The Trainer (5 page)

Also, she had not been recruited, or found,
but had entered the system after years of knowing exactly what she
was going to do, and how to go about doing it. Not only was his
client far more experienced than he, but she had a history that his
fellow students at Geoff’s place probably wouldn’t have even
believed, let alone been able to deal with.

Joan was a family retainer. Included with
her own documents was a list of other family members currently and
formerly in service. The dates went back to the turn of the
century, with a note at the bottom which read “Previous files upon
permission of the family only.”

“How far back do the records go?” Michael
asked, after turning the tape recorder on.

Joan was kneeling on the floor opposite him,
her hands behind her back. He had decided on that position before
she came in, wondering if it would enhance her bosom. It did,
nicely. He almost had her strip as well, but decided to save that
for later. It wouldn’t make her more interesting for him at this
point, and it would be best used as a way to surprise her, since
she seemed to go around clothed in this house. No sense in throwing
everything into the first interview!

“The Marketplace records go back to 1856,
sir,” she answered promptly, her accent delightful. “But my family
has been in service for nine generations.”

“Nine?” Michael shook his head, amazed. “I
didn’t know that the Marketplace had people like that in it. And I
thought all that feudal stuff went out with the end of the Dark
Ages anyway. I mean, no one really has serfs in England anymore, do
they?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but we were not
serfs. In fact, several of my ancestors were knights, and one was a
baronet. Shall I explain?”

“You bet.”

She composed herself and began. “In Great
Britain, most of the familial ties have broken down because of the
changes in the economy and the fall of many of the great old
houses. But in the past, it was considered an honor to be
associated with a great lord—one had to be in service to someone,
after all. Some of these ties continued despite wars and similar
upheavals. Such is the case with my family. We have served the
Tillsdales and their various offshoots as military men, aides,
butlers, footmen and nannies and housekeepers—and my uncles on my
mother’s side took over the keeping of the apple orchards when I
was a child. My father was his Lordship’s chauffeur for twenty
years, and my mother served in the city house for ten years in her
day; that was how they met.”

“They were both slaves?”

“Oh, no sir. My father was, but my mother
was a standard employee. However, she learned of my father’s
position, and decided to enter that level of service herself.”

“Are they still slaves?”

“No, sir. They have retired to a cottage in
the village. I have two uncles, one aunt, two cousins, and one
sister who are currently in service. When I enter, my aunt will be
finished with her contract and is expected to also retire.”

“Uh-huh.” Michael hardly knew what to say.
Great—a slave who grew up surrounded by other slaves, exemplary
slaves, if the records didn’t lie. And she already had a place to
go—what the hell was she doing here? “Anderson said you’ve been in
Japan. I see you were in training there, too. What were you
learning?”

“Japanese, sir. I also learned the rudiments
of their way of making and serving tea, and acquired some basic
kitchen skills, plus some instruction in how to dress a lady in a
kimono and similar tasks. Mostly, I was there to learn about the
culture.”

“And did you? Learn Japanese, in one
year?”

“Not enough to carry on a conversation, sir.
But I do know enough to understand basic requests for service, and
how to be polite when I don’t understand. I am continuing my
studies, and am expected to be fluent in two years.”

“Good, good.” Getting better, he thought
sarcastically. I took Spanish for three years in high school and
still can’t remember how to ask where the bathroom is.

“And you’re here for—?”

“Polishing work, sir.” She smiled, raising a
pair of cute dimples. “I’m to learn about American culture, and
finish up my training in basic service requirements so that I may
take up my position in the great house upon returning to
England.”

“Position—yes.” Michael glanced down at the
papers. “You’re going to be—”

“Second upstairs maid, sir.”

“Right.” There were books on staffing and
household management in Geoff’s library, and Michael had glanced at
a few. God, what it used to take to staff one of those old English
castles, or manors, or whatever. You had butlers and housekeepers
with an army of maids, footmen, and assorted gardeners,
groundskeepers, and various specialists like wine stewards. It had
been funny to imagine twenty people taking care of a family of four
or five—what on earth did these people do all day? How many times
can you dust and sweep—how many people did it really take to cook
three meals a day?

And then, he and a few other trainees
accompanied Geoff to a weekend-long trainers event at a British
manor house, and damn if every single one of the servants wasn’t
busy every time you saw one. He had also tried to learn a little
there—but the less he thought about that, the better. Still—it must
be nice to have all the servants in a house also be slaves, he
thought. So classy! Pull ’em off to one side and whack ’em a little
and screw ’em. Watch them put their uniforms back on, flip the
skirts down, pull up the pants, get that just-fucked look off their
faces and get back to work a minute later.

Not surprisingly, he felt an erection
growing. He glanced down at the papers again. “Okay. So, you know
I’m Anderson’s apprentice.” (He thought that sounded better than
student.) “But don’t think that because I’m learning here I won’t
be a tough trainer.”

“Oh, no sir.”

“Because all this means is that you have two
trainers instead of one—twice the potential to screw up.”

“Yes, sir.” She looked so damn earnest.

On Anderson’s schedule was nothing but
chores, training sessions in skills such as speech and movement,
and two times a day when she had blocked in “use.” Michael hadn’t
asked what that meant—it seemed obvious.

“How are you at sex?” he asked, trying to
shake her.

“Please sir, I haven’t been rated in sexual
activities.” Oh, but look at that nice pink glow on her cheeks, and
that gentle rise of her chest as she lowered her eyes!

“Why not?”

“His Lordship will have certain people who
are trained in that area, sir. He would not wish me to spend time
learning what he has experts for.” She blushed a little more.

“But you will be used,” Michael said
confidently. “Every slave is used eventually.”

“As you say, sir.”

“So come over here and let’s see how you do
in some other tests, shall we?” He gestured with one finger,
twisting it down in a kind of reverse beckoning and she immediately
dropped forward onto her hands and knees. Carefully, she crawled to
him, the maid gone, the slave at once appearing.

Nice. He watched the curve of her body, the
sway in her hips as she crossed the floor, and when she rose up
again in front of him, she was close enough to touch, but not even
brushing the fabric of his trousers. He leaned over her to unfasten
the dress behind her neck, and then he pushed it down her
shoulders.

Her breasts were cupped by a pristine white
lace bra which lifted them for his visual enjoyment. They were
round and invited touch, and he didn’t waste any time admiring
them. Oh yes, soft and heavy, and just right. The bra helped to
keep them up, make them attractive. He slipped his fingers inside
the bra and lightly pressed them against her warm flesh, and she
shivered appropriately.

“I like this,” he murmured, brushing his
thumbs against her nipples. They tightened under his pressure, and
became erect. “I like the bra. But your nipples aren’t sore
enough.”

For a moment, he felt rather than heard
confusion and momentary indecision rising from her. Perhaps it was
the drawing of a breath too sharply, a sudden jolt in the gentle
rise of her chest. But she didn’t say a word, and Michael almost
froze himself.

Shit, she’s just a slave, he thought
angrily. If I surprise her, that’s part of the training, remember?
Keep ’em off balance. He twisted her nipples sharply and smiled
when she gasped.

“Yeah,” he said, continuing to fondle her.
“These need to be sore, as much as possible. Don’t tell me you
can’t take a little bit of pain like this?” He twisted them again,
and pulled them out of the lacy cups, tugging sharply.

“Yes, sir, if it pleases you, sir!” The
words came out in a rush, but didn’t sound too panicked. He dropped
her tits and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it back,
tilting her head up.

“It does please me.” Michael found her lips
to be as warm and full as her breasts—soft, inviting and welcoming.
No complaints there, even when he pressed her to him so hard that
he could feel her teeth almost scraping his. When he let her go,
she rocked back, gasping. A good kiss always shook a slave—they
were rarely kissed like that. In fact, he had gotten quite a
reputation for that, back at Geoff’s. Slaves worked harder to
please him, thinking of that unexpected intimacy which might serve
as a reward. And Geoff had approved of it, saying that individual
trainers should have their own marks of rewarding attention to keep
the slaves guessing and on their toes.

But she recovered quickly, her dress sliding
down her arms, her breasts falling out of the bra cups, her light
lipstick smudged. It was charming, that lovely moment of disturbed
dignity, when her flesh was touched by color and her poise shaken
and not quite up to restoration. But it was only a moment—and then
it was gone, and she was waiting for more instruction or another
action from him, her eyes open and ready.

There was a fleeting second where Michael
thought that this was enough, but the stirring between his legs was
insistent. And why the hell not? Get her used to one of her new
duties. Smiling, he indicated his fly. He had missed his usual
morning blowjob—now was a good enough time to catch up. He didn’t
have a condom, so he wouldn’t finish in her—but a splash of jism
was just what those big tits needed.

“I know your Japanese isn’t conversational.
Let’s try your French.” He leaned back, stretching his arms out,
and felt again that split second of hesitation from her. He glanced
down even as she was moving her hands toward his belt buckle, but
couldn’t find a single thing to criticize. Biting back an unsaid
reprimand, he looked stern and she continued with her task.

Her fingers were sure and nimble, even at
the awkward part where the belt had to be tightened to unfasten it.
Her breath was a warm wind across his crotch as she maneuvered the
zipper down, and the cool touch of her fingers teased him
deliciously. His cock was so hard it hurt, and he wanted very much
to batter her throat the way he learned to use his uncle’s boys.
But he waited, sighed as she lowered her full lips to kiss the head
of his cock, very gently. It seemed to be a ritual; he liked it.
But there wasn’t a lot of patience left for such subtlety. He
pressed her head down further and she engulfed him, not as smoothly
as he was used to, but adequately enough for a first try. It felt
marvelous, that familiar warmth flooding his body, the rise in heat
that tingled his skin all the way from his forehead to the soles of
his feet.

Her bowed back was very pretty as she worked
on him. Okay, maybe she was heavier than he liked, but she was
still a nice piece of work. He relaxed as she began to suck him,
and then tried to pay attention to her technique. That was one of
the hardest jobs a trainer had, he reflected. Trying to keep your
mind working while someone’s doing their best to make you happy.
Everyone should have these kinds of problems with their work.

She wasn’t nearly as good as most of the
slaves he was accustomed to. Although she was eager, and did seem
to approach the task with enthusiasm, there was a guardedness
behind every motion which seemed jarring. Michael flashed back to
one of his earliest girlfriends, trying to go down on him in the
front seat of his car, her motives questionable and her technique
not worth bragging about.

But no, it wasn’t that Joan was bad—she kept
her lips over her teeth and drew in warm breaths and didn’t just
play with it like girls do. It was just—something was missing.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled her away from him. “You have no idea
how to do this,” he snapped.

Immediately, she cast her eyes down. “No
sir,” she responded. “Please sir, forgive my failing, and teach me
to please you.”

“Oh, you’ll learn, sweetie. We’ll be doing
this a lot. No slave leaves my training without knowing how to
really suck cock.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Right—the first thing to do, is realize
that you need to take it all smoothly—and you have to keep your
lips firm. Show me how much you love my cock—don’t just suck it,
make love to it. Worship it. I want to see enthusiasm, energy,
devotion. You are going to make yourself a slut for me, ready to
take it all. When you get to do this, you’re pleasing a man the
best way possible, you got that?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded slightly, and licked
her lips to moisten them. She did look slightly dismayed at the
word “slut,” and stabbing through his pleasure at shaking her up
again was just a bit of confusion. What the hell was wrong with
“slut?” All slaves loved to be sluts, that’s what they were there
for. Well, he’d teach her to love the word. Maybe he could ask
Anderson if that was the way he could refer to her from now on.
Yeah, that would be hot. He grinned and gripped his cock, angling
it toward her face again. “Let’s start at the beginning, slut. Take
the head of the cock in your mouth, and swirl your tongue around
it—”