“That’s probably an understatement,” Chris admitted. He reached into his closet and pulled out a T-shirt. When he turned his back, Michael saw another tattoo, on his right shoulder. This one was not as elaborate as the one on his chest and belly. In fact, it was a mere outline, in red, of a rose on a long stem tangled with thorns and tiny leaves. As Chris pulled the T-shirt down, he turned back to look at Michael. “You’re in no shape to run, and I feel like taking the morning off. You can play twenty questions with me about all sorts of private issues, or you can focus on your real problem of what you’re going to do now.”
The sun was coming up. Michael looked at Chris, and then toward the window, and then down at his body.
“I think,” he croaked, “I would like to take a shower.”
“Good idea,” Chris said. “Clean my bathroom floor as well, will you? I’ll see you downstairs.”
Michael groaned as he got to his feet, and headed toward the bathroom. He knew intellectually that what he had seen in the sink was gone, but it was hard nonetheless. He wiped up his own piss and then left hurriedly, choosing to shower in the blue bathroom.
In the shower, he winced as the needles of hot water hit his ass. I guess it is still a little sore, he thought, soaping himself up. That was one hell of a beating—one hell of a night.
He looked down at his cock, and felt a wave of confusion. What had he seen? And what had he felt? It sure felt like a real cock in him last night—but then, what did he have to compare it to? And if it was a fake—what on earth did Chris have down there?
Michael didn’t want to think about it. While he soaped himself up, though, his own cock reminded him that there had been quite a few erections last night and no finale. He slid his soapy hand over the shaft, remembering the feel of Chris’s hand—and stopped.
Chris had said that Michael’s orgasm belonged to him. Michael let his cock go, and stood under the water. How strange. I could never understand how they managed to keep from jerking off, he reflected, washing the other parts of his body. I always figured that the slaves cheated whenever they could. Most of Geoff’s did. But I don’t want to cheat. I want to be good.
He rinsed off and dressed, and concentrated on what Chris had mentioned before leaving. It was true. There was this whole new situation now. The Trainer wasn’t going to want him—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a trainer anymore. Damn, but it was all confusing! One month ago, he could have said with certainty that he was going to become a great trainer, and that Chris was a guy. Now, one night seemed to have changed that all around.
Or maybe not. He combed his hair and straightened his tie and looked at the man in the mirror. You got the shit beat out of you last night, he thought. Got yourself royally fucked, too. So—what changed?
Nothing at all.
Anderson had apparently given Vic the day off. Michael found Chris in the kitchen, sitting on the counter with his back against the back wall, eating an apple with a cup of coffee at his side. Michael looked at him and shook his head. “It’s hard to believe this is you,” he said.
Chris shrugged. “I often lighten up after I get laid. Especially if there aren’t any clients around. Of course,” he said, taking a swallow of coffee, “there is you. But we haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
“I hope I have some say in it,” Michael said.
“Oh, you can say whatever you like. But you won’t be very successful fighting your inner nature for very long.”
Michael shook off a fit of trembling and took a coffee mug out of the cabinet. “Is that the voice of experience?”
“Don’t try to analyze me, boy. It’s taken more professionals than you could shake your dick at, and I still leave them stumped. Let’s just say that I know this—when the drive is to service, nothing will stand in its way.” He took another bite of the apple and pitched the core neatly into the garbage. “Except maybe—just maybe—the Trainer of Trainers.”
“Mention her name, and she appears,” Anderson said with a yawn. “Will one of you not-slaves kindly fetch this old lady a coffee?” She was wearing a robe that looked like it was made from colorful trading blankets, the lapels overstitched and a little threadbare. She took a cup from Michael, who poured a new one for himself. “You two are a bit much. Thumping all night, screaming before dawn—I felt like a frat house had moved in next door.”
“My apologies,” Chris said seriously. “I didn’t realize I was being so noisy.”
“Me too,” Michael added. “I’ll try to scream quieter next time.” He snorted.
Chris’s head snapped to the side. “Down!” he barked. Michael looked at him, realized that he was serious, and dropped to his knees, groaning as he hit the floor. Judging the anger to be real, he bowed his head down, until his forehead met the tile.
Anderson whistled low through her teeth. “At least it was a productive night,” she commented.
“Not really. Yesterday afternoon, you had a possible apprentice trainer. Today, we have a possible client. Just how productive is that?” Chris hopped down from the counter and nudged Michael with his foot. “Up, boy. And try not to forget what you learned about yourself again.”
“Yes, Chris,” Michael found himself saying. “I mean—yes, sir.” He blushed as he got up, and rubbed his knees. They were sore as hell.
“Sometimes, productivity can be measured in how much time isn’t wasted, dear heart. I can always bring in a new apprentice in the fall.”
“But—I mean, may I speak?” Michael asked.
“Yes, sweetie, you’re not on formal manners, only on basic respectful ones.” Anderson leaned against the counter.
“I still want to be a trainer,” Michael said. “A classic trainer.”
“Oh-ho!” Anderson chuckled. “That requires a sitting position. Let’s take this into the front room.”
* * * *
“Now—do you have any idea what it takes to be classically trained?” Anderson asked when she was comfortable in her favorite seat. She left Michael standing, and he nodded as Chris took the other chair.
“Yes, Trainer, I do. One year of basic training, two years in service, two years managing other slaves while in service, and... and... “ Michael tried to remember. “One year with a master trainer—no, two.”
“And you’re prepared to give up seven years in order to do this?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, I am. Trainer, it’s the perfect solution. I could do it—go into service, and actually be a slave for four years—then I’ll really know what it’s like! I’ll be ready for the real training when I finish that—and Chris said that no one is trained like that anymore, so I’ll be unique!”
“Not quite,” Chris snapped. “You’re still an arrogant little snot. You can stand there and compare yourself to Anderson? To me?”
“No,” Michael admitted. “But maybe in five years, I might compare myself to where you were once.”
Chris waved one hand dismissively. “Get on your knees boy, you’re obviously breathing in some heady fumes.”
Michael went down, more carefully this time.
“It’s an idea,” Anderson said. “Not your best, I’m afraid. It may seem like a good idea right now, Mike, but the first time you get up on that block, it’s your body that’s on the line. And if you find that you love the service, what then? Someone’s wasted a year of prep training on you. Or, more likely, you become a trainer in service and stay there, where you’re not of much use to me or the network of free trainers. It would be better if you decided to go into the Marketplace as a slave. If it doesn’t turn out the way you like, you can always go back into training later on. But don’t start the classic program unless you’re planning to see it all the way through.”
“I will,” Michael said.
“Hm. I think—I have to think about it,” Anderson said. “Why don’t you go take a nap or get a newspaper or something. I’ll be ready for you in about three hours.”
“Yes, Trainer.” Michael rose gin
gerly and inclined his shoulders to her, and then to Chris. Chris rolled his eyes as he left. “I’ve created a monster,” he complained.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Anderson said.
“He’ll never last the program. He’ll either love or hate service and either way, he’ll never come back to training.”
“Then why did you fuck him last night?”
Chris laughed at the use of her most forbidden word. “Because he needed it! Because I couldn’t stand his puppy-dog eyes following me around, and because he’s so damn cute. I’m entitled to be shallow every once in a while.”
“Sure thing. But face it—you took him down because you thought he was making a mistake.”
“And he still is.” Chris pushed his hair back and sighed. “Imala, I won’t fight with you on this. If you choose him that’s your decision.”
“Except for one thing, my boy. Who do you think will be here when he comes back in five years?”
Chris scowled. “You’re too young to retire.”
“Maybe in five years I won’t be.”
“Oh, damn,” he said softly. “Five years. Five years until I commit my life to the true service. Yes, I’ll be here. If I have the full five years.”
“You’ll have the full five—if you supervise Michael.”
“Oh, suck my dick,” Chris said, still scowling.
Anderson raised her eyebrows and laughed. “If that’s what it takes, kiddo, I think I still remember how.”
“I’ll break him,” he warned.
Anderson shrugged. “If he can be broken, he isn’t fit to serve.”
“I don’t even have my own place,” Chris pointed out.
“No. But you do have a standing offer from friends in familiar surroundings. I’m sure Rachel would love to have someone new to abuse. And Grendel and Alex would love to have the extra help.” Anderson smiled. “See? It all works out.”
“Sure. Everyone gets what they want save for one notable exception.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Anderson said soothingly. “Service demands sacrifice, my friend. And that’s not from one of my papers.”
“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, Imala. I may bitch, but I will also do the right thing. Let’s hope this kid you selected can learn that.” Chris rose and stretched. “I think I’d better make a phone call or two.”
“That’s my boy,” she said fondly. He shot his crooked smile at her before he left, and she kept her smile on her face until he was gone.
“Damn and double damn,” she muttered, drawing the robe closer around her. Oh well, she reflected, pushing herself up. Omelets and eggs.
Chapter Thirty
Arrangements were made quickly, all around. The Trainer wanted to take a vacation, so there was no sense in dawdling. Calls were made to prospective clients and their owners or brokers, and dates set for later on in the year. Grendel and Alexandra were only too happy to extend an invitation to the new trainer-in-training, and Rachel was delighted at the prospect of getting her old playmate back. It was almost time for the summer group of candidates, and extra help was always appreciated.
“Where will I go after the year is up?” Chris asked Anderson that night. “I won’t be able to stay.”
“No,” she agreed. “You’ll just have to establish a place of your own, I suppose. Or, you can travel a little yourself. I think that would be best. Just as long as you keep in touch with your little Golden Butt.”
“I assure you—he will be always on my mind.”
“So, you’re dead set on this?” Anderson asked Michael. He nodded enthusiastically. They were in her office for what she called her final interview with him.
“Trainer, this is the first time I’ve been sure about anything. It’s like I’ve been drifting along for years, and now I can see where I’m going!”
“I believe that you believe that,” she said. “Only time will tell us if you’re right. I hope for my sake that you are. We need more dedicated trainers, Michael. And no matter what anyone else says, this is the best way to make them.”
“I understand that now.”
“Do you? Then I’ll ask the question I asked you when you first came here. What is the purpose of the Marketplace?”
He opened his mouth, and then closed it with a frown. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I guess it’s to provide some kind of context for people into this kind of life.”
“What kind of people?”
“Well—everyone. Tops and bottoms.”
“Not exactly.” Anderson said. “We have many outlets in modern life which are able to provide you with a context for control or lack of control. But we’ve lost the notion of service for service’s sake—a life devoted to an ideal. Everyone needs a reason to do things which were once culturally entrenched—you do it for the money, or because you’ll get a college education, or because the person you’ve chosen is your messiah, or your favorite rock star. But what if this drive went much deeper than that? Where do those people go? And how do they know that they’ll be able to live a life based on that drive without falling prey to emotional swindlers, mass murderers, or fanatics who will throw their dedication or their lives away on a whim?
“They don’t know. How can you know?”
“Mostly, you can’t. Unless—someone’s created a system under which potential controllers are carefully selected and trained to manage these potential servitors.” She winked.
“The Marketplace exists to provide masters for the slaves?’ Michael asked.
“Think about it,” Anderson advised. “It’s just a theory.”
He shook his head in amazement. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this,” he said. “You never had the slightest reason to keep me on.”
“That’s the truth,” she admitted. “Especially after you tried to look me up in the computer files. That was pretty sneaky.”
He turned white. “You really can see through walls!”
“No, dear. But I can operate a computer. And if you had paid attention to the software for the archives, you might have noticed a function which pulls up a list of the last twenty files you requested. I rarely try to call up my own, since I’m the one who had it sealed.” She leaned back and rocked in the chair. “That was naughty of you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Especially since I didn’t get a single useful thing out of there.”
“Ha! Well, some secrets are made to be kept, Mike. Others are best left alone, period.”
Michael remembered the morning in Chris’s room, and the questions. He hadn’t asked any of them. Things had happened too fast, and after the decisions were made, it seemed less important than it had at that moment. What it would be like working under Chris in another environment, Michael couldn’t guess.
But he was more than willing to take it as it came.
“I’ll send you regular updates,” Chris said. “And I’ll be back as soon as he’s sold, to let you know what I’ve decided to do. Don’t be surprised if I wind up as a towel boy in some monastery or join the circus, because I’m not going to be doing anything ordinary for the following four years.”
“Fair enough,” Anderson agreed. “If you need help getting wherever, you can count on it.”
Chris looked out the window, and watched as Rachel supervised Michael loading the car. “It is for the best, isn’t it?”
“Oh God, Parker, yes. And you know it is.”
He lowered his head. “I didn’t want to go back where I came from,” he said softly.
“Don’t think of it as going back. Think of it as using a familiar launch point.” She hugged him across the shoulders, and kissed him on the forehead. “My best boy. Go play for a while. With my blessing.”
He hugged her briefly and kissed her on the mouth. She smiled when he pulled away. He danced down the front steps lightly, on the balls of his feet, and sauntered to the car where a man and a woman vied for his attention. Her little fighting cockerel.
Imala Anderson closed th
e door and turned to Vicente. “What do you say to California?” she asked wickedly.
“Oh, you are a bad one,” the man chuckled.
“Yes,” she agreed, her face suddenly changing. She sighed, and linked an arm through his. “Sometimes, I have to be.”
California Dreaming
A bonus story for the Luster Editions ebook of The Trainer
There was someone in the room.
To be more precise, there were two someones; he could hear them whispering outside the door before they carefully tiptoed in. They were still unaware at how much more noise a person made when trying to be sneaky. If they had spoken in their usual tones of voice, his half asleep brain would have merely edited them out with the rest of the background noise. Whispering and skulking, however, was attention-getting.
Briefly, he wondered whether he should do something about that. Was it good or bad that they didn’t know how to be better sneaks? Should he be stern and angry, or leap up and scare them before they got to him? That was an amusing thought; wouldn’t it be a laugh? Or, he could just wait until... ahh. There was one, inching up the foot of the bed. And the other? He slitted his eyes open in the dim room; the shades and curtains were still drawn, but sunlight was just peeking around one edge, just enough to signal his body further awake. The hand caressing his leg did the rest, and his cock ached with sudden warmth.
“I’ve known you were here for ages,” he drawled, stretching and kicking the sheet free. “You’d make lousy sneak thieves.“
“Maybe you should punish us, master,” said the one next to the bed. He turned to look at her but identified her by voice immediately. There was no mistaking Alicia’s candy-coated sweet tone. She also had perfect pitch, however rarely she was called upon to sing or play an instrument. That would change later, as she was on the entertainment list, but for now, her diversionary use had nothing to do with music.
Even in the dim light, he could see she was naked, which was nice. The last week had seen such an array of costumes and fetish gear it was almost a relief to just see some skin, satin soft and inviting, pale at her remaining bikini lines and, he knew, at the shaved triangle between her legs. He could see that her long, sandy-blonde hair was free around her shoulders; it blurred her outline and softened it quite erotically.
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