"CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES" A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"
Chapter 30: Lunch by the River
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"
Chapter 30: Lunch by the River.
My Master couldn't have chosen a more idyllic spot for his picnic luncheon with his son, Master Etienne.
He has halted Norge in the deep shade of the low, overhanging willows lining both banks of the wide river. It is high summer and the river flows sluggishly past us on its slow journey from the tall, snowed capped mountains - now just a distant, blue haze on the western horizon - before it finally empties itself into the sea far away to the east.
This morning, as we travelled through the river's wide, fertile valley, I have seen the benefits this river bestows on those farmers fortunate enough to draw on its plentiful waters to irrigate their crops and enrich their purses. And I have also been witness to the ugly side of the river's bounty to these farmers.
For the first time, I was confronted by man's inhumanity to man and my eyes were opened to the appalling suffering of countless hundreds of naked, white slaves toiling under the lash of their black overseers. These pitiful wretches labour hard and endure much to enrich their masters and supply the citizens of the nearby city with their insatiable need for fresh fruit and vegetables. I have travelled this way many times before and though I had noticed these things my mind had been impervious to the horrors of slavery. They'd always left me unmoved - that is until today.
Today, for the first time, I saw the slaves' wretchedness through the eyes of the slave that I have become.
But that is behind us; we have left the intensely cultivated fields and orchards and here, in the tranquillity of this spot, we don't hear the angry shouting of the overseers or the cruel crack of their whips falling on naked, unprotected backs. Nor do we don't hear the suffering slaves' cries of pain or their rasping, ragged breathing. Here all is silent, except for the gurgling waters of the river, the chirping of birds high up in the trees above us and the quacking and honking of waterfowl as they playfully splash on the river's surface.
After the sound and fury of the market-gardens and the orchards my Master couldn't have chosen a more tranquil haven in which to picnic. He releases me from my bonds and orders me to lay out the blankets for him and his son to sit upon and to unpack the picnic hampers. As I do so, I'm conscious that both father and son have me under scrutiny.
"Dad! Can I ask you something?"
"Certainly son, what is it you want to know?"
"Is Rafe a relative of ours?"
"No Etienne. He's no longer a member of the family."
"But he used to be didn't he? How come he isn't any more?"
"Rafe's a slave, Etienne and yes he was once a member of the family but not anymore?"
"But why isn't he, dad? How come he's no longer our relative?"
"It's a long story Etienne and I will tell you about it one day but for now all you need to know is that your great-great uncle did a very bad thing. He tried to pass Rafe off as his grandson and as a freeman when in fact he was a slave."
"How come he is a slave? I thought his father was a Barrois?"
"That's true, Etienne. But Rafe's mother was a slave woman and that makes Rafe a slave too."
"So does that mean everything that Rafe once owned is now our property?"
"Indeed it does, son."
"And Rafe too? Does he belong to us?"
"Yes Etienne, Rafe is our slave and when we arrive out at "La Forˆt" he and the other slave, Pollux will be marked with our new family brand to prove it."
"Can I watch Rafe and the other slave as they're branded?"
"Of course you can, son. If that's what you'd like?"
"Cool! Because Rafe belongs to us, does that mean I can order him around?"
"Yes Etienne. And not just Rafe; all our slaves must obey you or face punishment for insubordination."
"What sort of punishment, Dad?"
"That depends on you, son. If it's only a minor offence or if a slave simply annoys you it's quite permissible for you to slap his face or smack him hard on the buttocks. But if it's a major offence then you must have an overseer punish the slave with either the cane or the whip. If this happens always tell an overseer what the slave has done to offend you and he'll attend to the punishment. And whether the overseer uses the cane or the whip depends on you; that choice is yours. Etienne, I know this is all very new to you - as it is to me - but you need to understand that our slaves must carry out our orders or be punished. You must learn to treat them harshly if you are to control them. Do you think you can do that, son?"
"I think so, dad. I'll try to do my best."
"Good boy! RAFE, GET OVER HERE NOW!"
I'd been listening to Master's conversation as I laid out the food on a white damask cloth - and what a repast it is - cold, southern fried chicken, honeyed ham, salads, freshly baked bread rolls, several types of desserts, fresh fruits and to quench their thirst there are bottles of chilled French wine for my Master and cordials for his son. Master's chefs must have worked late into the night or had a very early start this morning to prepare this meal. My mouth salivates at the sight of so much food and the delicious aromas torment me. I can't help but make the comparison between the food I'm laying out and the meal of grey, tasteless mush that I'd eaten early this morning and which won't be repeated until this evening. There'll be no midday meal for me - or for Norge and Pollux - as slaves we must exist on just two meals a day.
The rich food and its aromas tease me and cause my empty belly to rumble and I recall that once I'd eaten this well. But no more! Such food is denied to me forever.
I'd been lost in my thoughts and Master's instruction to "Rafe, get over here now!" startles me out of my daydreaming. I hasten over to him, fall to my knees before him and ask.
"Yes Master?"
"Rafe, as you now know, my son Etienne has now come to live with me. He is the heir to my fortune and he is in every sense also your Master. I expect you to pay him the proper respect and the unquestioning obedience that is due to him. Do you understand?"
"Yes Master."
"I understand it will be confusing for you - and for all the other slaves - to refer to both of us as Master. I have decided that you will continue to address me as 'Master' but to differentiate between the two of us you will from now on refer to my son as 'Master Etienne'. Is that clear?"
"Yes Master."
"Good boy, Rafe! You may now pay homage to your young Master."
"Yes Master."
This is all I manage say as I bend forward and kiss Master Etienne's feet. By my action I am subjugating myself to my Master's son and heir and acknowledging his sovereignty over me. This lad has attained dizzying new heights. Just a few days ago he was a nobody living a precarious existence with his loose-living mother and estranged from his father. And as Lucien Barrois I was unaware of his existence. Now he has become my superior. All has changed dramatically for both of us with my downfall and his father's sudden, unexpected good fortune.
"Boy, you may serve us lunch. I'm famished. What about you Etienne, are you hungry?"
"I'm starving Dad!"
"Good then let's eat. We'll start with the chicken, ham and salad, Rafe."
I'm not used to serving - although recently I had been made to humiliatingly serve at Master's soiree for his new neighbours. There, I'd been under the strict control of my Mistress, Charlotte Maratier and her accomplice, Ben the newly appointed house steward. How Ben had lorded it over me - his former master. Nothing I did was right and he very publicly bawled me out at every opportunity. Ben very loudly admonished me by telling me that I was too slow in anticipating the needs of our Master's guests. I failed to notice when a glass needed topping up or I left the guests standing with an empty plate.
I wasn't the only slave on duty that night but I was the one that Ben singled out for his special attention. Several times throughout the course of the evening, he applied his newly acquired steward's cane to my ass and my yelps of embarrassment and outraged pain amused my former neighbours. Major Swanston was particularly impressed and I heard him compliment my Master on the fine calibre of his new steward.
I quickly became aware that Ben was playing to an audience of one - Charlotte Maratier. He knew of her antipathy towards me and he curried favour with her by publicly humiliating and punishing me at every opportunity. And she approved wholeheartedly. I could see her obvious delight at my discomfort and unusually, her vinegary expression was creased with a smile.
Hanging over me for the whole evening was the thought of what was to follow. My Master had invited my three former friends, Miles, Jack and Daniel to his party with the promise that I would entertain them. Later he'd added Simon Barrow, my former lawyer to that list. All four men were present and several times during the evening - as I served them - they asked me if I looked forward to servicing their cocks. With Ben hovering nearby listening to my words, I had no other option but to show my enthusiasm and tell them -
"Yes Sir! I'll be very happy to be of service to you."
I'd rather forget what followed. After the last of the neighbours had left, Master instructed Ben to take me into a private room where I was made to kneel to await the four men's' arrival.
We were alone and Ben took this opportunity to once more lord it over me. Facetiously, he called me "master" in an obvious attempt to belittle me. His attitude puzzled me; I'd always regarded Ben highly and to my recollection I'd treated him well. I'd elevated him to the exalted position of my personal body slave - a position any of my former slaves would have envied - and I had used him as my pleasure slave. I had liked Ben and I thought he'd liked me in return - at least that is the impression he'd always given me. So I am surprised at his hostility towards me.
Certainly, he now stands higher in the slave hierarchy of our Master's household than I. He is our Master's steward with limited authority over me whereas my destiny is to labour as a common field slave to prepare me for my future role as a human pony.
Eventually we were joined by my Master and his four special guests. I won't dwell on the sordid details of what followed. But ordered by my Master to remain on my knees, I was forced to pretend that I was an eager participant in the activities. All four were in high spirits and there was much jocularity and ribald humour - all at my expense. They drew straws to see in which order I would pleasure them. Simon Barrow was the winner and he was followed by Miles, then Jack and finally poor Daniel who drew the short straw and must wait until last. Daniel was true to form; he sulked and pouted so much that Miles good-naturedly changed places with him.
I'm not sure how long we spent in that room but it seemed like an eternity to me. I was under my Master's close scrutiny and I was acutely aware that I must give satisfaction or face his wrath. So I pretended to enjoy myself and my very real fear of punishment and the cane honed my acting skills. I made all the appreciative noises expected of me and I worked both my mouth and throat muscles to maximum effect. I over emphasised my loud sucking noises to give the impression that I was an eager player in these obscenities. My ruse worked and fortunately, I didn't detect any dissatisfaction with my performances. All four recipients of my favours were satisfied and Simon even complimented me on a job well done as he patronisingly patted my head. I was humiliated but wisely I didn't show it.
All the time I thought of Norge and how this obscene act felt so natural and so right when I performed it with him. I consoled myself with the thought that with him this is an act of love and freewill and not one of coercion or done for fear of punishment. With Norge's image before me, I closed my mind to what was happening and I did manage to struggle through my ordeal. I was left exhausted and my mouth felt it had been wrenched open with a vice and my throat feeling it had been assaulted with a battering ram. My stomach heaved from this unaccustomed addition to my diet and my wounded pride caused me to choke on my tears of shame.
And as they left, my Master humiliatingly ordered me to thank my abusers and tell them how privileged and grateful I was that they had allowed me to service them.
As I dwell on these thoughts, I have temporarily forgotten my two Masters and that I am here to serve them their lunches.
"Snap out of it boy! Stop daydreaming! It's a bad habit you have and you do it a lot. Damn you!"
My Master's angry instructions and stinging slap to my face bring me back to the present and I apologise.
"Yes Master! I'm sorry Master!"
I place portions of the chicken and ham onto two plates and move to pass them to my two Masters. But Master Etienne requests more food.
"Please Rafe; can I have some more ham?"
"Etienne! You NEVER say 'please' or 'thank you' to a slave. You don't ASK a slave for something. You ORDER him to do it. And if he doesn't do it then you punish him."
"Dad, I was only being polite. Mum always said I'm to mind my manners."
"And that's right son. But you need only to be polite to a free person and not to a slave."
"Why?"
"Because Etienne, it isn't necessary to be polite to a slave, son. A slave doesn't expect it and when you are polite to him it only confuses him. And I don't want you calling Rafe by his name, Etienne."
"Why can't I call him Rafe? That's his name isn't it, Dad?"
"Yes it is and he's called Rafe for the records we keep on him and on every other of our slaves. All our house slaves have names but out at the plantation there are too many to give each of them a name and I have been told we just give them a number. And it bad for the slave to have his betters calls him by name. It gives him a false sense of importance. It can even make a slave big-headed. We don't want that for Rafe do we?"
"So when Rafe - sorry Dad - when the slave is out at the plantation will he be given a number too? Just like all the other slaves?"
"I would think so. But that's for the head overseer to decide. We'll just wait and see what he has to say."
"OK dad, if I can't call him Rafe, what do I call him?"
"Just call him 'slave' or 'boy'. Both are acceptable forms of address for a slave. Do you think you can remember these?"
"Sure dad! They're easy to remember."
"And there's one rule you must always remember in your dealings with slaves, Etienne. You can never be friends with a slave. Always remember that and you can't go wrong."
"Ok Dad! I'll remember."
I listen to all that Master is to telling his son. Now more than ever, I feel the full weight of my slavery. This young lad is also my Master. He has jurisdiction over me and I must obey him in all things. But I still retain some small measure of my freeman's pride and it is galling to think that this very distant relative of the former Lucien Barrois is now my better and I must always address him as "Master Etienne" and obey him without question.
Then, almost as though he is reading my thoughts, he speaks to me-
"Boy, give me some more ham."
I have no other choice but to obey him and I ask -
"Yes Master Etienne. How many slices would you like?"
"Make it three, slave. Hurry it up - I'm hungry."
My Master is proud of his son's new found confidence in handling me. Laughingly, he tells me -
"Well boy it looks like you'll have to stay alert from now on. It seems you now have two Masters to please."
It has to be said that I'm less than thrilled. The thought that I am now controlled by Master Etienne is a bitter pill for me to follow.
I stand erect with my feet apart, my hands clasped behind my back and my head bowed in humility and wait as my two Masters eat. Suddenly, I'm very aware of my slave nakedness and I feel that I am on display which strictly speaking is the case. With my feet spaced some eighteen inches apart everything is on show. My testicles hang low in the sun's warmth and my penis rests slightly askew on top of my scrotum. Embarrassingly, I'm aware of a slight twitching sensation in my cock and my face is suffused with the red flush of my shame. I sneak a peek to see if my two Masters are looking at me and I'm relieved to see they are too engrossed in their meal to pay me any attention.
I'm very hungry after this morning's long run alongside of Norge and I suppose that he and Pollux are too. My stomach is rumbling from my hunger pangs and unconsciously, I lick my lips as I see the delicious food fast disappearing from my two Masters' plates. What wouldn't I give for just a slice of ham or a morsel of chicken?
This spot that Master has chosen for his lunch break is idyllic. To one side are the rolling green hills that are the transitional break between the intensely cultivated market gardens and orchards we have just travelled through and the larger, broad acre properties that lead on out to "La Forˆt". On our other side is the wide, deep river that sustains these rural economies.
Our country is truly blessed by a bountiful Nature who has bestowed upon it many gifts and an unparalleled, natural beauty. A combination of an equitable climate, fertile soil, a limitless water supply and an abundance of cheap, slave labour ensure that all free citizens enjoy a high standard of living that is the envy of all who live beyond its borders.
Conveniently, this civilised society overlooks the fact that this comes at appalling cost to the unfortunate slaves who labour ceaselessly in its pursuit of easy wealth and indolent living. Its self- indulgent citizens don't want to know of the backbreaking labour, the soul-destroying degradation or the pain of the countless thousands of hapless victims held in the thraldom of slavery. They have averted their eyes to such things; they no longer notice the ever-pervasive obscenity of the slavery that surrounds them. Conveniently, they have closed their ears to the loud groans of slavery's helpless victims and their hearts and minds are inured to the whips and suffering of their slaves.
Like the Romans of long ago they don't see any humanity in their slaves; they go unrecognised as men. And like the Romans before them, they see their slaves merely as "two-legged tools" open to exploitation in their endlessly greedy pursuit of wealth and ease.
And just days ago, I numbered myself among them. As a slave-owner, I too turned my head away from such sights. I wasn't consciously aware of my insatiable greed or of my appalling indifference to my slaves' suffering and I was blind to their hardships.
Recently my greed had manifested itself all too obviously. Uncaringly, I'd arranged with La Forˆt's chief overseer, Claymore Jackson to increase my profits by making my former slaves work longer and harder with the payment of productivity bonuses to their black overseers. As a slave I am now to fall victim to my callous treatment of my former slaves. As their Master, I'd set the conditions of their labour and as a slave I'll reap what I have sown. And under this new regime I too will feel the whip's bite on my back demanding that I give more of myself in the service of my new master.
"Boy! I want some more to drink."
My young Master has given me an order and I hurry forward to obey him.
My Masters have finished eating and I am left to pack up and clear away after them as they wander down to the river's edge to watch the ducks and swans as they feed. Suddenly I am ordered by Master Etienne to fetch the leftover luncheon scraps to him. I must now stand by helplessly and watch as he throws them to the scrambling birds. I watch enviously as the noisy ducks fight for the tasty titbits of fresh bread rolls, morsels of chicken and ham and fresh fruit. My mouth salivates and my belly rumbles as the food disappears down the gullets of the ever hungry birds.
The thought flashes through my mind that these birds have something in common with slaves. Both are constantly hungry and their need for food is never completely satisfied. But these birds are free to roam and to seek out their food. A slave doesn't have this freedom and is confined to his master's domain and is totally dependent on him for his food.
How I envy these noisy, squabbling birds their freedom to fly and roam at will whereas I, as a slave have my movements severely restricted and I am forever confined to my Master's fields through fear of dire punishment.
It all seems so unfair! My young Master feeds these birds while I and my fellow slaves stay hungry. This indifference cuts deep into my soul.
My Master has one final duty for me before he continues on his way to La Forˆt. He instructs me to water Norge and Pollux and he gives me permission to quench my own thirst at the same time. I retrieve the water container from the rear of the trap and showing my bias, I assist Norge to drink first. I temporarily remove his bit and hold the container to his mouth. It's plainly obvious that his thirst is great as he greedily gulps the water and I delay moving onto Pollux for as long as I can. But then my Master angrily tells me.
"Rafe, that's enough water for the pony! I don't want his belly full of water and slowing him down as he runs. MOVE ON!"
Hastily, I replace the bit into Norge's mouth and move onto Pollux. As I hold the water to his mouth I look directly into his eyes and I'm surprised at what I see. Gone forever are the over-confidence and cockiness that were so much a hallmark of his character. Instead his eyes now reflect his inner turmoil and his face shows the fear he feels in knowing that his days of easy living are over and the hard life of a field slave is but hours away.
The cosseted life he'd lived with his late master is now but a memory. And the one he'd planned as my Master's steward never eventuated. His sly machinations to use his bodily charms to ensnare his new master's interest have come to nothing. Unfortunately, he'd met his match in our formidable Mistress, Charlotte Maratier who'd taken an instant dislike to her grandson's cunning, new slave.
Perceptively, she'd seen Pollux as a potential rival for our Master's attention - something she wasn't prepared to share with another - and, as with the unfortunate Cato, she had worked assiduously to remove him from the household. Perfunctorily, she had installed my former pleasure slave Ben in Cato's place and had advised her grandson to send the unhappy Pollux to La Forˆt along with me to work as a field slave.
Charlotte Maratier had taken quite a liking to Ben which isn't surprising as he is a most presentable slave. And hadn't I also taken an instant liking to him at the slave dealers and bought him on the spot? I'd found him to be a happy and willing slave who was always courteous and obedient when he'd served me as my body slave.
But I suspect the manipulative Charlotte had seen Ben as malleable and as a slave she could easily bend to her will. Certainly under her patronage, Ben's rise in his Master's household was both rapid and unexpected and he knows he owes much to Charlotte who he now serves devotedly and loyally. And from what I now know of Ben, I'd not be surprised to hear he had played a role in Pollux's banishment.
For I now know there is another side to Ben - one which he'd hidden from me as his Master but which he has revealed to the slave Rafe.
In the time since my enslavement, I have endured much from Ben. As my Master's steward he has authority over me - and all the other household slaves - but he'd singled me out for special attention. At all times he sneeringly refers to me as "Master" and I have lost count of the number of times he'd swiped his cane over my ass. Sometimes it would be for an offence -real or imagined - but I suspect it was more often a case of payback and who could blame him. After all, I was his former Master and I suppose he harboured many grievances against me on that point alone.
And he delighted in verbally abusing me or caning me whenever our Mistress was present. He sensed she took great pleasure in my discomfort and he played on that. On more than one occasion, I stood silently with my head bowed as she commended him for his firm discipline over me.
One recent morning, Ben unexpectedly fetched me from my duties on the woodheap and ordered me to follow him into the house. The morning was hot and the work hard and consequently I was covered in sweat and I worried about entering the house in such a dirty condition. I would never have allowed a slave to enter into the house in my current state and I was filled with apprehension. I could only wonder at why I was here.
Ben led me up the back steps - it is forbidden for slaves to use the grand staircase at the front of the house - then along to the wide gallery where the portraits of the Barrois ancestors hang in all their gilded splendour. Our Mistress was waiting for us and as we approached her Ben ordered me to my knees and from there into the full obeisance position. I waited as they talked with my nose pressed to the floor and my ass pointed upwards to the ceiling. And as I listened, I learned why I had been brought here. My Mistress had one final hurt to inflict upon me.
Quite deliberately she pointed out four portraits she said were to be removed from the gallery's walls and in a voice loud enough for me to hear, she told Ben to have me take down the portraits of my grandparents and my parents.
Their actions in passing off the progeny of a slave woman as one of their own had brought great shame to the once proud Barrois name and they had dishonoured the family. She wanted to restore some measure of honour to the family and she commanded all traces of them removed from the house. I listened as she told Ben that soon she would visit La Foret to overseer the removal of any further traces of my parents and grandparents from there as well.
She told Ben she was determined to restore honour to her name and then almost as an afterthought she instructed him to remove the portraits of her parents too. It would seem their crime in disowning her so many years ago was not to go unpunished.
Dutifully, Ben asked what was to be done with the portraits. Charlotte Maratier told him they were to be stored in the cellar to await an inspection and valuation by an art dealer. She said they had no intrinsic value for her or her grandson however they might have some monetary value to art collectors. As an aside she snidely remarked.
"Who knows? The notoriety of their subjects might add some value to them."
And with that she prepared to leave Ben to supervise me in the removal of the offending portraits from the wall. As she walked away, the loud crack of Ben's cane on my ass reverberated around the gallery's hallowed walls. Charlotte Maratier paused and turned to watch as I scrambled to my feet to do her bidding.
I shivered under her malevolent gaze; this spiteful woman terrified me. Her steely, hate filled eyes bored into my very soul and the smile on her thin lips showed her satisfaction of this one last insult to my parents and beloved grandparents.
Like Lucien Barrois they no longer exist and they have been banished from this house for ever. Like me, they have been consigned to history's scrapheap.
"Day dreaming again boy? Snap out of it! NOW!"
My Master's command cuts through my thoughts of Ben and my Mistress. Hastily, I drink my fill of water before I am denied it as punishment and I return the water container to the trap. My Master refastens me to the shaft and climbs into the driving seat alongside Master Etienne.
He orders Norge to walk on and once more we are on the road to La Foret which is still just over an hour's journey away. If we make good time, we should be there mid- afternoon at the latest.
It would appear that Master is anxious to arrive at the plantation for he now brings his whip into play. All three of us feel the fire of its sting - Pollux and I on the undulating cheeks of our asses. But the situation is very different for poor Norge. He has to set the pace whereas all that Pollux and I have to do is to keep up with him and stay in step. The tip of the whip seeks out his low hanging balls now swinging freely between the piston rods of his legs and at its touch he increases the speed of his running.
The sun is now at its highest point and its intensity has all three of us sweating profusely. Our chests heave from our exertions and our legs tire from pounding on the road's hard surface. However, there is to be no slackening of the pace. Master's whip ensures we maintain our speed.
To be continued.....