CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 41: "Rafe is taken to the Stables"
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) To read all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"
Chapter 41: Rafe is taken to the Stables
If possible the next phase of my training was more fraught than the six weeks I'd spent on the water-wheel.
But the water-wheel had changed me both physically and emotionally and it prepared me for my new role as a heavy duty draft slave working in a team of ten pulling a large flat-topped dray.
My time on the wheel had toughened me up; it had built up my lung capacity, given me the endurance to survive a long day of hard labour and turned my legs into powerful pistons for pulling a heavily laden dray around the plantation.
Claymore Jackson's plans for me were carefully thought out. My Master had requested that he turn me into a pony slave to run alongside Norge. Of course, Claymore is no stranger to this. After all, less than twelve months ago, he'd trained Norge to serve me and more recently, he'd also trained Norge's friend, Jake as his personal pony. So it has to be said, he has the expertise - and the dedication -to do the job and to do it well.
As I was to discover my training came in three stages each independent of the other but each equally crucial to my overall development. And these three steps had been meticulously thought out by Claymore and he studiously applied them to me.
That first stage - the water-wheel - had strengthened my body, broken my resistance to becoming a dutiful slave and given me the endurance to last through a full day of hard labour. In Claymore's words, I was now ready to move onto the second phase that would see me trained to work in team.
This is an important step in my overall training. Here, I will become part of a team and I will be taught to work in unison with nine other slaves as a single unit of labour. I will need to match my strength to theirs' and to pace myself alongside of them and to finally lose any individuality that I still retain. I will learn that, as a single entity, I no longer exist and that I now am just one of their numbers. The lessons learned here will stand me in good stead as I run with Norge.
And the final step will be more personal and once more it will concentrate on me as an individual. During this stage, I will be trained in bearing and deportment. I will learn the various gaits and prancing steps that my Master will demand of me as one of his personal ponies. I will be taught to carry myself with the upright bearing that shows my pride in belonging to my Master and I will be trained to bring credit to my Master by "showing hard" as I run.
My final day on the water-wheel drew to a close and my sense of relief in knowing that I wouldn't be returning tomorrow was overwhelming. But I did wonder if this also meant the end of my secret, early morning rendezvous' with Sir Conn in the seclusion of the garden's shrubbery. I supposed it would and I regretted this. But I knew Sir Conn was a resourceful young man and I hoped with all my heart that he'd work out an alternative that allowed us to spend a few illicit minutes together away from the prying eyes of his fellow overseers. But I realised this could be difficult; I would just have to wait and see.
That night I rested in the security if my cage and thought about tomorrow. I'd heard enough of the conversation between my Master and Claymore Jackson to know I would be used as a heavy duty draft slave.
The thought of this disturbed me. Obviously, I knew what awaited me. I have observed these slave teams working innumerable times and in my boyhood they'd always fascinated me. But as an adult, I'd never paid them too much attention. Now my mind was dredging up countless images from the past. And these troubled me. I knew that this next phase of my training was to be especially onerous. And I knew that the next six weeks or so would be particularly wretched ones for me.
After my day's toil, I was bone-achingly tired and I wanted to sleep. But it was hard to settle down; the nocturnal activities of my fellow slaves disrupted my early attempts at rest. I have learned to wait patiently as they exhausted themselves. It often intrigued me where they found the extra energy for their night time frolics; surely, like me, their daytime labours left them worn out. But I supposed the sexual urge - even in a tired slave - is too powerful to ignore and the need for sexual release too strong to be denied.
So in the gathering night-time gloom of our stables, I watched voyeuristically and listened to the carnal sights and sounds being played out all around me. By this time, I had become used to the animal like grunts, groans, belching and farting of my fellows as they indulged in their sexual exploits.
I looked to where Pollux was lying alongside his "protector", a burly brute of slave who'd eventually won out over all those who'd initially fought over him. Despite my initial dislike of Pollux, I was glad that he no longer had to put up with the depredations that had been so much a part of his first few nights in the stables. Now he had the protection of a dominant male and could sleep secure in the knowledge that no one would molest him.
The past six weeks had also wrought changes in Pollux. He'd lost the over preening arrogance and the swagger that had annoyed me so much on our first encounter at Schuster and Hanson's Slave Dealership. They'd been replaced with timidity and a willingness to please.
Physically, his body showed the effects of his new life. Gone was the well-groomed slave I remembered. The smooth, sleek body was now leaner, stringier and more muscle defined than before. His skin had been darkened to a deep tan and his hair grew in lank, matted strands. His chin was covered in stubble and his formerly hairless chest and limbs were now covered in his sweat-matted hair. And he showed the effects of his labours. His back and ass bore the crissed- crossed pattern of the whip that is the hallmark of a common field slave.
Even as I watched, Pollux's protector stirred himself and wordlessly, delivered a stinging slap to Pollux's ass. Immediately, with almost robotic acquiescence, Pollux rose from the straw and placed himself on all fours, spread his legs wide and offered his ass to his slave master.
I watched as the slave mounted Pollux and thrust into him. Using his arms to brace himself against the wild thrusting of the cock buried deep within him, Pollux waited impassively for the climax of this latest coupling.
I'd been witness to this several times before. Indeed, Pollux is frequently used by the slave. In all probability this scene will be repeated in the early hours of the morning before they are taken out to their labours.
It always seemed to me that Pollux was used with callous indifference. And there didn't appear to be any joy in this latest coupling. The scene being played out before me was cold, mechanical and very one-sided; any spontaneity on Pollux's part had been replaced with passivity. I wondered whether he derived any pleasure from this or did he see it as a duty. Did he see it as a fee to be paid for his protection against any possible tormentor and from the abuses he'd suffered initially?
Pollux remained silent as he was ridden hard. I watched the clenching and unclenching of the slave's powerful buttocks as he ploughed deeper into Pollux and I heard the animal sounds of his pleasure. Finally, with a triumphant shout, he climaxed and then spent; he collapsed over Pollux to slowly recover. Docilely, Pollux waited for the cock within him to wilt and for it to be withdrawn. He'd been well trained to serve his "slave master". After some minutes, the slave withdrew from Pollux and with a loud dismissive slap to his ass indicated he was finished with him. Pollux was free to lie down and rest secure in the embrace of his protector.
And my own tiredness overwhelmed me and I fell into a deep, restful sleep. All too soon I was awakened to a new day and new labours.
The light of the new day was just a hint on the eastern horizon when Sir Conn awoke me and released me from my cage. We followed the usual pattern and I was taken to the latrine area to void my bladder and bowels before he gave me the first of my two meals for the day.
Then, instead of heading towards La Forˆt's stately home and the water-wheel, Sir Conn lead me by my neck chain in the opposite direction towards the area where the ponies and the heavy duty draft slaves are stabled.
It is some distance from the slave barracks which have been my home for the past six weeks and it took us all of ten to fifteen minutes to reach our destination. As a consequence of this, Claymore Jackson and Sir Conn will decide to move my security cage from the slave barracks to the stables which will become my permanent home for the remainder of my stay. Of course, I wasn't told of their decision and it came as a surprise to me when, at the end of the day, I was housed in the stables rather than the barracks.
Already the stables were a hive of activity as the drafts were yoked together and harnessed to their drays. And as we approached, I saw that Jake has been scrubbed down, oiled and harnessed to his trap ready to be driven to Claymore's residence.
Jake stood in sharp contrast to the teams of draft slaves. He had been scrubbed clean and the sun's first rays glinted on his oiled torso. This play of light and shadow on his impressive physique highlighted his muscularity. Like Norge, Jake is a superb pony and that morning I caught a glimpse of myself in another four and a half months' time.
Jake's head was closely cropped and his faced shaved to match his smooth, hairless body. The highly polished, black harness with its silver trim hugged his upper body in a snug fitting embrace that threw into relief the different muscle groups of his powerful frame. Even as I watched a groom climbed into the trap and gave the order for Jake to 'walk-on". Obediently, Jake moved forward and as the whip was applied to his ass, he set off at a brisk trot to begin his day's labours. I would catch further glimpses of Jake throughout the day as he took Claymore Jackson on his daily rounds of inspection.
But there was to be no scrubbing down or oiling of my body. As a draft, I was to be left as unkempt as the other wretches in the team to which I was assigned.
This was the breaking of new ground for Sir Conn and me. For my part I was uncertain of what was to happen and Sir Conn was equally as uncertain as to what he should do with me. But he was as resourceful as always and led me to the stable-master, Regis Carlisle, who, I would in future, address as Sir Regis.
As stable-master, Sir Regis is in charge of all the ponies and heavy duty draft slaves. He is responsible for the well-being of his charges; their continuing good health and of their ability to work at full production.
Sir Regis was a recent employee - Lucien Barrois had employed him during his grandfather's final illness. He'd come highly recommended and carrying excellent references from past employers. All these attested to him being a stern taskmaster and this was a quality Lucien had always looked for in his overseers.
And as Lucien, he hadn't disappointed me; he was a strict disciplinarian and the labour output from the slaves in his charge showed a dramatic increase under his stewardship. In fact, only a week or so before my own enslavement, I'd rewarded him with a fat, productivity bonus and a sizeable increase in his salary to show my gratitude to him. He was most profuse in his thanks to me and promised that the work-output would increase even further. I supposed I was about to see if Regis Carlisle had kept that promise.
In theory, Regis Carlisle is answerable to Claymore Jackson as the plantation manager and head overseer but in practise he is subject only to himself. Claymore's duties are all encompassing and he doesn't have the time to attend to the minutiae of the day to day activities of the plantation. Some things need to be left in the capable hands of his subordinates. And there is no one more capable than the stable-master; as I am to discover over the next six weeks.
Sir Regis is of course black and I recalled he is thirty years old although his handsome face looks much younger. Despite his youthful appearance, he does possess that air of authority that I now see is the hallmark of all La Foret's black overseers. It's paradoxical that Lucien Barrois had never noticed this quality in his black overseers yet the slave Rafe is very well aware of this aspect of their nature.
As Rafe, I had become aware that authority is an inherent component in the black man's psyche. And my association with Sir Conn has demonstrated to me that authority in a black man is synonymous with firm discipline and stern punishment.
My time spent on the water-wheel under Sir Conn's control had given me new insights into my former black employees. Each morning, as I knelt before him in the quiet seclusion of the shrubbery, I succumbed to his authority and submitted to his use of me as an instrument of pleasure and sexual relief. And each day, as I watched Sir Conn plunge naked into the cooling waters of the irrigation channel, I gained an appreciation of his body and the sheer physicality of the black man overwhelmed my senses.
Day by day, as I descended further into my slavery and my acceptance of myself as a slave grew, I began to see Sir Conn as a vastly superior being; one to be feared and obeyed, respected and deferred to at all times.
Given that I was a white slave and Sir Conn was a black overseer, it was inevitable that I would grow to see all black men as my superiors. And so it was with Sir Regis that morning as I stood before him in humble submission and waited for his command.
As Sir Regis and Sir Conn conversed, I surreptitiously 'inventoried' both my black superiors. Of course, Regis Carlisle is older by far than Sir Conn and yet he cut a fine figure in his tight fitting uniform of pale blue, open necked, short sleeved, polo shirt and denim trousers. He wore highly glossed, black, riding boots with jangling, silver spurs which added a flamboyant touch to his appearance and the coiled whip and punishment cane attached to his belt gave him a fearsome air of authority.
His garments did nothing to hide his impressive physique; in fact they enhanced the wide shoulders, the narrow waist and the bulging biceps of his upper body and his strong, muscular legs were clearly evident beneath his tight legged denims. With each breath, his chest stretched the fabric of his shirt and highlighted the insignia of Barrois coat-of-arms on the left breast. Quite obviously, my Master hadn't gotten around to replacing this with his own insignia; the one he had seared into my flesh six weeks ago and which marked me as a Maratier slave.
"What you looking at boy?" Sir Regis's question took me by surprise and the sudden slap to my face startled me. I was covered by my confusion and I stammered out my apology.
"Nothing, sir! I'm sorry sir!"
"What you mean by nothing? Are you calling me ... nothing?"
My ill-considered reply had trapped me. How do I extricate myself?
"Sir! I meant no offence to you. I am sorry sir."
"Being sorry doesn't cut it with me boy. Bend over and get your ass in the air. DO IT! NOW!"
As I scrambled into position, I continued to say "I'm sorry, sir" but Sir Regis wasn't receptive to my heartfelt apologies.
"Grab hold of your ankles and brace yo'self boy! I'm about to cane your ass good and proper."
I blanched at Sir Regis words and I heard myself pleading.
"Please sir! I meant no offence to you, sir! I'm sorry sir!"
"Shut your mouth, boy."
I braced myself and trembling, I tried to prepare my mind for Sir Regis's cane. How many strokes would he give me? I waited for the sibilant hiss of his cane whistling through the air as it travelled towards to my body. But instead, I heard him ask Sir Conn.
"Does this boy give you much trouble, Conn?"
"Not too much, Regis. He's normally well behaved and not much trouble."
"Did you have to use your cane on him very often?"
"No not too often. Mainly, it was just to spur him on ... to make him maintain the pace of the wheel. Anyway I wasn't allowed to be too severe on him. Old man Maratier won't allow him to be permanently marked."
"So Claymore Jackson has told me. Why is that? Is he a pet or something?"
"I'm not sure about him being a pet. Could be? I understand the slave is here to be trained as pony for Guy Maratier's use."
"Then, I'd better make sure I don't damage his ass."
"How many strokes are you going to give him, Regis?"
"Five! That's normal for me. Unless the slave is guilty of a major infraction of the rules. Then the punishment is determined by the severity of the crime. But in this case it's only minor so I won't be too hard on him. It's more to show him who's the boss and let him know that I won't take any nonsense from him. By the way, the boy has a cute ass. It's almost a pity to mark it with the cane. Tell me honestly Conn. Have you ever used his ass?"
"No! Never!" Sir Conn's reply was almost a protest.
"Never? Then why are you blushing? I seem to have touched a raw nerve? Have I caught you out?"
"His ass is out of bounds by Guy Maratier's orders."
"So then, you've never used him for sex? If I'd been in your place, I'd have been sorely tempted. Answer truthfully, Conn."
"Well, I have used his mouth. Guy Maratier never said that was off limits."
"WOW! What was that like?
"HOT! He's good at sucking cock. I'm going to miss it."
"Why are you going to miss it? What's changed?"
"Well I always took him into a secluded part of the garden where we weren't seen by anyone. Now that he's here, I guess there's an end to that."
"Not necessarily. Look Conn, I'm sure we can organise somewhere quiet and private in the stables for you. And of course, I intend to take advantage of him too. I'd be a fool to pass up on that."
"Thanks Regis. That'd be cool! I'd appreciate that. I'd become accustomed to using Dumb-ass at my leisure."
"Dumb-ass?"
"That's the name I call him by, Regis. I only ever call him Dumb-ass."
"I like it, Conn. But that isn't his real name is it? Of course we all know he was once Lucien Barrois but what is his slave name?"
"He's called Rafe but it's not a name I'd ever call him by. I don't hold with giving a whitey slave a name. 'Boy' or 'slave' is all that's needed. Or in his case' Dumb-ass' is good enough for him."
"I agree totally! I see you're a man after my own heart. What was your opinion of Lucien Barrois as our employer?"
"He was an arrogant prick! He was always walking around as though had a stick rammed up his ass and talking down to everyone. I disliked him and what happened to him served him right. I much prefer him as a slave?"
"And what are your views about our new employer? How do you feel him?"
"They're the same as I feel about Dumb-ass. And I particularly hate that little prick Etienne. I hope he ends up just like Dumb-ass one day. I'd enjoy putting my cane to skinny, white ass. He follows me around like a shadow and I can't shake him off. That annoys me. But Mr Jackson tells me that I should ignore this and stay on the right side of him as he's the heir to all this. And what about you, Regis? What are your feelings about the new boss?"
"Much the same as yours Conn. Although I haven't had much to do with either Guy Maratier or his son. I haven't come face to face with them yet. All my dealings with Guy Maratier are done through Claymore Jackson, who, by the way, has told me you're to work with me to gain experience in the stables. Has Claymore mentioned this to you?"
"No! That's news to me. But I was wondering where I'd work once Dumb-ass was placed in a team."
"Well Claymore told me he wants you working here so that you can still take care of this boy. I understand you've been responsible for feeding him and securing him safely away for the night and that's to continue."
"Cool! That suits me. I guess I'll need to work around your timetable and requirements."
"That won't be a problem, Conn. We'll sort out the details later. But I've kept Dumb-ass waiting long enough. It's time for his punishment."
I had been temporarily forgotten as the two overseers voiced their dislike of Lucien Barrois and the Maratier father and son. I hadn't minded; after all I was spared the cane for as long as they talked. But I knew my five strokes of the cane had only been delayed and not abandoned. And as they finished talking, I braced myself for them. From my topsy- turvy view of proceedings, I saw Sir Regis take up his position behind me and I took a deep breath in anticipation of what was to follow. All my senses were heightened as I listened for the whine of the cane. And I didn't have long to wait.
I heard the cane's sibilant whisper followed almost immediately by the loud 'thwack' as it landed on my upturned, unprotected buttocks. There were a few seconds of silence between that sound and my yelp of pain; this was the time it took for the pain to crash through into my consciousness. Sir Regis followed through four more times with his cane and four more times I vocalised my pain. And then my ordeal was over and Sir Regis ordered me to.
"Stand up and face us boy."
I did as instructed and faced the two overseers. Ruefully, I used both hands to rub my ass in a futile attempt to ease its pain. Since I became a slave, I have been caned a number of times and by an increasing number of people including the Court's overseers at my initial enslavement and since then by Cato, Major Swanston's brute slave, Pug, the slaver, Lionel Schuster and even Ben, my erstwhile body slave has used his steward's cane of authority on me. And over the past six weeks I have been subject to Sir Conn's frequent chastisement. And now I can add Sir Regis to this growing list.
Very early on, Norge had told me the probability of punishment was inevitable in slave's life. He'd told me to prepare myself for this and that I will have to 'grin and bear' it.
That day, as I gently rubbed my aching ass, I'm was neither grinning nor bearing it. My ass was aflame with its pain and it was hot to the touch.
"Get your hands away from your sorry, white ass, boy and stand at display."
That day I gained respect for Sir Regis through his use of the cane on me and I hurried to comply with his instructions. I listened attentively as he spoke to me.
"Pay attention boy to what I have to say!" Sir Regis spoke directly to me. "I have simple rules for the slaves in my charge. Can you guess what they are?"
How was I to answer? Was Sir Regis setting a trap for me and if I gave the wrong answers, would I be further punished? But his question was rhetorical and he didn't require my answer. Instead he went on to say.
"When you were Lucien Barrois what did you demand of your slaves?"
The answer was patently obvious. As Lucien Barrois, I'd required my slaves to be work hard in my interests. I guess this was the paramount requirement but to that could be added total obedience to my will and to all instructions given to them by my overseers. As I mulled over this, Sir Regis impatiently demanded that I answer.
"Come on boy! I'm waiting for your answer. QUICKLY!"
"Sir! As a master, I demanded that my slaves work hard in my interests and that they were obedient at all times."
"Good boy! And as a slave what is now required of you?"
"Sir! That I work hard in my Master's interest and obey all instructions given to me by either my Master or his overseers."
"Right on! What I demand from you is to listen attentively to all instructions given to you, to obey them without hesitation and to work the hardest that you can. Now repeat them back to me."
"Sir! I must listen to all orders given to me; obey them without question or hesitation and to work hard in my Master's best interests."
"Good boy! To sum up then - all you need to remember is to listen, to obey and to work. Those are my three golden rules and I'll demand them from you. Break any of them and you'll be punished. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir! I understand, sir."
"I've got to say, Conn. You've trained him well. He's seems docile enough."
"As I mentioned to you before, Regis. He's easy to handle and he does work hard. Of course, there are times when you need to ride his ass to keep him moving. But that isn't all that often."
"You're speaking figuratively of course, Conn. You never did get to ride his ass in the practical sense from what you told me earlier. It's a pity about that. Dumb-ass, as you call him, has a very cute rear. It reminds me of my pony, Honky's ass."
"You've got your own pony, Regis?"
"Yep! It's one of the perks of the job. I never walk when I can drive. I have my own pony and trap which you'll get to see soon. The pony's name is Honky. When we take Dumb-ass out into the fields, we'll drive Honky out in my trap."
"That's cool! I'm used to seeing Mr Jackson driving his pony Jake and I got to say I wish it was me driving him. What's it like having you own pony? It must be great to have that control over a slave and to use him just the same as you would a horse."
"It is Conn! It's a great feeling to have a white boy pulling you around behind him. You'll love it I'm sure. Look, if you're up for it - I'll let you drive Honky later."
"Really? Thank you Regis, I'd love to have a go at driving Honky. And by the way, I love the name you've given him. Honky is so appropriate for white slave. "
"Thank you, Conn. But your name for Rafe is no less appropriate. Dumb-ass! I love it. I wonder how the slave feels about being called Dumb-ass."
"Does it matter how he feels, Regis?"
"No of course it doesn't. I'm just amused by the thought that you have given the once high and mighty Lucien Barrois such a demeaning name and he can't do a damn thing about it."
I found the name "Dumb-ass" demeaning - I still do - and I was affronted each time Sir Regis and Sir Conn called me by it. I seethed inwardly at this insult to my intelligence but I couldn't offer any protest. As Sir Regis had just said - "I can't do a damn thing about it". Of course, I'm better educated than either Sir Regis or Sir Conn, but that was of no consequence. They were my superiors by virtue of being free whereas I was a slave and added to this was their own deeply ingrained sense of their black superiority. Then, almost as though he was reading my thoughts, Sir Regis gave the knife in my wounded pride one final twist.
"Tell me boy, why do you think Sir Conn calls you Dumb-ass?"
The question was loaded and fraught with danger for me. Should I give the wrong answer, and anger the stable-master, then I could be punished. My pride would dearly have liked to retaliate but I recalled the recent experience when I'd replied to a leading question put to me by my boyhood friend, Miles in the presence of my Master. On that occasion, I'd yielded to my pride and answered sarcastically. I wasn't anxious to repeat that mistake again and so I swallowed my pride and gave an answer that I hoped would be the right one.
"Sir, it's because I'm an inferior white slave sir, and I'm not as smart as Sir Conn, sir. As my black superior, he is cleverer than me, sir."
"But you didn't always think that way, did you, slave?"
"Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"Well as Lucien Barrois you felt you were superior to us. Isn't that so?"
I needed to tread carefully for I was on shaky ground. I knew where Sir Regis was taking me with his leading questions. He was trying to trap me into admitting that I once considered myself superior to him and my other overseers. Frantically, I searched my mind for a way out of my predicament but none presented itself and I stood mute.
"I asked you a question boy! As the former Master, didn't you think you were superior to everyone else? Answer me and answer truthfully! And I'll know if you're being truthful. "
I had no alternative but to answer...
"Yes sir!"... But my answer was barely audible and it earned me a stinging slap to the right side of my face from Sir Regis.
"SPEAK UP. BOY! We didn't hear you."
"YES SIR!"
"YES SIR! WHAT?"
Sir Regis had cut me a large slice of humble pie and he was determined I would eat it and not leave any crumbs. I stared past him to where Sir Conn stood and I saw his obvious amusement at my discomfiture. The two overseers relished belittling me both as their former employer and now as a white slave under their control.
I was caught on the horns of a dilemma. How should I answer? Sir Regis had warned me that I must speak truthfully and that he'd know if I was lying. Instinctively, I knew the answer he required from me and so, once more, I swallowed my pride and told him of Lucien Barrois's supposed disdain for his black overseers.
However, this wasn't strictly true. Lucien had certainly regarded his overseers as his employees but in fairness to him, he'd never judged them on the issue of their race. Indeed he'd always held them in high regard - as had his grandfather - and there were many whites who ranked lower in his esteem than his black overseers.
And he'd regarded himself as an enlightened employer. He'd always paid wages well above the award and all his overseers had received more than generous productivity bonuses. Blacks had always been a part of his life He'd grown up surrounded by them and he'd spent much of his boyhood in the company of Claymore Jackson.
So while it is true to say Lucien had never socialised with his black overseers - but this was more a reflection of his retiring personality rather than snobbery - he saw them in no less a light than most of his white acquaintances.
As the slave Rafe, I was horrified to hear how low I ranked in the estimation of La Forˆt's black overseers. Sir Regis had demanded I answer his leading question. Hopefully, I gave him the answer he was looking for.
"Yes sir! As Lucien Barrois, I saw myself as superior to everyone else."
I hoped this answer would satisfy him. However, it didn't and he pressed me still further.
"And you saw yourself as a white superior to the black man? You regarded all your black overseers as your inferiors, isn't that so? Remember to answer me truthfully, boy."
I had nowhere to go other than to agree with Sir Regis. I feared the consequences of disagreeing with him.
"Yes sir! I saw myself as a white superior to my black overseers."
"Is that still the case? How do you see yourself now, boy?"
"No sir." I bowed my head in defeat. "Sir, I am an inferior white slave under the control of my superior black overseers."
The words of my capitulation left a bitter taste in my mouth but that was preferable to another session with Sir Regis's cane.
Sir Conn greeted my answer with a loud whoop of victory and triumphantly pumped his clenched fist into the air above his head. Sir Regis's response as he spoke was more subdued and pragmatic.
"Good boy!" Firstly, he congratulated me and then he commented - whether it was to Sir Conn or I wasn't clear. "The slave now knows his place in the scheme of things."
Throughout this exchange, my attention had been focused on Sir Regis and Sir Conn. However, during the lulls that didn't involve me in their conversation, I was partially aware of the noisy, feverish activity taking place in the background of the stable-yard.
I'd watched as the heavy duty draft teams were made ready for their day's labours. Their overseers separated each team of ten into five pairs and placed them on their knees one behind the other. No time was wasted in getting the drafts ready; moving swiftly from couple to couple the naked, stable slaves fitted each of the drafts with a set of blinders that focused the wretched slave's vision to the immediate front and laid a heavy wooden, double yoke across the shoulders of each pair. I watched in horror as each team was placed in chains and led to a flat topped dray and harnessed into place. My senses began to reel for I knew this was to be my fate for the next six weeks.
Harvesting of the crops was in full swing and the drays were needed in the fields without delay. I cringed as the draft slaves were exhorted to "HYUP! HYUP!" to get the drays started and I flinched as they were cruelly whipped to keep them moving.
But I was puzzled. I thought I was to work in such a team. If this was so, why hadn't I been placed in one?
Within a few minutes, all was quiet within the stable-yard and the only sounds were the voices of Sir Regis and Sir Conn as they discussed me. I waited, head bowed, expectantly on their next move. Then I was distracted by the scrunching noise of wheels in loose gravel and looking up I saw a groom tether a young pony and trap to a hitching ring set in the wall of the stables.
I wasn't familiar with this pony. Certainly he wasn't in the stables during Lucien Barrois's time otherwise I'd have recognised him. Quite obviously he was new to the stables and I wondered if this was Sir Regis's pony, Honky.
And as if to answer my question Sir Regis told Sir Conn that it was indeed his pony and trap.
"C'mon Conn. Let me introduce you to Honky."
And as the two overseers walked over to where Honky is tethered, Sir Regis turned and ordered me.
"You too Dumb-ass. Follow on but keep four paces behind us as a mark of respect for your betters."
Honky was to say the least unusual; he was unlike any of the others ponies with which I was familiar. I estimated his age at somewhere around nineteen or perhaps twenty and he had all the hallmarks of a first class pony. Honky was tall and rangy and well-muscled without being excessively so. His long, powerful legs exuded power and strength; he possessed an impressive upper body with wide shoulders that tapered down to a trim, narrow waist. The outline of his clearly defined chest muscles - each dominated by a large red nipple - curved upwards under his strong arms and the flat plain of his stomach was broken up by the outlines of his abdominals centred on the deep indent of his navel. His body was clean shaven and the absence of his pubic hair accentuated his heavy, low-hanging balls and thick, meaty cock which were encircled by a shining chrome cinch that matched perfectly the collar around his neck.
Unusually, Honky wore blinkers and I was surprised by this. To my knowledge blinders were only used on the heavy duty drays and I supposed this this must have been a personal whim of his driver. Certainly, I'd never driven Norge with blinkers and I knew that Claymore Jackson didn't use them on Jake.
But even more unusual was Honky's hair. Most ponies wear a simple buzz-cut cropped close to the skull. But Honky's was a radical departure from this norm. The hairstyle was reminiscent to those I'd seen worn by Native Americans in old movies. I believe it is called a Mohawk or some such name.
Honky's head was devoid of all hair except for a four inch wide strip of black hair that ran from the middle of his front hairline up over the centre of his scalp and down to the nape of his neck. It was closely cropped at the front and trained to grow longer at the back. This was suggestive of a horse's mane and to my mind it looked grotesque. It was an affront to Honky's dignity and I wondered about the warped mind that could do this to a fellow man. Then of course I realised that Honky wasn't a man. Like me he was a slave. But it was demeaning and I wondered about a free man's callousness and cruel capacity to degrade and humiliate a slave in such a manner. I really felt that Honky's manhood had been desecrated by so thoughtless an action.
At our approach, the pony became restless and began to fidget in nervous anticipation; as he did so I heard the creak and rattle of his harness. Impatiently, Sir Regis barked out an instruction to him.
"STEADY, HONKY! STEADY! Settle down and stop fidgeting or you'll fell my crop on your ass."
Instantly, the pony obeyed Sir Regis's instruction and quietened down. I looked at Honky and I saw the sad sorrowful expression on his young face; it displayed the full burden of his slavery. I was overcome with pity for him. He was so young and vulnerable and he'd been turned into an obscene caricature of something neither human nor animal. And despite my own precarious situation, I felt anger at the cruel hand that fate had dealt him. It seemed so unfair.
There was something vaguely familiar about Honky but the mane flowing out of his scalp and down over his shoulders was distracting and made him almost unrecognisable. I supposed that I, as Lucien Barrois, would have bought this slave at some stage; although I don't remember when. But then Lucien was always buying slaves to labour in his fields and so I'd have no special reason to recognise him. And so in a very real sense, I was partly responsible for his current condition.
"Well Conn! This is Honky, my personal pony. What do you think of him?"
"Well Regis......," Sir Conn hesitated in answering, '... he's unusual!"
"You're referring to his mane, Conn?"
"Yes Regis. He's the first pony I've seen with a mane. Old man Maratier's pony and Mr Jackson's pony, Jake don't have manes."
"You don't like it, Conn?"
"No, it's not that I don't like it, Regis. It's just taken me by surprise, that's all. Whose idea was it?"
"It was all mine, Conn! It was my idea. I wanted to put my unique stamp on my personal pony. I wanted him to have something that identified him as mine."
"Regis, I have to say, it is unique. So why did you choose a mane for Honky?"
"It goes back to when I was a kid. I remember seeing real horses of the four legged type being ridden around. I loved the way their long manes flowed in the wind as they ran. And I wanted that for Honky. I like watching as the breeze ruffles his mane and how it flops from shoulder to shoulder as he runs. Actually it's hard to say which I prefer looking at the most - Honky's mane or his ass as he runs. But you'll see what I mean when we take Dumb-ass out into the fields shortly. But check him out. Run your hands over him."
Peripherally, I was aware that Sir Conn accepted Sir Regis's invitation to 'check out' Honky. It seemed to me that the pony quivered with nervous anxiety as the young overseer's hands swept down over the rounded contours of his chest and the ridged plain of his stomach to his cock and balls. As Sir Conn cupped his balls in one hand, he used the other to stroke the penis into a thick, volatile erection. As the thin, viscous thread of his pre cum threaded its way ground wards, Honky once more began to fidget like an unruly colt.
Obviously, he was unused to such intimate inspection although I'd be surprised if his driver didn't submit him to regular close quarter examinations. As Lucien Barrois, I'd always subjected Norge to similar inspections at least once a day.
I recalled that at first, Norge had reacted in a similar way to Honky; while his anger flecked eyes showed his outrage and his limbs trembled in impotent protest, he was powerless to stop me. Initially, this pleased me; it highlighted my control of Norge both as my slave and my pony. Inevitably, as the bond between us grew, Norge learned to relax and to stand docilely as I, or any other interested party who had my permission to do so, inspected him. And it was obvious that Norge even came to enjoy these routine inspections. At the mere touch of my hand - or any hand -on his cock, Norge would always show both his eagerness and excitement.
That day, it seemed that Honky hadn't yet arrived at that level of acceptance. Involuntarily, he drew back from Sir Conn's touch. But Sir Conn wasn't to be thwarted; he tightened his grip on the cock in his hand and used it to steady Honky as, at the same time, he ordered him to.
"STAND STILL! DAMN YOU!"
Honky wasn't prepared for Sir Regis's angry endorsement of Sir Conn's spoken command. The unhappy pony cried out as Sir Regis's whip wrapped itself around his upper body.
"You were told to stand steady. I warned you of what would happen if you didn't."
And to re-enforce his admonishment, Sir Regis applied his whip to Honky one more time; this time to his ass.
This treatment of Honky had a salutary effect upon me. For the very first time, I truly witnessed the control La Foret's black overseers had over their white charges. Of course, Lucien Barrois was aware of this but only marginally so. His interest in his white slaves was limited to their capacity to work hard and to return a profit. How that was achieved he left to his black overseers and he never bothered to involve himself in such mundane affairs.
As the slave Rafe, I had spent my first six weeks working on the plantation insulated from all this. Assigned to work alone on the waterwheel and left in the sole care of Sir Conn -albeit with an occasional visit from Claymore Jackson - I was isolated from the severe regime that governed the lives of all my fellow slaves.
That day, for the first time, I was exposed to it and I became very afraid.
That day, I witnessed the disdain -or was it contempt - that the black overseers felt for the white slaves whose lives they governed with much severity and rigour.
And frighteningly, that day I became subject to it too. I was about to discover the true meaning of slavery.
Sir Conn continued with his inspection of Honky. Playfully, he ruffled the mane on top of the head and stroked the longer tresses flowing down to the shoulders and made the comparison between their silkiness and the bristly feel of the shorter scalp hair.
Next his hands moved outwards over the shoulders and down the gentle concave of Honky's back to the flaring curves of his taut, rounded buttocks. Here Sir Conn paused to take in the blue black bruises of earlier beatings, the fading pink stripes of more recent ones and the livid, red whip stripe angrily delivered just a few moments ago. As Sir Conn used his index finger to trace out this latest stripe, I noticed Honky wince visibly. Clearly it is very sore.
"Regis! Honky seems to have had his ass beaten a lot. Is he troublesome?"
"No Conn! He's a well behaved boy and doesn't cause me much trouble at all. It's just that I have a penchant to see stripes on a slave's ass. I think it enhances their appearance and you'd have to agree that stripes show up so well on a white ass. It's like Dumb-ass here. Let's look at his striped ass. Boy, go and stand alongside of the pony."
Obediently, I did as I was instructed and took up a position alongside of Honky with my back to the two overseers.
"Hands behind you head boy," Sir Regis commands, "and be quick about it. Now straighten up and square those shoulders."
I was very aware that my ass was on show and that it invited Sir Regis and Sir Conn to make critical comparisons between it and Honky's.
"From where I'm standing there's not much difference between the two of them Conn. Both asses are very similar in shape and size and both are as tight as drums I should think. Has Dumb-ass's ass been used to your knowledge?"
"No Regis! Old man Maratier has put out it strictly off limits. I suspect he's saving it for himself. And to 'protect' it, the slave sleeps in a special security cage where the other slaves can't get to him."
"Well Conn, you've spent the last six weeks with him. Tell me, have you ever been tempted?"
"Often Regis! And if you had seen him straining at the capstan, you'd have been too."
"But you resisted temptation, Conn. That must have been hard?"
"It was, Regis. But I wanted to keep my job and so I left him alone."
"Well strictly speaking that's not true, Conn. You said earlier that you used his mouth."
"That's true! But using his mouth for a BJ isn't like using his ass and so I didn't consider I was breaking any rules. Although, I did take care that we weren't caught."
"That was wise of you Conn. If they'd known, some of the other overseers would have had their noses out of joint and resented you for your good luck."
"Why? Why would they? Don't they get to use the slaves? I thought it was one of the perks of the job that you get to use a slave for sex."
"And it is, Conn! But think about it. Would you want to use one of the field slaves? They're filthy and they reek. Some of them would make your stomach heave. I wouldn't want to use them. That's why they resent me using Honky who's scrubbed down twice a day. I hear them grumbling to Claymore Jackson about it. He has told me to be discreet and take Honky to some secluded spot away from envious eyes."
"And do you take him to a secluded spot? Do you use him regularly?"
"Yeah! Every morning on my first rounds, I pull Honky into a shady, resting place off the track. I unhitch him and have him down on his hands and knees. Honky's gotten to look forward to this and as we get closer to the spot he really starts to sprint ahead. I reckon I could blindfold him and he'd find his way to it."
"Sounds a bit like Dumb-ass. It was obvious that he enjoyed our time in the shrubbery too."
"I'll tell you what, Conn. When we take Rafe out to the fields, we'll stop by at my 'resting spot' and you can use Honky and I can have Dumb-ass give me a BJ. What do you say? Are you up for it?"
"Right on! I'm game Regis!"
I listened in horror at the overseers' plans for us. Certainly, Sir Conn told the truth when he said I enjoyed my few, illicit moments with him in the quiet seclusion of the garden shrubbery. And I don't doubt the same is true for Honky. Both of us have learned to take our pleasure when it is offered to us by our respective overseers - and really we had no other alternative but to submit to them. However, these were done discreetly and in private. Now Sir Regis and Sir Conn planned to use us communally in front of one another.
I was appalled by this prospect! It spoke of the utter contempt that both black overseers felt for us. Full of dread, I waited to hear more of their plans for us.
Fortuitously, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Claymore Jackson. He pulled back on his reins and with a loud "Whoa boy!" he halted Jake alongside Honky and me.
To be continued.........