The Slave

by Laura Antoniou

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, and Robin flushed even as she smoothed the little black dress over her body.

  “How do you know?” she asked, not looking at him.

  “It’s part of my job. Get it out of your mind, or you’ll think about it all night.” Another slow drag, followed by a thin stream of blown white smoke.

  She faced him and knotted her fingers together behind her back. “Sir. I’m sorry sir, but you’re right, I can’t stop thinking about it. Please, was there some reason why you never...” Words suddenly failed her. Made love to me? Used me?

  “Fucked you?” he offered. He smiled as her blush deepened. “It’s simple, girl. If I had, you would have misunderstood our relationship. I am your trainer, not your lover or master. You haven’t had enough experience to understand the nature of the distinctions, so I made it easier for you by denying you the one thing that you really do expect of your lovers or your future owner.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, looking down. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, but you’re excused. This one last time. Just remember; very few people in the Marketplace will behave as your logic or your fantasies expect them to. We are truly a breed apart. We are neither the royalty of fantasy nor the pragmatic poseurs of your comfortable old S and M scene.” He used a tone strikingly like Ken’s when he mentioned her origins. “It has become a cliché to advise someone to expect the unexpected. But you will learn in time. Now gather what is left and prepare to leave, the car will be here presently.”

  In the car, he lit up another cigarette, and smoked it with the same thoughtfulness he used in the bedroom. Then, with a final deliberate gesture, he ground the butt out in the ashtray and crumpled up the empty pack.

  “That’s it for that,” he sighed.

  “Giving it up?”

  “Hmm. Yes. My employers are very strict―” he paused again, and that wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “about their non-smoking policy.”

  “But why did you take it up?” Robin couldn’t help but grin. It seemed ludicrous. “You work there most of the year, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I do. But I like to smoke. So when I take a vacation apart from the house, I do.” He turned toward the window, and watched as the limo pulled up to a toll booth.

  Robin folded her hands in her lap and tried to keep calm. But she kept sneaking glances at her trainer with puzzled looks. No, there was still plenty about him that was a mystery. Somehow, that seemed a little comforting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Robin knelt on the sturdy, padded surface of the altar-like stand that bore the same number that now hung around her throat instead of the elegant silver lock. Chris had taken the old chain and lock away just before leaving her, accepting her desperate kisses on the palm of his hand before he soothed her back down into position.

  “Do not look at the other slaves,” he had cautioned her. “Do not turn your head, raise your eyes without command, or show that you are eavesdropping. Under no circumstances should you even react to the sound or sight of someone reading your file.” He had posed her, firmly and with a demanding expertise, and looked her in the eye one last time before he left her to kneel in silence. “If you embarrass me,” he whispered, trailing one finger down between her breasts, “I’ll never forgive you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she had whispered back. Trembling seemed about to overtake her entire body, but his careful “shushes” and calm stroking worked their perversely appropriate magic on her.

  When they had arrived at the house and she stripped, they had been surrounded by dozens of people, some slaves, some free, running around in last minute preparations. Muscular men, stripped to stylized jock straps, wrestled podiums into position and set up tables and chairs in the bidding room. Chris had some paperwork to take care of, and she was given a cursory look-over by the man that Chris identified as the regional director before she was allowed to enter the viewing room.

  There, she saw the special stands for the slaves to be displayed on, and froze. The reality hit her like a freight train. How could I have ever believed I was ready for this? She asked herself this question over and over again as Chris registered her for a number and was told where her spot was. And when he snapped his fingers, she found herself moving forward out of some automatic response.

  There, he made the final preparations. After affixing a pair of nipple clamps to her, he examined her for the last time, smelling her body and breath, touching her skin, and smoothing it with lotion where it was dry. He gloved himself and had her bend over so that he could lubricate her asshole, putting a cool salve into her so that she could be easily examined there. He had smiled briefly when he discovered that she needed no such aid for her cunt, which had already begun to open in its own transformation. In fact, by the time he finished with her asshole, she was thoroughly wet in both of her nether regions. Then, after he discarded the gloves, he fixed her hair, put her on the stand and posed her in the proper position. The last thing her did as he packed the gear away was remove the clamps, leaving her nipples erect and tingling.

  She had not been the first slave positioned for the sale. On another stand, to her left and ahead of her, was a young man, dark-skinned and wiry. His head was shaven, and gleamed in the bright light of the room, and he was pierced with silver rings in his nipples and through the head of his cock. He knelt tall, with a straight back and tautly held legs and arms, a study in tension. He reminded her of a track runner, poised for the starting gun. His trainer, or perhaps owner, rubbed his skin down with a soft cloth, as though he were polishing a statue.

  Robin had her back to the wall, and within her vision could see two stands without turning her head. On her right, just beyond her field of vision, making it necessary for her to turn to see it, was a podium that held her portfolio. People could read it without her knowledge, if she remained in the proper position.

  Hanging from the side of the podium was a thick leather paddle.

  The room filled quickly. On one combined stand, a pair of twins posed, pale-skinned redheads with dancing bright eyes and playful, wide mouths. To Robin’s right, another man was posed, this one in his forties, his hair cut in a standard business style and his body a network of decorative body modifications. Tattoos wound up his back and around his legs, and the clean lines of old cuts in his skin showed as pale scars and raised white skin, marking off patterns of careful, painful artwork. She could see some of the pictures: a woman’s leg, wearing thigh-high boots, a chained tiger. Like the man on her left, he was also pierced, but more extravagantly, with two rings in each nipple and several barbells under his cock, with rings placed around his heavy ballsac. His belly button had two rings, one on each side.

  But dress him in a suit, and he would look like any other businessman on the street. Robin wondered if he was something dull, like a tax accountant. Or maybe something like a banker, or an estate lawyer. And he would do his work and come home to his master or mistress, strip off his power tie, and have all those wonderful places on his body that were made to be tormented and played with, admired and altered yet again.

  One slave walked in on a leash and took Robin’s breath away. She was tall, and crowned with a silvery mass of hair that came down her body in waves. But when she passed within better view, Robin almost forgot to breathe entirely. For although the slave had beautiful, upswept breasts topped with pert nipples, between her legs was a man’s cock, lying tumescent over a natural pair of balls.

  Two for the price of one, was Robin’s thought as she regained her air.

  She saw people of all kinds bringing their naked slaves in, and tried to remain still as they passed out of her line of sight. It was true, many of them seemed much more attractive than she was. Damn. She wished she were taller, or blonde. Or had those long legs, or those big, rounded breasts. But there was no point in crying over it now. She flexed her muscles as Chris taught her, and thanked him silently for the workouts and the intense treatments she had received
earlier that day. She felt great, energized and relaxed. In fact, if it weren’t for the anxiety that still made her want to throw up, she’d be just fine.

  Some of the same slaves who served at the party last week flitted in and out of the room, now in a different abbreviated costume that still served to make their bodies available and attractive. I wonder what their closets look like, Robin thought, trying to relax some more. Sixteen different outfits made of less than two feet of cloth?

  The stands filled steadily with one slave after another, until they were all there. Trainers and owners and agents came by for last minute posings, polishings, and to put gags in place for those who were not trained sufficiently to answer a prospective owner properly. Chris brought a gag, but placed it between Robin’s knees, to indicate that she was newly voice trained, and this was her first sale with that qualification.

  His eyes told her, “Don’t fail.” And then he patted her gently and opened her file. Within the room, the only sounds were the shuffling and rustling noises of paper being arranged, and the light tinkling of chain.

  The trainers left the room, and for one minute, the slaves were left alone.

  Robin fought the urge to break her position and look around. It was agonizingly difficult. She heard a muffled giggle come from the right side of the room, and clenched her fists in order to keep her eyes forward and down.

  And then the wide double doors opened again, and the buyers started to come in.

  They were as varied as the slaves they were coming to see, old and young, Anglo-Saxon and European and Asian and in all shades of skin tone. Their voices rose in admiration and scorn, calling each other for greetings, recognition, and praise; and English was not the only language they spoke. They were beautiful and poised, and they were dead common and brash. Robin glimpsed formal dress mixing with the worn blue jeans and translucent silk of the intensely wealthy. But she kept her head steady and did not raise it, until someone paused before her.

  He touched her chin to lift her head up, and she found herself looking at an elderly man, white-haired and slender. His eyes were hard though, with a light of fanaticism, and as he turned her head to one side and then to another, she felt afraid. When she shuddered, he smiled. But without a word to her, he simply walked away, not even looking at her papers.

  Which I don’t mind one bit, she thought.

  Before she got back into proper position, she saw someone out of the corner of her eye and gasped. Chris had warned her that there might be relatively famous people at the sale, but she hadn’t expected the steady voiced television newsman who was so clearly examining the red-haired twins across the room. How many times had she tuned to his show to hear him intone some important news story, making that sexy eye contact with the camera, his face a carefully worked series of reactions that acted as their own subtle editorials concerning the issues at play?

  What if I get sold to a celebrity? she thought in a moment of heady exhilaration. Think of all the people I could meet!

  Naked and available, came a sudden reminder. Utterly available to them, and to their friends.

  Oh God, I hope he doesn’t look my way.

  This wasn’t turning out the way she thought. She fought off a brief wave of panic just in time to have her attention caught by a woman standing to her right. By the rustling sounds, she knew that someone was reading her papers.

  “Oh look, she’s new.”

  “You could tell that from the door,” came the sarcastic reply. It was a man’s voice.

  “Well, there’s some charm in having a baby around. Besides, she’s from Parker.”

  “The house?”

  “No, just him. Here, look.”

  More rustling sounds, until Robin would have given anything for just a glance at them, and what they looked like. What their eyes were like.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “What could we do with her? She’d have to be retrained, and we have no use for... what is she? An art appraiser, auction buyer, whatever? Please.”

  “But she’s cute. And think of the fun we could have training her.”

  “Think of the hours of work.”

  Suddenly, a hand stroked Robin’s hip, and she flinched, just a little bit. The hand trailed up, along her arm, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man attached to it. He was tall, and had a dome-shaped head that was losing its hair. His eyes were a watery blue under heavy lids. He cupped one breast in his hands and pinched her nipple sharply. She hissed in an answering breath.

  “Oh I don’t know,” he said, pinching the other for good measure. “Let’s look at the others.”

  And they went on without letting Robin ever see the woman.

  She saw some of the people she had seen last week. The Matisse owner stopped to examine her, with a friendly and teasing look in his eye. Slipping a finger inside her and finding her wet, despite her fears, he chuckled. Keeping it there, he asked her, in a serious tone, whether she had seen an exhibit last month at the Met. Looking him in the eye and blushing deeply as he flicked that finger in and out of her, she answered, “Yes, sir,” and her voice cracked just a bit. He laughed, and wiped his hands on the towel that was rushed to his side by one of the scantily clad slaves in attendance in the room. But he didn’t look at her file, and she wasn’t sure how disappointed she was about that.

  The first person to beat her was a stout man with a southern accent. He examined her roughly and quickly, pinching and stroking her, and then pushed her forward without warning. She didn’t even see how the paddle ended up in his hand, but it smashed into her cheeks with a heavy force that made her whimper, just slightly. Bracing herself for more, she took about a dozen of them, all heavy and thudding, and then felt his fingers pull her ass cheeks apart.

  The exposure flooded her with delicious shame.

  “Are you tight, little girl?” he asked, leaning over her, his fingers poised for penetration.

  “Yes, sir,” she whispered back. Chris had assured her that she was. And as he pushed into her, she moaned.

  Such a slut, a little voice in her head insisted. Such a slut.

  “Well now, let’s see whatcher good fer,” the man said as he walked around her to examine her papers. When he left without another word, she rose back into the proper position, flushed and just a little bit tired.

  Don’t worry about the time, Chris had instructed her. It will be the longest evening of your life. It’ll be over before you know it.

  She now knew what he meant.

  Faces began to blur, with some coming into sharp focus from time to time. Ali Cruz came by, and patted her warmly, whispering good wishes for luck. A man with deep, dark eyes and a gentle touch was called away from examining her by another man who called him “Your Highness” and Robin nearly fell over with shock and thrilling fear. Two women spent a long time with her, one of them letting her suck gently on two exquisitely manicured fingers while the other used the paddle. They read the papers in silence, and later, Robin was startled to see one of them talking with Chris, across the room.

  To belong to two women! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

  She didn’t get a lot of attention compared to some. The man on her right was constantly having his rings played with and pulled. And she could hear the constant commotion in the direction of the twins and the transsexual. There was also evidence that others were beaten more often, and an occasional sound of someone’s suffering contained by a gag.

  The evening was endless. But before she could wish fervently for an ending, an announcement was made that bidding would commence in fifteen minutes―would buyers please complete their examinations?

  That was when Chris came back to see her. As several people gathered around to look at her folder, some of them asked him some quick questions, mostly pertaining to the speed of her training. He answered with assurances and more than a little arrogance, and no one seemed surprised.

  “She is an uncommonly quick learner, and devoted to the life,”
he said to one woman. “She will be an excellent slave.”

  Robin glowed with warmth. She could feel the threatening force of tears, and struggled to keep them back. She wished she had another opportunity to thank him, to tell him that she would never forget him or what he taught her. Why didn’t I say it before? she cursed. Now, I’ll never get a chance.

  And the buyers began to leave the room, talking in animated tones with each other. Chris stayed by her, and she noticed that several of the other trainers had come back as well. He turned to her, and although his face was a professional mask of cool politeness, he winked.

  You’re right, she thought sadly, meeting his eyes. If I had slept with you, I would have fallen in love with you.

  Over his shoulder, she could see two people approaching, another buying couple no doubt. She didn’t recall seeing them examine her earlier. Well, they’d better hurry.

  “So, this is your vacation project,” said a man’s voice.

  Chris Parker almost jumped. Robin was amazed at how clearly she could see his surprise. It was so strong, she could swear that it was mixed with fear. She couldn’t help it. After an evening of perfect obedience, she raised her eyes to see what could possibly have that effect on her imperturbable trainer.

  Standing behind him were two people, a man and a woman. The man had black hair and a close cropped beard that was salted with strands of silver. He was slightly above average in height, and smiling. The woman was elegant and small, with a softness around her face and blonde hair that was swept through with lighter waves of white and covered her head in soft round curls. The man’s eyes were touched with humor, and the woman’s were harder, more piercing and more direct. But Robin could see that they were both accustomed to being obeyed.

  It turned her on, even after an entire evening of being aroused by one contact after another. There was no doubt as to their identity.

  And suddenly, although she wouldn’t have given up her time with Chris for a date with Prince Charming himself, she wished she could have known what it was like to train under the three of them for six whole weeks.