One evening, he was called to Geoff’s office, where he met someone he had never been introduced to before. The house lawyer.
Geoff looked more sad than anything else. He was sitting at his desk, framed by the twinkling lights of the patio shining through the huge window behind him. His shoulders were pressed back—he was not relaxing in his chair the way he usually did. The desk lamp was shining on a pile of what looked like reports of some kind. His kind eyes were just a little sharper than usual; there was something terribly wrong.
“Mike, this is Nani Okawa, our lawyer. I’ve asked her to sit in on this meeting because of some disturbing things we’ve found out about the woman you say was your girlfriend.”
Michael paled and felt his knees buckle. He found a chair and sat on the edge. His mind was blank.
“She wasn’t really your girlfriend, was she, Mike?” Geoff asked. His manner was still calm, his voice reassuring.
“No,” Michael managed to say. The shame mingled with relief as he got that out. “She—I thought—she told me she... “ His voice trailed off as he tried to organize his thoughts. He looked at the lawyer, so prim in her designer silk suit, her legs demurely crossed at the ankle.
She raised one eyebrow and picked up a piece of paper from the desk. “This woman has been attempting to have you investigated and charged, Mr. LaGuardia.”
“Charged? With what?” Michael shouted, shocked and panicked. “I never did a thing to her that she didn’t want!”
“She claims, in her report to the police, that you offered to make her a prostitute. That you had identified a large organization which handled these matters, and tried to harm her when she resisted.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, but he could hear a faint trace of disapproval.
“That’s a lie! Goddamn lies, all of that!” Michael turned to Geoff, his eyes wide. “I never told her anything about the Marketplace—nothing that could be traced! I never said anything about prostitution, I was always very clear—I mean, there was only one time, and when she didn’t go for it, I dropped it and left! I never laid a fucking hand on the bitch!”
“Now, Mike, there’s no need to fly off the handle. Let’s listen to the whole story and get it straightened out,” Geoff said. “As it turns out, there isn’t a real case. The police will come to interview you, but we don’t believe it will go further than that.”
“Thank God,” Michael said weakly. “How did you do that?”
“It wasn’t Mr. Negel,” Okawa said. “Lucky for you, your friend doesn’t have any evidence. The police who took her report noted quite clearly that she owned almost every object she claimed you used on her, and that she freely admitted to being, as she put it, a ‘sexual submissive.’ They have to come and interview you, but thanks to your keeping that one secret, they’ve had trouble finding you.”
“How did they find me?”
“Oh, we told them.”
“What?!”
“Mr. LaGuardia, despite the non-standard ways our organization does business, we do recognize that we operate within the United States of America, and we must cooperate with authorities in any way we can.” She pulled another paper out of the pile and scanned it. “Also, your doings had already exposed us to potential annoyances. I suggest you look at this.”
Michael took the orange sheet of paper and read. It was a flyer for a Los Angeles SM group called Gates of Pleasure. They were apparently promoting a line-up of guest speakers and special events for the year. The list was esoteric—a seminar on basic bondage, a speaker discussing age-regression play, a piercing workshop—pretty standard stuff. His eyes scanned the list once, trying to see what the lawyer was pointing out to him, and then he caught it.
It was called “Secret Societies,” and the featured speakers included “Slave Karen.”
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “But she knew nothing.”
“We sent someone to tape the event,” Okawa said. “The transcript is here. Apparently, after she told her story, audience members encouraged her to press charges, which is what she has done.”
“But I never did anything to her!”
“Mr. LaGuardia—I suggest you look at this.” She pulled a multipage document out of the pile and opened it to a folded over page. “Start at line six.”
It read:
MOD: Have any of you heard anything about a hidden slave market active right now?
SK: Hell, I was recruited for it.
MOD: When did that happen?
SK: Just a few months ago, at Leather Forever.
(AUD: Much amazement.)
SK: No, it’s true. He looked just like anyone else—showed me a good time. But he figured he could make me his slave and then sell me off to this organization he kept talking about. He was a great master—handsome, skilled, brutal, creative—everything a beginner could want. He seemed more real than anyone I knew—and I loved him. But I could tell early on that there was something dangerous about him. Any time I got nervous, he’d get violent. I wasn’t allowed a safeword; he said that real slaves didn’t need one. Every time I asked a question, he’d threaten to leave me forever.
(AUD: Disapproval, boos, hisses.)
MOD: Those guys are really slick like that—they isolate you from your community, and then convince you that you’re worthless without them.
SK: That was it, right on the head. I felt worthless, like I couldn’t live without him. And when he told me he was planning to sell me, I nearly lost it. He got violent—brutal. Threatened to leave me again, and swore that I’d never be a real slave. When he left, I was crying, hysterical. Almost suicidal.
“It wasn’t like that,” Michael said, dropping the transcript into his lap and feeling nauseated. “She—she didn’t want to do it. I left. I never touched her... she wasn’t crying when I left!”
“Well, she did a lot of crying at this meeting. And I can’t even imagine what the repercussions of this will be.” Okawa took the transcript back and placed it with the other papers. “Thanks to you, she’ll be blabbing something about us in every SM club she gets invited to.”
“But what about—I mean, her charge—what should I do?”
“When you meet with the police, you will tell them the truth—that you were engaged in a sexual relationship with her which included bondage and discipline games. That you had a disagreement, and then you broke up.
You haven’t heard from her since. They have no physical evidence—no semen, no photos of bruises, no testimony from witnesses. In fact, we found several people who remembered you two as a couple from that Leather Forever conference where you first picked her up.”
“Oh God, I just don’t believe it,” Michael moaned. “Wait! What about the house? Are they coming here?”
“It’s about time you thought of more than yourself,” Geoff said, shaking his head. “Michael, Michael—I gave you my complete trust. And you betrayed it. Went against my instructions—no wait. I won’t jump to conclusions. Nani, why don’t you take a break? I’ll see you later.”
“Sure thing, Geoff.” She stood and left, and Michael slumped into his seat.
“Go ahead and tell me, Mike. But the truth this time.”
“I thought she would make a great slave,” Michael said glumly. There was no point in hiding anything now. “She responded perfectly! She was hot, and willing—and smart! And she learned real fast—she had the basic positions down in less than a month!”
“You taught her our methods, Mike?”
“Well, all spotters do! But only the basic ones, you know? Attention, show, present, at rest—and I made up a few I liked, too. So she doesn’t know which ones are real.” Mike grimaced. He was really grasping at straws.
“Okay, Michael. And then what?”
“I didn’t tell her a word about the Marketplace. Even that last day, I never called it by its name. I never told her about you, or told her where the house was or how we do anything. I just told her I could make her dream of being a slave come true. But she lied to me, Geof
f!” He leaned forward again, suddenly strong in his convictions. “Just like she’s lying now!
“Like you lied to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “God, Geoff, I’m really sorry.”
“And I accept your apology, Mike. But now, we have to do some damage control.” He stood up and stretched a little, and Michael nodded eagerly, waiting to find out what had to be done. “First, there’s the police interview. Nani has agreed to act as your attorney and make sure you don’t get confused by the questions. She doesn’t believe the investigation will be very in-depth. We expect that Karen will be advised that she waited too long and has instigated nothing but a he-said/she-said complaint. She will also be reminded that her history and reputation will become central aspects of the case, since she is not charging rape and therefore will not be protected by law. It’s a pity, but the law and the justice system favor us strongly in this case.”
“I don’t think it’s a pity—I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Yes you did, Mike. You exposed the Marketplace to danger, and you showed a young woman something she shouldn’t have seen. Because of your inexperience, we’ll never know whether she had true potential. Plus, I’m beginning to question yours.” He fixed Michael with a stern, fatherly stare, grave and sad, and Michael squirmed a little under it. “After the interview, we’ll hear whether the police intend to investigate further. You will go live somewhere else, and be considered on suspension until everything is cleared up.”
Michael nodded. “Geoff—I just thought of something. What if we paid her off? To shut her up, and make her drop the charges. I bet that would work!”
“Okay,” Geoff said, sitting down again. “How much can you afford?”
“Me? I can’t afford anything! I meant the Marketplace! You know, to protect their interests?” Michael was close to panic. He shifted in his seat and gripped the edge of the chair. “You said that they do that sometimes!”
“Yes, Mike—to protect their valued members. Not to cover the asses of junior staff members who act on their own, breaking the rules.” Geoff shook his head sadly. “If you had asked for specific spotter training, if you had come back and mentioned to me that you needed a spotter, and could you reserve the option to train the client should she come to our house—something could have been worked out, Mike. Or maybe not—maybe the time just wasn’t right for this young lady, or for you. And you would have waited another six months, or a year, or three years! What would it matter, Mike? You’d have a place to live, food, and vacations, health benefits and training—and access to the best trained slaves in the country. But you put that all on the line when you went outside to get your own, Mike. The Marketplace will not expend any substantial money or effort to keep you out of trouble. Their interest is in keeping the name and details of our organization out of the media.”
Michael’s jaw set, and his eyes narrowed. His fingertips were white with the pressure of keeping them locked onto his chair. “Well, what about what I could say about the Marketplace, Geoff? How come no one cares what I could do?”
“That’s simple, Mike. Because if you say a word, you’ll be shunned. What’s more, so will your Uncle Niall. We’ll cancel all current contracts he holds and remove the slaves from his house until you make restitution for any harm you might cause. And even if you do, you will never be able to visit him again, not while he owns slaves. You will be barred from any contact with us. You’ll never train, and never own a real slave, Mike. Think very carefully about this—would it be worth it?” Geoff’s voice had turned very hard, but he softened and leaned across the desktop. “Mike, listen to me. You made a bad mistake—and people do make mistakes. Don’t compound it. I’ll pretend I never heard what you just said, and we’ll keep going on the damage control. You do as we say, and maybe you can be back here soon, and life will go on. Trust me, son. We’ll help as much as we can if you just cooperate.”
What else could he do? He could never really go to the media and start blabbing about the organization that had made his life so pleasurable—especially considering the consequences. He had never thought that they’d punish Niall for what he did. The thought of his beloved uncle losing his assistant and his boy-toy lover made Michael’s gut ache. To be forever cast out of all contact with these people—to never be able to own those two slaves he was always fantasizing about—no, the price was just too high.
So, he waited for the police, and did his interview. He was a little nervous, but the two men who questioned him didn’t seem to be very adversarial. He was as honest as possible, admitting to a sort of SM-based relationship with Karen. He described the various kinds of roleplaying they had done, and referred to the seminars at Leather Forever as examples of where he might have learned those things. He agreed to make himself available for further interviews. When they left, they shook his hand and apologized for the bother.
In a way, it did seem a little unfair to Karen. But she had prejudiced her own investigators, the lawyer explained, by being a bad witness. She had not reported the event after it happened, but after she had received some small notice for discussing it. She was not the virgin-pure victim that the media and the courts loved—she was the exact opposite. There were witnesses, including the leatherdyke invited to play with them back at Leather Forever, who could say that Karen had consented to the relationship with Mike. Michael himself had no criminal record. He was cooperative, and clean-cut.
The case was never pursued. After a few months, Karen stopped talking about it at SM gatherings, although she did publish a written account of her relationship and distributed it via the growing “Information Superhighway.” She had changed Mike’s name to Jon. After that, no one paid any attention to the tale. There were other things to care about, other items of interest.
But not for Michael. Every day he was kept away from Geoff’s place, tucked into a small studio apartment and forbidden to go to LA or San Francisco and take part in the soft world activities there, was a purgatory of boredom. He watched TV, mindlessly channel surfing for hours. They didn’t even give him Marketplace books and reports to read, let alone training tapes to watch. He was in temporary exile.
By the time he was called back, he was tearfully grateful for the reprieve. He agreed at once to enter Geoff’s staff again at the lowest level, doing paperwork and assisting other junior trainers. Geoff made him write out a full report on his failed attempt at spotting and pre-training, an exercise, he said, in reviewing the past mistake so it would never happen again. It was excruciating, especially the part where Geoff had Michael read the thing to him, and Michael had to watch Geoff react to every time Michael reported having used Marketplace techniques on a soft-world novice.
But even working the scut jobs was better than being outcast. In short time, he was able to make his way back up to where he had been when he left—no matter what had happened, the slaves still responded to him, and he did get good results.
But he was tainted, and everyone knew it. Geoff was careful to coach the other staff members not to mention the incident to Michael’s face, but he knew they talked about it behind his back. He knew that his reputation had suffered a terrible blow.
It became absolutely necessary to leave Geoff’s house as soon as possible. It was clear that there could be no future for him there. Even if Geoff did certify him as a full trainer, there would be nowhere to go. He had to find a new house to work his way through, to erase the whole Karen incident from his past.
He had found out that one didn’t apply directly to Anderson, that the process of being selected for her apprentice involved sending a request to the management office which represented the North American Marketplace interests. He did include a letter to the legendary trainer in his application. It wasn’t quite as personally lauding as he would have preferred. But he included copies of his rating sheets before Karen, and mentioned that he realized that he needed training in a different style if he was to ever become a proper trainer.
It too
k another six months for the answer to come. Geoff seemed confused but pleased for him, and wished him luck. His going-away present was a Movado watch, which Michael reluctantly sold before leaving the city. His entire savings was less than what it would take to secure and rent a New York apartment for three months. There would be no stipend while he was with Anderson—only room and board. This was because Geoff hadn’t sponsored him for the special training. There would be no way to know how long he was going to be there; but he wasn’t afraid. He was a quick learner. The Trainer of Trainers would see that, and before long, he would get her approval. There would be no mistakes like the Karen incident.
But it seemed that Karen and Geoff would be with him forever! He could never just put that behind him and go on.
It just wasn’t fucking fair.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finally, someone got tied up at Anderson’s house.
Lorens looked very good in bondage, too. A rope harness wrapped around his body, crossing one hard, defined muscle and gently curving around another. He looked like a poster for some Italian Hercules movie, bound between the columns of a temple. That was it—Samson! If Samson had been a Viking.
But this particular temple was only the doorway to the room where the slaves slept. Michael had seen the bolts sunk into the corners, but had never asked about them. After all these weeks, it seemed like whatever purpose they had served was long over.
Apparently, he was wrong. Chris did the actual bondage, under Anderson’s direction and Michael’s careful observation. The short trainer was an expert with the rope—lines slid through his hands without tangling, and the actual patterns he made were symmetrical and pleasing to the eye as well as secure and useful. Lorens was patient, cheerful and even stoic when thinner strands of rope were used to make his cock and balls look like a macramé project. Joan was watching as well—earlier that morning, Chris had mentioned to Michael that despite her probable non-sexual role in her master’s household, she would be surrounded by the evidence of slaves used for more sexual and erotic purposes. She might even have the responsibility to care for them should they not be able to care for themselves.
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