Changed Circumstances

"CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES" A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"

Chapter 27 "Re-united"

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 27: "Re-united"

NORGE:

I'm left to stand alone during my Master's absence as he has Cato and Rafe valued. I have time on my hands and I use it to wonder and worry about Rafe. What is happening to him? And how is he coping with all that is happening to him? I know from my own experiences that he wouldn't be handling his situation at all well. My enslavement had been traumatic enough for me and so I recognise it must be infinitely worse for poor Rafe. He doesn't have the strength of character I'd possessed when I was enslaved. Although becoming a slave had shocked me, I at least had 'knocked around" the world and had been exposed to its harsh realities. And this had helped me get through the trauma of becoming a slave.

Rafe by comparison had led a sheltered life of pampered ease and unimaginable luxury. He'd been spared the harsh realities of life that is the lot of the commoner. His world was that of the spoiled aristocrat. His present fate would have been inconceivable to him and I know he isn't handling it well.

I have heard his soft crying in the dark stillness of our stall and I had felt the sob induced trembling that had disturbed his sleep. At first, I'd rejoiced in his downfall and briefly I had gloated over it. But there is something about Rafe that tugs at me. I can no longer find joy in the fact that he is now a slave. As hard as I try, it's impossible for me to imagine the sense of desolation and shame that he must feel at the very public revelation of his tainted, slave blood, the loss his once proud name and the Barrois fortune and most shatteringly of all his loss of freedom. Just a few short days ago he'd had the world at his feet. Now he is just a naked slave undergoing an appraisal so that his Master will have an understanding of his monetary worth.

His first evening as a slave, he'd slept in my stall. I remember thinking how lost and bewildered he was. Within the space of an afternoon he'd lost everything that he'd held dear. Now he was naked and his new brand was an angry red outline against the flawless perfection of his left flank. As I lay stretched out on the straw covered floor of my stall, he'd stood before me uncertain as to what he should do. Fearfully he looked around the stall and avoided looking directly at me. He was nervous and I saw his fear of me reflected in his eyes. He was like a little lost boy and at that moment my heart went out to him. He was, I decided a "man-child" sorely in need of someone to take care for him. And I determined that someone would be me.

I can't change what has happened to him; he is irretrievably lost. His aristocratic life lies shattered amid the ruins of his past and his life as a slave stretches before him into an unfathomable future. What he makes of that future is up to him. He is now a slave and will remain so until the end of his days. I can't lighten his heavy burden but I can assist him to carry his load. If he'll allow me, I will help him through these first difficult days and show him how to accept his slavery.

There'd been no one to assist me at first but I was stronger in character than Rafe is now. My concern is that Rafe will just give in and pine away. This isn't all that uncommon with the newly enslaved and once a slave does give in to his trauma then no amount of coercion or whipping will dissuade him otherwise. If anything, this just hastens the situation to its inevitable conclusion and the slave wastes away and dies. I am determined this won't happen to Rafe.

Last night in the seclusion of our stall, I'd told Rafe of the three rules for his survival. It is necessary for him to learn these three rules and to live by them if his life as a slave is to be even tolerably bearable. After the shock of my own enslavement had worn off, I'd thought of these rules to aid me in my own survival and they had assisted me greatly. I told Rafe of the rules and warned him to listen and heed - but I'm not sure that he did. Certainly I will be constantly re-enforcing them to him until they become part of his unconscious routine.

The first rule is that he is now a slave and he must unconditionally accept this as his future; the second is that he must give unswerving loyalty and obedience to his Master and strive to please him in all things and lastly he must learn to trust his Master's good judgement and to never question those decisions made on his behalf.

These are simple rules that I had lived by when Rafe was my Master. Now, as Guy Maratier's slave, he must accept them and live by them himself. And last night in the warm security of each other's embrace I told him I would be there to assist him. But now I don't know if I will able to keep my commitment to him. What if our Master has decided to sell Rafe together with Cato? Has he been brought here to be sold? If so, Rafe will be alone and I won't be there to support him. I am deeply saddened by the thought that Rafe could be sold and left alone to fend for himself.

This morning, along with Cato he'd run naked at my side as our Master took both of them to be valued. It was no secret that our Master planned to sell Cato. Indeed among the household slaves there was an air of quiet rejoicing at his fate; his heavy-handed use of the cane hadn't endeared him to us.

Within every household there is a "grapevine or bush telegraph" that keeps all of its slaves informed of their owner's movements. And so it is within our household. We all knew that Cato had run afoul of his new, temporary Mistress, Charlotte Maratier. We didn't know the reasons why but we know that she has advised out Master to sell him. Rumour has it that she also has a deep hatred of Rafe and I wonder if she has decided that he too is to be sold? I fear she has and I am distressed to think that I won't see Rafe again.

When we had arrived, I stood quietly as both Rafe and Cato were unhitched from my cart. I watched as Cato was unceremoniously hauled away to an inspection room and I had even felt a twinge of pity for him. I watched and listened as our Master had instructed Rafe to fetch a parasol from the parcel compartment of my cart and I had listened as Master instructed Rafe in its use. He'd used the opportunity to berate Rafe and he spoke to him as one would to a dog undergoing obedience training. I was proud of Rafe; he'd remained silent - how hard that must have been for him - and he'd obeyed Guy Maratier's instructions about the umbrella's use to shade him from the sun's burning rays.

Our Master is fair-skinned and prone to sunburn and the oppressive heat had shortened his temper even further than is usual. His threat to have Rafe caned should he allow the sun to shine on his head proved a powerful incentive for Rafe to apply himself diligently to the task in hand. I saw Rafe blanch at the threat of a further caning. But Rafe will have to get used to such threats. They are an everyday hazard for a slave and regrettably they'll become a big part of his life. And he has so many adjustments to make to his new life. Poor Rafe!

Rafe of course has no such protection and his naked body is fully exposed to the sun's fury. Fortunately for him, his body has had long exposure to the sun and his skin is a warm, golden brown colour. That is except for the whiteness of his midriff which fortunately for him is coated with a heavy-duty sunscreen especially formulated for use on field slaves.

Over the past two days, Rafe has worked naked; firstly on the woodheap splitting the heavy logs for the house's heating system and then yesterday, he'd been harnessed to a lawnmower cutting the extensive lawns surrounding his Master's home. Already there is a difference and the whiteness of his ass is taking on a pinkish hue. It won't be long before it matches the rich tones of his upper torso and legs.

I feel for Rafe. Our Master is obviously humiliating Rafe by reducing him to the level of an "umbrella slave". There is a pecking order among slaves and those who carry their Masters' or Mistresses' umbrellas are at the bottom of that pecking order. Our Master has succinctly indicated to Rafe that he is now among their number.

After Rafe and Cato had been taken away I was on my own and left to my solitary thoughts. One thing I have discovered during my time as a pony is that it's better at these times is to "blank" your mind and not to think too much. There's no point in thinking of your past life or regretting what you have lost. I'd discovered this very early on and now I'm able to close my mind and shut down my thought processes and to use the time to rest. At these times, my only pre-occupation is with the need to allow my stressed body to recuperate after a hard run and to refresh itself in preparation for the next. But this is not the situation today. As I stand and sweat, I find I am fretting over Rafe. What is to happen to him?

My time passes slowly. Every brick in the walls and every cobblestone radiate the heat back into the confined space of the yard with furnace like intensity. There is no shade provided for me - this is symptomatic of the callous disregard our owners have for us - and I must stand and sweat where I am tethered.

Fortunately my body is sun-hardened. The months that I had toiled out at "La Foret" had prepared me well for my life as a pony slave. Providing he isn't sold today, I recall that the man who'd sent me there for my conditioning is soon to undergo his own under the exact same conditions. The irony of this isn't lost on me. But I'm not rejoicing. Rather I am concerned for Rafe. Will he be able to endure the rigours of life as a plantation slave? My own experiences tell me he'll find it very difficult.

As yet Rafe has only suffered the pain of the cane. I know he thinks that's the worst that can happen to him in the way of punishment. But he is wrong. He has never felt the fiery sting of the bullwhip on his naked back or the agonising cut of the lash across his bare ass. He is yet to experience both.

Should our master keep Rafe and send him out to "La Foret" then he will be on his own. I won't be there to protect or advise him. He'll need to adjust or go under. It will be a case of sink or swim and I worry that Rafe isn't up to the task. Will he have the strength of character to rise above his suffering and will he have the endurance to survive?

I know from my experiences that there is no compassion in the hearts of the plantation's overseers and they won't make allowances for the "special circumstances" of Rafe's situation. And they won't show him any mercy. Indeed just the opposite is probably true; they'll single Rafe out for "special attention" and make his life a misery. His lot will be many times -possibly a hundred times - harder than my own. Rafe, as the former Master, will be despised by the overseers and loathed by his fellow slaves. His suffering will be the greater for that and infinitely worse than mine. The thought of this upsets me and the realisation that I am powerless to assist him frustrates me. Should he return home with me today, then I will do all within my power to prepare him for the horrors that await him at "La Forˆt".

And the horrors are many. I wonder if when Rafe toured his plantation as Lucien Barrois did he ever notice the squalor and filth of the slave stables, the grinding, soul destroying labour of the slaves toiling from dawn til dusk in his fields? Did he hear the crack of the whips and the thwack of leather biting into naked flesh and the agonised cries of his long suffering slaves? Was he familiar with the tasteless mush that was routinely fed to his slaves? My inclination is that the proud young "aristocrat", who was Lucien Barrois, was too disinterested to see the miserable existence of his slaves. Now as the slave Rafe, he'll have personal experience of them.

It would be easy to hate Rafe because of his past and gloat over his downfall. I can understand the feelings of disbelief of the La Forˆt slaves when they first realise their former Master is now one of them. And I'm sure the overseers will make sure the slaves are made aware of this at the earliest possible moment. This will be followed by feelings of jubilation at Rafe's downfall and the need for retribution. There will be great animosity directed at Rafe and seen from the perspective of one of his former slaves, who can blame them.

Is it only few days ago that my interest was aroused by a panic stricken, terrified new slave running from the Court's forge in a vain effort to escape the branding iron? I'd watched with slight amusement as the blacksmith's slaves brought him down in a flying tackle and dragged him struggling and pleading back into the forge. Then, in utter disbelief, I recognised the new slave as my Master. Gleefully, I heard his agonised scream as the branding iron seared the shameful mark of slavery into his flesh and I watched delightedly as he was led collared and bound over to my cart by our new Master, Guy Maratier.

Sneeringly, I'd smiled at his sudden unexpected misfortune and as he ran naked alongside of me for the first time on the way back to the home that was no longer his, I'd gloated at the very public taunting of him by the jeering onlookers. I exulted in his snivelling self-pity and in his tears of rejection. So yes - I can understand that the plantation slaves will rejoice at having their former master working among them.

But then something happened that changed my attitude towards Rafe. As we ran side by side, from somewhere deep within him, Rafe cried out - "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And instinctively, I knew it was a heartfelt apology. True it took his own misfortune to prompt it and it's doubtful if he'd have made it as Lucien Barrois. But he had said so as the slave Rafe and inexplicably I felt compelled to respond. Now I have great pity for Rafe and I feel a strange awakening of some other, deeper feeling for him.

And how do I prepare him for the night time horrors of the slave stables? He'll be viewed by his fellow slaves as "fresh meat" and an easy target for their sexual advances. I'd experienced this for myself but I'd successfully fought off such unwanted advances. My knockabout seaman's life had hardened my body and steeled my resolve. I was equal to those slaves and I had fought off their crude attempts to "use" me. But Rafe is soft and this worries me. How will he fight off the unwanted attentions of the more dominant of his fellow slaves as they gang up on him?

Thinking of all this brings memories of my fellow slave, Jake flooding back. He was the only bright spot in my time at La Foret and his friendship had helped me through those difficult six months. I wonder if Jake is still at La Foret and how well he is faring. Perhaps in my absence, Rafe will find a "Jake" of his own; someone to lie alongside of him during the night-time and who'll provide him with mutual comfort and protection. I hope so!

Time is dragging for me as I wait for my Master's return and my fears and doubts about Rafe disturb what should be a placid interlude between runs. Rafe's future is very much on my mind.

In the morning's heat, I'm perspiring freely and I'm plagued by flies and insects who feed off my salty sweat. They swarm over me and gather in the corners of my eyes and around my nostrils. They enter my mouth and their feathery presence teases the sensitive tip of my cock and tickles my balls. With my hands fastened to the shafts of my cart I can only shake my body and stamp my feet in a vain attempt to dislodge these annoying pests. But my relief is all too brief; momentarily I am free of them as they fly away only to return within seconds and resume their feasting.

My throat is parched - I've not had water since early this morning - and the long run into the city was thirsty one. I need water to slake my burning thirst and to replenish my body moisture. And I need to piss - desperately.

While it's generally frowned upon, our drivers recognise that inevitably there will be times when their ponies -through circumstances quite beyond their control - will need to urinate or defecate in public as they stand and wait on their masters. Many pony slaves just accept this as an inevitable part of their existence and relieve themselves unselfconsciously as part of their now basic natures as beasts-of- burden.

However, I've never been one of them and I fight my overwhelming desire to urinate. I may be used as a beast of burden by my Master but I still retain some vestiges of my humanity and my pride won't allow me to sink to the base level of an animal. Usually establishments such as this one have slaves who see to the needs of its clients' ponies and I wait impatiently for one to attend to me. But the contest between my pride and my bladder's need for relief is proving to be an uneven one and is one I lose.

My hands are restrained and so I'm unable to assist myself to piss. My cock is semi-tumescent and is 'out of control" and the stream of my urine splatters onto the cobblestones between my outstretched legs and humiliatingly, I find I'm left standing in a puddle of my own piss. However, as this quickly evaporates in the day's heat, I look up and see a slave approaching with water for me to drink and a bucket for me to urinate into. Too late!

But the water is most welcome and the slave helps me to drink by placing a tube into my mouth through which I suck up as much water from the container he holds as quickly as I can. So great is my need for this water that the silence of the yard is broken by my loud, thirsty slurping.

My thirst now satisfied, I ask the slave about the whereabouts of my Master and his two slaves. I learn that Master has decided to sell older of the two slaves and that the unfortunate Cato has been placed in chains and removed to the holding pens to await sale while the other, younger slave has been appraised by the slave's master, Lionel Schuster and is now in an adjacent yard undergoing tests of his strength and endurance.

I am worried about the implications of this for Rafe and I then ask if he knows whether or not the younger slave is to be sold too. The slave huffily reminds me that he is only a slave -the same as me - and not privy to such information. That -he tells me - is for our masters to decide and not for us to concern ourselves with. But then he tells me that my Master has just bought a new slave who is to join me shortly and that perhaps he is a replacement for the younger of my Master's two slaves. My heart sinks.

Soon, I watch with a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as my Master's newest purchase is brought out of the pens, led over and fastened to my cart. I look at this handsome, new slave and I see him as a replacement for Rafe. He is smiling broadly; I dislike his air of smugness and I take an instant dislike to him and as yet we haven't spoken to one another. He speaks and tells me his name is Pollux but he doesn't bother to ask me for my name.

I am convinced I'll never see Rafe again!

There is something about this new slave that I don't like. Instinctively I don't trust him. He is my Master's latest purchase and I fear the worst. Has Master bought him as a replacement for Rafe? Desperately I hope not. Perhaps it is the thought that he could be Rafe's replacement that feeds my dislike of him. But even without this fear I know I still would not like him.

Without a doubt He is one of the most beautiful slaves I have seen and I'm not to know it is this that attracted my Master to him. He has the most handsome features and an outstanding physique and he knows it, He possesses a swagger and a cock-sureness that no slave is entitled to have. A slave is meant to be humble but I see no signs of humility in him. His manner and bearing belie the fact that he is only a slave and I wonder about this. Condescendingly, he tells me his name is Pollux but he doesn't bother to ask for my name. It is obvious that he looks down on me. He sees me as a common pony, a beast of burden fit only to pull my Master's cart around the city. His disdain for me is all too obvious.

Looking at him, I know he's not newly enslaved; the mandatory brand on the left side of his ass is an old one - older even than mine. Unlike me he doesn't have an owner's brand similar to the Barrois family brand which I bear on my right pectoral just above the nipple. However, within days, together with Rafe, he'll receive the new Maratier brand which will replace the older and now discredited Barrois one. I wonder if Master will put this new mark on all his slaves and have us rebranded. I shudder at the prospect! Looking at his brand, I would estimate he has been a slave for quite a number of years.

Pollux speaks with an easy self -assurance quite out of keeping with him being a slave. As he stands tethered to our Master's cart, he tells me that his owner had died recently and he had been consigned as a part of the deceased estate now waiting in the adjacent pens for next Friday's sale.

As we wait for our Master's return, he openly boasts how he'd spotted Guy Maratier as a likely new master and how he'd attracted attention to himself by wriggling his ass and dangling his cock and balls through the bars of his pen. And I have to admit his ass is most alluring and his genitals inviting to the touch. Who could blame my Master for falling under the spell of this cunning and conniving slave?

He openly laughs at how he'd used his bodily charms to cajole our Master into buying him. He tells me he sees our Master as an "easy target" and that He'll soon have him 'eating out of his hands".

He plies me with questions about our Master and his background; he wants to know so much. And even though I don't care for his manner, I answer his queries. As a slave he needs to know who his master is. I tell him about our Master's very recent elevation from obscure penury to unimaginable wealth. And in the process I tell him about Rafe's downfall. This intrigues him and he continues to question me. Where is Rafe now? I tell him Rafe is being valued and he asks is he to be sold? I tell I don't know what my Master has in mind for Rafe. However, I don't tell him of my concerns or inner turmoil at the prospect of losing Rafe.

As I said, I dislike Pollux intensely and I fret that he is now to be the replacement slave for Rafe. I dislike his smug arrogance and I fervently hope to see it whipped out of him and to see him reduced to where he rightly belongs -down at my level along with the rest of our Master's slaves. There really isn't a place among our ranks for this uppity, young slave. And my dislike for him is to intensify in the coming days and I will continue to hope that this smart assed slave will get his "come uppance".

Then I am cheered as I think that he is a new slave to our Master's household and as such he will receive his welcome to the household caning. I hope Master sends next door for Pug and I hope the Colonel's whip master applies the cane with the full force of his animal like strength. He thought of this gladdens me and I smile broadly.

Pollux notices and asks - "Why are you smiling?"

My reply is cryptic.

"Oh, it's nothing out of the ordinary. I just had a pleasant thought, that's all."

RAFE:

Now, at the conclusion of my tests of strength and endurance, my Master and Lionel Schuster move to one side to privately discuss how much I am worth. I strain to listen as my Master and the slaver discuss my future.

It has to be said, the dealer is very keen for me to be sold. He presses hard for my Master's agreement to offer me for sale and tells him I was a rare commodity - a "slave of great interest" - who will arouse the frenzied bidding of those discerning buyers who are always on the lookout for the unusual. As he points out I am "collector's item" and he asks -"who wouldn't want to own the former Lucien Barrois as his slave?" Lionel Schuster promises my Master that I am worth a small fortune and with the proper promotion - "why your slave could easily break all previous records as the most expensive slave ever sold".

Briefly, I think my Master is tempted. Certainly he asks more questions of Lionel Schuster as to what He thinks I might sell for. I don't hear their huddled conversation about my worth; such matters are for masters to know and for slaves to wonder about. I wait with baited breath on my Master's decision and the thought uppermost in my mind is that I am about to be parted from Norge. My heart is heavy as I consider this possibility but then to my great delight I hear my Master tell Lionel Schuster -

"My slave's not for sale - at least not yet".

I am engulfed by a tidal wave of relief knowing I'm not to be sold and to follow Cato into the slave- holding pens. Uppermost in my mind is the knowledge that I won't to be parted from Norge. My gratitude to my Master overwhelms me and as he approaches me, I fall to my knees and place myself in the obeisance position. I hear myself thanking him most profusely.

"Thank you Master! Thank you for not selling me. Thank you Master!"

Then as a further gesture of my gratitude to him I crawl forward and spontaneously kiss his feet.

Even as I do so, I hear Daniel comparing me to one of his father's hunting dogs and I hear Jack's loud accompanying laughter.

"Look at Rafe. He's kissing his master's feet just like a mangy, hound-dog. My Pa has a hound that does that just after you kick him. He crawls forward on his belly and licks your boots until you forgive him and pat him on the head. Are you going to pat Rafe's head, Guy?"

I hear all this but I don't care. All that matters to me is that I'm not to be separated from Norge and I give no thought to how I am debasing myself. So great is my relief that I momentarily forget that I'm yet to service Lionel Schuster's cock.

My Master ignores Daniel's question and gruffly orders me to my feet.

Then, Lionel Schuster tries to claim me as his prize. My mind reels with the awful realisation that I must now fall to my knees, open my mouth and take his foulness into its warm embrace.

I listen in disbelief - and relief - as my Master denies the slave-dealer his prize. I watch the anger consume Lionel Schuster and I hear his angry protests at my Master's retraction and his demands that "a promise given should be a promise kept".

Anxiously, I listen as Lionel Schuster argues with my Master and I desperately hope that he won't reconsider and give in to dealer's demands. But he doesn't and in fact he is contemptuously dismissive of the dealer and tells him that I'm not available and that's an end to the discussion. I'm overwhelmed with relief and my gratitude to my Master is boundless. Without thinking I'm about to tell him this then I remember I am a slave and I must hold my tongue in the presence of free men. But I decide to bide my time before thanking my Master for sparing me from the obscenity that had hung over me all morning.

"Stand up straight, boy and put your hands behind your head. DO IT QUICKLY NOW!"

I scramble to my feet and stand obediently as my Master bids goodbye to my three former friends. They shake his hand and thank him for allowing them to watch my appraisal before wandering into the slave pens to continue their search for Daniel's birthday present. I know that this isn't to be the last time I'll see them for my Master has reminded them of his invitation to attend his upcoming cocktail party where I'm to entertain them. And he re-enforces his invitation by ordering me to tell them how eager I am for them to attend and how happy I'll be to pleasure them.

After their departure, there are just my Master and Lionel Schuster in the yard. Of course I'm still there as are Lionel Schuster's two assistants. But like me they are slaves and as such we are regarded as non-persons and so our presence doesn't count.

Lionel Schuster is decidedly unhappy. He has an angry scowl on his face that speaks of his twin disappointments - his frustration at the loss of his prize and the fact that I'm not to be sold. Then throwing caution to the wind, he asks my Master to reconsider his decision not to sell me. He re-states an earlier opinion that there isn't a better time for me to mount the auction-block. He labours the point that there is phenomenal interest in me as the newly enslaved Lucien Barrois and that my Master could just about set his own price for me.

It is obvious that the dealer is desperate for me to be sold; clearly he wants to add to my misery and humiliation before I have time to become fully acclimatised to my new slave status. But my Master remains adamant and tersely tells him.

"My slave's not for sale!"

Lionel Schuster knows he is beaten and lapses into a surly silence.

My Master pointedly ignores Lionel Schuster and turns to leave. But he hesitates; he has one more question for the slave-trader.

"Tell me Mr Schuster; do you ever find yourself with a perfectly matched pair of young slaves?"

Lionel Schuster is intrigued by the question and his curiosity aroused, he asks.

"What do you mean, Mr Maratier by a perfectly matched pair? Do you mean identical in looks or closely similar?"

"Well I was thinking of identical twins or at the very least brothers who are as near a perfect match in build, weight and looks as is possible. Do such slaves ever come your way?"

"No I'm afraid not. In all my years as a dealer, I've only ever seen two - perhaps three pairs of identical twins. They are very rare and very pricey. That is if you can find them in the first place. Can I ask about your interest in such slaves?"

"Certainly! As you possibly know my grandmother, Madame Charlotte Maratier is elderly and I'm looking for a safe and comfortable means of transportation for her. I think driving a pony and trap is beyond her capabilities and only yesterday I commissioned a special conveyance for her. It is modelled on an eighteenth century sedan chair and is fully enclosed against the elements. However, it will require two strong slaves to carry it - one out front and one behind."

"A sedan chair, you say? That's most unusual and I don't know that I have ever seen one. You'll be starting a new fashion with that I would think, Mr Maratier. Why I can see it becoming a fad with the fashionable ladies of the town. Yes indeed! Can I ask - how heavy is it?"

"Quite heavy I should think! The slaves will need to be burly, strong brutes to cope with its heavy load."

"We have quite a few slaves who fall into that category, Mr Maratier. You didn't see any that appealed on your earlier inspection of the pens?"

"You're quite right, Mr Schuster. You have any number of slaves who'd qualify if I was choosing just any slave. But I'm not! My grandmother is a special lady and I want nothing but the best for her. What I'm looking for is a perfectly matched pair of young thoroughbreds. They must be identical in appearance with well built and pleasing physiques and possess handsome features. Do such slaves exist? Do you ever have such slaves come your way?"

"Very rarely, Mr Maratier, very rarely I afraid."

"Is it possible for you to make enquiries through your trade connections? I can't begin to tell you how appreciative I would be."

Lionel Schuster's interest is aroused. He wonders about the extent of Guy Maratier's appreciation. This could be an excellent opportunity for him to mend fences and secure future business with the city's richest man.

"Mr Maratier. I'll happily oblige you by making inquiries but I have to tell you that I don't hold out much hope of finding what you want. As I said such slaves are rare - very rare and their cost would be prohibitive. But I will make enquiries on your behalf. Can I ask the extent of your interest? How far are you prepared to go cost wise?"

"Money's no object, Mr Schuster. Find me the slaves I'm after and you can name your own price."

"Well one thought that comes to mind is to place a "special order' for such a pair such as you seek. There are men - buying agents if you like - who seek out possible slaves to suit a client's particular needs. They'll scour the slave markets far and wide seeking out the slaves that you desire. But it can be a tedious process and an expensive one as you'll appreciate. And your order is very specific and might take some time to fill."

"Well then can you use these agents to try and find the slaves I want?"

"Yes I can if that's your wish, Mr Maratier?"

"Yes it is. Please do so at your earliest convenience, Mr Schuster."

"Very well then, I make enquiries on your behalf this very day."

"Thank you, Mr Schuster. Find me such a pair and I'm indebted to you. As I said money isn't an obstacle and I'm happy to pay whatever costs are involved. And there'll be a bonus in it for you too. As I said earlier, my grandmother is a very special lady deserving of the best I can give her."

I watch as the two men take their leave of one another. His business now concluded, my Master takes his leave of Lionel Schuster and he walks out into the courtyard where Norge stands patiently waiting. Before we leave however, my Master instructs me to retrieve the umbrella and I follow behind shading him from the sun.

During my inspection, the day's heat has intensified and as I follow my Master to his waiting cart, my body is blasted with the furnace like heat of the courtyard. My thoughts are for Norge who has been standing tethered throughout the morning in the sun's intensity and as I look in his direction, I see he's not alone. Tethered alongside of him is my Master's new slave, Pollux and like Norge his body glistens from his profuse sweating.

Norge has been standing lethargically in the summer heat with his head bowed and as we enter the yard he stirs and looks in our direction. Although I am still some distance from him I don't miss his look of relief at seeing me and the broad, welcoming smile he flashes at me. It is obvious that he is delighted to see me and my heart skips a beat as I realise this. I return his smile.

Later, alone in our stall as we lay together, he'll tell me of his concern at my absence and of the agony of wondering if he would see me again. He'd worried that our Master intended to sell me and he tells me how concerned he'd been when he heard that Cato had been taken to the slave-holding pens and how he was convinced that I was to follow. He tells me his concerns were only added to when our Master's latest purchase, Pollux was brought out and tethered to his cart. Then, more than ever, he was convinced I was to be sold and that Pollux was to be my replacement.

For my part, I can't begin to express the relief I feel that I'm not to be parted from Norge and as I'm tethered alongside of him I am overwhelmed with happiness.

We are together once more!

NORGE:

I wish Pollux would stop talking. I'm in no mood to listen to his self-obsessed conversation. My mood is one of despondency; I have convinced myself that my Master is selling Rafe and that he is either in the slave-holding pens already or is now on his way to join the luckless Cato.

Pollux is telling me all about himself. Of how "important" he was to his deceased master and how that master had relied heavily on Pollux talents. He openly boasts of how he'd manipulated his former master to his advantage. I find this hard to believe. Surely no self-respecting master would allow himself to be so easily 'managed" by such a cunning, conniving slave. I conclude that Pollux is either lying or boasting.

But eventually his boasting give way to curiosity and he now plies me with questions about our Master and his household. It is natural for a newly purchased slave to be curious about his new owner and I answer his questions without showing my animosity.

It's not clear to me in what capacity our Master will use Pollux. I wonder will he become our Master's personal body slave also destined to serve him in his bed. I look at Pollux and decide this could well be his new role. Certainly, he has all the attributes of a pleasure slave. Tall and with an imposing physique, he is well endowed and he is truly a slave to set any master's pulse racing and his juices flowing. His handsome face would be a delight to wake up to each morning. It's clear that Pollux knows he is an impressive slave and he seems determined is to play on his many charms. But it is also clear that he is very self-absorbed and I wonder how that will sit with our Master.

I've only known my new Master for a few days but already I have seen evidence of his volatile nature and his quick-to-anger temper. He has displayed both these aspects of his personality in his treatment of Rafe and I doubt that he'll take any nonsense from this new slave. And there is another factor Pollux will need to consider and that is our formidable Mistress, Charlotte Maratier. Certainly, she won't be taken in by Pollux's self-imagined, winning ways. She'll quickly see through him and he'll ignore this at his peril.

I hear voices - other than Pollux's non-stop questions - and I look up to see my Master walking towards me. And to my great surprise I see Rafe walking behind and holding the umbrella over his Master's head. My heart leaps and I am overjoyed. Rafe hasn't been sold and as I look in his direction, I see he is as happy to see me as I am to see Him. His face is wreathed in a broad smile and it is matched by my own. This is most unseemly behaviour for a slave when in the company of his master; a slave is never to show his emotions and his countenance is to remain impassive at all times. Such a breach is punishable with a caning. Fortunately for Rafe - and me -our Master doesn't see either of us smiling.

But I don't care if our Master does see me smiling. Today, I would happily submit to a caning as punishment for that smile. It would be a small price to pay for Rafe's return.

RAFE:

For my part, I can't begin to express my feelings of relief that I'm not to be parted from Norge and as I'm tethered alongside of him I am overwhelmed with happiness.

Our Master climbs into his cart and we are ordered to "WALK ON!" and he adds emphasis to his command by applying his whip to Norge's shoulders. Norge strains into his harness, the cart moves forward and we are on our way. I am pleased to leave this place where I'd suffered so much but as I walk alongside Norge I soon forget this. My delight at being re-united with him is all that matters to me. Everything else fades into insignificance.

Poor Norge! He is the one to bear the full weight of our Master's carriage. He is the one in harness and it is his body that is under strain. Pollux - tied on his right side and I on his left - are just along for the run. Neither of us assists him in any way. Our Master makes no allowance for this and urges Norge on with impatient snaps of his whip. Pollux and I must keep pace with Norge and our driver soon has all three of us are trotting smartly along the wide streets and boulevards of the city.

Soon, we are the focus of much attention. It is unusual to see three ponies harnessed to a small cart - to some people at first sight this would appear to be overdoing it - and they perhaps don't see that Pollux and I aren't in harness but are simply in transit. But nevertheless, we do present an agreeable picture as we run side by side in our sweaty nakedness and our aroused states. We attract many admiring glances and our Master is envied for possessing us. He's aware of this envy and proudly, he basks in his ownership of us; for there isn't any doubting that all three of us are superb slaves.

Later as the three of us stand tethered outside the "Le Gai Parisien" Restaurant, we are the focus of more attention. Our Master is lunching with his lawyer, Simon Barrow in the air-conditioned luxury of the city's most exclusive restaurant. We on the other hand stand sweltering in the sun and our sweat soaked bodies glisten in the bright sunlight. People stop to admire us and to discuss our physical attributes. We must stand mute and listen as they ask - "whose slaves are these?" Or - "what a fortunate owner he must be to possess such prime specimens! He must be extremely wealthy?"But slave protocols forbid us to reply. One or two of the more daring among our admirers take it upon themselves to finger us. And as I feel these strangers' hands on my body, I seethe with helpless indignation.

It is considered extremely bad-mannered to handle a slave without his owner's permission and as far as I know these strangers don't have my Master's permission to examine, Norge, Pollux or me.

But the rules governing a slave's behaviour are rigid and strictly enforced. A slave must never show disrespect, surliness or display any action that can be construed as resentment or defiance towards a free person. This applies even when that person is taking uninvited liberties with a slave's body as is now the case with the three of us. We stand in animal-like docility as our bodies are pummelled and our muscles squeezed in a test of their hardness. Even as our cocks are stroked and our balls hefted we remain complacent in our acceptance of this unwanted attention. It is only when my buttocks are parted and I feel a finger teasing my anus that I react. But my reaction is no more than a slight tremor that goes unnoticed by my examiner.

We are tethered on the open street and there's no shade provided for us. In keeping with its colonial past the restaurant's owners had built an elaborate wrought iron hitching-rail and water trough which harmonise with the building's grand facade. Of course these were put in place many years ago when horse drawn carriages where commonly used. Nowadays, horses are no longer used - they are now considered too noble an animal to be used for such menial work and they have been replaced by pony slaves. However, because of their ascetic and heritage values, the city's authorities require that the rail and trough be retained and they are now used by the restaurant's patrons as a convenient place to rest and water their ponies. And we aren't alone; for there are several other ponies tethered with us as they too wait while their masters or mistresses lunch.

Time moves slowly for us and in our boredom we have nothing better to do but to look on as the passing crowds hurry about their business. I watch as an obviously well-heeled, city matron pauses at the trough to allow her pedigreed dog to drink. She ignores us and allows the spoiled dog to jump into the trough to cool off from the day's heat. I watch as the dog splashes around and drinks his fill of water. I am envious of the dog. The run from the slave-pens to the restaurant has parched my throat but like the dog I can only drink when my Master permits me to. As his mistress tugs at his leash, the dog clambers out of the water trough, stands and shakes the excess water from his fur. It is then that I notice his expensive collar. It is elaborate and studded with jewels -whether or not they are genuine it is hard to say. But I do know it is far more elaborate than the plain, standard issue, iron collars that Norge, Pollux and I wear around our necks and no doubt it exceeds them in value.

This restaurant is the city's most exclusive and expensive and it is a popular meeting place for the city's social and business elite. I had frequented it many times and so I'm no stranger to its elegance and grace. In fact, less than a week ago, I had lunched there with Simon Barrow as we discussed plans for the future expansion of the Barrois estate. Then I was obsequiously welcomed by the maitre d' and his slave assistants. Now I am forbidden to ever enter its doors. Now I must wait - tethered outside - as my Master lunches with Simon Barrow as they plan for the orderly transfer of the former Barrois fortune over to the Maratier family.

Wistfully, I gaze through the large picture windows into the restaurant and I reminisce about those happy occasions when I had dined there with my friends. I recall the elaborate "faux" baroque decor of the dining-room, the large crystal chandeliers and the servile attitudes of the slave waiters. But most of all, I remember the menu.

The memory of the restaurant's exquisite cuisine and the highest grade wine list torment me. For they are now lost to me forever. Never again will my tastebuds be excited by the rich food and the fine wines for which Le Gai Parisien is justifiably famous. Now I must exist on a slave's diet of bland mush and water. The delicious aromas of cooking wafting from the restaurant only serve to tease my sense of smell, tantalise my tastebuds and make my empty belly rumble.

As I wait, I'm learning a valuable lesson - patience. This is the patience that is required of all slaves. Time isn't of any consequence to a slave; it rightly belongs to his owner and how it is used is at the owner's discretion. My thoughts turn to Norge and I think of all the times I made him stand and wait for me without ever giving him a second thought and I now marvel at his patience and forbearance. These are attributes that I'm yet to learn. Time drags slowly and the enforced inactivity grates on me. I have no way of telling the time and how long we wait is open to conjecture. It could be one and a half to two hours but in the tedium of my boredom it seems infinitely longer to me. Then I see my Master and Simon Barrow leave the restaurant and walk toward us.

As they approach, I lower my eyes to the ground under Simon's scrutiny of me and once more my shame and embarrassment return. Just days ago, I was free and this man had been my lawyer. Now I am a slave and he is my Master's lawyer. A few days ago, he would have deferred to me. Now I must lower my eyes and stand respectfully silent as he surveys me.

"How's Rafe doing, Guy? Is he settling down?" He asks my Master.

"All things considered, yes he is, Simon. It must be hard for him to adjust but I feel he's getting there - slowly. Of course, I found it necessary to punish him again, yesterday. He was disrespectful to my grandmother and he received another good caning for it. But he's quick to learn his lessons and I don't doubt he'll be a good slave - in time. That's right isn't it Rafe? You'll make a good slave, won't you?"

There is only one answer I can give to my Master's question and I reply respectfully,

"Yes Master."

"Yes what, Rafe?"

My Master is playing mind-games with me. Obviously, he is out to highlight my new slave status to my former lawyer and to demonstrate the power he now holds over me. It would be so easy to fall into his trap and so I must pick my words carefully before replying. I will give him the answer he expects and not show any resentment in my voice. The last thing I want is another caning.

"Yes Master," I try to sound cheerful as is expected of a slave, "I'll be a good slave, Master."

"Good boy, Rafe! You may say hello to Mr Barrow."

"Good afternoon, Sir!" Again I force myself to be pleasant but as I greet Simon Barrow the bile rises in my throat.

"Hello Rafe. How are you settling in?"

"Very well, thank you Sir!"

"Good boy, Rafe. I'm pleased to hear it." Then patronisingly he pays me a compliment.

"I got to say, Guy. Your boy has a most pleasing manner."

"Indeed he does, Simon. He has just the right tone of respect that I expect from my slaves. As I said he's a quick learner."

"I can see that, Guy. Already he displays a deferential air to his betters. So, are you happy with his valuation?"

My Master and his lawyer confer out of earshot - I strain unsuccessfully to hear - but I hear Simon's surprised whistle and exclamation.

"THAT MUCH! He's worth a small fortune."

My curiosity nags at me and I wonder about my true worth. But as I said earlier - that is for a master to know and for a slave to wonder about. Still it would be interesting to know how much I am worth to my Master in pure monetary terms.

My Master climbs into the cart as Simon untether us and hands the reins to him. Wrongly, I assume the lawyer is about to take his leave but then he too clambers in and sits beside my Master. Poor Norge! Is he really expected to pull both men through the city in such heat?

"WALK ON!"

My Master re-enforces his imperious command by sharply slapping the reins against Norge's shoulders. Norge strains into his harness and lunges forward. But the load is uneven; the passenger's weight adds to it and Norge struggles to get the cart moving.

"PULL! DAMN YOU PULL!"

The heat is affecting my Master. He is liverish and bad-tempered. Viciously he uses his whip to lash out at Norge's unprotected back and ass. I hear the crack of the whip and I feel Norge's shivering response to its cruel bite. From somewhere he draws on hidden reserves of strength and the cart lurches forward.

"PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT, NORGE! PULL!"

With a superhuman effort Norge soon has the cart moving forward at the speed our Master demands of him. I look sideways at my friend and I see the enormous strain this places on his body. Every muscle in his powerful frame stands out in isolated relief and every sinew and tendon is highlighted. His mighty chest rises and falls in time with his laboured breathing and his long legs are the pistons that keep the conveyance moving. His is perspiring freely and I can smell the arousing, heady aroma of his sweat soaked torso and my cock lengthens into rock hard prominence.

Soon, I am running in step and keeping pace with him and despite my new found outrage at this abuse of Norge, I find all this is highly erotic. Running naked alongside Norge excites me. It is sexually arousing and as I keep pace with him I think forward to the day when we'll be a matched pair running in tandem under our Master's whip.

I try to share Norge's burden. I grasp the shaft to which I'm tied in my right hand and I pull in a one armed effort to lessen his load. I don't know if I'm helping but there is satisfaction for me in knowing that I am at least trying. I want so much to help him. He has helped me so much in recent days and now I want to say thank you to Norge for his support.

Our Master and his passenger look out on our sundrenched bodies from the shade of the carriage's overhead canopy. Obviously, we are an agreeable sight for we are discussed and compared with one another in great detail. Approvingly, they note our broad shoulders, narrow waists and the well- rounded curves of our buttocks. They speak admiringly about the play of the different muscle groups in our backs and at the way they interact with one another as we run. They speak glowingly of our strong muscular legs running in unison and Simon laughs at the "comical sight of our bouncing balls slapping against the inside of our thighs with each step we take". But it is our asses that intrigue them the most. They are the subject of much ribald comment and the two men laughingly compare our asses with one another and debate which one appeals to them the most.

My Master directs Simon's attention to Norge and points out that his is a "real pony's ass". He tells Simon it is all hard, lean muscle that exudes power; a power that is added to each time Norge is driven. He describes it as "most responsive to his whip" and to emphasise this point he applies his whip to Norge's ass in a series of short, sharp cuts that cause Norge to lunge forward in a vain attempt to outrun the whip's fiery stings.

Next their attention is drawn to Pollux. Both men share the common view that this is "an agreeably attractive ass" that would do sterling service in the most discerning of master's bed. My Master laughingly calls it a "whore's ass" and tells Simon how he'd been attracted to it by the way Pollux had presented it to him for his inspection through the bars of his holding pen. He tells Simon how Pollux had positioned his ass between two bars; spread his legs wide and "opened up" for inspection. But he tells Simon it was Pollux's alluring wriggle that had sold himself to my Master. He adds he'd found this irresistible and he'd had made an immediate offer to buy Pollux and not to wait until he went to auction. Fortunately, the agents acting for the estate of Pollux's deceased owner accepted his offer and Pollux now belongs to him. He tells Simon that Pollux is the first slave he has ever purchased and the lawyer congratulates him on his "excellent taste".

Simon asks in what capacity my Master will use Pollux. He replies that as yet he is undecided but Pollux will most definitely fulfil some preliminary duties in his bed chamber.

Now it is my turn and I hear Simon describe my ass as being "pert". It's an unusual description and I wonder about his use of this word. I try to recall the true meaning of pert and if my recollection is correct then I know it to mean cheeky. So Simon thinks I have a cheeky ass. Whether or not this is so I don't know.

My Master tells Simon how Lionel Schuster had mentioned my ass was one of my many attractive features, how it would be a major "selling point" working in my Master's favour and how buyers would see me as a "pleasure slave" because of it. Simon asks if this is to be my future. I hold my breath and wait to hear his reply.

"No Simon! I have other plans for Rafe. After he has undergone conditioning out at La Foret and he has been broken into harness, he's to be paired with Norge as a pony. I've decided to order a new two pony carriage for myself - one more in keeping with my new social position. And of course there'll a new, matching harness set for both Norge and Rafe. I want something that's different to the one Norge is wearing at present. I want their new harness to be more upmarket and a little more showy. I want my new carriage and ponies to be elegant - not ostentatious - but noticeable"

I'm relieved. My Master is to keep me and he has decided on my immediate future. I am to remain with Norge and to work alongside of him. I am happy at the thought that Norge and I are to stay together - at least for the foreseeable future. Then sadly I realise this is as much happiness as a slave can expect. Inevitably at some time in the future Norge and I will be parted. Some day our Master will decide to sell us - either singly or together. But until then I am to remain with Norge.

My thoughts are cruelly interrupted by the cruel sting of my Master's whip on my back.

"Rafe! Pick up your pace and stay in step with Norge. And you too Pollux!"

My Master is growing impatient and he drives Norge faster. Norge sets the pace and Pollux and I must match it.

I look around to see where we are heading; I know this part of town and with a sinking feeling I now know my Master's destination. He is on his way to the head-office of the Barrois business empire.

Once more we are left to stand and wait as our Master and his lawyer disappear through the wide double doors of the office block which is the nerve centre of the vast Barrois business empire. Until a few days ago this building had belonged to me exclusively and I think wistfully of the luxurious, air- conditioned office suite on the top floor of the building; the office suite which had been mine but sadly is no longer so. As a slave I am denied entry - indeed if I was foolish enough to even venture near its entrance I would be inviting the direst of punishment on myself - and I now stand before it as a naked outcast.

I am overwhelmed with a sense of grief and shame. Just being here rubs my nose in my misfortune; it emphasises the losses I have sustained over the past few days. And even as I grieve over those losses they are compounded. I watch as supervisors oversee my former slaves as they remove all signs bearing the name of the former Lucien Barrois from the front of the building. Tears well in my eyes as I see them replaced with newer, more elaborate signs with the name "Guy Maratier and Son" written prominently in gold lettering. The old Barrois family is no more. Now discredited and disgraced it is replaced by the new Maratier dynasty embodied in Guy Maratier and his son, Etienne.

I have no other recourse but to stand and wait on my Master. I feel a terrible loneliness and I begin to weep. But I'm not alone. Norge is by my side and he feels for me in my loneliness and my grief. He looks directly into my face and his eyes mirror my sadness. He doesn't smile and harnessed as he is he can't touch me but he speaks softly for my hearing alone.

"Rafe, it's all gone! It's all in the past. You need to forget everything and let it go! It's time to move on and I'll be here to help you".

However, my hand is free and I reach out and touch his gentle face and strong chest. It is my way of expressing my gratitude to him for his affection and support to me. And strangely, I do draw strength from him. Just the warm feel of his strong body beneath my hands encourages me to look forward. I know my future is bleak and it is without the promise of redemption but I draw solace from his friendship. Tearfully I respond to his kindness and I tell him from the very depths of my being.

"Thank you, Norge! Thank you so much! Norge, I love you!"

With all that has happened to me in recent days, Norge has been the one constant in the awful misery of my new life. His actions and words give me the will to continue into the future. And fortuitously it is a future that our Master has decided we'll spend together.

Suddenly relief comes to the three of us in the form of one of the company's outdoor slave porters. He carries water, drinking mugs and a bucket and he has been sent by our Master to give us water and to assist us to piss if required.

He recognises me as his former master and he taunts me.

"Welcome Master!" In addressing me in this manner the slave is being facetious. "Have you come to inspect your holdings?"

I remember this slave from a previous visit when I had found it necessary to have him severely caned. The weather on that occasion had been very wet and I recall how I had driven Norge through the driving rain to arrive here on time for some meeting or other - I can't recall whether or not it was an important one- but Norge had found the trip hard going and we were behind time.

I was very particular about punctuality and I had whipped Norge hard to arrive a few minutes before the appointed time. Thinking back, I realise how unfair I'd been to Norge that day. He'd given of his best and still I hadn't been satisfied. I had shouted at him to move his "lazy ass" and I whipped him furiously without making any concession to the fact that he was running into a head wind and driving rain. All I could think was that 'I am running late and Norge is to blame.'

But I did have a twinge of conscience after we arrived. I looked at Norge and I felt remorse. He was soaked to the skin and he was shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering. I became concerned for his wellbeing. But my concern wasn't for a fellow being; rather it was that of a master for a valued slave. After all, Norge was my personal pony.

I recall this slave hurrying forward with an umbrella to keep me dry as I alighted from my carriage and handing him my morning newspaper to hold as I retrieved my briefcase from the storage compartment. And he dropped my newspaper into a puddle of water. I hadn't as yet read the newspaper and now it was waterlogged and useless. I was furious. As a free man, I couldn't abide sloppiness or carelessness in a slave. This slave had grievously offended me and there was a price to pay for that.

I instructed him to move Norge out of the rain and into shelter and to give him a warm drink to help him thaw out. Then I instructed him to take himself to his supervisor with my request that he receive twenty stokes of the cane. I remember he blanched as I told him he was to be punished for his carelessness in dropping my newspaper and he'd begged for my forgiveness. But his pleading was in vain. That morning I wasn't in a forgiving mood.

Now he stands before me and taunts me.

He tells me there'll be no water for me. He reminds me of his caning and tells me as far as he's concerned

"You could be lying on the ground dying from thirst and I wouldn't even piss on you."

Such is his hatred of me that he now examines the marks of our Master's cane on my ass and as he runs his fingers over the angry, red welts. He laughingly asks.

"Did it hurt? ........ Master."

He takes pleasure in my distress and offers water to Pollux and Norge whilst ignoring me. Pollux takes his and drinks thirstily and asks for more. Norge on the other hand refuses to drink until I am given water and he tells the slave that I am now a slave like him and worthy of his compassion. He ignores me and asks Norge

"Where was his compassion when he was our Master? He never showed pity to any slave so why should he now expect it to be shown to him. I haven't any to extend to him. He can rot as far as I'm concerned."

But Norge persists and refuses to drink his water until I am also given water. He tells the slave that our new Master is quick to temper and should he return and find that his pony is still stressed from lack of water then the slave might well be punished.

The slave, chastened by Norge's words, now gives me my ration of water to drink. Running in the afternoon's heat under our Master's whip has made us thirsty and like Pollux, both Norge and I soon empty our mugs and we ask for more. Twice more, the slave refills our cups until our thirst is quenched.

Water has never tasted sweeter and the emptying of my bladder never more satisfying. Refreshed, we now wait on our Master. As the slave leaves us, he looks into my face and hisses.

"I hope you rot in the hell of your own making ................Master."

We don't have long to wait for our Master's return as shortly after, he and my former lawyer, Simon Barrow exit the hotel and walk toward us.

Both men are in a jovial mood. Obviously, all has gone well for them. I'm not to know - indeed it is no longer any of my concern - but the paperwork authorising the transfer of all my former assets to Guy Maratier has been finalised and all that was once mine now belongs to him. I am listed as one of my Master's many assets and officially, I am now his property. Now truly, I am his slave.

I watch as my Master shakes Simon Barrow's hand and I hear him issue an invitation to his upcoming cocktail party. I wonder if I'll be made to entertain him in the same manner that I'm to entertain my former friends.

Our Master takes his leave of his lawyer and for the rest of the afternoon he - and his whip - make sure all three of us run in unison through the sweltering heat as he drives Norge from one destination to another. He makes several more stops where we stand and wait patiently for our Master's return and two stops in particular fill me with foreboding.

One is at the practice of a slave veterinarian - and I wonder if this is related to my imminent skinning. But it is the last stop of the day that fills me with cold terror. We stop briefly at an ironmongers and I watch in horror as my Master returns carrying a new branding iron. Quite deliberately, he exposes it to my view and I can see it is the Maratier replacement for the old Barrois brand. As I look at it, I can feel its searing heat on my flesh. Consumed by my fear, I run silently alongside Norge on the long trip home.

I want desperately to be alone with Norge. I want to feel his strong arms encircle me and I need for him to ease away all the day's shame and humiliation. But most of all I need his strength to sustain me.

To be continued......