“Trouble?” she asked her housekeeper.
“A minor incident,” Miss Claudia replied. “Easily remedied.”
Her hand then slid between my legs and fingernails scratched the underside of my balls.
“And this?” I felt her fingers tug at the cock ring, and saw a remarkable sight—Miss Claudia blushing.
“I, I thought it might make Francie more acceptable to Mr. Linden, Mistress,” she replied. The color in her cheeks made Miss Claudia look younger, and for a moment I could imagine what she might have been like before her Marketplace training.
“That was good thinking, Claudia,” she said, releasing my balls and gliding back to the housekeeper, lifting the girl’s chin with a long, delicate finger.
“Did you put it on yourself?” Mistress Madeleine asked her. I watched Miss Claudia blush even more prettily and lower her eyes demurely.
“Yes, Mistress. When I first gave it to him to wear with his uniform.”
“With your own pretty little hands, my dear? Did you tug on this lovely cock gently, play with him? I bet you did, you naughty little thing.” Her voice was teasing, and the effect on Miss Claudia was astonishing. She shifted on her feet and fluttered her lashes as if she were ashamed of herself. But at the same time, her nipples were pressing quite noticeably through the white blouse she was wearing. Her lips were parted, and I heard her breathing quite rapidly.
“Did you, Claudia?” her voice was sharper.
“Yes, Mistress, I touched him. I played with him, Mistress.”
“Did you enjoy it? I bet you did, you hungry little pet.” Mistress Madeleine tapped a fingertip on the housekeeper’s lips, and she opened her mouth to kiss it, her tongue flicking out like a kitten’s.
“Well, my dear, I think I’d like to see that. Perhaps later this afternoon, after my bath. Francie can brush my hair while I watch you finger yourself into readiness for his equipment.” At that, I felt my cock tug hard against its restraint, and I knew I was blushing as deeply as Miss Claudia. I didn’t know which thought made me more excited—brushing Mistress Madeleine’s hair, or knowing my maid’s cock was to be put to use for her entertainment.
“Yes, Mistress.” We answered in unison, and both of us curtsied as the tall, dark woman glided past us up the stairs.
I glanced at Miss Claudia, who was gazing after our Mistress. Her color was still high, and she was panting. She was more beautiful than ever. With a catch in her voice, she turned to me with a light of joy in her eyes. “Oh my, Francie, let’s finish here quickly, shall we? We mustn’t keep Mistress waiting!”
Chapter Six: Willows
At the lunch break, Michael was gratified to discover that he had an appetite and that the lunch was sponsored by the Italian trainers and consisted of fresh salads, pasta, and wonderful, lightly grilled fish sizzling with garlic and basil. Traditional Japanese meals were also available, and he saw many of the local people pick up what looked like a beautifully arranged box of food. But there was no question for himself; after a large helping of tangy green salad, he dove into linguine with wild mushrooms. Alex had her own agenda to turn to, and didn’t require his services, so he picked through Chris’s suggestions in the program. Suitably fortified and feeling much better, he was able to attend a discussion on managing re-training negotiations with a clear head and a lot of curiosity. His hot-tub buddy of the night before, Benjamin, was there, also taking notes like mad, and with him what looked like a tribe of his relations. Mike wasn’t surprised to find that they were in fact a large family and after the discussion was formally ended, he drifted over to join them, and got introduced all around.
“Da, this is Mike LaGuardia, he’s apprenticed to Chris Parker, eh?”
“Parker? Good kid, that one. Good old Anderson, eh?” the older man said, warmly shaking Mike’s hand. Ezekiel (“call me Zeke”) Urquhart was a tall, rangy man, with a craggy face and kind, slightly squinty eyes. His large hands were rough surfaced but gentle to grip.
“Yes, sir,” Michael said, smiling. It was hard not to instantly like this old man, so like his disarmingly charming son. “What part of Canada are you from?”
“Saskatchewan, son, near the south. Afternoon drive from Medicine Hat. You know the area, eh?”
“No, sir, I don’t. The only part of Canada I’ve visited is Vancouver.”
Father, brother, and two children all laughed gently. “Now, that ain’t Canada, son. You ever want to see the most beautiful land God put on earth, you come up and spend a visit with us. Take your breath away, eh?”
“I’m sure it would. But—isn’t that kind of—isolated? Doesn’t it make it hard for the clients to—well—find you?”
“You’d think it would,” Benjamin said with a grin. “But we have to beat ’em off with a stick, don’t we Da?”
“That would just encourage ’em,” Ben’s hard-eyed sister said, with the slightest of smiles.
“Yeah, we’re a piece aways from the big cities,” Zeke admitted. “Used to be a real workin’ ranch, back before the depression. Came the money troubles, herds had to be cut back to pay off the debts. To live. That was when my own Da started on the new family business. Seems Grand-da put together a pretty interesting group of ranch hands, and most of them had stayed on, because, well. Like attracts like, eh? Some of them done some rodeo stuff, trick riders and calf ropers and such. Turns out they was practicing on each other, least that’s the way Da explained it to me! Pretty friendly bunch—I remember old Jeremiah, he’s the one that taught me how to use a bull whip. Used to take a fly off a bull’s ear without touching the flesh; he was that good.”
“Wow,” Michael said, in spite of himself. “So your father and grandfather actually started training slaves for the Marketplace?”
“Yup. Da was the one got involved with official training, Grand-da was more of a recreational man. But Da, he brought it all together. Specialty stuff, animal training. Started with a few of the hands, just for kicks. Then this woman came by with a few friends and two eager-looking fellas. She asked Da if he could teach them to pull a cart that she could ride. She offered him good money. Six weeks later those boys were pulling as good as any matched set of thoroughbreds. I’ve seen the pictures—she’s riding in a surrey, carriage whip in hand, and those boys are dressed in nothing but harnesses. We’ve been busy ever since, eh?”
One of the other listeners, a youngish woman with a British accent nodded. “I’ve seen your work with some of the owners at Saratoga,” she said. “In New York.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zeke nodded. “Those pony folks really like to mix it up with the real horse crowd. Me and the kids here, we’re figuring on setting up meets an’ the like, throughout the Triple Crown. Do our own derby, eh?” He cackled.
“And then there’s the steeplechase folks and the hunting folks, too,” added Benjamin. “And we make our own harnesses, custom fitted to the critters we train. Can’t say we don’t have enough work.”
“There’s a rather large pony community in Britain,” the woman said thoughtfully. “We should see if we can arrange some business. Who does your harness work?”
“Oh, that would be ol’ Roger Carrigan, one of Da’s best finds,” Zeke replied. A collective sigh of recognition came from the group listening in. “Guess you know him, too, eh? Came up from Australia a dozen, maybe more years ago, looking for ranch work. Didn’t think we’d recognize his name, but I did—ol’ Jeremiah used to swear by Carrigan Aussie whips. It’s a fine arrangement. My daughter is apprenticed to him, learning how to make harnesses and them pretty single-tails. Good work, too,” he added with fatherly pride.
“Da will be speaking tomorrow, at the morning specialty seminar,” Ben said excitedly. “You should come, Mike, if you can, eh?”
“Well—I have to check with Mr. Parker,” Mike said. “But I’d love to be there. Do you train ponies too, Ben?”
“Oh, I help Da with ’em, sure. Ma’s pretty much got the kennel wrapped up by herself. Lately, I’ve been doin
g dogs and cats.”
“Cats?” Michael laughed at the image of a grown human being sleeping all day and taking breaks to stretch and eat. “Is there much of a demand for kitty cats?”
“Big cats,” Ben said with a grin. “Y’know, lions and tigers and such. Pretty much a new fetish, as far as we know, but we get calls every month now, eh? An’ I’m the chief lion tamer!” They laughed, and Michael could easily see the tall, spare young man with a coiled whip in one hand, coaxing a feline-featured, acrobatic, strong, and sensuous woman to move carefully, curling her body into intriguing poses. He wondered briefly what a leonine man would be like—and what you would use one for.
“We’ve brought a few of our critters for the show tonight,” Zeke said casually. “If you’re not too busy, you might take a peek, eh?”
“I’d like that,” Michael said happily.
“An’ here’s your Mr. Parker, then,” Zeke said, raising a hand in greeting.
“Mr. Urquhart, a pleasure to see you again.” Chris shook hands and then turned to greet the younger members of the clan. “I look forward to tonight’s demonstration, I’ve never seen your work in action for longer than a few minutes.”
“Well, we’ll have a bit more than that,” Zeke said. “I’d love to stay an’ chat, but you know, there’s details to be tending. You kids just carry on for now, eh?”
“Sure, Da.” “See you later, Da.”
Michael would have liked to stay with the Urquharts and get to know Abigail, the quiet, harness-making sister a little better, but he could almost feel Chris’s attention pulling at him. So, he quietly made his farewells after Chris excused himself, and followed the smaller man away from the crowds.
“Sir, before you say anything, I admit I didn’t finish my assignment last night, but I did it today, before lunch,” Michael said all in a rush, as soon as they were in a slightly less crowded area.
“Assignment?” Chris looked up for a moment, and Michael felt a strange tingle of dissociation. Had Chris—the infallible Chris Parker, actually forgotten something?
“The—the writing assignment. About pleasure slave training...”
“Oh, yes.” Chris nodded, looking thoughtful. “Very well, you can just leave it out for me in the room.”
“You—you’re not going to punish me?”
Chris sighed and brushed one hand over the top of his head. “No, Michael, I’m not. It’s minor enough. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Michael flushed and felt it down to his toes. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he began.
“Of course not.”
Michael groaned out loud. “You always do this to me!” he said sharply. “Sometimes, I don’t know whether you’re treating me like a trainer in training, or just some slave you like humiliating.”
“And why is that a problem?” Chris asked.
“Oh, come on, sir, you know why! I never know where I stand.” Michael took a deep breath and then dived in. “For instance—am I allowed to get laid?”
Chris laughed for a moment. “Why, has someone made an offer?”
“Well—sort of. Maybe. Hell, I’m not sure! It’s plain that there are plenty of available slaves, anyway. If I wanted to, could I—use one?”
Chris actually looked like he was thinking about it. “No, I don’t think so,” he said carefully. “You don’t have the seniority to just pick one out, and you don’t have the experience to really evaluate the ones brought as samples. No, I think your chances of—getting some—are not very good here. At least, not from the slaves present, and not on your own terms.”
Michael felt a note of danger there, but set it aside for the moment. “But am I allowed to?”
“Certainly,” Chris said. “If it doesn’t interfere with your training or your duties.”
“But—but—” Michael drew his thoughts in. Should he mention anything else, or just take his victory and run with it?
Was it really a victory?
“Some of the other junior trainers and I were talking last night,” he finally said.
“Ah! And you found out that many of them are not allowed to dally with the clients.”
“Or with anyone! They said that they’re not supposed to have sex until they, I don’t know, reach some higher level in training, I guess. And since you treat me like a slave most of the time anyway, I was just wondering if—well—if this was supposed to be spelled out to me or something.”
“It could have been part of your training period with me,” Chris said evenly. “But the Trainer and I decided that it might be too worrisome for you, that the restriction might distract you too much. As it turns out, your training schedule doesn’t allow you a lot of free time, so I suppose you haven’t had much opportunity to enjoy this particular freedom, but neither have you fretted over it.”
“You mean—you decided not to put the restriction on me because you thought...I couldn’t take it?”
“Mm-hm,” Chris nodded. “Now, quickly—tell me what you are thinking.”
“I—I don’t know what to think. Part of me says, great, I can get laid, and now part of me is saying the only reason I can get laid because you think I’m so ruled by my dick that if I knew I couldn’t use it, I’d think of nothing else.” Michael’s voice was bitter, and he could hear a slight whine in it. He tried to control himself better.
“And which part of you do you believe?”
Michael’s shoulders slumped. “The part that wishes you had more faith in me. And the part that wishes I was worth it.”
“Well, we’re working on both of those, aren’t we? When you get back to the States, I suggest you discuss it with Anderson, and see if she wishes to place that formal restriction on you. In the meantime, you’re going to be too busy and the potential partners you would find here are mostly unavailable, so there is nothing to worry about.”
“You know, sometimes I wish things were just a little more clear for me,” Michael said, keeping his voice even.
“Oh, don’t be so passive, Michael. Think of every difficulty you encounter as a matter of training and see if that helps. And for God’s sake, be grateful that your training is so lenient, because I promise you, a more regulated and controlling environment would only upset you more.” Chris’s voice edged up just a little, and Michael was startled to see both a flash of anger and deep-seated annoyance—something Chris hadn’t let show in weeks. “If you were in a different style of training, you’d be having all the sex you could imagine, boy. At my whim, exactly as you will tomorrow night, except that I’d be using you regularly myself.”
“Tomorrow night?” Michael repeated in shock.
“Yes, I told you I was loaning you to Ken. I don’t imagine that what she has in mind is tea serving and boot polishing. What’s more, I expect you to be clean, groomed, and eager to cooperate with whatever she has planned, and in other words, behave exactly as what you think a slave in your position should. And, to be suitably grateful for the experience afterward. You wanted to get laid, Michael? You’ve got it. Or at least something approximating it.”
A thousand protests, questions, and complaints crowded on the edge of Michael’s lips, and he struggled to keep them back. It had been a long time since he had seen Chris angry, really angry and not just putting on a show for the slave trainees. But that nasty sneer of condescension, that tone that just raised his hackles, was so provoking, so infuriating!
“So you’re really going to hand me off to a stranger, and I have to go, no questions asked? Just like that, no preparation, no build up, no warning? How the hell is that supposed to make me feel? Like I’m ready to perform for you?”
“You’re supposed to feel like a slave, Michael, remember? Remember how you requested this? ‘I want to be trained as a classic,’ you said, and I warned you that you didn’t even know what that meant. Now, you know. Imagine what it will feel like when you’re actually sold.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Michael snapped, feeling a deep warning pain in the pit of his s
tomach. But he was committed; he kept going. “No one trains like that any more, not even Anderson. You guys even told me that! It’s a whole new world out here, and you are absolutely fixated on the past. You’re working some kind of big scam on me, that’s what you’re doing. These other trainers might be horny for a while, but no one’s passing them around like slaves!”
“Your manners, Michael.”
Fury welled up in Michael’s throat like bile. “Dammit, you always do this! Just when I’m being totally honest with you, you cut me off!”
His voice was raised—and suddenly he could hear shushed voices in corridors not far away. The feelings of panic and anger and confusion tore at him in heavy pounding waves as he realized how much of this conversation might have been overheard.
“Oddly enough, Michael,” Chris said. “It is possible to be both honest and respectful.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael whispered, ashamed of his outburst. “I apologize.”
“Properly,” Chris said sharply.
Michael sank to his knees, feeling the shame grow throughout his body. His anger was still hot, and the corridor seemed stifling. “I apologize for raising my voice,” he began, shaking. “For using profanity, and being... difficult, sir. I—I ask you to forgive me. I beg you to forgive me. I will try to be better controlled and more respectful.” The formula for the apology assembled itself in his mind and he tried not to rush it. “Please tell me what I can do to make amends for my... outbursts.”
“Two things, Michael. You can submit your body for chastisement as I see fit, tomorrow evening, in front of Ken Mandarin and before she makes use of you. But right now, I want you to ask that question that’s burning out of you, this time properly.”
Michael’s head snapped up, and with all his strength, he asked, “Sir—were you really trained this way? Like a classic?”
“Yes, I was. In every aspect of the training, except that there was one major difference between your training and mine. Unlike you, I didn’t choose to be trained that way. I didn’t get it explained to me every step of the journey.” Chris said the words calmly, but there was something in him that made Michael feel like he was on the edge of violence.
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