Date: Tue, 10 May 2011 17:20:43 -0700 (PDT) From: Christian Debus Subject: Changed Circumstances Chapter 24 Gay Male/Authoritarian "CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES" A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 24: Lionel Schuster This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow" Chapter 24: Lionel Schuster Rafe: "STOP SNIFFLING!! STAND UP STRAIGHT!!" Lionel Schuster's shouted instructions alert me to the fact that he is ready to carry on with his inspection of me. My mind is still reeling from the horrible realisation that he has won the "guessing competition" and he is soon to claim his reward for winning. I am that reward and shortly I must kneel before him and despite my revulsion, take his cock into my mouth and pleasure him! I have never used my mouth to give sexual gratification but that has never stopped me from using a slave's mouth for my own pleasure. Indeed, I always enjoyed the feel of a young slave's soft, warm mouth wrapped around my hard cock. Before I became a slave that was the first thing I looked for when waking up each morning and Ben, my body-slave in my former life was always there as I stirred into wakefulness. Ben always slept on the hard floor alongside my own bed in readiness and his first duty of the day was to clamber up onto my bed and use his delightfully moist tongue to massage my full to capacity balls into readiness before taking my eager cock into his mouth. There was an indescribable "quality" about Ben. I'd noticed it when I first examined him in this very room as he stood on this same podium on which I now stand. Intuitively, I knew he was special and I didn't hesitate in buying him on the spot. This loathsome creature, who is now examining me, was present as I inspected Ben and he was fulsome in his praise of the young slave. I recall Ben's awkward bashfulness as Lionel Schuster put him through his "paces' for my appraisal and I still remember the crudity of his words as he pointed out all of Ben's "saleable" features. I ignored Lionel Schuster; I really didn't need him to point out the young slave's all too obvious charms to me. Ben was magnificent and worthy of being owned by the most discerning connoisseur. As I looked lustfully at him, I salivated at his flawless skin, the strong pectoral muscles each crowned with a copper coined sized nipple and the deeply indented navel lying at the centre of his hard, flat belly. And as I marvelled at the heavy, pendulous balls and his thick, meaty cock, I didn't need Lionel Schuster's opinions. I ignored the dealer and instructed Ben to turn around. I remember his initial reluctance to do so and his yelp of pain as the dealer slashed his cane across the hesitant slave's ass. And what an ass it was - it was exquisite. I recall now that it took my breath away. The slave's broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow, trim waist and his shapely, curving buttocks were separated by a deep, mysterious cleft. The only jarring note to the slave's perfection was the angry stripe of the cane that now showed red against the milky-white perfection of his skin. I felt anger at this violation of the young slave's naked beauty. To my embarrassment, my cock betrayed me and sprang into life and I vividly recall trying to conceal this from the slave-dealer's lascivious gaze. Now I stand before him in all my nakedness and as a slave I'm no longer allowed the luxury of embarrassment. I really didn't appreciate the slaver's ingratiating manner or the less than subtle innuendoes about how I could use Ben and I recall that I had treated him with my usual disdain. Of course, my treatment of him has come back to haunt me and he is now repaying my scorn a hundredfold. I bought Ben that day and took him home with me. I tethered him to my cart alongside Norge and had him run in step with my pony. I have to say I can't recall a pony trip I enjoyed more. Both slaves running in front of me were exquisite and as their strong, muscular bodies moved in unison, the temptation to apply my whip to Ben's body was great. But I resisted for I intended to take Ben into my bed that night and I didn't want him whip-marked. His "welcome" caning would have to wait until the next morning. Instead, I used my whip on Norge and unfairly, he received those I would have giving to Ben. Ben lived up to all my expectations and he soon became my "favourite". He was loyal - almost doglike in his devotion to me - and he couldn't do enough to please me. I had great affection for Ben and I wonder about him now. Is he in "service" to our new Master, Guy Maratier or has he been relegated to lesser duties? I suppose I'll find out - that is if my Master doesn't sell me as he did with Cato who I suppose is now locked into one of the slave-holding pens as he waits to be sold. The thought of Norge returns my mind to last night, where locked in our stall, I broke with a longstanding prejudice and used my mouth to pleasure him. I did this reciprocally; he had done the same for me the previous night when I was at my lowest ebb. He'd done so as an act of compassion for my distress and I loved him for it. Overcoming my reluctance to use my mouth and tongue to serve another man's cock, I had returned the favour and to my surprise, I had found I had enjoyed the experience. Afterwards, wrapped in Norge's strong embrace, I wondered about this. I eventually realised that what had happened between the two of us was done out of our mutual affection for one another and not because of any coercion. It was this that had made the occasion memorable for me. But now I'm to service Lionel Schuster's cock and like Ben I don't have a choice in the matter. My Master has offered me as a "prize" in an obscene lottery and the slaver has won. As I look into Lionel Schuster's hate-filled face I shudder. I know my ordeal is far from over. The thought of the vileness that awaits me at the end of my appraisal terrifies me. I am filled with loathing at what these men have reduced me to and I am revolted at what I have become. But that's not an end to the matter. Not only am I the first prize for the slaver, I am also the consolation prize for the three losers - my former friends. My Master has invited them to his home and has very generously offered my services to them. Fondly, I wonder about Norge. Is he still tethered in the full glare of the sun and made to stand docilely in the furnace-like heat of the small, enclosed courtyard? Or has he been moved into a shaded spot? Has he been given water to drink and did Lionel Schuster's slave help him to piss? I hope so for Norge's wellbeing is important to me. My concern is that of one slave for a brother slave. Lionel Schuster's vicious slap to my face echoes loudly throughout the room and he shouts his instructions. "SNAP OUT OF IT, BOY! HOW DARE YOU DAYDREAM WHILE I'M EXAMINING YOU! WAKE AND PAY ATTENTION, DAMN YOU!" He is right. I hadn't been paying attention. My thoughts had been with Norge and our wonderful nights together in our stable stall - and of his present comfort. I have been jerked out of my pleasant reverie back to the cruel reality of my situation. The slave-dealer walks behind me and somehow I know what is to follow. Perhaps I'm beginning to gain a slave's instinct of impending pain or it could be that I have been present at too many of Lionel Schuster's inspections and I know how he thinks. I brace myself for the inevitable. Viciously, he applies his cane to my ass and shoulders. I lose count of how many blows rain down on my exposed body - perhaps three and possibly four; I don't really know - and I hear my cries of pain echoing back from the walls of the room. "Don't slouch! Stand up straight and pull your shoulders back! That's it! Now thrust your chest out and pull your stomach in! HURRY IT UP, BOY!! DO AS YOU"RE TOLD!!" Tearfully, I do as I'm ordered and I listen despondently as he addresses my Master. "Really, Mr Maratier, your slave is most undisciplined." He says exasperatedly, "He'll need to do better than this at an inspection. His behaviour would deter most buyers. They really do expect a slave to be better behaved than this. They want slaves to stand proud and present themselves with a pleasing willingness during an inspection. I'm afraid you have a lot of work to do with your slave if you wish to sell him." "Well, I suppose he does have much to learn. After all, he's only been a slave for a few days." I'm surprised by my Master's defence of me. It is unexpected and uncharacteristic of him. I realise this wasn't done out any consideration for me. Obviously my Master resents this criticism of his property and is showing his annoyance at the dealer's presumption for doing so. Still it doesn't impress Lionel Schuster. "That may well be, Mr Maratier. I know he's new to slavery but that's no excuse for his sloppiness. My advice to you is to train him and train him hard. And spare neither the cane nor the whip in his `education'. Believe me, he'll be a better slave for it." "I don't think you need worry yourself on that score Mr Schuster." My Master's reply is haughty and dismissive. "The slave will be well trained and as far as the whip and cane are concerned he has already tasted the cane and he'll continue to do. It's not my intention to spare any of my slaves either the cane or the whip. Now could we PLEASE get on with his inspection? I still have much to do." Once more, Lionel Schuster bridles at my Master's sharp rebuke and the abrupt dismissal of his advice and he continues with his inspection. We stand face to face and only a few inches separate us. I am now the focus of his displeasure and he barks at me to. "STAND UP STRAIGHT SLAVE AND DISPLAY PROPERLY." Sullenly, he places his hands on my shoulders and I brace myself for what I know is to come. I'm well aware of what to expect. Haven't I stood in the exact spot where Lionel Schuster now stands and subjected numerous slaves -far too many for me to remember -to the same treatment he is now inflicting on me? I feel the butterfly contractions of my stomach muscles as he places his left hand on my belly - by this gesture he is laying temporary claim to my body and it tells me that resistance is useless. His smirking smile confirms this is so and I feel the utter powerlessness of my situation. Smiling triumphantly, he reaches out to gently stoke my cheek with his right hand. He smiles as my breathing becomes laboured and then he slowly moves his fingers now the wildly, throbbing arteries of my neck. Now his calloused hands rest briefly on my shoulders before he begins a quick sweep down over my upper torso. This is normal practice and one which I'd always followed. This cursory examination does two things; it gives you a "feel" for the slave's body and it also relaxes him and allows him to adjust to your touch. It is always followed by a longer and more detailed examination. But I don't relax and nervously, my body begins to tremble. His hands glide over my chest causing my nipples to erect into needle-point sharpness before moving down over my belly to gauge both its hardness and the depth of my navel. At this stage he ignores my genitals; they are to be examined in minute detail at a later stage. Now his hands move slowly up both sides of my torso and on his order, I raise my arms above my head to give him access to my armpits. Very deliberately, he teases and tickles my underarms to test my responses to his touch. My armpits have always been sensitive to the touch of others as is the rest of my body. I could best describe myself as being "volatile" in my response to being tickled. As a boy, whenever I'd been tickled, I was reduced to a giggling, writhing mass of over stimulated nerve ends and rendered helpless. That is still the situation with me even now. Then, following his instruction, I place my hands behind my head, intertwine my fingers and tighten my body. He steps back to look at me and pays me an unexpected compliment. "That's better! Much, much better! You're displaying yourself beautifully - as a slave should. GOOD BOY!" The patronising tone of his voice wounds my already injured pride and not for the first time today, tears well in my eyes. Though my shame, I hear the gibes and giggling laughter of my erstwhile friends. Lionel Schuster steps forward until our bodies are just inches apart; we are almost touching and I can smell the staleness of his breath and the unpleasantness of his body. He reaches behind me and places both his hands on my back. My heart pounds within my chest and I tremble as his hands travel slowly from my shoulders to my buttocks exploring the strength and power of my back muscles before his fingers fan out to move up and down my spinal column testing the soundness of my vertebrae. Suddenly, I tense as his hands come to rest on my ass and I begin to breathe more rapidly. "Steady, boy! Steady!" He tells me and I do my best to obey him. Gently, he caresses the twin, muscular orbs of my ass in an effort to "relax" me before he pries them apart giving him access into the deep, dividing cleft. I'm all too aware of what is to follow and desperately, I clench my ass cheeks tightly together in a vain effort to deny him entry to the most hidden recess of my body. My attempt to deter him is useless and I know this. My re-action to his exploratory finger isn't unexpected; he expects it and he persists despite my opposition. Indeed my attempt to "close up" is the normal reflexive action of a slave when he undergoes his first digital examination of that most private part of his body. Deliberately, his finger seeks out my anus and it begins to excite the sensitive tissue around my puckering hole. Despite my revulsion at his action - and to my great shame - I begin to react to his stimulus and my cock springs into life. He withdraws his left hand from my ass cheek and places it once more on the abdominal muscles of my belly. He smiles at their nervous twitching. My body tenses and I wait expectantly for the "invasion" of his finger. But he is playing with me. He leans closer into my face and whispers malevolently. "Not yet, boy! Not just yet. Let's save it for later, shall we? I'm not ready for that yet!" His comments have a threatening tone and my body is convulsed by my trembling. Then turning to my Master he laughs, "Your slave's eager. Mr Maratier. It has to be said he operates on a `hair-trigger" but that's not a bad thing. Lots of buyers are looking for this quality in their slaves." Lionel Schuster is now ready to begin the more "detailed" part of my appraisal. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Lionel Schuster: How I hate these so called "aristocratic" types with their false airs and overblown sense of self-importance. Over the years I have tried to "break through" and gain acceptance into to their exalted circles but I've always been rebuffed on account of my work as a dealer in human flesh. These hypocrites owe their wealth to people like me but they would never admit to this. Oh no! Conveniently, they overlook the fact that their wealth is built on the labour and suffering of their slaves - the very commodity in which I deal. Or is this a salve to their consciousness; an excuse for their collective guilt? From some twisted logic, they fail to see that they are no different to me. But in the splendid isolation of their palatial mansions and plantations it is very easy for them to close their eyes and minds to the "dirty" aspects of slavery with which I must deal. They pretend they don't know about the stench and squalor of the slave-pens and they close their hearts and minds to their slaves' sufferings. At least I am honest and upfront. I don't pretend to be other than what I am. I am a dealer in slaves and in that my conscious is clear. To me a slave is simply another commodity to be bought and sold and to be used and abused as his master sees fit. Once a man loses his freedom and has been reduced to slavery he is no different to any other domestic animal and I have no qualms in preparing him for sale and auctioning him off to the highest bidder. Many years ago, I gave up thinking whether there is justice or fairness in this. After all I didn't make the laws that legalised slavery. That was done by people from the very strata of society that benefits most from its slaves. I provide a service to them and this has made me enormously rich; richer perhaps than most people. However, my riches can't buy me respectability. Try as I might I can't break through the glass ceiling that separates me from polite society. These slave-owning "aristocrats" treat me with disdain and look down on me with contempt. They deny my wife and me entry into their world and despite the best education that my money can buy; my son and two daughters are looked down upon as "common" and they are despised as the children of a foul slave trader. I have five of these types present with me today. Four where born into their class and the fifth arrived there by default replacing one of those four. And that one has been reduced to slavery. He now stands before me naked and trembling. I can see that his thoughts are a jumble of mixed emotions; disbelief that he is now a slave and the shame and humiliation this brings with it. But most satisfactory from my point of view is the fear I see in his eyes. He is afraid of me. As well he should be for I suffered much humiliation from him when he was free. As Lucien Barrois, he'd scorned me and insulted me at every opportunity. Now he stands before me as the slave, Rafe and it is I who now has the upper hand. His new master, Guy Maratier has brought him to me for an appraisal. In fact, it was my suggestion that he bring Rafe to me and I'd not done this from any goodness of heart but because I longed to revenge myself on the former Lucien Barrois for all his insults to me. Lucien Barrois' downfall was sudden and unexpected. No one had ever suspected that he was tainted with slave blood - that is until his great aunt, Charlotte Maratier ferreted out this hidden skeleton in the Barrois family's closet. Lucien's fall had been spectacular and even four days on is still the talking point of the city. To my great delight he now stands before me as the slave, Rafe and what a magnificent slave he is. How I savour this moment! "STAND UP STRAIGHT SLAVE AND DISPLAY PROPERLY!" The new slave hastens to obey my shouted instruction. He stands with his body held rigidly erect so that every muscle in his body stands out in relief and every sinew is highlighted. The slave before me is perfection - pure perfection. I look appreciatively at the magnificent, glabrous body of the slave standing on my podium. Rafe is standing straight with his hands clasped behind his head and every muscle in his body is under strain and stretched taut. I allow my eyes to roam over the slave's powerful torso taking in the strength of the shoulders and the arms. As I look at the slave's heaving chest I take time to note the outline of the strong chest muscles as they curve up into his armpits. Fascinated, I watch as the slave's well-defined, abdominal muscles "bellow in and out" with his every breath and I marvel at the size of the prodigious genitalia. There's no doubt in my mind that this is a slave any owner would be proud to possess. I step forward to begin my examination of him. He trembles at my closeness and I note his look of apprehension. We stand just a few inches apart and as I gaze into his face I see his inner turmoil and his disbelief that this is happening to him. I can smell the heady aroma of his sweat spiced by his fear and instinctively I know he is afraid of me. Good! As well he might be for I will spare him nothing. He'll suffer very degradation that I can think of and I will shame him in the presence of his Master and his former friends. I have much to repay him for his past treatment of me and the many insults and humiliations I had silently borne in his presence. I always start a slave's appraisal with a quick cursory examination of his torso. I do so for two reasons. Firstly, as my hands sweep over him, I get a "feel" for his body and secondly the touch of my hand usually has a soothing effect on him. To my mind a new slave is like a young, unbroken colt. In most instances, his nerves are fraught and he is racked by fear of the unknown. Therefore I use my hands to calm him down and to re-assure him. I'm doing so now with this slave but I'm afraid my efforts aren't working. Rafe is trembling beneath my hands. Ah well! So be it! Quickly, my hands move over his upper body feeling its solid hardness. The rounded slabs of his chest muscles are firm to the touch and I'm delighted at the way his nipples re-act to my stimulation. The flat plains of his abdominals undulate with his rapid, nervous breathing and his deeply indented belly button is truly delightful. I have finished my cursory sweep of his body and I have my left hand resting at the middle of his belly and my right, index finger is poised at his anus while I decide whether or not to go the whole way into him. My finger feels the firm grip of his ass cheeks as he clenches them tightly together in a vain effort to deny me entry into his body. I smile at this; his resistance is driven by his deep shame but it will prove futile. Should I wish to go all the way in then Rafe is powerless to prevent me from doing so. He stands ready and "primed". As a preliminary to his appraisal I had one of my slave assistants liberally lubricate Rafe's hole ready for my inspection. I do this as a matter of routine; it is both a convenience and a precaution. I find a well lubricated slave gives me "ease of access"; it's more comfortable for me - and I should imagine for the slave also - and most importantly it doesn't cause damage or injury to him. His involuntary protest isn't unexpected. All new slaves do the same at the first digital examination of their bodies. Of course, over time they come to accept this as a master's right which they must endure. Inevitably, a slave will see this as an essential part of his new life and he'll learn to relax and to accommodate his master's finger and even to "embrace" it. In my long experience of handling slaves, I know they can even get to enjoy this experience. No doubt one day Rafe will too; however for now, his shame and humiliations blind him to the fact that these examinations can give him pleasure. I see both his shame burning bright scarlet on his face and the look of hurt humiliation in his tearful eyes and I'm overjoyed. I don't feel sympathy for him. I feel a sense of elation. I really don't need to physically assess this slave but there is tremendous satisfaction for me in doing so. His obvious feelings of shame as he feels my hands on his body and listens to the gratuitous insults and crude laughter of his former friends amply repays me for all the insults he'd subjected me to. My long years of experience tell me that Rafe is a slave of the finest quality. Just one look at his magnificent body confirms this in my mind. Already I have classified him as being in the highest category - a "fancy" Should his master ever decide to sell him - and I sincerely hope he does - then I will offer him as such. I will promote him to the more select members of my clientele; to those discerning buyers who look for perfection in a slave and who'll spare no expense in owning him And this slave is truly perfect. He'll command the highest price should he go to auction. I see his short term future in serving as a body-slave and bed-buck to some lucky master. For as long as his physical charms and allure last he'll most likely lead a pampered life. Perhaps he'll even be spoiled by an indulgent master who'll reward his "good performances" with sweets and other tasty titbits. I personally don't believe this is a good thing; a slave shouldn't be rewarded for doing what is after all his duty. There should be satisfaction for a slave in knowing that his master is pleased with him and that is the only reward he is entitled to expect. But physical beauty is transitory and one day even Rafe will lose his. Then in all probability, he'll be returned to me for `selling on" as a common work slave. Once more he'll mount my auction-block to be sold to the highest bidder. Most probably he'll end his days toiling in some mine or quarry under the cruel whips of his new owner's overseers. The best he can hope for is to be sold to a plantation owner for duty as a field-slave. That would be the least of the evils that await him and personally, should the situation ever arise, I would do my utmost to see he ends his days buried deep below ground in the damp, dark confines of a mine or in the searing heat of some sun-blasted, stone quarry. Either of these two alternatives would please me no end. I would hate to see him living the "easy" life of a plantation slave. Yesterday, his master had told me of his immediate plans for Rafe. He is to be sent out to the Maratier plantation "La Forˆt" and made to work as a field-slave. I agreed with Guy Maratier that this would do "wonders" for the new slave's development. Field work would toughen him, harden his muscles and build up his already prodigious strength thus increasing his overall value. But it was the second plan that intrigued me. The slave is to be trained as a pony and would eventually be used by his master as such. As I look at him now I can visualise him in harness and hitched to his master's cart. He will make a superb pony and one that any owner would be proud to drive and this would be an interesting alternative to him serving as pleasure slave. Perhaps, one day, I'll have the opportunity of offering him for sale as a pony slave. I hope so with all my heart. What a difference there is between Lucien Barrois and his alter ego, the slave, Rafe. Lucien was rich, arrogant, imperious and disdainful of all "lesser' beings. To my mind he was the typical representative of his class - an aristocratic slave-holder who was incapable of doing an honest day's work in his unproductive life. Instead his enormous wealth came to him far too easily. He gained this through the blood, sweat and toil of his long suffering slaves. Lucien is about to discover this for himself whilst he labours as a slave now named Rafe. Rafe on the other hand is now nothing other than a naked, slave subject to whatever vicissitudes his masters inflict upon him. Gone is the haughtiness, the overweening pride and easy self-assurance he'd possessed as a free man and these have now been replaced by a slave's natural timidity and fear of his master. Already he has felt his new master's anger and his shapely buttocks bear testimony to this. They wear the criss-cross pattern of his very recent canings and superimposed over these are the marks of my own cane. I did enjoy the feel of my cane biting into the rounded, curvaceous mounds of his ass and across his strong shoulders. But wherever this slave toils - and already in my mind's eye I see him working naked under the whips of La Forˆt's overseers - I'll NEVER think of him as Rafe. No, I will always see in him as the former Lucien Barrois stripped of his riches and now reduced to slavery. However, for me, the best is yet to come. Shortly, the slave will fall to his knees before me and take my cock into his reluctant mouth and it is my intention to use him hard. That will be the sweetest moment of all in my revenge against Lucien Barrois. What can be more satisfactory for me than for him to kneel at my feet - as the slave Rafe - and for me to contemptuously look down on him as he pleasures me? Yes! Revenge is indeed sweet! But for now, Rafe stands before me - a frightened, trembling new slave well aware of what lies ahead of him yet unsure of the exact details of his future life. How do I know these things? I see the horrible uncertainty in his eyes and I feel his fear in the nervous fluttering of his stomach muscles. They manifest themselves in the cold, clammy feel of his fear induced sweat and his laboured breathing. These things I know and recognise for I have seen them all before in the countless numbers of slaves I have appraised. But more immediately, I must decide whether or not to thrust my finger into the deepest recesses of his body. He waits on me; his body is tense with expectancy and his hard cock throbs as the tip of my finger rests at the entrance to his hole. A small bead of precum glistens shining and pearl-white on the tip of his prick and despite himself, the slave IS excited. Should I proceed or will I tease him just a bit longer? I move my face closer to his and whisper. "Not yet, boy! Not just yet. Let's save it for later, shall we? I'm not ready for that yet!" His body is racked by trembling and this is an eloquent acknowledgement of my statement. Then turning to his master I comment, "Your slave's eager. Mr Maratier. It has to be said he operates on a `hair-trigger" but that's not a bad thing. Lots of buyers are looking for this quality in their slaves." I am now ready to begin the more "detailed" part of my appraisal. To be continued.....