Changed Circumstances

ate: Thu, 6 Oct 2011 00:48:55 -0700 (PDT)

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 43: "The Major Domo"

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 http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"

"The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without permission"

Chapter 43: "The Major Domo"

Despairingly, I waited for Claymore to declare who'd won the toss. But, unexpectedly, I was to enjoy a brief reprieve as Colton, the major domo drove his trap into the yard and reined his hard-pressed pony to a sudden halt.

The pony was obviously distressed. Driven hard, his body was lathered in sweat; his powerful chest heaved, his nostrils flared and his mouth gaped open, as panicky, he gulped air into his tortured lungs. His knees sagged and only his harness stopped him from collapsing to the ground. His back and ass wore the angry, red, whip marks of his driver's impatient haste and despite my own dire predicament; I felt pity for the abused pony slave.

Once I wouldn't have been concerned with the pony's distress. Indeed, to my eternal shame, I had abused Norge in similar manner and never given it a second thought. But that morning, I knew my future was to serve as my Master's pony and all this took on special relevance for me. That morning, as I looked at Jake, Honky and Colton's nameless pony, I saw with clarity what awaited me between the shafts of Guy Maratier's new, two ponies' trap. I too would be driven hard to the point of collapse and whipped to maintain my speed and endurance. The thought terrified me and the only redeeming factor in this was that I would run alongside of Norge and share the burden with him.

As I knelt before the overseers and fearfully contemplated my imminent whipping, my thoughts turned once more to Norge. As always, when I am at my lowest ebb, I think of Norge and draw strength from him. And that morning, I needed his support more than ever.

Colton's arrival took the three supervisors by surprise; it was completely unexpected. Normally, at this time of the morning, Colton would be busy with the affairs of the house and its gardens. I recalled from my days as the master how, at this hour, he'd have been busily haranguing the house- servants and the gardeners and applying his cane to more than one dilatory ass or pair of shoulders.

Colton is an exceptional major domo. As Lucien Barrois, I'd always regarded him as without peer. As Lucien, I'd always demanded that peace and harmony prevail in my home and Colton had always achieved this and how he did so was of no concern to me. I knew him as a stern disciplinarian and that he was ruthless in his control of the house and garden slaves. I knew this because I'd often inadvertently witnessed him chastising a slave.

And I knew of the secluded, punishment courtyard discreetly hidden away behind the outbuildings - euphemistically abbreviated to and fearfully spoken of by the slaves as 'the yard' - where he handed out the more severe canings and chastisements. It was a place I never visited; as the master I'd considered it beneath my dignity to go there. I'd given Colton 'carte blanche' in the management of my slaves and he reigned supreme in the house, its gardens and 'the yard'.

As Lucien, I'd known that all my house-slaves routinely visited 'the yard' and I always knew by the stripes on a slave's back when this was so. A visit to the yard worked wonders in a slave's demeanour. It made him more willing to serve and it certainly sweetened his disposition. La Foret's house-slaves were always diligent, hardworking and possessed pleasing manners. Above all they met all the hallmarks that I, as Lucien, had demanded of my slaves; they went about their duties with quiet efficiency and unfailing courtesy.

And as Lucien, I gave credit where credit was due. I'd acknowledged Colton's efficient stewardship of La Foret's stately home and gardens and each year I had expressed my indebtedness to him with a more than generous bonus payment.

So like the three overseers, I too was puzzled by his sudden, unexpected visit. What had brought him to the stable so early in the day?

"Good morning, Colton." There is a note of surprise in Claymore's question. "What brings you out here so early in the day?"

Good morning, Claymore. Good morning, Regis. Good morning, Conn."

Colton acknowledged all three overseers but ignored me. But he gave me a cursory glance and I wondered if he recognised me. I doubted it. How could he recognise the filthy, dishevelled creature kneeling in the dust of the stable-yard?

"What brings me here at this ungodly hour?"

As he answered there was an edge to the major domo's voice and I understood why his pony was so stressed. Obviously, he'd been on the receiving end of Colton's bad humour.

"It's those friggin' Maratier's ... that's who. The more I come into contact with them the less I like them."

"Colton, what's put you into such a bad humour? What have they done to upset you?"

"Guy Maratier - he's turning into a real prick you know - was in touch with me last night. He tells me his grandmother is to visit La Foret soon and he wants everything in perfect order for her stay here."

"I see!" Claymore's curiosity had been aroused. "I suppose it's inevitable that she would want to visit. Actually, I'm surprised she hasn't honoured us with a visit before this. I've been half expecting it for some time."

"I don't know about that. It could have to do with her moving into the new home that her grandson has bought for her. On his last visit, I overheard him talking with his lawyer; I forget his name ......"

"Simon Barrow!"

"Yes that it. Thank you, Claymore. Now there's another upstart for you."

"Colton, calm down and tell me what has Simon Barrow done to upset you?

"It's just his arrogant manner. Whenever he visits, he swans around the place giving orders to the slaves and takes it upon himself to chastise them. This ignores me and the fact that I am responsible for their discipline. He undermines my authority with the slaves and Guy Maratier does nothing about it. "

"I can see why that would upset you. I've only ever spoken briefly with the lawyer whenever he's toured the plantation with Guy Maratier. And it seemed to me he asked a lot of questions about the farm and its operations. I did wonder what business it was of his. But I thought perhaps it was all part of his brief as the Maratier's lawyer."

"I don't know about that, Claymore. But I do know he's a frequent visitor and he and Guy Maratier are as thick as thieves. I don't trust the lawyer. He strikes me as cunning and devious. From my observations, he now has his feet under the Maratier table and he's using this to his advantage. Guy Maratier seems to be relying on him more and more for advice."

"Well whether or not his advice is sound is something that only time will show, I guess. But you mentioned that Guy has moved his grandmother into her own home. Tell me more about that."

"Well, I wasn't part of the discussion. I only overheard Guy and Simon Barrow talking. But it seems that Guy Maratier bought a house and has set his grandmother up with her own household. I got the distinct impression that he was glad to see her move out of his home. Apparently, her stay with him was very disruptive; she re-organised the household to her suit her needs and instituted a newer, stricter regime for the house slaves. Apparently, she took quite a shine to Guy's body-slave and she has taken him with her to serve as her house steward."

"And now she wants to visit here. Colton, I suppose it will have all the hallmarks of a triumphal return to the ancestral home. I guess while she's here, we'll just have to put up with "la Grande Dame" and her demands."

"That's alright for you, Claymore." Colton's reply still reflects his bad humour. "You're out here. Unfortunately, I'll be in the house with her. I understand she likes to take over the running of the household. I wonder how that will affect me. And remember she was responsible for Cato being sold."

"True, Colton! But remember - Cato was a slave. You're a free man and she can't sell you."

"You're right of course, Claymore. But she can make my life uncomfortable while she's here, can't she? And I suppose she could persuade her grandson to fire me and hire another major domo should I displease her. "

"I doubt that will happen, Colton. You're too important to the efficient running of the house. But tell me when is she coming and for how long? Do you know?"

"No date has been fixed yet but I believe the length of her stay is flexible. She'll make up her mind when she is here."

"Well then, obviously we have a role to play in all this otherwise you wouldn't be here. What can we do to help?"

"Guy Maratier wants the house to be a showplace and the gardens to be in immaculate condition for the 'royal visit'. That's not a problem and I'll ensure the slaves work hard to meet his requirements."

"That sounds reasonable enough. I would think Guy wants to impress his grandmother especially after all her years in family exile. I suppose it will be a bitter-sweet home-coming for Charlotte Maratier."

"Well, I don't know about the sweet part of the homecoming but I'm sure there'll be a lot of bitterness. I understand she has a very sour disposition and is a bit of a harridan. But as you suggest, I guess the Barrois made her that way. Still that doesn't help me. I will have to put up with her and see how it all works out."

"Colton, stay calm and remember that it could be worse. She could be coming to live here permanently."

"Claymore, that doesn't even bear thinking about and you're right. I shouldn't allow myself to become so worked up over her visit. It's still some way off yet and I have a lot to attend to before then. Anyway, she mightn't like it here and decide not to stay long."

My curiosity was aroused and I listened intently to this conversation between Claymore and Colton. Although the affairs of my Master shouldn't be my concern, I was interested to hear these details about him, his family and his business interests.

Slaves are denied intellectual stimulus. We are denied access to books and newspapers and whatever happens in the wider world is non-existent save for what we overhear from our masters. For us, no world exists beyond the boundaries of our owners' properties and we are forbidden to ever stray beyond the borders they impose upon us.

Consequently, a slave's world is confined to that of his master's household or his landholding and so all that happens within this very limited world assumes great importance to a slave. Slaves are notorious gossips - a fact I was well aware of as Lucien Barrois and I'd never discussed my private and business affairs within a slave's hearing.

I knew there was always a kernel of truth in any rumours circulating among my slaves and that they were embellished with each retelling. The truth contained in the first telling of a rumour had little resemblance to the exaggeration of the latest.

But this discussion between Claymore and Colton wasn't mere gossip or slave tittle-tattle. It was genuine and I was eager for more news. The fact that they openly discussed these matters within my hearing showed their complete disregard for me. It was as though I didn't exist.

I was interested to hear that my nemesis, Charlotte Maratier was now presiding over her own household and that she'd taken my former bed-slave, Ben with her to act as her steward. Ben had certainly soared high in the hierarchy of slavery.

Recently, I'd caught glimpses of Ben's ambition - an ambition he'd hidden from me when I was his Master. Or it could be that Ben had always been ambitious and he'd used me too and that I had never seen this side to his character.

Ben had played his cards right and he now enjoyed the privileged life of an old woman's pampered pet. In a way I envied him. How much easier his life is when compared to my own.

I wondered if I would see Ben again. Will Charlotte Maratier bring Ben along on her visit to La Forˆt? I supposed there was every reason to believe that she would.

Then there was the reference to Simon Barrow; again a source of interest to me. I knew what Colton said about his growing friendship with my Master was true. I had seen it developing in the days before I came to La Forˆt and I'd seen it whenever the two had visited me during my time on the water-wheel.

As Lucien, I'd always kept Simon Barrow at arm's length. I didn't do this out of any sense of my superiority over him. It was simply a matter of sound business practice. My grandfather had always impressed upon me that business and pleasure don't mix successfully and that business acquaintances should stay just that and never becomes friends. In Lucien's experience it had been sound advice.

I also agreed with Colton that Simon wasn't to be trusted. I supposed some of my business astuteness remained with me even though I was a slave. And thanks to my grandfather's training of me, I remain a good judge of character and I saw Simon acting very differently towards my Master than he ever did with me. In my observation, he was insinuating himself into Guy Maratier's life but to what extent I didn't know.

Later, I will hear that my Master had appointed Simon as the CEO of the Maratier business conglomerate with sweeping authority. I will wonder if my Master had acted wisely in doing this and it would never have happened on my watch. But I reminded myself that I had been raised to lead the businesses that now belong to Guy Maratier. My whole life had been geared to that end whereas my Master had led a precarious hand to mouth existence which most likely had given him a natural cunning but little else.

But cunning isn't business acumen and this is something Guy Maratier still lacked.

And I supposed it was natural for him to look to Simon for advice and guidance. After all, Judge Matthews - on the day of my enslavement - had ordered my former lawyer to assist Guy Maratier in assuming control of the Barrois estate and assets. So in a sense, Simon was simply following the instructions of the court.

And it has to be said that Simon does possess a keen intellect and sound business judgement.

However, there is a certain irony that, in me, my Master possessed a slave eminently suited to assist him in his enterprises and I wondered had this ever occurred to him. Or had his need for revenge and his hatred of the Barrois name blinded him to the reality of my true worth to him.

By that stage, I had progressed far enough into my slavery that I would have served him faithfully in any business capacity of his choosing. But rather than use my business talents he preferred to squander them in making me serve as his pony.

It appeared he'd allowed himself to be inveigled by Simon Barrow into appointing him as his right- hand man. That day, as I listened to Claymore and Colton discuss Simon Barrow, I never considered the consequences of my Master placing so much trust in my former lawyer. But then I wouldn't have cared. My Master had made his bed and he must lie in it.

I cared for neither man. One was abusing and humiliating me as his slave while the other never lost a chance to taunt me about what I'd lost and that I was now owned property. Whatever ill-fortune awaited either man didn't interest or concern me.

"Colton, you haven't told us why you are here. How can we help you?"

"Guy Maratier wants all the walks and pathways in the gardens re-gravelled with white quartz. As you can appreciate this is a big job and will require a lot more labour than my garden slaves are capable of giving and I need to have the gravel carted from the quarry. I did point this out to him and suggested all this was unnecessary as the paths are always maintained to a high standard."

"What was his re-action to that?"

"It was like pouring water on a duck's back. He wasn't listening. He snapped that is what he wants and told me to get it done. And that is why I'm here."

"Then what do you need from us, Colton?"

"Well I'll need a dray and a team to cart the gravel from the quarries to the gardens and I'll need an additional gang of slaves to spread it over the paths."

"Damn the man! This couldn't have come at a worse time. With the harvest in full swing we need every slave out working in the fields."

"I know that, Claymore and I hate asking. But what can I do?"

"I know Colton. It's not your fault. But if that is what the boss wants then so be it. I'll check the paths with you later this morning and we can decide on how large a gang of slaves you'll need to spread the gravel. And Regis will place a dray and team at your disposal. When do you want to make a start on this?"

"The sooner the better I think Claymore. Is tomorrow too soon?"

"No! We can work around that, can't we Regis?"

"No problem Claymore. I'll organise a dray and team for first light tomorrow morning."

"Well there you are Colton. Problem solved."

"Thank you Claymore and thank you too Regis. That's a load off my mind. But I am sorry that you have to take slaves away from the harvest. That is more important than spreading gravel around the garden paths."

"Don't worry Colton. The other slaves will have to take up the slack. Their overseers will work them that much harder."

"Thanks again Claymore. Still this just shows up Guy Maratier's lack of experience and understanding of how the plantation works. But you'd expect this from him. At least the former owners would never have made such demands during harvesting."

"That's true Colton but then they were better attuned to life at La Forˆt. They had a better understanding of the place."

"And they had more class. I'll say that for Lucien Barrois - he knew how to conduct himself with dignity. The Maratier's will never have the class and style that he had. But I suppose that isn't doing him any good as a slave."

"Well judge for yourself, Colton."

"I don't understand Claymore. What do you mean; judge for myself"

"Don't you recognise the slave kneeling before us? It's the former owner, Lucien Barrois. And you're right. He doesn't possess any dignity. He's just a naked slave waiting to be whipped and then put to work."

To say Colton was taken by surprise was an understatement. As he looked down on me, I heard the audible, surprised intake of his breathe. The question flashed through my mind - had I changed that much that he'd not recognised me. But then, I suppose he'd not paid any attention to the filthy, bearded slave crouching naked at the feet of the four overseers. His glance at me would have been cursory and I wouldn't have registered in his consciousness. And why would I? To him I was just another slave.

Once over his initial surprise, Colton showed me more attention. Slowly, he circled my huddled form like some predator seizing up a possible meal. Then, he ordered me.

"Get your nose to the ground boy?"

I hastened into position and waited. Once more I felt the shame of my nakedness. How many times had I been ordered to debase myself like this? I had lost count. To obey an order does get easier - as Norge had said it would - and I re-act instantly to all commands given to me. But the shame never diminishes. Always I am aware that my body is posed obscenely to a freeman's scrutiny. And so it was that day. Colton had seen me arrive at La Foret naked and running alongside Norge and Pollux and he'd watched as Pollux and I were collared and branded at the forge. And he'd even visited me during my time on the water-wheel to gloat and taunt me. But he'd never seen me in such a position of abject shame.

As always, I was very aware of my naked vulnerability. I was conscious that my ass was elevated and positioned for whatever Colton decided on next.

Once or twice, as the master of La Foret, I'd stumbled across Colton castigating one of my house slaves. The wretch was in exactly the same position that I found myself in and I'd watched as Colton harangued him before laying into him with his cane. That morning I wondered - was that to happen to me? I waited in nervous anticipation. I didn't have long to wait.

Colton was without his customary badge of authority; the cane he usually carried attached to his belt. Instead that morning, he had a driver's crop which he'd used to cruel and devastating effect on his suffering pony. Part of me knew what was coming and so I wasn't totally unprepared. But even so the fury and the passion of his beating of me took me by surprise. I don't know how many times he applied the crop to my upturned ass - I was too distracted by the pain to count - but it has to be said Colton's thrashing of me was full of pent-up emotion.

Was Colton giving vent to his anger at Guy Maratier instructions to make the house and gardens ready for Charlotte Maratier's visit? Or was there another element at play in his punishment of me?

My yelps disturbed the early morning calm of the stable-yard and echoed back from the surrounding buildings. The three, tethered ponies re-acted to my pain-filled cries by fidgeting nervously and shuffling their feet. The other three overseers watched silently as Colton continued to beat me. Then as suddenly as he'd begun, Colton had finished as though his anger had been satiated. The four overseers stood silent for several moments and Claymore Jackson was the first to speak.

"Colton, what was all that about? There seems to be a lot of anger at play with you?"

"There is." Colton spat out the words. "Claymore, you have no idea for how long I have waited to do that."

"Do what, Colton?"

"Thrash the living daylights out of Lucien Barrois. I've wanted to do that ever since he was a snotty- nosed brat. How I hated having to kowtow to him. Old Jean-Claude and Henriette Barrois spoiled him rotten and denied him nothing. I've lost count of the number of times I had to bite my tongue when I'd rather tan his ass for him. Today, for the first time, I have been able to do just that. How satisfying that is."

"Well you finally got that out of your system, Colton. And the way you tanned his ass - as you put it - I'm Rafe sure will be very sore for the foreseeable future."

"I hope so Claymore. The young brat was always a pain in the ass. Just like the Maratier kid. I'd like to take my cane to his ass too."

"Well, Colton, young Lucien might have been a pain in your ass. But now it is Rafe who has the pain in his ass. So you've evened the score. And you might need to temper your feelings towards young Etienne. I know how you feel. Conn feels very much as you do. So I'll give you the same advice I gave him. Be patient!"

"I know! I know! But it is hard at times putting up with Guy and Etienne. And now it appears I'm to deal with the old girl as well. But tell me what is going to happen to Rafe now? Is he to work in the fields too?"

"No, Colton. As you know he's to become a pony for Guy Maratier's use. We've built up his strength and cardio-vascular system on the water-wheel. Now he's to join a draft team to learn to pull and work in unison with them. This is important as he is to be paired with his Master's other pony. They are to work in tandem."

"I see. Can I inspect him, Claymore?"

"Of course you can, Colton."

"Get to your feet boy and display!"

Hastily I scrambled to my feet and stood at display in accordance with the major domo's instruction.

Slowly he circled me before stopping just inches away from my face. He looked distastefully at me and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"You stink, boy!"

I wasn't sure if I was meant to answer. Already that day, I'd answered unwisely to an overseer's remark and I didn't want to repeat that mistake and earn additional strokes of the whip for insolence and so I remained silent.

"I said you stink, boy!"

There was a tone in Colton's voice that warned me I must answer. My answer was brief but humbly worded and respectful in its deliverance.

"Yes Boss! I stink, Sir!"

I'd played doubly safe by referring to Colton as both "Boss" and "Sir". Sir is the usual honorific that La Foret's slaves use when answering or addressing their overseers and so Colton is entitled to be addressed as "Sir". But from my time as Lucien Barrois, I knew the house and garden slaves also referred to him as "Boss" a title he'd self-appropriated to differentiate him from the ordinary field overseers.

As Lucien, I'd always known that Colton saw himself as standing several rungs above them and on an equal footing with Claymore Jackson but I'd not worried too much about that. As long as my home operated along the lines I demanded then I didn't care if Colton gave himself a few airs and graces. As I have said, Colton was an excellent major domo and I valued that too much to upset him over so trivial a matter as an honorific.

But that day, I humbled myself and ingratiatingly, I called him "boss". My gamble paid off and whilst this seemed to please him, it didn't dissuade him from further abuse of me.

"Yes you do, slave. You stink to high heaven. In fact, you're putrid!"

"Yes Boss!"

He turned from me and spoke to the three watching overseers.

"How the mighty has fallen. It's almost impossible to recognise this sorry specimen as Lucien Barrois. He was always so fastidiously clean and now he's no better than a filthy animal."

"Well I suppose in a way that is what he is." Claymore replied. "And he'll stay that way while he works in a team."

"As Lucien, he showered twice a day," Colton continues, "and he used the most expensive soaps and deodorants. He only ever used a special blend of Sandalwood soap which was made to order for him. I know because it was one of my duties to ensure there was always a supply of the soap on hand. I always knew when he'd used it; I could smell it on the slave who'd showered with him. It was very subtle and very expensive. The Maratier trash only use the cheap, over-perfumed, propriety brand soaps one picks up in a general store. I'll say this for Lucien; he had impeccable taste. The Maratier's on the other hand, have absolutely no class or finesse."

"Well it's a long time since Rafe has used soap let alone washed. Most probably he's not washed since he left the city. And it will be a few weeks yet before he's cleaned up and made ready for the final part of his pony training.

"Is that true boy?" Colton asked. "When was the last time you washed?"

"Boss! Sir Claymore is correct. I haven't washed since my Master brought me to La Foret."

"Then it's no wonder you stink! I bet you'd love a long, hot shower and some Sandalwood soap to clean yourself with. And a soft, fluffy, white towel to use afterwards. Do you miss those things, boy?"

Colton's questions were insensitive. In fact, they went beyond that; they were extremely cruel. Of course, I missed those things as surely as I missed all the other things that were once an accepted part of my former life. But all that had been taken from me and to remind of what I'd lost cut deep into my psyche. .

I was bewildered by Colton's treatment of me. My ass throbbed from his beating of it and my feelings were lacerated by his callous comments and questions. But more hurtful than those were his comments of how much he'd hated me as the boy and later the man, Lucien Barrois. That, I didn't understand. He'd never shown his true feelings towards me until today.

Until I was enslaved, I'd apparently lived in a cocoon of my own smugness insulated from the poor esteem with which I was now generally held by those around me. It's true, I wasn't the most gregarious person and I chose to live simply without any social pretensions. I much preferred to live the quiet, rural life of the country squire at my beloved La Forˆt rather than that of the powerful big city businessman and to leave the city to its own intrigues. But was that sufficient enough reason for people to hate me with so such vehemence. I'd never intentionally hurt another and yet the hurt that had been heaped on me would suggest that I was universally reviled.

Lucien had never experienced any evidence of this hatred. Quite the contrary was true. People had sought him out and fawned over him and he'd wisely held them at arms' length. This was in accord with his grandfather's training of him. He'd been taught to be polite to all people, civil in his dealings with them and never to be abusive. Additionally, his grandfather had also impressed upon him to never take a person at face value and to probe deeper before giving his trust to another.

Consequently, Lucien had many acquaintances and few true friends. And even those he'd considered were his friends and whom he'd loved as brothers had repudiated the slave, Rafe.

Only one, Miles had shown me any kindness. As I thought on these things my heart grew heavy and tears welled in my eyes. That morning, as Colton taunted me, I was so alone.

But Colton had asked me a question and I had to answer or be judged as insolent and wilful.

"Yes Boss! I do miss those things. I miss them very much, Sir!"

And there was much truth in my words. I did greatly miss all those things and much more. I missed my freedom but more than anything, I missed Norge.

Colton continued to scrutinise me. As he did so he wrinkled his nose in exaggerated distaste to further humiliate me in the presence of his fellow overseers. And to emphasise his disgust at the state of my body, he used the handle of his driver's crop to pry my cock away from my balls and to lift it high for his visual inspection. His actions were a less than subtle hint that I was unclean and that he wouldn't soil his hands by touching my person.

I suppose I should have been grateful that my condition prevented the major domo form giving me a hands' on inspection. Certainly, he used his crop to good effect as he I examined my genitals. Finally after much looking he delivered his verdict on me.

"Claymore, if one looks beneath the dirt and grime coating the slave, one can see that he has an impressive body. He has a good solid build and well defined muscles. I suppose the water-wheel is partly responsible for that. Yes indeed, he's an impressive slave."

"I think you're right, Colton. The water-wheel has made a big difference to Rafe. He's barely recognisable from the raw slave who first came to us just six weeks ago. His muscles are firmer and his lung capacity has increases enormously. And his legs and ass are those of a true pony. Yes, I have to say I'm pleased with his progress. But really, credit for his progress must go to young Conn's supervision. He worked Rafe on the wheel and never allowed him to slacken."

"And six weeks working in a draft team will add to his fitness I should think. I imagine continually pulling a heavily loaded dray will benefit him no end."

"Right, Colton! Rafe will learn to pull which will serve him well once he becomes a trained pony."

"But it seems to me he falls down in one important area."

"What's that, Colton?" The chief overseer's question reflected his curiosity.

"He's not as well-endowed as I thought he'd be." Colton spoke contemptuously. In fact, his tackle is downright puny. I'd always imagined that Lucien Barrois would be well hung with a big cock and low hanging balls."

"I suppose there is some truth in what you say, Colton. But I don't see that he's any more deficient than most white boys. To my mind they all fall down in that area. Anyway, I don't think Rafe is in the mood this morning to get it up."

"I see he's been circumcised. It's a nice, neat job and a clean cut. Sometimes, done by an amateur, a skinning can be botched."

"Guy Maratier told me he'd had a vet skin Rafe and that they'd not used the knife. He considered Rafe was too valuable to subject him to the trauma of the scalpel."

Claymore Jackson speaks the truth. My Master did indeed spare me the scalpel and for that I am most grateful. When I'd first overheard my Master and Cato discussing my circumcision, I'd been terrified. Obviously, I knew what was involved - after all, I had l arranged for Norge to be done - and the prospect of my own skinning filled me with both horror and revulsion.

How easy it is for a freeman to casually decide to have a slave so treated. Apart from the horrendous pain associated with circumcision by the scalpel and the aftershock, there is also the shame of having one's manhood vandalised. Removing the prepuce from a slave is a potent reminder to him that he is no longer a free man and is now to all intents and purposes a mere chattel.

So the morning, just days into my slavery, when I was removed from my assigned labours and taken by Ben to the stables where Guy Maratier waited with the veterinarian, I feared the worst. As Ben led me by my neck chain into their presence, I was overcome with fear and fell to my knees and begged my Master to spare me. Gruffly, he ordered me to my feet and told me to remain silent.

The veterinarian was also charged with examining me for any defects and it has to be said he was most thorough. Already, I had been examined by the court officials, Major Swanston, Simon Barrow and the odious slaver-dealer, Lionel Schuster and there had been an element of voyeurism in those inspections.

But the vet's inspection of me was very different. It was cold, impersonal and he was completely detached. To him, I was no more than a dumb animal and he treated me as such. Not once did he speak to me. Whenever he required me to change position, he wordlessly posed my body to meet his needs.

He manipulated my cock and balls and declared them to be in 'good working order'. Then he bent me double and kicked my ankles apart before parting the cheeks of my ass to check me for any defects. He found me to be both sound and tight and told Master that I was a virgin.

Dispassionately, he checked my ears, my eyes, my nostrils and finally my mouth. I gagged as he pinched my nostrils, forcing me to breathe through my mouth which made his examination of my teeth and the health of my tongue that much easier. All were declared to be in excellent shape.

During his examination he commented to my Master about the condition of my body, offering suggestions and giving advice as to how I could be improved upon.

He asked Master if I'd had my shots for influenza and tetanus and Master said these were given at the court on the day of my enslavement. The vet concurred.

"Of course, I forgot it is now a requirement that the newly enslaved are immunised before they leave the courts' precinct. But he will need to be given his flu shots each year."

Then he turned to real reason for his visit - my skinning.

I listened in fascinated horror as he discussed with Master the two available methods of circumcision - the knife and the bloodless clamp. He outlined the advantages of both systems and as I listened I hoped earnestly that Master would choose the clamp over the scalpel.

For his part, the vet left no doubt that he favoured the knife. In his words - yes it is messy but it is quick - and while there is pain and discomfort for the slave it is more humane. He boasted proudly that he'd never lost a slave to either the knife or any infection.

Under Guy Maratier's questioning, the veterinarian grudgingly conceded that there is less trauma caused to the slave by using the clamp. True, there is some suffering for the slave as the clamp slowly strangles the prepuce but once the nerves are 'dead', the pain ceases and then it is simply a matter of waiting - usually from seven to twelve days -for the dead foreskin to fall off.

After much discussion, Master instructed the vet to use the clamp method. But this wasn't done out of consideration for me or to save me from suffering. The reasons for his decision were far more pragmatic. The vet conceded that sometimes, the knife can incapacitate a slave and prevent him from working for several days. Guy Maratier wasn't prepared to allow me the luxury of any time away from my labours as I convalesced.

And so, to my intense relief, the vet fitted me with a clamp. The procedure was quick and without pain. But there was some resultant pain as the clamp cut off the blood supply and strangled the superfluous flesh. After that, there wasn't any pain and I simply waited for the atrophied flesh to fall away.

And I was left with a red cicatrice encircling the shaft of my cock to show where once I'd possessed a foreskin. Colton drew attention to it by his reference to my skinning as 'a nice, neat job and a clean cut'.

And he used that to taunt me even further.

"Tell me boy! What do you think old Jean-Claude Barrois would make of you being skinned?"

The mention of my grandfather wounded me deeply. Colton knew of our close attachment and his question rubbed salt into a raw wound. My grandfather would have been heartbroken at what had befallen me and I was glad that he'd not lived to see me as a naked slave and his proud name sullied by my shameful birth.

"Boss, my grandfather would have been heartbroken at what has happened to me. I am just glad that he didn't live to see me as a slave."

I was unprepared for Colton's stinging slap to my face or the vehemence of his words.

"You forget yourself boy! Jean-Claude was never your grandfather. You were slave-born and never entitled to regard him as a relation. The fact that his son sired you with a slave woman doesn't allow you to claim any kinship to the Barrois family. How dare you?"

The truth of Colton's words cut deep. How he must have hated me for all the long years he'd known me as Lucien Barrois. And yet somehow, in his repudiation of me, I detected a measure of support for the Barrois family. And it wasn't just my imagination as Claymore picked up on it too.

"Colton, you sound as though you have some sympathy for old Jean-Claude. Am I reading you right?"

"Indeed you are, Claymore. I liked Jean-Claude and Henriette. They were civilised and treated me like I mattered to them. They never spoke down to me. Not like these new Maratier upstarts. "

"I agree with you and I share your regard for both Jean-Claude and his wife. But I fear we are out of step with community feeling. Everybody now hates the Barrois name with such intensity."

"Well, what would the community know?" Colton snorts in indignation. "They never knew them as we did. We knew them as a very genuine, likeable couple."

"Colton, I have to agree with Rafe. I'm glad that neither of them lived to see their proud name disgraced and him enslaved. I think the shock of both would have destroyed them."

"Well, they did wrong in presenting Lucien as their grandson and heir - I won't argue that. But I believe they were victims of circumstance. Lucien was the progeny of a slave woman but he was sired by their only son and they desperately wanted a grandchild. The pity is that the slave woman conceived. It would have been better for all concerned if Lucien had never existed."

Colton didn't know how his words resonated with me. If Lucien had never been born then Rafe, the slave wouldn't exist. How I wished that was so.

But I was gladdened to hear of the affection that both Claymore and Colton still felt for my beloved grandparents. It spoke well of them that they were still held in high esteem by their two senior overseers. I whisper my heartfelt gratitude to both Colton and Claymore for publicly declaring their true feelings.

I loved my grandparents with such passion and the hardest part of my slavery to date had been to stand mute as they were reviled by everyone. I knew that I was blameless in all of this - if blame needed to be apportioned then it should be heaped onto the head of my sire, Phillipe Barrois. The guilt was his and for a few lustful moments of carnal pleasure, I and my grandparents have paid a terrible price.

"So what is to happen to Rafe now?"

Colton's question changed the subject and vocalised my thoughts and I listened as Claymore answered.

"Well shortly Regis and Conn will take him out into the fields and place him in a team of drafts. I'm not sure what he'll actually be pulling. It could be delivering grain into the mill. Or it could be carting hay into the sheds. I'll leave that to Regis to decide."

"Could I make a suggestion, Claymore?"

"Certainly! What is it Colton?"

"Why not have him placed in the team that is to fetch the gravel to the gardens. As you know it is quite a distance to the quarries and it would be good training for Rafe to having to haul a heavy load all the way back here. It'd really test him. What do you think?"

"Colton, I think it's a great idea. I'm sure we can arrange that can't we Regis?"

"Of course we can Claymore. That won't be a problem. I'll organise it myself. And I think Conn here is more that capable of supervising the team. That's so isn't it, Conn?"

"Yes, I can do that. No problem."

"Well then that's settled, Colton. You have your team and they'll begin first thing tomorrow morning under Conn's supervision. You can liaise with him."

Thank you, Claymore. And thank you Regis and Conn. You have taken quite a load of my shoulders."

"Colton, you worried too much. No problem is insurmountable. We'll have the gravel spread over the pathways long before Guy Maratier's next visit."

"That is a relief. Thank you all so much. So what happens now? Do you take Rafe out to the fields to begin work?"

"Yes! But first he is to be whipped."

"You mentioned this before. Why? What did he do to earn a whipping?"

"He was disrespectful to Regis and he is to receive five strokes of the whip."

"Is that all? Only five strokes for such an offence? You're treating him leniently. If I had charge of him I'd string up in the 'yard' and flog him soundly. But it's your call, Claymore. Do you mind if I stay and watch?"

"No, not at all, Colton. You're most welcome to watch. Regis, I suggest we get on with it."

"Claymore, haven't you forgotten something?

There was just a hint of mischief in Claymore's reply to Regis's question. The question and its answer were obvious even to me. Who was to whip me? Would it to be Sir Regis or Sir Conn?

"Have I? What have I forgotten Regis?"

"Which of us is to whip the slave? Is it me? Or is it Conn?"

"OH, that! I forgot I haven't told you who won the toss. And..., the winner is," There was a longish pause before Claymore announced in a loud voice, "............. REGIS."

I stole a glance at Sir Conn and I saw the look of disappointment in his eyes. Did he really want to whip me that much? But then I reminded myself that I was his 'slave' and that he had control over me. But my offence was against Sir Regis and so I supposed there was a sense of justice in that he was the one to punish me. Claymore saw Sir Conn's disappointment and offered him a consolation prize.

"Conn, would you do the honours and fasten Rafe to the whipping post?"

As Sir Conn prepared to lead me over to the whipping post, I lose my composure and I begin to beg for mercy. Once more, I kneel before Sir Regis and apologise to him.

"Sir, my answer was a slip of the tongue. I meant you no disrespect. I'm truly sorry Sir. Please don't whip me. Forgive me please."

My pleas fell on deaf ears and they were ignored. For my troubles, I earned the contempt of my former major domo, Colton. Sneeringly, he commented.

"It's hard to believe that the slave grovelling at Regis's feet was once the high and mighty Lucien Barrois."

Colton's words were a circuit-breaker for my emotions and his contempt a catalyst for recovering a little of my self-esteem.

Suddenly, the picture of me grovelling at the feet of the four overseers filled me with disgust at my actions.

Colton was correct; it was hard to equate the miserable, wretch pleading for leniency - leniency that he knew wouldn't be given - with the once proud man I had been. The realisation of this overwhelmed me with self-loathing and I drew on some deep- seated, inner strength that I was unaware of. Temporarily, I regained something of the manhood that had been taken from me at my enslavement and I determined to accept my punishment if not with eagerness then at least with dignity.

I scrambled to my feet and waited and as I did so I looked towards the whipping post which stood ominously in the middle of the stable-yard. Its construction - a stout, tree trunk buried deep in the ground to give it stability and rising some nine to ten feet in height - was simple and yet there was an air of sinister foreboding about it. Its surface had been worn to shining smoothness by the friction of so many naked bodies writhing in its strong embrace and it surface was darkened by the fear induced sweat of its countless, hapless victims. And the cobblestones around its base were stained by the blood and urine of those same victims.

As Sir Conn led me the few, short steps to the post, I tried to walk tall in my new found courage. But my body was wracked by my fear and I trembled violently. My overriding concern was that my legs would fail me and I would collapse to the ground thus inviting further scorn and ridicule from Colton.

However, this didn't happen and there was a grim ritual yet to be played out before my whipping.

Sir Conn positioned me with my body pressed close to the surface of the post. I was surprised to find the post felt marble-cold against my chest and belly and a chill of apprehensive fear rippled through me. I responded to his order to raise my arms above my head as my wrists were bound together and the rope pulled through a pulley to stretch my body to its fullest height.

Claymore Jackson approached me and ran his hands down over my upper body testing for its tautness. I was well aware that the whipping of a slave was a regular feature of life at La Forˆt, yet I was unaware of the preparations in making the victim ready. I'd always thought it was simply a matter of tying the slave to the whipping-post and applying the whip to his back. However, Claymore's comments proved me wrong.

"Conn, would you please pull down on the rope? We need to stretch him further yet. Of course, you're not to know but it's important to have the slave just right for his whipping. Stretching his arms high above his head centres his weight in the region of the shoulders. And you need to have his feet barely touching the ground with him standing on his tiptoes. That way the skin on his back is stretched tight and makes the pain more acute. So be a good lad and pull down on the rope."

I grunted as my arms were pulled even higher above my head and to ease the tension I raised myself onto the tips of my toes. And Claymore was correct. I did feel the stretching in my back and I had every reason to believe the part of his statement that said I would feel the whip's pain more acutely.

I couldn't begin to describe my feelings. I knew that my punishment was to be a light one - it was merely a whipping and not a flogging - and that I'd been dealt with very leniently. Nevertheless, as I waited on Sir Regis, the thought uppermost in my mind was of my utter helplessness. I was fastened to the post in such a way that I knew I couldn't move away from the lash as it laid itself across my back and that my body would absorb the whip's full impact.

There was something primeval about the way I was prepared for my whipping. The callous indifference of the four overseers shocked me. That one man had the absolute power to inflict such degradation and suffering on another overwhelmed me with its awfulness.

As Lucien, I had been the reluctant spectator of such whippings. That day, as the slave Rafe, I was the hapless victim of the brutality of a very public one.

Once more, Claymore ran his hands down over my torso to my ass and declared me ready. Fearfully, I turned my head to look back over my shoulder: I watched as Sir Regis unclipped his whip from his belt and with a deft flick of the wrist, he uncoiled it across the cobblestoned surface of the yard. Momentarily, he let it rest there like a sinuous black snake - a snake whose venom I was soon to feel - before he snapped it into life. I heard the whip's sibilant hiss and crack as Sir Regis exercised his whipping arm. Time stood still and I listened as he limbered up. With each loud crack I was convinced that the whip would find its mark on my exposed back. Involuntarily, I flinched in anticipation and at one stage I even cried out.

As I waited for the first blow, my chest heaved from my ragged breathing and my stomach muscles knotted up with fear. My belly turned to water and shamefully, my bladder emptied itself against the whipping-post and my piss pooled around my feet.

I hung suspended in a limbo of fearful expectation and uncertainty. The seconds passed with inexorable slowness; with each crack of the whip I braced my body for the cruel bite of the lash on my naked back only to heave a great sigh of relief when it failed to materialise.

Behind me I heard the gentle hiss of the whip and felt its cooling caress on my flesh as it stopped just short of making contact with my back. I knew that Sir Regis was playing a cruel game with my raw emotions. I feared the whip and yet surely its pain was more preferable than the torment of the cat and mouse game he played with me.

As he toyed with me, Sir Regis played havoc with my fraught nerves. I lost count of the number of times I prepared my mind for the whip's bite only to have it not materialise. Then, behind me I heard the whip and its sound was ominously different. The whip's sibilant hiss had become a fearful whine as it travelled through the resistant air. Instinctively, I knew, this time, it would make contact with my body and I braced myself. And as best as I could I prepared my mind for the resultant pain.

My wait was interminably long! And then, I heard the loud, distinctive 'thwack' as leather struck naked flesh. And the naked flesh was mine.

There was a brief interlude between the actuality of the whip falling across my shoulders and the reality of the pain I suffered. Then, suddenly that pain exploded throughout my body. Unless you feel the whip for yourself, it is hard to actually describe its pain and I suppose the experience of that pain can vary from victim to victim. Some would be better equipped to deal with it than others. But I would think its intensity remains the same for all.

In the past, I have seen various re-actions from slaves as they were whipped. Some younger slaves cried for their parents while others vainly begged for mercy. Most slaves were resigned to their fate and simply accepted the inevitability of their punishments. But sometimes, older hands would adopt an attitude that bordered on boastful defiance; bragging to their fellow slaves that the lash held no particular fear for them. How wrong they were!

From my observations, all slaves break under the lash. That is inevitable and the only question is how soon will a slave surrender to his pain and vocalise his torment. I have seen slaves stoically suffer with no more than a series of grunts until the pain becomes too much for them to bear in silence. In reality, I suppose it's a slave's strength and resolve that determines when he cries out. And to my shame, I cried at the first stroke of the whip and with each of the following four.

To my mind, the pain of the whip was akin to having a keen edged knife, superheated in the red-hot coals of a brazier, cut into my flesh. Well that is how it seemed to me and I was sure that my shoulders had been lacerated and that the sweat I could feel trickling down my back was, in fact, my blood.

But I was wrong. Sir Regis was aware that my Master had said there was to be no lasting damage done to me and so he'd held back ensuring that my skin wasn't broken. He'd started at my shoulders and very carefully, he laid each subsequent stroke lower down on my back so that they ran parallel to each other and didn't intersect.

Time stood still and was measured by the presence of the whip's searing pain or the dull ache as I waited for the lash to fall once more. My back was aflame with my torment and detachedly, I could hear my incoherent babbling and pleas for mercy. Futilely, I sought relief in my wild writhing but I found that once secured to the post there is no escape. Behind me I heard Sir Conn - I think it was he - count out the strokes.

"One"..." Two"..... What an eternity there was between each stroke ... "Three" ... would the pain never end? ..." Four".... mercifully one more to go ...."Five."

At last my whipping was over. My body sagged as far as the rope binding me to the post allowed and I sobbed incoherently both from my pain and my shame. I had been publicly whipped and that was indelibly imprinted into my consciousness. Within days, the angry red stripes on my back would fade and disappear but the pain and the humiliation - like that of my first caning - will stay with me forever.

Once more, Claymore Jackson inspected me. I winced as his hands moved over my back.

"Good! There's no lasting damage done. I'm sure the slave has learned his lesson. Isn't that so, boy?"

Through my tears and pain I managed to blurt out.

"Yes Sir!"

"Yes Sir, what?"

"Yes Sir, I have learned my lesson."

"And what did it teach you?"

"Sir, that I must always be respectful to my overseers."

"Good boy, Rafe! Then your punishment has served its purpose. It's taught you to be a better slave."

Acting on the chief overseers orders, Sir Conn unfastened the rope and lowered my arms before untying my wrists. Subdued - no, it was more than that for I was now totally subjugated - I awaited instructions.

But I was ignored as the four overseers conversed briefly. Their business at the stables concluded, it was obvious that both Claymore and Colton were anxious to return to their duties; Claymore to depart on his round of inspections and Colton to return to his supervision of the house and garden slaves.

In my misery, I looked to where the three ponies were tethered. It was obvious from their nervous fidgeting and shuffling of feet that my whipping had unsettled them. I was aware that Jake was looking in my direction and I could see his concern for me reflected in his face.

Claymore and Colton bade farewell to both Sir Regis and Sir Conn and I watched as they climbed into their r respective traps. Suddenly, Claymore's shouted instruction startled me into action.

"Rafe, get over here and untether the ponies. C'mon, Move your sorry ass!"

I ran to obey and quickly untethered Colton's pony first. As I did do, I looked into his eyes and saw his despair. He'd barely recovered from the inhuman run from the house to the stables and now he was to carry the major domo back to the house at a similar break neck pace. I'd barely handed the reins to Colton before he slashed his whip across the pony's rump with the imperious order to "Giddup!"

Even before they were out of the stable-yard, the wretched pony felt the sting of the whip on his ass and shoulders twice more.

Next, I moved to untether Jake. As I did so, he looked straight at me and smiled encouragingly; his eyes mirrored his sorrow at my suffering. That took me by surprise as I didn't know that Jake had any regard for me. Quite the contrary; I saw him as a rival for Norge's affections and I assumed he saw me in the same light. But his smile was warm and friendly and it gave me encouragement. I smiled back and my eyes misted over. Jake was extending his friendship to me and I realised that we had something in common that surely bound us together. We both loved Norge.

I handed Jake's reins to Claymore Jackson and stepped back to allow him to depart. But he had one more admonishment for me before he left.

"Rafe! Remember you are to behave yourself and do as you're told or you'll get another whipping. And next time you won't get off so lightly. It'll be ten strokes. And remember to be respectful to all your overseers at all times. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, boy?"

"Yes Sir! I understand Sir! And I'll behave myself, Sir!"

"Good boy! And remember to work hard for your Master."

"Yes Sir! I'll will, Sir!"

I watched as Jake moved out of the yard at a much more leisurely pace than Colton's pony. I didn't realise that Claymore viewed his pony with a degree of affection and that normally he would never abuse Jake in the same way as Colton did with his pony. Claymore was more humane in his attitudes towards his pony; as long Jake carried out his driver's commands and gave of his best then he'd be well treated.

I stood alongside of Honky and waited on the two overseers. Sir Regis was the first to speak.

"OK, Conn! It's time we moved Rafe out to the fields. If you'll fasten him to the shafts we'll be on our way. But we have a stop to make first. It's time for you to get to know Honky and for me to introduce myself to Rafe. I know just the spot under some shady trees where we'll be out of sight and out of mind. How does that sound?"

"That sounds good to me, Regis. I'm up for it if you are."

"Am I up for it?" Sir Regis laughed. "Conn, my pony is kicking at the stable door .... And I'm not talking about Honky. Let's go."

To be continued.....