Date: Wed, 23 May 2012 00:41:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 52  Gay Male / Authoritarian

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A Sequel to 'A Reversal of Fortune'
Chapter 52
'Everything Changes'

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): May, 2012
Read my stories 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 his permission. Please respect the integrity of
the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."

Chapter 52: 'Everything Changes'

Norge

It feels so good to be running alongside Rafe even if the detestable Major
Swanston does hold our reins and controls us with the driver's whip.

My dislike for the Major goes beyond the normal hatred of a slave for a
Master. It goes to his lack of humanity and his brutal treatment of slaves.

In the eighteen months I have been a slave in the Barrois/Maratier
household, I have seen many instances of his callous disregard for slaves
in general and of his cruelty to his own slaves in particular.

I recall the evening of the day of Rafe's enslavement when our Master
returned to his home for the first time. There, waiting to greet him was a
welcoming delegation of his new neighbours led by the pompous Major. I
remember his treatment of Rafe and myself and how he'd examined us in front
of the leering crowd of onlookers. I recall how he'd taken our cocks - one
in each hand - and stroked us to rampant erections whilst he'd commented on
our 'eagerness' . The Major gleefully played to his audience and provoked
much jeering and laughter at our expense.

I contrasted his treatment of the new slave, Rafe to that of a few hours
earlier when he'd talked confidentially to Lucien Barrois. I stood
patiently and listened as he'd re-assured Lucien all would be well and that
he shouldn't be concerned with his court summons.

Then he'd been sympathetic and supportive of his godson, Lucien. Yet, just
a few hours later he'd treated Rafe with such contempt and ridicule. I
can't understand how he could do that.

And the Major's detestable treatment of Rafe was one reason why I changed
my attitude to the new slave and caused me to reach out to him in
friendship.

At first, I too had rejoiced in Lucien's downfall and disgrace. What slave
wouldn't delight in seeing his master enslaved, stripped naked, collared
and branded. That I'd been happy to see this happen was a sign I still
retained some of my human emotions even if they were base ones.

As a naked Rafe ran alongside of me for the first time, I'd delighted in
the jeers and catcalls hurled at him by the unsympathetic bystanders. I'd
chuckled silently as his body was bespattered by the eggs and rotten fruit
thrown at him by a group of homeless people who now stood so far above
him. For, even in their poverty, they were free whereas he was just a
slave.

At first, I paced myself to my new driver's commands and hoped that Rafe
would struggle to keep up. I watched as his body, unaccustomed to such
strenuous exercise, tried to match my fitness. His sweat-soaked body did
find it hard to keep in step with me. I noticed his heaving chest trying to
cope with his ragged breathing and the buckling of his knees as we ran. I
delighted each time our new Master put his whip to Rafe's ass and shoulders
to urge him back into step or to match his pace with my own. And I didn't
mind when the whip was applied to me; my satisfaction at seeing this new
slave's suffering inured me to my own pain.

As we ran on that first day, great sobs convulsed Rafe's body and his
tear-stained face reflected the disbelief of his changed circumstances and
the fear of a new and uncertain future. Then suddenly, I heard his
heartfelt apology.

"Norge, I am so sorry."

The pathos of Rafe's words was matched by his sincerity and it affected me
deeply.  Suddenly, I felt shame that I, a slave who had suffered as such,
could take pleasure from Rafe's unhappy plight.

The rest of that first journey running with Rafe at my side was unsettling;
my feelings were in conflict. One part of me was happy that my former
master was now a slave like me. And yet, as I reflected on that, I knew
within me that my judgement of him was unfair. Lucien Barrois' treatment of
me as his slave had been benign.

Certainly, I was his slave and he demanded much of me as his personal
pony. But he'd never been wantonly cruel to me - quite the opposite in fact
- and he'd always been solicitous of my wellbeing. I had a warm stable in
which to sleep and an adequate, if somewhat monotonous diet to keep me
healthy. There were even moments, when he'd feed me a small portion of
apple or some other fruit as a reward for good performance. And at other
times, he'd fondly ruffle my hair or gently stroked my body as a sign of
his affection for me.

Of course, I'd seen these actions as condescending and I'd seethed with
indignation at his treatment of me. I was resentful of the fact that I was
a slave and my resentment was squarely focused on Lucien Barrois.

But the words of Rafe's apology did hit home and I started to re-evaluate
my opinion of my former master and in doing so I felt a new pity for his
plight.

Major Swanston's treatment of Rafe was heartless and I tried -vainly - to
imagine the hurt that Rafe would have felt at his god-father's expedient
rejection of him.  Lucien was without immediate family and it would be true
to say that the Major, who'd known him from birth, was the closest of any
person to him. To me it seemed reasonable that the Major would feel
sympathy for Lucien and would comfort and support him at this the lowest
ebb of his life.

Instead, the Major's very publicly repudiation of Rafe went further when he
callously humiliated and cruelly ridiculed him in front of his former
neighbours. Poor Rafe! He'd suffered so much that afternoon and I remember
wondering if there could be any greater hurt inflicted upon him. I tried to
imagine his sense of utter isolation from all that he'd been.  I tried to
imagine it and I failed!

I had felt similar emotions at the time I became a slave - this is common
to all the newly enslaved. But always in my thoughts were memories of my
warm and loving family back in my homeland. It was a source of sadness to
me that, most probably, I'd never see them again. But when I was at my
lowest ebb, for comfort, I could drew on the precious memories of my
parents and siblings and the simple life I'd lived with them in a small
fishing village on a lonely but beautiful fjord in my native land.

But unhappily, Rafe was denied this; for he no longer had a family. His
sole legal relative was a slave mother known only to him as Ophelia and
whom he'd never met.  He'd been stripped of his proud Barrois surname and
as the progeny of a slave woman and her master he no longer had a claim to
either name or family.

I looked at Rafe's tears stained face and I saw mirrored there his
desolation and his hopelessness. My heart went out to my former Master,
Lucien and I think it was at that moment my love for the pitiful slave Rafe
first manifested itself.

It is a paradox that the Major, by his actions that day, awakened within me
the great love I now have for Rafe who is the most important person in my
life. Rafe is both my lover and my soul mate.

I'd missed Rafe while he was away at La Forġa and I'd worried about
his ability to cope with the strictures of life at the plantation. Indeed I
spent many a sleepless night in my stall fretting for him. I ached to take
him in my arms to comfort him and to soothe away his concerns. But most of
all, I wanted to feel his body pressed close to mine and to feel the warm
touch of his lips pressing against my own. And I wanted to claim Rafe's
body as my own. Feverishly, I have dreamed of that so often over the past
six months.

Yes, I'd worried about Rafe's fragility and wellbeing and eagerly I'd
looked forward to my Master's visits to La Forġa so that I could
re-assure myself he was coping. And during those visits, I would ask my
good friend and sometimes lover, Jake about Rafe.  Jake knew of my concerns
for Rafe and he kept a re-assuring eye on him and whenever there was the
opportunity, he'd speak words of encouragement to him.

I am indebted to Jake for so much. I recall my own first dreadful days at
La Forġa when he'd befriended me and how we'd supported and
protected one another against the more predatory of our fellow
slaves. Inevitably, Jake and I had become lovers but I'd never hidden the
depths of my true feelings for Rafe from him. He knew that and understood
that Rafe was the real focus on my affection.

It is a measure of Jake's magnanimous nature that he never saw Rafe as a
rival for my affections or showed any resentment or jealousy towards him.
It's true to say that next to Rafe, I love Jake the most of any man.

But Rafe had surprised me; he'd survived his six months at La Forġa
and yesterday our Master had brought him back to the city to begin his new
life as a pony paired with me.

Yesterday's run back to the city from the plantation had been a joyous one
for me. To have Rafe running alongside of me made it a happy occasion.

At close-hand, I had the chance to see the changes the past six months had
wrought in Rafe.  The most obvious one was in his physical appearance. He
now had the glorious physique of the proverbial Greek god. His training had
given him a body that any Master would be proud to own and before we'd left
La Forġa, our Master and Claymore Jackson had stood us side by side
and compared the two of us. The head overseer had complimented Master and
said he'd never seen two more perfectly matched ponies than Rafe and me.

And of course, I'd playfully tested Rafe's physical abilities against my
own. As we ran, I'd tried to best him by increasing my speed but always
he'd matched it. I didn't do this to belittle Rafe or to prove him inferior
to myself. Rather it was the sheer joy of having him at my side at long
last. I'd waited for that day for so long.

I can't describe the exhilaration I felt as Rafe and I pulled our Master's
cart back into the city. We were both superbly fit and our bodies begged to
be tested - one against the other.  With sideway glances, I watched the
magnificent play of Rafe's powerful muscles as they challenged my own. I
saw his heaving chest, the fluttering of his abdominal muscles and the
flexing of his mighty legs as we ran. I smelt the erotically intoxicating
aroma of his perspiration as it meandered down over his torso. I saw his
rampantly hard cock signposting the way ahead - and it matched my own
massive erection - but most of all I lusted after the delicious curves of
his sweat-glistening ass. I had waited so long to claim it as my own. Soon,
that opportunity would present itself.

Later, I was to find there were other changes in Rafe that weren't
noticeable to the eye.  Rafe had undergone profound, emotional changes as
well and all of them were for the better.

Rafe had accepted his slavery and he is the happier for doing so. And
despite his lowly status as a slave, Rafe had a new self-assurance.

Yesterday evening, upon our return home from La Forġa, we'd been
unharnessed by the grooms, hosed down, fed and watered and placed in our
stall to rest up after our arduous run back to the city.

'Our stall.' How strange it felt to use those words. For the past six
months, I'd thought often of this night. I'd imagined sharing my stall with
Rafe and of having him lie beside me cradled in each other's warm embrace
through the still, dark hours of the night.

It felt good to have Rafe back in the stall with me and I recalled our last
morning together in this place - the morning he'd been taken to La
Forġa -as he'd pleasured me with his mouth.

That was six months ago and as I looked at Rafe, I could see his interest
in me hadn't waned during our parting. His hard cock betrayed his inner
feelings.

Impulsively, he fell to his knees in front of me and leaning forward, he
kissed the head of my cock with all his pent-up yearnings. The touch of his
lips seemed to electrify me; I arched my back and a soft moan escaped my
lips. This emboldened Rafe; he ran the tip of his tongue up and down the
sensitive underside of my penis and reaching behind, he hungrily grabbed
both my ass cheeks, one in each hand. My quivering response encouraged
Rafe; suggestively, he slipped his right index finger into the deep cleft
between my buttocks and excited the sensitive tissue of my puckering
sphincter.

My response was to grab hold of Rafe's ears and direct his hungry mouth
down over the head of my cock until he'd taken it into the eager embrace of
his mouth. I gave myself over to the immediacy of the moment and began a
thrusting of my hips synchronised to the bobbing of his head until we were
in perfect unison with one another. The silence of the stable was broken
only by my appreciative moaning and the slurping sounds of Rafe's rising
passion.

All too soon, I reached my climax and with each exquisite throb of my cock
I could feel the explosive spurts of my ejaculation filling Rafe's mouth. I
held his head pressed against my groin as he swallowed hard taking care not
to spill any of my semen onto the floor.

Afterwards, bathed in the warm afterglow of our encounter, we rested
securely locked in a strong embrace. Temporarily, the world beyond the
stable doors no longer existed for us.  Our world - our total world - was
contained within the four walls of our shared stall. Time stood still and I
have no idea for how long we rested on the straw-strewn floor with our
bodies pressed close to one another and our limbs entwined.

I only knew that I felt peace and contentment that after the long absence
of six months, I had Rafe back with me and my world was complete.

I'm not sure how long we lay in each other's embrace and time was
irrelevant. To feel Rafe's naked body pressing up against me was all that
mattered. I was aware of the night's gloom filling our stall with deep
shadows and sadly, all too soon we were parted once more.

Rafe had been summoned to our Master's apartment and we both knew why. Our
Master was ready to exercise his 'jus primae noctis' rights over Rafe. As
he was led away, Rafe turned to look back at me and I could see his
uncertainty and apprehension reflected in his eyes.

All I could do was smile encouragingly at him and left alone once more, I
spent a restless night worrying about Rafe. I wondered how our Master was
treating him. Was Guy Maratier treating Rafe to gentle lovemaking or
forceful raping? How was Rafe coping?

The night passed slowly and I slept fitfully; always Rafe was uppermost in
my thoughts.  Part of me was concerned with how Rafe was coping with his
submission to our Master's sexual demands and I worried that he would be
adversely affected by Guy Maratier's treatment of him.

Although my worry for Rafe was genuine, there was a measure of
self-interest in my concern.  Once our Master had claimed his owner's right
over Rafe, I hoped that Rafe would become mine. The thought of fucking Rafe
had been uppermost in my mind during his absence at La Forġa. It
was to be the physical fulfilment of my lustful fantasises about Rafe and
yet on another higher level it was to be the emotional expression of my
great love for him.

Throughout the night, as I thought about Rafe, I supposed my excitement was
something akin to that of the bridegroom approaching his wedding night.

Eventually, night time gave way to dawn and a subdued Rafe was returned to
the stables where we were made ready for our day's labours. We sat on the
straw strewn floor of our stall and ate our morning's food ration in
silence. Anxiously, I'd asked after his wellbeing and he'd replied that he
was well but something in his manner told me that he didn't want to talk
about his experiences in our Master's bedroom.

I could understand that; I recalled my own mixed emotions the morning after
Lucien Barrois had used me for the first time. I remembered my sense of
shame and the festering anger that gnawed at my innards. I'd seethed at the
powerlessness of being a slave; the pain I still felt from my first
penetration and the guilty pleasure I'd experienced once my body had
adjusted to that pain.

No doubt, Rafe was feeling all of these things and I thought it prudent not
to question him. I knew he would tell me when the time was right for him to
do so.

I could wait until he is ready!

Suddenly, these thoughts are rudely interrupted as the Major pulls back
sharply on our reins to slow us down. Then, impatiently he tugs on those
reins to turn us left into the secluded, tree-lined area where Charlotte
Maratier resides. Master is a frequent visitor to his grandmother and I
know this area well. Charlotte's small but elegant mansion is at the end of
a quiet cul-de-sac of gracious homes set amid beautifully manicured lawns,
shrubberies and colourful flower-beds.

As Rafe and I slow our pace to a slow trot, I see the army of slaves
labouring to maintain those gardens to the high standards demanded by their
owners. I notice Rafe is showing an interest in one particular garden and I
wonder why. Then I remembered that Lucien had driven me here to visit an
elderly distant cousin of his late grandmother who resides in that house.

Perhaps, as he looks at three male slaves toiling in the gardens, he is
remembering better times and happier days.

Rafe:

This morning, for the first time, Norge and I were harnessed to Master's
new carriage and driven under the guiding hand of my former god-father,
Major Swanston to Charlotte Maratier's residence.

When we turn into the avenue leading to where she lives, the Major pulls
back on our reins to slow us to a walk. After the hard run we'd been
subjected to both Norge and I appreciate the opportunity to 'cool down' and
to regain our breath. This is the first time I've visited Charlotte
Maratier's home although the area is known to me. It is an enclave of
magnificent mansions set amid spacious grounds and it is home to the 'old
money' families who, to date, have managed to exclude from their midst the
'Johnnies come lately' and noveau riche types who now dominate the city's
social scene.

My late grandmother had a cousin, Odile Thureau who lives on this broad,
tree-lined avenue - I know she is still alive but is aged in her nineties -
and as a boy I frequently accompanied my grandmother on her visits to her
cousin for lunch or afternoon tea. I particularly enjoyed those visits.

Odile, a genteel widow without children, owned a family of slaves who
served her. The mother and teenaged daughter kept house and cooked while
the father, his teenaged son and a younger son of my age worked outdoors
maintaining the extensive gardens and grounds surrounding the grand,
colonial mansion.

Whenever I visited as a boy, the youngest, male slave attended me and I
recall our games of hide and seek among the thick shrubberies which are so
much a feature of Odile's gardens.  Of course as a free child, I was
clothed and my slave companion - his name was Jem - was as naked as the day
he was born. His nudity wasn't an issue for me as I was well used to slave
nakedness. And the slave was comfortable about playing naked with me. After
all, he was slave born and he'd never worn clothes.

Some of the games we played as boys were boisterous and usually dissolved
into rough and tumble affairs as we wrestled on the verdant green lawns. I
recall the feel of his naked body against my own clothed one and there were
those occasions when I wished I could be as naked as he was. But that could
never be.

I remember his naked slipperiness and how difficult it was to grab hold of
him in our wrestling bouts. Always, he had the advantage over me; my
clothing gave him the purchase his nakedness denied me.

At first, Jem was differential to me and showed me the respect due to me as
a free person.  But with each subsequent visit, he relaxed as we became
friends - well as friendly as it was possible for us to be - and I found
myself eagerly looking forward to accompanying my grandmother on her visits
to her cousin so that I could play with Jem.

Over the duration of those visits, I watched Jem's progression from a shy,
slave boy through his pre-pubescent confusion into the full bloom of his
teen-aged years.

These visits gave me the opportunity to watch the physical development of
his body. With each visit there was a noticeable change in Jem.  I saw his
rapid growth spurt until he stood at six feet tall; I noticed the
thickening of his skinny boy's body and the burgeoning of his adolescent
physique with its promise of adult perfection. I heard the deepening
huskiness of his voice - I noticed he now shaved each day - and I witnessed
the growth of his body hair that was necessarily removed to conform to the
accepted, adult slave smoothness.

As he progressed through puberty, I observed - with great interest - the
lengthening and the thickening of his circumcised cock and the lowering of
his balls. It seemed to me that Jem was 'hair-triggered' and could go from
flaccid to iron-bar rigidity within a matter of seconds. Certainly,
whenever we were together he seemed to be in a constant state of arousal
and his condition perfectly complemented my own.

Strangely, it never occurred to me that Jem's transition from boyhood to
adolescence perfectly mirrored my own progression.

Odile Thureau was a kindly soul and a benevolent mistress. A long time
widow who was without children, she was very fond of her slaves. This was
especially so of Jem and his older brother, Cody and perhaps in some small
way they helped fill the emptiness of her childless life.

Certainly, she allowed them more freedom than was customary and whenever I
visited, Jem was freed from his labours to act as my companion.

Upon our arrival, a smiling Jem would be waiting for me and after being
welcomed by Odile, we were sent away to play. The gardens were an adventure
playground and we variously played at hide-and-seek, Robin Hood, cowboys
and Indians or anything else that appealed to our boyhood fantasies.

As we matured, our activities became more sedate and we'd lie on the lawns
sunning ourselves and just talking as boy's do or we'd seek relief from the
sun's intensity with a cool drink in the leafy shade of a majestic tree.

On warm days we were permitted to swim in the pool adjacent to the rear of
the house and the sounds of our laughter and splashing delighted Odile
who'd often sit by the pool with my grandmother sipping tea as they talked
and watched us at play.

Of course, Jem swam naked and how I envied him his freedom to do so. As a
free child, I was required to wear bathers. How I hated them and how I
longed to swim in the nude.  Lasciviously - and because of my youth I
wasn't fully aware of its implications - I watched as Jem cavorted naked in
the pool. Erotically, his berry-brown torso shone wetly as he swam the
length of the pool.

Sometimes I would join with him in a race which I usually contrived to
loose. The true enjoyment of the race was to swim behind Jem and to watch
as his trim body glided effortlessly through the water. Lustfully, I
watched the flashing of his glistening limbs as they cut through the water
and the alternating sideways roll of the twin orbs of his bare ass as it
breached the pool's surface.

Today, as Norge and I pass Odile Thureau's house, I see her three male
slaves tending to her gardens. In the distance, I see Jem and memories of
happier days come flooding back. I wonder if he's aware of what's befallen
me - I'd be surprised if he isn't - and I wonder how he'd re-act to me
being a slave.

Even from this distance, I can appreciate the magnificent adult slave that
Jem has become.  The morning's sun reflects back from his sweat coated body
and it highlights his superb musculature. I see that he is bent almost
double as he and his brother, Cody pull heavy mowers across the impeccably
manicured lawns and I recall the early days of my slavery when I'd been
harnessed to an identical mower. I can appreciate the soul-destroying
nature of their work.

I watch as both slaves strain into their harness and I see the intolerable
stress this places upon them; every muscle in their taut bodies is
stretched to the limit and stands out in sharp relief. But then it occurs
to me that Norge and I are no different to Jem and Cody. All four of us are
beasts-of burden and we share identical fates.

But Jem has a special place in my affections. Once we'd moved into
adulthood, he was the first slave I fucked and I have fond memories of that
day when we'd crept away to a secluded corner of a shrubbery where,
together, we discovered our true sexuality.

That day lingers fondly in my memory and it was to be the first of many
happy encounters between us.

Ironically, some two months before my own enslavement, I was contacted by
Odile's attorneys and advised that she was bequeathing Jem and Cody to me
after her death. This was conditional on me agreeing to keep them together
and guaranteeing them a good 'home'.

Of course I happily agreed to her terms and I'd looked forward to the day
when Jem and Cody would become my inherited slaves.

Sadly that isn't to be and today, as I watch them at their labours, I
wonder about their futures. Most probably after the death of their
Mistress, they will be sold separately along with their parents and their
sister as part of her deceased estate.

Such is the cruel, dispassionate nature of slavery!

The Major slows us down to a walk as we move past Odile Thureau's home and
we continue down the avenue before turning into the quiet, leafy cul-de-sac
where my great-aunt, Charlotte Maratier resides. Her house is set amid
spacious grounds and as we approach the imposing front entrance, the
scrunching of our carriage wheels in the gleaming white quartz of the wide
driveway arouses the interest of her garden slaves. They pause in their
labours and straighten up to look to see who is visiting their stricken
Mistress. They recognise our Master and quickly bend their backs to their
labours for fear of displeasing him.

Waiting at the front steps for Master's arrival are Cadmus, Charlotte
Maratier's new major domo and her erstwhile body servant, Ben.

Ben's face is wreathed in a broad smile as he recognises us and eagerly he
steps forward to greet his Master.

He hesitates and the smile becomes a look of puzzlement as he recognises
Major Swanston and his brutal slave, Pug.

No doubt Ben wonders why Pug is running alongside of me. Why would the
Major and Pug accompany our Master on what is surely a dutiful bedside
visit to his incapacitated grandmother? Why is Pug here?

I am sure these are the thoughts that tumble through Ben's mind. Of course,
I know why we are here and I know within a few minutes Norge and I are to
witness Ben's whipping.

Ben pauses as our Master and Major Swanston climb out of the carriage and
are respectfully greeted by Cadmus. He notices that his Master ignores him
and senses that all is not well.  His suspicions are further aroused when
the Major releases Pug from his restraints and instructs him to fetch his
whip from the rear luggage compartment of the carriage.

I see Ben's look of consternation as Pug grins evilly at him and menacingly
gestures towards him with the whip. Intuitively, Ben now senses the reason
for Pug's presence and fearfully he falls to the ground and crawls to his
Master's feet in supplication and to pitifully plead for mercy.

I look down on Ben's crouching form and I feel pity for him and the
suffering he is about to undergo. And yet, I feel irritation at his
stupidity. Unknowingly, he'd come so close to achieving his freedom and
recklessly he'd squandered that opportunity.

Freedom is a precious concept to any slave and I know my Master will never
offer it to me and it is this which annoys me. My fate is to serve out the
remainder of my days as a slave.  But Norge's presence at my side does
mitigate the bitterness of my fate somewhat.

But, there'll be no Norge to comfort and support Ben when he's sent to La
Forġa to work out his days in bitter servitude as a common
field-slave. Young and comely, he'll attract the lecherous attention of the
worst of the depraved slaves in the slave stables. And like the
over-confident, boastful slave, Pollux before him, he is doomed to serve as
a submissive whore for the most predatory of La Forġa's slave herd.

As I look at Ben, I am reminded of the affection I'd once felt for him and
I regret very much the future that now awaits him.

However, it's true that his fate is of his own making! His overreaching
self-confidence and his indifference to his stricken Mistress's needs have
brought him to this moment.

Poor, foolish, misguided Ben! He has only himself to blame.


To be continued ........


The Jean-Christophe stories can be accessed by joining the archive at
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