Marketplace (24 page)

By the time he was
finished, she was sleepy and awash with a delicious languor. She
turned her head and ordered him to clean up and get out. When he
did so quickly and in absolute silence, she smiled again. Ah, she
thought, reaching for the light switch on the lamp beside her bed,
there is hope for him yet!

* * * *

“So you don’t like Chris’s
little ribbons and bows?”

“No, sir!”

“Well, that’s just too bad,
isn’t it?” Grendel smiled a narrow but feral smile. His eyes fixed
squarely on Brian’s, his face close enough to be in that danger
area that would make most people back away. But Brian would not,
could not, retreat from it. If he did, he would find himself back
in the little dorm room. So he had been warned.

“I... I guess so,
sir.”

“Try again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grendel nodded and swept a
hand across Brian’s chest and belly. The expanse was clean of
stubble, the shaving job very nice. Of course, it would be. Brian’s
obsession with his looks had allowed him to achieve a supreme level
of leather clonedom. Oddly, it failed when it came to less
black-cowhide-stereotyped body and dress modes.

“Do you know why you’re
here tonight?” Grendel asked, walking away.

“No, sir.”

“Can you guess?”

“To serve you,
sir?”

“That’s a good guess. A
safe one, but a good one.” Grendel reached his destination, a chest
of drawers that stood next to his glass balcony doors. He opened
the top drawer and took out a few items, laying them to one
side.

Like Alexandra’s rooms,
Grendel’s reflected a soul that loved a sense of clean, luxurious
privacy. He favored a heavy, almost industrial look, with solid
bases and shining surfaces, bare of showy ornamentation but stylish
just the same. Artifacts of a nautical nature hung on the walls or
stood with sedate grace on a series of high shelves, and with the
windows open, the slight breeze almost seemed to carry a
tang.

“Yes,” Grendel said, as he
turned back toward Brian, “you are here to serve. But tonight, my
purpose is more direct than that. I’ll be perfectly frank. Rachel
has given me some disappointing reports about you. Alexandra is so
discouraged, she won’t even agree to do a session with you. I want
to know why you’re not shaping up. I thought you were supposed to
be working your ass off to make Paul proud. Instead, you’re mostly
sitting on it or getting it strapped into black and blue lines
because your snotty attitude won’t stop. Am I making myself
clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then explain to me why
you’re not doing well.”

Brian found himself at a
loss for words. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t causing any
problems! He did as he was told. He bore the various frilly badges
of shame that marked him every day. What else was wanted of him?
The position he was in, ramrod straight, with his hands at his side
and his feet together, also made him very uncomfortable. He was
used to a wider stance.

“I don’t know what to say,
sir,” he finally muttered, lowering his head. His thick hair was
still damp from the shower.

“What a shame,” Grendel
said. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something, eventually. In the
mean time, let’s see what kind of a toy you can be.” He pointed at
a sturdy writing desk along one wall. “Go over there and bend
forward, bracing your arms. While you’re thinking, I might as well
have a little fun with you.”

When Brian did as he was
told, he braced himself for the sting and wallop of a strap. Of
course he was going to be punished again. But this time, for
master’s pleasure. Well, that was OK. Maybe Grendel had a different
way of handling things than Chris did. Maybe this would be a nice,
ass-blistering beating, the way other men had given Brian a little
pleasure.

Instead, Grendel casually
and lightly examined and stroked Brian’s ass and the backs of his
legs. Brian’s legs were pushed wider apart, so that his cock and
balls hung straight down, bare even of stubble and free for the
older man’s touch. Grendel paid them minimal attention. Then, after
a brief absence of touch, Grendel’s hands returned, and one of them
pushed into the cleft between Brian’s cheeks. A cool, smooth
finger, slippery with a cool dollop of lube, pressed against the
rim of Brian’s asshole, and then invaded it. Brian moaned and
shifted back.

“Like it?” Grendel
asked.

“Oh, yes, sir,” Brian
replied, sighing. “Very much, sir!”

“Good. You’re staying in
this position until I get an answer to my question.” Grendel gently
fucked the finger in and out, and added more lube. Brian bit the
inside of his cheek. The fit would be tighter without so much wet
stuff. But he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t going to foul up the
best chance he had for a scene with the master. No way. He couldn’t
wait to be properly fucked.

But wait. What was that
about staying in position? Until he answered what question? He
gasped as another finger worked its way beside the first, and
remembered. Well, fine. What was he supposed to say? Nothing,
certainly, until this fuck was over. Then he’d think of something.
But only after he was good and reamed.

The fingers pulled out
suddenly, making him sway and grasp the desk to keep from falling.
Had he really closed his eyes, and so soon? He opened them and
waited for the return of the pressure. It didn’t come.

“You’re very accessible,”
Grendel commented, wiping his hand off on a small towel. “You open
up very nicely. Unfortunately, that’s the one part of you we could
have easily trained. Do you have an answer yet? No? Well, keep
thinking.”

The heavy carpeting kept
Brian from hearing any footsteps per se, but he could definitely
feel the lack of a person near him. Light shuffling sounds seemed
magnified beyond belief, right along with his own heartbeat, which
pounded in his ears. He waited with what he felt was great patience
for the next sensation. Would it be a strap? A paddle? Or...
please, please, he thought, perhaps Grendel might actually bring
himself to just push the Brian to the floor and make him prove the
boast uttered so long ago in Grendel’s office?

None of those things
happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. Brian’s arms began to
feel stiff; he was holding them too tightly. He relaxed a little
but maintained the position. He wanted to raise his head and find
out where Grendel was, but at the same time, he dared not. He tried
keep his exhalations from sounding out his growing
frustration.

Just as he debated
stretching his legs just a little bit, he heard the sound of a
shower running. Carefully, he twisted his neck and looked around.
The bathroom door was open, and Grendel was indeed taking a shower.
The master of the house had just left Brian in position and gone
off to bathe.

Now what? Brian asked
himself. Do I get up? Should I leave? Or do I have to stay where I
am, bent over like this? He lifted and shook out each leg and
stretched as well as he could without actually standing up.
Obviously, I have to stay where I am, he decided. Then, when he
gets back, he’ll praise me and we’ll go on from there. No sweat.
He’ll see... but wait. Was Grendel really waiting for an answer to
that question? How the hell should I know why I’m not working out
the way they want, was his first bitter thought. I didn’t write the
frigging rules here!

But as the water continued
to run in that smaller room off to the side, Brian’s dread grew.
Maybe he did have to come up with an answer. Maybe Grendel would
come back, turn on the news or something and then just go to bed,
and leave Brian like this all night!

Get a grip, he scolded
himself. Just come up with something plausible and we can get back
on the case here. He devoted the next several minutes to seriously
thinking about it, his thoughts broken only by the sound of someone
entering the room, passing him completely without even a pause, and
putting something that clinked down on one of the bedside tables.
That person left again without comment, closing the door behind
them. For some reason, the entire moment made Brian more acutely
conscious of his submissive vulnerability than he had even been.
That other person, and it could have been Rachel, or maybe even
Chris, didn’t even seem to notice he was there.

I can’t stand it! Brian’s
entire body shook in a mixture of humiliation, anxiety, and
confusion. I don’t understand what’s going on! All I want is to be
owned, is that so hard? All I want is for some master to take me
away and just tell me what to do. To his horror, a tear crept from
behind one eyelid and trailed down the side of his nose. He raised
one hand to wipe it hurriedly away, but then realized that the
water had stopped running. He stayed in position, and felt another
tear escape. He opened his eyes wide to try to make them dry
quickly. But his courage was fading fast, and he had so little
control left.

Again, he felt rather than
witnessed Grendel’s movements through the room. The scrape of
porcelain made it clear that someone had brought the older man a
cup of something hot, and that he was silently drinking it, across
the room from Brian. Nothing was said. The silence grew more and
more oppressive as Brian fought to control his raging turmoil of
conflicting emotions. He tried to turn his attention back to the
question, but his own fears and worries kept getting in the
way.

After a while, his lower
back and the backs of his calves began to ache.

He had no idea how long he
had been there, bent over in silence, before a sudden cramp in one
leg forced him off balance. It seemed that Grendel was at his side
in a second.

“You could have told me at
any time that you were experiencing weakness,” Grendel said, as he
helped Brian lower himself to the floor. “This was not intended to
be an endurance contest. Or did you forget what it was you were
supposed to be doing?” He was wearing a summer weight robe now,
carelessly belted low around his waist. Black hair showed in a
coarse profusion across his naked chest. Brian saw it and lusted to
touch it, grab it in one hand and hold on tight, and his mind felt
like it was spinning into a long reel. He finally felt the carpet
beneath his hands, and groped for his calf to begin massaging
it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said,
surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. The wave of sensual need
passed through him again, and he was aware that his cock was
jutting upward between his legs, despite the pain from the cramp
and the humiliation of the stumble out of position. “I’m sorry,” he
repeated helplessly.

“Yes, I’m sure you are. But
for what? For failing to become a piece of still life, or for
failing to answer my question?” Grendel went back to his table to
get the cup that still had a little now-cool coffee in the bottom.
Bringing it back to Brian, he gestured for the younger man to open
his mouth, and made him drink the dregs. To Brian, who had not had
coffee in two weeks, the strong and cold stuff was like ambrosia.
He drank it eagerly, not even minding when Grendel slapped his
offer of a hand to hold the cup.

“Now you have two questions
to answer, Brian,” Grendel said, taking the cup away.

“Yes,” Brian said, savoring
the bitterness and still rubbing his leg. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry I
couldn’t come up with an answer to your question, sir. I don’t know
why I’m not doing well.” He lowered his head and his hands fell
away from his leg. It wasn’t so bad now, and the intensity of
having felt Grendel’s strength and that unexpected boon of a sip of
coffee suddenly seemed overwhelming. His eyes filled with tears
again. “I-I’m sorry, sir,” he said yet again.

“Yes, I can see that,”
Grendel said softly. There was a new, thoughtful tone in his voice.
“Well, admitting that you don’t know will be enough of an answer
tonight. You may go now.”

Brian looked up in
confusion. “G-go? But, aren’t... don’t you want to...”

“What?”

“Please sir,” Brian
pleaded, “won’t you let me show you how... good I can be? I’ll show
you what I was trained to do, sir, you’ll see, I can—”

“No, I’m not interested,
Brian,” Grendel said, the thoughtful tone gone again. “I gave you a
chance to do that and you fucked up. So get your ass out of here
before I have to tell you twice.”

Brian struggled to his feet
and gave the simple nodding bow he had been taught to make when
exiting, and escaped out to the hallway before tears began to flood
his cheeks again. He paid a visit to the slaves’ bathroom before
going back to bed, and washed his face over and over again, his
head pounding from confusion and pain. When he got back and
realized that Robert had not returned, he had to bite down into his
pillow to keep from cursing out loud.

What did I do wrong? he
screamed internally. What did I do wrong?

He was awake enough when
Robert did return to smile in a nasty triumph. If I didn’t do too
well, he thought, then the big sissy must have been a total flop.
Oh God, was his next immediate thought. I’m getting as bad as
Sharon. Robert never did anything to me, he’s a nice guy. He hugged
his pillow to his chest and curled around it, the way he used to do
when he was a child. What should I do? he asked himself as he
dropped off to sleep. What should I do?