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Related article: Date: Sun, 7 Aug 2011 00:51:04 -0700 (PDT) From: Christian Debus Subject: "Changed Circumstances" Chapter 36 Gay Male/Authoritarian"CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES" A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 36: "Six Months Later" This is a story of erotic fiction xxx model tgp meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to"Chapter 36: "Six Months Later"For the past six months my life has centred on the onerous duties demanded of me at La Foret. Once this property had been mine; now I am just one of its many chattels belonging to its new owner, Guy Maratier.Today, all being well, I will graduate and be judged ready to return to the city to begin my work as one of my Master's human ponies. I'm unsure of what Master has in mind for me. However, I recall his original plan was to have me trained as a pony and then to pair me with Norge as a 'pair in hand'. I hope with all my heart that this is still to happen.I stand erect in the display position and try to hide my nervousness as my Master minutely examines me. Desperately, I hope I pass and he considers me ready to take home to the city with him. The thought uppermost in my mind is that I am to be re-united with my beloved Norge. I long for this to happen more than anything else that I have ever craved.Master praises me to his chief overseer, Claymore Jackson and compliments him on my progress.And at the risk of sounding immodest, Master's praise is well-founded. Claymore has wrought great changes in me both mentally and physically during the six months that I have been at La Foret.Although, strictly speaking, the most credit for my transformation should go to my special handler, Sir Conn. The young, black overseer has worked diligently with me to raise me to the high standard my Master demands of me.Over the past six months both Sir Conn and I have matured into our respective roles brain model educational ashley nextdoor model of obedient slave and confident overseer. Our roles were symbiotic and we have learned much from one another.These past months have transformed us both. Sir Conn has grown both in stature and confidence. He is now supremely self-assured and has earned the respect of his fellow overseers and the unqualified attention of super thin model the plantation's slaves. Sir Conn gained the respect of his peers through his pleasant manner and his willingness to learn and the attention of the slaves by his uncompromising firmness and the liberal use of his whip.Without doubt, I chose well when I'd agreed with Claymore Jackson to give him his apprenticeship.I stand proudly erect as my Master's hands roam over my body testing the strength of my sinews and the hardness of my muscles. Once I had flinched in shame at the mere touch of a free man's hands on my naked body; now I fully accept this as a free man's right to do so.To give my Master a greater appreciation of his property, I draw myself to my full height and tighten my body so that I am better displayed. With my hands clasped behind my head I push back my elbows and thrust out my chest. I have a new awareness of my body and I am proud of it. But my self-pride would be as nothing when compared to my Master's pride of ownership in me.His hands move swiftly to assess me. I haven't seen my Master all that much over the past six months. There were the few occasions when he'd had me taken from my labours and I had been presented to him for inspection. But these had been cursory examinations and were very different to this one which is proving to be more thorough. Consequently, I am unaware of the changes in my Master during those six months.He looks into my face and I lower my eyes out of respect for him. But in the split second that our eyes meet, I glimpse the remarkable changes wrought in him also. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>He teen model sander has about him the haughty manner that I had once possessed. But this is to be expected. He does, after all, possess the proud Barrois heritage even though he doesn't bear that name. The Barrois blood that flows through his veins is the same that flows through my own. However, bra child model his Barrios blood has been enhanced with that of the Maratier's whereas mine has been tainted by that of an obscure slave woman named Ophelia with whom my natural father had spent a few brief minutes of carnal pleasure. I am the unfortunate result of that union and I am paying a high price for Philippe Barrois' dalliance with one of his father's slaves.But Guy Maratier now possesses other newly acquired qualities. His air of shiftless poverty is no more. awsom bikini models He is now a man completely at ease with his new wealth and this has given him an air of self-assurance that he'd previously lacked. And he has matured. This is most evident in his treatment of me.He no longer taunts me and his need for revenge seems to be satiated. Today he treats me as he would any other of his slaves. Perhaps these past six months have been as big a transitional period for him as they have been for me. His life has gone from shabby poverty to immense wealth and he seems to have made the transition with some aplomb.Of course, I'm not privy to such matters, but in time I will hear more about him from his house slaves. They, like all house slaves, are a 'gossipy' lot and nothing delights them more than to furtively whisper about their Master and inevitably their tattle-tales will filter through to the stables where Norge and I are destined to share a stall. They will tell me that our Master moved quickly to establish his authority over the vast Barrois holdings; he'd listened with quiet diplomacy nude newbie models to those within the Barrois Empire who gave him sound advice and he had quickly removed those, who sought to take advantage of his inexperience. They'd found to their cost that Guy Maratier 100 schoolgirl model has a ruthlessness they'd not expected to find in him.Wisely, Guy had formed a special friendship with my former lawyer, Simon Barrow. Simon had made good on Judge Matthew's instruction to assist my Master in taking control of the vast, Barrois estate and with great foresight he'd moved swiftly to change the Barrois name to that of Maratier. In doing so, Simon had effectively neutralised any public animosity and backlash against the various former Barrois enterprises caused by my ignominious downfall.It would appear that Simon is the quintessential lawyer; from brain model educational all accounts, he is both scrupulously honest and beyond reproach and he now serves the interests of the new heir to the Barrois fortune as conscientiously as he'd served my grandfather and me. In doing so, he teen model sander has proved his worth and Guy relies on Simon's sound judgement to the extent that Simon Barrow now works exclusively for the newly rebadged Maratier enterprises. In fact, Simon's position within the business conglomerates is second only to that of my Master's own.On a more personal level, both Guy and Simon feel a genuine, mutual affection for one another and they have become inseparable. Eventually when I am returned to the city, I will hear the house slaves' gossip that suggests a stronger, physical relationship exists between the two. Certainly, I'll notice that Simon is a frequent overnight visitor to my Master's home. And this won't surprise me. Simon always had great sex appeal for me. I was unsure of his sexual orientation and this uncertainty - and my fear of being rebuffed - had stopped me from making any advances. I did after all have my pride to consider. Perhaps I was wrong to hesitate in view of what the house slaves are to tell me.Simon had also been instrumental in having an earlier court ruling - granting custody of Guy's son, Etienne to his mother - overturned. Master Etienne is now in his father's custody and is being groomed as the heir apparent to the Maratier fortune. I photography model will learn that Master Etienne now attends the exclusive school where I'd received my education. As it did with me, the school will prepare him for his future role as a "young gentleman of means".But perhaps Master's most significant change was to free himself from the dominance brain model educational of his grandmother, Charlotte Maratier. He did this so succinctly that she'd not even suspected his motives. And he achieved this by his lavish spending on her behalf.My Master had grown up very much in his grandmother's shadow. Always formidable and bitter, he was her only weakness. He was the one redeeming feature in the bleakness of her unhappy existence and he was the focus of her suffocating affection. And through him, she'd sought revenge on the Barrois family who had rejected her so many years ago.Poor Guy! From his earliest years, she had regaled him with her litany of hate and instilled in him the need for vengeance against her family. Inevitably, he shared her hatred of the Barrois name and the need for retribution but he lacked her malevolence. His hatred of me was never as intense as Charlotte Maratier's and in the six months I have been at La Forˆt it has mellowed to such an extent that I am no more or no less than any other of his slaves.Guy is grateful to his grandmother; after all he owes his current good fortune to her efforts in exposing me as slave progeny and therefore not the legitimate heir to the Barrois fortune. No, he is immensely grateful to her - and he genuinely loves her. But in recent years her sour disposition and pathological hate-filled ranting have cast a pall of gloom over him and he wanted - indeed he needed - to break free of her.And so, he'd moved quickly and decisively to remove her from his household and to establish her in one of her own.Guy had spent extravagantly. He'd bought a luxurious mansion surrounded by well- established gardens at a suitably discreet distance from his own home and he'd equipped chinese model naked it with luxurious furnishings and valuable "objet d'arts" that reflected her newly restored status. He also staffed it with enough slaves to satisfy her every whim and recognising the strong bond that existed between his grandmother and the young slave, Ben, he had made a present of him to her.From all accounts, Master is my model nonude genuinely surprised by this unlikely alliance between his elderly grandmother and the young slave. chinese model naked Briefly, he'd worried about their close relationship but the notion that Ben was his mistress's 'toy-boy' was too preposterous to contemplate and he'd quickly dismissed it from his mind. Nevertheless, it is completely out of character for Charlotte to show such warm affection to any individual- least of all to a slave.But I know from personal experience that Ben has an engaging personality and when I was his master, he'd been a firm favourite of mine. Cannily, he'd used his wiles and considerable sex appeal to win my favour and indulgently, I had allowed him a degree of latitude I denied 100 schoolgirl model to my other slaves. And it would seem his winning loilita models ways had melted through Charlotte Maratier's icy exterior.It is now six months since my no obligation, free appraisal by the slave-dealer, Lionel Schuster. That same day, Master blue teen model had engaged Lionel Schuster to find him a perfectly matched pair of slaves - preferably identical twins - to my model nonude black models drunk serve as bearers for the new sedan chair which he'd specially commissioned for his grandmother. This was a 'special order' - such slaves as Master required are extremely rare - but the dealer had recently found a suitable pair. I believe Master was delighted with them; so much so that he'd paid a special bonus to the dealer and acceded to his request not to ask any questions as to how he came by them.As a free man, I was well aware Lionel Schuster had a reputation for shady dealings and in all probability, the unfortunate brothers were somehow spirited away from their home and familiar surroundings into a slavery that now sees them serve as beasts-of-burden. In time I will become familiar with the slave twins as our paths cross popular supermodels from time to time. On those occasions I'll give thanks that Norge and I are used a ponies and not as bearers of Charlotte Maratier's sedan chair.In designing the chair, our Master had not given thought to the slaves' capacity to bear its heavy load. He'd gone for style over substance; flamboyance instead of good taste and the result was a cumbersome conveyance heavily decorated in the baroque style. Indeed its load was so heavy that it soon became necessary for Ben to accompany his Mistress on her outings. Armed with a short whip, he walked alongside the sedan art and models chair constantly encouraging the bearers as their bodies strained and their legs buckled under the enormous load of both the chair and their Mistress.As first Charlotte's sedan chair and her two strapping slaves provoked much discussion and some mirth among the "old moneyed families" who resented her sudden re-emergence as a dominating force within the city's social hierarchy. But fearful of social ostracism, they wisely made sure she never heard their comments. And to her delight, Charlotte's chair started a new trend. Now more and more sedan chairs naked man models can be seen moving through the city's street.This new arrangement of two separate households works well for both Guy Maratier and his grandmother. Guy is now undisputed Master of his household while Charlotte pretteen model holds "queenly court" from her new home. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Master's hands sweep down over my chest and belly. He pauses long enough to tease my nipples into proud erection and then to gauge the depth of my navel with his index finger. He cups my heavy balls in one hand and gently squeezes them as he strokes my semi- tumescence into life. He steps back to look at his handiwork; my cock now juts out at right angles to my lower belly. He smiles his approval and comments."Well Claymore! The pony shows well. That's good! It will complement my other pony splendidly."Master is speaking of Norge who is standing patiently alongside Claymore Jackson's pony, Jake. Obviously both ponies have been driven hard and even though their legs have stopped quivering and their breathing has returned to normal, their bodies are still lathered in sweat.It is early afternoon and the sun is still climbing towards its child portal models fiery zenith. Its oppressive heat beats down on our unprotected bodies - how I envy my naomi teen model Master and the overseers their broad brim hats which protect their heads - and I too am perspiring profusely. My sweat doesn't seem to upset my Master as his hands continue to glide over my nakedness.Exposure to the sun over the past six months has darkened my skin to an attractive deep tan that now matches that of Norge. Even my nether regions - once a ghostly white - have been incorporated into my overall tan.My body is smooth and I wear the closely cropped hair style of a pony - the stable slaves groom me twice a day by hosing me down and oiling my body which highlights my musculature and keeps my skin supple. In fact, it would be true to say I have lived a papered existence these past three months. This is in direct contrast to the unremittingly hard labour of my first three months toiling in the fields or on the water-wheels and pumps that keep the water flowing through La Forˆt's intricate system of canals and irrigation channels.Initially, the head overseer, Claymore Jackson had considered it necessary to toughen me and to build up my cardio-vascular and muscular strength by having me work as a field slave for those first three months. He took a personal interest in me and he'd placed me under the control of my own special handler, Sir Conn.Even so, and despite his busy schedule, he'd call by several times during the day to check on my progress. He'd have me pause whatever it was that I was doing and examine my body as he questioned Sir Conn as to my work output and attitude. He would ignore me - in his eyes I was merely a slave - and make suggestions to my young handler as to how he could have me do better. And it has to be said that Sir Conn always acted enthusiastically upon those suggestions. Sir Conn has a strong, right arm and wields a heavy whip. I can vouch for that and I learned early to obey him.I was sorely tested during those first three months and if I'd considered it would be easy defloration girls models to give in and die then I was wrong. Even in the worst of adversity, I discovered I possessed a spark of survival that made me want to live - even as a slave. And always at the forefront of my mind was the thought that with each passing day I was that closer to being re-united with Norge. naomi teen model He was the one bright light bikini models in the dark firmament of my existence and it was he who my model nonude sustained me through those awful first days at La Foret.I missed Norge dreadfully! I missed his wise super thin model words of advice and I longed for his unstinting support. But most of all, I missed his touch and his smell. As I rested in my security cage, protected from the predations of my fellow slaves, my body ached defloration girls models for the tight embrace of his arms and the feel of his strong, muscular body pressed close into mine. I missed the iron- rod hardness and heat of his cock crossing swords with my own cock and the sensation of it nestled comfortably within my ass-crack. But most of all, I wanted to feel it buried deep within me.From time to time, I did see Norge. Whenever my Master visited La Foret, he would drive Norge on his tours of inspection and we would be close to one another. Of course we were forbidden any interaction and we had to remain silent. But Norge's eyes spoke the words that his tongue couldn't and always they encouraged me to continue. And I sensed if Norge could speak to me he would tell me how proud he is of my progress.At the sight of Norge, my heart would race and my cock would swell with my love for him. And always, my Master and his two overseers, Claymore Jackson and Sir Conn would note my state of arousal and comment favourably on my "good showing" which augers well for my new role as a pony.I have been in pony training for the past three months and I have been under Claymore Jackson's tutelage. He has taken sole responsibility for my training and his training methods are firm but just. As long as I give of my best, he treats me fairly and holds back on his whip. The pony stables are infinitely preferable to the slave stables and I have my own child portal models stall adjacent to the pony Jake. Sometimes, in the dead of night we talk about Norge. As a pony in training, I am well fed, kept well groomed and I have clean straw bedding to sleep on.My Master's visits have been infrequent of late and I can only assume his many business interests occupy his time elsewhere. Since I have been in the stables, this is his first visit and tonight, to my delight, Claymore Jackson will stable Norge in Jake's stall. Perhaps, we'll have the opportunity to talk and I can tell Norge of my progress.Proudly I will tell Norge, I now accept the inevitability of my changed circumstances and want nothing more than to serve alongside of him. And I am justifiably proud of my progress; I have come a long way since my enslavement. I have moved from bitter despair into final acceptance of my new station in life. I now accept that I am a slave. And in my acceptance, I have found a new peace of mind and a degree of contentment.However, it wasn't always like this and I think back to when I'd commenced my labours at La Foret. Even now I shudder at the horrors of those first, terrible days. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The memory of my first night in model trains the slave stables will linger with me forever. How can I ever forget the torments suffered by my unfortunate fellow slave, Pollux? I still hear his wild cries and his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as his tormentors raped him.I watched from within the safety of my security cage and at first I'd tried to shut out the sights and sounds of Pollux's suffering. But his pitiful entreaties overrode my vain efforts to ignore him and eventually, like a moth drawn to a lighted candle, I watched in fascinated horror as he was cruelly abused.The darkened interior of the stables assumed a nightmarish quality and as I watched the naked, contorted bodies of my new slave brethren writhing and wrestling to be next in line to use Pollux, I was reminded of the tormented souls in "Dante's Inferno". That night, I am sure Pollux suffered all the terrors of Hell.I think my unavailability only worsened Pollux's plight. Unable to reach me through the stout bars of my security cage, they had centred their rage and frustration on him and he bore the brunt of their brutal assaults. If I'd been accessible there'd have preeteens models us been two of us to share among the more dominant, aggressive slaves.The more docile of the slaves huddled placidly together against one wall watching with disinterest as Pollux was cruelly molested. No doubt, they were thankful that they were being left alone. On any other night, they would be pestered by their more aggressive companions. However, that night, there was 'newer, fresher meat' to be savoured by the dominant slaves and the timid slaves welcomed this chance for an unmolested rest. Overcome by the rigours of their day's labours, many of them simply slept oblivious to Pollux's ordeal. As victims, why would they show concern for Pollux? The next night and on subsequent nights, I will witness their brutal raping.Soon the cavernous interior of the stables was in darkness and mercifully I was no longer able to watch. But my ears still heard Pollux tearfully begging to be spared and the orgiastic grunting and groaning of his brutish abusers.I had no idea such things were possible. When I was the owner of these slaves, I was oblivious to the horrors now taking place before me. As I try to shut out the xxx model tgp sights and sounds of Pollux's dreadful ordeal, I am reminded that, as their Master, I'd paid no heed to the conditions under which my slaves existed.No one had told me of these things and perhaps my former overseers decided I shouldn't be troubled by them. It would've been so easy for me to art and models lay the blame with the overseers. But it was less easy for me to absolve myself of my complicit guilt for my past indifference. This guilt must lie with Lucien Barrois. It was his disregard for his slaves' naomi teen model well-being that had allowed their degeneracy to fester and flourish within La Foret's stables. And he must share in some of the blame for what was happening to Pollux.And I reflected on bitter irony in all this. The Master, Lucien Barrois had sown the seeds for the harvest that I, the slave Rafe, would now harvest.I will find time moves slowly in the slave barracks and that first night, in its dark interior, black models drunk I have no idea for how long Pollux suffered. Eventually his struggles ceased - I can only assume he'd "surrendered" - and his protests fell silent and were replaced with his soft crying.Inevitably his ordeal ended when his abusers had satiated their lust and he was left to rest huddled in a corner on his own. I'd never liked Pollux. I'd resented his air of self-importance and his arrogance. But that night I felt great sympathy for him. He had been stripped of his humanity and had his spirit crushed.The next morning, when we were taken out to work, I saw a "new" Pollux. His easy- and annoying - swagger had vanished. Wild-eyed, battered and bruised, he was but a shell of the self-preening, overreaching slave that Master had bought from Lionel Schuster. Broken by the night's events, he sought sanctuary among the more timid slaves. He was now one of their numbers and he'll be subjected to the same frightful, nightly abuses teenie girl models that are their lot at the hands of their more aggressive fellow slaves.Pollux never recovered from the horrors of his first night in the slave barracks.I was parted from Pollux the next morning. As boy dime model I was led away to begin mega models naked my labours on the waterwheel, Pollux was placed in a work gang and taken to a distant field. During the day our paths seldom crossed but I did see him each night in the stables. There, I noticed how, whenever a dominant slave approached him and slapped him on his ass, he would, with hopeless resignation, fall onto his hands and knees and open up his body to fresh torment.The memory of my first night in the slave barracks brain model educational still haunts me. And yet, I was lucky for I slept - fitfully - in the safety of my security cage. After Pollux's repeated raping, an air of normality returned to the stables as the slaves slept in readiness for tomorrow's labours.Sleep eluded me at first and I was left to contemplate my new surroundings. My senses were revolted by the vileness of my new home. I listened to the sounds of the slumbering slaves; their noisy grunting and groaning and their loud farting disturbed the night silence and the stench of their unwashed, sweaty bodies permeated the air I breathed.Since my enslavement, I have often been reminded of my changed circumstances and I had begun to think of myself as a mere beast of burden. However that night, for the first time, I saw myself reduced to the status of a farmyard animal sleeping in a barn with its companions. That night, I was at naked man models the nadir of black models drunk my despair and I wept for all I had lost.But I did eventually fall into a fitful sleep and I wasn't awake to see the first rays of the sun pierce the gloom of the stables. My introduction to the new day was more dramatic. I was teen model potal awakened by the loud, impatient shouting of the black overseers and the loud cracking of their whips. And my awakening was even more personal as Sir Conn prodded me into alertness through the bars of my cage with his whip handle."WAKE UP, DUMB ASS!" He shouted impatiently. "It's time to get you out and working."With that, the young overseer opened the front of my cage and ordered me out. I was forced to crawl out on all fours and as I did so, he swiped his whip handle across my ass."HURRY ALONG, BOY! Move your lazy white ass! I need to get you working and I don't have all day to do it. MOVE IT!"Sir Conn has been appointed as my personal "one -to -one" handler and he moves swiftly to assert his authority over me. Supremely confident, he orders me into the display position. Purposefully, he walks around me examining me from every angle. As he does so, I am vaguely aware of the other slaves being whip-driven from the stables to begin their day's labours."Dumb ass! Let you and me get to understand one another. Whenever I speak - YOU JUMP! Do you understand me boy?""Yes Sir!""SPEAK UP, BOY! When I speak to you I want to hear you answer me loudly and clearly. I don't want to hear any mumbling or stuttering. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?""YES SIR!" I answer in a loud and concise tone which pleases the young overseer."Good boy! You learn quickly, slave. Perhaps you're not as dumb as you look. Now let me lay down the ground rules for your behaviour. ARE YOU LISTENING?""YES model young casting SIR!""Good! gap kid modeling Then listen carefully for I'm only going to tell you once. The first thing you need to remember is that your Master has placed you under my control. Do you understand that, child portal models boy?""YES SIR!""Well then! The most important thing for you to understand is that I am in charge; I give the orders and you obey IMMEDIATELY AND WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT. I'll only gap kid modeling ever tell you something once so LISTEN CAREFULLY to what I tell you. Do you understand me, boy?""YES SIR!""Good boy! I like that. Always remember to answer me loud and clear.""YES SIR!""And remember to always show the proper respect, not just to me, but to all the overseers.""YES SIR!""And boy! Don't let my age fool you. I may be younger than you but I do intend to control you as your Master and Mr Jackson have instructed me to. If you upset me, you'll soon feel my whip on your back.""YES SIR!""Tell me, slave. Have you tasted the whip yet?""YES SIR! Master used his whip on me as I ran alongside his pony on his way here yesterday."You mean his driver's whip? That's not a whip; it's a toy! I mean a real whip like this one."The overseer flicks his wrist and I watch as his whip uncoils itself like some venomous, black snake preparing to strike out at its prey. Some four to five feet in tapering length, its trails along the floor and it strikes fear into me.Only recently, at Claymore Jackson's urging, I had done away with the old-fashioned bull- whips that had been in use at La Foret since time immemorial and replaced them, again on Claymore's recommendation, with imported sjambok whips from Africa. These are made from closely plaited strips of hippopotamus or rhinoceros art and models hide and are so much more effective than the older type of whips still used by most slave-owners. Certainly, reports I had received as Lucien Barrois, suggest they were instrumental in increasing the plantation's slaves daily output quite considerably.I gaze in fascinated horror at Sir Conn's whip. Its effect on me is hypnotic; I am spellbound by its sinister beauty.It's true! I haven't as yet felt a real whip on my body. But that is about to change."Turn around boy! Put your hands on top of your head!"I read the intent of the overseer's instruction to me. Instinctively, I know he is about to put his whip to my back. Fearfully, I hesitate and I earn his justifiable wrath."Slave, I said turn around and put your hands on top of your head. DO IT! NOW!"Trembling, I brace myself by placing my feet apart and straightening my body. Fearfully, I now wait for the lash to strike. My mind is besieged by troublesome thoughts. Uppermost is how will I re-act to the whip?On occasions, I have been witness to slaves being whipped and one thing that now occurs to me is the various ways in which they responded to the whip. Some were stoic and maintained a stubborn silence as the lash cut into their flesh. Others vented their frustrated rage by shouting abuse at their overseers and thereby earning more punishment for their troubles. Others simply screamed or whimpered. I decide I will try and maintain my silence.But I am about to find that no amount of physical or mental preparation teen brandi model can prepare you for the agony of the whip.Behind me I hear the sharp crack of the whip as Sir Conn takes deliberate aim at my unprotected back. I listen to the whip's fearful whine as it travels through the resisting air and the loud "thwack" as it wraps itself around my upper back and chest. Momentarily, I am winded; then my lungs explode with my agonised scream of pain. Even before my scream subsides, I feel the sharp tug as Sir Conn pulls the whip away from me. But my respite is all too brief. Now, the lash reaches out and coils itself around my lower back and belly and once more I hear my disembodied scream. I look down and see that I am held in the whip's painful embrace; its sinuous coils wrap around me with python like constriction. I hear my soft sob of pain as once again Sir Conn yanks the lash from my body."Well slave, you have now tasted a real whip. You can expect to feel it much more. It will be a part of your life from now on. GET USED TO IT, BOY!""YES SIR!"I have no other recourse but to agree wholeheartedly with this youth who now controls me so completely.My body is aflame with the unbearable pain of the whip and I am convinced Sir Conn has laid open my back and that I am bleeding profusely. But I am wrong.Mindful of my Master's instruction that I'm not to suffer permanent damage or disfigurement, Claymore Jackson has had Sir Conn practise his whip strokes on some unfortunate wretches in the field -gangs whilst he waited for my arrival at La Forˆt. They weren't as fortunate as me; his initial inexperience ensured they suffered much.But as they say - practice does makes perfect - and Sir Conn applied himself diligently to the task of mastering the finer techniques of using the whip. He is now quite adept at delivering a stroke that engenders the maximum amount of pain without breaking the skin.And I will be a living testament to his adroitness with the whip.To be continued.......
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