Marketplace (55 page)

* * * *

“So, we’re going to visit with Arturo
Massimiliano for a while, and then wind up the tour in England at
Rothmere.”

Terrence nodded. “You won’t find too
many trainers who turn out tops the way he does. I don’t know his
magic, but I wish we had some of that over here. I could sell ten,
maybe a dozen, skilled top slaves a year if I could find
them.”

“Hard to spot for,” Hal said, between
bites. “Either they think they really are masters or they think
topping their owner is profane. By the way, this cherry sauce is
amazing.” He scraped some up from his plate on a slice of duck and
looked up as Brian approached with a silver serving
bowl.

“Would you care for more,
sir?”

Hal nodded eagerly and Horace
chuckled. “You know, keep the slave tops. I just want service like
that.”

There was general agreement around the
table.

* * * *

Chris piped the last of the meringue
over the sorbet and popped the tray into the freezer to firm a
little. Ramesh and Enid were instructed to take the dessert plates
to the serving table outside the dining room, which left Brian
looking somewhat distressed.

“Are they finishing fast?” Chris
asked, pouring a measure of Cointreau into a cup.

“No... no, in fact, they’re, um,
lingering. It’s just, well. I had a question?”

“Yes, yes?”

Chris threw off the chef’s coat and
replaced it with his service coat and Brian nodded his chin at the
outfit. “It’s that. You’re in livery. So, I completely fucked up,
didn’t I? I fucked up and you have to take over?” He tried to keep
his voice from shaking too much, widening his eyes to keep from
tearing up.

Chris looked up and his expression
softened slightly. “No. You’ve done well, under the circumstances.
But I never taught you how to serve something on fire.”

* * * *

“Come on now, girl! Come to daddy,
’ere girl!” Jack called. Where was the little bitch hiding? He
could hear her yapping at something behind the main
house.

* * * *

“Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck me you dyke
bitch, harder, harder, come on and give mama a good fucking ride!”
Rachel screamed, as the Bentley Turbo R rocked back and
forth.

* * * *

The meringue ignited with a muffled
whump, and both Enid and Ramesh held the double doors open so Chris
could carry it in.

“Oh, my God, is that Baked Alaska?”
Nancy asked, clapping her hands in delight.

“I haven’t seen one of those since my
last gay cruise,” laughed Terrence.

“What a surprise!” Alison
exclaimed. “It is so good to see you, Chris! And
mira
, you bring food on
fire. I never know what I will see with you!”

“Thank you, Ms. Cruz,” Chris said with
a smile and a bow. He sliced the first portion off, and Hal Lee
sighed when he saw the interior.

“Is that ice cream?” Alex asked,
looking slightly forbidding.

“No, Ma’am, this is raspberry-blood
orange sorbet.”

The trainees hurried to present the
plates, and Lawrence laughed. “We finally have your blood,
Hal!”

* * * *

“Now, now, let’s be reasonable, then,”
Jack soothed, as he gripped Asta firmly under one pinning arm. Not
for nothing had he pinned many a slave under his wiry strength.
“You’re a bloody mess, you are, and there’s no time for a proper
groomin’ now, is there? When y’go runnin’ off, y’take the med’cine
like a good bitch.” He turned on the clippers and went to work,
whistling through his teeth.

* * * *

“That’s a good girl,” Rachel sighed,
leaning back. Mercedes grinned, and pushed her matted hair back out
of her eyes.

“Pleasure to be of service, I’m sure!”
She tucked the lubed and bloody glove into a trash bag and helped
Rachel out of the back seat, pulling the picnic blanket out after
her. Good thing she’d thought to grab it from the trunk. She’d
either get someone at home to figure out how to get the bloodstains
off, or just report it lost. To fist-fuck Rachel was easily worth a
beating. In fact, the only thing that could make the night better
was to be beaten while fist-fucking someone like Rachel! She
wondered how long Madeleine and Carl intended to stay and if she
could piss Chris off just enough. Probably not. That guy was made
of ice.

* * * *

They devoured the Baked Alaska in good
cheer and Brian filled the little dessert glasses with wine over
and over again as the guests lingered at the table before moving to
the library for brandy or coffee.

Returning the staff to the kitchen,
Brian ordered them in clean up duties under Chris’s watchful eye,
and only one glass was lost to clumsiness. They rotated back and
forth to keep the guests served, and slowly the kitchen began look
more familiar.

Ramesh stiffened in horror when Rachel
and Mercedes staggered in through the back door, soaking wet and
dripping, but Chris only sent Enid for a robe and some towels.
Thinking quickly, Brian offered them both coffee, and caught one of
Chris’s approving nods out of the corner of his eye. Rachel took
hers with a healthy slug of Cointreau and trudged up the back
stairs humming to herself. Mercedes took a mug gratefully and
asked, “Whatcha got to eat around here? I’m starved!” as she headed
back to the servants’ hall, a towel over one arm. Her hair was damp
and sticking out all over her head, and her suit rumpled, but she
hummed a bit, too.

* * * *

Jack shoved Asta back into her carrier
against her protests, and slammed the door. “Thanks for the fun,
sweetheart,” he snickered, as he brought her and her luggage back
up to the house. He hoped the torn cuff of his nice trousers wasn’t
visible to Nancy and Lawrence, but after chasing the little ratter
around, he hadn’t had time to change into something nicer. “Hope
they like your new do!” he said to the cage, and got a resounding
round of vicious barks in response.

* * * *

“Please come back again,” Grendel
said, shaking hands as the guests started to leave.

“Any time you’ll have me,” Hal Lee
said. “Best meal I had in ages and best company for miles. Next
time, maybe you’ll come down to my shore house. We’ll do something
a little more casual, like a barbeque, if the weather is nice. But
by all means, bring your trainees. After all the time I spend
working with spots, it’s nice to have someone around who is
actually trained well.”

“We’d love to,” Grendel said, with a
slight smile of pride.

Madeleine peered out the front windows
and sighed. “Where is that girl?”

“She is bringing the car from the back
of the drive,” Chris said, as he helped Nancy with her coat. “There
she is now.”

Madeleine nodded. “Good. Although Carl
wouldn’t mind if I dismissed her and got a man to drive around, now
would you?”

Carl laughed. “I got nothing against
Mercedes,” he said genially. “But yes, it would be nice to have
another man around so I am not always bothering your butler when I
want a change of pace.”

“I’m sure Fletcher is honored to be
bothered,” Madeleine said with a slight smile. “But I’ll keep
thinking about it. Chris, Claudia sends her affection.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Chris said. He
handed an umbrella to Brian, for him to walk the couple to their
waiting car, Mercedes already standing by the rear door. Jack was
pulling up in the rented car right behind the Bentley, and Ramesh
got another umbrella to walk Nancy and Lawrence out. Hal’s sedan
was parked to the side, and Enid was helping him on with his
raincoat.

“Where’s daddy’s little sick princess,
how are you my sweet—” Terrence stopped cooing suddenly as he
reached inside his dog carrier and pulled out a very well shorn
little dog who looked at him and wriggled and tried to lick his
face.

Chris stiffened and closed one fist on
the umbrella he was holding. A spine cracked under his clenched
fingers.

“This... this is...” Terrence cuddled
his dog, which energetically scrambled in his arms, trying to get a
purchase for her tiny sharp claws, yapping and
squirming.

Grendel actually paled; Alex’s eyes
narrowed dangerously.

“It’s a
miracle!
”
Terrence proclaimed. “I thought I was impressed by dinner, but
my God, Alex... Grendel! This is a damned miracle!”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up and her
expression immediately changed to one of slight pleasure. “Oh?” she
enquired.

“How could you have known? How could
you have fucking known? I was just thinking of having her clipped
this weekend. The poor thing is just too high strung for her show
schedule; it was making her positively neurotic. And look! She’s
cured! Maybe the pressure was getting to her; maybe she knows daddy
doesn’t need ribbons to love her to pieces!”

“Undoubtedly,” Grendel
said.

“Your slaves are miracle workers.
Miracle workers! We definitely need to do more business. I swear,
an Anderson slave couldn’t have done this.” He beamed at them and
they smiled back. “Yes, we need to do more business. Let’s talk
when you’re back from all your travels! Ciao!”

* * * *

“Let’s postpone the review until
tomorrow, shall we?” Alex suggested as the last car pulled
away.

“Good idea,” Grendel
agreed.

“Very good,” Chris said. They all
walked away with various expressions of amusement and
exhaustion.

* * * *

“We’re all dead tomorrow, you know,”
Brian sighed from his bed.

“No kidding,” said Enid.

“It is difficult to imagine any other
outcome,” Ramesh groaned.

But as he rolled over onto his
stomach, Brian remembered that Chris told him he did well. That
felt really good. It allowed him to sleep, dreaming of a soft
whumping sound and blue flames flickering over glistening
meringue.

* * * *

Chris went back to the kitchen and
pulled out a crème brulee and a small propane torch. Carefully, he
fired the top, until the perfect caramelized crust appeared. He
grabbed a pair of spoons and went up to the media room where he
knew Rachel would be curled up watching TV.

She grabbed the dessert and spooned
into it with glee, and let him change the channel from sort core
cable porn to a recap of the night’s baseball game at Shea. He took
one taste of the custard and left the rest to her, and they leaned
into each other enjoying the peace. “How did it go?” she finally
asked, as she licked the spoon.

“I intend to kill them all
tomorrow.”

Rachel giggled.

“And then myself, before Grendel and
Alex do it.”

She snorted hard. Chris
smiled in the darkness of the room, the flickering of the
television oddly restful. He fell asleep there, and Rachel covered
them both with an afghan as the rain continued to patter on the
roof above them.

Acknowledgments

The new editions of the Marketplace
books would not be possible without the support, kindness,
generosity, and perversity of many of my friends and professional
colleagues. More thanks than these words can express are due to
these folks:

For perseverance in the face of very
old and repeatedly reformatted text, I need to thank copyeditor
Lauren P. Burka and her husband Dan.

For being my sounding board, beta
reader, cheering section, and gentle critic, Kim Attica; you did
not abandon me when I stopped writing, either.

For my more enthusiastic fans, who
delight me with questions, challenge me with puzzles, and make me
laugh with amusing anecdotes.

For the cover photo and the honor of
having photos shot especially for my books, I need to thank Project
Coordinator, Stylist, Artist, and Impresaria Madison Young, and
talented photographer (and rigger) Lochai. Front cover models are
Minx, Maitresse Madeline, and Maestro Stephanos. Back photo models
are Maestro, Joe, and Holly Heart. The evocative set was provided
by the Master of the Revels at Kink.com, Peter Acworth and
TheUpperFloor.com. I'd go back there any time!

And for Karen, my
love.

About the  Author

Laura Antoniou’s work has
become well-known in the erotically alternative community as the
creator of the Marketplace series (
The
Marketplace, The Slave, The Trainer, The Academy
and
The
Reunion
), the first three volumes of which
were originally published under the name Sara Adamson. One
Marketplace character also appears in her first book,
The Catalyst
, but she
leaves the reader to figure that out. The only independently
written Marketplace short story, “Brian on the Farm,” appears in
Lawrence Schimel and Carol Queen’s ground-breaking
anthology,
Switch Hitters: Lesbians Write
Gay Male Erotica, and Gay Men Write Lesbian Erotica
(Cleis), which has been published in English and
in German.