Marketplace (12 page)

“Whenever you’re ready,
Sharon.”

Her head jerked up. “Um,
this is it, sir.”

“First of all, I didn’t
tell you to do it, Sharon, I told you to explain it. In words. And
if that is how you think it should be done, you’re incorrect. Let’s
try another one. Tell me how you would stand if told to be at
attention. That one is a little easier.” Sarcasm dripped from his
words.

“I... I’d stand up
straight,” Sharon said. “And...? Uh. With my head up?”

“Are you asking me, or
telling me?”

Sharon bit her lip. “With,
with my head up and, and my hands straight at my sides.”

“Sharon,” Grendel said
softly. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward slightly. and
beckoned to her, and she moved toward him on her knees. “You didn’t
really study today, did you? In fact, you’ve probably wasted every
minute that you’ve been here, haven’t you?” He kept his voice very
soft.

“I looked at it, sir,”
Sharon said, bowing her head again. “But I’m not real good at
studying. I forget. I’m sorry.” Her voice lilted upward in
supplication. “Please don’t punish me.”

“All right,” Grendel said
easily. “I won’t.”

Sharon’s head snapped back
up. “What?”

“I’m granting your
request. I won’t punish you. In fact, after we conclude this
interview, I won’t even see you privately again until you’ve
memorized the first two pages of this manual.” He swept the binder
up and tossed it on the floor between them. It fell with an
unnerving clatter. “Don’t you forget that I know you, missy. You’re
a spoiled little princess who’s gotten men to do precisely what she
wanted them to do while deluding them into believing that they had
some power over her. I said it yesterday, and I’m reminding you
today.
That shit doesn’t work with
me!”

She gasped as he raised his
voice.

“You were given hours alone
today and one simple task. And not only didn’t you do it, but you
lied to me, directly and indirectly. Let me tell you one thing,
girl, and listen to me very carefully.” He kicked the binder so it
landed against her knee. “If you lie to me one more time, Chris
will have your bags packed and your sorry ass in a cab so fast
you’ll think this place was a hallucination. Am I making myself
clear to you?”

“Yes, yessir!”

“You seem to think that the
phrase ‘pleasure slave’ means you are exempt from responsibilities
and duties. The truth is, my girl, the route you’ve chosen is
harder than you think. Not only will you have to memorize every
position and style in this manual, but you’ll have to execute them,
perfectly, with no regard to the nature of your owner, whether you
love or hate them. You have to learn to endure discomfort and pain
and still manage to look exquisite and inviting. You have to be
ready to serve at every moment of your life, waking and sleeping.
Do you really think you’re ready for that?”

“Yes,” Sharon whimpered. “I
want it so bad!”

“You want? You want? Your
wants don’t matter, Sharon! That’s part and parcel of the whole
scene, and you don’t get it. Do you think that you really want what
I’ve described? Well then, study when you’re told to. Act when
you’re told to. Stop bitching and sulking every time you think
we’re not watching.” He leaned back again. “This stuff is only the
beginning, missy. In addition to all the behavior and language that
turns you on, you’re also going to have to learn how to dance. And
play games. Do you play tennis? Golf? Do you swim? Can you dive? Do
you ride? Can you play poker? Backgammon? Bridge? Mah
Jongg?”

Each question was met with
a frantic nod or shake of her head. There were many more no’s than
yes’s.

“And then there are your
social skills, what little there is of them. You have to work on
your atrocious accent, and learn to stop centering every
conversation about yourself. You’ll have to learn how to address
people naturally, so that everyone who hears you knows that you
belong to someone. On top of that, you’ll have to learn how to
converse, from the basics of communication to how to welcome,
flatter, and otherwise receive guests. You’re going to have to know
about topics ranging from opera and theater to current events and
politics.”

Sharon’s back began to
stiffen. “But, why?” she asked.

“Because pleasure, Sharon,
doesn’t begin and end between a person’s legs.” Grendel stood up.
“If you have any hope of getting a situation like you described in
your contract, you need to be educated. And believe me, Eliza
Doolittle was a Rhodes scholar compared to you.”

He sighed as a veil of
incomprehension settled over her face.

“When someone has the
money and time to invest in a pleasure slave, they’re assuming that
their new property can be alluring, captivating, submissive and
utterly available. But they also want them to be interesting. A
pleasure slave has to serve
all
the pleasures of their owner, and share them from
time to time. Normally, we don’t handle strictly pleasure slaves
here; their training tends to be very time-consuming for the return
on the investment. In your case,
if
you manage to stay here and
if
we manage to make something out
of you, prospective buyers will know just what a novice you are,
and that makes the return even less.”

Grendel watched her
reactions. She was listening intently, thank God. Maybe something
would get through.

“Well, that’s enough for
now,” he said as he rose. “You have about twenty minutes before
you’re due to meet Chris for your lesson in trotting. I suggest
that you start memorizing. When you can recite the first two pages
to me, I’ll see you for another private interview.”

After he was gone and well
away, Sharon picked up the binder and threw it with all her might
across the room. Her curses followed it for a full five
minutes.

* * * *

“That’s a nice bit o’fluff,
ennit?” The man’s voice startled Claudia so much that she dropped
the candlestick she was holding. It banged against the table, and
the sound made her jump. The man laughed.

She turned toward the door
to see a stranger standing there, a cup of coffee in one hand. He
was tall, and had long blond hair, and smelled faintly of horse.
Cook’s voice, coming from the kitchen answered him.

“She’s with the new ones,
Jack. The name’s Claudia. Now don’t you disturb her, she’s got work
to do!”

Claudia flushed and turned
back to the polishing and cleaning. She was going very slowly. Each
piece needed a lot of rubbing, and the polish smelled like
something evil and noxious. Streaks of tarnish marked her dress,
and a pile of rags made filthy by their use was growing on one
corner of the table. Yet the number of pieces finished could be
counted on the fingers of one hand. Three boxes full, and she
hadn’t even begun to make an impact on the task.

“Aye, she’s got ’er hands
full all right,” agreed the stranger. “Looks like she’ll be busy
through the judgment!”

Claudia silently agreed,
and the tears that she thought had all been cried out
returned.

“Eh now, at least you’re
inside where it’s nice and cool, fluff! Not like your compatriots
out by th’ paddock, stamping about in th’ hot sun!” He chuckled.
“You should’ve seen ’em, Cook. And that Chris, layin’ into them
like a thresher. Two of the new ones, that pretty boy and the lass
with the model look. He had ’em dancin’! Not like this un, sittin’
pretty in the cool shade.” He finished the cup of coffee and wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, be good, fluff.
We’ll be runnin’ into each other now ’n’again.” With another
chuckle, he turned away from her, leaving her flushed from his
attention and the stream of moisture that streaked down her sweet
face. When she was alone again, she put the silver and the rags
down and leaned her head against her arms and cried.
Again.

Just a little while after
she stopped crying and turned back to the task at hand, Chris came
in. His tie was slightly askew, loosened as a reaction to the sun
and heat. His boots were dusty. He looked grimly at her and at the
row of five silver objects that she had managed to finish all
afternoon.

“This...” he started to
say. He sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “This is
intolerable.”

Claudia’s mouth dropped
open in terror. She tried to say something, but couldn’t get the
words out, and lowered her head in contrition.

“You were supposed to know
what you were doing, Claudia. How do you explain this... this...
inefficiency? Did you forget how to polish silver? Did you find
something
else
to
do this afternoon?”

“No, sir! I mean, no,
Chris!” She swallowed hard, and sniffed. “I tried, I’m trying, but
it’s all so... so... dirty!” More tears. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll
do better tomorrow!”

“I certainly hope so.”
Chris looked at his watch, felt for the strap that wasn’t at his
belt and grimaced at the inconvenience. Then, a slight smile curved
up one corner of his mouth. He strode over to Claudia, grasped her
upper arm and literally dragged her out of her seat. Ignoring her
astonished cry, he pulled her into the main kitchen, across the
spotless, tiled floor. They passed a horrified Robert, who was
shucking fresh corn, the husks filling a basket between his
feet.

With one wrenching jerk of
his arm, Chris propelled Claudia through the room and away from
him, so she fell with a graceless thud. She cried out as she hit
the floor next to a large cupboard. Robert squeaked out a shocked
“Oh my!”

“Cook! Please stir this!”
With one last disgusted look at Claudia, Chris left the
room.

Claudia gasped in her pain
and confusion before looking up into the eyes of the motherly woman
who had thus far been given no real first name. With a sigh, the
woman plucked a wooden spoon from a ceramic jar on the countertop,
and reached down to pull Claudia back up.

“I’m sorry,” Claudia
whimpered as she was helped up.

“Not as sorry as you’re
going to be, little one. Over you go!”

The cook neatly turned
Claudia around and pushed her against the countertop. Claudia
reached out to avoid falling, and felt the back of her shift being
pulled up. The next moment exploded for her in a driving stab of
pain as the stirring end of the spoon smacked against her left
cheek with an unnaturally loud slap.

“Ow!” Claudia jerked
forward, her hands leaving the counter. Cook placed one heavy, warm
hand at the back of the girl’s neck and pushed her back
down.

“You’re not going anywhere
until we’re finished, my girl, now hold still!”

Claudia actually screeched
as a rain of sharp blows fell on her ass, peppering the twin globes
with spots of intense, biting pain. She whimpered, bit her lip and
ended up yelping as often as she could catch her breath.

Then, as suddenly as it
started, it stopped. Claudia’s tears were genuine tears of fear,
shock and pain now, and she coughed out loud, blubbering sobs as
Cook flipped the back of her dress down again.

“Get along, child, you’re
done. Get back to work, before Chris catches you lollygagging
around!” Cook tossed the spoon into the sink and turned back to
preparing dinner.

It had taken less than a
minute. Claudia felt like someone had held fire to her rear end,
and the shame of it all made her head pound in agony. That was it?
That was her punishment? Didn’t she get to beg for forgiveness,
receive it, and get a gentle reminder to be better in the future?
Where was the ceremony in that? The ritual? Who knew (or cared) how
she took it, how genuinely contrite she was, and what a good girl
she could be?

She looked at Cook, who was
taking some salad vegetables out of the refrigerator. It was like
nothing had happened to disturb her afternoon. Robert was staring
intently at the floor, deliberately not seeing anything. Claudia
sniffed again and left the room.

Dressing like a maid, or
like a poodle, bending over for her righteous chastisements,
adorned in ribbons and bows with cunning clips and clamps attached
to make her vulnerable and ever-so-enticing, sent to her room like
a naughty child and lectured with infinite patience, all this
Claudia had endured in her years of service.

But now, after this
afternoon, she was certain of one thing. She had never been more
humiliated in her entire life.

* * * *

“Before dinner each night,
you will have twenty minutes to rest and clean yourselves.” Chris,
dressed in a clean outfit, his tie correct and tight against his
throat, addressed the four applicants in their room. “Tonight,
Claudia, Brian and Robert are to come to dinner nude.”

They all glanced at Sharon,
but she bit her lip, maintaining silence. Both she and Brian were a
mass of aching muscles, their bodies striped from shoulders to
calves from Chris’s dressage whip. The trotting lesson had been an
aerobic exercise in pain and humiliation. Chris smirked and nodded
slightly.