He couldn’t keep himself from just lightly touching his crotch. His cock was already hard, eager at the image his mind had conjured up. “Very nice,” he said, not quite sure whether he was remarking on her answer or the fantasy image. “What did she do with you?“
“Sir, I am unsure what information you wish from me, I apologize. Do in what way, sir?”
“Well, did she play with you? Have sex with you?”
A soft smile, a softening of her eyes. Tara nodded and said, “Oh, yes, sir. Although I had some experience before, she took me to places I had never been. She was the first who made me cry while beating me. She enjoyed severe bondage and often made me beg for mercy just from that, even before there was any other kind of torture.”
“Oh, yeah?” Michael shifted in his seat, aching to touch the slave. So odd, to see this older woman as the target of a Marketplace spotter—but if she had been spotted back in college... in her twenties? He would have to dig out her file and look at it again. How long had she been a slave? Was there even some sort of SM scene back then?
Tara nodded again, and continued. “She introduced me to many things, sir. Every day with her was discovering something new about her tastes or myself—and as we grew to know each other, I knew more and more about what I needed. I craved guidance. I wanted to feel needed and used and appreciated, with fewer choices and more direction. Most of all, she made me realize that I wanted to be owned. And when I told her that, she began to tell me about the Marketplace.”
“So... you told her you wanted an owner first,” Michael repeated.
“Oh, yes,” Tara said. “In fact, I told her I would give up everything to be owned and used properly. But she insisted that I stay in school, and little by little, she told me that she knew places where that sort of thing could happen—that she knew people who did this in an organized and ethical way. I began to dream of it.”
“And then she brought you in, huh?”
“She left me alone for the last part of my senior year. After I finished my degree, I went straight back to her,” Tara said. “All I could think of was our time together and what she told me about the Marketplace—and how I could be valued if I stayed in school and had a marketable skill. In my last year, I took accounting courses and as many pre-law courses as I could handle. I sharpened my typing skills, and learned word processing and database software. And when I went back to her with my resume, she took me at once into formal training. She was like a dream come true for me, my way into a fantastic world I’d only dreamed of. I will never forget her, or the trust she had in me.”
“Wow,” Michael said. But the story made him annoyed. So, she was spotted and trained by the same person, huh? Someone who actually sent her away and then trusted her to come back, like it was that easy! He knew it wasn’t that simple, it wasn’t that clear cut. Tara could have walked away from the whole thing, gotten engaged, or married. Or just forgotten it, and gone into the soft world, to...
“Enough about that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Time to remember what a slut you are. Here’s a dream come true for you, slave girl, one hard cock.”
She went instantly to her knees, her fingers undoing the buttons on her dress. As gracefully as possible while down there, she stripped off her dress and her bra, and shimmied her panties down her thighs, lifting one knee at a time to free them from her legs.
“Thank you, sir,” she said when she was naked at last, and he had her crawl to him while he got his own cock out. He kept the condoms close at hand these days, and he slipped one onto himself, not trusting his control. At this point, he didn’t care that the reservoir tip made her gag.
Making her gag was part of his intention.
He came while his cock was buried deep into her throat, while her face was bright red and tear-streaked. He held onto her head with both hands, wishing he could really mark her, and wishing he knew why he was suddenly so angry. But she thanked him again, kissing the tops of his shoes, before gathering her clothing and leaving the room in silence.
He panted out deep breaths, looking down at his spent cock, lying limp across his fly, and his hands balled into fists. Damn all of them, he thought wildly. Damn them all for thinking it’s all so easy, for just knowing when it’s the right time, and who the right person is. I can see! I can ask questions! I’ve got a brain!
Then why did it all happen the way it did?
He stripped his own clothing off, suddenly hot, and threw a robe on to walk down the hall and take a long, hot shower. It was too painful to think of the one time he had to show off what he could do.
After her initial errors in negotiating, Karen eagerly allowed him to do pretty much anything he wanted to. She shivered when he told her he wanted to see her whipped by a woman, but she nodded and took it, every stroke making her yelp in pain. The leatherdyke in chaps and vest really put her through her paces, and left marks—it was a fabulous beating. Her skill with a single tail was what had attracted Michael’s attention from the start, and he was very pleased. Not only did his chosen surrogate top work out, but Karen was deliciously and properly grateful, cowering on the stone floor of the party space to drop licks and kisses on the boots of her tormentor and her weekend master.
“Would you like to fuck her?” he asked the sweating woman, pitching his voice so that Karen could hear him clearly.
“Hell yeah, sure—but I don’t do guys. Even when they’re cute like you!” They laughed together, and Michael liked her even more. He nudged Karen with his foot and said, “Get up and collect my toys, slut. You need to get fucked.”
And sweet Karen, bold Karen, with the dancing eyes and the charming smile, had leapt up, done exactly what he told her, and never uttered a single word of discouragement to the three-way that became the centerpiece of the party. With a dildo, his cock, and their four hands, Michael and his new and temporary friend worked her over, invading every orifice, trying out every combination possible, literally using Karen until she begged for mercy. And she did beg—desperately, her words disjointed and jumbled. But she never used the magic word which would end the scene. Instead, she tried to plead with them, making promises, crying, and finally screaming herself hoarse.
When the party ended, Michael had to half-carry her back to his room, where finally, she would spend the night on the floor, cradled in a tangle of blankets and sheets. He knew that she didn’t fall asleep for a long time, because he wasn’t sleepy himself. But he enjoyed the feel of the room, her heavy, harsh breathing, and the thought that he had spent a thoroughly enjoyable weekend among the mundanes. And never did he reveal a single thing about his business or the Marketplace—he felt justifiably proud of that. Karen was obviously prime Marketplace material—a few more sessions like this weekend, and he would be able to bring her in himself.
He would have to convince Geoff to let him manage her training. And why not? Geoff would see that she had the potential, and permission would certainly be granted. Then, he could train her, write her contract, and be both her spotter and trainer of record. Geoff would give him a cut of the proper training house fee. And what’s more, he would be fully established as a trainer, and one who could spot. The bright young star of the Californian Marketplace. He could write it up, describe the weekend and his thoughts about Karen, and become one of the subjects that other trainers read about when they aspired to that level of mastery. Soon, he’d have his own training facility, with his own special customers, just like Geoff. With assistant trainers to do all the shit work, and an endless stream of young, hot slavemeat of both genders to use, abuse, and fix up for some lucky owner. He’d never be bored, and never want for anything.
The only problem would be to make sure that Karen didn’t fall in love with him. It happened all the time—transference, identification, you name it. Slaves fell for their trainers like teenage girls go for hairless girl-looking boys, naturally, and deeply. So you had to establish a distance, early on, and keep them off guard. Be just unpleasant enough to make them dou
bt that they truly loved you. Oh yeah, that would be a piece of cake.
Other than that, he would have to do just a little training, to make sure she was really Marketplace material and not just into this stuff for the weekend. It didn’t take all that much to be a good slave for two days. He would have to test her—try her out in any number of things, sexual acts and personal service. Push her, take her to her limits and bring her back again.
But he could do this! He had already started, hadn’t he? It was only natural to take things to the next step. And once he did—if she was as good as she seemed—he could be the perfect Marketplace professional, a spotter and trainer all in one! Even Geoff didn’t spot!
Karen took to his subtle steering in predictable stages. She was more than eager to continue seeing him beyond the weekend, and had in fact been agonizing over not being able to keep in touch as they both lay awake far into the night. Over a breakfast of waffles and strawberries in the hotel coffee shop, Michael assured her that he would love to continue seeing her—but that he had no intention of being her boyfriend.
“I’m not the settle down and marry kind of guy,” he explained. “I’m the master, and you’re the slave-to-be, and that’s the only relationship I’m interested in pursuing. But if you’re into it, if you really want it—need it, even—I can make you into a perfect slave. I can teach you everything you’d ever need to know about service. But you have to understand that I’ll never be a guy to take home to meet the parents.”
“I understand,” Karen had responded. Her waffles were barely nibbled at. Her eyes were ringed darkly, partly because of the lack of sleep and partly because of an errant cuff or two the previous night. Her whole body seemed achey and marked, and she was as tense over breakfast as she had been kneeling on the dungeon floor. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, master.”
Perfect, perfect! Michael nodded looked at her with a cool, distant expression on his face. “Then get down on the floor,” he said softly.
She panicked for a moment, and he stared at her. The coffee shop was full of other people from the conference some in collars and harnesses, but no one was actually on the floor. Waitresses bustled by, pouring coffee. Silver clanked in bins, and the sizzle of bacon frying seemed louder than ever. Karen stirred, but still didn’t leave her seat. She bit her lip.
“Or don’t,” Michael said with a shrug. “It does matter to me, because if you don’t, I’m paying the bill and leaving. If you do, we can discuss when we can meet again. Unless you make me wait too long.”
He had gotten the idea from a mainstream book about two people having a doomed SM love affair. As he saw the fear and shame register in her eyes, he knew it was a terrific test. When he saw her rise and then hunker down onto her knees beside him, taking care to pull her legs from the aisle so that no one would trip over her, he smiled. He cut a piece of her waffle off, dipped it in a pool of syrup from his plate, and fed it to her by hand. When she ate it and licked his fingers, he could barely keep himself from taking her back up to the room to reward her with some more personal attention. It was just like what Geoff had shown him that night at dinner, with the arching male slave! Wouldn’t Geoff be pleased to see how well Mike had taken to his teachings?
But instead, he fed her three more pieces, enjoying the envious looks from both men and women, and then told her to take her seat back and finish her breakfast. A few people rolled their eyes. A tourist or two stared in shocked silence. The waitress looked a little tired of all this leather silliness as she refilled his coffee.
But Karen looked as though she had discovered paradise. He knew that look, having seen it in his own mirror. There was no longer any shred of doubt that she would be his first soft-world-to-Marketplace slave, and that she would bring him the start of fame and fortune. He smiled at her with all the patience and fondness he could feel, imagining Geoff’s paternal pride. Oh yes. His future was assured, sitting right here at breakfast.
It took him three months to teach her the very basics. He knew the timing on that was far from ideal. Technically, you were supposed to be able to train a total novice to the level of a first public sale in about three months. Only special-use slaves, trained as cooks, or guards. or teachers. or large household managers. and other, more complicated services, were supposed to take longer. And that was only because they needed the time to work in their fields.
For a general purpose slave, all they needed to know were a few positions, a few dozen rules of behavior, and how to cultivate and maintain the correct attitude toward their service, their owners, and themselves. Attitude was Karen’s weakest point, followed by her faulty memory between training periods. But that wasn’t her fault, not entirely. Partly at fault was that Michael didn’t have access to her full time—even weekends would be problematic, since he was never guaranteed every weekend off from his work at Geoff’s place. But partly it was that Michael had never trained someone so out of context before. It took him a week just to get past the first minor roadblock in their relationship.
Wanting to ease her into the world of the Marketplace, he had decided not to tell her about it before she was fully ready to present to Geoff. Making her ready meant setting up a false kind of relationship with her. She lived a good 80 miles away, so it was easy to explain that he wasn’t going to be spending a lot of leisure time with her. But neither could she stay with him, or contact him when he was at work. He tried to establish these conditions as ones created by his right as her master, but she was no Marketplace slave yet. All she knew was that she had found herself a lover who was hiding his life from her.
“Are you married?” she asked, lowering her eyes. “If you are, that’s okay, but I’d really like to know.”
“Listen, I told you I’m not the marrying kind. These are just the rules of the relationship—take them or leave them.”
She leveled her eyes up to meet his and sighed. “Then—I have to think about it,” she said carefully. “I want what you offer, I really do. But how do I know if I can really trust you? Playing for a weekend is one thing—committing myself to a new lifestyle takes real trust.”
At first, he had been furious. “You trusted me enough to do whatever I wanted with you!” he yelled. “I could have tied you up and had you gang-raped, and you would have gone along with it!”
“This is my life you’re talking about, Mike,” she insisted, tears coming to her eyes. “I’d be stupid if I just signed it all away based on nothing!”
He had left her crying that night, shouting that she could have her world of fakes if she wanted, but he needed total and absolute trust or nothing. But on the long drive back to Geoff’s place, his heart sank, and he knew she was perfectly right. No one was brought into the Marketplace unknowing; they had to want to be there. And the only way to want it was to know it existed. She would in fact have to be a fool to trust him when he had given her nothing but good sex with attitude.
But how to manage it all? She still had potential—hell, her insistence on knowing what she was getting into was even stronger proof of that. But how could he train her without being in full training mode? Could he really act like her boyfriend/lover and still manage to instill in her the basic requirements of a Marketplace slave?
And what would he tell Geoff? That he had a girlfriend? It would seem odd to say the least. He had all the sex he could possibly want, and it was very rare for someone working in the Marketplace to date outside of it—there were too many things you had to keep secret. Hell, just coming up with reasons why he was leaving the house for his time off would be something new. There weren’t a lot of times when he felt that a weekend away would be any better than what he had there, even if he did end up working a little.
Damn—one lie could lead to dozens. But he had to have her, had to fashion his own client from scratch. It would be just the thing to elevate him from the status of Geoff’s trainee to an independent man. Surely, that would get the attention he wanted, establish him. Once that was done, he could call this A
nderson and get himself apprenticed to her for just long enough to be a high level trainer like those people he had met in England. Or hell, maybe she’d be looking for him.
He sent roses to Karen the following week, and took out a voice mail account, giving her a telephone number to call. He told her that he worked for a reclusive millionaire as a personal assistant. He figured it wasn’t too far away from the truth. And he told Geoff that he had found a new girlfriend, which led to jokes made about his age and the energy of youth, and, unexpectedly, a grant of even more time off.
You won’t regret that, Michael thought, as he started marking out days to spend training Karen. And you won’t be angry at this little white lie when I tell you what I’ve done.
He repeated those sentiments over and over again, as if to reassure himself that they were true.
Chapter Thirteen
“Good morning, Vicente,” Michael said, breaking a yawn. “God, you’re up early.”
“Oh yeah,” the big man said. “Early to bed, early to rise, so they say.” He was pristine, as he always was in the morning, black and white checkered pants and shiny black shoes, white chef’s coat—the perfect chef. Later on, as the day wore on, he would change clothing, become dusty with flour or dotted with tomato sauce, or even grimy with newsprint and ink. But every morning, he looked like he stepped out of a movie set. “You’re up early too,” he noted, glancing at the clock. “Bad sleep?”
Michael nodded and dropped his butt on the stool. He looked at the cabinet where the coffee cups were, but before he could open it, Vicente pulled a cup out of the drain basket and filled it. “Here you are,” he said, sliding it across the counter. Michael smiled weary thanks and breathed in the aroma.
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