Changed Circumstances

By: Jean-Christophe
(© 2011-2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 46
Master’s Bedchamber

Rafe:

At last I am home!

It has been six, long months since I was last in this house which had once been my home. Of course, it no longer belongs to me; when I was condemned to slavery I lost it and all other of my worldly possessions. As a slave, I am forbidden by law to own any property or other personal goods.

The rationale behind this is quite simple. A slave’s legal status is that of a mere, chattel possession – he belongs to his owner in exactly the same manner as a farm animal or a domestic pet and like them he can own nothing. To be truthful, a slave ranks below a loved, household pet; he is simply a unit of labour more akin to a piece of machinery. A slave is totally dependent on his Master for his very existence. He lives because his Master allows him to do so.

A slave’s owner controls every aspect of his life and he is beholden to his Master for the food he eats, the water he drinks and the clothes he wears. Although for most slaves the latter is academic. Most slaves are kept naked – as I am - so that nothing is hidden from their owners’ eyes. A Master decides when his slaves work and when they rest; he decides if they sleep comfortably on freshly strewn straw or rough on uneven cobblestones. The Master decides what is to be done to a slave’s body. He decides if that body is to be punished or rewarded.  It is the Master who sets the times for the slave to relieve himself and to cleanse his body.

Everything a slave receives is within the gift of the Master except for one thing; the air that he breathes.

And so it is with me. After six months of servitude, my training is complete and I now accept my slavery without question. However, my journey has been a long and painful one. At the outset – when I’d been taken out to La Forêt – I’d doubted I would survive. And I’m not sure that I wanted to. I was at the depths of my despair and it would have been so easy to just ‘curl up in a corner and die’. But the human will to survive is a powerful one. Within us all – even the lowest of slaves - is the instinctive desire to live and to survive no matter how dire our circumstances.

Although one part of me longed for the merciful release of a quick death yet another part wanted to survive despite the horrors of my circumstances. And I’d received emotional support from my former slave Norge; throughout my ordeal his words of advice helped me to cope with my new situation. Norge’s support was both unexpected and, if I ‘m completely truthful, it was also unwarranted. As his Master, I’d never considered Norge’s feelings and yet once he’d gotten over his initial satisfaction of seeing my dizzy tumble from the heights, he’d given me the emotional support I so badly needed. And my present love for Norge springs from the undeserved compassion he’d shown to me.

When I bought him and trained him as my pony I only ever saw him as a slave to be used by me in whatever ways I deemed best served my interests. True over time, my feelings for Norge did change and I began to feel affection for him. But it was an affection born out of a master’s pride in owning such a magnificent specimen of a slave.

Today, as I ran at Norge’s side and shared with him our Master’s whip, I can say with complete honesty that it was one of the happiest moments of my life. There is this incredible bond that now binds me to Norge as surely as the body harness, which I wore, secured me to the shafts of our Master’s conveyance.

There was the sheer exhilaration of running with him and sharing in his workload. How do I describe the freedom of pacing myself to his steps and trying to outmatch his strength? This wasn’t done from any sense of ‘besting’ Norge; it was done simply because I could do so. The pain of the past six months was behind me and I now had the future to look forward to; a future that I would share with Norge as our Master’s two favourite ponies.

It felt good to run uninhibitedly naked in the warm autumn sunlight, to feel the gentle breeze cooling my sweat-soaked body and to feel my newly acquired strength, built up over the past six months, put to the use for which it is intended. But for me the ultimate happiness was in my close proximity to Norge. We were just inches apart and even though my blinkers centred my vision on the road ahead of us, I could sense Norge’s presence. I could smell the heady, intoxicating scent of his perspiration and I had glimpses of his muscular body working in perfect harmony with mine.

The gentle patter of our bare feet running on the road’s surface and the incessant rattling of the carriage wheels were hypnotic and lulled me into a trance like state of mind which was periodically broken by the sibilant hiss of Master’s whip and the sharp thwack as the cruel leather struck our naked flesh. The resultant pain – although severe – wasn’t long lasting and soon eased. But it added to the eroticism of the moment.

I was very aware of Norge’s raging erection pointing the way ahead and that my own wayward cock was striving to match its intensity. It has to be said that our endurance was prodigious and augured well for our future as ‘show’ ponies on the city’s avenues and boulevards where we would cut a dashing spectacle which would make Master the envy of many an onlooker.

As I ran, the uppermost thought in my mind was that Master is finally taking me home and that soon I am to spend my nights wrapped in the strong arms and warm embrace of my beloved Norge. I have longed for this and now that it is imminent my excitement is boundless.

But even more so is the knowledge that soon Master might allow Norge and I to engage in sex. And by sex I don’t mean the ‘kiss and suck’ type but rather the real thing where I can fully surrender my body to Norge and open myself up to him.

If Master allows this then it will be a radical departure from the norm for me. Normally I always dominated any sexual unions between me and my slaves. They surrendered themselves to me – not always willingly but that choice wasn’t theirs to make.  It was my right as a Master to use and to dominate them.

But so great is my love for Norge, that now I am ready to submit to him and to allow him to dominate me. And within the strictures of our common bondage, I will acknowledge Norge as my ‘master’.

*******

My true Master, Guy Maratier towers over me as I kneel at his feet. I am overcome with emotion and my body trembles from the thought of what is to happen to me.

For tonight, I must surrender to my Master as he exercises his owner’s right of ‘jus primae noctis’ over me. Finally, I am to pay him the ultimate homage demanded of all new slaves and in my case I bring to my Master a special ‘gift’ - my virginity.

No man, free or slave has ever sullied my body. As the Master, I’d set the rules for all my sexual encounters with my slaves and I’d allowed no one to enter into me. Always I was the ‘master’ of these liaisons.

But tonight, I am the slave and not the ‘master’. Now, I must submit to my Master and assume the passive role. It will be Master who takes the lead and I must simply follow in humble obedience.

What are my thoughts as I kneel with my nose to the floor and my ass elevated and open to my Master’s scrutiny? They are very mixed!

Just a few short months ago, I wouldn’t have comprehended such an eventuality as the one that is now being played out. It would have been inconceivable for me to even think that I would play the passive role in my sexual exploits. Then, I was aggressive; now I am docile.

It is perhaps a measure of how far I have descended into my servitude that I now wait on my Master’s instruction with unquestioning acceptance of his right to do with me as he pleases.

Norge is very much in my thoughts. I wish with all my heart that it is he who initiates me into my new subservience. The thought of this causes me to tremble. But tonight belongs to my Master and Norge and I must wait.

My Master walks slowly around my prostrate body assessing me. As he does so, what are his thoughts? Does he find me attractive? Does the sight of my naked vulnerability stoke the fire in his loins?

I hark back to those occasions when I’d stood in my Master’s place and stared down on the naked form of one of my slaves crouching at my feet. I’d enjoyed such moments and I’d never hurried them. I appreciated them much as one does a glass of imported French wine; sipping slowly and taking the time to savour the flavour.

Is my Master doing this? Is he taking his time to savour my helplessness as I kneel at his feet? From my lowly position, I think of Ben and how he’d given me so much pleasure. Were his thoughts similar to my own present ones?

But what had brought Ben to mind?

Earlier today, as we’d returned from La Forêt, Master had paused Norge and I as he talked with Major Swanston. The Major had complimented Master on our appearance and asked for his permission to inspect me. I stood docilely as the man, who’d been my mentor since early childhood until my enslavement, minutely assessed me. He pounded my muscles as a test of their hardness, lifted my legs to examine the soles of my feet, parted my buttocks, hefted my balls and stroked my semi erect cock to full arousal before finally forcing my mouth open to examine my teeth. Once the Major’s inspection would have humiliated me; now I accept it as part of what I am – a pony slave.

Major Swanston was fulsome in his praise of me as a fine animal and complimented Master on my appearance, noble bearing and presentation. In a strange way, I basked in his approval of me and I was proud that I’d brought credit to my Master. Major Swanston said he was astounded at the changes that the six months I’d spent out at La Forêt had wrought in me.

He asked Master how I had performed between the shafts running with Norge and Master expressed his satisfaction at my performance but said it fell short of being perfect.

Major Swanston told Master he would have to ‘work’ on me to lift me to Norge’s level of performance and he advised Master not to ‘spare the whip’ in doing so.

He further advised Master that he’d need to be constantly alert for troublesome behaviour from us; well-bred ponies, by their natures, are highly strung, nervous creatures and prone to behavioural problems.

He told Master that he would need to watch our diet and to limit our food intake so that we didn’t become overweight as is the case with so many of the non-descript ponies one sees in the streets nowadays. What discerning driver, the Major asked, wants to drive a paunchy pony with sagging ass-cheeks?

The Major’s advice is freely given with all the authority of one who knows all about these matters. But to be fair to Major Swanston, he’d always kept a stable of first rate ponies. His ponies are a source of pride with him and over the years he’d built up an enviable reputation of having some of the best ponies in the city.

In fact, Major Swanston had helped teach me to drive a pony and trap when I was still a boy and from him I’d learned many of the finer points of pony handling and driving.

I listened as Master asked Major Swanston if, tomorrow morning, he could borrow his repulsive slave, Pug to deliver a whipping to a wayward slave. As always, the Major agreed – he is firmly in favour of punishing a slave for any misdemeanour no matter how trivial – and he complimented Master on his firm handling of the slave. What slave, could he ask, is to be whipped?

I was surprised to hear it is Ben who has earned Master’s displeasure. When I’d left for La Forêt six months ago, Ben was firmly entrenched as Master’s body slave and a firm favourite in his bed and had been appointed as steward to Master’s household. In recent times, Norge had told me that Ben had moved with Master’s grandmother to take charge of her new household. 

So to hear that Ben has fallen out of Master’s favour and is to be whipped came as a surprise, What had he done to incur Master’s wrath?

I listened intently as Master told Major Swanston of Ben’s recent neglect of his invalid Mistress and it seems to me that Ben’s impending whipping is well deserved. But then, I listened as Master told the Major of how he’d changed his plans to grant Ben his freedom and will instead send Ben to La Forêt to work out his days as a field slave.

Despite Ben’s fickleness and bad treatment of me six months ago, I do feel sympathy for his plight. Ben is more used to the comforts of a house slave and delights of his Master’s bed and he will be totally unprepared for the rigours of fieldwork and the night time horrors of the slave stables. I think back to the brutal raping of the hapless Pollux. It would appear that Ben is to share his fate.

Major told Master that he’d be delighted to ‘lend’ Pug to him. He’ll have Pug exercise overnight to build up his arm strength for Ben’s whipping and he offered to loan Master his best punishment whip which is guaranteed to make the most resolute slave cry out for mercy. Master accepted and the Major told him, he’d soak the whip in a brine solution overnight to give it extra ‘sting’.

Master thanked Major Swanston and then suggested that he might like to be present to supervise Pug as he whips Ben. He even suggested that the Major travel with him and offered him the opportunity to drive Norge and me and to put us ‘through our paces’.

Major Swanston graciously accepted!

“Stand and display!”

My Master’s instruction cuts through my thoughts of the luckless Ben and drive them from my mind. Hastily, I leap to my feet and display my body for my Master’s pleasure.

Ever so slowly, my Master’s eyes scan down over the front of my body and come to rest at my groin.  As he surveys me, I feel a frisson of excitement wash over me and a shiver of expectancy causes me to tremble.

Before tonight, I have only been in my Master’s presence in public and always there’d been others around. Tonight however, we are alone as I stand naked before him in the intimacy and privacy of his bedroom. His Bedroom! My thoughts are tinged with regret as nostalgically I look around the room that had once been mine.

Nothing has changed; the décor and the furnishings remain the same as on that fateful morning six months ago when I’d awakened to my last day as a free man. Everything is as I’d left it; Master has changed nothing. It occurs to me that this is a testament to the former Lucien’s good taste.

The décor is in various hues of my favourite blue. The bottom half of the walls are panelled in imported timber that complements the solid, hand-crafted furniture I’d specially commissioned less than a twelve months ago. The top half of the walls are in the soft pastel blue I’d so carefully chosen and the high ceiling with its intricate scrolling is pristine white.

Beneath my bare, calloused feet the imported, dark blue, Persian carpet is thick and deep – I’d forgotten just how luxurious it feels underfoot – and I Indulge myself by secretly burrowing my toes into its deep pile. Oh, how good it feels after six months of working barefooted on the hard, compacted surfaces at La Forêt.

The door into Master’s dressing-room stands ajar and through the opening, I see many of my clothes are still hanging where I’d left them. I’m aware that Master now wears my clothing; whenever he visited me out at La Forêt, I’d recognise a pair of trousers or shirt as those that had once belonged to me.

The imposing, four-poster bed in which I’d once slept dominates the room and I recall the soft plushness of its mattress and the sensuous feel of silken sheets on my naked skin. I remember the winter warmth of the woollen blankets and contrasted these with the coarse, prickly straw of the slave stables which had served as my bedding during my stay at La Forêt.

However, there is one subtle difference I’d not seen at first but which I have now noticed. The ancient Barrois coat-of-arms which had hung proudly on the wall above the head of the bed has been removed and replaced with the new Maratier shield.

As I gaze upon the bed, so many memories come flooding back. Memories of all the young slaves I’d commanded into that bed and who I’d so thoughtlessly used. I see them all in a passing parade of faces that reflected shame, humiliation and impotent anger. I see Ben’s face looking up at me with feigned pleasure as I thrust into him and I see the deep hurt in Norge’s eyes as I sought to dominate him. Suddenly, I am haunted by these visions.

Soon, like those slaves, I will lie acquiescent as my Master uses me. My sense of guilt tells me that I deserve this and like them I must yield to this man who now owns me.

“Undress me!”

Master’s instruction cuts into my reverie and I move quickly to obey.

To date I have been a common, heavy duty, work slave and I am unused to the refinements of a Master’s bedroom. However, my time as a Master does in a way prepare me for this. How many times have I stood in my Master’s place and ordered a slave to undress me. And so I am able to draw on those experiences when a slave had undressed me and to apply them to my present situation.

Remembering back to how a slave ritualistically removed my clothing; I soon have my Master standing semi-naked in plain white boxer shorts. His excitement is very evident; the bulge of his semi erection is clearly outlined through the stretched fabric of his shorts.

Master is used to my total nakedness but this is the first time that I have seen him in any state of undress. My eyes sweep over his semi-nudity and for the first time I get to appreciate my Master’s body.

During his visits to La Forêt, I’d noticed – and admired - Master’s physique; he’d always admirably filled his clothing. I had seen the open necked shirts that stretched across his manly chest and broad shoulders and the close fitting pants that clung to his legs like a second skin accentuating the firm globes of his buttocks.

Now I can truly appreciate the figure beneath the clothing!

Master is auburn haired – this must be a Maratier trait as all of the portraits of our common Barrois ancestors show them to be dark haired or blond as in my case – and I suppose this puts him at a disadvantage. He must be constantly aware of bright sunlight and take the necessary steps to protect his complexion.

I know that he wears wide brimmed hats – always at La Forêt he’d never venture outdoors unless he was so protected – and I recall the occasion when he’d used me as an ‘umbrella slave’ on a visit to Lionel Schuster’s slave dealership.

Consequently, Master’s skin is untouched by the sun and it remains flawlessly white. Its unblemished beauty has the perfection of the purest, white alabaster or the finest porcelain.  It stands in stark contrast to my own deeply tanned body.

“Continue!”

At Master’s instruction to continue, I kneel before him and ease him out of his shorts. As I do so his cock springs free and his balls hang low. For the first time I see that my Master, unlike me, is uncircumcised. This is truly the hallmark of a free man. His prepuce marks him as free whereas the recent removal of mine defines me as a slave.

Nevertheless, I am grateful that my Master showed compassion and didn’t subject me to the veterinarian’s scalpel. Instead, my foreskin was slowly strangled by plastic bands, and allowed to ‘fall off’ in a similar operation to that used for the humane castration of farm animals.

True, there had been some initial discomfort as my prepuce atrophied but that was preferable to the trauma of the knife. Tonight, the only evidence that I’d once possessed a foreskin is the still red scar encircling the shaft of my cock.

My face is just inches from Master’s groin and I can smell his heady masculinity.  His genitals are admirable - if not altogether prodigious - and fleetingly, I make the comparison between them and those of Sir Conn and Sir Regis. Which is unfair of me; this is the first time I have seen Master’s whereas I had an ongoing, close ‘working’ knowledge of the two overseers’ cocks. Nevertheless, I decide my Master is well-endowed and he need not feel any shame.

I am sorely tempted to take the initiative but I am unsure of what Master expects of me. As the seconds tick away, I wait for his instruction and my nervousness grows. What must I do?

I remember back to when I’d stood naked as a Master with a slave kneeling before me and I now draw on those erotic memories. I’d always appreciated a slave paying due homage to me by kissing my cock and balls without any bidding from me. I’d enjoyed the slave’s spontaneity as he leant forward to do so. Of course, there were occasions when a new slave, inexperienced in my ways, didn’t know what to do and I’d found it necessary to instruct him. On those first occasions, I would patiently show him what I wanted from him but after that I expected him to remember. Is this the case with my Master? Should I pay him the same type of spontaneous homage that I’d once demanded from my slaves?

Shyly, I lean forward and kiss the head of my Master’s cock. Through my lips, I feel his slight tremor and the stiffening of his body. Is it my imagination or do I hear his soft moan of pleasure?

Emboldened, I burrow my head into his groin and my tongue searches for his balls. At the touch of my tongue, Master’s body is convulsed by his trembling and his soft moaning grows even louder.

A vision of Norge flashes before me and suddenly my cock springs to life. My erection throbs with impatient intensity. How long is it since I last genuinely ejaculated?

I recall it was in the early, pre-dawn hours of the day when I was taken out to La Forêt. That morning, stricken with many doubts and fears, I’d sought comfort and solace in Norge’s strong embrace. As I lay wrapped in his powerful arms, he’d soothed away those fears and calmed me. Aware that this was to be our last time together for six months we’d pleasured one another with our mouths.

That morning, after my memorable ejaculation, the flood-gates were slammed shut by my Master’s orders and they have remained closed for the past six months. Denied sexual relief, my dammed-up emotions are now ready to breach those floodgates. 

It’s true there were the illicit, early morning trysts with Sir Conn – and the occasional ones with Sir Regis – but even then, in accordance with Master’s wishes, I wasn’t allowed to cum.  

And I don’t count the few, spontaneous, nocturnal ejaculations. These happened during my sleep and I only became aware of them by the cold stickiness on my belly and chest when I awoke.

As I burrow my face into Master’s groin; I breathe in his manly scent and I take one of his balls into my mouth. Ever so gently I suckle each ball and this raises my Master to new level of pleasure. He arches his back and cries out.

“YES!!!! YES!!”

This encourages me to continue and now I use the tip of my tongue to tease the underside of his cock with feather-touch gentleness. I am rewarded; Master grabs hold of my head and directs my mouth down over his glans.

Suddenly, I am grateful for those early morning sessions with Sir Conn. They were stolen and secretive but they prepared me for this moment. The muscles of my mouth – loosened and exercised by Sir Conn’s mighty member – relax and I take my Master’s cock into the depths of my mouth. Sir Conn has trained me well in giving oral pleasure and, drawing on his instruction, I lift Master to new heights of ecstasy.

Tonight, my emotions confuse me. I should hate this man I must now call my Master; his past treatment of me warrants that I should. And at first I did hate him.  And being new to my slavery, I’d also feared him. At first he’d obviously felt contempt for me. Fuelled by his grandmother’s hatred of me and my family, he’d delighted in humiliating me and causing me pain. So, of course, I hated him!

Although he’d not orchestrated my downfall – that was done by his grandmother – he was the one who benefited the most from it. Charlotte Maratier is the one who took away my old life and handed it to him on the proverbial golden platter which he’d gratefully taken in both hands.    

But gradually with each meeting between us there has been a subtle shifting of our attitudes to each other. My hatred of him has lessened into an acceptance of him as my Master.  Conversely, his disdain for me is less obvious and there are even moments when he speaks kindly to me. However, I am still his slave and I do fear him as my Master. So that hasn’t changed.

Perhaps it’s a measure of how slave-like I have really become. But tonight as I kneel before Guy Maratier and pleasure him, I have feelings that are almost akin to a growing affection for him. Is this the type of affection that a slave develops for a master? Did my slaves harbour similar feelings for Lucien Barrois?

And there is another intangible at play here; my Master and I are related by blood. We share the same Barrois bloodline although my slave mother taints mine. Given a different set of circumstances, we could have been close cousins. Is there any truth in the old saying that blood is thicker than water?

The bedchamber’s silence is only disturbed by the sounds of our sex; the slicking of my rounded lips as they piston up and down Master’s hard erection and the moans of his mounting passion.

Master holds my head firmly between his hand and forces me to take more of him into the warm, moist embrace of my mouth. After six months of enforced abstinence – I’ll not count those mornings with Sir Conn – I am happy to do so.

To steady myself, I reach behind Master and take hold of a firm, rounded buttock in each hand. How good he feels to the touch! I’m suddenly aware of having missed out on so much over the last six months. The feel of Master’s muscular ass re-awakens in me how much I have missed the intimate touch of Norge’s hard body pressing against my own.

My hands trace out the curvaceous contours of my Master’s ass and emboldened by his shuddering response, I use a finger to probe into the deep, warm recess of his ass-crack. Then I hesitate; have I overstepped the boundaries in doing this? I forget myself for I am thinking and acting like a master who takes the lead rather than remain slave passive and allow my Master to use my body.

I pause in my exploration and wait for Master to admonish me. He remains silent and emboldened by this; I use my finger to excite the sensitive opening to his body.

I feel the delicious contractions as Master’s cock fires off two or three warning shots and I taste his salty essence in my mouth. My own cock is as hard as I can ever remember it being and throbs with impatient desire.

I look beyond Master to his bed and know that soon he’ll order me to lie upon it as he claims me as his slave. Suddenly, I want this with all my heart. How I long to surrender to my Master and to give him what is rightfully his.

My slavery has brought me to this point. Initially, it was a journey not of my choosing and I was reluctant to take it. But now I sense I am discovering new things about myself. Could it be that I am finding my ‘true’ inner self.

Is it possible that I am a slave not just in body but also in mind? Do I possess a slave’s nature?

In the past, I was always the Master – and aggressively so. Tonight, I’m finding that joy can be found in submitting to a stronger, more dominant person. I want to submit to Master and then, with his approval, to give myself body and soul to Norge. I want Norge to claim me as his own.

At La Forêt, in the night stillness of the stables, I’d listened as Norge and Jake had made love in the stall next to mine. How I’d envied them their freedom to do so. Their passionate lovemaking fed my fevered imaginings; always I’d felt my Norge’s hard, all-conquering cock penetrating me and moving inside of me.

The frustrations of the past six months swamp me. I need relief from the sexual strait-jacket of those months. Tonight, I am overwhelmed by new sensations, new urges and new desires. I want – no I need - to be fucked!

Suddenly Master pushes my head away from him leaving my mouth feeling strangely empty. He stoops and places a hand beneath my chin and uptilts my face so that we look into each other’s face. Master smiles down at me and very gently – or could it be tenderly – he strokes my cheeks. Shyly, I smile back at him. He tells me to stand and I quickly scramble to my feet.

Master runs his hands down over my chest pausing to playfully tweak my nipples before sliding down over my belly to my cock. He takes it into his fisted hand and uses his thumb to tease and excite my piss-slit and in doing so, he reduces me to a quivering, mass of overstimulated nerve endings.

Hoarsely, I hear my voice pleading with my Master.

“Master? Oh, Master?”

He takes me into his arms and kisses me. His tongue forces itself into my mouth and I see this as a foretaste of what must now follow. I plead with him.

“Master? Please Master?”

He leads me to the bed and instructs me to lie on it.

Master is now ready to claim his ‘droit de seigneur’ rights over me and take my virginity. And I am ready to surrender it to him.

To be continued...

Posted: 04/06/12