Marketplace

by Laura Antoniou

  “Work on your imagination, then. I will tell you this, though. It is rumored that the master had a rose tattooed on his right shoulder. Isn’t that a delicious piece of gossip? Doesn’t it suggest a longer tale?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Alex left off her explorations of his back and cupped one hand around a firm cheek. “You have quite a good-looking body,” she said, caressing him. “Do you realize that?”

  Robert colored, deeply and suddenly. He coughed and tried to lower his head, but couldn‘t without disturbing the position he was in. “N-no, ma’am!”

  “Are you suggesting that I’m wrong, or do you think I’m lying to you?” Alex asked, a little smile on her face. She patted his ass lightly. “Spread your legs wider apart.”

  He did so, awkwardly. “No, no, ma’am!” he said, trying to maintain his balance. “Of course not!”

  “Then pay attention. One of the best things you have right now is your body, Robert. Your training is shoddy and your deportment is a mess. But you should thank God every night that you look like a nice piece of meat.” She walked back around to face him.

  “When was the last time you sexually pleased a woman, Robert?”

  “Um... oh, dear,” Robert squirmed a little, avoiding her eyes. “Over two years ago, ma’am,” he finally squeaked out. “My... my mistress never... she wouldn’t ever let me...”

  Alex stroked his left nipple until his stammering dissolved into a moaning whimper. “And how are you at massage?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m very good at foot massage, ma’am!” Robert’s face brightened. Finally, something he did do well! “I used to do it for all of my mistress’ friends!”

  “OK,” Alex said, nodding. She walked over to a chair by a window and sat down. “Show me what you can do.”

  In no time, Robert had Alex sighing in relaxation. His large, worn hands cradled her feet in a firm, warm grip, and his fingers, so clumsy in so many other things, kneaded their way to nerves and muscles until she felt like purring. He certainly was good, past the skill level of an attentive and caring lover. And once he was seated on the floor, working diligently on a task he was eager to do, some of the confidence that had given him the strength to be a successful man in mundane society seemed to peek through his self-erected barriers.

  “How are you on the rest of the body?” Alex asked, looking forward to an all-over massage.

  Robert looked up in panic. His hands stopped working. “T-the rest?” he said. “But ma’am would have to... I mean, I never...”

  “Yes, I think I’d like that very much,” Alex said, pulling her foot from his hands. “You’ll find some oils in my bathroom. Pick something soothing and bring it here with a few towels. If you run the bottle under the hot water for a little while, it will make the oil nice and warm.” Robert looked slightly helpless, and he was slow to get up, so Alex leaned over and cupped his chin in her hand. “If you can give a near professional massage, it would be worth our while to get you to professional level and make it part of your qualifications, Robert. It’s a very popular item, especially among women. So do as you’re told.”

  So she was ready for him, wearing nothing but a loose robe by the time he returned. She told him how to lay out the towels and how much oil to use, and then stood away from him. “Now come and remove my robe. Drape it nicely over the arm of the chair. I want every move to be graceful.”

  Of course it wasn’t. His hands fumbled at her belt, and she could feel him trembling as he eased the silk over her shoulders. Since he turned away from her to lay the robe down, she could only hear the ragged inhalation of breath that sounded almost like a sob. She ignored it and made herself comfortable on the bed, her head resting on her forearms.

  “You may begin, Robert.”

  He took a few more seconds than he should have to actually approach her. She was so ready for that first touch that she sighed at the heat of his palms. He began by gently rubbing the slightly warmed oil into her shoulders and across the blades. The rough tips of his fingers were like delicate abrasions. She made a satisfied humming sound and settled down into the bed, more relaxed than she had been before.

  Robert worked diligently at spreading a thin layer of the expensive, lush-smelling oil, and then began to press his hands down, pushing against the muscles and beginning to grip with his fingers. Each wave across or down her back, he alternated with light scratching motions, which she seemed to like very much. The more she liked it, the bolder he became. His hands worked steadily in increasing pressure, working knots out of her muscles and encouraging blood flow. Gently, he eased her arms out from under her head and worked his magic on them, even to her fingertips, before letting her have them back. Then, he worked his way across her neck and down her spine to her lower back.

  Alexandra was in heaven. Good sex was always nice (mediocre sex wasn’t all that bad either, when you got down to it), but a good massage was ecstasy! And damn, if Robert didn‘t know what he was doing! No doubt, he’d blossom with just a few sessions with Julio, their regular masseur. And since he didn’t feel that she was actually watching him, he seemed fully capable of doing his genuine best.

  He paused, and she stopped her reverie to wonder why. Oh, yes, he had reached her ass. She smiled against her pillow and then lifted her head to order him to continue. As he did, his hands light again, their trembling discernible as he pressed them against her, she praised him and let her head drop back down. It took barely a minute for him to regain his ability and work on her with the excellence he had shown on her back.

  By the time he was finished, she was sleepy and awash with a delicious languor. She turned her head and ordered him to clean up and get out. When he did so quickly and in absolute silence, she smiled again. Ah, she thought, reaching for the light switch on the lamp beside her bed, there is hope for him yet!

  * * * *

  “So you don’t like Chris’s little ribbons and bows?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” Grendel smiled a narrow but feral smile. His eyes fixed squarely on Brian’s, his face close enough to be in that danger area that would make most people back away. But Brian would not, could not, retreat from it. If he did, he would find himself back in the little dorm room. So he had been warned.

  “I... I guess so, sir.”

  “Try again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grendel nodded and swept a hand across Brian’s chest and belly. The expanse was clean of stubble, the shaving job very nice. Of course, it would be. Brian’s obsession with his looks had allowed him to achieve a supreme level of leather clonedom. Oddly, it failed when it came to less black-cowhide-stereotyped body and dress modes.

  “Do you know why you’re here tonight?” Grendel asked, walking away.

  “No, sir.”

  “Can you guess?”

  “To serve you, sir?”

  “That’s a good guess. A safe one, but a good one.” Grendel reached his destination, a chest of drawers that stood next to his glass balcony doors. He opened the top drawer and took out a few items, laying them to one side.

  Like Alexandra’s rooms, Grendel’s reflected a soul that loved a sense of clean, luxurious privacy. He favored a heavy, almost industrial look, with solid bases and shining surfaces, bare of showy ornamentation but stylish just the same. Artifacts of a nautical nature hung on the walls or stood with sedate grace on a series of high shelves, and with the windows open, the slight breeze almost seemed to carry a tang.

  “Yes,” Grendel said, as he turned back toward Brian, “you are here to serve. But tonight, my purpose is more direct than that. I’ll be perfectly frank. Rachel has given me some disappointing reports about you. Alexandra is so discouraged, she won’t even agree to do a session with you. I want to know why you’re not shaping up. I thought you were supposed to be working your ass off to make Paul proud. Instead, you’re mostly sitting on it or getting it strapped into black and blue lines because your snott
y attitude won’t stop. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Then explain to me why you’re not doing well.”

  Brian found himself at a loss for words. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t causing any problems! He did as he was told. He bore the various frilly badges of shame that marked him every day. What else was wanted of him? The position he was in, ramrod straight, with his hands at his side and his feet together, also made him very uncomfortable. He was used to a wider stance.

  “I don’t know what to say, sir,” he finally muttered, lowering his head. His thick hair was still damp from the shower.

  “What a shame,” Grendel said. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something, eventually. In the mean time, let’s see what kind of a toy you can be.” He pointed at a sturdy writing desk along one wall. “Go over there and bend forward, bracing your arms. While you’re thinking, I might as well have a little fun with you.”

  When Brian did as he was told, he braced himself for the sting and wallop of a strap. Of course he was going to be punished again. But this time, for master’s pleasure. Well, that was OK. Maybe Grendel had a different way of handling things than Chris did. Maybe this would be a nice, ass-blistering beating, the way other men had given Brian a little pleasure.

  Instead, Grendel casually and lightly examined and stroked Brian’s ass and the backs of his legs. Brian’s legs were pushed wider apart, so that his cock and balls hung straight down, bare even of stubble and free for the older man’s touch. Grendel paid them minimal attention. Then, after a brief absence of touch, Grendel’s hands returned, and one of them pushed into the cleft between Brian’s cheeks. A cool, smooth finger, slippery with a cool dollop of lube, pressed against the rim of Brian’s asshole, and then invaded it. Brian moaned and shifted back.

  “Like it?” Grendel asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Brian replied, sighing. “Very much, sir!”

  “Good. You’re staying in this position until I get an answer to my question.” Grendel gently fucked the finger in and out, and added more lube. Brian bit the inside of his cheek. The fit would be tighter without so much wet stuff. But he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to foul up the best chance he had for a scene with the master. No way. He couldn’t wait to be properly fucked.

  But wait. What was that about staying in position? Until he answered what question? He gasped as another finger worked its way beside the first, and remembered. Well, fine. What was he supposed to say? Nothing, certainly, until this fuck was over. Then he’d think of something. But only after he was good and reamed.

  The fingers pulled out suddenly, making him sway and grasp the desk to keep from falling. Had he really closed his eyes, and so soon? He opened them and waited for the return of the pressure. It didn’t come.

  “You’re very accessible,” Grendel commented, wiping his hand off on a small towel. “You open up very nicely. Unfortunately, that’s the one part of you we could have easily trained. Do you have an answer yet? No? Well, keep thinking.”

  The heavy carpeting kept Brian from hearing any footsteps per se, but he could definitely feel the lack of a person near him. Light shuffling sounds seemed magnified beyond belief, right along with his own heartbeat, which pounded in his ears. He waited with what he felt was great patience for the next sensation. Would it be a strap? A paddle? Or... please, please, he thought, perhaps Grendel might actually bring himself to just push the Brian to the floor and make him prove the boast uttered so long ago in Grendel’s office?

  None of those things happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. Brian’s arms began to feel stiff; he was holding them too tightly. He relaxed a little but maintained the position. He wanted to raise his head and find out where Grendel was, but at the same time, he dared not. He tried keep his exhalations from sounding out his growing frustration.

  Just as he debated stretching his legs just a little bit, he heard the sound of a shower running. Carefully, he twisted his neck and looked around. The bathroom door was open, and Grendel was indeed taking a shower. The master of the house had just left Brian in position and gone off to bathe.

  Now what? Brian asked himself. Do I get up? Should I leave? Or do I have to stay where I am, bent over like this? He lifted and shook out each leg and stretched as well as he could without actually standing up. Obviously, I have to stay where I am, he decided. Then, when he gets back, he’ll praise me and we’ll go on from there. No sweat. He’ll see... but wait. Was Grendel really waiting for an answer to that question? How the hell should I know why I’m not working out the way they want, was his first bitter thought. I didn’t write the frigging rules here!

  But as the water continued to run in that smaller room off to the side, Brian’s dread grew. Maybe he did have to come up with an answer. Maybe Grendel would come back, turn on the news or something and then just go to bed, and leave Brian like this all night!

  Get a grip, he scolded himself. Just come up with something plausible and we can get back on the case here. He devoted the next several minutes to seriously thinking about it, his thoughts broken only by the sound of someone entering the room, passing him completely without even a pause, and putting something that clinked down on one of the bedside tables. That person left again without comment, closing the door behind them. For some reason, the entire moment made Brian more acutely conscious of his submissive vulnerability than he had even been. That other person, and it could have been Rachel, or maybe even Chris, didn’t even seem to notice he was there.

  I can’t stand it! Brian’s entire body shook in a mixture of humiliation, anxiety, and confusion. I don’t understand what’s going on! All I want is to be owned, is that so hard? All I want is for some master to take me away and just tell me what to do. To his horror, a tear crept from behind one eyelid and trailed down the side of his nose. He raised one hand to wipe it hurriedly away, but then realized that the water had stopped running. He stayed in position, and felt another tear escape. He opened his eyes wide to try to make them dry quickly. But his courage was fading fast, and he had so little control left.

  Again, he felt rather than witnessed Grendel’s movements through the room. The scrape of porcelain made it clear that someone had brought the older man a cup of something hot, and that he was silently drinking it, across the room from Brian. Nothing was said. The silence grew more and more oppressive as Brian fought to control his raging turmoil of conflicting emotions. He tried to turn his attention back to the question, but his own fears and worries kept getting in the way.

  After a while, his lower back and the backs of his calves began to ache.

  He had no idea how long he had been there, bent over in silence, before a sudden cramp in one leg forced him off balance. It seemed that Grendel was at his side in a second.

  “You could have told me at any time that you were experiencing weakness,” Grendel said, as he helped Brian lower himself to the floor. “This was not intended to be an endurance contest. Or did you forget what it was you were supposed to be doing?” He was wearing a summer weight robe now, carelessly belted low around his waist. Black hair showed in a coarse profusion across his naked chest. Brian saw it and lusted to touch it, grab it in one hand and hold on tight, and his mind felt like it was spinning into a long reel. He finally felt the carpet beneath his hands, and groped for his calf to begin massaging it.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. The wave of sensual need passed through him again, and he was aware that his cock was jutting upward between his legs, despite the pain from the cramp and the humiliation of the stumble out of position. “I’m sorry,” he repeated helplessly.

  “Yes, I’m sure you are. But for what? For failing to become a piece of still life, or for failing to answer my question?” Grendel went back to his table to get the cup that still had a little now-cool coffee in the bottom. Bringing it back to Brian, he gestured for the younger man to open his mouth, and made him drink the dregs. To Brian, who ha
d not had coffee in two weeks, the strong and cold stuff was like ambrosia. He drank it eagerly, not even minding when Grendel slapped his offer of a hand to hold the cup.

  “Now you have two questions to answer, Brian,” Grendel said, taking the cup away.

  “Yes,” Brian said, savoring the bitterness and still rubbing his leg. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with an answer to your question, sir. I don’t know why I’m not doing well.” He lowered his head and his hands fell away from his leg. It wasn’t so bad now, and the intensity of having felt Grendel’s strength and that unexpected boon of a sip of coffee suddenly seemed overwhelming. His eyes filled with tears again. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” he said yet again.

  “Yes, I can see that,” Grendel said softly. There was a new, thoughtful tone in his voice. “Well, admitting that you don’t know will be enough of an answer tonight. You may go now.”

  Brian looked up in confusion. “G-go? But, aren’t... don’t you want to...”

  “What?”

  “Please sir,” Brian pleaded, “won’t you let me show you how... good I can be? I’ll show you what I was trained to do, sir, you’ll see, I can—”

  “No, I’m not interested, Brian,” Grendel said, the thoughtful tone gone again. “I gave you a chance to do that and you fucked up. So get your ass out of here before I have to tell you twice.”

  Brian struggled to his feet and gave the simple nodding bow he had been taught to make when exiting, and escaped out to the hallway before tears began to flood his cheeks again. He paid a visit to the slaves’ bathroom before going back to bed, and washed his face over and over again, his head pounding from confusion and pain. When he got back and realized that Robert had not returned, he had to bite down into his pillow to keep from cursing out loud.

  What did I do wrong? he screamed internally. What did I do wrong?

  He was awake enough when Robert did return to smile in a nasty triumph. If I didn’t do too well, he thought, then the big sissy must have been a total flop. Oh God, was his next immediate thought. I’m getting as bad as Sharon. Robert never did anything to me, he’s a nice guy. He hugged his pillow to his chest and curled around it, the way he used to do when he was a child. What should I do? he asked himself as he dropped off to sleep. What should I do?