Marketplace (48 page)

Part of being boss, Alex
noted to Grendel with some amusement, is knowing how to motivate
your people. You sure motivated the hell out of our butler. Grendel
could only shrug. His long-awaited full reunion with his partner
had taken place when the three slaves were taken away. He and Alex
loved to come back after a separation like this. Still feeling
pretty damn good about it, he wasn’t about to argue anything. You
know how to motivate the hell out of me, he admitted to her, and
they laughed.

When it got late, Chris
came looking for Brian and kicked him off to bed. Alexandra waited
until Brian had left the room, and then said, “Why don’t you take
his place, Chris?“

It startled him, which was
always good. But he recovered and went to kneel in the space
vacated by the trainee slave, putting his hands behind his back.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome. Chris,
would you like to come with us to the resort?”

That too, caught him off
guard. Better and better.

“If it would please you,
Ma’am. To help me make a more independent decision, would Ma’am
like to tell me why I would be there?”

“Because there, you can be
our slave, and here, you can’t,” she said, leaning forward. “I’ve
discussed it with Grendel, and we’d like to reward you for your
work on the four summer applicants.” She looked at him seriously.
“You can take your bonus as well, if you want it.”

Chris took a deep breath.
“Thank you Ma’am. I don’t need the bonus.” No surprise, he never
took it; it went elsewhere. “But I accept your offer to accompany
you to the resort as your slave, Ma’am.”

“Even knowing that the
collar comes off when we leave and you get back to work?” Grendel
asked.

“Even so,” Chris
nodded.

“Fine.” Grendel shrugged.
“Then we’re settled. We’ll go after the next two have completed
training and Brian is sold. I’ll bet you can’t wait until the
winter comes, eh Chris? In fact, I’m willing to bet you’d love
nothing more then to start practicing tonight, and crawl all the
way over to our bed and sleep at the foot of it.”

“Gren,” Alex said softly,
“Don’t tease him any more.” She got up and reached her hand out to
her lover, who took it with a nod of acquiescence.

“We’ll see you in the
morning, Chris,” he called over his shoulder. And the majordomo got
up, turned the lights out, and went to lock the front
door.

* * * *

Have I told you that the
mark of the best slaves is patience? Infinite patience.

A LEASH HAS TWO
ENDS

A bonus story from the
Mystic Rose edition of The Marketplace

Grendel didn’t drop the
belt until Chris fell for the third time, unable to keep the
wide-legged stance with his fingers locked together behind his
neck. Other barriers had already been passed; Chris had screamed,
he had already cried. But perhaps those particular tears didn’t
count to Grendel. There are tears of pain and there are tears
brought on by choking.

Time for more of those,
anyway.

“Get up, boy,” Grendel
ordered, as he took the comfortable seat in the shaft of
mid-morning sun that was streaking through the billowing curtains.
The red tile was cool against his bare feet, the sun warm against
his back. The sounds of his morning recreation probably carried
well out the broad windows and across their private verandah, which
was just fine. Their neighbors had been very generous with some
pretty energetic activities during dinner the previous
night.

Grendel wound a hand in
Chris’s hair and tugged sharply. It was hardly necessary, but felt
good. Almost as good as the head of his cock slamming comfortably
down his normally sexually frustrated majordomo’s throat; the head
compressed tightly against muscles fighting the mental battle
between providing pleasure and the physical one of providing
oxygen.

Grendel kicked out his legs
and looked down. Chris’s back was a mass of red welts with faint
bruising underneath. Alex had really done a number on him the
previous night, acres of tiny, wicked clamps, some toothed, some
not, some removed carefully others just jerked off at random. She
was so precise; so exacting and deliberate. Her light hands could
soothe away cares or make you scream. Grendel sighed in pleasure,
even as he ground Chris’s face harder against himself. Sleeping
with Alex again was a joy, sharing beds and touches. Their
happiness depended on being able to work apart, which made their
reunions all the sweeter. This same pattern of denial had a
beneficial effect on this most valuable switch of theirs—although
for entirely different reasons.

It was sometimes hard to
keep himself away from this, though. Even the most talented and
dedicated novices lacked the sheer skill that this oh-so-reserved
butler possessed. And while there was something to be said for
variety, Grendel was enough of an honest hedonist to crave a
certain level of expertise on a regular basis. He was self-
disciplined enough not to slip and ruin the balance, but damn,
Chris was an excellent cocksucker.

And looking better these
days, too. As he struggled to keep his hands behind his back, the
lately acquired musculature in his upper and lower arms and in his
shoulders seemed exaggerated, bruises and all. “The name of the
game this morning is balance,” Grendel had said when he had
deliberately pushed Chris into the corner of the bed, and followed
the man’s descent with a few kicks. “You won’t have much. But
you’ll please me just the same.” Chris’s last words had been “As
you wish, Master,” which had given Grendel a guilty thrill even as
he cuffed his slave-for-the-week and told him there were better
uses for his well trained mouth.

Was it so wrong to enjoy
being a master instead of a trainer?

Grendel jerked Chris’s head
back, and felt the pleasure of a gentle gust of air all along his
cock. Chris gasped for breath and opened his eyes.

“Cover me.”

There was a strip of
foil-wrapped condoms on the bedstead. Crawl-ing to get them was a
nice touch, and Grendel enjoyed the view. Another problem with
novices was that if they acted on their own instincts like that,
they needed to be punished for making assumptions about the tastes
of their top. It was nice to have someone who knew what would
please and did it.

Grendel was in too much of
a hurry to be as cruel—or pedantic—as he could be, though. When
Chris returned, he took the condom package from Chris’s mouth
between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. Without a word,
Chris grasped the opposite edge of the gaudy little envelope in his
teeth and with a sharp tug, ripped it open. He caught the condom in
his mouth, and maneuvered it even as he dipped his head down
again.

“Good boy,” Grendel said,
leaning back again. “Get it on and get it very, very wet. I expect
you’ll be tight again.”

God, he could practically
feel the heat from Chris’s face. Years of playing with him, teasing
him, torturing him, using him, had made Grendel aware of every
motion or word that could make Chris react. They were alike in that
way, with finely honed responses to the spoken word. Call him “boy”
and his entire body relaxed in familiar comfort. But refer to him
sexually, make reference to his use, and suddenly there was a panic
reaction, an edge of fear colored with the confusion of
shame.

It was cruel, delightfully
so.

Grendel did not put his
hands back on Chris, but leaned back to let the younger man work.
It was tempting to take up the newspaper delivered with the
breakfast tray that morning, but perhaps he would do that later,
after the urgency of this morning session had worn off.

Besides, Alex would enjoy
watching that.

Gently but firmly, Chris
worked the condom down Grendel’s cock, smoothing it with his lips
and tongue, his head pushing deeper and deeper until the rolled
edge was all the way down to the base. The pressure of his throat
even as he worked at this task was so intense that Grendel almost
decided to finish off this way. But there was a reason he had
concentrated on Chris’s ass and upper thighs with the belt. He
snapped his fingers and Chris pulled back, slowly and smoothly, his
eyes down, chest heaving as he tried not to gasp
heavily.

“Perhaps I should allow you
to brace yourself,” Grendel mused. Chris didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Such a good boy. “Beg me.”

Ah, so many ways to torture
this man. Chris dropped down onto his hands, elbows bent as he
lowered his head to the floor. “Please Master, please, allow me to
serve you better...” his voice was cracking slightly, damn if it
didn’t seem deeper these days. His breath came ragged as he spoke,
raspy. In one of their many, many interviews—or, as Grendel had
come to think of them, interrogations—Chris had admitted that he
found it difficult to beg for anything other than forgiveness. It
smacked of selfishness to him, for a slave, or even a bottom, to
request an action. Being commanded to beg was the easy answer.
Being able to do it convincingly was the trick.

But it was hard to have
patience for these trainer behaviors. The day was hot, the room
seductive, the freedom delicious. And their last time together like
this had been two months ago, after the summer trainees had gone to
their new owners. Then Brian had to be worked on, and as soon as
his sale was over—and what an excellent sale it had been, too—Chris
had gone away for a little surgery. By the time he was back and
recovered, Alex had gone to visit family in Atlanta and then
Grendel went to the Academy, and time went by as it always did.
Somewhere in there had been three other clients as well, not a bad
showing, and there were no fewer than six lined up for their
return.

They had all earned this
little vacation. Although perhaps Chris had not expected some
aspects of it.

All the better.

“I should have you dance on
my cock, boy,” Grendel growled. “I know you’d hate that, playing
like a talented whore for me, working your ass down until I
came.”

The target of these words
shivered, but did not rise; there had been no order. Grendel could
feel the coolness of the spittle on the condom as it evaporated in
the heat, and he smiled.

“Over the desk,” he said,
rising. Chris scrambled to keep up with him as he walked into the
spacious sitting room between the two bedrooms. The desk was a good
height, much like Grendel’s desk back home, although much more
delicate-looking. They had discovered it was fairly sturdy,
though.

And when Grendel walked to
one side and reinserted his cock into Chris’s mouth, it proved to
be exactly the height he was already used to. How convenient. He
would have to send a note to management.

Or better yet, have Chris
let them know.

Chris gagged, almost as if
he could overhear Grendel’s thought processes. Grendel reacted
without thinking; he pulled out and cuffed the servile man and then
slammed back in. This did not exactly provide time for more proper
cock sucking to be achieved, but oh, it felt good.

“You need more practice,”
Grendel said as he allowed his cock to get harder and wetter.
“Maybe I should have invited Gordon over. He might like a change
over from his Texan cook, don’t you think? With Leon away, I’m sure
he must be feeling deprived anyway.”

Questions during
cocksucking were almost always rhetorical. Chris made no attempt to
respond.

“Or actually, there is
Jack. Now that it’s been a while since he had Brian every day, I
bet he’s aching for some regular cocksucking. That girl he’s dating
just doesn’t seem quite as... biddable as he might be used
to.”

Grendel pulled out again,
and ruffled Chris’s hair affectionately. Chris drew a breath and
choked out, “As you wish, Master,” coughing as he finished the
words. His hands gripped the edge of the desk as Grendel walked
behind him and kicked his legs further apart.

“This is what I wish,” he
said, taking bruised flesh into his hands. “Right now.”

Chris’s groan at entry was
almost as good as the actual sensation, accompanied by the
spreading of his hands, as they shook. Grendel knew it wasn’t the
pain per se, although it always hurt a little when there had been
so much time between reaming. This was one of the ways Chris lost
himself; one of the few times when he let go. It was primal to him,
a sort of core usage that was mingled with his identity and
fantasies.

The first time Grendel had
seen Chris, his hand buried deep into a slave woman at a
Marketplace party, he had thought, “Who is that boy, and why
isn’t
he
in that
sling?” Chris had been so cool that evening, so professional and
distant, with that sweet, jailbait-face. The owners present didn’t
know whether to watch him or the squirming, screaming woman poised
so neatly on his small hand, but Grendel didn’t have any such
conflict.

And the first time he had
Chris before him, on his knees, all he could think of was “how
will
she
collect
for this little treat?”

But the first time he bent
Chris over and fucked his ass, no questions came to him. In that
moment, there were no mysteries. Chris belonged to him. Chris was
meant to be used by him. Master and servant, top and bottom, sadist
and masochist, whatever terminology applied, they were matched
perfectly.