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“’Short-sighted,’ ‘old-fashioned,’ ‘stereotypical,’ ‘honor of our members,’ bullshit,” Doctor Melissa Padilla thought as she read through the responses to her last psychiatric proposal to the council that ran the Marketplace. Head of the mental wing of therapeutic services in the Enforcement Division of the Marketplace, American West branch, Melissa normally had little to do unless there was a raid and not simply the normal white-collar investigations. “Why do they want my recommendations if they are simply going to dismiss them out of hand?” she growled as she set the folder aside and rubbed her temples.
After a few more indulgent moments she received a summons from Director Wray, who simply said, “Doctor Padilla, we have eight incoming.”
Melissa pushed her chair back and stood up with a huff. Her slave, Silas, was head of the paramilitary unit that had been sent in that morning to recover a single missing slave. As always seemed to happen with him, they’d discovered more. Ignorance of what was going on inside the minds of slaves, owners, trainers, agents, and everyone else just made more and more work for her wing with each passing year. There was only so long the Marketplace could maintain secrecy when its ranks, not to mention casual kink, were growing by the year. “More fuel for the approaching fire,” she stated as she grabbed her black blazer and slipped it on. “Or we could follow my suggestions and not get to this point,” she muttered as she walked out her door to find her apprentice, Zoe, waiting for her with the intel thus far.
“We have eight, not one,” Melissa said as they walked down the hallway, confirming that they had enough readied rooms between them and the medical wing.
“The Gordons may have just ended their short term as owners,” Zoe commented as she followed.
“Let’s hope so,” Melissa replied with a knot in her stomach. Once accepted into the Marketplace, it was damned difficult to get tossed out, for fear you might reveal everything. Branko, who had held Silas, was still an owner, though banned from new purchases for five years.
Melissa looked over the information: five Marketplace IDed slaves and three unidentified people listed as captives. She tapped on her intercom to the med office. “Dr. Pohl, I want to see the unidentified first. I have a horrible gut feeling,” she added when her apprentice blinked at her.
Zoe bowed and ran off down the hallway, reminding Melissa of how she’d hopped to it when she was an apprentice. Maybe today would be just what she needed to get some action taken on her recommendations.
-----
After the staff did basic medical exams and Zoe collected basic statements, it was Melissa’s turn to interview each rescued slave. Necessarily short, these introductory sessions let her assign distress values to each in order to develop individual therapy programs. All eight were physically damaged, according to Pohl’s reports, showing histories of multiple bone fractures, rough sexual use, dehydration, malnutrition, poor hygiene, weakened immune systems, deteriorating eyesight, and other signs of extended damage because of ill treatment. Best to get the non-members out of the way so that the Director and HQ could decide what to do with them next.
The first up was an illegal Mexican woman, age 27, named Juanita Torres Alvarez, who had been the most difficult to identify and the most worried about who the rescuers were. The woman was pacing the room, the white and green scrubs she wore bunched up around her arms as she rubbed them and muttered to herself in Spanish, banging against the walls with her hands every now and again. The woman’s eyes darted to the water bottle, sandwich, and grapes that had been left on a plate for her, but so far she’d only taken a few sips and bites, never sitting down or staying still for more than a few seconds.
Melissa took a deep breath, set her face into her professional mask, and walked in, saying, “Ms. Alvarez, I’m Dr. Padilla. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you’d be so kind as to take a seat.” Melissa sat down and just looked at her chart, allowing the woman to get used to her presence for several minutes until she perched on the edge of her chair.
“Are you the police?” Ms. Alvarez asked softly in nearly perfect English. Either she was highly educated, or she’d been drilled by the Gordons; Melissa hoped it was the first.
Melissa glanced up to find the traumatized woman twirling a strand of hair around one finger in a nervous way, her eyes darting around the room. “Private police, not connected to the Feds in any fashion,” she answered, repeating what the team, the Director, and every person working for her would have replied to the same question.
“Will you call the police?”
“Only if you have something you’d like to report to them. You can decide to do that at any time; just tell me or anyone else you see with this patch,” Melissa told her as she tapped the logo on her blazer, “and we will arrange for you to meet with the local, state, or federal police.”
Ms. Alvarez shook her head but relaxed just enough to scoot back on the chair an inch or two.
“Please do feel free to eat or drink while we talk. This shouldn’t take long, but Dr. Pohl tells me that you need to take better care of your body.”
The woman snorted then muttered, “Not my fault.”
“Please tell me about that.”
That was met by silence as Ms. Alvarez grabbed the sandwich and started wolfing it down. After half of it was gone, Melissa pushed. “How did you meet the Gordons?”
Dark eyes widened as the chewing slowed down and the woman swallowed. “Pay back the transport fee, domestic work; others said they paid well.”
“Others? I don’t need names,” Melissa assured her. “We’re only concerned about the Gordons and what they did to you.”
“You hired by them to cover up?”
“Oh, no, not by the Gordons.”
“But you cover up?”
Melissa sat, paused in her note taking, and looked directly at the woman. “Ms. Alvarez, would you like me to contact the police for you?”
A flinch, a violent shake of her head, and the woman was biting into the sandwich, her eyes moving away. Violence may have been done, but it hadn’t been necessary to keep this woman with the Gordons. Melissa let her finish the sandwich and take a few swallows of water before she reached out toward the grapes and caught the other woman’s eyes as she paused. “May I have one?”
“Yes; no one should be hungry,” came her agreement as she pushed the bowl with the grapes just an inch toward her.
Melissa took one and popped it into her mouth with a smile. “I agree, Ms. Alvarez, but I think you’ve been kept hungry for some time now. Would you tell me when that started?”
-----
The three non-members had very similar stories. All were illegals, one from Mexico, one from Bulgaria, and one from Indonesia, and all had taken a job with the Gordons that they had been told paid well. All had reported to work and had worked a good month with good pay when they had been asked to move in for full-time employment. All three had found themselves locked into their rooms that first night, and immediately the relationship had changed as the Gordons, every single adult family member and even the teenage daughter, had proceeded to treat them like slaves. They’d all been with the Gordons for over a decade, and it was shocking to think how they might have been hidden from the Marketplace’s agents, trainers, and other members for all those years. The descriptions of what they’d been told and what they’d been forced to do, wear, and eat, were identical, even down to the fact that the two men had been sexually assaulted at the same rate as Ms. Alvarez. It was clearly a well-coordinated program, though the reason why was unclear. Frankly, that wasn’t Melissa’s job; she could read the official reports later and pressure Wray to give her more information if she thought it would be useful.
“The Gordons have lawyered up,” Zoe told her between interviews as Melissa moved to the next room, where the first of the slave members was waiting for her.
“Of course they have.”
“This is the one Mr. Keesey sent us to find,” Zoe stated as she exchanged charts. “His name is Ayden Hayes, age 28, trained as a pleasure slave, sold 15 months ago on a one-year contract.” Melissa flipped through the report and frowned as her apprentice continued to give her details as she read them; the talking soothed the younger woman, and the repetition helped the information sink in, so this exchange had become their habit. This also allowed Melissa to keep one eye on the one-way mirror into the room.
Ayden was sitting in a corner of the room, his legs pulled up, the water bottle he’d taken from the table in one hand and half empty. At his feet was the plate with only crumbs from the sandwich and a few grapes in the bowl; he had removed all of these from the table and moved them there at some point. He’d been eating, yet he hadn’t felt comfortable enough to do it at the table or standing, as the three non-members had done in various ways. The three kidnapped victims still considered themselves free, even after so many years and so much time; Ayden might not, though she’d have to see how the other four were acting to determine if this was recently trained behavior or merely this man’s interpretation of what was expected.
“Why didn’t Mr. Keesey report this months ago?” Zoe’s question made Melissa turn away from the window. The younger therapist was getting bolder, and that made her smile before she quickly put on her professional mask.
“You’ll have to ask the Director,” Melissa replied as she closed the folder. “Will you go and settle the three non-members into three adjoining rooms? I don’t want them isolated, but we need to be cautious of any potential lashouts – show them how to work the privacy controls.”
“Of course, Doctor Padilla,” Zoe replied with a bow that she held until Melissa entered the room.
Ayden jumped to his feet, licked his lips and clasped his hands behind his back before bowing his head in her direction. Melissa didn’t pause as she crossed to take a seat at the table and open his chart. She left him standing there for several minutes so she could observe him covertly, then closed the folder and sat back in her chair. “Why haven’t you been in touch with your trainer, Mr. Keesey, for several months now, boy?”
The slave flinched but didn’t otherwise move. “I’ve been under discipline for a while now, Ma’am,” he replied, just loud enough for her to hear, but she noted the tremolo in his voice and limbs.
“’Under discipline,’” Melissa repeated, and the slave flinched again. “Explain to me what exactly that entails. I want to know if you’ve learned anything.”
That had him blinking, and it took him a few seconds to start replying. Often it was best to let the rescued think that they might still be going back when they were showing signs of deep confusion and adherence to role. Melissa made a few notes, but primarily she’d let the transcriptionist deal with the recording.
“How long were you ‘allowed to reflect on your own’?” she asked, using the terms Ayden had, even though they were perversions of the darkest order.
“I … I don’t know, Ma’am.”
“Guess.”
“A few days?”
Melissa opened his folder, took out his Marketplace contract, and slid it to the empty side of the table across from her. “Come identify this document, and note the date circled in red.”
With a clear order, the slave stopped trembling and came forward. He read silently for a few seconds, his brows knitting in confusion, then read the date out loud. “September 1, 2014; this is my contract through the Marketplace, Ma’am. The page is the section about it ending with Master Gordon and the possibility to renew.”
“That’s correct. Do you know today’s date, boy?”
He opened and closed his mouth again, then stepped back and resumed his position with only a shake of his head. She’d gone too fast, then, so Melissa supplied the answer.
“Today is December 30, 2014; tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. You needed to contact your trainer almost four months ago, Ayden,” she ended with his name, making him look up at her with wide, wet eyes.
“Four months?” he repeated. He swayed a bit on his feet, broke form, and grasped the chair next to him. “Master Gordon … no, that’s not right; is it, Ma’am?”
“He is not currently your master, Ayden, unless you’d like to renew with him …”
“No!” he stated suddenly, looking up at her, his eyes blazing with fear and a hint of anger.
Melissa nodded her head and simply told him, “Then you won’t be going back.” Anger meant she could help him, because he still felt he was worthy of some consideration. She only hoped the other four were still capable of getting angry, or their recoveries would be very long indeed, and the Marketplace would likely never be able to sell them again.
Silas was kneeling in the middle of her office when Melissa finished with the first round of debriefings in the early morning hours of the next day. His close-cropped hair was standing up straight, his broad shoulders pulled back by his hands clasped behind them; the soles of his feet moved as he shifted to an upright position when she cleared her throat. Without moving further, she knew his legs were spread the proper amount and his body cleanly shaved and displayed just for her. Silas didn’t do anything unless it was to the letter, whether it was following orders in Iraq, procedures at the office, or the terms of their contract.
Given the apologies from abused slaves she’d just heard, a little less formality might be welcomed, but it wasn’t what he needed. Not that he’d ever say he needed anything, but his actions screamed his pain, fears, and desires as loudly now as they had six years ago when she’d acquired him after another raid in Eastern Europe. She had not been his therapist; her teacher Joshua Blithe had been, and he’d suggested her taking on Silas once she finished her apprenticeship and accepted a position back in the States. Slaves could be a joy, an aid, or just plain more work.
Squaring her tired shoulders, Melissa raised her voice and addressed him, “You brought back a lot of work for me, boy.”
“Sorry, Mistress,” he replied simply, maintaining his rigid position.
“Did you even pause for a moment to consider how much time these eight wounded souls are going to need me and Zoe to give them? Not to mention dealing with the fact that three of them aren’t even Marketplace at all, but illegals? Can you imagine the nightmare the Director, the entire organization, is facing right now?” She punctuated every question by taking off one part of her therapist uniform — laying down the folders, removing her blazer, slipping out of her sensible shoes — until she was standing in front of him, arms crossed. “Did you think about any of that at all?”
“No, Mistress,” he said, but there was a tremor now just under his skin, a tightening around his eyes, a twitch of one edge of his mouth.
“Then what on Earth was going on inside that tiny head of yours?” After saying this Melissa stared at him and held very still until he slowly raised his eyes to meet her gaze. His orbs were watery, sad, terrified, but he needed to say it; he needed to admit it.
“I remembered Pristina, and I couldn’t let them stay there.”
“Very true,” she agreed, right before letting her hand fly and punch him hard enough to leave him rocking to the side.
“I’ve been out there for hours – I’m not even sure how many – trying to figure out who we can save and who we may just have to find other positions for, if that’s even possible,” Melissa continued, then twirled and kicked him square in the chest, sending him tipping back. She was no match for him physically, so he righted himself and returned to position, not saying a word and now not looking at her.
“You? You’ve been in here indulging in your self-flagellation, beating yourself up for reacting like a human being. Ridiculous!” she screamed right into his face before kicking him in the nuts and bouncing out of his way as he fell forward.
Melissa knelt right down beside him and took his ear in her hand, pulling him up by it so he was staring at her with tears falling down his face. “You don’t have a scratch on you; you didn’t have to fire a single bullet, I’m told; you have no excuse to be in here, do you?” she asked low and pointedly.
Silas shook his head as much as she allowed and then whispered, “No, Mistress. I apologize. How may I serve?”
“Bullshit!” she told him, slapping him with her other hand. She hit him again and again until a sob escaped his swollen lips. “Try again. Do you have an excuse to be in here?”
“I… I,” he broke down and she pulled him to her as he mumbled, “It was just like the cells back in Serbia, just like with Branko – I couldn’t leave them there; I couldn’t.”
Melissa held onto her slave and rocked him as he continued to babble and weep. It was getting easier to break him down, but it tore at her heart that he still needed it.
-----
“Why do I have to be here?” Melissa asked Director Wray five days later as she sat at the conference table with Silas, Dr. Pohl, and Ms. Reckwen, the base’s attorney. She wanted to be with her five new patients, or at least observing Zoe with the three illegals – anywhere but on a conference call between them and the five trainers who should have been on top of their trainees’ contracts.
Wray sighed and just shook his head at her before beginning his spiel about how they needed to approach each trainer and how the conference call was being monitored per Rechwen’s suggestion. Melissa had already tuned out. There was little any of these five trainers could say to appease her, but then they didn’t have to prove themselves to her, only to the Director and those above him.
All five trainers appeared on monitors set along one side of the table, one per screen. Melissa barely paid attention to the excuses that Keesey, Larabey, Turner, and Wong came up with during the conversation. These were their first reported problems – everyone made mistakes, though this was one massive fuckup that at least one of the trainers should have noticed over the years. Only Chris Parker was silent, and Melissa was staring right at him. He was supposed to be the among the greatest trainers in the Marketplace, yet her research into each of the rescued slaves had revealed that during the course of his over three decades as a trainer there were at least five cases of slaves he’d trained being either abused or abusive; two before 1996, and more recently one a year for the past three years. Why the hell was this man allowed to continue training and selling slaves?
“Yet you didn’t notice that abuse was happening,” Dr. Pohl spoke up, drawing Melissa’s attention because it was rare for the older doctor to question trainers, owners, agents, or anyone else with a higher status than his patients. He was addressing Wong about Yao-bang, who was probably the worst case of all five. “They stopped hormone therapy, made him dress in neutral clothing.” Dr. Pohl actually sounded upset and turned to look at Melissa. “This is more your field, Dr. Padilla; speak up!”
Before Melissa could respond, Wong cut in, beginning with, “Owners have a right to get service as they wish,” and for the first time there were reactions from the other trainers. Turner and Keesey shook their heads while Larabey nodded; even the stoic Parker glanced up, but Melissa only noticed because she was still staring at him in anger.
It was Reckwen who cut Wong off. “Indeed, owners do have the right to get service as they wish, but not when it goes against the contract, as the Gordons have recently learned, with half their family banned for life.” It was clear that the attorney was as proud of this outcome as Melissa had been, though for slightly different reasons, as she continued, “If our contracts have no value, then we offer nothing to owners or slaves. Dr. Padilla?”
“According to your report,” Melissa began, holding up the slave’s official file for them all to see, “Yao-bang was a very well-adjusted man when he signed the contract as an interpreter for the Gordons’ business ventures in the East. Now he’s back to being a confused woman thinking of suicide. These fears are so deep that he is the one I’m sure will not be able to continue in the Marketplace or find a place in the Academy in any capacity.”
After several moments of silence, Wong bowed and could only offer, “I … didn’t know.”
“Mr. Parker,” said the Director, turning to the next trainer, “this is not your first abusive situation or problem, is it?” His voice echoed the anger that Melissa was feeling.
“No, Sir, and I will not make an excuse for what I allowed to happen to David. I submit myself to the will of your office in hopes of making amends for my poor judgment,” he stated and then stepped back to bow very deeply so that only his slightly curly dark hair was visible.
The other trainers all looked uncomfortable at his offer, but then none of them were in his position within the organization. “That will not be necessary,” Reckwen started to say when the man on the screen dropped down with an audible thud so low that they could barely see the ridge of his back.
“Please, I beg you to let me help; I can also offer assistance in the case of Yao-bang,” the Master Trainer begged in a tone more appropriate for the slave he also was. Now the other trainers were shifting uneasily on their screens, looking away, looking down or up – anywhere that took their eyes away from the behavior of the man many of them probably admired.
“Dr. Padilla,” came the Director’s voice, drawing her attention to him and the eyes of her colleagues around the table, “you are in charge of their treatment at this point. Do you wish to accept Parker’s offer?”
Melissa watched the arched edge of the man’s back as the seconds of silence ticked by and then nodded when she saw a slight tremble. “Yes, but only if his owner signs a document saying that I have authority over him while both David and Yao-bang are in treatment.”
Reckwen exchanged glances with Wray, who confirmed the offer with Parker. He agreed a bit too readily. Only then, when the other trainers were asked what they were willing to do to make it right, did Melissa glance over at Silas to find him staring at her, his only reaction a frown that he quickly wiped away.
-----
Melissa watched on the home security monitor as Gina took Parker’s coat and bag when he entered her home two days later. Silas was standing just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his stance stiff, even if his words of greeting were polite enough. She could have pushed him to tell her what the staring had been about, but frankly she already knew, and she was just too busy with her new clients to indulge his stoic façade. Instead she’d done research on all the trainers in her downtime and tried to keep both her slaves busy preparing the house.
“I’ll give you the tour and basic rules if you’ll follow me,” Silas began, then paused. “Do you prefer Chris or Parker?”
“Parker, please,” the shorter man replied immediately, then continued, “Do you prefer Silas or Carter?”
“Silas, please,” came the answer with a bit of a huff as they started on the tour.
“Does Doctor Padilla have a preference?” Parker gently pushed as they turned to the door downstairs.
“That’s a question for her; I wouldn’t presume to answer for my owner.”
Melissa sat back and turned her eyes to the basement monitors. She was used to watching her clients and her slaves this way. Her modern mansion was equipped with the latest Marketplace surveillance systems, which went through the stored images every night, edited out anything that didn’t show a person in them, and stored the information for a full year. The designer was a German Academy member who’d had a string of thefts in his household. His attempt to sell the other members on the idea of monitoring their households wasn’t going well, but he’d given the enforcement branches free systems to try out. He was one of only a handful who supported her suggestions for further psych testing of potential slaves and owners and had sent her the system as well. Obviously knowing you were being watched changed behavior, so she’d been surprised when Gina and Silas had both adjusted and fallen back into what they claimed was normal behavior after only a few weeks. It suggested all sorts of studies, if it weren’t for the ethical hoops.
“When it is needed,” Silas was explaining to Parker as the other man looked over the dungeon equipment.
“Punishment, then,” Parker replied, and his shoulders slumped just enough for Melissa’s careful gaze to note.
“I didn’t say that,” Silas replied with a cocky tone before motioning for the other man to proceed back up the stairs.
Parker’s pause and glance around made Melissa lean forward. Now that was interesting.
-----
Parker sat in his designated seat at the dinner table, his gaze lowered to his plate, but Melissa could see he was observing. Throughout the meal he ate and spoke with appropriate tones and levels of interest, falling into her decidedly odd expectations for her slaves. He was, in effect, following his own advice, or so she’d read; he focused on training slaves to be flexible enough to serve in any capacity in any household. Some trainers specialized, but Parker had no such declared niche. When left to his own devices he preferred one-on-one for intense periods of time and was highly selective of whom he chose.
It made the string of abused and problematic slaves she’d found in his records more puzzling. The first two were easily dismissed as the fault of the House he served or the initial mistakes of solo training with a new slave; he’d dealt with both quickly and worked well with the Marketplace.
However, as she’d dug into each of the trainers involved with her current clients, she noticed patterns with each of them. What the Marketplace did with each was out of her hands, but Parker was an unusual case because of the dual roles he held. He had been owned by the same man, Tetsuo, since 1996, and by all official accounts she could find it was a wonderful arrangement, which had been renewed, though she noted that he only lived part-time in Japan and did a lot of extensive traveling. That got her curious, so Melissa had contacted Tetsuo personally and had been shocked when he’d sent her a lot of unofficial information, even though he’d been unwilling to discuss much with her. He’d insisted that she use her professional skills to figure out whether Parker really wanted to stay in the contract.
Couple that with his behavior on the conference call and his reactions around her home, and Melissa decided to push hard and fast. “Are you happy with your master, Parker?”
“Na …” he trailed off and set his fork down on his plate, pulling his hands off the table and onto his lap. Gina and Silas paused, then resumed eating. “I am happy to be of service to my master’s household in the ways that he desires,” Parker stated in a monotone, his posture stiff, his eyes blazing behind his glasses.
Gina tossed her a glance, and Melissa nodded. “We’ll finish in the kitchen, then,” her estate manager simply said as she stood up with her plate, silverware, and glass in her hands. After a glance from Silas and a nod in his direction, both of her slaves left her alone with Parker, who was so furious he was shaking just ever so slightly.
“You’ll offend Gina if you don't finish,” Melissa stated before sipping her wine.
“If it please you, Mistress” – he said the word with a harsh edge – “I am not hungry.”
“It doesn’t, and you will finish while carrying on a conversation.”
He blinked, a slight blush on the tops of his cheeks above his graying beard, before picking up his fork to continue.
She let him take a few more bites and waited for his tension to lessen again before asking, “For how many years have you been unhappy in your current contract?”
The fork fell with a clatter onto his half-empty plate. He turned his head to look at her, his breathing hard enough to move his body just slightly; his dark eyes were almost black as they glared at her before he sat back and leaned over his plate. “That is a private matter between my master and myself, Doctor Padilla.”
Melissa smiled. Good, anger meant they still cared, and she could work with that. “It isn’t,” she told him, and his head shot up again as he glared directly at her now. “He didn’t show you the temporary contract,” she stated with a sigh. Shaking her head, she continued eating but muttered, “While it is honorable to serve and accept service, doing so without passion only leads to trouble. Standing up for yourself is honor of the highest order.” He was still looking at her, though his gaze had softened to confusion instead of rage. That was useful, too.
“Finish eating, and then I’ll show you the contract,” Melissa told him with a nod at his plate. When Gina came to ask about dessert, she dismissed her and led him up to her home office.
-----
Parker had removed his glasses and was sitting with one hand clenching the contract and one hand half covering his face. He was shaking slightly when she stepped up and held out her hand. After a moment he handed back the paper and flinched back when she crouched down in front of the chair she’d told him to sit in. “Therapist,” he whispered, repeating the term that Tetsuo had added to the agreement.
“He believes that you renewed your last two contracts with him out of a sense of duty, not passion. Furthermore, he believes that he has learned from you and taught you all that he can. He finds that at this time in his life he is uninterested in certain activities as he once was. You’re surprised by this?” Melissa asked from where she was observing everything about her new client.
Parker removed his hand from his face and bowed his head with a shake.
Melissa sighed as she stood up. “I realize that you have jet lag and some adjustment to my household and our headquarters, but we are headed to my dungeons now.”
That got him to glance up at her again, but he quickly bowed his head and stood up.
Downstairs he stripped down to nothing with shaking hands and faced away from her, embracing the cross set in one corner upon her order. His body was a work of art, from the muscular flesh to the tattoos and old scars to the still slightly feminine swell of his hips and pubic area behind his well-crafted dick. He was likely getting sex on a semi-regular basis, perhaps even being beaten by casual lovers or new tricks at clubs, but it was not like being used or hurt by an owner. Parker laid his head against the padded piece of leather she’d inserted into the correct height hole while he removed his clothing.
“These fingers,” she began as she stepped up to fasten the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, tracing his body and talking while she did so, “are a good length and width, but do they have the strength to maintain a pose for my vag or finger me through multiple orgasm?” He shuddered slightly as she continued, “The forearm is firm and should aid the fingers a good deal.” She squeezed his biceps, adding, “Here we go – decent sized, though not close to Silas, but it should be helpful to Gina come cleaning day.” Pausing on the wide tat across his shoulders, she went on, “This is a bit disappointing; if I want to make pretty pictures I’ll need to go for blood or just focus on other areas, I guess.” She let her hand scratch down his back, and he arched slightly into it. He was desperate for touch.
Melissa paused, cupping each of his ass cheeks, and squeezed; he moaned low, barely audible. “Silas has a fine ass; this isn’t as great,” she chuckled, and now he twitched and moaned again, “but for an older piece it isn’t too bad either. I bet my strap-on would look lovely pounding between these, or maybe I’ll sit back and direct Silas to ride you hard until I tire of the show.” Parker shuddered and glanced back at her; his glasses were steamed up, and his face was flushed. She reached up and took his glasses from him, and he licked his lips before bowing his head. He was desperate to be fucked.
She set his folded glasses on top of his folded clothing and thought for a second until he twitched again. There was more going on that she needed to figure out, so she returned to examine him further. “Workouts have done wonders here,” Melissa continued, stroking down his thighs and calves. “Good tone, light hair, should mark well or hold up for a while. I do prefer my toys have stamina, since I like playing hard.”
“Speaking of which,” she added, slipping her hand around and finding his cock semi-erect, “this best work when I want it, or I’ll strap one on your mouth to ride.” In response his dick hardened slightly; his doctors had done excellent work. “That’s a good toy, a good piece of meat.” His breathing was coming jagged now, and he was shaking, so she looked up just in time for a tear to fall on her cheek.
“Please, yes,” he whispered, revealing how desperate he was to be objectified. Melissa knew what had to be done, but she wasn’t about to let a hard slave go to waste right at this moment.
-----
“Mistress?” Silas’s deep voice made Melissa glance back as she stood observing Parker in with David. Parker had also done wonders with Yao-bang, going so far as to show him his own medical files and photos of his own body at the various stages of change, and discussing the fine line between serving as a slave and being true to one’s core identity. His trainee, though, was proving to be a different problem, and the Master Trainer was struggling to balance empathy with control.
“Ah, we have a reply,” Melissa said as she took the folder that Silas held. It had taken a few weeks, but she’d finally been able to get Parker and Tetsuo both to admit that they were not happy. Tetsuo had too much to oversee, and his age was a factor as well. Try as he might, service would never be enough for Parker, and his struggle to accept that had led to his training his clients to do the same, both he and they ignoring clear signs of incompatibility that had erupted into dangerous levels of violence. When that had happened, it had threatened the entire Marketplace world, because if it went on the outside authorities would eventually learn and investigate.
Flipping through the folder she was pleased to see that Tetsuo had voided the contract and that Parker had signed it as well. Anderson had agreed to sell Parker at the next auction, though not to train him again – not surprising, given that she agreed he didn’t require it. The boy in question had agreed to her suggestions to put more specifics about what he needed from a master onto the contract requirement form; that process had gone in spurts over the evenings in her dungeon and bedroom. Concerns about money, education, housing, and even vacation time were all well and good, but the mind was being ignored.
She blinked when the next page revealed a formal letter from Tetsuo, Anderson, and Parker, supporting her proposal for discussion at the next Regents’ meeting. It wasn’t the same as if the entire Marketplace had accepted it, but it might go a long way toward that goal. If the trainers would start requiring mental healthcare before, during, and after their programs, it might be all that was needed to protect their world. “They didn’t have to do this,” she stated as she let her gaze rise up to Silas’ grin.
“A bit of experience with your brilliance is all it took, Mistress,” he replied, not looking her directly in the eyes, which was difficult given their height difference when he was standing. She patted her thigh, and he sank to his knees and leaned in to rest under her hand while she turned back to the room to continue observing.
Parker had David backed into a corner, but the other slave wasn’t cowering; he was talking back, making gestures, but also calmer than before. Silas wrapped his strong arms around her legs and sighed. Here he could let go for a bit, because the paramilitary units weren’t allowed back to the therapeutic wing unless they had a specific job to do.
“Having Parker around has been good for you,” Melissa said as she stroked his hair but kept her eyes on the room.
There was a brief pause before her slave replied, “Yes, I believe so, Mistress. Our wounds are different, but he understands the struggle to fill so many different roles. You understand that, too,” he hastened to add.
“Shush now, I’m working,” she whispered with a tug on his hair, so he fell into silence at her feet.