Marketplace (50 page)

How they had earned such
devotion was surely one of their life’s blessings. How to keep it
was one of their challenges.

“I want you to find some
interesting new body for us to play with,” she said idly, when he
returned from the bathroom again. “Tomorrow afternoon. The best of
what’s available; someone we wouldn’t see at home.”

“I understand, Madame.” He
nodded, and she could see, almost feel the way he was already
considering options. “Will three o’clock be
satisfactory?”

“Perfect. Now go back to
sleep. You wouldn’t want Gren to wake up and not find you there.”
She waved her hand in a shooing motion, and with a slight bow, he
went quietly back into the room. She knew that he would sit near
the door, listening for her, waiting for the light to go out before
he went back to wherever Grendel had put him to sleep.

She went into her own room
and Rachel’s mumbled welcome and thought that life was pretty
good.

* * * *

Chris outdid himself by
acquiring a pair of pleasure slaves, not staff at the resort, but
loaned from an Argentine couple who were only too pleased to show
them off to a pair of American trainers for a few hours. The woman
was tall and slender, with perfectly formed breasts and long black
hair that ran down to her waist. And her partner was a classically
formed man with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his nipples pierced
and eyes sharp. The two of them came in matching
sarongs.

The two trainers took their
loaned slaves down to the larger play-room set up in the main
building and left a note for Rachel, who was getting a manicure and
pedicure, to join them if she felt like it.

Rachel thought about it as
she kicked off her sandals and got dutiful admiration for the
colors she had chosen. She asked Chris to describe the slaves for
her and speculated on what Grendel and Alex might do with such a
pair. But Chris’s polite, noncommittal answers annoyed her, even as
the idea of shaking him out of formal behavior captivated
her.

“Maybe you should wear a
sarong, Chris,” she said, tossing her head back as she drank some
Diet Coke. “It would look cute!”

“Thank you, Mistress,” he
said, and was there just a touch of his dryness there? “I
appreciate your interest. However, my wardrobe has been chosen for
me.”

Still in white, he was in
heavy cotton shorts and another button down shirt. She thought he
looked like some kind of camp counselor. Even his sandals were
white, and how—and when!—he kept them that way was a mystery. White
leather just was not very practical. In the four days they had been
there, he had picked up some sun himself. But not enough. Rachel
wondered if she could get him down to the beach one day. The last
time they had gone to the beach was an afternoon down at Cherry
Grove over two years ago. Chris was not very good at relaxing; he
had spent most of the day studying for an exam for one of his
psychology classes. He had refused to remove his shirt,
too.

Much different from that
sweltering night when they took the train all the way out to Coney
Island and fucked on a deserted part of the beach until they both
had way too much sand in annoying places. But they had been poor
and wild and crazy then. Now, they were comfortable and secure and
he was very, very proper.

Bet I can make you crazy
still, she thought, as he collected her empty. “Come on. I don’t
need any pleasure slaves when I got you,” she said,
rising.

He obediently followed her
and caught her clothes as she stripped. Impatiently, she slapped at
his hands. “Forget that shit. I want to see you in something
different.” She opened the louvered doors of the wide closet and
grabbed one of her wrap-around skirts and tossed it at him. “It’s
not a sarong, but it’ll do!”

He caught it neatly, but
made no move to change. “Thank you,” he said, shaking out the
cloth. “Mistress. But I’m afraid my wardrobe has already been
chosen for this trip. Is there some other way I may be of
service?”

“No, there isn’t,” Rachel
insisted. She turned to face him, her hard body naked and brown
from the sun. “Listen—I’ve been doing this long enough to know I
can get you out of livery for my own pleasure. So please me, slave
boy” She said the word in a sing-song. “Come on, put it
on.”

“With all respect,
Mistress,” Chris said, his eyes down. “I must ask for another
service I may provide for you.”

“Fuck that formal shit,”
Rachel snapped. “Talk to me like a normal person.”

Chris tossed the skirt onto
the bed. “Very well. No.”

“No?” Rachel’s jaw dropped,
and then she laughed. “Did you say no to an order, Mr.
Slave?”

“I’m not going to put on
your clothes, Rachel,” Chris said. His voice was strained, but very
quiet. For a moment, she wondered if he was angry—sometimes, when
he was really pissed, he got really quiet. But this was something
else, something she wasn’t quite as familiar with.

“Well fuck off, then,”
Rachel snapped. “You wouldn’t say no to Alex or Grendel, I bet.
What happened to your perfect obedience, huh?”

“I regret that my actions
have disappointed you, Rachel,” he said in that same weird voice.
He picked up the skirt and folded its edges in and walked to the
closet. “I beg your forgiveness.” But as he reached for the hanger,
she pushed him away and grabbed the skirt.

“Get out,” she
snapped.

When he left the room, he
closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his fists to keep from
shaking.

* * * *

Grendel and Alex were very
pleased with their loaner slaves and ate dinner with their owners.
But they and Rachel returned to the suite to take evening cocktails
on the verandah to the sound of the surf and the faint calypso
music coming from the beach party. They chatted about the people
they had run into, and plans for a deep sea fishing party, and
Rachel coaxed Alex into telling salacious details about their
afternoon delight. And after she laughed and congratulated them,
they asked her how her afternoon went.

Chris heard Grendel call
for him, and he sighed and put down the shaker he had been rinsing.
He wiped his hands dry and walked to the doorway to the verandah.
“Master,” he said softly.

“Take your glasses off,”
Grendel said, rising.

* * * *

“So you thought you could
disobey me?”

“This-this slave has no
excuse,” Chris stammered. He was still dizzy from the first two
blows, which had been to his face. Then, Grendel had gotten the
belt again. Alex was sitting on the couch, her eyes hard, watching.
Rachel had fled to the bedroom once, but Alex followed her and
brought her back.

“There is no acceptable
excuse,” Grendel said, as he brought the belt down again across
Chris’s shoulders. Chris swayed forward on his knees, and winced.
“My instructions were clear. If Rachel wanted you in a grass skirt
and coconut bra, you’d dance the hula for her, is that
understood?”

His eyes closed, Chris
answered, “Yes, Master.”

The belt didn’t come down
again, and Chris took a deep breath to steady himself. He heard the
door to the bathroom open, and when Grendel came back, he steeled
himself.

But the belt did not
return. Grendel pulled Chris up by the collar and then shoved him
against the wall with one hand. In the other hand, he was holding a
little gold-colored cylinder; one of Rachel’s lipsticks.

“If I wanted you in a ball
gown and elbow-length gloves, that’s what you’d wear,” he growled.
“Or in the sluttiest costume to come out of a cheap whore’s
castaways. Do I make myself clear?”

Chris tried to answer, but
his throat was dry—he coughed and whispered, “Yes, Master,” and
shook as the garish lipstick came closer.

Grendel did not just crush
it haphazardly against Chris’s mouth. He applied it precisely,
feeling Chris tremble and hold his breath. Chris’s lips were soft
and full, one of the things which had attracted Grendel to him in
the first place. When Grendel was finished, he tossed the lipstick
aside and dragged Chris over to the mirror.

“You are what you are made
to be,” Grendel said harshly into Chris’s ear. “You are whatever we
want you to be. Open your eyes and tell me who and what you
are!”

Chris’s breath caught in a
short, harsh sob, and Rachel sprang to her feet. Alex pulled her
back down and whispered to her, holding her by the arm.

Chris pulled himself
together and said, staring at the reflection, “This is your slave,
Master. Your disobedient slave.”

“There is no room here for
disobedience,” Grendel snapped. “You’ll sleep in the dormitory
tonight, maybe for the rest of this trip. Maybe we should outfit
you as Rachel suggested. Send you over there in a nice, short skirt
and enough color on your face to let them know what you
are.”

“Please, Master... you are
correct, this slave begs...” Chris gasped as Grendel pulled his
head back with a handful of hair. “This slave begs for mercy.” His
face was almost as red as the make-up, and he forced the word out
in what looked like more pain than what the belt had given
him.

Grendel dropped his hold,
and Chris stumbled. “It’s not your color anyway,” Grendel said. “Go
clean it off. That’s my mercy. But while you are in there, boy...”
He touched Chris’s sideburns with one finger. “Take these off.
And...” He traced a line down Chris’s chest, and then cupped his
crotch. “And legs as well. When you get back here, I want you in
shorts and a T-shirt and nothing else. Go.”

Chris left immediately and
when he was gone, Grendel turned to Rachel. “You know why you had
to watch.”

“That’s not fair,” she
spat. “Making him shave. It wasn’t that big a deal!”

“Not to you,” Alex said
gently. “But it is to us. And to him. You agreed to this,
too.”

“I don’t agree anymore,”
Rachel said, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to play mistress.
This sucks.”

“Would you rather be doing
what he is?” Alex asked.

“Fuck no! You know I can’t
do that for anything but fun! I just want it to be like it really
is again, that’s all. I should have known this wasn’t going to
work.” She glanced at the bathroom door, half in sulk and half
fearfully. Grendel and Alex exchanged glances.

“I’ll arrange a different
room for you if you want,” Alex finally said. “But for this little
period of time, Chris is our slave. You are our guest. We’d rather
that you took full advantage of our hospitality.”

“This is just too weird,”
Rachel mumbled. “Can I leave now?”

Grendel nodded and she
stormed off into her bedroom. Alex sighed and said, “I’ll talk to
her.”

Grendel nodded and looked
over to the bathroom. They could hear water running. “How does he
do it?” he asked, idly.

“What?”

“Disobey just enough to get
me interested without ever really getting me mad.”

Alex smiled. “Part of his
charm, I guess.”

* * * *

Chris was shown to a single
bed at the end of a row of six, in a room of twelve total. There
were chests and personal belongings by most of the beds. He came
with nothing. The dorm was austere and dimly lit. The woman who
walked him in picked up his collar and studied the colored tags
Grendel had affixed before sending him off, and sighed.

“Long night for you,” she
said. “If you need to piss, do it now.”

When he came back, she was
waiting with an ankle chain. She was kind and apologetic, but he
said nothing to her, only sat stiffly as he was chained to the
steel frame of the bed. There was enough give for him to sit on the
edge and have both feet on the floor. The key was locked, on
slender chain, within reach—but it might as well have been thrown
into the sea. No slave would break that chain in any circumstance
other than a fire or similar catastrophe. Besides, it wasn’t for
the restriction of movement as much as it was for the loss of
dignity. And, of course, for what it advertised.

The first one came to him
within the hour. “You’re new,” whispered an American voice. In the
dim light, Chris could see pale skin, and a soft, bare belly. “Show
me.” Chris shifted and sat up, and the man’s hand was warm against
his throat as the tags were examined.

“Shit. Must have pissed the
Mistress off in a big way, kid. But I don’t wanna beat you. Just
sit up and take this. Be good, and I won’t tell anyone you’re back
here. These two dykes rode the guy who was here all fucking night
last night.”

He reminded Chris of the
straight men in the large suburban cars who would pull over on the
streets up in the 20s and get their ten-dollar blow jobs on the way
home, shy and hungry, trying to be kind yet trying to show they
were not too involved. He was smaller than Grendel. He was easy to
please. And perhaps he kept his word and didn’t tell anyone else
that there was a slave in the dorm who could be beaten and abused,
whose mouth was available for use. But it was a long, bitter night
anyway, made worse by the fact that Chris knew that Rachel wasn’t
taking any pleasure in his punishment and probably felt about as
bad as he did.