, household pet; he is
simply a unit of labour more akin to a piece of machinery. A slave is
totally dependent on his Master for his very existence. He lives because
his Master allows him to do so.

A slave's owner controls every aspect of his life and he is beholden to his
Master for the food he eats, the water he drinks and the clothes he
wears. Although for most slaves the latter is academic. Most slaves are
kept naked - as I am - so that nothing is hidden from their owners' eyes. A
Master decides when his slaves work and when they rest; he decides if they
sleep comfortably on freshly strewn straw or rough on uneven
cobblestones. The Master decides what is to be done to a slave's body. He
decides if that body is to be punished or rewarded.  It is the Master who
sets the times for the slave to relieve himself and to cleanse his body.

Everything a slave receives is within the gift of the Master except for one
thing; the air that he breathes.

And so it is with me. After six months of servitude, my training is
complete and I now accept my slavery without question. However, my journey
has been a long and painful one. At the outset - when I'd been taken out to
La Forõ€'˜ - I'd doubted I would survive. And I'm not sure that I
wanted to. I was at the depths of my despair and it would have been so easy
to just 'curl up in a corner and die'. But the human will to survive is a
powerful one. Within us all - even the lowest of slaves - is the
instinctive desire to live and to survive no matter how dire our
circumstances.

Although one part of me longed for the merciful release of a quick death
yet another part wanted to survive despite the horrors of my
circumstances. And I'd received emotional support from my former slave
Norge; throughout my ordeal his words of advice helped me to cope with my
new situation. Norge's support was both unexpected and, if I 'm completely
truthful, it was also unwarranted. As his Master, I'd never considered
Norge's feelings and yet once he'd gotten over his initial satisfaction of
seeing my dizzy tumble from the heights, he'd given me the emotional
support I so badly needed. And my present love for Norge springs from the
undeserved compassion he'd shown to me.

When I bought him and trained him as my pony I only ever saw him as a slave
to be used by me in whatever ways I deemed best served my interests. True
over time, my feelings for Norge did change and I began to feel affection
for him. But it was an affection born out of a master's pride in owning
such a magnificent specimen of a slave.

Today, as I ran at Norge's side and shared with him our Master's whip, I
can say with complete honesty that it was one of the happiest moments of my
life. There is this incredible bond that now binds me to Norge as surely as
the body harness, which I wore, secured me to the shafts of our Master's
conveyance.

There was the sheer exhilaration of running with him and sharing in his
workload. How do I describe the freedom of pacing myself to his steps and
trying to outmatch his strength? This wasn't done from any sense of
'besting' Norge; it was done simply because I could do so.  The pain of the
past six months was behind me and I now had the future to look forward to;
a future that I would share with Norge as our Master's two favourite
ponies.

It felt good to run uninhibitedly naked in the warm autumn sunlight, to
feel the gentle breeze cooling my sweat-soaked body and to feel my newly
acquired strength, built up over the past six months, put to the use for
which it is intended. But for me the ultimate happiness was in my close
proximity to Norge. We were just inches apart and even though my blinkers
centred my vision on the road ahead of us, I could sense Norge's
presence. I could smell the heady, intoxicating scent of his perspiration
and I had glimpses of his muscular body working in perfect harmony with
mine.

The gentle patter of our bare feet running on the road's surface and the
incessant rattling of the carriage wheels were hypnotic and lulled me into
a trance like state of mind which was periodically broken by the sibilant
hiss of Master's whip and the sharp thwack as the cruel leather struck our
naked flesh. The resultant pain - although severe - wasn't long lasting and
soon eased. But it added to the eroticism of the moment.

I was very aware of Norge's raging erection pointing the way ahead and that
my own wayward cock was striving to match its intensity. It has to be said
that our endurance was prodigious and augured well for our future as 'show'
ponies on the city's avenues and boulevards where we would cut a dashing
spectacle which would make Master the envy of many an onlooker.

As I ran, the uppermost thought in my mind was that Master is finally
taking me home and that soon I am to spend my nights wrapped in the strong
arms and warm embrace of my beloved Norge. I have longed for this and now
that it is imminent my excitement is boundless.

But even more so is the knowledge that soon Master might allow Norge and I
to engage in sex. And by sex I don't mean the 'kiss and suck' type but
rather the real thing where I can fully surrender my body to Norge and open
myself up to him.

If Master allows this then it will be a radical departure from the norm for
me. Normally I always dominated any sexual unions between me and my
slaves. They surrendered themselves to me - not always willingly but that
choice wasn't theirs to make.  It was my right as a Master to use and to
dominate them.

But so great is my love for Norge, that now I am ready to submit to him and
to allow him to dominate me. And within the strictures of our common
bondage, I will acknowledge Norge as my 'master'.

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

My true Master, Guy Maratier towers over me as I kneel at his feet. I am
overcome with emotion and my body trembles from the thought of what is to
happen to me.

For tonight, I must surrender to my Master as he exercises his owner's
right of 'jus primae noctis' over me. Finally, I am to pay him the ultimate
homage demanded of all new slaves and in my case I bring to my Master a
special 'gift' - my virginity.

No man, free or slave has ever sullied my body. As the Master, I'd set the
rules for all my sexual encounters with my slaves and I'd allowed no one to
enter into me. Always I was the 'master' of these liaisons.

But tonight, I am the slave and not the 'master'. Now, I must submit to my
Master and assume the passive role. It will be Master who takes the lead
and I must simply follow in humble obedience.

What are my thoughts as I kneel with my nose to the floor and my ass
elevated and open to my Master's scrutiny? They are very mixed!

Just a few short months ago, I wouldn't have comprehended such an
eventuality as the one that is now being played out. It would have been
inconceivable for me to even think that I would play the passive role in my
sexual exploits. Then, I was aggressive; now I am docile.

It is perhaps a measure of how far I have descended into my servitude that
I now wait on my Master's instruction with unquestioning acceptance of his
right to do with me as he pleases.

Norge is very much in my thoughts. I wish with all my heart that it is he
who initiates me into my new subservience. The thought of this causes me to
tremble. But tonight belongs to my Master and Norge and I must wait.

My Master walks slowly around my prostrate body assessing me. As he does
so, what are his thoughts? Does he find me attractive? Does the sight of my
naked vulnerability stoke the fire in his loins?

I hark back to those occasions when I'd stood in my Master's place and
stared down on the naked form of one of my slaves crouching at my feet. I'd
enjoyed such moments and I'd never hurried them. I appreciated them much as
one does a glass of imported French wine; sipping slowly and taking the
time to savour the flavour.

Is my Master doing this? Is he taking his time to savour my helplessness as
I kneel at his feet? From my lowly position, I think of Ben and how he'd
given me so much pleasure. Were his thoughts similar to my own present
ones?

But what had brought Ben to mind?

Earlier today, as we'd returned from La Forõ€'˜, Master had paused
Norge and I as he talked with Major Swanston. The Major had complimented
Master on our appearance and asked for his permission to inspect me. I
stood docilely as the man, who'd been my mentor since early childhood until
my enslavement, minutely assessed me. He pounded my muscles as a test of
their hardness, lifted my legs to examine the soles of my feet, parted my
buttocks, hefted my balls and stroked my semi erect cock to full arousal
before finally forcing my mouth open to examine my teeth. Once the Major's
inspection would have humiliated me; now I accept it as part of what I am -
a pony slave.

Major Swanston was fulsome in his praise of me as a fine animal and
complimented Master on my appearance, noble bearing and presentation. In a
strange way, I basked in his approval of me and I was proud that I'd
brought credit to my Master. Major Swanston said he was astounded at the
changes that the six months I'd spent out at La Forõ€'˜ had wrought
in me.

He asked Master how I had performed between the shafts running with Norge
and Master expressed his satisfaction at my performance but said it fell
short of being perfect.

Major Swanston told Master he would have to 'work' on me to lift me to
Norge's level of performance and he advised Master not to 'spare the whip'
in doing so.

He further advised Master that he'd need to be constantly alert for
troublesome behaviour from us; well-bred ponies, by their natures, are
highly strung, nervous creatures and prone to behavioural problems.

He told Master that he would need to watch our diet and to limit our food
intake so that we didn't become overweight as is the case with so many of
the non-descript ponies one sees in the streets nowadays. What discerning
driver, the Major asked, wants to drive a paunchy pony with sagging
ass-cheeks?

The Major's advice is freely given with all the authority of one who knows
all about these matters. But to be fair to Major Swanston, he'd always kept
a stable of first rate ponies. His ponies are a source of pride with him
and over the years he'd built up an enviable reputation of having some of
the best ponies in the city.

In fact, Major Swanston had helped teach me to drive a pony and trap when I
was still a boy and from him I'd learned many of the finer points of pony
handling and driving.

I listened as Master asked Major Swanston if, tomorrow morning, he could
borrow his repulsive slave, Pug to deliver a whipping to a wayward
slave. As always, the Major agreed - he is firmly in favour of punishing a
slave for any misdemeanour no matter how trivial - and he complimented
Master on his firm handling of the slave. What slave, could he ask, is to
be whipped?

I was surprised to hear it is Ben who has earned Master's displeasure. When
I'd left for La Forõ€'˜ six months ago, Ben was firmly entrenched as
Master's body slave and a firm favourite in his bed and had been appointed
as steward to Master's household. In recent times, Norge had told me that
Ben had moved with Master's grandmother to take charge of her new
household.

So to hear that Ben has fallen out of Master's favour and is to be whipped
came as a surprise, What had he done to incur Master's wrath?

I listened intently as Master told Major Swanston of Ben's recent neglect
of his invalid Mistress and it seems to me that Ben's impending whipping is
well deserved. But then, I listened as Master told the Major of how he'd
changed his plans to grant Ben his freedom and will instead send Ben to La
Forõ€'˜ to work out his days as a field slave.

Despite Ben's fickleness and bad treatment of me six months ago, I do feel
sympathy for his plight. Ben is more used to the comforts of a house slave
and delights of his Master's bed and he will be totally unprepared for the
rigours of fieldwork and the night time horrors of the slave stables. I
think back to the brutal raping of the hapless Pollux. It would appear that
Ben is to share his fate.

Major told Master that he'd be delighted to 'lend' Pug to him. He'll have
Pug exercise overnight to build up his arm strength for Ben's whipping and
he offered to loan Master his best punishment whip which is guaranteed to
make the most resolute slave cry out for mercy. Master accepted and the
Major told him, he'd soak the whip in a brine solution overnight to give it
extra 'sting'.

Master thanked Major Swanston and then suggested that he might like to be
present to supervise Pug as he whips Ben. He even suggested that the Major
travel with him and offered him the opportunity to drive Norge and me and
to put us 'through our paces'.

Major Swanston graciously accepted!

"Stand and display!"

My Master's instruction cuts through my thoughts of the luckless Ben and
drive them from my mind. Hastily, I leap to my feet and display my body for
my Master's pleasure.

Ever so slowly, my Master's eyes scan down over the front of my body and
come to rest at my groin.  As he surveys me, I feel a frisson of excitement
wash over me and a shiver of expectancy causes me to tremble.

Before tonight, I have only been in my Master's presence in public and
always there'd been others around. Tonight however, we are alone as I stand
naked before him in the intimacy and privacy of his bedroom. His Bedroom!
My thoughts are tinged with regret as nostalgically I look around the room
that had once been mine.

Nothing has changed; the dＤor and the furnishings remain the same as on
that fateful morning six months ago when I'd awakened to my last day as a
free man. Everything is as I'd left it; Master has changed nothing. It
occurs to me that this is a testament to the former Lucien's good taste.

The dＤor is in various hues of my favourite blue. The bottom half of the
walls are panelled in imported timber that complements the solid,
hand-crafted furniture I'd specially commissioned less than a twelve months
ago. The top half of the walls are in the soft pastel blue I'd so carefully
chosen and the high ceiling with its intricate scrolling is pristine white.

Beneath my bare, calloused feet the imported, dark blue, Persian carpet is
thick and deep - I'd forgotten just how luxurious it feels underfoot - and
I Indulge myself by secretly burrowing my toes into its deep pile. Oh, how
good it feels after six months of working barefooted on the hard, compacted
surfaces at La Forõ€'˜.

The door into Master's dressing-room stands ajar and through the opening, I
see many of my clothes are still hanging where I'd left them. I'm aware
that Master now wears my clothing; whenever he visited me out at La
Forõ€'˜, I'd recognise a pair of trousers or shirt as those that had
once belonged to me.

The imposing, four-poster bed in which I'd once slept dominates the room
and I recall the soft plushness of its mattress and the sensuous feel of
silken sheets on my naked skin. I remember the winter warmth of the woollen
blankets and contrasted these with the coarse, prickly straw of the slave
stables which had served as my bedding during my stay at La Forõ€'˜.

However, there is one subtle difference I'd not seen at first but which I
have now noticed.  The ancient Barrois coat-of-arms which had hung proudly
on the wall above the head of the bed has been removed and replaced with
the new Maratier shield.

As I gaze upon the bed, so many memories come flooding back. Memories of
all the young slaves I'd commanded into that bed and who I'd so
thoughtlessly used. I see them all in a passing parade of faces that
reflected shame, humiliation and impotent anger. I see Ben's face looking
up at me with feigned pleasure as I thrust into him and I see the deep hurt
in Norge's eyes as I sought to dominate him. Suddenly, I am haunted by
these visions.

Soon, like those slaves, I will lie acquiescent as my Master uses me. My
sense of guilt tells me that I deserve this and like them I must yield to
this man who now owns me.

"Undress me!"

Master's instruction cuts into my reverie and I move quickly to obey.

To date I have been a common, heavy duty, work slave and I am unused to the
refinements of a Master's bedroom. However, my time as a Master does in a
way prepare me for this.  How many times have I stood in my Master's place
and ordered a slave to undress me. And so I am able to draw on those
experiences when a slave had undressed me and to apply them to my present
situation.

Remembering back to how a slave ritualistically removed my clothing; I soon
have my Master standing semi-naked in plain white boxer shorts. His
excitement is very evident; the bulge of his semi erection is clearly
outlined through the stretched fabric of his shorts.

Master is used to my total nakedness but this is the first time that I have
seen him in any state of undress. My eyes sweep over his semi-nudity and
for the first time I get to appreciate my Master's body.

During his visits to La Forõ€'˜, I'd noticed - and admired - Master's
physique; he'd always admirably filled his clothing. I had seen the open
necked shirts that stretched across his manly chest and broad shoulders and
the close fitting pants that clung to his legs like a second skin
accentuating the firm globes of his buttocks.

Now I can truly appreciate the figure beneath the clothing!

Master is auburn haired - this must be a Maratier trait as all of the
portraits of our common Barrois ancestors show them to be dark haired or
blond as in my case - and I suppose this puts him at a disadvantage. He
must be constantly aware of bright sunlight and take the necessary steps to
protect his complexion.

I know that he wears wide brimmed hats - always at La Forõ€'˜ he'd
never venture outdoors unless he was so protected - and I recall the
occasion when he'd used me as an 'umbrella slave' on a visit to Lionel
Schuster's slave dealership.

Consequently, Master's skin is untouched by the sun and it remains
flawlessly white. Its unblemished beauty has the perfection of the purest,
white alabaster or the finest porcelain.  It stands in stark contrast to my
own deeply tanned body.

"Continue!"

At Master's instruction to continue, I kneel before him and ease him out of
his shorts. As I do so his cock springs free and his balls hang low. For
the first time I see that my Master, unlike me, is uncircumcised. This is
truly the hallmark of a free man. His prepuce marks him as free whereas the
recent removal of mine defines me as a slave.

Nevertheless, I am grateful that my Master showed compassion and didn't
subject me to the veterinarian's scalpel. Instead, my foreskin was slowly
strangled by plastic bands, and allowed to 'fall off' in a similar
operation to that used for the humane castration of farm animals.

True, there had been some initial discomfort as my prepuce atrophied but
that was preferable to the trauma of the knife. Tonight, the only evidence
that I'd once possessed a foreskin is the still red scar encircling the
shaft of my cock.

My face is just inches from Master's groin and I can smell his heady
masculinity.  His genitals are admirable - if not altogether prodigious -
and fleetingly, I make the comparison between them and those of Sir Conn
and Sir Regis. Which is unfair of me; this is the first time I have seen
Master's whereas I had an ongoing, close 'working' knowledge of the two
overseers' cocks. Nevertheless, I decide my Master is well-endowed and he
need not feel any shame.

I am sorely tempted to take the initiative but I am unsure of what Master
expects of me. As the seconds tick away, I wait for his instruction and my
nervousness grows. What must I do?

I remember back to when I'd stood naked as a Master with a slave kneeling
before me and I now draw on those erotic memories. I'd always appreciated a
slave paying due homage to me by kissing my cock and balls without any
bidding from me. I'd enjoyed the slave's spontaneity as he leant forward to
do so. Of course, there were occasions when a new slave, inexperienced in
my ways, didn't know what to do and I'd found it necessary to instruct
him. On those first occasions, I would patiently show him what I wanted
from him but after that I expected him to remember. Is this the case with
my Master? Should I pay him the same type of spontaneous homage that I'd
once demanded from my slaves?

Shyly, I lean forward and kiss the head of my Master's cock. Through my
lips, I feel his slight tremor and the stiffening of his body. Is it my
imagination or do I hear his soft moan of pleasure?

Emboldened, I burrow my head into his groin and my tongue searches for his
balls. At the touch of my tongue, Master's body is convulsed by his
trembling and his soft moaning grows even louder.

A vision of Norge flashes before me and suddenly my cock springs to
life. My erection throbs with impatient intensity. How long is it since I
last genuinely ejaculated?

I recall it was in the early, pre-dawn hours of the day when I was taken
out to La Forõ€'˜. That morning, stricken with many doubts and fears,
I'd sought comfort and solace in Norge's strong embrace. As I lay wrapped
in his powerful arms, he'd soothed away those fears and calmed me. Aware
that this was to be our last time together for six months we'd pleasured
one another with our mouths.

That morning, after my memorable ejaculation, the flood-gates were slammed
shut by my Master's orders and they have remained closed for the past six
months. Denied sexual relief, my dammed-up emotions are now ready to breach
those floodgates.

It's true there were the illicit, early morning trysts with Sir Conn - and
the occasional ones with Sir Regis - but even then, in accordance with
Master's wishes, I wasn't allowed to cum.

And I don't count the few, spontaneous, nocturnal ejaculations. These
happened during my sleep and I only became aware of them by the cold
stickiness on my belly and chest when I awoke.

As I burrow my face into Master's groin; I breathe in his manly scent and I
take one of his balls into my mouth. Ever so gently I suckle each ball and
this raises my Master to new level of pleasure. He arches his back and
cries out.

"YES!!!! YES!!"

This encourages me to continue and now I use the tip of my tongue to tease
the underside of his cock with feather-touch gentleness. I am rewarded;
Master grabs hold of my head and directs my mouth down over his glans.

Suddenly, I am grateful for those early morning sessions with Sir
Conn. They were stolen and secretive but they prepared me for this
moment. The muscles of my mouth - loosened and exercised by Sir Conn's
mighty member - relax and I take my Master's cock into the depths of my
mouth. Sir Conn has trained me well in giving oral pleasure and, drawing on
his instruction, I lift Master to new heights of ecstasy.

Tonight, my emotions confuse me. I should hate this man I must now call my
Master; his past treatment of me warrants that I should. And at first I did
hate him.  And being new to my slavery, I'd also feared him. At first he'd
obviously felt contempt for me. Fuelled by his grandmother's hatred of me
and my family, he'd delighted in humiliating me and causing me pain. So, of
course, I hated him!

Although he'd not orchestrated my downfall - that was done by his
grandmother - he was the one who benefited the most from it. Charlotte
Maratier is the one who took away my old life and handed it to him on the
proverbial golden platter which he'd gratefully taken in both hands.

But gradually with each meeting between us there has been a subtle shifting
of our attitudes to each other. My hatred of him has lessened into an
acceptance of him as my Master.  Conversely, his disdain for me is less
obvious and there are even moments when he speaks kindly to me. However, I
am still his slave and I do fear him as my Master. So that hasn't changed.

Perhaps it's a measure of how slave-like I have really become. But tonight
as I kneel before Guy Maratier and pleasure him, I have feelings that are
almost akin to a growing affection for him. Is this the type of affection
that a slave develops for a master? Did my slaves harbour similar feelings
for Lucien Barrois?

And there is another intangible at play here; my Master and I are related
by blood. We share the same Barrois bloodline although my slave mother
taints mine. Given a different set of circumstances, we could have been
close cousins. Is there any truth in the old saying that blood is thicker
than water?

The bedchamber's silence is only disturbed by the sounds of our sex; the
slicking of my rounded lips as they piston up and down Master's hard
erection and the moans of his mounting passion.

Master holds my head firmly between his hand and forces me to take more of
him into the warm, moist embrace of my mouth. After six months of enforced
abstinence - I'll not count those mornings with Sir Conn - I am happy to do
so.

To steady myself, I reach behind Master and take hold of a firm, rounded
buttock in each hand. How good he feels to the touch! I'm suddenly aware of
having missed out on so much over the last six months. The feel of Master's
muscular ass re-awakens in me how much I have missed the intimate touch of
Norge's hard body pressing against my own.

My hands trace out the curvaceous contours of my Master's ass and
emboldened by his shuddering response, I use a finger to probe into the
deep, warm recess of his ass-crack.  Then I hesitate; have I overstepped
the boundaries in doing this? I forget myself for I am thinking and acting
like a master who takes the lead rather than remain slave passive and allow
my Master to use my body.

I pause in my exploration and wait for Master to admonish me. He remains
silent and emboldened by this; I use my finger to excite the sensitive
opening to his body.

I feel the delicious contractions as Master's cock fires off two or three
warning shots and I taste his salty essence in my mouth. My own cock is as
hard as I can ever remember it being and throbs with impatient desire.

I look beyond Master to his bed and know that soon he'll order me to lie
upon it as he claims me as his slave. Suddenly, I want this with all my
heart. How I long to surrender to my Master and to give him what is
rightfully his.

My slavery has brought me to this point. Initially, it was a journey not of
my choosing and I was reluctant to take it. But now I sense I am
discovering new things about myself. Could it be that I am finding my
'true' inner self.

Is it possible that I am a slave not just in body but also in mind? Do I
possess a slave's nature?

In the past, I was always the Master - and aggressively so. Tonight, I'm
finding that joy can be found in submitting to a stronger, more dominant
person. I want to submit to Master and then, with his approval, to give
myself body and soul to Norge. I want Norge to claim me as his own.

At La Forõ€'˜, in the night stillness of the stables, I'd listened as
Norge and Jake had made love in the stall next to mine. How I'd envied them
their freedom to do so. Their passionate lovemaking fed my fevered
imaginings; always I'd felt my Norge's hard, all-conquering cock
penetrating me and moving inside of me.

The frustrations of the past six months swamp me. I need relief from the
sexual strait-jacket of those months. Tonight, I am overwhelmed by new
sensations, new urges and new desires. I want - no I need - to be fucked!

Suddenly Master pushes my head away from him leaving my mouth feeling
strangely empty.  He stoops and places a hand beneath my chin and uptilts
my face so that we look into each other's face. Master smiles down at me
and very gently - or could it be tenderly - he strokes my cheeks. Shyly, I
smile back at him. He tells me to stand and I quickly scramble to my feet.

Master runs his hands down over my chest pausing to playfully tweak my
nipples before sliding down over my belly to my cock. He takes it into his
fisted hand and uses his thumb to tease and excite my piss-slit and in
doing so, he reduces me to a quivering, mass of overstimulated nerve
endings.

Hoarsely, I hear my voice pleading with my Master.

"Master? Oh, Master?"

He takes me into his arms and kisses me. His tongue forces itself into my
mouth and I see this as a foretaste of what must now follow. I plead with
him.

"Master? Please Master?"

He leads me to the bed and instructs me to lie on it.

Master is now ready to claim his 'droit de seigneur' rights over me and
take my virginity.  And I am ready to surrender it to him.


To be continued.....