The Slave

by Laura Antoniou

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said softly.

  “Well, you’d better think of something. I think you realize what’s at stake.”

  “But it’s not fair! I didn’t do it! The evidence is circumstantial! How can they just punish someone like this over circumstantial evidence?” Robin bit her lip and guiltily added, “Sir.”

  “I don’t recall ever suggesting that fairness came into the owner/slave equation. Your owners could have done this to you any time they wanted to. Every Saturday night if it amused them sufficiently.” Chris folded his hands, and Robin thought, that’s another strange thing about him. He’s not smoking. He really did quit.

  He continued. “Of course, the real issue here is not your physical punishment, but the fact that Eric wants your contract declared violated and you tossed out of the Marketplace. Now unless you have some suggestion for me concerning how to convince him that you are not a thief, or to prove to him who was the real thief, you are about to be in some very serious trouble.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “Let’s start with the most obvious question. Is there anyone in the house who would benefit from your removal?”

  Robin blinked. “Do you mean that the earrings might have been deliberately planted to get rid of me?”

  “That would appear to be the case. Don’t you agree?”

  She lowered her eyes and thought, ignoring the itchy feeling along her “nicks and scratches.” It did make sense, but no one in the house would benefit directly from her absence. Jimmy wasn’t perplexed by her presence anymore; he even enjoyed having his own personal gift shopper available. Raul was the chief of slaves, he had no beef with her. And although she had stopped sleeping with Carl, it was by mutual arrangement, and besides, Carl was already Jimmy’s favorite, so he had nothing further to gain. And Jeff was nothing; what could he possibly have...

  She looked up and her mouth dropped open in shock and anger.

  “It’s that little punk, isn’t it?” Chris asked casually. “The houseboy.”

  “Yes,” Robin whispered. “It would have to be. But... why?” She thought about it some more. Jeff alone had not gotten comfortable with Robin, not even in the length of time she had been there. Jeff had renewed his own contract just a month ago, and there had been a state of some tension, as though he had been expecting to somehow move up in rank. But he remained what he had always been―the fuck-hole, the toy who couldn’t be trusted with important tasks, the pet and the lowest-ranking slave.

  And even though Robin never personally used or abused him for her own purposes, she had never objected to the times when Carl encouraged her to make use of Jeff’s body or mouth.

  But those times had been rare, and had mostly ended. The most she ever saw of Jeff was when he was emptying her trash basket or sucking someone off in the corner.

  But if she were gone, he wouldn’t rise in ranking, he’d still be the lowest boy there. It made no real sense. Slowly, she explained the situation at the house to Chris. He nodded from time to time, and gently encouraged her to tell him everything. And when she was finished, she added, “But I can’t see any way to prove anything. I mean, if my case is based on circumstantial evidence, then my case against him is based on pure fantasy. There really is no clear motive for him to do it.”

  “Life,” Chris said as he got up, “rarely meets expectations. Criminals don’t always have sensible motivations. But nevertheless, your observations have given me some food for thought. Stay here.” He stretched and glanced at his watch. “I will be out for some hours. Take your medication, and, if you get hungry, order some food and charge it to the room. If it will help you fall asleep, you may watch television.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She watched him leave, and then stared out the window. In time, she actually did get hungry, and had some soup and a sandwich while she caught up on the world by watching CNN and a little MTV. She didn’t recognize half the bands. Then, she took more aspirin, slipped between the soft white sheets and pulled pillows around her for comfort and slept, feeling like a princess.

  She was surprised when she woke up and saw the digital clock by the bed reading ten thirty. She hadn’t slept this late in ages! She pushed herself up, and felt the twinges of the few really bad cuts, but sighed as she realized that she felt one hundred percent better than she had yesterday morning. In fact, her whole recovery seemed somewhat vague and shadowy already, something she felt grateful about. She got out of bed and showered, and was surprised to see that the only razor in the bathroom was an old-fashioned straight edge. Had she never seen Chris shave? Why, no, she hadn’t. He’d always gone into the bathroom in the master bedroom, and she was never allowed to follow him in there.

  Hmm. Well, it suited him. It was also useless to her. She knew better than to experiment with it, and she could live without a shave for one more day. There was just a light dotting of short hairs where she normally shaved on her cunt. Her legs she kept clear with wax. But after one experiment with getting a bikini waxing, she decided it was worth the extra effort with a razor.

  Besides, she wasn’t sure if it was going to matter. In the mirror, her face looked horrible. On TV, people who got into fights were often shown with only a little bruising and maybe a piece of white tape on their face the next day. By the third, they were all healed. But her bruises looked frightening, dark-colored and misshapen. And the cuts from the stakes looked terrible too, with little black marks where every line crossed another and some more where the tips hit. It was hard to look at them. Each one seemed to throb from an individual memory of pain.

  She was used to being somewhat clothed, and the air conditioning in the room was chilly, so she did help herself to one of the elegant white robes that were hanging up. Then, she walked out to look for Chris. He wasn’t there.

  How odd.

  But there was a newspaper on the coffee table, and the breakfast menu was propped up on top of it, so she took the hint, and enjoyed the pleasure of being served for a change.

  Chris didn’t return until slightly after one o’clock. He walked in, startling Robin, who was engrossed in the crossword puzzle. She stood at once.

  “You have an important decision to make,” he said in his customary no preamble method. “Do you want to be removed from the house, or serve out the rest of your contract?”

  Robin gasped. “I have a choice?”

  “Jeff has... confessed.” Chris looked positively pleased with himself, and Robin couldn’t help but grin. “Your owners have naturally withdrawn their desire to have you shunned. But neither are they interested in dealing with a bitter slave. Therefore, they have offered me the chance to redeem you now, freeing you from the contract as though it had been completed. Their report of you will show great satisfaction with your work and your progress, and will not hurt any potential sale.”

  While he spoke, Robin wondered at the sudden change in her life’s circumstances. Jeff confessed! But somehow, it had taken all night to get to that point; how was it done? I wish I’d been there, she thought. I would have loved to see him break down.

  “Or, if you wish, you may return to service, today, and nothing more will be said about the matter,” Chris finished.

  “Nothing more,” Robin echoed.

  “You cannot be expecting an apology,” Chris said. He walked into the room and sat down on the couch, indicating that she sit down as well. “I told you that justice is not something to expect here.”

  “Or fairness,” Robin added. “But what about courtesy?”

  “It is a courtesy that they would consider allowing you the choice of leaving or returning.” He leaned back and flexed his right hand thoughtfully. “If getting an apology from your master is so important to you, perhaps you could do with some time off to reconsider your commitment.”

  Robin stared at him in silence for a moment.

  “I’m so sorry about the cruel things I said to you,” Maria had written.

  “It was all my fault, I should have never done that to you!�
�� Troy had pleaded.

  Owners may do as they like to you, and need not seek your consent, approval, pleasure, or even your reaction. And they will not owe you explanations or words of encouragement or comfort or praise. You will just be a person who belongs to them, and nothing more, Chris taught.

  And she had been so turned on. She had been so thrilled by the possibilities, the potential.

  I was so ignorant, she marveled.

  She lowered her head and then took a deep breath. Then, lifting her chin, she said, “Please allow me to finish out my contract, sir.”

  “Because?”

  “Because it’s the honorable thing to do.”

  Chris Parker smiled. “Good girl! Now take that robe off before I take my belt to you; I don’t recall mentioning that you could wear it. We’ll have lunch before I return you, and you can catch me up on your education and experiences.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robin said instantly, shedding the robe. “And I’m so sorry, sir, that you had to come all the way out here.”

  “That’s part of my job, missy. You may have twenty owners, but I’m your trainer. And always remember, if there’s ever a reason why I can’t take care of your interests, you can be damn sure that I’ll leave you in good hands.” He patted his leg and gestured, and she got back into her old position at his feet.

  “So tell me what it’s like in California. How the hell do you know when the seasons change?”

  I love you, Robin thought, pressing her cheek to his leg. She thought about asking him about that “leave you in other hands” bit, but a sudden wave of something new swept through her. If he wanted to tell me more, he would―and I’m comfortable knowing that he’ll take care of things. She smiled, and then remembered that he’d asked a question. “I haven’t quite figured that out,” she said out loud. “I think it has something to do with the arrival of the Neiman Marcus catalog.”

  She felt the itching and minor aching of her wounds begin to trickle down to a manageable level. By the time Chris drove her back up into the hills, she felt sure she was doing the right thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Steve, the new houseboy, was nothing like Jeff. For one, he was big; broader across the chest than Carl, and just as tall, with legs that looked like they were carved from oak and arms that bulged to obscene proportions when he exerted his strength. Also, where Jeff was weasely, wiry, supple, narrow and sexy in a streetwise kind of way, Steve was the true definition of hunk. He was a walking mass of muscles.

  “Steve Reeves is who he’s like,” Raul had joked to Robin and Carl before the new addition arrived. “Master Eric has always wanted a body builder.”

  Robin remembered Ken’s descriptions of men that her brother liked to abuse. “But if he’s so buff, why is he suited for that kind of scut work? I thought that muscle types cost a lot, and were mostly show pieces.” She grinned at her own lapse. Had she actually used “buff” as a descriptive word?

  “Yes, if that’s what they’re sold for. But this one has a nice history of looking for places as master’s dog. He’ll be just fine in our boy position.”

  And he was. He arrived with a look of wonder on his comically innocent face and his own set of free weights. And within two days, everyone had used him at least once or twice and agreed that he was going to be an asset. They nicknamed him “Muscledog” because he loved to play puppy roles. And to their amusement and satisfaction, it also appeared that he had a passion for men’s feet. Eric was extraordinarily pleased with himself.

  One night, Robin sat inside the house helping Carl do some paperwork sorting for archive files. Out on the patio, the masters were playing some kind of fetching game with their Muscledog, involving sticks and condoms and God knows what else. Raul was busy in the kitchen, preparing a menu for an upcoming dinner party.

  Carl leaned over and said softly, “You’ve got a great trainer.”

  “I know.” Robin picked up a new pile of folders and began to pull out the necessary papers. “So?”

  “So, I thought you’d like to know what happened. Back then.”

  Robin grinned. “Hell, yes, and why did it take so long?”

  “I wanted to make sure it was OK with Raul before I told you.”

  Well, that made sense. “OK, I’m listening.” After failing to find Parker in one call, Eric had ordered the boys to put Robin in the shed, and they had done so. By the time Carl got back, Eric was dialing the phone himself and tracking the man down. He didn‘t connect until later that night.

  “And did you know where Parker was?”

  “No, he didn’t tell me anything about it.”

  “With Anderson. Trainer Anderson. Probably getting some tips or something, or maybe at some kind of trainers’ meeting.” Carl shook his head, smiling. “Imagine being with the Trainer of Trainers and being tracked down by an owner who has a complaint about one of your trainees. It must have been like shit hitting the fan.”

  “Oh!” Robin dropped the papers in horror. “He didn’t even say a word!”

  “Well, I didn’t hear all of their conversation. But the next day, he’s here. He didn’t say much, got the story from Jimmy, and took you out.”

  “He didn’t even talk to Eric?”

  “Hon, he barely said three words to anyone. No one heard anything until the following day, when Parker came back, alone. He walked into the house as casually as any friend or guest and told Raul to make him some strong coffee. And then, when the two masters came to talk with him, they went into the library for privacy.

  “When Parker came out, he called Jeff to his side and told him to get his sorry ass upstairs.”

  “Just like that?”

  “The bosses didn’t even come out of the room!” Carl looked around and grinned and lowered his voice. “They came out after Parker went to the kitchen, had Raul put some coffee in a carafe, and took that and a cup upstairs.”

  “What room?”

  “The same one that Eve and Tom stayed in, naturally.”

  “And then what?”

  Well, then it got hard to piece together. Carl found several excuses to pass by that room, and on two occasions heard sounds that could be interpreted as hitting or slapping noises. But mostly, it was quiet. Before dinner time, Jimmy went upstairs, too. He was soon followed by Eric. Dinner was postponed for two hours. Then, Eric came out of the room, calm as you please, and told Raul to get the table ready and set a place for Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker came downstairs with a Band-Aid over one of his knuckles and was a courteous and gracious guest, complimenting the meal and the wine selection.

  “Fuck the wine, tell me what happened!”

  “Temper, temper.”

  After dinner, the three men went back upstairs. When they came down again, it was past midnight. Eric had gone to the phone himself and placed a call to Mr. Lu, who was Jeff’s previous owner, and the man who trained him. And Jimmy―dragging a Jeff who looked like he had had the shit beaten out of him―went out to the tool shed for some more stakes. He’d gone to the same place where Robin had suffered her punishment.

  “They did the same thing to him?” Robin asked, her eyes wide.

  “Well, not exactly. He was already kind of knocked around. But the worst part came later.”

  Mr. Lu decided that it was not worth redeeming his former slave. And as Jeff had no other trainer to act as his advocate or take him back for further training, it was decided to just cast him out. Jimmy and Eric co-signed a formal letter saying that he was proven a thief, a liar, and a betrayer, and faxed it to the regional offices of the Marketplace. By morning, it would be going out to every training house, every auction business, every private trainer, agent, spotter, seller, and owner.

  Jeff was the one who was finished now. The next morning, he had begged and pleaded for another chance, offered unlimited clauses in any contract, offered to give himself to any other owner or trainer without promise of future fee. When that didn’t work, he tried threats, the usual blustering about exposure, callin
g the police, calling newspapers or TV muckrakers.

  But the bosses tossed him out on his ear, wearing biker shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt. He had one thousand dollars of pity money in his pocket and a good hike to the nearest bus station.

  “That’s terrible,” Robin mused. The image was frightening. “That could have been me!”

  “No, because you’ve got a real trainer behind you. Little Jeff was fucked from the beginning. He just jumped into the Marketplace blindly, with no real experience except for one lover and no real love for the work, just a fetish. Turns out he had no training, just a relationship with a Marketplace owner who never put him through what you, me, or Raul got. His contract sucked―not even a guarantee of transportation and temporary housing if the owners sent him away. There’s a lesson in this.”

  “But how is anyone supposed to learn it?” Robin asked. “I could have been taken in the same way. Ken could have sold me directly if she wanted to, said that I was her slave.”

  “But the key is that she didn’t.” Carl looked over toward Raul, in the kitchen, studiously not listening to them. “You got real lucky, babe. And things worked out fine. Right?” Robin nodded, thanked him for the story, and went back to work. She didn’t tell him that things weren’t exactly fine.

  Of course it was easy sitting across from Chris and talking about honor. She knew that it would get a favorable response from him, and that it was the “right” answer.

  But in real life, it was so hard to leave the comfort of his rented car and walk back to the house. Resentment threatened to rise with every step, and it took all of her emotional strength to hold it down.

  As Chris had said, there were no apologies, real or hidden. She just returned to her office, stripped out of the clothing that Chris had brought her and dressed in shorts and a tank top and went back to work. The only change was that she didn’t run with Raul for another two weeks. But when the cuts on her feet closed and healed and she could stretch out without feeling the tearing of scabs, she began to join him and life went on.