The Trainer (45 page)

“Oh, damn,” Chris said, stretching. “I guess
leaving that vital part of my anatomy in the sink didn’t start your
day off right, did it? Well, it’s your own damn fault. If you’d
obeyed me, we wouldn’t have this problem. Now, I have to punish you
and explain things—and all before breakfast.”

Michael made a retching sound, and covered
his mouth. Chris immediately looked serious, slipping his glasses
on and pointing one finger at him. “If you pull a ‘Crying Game’
scene on me, boy, I’ll rip your dick off and you can see if it
feels any better than mine.”

“You’re a woman?” was what finally squeaked
out when Michael got some order set in his mind and managed to make
sound come out of his mouth.

“Oh, don’t work so hard at being dense,
Michael. Do I look like a woman to you?” Chris got out of bed, and
Michael shook his head, no. Except for his height, and perhaps a
slightly more rounded butt than guys usually had, Chris’s body
looked one hundred percent male.

Down to that part lying in the bathroom
sink. Chris walked past Michael and into the bathroom, carrying a
pair of jeans. When he came out, he was wearing them, and the cock
was presumably back where it belonged.

“I never met... anyone like you,” Michael
said weakly. He slumped down into the floor, sitting cross-legged
under his blanket.

“That’s probably an understatement,” Chris
admitted. He reached into his closet and pulled out a T-shirt. When
he turned his back, Michael saw another tattoo, on his right
shoulder. This one was not as elaborate as the one on his chest and
belly. In fact, it was a mere outline, in red, of a rose on a long
stem tangled with thorns and tiny leaves. As Chris pulled the
T-shirt down, he turned back to look at Michael. “You’re in no
shape to run, and I feel like taking the morning off. You can play
twenty questions with me about all sorts of private issues, or you
can focus on your real problem of what you’re going to do now.”

The sun was coming up. Michael looked at
Chris, and then toward the window, and then down at his body.

“I think,” he croaked, “I would like to take
a shower.”

“Good idea,” Chris said. “Clean my bathroom
floor as well, will you? I’ll see you downstairs.”

Michael groaned as he got to his feet, and
headed toward the bathroom. He knew intellectually that what he had
seen in the sink was gone, but it was hard nonetheless. He wiped up
his own piss and then left hurriedly, choosing to shower in the
blue bathroom.

In the shower, he winced as the needles of
hot water hit his ass. I guess it is still a little sore, he
thought, soaping himself up. That was one hell of a beating—one
hell of a night.

He looked down at his cock, and felt a wave
of confusion. What had he seen? And what had he felt? It sure felt
like a real cock in him last night—but then, what did he have to
compare it to? And if it was a fake—what on earth did Chris have
down there?

Michael didn’t want to think about it. While
he soaped himself up, though, his own cock reminded him that there
had been quite a few erections last night and no finale. He slid
his soapy hand over the shaft, remembering the feel of Chris’s
hand—and stopped.

Chris had said that Michael’s orgasm
belonged to him. Michael let his cock go, and stood under the
water. How strange. I could never understand how they managed to
keep from jerking off, he reflected, washing the other parts of his
body. I always figured that the slaves cheated whenever they could.
Most of Geoff’s did. But I don’t want to cheat. I want to be
good.

He rinsed off and dressed, and concentrated
on what Chris had mentioned before leaving. It was true. There was
this whole new situation now. The Trainer wasn’t going to want
him—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a trainer anymore. Damn, but
it was all confusing! One month ago, he could have said with
certainty that he was going to become a great trainer, and that
Chris was a guy. Now, one night seemed to have changed that all
around.

Or maybe not. He combed his hair and
straightened his tie and looked at the man in the mirror. You got
the shit beat out of you last night, he thought. Got yourself
royally fucked, too. So—what changed?

Nothing at all.

Anderson had apparently given Vic the day
off. Michael found Chris in the kitchen, sitting on the counter
with his back against the back wall, eating an apple with a cup of
coffee at his side. Michael looked at him and shook his head. “It’s
hard to believe this is you,” he said.

Chris shrugged. “I often lighten up after I
get laid. Especially if there aren’t any clients around. Of
course,” he said, taking a swallow of coffee, “there is you. But we
haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”

“I hope I have some say in it,” Michael
said.

“Oh, you can say whatever you like. But you
won’t be very successful fighting your inner nature for very
long.”

Michael shook off a fit of trembling and
took a coffee mug out of the cabinet. “Is that the voice of
experience?”

“Don’t try to analyze me, boy. It’s taken
more professionals than you could shake your dick at, and I still
leave them stumped. Let’s just say that I know this—when the drive
is to service, nothing will stand in its way.” He took another bite
of the apple and pitched the core neatly into the garbage. “Except
maybe—just maybe—the Trainer of Trainers.”

“Mention her name, and she appears,”
Anderson said with a yawn. “Will one of you not-slaves kindly fetch
this old lady a coffee?” She was wearing a robe that looked like it
was made from colorful trading blankets, the lapels overstitched
and a little threadbare. She took a cup from Michael, who poured a
new one for himself. “You two are a bit much. Thumping all night,
screaming before dawn—I felt like a frat house had moved in next
door.”

“My apologies,” Chris said seriously. “I
didn’t realize I was being so noisy.”

“Me too,” Michael added. “I’ll try to scream
quieter next time.” He snorted.

Chris’s head snapped to the side. “Down!” he
barked. Michael looked at him, realized that he was serious, and
dropped to his knees, groaning as he hit the floor. Judging the
anger to be real, he bowed his head down, until his forehead met
the tile.

Anderson whistled low through her teeth. “At
least it was a productive night,” she commented.

“Not really. Yesterday afternoon, you had a
possible apprentice trainer. Today, we have a possible client. Just
how productive is that?” Chris hopped down from the counter and
nudged Michael with his foot. “Up, boy. And try not to forget what
you learned about yourself again.”

“Yes, Chris,” Michael found himself saying.
“I mean—yes, sir.” He blushed as he got up, and rubbed his knees.
They were sore as hell.

“Sometimes, productivity can be measured in
how much time isn’t wasted, dear heart. I can always bring in a new
apprentice in the fall.”

“But—I mean, may I speak?” Michael
asked.

“Yes, sweetie, you’re not on formal manners,
only on basic respectful ones.” Anderson leaned against the
counter.

“I still want to be a trainer,” Michael
said. “A classic trainer.”

“Oh-ho!” Anderson chuckled. “That requires a
sitting position. Let’s take this into the front room.”

* * * *

“Now—do you have any idea what it takes to
be classically trained?” Anderson asked when she was comfortable in
her favorite seat. She left Michael standing, and he nodded as
Chris took the other chair.

“Yes, Trainer, I do. One year of basic
training, two years in service, two years managing other slaves
while in service, and... and... “ Michael tried to remember. “One
year with a master trainer—no, two.”

“And you’re prepared to give up seven years
in order to do this?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, I am. Trainer, it’s the
perfect solution. I could do it—go into service, and actually be a
slave for four years—then I’ll really know what it’s like! I’ll be
ready for the real training when I finish that—and Chris said that
no one is trained like that anymore, so I’ll be unique!”

“Not quite,” Chris snapped. “You’re still an
arrogant little snot. You can stand there and compare yourself to
Anderson? To me?”

“No,” Michael admitted. “But maybe in five
years, I might compare myself to where you were once.”

Chris waved one hand dismissively. “Get on
your knees boy, you’re obviously breathing in some heady
fumes.”

Michael went down, more carefully this
time.

“It’s an idea,” Anderson said. “Not your
best, I’m afraid. It may seem like a good idea right now, Mike, but
the first time you get up on that block, it’s your body that’s on
the line. And if you find that you love the service, what then?
Someone’s wasted a year of prep training on you. Or, more likely,
you become a trainer in service and stay there, where you’re not of
much use to me or the network of free trainers. It would be better
if you decided to go into the Marketplace as a slave. If it doesn’t
turn out the way you like, you can always go back into training
later on. But don’t start the classic program unless you’re
planning to see it all the way through.”

“I will,” Michael said.

“Hm. I think—I have to think about it,”
Anderson said. “Why don’t you go take a nap or get a newspaper or
something. I’ll be ready for you in about three hours.”

“Yes, Trainer.” Michael rose gingerly and
inclined his shoulders to her, and then to Chris. Chris rolled his
eyes as he left. “I’ve created a monster,” he complained.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Anderson said.

“He’ll never last the program. He’ll either
love or hate service and either way, he’ll never come back to
training.”

“Then why did you fuck him last night?”

Chris laughed at the use of her most
forbidden word. “Because he needed it! Because I couldn’t stand his
puppy-dog eyes following me around, and because he’s so damn cute.
I’m entitled to be shallow every once in a while.”

“Sure thing. But face it—you took him down
because you thought he was making a mistake.”

“And he still is.” Chris pushed his hair
back and sighed. “Imala, I won’t fight with you on this. If you
choose him that’s your decision.”

“Except for one thing, my boy. Who do you
think will be here when he comes back in five years?”

Chris scowled. “You’re too young to
retire.”

“Maybe in five years I won’t be.”

“Oh, damn,” he said softly. “Five years.
Five years until I commit my life to the true service. Yes, I’ll be
here. If I have the full five years.”

“You’ll have the full five—if you supervise
Michael.”

“Oh, suck my dick,” Chris said, still
scowling.

Anderson raised her eyebrows and laughed.
“If that’s what it takes, kiddo, I think I still remember how.”

“I’ll break him,” he warned.

Anderson shrugged. “If he can be broken, he
isn’t fit to serve.”

“I don’t even have my own place,” Chris
pointed out.

“No. But you do have a standing offer from
friends in familiar surroundings. I’m sure Rachel would love to
have someone new to abuse. And Grendel and Alex would love to have
the extra help.” Anderson smiled. “See? It all works out.”

“Sure. Everyone gets what they want save for
one notable exception.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Anderson said
soothingly. “Service demands sacrifice, my friend. And that’s not
from one of my papers.”

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, Imala. I may
bitch, but I will also do the right thing. Let’s hope this kid you
selected can learn that.” Chris rose and stretched. “I think I’d
better make a phone call or two.”

“That’s my boy,” she said fondly. He shot
his crooked smile at her before he left, and she kept her smile on
her face until he was gone.

“Damn and double damn,” she muttered,
drawing the robe closer around her. Oh well, she reflected, pushing
herself up. Omelets and eggs.

Arrangements were made quickly, all around.
The Trainer wanted to take a vacation, so there was no sense in
dawdling. Calls were made to prospective clients and their owners
or brokers, and dates set for later on in the year. Grendel and
Alexandra were only too happy to extend an invitation to the new
trainer-in-training, and Rachel was delighted at the prospect of
getting her old playmate back. It was almost time for the summer
group of candidates, and extra help was always appreciated.

“Where will I go after the year is up?”
Chris asked Anderson that night. “I won’t be able to stay.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’ll just have to
establish a place of your own, I suppose. Or, you can travel a
little yourself. I think that would be best. Just as long as you
keep in touch with your little Golden Butt.”

“I assure you—he will be always on my
mind.”

“So, you’re dead set on this?” Anderson
asked Michael. He nodded enthusiastically. They were in her office
for what she called her final interview with him.

“Trainer, this is the first time I’ve been
sure about anything. It’s like I’ve been drifting along for years,
and now I can see where I’m going!”

“I believe that you believe that,” she said.
“Only time will tell us if you’re right. I hope for my sake that
you are. We need more dedicated trainers, Michael. And no matter
what anyone else says, this is the best way to make them.”

“I understand that now.”

“Do you? Then I’ll ask the question I asked
you when you first came here. What is the purpose of the
Marketplace?”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it with
a frown. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I guess it’s to provide some
kind of context for people into this kind of life.”