The Slave (29 page)

She was dressed, as usual, in her
exquisitely tailored men’s clothing, a designer pinstriped suit
today, and a tightly knotted silk tie. Her hair was slicked back,
spiky on the top, stylishly ragged and long down her back. Robin
never knew what she would discover under Ken’s mannish dress. One
day it might be a pair of boxer shorts hiding a cock of monstrous
proportions. On another day, it might be little scraps of delicate
lace barely covering her pubic mound. Ken’s erotic moods were as
changeable as her exposed ones. It was part of what made her so
magnetic.

“
So tell me,” Robin
demanded.

Suddenly, Ken’s eyes took on that same
predatory gaze she had fixed upon Robin back at the conference.
“Very well then, listen. Yes, there exists a large network of
sellers of human flesh. It is called, in English, ‘the
Marketplace.’ There, we engage in the trading of men and women for
vast amounts of money, and for uses that are not limited by our
societies and our cultures. This is not for fun. Do you understand
that? It is to provide servants for those whose drives require such
absolute obedience. It is not to provide boyfriends. Or
girlfriends.”

“
I understand that.”

“
If you are allowed to enter this
world, you cannot choose your masters. Nor may you deny them use of
you once they purchase you. If you leave them, or rebel, you will
be rejected from the Marketplace and never allowed to return. Even
I do not speak to those who have been sent away.”

Robin nodded solemnly.

“
And it is not like in the novels, or
in the movies!” Ken raised one finger, her eyes lightening up even
as Robin got more serious. “The masters, they are not always
handsome young men or dashing Asian women.”

“
Ken... I know that.”

Ken leaned back and seemed to take a moment
to think. But at that instant, Robin knew, she knew, deep within
her, that Ken had been waiting for this. That Ken had always
expected this. And rather than feeling ill-used, Robin felt
relieved, flattered, and tremendously excited.

“
This is the situation,” Ken said
quickly, sitting up again. “There is an important sale coming up, a
large one, here in the city. And I know of two people who can train
you for that sale, make you presentable. It will take a month,
perhaps two. You will have to give up your employment, and your
apartment. But they will almost guarantee that you will be accepted
and sold to a respectable bidder. Are you that ready?”

A month! Perhaps two! Robin’s mouth dropped
open. She closed it again, feeling a touch of vertigo, and put a
hand on the arm of her chair to steady herself.

Surely, it was not her voice that said
yes.

But Ken had laughed and called across the
house for Andy to call Grendel Elliot.

“
What do you mean, they’re not
home?”

Andy cringed slightly, the bearer of ill
tidings. “Please, Master, Mr. Elliot and Ms. Selador are leaving
for an extended tour of the European continent, and are not
expected back until after the autumn sales. Their earliest
agreeable date for the acceptance interview is late November. Shall
I make the appointment?”

Ken uttered something that
sounded like “duuay-ohmo” and then peppered it with a twist of one
hand that looked delightfully obscene. “No, you stupid idiot! Give
them my regards, the usual felicitations, wish them a
bon voyage
or whatever is
suitable.” She waved him off and he scampered away, leaving Robin
feeling like she had just missed her lottery drawing by one number.
She looked up at Ken, who had started to pace, in
expectation.

“
Winter sales are difficult,” Ken was
musing. “Unless we go to Hong Kong, or perhaps to Spain. What
languages do you speak?”

“
Just English and Italian.”

“
How do you Americans get away with
your colossal ignorance?”

Robin ignored the lure. It was one of Ken’s
favorite ranting topics. It would hardly help her now.

“
Italy, Italy, who is in Italy? You are not
tall enough for them―and you aren’t exotic enough. The Italians
love models, anything that doesn’t look like the child their
parents wanted them to marry. No, Italy is wrong for you.” Ken
walked back and forth, weaving her fingers together and then
tearing them apart. “I know of some other trainers, but at this
time of year, they are all busy polishing up their best clients.
The Marketplace has its seasons like any other business. And the
autumn through winter is the best. You are in trouble, little one.
I think your best option is to wait until these people return,
enter their training, and be prepared for the sales after the New
Year. It is unfortunate, because there is a large volume of sales
just before Christmas. But without good formal training, you will
never fetch a price that will ensure a good home.”

“
If you say so, Ken.”

“
I do! So there is nothing more to be
done, and we shall have that much extra time together. In fact,
this is perfect, because we have time to assemble your Marketplace
file, and make you presentable. And we shall make some more calls,
to see if there are any other trainers who might be free, just in
case.”

“
My file?”

“
To be presented for sale, you must
have a file with your identity papers, some photos, and a history
of your time in service. I shall have a photographer come, and we
shall hire an excellent writer to describe your positive
attributes. And then I shall write my own description of you, which
will be most excellent, because you will be even more pleasing to
me from now on, hoping that I will be generous and kind in my
writings.”

Robin had to smile at the look of pleasure
that crossed Ken’s face. And to tell the truth, there was something
comforting in the thought that she wouldn’t have to think about it
for another couple of months. And as a few days passed, and Ken
asked her personal friends and some business contacts about where a
good local trainer could be found, they were steered back to the
people who were out of town, or to others who were either too busy
or not acceptable by Ken’s standards.

But Robin submitted to the photographs and
the making of the file, and enjoyed numerous fantasies about people
looking through it, trying to decide whether she would be a proper
investment. Sometime next year.

* * * *

Two weeks later, Ken invited Robin to
accompany her on a weekend of slumming. Ken knew about all the
events and places where people who were interested in SM
frequented. She often cruised them for playmates, and took great
pleasure in attending their functions and pretending to be what she
called “merely kinky.”

Robin didn’t quite know what to do when she
accompanied Ken on these outings. Sometimes, she laughed at Ken’s
wicked observations and enjoyed the thrill of knowing about an
entire world that lay within the reach of these people but always
out of sight. But at the same time, there was a pathetic element to
it all. This was the world that had sheltered her, provided her
with her two important lovers. To see it through Ken’s eyes was
like looking at your childhood and realizing that your parents
weren’t really all-knowing and loving, that you really didn’t have
a comfortable home. Ken considered the entire SM underculture to be
nothing more than a huge joke. One evening, she described a
Platonic view of it.

“
It is as though these people were
really dwelling in that cave,” she said, pausing to make sure that
Robin understood. “They cannot see the flames behind them, and they
cannot see the other people around them. They are focused upon the
shadows of reality, bound in one place by hoods and blinders and
chains that they never realize can be removed. So they create a
reality that is based upon a wavering, insubstantial,
two-dimensional vision.

“
Naturally, this cannot be satisfying,
so they create ways of granting themselves another dimension. They
make governments, and declare each other leaders and politicians.
They form circles of supporters and pronounce that they are
outlaws, struggling against an oppressive society. It is great fun
to watch them at their work; they are most industrious. But they
rarely take the blinders down and bend to look behind
them.”

“
That’s not fair,” Robin protested.
“When it’s all you have, you have to make the best of it. You don’t
know what it’s like thinking that you’re the only twisted pervert
in the world! When I needed them, that community was there, and
they welcomed me. Just because you’ve had access to something
better all your life doesn’t mean that people like me shouldn’t try
to get what we can out of what’s available.”

“
Ah, but it is not a matter of better, my
pet. You are comparing the apple with the orange. I do not scorn
that little world because what they have is inferior, any more then
I scorn a man who works for his money. I find them amusing because
in their need to assure themselves that they are acceptable, they
find many ways to deny that I exist, or that my slaves do. They
make it all into a game that lovers play, with their terrible black
costumes and clubs and slogans. Look! Here is a three day
conference, where they shall undertake to teach me―let us see....
‘Humiliation vs. Degradation’... and ‘The Basics of Watersports.’
Ken rolled her eyes. “Taught, I am sure,” she added, “by those for
whom humiliation and urine drinking are the most desired of
activities. But only the correct humiliation. Certainly, it would
be unacceptable to call this one ugly, or that one a worm; they
must have the appropriate oaths and curses shouted at them, and
only by the most appropriate of partners! Only urine from a person
of the proper physical attributes, and in such a context, with such
and so amount of the urine, and only if asparagus was not eaten at
the last meal.” She laughed and tossed the brochure over to Robin,
who caught it and sighed.

“
We shall go to that one, I think,”
Ken had said, a twinkle in her eye. “And perhaps we shall attempt
to match their recommendations, and see if that pleases
you.”

And so they had, and Robin was reminded why
she had strayed away from the SM community so many times. She found
herself looking into people’s eyes and trying to spot the
dedication, perhaps the obsession, which she knew was reflected in
her own. She also tried to listen to some of the presenters with
the same openness and gratitude that she had felt when she first
encountered them, and found herself being embarrassed for them.
With a few forgettable and insignificant exceptions, they were all
well-intentioned. But next to Ken and her slaves and her friends,
they seemed... lacking.

“
It’s like going back to your old junior
high school,” she said when Ken finally took her back to their
hotel suite. Ken was busy marking off other seminars they could go
to for her amusement. “It all looks so―small.”

“
Never mind them, little one. In a few
months, they will be nothing to you. Look! Here is a class called
‘SM and Legal Issues.’ Let’s go to that one and ask about slave
contracts, shall we?”

And although she still felt some slight
resentment at some of Ken’s broader and more insulting
characterizations, she knew that she could never go back. Not when
she knew that there was something so much more suited to her needs
just beyond the next ridge.

But when Ken invited her to go out and
wander through the leather bars where the gay men went, Robin
agreed. There was always something romantic about the leathermen,
in their tight jeans and heavy black chaps. They always seemed like
knights to Robin, in their colors and their armor and their easy
camaraderie. If Ken wanted to go see a few of them strut their
stuff on a stage and mill around in tightly packed bars, it was no
great hardship to accompany her.

* * * *

It turned out to be a great night, cool
enough for the heavier costumes, warm enough for bare chests under
leather jackets. In her own chaps and leather shirt and cap, Ken
looked simply too hot to handle, and many of the men appreciated
her androgyny with cheer and approval. Robin wore black jeans, her
boots, and her motorcycle jacket and faded in neatly next to her
more flamboyant companion. Together, they blended into the mixed
crowds, buying raffle tickets and admiring the flesh, walking from
bar to bar and then to a packed dance club where men stripped down
on stage and performed fantasies for the delight of the crowd and
the approval of various judges. But Ken didn’t bother to stay for
the resolution. Taking Robin by the hand, she dragged her out and
back to one of the bars.

“
But why? Don’t you want to know who
won?”

“
The winner will come to the bar to be
admired,” Ken replied. “I have no patience to wait while they thank
all of their penurious sponsors and stall for time. We shall obtain
a good spot for witnessing his triumphant entrance and perhaps get
the pool table for a game.” Ken grinned wickedly. She was a great
pool hustler.

But when they got there, there
was someone playing, and upon seeing him, Ken froze and then
grinned again. “
Ma chérie
, I think you have just been saved,” she said
confidently.

“
Why?” Robin looked around, taking in
the entire bar in one sweep. There were about twenty men posed
around the bar, another five or six hunched over tables, idly
talking over the sound of the music and the television screen,
which showed highlights of last year’s contest. Several men were
gathered in the back, grouped in twos and threes, and two men were
stalking the pool table, waiting for the loser of the current game
to get out of the way.