CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to 'A Reversal of Fortune' Chapter 52 'Everything Changes'
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): May, 2012 Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."
Chapter 52: 'Everything Changes'
Norge
It feels so good to be running alongside Rafe even if the detestable Major Swanston does hold our reins and controls us with the driver's whip.
My dislike for the Major goes beyond the normal hatred of a slave for a Master. It goes to his lack of humanity and his brutal treatment of slaves.
In the eighteen months I have been a slave in the Barrois/Maratier household, I have seen many instances of his callous disregard for slaves in general and of his cruelty to his own slaves in particular.
I recall the evening of the day of Rafe's enslavement when our Master returned to his home for the first time. There, waiting to greet him was a welcoming delegation of his new neighbours led by the pompous Major. I remember his treatment of Rafe and myself and how he'd examined us in front of the leering crowd of onlookers. I recall how he'd taken our cocks - one in each hand - and stroked us to rampant erections whilst he'd commented on our 'eagerness' . The Major gleefully played to his audience and provoked much jeering and laughter at our expense.
I contrasted his treatment of the new slave, Rafe to that of a few hours earlier when he'd talked confidentially to Lucien Barrois. I stood patiently and listened as he'd re-assured Lucien all would be well and that he shouldn't be concerned with his court summons.
Then he'd been sympathetic and supportive of his godson, Lucien. Yet, just a few hours later he'd treated Rafe with such contempt and ridicule. I can't understand how he could do that.
And the Major's detestable treatment of Rafe was one reason why I changed my attitude to the new slave and caused me to reach out to him in friendship.
At first, I too had rejoiced in Lucien's downfall and disgrace. What slave wouldn't delight in seeing his master enslaved, stripped naked, collared and branded. That I'd been happy to see this happen was a sign I still retained some of my human emotions even if they were base ones.
As a naked Rafe ran alongside of me for the first time, I'd delighted in the jeers and catcalls hurled at him by the unsympathetic bystanders. I'd chuckled silently as his body was bespattered by the eggs and rotten fruit thrown at him by a group of homeless people who now stood so far above him. For, even in their poverty, they were free whereas he was just a slave.
At first, I paced myself to my new driver's commands and hoped that Rafe would struggle to keep up. I watched as his body, unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise, tried to match my fitness. His sweat-soaked body did find it hard to keep in step with me. I noticed his heaving chest trying to cope with his ragged breathing and the buckling of his knees as we ran. I delighted each time our new Master put his whip to Rafe's ass and shoulders to urge him back into step or to match his pace with my own. And I didn't mind when the whip was applied to me; my satisfaction at seeing this new slave's suffering inured me to my own pain.
As we ran on that first day, great sobs convulsed Rafe's body and his tear-stained face reflected the disbelief of his changed circumstances and the fear of a new and uncertain future. Then suddenly, I heard his heartfelt apology.
"Norge, I am so sorry."
The pathos of Rafe's words was matched by his sincerity and it affected me deeply. Suddenly, I felt shame that I, a slave who had suffered as such, could take pleasure from Rafe's unhappy plight.
The rest of that first journey running with Rafe at my side was unsettling; my feelings were in conflict. One part of me was happy that my former master was now a slave like me. And yet, as I reflected on that, I knew within me that my judgement of him was unfair. Lucien Barrois' treatment of me as his slave had been benign.
Certainly, I was his slave and he demanded much of me as his personal pony. But he'd never been wantonly cruel to me - quite the opposite in fact - and he'd always been solicitous of my wellbeing. I had a warm stable in which to sleep and an adequate, if somewhat monotonous diet to keep me healthy. There were even moments, when he'd feed me a small portion of apple or some other fruit as a reward for good performance. And at other times, he'd fondly ruffle my hair or gently stroked my body as a sign of his affection for me.
Of course, I'd seen these actions as condescending and I'd seethed with indignation at his treatment of me. I was resentful of the fact that I was a slave and my resentment was squarely focused on Lucien Barrois.
But the words of Rafe's apology did hit home and I started to re-evaluate my opinion of my former master and in doing so I felt a new pity for his plight.
Major Swanston's treatment of Rafe was heartless and I tried -vainly - to imagine the hurt that Rafe would have felt at his god-father's expedient rejection of him. Lucien was without immediate family and it would be true to say that the Major, who'd known him from birth, was the closest of any person to him. To me it seemed reasonable that the Major would feel sympathy for Lucien and would comfort and support him at this the lowest ebb of his life.
Instead, the Major's very publicly repudiation of Rafe went further when he callously humiliated and cruelly ridiculed him in front of his former neighbours. Poor Rafe! He'd suffered so much that afternoon and I remember wondering if there could be any greater hurt inflicted upon him. I tried to imagine his sense of utter isolation from all that he'd been. I tried to imagine it and I failed!
I had felt similar emotions at the time I became a slave - this is common to all the newly enslaved. But always in my thoughts were memories of my warm and loving family back in my homeland. It was a source of sadness to me that, most probably, I'd never see them again. But when I was at my lowest ebb, for comfort, I could drew on the precious memories of my parents and siblings and the simple life I'd lived with them in a small fishing village on a lonely but beautiful fjord in my native land.
But unhappily, Rafe was denied this; for he no longer had a family. His sole legal relative was a slave mother known only to him as Ophelia and whom he'd never met. He'd been stripped of his proud Barrois surname and as the progeny of a slave woman and her master he no longer had a claim to either name or family.
I looked at Rafe's tears stained face and I saw mirrored there his desolation and his hopelessness. My heart went out to my former Master, Lucien and I think it was at that moment my love for the pitiful slave Rafe first manifested itself.
It is a paradox that the Major, by his actions that day, awakened within me the great love I now have for Rafe who is the most important person in my life. Rafe is both my lover and my soul mate.
I'd missed Rafe while he was away at La Forõa and I'd worried about his ability to cope with the strictures of life at the plantation. Indeed I spent many a sleepless night in my stall fretting for him. I ached to take him in my arms to comfort him and to soothe away his concerns. But most of all, I wanted to feel his body pressed close to mine and to feel the warm touch of his lips pressing against my own. And I wanted to claim Rafe's body as my own. Feverishly, I have dreamed of that so often over the past six months.
Yes, I'd worried about Rafe's fragility and wellbeing and eagerly I'd looked forward to my Master's visits to La Forõa so that I could re-assure myself he was coping. And during those visits, I would ask my good friend and sometimes lover, Jake about Rafe. Jake knew of my concerns for Rafe and he kept a re-assuring eye on him and whenever there was the opportunity, he'd speak words of encouragement to him.
I am indebted to Jake for so much. I recall my own first dreadful days at La Forõa when he'd befriended me and how we'd supported and protected one another against the more predatory of our fellow slaves. Inevitably, Jake and I had become lovers but I'd never hidden the depths of my true feelings for Rafe from him. He knew that and understood that Rafe was the real focus on my affection.
It is a measure of Jake's magnanimous nature that he never saw Rafe as a rival for my affections or showed any resentment or jealousy towards him. It's true to say that next to Rafe, I love Jake the most of any man.
But Rafe had surprised me; he'd survived his six months at La Forõa and yesterday our Master had brought him back to the city to begin his new life as a pony paired with me.
Yesterday's run back to the city from the plantation had been a joyous one for me. To have Rafe running alongside of me made it a happy occasion.
At close-hand, I had the chance to see the changes the past six months had wrought in Rafe. The most obvious one was in his physical appearance. He now had the glorious physique of the proverbial Greek god. His training had given him a body that any Master would be proud to own and before we'd left La Forõa, our Master and Claymore Jackson had stood us side by side and compared the two of us. The head overseer had complimented Master and said he'd never seen two more perfectly matched ponies than Rafe and me.
And of course, I'd playfully tested Rafe's physical abilities against my own. As we ran, I'd tried to best him by increasing my speed but always he'd matched it. I didn't do this to belittle Rafe or to prove him inferior to myself. Rather it was the sheer joy of having him at my side at long last. I'd waited for that day for so long.
I can't describe the exhilaration I felt as Rafe and I pulled our Master's cart back into the city. We were both superbly fit and our bodies begged to be tested - one against the other. With sideway glances, I watched the magnificent play of Rafe's powerful muscles as they challenged my own. I saw his heaving chest, the fluttering of his abdominal muscles and the flexing of his mighty legs as we ran. I smelt the erotically intoxicating aroma of his perspiration as it meandered down over his torso. I saw his rampantly hard cock signposting the way ahead - and it matched my own massive erection - but most of all I lusted after the delicious curves of his sweat-glistening ass. I had waited so long to claim it as my own. Soon, that opportunity would present itself.
Later, I was to find there were other changes in Rafe that weren't noticeable to the eye. Rafe had undergone profound, emotional changes as well and all of them were for the better.
Rafe had accepted his slavery and he is the happier for doing so. And despite his lowly status as a slave, Rafe had a new self-assurance.
Yesterday evening, upon our return home from La Forõa, we'd been unharnessed by the grooms, hosed down, fed and watered and placed in our stall to rest up after our arduous run back to the city.
'Our stall.' How strange it felt to use those words. For the past six months, I'd thought often of this night. I'd imagined sharing my stall with Rafe and of having him lie beside me cradled in each other's warm embrace through the still, dark hours of the night.
It felt good to have Rafe back in the stall with me and I recalled our last morning together in this place - the morning he'd been taken to La Forõa -as he'd pleasured me with his mouth.
That was six months ago and as I looked at Rafe, I could see his interest in me hadn't waned during our parting. His hard cock betrayed his inner feelings.
Impulsively, he fell to his knees in front of me and leaning forward, he kissed the head of my cock with all his pent-up yearnings. The touch of his lips seemed to electrify me; I arched my back and a soft moan escaped my lips. This emboldened Rafe; he ran the tip of his tongue up and down the sensitive underside of my penis and reaching behind, he hungrily grabbed both my ass cheeks, one in each hand. My quivering response encouraged Rafe; suggestively, he slipped his right index finger into the deep cleft between my buttocks and excited the sensitive tissue of my puckering sphincter.
My response was to grab hold of Rafe's ears and direct his hungry mouth down over the head of my cock until he'd taken it into the eager embrace of his mouth. I gave myself over to the immediacy of the moment and began a thrusting of my hips synchronised to the bobbing of his head until we were in perfect unison with one another. The silence of the stable was broken only by my appreciative moaning and the slurping sounds of Rafe's rising passion.
All too soon, I reached my climax and with each exquisite throb of my cock I could feel the explosive spurts of my ejaculation filling Rafe's mouth. I held his head pressed against my groin as he swallowed hard taking care not to spill any of my semen onto the floor.
Afterwards, bathed in the warm afterglow of our encounter, we rested securely locked in a strong embrace. Temporarily, the world beyond the stable doors no longer existed for us. Our world - our total world - was contained within the four walls of our shared stall. Time stood still and I have no idea for how long we rested on the straw-strewn floor with our bodies pressed close to one another and our limbs entwined.
I only knew that I felt peace and contentment that after the long absence of six months, I had Rafe back with me and my world was complete.
I'm not sure how long we lay in each other's embrace and time was irrelevant. To feel Rafe's naked body pressing up against me was all that mattered. I was aware of the night's gloom filling our stall with deep shadows and sadly, all too soon we were parted once more.
Rafe had been summoned to our Master's apartment and we both knew why. Our Master was ready to exercise his 'jus primae noctis' rights over Rafe. As he was led away, Rafe turned to look back at me and I could see his uncertainty and apprehension reflected in his eyes.
All I could do was smile encouragingly at him and left alone once more, I spent a restless night worrying about Rafe. I wondered how our Master was treating him. Was Guy Maratier treating Rafe to gentle lovemaking or forceful raping? How was Rafe coping?
The night passed slowly and I slept fitfully; always Rafe was uppermost in my thoughts. Part of me was concerned with how Rafe was coping with his submission to our Master's sexual demands and I worried that he would be adversely affected by Guy Maratier's treatment of him.
Although my worry for Rafe was genuine, there was a measure of self-interest in my concern. Once our Master had claimed his owner's right over Rafe, I hoped that Rafe would become mine. The thought of fucking Rafe had been uppermost in my mind during his absence at La Forõa. It was to be the physical fulfilment of my lustful fantasises about Rafe and yet on another higher level it was to be the emotional expression of my great love for him.
Throughout the night, as I thought about Rafe, I supposed my excitement was something akin to that of the bridegroom approaching his wedding night.
Eventually, night time gave way to dawn and a subdued Rafe was returned to the stables where we were made ready for our day's labours. We sat on the straw strewn floor of our stall and ate our morning's food ration in silence. Anxiously, I'd asked after his wellbeing and he'd replied that he was well but something in his manner told me that he didn't want to talk about his experiences in our Master's bedroom.
I could understand that; I recalled my own mixed emotions the morning after Lucien Barrois had used me for the first time. I remembered my sense of shame and the festering anger that gnawed at my innards. I'd seethed at the powerlessness of being a slave; the pain I still felt from my first penetration and the guilty pleasure I'd experienced once my body had adjusted to that pain.
No doubt, Rafe was feeling all of these things and I thought it prudent not to question him. I knew he would tell me when the time was right for him to do so.
I could wait until he is ready!
Suddenly, these thoughts are rudely interrupted as the Major pulls back sharply on our reins to slow us down. Then, impatiently he tugs on those reins to turn us left into the secluded, tree-lined area where Charlotte Maratier resides. Master is a frequent visitor to his grandmother and I know this area well. Charlotte's small but elegant mansion is at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac of gracious homes set amid beautifully manicured lawns, shrubberies and colourful flower-beds.
As Rafe and I slow our pace to a slow trot, I see the army of slaves labouring to maintain those gardens to the high standards demanded by their owners. I notice Rafe is showing an interest in one particular garden and I wonder why. Then I remembered that Lucien had driven me here to visit an elderly distant cousin of his late grandmother who resides in that house.
Perhaps, as he looks at three male slaves toiling in the gardens, he is remembering better times and happier days.
Rafe:
This morning, for the first time, Norge and I were harnessed to Master's new carriage and driven under the guiding hand of my former god-father, Major Swanston to Charlotte Maratier's residence.
When we turn into the avenue leading to where she lives, the Major pulls back on our reins to slow us to a walk. After the hard run we'd been subjected to both Norge and I appreciate the opportunity to 'cool down' and to regain our breath. This is the first time I've visited Charlotte Maratier's home although the area is known to me. It is an enclave of magnificent mansions set amid spacious grounds and it is home to the 'old money' families who, to date, have managed to exclude from their midst the 'Johnnies come lately' and noveau riche types who now dominate the city's social scene.
My late grandmother had a cousin, Odile Thureau who lives on this broad, tree-lined avenue - I know she is still alive but is aged in her nineties - and as a boy I frequently accompanied my grandmother on her visits to her cousin for lunch or afternoon tea. I particularly enjoyed those visits.
Odile, a genteel widow without children, owned a family of slaves who served her. The mother and teenaged daughter kept house and cooked while the father, his teenaged son and a younger son of my age worked outdoors maintaining the extensive gardens and grounds surrounding the grand, colonial mansion.
Whenever I visited as a boy, the youngest, male slave attended me and I recall our games of hide and seek among the thick shrubberies which are so much a feature of Odile's gardens. Of course as a free child, I was clothed and my slave companion - his name was Jem - was as naked as the day he was born. His nudity wasn't an issue for me as I was well used to slave nakedness. And the slave was comfortable about playing naked with me. After all, he was slave born and he'd never worn clothes.
Some of the games we played as boys were boisterous and usually dissolved into rough and tumble affairs as we wrestled on the verdant green lawns. I recall the feel of his naked body against my own clothed one and there were those occasions when I wished I could be as naked as he was. But that could never be.
I remember his naked slipperiness and how difficult it was to grab hold of him in our wrestling bouts. Always, he had the advantage over me; my clothing gave him the purchase his nakedness denied me.
At first, Jem was differential to me and showed me the respect due to me as a free person. But with each subsequent visit, he relaxed as we became friends - well as friendly as it was possible for us to be - and I found myself eagerly looking forward to accompanying my grandmother on her visits to her cousin so that I could play with Jem.
Over the duration of those visits, I watched Jem's progression from a shy, slave boy through his pre-pubescent confusion into the full bloom of his teen-aged years.
These visits gave me the opportunity to watch the physical development of his body. With each visit there was a noticeable change in Jem. I saw his rapid growth spurt until he stood at six feet tall; I noticed the thickening of his skinny boy's body and the burgeoning of his adolescent physique with its promise of adult perfection. I heard the deepening huskiness of his voice - I noticed he now shaved each day - and I witnessed the growth of his body hair that was necessarily removed to conform to the accepted, adult slave smoothness.
As he progressed through puberty, I observed - with great interest - the lengthening and the thickening of his circumcised cock and the lowering of his balls. It seemed to me that Jem was 'hair-triggered' and could go from flaccid to iron-bar rigidity within a matter of seconds. Certainly, whenever we were together he seemed to be in a constant state of arousal and his condition perfectly complemented my own.
Strangely, it never occurred to me that Jem's transition from boyhood to adolescence perfectly mirrored my own progression.
Odile Thureau was a kindly soul and a benevolent mistress. A long time widow who was without children, she was very fond of her slaves. This was especially so of Jem and his older brother, Cody and perhaps in some small way they helped fill the emptiness of her childless life.
Certainly, she allowed them more freedom than was customary and whenever I visited, Jem was freed from his labours to act as my companion.
Upon our arrival, a smiling Jem would be waiting for me and after being welcomed by Odile, we were sent away to play. The gardens were an adventure playground and we variously played at hide-and-seek, Robin Hood, cowboys and Indians or anything else that appealed to our boyhood fantasies.
As we matured, our activities became more sedate and we'd lie on the lawns sunning ourselves and just talking as boy's do or we'd seek relief from the sun's intensity with a cool drink in the leafy shade of a majestic tree.
On warm days we were permitted to swim in the pool adjacent to the rear of the house and the sounds of our laughter and splashing delighted Odile who'd often sit by the pool with my grandmother sipping tea as they talked and watched us at play.
Of course, Jem swam naked and how I envied him his freedom to do so. As a free child, I was required to wear bathers. How I hated them and how I longed to swim in the nude. Lasciviously - and because of my youth I wasn't fully aware of its implications - I watched as Jem cavorted naked in the pool. Erotically, his berry-brown torso shone wetly as he swam the length of the pool.
Sometimes I would join with him in a race which I usually contrived to loose. The true enjoyment of the race was to swim behind Jem and to watch as his trim body glided effortlessly through the water. Lustfully, I watched the flashing of his glistening limbs as they cut through the water and the alternating sideways roll of the twin orbs of his bare ass as it breached the pool's surface.
Today, as Norge and I pass Odile Thureau's house, I see her three male slaves tending to her gardens. In the distance, I see Jem and memories of happier days come flooding back. I wonder if he's aware of what's befallen me - I'd be surprised if he isn't - and I wonder how he'd re-act to me being a slave.
Even from this distance, I can appreciate the magnificent adult slave that Jem has become. The morning's sun reflects back from his sweat coated body and it highlights his superb musculature. I see that he is bent almost double as he and his brother, Cody pull heavy mowers across the impeccably manicured lawns and I recall the early days of my slavery when I'd been harnessed to an identical mower. I can appreciate the soul-destroying nature of their work.
I watch as both slaves strain into their harness and I see the intolerable stress this places upon them; every muscle in their taut bodies is stretched to the limit and stands out in sharp relief. But then it occurs to me that Norge and I are no different to Jem and Cody. All four of us are beasts-of burden and we share identical fates.
But Jem has a special place in my affections. Once we'd moved into adulthood, he was the first slave I fucked and I have fond memories of that day when we'd crept away to a secluded corner of a shrubbery where, together, we discovered our true sexuality.
That day lingers fondly in my memory and it was to be the first of many happy encounters between us.
Ironically, some two months before my own enslavement, I was contacted by Odile's attorneys and advised that she was bequeathing Jem and Cody to me after her death. This was conditional on me agreeing to keep them together and guaranteeing them a good 'home'.
Of course I happily agreed to her terms and I'd looked forward to the day when Jem and Cody would become my inherited slaves.
Sadly that isn't to be and today, as I watch them at their labours, I wonder about their futures. Most probably after the death of their Mistress, they will be sold separately along with their parents and their sister as part of her deceased estate.
Such is the cruel, dispassionate nature of slavery!
The Major slows us down to a walk as we move past Odile Thureau's home and we continue down the avenue before turning into the quiet, leafy cul-de-sac where my great-aunt, Charlotte Maratier resides. Her house is set amid spacious grounds and as we approach the imposing front entrance, the scrunching of our carriage wheels in the gleaming white quartz of the wide driveway arouses the interest of her garden slaves. They pause in their labours and straighten up to look to see who is visiting their stricken Mistress. They recognise our Master and quickly bend their backs to their labours for fear of displeasing him.
Waiting at the front steps for Master's arrival are Cadmus, Charlotte Maratier's new major domo and her erstwhile body servant, Ben.
Ben's face is wreathed in a broad smile as he recognises us and eagerly he steps forward to greet his Master.
He hesitates and the smile becomes a look of puzzlement as he recognises Major Swanston and his brutal slave, Pug.
No doubt Ben wonders why Pug is running alongside of me. Why would the Major and Pug accompany our Master on what is surely a dutiful bedside visit to his incapacitated grandmother? Why is Pug here?
I am sure these are the thoughts that tumble through Ben's mind. Of course, I know why we are here and I know within a few minutes Norge and I are to witness Ben's whipping.
Ben pauses as our Master and Major Swanston climb out of the carriage and are respectfully greeted by Cadmus. He notices that his Master ignores him and senses that all is not well. His suspicions are further aroused when the Major releases Pug from his restraints and instructs him to fetch his whip from the rear luggage compartment of the carriage.
I see Ben's look of consternation as Pug grins evilly at him and menacingly gestures towards him with the whip. Intuitively, Ben now senses the reason for Pug's presence and fearfully he falls to the ground and crawls to his Master's feet in supplication and to pitifully plead for mercy.
I look down on Ben's crouching form and I feel pity for him and the suffering he is about to undergo. And yet, I feel irritation at his stupidity. Unknowingly, he'd come so close to achieving his freedom and recklessly he'd squandered that opportunity.
Freedom is a precious concept to any slave and I know my Master will never offer it to me and it is this which annoys me. My fate is to serve out the remainder of my days as a slave. But Norge's presence at my side does mitigate the bitterness of my fate somewhat.
But, there'll be no Norge to comfort and support Ben when he's sent to La Forõa to work out his days in bitter servitude as a common field-slave. Young and comely, he'll attract the lecherous attention of the worst of the depraved slaves in the slave stables. And like the over-confident, boastful slave, Pollux before him, he is doomed to serve as a submissive whore for the most predatory of La Forõa's slave herd.
As I look at Ben, I am reminded of the affection I'd once felt for him and I regret very much the future that now awaits him.
However, it's true that his fate is of his own making! His overreaching self-confidence and his indifference to his stricken Mistress's needs have brought him to this moment.
Poor, foolish, misguided Ben! He has only himself to blame.
To be continued ........
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