Marketplace

by Laura Antoniou

  At first, I recoiled, and tried to tell myself that there had to be easier ways to find a mistress. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that sooner or later, balancing between being a free man and being her abject slave was going to drop me on one side or another. Slowly, I began to investigate how it could be done.

  It’s not easy! You just can’t go to a doctor and say, “lop it off, I don’t want it any more!” If you do, they’ll lock you up. They have programs for people who feel that they‘re born into the wrong bodies, though, so I started looking into those. I figured maybe I could find a psychiatrist who could help me out.

  Instead, I found Mistress Allison. Mistress Allison is... well, she was... she’s very different. A very special kind of lady. She saw me at one of these meetings, and she knew I didn’t belong. I was just trying to masquerade through this the way I did through the rest of my life. She knew I really didn’t want to actually be a woman. I’m not good enough to be a woman! When she explained it all to me, I just cried and cried. Now, I had no hope at all. I couldn’t keep on faking a real life forever, and my Mistress wouldn’t take me as long as I had a nasty thing between my legs.

  Mistress Allison took pity on me. She went to see my Mistress, several times, in fact, and my Mistress tried her best to show me in a good light. But I am just a big, clumsy idiot, no matter how much training I have, and I’m afraid I made my Mistress ashamed of me. Within two weeks, she gave me to Mistress Allison. And Mistress Allison told me about the Marketplace.

  I quit my job just two weeks ago. And I came here hoping that I could finally find a Mistress who wants me for what I am. Instead, I’m realizing that I’m not much of anything. And everyone knows it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Grendel and Alex met after dinner one night, having sent the four applicants off to bed for the fifth night in a row without taking any of them for the evening. Chris was doing a wonderful job of constantly reminding them how disgusting it was that in a week, none of them had polished themselves enough to be considered as even minimal entertainment or use to the owners of the house. And from all observable signs, the four slaves were suffering in their perceived rejection. Every chance they got, they tried to impress the owners in any way possible. It always seemed to fail, or fall to an entirely indifferent audience.

  “Of course,” Grendel noted, “suffering is good for the soul.”

  “And who would know better than you?” Alex teased back. She was very pleased with the way Claudia was shaping up. For all the disappointment that Robert engendered, Claudia was getting stronger every day, and more willing to do things she had balked at before. She had spent a lot of time with the girl discussing the relative merits of tears, and how and when a good slave should shed them, and Claudia was responding like a true champion.

  In contrast, Grendel was not doing too well with his brace of failures, as he called them. The two of them are so superficial, he had noted one day, that repeated washing would no doubt make them vanish into nothing. Sharon, at least, was getting the benefits of real labor and the joy of getting one’s hands dirty on a daily basis. It couldn’t end up as anything but character building. Fortunately, Jack was a horny bastard who could be every bit as sadistic a taskmaster as Chris could, just for short periods of time. The hours Sharon spent in the stable were hours that Grendel didn’t have to think about her, which was just fine, except that for the rest of the day, when she was training with him, he had learned to have aspirin handy. She was abysmally ignorant of the most basic things. Grendel smiled, remembering something Chris had reported.

  “Did you hear what her first question to Chris was?” he asked, pouring himself a brandy. (Chris was still upstairs yelling at the slaves.)

  “Do you mean Sharon’s?” Alex looked up and frowned. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “The first night, before anyone else could even think of something to ask, Sharon pipes up, ‘Why am I stuck working in that disgusting stable?’ Chris replied, ‘To teach you humility and dignity in labor’.”

  “That sounds like Chris, all right,” Alex laughed. “He can be so pompous sometimes.”

  “Oh, but that’s not the funny part. The funny part is that Sharon stood up and said back to him, ‘OK, so I’m really humiliated, OK?’, or something like that. Chris admitted that he almost lost it.”

  “Oh God. And she meant it, too, didn’t she?”

  “Of course. Chris sent her down to the library and told her not to come back until she could use the word ‘humility’ in three different sentences and explain the meaning.” Grendel sighed and took a sip of the brandy.

  They had instituted an old custom for their house, in allowing the slaves to each ask one question a night, to be answered by Grendel, Alex or Chris. Those questions, the slaves had been warned, would be the extent that their curiosity would be indulged beyond simple questions about how to perform their assigned tasks. They had also been told that the mark of a good slave was not asking any questions at all. Only Claudia had followed the not-so-subtle warning thus far, although the two men had showed admirable restraint both in the subject matter and in the pacing of their questions.

  “Well, at least we’re educating her. Shall we get down to business?” At Grendel’s nod, she folded her own hands around her steaming cup of tea and began. “I’ve found out what Robert’s two biggest problems are. The first is his role confusion, obviously. He still has very inappropriate responses to situations where there is any stress whatsoever, whether it’s as simple as answering a question or as difficult as taking a good strapping from Chris. It doesn’t do much good to punish him, by the way, at least not in the ways we’ve been trying so far. He seems to think that the more stress he’s undergoing, the greater license he has to behave like a stereotype of a helpless, clumsy serving wench. We’re working on that, both with the insistence on his growing back all the hair on his body and with assigning him some good outdoor work. He’s not happy about the hair, especially the beard he’s growing now. But he does surprisingly well on various heavy jobs. Chris says that Robert could be some use maintaining the cars, so I suggest we start him driving at the same time.”

  “Good idea.” Grendel nodded. “He’d make an impressive chauffeur.”

  “My thought exactly. But his second problem has to be dealt with before he could be an impressive anything.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “Stage fright.”

  Grendel nodded again. The oldest handicap in the world, and the one guaranteed to end any sort of career in the Marketplace. For never is a person more on display as when they are placed up for bid. And never is a possession more exhibited than when you’ve paid a lot of money and want to show off what you have acquired.

  “So,” Alex continued, “I’m going to start a series of confidence building exercises for him. I know, confidence builders for slaves, what a concept. But he really is dedicated, and I think he’ll be a gem once we break him of those two training wheels.” She paused again, tapping her weekly schedule book. “But it is so hard to reconcile the clumsy, inept man I see when I meet with him with the same man who managed to catch a full plate of cookies off a falling tray without dropping one. He’s got a terrific sense of balance and a keen eye. He just can’t seem to use them when anyone is watching!”

  “Well, he’s still looking a little bit better than he did last week. I think I have an idea about how to discipline him without pushing him into full retreat, by the way. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, or maybe Sunday. I just want to see a little more of him before I trust my instinct on it.”

  “Tease!”

  “And you love it,” he retorted. “Actually, though, you sound like you’ve got things going OK.” Grendel drank a little more brandy before starting his own report. “I wish I could say the same. Brian hates the bows and rhinestones Chris keeps coming up with, and Rachel says that he’s able but not wonderfully eager to please. Rachel may be a little severe, but she’s hardly unattrac
tive. That says suspicious things about his supposed bisexuality, I think. He may be a Kinsey true-type, which makes it difficult to figure out what to do with him. Are you sure you don’t want to try him out?”

  “Positive. I have my hands full. Why don’t you just play with him a little and see how he responds? You can judge his reactions to you versus his reactions to Rachel, and go on from there.”

  “I was planning to, but I think Paul and I have too much in common. He might be responding to someone he sees as just another leather daddy. I was thinking of letting Chris have a go at him, but Chris seems unwilling.”

  Alex’s eyebrow inched up. “That’s odd.”

  Grendel shrugged. “If I press the issue, he’ll do it. But right now, I think he’s too effective playing drill sergeant. You’re probably right, though. I’ll take Brian personally in hand this weekend. Now, getting back to my problems, there’s Sharon. She’s proving to be capable of memorizing things rather well, but her retention skills don’t seem to carry over to actually using the information she’s memorized. Also, despite her lessons in ‘humiliation,’ it’s so clear that she’s putting on an act that it’s embarrassing to be with her. Maybe I did make a mistake there.”

  “Well, if you did it’s not a terrible one. Let’s start with her roughest spots. Can we do anything to educate her further without enrolling her in a local university?” Alex wasn’t exactly joking. They had done just that on several occasions before.

  “I have an idea, actually. Robert seems to have a lot of background in seminars and coaching. Perhaps we can combine his need for confidence building with her need to not be so stupid. What do you think?”

  “That just might work,” Alex admitted. She glanced at the weekly schedule and began to make notes. “In fact, that might fit in with what I had in mind! OK, That’s one rough spot. Next?”

  “Jack tells me that although she does well in pleasing him sexually, she seems to have a definitely class-based prejudicial attitude about it. Apparently, she’s got it into her head that only the master will do, and she resents any other circumstance. You know what I want to do about that, no doubt.”

  “You’ve got my approval. Except for one thing. I still haven’t had Robert to myself for some practical examination of that substantial tool between his legs. Let me see what I can do with him over the weekend, and I’ll give him instructions on Monday morning.”

  Grendel nodded. “So the boys get a workout, huh? Well, Claudia needs a little more time finding herself. And after Monday, Sharon will wonder why she ever complained.” He made some notes on his own schedule and looked across the small table at Alex, who was finishing her tea. “I miss you,” he said casually.

  She mimed a kiss at him, and he grinned. “Your dungeon or mine?” she asked, getting up to leave.

  “Since you ask, why yours, of course.”

  * * * *

  Four exhausted, beaten, and bleary-eyed slaves stood in the garden awaiting their dismissal. Throughout the week, their bodies and minds had been worked constantly, from rising until late evening, when they collapsed into their beds with groans and a desire to curl up and sleep for the next two days.

  Their trials showed on their bodies as an endless array of red and white lines, light bruises, and various cuts and scrapes gotten in assorted labor. But the reaction in their minds and souls came out in the way they bore themselves and how they dealt with new insanities and new demands. Robert, despite claims that he was trying his best to behave the way Alexandra wanted him too, was a constant mess, fluttering between panicked gibberish and impassioned begging and pleading for mercy.

  Claudia, on the other hand, seemed to, in less than one week, begin to bear herself with a new kind of quiet dignity. Although she still couldn’t bear to be punished publicly and cried more often than not, her tears came in silence now, trickling down her face in a glistening shower.

  Brian stumbled more, and his speech became less cocky, and less stylized. Every day, he endured some new trinket or adornment that Chris got from who-knew-where, and his head sank down into his chest when people giggled at them. He was just starting to become slightly sullen.

  And Sharon showed her stress by fluctuating between a stubborn and resentful dedication to her duties and outright surliness to her comrades. They spoke less and less to her, even in jest, and no one helped her out in the bathroom. Full time training was turning out to be a little more harsh than anyone had expected.

  Then, on that evening out in the garden, Chris paused before sending them off to bed and said, “Claudia and Sharon, you are dismissed.”

  The four looked at him and then at each other. He repeated himself. “You are dismissed, girls. Go. To. Bed.” His fingers jerked toward the strap, and Claudia turned and fled. Sharon opened her mouth for a moment, and then thought better of it and followed her better behaved sister.

  “Robert and Brian, you have thirty minutes to make yourselves fully presentable. Then you, Brian, will report to Master Grendel, and Robert to Mistress Alexandra. You both remember where their suites are?”

  He was answered with two mute nods. “Good,” Chris said, glancing at his watch. “You have thirty minutes starting from now.” The two men took off at a run, and Chris strolled casually into the house after them, whistling a show tune.

  * * * *

  Robert was so used to being naked that walking through the hallways was no big deal. But somehow, when he reached the doors to Mistress Alexandra’s suite, he trembled and felt the weight of the chain around his neck. He was also dreadfully conscious of the amount of body hair that was now almost in full pelt all over his frame. Next to the smooth-shaven bodies of the other three, he felt obscenely dirty, like his body was covered in moss or mud. When he was allowed to ask his questions, he asked why he wasn’t permitted to go shorn like everyone else. Chris had answered, “Because you prize being shorn. You must learn that no pleasure belongs to you, but to your owners.”

  Which made sense, actually. But now, standing before the doorway that might very well lead him to the nearest railroad station, he felt dirty, despite the vigorous washing he had just given himself.

  As the clock downstairs began to chime the hour, he knocked. And at Alexandra’s invitation, he entered her sanctum, a place he had only entered in bright daylight. Now, with only small table lamps lit, it was a sensuous series of caverns. An outer room, with tables and chairs and a comfortable couch, for receiving visitors. A large master bedroom, with a walk-in closet and a bathroom that had a shower and a personal sized jacuzzi. And a small antechamber on the other end, with a big comfortable chair and a reading lamp and a magnificent view of the garden. It was her private world, all done in clean, plain lines, with shelves of treasured books, cabinets of souvenirs and objets d’art, and no televisions or radios to distract her from the tranquility of the design. She was waiting for him in the outer chamber, dressed in a light summer blouse and casual, form-fitting slacks.

  He never saw his mistress in New York in regular clothing. Not after the first night he met her. Yet somehow, Alexandra’s casual dress and manner was becoming very alluring. It spoke of a power that didn’t need costumes or amulets to work. And for all the hours he spent bound and gagged in a room hung with red and black drapes, with heavy wood furniture upholstered in black leather with gleaming silver buckles and snaps, such a decor never made him shiver the way he did when he stepped into the softness of the oriental rug in the middle of her floor and inclined his head in what she had taught him was a proper bow.

  “Good. You’re on time,” Alexandra noted. “Let’s go inside, I want to get a good look at you.” He followed her obediently into the bedroom, where his shivering became trembling.

  “That’s it,” Alexandra said, stopping in front of him. “Right in the middle of the carpet here. Now, lace your fingers behind your neck and stand straight.” He obeyed, and she took a walk around him, like she did the first time she examined him. Only this time, she was much closer to him
.

  “I think your workouts are too easy for you, Robert,” she said, her voice directly behind his left shoulder. “I see by your charts that you finish them early most of the time. You should have told me.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” Robert managed to croak out. His voice always started up high. He always needed to a moment to gain control of it and drag it down. He waited for her to appear within his peripheral vision again, but she stayed where she was.

  “I knew of a master,” she said softly, “who tattooed his slaves here, on the shoulder, with an intricate rose pattern.” She touched Robert’s shoulder up high, tracing the area she was speaking about. “He actually cut the design into them, with a surgeons’ tool, and then rubbed colored inks into the raw cut, so that it looked like a regular tattoo.”

  Robert’s back actually rippled in a shudder.

  “Yes, it sounds painful, doesn’t it? He put theirs on the left shoulder, which a few people have wondered about. What is the significance of that placement, Robert?” She neither moved nor took her hand away. In fact, she began to run her fingers lightly across his back.

  “Um, um,” Robert strangled on the words. “Ma’am, uh...”

  “Gather yourself before you speak, Robert.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The big man took a deep breath. “In the gay culture, ma’am, the custom of, um, placing keys on the left means that you’re a master, and on the right means that you’re a slave.” Somehow, despite the maddeningly erotic touch of her, he managed to spew out that simple fact. He felt like he had just finished a wrestling bout. Answering questions while he was like this was so hard!

  “That’s correct, Robert. Yet this master placed his mark left. Can you imagine why?”

  “N-no, ma’am.”