Marketplace

by Laura Antoniou

  He sighed as a veil of incomprehension settled over her face.

  “When someone has the money and time to invest in a pleasure slave, they’re assuming that their new property can be alluring, captivating, submissive and utterly available. But they also want them to be interesting. A pleasure slave has to serve all the pleasures of their owner, and share them from time to time. Normally, we don’t handle strictly pleasure slaves here; their training tends to be very time-consuming for the return on the investment. In your case, if you manage to stay here and if we manage to make something out of you, prospective buyers will know just what a novice you are, and that makes the return even less.”

  Grendel watched her reactions. She was listening intently, thank God. Maybe something would get through.

  “Well, that’s enough for now,” he said as he rose. “You have about twenty minutes before you’re due to meet Chris for your lesson in trotting. I suggest that you start memorizing. When you can recite the first two pages to me, I’ll see you for another private interview.”

  After he was gone and well away, Sharon picked up the binder and threw it with all her might across the room. Her curses followed it for a full five minutes.

  * * * *

  “That’s a nice bit o’fluff, ennit?” The man’s voice startled Claudia so much that she dropped the candlestick she was holding. It banged against the table, and the sound made her jump. The man laughed.

  She turned toward the door to see a stranger standing there, a cup of coffee in one hand. He was tall, and had long blond hair, and smelled faintly of horse. Cook’s voice, coming from the kitchen answered him.

  “She’s with the new ones, Jack. The name’s Claudia. Now don’t you disturb her, she’s got work to do!”

  Claudia flushed and turned back to the polishing and cleaning. She was going very slowly. Each piece needed a lot of rubbing, and the polish smelled like something evil and noxious. Streaks of tarnish marked her dress, and a pile of rags made filthy by their use was growing on one corner of the table. Yet the number of pieces finished could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Three boxes full, and she hadn’t even begun to make an impact on the task.

  “Aye, she’s got ’er hands full all right,” agreed the stranger. “Looks like she’ll be busy through the judgment!”

  Claudia silently agreed, and the tears that she thought had all been cried out returned.

  “Eh now, at least you’re inside where it’s nice and cool, fluff! Not like your compatriots out by th’ paddock, stamping about in th’ hot sun!” He chuckled. “You should’ve seen ’em, Cook. And that Chris, layin’ into them like a thresher. Two of the new ones, that pretty boy and the lass with the model look. He had ’em dancin’! Not like this un, sittin’ pretty in the cool shade.” He finished the cup of coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Well, be good, fluff. We’ll be runnin’ into each other now ’n’again.” With another chuckle, he turned away from her, leaving her flushed from his attention and the stream of moisture that streaked down her sweet face. When she was alone again, she put the silver and the rags down and leaned her head against her arms and cried. Again.

  Just a little while after she stopped crying and turned back to the task at hand, Chris came in. His tie was slightly askew, loosened as a reaction to the sun and heat. His boots were dusty. He looked grimly at her and at the row of five silver objects that she had managed to finish all afternoon.

  “This...” he started to say. He sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “This is intolerable.”

  Claudia’s mouth dropped open in terror. She tried to say something, but couldn’t get the words out, and lowered her head in contrition.

  “You were supposed to know what you were doing, Claudia. How do you explain this... this... inefficiency? Did you forget how to polish silver? Did you find something else to do this afternoon?”

  “No, sir! I mean, no, Chris!” She swallowed hard, and sniffed. “I tried, I’m trying, but it’s all so... so... dirty!” More tears. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll do better tomorrow!”

  “I certainly hope so.” Chris looked at his watch, felt for the strap that wasn’t at his belt and grimaced at the inconvenience. Then, a slight smile curved up one corner of his mouth. He strode over to Claudia, grasped her upper arm and literally dragged her out of her seat. Ignoring her astonished cry, he pulled her into the main kitchen, across the spotless, tiled floor. They passed a horrified Robert, who was shucking fresh corn, the husks filling a basket between his feet.

  With one wrenching jerk of his arm, Chris propelled Claudia through the room and away from him, so she fell with a graceless thud. She cried out as she hit the floor next to a large cupboard. Robert squeaked out a shocked “Oh my!”

  “Cook! Please stir this!” With one last disgusted look at Claudia, Chris left the room.

  Claudia gasped in her pain and confusion before looking up into the eyes of the motherly woman who had thus far been given no real first name. With a sigh, the woman plucked a wooden spoon from a ceramic jar on the countertop, and reached down to pull Claudia back up.

  “I’m sorry,” Claudia whimpered as she was helped up.

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be, little one. Over you go!”

  The cook neatly turned Claudia around and pushed her against the countertop. Claudia reached out to avoid falling, and felt the back of her shift being pulled up. The next moment exploded for her in a driving stab of pain as the stirring end of the spoon smacked against her left cheek with an unnaturally loud slap.

  “Ow!” Claudia jerked forward, her hands leaving the counter. Cook placed one heavy, warm hand at the back of the girl’s neck and pushed her back down.

  “You’re not going anywhere until we’re finished, my girl, now hold still!”

  Claudia actually screeched as a rain of sharp blows fell on her ass, peppering the twin globes with spots of intense, biting pain. She whimpered, bit her lip and ended up yelping as often as she could catch her breath.

  Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Claudia’s tears were genuine tears of fear, shock and pain now, and she coughed out loud, blubbering sobs as Cook flipped the back of her dress down again.

  “Get along, child, you’re done. Get back to work, before Chris catches you lollygagging around!” Cook tossed the spoon into the sink and turned back to preparing dinner.

  It had taken less than a minute. Claudia felt like someone had held fire to her rear end, and the shame of it all made her head pound in agony. That was it? That was her punishment? Didn’t she get to beg for forgiveness, receive it, and get a gentle reminder to be better in the future? Where was the ceremony in that? The ritual? Who knew (or cared) how she took it, how genuinely contrite she was, and what a good girl she could be?

  She looked at Cook, who was taking some salad vegetables out of the refrigerator. It was like nothing had happened to disturb her afternoon. Robert was staring intently at the floor, deliberately not seeing anything. Claudia sniffed again and left the room.

  Dressing like a maid, or like a poodle, bending over for her righteous chastisements, adorned in ribbons and bows with cunning clips and clamps attached to make her vulnerable and ever-so-enticing, sent to her room like a naughty child and lectured with infinite patience, all this Claudia had endured in her years of service.

  But now, after this afternoon, she was certain of one thing. She had never been more humiliated in her entire life.

  * * * *

  “Before dinner each night, you will have twenty minutes to rest and clean yourselves.” Chris, dressed in a clean outfit, his tie correct and tight against his throat, addressed the four applicants in their room. “Tonight, Claudia, Brian and Robert are to come to dinner nude.”

  They all glanced at Sharon, but she bit her lip, maintaining silence. Both she and Brian were a mass of aching muscles, their bodies striped from shoulders to calves from Chris’s dressage whip. The trotting lesson had been an ae
robic exercise in pain and humiliation. Chris smirked and nodded slightly.

  “After dinner, there will be another hour of free time, which you may spend in the library, this room, or with one of the owners, if an invitation is extended. After the free time, you will assemble out on the eastern side of the garden, and you will receive any punishments you have accumulated for the day. After that, if you are not chosen for service—which you will not be—you will return here. Lights out will be at 9:30.” He glanced up. “Any questions?”

  And that was the way it went. Dinner was taken by themselves, three of them stripped to the skin and Sharon sitting in her shapeless gray frock. Sharon alone avoided the library (having spent most of the day there already). And when they went out to the garden, electric torches made the whiteness of their skin seem luminous against the darkening sky. With Grendel and Alexandra in attendance, they stripped down again, and Chris went to work on them with the strap. He had a long list on that clipboard of his. And, as he had told them, neither Grendel nor Alexandra asked for their company when it was all over. Sore, heartsick, and awash with self pity, all four of them went to their room in silence.

  But it didn’t stay that way for long.

  “So, how did you end up here, Miss Thing?” Brian asked as he stretched out on his bed. He was lying on his stomach, the backs of his thighs and his ass still a dark red (and very tender) from his final strapping of the day.

  Sharon turned coldly away from him, refusing to answer.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, we might as well get to know each other,” Brian said disgustedly. “We’re going to be roomies for a whole week, you know. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little human.” He winked at his terminology, and Robert responded with a moan.

  “I would like to know you all better,” Claudia said. She sniffed and shifted her body around, finally leaning on one elbow and keeping her pretty butt as much off the bed as possible. “I think we should get along.”

  “Oh you would,” Sharon sighed. “What did you call her, Mr. Kissy-face? Miss Goody-Two-Shoes? It’s a good name for you. Like, between the two of you and the sissy in the corner, I’m surprised these people don’t come down with diabetes. ‘Yes, sir, no, sir, right away sir, let me kiss your ass sir!’” Her mimicry was crude and vicious.

  “I hate to remind you, Sharon dear, but that is the way slaves—remember slaves?—are supposed to behave.” Brian rubbed the small of his back. “I guess that wasn’t included in your guide to the scene, huh? Back where you come from, masters are probably used to their property delivering a seven point critical review after each torture scene.” He began a mimicry of his own. “Oh, and by the way, master, sir, you hit the left side of my butt six times more than the right! Master, hit me harder! No, softer! A little lower now! Now fuck me! Harder! Faster! Oh, God, I love it when you dominate me!”

  Claudia and Robert snickered (although Robert hid it by burying his face in the pillow).

  “That’s not the way it was at all, asshole, OK?” Sharon sat up, gingerly. “You don’t know shit about where I came from!”

  “So, like I said, enlighten me, sweetie,” Brian answered easily. “We’ll take turns. If we don’t finish tonight, we’ve got the whole rest of the week. And if they keep us, we’ve practically got the rest of the summer.”

  Sharon played with her lip, a gentle movement that pursed her lips prettily. She looked around the room, and than pulled her pillow up to lean against. “OK,” she said, easing her way back against it. “I’ll tell you. Just so, like, you know where I’m coming from.”

  They all sat up to listen.

  Chapter Five; Sharon's Story

  I was always into being dominated. Back when I was a little girl, I used to tie myself up in my own closet, you know, looping belts and clothesline over the clothes bar? By the time I was ten, I knew I was a pervert, but it was like the best secret in the world. I used to stay awake for hours every night, making up these fantasies, only they were like soap operas. I was always this rich girl who was kidnapped, or taken prisoner by pirates, or stuff like that, and I would have adventures, you know?

  In junior high, I was over a friend’s house and we snuck into her older brother’s room to look at his magazines. We expected, you know, the usual T&A stuff, some Playboys, some cheap rags. But he had a lot of these really sleazy newspapers with pictures of women tied to stakes, being whipped, having rings in their nipples and stuff like that.

  My friend was like, totally grossed out. She wanted to just leave them all and forget about the whole thing, because we had another friend who had some normal magazines, and we could always go look at those, OK? So I kind of went along with her, made her believe I thought these things were the grossest things in the whole world, and when she went to the bathroom later on, I snuck in and stole a couple. I mean, who was her brother gonna tell, right? Anyway, he never noticed, because she never mentioned it.

  Meanwhile, I go home and I read these things until the ink starts coming off the pages. I mean everything! The letters, the stories, the ads, and all the personals. It was just amazing, you know? Like finding out that the totally cool guy you’ve been looking at for weeks is really turned on to you. I mean, there were all these people who were into the same stuff I was. I couldn’t wait until I grew up, you know?

  So I started collecting these things. I would go into a busy store, like one of those little cigar shop places where they sell lottery tickets? And I’d just grab anything weird and kinky and bring it up to the guy and pay for it. Mostly, they didn’t notice. Once, I like blushed and told the guy they were for my brother, who had a broken leg, and he couldn’t tell my mom to get him stuff like that. The guy laughed, like it was the funniest thing in the world, and whenever I went back, he’d ask about my brother. And I don’t even have one. A brother, I mean.

  In the meantime, I really filled out. I mean, every girl in school hated my guts. I was always real thin, but my tits came in kind of early, and guys would really just glom onto me all the time. And like, I couldn’t be bothered with most of them. They were all so immature! I knew what I wanted. I wanted an older guy, rich, who had a car and his own place, who was into all this kinky stuff. I didn’t want some pimply face, all-hands-and-mouth high school brat who was gonna live at home until he was thirty, you know? Like, they had no imagination. If you asked them to do something kinky, they’d probably think you were talking about moving to the back seat, OK?

  So I waited, and I kept buying these books and magazines and things. I even rented a PO box so I could order by mail and not have my mom open them by accident. I mean, she would have died! And I had this whole drawer of my dresser that was full of my own toys. I had a bag of clothespins. I used to put them all over my body before I jerked off. I dripped candle wax on myself, I got really good at figuring out ways to tie myself up so I could let myself loose, you know? Like, no good getting stuck and having to call Dad to come get me out, right? I had this really neat leather gag, like it cost me all of my allowance and two weekends of baby sitting, but it was really worth it. I just got off on that fat thing stretching my mouth open while I came.

  Oh yeah, I was a real jerk off artist. I mean, that was my sex life until I met Jerry.

  I was hanging out at the local community college. Like it was either that or get a full time job, you know? So I was there killing time, and I took this course in literature for idiots, or something like that. A whole class full of airheads, you know? But the teacher was way hot. He dressed up to come in, and he had the best clothes, like designer pants and Gucci belts, and silk shirts. And he was like, incredibly strict in class. He had this real short haircut, just when it was really cool to do that, and dark eyes, and this really square jaw. He had this way of looking at you that was totally scary.

  I fell in love with him the first day. I mean, really in love. He was just like the masters I made up when I was a kid, you know? Older, smarter, he made money, and he was totally in control. So, I waited a few days to make sure
I was right, and than I hung out near the teacher’s parking area until he was going home, and I stopped him. I told him all this stupid stuff about how much I liked his class, and I was starting to like, come on to him, and he totally put me down. He started telling me all this stuff about how it was real nice I liked the class and all, but he thought I was acting inappropriately. That’s how he put it, too, acting inappropriately. That he was my teacher and I was a student and that was it, you know?

  So the next day, I dropped the class. And three weeks later, I moved in with him.

  He was so cool. Like, he knew right away what I was into. The first time I ever had sex, I was tied to his bed, I mean really tied down, ropes everywhere. I was crying and laughing and coming all over the place that night, it was just fucking incredible. He would get me real hot, and than stop and make me like, beg and beg, and then he’d do mean things like pinch my nipples, or pull my hair, and then he’d start making love all over again, like from the beginning. He was really strong, and he worked out and had a great body, and he was just the hottest thing I could imagine.

  And he was really good with like, talking to me the right way. He never said, “oh, honey, would you mind going to Pedro’s tonight for tacos?” He’d just take me there, you know? And then he’d order for me, without asking me what I wanted. And then, he’d make me eat it! At home, he’d have all these little rules, and I’d forget them (because they were stupid, sometimes), and he’d spank me until I couldn’t sit down. I mean, this is for not hanging a towel up, or for not talking nice to him, or stuff like that. And he used to call me names all the time, like slut, cunt and bitch. I really got off on that, because he did it so casually. It was just, “hey, slut, get me a beer!” and off I’d go! But the best was when he called me all those names while we were having sex. He used to fuck me real slow, telling me how slutty I was, what a cheap, dirty whore I was, and all sorts of stuff like that, until I was just screaming.