CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"
Chapter 15:" Rafe's First Day"

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories 



Chapter 15: "Rafe's First Day"

How do I describe my first, full day of slavery? The sun is approaching its zenith and I am hard at work under its merciless heat. I have been swinging a heavy axe for some five hours in the furnace-like heat and my perspiration trickles in rivulets down my now smooth, hairless body. The sweat stings the cane marks on my buttocks and I'm not even allowed to pause to wipe it from my brow. My back aches from the constant stretching upwards as I raise the axe above my head and my arms are leaden from its downward fall and the jarring as it splits the resisting logs of wood.

The work is repetitious and mind-numbing and my time is measured by the never ending rise and fall of the axe and the few moments every hour when I'm allowed to pause - all too briefly - for the few mouthfuls of water to replace that which I have lost through perspiration.

I'm now aware that my Master had decided from the luxury of his bed - a bed that until yesterday had been mine - this is how I'm to be introduced into my slavery. Physically and emotionally I am unprepared for it and I'm wrapped in self-pity.

My body has always looked good and was much admired. But perception and reality are two very different things; my body was gym-honed and ascetically pleasing. Yet it is unaccustomed to hard work as I'm now discovering; I'm painfully aware of very aching muscle and stretched tendon in my body and the day still has many hours to run.

Inevitably there's to be an unintended benefit to me from this constant splitting of the firewood. By the time I'm sent out to La Forêt my muscles will be sufficiently hardened and my body made supple enough to cope with the rigours of working as a field slave. But for now, this is lost on me.


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After Norge had been taken away, I was left to wait while my Master decided what should be done with me. Eventually Cato returned to the stable, accompanied by the slave groom and removed the shackles from around my ankles. He didn't bother to explain to me what was to happen - after all no explanations are ever given to a slave - and I was taken to the ablution block. 

On the way, I saw Norge in harness and tethered awaiting our Master's pleasure. Forbidden to speak, he nevertheless looked directly at me and I saw in his eyes the encouragement I so badly needed to help me through this first, difficult day.

The ablution block is attached to the stables and other out buildings and is used by all the household slaves. It can best be described as utilitarian and its fittings are basic. It is here that the slaves must come to relieve themselves and to keep clean.

As their Master, I was very fastidious about the cleanliness and appearance of my house slaves. Immediately after their release each morning, they would attend to any calls of nature and then make themselves presentable to serve in my household.

I liked my slaves to be smooth bodied and their faces cleanly shaven and this was attended to before they showered. The showers, like the toilets, are communal and open to scrutiny - as a Master, I believed slaves weren't entitled to privacy and nothing they did must ever be done out of my sight - not that I watched.

As they showered and prepared themselves for their duties, I was still asleep; but the principle remained that nothing they did was to be done behind closed doors. The ablution block was an area I seldom ventured into; I really disliked the overall drabness and smell of the place. Now I'm about to
discover its charm for myself.

Cato orders me to squat over one of the sink-holes in the floor to relieve myself; shamefaced I do as he bids. I'm desperate to piss after the long night's incarceration but find it difficult to get started in front of an audience. But I'm encouraged by Cato's withdrawing of his cane from his belt and his impatient instruction to,

"Hurry it up, boy! I haven't got all day to wait on you."

Fear of Cato's cane provides me with all the incentive I need. I finish pissing and stand up. Cato ignores me as he gives instructions to the slave groom.

"The new Master wants this slave made smooth like all the other household slaves."

This is news to me. I thought I was to be sent out to La Forêt as is - that is with my body hair. Field slaves aren't shaven as too much time is wasted in doing this. The time it takes to shave a slave is time better spent having him toiling in the fields? What has changed that my Master now wants me body shaved? But I know better than to ask and all that is required of me is unquestioning obedience. And fear of Cato's cane keeps me silent.

The groom sets to work in preparing me; I'm made to kneel as he shaves my face. I have a full day's stubble as its twenty-four hours since Ben last shaved me in the shower. The groom is proficient at his work and soon my face is back to its customary smoothness.

Cato looks on as the slave tells me to stand and retrieves the same clippers that were used on my head last evening. Humiliatingly, I bow my head and watch as my chest hair is clipped back to stubble as close to my skin as possible and even my treasure-trail - of which I am so proud - disappears.

I'm made to raise my arms above my head and my armpits are denuded. Then the slave kneels before me and begins to remove my pubes. He is forced to abandon the clippers - my pubic bush is too thick and wiry for them to be effective. Instead he uses a pair of scissor like shears and as I listen to their soft "snip-snip" my shame colours my body a deep crimson and my eyes mist over with my humiliation.

Now clipped and snipped, Cato orders me under a shower and turns the faucet to full flow and the needle thin jets of icy cold water blast my skin. I never wasted hot water on my slaves and now, how I wished I had. Even with the promised heat of the day warming the early morning atmosphere, I am shivering and I'm thankful when Cato turns off the tap. I stand drenched and trembling as I await the next assault on my body.

Sensing Cato's growing impatience, the slave quickly lathers up my chest and belly and carefully removes all the remaining stubble before moving onto my arms, pits and legs. Then he kneels in front of me and lathers up my cock and balls. At the touch of his hands, my cock hardens and lengthens and my foreskin retracts back along the shaft and exposes my glans to full view. 

Looking down at the slave, I see he is similarly aroused. Curiosity gets the better of me and I steal a glance at Cato and see the all too obvious tenting beneath his tunic. Obviously, the sight of two, naked, young slaves in such intimate contact with one another has the power to still excite the ageing Cato. Strangely enough, I'd never thought of Cato as being sexually active; it had never occurred to me that he was and I ask myself - why I am surprised by his erection.

Despite his age, Cato is still an imposing figure of a slave. Powerfully built and enormously strong - my sore ass is a testament to his strength - it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that he still retains enough youthful vigour to appreciate the sight of a young slave's firm, well-turned ass or his genitals.

Had I ever taken the time to notice, I would have found Cato routinely takes one of the young, house slaves into his sleeping cubicle each night. This concession had been granted to him by my late grandfather and unknowingly, I had allowed it to continue. I wonder which of the two of us is causing Cato's excitement. Is it the young, slave groom or is it me? Perhaps it is both of us. Again, I experience the shame and helplessness that all slaves feel when they are viewed as mere sexual objects by their superiors.

Even though he is a slave, Cato is now my superior. He is our Master's agent in supervising the household slaves. This authority had been given to him by my grandfather, endorsed by myself and I suppose it will continue until our new Master decides otherwise. My thoughts are bitter. This time yesterday, Cato treated me as his Master and his obsequiousness then was obvious. 

Now I stand before him as a new slave who has been placed under his supervision. Already I have felt the heavy hand of his authority as he viciously caned me last night and this morning he is revelling in my new humiliation.

Urged on by Cato's growing impatience, the slave carefully removes the stubble of my pubes and gently shaves my cock and balls. As he does so, I hold my breath both from a natural fear of the razor and from the pleasure I derive from its whisper soft movements down over the shaft of my cock and around my scrotum. My fears are unfounded; the slave is obviously expert at this task and I am undamaged; I sustain neither razor nicks nor cuts. Now finished, I give a great sigh of relief. But I'm wrong; the slave still has one more task to do before I am done.

Cato orders me to turn around, to move my feet apart and to bend at the waist. I had been placed in this position yesterday as the court's assessor examined me as part of my induction into slavery. It was humiliating then and it is no less so now. But I have no alternative other than to obey and I quickly adopt the required position. I look back through my outstretched legs as Cato places a hand on the top of my ass - even during my short period of slavery I have discovered this placing of a hand on a slave's body is a potent symbol of authority. It humiliates me and subliminally tells me that I am being controlled by my handler. I will encounter it many times throughout the years
of my slavery and I will be always be shamed by it.

Cato explores the crevasse separating the twin orbs of my buttocks and pauses to tease the delicate tissue surrounding my anus. Instinctively, I know this has nothing to do with his examination of me; it is a demonstration to me of how far I've fallen and of his power over me. Nevertheless, I find myself responding to his touch and feel the pleasurable puckering of my sphincter and the twitching of my cock. 

Evidently this strikes a chord with Cato; as I look back at him from my upside down position, I note his prominent tenting and the moist, slow spreading stain at the front of his tunic. He reaches beneath me and stretches my cinched scrotum back through my legs to examine my trapped balls. He strokes the soft, silky skin of my ball bag before rolling each testicle between his fingers and thumb. This adds to my growing pleasure and the first, tiny pearl of pre-cum glistens at my piss-slit. Finally, he is satisfied and stands aside to allow the slave to continue.

The final and most devastatingly shameful part of my induction into slavery is now to take place.

"Right boy, spread them!"

Cato's command takes me by surprise. Naively, I wonder what am I to spread - my feet? Nervously, I shuffle my feet as far apart as my legs allow.

"What are you doing?" I hear Cato's angry shout and I cry out in pain as his cane cuts across my back, "I didn't mean your feet. I meant the cheeks of your ass. Now reach back and spread them. WIDE!"

Re-acting to a second, vicious swipe of Cato's cane, this time on my shoulders, I hastily reach behind my body, grasp a rounded globe in each hand and pull them apart.

"WIDER! Wider!" Cato shouts encourage me, "Yes that's it."

How can I describe what follows. With my legs apart, I am positioned with my ass pointing to the sky and my head to the ground. The crevasse between my buttocks is spread as wide as is humanly possible and the rosy-pink rosebud of my quivering anus is stretched open to Cato's and my fellow slave's scrutiny. My degradation washes over me and I see my tears darken the cobblestones beneath me.

"Well get on with it," Cato shouts at my groom, `We haven't got all day. Be careful with the razor. If you so much as nick him, you'll feel my cane on your ass. Now move!"

I wait nervously as the slave lathers up both mounds of my buttocks and the valley that divides them and I tense as I feel the razor slide over my skin. I breathe in deeply and hold my breath as the groom shaves my ass-crack. With his free hand, he manipulates and widens the deep groove allowing him easier access into it recesses. Fearful of Cato's threat to cane him should he damage me, the nervous slave is solicitous of my wellbeing and very carefully scrapes away the few, stray hairs that do grow in this, the most intimate and private part of my body.

My body glows with the red-hot intensity of my shame and my mind silently cries out for release from my torment. But there's to be no respite or deliverance for me; for I am a slave - now collared, branded and denuded and condemned to servitude for the remainder of my life. The finality of this sears itself into my shattered confidence. I curse the cruel fate that has delivered me to this place and I once again feel a deep hatred for the man who had so thoughtlessly sired me from one of his father's slaves. For the few moments of carnal pleasure he'd no doubt enjoyed with the slave, I'm now to endure long years of hardship and suffering. I am paying a high price for my father's dalliance with my slave mother. It would have been better for me if I'd never been born. How I wish that was so.

When he has finished, the slave stands silently to one side as Cato inspects his handiwork. I feel Cato's index finger move up and down my ass-crack testing it for its new smoothness. Evidently he is satisfied; he grunts his approval and the groom sighs with relief. He has satisfied Cato and he's not to be caned.

"Stand, face me and display!"

I respond to Cato's barked order and hurry into position. I surprise myself at how quickly and without a second thought, I carry out any commands now given to me. It is becoming second nature to me and this has been achieved within the span of only one day. But the memory of my caning and its fearful pain are powerful motivators. I will do anything to avoid punishment.

I stand in front of Cato with my hands clasped behind my head, my feet apart and with my body held taut. At first he slowly circles me and peers at me from all angles. Then beginning at my face, his hands wander over my now hairless body in a final inspection before he gives his approval.

If I could see myself in a mirror, I would be unrecognisable as the former Master, Lucien Barrois. Yesterday's man is gone forever and is now replaced by today's slave. In place of the supremely self-confident, young heir, there now stands a timid, frightened slave. 

Gone forever is the individuality that I had enjoyed as a free man. Missing are the all the hallmarks of my former manhood. My clothes have been replaced by my slave nakedness and the collars I wear around my neck and genitals, my long hair has been shorn back to a slave's crop and my body grotesquely denuded of all the hair that had defined my masculinity. 

The blistering brand on my left flank tells the world what I am - a slave. I am no longer the former Lucien Barrois; I am now a cruel caricature of him. My appearance has been altered so much that I am almost indistinguishable from all other slaves and I now share with them the uniformity of their
condition.

Once he is satisfied with me, Cato orders me back under the shower where I'm again blasted with the icy cold water. The groom soaps my body and vigorously scrubs me down. Again his expertise is obvious and, noting Cato's mounting impatience, he moves quickly to finish me - just in time as Cato turns off the water. I stand as the groom uses his hands to dry me and stepping out into the courtyard, I'm left to drip-dry. I wonder - what is to happen to me next.

As though he has read my thoughts, Cato orders me to place my hands behind my head while he fastens my wrists to my neck collar. He orders the groom to shackle my ankles and then attaches a lead chain to my collar. A sharp tug of the lead indicates I'm to follow him. I shuffle across the courtyard to where Norge stands waiting for our Master and Cato tethers me alongside of him. Left
alone, Norge and I now stand side by side.

We are unable to speak; our mutual fear of Cato's cane ensures we remain silent. But we can exchange eye glances and as I look at Norge, he gives me an encouraging smile; he must have known I needed that. My feelings for Norge grow stronger by the minute. He's always been special to me but it had been a strictly Master/slave relationship. But now we are equals - both of us are
slaves - and I'm aware of new, emerging emotions. He doesn't know how I'd drawn on his strength as I laid alongside of him during the night and how that had helped me. My journey into slavery is to be traumatic but with Norge at my side, perhaps it will be made just a little easier.

As I look at Norge's smooth, hairless body - magnificent in its nakedness and heroic in its proportions - I catch a glimpse of me after I have been conditioned and trained as a pony at La Forêt. We are of almost identical build - Norge of course is fitter and more muscle hardened - but in our nudity and appearance we are a matched pair and I know we are destined to run together in harness as our Master's ponies. 

The thought of this both repulses and thrills me. I still have my freeman's pride and I resent being used in this degrading manner. But the mental picture I have of me pulling alongside of Norge, matching his strength and stride, responding to the touch of our Master's whip on our asses is a powerfully erotic one and it excites me. And the thought of us spending our nights together, locked in the stables, adds to that excitement.
 
My cock throbs with unrestrained abandon and is matched by Norge's own hard erection.

My thoughts are interrupted by the voices of my Master, Guy Maratier and Cato as they cross the courtyard in our direction.

"Well Master. What do you think of the new slave? Does he meet with your approval?" Cato asks anxiously.

My Master is barely recognisable from the poorly dressed man of yesterday. Today he wears the expensive clothes that were so recently mine. He is fashionably dressed in casual gear and he has chosen to wear understated fawn, chino slacks and a plain blue, cotton shirt. Wisely he is without a jacket -no doubt a concession to the promised heat of the day. I have to admit he cuts an imposing figure with his strong physique highlighted by the tailored cut of his clothes. 

Bitterly I think of him now wearing my clothes while I'm condemned to perpetual nakedness.

"Why, Cato. He's barely recognisable. "My new appearance surprises my Master.

"STAND UP STRAIGHT! DON"T SLOUCH!" an angry Cato shouts at me, "DISPLAY! A slave always stands at display when in the presence of his Master. I'm sorry Master, for the slave's lack of respect. Do you wish me to cane him?"

Cato's offer to punish me fills me with dread and I hurry to make amends. I straighten and tighten my body, thrust out my hips, bow my head respectfully and fearfully await my Master's decision. Thankfully, I hear him answer.

"No I don't think so, Cato. I'm sure it was just an oversight more than a lack of respect. No doubt, as a new slave he's still learning. But I must say you have done a great job in preparing him. Viewed alongside the pony it's hard to tell them apart. Almost identical bodies, the only difference is in their hair colour. The pony's hair is fairer, perhaps? But otherwise, they are a perfect match. Why, even their cocks are similar and I like the way they dance in unison with one another. Quite impressive."

"Thank you, Master. Yes I think the two slaves complement each other. As you say they are almost identical even down to their cocks. Of course the new slave still retains his skin. Is that to removed, Master?"

"Most definitely, Cato. It's only a matter of timing. Do I have him skinned here in town or do I wait until he goes out to La Forêt? What are your thoughts on this, Cato?"

"Well Master, I suppose it all depends. Skinning a slave can incapacitate him and keep him out of action for a few days as he recovers so you would lose valuable time if it is done out at the plantation. And of course, there's always the risk of infection out at La Forêt. On the other hand, if he's done whilst in town, I could keep him gainfully employed with light duties and keep an eye on his healing at the same time."

I am appalled as I overhear my Master's discussion with Cato. As they casually talk together about my skinning it is as though I don't exist. My presence is ignored and I feel their disdain. But one thing is clear to me; I am to be circumcised and done soon. I tremble at this awful prospect.

"You make a good point, Cato. Perhaps we should arrange to have him done within the next couple of days. Can you organise it?"

"Certainly, Master. I'll contact the vet this morning and have him call as soon as possible."

"I've not seen a skinning, Cato. I suppose they're messy and painful?"

"Only for the slave, Master." Cato laughs, "But yes! They are messy and judging by the slaves' re-actions they are painful; they kick and scream and beg not to be done. But the vets ignore them and quickly get on with the job. Afterwards, the slave is a bit sick and sorry for himself but he soon recovers. And we've never lost a slave to infection."

"Very well, Cato. I'll leave it to you to organise and perhaps you could ask the vet to attend to it as a matter of priority?"

"Yes Master. One thing I'm sure the vet will ask is if you want it done with the knife or by one of the newer procedures?"

"I don't follow, Cato? I thought there was only one method."

"No Master. The traditional method for skinning a slave is with the scalpel. It's painful for the slave but is quickly finished and then the slave is left to heal naturally. But there are other, newer devices that fit over the slave's cock and slowly strangle the foreskin which usually drops off after ten or twelve days. This second method is becoming more popular with some owners, Master."

"I see. I suppose the newer devices are less traumatic for the slave, is that so Cato?"

"Yes Master, but the slave's discomfort shouldn't be a consideration. It's really a matter of which method you prefer, Master."

"Very well, Cato. I'll discuss it with the vet when he comes. I'll be guided by his recommendation."

So there are two options for my skinning and the one that fills me with terror is the scalpel. As a former Master, I had witnessed several slaves endure the agony of their circumcisions and their suffering had left me unmoved. The traditional method of skinning a Barrois slave had always been with the knife and after my grandfather's death I continued with this practice. I am -or I should say was -very traditional and hadn't seen any reason to abandon a long held custom in favour of the more humane methods of circumcision. Now my own suffering depends very much on the outcome of the vet's advice to my Master. I know nothing will spare me from my circumcision but I fervently hope to be spared the scalpel.

"Master, it's your intention to pair the new slave with your pony. Is that correct?"

"Yes Cato. What do you think?"

"Master, I think the new slave will make an excellent pony after he's been trained for it. Your current pony and the new slave running in tandem should turn many heads. People will be envious of you. But what do you want me to do with the slave today?"

"I think a day on the wood-heap will ease him into his slave duties and perhaps demonstrate his new status to him. You will perhaps need to appoint an overseer to ensure he works to his full capacity; to encourage him when he flags."

Very well Master. I have another slave in mind to watch over him. If I equip this slave with a light whip does he have your permission to use it on Rafe?"

"As long as he doesn't damage Rafe or break his skin. And I don't want him unnecessarily whipped. He's to use the whip only as encouragement. I will examine Rafe when I return and if I suspect that his overseer has been overzealous in using the whip then he himself will be punished. You'll need to
impress that upon him"

"Yes Master."

"And by the way Cato. At the end of the day, I want Rafe cleaned up and made ready for household duties. Tonight, he's to serve in the dining-room as a waiter. My grandmother will be dining with me tonight and I know she is very keen to meet Rafe."

My heart sinks at this; finally I'm to meet my distant relative, Charlotte Maratier but under very unusual circumstances. She is to be a guest in my Master's house and I'm to serve them as a waiter in the dining-room. Quickly I go over in my mind the duties of a waiter. I'd never really paid the waiters any attention as they'd served me. They'd always just "been there" anticipating my every need and moving quickly to accommodate me. Tonight, it will be me who'll need to anticipate and move quickly.

I wonder about the woman who is my late grandfather's only surviving sibling; and the last to have borne the Barrois name. I'm no longer a member of the Barrois family - it has ceased to exist; that name was taken away from me upon my enslavement and replaced with my slave name, Rafe. 

The fact that I have Barrois blood flowing in my veins is negated by the tainted blood of my slave mother. Conceived out of a Henri Barrois' lust for a slave woman, I was born a slave and I have now been returned to my rightful place and the thought of coming face to face with the woman who orchestrated my downfall is daunting. But even more daunting is the thought that I must appear naked before her. As though he is reading my thoughts, Cato hesitatingly broaches the subject to our Master.

"Master, may I ask a question?"

"Of course, Cato. What's your question?"

"Master, with your grandmother coming to stay, how do you want the slaves to be presented to their Mistress?"

"I don't follow, Cato. What do you mean?"

"Well Master, as you know all the house slaves are kept naked. Should they be clothed as a mark of respect to the Mistress?"

"Ah! I see what you mean, Cato. Good man, I hadn't thought of it. My grandmother is, as you would realise, elderly and she is certainly unused to being served by naked, male slaves. What do you suggest Cato?"

"I'm concerned that the Mistress not be confronted by any untoward displays, Master. Some of the younger slaves put on quite vigorous showings throughout the day - acceptable in an all-male household but totally inappropriate in the presence of a refined lady. Could I suggest we put them into loincloths for the duration of Mistress' visit?"

"That's an excellent suggestion, Cato. Can I leave you to organise it? Do we have loincloths?"

"Yes we do, Master. We have quite a wardrobe of them in different colours and styles. The former mistress always insisted that the house-slaves were covered when she entertained her lady friends. Shall I arrange it, Master?"

"Yes please do, Cato. I can see that your service and advice to your former Masters would have been invaluable to them."

"Thank you, Master. I live only to serve my Master, whoever he may be."

"Good man, Cato," my Master replies and then glancing at his watch - the one that had been taken from me in the courtroom yesterday and given to him - he adds, "but I must be off. I have to meet Mr Barrow in town. I'll leave everything in your capable hands. You have made arrangements for Madame Maratier's arrival haven't you, Cato?"

"Yes Master. You need not worry. I'll attend to the Mistress' needs myself."

"Good! Oh, one more thing, Cato. Do we have a branding iron on the premises?"

"Yes Master. But it is the old Barrois brand. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes please."

As Cato dispatches the groom off to the stables to fetch the branding iron, I wonder is my Master preparing to brand me. It's inevitable that I will be branded - I know this - after all the other slaves wear the brand on their chests just above their right nipples. So why wouldn't I be similarly branded?

"I'm having a new brand made, Cato. It's to show the change of ownership from the Barrois name to the Maratier name. Basically, it will remain the same brand except that the B will be replaced with an M. I'll call into an ironmongers today and leave the old iron with him as an example of what I want."

"Master, are all your slaves to be rebranded?" Cato's asks apprehensively knowing that he too would face the branding iron should our Master decide to re-badge his slaves.

"I'm undecided as yet, Cato. I'll let you know when I've made up my mind. But Rafe will be branded as soon as the new iron is ready. He'll be the first of my slaves to wear the Maratier brand. It'll be a case of a new brand for a new slave."

My stomach constricts as I overhear this conversation. I accept the inevitability of my second branding and I know nothing can save me from its ordeal. It is customary for Masters to put their ownership marks on their animals and slaves. But the still painful throbbing at the site of yesterday's
branding and the realisation that I will once more be strapped down on to a branding table terrifies me. My body trembles, my breathing accelerates and my cock wilts at the very thought of this new, red-hot branding iron that awaits me.

Twice within the space of a few minutes I've listened as my Master and his steward dispassionately discussed his plans for me. I have heard that within the next two days or so I'm to be skinned and branded.

The groom returns and hands the grim instrument of torture to Cato who, in turn, passes it onto my Master now ready to take his leave of us. Cato nods to the groom to assist his Master into the cart, and to untether Norge.

Once settled into his seat, my Master snaps his whip against Norge's shoulders and commands him to.

"WALK ON!"

Dutifully, Norge moves forward out of the yard and into the street; once there he is ordered to quicken his pace as his driver applies the whip to his ass. Even though they are out of my sight, I hear the rattle of the carts wheels and the pounding of its pony's feet fading into the distance.

Norge's day of labour has begun; mine is about to commence.


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The enormity of the task assigned to me is overwhelming. Confronting me is a pile of logs that tower over me and I have been told by Cato that my Master has ordered me to split them to a manageable size for use in the house's heating system.

The house is a very old one and has been modernised many times over the years. One thing that has never changed however, is the antiquated heating system designed for our mild climate. This heating was installed when the house was built and is a hydrocaust or underfloor form of heating which requires a large wood-burning furnace to keep it operating. This furnace has an insatiable
appetite for fuel and it is necessary to bring several loads of firewood in from La Forêt each year.

Parts of La Forêt are as yet uncleared of timber and there is an ongoing program of tree felling to allow for the sowing of more crops. These felled trees help supply the firewood for the furnace.

To keep the system operating, it's necessary for one the maintenance slaves to be constantly in attendance to feed the furnace ensuring that the house is kept comfortably warm and that the subsidiary steam room, heated spa and pool are always available for use.

I know the slaves hate this job. It is constant, dirty and very uncomfortably hot. The furnace-room overheats with an almost sauna like heat and the duty slave is perpetually bathed in sweat. I had ventured into this area of the house on occasions and was always aroused as I watched the duty slave, naked, grimy and sweating, going about his duties. But I never stayed long; I always found the overpowering heat to be unbearable.

As their Master, I had made one concession to the slaves. Each of the six outdoor slaves was made to take his turn stoking the furnace working for one full day and then returning to outdoor duties for the next five days. This way their discomfort was shared by all six slaves. What could be fairer than that I had thought at the time I'd made that decision?

Now it is my job to ensure the fuel required to feed the hungry furnace is readily available and of the correct size.

During the morning, my axe has grown heavier and at times my energy flags. But standing behind me is a temporary overseer, a fellow slave by the name of Marv. He is armed with a leather quirt and he has my Master's permission to use it on me should I slacken off. He is enthusiastic in its use and several times already I have felt its irritating sting on my shoulders and back - Cato had warned him my ass is off limits for obvious reasons and I think Marv is disappointed with this restriction.

Marv has little reason to spare me. After all what slave wouldn't enjoy being in his position. He has control of the man who just twenty-four hours ago had been his Master.

Marv is a beautiful slave. I'd seen him at the slave-dealers during one of many visits to inspect what was on offer. I was drawn to Marv by his strong body, good looks, his bubble butted ass and his prodigious genitalia. Subsequently, I'd gone to the auction when he was put up for sale and bought him. But he was to be a troublesome slave.

He'd been given the usual introductory caning as part of his induction into the household but this hadn't curbed him. He proved to be argumentative and prone to answering back. This had angered Cato but even his cane proved ineffective against the slave's intransigence.

Another bad trait he'd developed was that of bullying the other slaves. I'd caught him fighting with another slave on a number of occasions and I had sent him to Cato for further caning. Each punishment session with Cato grew longer as the number of cane strokes was increased. This did quieten him down a little, but he remained resentful and surly and after talking with Cato, I decided to cut my losses and send him to a specific dealership that dealt with unruly or rebellious slaves by selling them to the mines and quarries.

My decision brought about a remarkable change in his attitude. Fearful of the quarries and mines, he'd fallen to his knees in front of me and begged not to be sold. He promised to behave himself and to be a good slave. As I looked down at him on hands and knees before me, I'd relented and told him I would keep him on the condition that he behaved himself and obeyed all orders given to him immediately and without question. Tearfully, he'd agreed and kissed my feet in gratitude.

I'd never used him sexually even though I'd wanted to; his behaviour was always too uncertain. But that night, I took him into my bed and fucked him hard. I sensed his shame and resentment at my use of him but that just added to my pleasure.

After that night, I ordered him back into my bed several more times and always noted the barely concealed anger in his eyes. However, his fear of the mines tempered his disposition and made him submissive to my needs. But instinctively, I knew he harboured resentment and perhaps even hatred at my use of his slave body.

Now he stands behind me and holds the whip-hand. My day is too prove long and hard as I toil relentlessly beneath a cloudless, blue sky and the blazingly hot sun. I can expect little sympathy from Marv. 

The pile of wood looms large over me, my axe rises and falls in an endless succession of arcs, my body screams for rest and my throat is dry with thirst. I have just had my allowance of water and must wait a lifetime for my next drink.

And whenever I think I have reached the limits of my endurance and can go no further, I feel the encouraging sting of Marv's whip on my sun tortured back and I hear my cry of pain. His whip causes me to draw on hidden reserves of strength and energy and I continue with my labours.

I don't know for how long I've been toiling, but the sun's position tells me it's not yet midday. The day still has a long distance to run.


To be continued.................


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