CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES Chapter 11: Rafe
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"
Chapter 11: Rafe
For a short time after my caning, I remained fastened to the whipping-bench while my Master discussed his immediate plans with his lawyer, Simon Barrow and his household steward, Cato.
"Cato, what is the normal routine regarding the Master's pony cart? I will be in need of it tomorrow morning. I have business in the city which requires my urgent attention, isn't that so, Simon?"
"Yes Guy. We need to visit the titles office to organise the transfer of all the former Barrois property and holdings into your name. I'm afraid this won't be a quick process and we'll need several visits over a number of days before it's complete. But it must be done and done quickly."
"So Cato, tell me. What were your former masters' practices regarding their uses of the pony cart?"
"Master, they would inform me each morning of their plans for the day and the times they required to use the pony. I would ensure that the pony was harnessed and waiting for them before the required time. Do you want me to continue with that?"
"No! That seems unnecessarily complex. In future, ensure the pony is harnessed first thing in the morning and tethered in the courtyard and left waiting for me."
"Yes Master. Do you want me to leave the pony in his harness all day?"
"Of course, why not? He doesn't have other duties to perform does he?"
"No Master."
"Well then, that's settled. Over the next few days I'll no doubt be implementing other changes to the routine of the household, Cato. I'll advise you of them as they arise."
"Very well, Master."
As I lie on the bench listening to my Master, I'm surprised at how quickly he is adjusting to his new role as the owner of all that was so recently mine. Listening to him, as he gives instructions to Cato, it is easy to overlook his poor background and to assume he that he was always in command. How quickly he has taken on the mantle of authority and moved from being a poor man to a rich master. But then my transformation from rich man to slave has been just a rapid and dramatic.
"I suppose Guy, you'll move fast to put your stamp on things? Do you plan many changes?"
"That's hard to say at the moment, Simon. I don't want to race into making changes I'll regret at a later stage. There's so much I need to evaluate both here and out at 'La Foret'. But inevitably, I will make changes as I look at the regimen my slaves work under. For example, are they being used to their full potential? Can I increase their productivity and maximise my profits from them? Do I need to introduce a harsher regime of control over them? These are the types of questions I'll be asking my managers and overseers in the coming weeks."
"They sound reasonable questions to ask of your employees, Guy. And by asking them, they'll know you're very much in charge."
"I hope so, Simon. And if I detect any resistance to change then I won't hesitate to replace either my managers or overseers. My slaves aren't to be so lucky. They'll conform or buckle under to the whip. And speaking of slaves -what now am I to do with Rafe? I'd planned on taking him out to 'La Foret' tomorrow but you tell me I'll be in town for several days attending to business matters. So Cato, do you have any suggestions?"
"Master, I can keep the slave gainfully employed. There's lot of opportunities for service. He can be sent to the kitchens or assigned to the outdoor maintenance gang working in the gardens. Also we have just taken delivery of a shipment of firewood from 'La Foret' that needs splitting and storing away for winter. This would keep him occupied for several days while you attend to your business matters. The choice is yours Master. Where would you like me to put him to work? "
"They all sound like excellent tasks for him, Cato. But let me sleep on it and I'll tell you in the morning where he's to work. But of more immediate concern-what do I do with him tonight? I'm reluctant to lock him up with the house slaves. They could harbour some animosity toward him and injure him. No, I think he needs to be isolated in a secure environment away from the other slaves."
"Well Master. The slave pen is the most secure location on the property. It's made of steel bars and has a re-enforced concrete floor and I personally fit each slave with his shackles before locking them in for the night. The irons don't come off until I remove them in the morning. And my sleeping cubicle is right alongside the pen so that I'm on hand should trouble break out among the slaves. Master, can I say that we've never had a disturbance during the night."
"You can show Mr Barrow and I the slaves' quarters on our tour of the house, Cato. I'm interested in seeing them. As a matter of interest-what do the slaves sleep on and what time do you wake them in the morning?"
"Each slave has his own straw-filled pallet on the floor and I release them at 0430 hours, Master."
"That's an early start, Cato. At what time do you pen them for the night?"
"Yes Master, it is an early start but my former masters required their slaves to be hard at work when they awoke. It's necessary for the good running of the household that the slaves do start early. There's no set time for penning them up, Master. It all depends on circumstances. For example if there's a dinner-party or if my Master has guests then obviously the kitchen slaves and waiters are obliged to work for as long as they are needed."
"I see, Cato. Then there's flexibility in the hours that the household slaves are required to work?"
"Of course, Master. The slaves work at your discretion. They are here to serve your needs."
"I notice Cato, there are no female slaves. Why is that?"
"That's correct Master. The old Master and Mistress did have female slaves when they were alive but on assuming control of the household, the young Master sold all the female slaves and from then on he had male slaves to serve him. It's the same at 'La Foret', Master. There are no female slaves there."
"And does that reflect your former Master's sexual preferences, Cato?"
"Yes Master. He was very close to Ben, his body slave and to Norge, his pony. But he also regularly used the other slaves. Any that took his fancy always found themselves in his bed, Master."
"I see! I'll need to bear that in mind. But that still doesn't solve the problem of where to put Rafe overnight, does it Cato? Do you have any other suggestions?"
"The only other secure place I can think of Master is in the stables-locked in the pony's stall. But he'd still have another slave locked up with him-the pony, Norge."
"Is the pony chained up overnight, Cato?"
"His ankles are hobbled, Master. But his hands are free."
"Tell me Cato, what's the pony's nature? Is he wild? Can he be trusted not to injure Rafe?"
"I believe the pony can be trusted not to injure the new slave, Master. He's quite tame and biddable. His former master always described him as 'sweet-tempered'. He was very attached to the pony."
"Good, that's it then. Given his attachment to the pony it seems only fitting that the former master should spend his first night with him. And it might help them to "bond". Eventually they're to work together and run in harness as a pair. They may lie together if they choose but they are forbidden any sexual penetration. See to it Cato. But first, we must give Rafe his new slave haircut."
I'm grateful for my Master's decision not to pen me overnight with the other house slaves. Already he is showing a master's astuteness in making that decision. No doubt they do feel hostility toward their former master and there is the risk of them overtly injuring me. It is a wise decision and one I would have made as a master and I'm grateful for it.
But then I realise his concern isn't so much for my wellbeing; most likely it has more to do with my value to him as his property. It is a sickening thought to realise that I'm now owned property and my Master sees my worth purely in monetary terms. I wonder about that; what is my real value and how much would I sell for if my Master sent me to auction.
However, I have mixed feelings with his decision to stable me with Norge. I would much rather spend my first night as a slave on my own; I want to grieve in solitude. I know with all that has happened to me today there'll be a price to pay for it in the darkness of the night. My nerves are fraught and my emotions are raw. I'm on the verge of total collapse and I want only to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and cry out my anger, frustration, disappointment and fear. For me this will be cathartic; something I need to do before I can move forward. The road ahead into my slavery is to be difficult enough without carrying my unresolved grief with me and I need to unburden my troubled mind. But I need to do this alone. I don't want an audience to sneer at my sorrow or to gloat at my misery.
Yet, the thought of being alone with Norge thrills me. Of course, I have spent many intimate occasions alone with Norge since I bought him. But these occasions were always at my instigation and they were based solely on my needs and desires; it was very much a Master/slave relationship. I was the Master and I ordered his compliance to suit my needs. He was my slave and I forced him into sullen submission.
But my Master's prohibition on sexual activity between us is unnecessary. With all that has happened to me today, fucking Norge is the last thing on my mind. I want only to rest and focus my thoughts on what is to happen tomorrow.
Then I realise we are no longer Master and slave. We're to meet on equal terms as fellow slaves. How will he re-act to my intrusion into the solitude of his stable stall? Will he resent me?
Now, on our Master's orders, Cato releases me from the whipping bench. Groggily I stand and feel the residual sparks of my caning surge through my body. My buttocks and thighs are ablaze with my pain and I'm sure that my flesh has been irredeemably shredded by Cato's cane. Reaching behind me, I ruefully rub my arse and, so convinced am I that it has been lacerated, I look at my hands to see if they are bloodied. To my genuine surprise I see they aren't.
If I could see behind me, I would note that my buttocks now wears twenty stripes-ten on each cheek-and five stripes across the back of my upper legs. These stripes glow fiery red against the milky whiteness of my arse and I know from the observation of my former slaves that inevitably these will fade into the purplish-red bruises I'll wear for some considerable time.
Cato, with the expertise gained from many canings, had done himself proud. Using my body as a blank "canvas" he'd very carefully laid down each stripe in a neat pattern, so that they run roughly parallel and equidistant from one another. I'm forced to stand still as my Master and Simon Barrow examine me and trace out the marks of Cato's cane with their fingers. I try not to move but the touch of their hands causes me to both flinch and wince. They ignore my discomfort and my Master praises Cato for a "job well done". In return, Cato smiles his appreciation at this praise from his new Master.
"DOWN ON YOUR KNEES, BOY! DO IT NOW!"
Cato's barked order takes me by surprise, but I hasten to obey and drop to my knees and bow my head. How quickly I have learned to respond to an order. I know it is time for my final humiliation of the day. In the last, fading minutes before the sunset of the day which had seen me wake as a free man in the morning but return home as a slave in the afternoon, my head is to be shorn.
"Master, with your permission," Cato asks, "I'll fetch the shears and clippers from the stable and crop the slave's head. And do you want me to bring back chains for him, Master."
"Thank you, Cato. Mr Barrow and I will stay and watch as Rafe gets his new haircut and please do bring some hobble chains for him."
Even though I know there'll be little discomfort in having my hair cut, I never-the-less face this final shame with dread. I have a head of thick, curly hair and I am extremely proud of it; in fact my pride of it borders on vanity. I'd always lavished great care on my hair and hadn't spared any expense in keeping it looking "good". Now I'm to lose it and in doing so I'll also lose another part of my identity. From now on I'll wear the "buzz crop" of a slave and my head will be indistinguishable from that of all other slaves. I am now to truly join them in the uniformity of their appearances and share in the naked anonymity of their existences.
On returning from the stables, Cato noisily drops a set of leg-irons onto the ground in front of me. I shudder as I look at them; they are yet another symbol of slavery and I realise that I'm to wear them overnight. It is a requirement of the household-a ruling from my grandfather's day-that all slaves are fitted with them before being locked away for the night.
Cato wastes no time in shearing me. He roughly grabs my hair and begins to hack it off-lock by lock- with his scissors. He has little regard for my feelings and strand by strand, he tugs it away from my scalp and cuts. I hear the gentle snip of the scissors and I feel my hair gently falling down over my shoulders to the ground. The hair of which I was so proud soon lies on the ground around me and I have the bitter realisation that never again will I be allowed to grow it so long. My crowning glory is no more.
If it was possible for me to see my head, I would be dismayed at the ragged, uneven cut of Cato's scissors. But he isn't finished with me yet. He pushes my head forward and runs his clippers over my scalp from the nape of my neck to my front hairline and I'm left with the minimum of hair cover. The evening air is cool on my shorn scalp and my head feels strangely denuded. Cato steps back and slowly circles around me as he looks at his handiwork. Not completely satisfied, he again runs the clippers over my scalp until he is sure that the remaining stubble is of uniform length. Respectfully, he speaks to my Master.
"Master, the slave is finished. All that remains to be done is to fit him with his cinch and place him in leg-irons. Do you wish to inspect him before I order him to his feet?"
Without answering, my Master inspects me by running his hands over the stubble on my head. I consider this is even more humiliating than the actual cutting off of the hair. Once more I feel Guy Maratier's hands on me as they assess me and claim me as his property.
"Well done Cato. It's a very good cut and it suits him. He's unrecognisable from the other slaves except for the body hair. As he's to remain in town for the next few days, I'm having second thoughts about that. Perhaps tomorrow, I might have him shaved smooth. What do you think, Cato?"
"Master it's your choice and I can attend to that in the morning if you wish it?"
"I'll sleep on it and let you know in the morning, Cato. But for now let's get him shackled and locked away for the night. Then you can take Mr Barrow and me on a quick tour of the house before dinner."
"As you wish, Master. BOY, STAND UP! ON YOUR FEET AND ASSUME THE DISPLAY POSITION!"
I'm quick to obey Cato's instructions but the display position is to prove too difficult for me. Of course, as a former master I'm familiar with it and I have on countless occasions demanded it from my slaves. In theory I know what is required of me but in practice it proves to be harder. Never-the- less, I make a genuine effort to comply-or so I think-and draw my body rigidly to attention, move my feet apart and entwine my fingers behind my bowed head. My efforts however, aren't good enough. Cato angrily kicks my ankles further apart and I become confused by the tirade of his shouted instructions to me. Exasperated, he asks my Master,
"Master, the slave shows an inability to learn and is slow to respond to an order. Do I have your permission to train him with my cane?"
"Of course you do, Cato. Do whatever you must to make him obey you."
Cato walks behind me and I hear the whine of his cane. I cry out in pain as it cuts across my buttocks once more and I hear his shouted orders to "stand erect", 'pull your shoulders back", and "thrust your chest out, suck your belly in". Each of these commands is re-enforced with a further cut of the cane and weeping, I hasten to do his bidding. I have had my first lesson in slave deportment. It is a hard lesson but aided by Cato and his cane it is one I quickly learn. From now on, I won't have any difficulty in assuming the correct stance in front of my Master.
Cato reaches out and takes my cock and balls in his hand and I'm well aware of what is to happen next. I have witnessed it with every new slave I'd ever purchased in the past and like them my genitals are now being "sized up" for my new cinch rings. Cato stretches my cock out from my body checking its length and thickness before hefting my balls and testing for their weight and volume.
Reaching into a small leather pouch attached to his belt, Cato takes out the cinch that is to adorn me. It is an inexpensive, three ringed cinch made of the same metal as the new collar fastened around my neck and its cheapness reflects my new status as a work slave. Obviously, I won't be wearing the more expensive cinches worn by the house slaves or Norge.
So as to avoid injury to me, Cato very carefully manoeuvres my cock and balls through the first and largest ring which now rests flat against the skin of my groin and gathers everything up into a very neat package, Then, almost lovingly he manipulates my balls through the second sized ring before finally, threading my cock through the smallest ring forcing it to stand out in proud isolation from its companions. Cato makes some final "adjustments" to the rings before he is satisfied.
The rings have an unexpected effect upon me. I'm not yet used to their "strangeness" and the sensation I have is that my balls no longer hang low between my legs. I now seem to be "wearing" them in front of my body and even my cock is thrust forward into prominence. There is a very slight sensation of a shifting of balance and I have a new awareness of my genitals. Now they are on permanent display for all to see and to comment on.
As a result of Cato's manipulations, I'm now fully aroused and my cock throbs with intensity. This isn't lost on my Master who takes my hard erection into his hand and draws Simon Barrow's attention to it.
"Simon, you expressed disappointment before with Rafe's inability to get his prick up. I think you'll agree Rafe is doing us "proud" at the moment. But come and feel for yourself."
I stand motionless as Simon "plays" with my erection. I try to put my shame from my mind and recall Norge's earlier stoicism and acceptance as Major Swanston subjected him to this same inspection. I had greatly admired Norge's calm dignity in the face of such humiliation and want desperately to emulate it. As a slave, I will have to endure many, many such inspections; I'll be required to stand still as I'm inspected and close my ears as I'm discussed dispassionately by my betters. For me, there'll always be humiliation in these degrading examinations; but like Norge, I'll gradually come to accept them and there'll even be some pride in my ability to stand quietly as I calmly submit to an "inspection". That however will come later.
But for now, as I stand and listen to Simon's crude comments about my cock, I burn with the heat of my shame and my face reflects my inner turmoil. That too is a lesson I'm also to learn; one of how to suppress my emotions and remain expressionless. I'm to learn that slaves are denied the very human traits of pride and self-respect.
Cato has picked up the leg-irons and waits patiently for my Master and Simon Barrow to finish their inspection of me. Finally, my Master nods to Cato and gives him the permission to fit them to me; Cato kneels in front of me to do so. A little shiver runs through me as I feel the tight constriction of the iron bands around my ankles. My legs and feet feel weighed down by the shackles' heavy weight.
In that gloomy, half-light between daylight and darkness, I now stand a shackled, naked slave in the courtyard of the mansion that had so recently been mine. I have been dispossessed of it and my freedom has been taken away from me. In the few short moments before I'm taken to Norge's stable stall for the night, I recall the nightmare of all that has happened to me today.
In quick succession these recollections tumble through my troubled mind. I remember how unsuspectingly I'd obeyed the court summons to appear before Judge Matthews, my disbelief at being declared "slave-born', my horror at my subsequent enslavement and the humiliation of having to strip down to my slave nakedness before the crowded courtroom. And then there was the degradation of my assessment, the fitting of my slave collar and branding before being made to run naked alongside of Norge through the streets of the city.
My life has assumed a surreal quality; in my former life as a free man I would have seen all this as the stuff of fiction. Tragically, in my case it is not fiction; it is all too real.
My thoughts are cut short by another cruel cut of Cato's cane and the instruction to,
"Stop daydreaming, boy! NOW MOVE!"
Cato and his cane guide me in the direction of the stables. My movements are restricted by my leg- irons; the short length of chain joining my ankles makes it impossible for me to lift my feet and walk. I can only move forward by noisily shuffling my feet as far as my chains allow.
My Master and Simon Barrow follow behind.
To be continued....