The Slave

by Laura Antoniou

  “Since physical check-ups and supervised medical care are specifically provided for in every standard contract, it is to the Marketplace’s benefit to have doctors available who will be able to treat patients and make examinations without being surprised or outraged or even embarrassed by the existence and appearance of slaves. And since psychological profiles are considered highly desirable, this team of two doctors has become enormously convenient. The fact that Emil still insists upon doing on-site work also gives him a competitive edge.”

  “I guess so. Finding two doctors who make house calls period is pretty amazing.”

  A chuckle. “Yes, there is that.”

  “But what about the other things? What about the bondage, the punishments, the sex?”

  “Oh, they’re almost always present,” Chris assured her. “They may be less emphasized, because of a slave’s usefulness in other areas, or they may be curtailed for lifestyle or disciplinary reasons. But slaves are rarely, if ever, permitted to forget or put aside their primary function, which is to be utterly available and useful to their owners for whatever purpose the owner identifies.”

  “Which sounds very hot,” Robin admitted, “until you realize that an owner may have something in mind that a slave would never expect. Like putting them to work in the family business.”

  “Exactly. The mark of the fetishist is the pleasure received in the sadomasochistic attention. The mark of the slave is in their devotion to their duties, regardless of their master or their work. It is not a common factor in humanity, although it is a recurrently persistent one. Greta has it. You might.” Chris glanced out the window. “Tonight, I expect you to be my companion, not my attendant. Use every minute you can. Learn all that you are able. Because if you return to me on Monday night, you must leave behind your old life with no regrets. Remember, Robin. Not every master will be Prince Charming.”

  “I was never very interested in royalty,” Robin replied.

  “That is to your credit,” Chris said. And they rode in silence for the rest of the trip.

  * * * *

  It was exactly as she had imagined such a gathering to be.

  The long private drive with a liveried servant instantly available to open the car door. The matching couple at the door who took coats and hats and murmured responses to questions in perfect upper-class accents. The guests, resplendent in evening wear, floating in and out of a large ballroom with a skylight exposing an inky night sky. And the servants―exactly as she had pictured them.

  Men and women, of years ranging from college age to grandfatherly. A few were stunning, absolute perfection in their bodies and their gleaming smiles. There were at least two types present, and her hungry eyes took in all the details possible. Some were totally clothed. She was drawn at once to the servants’ manager, who maintained a discreet distance from the guests, but directed the workers when they scurried back and forth carrying trays and running errands. He was dressed in a working tuxedo, but his collar chain was draped over his white shirt, the lock centered on his chest like a European order.

  “The best majordomos are still trained in Great Britain and Ireland, as he was,” Chris said to her as she watched the man send a pretty little slave on her way with a light swat to her rear. “Or so the majority of owners believe. The trick is to find someone with an absolute faith in organized hierarchy, who can both give and receive orders with maximum efficiency.”

  “Sort of like a Marine Lance Corporal in fancy dress,” Robin quipped.

  “Exactly!” Chris raised an eyebrow. “It should come as no surprise to you that many slaves had either served or wished to serve in various armed forces, looking for that precise manner of living. Of course, the Marketplace is a more equal opportunity employer than most military organizations.”

  The servers themselves were dressed (if you could call it that) in brief costumes designed to force the viewer to acknowledge and appreciate the form of the slave beneath. Low-slung bands of black silk caressed the hips, falling into a breechclout that dangled just above the pubis, hanging almost to the knees. The silk was weighted by a line of beaded fringe which danced in the light of the room, and made the band of silk fly and shimmer around the legs. Behind them, a narrower matching band fluttered, just an inch or so between the cheeks of the buttocks. Their flanks were bare. And each of them also wore a vest, the same color silk as their breechclout, clasped under their nipples with criss-crossed white ribbons.

  They hurried through the guests, bearing trays and messages, their smiles flashing and their voices low. Robin took a fluted champagne glass from a tray and smiled back at the man who had offered it, and he blushed, just a little.

  “I could really get used to living like this,” she said to Chris as they both admired the retreating form of the server.

  “Could you?” Chris sighed, and patted his pocket absently for cigarettes. “I couldn’t.”

  Before Robin could ask why, she noticed something red swoop down upon Chris from behind.

  “Parker! What on earth are you doing here?”

  The woman who was now hugging Chris with a warmth that made Robin blink in surprise was tall and attractive and ever so familiar and homey. Her burnt russet hair was pulled back into a bun, but stray wisps framed her face and bounced with every move. As she pulled back to look at the man at arms’ length, Robin realized that the woman was a lot older than she would have originally guessed. Her long, straight body and the thickness of her hair screamed thirties. But her mischievous deep brown eyes and the faint lines around them told a tale at least ten years older. Or more.

  “Ali,” Chris said amiably. “It’s always a pleasure.”

  “Then you should call me more often,” Ali said, swatting at his shoulder. “Instead of making me embarrass you at stuffy parties.”

  “You could never embarrass me. Please, may I present Robin, who is accompanying me tonight? Robin, this is Allison Cruz.” He performed the introductions with a semi-formal move that Robin had been practicing all week, a discreet nod of the head and shoulders that looked as natural as a handshake. Robin extended her hand, knowing that she still wasn’t nearly good enough at those little motions.

  Ali’s grip was firm and cool. “Pleased ta meet cha,” she said in an exaggerated accent. “Call me Ali, everyone does.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. Say, Parker, are the bosses here?”

  “No, they’re still in Europe.”

  “Oh, too bad! Wait, here’s my date. Listen, Robert’s here. You gotta see him, he’s been asking about you forever...” Ali half turned and waved to a slightly shorter and more buxom woman who was making her way through the crowd. Robin had to admire the view; it was quite substantial, but all in proportion to the woman’s other gifts. Rubensesque would actually be accurate for her, she reflected. Ali turned back to them and flashed a quick smile. “That’s my latest project. I better go keep her company. Good to see you, and great to meet you, Robin.”

  “She seems nice,” Robin said as Ali returned to her date. “Is she an owner?”

  “She is more of an agent than an owner. She handles a specialized corner of the Marketplace.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Transsexuals, or, to be more correct, the gender dysphoric. Which you could have probably surmised by the appearance of her date.” Chris gave a slight nod toward the two people now speaking in animated tones, fighting the muted sounds of the string quartet in the background. Robin really looked this time, and was amazed. If the tall woman who was Ali’s date was once a man, only her height might suggest it.

  “That’s some specialty.”

  “We all have our favored fields of endeavor.” With that, Chris offered no more on the topic, and led Robin through the party, making nods and introductions as he went. Robin lost track of about one third of the people she met, all a blur of tuxedos, shimmering gowns and dresses, and a sprinkling of people dressed in ways to display their property status.r />
  None of the guests were accompanied by a naked or obviously scantily dressed servant, which seemed a little strange, despite how out of place such a person might be in such company. But nevertheless, throats bore chains, or chests were bare under a formal jacket, or perhaps a skirt was cut very high, or slit deliciously to reveal nude flanks. It was tantalizing, playing a kind of identity game and spotting the owners and the owned. Could she imagine playing that role, standing behind such an elegant woman, and unobtrusively having that lighter at hand, or ready to take that drink with one sweeping movement of the arm?

  Oh, yes.

  Chris always introduced her simply as Robin, and no one asked a single question about who she was or what she was doing there. She was even introduced to someone she knew, a Matisse owner who collected seacoast watercolors. But he merely smiled, met her eyes knowingly, and continued on without commenting on their past acquaintance.

  Before she could ask Chris why, she saw that he was about to be accosted by a formidable man who was obviously pleased to see him. The newcomer was over six feet tall and broad around the chest. His receding hair was cut long, with locks dropping over his powerful shoulders. He would have looked somewhat like a professional football player, or perhaps a wrestler, if there wasn’t a hint of softness around his chin.

  Which made the sight of him kneeling in an almost full prostration before the much smaller man almost comical. But instead, Robin felt a shiver run through her. Around them, several people nudged out of the way, but no one seemed to pay any real attention beyond a quick glance.

  “You may,” she heard dimly. Chris was looking down, and after he released those two soft words, his lips compressed tightly.

  The man kissed Chris’s polished shoes quickly and lightly, not marring the gleaming surface, and then raised himself up to his knees. He was smiling, a pink flush showing around the close cropped beard. “Sir, I’ve been waiting for some time to be able to do that.”

  “And so you have. But you have forgotten how to address me, I see.”

  “Please, sir, I am under instruction by my Mistress to so address you, sir.”

  “Then of course you must. Please rise.”

  The big man rose again, and stood with his head slightly lowered. Chris reached out one arm to touch Robin lightly and said, “Robin, meet Robert. He had the opportunity to be tutored in his slavery for six weeks, by my employers. Robert, this is Robin, who is undertaking that training in two weeks’ time.”

  Robert raised his eyes slightly in surprise and respect, and gave her a friendly smile. Robin flushed, knowing that she was not expected to shake his hand, and feeling that such a nice, normal ritual might help her to gain some sort of serenity.

  “You are here with...?” Chris prompted.

  “Mistress Janelle and her friends,” Robert said smoothly. “Mistress has loaned me for the evening, sir. Please, may I ask a question?”

  “You may.”

  “Are Mr. Elliot and Ms. Selador here tonight?”

  “No, they are not. But I shall convey your respects to them if you wish.”

  Robert beamed. “Thank you, sir!”

  “And you may do me a service, if you are permitted, Robert.”

  “I would be honored, sir.”

  “Stay with Robin for a bit. I will go and make my own respects to Janelle.” Without turning to Robin or waiting for an answering nod, Chris took off into the crowd, leaving Robin with a man who dwarfed her. He looked down at her, still friendly and obviously cheerful.

  “May I get you a fresh drink, ma’am?”

  Robin eagerly traded her barely sipped but already flat champagne for a still sparkling flute, and then eyed Robert carefully. He seemed comfortable under her gaze.

  “Hi,” she said lamely.

  “Hello, ma’am!”

  “Um.” Robin put her brain in gear and found the phrase she needed. “I wish you would feel free to speak with me as a peer.”

  “Oh, thank you! That’s very kind. Are you in training now?” He moved a little closer, so that she wouldn’t have to speak up to be heard.

  “Yes. For one week.”

  “You must be very excited. I was. I was also terrified.”

  “You? Terrified?” Robin rolled her eyes. “Of what? A Panzer Division?” Robert blushed again, and Robin was amazed at what a charming thing it was.

  “Well, you wouldn’t have recognized me when I was accepted for training.” His eyes left her for a moment, following the path that Chris had taken. “I was a totally different person. I was confused, miserable. I still don’t understand why I was accepted at all. But they took me, and they helped me to change. Gave me a new way to look at things―a new perspective, if you will.”

  “That was a nice show of gratitude.”

  “It was less than what he deserves.” Robert fixed his eyes on her again. “I believe that if it were not for Chris Parker, I would have never made it through the training. He encouraged me every step of the way. He listened to my problems, and counseled me, and he was relentless in his discipline. In fact―” the man smiled, lost in his memories, “I used to think of him like a Drill Sergeant. He even gave us the same speech about what to call him. Have you ever heard it?” In answer to her headshake, he continued, “I knew a DS who started out every platoon with the same lines, about how they don’t call him ‘Sir,’ but ‘Sergeant,’ because he works for a living. Well, Chris settled that right from the beginning. It confused some of the others, but I knew what he was doing.”

  That was a fascinating bit of information, especially since she was supposed to call Chris “sir.”

  “What about the other two?” she asked. “His employers?”

  “The best people in the world! Mr. Elliot and Ms. Selador are amazing, just amazing. Why, they took one look at me, and knew immediately what I needed. And Ms. Selador, why she―she...” Again, his eyes glistened with memorable pleasures. “She is the most intuitive, wise, and just plain intelligent woman I’ve ever had the privilege to serve. She had no patience for dissembling. But she understood so much about me. I will love her always, and Mr. Elliot, too. They have my respect, and my gratitude. But Chris... I don’t know. Words don’t really exist to describe how I feel about him.” He seemed distressed at not being able to find those words, and Robin felt a stab of guilty compassion.

  “That’s all right. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just that Chris doesn’t talk about himself or his employers very much.”

  Robert nodded. “Yes, that sounds like him, all right. But he wouldn’t have left you alone with me without expecting you to question me. You always have to take advantage of any opportunity to learn. When you’re allowed something that might be forbidden later, take it, do it. That’s the most important thing I could tell you.”

  Robin took the advice eagerly, even though she had heard it before, from Chris, as a matter of fact. It seemed wonderful to hear it as a teaching and in practice as well. “It must have been great having other people in training with you,” she mused. “I have no one to talk to about these things.”

  “Oh, it was an experience with its benefits and drawbacks,” Robert said. “In the long run, I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet the people I trained with. They taught me a lot by example, good and bad. And one of them gave me a magnificent gift.” He blushed again. “But we spent far too much time not getting along with each other and complaining. Why, there was this one woman―” He cut himself off, and lowered his head with a shameful grin. “I mustn’t gossip. Please forgive me. The real point was that we became very aware of each other in six weeks, our histories, and our hopes, and then we all lost contact. That’s what happens when you get sold. So I don’t know what happened to any of them, and it’s not something I can ask about.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Well, because they aren’t family, and my Mistress can’t be expected to know about them. And I think it would be poking into their confidentiality to ask Chris about th
em. The best I can hope for is to run into one of them at an event like this.” His face fell. “But that hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Well...” Robin glanced away with an almost automatic move. How had she known that Chris was returning? She could see him now, shaking someone’s hand, obviously on his way back to them. She looked back up into Robert’s eyes, and asked, quickly, “Are you happy? I know, it looks obvious, but I need to hear it.”

  Robert grinned. “Oh, yes, Miss Robin. I wake up every morning and thank all the higher powers for what my life is now. And I think you will, too.”

  “You may return to your Mistress, Robert.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Robert turned easily with one of those eloquent nods, but Robin spoke quickly before he could move away. “Chris? I was just going to ask Robert what happened to the other people he trained with.”

  The trainer’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted sardonically. “I see. And were you about to answer, Robert?”

  The tall man turned his body back to face Chris and brought his hands behind his back, lowering his head. “I would be unable to answer that question, sir.”

  “As is only correct. After all, it would be none of your business that Claudia is at this moment the treasured companion slave and ruling hand in her Lady’s household. Nor would it be proper for you to know that Brian has entered the service of a much esteemed gentleman whose western estates are known for the talented and exceptionally hard-working young men who populate it.” Chris kept his voice steadily cold and harsh, as if delivering a lecture, and Robin couldn’t control the twitches of mirth that played around her mouth. But Robert listened with a serious hunger, keeping his eyes downcast.

  “And of his other companion in training, well, the less said about that one, the better. The situation turned out to be unfavorable for her and the house, and she was freed from her contract, and so we do not discuss her. Of course, Robert would be informed of that fact only if it had something to do with his current or future position. Robert―hadn’t you better be on your way?”