But after a while, I realized that he was only into it sometimes. Like, he’d begin to talk regular to me during the week, or he’d have temper tantrums and not spank me or do anything but yell at me. I woke up one day and I thought about it, and it was suddenly clear to me. He really only did that stuff on the weekends. During the week, he wanted me to be like a regular girlfriend or a wife even, and not have to deal with ropes and chains and spankings and stuff. He even started calling me sweetheart. I mean, he was a teacher in a tiny college, OK, and he was sounding like he wanted me to be his wife. No way, baby, I was in this for thrills, not for a lifetime of K-Mart shopping, OK?
And I got so bored, so fast. I began to find rules to break, and like, I’d make it obvious? Like I wouldn’t go say hello to him when he got home, or I’d leave the stupid bath mat on the floor, or something like that. But he’d just forget it, or not notice, unless it was when he wanted to play. Then, I tried to get him into some more stuff. I got some catalogs and showed him some toys we didn’t have, like whips and leather blindfolds and dildos and butt plugs and stuff. I mean, we were still using my old clothespins for nipple clamps! But nothing seemed to interest him, you know? Then, in the back of one of my magazines, there was a listing of these kinky clubs in New York, so I went out one night to check out what they had.
And that’s how I joined the, um, Equivocal Coalition. I mean, I don’t know what the fuck that name is supposed to mean, but that’s what they called it, OK? The first time I went, I thought it was the hottest thing since in-line skates. I mean, it was like hundreds of people into this SM stuff, and they had meetings and parties and stuff. But it was at my third time there when I realized that it was really this club of total dweebs who were trying to get some kinky nooky, like right now. I mean, I’d walk in and there’d be this parade of men growing around me. And they’d all be ‘masters,’ you know? Because I told them, I was this total slave bitch, and they all became instant masters. Like instant coffee. Just add bullshit.
They weren’t really masters, not most of them. If I walked in there with boots and a riding crop, they’d all be slaves, you know. They were just regular guys who liked their sex a little kinky and needed to get laid real bad. I played with some of them, and it was just like Jerry. OK, now we’re master and slave, and now we’re like, Bob and Sharon, OK? I mean, nothing was ever real for longer than a couple of hours. But these guys did do one thing right. They showed me the sex clubs.
They were great! I went to one, and this night there were these guys just rolling around on the floor, dressed in rags and shit? And this woman was tied to this really weird bench, with like, thousands of feet of rope? And all these pervert guys into feet were crawling around licking boots and stuff. Everyone was dressed in tight leather and sexy clothes, and some of them even carried whips and handcuffs and stuff. And I went to this other one, and they gave out play money and pretended they had a slave sale? I did that a couple to times, and let me tell you, if that money was real, I’d be a fucking millionaire, OK? It was a lot of fun, though. The sale part. Seeing all these guys fighting over me, borrowing this play money from all their friends and stuff. And the best part was seeing that other people did this, well, seriously. Like they were masters and slaves, and the slaves wore little collars, and masters wore black boots, and it was so much better than what I had with Jerry.
So, I’d find some way to get time to go out, and I’d do all this stuff. I bought new, sexy clothes and some cheap silver chain jewelry, and I would just go in and take over the place! Every time I went out, I’d meet tons of guys who would do anything for me. I’d make them fight with each other just by, you know, not making up my mind. And then I’d get up and do the sale thing, and do some hot scene with the guy who had the most play money.
But then it would go back to the same old problem, you know? I’d get off the stage, and they’d just be regular guys who want a little kinky touchy-feely session and then go home and fuck. And a lot of them wanted to go to my home to fuck, too, because it turns out that they’re married or some shit.
This kinda became a problem with Jerry. I was still living with him, but I wasn’t telling him where I was going all these nights. I mean, I’d tell him I was going out with girlfriends, or shopping, or to the movies or something. Like, he wasn’t stupid, you know? So he caught on, but he thought I was cheating on him with someone regular. It was really cool for a while, because he would sometimes get into playing master when he was really pissed, or he’d threaten to chain me to the bed for the whole weekend and stuff like that. But he finally just lost it, and I had to tell him what was up.
So we went to the clubs together after that. See, he always knew about them, but he was afraid of his, you know, reputation. Like, what if his students showed up there, or another teacher, right? So I told him, hey, who gives a shit? I mean, they’re there too. And you’ve got this total slave babe on your arm while they’re probably crawling around licking some old woman’s boots, OK? And he saw I was right, so we started going out together.
And that was really cool for a while, especially when he led me around on a collar and leash, and made me call him master all night. He even sold me once, brought me up on stage and all that. But that was like the biggest mistake he ever made, because that’s how I met Frank.
Frank bought me that night, and it was like my biggest fantasy coming alive. I mean, he looked the part even better than Jerry did, and he acted it one hundred percent. And Jerry was cute, you know, I liked him, but Frank was a total fox. And he was rougher than Jerry, you know, not so, cultured. But he was really educated, like he was this building designer or something, and he had this amazing loft in Manhattan, with a dungeon and a slave’s room and a jacuzzi.
So anyway, that night, he bought me and he totally dominated me, right there in the club. It was really hot, with Jerry watching and everything. But when we got home, I really expected Jerry to be angry and jealous and get up in my face about it? And he didn’t. He just acted like everything was cool, same as usual, goodnight sweetheart, see you in the morning!
So, I went to the, um, Equi-whatever Coalition, and I asked around, and they told me that this guy, Frank, was probably gonna be teaching this special seminar on masters and slaves in about a week. So I went there, and I saw him again, and like a week later, I was living with him.
He was the best. I mean, I thought he was a real, one hundred percent master when I moved in with him. He had his own little play room, and there was leather everywhere. He even had a table with a wheel on it, like a rack?
And he had tons of equipment, I mean an entire wall of whips and paddles and bondage cuffs and things.
And he was ready for me. He had me dress the way he liked, I ate on the fucking floor a lot, and every day when he got back from work, I had to be kneeling naked in the hallway, waiting for his cock.
That cock became my entire life. I had to be ready for him to fuck me, or I had to be ready to blow him, all the time. And he’d spring it on me when I wasn’t expecting it, like during dinner, or while he was watching TV, or once, when he was talking on the phone to his fucking mother. I mean there he was, saying things like, “sure, Mom,” and “hey, Mom, that’s great, and how’s cousin Susie?” and there I was slurping away on his dick! And he liked to do things that Jerry didn’t get into, like put a vibrator in me and take me out to dinner, or spend a whole day just tying me up in different places. And he liked to whip me too, and that was something else Jerry really didn’t do.
But the best part was that he loved to show me off. We went to the clubs every weekend, and we were the hottest sensation! He’d walk in with me on a leash, dressed in something really, um, skimpy, with gold chains around my ankles and my belly? And he’d be in all black, with like whips and riding crops on his belt. Sometimes, he’d handcuff me, or put these really pretty nipple-clamps on me. They had little pearls hanging from them, they looked so hot. And he’d do a scene with me in the middle of the biggest room, and ever
yone would watch. Guys would just drool over me. At this one place, they’d just whip out their cocks and start pumping.
And once in a while, Frank would have a play party at the loft, and people would come over. Those were the best. He would tie me up really fancy, and make me a centerpiece, or he’d make me wear this really stupid costume, or maybe crawl around all night like a dog. And he’d let everyone touch me if they wanted to, and sometimes even whip me or spank me. He’d say things like, “My property is available for loan tonight,” and people would be so fucking impressed. And I was real good at being a slave now, so all the guys would get really jealous.
It was at one of his parties where I first played with a woman. He and this other master who had a slave thought it would be real hot to watch some girl-girl action, and they put us together. She was shy, but I really got into it. I just did stuff that I liked, and she went crazy. Afterwards, the guys pulled us apart and fucked us silly, like for hours. Soon, all these mistresses were asking to play with me too.
And for a while, it was like living a dream. But it was a dream, you know? You begin to wake up and realize that things really aren’t that great. For me, it started when Frank began to talk about getting another slave or two. Like, he always wanted what he called a ‘stable.’ And I’m not exactly the most, you know, monogamous, girl in the world, and it didn’t bother me if he wanted to play with other women, but living with them was kind of out of the question. And when I raised the issue, he kinda just dropped it, and just like Jerry did, he started to only do this stuff part time.
I call these guys weekend masters. Like they’re two separate people, and one is totally normal and dull and vanilla, and the other is a walking fantasy.
But you have to understand, I was always a real sex slave to them. I mean, a pleasure slave. I didn’t do the dishes and stuff all the time. The way I figured it, my job was to keep them happy below the belt, you know? And they thought I was the best. My two masters always told me I was the best slave they ever had, and all their friends could just burst from being jealous. The problem was that they were never really enough master for me.
So anyway, Frank and I went to this private party one weekend, at this woman’s house down by the shore. And the minute I walked through the door, I knew that there were, like, two kinds of people there. There were people like Frank and me, and there were these really different people. I can’t explain how they were different, except that they seemed to be more intense. And at that party, I met this guy named Joe Manelli. I was coming out of a bathroom, and I heard him talking on the phone, telling someone about this hot deal. So, I thought it had something to do with the stock market or something, but then I realized that he was talking about people. And that was the first time I heard about the Marketplace.
I cornered him later, you know? When Frank wasn’t looking. And I asked him, you know, what was he talking about? And he just totally went into denial, like I hadn’t heard him right, he didn’t say anything, and besides, it was none of my business. And from then on, anyone I thought was in on it, they treated me like I was some kind of idiot, and they all laughed. Even Frank, when he heard about what I was asking about, even he laughed at me. He bought me more books and told me to be happy with what I had.
So the next time we went to that woman’s house, I kind of found this file cabinet in this office and there was a folder in it marked Marketplace, and I just kind of borrowed it for a while. I took it to the bathroom, and I wrote down some names and addresses. And I put it back, real nice. I mean, if no one was going to tell me anything, if they were going to all pretend it didn’t exist, how the fuck was I supposed to get in, you know?
So, in the folder was Manelli’s name again, and some stuff about contracts. I called him first. When he wouldn’t talk to me, I went to see him, because I had his address now. And he tried to brush me off, but I just stripped down and knelt on his carpet and looked up at him and called him master, and boom, he was all mine.
And he told me about the whole deal, how this thing is international, and old, and really secret, and how contracts work, and who makes money, and how slaves live, and everything. He even gave me some lessons on how to act, although he wasn’t right at all. I mean, now I realize that he probably was some kind of Marketplace nerd, you know? Good for the shit work, but not part of the, you know, inner circle or whatever.
But basically, I let him fuck me and he wrote me a contract, the way I wanted it, and then I wrote to this place. My contract is totally great, like it says that I’m a pleasure slave and I shouldn’t be doing, like, the windows? He showed me how to make up a file like the slaves had to have, and he even got a photographer to take my pictures for me. About three months after I wrote, I got a postcard back, with the date and time I was supposed to get here. It said I should pack certain stuff, and that was it.
So I packed up my favorite books and toys and stuff and told Frank I was lending them to a friend, and that she thought he was really hot. He didn’t even ask who! I put them in long-term storage, and paid for two years worth. And I really concentrated on being the best slave for Frank, so that when I was gone he’d have lots of good memories.
I called Frank from the railroad station and told him I was visiting my family out of state, and I’d be back in a month or two. I figure one way or another, it’ll be easier for him if he thinks I’m coming back.
But I’m not. I can’t. I need the real thing. And what’s more, when I get what my contract says, it’s going to be the real thing forever. Because I’m not an idiot, I know how guys work. And if they sell me like it says in my contract, I’ll have myself a master who wants no one else but me for the rest of his life!
Chapter Six
This was the pattern for the rest of the week: each day, they met privately with either Alexandra or Grendel, and either answered questions or underwent some form of testing. One morning, they might be assigned to some mundane household chore, the next might find them doing a series of poses intended to be erotic or defining. Questions seemed random, partly about their experiences and hopes, and then suddenly about current events and philosophy. They were grilled, constantly, on the most basic kind of submissive behavior, and the blue binder in the library was frequently consulted and sections memorized by them all. It took some special inspiration to get Sharon to crack it seriously.
Claudia found herself drowning in that ancient silver, a task that was assigned only to her. And each night, she received more than her fair share of punishment for not finishing the job. Chris taunted her constantly, openly questioning her ability to do anything right. In time, her tears slowed, but they never seemed to really stop. She began to hunger for a kind touch or word, and would shiver at a gentle tone in anyone’s voice.
Robert missed the comfort of his role and his costumes, and seemed to be in tears as often as Claudia. Whenever he was given a task, he always seemed to do it best when no one was looking. But whenever Cook turned to see what he was up to, or Alexandra wanted to watch just how he was going to sweep the porch, or (worse yet!) when Chris came by and just stared at him with those cold eyes, he just fell to pieces. Suddenly, the knife would slip and weird chunks of vegetables would drop onto the pile of neat slices he had already cut. Or clouds of dust would rise where only clean floors shone a moment earlier. A bag would shift in his arms, seemingly of its own accord, and curios would clatter as he set them back on a shelf. He was positive that he had his own personal gremlin. It was the only way to explain how all these things only happened when someone was there to watch.
And they were tightly controlled—like prisoners, Sharon commented one night. But not like slaves. And on this point, they all agreed. Their clothing, their sleeping arrangements, the manner in which they were spoken to and even the punishments they received, seemed devoid of the stuff their fantasies had conjured. And even as they were stripped of what little clothing they were issued from time to time, no special distinction was ever made between the clothed and unclot
hed.
There were no collars, no leather cuffs, no sexy, threatening whips or delicately painful nipple-clamps. No costumes were affected, ever, and even their periodic nudity went so unnoticed that it lost its power to make them other. And although Grendel and Alexandra made it clear that they were interested in the ability of the applicants to be salaciously interesting and available, neither they nor Chris made the slightest carnal use of them. The most attention they got in that area was a cursory acknowledgement of the applicant’s ability to get aroused by their treatment. But nothing ever came of it. The four walked a constant path of pain, arousal, and frustration. And each night, they retreated to their room, aching and exhausted. Despite their assurances to get to know each other better, after their first night, no one had enough energy to continue their personal narratives. They barely had the energy to get into a comfortable position to sleep.
It was baffling.
Grendel remained true to his word and only saw Sharon when she was with the other three. But she was not left in the library all day any more. She too found herself peeling potatoes, polishing furniture, and folding laundry as she rotated household tasks with her fellow applicants.
Two days had passed before she realized that Grendel had every intention of keeping his word to her. Her fit of anger that night cost them all ten additional blows from Chris‘s strap. The following morning, when Chris came to wake them, he threw a piece of Sharon’s luggage to the foot of her bed and left it there, making no comment.
That day, she went to the library after lunch and started really studying.
* * * *
Marketplace Page 10