The Trainer

by Laura Antoniou

  He undid the bondage when he was bored.

  “I don’t believe you did this,” she said to him, spitting out the trails of saliva that had gathered in her cheeks. He grinned to see the puddle of drool where her chin had rested on the floor. “Safeword, fucking safeword!”

  “I told you I don’t play that way,” he replied, helping her up. “Let’s get you washed off.”

  She pulled away from him and reached for her robe, tossed on the floor beside where she had been bound. “Don’t touch me,” she cried. “I think you should leave!”

  “Yeah? And if I leave, how will you let me know how sorry you are for having these temper tantrums? Because if I do leave now, I’m not coming back. You don’t control me, Karen, you surrender control to me. And if you can’t do that, I’ll leave, sure.” He hid the panic he was feeling, desperately hoping that she would see it his way. Angry at her return to the mundane way of handling things, he grabbed the robe out of her hands and used one corner of it to wipe off the mouthpiece of the gag. She stood there, shaking, and watched him as he tossed it back on the floor.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she finally said.

  “Yes, that’s what I suggested. Don’t close the bathroom door.” He turned away from her so she wouldn’t see his relief, and went into her kitchen. That wasn’t the way she should have reacted! She should have cried, and begged his forgiveness! She should have kissed his hands, his feet, begged him to hold her and tell her it was all right! He did everything right. He enforced his dominance, and his rules. That was what she had learned to expect. That was what she wanted, what she loved! What went wrong? He grabbed a soda from the refrigerator and gulped it down, and checked his face in the mirror hanging in the hallway. Okay, he looked cool.

  He went to the bathroom, where he could hear the shower running. Good girl, she left the door open, like she was supposed to. Inside, he checked her medicine cabinet and pulled out two tablets of ibuprofen and put some water in the cup by her toothbrush. He had to rescue this situation, make her understand. He couldn’t let her just throw this all away because she fucked up once!

  The water stopped, and she pulled the shower door open and reached for her towel. But he was holding it open for her.

  She stared at him for a moment and then stepped into the towel, letting him wrap it around her body. He handed her the tablets and the cup, and she took them without comment. He put the cup back on the rack and turned her around to face him.

  “If you want to be a slave, you can’t have cranky days and show them to your master,” he said, trying to sound as strong, yet as patient and caring as Geoff. “I know things are going to go wrong sometimes. Cramps, or a headache, or just one of those days when you want to snap at everyone and take a few heads off. But you have to rise above that. It’s part of being a good slave.”

  “But I don’t control those things! If I could just turn them off, don’t you think I would?” Her curls bounced as he ran the edge of the towel over them. Her eyes were still red and puffy—she looked like a kid.

  “Listen—soldiers have to turn them off and they do. Doctors and actors have to turn them off, and they do. Everyone who has a responsibility to something bigger has to be able to control those minor annoyances—and they do. If you want it badly enough, you will, too.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she said, falling toward him, leaning against his chest. He hugged her warmly—thank God she wasn’t talking about forgetting it all. Finally, she was responding correctly! She was just having a minor set-back, that’s all.

  “You will,” he promised generously. “You’ll learn while doing.”

  It was all he could say, really. This part of the training was his alone.

  Geoff encouraged his clients to tell him or the undertrainers when they were having bad days. Every non-intentional discomfort was tended to in some way, especially if some kind of therapy could alleviate future symptoms. Chiropractors and massage therapists were called for lower back pain and headaches. Migraines were treated by physicians, allergies by specialists.

  “You have to help them overcome what are actually mood-altering situations not of their owner’s control,” he had advised. “This will allow them to devote their time and emotional attention to their duties, and not their problems.”

  Michael thought that was coddling them. Hell, he went to work when he had a headache! Never missed a day. And they were supposed to be slaves, for crying out loud! How could a master expect to be spending more money in order to get his slave to a chiropractor? Not to mention how many doctors were available for slaves to just go to without having to explain the marks, the chains, the piercings or whatever. As far as he was concerned, slaves should go to doctors when they were seriously sick or injured, and the rest of the time just deal with it like every other working stiff did.

  So Karen survived her period and cried in his arms a little bit, angry at herself for not even trying to live up to her agreement with him. After a very stern lecture and a spanking, he forgave her magnanimously and even allowed her to sleep with him that night. He didn’t insist on fucking her, mostly because the idea always struck him as a little gross. But he did enjoy a very long time having his entire body licked, kissed and sucked on, culminating in a nice, long session of cocksucking. He felt that such an evening more than proved his point that she could still be entertaining when she was bleeding.

  It was almost time to bring her to Geoff. Just a few more weeks, and then he would explain everything to her. The Marketplace was perfect for her—she had no heavy ties to the community, wasn’t overly involved with her family, and she had broken up with her last boyfriend. Her job was okay, but she admitted that she only took it because it was close to home. Her house was rented. It would be easy for her to give it all up—and when Geoff saw her, he would fall in love. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Michael was already composing his introductory letter to Anderson.

  Dear Ms. Anderson—I am 24 years old, a one year trainee of Geoff Negel. Having recently put my first slave on the block, I feel I am ready for the advanced training you offer. The enclosed files and Mr. Negel’s letter of recommendation will attest to my having spotted, initially trained, introduced and market-prepped the slave Karen...

  * * * *

  “Excuse me, sir?” Karen said, raising her head.

  “You heard what I said. I’m a trainer for a real-life slave market. I saw you, and decided that you would be perfect for us, and in the past five months, I’ve been training you by our methods. Well, some of the... our methods, but mostly mine. And now, it’s time to bring you in. You’re ready. You’ve made me very, very proud.” Michael was sitting on her couch, and the sun was setting beyond her living room windows. He decided that the drama of the glowing disk settling beyond the hills would be perfect for the closing of one life and the opening of another. Karen was on her knees facing him, naked, her hands on her spread thighs. It was a position he had decided to make standard—it looked very pretty and relaxed. So much of what we do is drama, he thought happily.

  “Do you mean you want me to be your slave? Full time?”

  “No. I mean, I’ll take you to our training house, you spend a week there, meeting people and getting checked out, and when my boss accepts you, you get to join us.”

  “A week? That would be all my vacation time, sir.” She looked a little excited, but a little shocked, too. That was easy to understand. Michael forced himself to remain gentle and easy with her, remembering how Uncle Niall had spent hours explaining it all.

  “Well, see, once you joined, you wouldn’t have to worry about vacation time, Karen. You’d quit your job, and come and be a real, full time slave. My boss would support you while you were in training—you’d get full room and board, medical care, the works. And, you’d finish your training. I’d say it could be done in less than a month. Maybe two, tops, if we decide you could be a pleasure slave.” He didn’t think she could really qualify for that—although sweet and pretty,
she wasn’t as fully bisexual as the people Geoff called pleasure slaves. But maybe she just needed more practice.

  “And then?”

  “And then you’d be sold,” Michael said, knowing that this could be the difficult part. “My boss would do a lot of research, and find a good owner for you. They’d pay a lot of money for you—and some of it will actually be yours, once the term of slavery was up. Most of it, in fact. We never leave you without some kind of support. It’s a great system, really. Our owners are checked out—they’re not freaks and weirdoes. They’re good masters, who know how to keep slaves.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t understand.” It was a stock phrase that he taught her to use before questioning anything—especially if she was questioning his judgment. “There can’t be any such thing. Slavery is illegal in the United States.”

  “Well, yeah, slavery by force. But people can enter into personal service contracts.”

  “With all due respect sir, people don’t get sold in personal service contracts.”

  Michael pondered that. Niall had explained it, a long time ago, but it had all seemed largely theoretical and tangled up in a lot of dull legalese. Geoff merely admitted that in a US court of law, Marketplace contracts would probably be considered null and void, which was why there was no real way of enforcing them. Which was why they had to be so careful in choosing the people who would feel themselves bound by them. Damn, damn, he shouldn’t have even brought that part up, it only got confusing. Let an expert explain that part, he thought. Backtrack, get back to the point.

  “Look, it’s not your problem. The Mar—this, um, society, has people who know what they’re doing in respects to contracts and stuff. And besides, I know you really want to be a slave. You were made to be a slave! Well, this is the only way to do it for real. To have no control over your life, to be sold to the highest bidder, trained, worked, used—all the things you’ve been talking about for the past five months. Forget what’s legal—this is what’s real.”

  “But—I don’t want to belong to anyone else,” she said. The softness had gone out her eyes, and Michael experienced a moment of doubt. Something was going wrong.

  “I realize that it’s a scary prospect, but I assure you, it’s all safe. And you’ll love it in training, everyone does—”

  “And I love being trained, sir. By you. Why do you want to do this? Aren’t I good enough for you? Or did you always have selling me to someone else in mind?” Her voice was rising, and he could see her shifting in her kneeling position.

  “Now wait a minute,” Michael said sternly. “Watch your tone of voice with me, slave. Just because we’re having a discussion doesn’t mean you can misbehave.”

  “Why not? You don’t want to be my master, anyway!” Karen leaned forward for a minute, looking down at the floor, and then suddenly got to her feet.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Michael yelled, springing up.

  “I need a drink!” she snapped back. “And unless you want to become an abusive boyfriend and beat me with your fists, I’m going to get one. Would you like one?”

  Michael’s mouth dropped open. As a matter of fact, his right hand had closed into a fist, although he hadn’t realized it. He opened his fingers slowly and took a deep breath. “You get back where you were, Karen, or I’m out of here.”

  “That’s your answer to everything,” she said, never veering from her liquor cabinet. She opened it and pulled a glass and a bottle out, and poured. “You’ve always been free to leave.”

  “Karen—” Michael made an inarticulate sound, like a muffled scream, and slammed his open hand against the coffee table. “Dammit, you don’t know what you’re throwing away!”

  “Well, you’re not actually telling me, are you?” She said, turning. She took a drink, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You promised you’d make me a slave, but it was always your slave, Mike. I bottomed to that girl because you were there, because you wanted to watch, because you were sharing me. It made me feel obedient to you. But you never said anything about selling me to anyone else! You never said shit about some secret society where you’d just trade me away like a used car! You weren’t honest with me, Mike. That was a really shitty thing to do.” She looked like she was ready to cry, but she was holding it back. Or maybe her anger was holding it back.

  “It’s not like that, Karen. It’s much, much better. You don’t understand—people spend years just trying to find us. All the stuff you’re used to, it’s nothing compared to what we do. The conference was just one weekend—think about living that way full-time! But it’s not forever—it’s just for a year or two. And if you like it, you can negotiate for longer times. Or you can take your share of the money and start a new life. It’s a great deal!”

  “Oh yeah? And how much money will you get for me, Mike? How much have I been worth to you?”

  “Karen—baby—you’re priceless. You’ve been a joy to train, you’re really very talented!” Michael paced toward her, and then backed away a little when he saw the anger on her face. This wasn’t going well at all!

  “You didn’t answer the question,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t know! You never do—I mean, probably nothing. I don’t get paid a percentage, I get a straight salary. Really, more of a stipend. I was doing this for you, Karen. To give you the life you could only fantasize about.”

  “And what if I fantasized about you? Can’t we forget all this secret society stuff and just be master and slave?” Her voice was shaking—it was getting harder for her to maintain control.

  “I—I just can’t do that right now,” Michael said. “You see, owners have to register with the, um, organization, and provide living space and prove that they can support a slave, and I—I can’t. And, well, I’m probably going to New York soon—”

  Or maybe not, he thought miserably.

  “Then there’s nothing left to say,” she said, after draining her glass. “You don’t love me—you don’t even want me. And I’m not some airhead piece of property ready to hop into any kind of slavery without even having the control to pick my own fucking master. Get out.”

  “Karen!”

  “Get the fuck out before I call 911!” she screamed.

  Michael backed off, cursing. He picked up his gear bag and went into the bedroom to throw his things in it. “I don’t believe you’re doing this, Karen! This was your only opportunity to really make something out of your fantasies!” He shouted over his shoulder, knowing that his words would reach her clearly. Damn, he had brought a lot of stuff here! When he got back to the room, she was wrapped in her damn robe, and had poured herself another drink. Her hands were shaking.

  “If you strip and get back into position right now, I’ll explain everything very clearly,” Michael said, standing by the door. “You’ll see what a mistake you almost made.”

  “Thank you for everything, Mike. You were a great dominant,” she said. Her lip quivered and she turned away. “Take care.”

  He slammed the door so hard he cracked the glass in one of the inset panels.

  And it had only gotten worse from there.

  LaGuardia, Michael, Los Angeles, California...

  He asked for his own file, and scanned it. Two years with Geoff were listed as his training. He was ranked as an apprentice trainer, no authorization to release slaves for sale. There was a list of names and numbers of the slaves whose training he had participated in, and under references, where Geoff’s name used to be, there was nothing. Two years of work, and not even a reference to show for it. There was also no indication that there had been an incident, except that he had two years of training and then... nothing.

  Yet Anderson knew. How? Who told her? And why the fuck had she shared it with Parker? And why wasn’t it updated to list him as her apprentice now, anyway?

  He logged off again and watched the blue-green lines of the monitor collapse into black when he shut the machine off.

  Chapter Sixteen
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  The two weeks after Tara returned to her master went by with excruciating slowness. There was just so much to do in such a small household—and despite losing one slave, Joan filled in the minor tasks so neatly that there was barely a blip in Michael’s schedule.

  Anderson still made no move to shift Joan into Michael’s hands. But she did start inviting Michael to watch some of the training sessions, especially the ones where Anderson was teaching her style of seeing through walls.

  “It’s a matter of knowing how long things take, and how a particular person behaves,” she began. “It’s knowing that people do form habits, and that once you learn the habits, there isn’t anything left to anticipate there. You don’t even have to think about it—one action triggers another, seamlessly. It’s the basis for all anticipatory behavior.”

  “But what if you don’t have a habit to work from? What if someone arrives home unexpectedly? How do you know what they’ll want?”

  “That’s part two, reading emotions. We’re all empathic to some degree—my clients hone their empathy until it’s as sharp as it can get, and keep it keen with constant polishing. But we begin at the beginning, Mike, with habits. Joan already knows Chris’s—now, she must apply herself to yours. For three days, I want you to live your life as naturally as possible, and pretend that she isn’t there. On the fourth, we will start seeing how well she’s made a study of you.”

  So once again, he was being used as an exercise. Plus, having lost the easy sexual companionship of Tara, he was once again horny upon rising and feeling deprived. It would almost have been better for Anderson not to allow him to screw Tara while she was there. Because now Joan was in Parker’s hands—and no way was Parker going to let Mike get any tail.