The Slave

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The Slave Page 29

by Laura Antoniou


  Robin ended up being punished for not staying with him and doing things that any drunk’s caregiver would know, like feeding him water and aspirin and cleaning him up and tucking him in. Also, Raul told her, she should have hung his jacket up and snuck his shirt out to be cleaned. But after Eric finished paddling her for all of these offenses, and she had spent a few hours in bound isolation to think about it, she returned to Raul and whispered to him, “You were right.”

  “I am always right,” he replied. “That is why I am the manager.”

  As if that weren’t enough, the young men also entertained for their friends and contacts who were in the Marketplace. At those affairs, the slaves got to be themselves. They even got to meet and sometimes “play with” other slaves from time to time. It was a great way to catch up on gossip and send messages to other slaves that they knew.

  Carl knew a lot of the slaves who visited and had been used by most of the masters and mistresses. He was a treasure trove of information about who did what to whom and how often. Robin loved it when he would come up behind her while she watched some erotic goings-on through the slats in the upstairs banister. “He likes to have his butt-hole licked for hours,” he would say, pointing. “And she likes to cane blondes―swears that they make nicer marks. And see her? She says she’s straight, but give her a girl to play with and she’s all over her, all night. Bet you get her tonight.”

  And Robin did. And found that Carl was right. The sweet, soft-spoken woman who had an ex-husband in Phoenix and three children in school practically leapt on her as soon as the door was closed. Robin felt the all-over passion that she reserved only for women rise and engulf her, and threw herself into being the most pleasing and exuberant partner in the world.

  It was different, being so powerfully ravished and positively devoured by a woman who seemed old enough to be her mother, but it was also comforting. When she led, it was only natural for Robin to follow. When she asked Robin to pose for her, Robin colored, but loved every second of bending, turning, and striking one move after another. She shivered and giggled as the older woman trailed her entire body with feather-like touches. And when the guest tied her to the bed and made love to her, Robin had to scream when she came. It was all too wonderful! She had almost forgotten how different a woman felt and smelled. Surrounded by mostly young men who were obsessed with keeping their bodies hard and athletic, she felt herself drowning in the softness of another woman’s flesh.

  Later, with her hands tied behind her back, she pleasured the woman with her mouth, licking and kissing her way all around her body, over the pale expanse of her breasts and down across her soft belly. She was allowed to suck and lick her temporary mistress until the woman came and came, trembling and crying out with delight. And as if to thank Robin for such a treat, the woman pulled her up onto the bed and spanked her, hard, with her bare hand. Robin ended up coming that way, bent over the woman’s lap, with a hard hand against her ass and another one tucked up between her legs.

  And there was also the time that Eric and Jimmy hosted a slave owner from the northern reaches of the state, whose property housed a veritable community of male slaves. Raul had trained there, and he was always anxious to find out how things were doing back at the “old school.”

  “You never forget your training,” he had said to her in one of his contemplative moods. “It would be like forgetting your parents.”

  And while Robin had assured him that she would hold onto her memories of those tightly packed two weeks for the rest of her life, she was nonetheless surprised to find a new reminder of them had arrived with the new guest.

  The guest was a vintner who had made a name for himself by writing several books about Californian history. Very few people knew that within the fenced-in acres of his estates and farms lived over a dozen men who served him as his slaves. Raul told Robin tales of the tremendously demanding and almost inhuman life lived by those who served under this man’s contracts. They were worked hard at basic manual labor, from dawn to nightfall every day, and had to do strenuous workouts designed to build muscles and perfect their physiques. Raul himself had barely made it through his two months there, mostly because his body just wasn’t built to bulk up that fast. “I’m no body builder,” he added. “I’m built for speed, not muscles.”

  To supervise the slaves, the man employed three brutal overseers who could use any slave at will in any manner they chose, or order them to use or abuse each other.

  “It was a wet dream come true,” Raul sighed. “Except that in real life, we had sun stroke and burns, sore muscles every day of the week, and sore everything else as well. And you’d think that being called up to serve big master would be a respite? Why no, not at all. Then, you’d find yourself in all sorts of trouble, tied up, clipped all over, big old plugs up your rear, gags so big they made you want to just die... It reads like paradise, girl, but lives like hell. No privacy, no time off, no freedom at all.“

  “Gee, too bad it’s not open to girls,” Robin had remarked in a mock tone of sorrow.

  “Girl, you’re lucky it isn’t. But don’t hold your breath. Some big old lesbian is going to open one of those for you one of these days. And you watch out―we’ll be seeing your sculpted bod on Glamorous Ladies of Wrestling, making the big money for your mistress.”

  The guest himself was entertained by the masters, while his two private slaves were sent off to carry his things and wait for him in the largest guest room. Robin had seen Jeff carrying out the soft pallets that were commonly used by visiting slaves who slept next to their owners’ beds on the floor. Again, Raul filled her in on the reason. “When you work that house, you don’t get no soft mattress to sleep on. Blanket on the floor, and one of those nasty army surplus things, too. If you’re bad, they take away the blanket. When master travels, you sing, because there might be carpeting where you’re going.”

  It was Carl who whispered the news to her as she returned to her own work that afternoon. “One of the boys here trained with your trainer,” he said softly, leaning slightly into her office. “The one with the nipple rings. He’s going to be on kitchen duty tonight, while the masters play in the back with the other one.”

  Robin couldn’t wait to meet him.

  The masters took Carl and Jeff out to use them in the various amusements they had planned, leaving Raul to supervise the general clean-up and prepare the late night snacks and drinks they’d be wanting after the merriment. But Raul, who heard everything, left Robin to supervise the visiting slave while he busied himself with chores that were usually beneath him. Robin made a mental note to be extra enthusiastic the next time Raul came over to her bunk late at night.

  The slave was already rinsing things and stacking the dishwasher. Robin slid up to his side and took a dish out of his hands. “I hear you knew Parker,” she said softly. There was no one near but Raul, but it always paid to be circumspect.

  The man looked at her in astonishment.

  He was about average in height, maybe a little tall, and the short fuzz that covered his scalp said that he was naturally black haired. There wasn’t an additional strand of hair below his neck. There was nothing about him that was particularly striking, except for the fact that he was very well built; something that was no mystery when Robin applied her knowledge of the activities that he probably spent his time in. He was still pale by Californian standards, and his dark eyes moved too quickly; Robin was getting good at spotting fellow Easterners. There were faint lines across his back, and sharper ones on his thighs. In addition to the rings in his nipples, he had a Prince Albert piercing, and one just behind his balls that looked like putting it in might have been traumatic.

  “Yes, he was my training supervisor,” he said back. He hesitated, as though surprised that so many words came out at once. Robin remembered what it was like to be restricted to answering questions in the briefest form possible, and smiled encouragingly.

  “He trained me, too,” she said, starting to put things away
. “I’m Robin.”

  “Brian.” The man looked out the window over the sink, but it would probably be two or three hours before the masters trooped back to the house. “When did you see him last?”

  “Last year. You were with Robert, right?”

  “Yes!” He smiled suddenly, and showed a mouth full of strong teeth. “How did you know?”

  “I met Robert at a party, and Chris briefed him on what happened to you all. He said that you’d gone to some California estate, but that was before I’d even been to California. I never expected to run into you!” She started to find things to put away.

  “It’s a small world. I’ve found that I knew a couple of people before I came into the life who knew all about it. I guess we all did―all of us who trained together, I mean. You know about what happened to any of the others?”

  “Not much. Robert seems very happy. One woman is with her mistress, the other has, um, dropped out or something. I never even found out her name.”

  “No kidding. That must have been Sharon. So she finally fucked up big time.” He turned thoughtful for a moment. “Well, too bad. Can’t say it’s too surprising. And what about you? What kind of a group did you train with?”

  “Alone. Chris took me from raw recruit to the auction block in two weeks.” It was something she had a hard time being humble about.

  He whistled through his teeth in admiration. “Good for you! What an opportunity! Was he as much of a bastard with you as he was with us? Hell, I used to curse him out every night. We all did. But I guess you wouldn’t know, not having the comparison to make. But let me tell you, if he was even half as hard on you as he was on me when I stayed behind for more training, I have nothing but admiration for you!” Having answered his own question, he paused and looked at her. Their eyes met and at the same time, they asked each other, “Are you happy?” And then they both laughed.

  “It’s such a cliché,” Robin said when they calmed down. “But it’s true. I keep making sure that I should be happy by asking other people if they are.”

  “Well, who wouldn’t be happy here?” Brian asked. “Beautiful house, beautiful men―and you have beds and everything.” He grinned.

  “I’ve heard about your place from Raul.”

  “He left the year before I arrived,” Brian said. “But you know, for all the difficulty of this life, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. There’s nothing that could possibly make me feel more fulfilled. It’s really strange. The less I am, the more contented I become. I used to be so obsessed with making a good impression and being the center of attention. It took Mr. Elliot and Chris to break me of that, and show me what I’ve always really needed.” He shook his head in amazement. “I wish they could see me now. You know, last week, I actually pulled a wagon full of shit. Do you believe that? Shit! I used to get a manicure every other week back home.” He closed his eyes softly and sighed.

  “I was a nothing. Shallow and useless, and directionless. And now, I’m... happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”

  The next afternoon, Robin saw Brian bent over and repeatedly raped by most of the men in the house, including Jeff. They didn’t get another chance to talk, but their eyes sought each other all weekend. He winked at her once before he left, and she waved.

  Yes, guests who knew the Marketplace were almost always more fun. Some were crueler and more demanding, and all of the slaves were used by those whose pleasures came strictly from the abuse of human property. But generally, it was an adventure to see what kind of person was going to be granted access to them next.

  * * * *

  “It’s about time you got a girl,” Monica said as soon as she walked into the house. Robin raised her eyes demurely, which was appropriate when acknowledging that someone has noticed you. She immediately met Monica’s inky black eyes, which took her in at one glance and then turned their attention back to Jimmy. “I’m tired of playing with dicks whenever I come over.”

  “We got her with you in mind,” Jimmy cracked. “I mean, it was just weighing on our consciences, what can we do about Monica’s libido?” He grasped the sides of his head in mock agony. “All she has to fuck with is our three boys when she comes over, oh, what can we do?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get the point. But if you’re going to live your whole lives in a boy ghetto, you should at least provide some entertainment for the visitors and resident aliens.”

  “And so we did.” The two of them moved into the dining area, and Robin rushed to pour iced tea. Raul was still upstairs making sure that Jeff had fixed up the guest bedroom correctly. “Actually, Eric bought her. She’s an art buyer from New York. He’s using her to make sure we can never afford another slave.”

  “Oh, cornering the market in old gay porn, huh?”

  “Yeah, that and some other stuff. She found these old pots that my parents went apeshit over. If Dad could make any more money to leave to me, he would.” Jimmy laughed. “And it hasn’t been bad. Carl likes her, and even Eric and me throw her a fuck every once in a while. You know, change of pace.”

  “Be still my heart. Isn’t anyone queer anymore?” Monica examined Robin more closely as she served the drinks, and Robin did what she rarely did any more; she blushed in front of a new guest.

  “Cute,” Monica said, tapping Robin’s retreating butt as she went back to the kitchen. Robin was never so happy to see Raul come back and take over. She fled, catching Carl’s eyes as she swept up the stairs. Carl followed her in a few minutes. They crouched in the shadows on the upper landing.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “Monica. She’s a dyke from Washington. Political fundraiser, lobbyist, that sort of thing. Knows all the biggies. Wields a hell of a whip.”

  “Really?”

  “Last time she did me, I had marks for weeks. She used a signal whip, the kind they use in sled dog races. Made me cry. Then she called me a wuss, wrapped the damn thing up in a condom, shoved it up my ass and kicked me out. Told me to tell Jimmy the whip was a present.” Carl delivered this all in a monotone, and Robin’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah. She’s definitely the S in S and M.”

  “Doesn’t she have her own slaves?”

  “I heard she did, once. But I don’t think she does any more. She’s real busy, you know? Last time she was here, I saw a list of all the things she’s produced and the people she hits up for money. She must be moving around all year long.”

  Robin looked at the guest again. She was probably just about thirty-five or so, and had the look of a woman who was on the corporate track, despite the fact that she was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots. She looked Hispanic, a little bit lighter than Raul, with the same black hair and eyes. Her mouth was soft, though, and her body was more curves than flat surfaces. She tilted her head a little when she spoke, and exposed a long throat, decorated with a soft tangle of silver chains.

  “What’s she here for now?”

  “Two things, I think. She wants to hit the masters up for some dough, and she wants Eric to show up at some Hollywood glitter party for some charity.”

  “Do―do you think she’ll stay the night?”

  Carl looked at her, and then back downstairs. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Hope she doesn’t.”

  Robin did, and Monica didn’t. And that was the first time that Robin met her.

  * * * *

  “I miss snow,” Robin said out loud as she helped Raul examine the good china. They were preparing for a New Year’s party, and everyone was cleaning or running errands. Carl was making an inventory of champagne and other beverages, and Jeff was washing windows. Raul didn’t trust him with the china or the crystal, and Robin was drafted to handle those.

  “I don’t know why,” Raul shivered. “Especially snow in New York. Is it ever white, or does it fall down in that gray-black stuff that messes up the streets?”

  “But how can you have winter without snow? Santa in Bermuda shorts, New Year’s Eve in sleeveless shirts. It’s just unnatural.”

  “H
oney, California is the unnatural capital of the world. Do we have enough for twenty-four?”

  “We do! Want me to start on the crystal?”

  “Yes, that’s a good girl.” Raul sighed and consulted his list again. “We’ve got the catering all ready, the booze is here, the DJ is arriving at six to set up... Did Carl get the party things out?”

  “Horns, hats, and assorted tacky things are all in the big box near the television.”

  “Good. White folks can’t do New Year’s without being tacky.”

  Robin snorted. “My, aren’t we brave? Where’s Eric, anyway?”

  “He’s in the city, meeting some of the out of town guests. And don’t be impertinent, girl, I still have time to whip you silly.” Raul gave her a warning glance and she composed her face and nodded seriously. “And are you ready? Do you have your clothes, and the jewelry?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Good. We want you looking nice for Miss Monica.”

  Robin stopped short, a crystal champagne glass in each hand. “Is Monica coming?”

  “That’s what I said, girl. And she’s spending the night, and you are going to be her New Year’s resolution.” He walked away from her startled face, whistling “Auld Lang Syne.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Now, that’s what I call hospitality,” Monica said wickedly as she threw the door wide open. From downstairs and out on the patio, the sounds of the party continued, interrupted with an occasional horn blast, splash, or a steady slapping sound.

  The woman behind Monica peered in. “Oh yes,” she agreed. “Much better than a mint on the pillow.”

  Robin was glad for the blindfold. Not only didn’t she know how to respond to that, but she really didn’t want to see the looks on the women’s faces. It was bad enough being bound and left in the room just like a complimentary after-dinner snack, but it was made even more humiliating by the fact that her costume was a cute version of some designer’s idea of what a woman might wear for a sexy romp on New Year’s Eve. It looked like a fishnet bathing suit with cut-outs for her breasts and a lacing of ribbons over her crotch, and a black satin trim that sort of suggested a tuxedo. Raul had put a clip-on bow-tie around her neck, ignoring her insistence that she really did know how to tie those things.

 

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