CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES
A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"
Chapter 3: `Public Exposure'


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

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
An archive of my stories can be found 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 permission. Please respect
the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, alterations
or add pictures."

Chapter 3: `Public Exposure'

I stand defeated as the guard unfastens my wrists from behind my
back. If I was able to look into a mirror right at this moment, I
doubt I'd recognise myself. Gone is the self-assurance, the pride
and the arrogance that were the hallmarks of the rich, young
Lucien Barrios.

Staring back at me with his frightened eyes would be the
bewildered and confused image of the new slave, Rafe. For that is
who I am. No longer free and in charge of my life, I'm now the
slave of my distant relative, Guy Maratier. Although we are
related by the same blood of the formerly illustrious Barrois
family, mine is tainted by the blood of some slave woman whereas
his is pure and this enables him to assume the life I have lead
up to this moment.

I tremble from my mixed emotions and I can't yet make sense of
all that is happening to me. In less than hour, I'd gone from
being the richest man in the city to becoming a slave. That alone
is more than enough for my confused mind to cope with. As yet I
haven't thought beyond that fact, but now I'm to remove my
clothing and reveal my slave nakedness to these excited
spectators who watch with voyeuristic eagerness. The shame of
this is uppermost in my mind and as yet, I don't think about my
imminent branding and collaring.

Suddenly, I vainly roar out my anger, fear and frustration
through my gag. My audience laughs at my distress and my obvious
suffering whets their appetites. Not yet satisfied, they want
more from me. How they enjoy watching as the "mighty fall". In
the pettiness of their mediocre existences they like nothing
better than to watch as another tall poppy falls beneath the
scythe of their spitefulness. And I am - or is that was - the
tallest poppy in the city.

From deep within my being, I dredge up a new-found hatred of the
Barrois family. My whole life to date has been a lie and a fraud.
Instead of the true son and grandson of the Barrois family, I am
slave progeny born out of a master's lustful use of his slave. As
my "father" Henri thrust into the slave woman, Ophelia did he
give any thought to the consequences of his coupling; as he
roared out his fulfilment did he even care? What were the initial
re-actions of his family to my inconvenient conception?

I know they sold the unfortunate Ophelia. But they must have
waited until after she gave birth to me before doing so. But why
did they do this? Why had they held onto me and fraudulently
presented me as their legitimate heir? What were their motives? I
have only the vaguest memories of my father, Henri but I do know
my grandparents had loved me - indeed I was the focus of their
lives. Why then had they never manumitted me? Didn't they foresee
the consequences of not doing so? Are these questions to torture
me throughout the long, dark years of my new slavery?

As the progeny of a slave, wouldn't it have been kinder to allow
me to remain a slave? Undoubtedly my existence as a slave would
have been hard and difficult. But at least I wouldn't have
aspired to any other life; I would have had a slave's
unquestioning acceptance of his lot. But what the Barrois family
had done was to fraudulently present me as their heir and allow
me to live a life of privilege to which I wasn't entitled.

To have lived that life and to now have it torn away from me is
unimaginably cruel. Tears of bitterness and regret sting my eyes
and a silent sob is caught in my throat.

"START UNDRESSING, BOY! AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT!"

The harshness of the guards' barked command jerks me back to the
here and now. I'm shocked by the note of authority in his voice.
No one has ever spoken to me in such a manner and I'm unprepared
for it.

Panic-stricken, I look around the court-room. Desperately, I seek
out a friendly face before realising there isn't anyone in this
room who feels sympathy for my unexpected fall from grace. I'm
now a pariah - a slave who masqueraded as a freeman. It doesn't
matter that I did this unknowingly. Such a situation is
intolerable and strikes at the very fabric of their society. The
fact that a slave has lorded it over them, as I had done, is one
they deeply resent and they now take infinite delight in my
humiliation. Eagerly, they crane forward in anticipation of my
disrobing.

"UNDRESS! NOW! MOVE YOURSELF!"

Trembling, I begin to unbutton my jacket.

"Bailiff! It may be necessary to encourage the slave." Judge
Matthews interrupts. "You have the court's permission for the
guards to use their canes and straps to hurry him along. But
confine them to his shoulders, back and thighs. Don't mark his
buttocks. They're to be left unmarked for the branding Iron."

"Thank you, Your Honour."

My gag muffles my shocked yelp as a guard's cane cuts across the
back of my thighs. The material of my slacks lessens the cane's
impact but still my flesh stings from the sudden pain. Once more
I feel the cut of the cane and I'm ordered to,

"HURRY UP! BOY. WE DON'T HAVE ALL DAY TO WAIT ON YOU!"

Again I cry out through my gag, more in shame than pain, and my
discomfort is cause for laughter from the public gallery.

Hastily, I slip my jacket from my body and look around for
somewhere to place it. Normally, I'm dressed and undressed by my
body slave and this would have been done for me. Now I stand
bewildered and I look to the bailiff for direction. Impatiently
he indicates that I should place it on an adjacent table. As I do
so, I once more feel the bite of the cane and I'm admonished by
the bailiff.

"Not like that, slave. Fold it neatly before you place it on the
table. Really, you'll need to learn to treat your master's
property with greater respect. Now fold it neatly, place it on
the table and then remove your shirt."

The irony of his words isn't lost on me. As he has just pointed
out to me, the clothes I'm wearing are no longer mine - they now
belong to my new master. Absurdly, I wonder if I'll ever wear
clothes again and suppose I won't. The natural state for a slave
is total nakedness although some masters do allow their slaves to
wear loin-cloths. I wonder if my new master will grant me this
privilege. I doubt it very much; after all, I never allowed my
slaves to do so. My personal preference for all my slaves was
always complete nudity.

Quickly, I fold the jacket and place it on the table. The bailiff
inspects it and is satisfied; he instructs me to remove my shirt.

I unbutton my shirt and slip it off my upper body. As I do so, I
hear appreciative murmurs rippling through the court-room. I'm
not ashamed of my body, in fact just the opposite. I don't number
conceit among my faults and so I don't hesitate to describe
myself as impressive. In my self-assessment, I know that I've
been blessed with good-looks and a body that sets me apart. I am
naturally tall, approaching two metres in height and I weigh
approximately eighty-one kilograms. I have longish, slightly
curling, golden blond hair and blue eyes that have been described
as cornflower blue. I have an aquiline nose - often sneeringly
described by those critical of me as aristocratic - and I possess
full red lips.

I have broad, powerful shoulders and my back tapers down to a
narrow waist. The hard slabs of my pectorals give emphasis to my
strong, muscular chest and these, in turn, are highlighted by two
very prominent nipples surrounded by their coin sized areolae.
Nestled at the centre of my clearly defined stomach muscles is my
deeply indented navel. My chest has a covering of hair that
matches that of my head and straggling down the centre line of by
belly is a treasure-trail of slightly darker hair. As it
disappears beneath the waistband of my slacks, it tantalisingly
hints at what is hidden there.

As I neatly fold the shirt and place it alongside the jacket, I'm
acutely aware of the play of my muscles as they ripple and flex
with my movements. And I'm aware that all eyes are on me and that
my naked torso is the focus of their attention. I have never
hesitated to bare my body - at the gym or when swimming - and as
I said, I take pride in it. But always, when I did so, it was as
a decision of mine. This however is different. The choice is no
longer mine. Now I'm ordered to do it and to encourage me I feel
the excruciating pain of a guard's leather strap as he applies it
to my back to hurry me along.

I feel the helplessness of my situation and wishing to avoid any
further punishment, I quickly remove my shoes and socks. I don't
wear underpants and now only the slacks separate me from my
enforced nakedness.

Apparently, I have hesitated too long. I cry out through my gag
in agonised pain as the guard's leather strap wraps itself around
my exposed shoulders. I scramble to comply and quickly remove my
belt before unzipping my fly and allowing the trousers to slide
down my legs to gather in a crumpled heap around my ankles. I
feel the hot flush of shame wash over my nude body as I listen to
the gasps of the onlookers.

I'm temporarily blinded by the popping of the camera flashes. My
very public shaming has been recorded for posterity. Tomorrow,
these pictures will be shared with the wider community as the
story of my fraud and exposure are published in the press to an
outraged public.

I step out of the slacks and bend to retrieve them.
Humiliatingly, I'm aware that my bare ass is now displayed for
all to gaze upon. And as I bend, I'm acutely aware that my balls
are hanging between my splayed legs and that the most private
part of my body - my anus - is "open to the public scrutiny".
Acting to avoid the strap - how quickly we slaves learn the
lessons of obedience - I retrieve the trousers and folding them
neatly I place them alongside the other clothing. My gag is
removed and now I wait for further direction from the bailiff.

"Face His Honour. Put your hands on your head and spread your
legs." I hasten to obey the bailiff's command.

Once I'm in position, a guard kicks my ankles further apart and
exposes my body ready for the judge's visual inspection. I lower
my eyes to the floor - I know this is expected of a slave and how
many times have I chastised one of my own slaves for his failure
to do so. I sense rather than see that Judge Matthews leans
forward and peers down at me from the exalted height of his
judicial bench.

Trembling, I wait as he scrutinises my naked body. As my
breathing quickens, my chest rises and falls and I feel my belly
nervously bellowing in and out, I recall Norge's similar
discomfort and I think of him waiting patiently for my return. He
waits vainly for a master who is no longer his master but is now
a slave like him. At the time of his enslavement did he feel as I
do now? Did he feel the degradation, the powerlessness and the
terror I now feel? In my self-absorption, I'd never considered a
slave's thoughts or feelings; indeed I'd never ascribed any
emotions to a slave.

Now in my own misery and despair, I come to the late realisation
that a slave does feel - that his emotions, like his body, are
capable of deep suffering.  But, I'm to learn that my feelings
will be of absolutely no significance to my new master. He'll
treat me with the same contempt and disdain that has always been
the hallmark of my dealings with my former slaves.

I blush as I feel Judge Matthews's eyes burn into me. Under his
penetrating gaze, I feel my scrotum shrivel and my balls retract
into the safe haven of my groin. My cock-head retreats into the
protection of its prepuce and my diminished penis seeks to hide
itself in the luxurious abundance of my pubic bush. Still, he
hasn't finished with me. He orders me to.

"Turn around and face public gallery."

As I face them, these nonentities who are now my betters lean
forward and lick their lips lasciviously. I hear their sniggers
and cringe at the crude, ribald comments they make about me. I
hear one comment that "the slave's got a small dick, hasn't he?"
which is the cause of much laughter. My face burns with my shame.

I know I haven't any reason to be ashamed of my package. Under
normal conditions, my balls hang low and heavy in my scrotum and
my thick, uncircumcised cock rests confidently on top of them.
But these aren't normal conditions and my distress causes them to
appear shrivelled and miniscule. As they survey me and comment on
me, I weep for my predicament and for my uncertain future.

All the while, Judge Matthews's eyes travel slowly down my back
before finally coming to rest at the full, rounded curves of my
ass. My body quakes with the intensity of my emotions and I feel
the quivering of my flanks. Then he orders me to.

"Bend and spread".

Crimson-faced, I ask myself - how many times have I commanded a
slave to adopt this most humiliating position? Again, on those
occasions, I'd never thought about the slave's feelings; it is
normal for a master to routinely subject his slave to such an
inspection. Now circumstances have changed and it is I who must
now submit without question. Fearing the strap, I hasten to obey.

After I bend at the waist, I reach back behind my body and taking
a firm buttock in each hand I pull them apart. Again my
experience with my own slaves tells me I what I must do. As the
cleft between my buttocks widens, I feel the tension on my
ass-hole and I'm aware that the bright pink rosebud of my
sphincter is opening and closing in time with my rapid
heartbeats.

How long do I remain in this most degrading of positions? Perhaps
seconds or possibly minutes - I don't know? I'm to learn all too
soon that time isn't something a slave need be concerned with.
Everything he does is at the whim of his master and for a slave
only his master controls time.

Strangely, the longer I remain doubled over the more detached
from reality I become. My mind is now a blank, my sense of shame
lessens, I no longer hear the taunts and jibes from the public
gallery and my awareness of them diminishes.

Gradually, I have become impervious to everything around me.
Eventually, I'm to discover that this detachment from reality is
a phenomenon that allows a slave to emotionally cope with the
indignities visited upon him. I will have much need of it in the
coming days.

Then Judge Matthews abruptly orders me to.

"Face the bench and display."

Once more, my past experience with my own slaves stands me in
good stead - I know exactly what is required of me.

I smartly snap to attention and draw my body to its full height,
move my feet apart to the required forty-five centimetres and
entwine my fingers behind my head. Then, pushing back against my
elbows, I thrust out my chest, suck in my belly and tightly
clench my buttocks. Finally, I push my hips forward in a silent
invitation to inspect my genitals. My head bowed in submission, I
listen to the appreciative murmurings of the watching public. In
response, I tighten my body to better display myself. I know this
is expected of me and as anxious as I am to avoid the guard's
strap, I meet their expectations; the tautness of my body now
highlights my hard musculature to perfection.

Now I stand at the centre of their attention; all eyes are
focused on me. With my eyes lowered to the floor I can't see them
but I hear their mutterings of approval and their comments of
praise for such a fine slave. This is my brief moment of glory -
the same one enjoyed by all slaves as they stand solitary and are
scrutinised by an appreciative master or a gathering of freemen.

Then, to my horror I feel the first stirrings of an impending
erection. My scrotum relaxes allowing my balls to descend from
the protection of my groin and against my will I feel the slow
thickening and lengthening of my penis. Desperately, I fight to
stave off this ultimate humiliation. But my efforts are in vain.
My audience is quick to note my predicament and look on
delightedly.

Even Judge Matthew is moved to humour.

"Ah! Mr Maratier, it would appear that your new slave is to give
us a working display of his vitality; a sure sign that he is
alive. A kind gesture on his part, wouldn't you say? It augers
well should you wish to breed him"

He basks in the loud laughter resulting from his demeaning
comments about me. For my part, I feel a crimson blush of shame
once more wash over me.

Mischievously, my cock continues its betrayal of me. Unable to
control it, I stand helplessly as the foreskin retreats back
along the shaft allowing the cock-head to overcome its shyness
and to brazenly greet the onlookers who jeer at my very public
embarrassment. Now with a will of its own, my cock stands at
right-angles to my belly and points towards them with signpost
rigidity. In my mortification, I experience the intensity of its
throbbing and feel the first tiny sparks of pleasure as my
pre-cum dribbles out.

Once more, His Honour feels moved to comment.

"Mr Maratier. Allow me to congratulate you on the quality of your
new slave. A fine specimen - yes indeed, he's a fine specimen.
He's a truly magnificent piece of slave-flesh and I would think
he'll be eagerly bargained for should you choose to send him to
auction. If this should happen, then rest assured I'll be there
putting in my bid for him. Is this a possibility, Mr Maratier?
Will you ever sell him?"

"Thank you for your kind comments, Your Honour." My new master
acknowledges the judge's compliments. "I'm not yet sure about the
slave's future. In the short term, it's my intention to keep him
but ultimately I think I will sell him, but not yet. However,
when that time comes, I'll make sure you hear about it before
anyone else."

"Thank you, Mr Maratier. I would appreciate it if you keep me in
mind when selling him. As I said I will be a keen bidder. And
now, permit me to comment.  The slave's perfection is marred by
his glaringly white midriff; a minor detail I concede, but
nevertheless one that detracts from his overall appearance."

I blush at the judge's words. He is referring to the whiteness of
my ass which stands in sharp contrast to the deep tan of my upper
body and legs. As a free man I would NEVER have exposed that part
of my body to the sun; white buttocks are strictly the preserve
of the free man- the badge of his freedom if you like. Whereas an
all-over body tan, along with the brand and collar, is one of the
hallmarks of slavery and is studiously avoided by all free men.

"Again thank you for your comments, Your Honour." Guy replies.
"Rest assured, that's a situation that will soon be corrected.
Most likely I'll put the slave to some hard labour to harden him
up, possibly at my plantation, La Fort. I'm sure a few weeks
exposure to the sun in a labour gang will soon darken him."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Mr Maratier."

I recoil in horror at my master's words. His plans fill me with
trepidation. I know only too well what awaits me at La Fort -
unrelentingly, backbreaking labour under the broiling sun for
twelve to fourteen hours a day and with my back continually bent
and exposed to the overseers' cruel whips.

This prospect is too much for me. I collapse sobbing to the floor
and the popping of the cameras tells me my misery is being
photographed. They continue to flash as the guards lash my upper
body with their straps and order me to my feet. And even as the
guards lash me, I hear the ripple of conversation that my
outburst has provoked. Once on my feet, I'm ordered to resume the
display position.

Once I've settled down, Judge Matthews commences his closing
statements. These are delivered with self-congratulatory
pomposity.

"In bringing these proceedings to a close permit me to say how
personally gratifying I've found them to be and how pleased I am
with the outcome. It has been my privilege and pleasure to
restore Mr Guy Maratier, an honourable and upright young man, to
his rightful inheritance and place in society. I deplore very
much the cruel injustice that sought to deprive him of his
birth-right and the evil machinations that saw him replaced with
an imposter and a slave. That I've been able to personally
rectify this situation is one of the high points of my career as
a judge of this court. And as a legal man, I have had great
satisfaction in revealing the true identity of the slave now
known as Rafe and reducing him to his true station in life - that
of a slave and owned property."

I listen as the judge's words fall on sympathetic ears and the
court erupts into loud applause. There isn't any doubt that the
sympathies of the crowd lie with my master, Guy Maratier. Towards
me they feel only outraged hostility. His Honour graciously waits
for the tumult to die down before continuing.

"Mr Maratier this court congratulates you and wishes you well in
your new life. Let me give you a word of fatherly advice. Choose
your friends carefully and use your new-found wealth wisely. And
remember, should you encounter any difficulties in asserting your
authority over any of the Barrois enterprises then this court and
Mr Simon Barrow stand ready to assist you. So please don't
hesitate to call on Mr Barrow or the resources of this court. We
stand ready to support you."

Once more his words are greeted with applause. Then facing me, he
sternly delivers a long lecture for my benefit. The court-room is
stilled as the public listen in hushed silence to Judge
Matthews's advice to me.

"Rafe, in your case, justice has also been done. You have now
been returned to the true status of your birth which is that of a
slave. Your circumstances are unusual in that, even though you
were born a slave, regrettably, you've never lived as one - that
has now been rectified by me. I accept that the blame for this
deception lies not with you but with the Barrois family - father
and son. Nevertheless, the fact that you were allowed to live as
a free man while you were in fact a slave is deplorable and
unacceptable in our society. Therefore your sudden return to
slavery is inevitable and can be seen as a punishment for their
crimes. You unfortunately are to pay a high price for it. Having
lived the privileged life as the Barrois heir your relegation
back to slavery is no doubt a bitter pill for you to swallow. Buy
my advice to you is to put your former life behind you, to forget
it and to apply yourself wholeheartedly to being a good slave to
your master. I remind you that slaves are required by law to
serve their masters diligently and faithfully, always to be
loyal, obedient and subservient. This is what the law expects of
you and that is what you must now do; so serve your master, Mr
Guy Maratier well. And remember your master has all the rights
and privileges of ownership over you. You, as his slave have no
such entitlements! Shortly you`ll be taken from here for
examination and registration preparatory to a `Document of
Ownership' being issued for you to your master, Then, as mandated
by law, you`ll be taken to the blacksmith for immediate branding
and collaring."

I reel back at the impact of his words; the word branding fills
me with terror and I cry out

"NO! PLEASE!"

His Honour ignores my plea and simply announces "This court now
stands adjourned."

As he leaves the court-room, the public give Judge Clarence J
Matthews a standing ovation. His judgement has won universal
approval.

Now, as the guards grab hold of me, I struggle in a futile effort
to break free and plead with them for non-existent mercy.
Brutally, they wrestle with me and drag me kicking and screaming
from the court to begin my transition into a slave. As they do
so, I see my master is surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers all
eager to ingratiate themselves with the new heir to the Barrois
estate.

Guy Maratier watches as I'm dragged away, and catching my eye, he
smiles at me maliciously; his eyes are full of hatred and
malevolence. Instinctively, I now know my new master is to make
my life as his slave unbearable.


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


