Marketplace (2 page)

“And the punishments! What
else could I do to such a creature but have her bent tightly over a
bench and caned until she cried? And she would cry, just like the
little girl she is. Every time, early on, but with grace. I taught
her to stand for the cane and kiss it prettily when I was done...
they were wonderful sessions.

“With stripes across her
bottom, she was even more perfect.” Madeleine paused. “Do you
understand?”

“I understand that you made
a perfect slave,” Alexandra said cautiously.

“Yes, and no. I took a
perfect slave and made her more perfect. And now...”

“Now she bores
you.”

Madeleine nodded, a blush
faintly discernible under her dark cheeks.

It was a rare but classic
dilemma. Alexandra began to jot down some notes. She had heard of
this happening, but had never seen the results. What did happen,
owners would ask between themselves, if a slave actually achieved
the perfection they were supposed to be searching for? Would master
be happy? Or would the slave have surpassed the master in one of
those unquantifiable ways that makes people unworthy of each
other?

“So what do you envision
for her?” Alexandra asked when she finished writing. “Do you want
her changed into something more challenging?”

“If possible.”

Ah, Alexandra thought,
making another note. “So you’ve already tried.”

“Well of course. As soon as
I realized what was wrong, I tried to see if there were some other
areas I could explore with her. But she... resisted me.” Madeleine
frowned slightly at the memory. “Not directly, of course, that
might have been interesting in itself. But somehow, anything
outside of her role would just make her sad, or confused. I love
her dearly, but she’s so limited!”

“Yes, of course,” Alexandra
murmured sympathetically. “You’ll want her back then?”

Madeleine turned back to
look at Alexandra, her face composed. “If she cannot be taken
beyond the role she is in now, I will want her sold.”

“Does she know
that?”

“No. I want her to change
because she wants to please me, not because she is afraid of the
possible results. Besides,” Madeleine waved one hand toward the
hallway, “a new owner may be what she needs. After all, I can’t
pretend that I had nothing to do with the state she is in. Although
she came to me as a novice little maid, I was the one to enhance
her training to the level she has achieved. I was the one who
decided to seek perfection in this role. Perhaps with someone new,
she can break out of it. Be more complete, more useful.”

Alexandra underlined
‘useful.’ “We’ll want her for one week of evaluation. After that,
we’ll send you a report and you can decide whether to take our
recommendations. If you decide to go through the whole program, we
suggest four to five more weeks, depending on how intense you want
the experience to be.”

Madeleine nodded, came back
to sit down. She reached into her bag to draw out her calendar, and
began marking down dates.

“And you know the rules
here,” Alexandra continued. “You will not be able to call or visit
her. And of course, Claudia will have to agree to go to the block.
If she undergoes the training and decides not to enter the
Marketplace, you lose all the training fees. We’re happy to do this
for you, Madeleine, and in the way you like, but you know the
risks.”

“That’s perfectly
acceptable. Here is her file.” The folder was filled with sheets of
heavy, cream colored paper and photographs. “I can’t tell you how
much she means to me, Alex. If you can do what I ask and get her
back to my house a new girl, I’ll be in your debt.”

“You certainly will,”
Alexandra said with a smile.” You’ll get the invoice for the
evaluation tomorrow, and an estimate for the training will come
with the report. As you know, it’s a business doing pleasure with
you.” The two women laughed and finished their tea.

* * * *

Grendel read through the
file before him, scanning relevant parts and occasionally glancing
at the two photos on the desk. One showed a young, dark-haired man
in black leather, looking in what he must have imagined to be a
defiant way at the camera. It came off more petulant than angry or
proud. The second was a nude shot, the same man standing in a stiff
position, his arms at his side. The file wasn’t very
long.

“Well, you were right about
one thing,” he said lightly, closing the file. “This is a classic
example of raw goods.”

The man on the other side
of the desk shrugged. “I told him he wasn’t ready.” Paul Sheridan
was wearing his own black leather. But in sharp contrast to the
picture on the desk, Paul looked as though he lived in his
leathers. They were old, well crafted, well formed to his hard
body. His only concession to the summer heat was that his shirt had
short sleeves. “But when he decides he wants something, he just
keeps asking and asking.”

“How
submissive.”

Paul shrugged again. “Oh,
he can be submissive when the situation is right. But he’s really
just a greedy bottom most of the time. A real ‘stand and model’
type. In fact, that’s where I first saw him. It was at one of those
events, you know, Mr. Leather something-or-other.”

“And this was the best they
had to offer?” Grendel waved over the file. “Now I know why those
things never interested me.”

“Yeah, well it was pretty
awful. He wasn’t the best maybe, but he was hot-looking. Also, he
had that nice bratty attitude. Made me want to pull him off that
stage and spank him ’til he cried.”

The master of the house
nodded, familiar with Paul’s tastes. “So what do you want us to do
with him?”

“Make something out of him
if you can. Break through that bullshit smugness he has, get rid of
that ‘I want, I want’ nonsense. If you can bring out his real
submission, I know he can fetch a nice price somewhere.” Paul
examined his fingernails for a moment. “All I’m interested in is
the spotters fee.”

“I bet. You know, we don’t
usually work with talent this shallow.” Grendel leaned back, his
smile genuine but his voice hardening with business. “I don’t think
you’ve got market quality here, frankly. Hot leather boys with
selfish needs don’t rate very high in value.”

“He’s not all like that,
Gren. There is something real in him. I’ve seen it, I’ve brought it
out. Besides, I’m not asking for three months of real training
here, just the basic six weeks. Just enough to fetch a nice
starting price. Have I brought you any dogs before?”

Grendel grinned. “Only that
puppy.”

“Right!” Paul pointed at
Grendel, emphasizing his words. “And he went into a two-year
contract right out of training, didn’t he? And traded at a 25%
increase out of San Diego last year.”

“So he did.” Grendel
flipped open the file again. He looked back at Paul from time to
time. The man had a point. Paul had yet to bring someone by who
didn’t have some real potential in them. But taking a trainee like
this was always an iffy proposition. If he didn’t fetch a high
enough price at his first sale, Paul only lost a spotters fee.
Grendel and the house stood to lose the cost of training, and the
loss of face if the training didn’t last longer than the
sale.

“You say he’s bisexual,”
Grendel said, still thinking.

“Well, he says he is. But
his preference is men.”

“Does he know that
preferences aren’t allowed here?”

“Of course.”

Grendel tapped the folder a
few times and then reached for the intercom button. “Chris? Bring
him in, please.”

The door opened
immediately, and the man from the photos walked in, followed by the
majordomo. He strode to Paul’s side and knelt next to his chair,
keeping his eyes lowered. He was wearing artfully worn jeans
covered with stylishly cut black leather chaps. His chest was bare
except for a harness made of silver chain. A matching chain was
around his neck, with a silver lock, and small, silver rings
adorned his nipples. His hair was shorn boot-camp short, and he
wore a black mustache.

No imagination, Grendel
thought. “I didn’t tell you that you could kneel,” he said, his
voice soft and reasonable.

The man looked up, then
toward Paul. Paul groaned and rolled his eyes in frustration. “I
warned you not to embarrass me, you scumbag. Get up!”

With a jingle of harness,
the man did so, and then stood, his arms behind his back and his
head lowered.

“I didn’t tell you that you
could avert your eyes, either,” Grendel smiled. “Paul, why don’t
you introduce me?”

“Sure. Grendel Elliot, meet
my latest boy, Brian Cohen. Brian, this is Mr. Elliot, the master
of this place. If you’re lucky, he’ll accept you for training. But
thanks to your spectacularly stupid entrance, he probably thinks
you’re nothing more than a cheap, thrill-seeking little leather
clone, and he’ll kick both of us out in the next ten minutes. After
which you’ll be walking the sixty miles back to Manhattan.” Paul
compressed his lips into a smile. He’d do it, too.

“Uh. Pleased to meet you,
sir.” Brian exposed a mouthful of large white teeth and he extended
his hand across the desk. His attitude had gone from stylized
subservience to game show host in one second. It took him two more
to realize that Grendel had no intention of shaking his hand.
Awkwardly, he pulled back. Unsure of how to stand, he put his hands
behind his back again.

Grendel studied the man
before him. He was not particularly stunning, but handsome in a
dark, ethnic way. His skin didn’t show evidence of a lot of time
out in the sun or at a tanning salon, and his waist showed a lack
of time spent in a gym. Grendel’s face didn’t show the slightest
spark of interest as he rose and walked around the desk to study
Brian a little closer. He looked as though he was dutifully
examining an incomprehensible piece of art at the behest of a loved
one.

Brian was clearly not used
to such dispassionate observation. Within thirty seconds, he began
to tense. In another thirty, he began to fidget.

“No discipline,” Grendel
snapped from behind him. Brian almost jumped, but managed to remain
still.

“He’s just shy,” Paul
offered.

“Are you? Shy?”

“Well, it depends, sir.
I’ve competed in contests, and I don’t think I could win if I was
really shy. I, um, get nervous sometimes, but I try to get over it
as best I can...”

“That is not an answer to
the question I asked, Mr. Cohen. That is a series of personal
observations referring to yourself far too many times in one
sentence. Try answering yes or no.” Grendel remained behind Brian,
speaking to the back of the man’s neck.

“Uh, no, sir!”

Grendel raised an eyebrow
at Paul, who merely grinned and shrugged again.

“This is not very
promising, Paul.”

“Well, I’m sorry to waste
your time, Gren. Listen, I’ll make it up to you, real soon. I‘ll
find you a muscle stud like you wouldn’t believe, a god. Some guy
that would eat this twinkie for breakfast.” Paul started to rise,
but Grendel waved him back down. Before he could begin to speak,
Brian piped up.

“Please, sir, please
reconsider me! I’ll do better! I’ll learn. I can be better, much
better. I’m just nervous today, I promise you, I’ll be the best
slave you ever trained!”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,
Mr. Cohen. And if whining and making impossible promises is any
indication of how you plan to be the best anything I’ve ever
trained, you are badly, badly mistaken.” Grendel put his hand out
and grasped the back of Brian’s neck. The man’s first reaction was
to stiffen up, but then he relaxed and leaned backward into the
hand.

“Hm. First thing you did
right.”

Paul smiled.

Grendel let go and walked
back around to his seat. “All right, Mr. Cohen, I’ll give you one
more chance. Tell me what you’re good for.”

Brian looked startled at
the question. Although Grendel asked it of all new applicants, many
of them didn’t know how to answer. They invariably felt intimidated
by the question, some of them afraid of boasting, others simply
mystified at the implication that they should know their own
capabilities.

Brian started to say
something, but stopped himself on the first syllable. Some instinct
in him told him that “Whatever master wants” wasn’t going to fly
here. Not with this man.

“Well, I can take a good
beating, sir.” Grendel nodded, and gestured for him to continue.
“And... and I can obey orders. I can take care of a man’s leather,
polish boots. Um. I can service a man...”

“Don’t be
evasive!”

“I can suck cock, sir. And
work over a man’s body, I can make love to every part of him, sir.”
That came out in a rush. Paul nodded, obviously
agreeing.

“Can you? Show
me.”

Brian looked startled
again, but recovered quickly and looked at Paul. When Paul made no
invitation or protest, he glanced at Grendel, and then began to
walk around the edge of the desk.