The Trainer (47 page)

It was a gorgeous, late-summer day, steaming
hot in the sun and breezy in the exposed areas. Only a few sealed
rooms inside were air conditioned, including the auction room. The
fire pit and exterior lounge was set aside for special performances
and vignettes, extra large pillows and padded lounges arranged for
seating and cuddling. A sushi chef made custom hand rolls every
hour on the hour, served from the gourmet kitchen; over by the
barbeque a Mexican woman turned out Oaxacan spiced lamb and goat
and roasted vegetables, redolent with cumin, chili peppers, and the
dense chocolates of rich mole sauces. And all of this before the
formal dinner after the auction! God forbid anyone should starve
before they sat down to celebrate their purchases or drown their
sorrows.

Maybe that was part of the annoyance, too.
It wasn’t a real auction, although Geoff hosted plenty of those.
This was a play auction—real money, but micro-contracts, some as
short as a weekend, the longest a single month. The owners bidding
tonight were newbies. Virgins. And Geoff was teaching them how to
play with the big boys and girls.

And again, there was nothing wrong with
that! Michael had been to nice auctions and he’d met plenty of new
would-be owners. It took more than a hefty bank account to be an
owner in the Marketplace, although that certainly was a good place
to start. But many of them hadn’t even come up through the
kinky/SM/leather scene, such as it was. After all, these were
people with serious money. Hanging around community centers and
bars with working class people in their fetish finery just wasn’t
done when your friends were hanging out on their private islands
and, well, their cliff-side mansions and villas.

And yet, here he was, completely working
class and at the mansion, too. It was laughable sometimes how
fucking lucky he was! But he sure wasn’t going to run into most of
these wannabe owners over at the International SM Activist
Organization, that was for sure. Except for Douglas, who probably
didn’t take the good car when he went slumming for submissive
girls. His problem though—the very problem Geoff would help him
with tonight—was that although he could afford a stable of the best
slave sluts Geoff could offer, his skills in navigating the real
world of slave owning were, frankly, pathetic.

The funny thing was, just having money
didn’t seem to prepare most people for the rigors of mastery.
Douglas had been no better at managing his soft world subbies than
he had when dating the standard actress/model types who showed up
on any man’s arm when he had money and was willing to spend it. He
was coarse, petty, and jealous, with a suspicious mind; his third
divorce was as ugly and contentious as the first. Geoff somberly
talked about self-esteem issues—Douglas must have known he wasn’t
any sort of Prince Charming and probably frequently wondered if the
only thing he had going for him was that array of colorful credit
cards and the power they gave him.

But under Geoff’s patient tutelage, Doug had
actually improved a bit. For one, he didn’t play grab-ass with
every girl who sashayed by. He now knew to look for collars and how
to respect them. His play style shifted from porn-fed and
fantasy-based to a more realistic pattern including more consistent
use of organization and management. He actually had to learn that
slaves wouldn’t do things on their own initiative, and got bored
when he didn’t take control! He was also just awful at the use of
real discipline; he loved to punish his girls for tiny errors when
he felt like it, and then wanted to ignore them the rest of the
time, not caring about the exact same things. Geoff spent so much
time working on that particular owner behavior, sometimes it seemed
like its own little epidemic. But after time, most owners grasped
the reason why they needed to be hands-on managers who noticed
their property outside the bedroom or dungeon, and Douglas had
improved a lot. And while he would still talk about prices of
things with his peers, he had stopped asking the estimated or
actual price of every slave he met.

He’d also stopped referring to his fellow
owners of the gay persuasion as rug-munchers and cocksuckers.

Michael shook his head as he watched the
would-be owner fondle one of the slave trainees available for
public mauling. Really? He thought. This is who we want to own our
hard work?

He heard Geoff’s deep voice and looked
eastward, toward one of the garden paths lined with eucalyptus and
pine trees. The master of the training house was taking some new
faces on a tour of the grounds, a champagne flute in one hand as he
gestured toward the plantings and the art pieces. Michael couldn’t
help but feel Geoff just... outclassed his own owners! The man was
suave, confident, brilliant, and sensitive—and on top of all that,
just stunningly handsome.

Hell, I’d do him in a minute, Michael
reflected with a wry grin, feeling somewhat morally superior to
poor Douglas. Okay, so I am not gay or anything and no, I wouldn’t
want to be a slave for him or shit like that. But I sure have no
problem working the boy slaves, that’s for sure. Hell, twice as
many potential mouths and asses works out good for me! But if I was
to go queer, it would be for a guy like him. Masculine, but not
macho.

He sighed and headed back toward the house.
The champagne had gone straight to his head and he needed to
hydrate fast. In fact, a quick dip in the pool wouldn’t hurt,
either. Yes... water inside and out would cool him off and get him
ready for the next stage of entertainment and training.

* * * *

Crystal joined Michael and the two other
trainers and trainers-in-training who were tasked with prepping the
eight slaves for their auction. Michael liked his fellow trainers
just fine most of the time; certainly he liked Crystal, who was one
of the most oversexed women he’d ever met. She was a sweet-natured
woman who was always switching from one diet to another in an
effort to lose the same bouncing ten or fifteen pounds. The latest
version included drinking cans of some special diet drink she’d
seen on a TV talk show. Personally, Michael thought the extra
weight wasn’t that bad on her; sure, she was just a little more
hefty in the stomach and hips than most people liked. More
important to him though was that she was a bad role model for the
slaves who were on strict diets. Constantly changing what and how
she ate looked bad.

“Oh my God, I am so nervous!” cried Tatty,
whose real name was Tatiana. Tatty was a classic Negel pleasure
slave type—tall and willowy, with luminous, honey-brown eyes and
flowing, amber hair. She and Alicia were the standouts in the
auction; Alicia was blonder and had bigger tits, but Tatty had
these stunning high Russian cheekbones and a sculpted, straight
nose. Put them across the room and they’d look vaguely related, but
put them together and you’d have men fighting over which one was
more perfect. They would be displayed right next to each other,
back to back.

Crystal grinned as she pinned back some of
Tatty’s hair, letting most of it flow free in erotic disarray. “You
should be!” she teased, as she worked. “A whole month with an
owner, and none of us around to make sure you behave!“

“You’d better behave,” growled Larry, one of
the trainers. “If I hear you screwed up, you will have pure hell
when you come back here, I promise you. Any of you! Don’t think
that just because we aren’t riding your asses that you can fuck off
and make us look bad.“

Michael turned away so Larry wouldn’t see
him rolling his eyes. Larry was always threatening hell and fire
for disobedience, but when it came down to actually punishing the
slaves, he was downright pussified. Michael liked delivering an
open-hand spanking as much as anyone else, but after a while, it
hurt. As in your hand. Larry would spank and then stop when he got
bored or his hand hurt and then he’d send the slave on their way.
They loved to be punished by him; even Geoff knew that.

Michael went from one posing platform to
another, consulting the auction plan they’d been given. Each slave
had a different set of positions they could assume, and each was
instructed how to uncurl gracefully from one into another when they
got stiff or after an owner had repositioned them for examination.
They wore no clothing, of course, but they were decorated with
thin, colored ropes wound around biceps or draped across chests,
circling their throats, wrists or ankles. Again, each design was
unique to that slave. They were not tight, merely decorative. A few
had beads, bells, or little dangling charms to catch the light.

Five girls and three boys. Rudy was
somewhere at the party circulating with a tray or making himself
useful. Maybe, if an orgy developed, he might be pulled out for
some minor play. The slaves who were currently in training but not
ready for even a mock auction were all bitterly disappointed,
angry, or despondent. Even if they were released from serving the
guests, none of them would be fucked or even used as a fluffer;
part of their training or punishment for not being worthy. The
newer ones would learn what standards they’d have to live up to,
the more experienced trainees would go to bed frustrated and
horny.

Now, that was punishment!

“I wish I was being sold for a month,”
whispered Salim. He was the most exotic slave being presented, with
olive skin and almond-shaped dark eyes. His black curly hair was
long, giving him a great Arabian prince-in-bondage kind of look.
When he’d arrived for training he insisted his name was Sam, but
Geoff broke him of that pretty fast. Tatty was a cute nickname, but
there were a million Sams in the world. “Salim is a wonderful
name,” Geoff had said firmly. “It means secure, and don’t you want
security?“

Of course Salim said yes. It was hard to say
no to Geoff.

“Soon,” Michael promised, patting the man on
the cheek. Salim was almost thirty, but had such a slender body he
could pass for a teenager. Pity it isn’t for a month, Michael
thought. He’s ready, I know he is. Why doesn’t Geoff clear him?

Geoff’s standards for determining a slave
was ready for a real auction were mysterious. There was nothing in
the training manuals Michael studied from that looked like a handy
checklist. And the one time he asked, Geoff had been less than
forthcoming.

“It’s not something you can just tell by
looking,” Geoff had said. “For each client, you need to do a
careful series of interviews and tests and each one will be
different. There are no standardized tests in our world!“

Yeah, but how do you know? Michael thought,
massaging Salim’s shoulders a little, and then slapping the man on
his back a little harder than a friendly and affectionate pat.
Salim relaxed and laughed and kissed his hand.

I just know he’s ready! Michael swore to
himself. Maybe I will ask Geoff later. See if I get a better answer
this time.

“Places everyone,” said Crystal, who was now
standing near the door. “Here come the owners!“

The morons, thought Michael again, as he
patted each slave once on his way to the door. They don’t deserve
these guys, even the ones who aren’t ready.

And even as the owners and their friends and
loved ones piled in, fresh from their “how to bid” instructional
class, he wondered why he was just so unreasonably angry and
frustrated today.

I should be enjoying this. I thought I’d be
having the time of my life! He plastered a big smile on his face as
one of the newbies approached him, her folder of slave biographies
and house rules in her hands. “Which ones did you train?” she asked
him, flirting. He made his insincere smile even wider as he took in
her stylishly hand-made leather minidress and patent leather heels,
her perfectly colored and waved hair and her exactly lifted face.
“All of them,” he said. “I helped with them all!“

Maybe that’s what I need, he realized. I’m
wasted just helping out! I know when they’re ready now. I just need
to prove myself! My own slave to train, my own project. I’m the one
who’s finally ready! The thought flooded his mind and seemed to
spill through his body, streaming through his veins like a whisky
toddy, making him both exhilarated and light-headed. That’s it! he
realized. That’s what I need to talk to Geoff about. My own slave,
from start to finish, so I can tell when she’s ready.

Filled with relief that the mystery was
solved, he returned his attention to the auction and cheerfully
helped the owners and would-be owners as they examined the flesh
for sale.

* * * *

“And congratulations to Mistress Heather,
the new owner of Salim,” Geoff said, bringing the gavel down with a
resounding crack. Mistress Heather was one of the few newbies
Michael actually liked. He was pleased, both for her and for Salim,
who would get a taste of real ownership now. Pity it was just a
taste! If it were up to me, you’d be going for years, Michael
thought, now in a more charitable state of mind. But at least
you’ll have a fun weekend!

Heather was smiling proudly as she brought
out a collar and locked it around Salim’s throat. The new slave was
positively shaking with glee; his cheeks were wet with tears.
Fellow owners applauded politely as Heather pushed the slave’s head
down so he could kiss her shoes.

Nice move, Michael thought. Put him in his
place right away, that’s the way to do it. Heather had a good
touch, good instincts. She was one of the ones who always had
fantasies about owning slaves; she wasn’t just looking for a human
sex toy, but a house full of people doting on her every whim.

By cultivating her, Geoff could easily do
millions of dollars of business with her over the years. Or, I
could, Michael thought. If I was a full trainer. I could own a
house... well, maybe not like this fucking palace, but a nice big
one anyway. Full of clients and my own trainees. I’d bring them
here to show them off and get them extra training, and Geoff would
send some of his slaves to me from time to time, like he does with
the other trainers in his network. I’d get to travel all over the
world and go to all those trainer meetings and make my own money
and soon, yeah, I’d have my own house of slave girls—a matching set
of two at least, like kinky sisters...