“More surprises?” Chris asked, raising one eyebrow.
Tetsuo laughed, a warm sound in the warm room. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I don’t think I can still surprise you with a bamboo rod, so I must find other ways.” He turned and barked an order. Two slaves entered instantly, both of them male this time, wearing only fundoshis. They carried light robes and as Tetsuo stood, one of them instantly went to him to take his jacket. Tetsuo loosened his dark, narrow tie, never taking his gaze from Chris. It was still an invitation—but the sheer force of his request was almost like a command. As he unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes seemed to be almost teasing; I am ready for you, they said. I dare you.
After a moment, Chris also stood, and held his arms slightly back, feeling the weight of the jacket slide into waiting hands. As he reached for his own tie, he felt a familiar ache. He wanted it to be natural and comfortable, he wanted to be as free as this older man and strip with ease, but it was still hard to shed the armor, even when he saw Tetsuo’s eyes slightly widen in pleasure. He stood with the robe open for an extra moment, the slave stopped in mid-motion by Tetsuo’s hand, and then found that he needed a longer breath when the belt was finally wrapped around him and tied. But Tetsuo said nothing, only grunted when they were both ready to go.
They walked to the bath-house with the two slaves following behind, leaving the empty sake bottle and the elegant wooden box on the table.
By the time Chris returned to his room, Michael was gently snoring on his futon. It was almost dawn. His body longed for sleep, but instead he wrote a brief note to his student, changed into fresh clothing, and found an empty meeting room to review his notes and plan his day. It was so tempting to try to call the States and confess, or to simply slip away and leave the entire gathering to its own devices.
Of course he didn’t do either. He went to his meetings and he started his lobbying and now he had to stand up and address his peers. Peers, hell. His superiors. His teachers, his models. And at least one old master.
Chris opened his eyes and looked at the print again. He didn’t feel rested. But he did feel a little like a willow.
“Caught in a tai-fun,” he said out loud. He stood up, feeling and hearing a slight crack in his knees, and slowly left the room to go to the debates.
Michael tried not to look like he was moping. But it was hard. Everyone—or at least all the trainers and spotters—were closed off in the large meeting room to begin the most important discussions of the week, a proposal presented by his own damn Trainer, and he wasn’t allowed to go.
Not only that, but apparently his old trainer, Geoff Negel, was the chief opponent to this accreditation program that Chris wanted to create. What an opportunity, to see those two butt heads in this formal atmosphere! Chris had never forgiven Geoff for granting trainer status to a fellow Californian who had placed a dishonest slave in the same household that Chris had a former client in. There had been some stupid mix up, the ill-trained slave either stole or just hid some jewelry, and Chris’s client got blamed for it and brutally punished. Chris had actually flown out to California to intervene and set things right, and when he got back, told Michael that it was trainers like Geoff who were responsible for everything short of global warming.
After Chris had cooled off over the incident and Michael felt safe about bringing the topic up again, he had asked Chris why, if Geoff Negel’s methods were so sloppy, was the trainer so successful?
“How do you measure success?” Chris had asked.
“Number of sales versus number of returns,” Michael answered.
“That’s the fallacy then,” Chris said. “It’s not the number of sales that makes you successful—I can find someone every other week and manage to sell them to someone else. It’s the success rate of the actual contracts that we have to measure.”
“What’s the difference?”
They had been out riding. Michael had only ridden in Western saddles before, mostly beach trail rides, and Chris wanted him to have some experience with the English style. So, he was sitting somewhat gingerly on the tiny saddle with his knees bent, his elbows tight, and his heels back, feeling self-conscious and trying not to show it by carrying on a casual conversation.
“What’s a better deal, Michael—a car that you have to trade in every two years, or a car that will run for ten?”
“The one that lasts longer, of course.”
“The same thing applies to slaves.” Chris looked comfortable in his saddle, moving naturally with the horse, using his hands to gesture freely. “If the slave is motivated enough, a two-year contract is not much to ask. In fact, many of them barely realize that two years have gone by when you call them to ask if they are interested in renewing. If slave and owner have been well matched, they will both want to renew, and there is a good chance that the renewal will be for a longer period as well. That was how we measured success; not by the first sale, but by the first renewal. And the ones thereafter, of course. The ultimate success is a lifetime contract, but that’s also considered pretty rare.”
Michael digested that; it seemed reasonable. “But,” he said cautiously, tugging on his reins to keep his mount from breakfasting on some clover, “some people lease cars because they want a new one every three years. So some owners might not want a slave for ten years or more.”
“Good!” Chris nodded encouragingly, and turned his horse to one side so he could comfortably face Michael. His horse stepped sideways with a snort of annoyance, but obeyed. “Yes, there are owners—and slaves—who prefer short-term contracts. And that is where Mr. Negel has established the majority of his trade.”
“But he’s successful at that, then,” Michael said. “It’s just like having a specialty.”
“Not exactly. Here, we train novices for general use. So by Marketplace guidelines, we generally don’t write contracts for more than two years. But we assume that the customers will want more and the slaves themselves are looking forward to a long time in service. If the same client can’t seem to renew a contract with several owners in a row, we have to examine why. There are a lot of reasons why an owner will keep an otherwise unsuitable slave for the duration of their contract, not the least of which is sentimentality. But if more than, say, two owners don’t express an interest in renewing a contract with the same client, then we ask for in-depth interviews with them to discover the root of their dissatisfaction. And then, we will examine the client in question to make sure they should go back to the block.”
“But what if things just didn’t work out?’ Michael asked. “It happens all the time in the soft world, and that’s where you have the advantage of dating and engagements and living together and all the ways people get to know each other first. Buying someone off the block can’t possibly end up in long-lasting relationships all the time.”
“Owning a slave and marrying someone is not the same thing,” Chris said with a slight smile. “At least, not in this day and age. With the exception of companion slaves, owners want a particular service performed, and will generally be satisfied if it is. Slaves likewise crave a system in which to serve and not necessarily become a best friend and lover to share the covers with. You can never account for personal taste, of course, and some of the best slaves may end up with several owners before finding a situation that is mutually suitable.
“But what Geoff Negel is creating—and selling—are slaves who are not prepared for service of more than two years. They fulfill their initial contracts and move on, either to another two-year contract with a new owner—or an even shorter one!—or they leave altogether. And since leaving the Marketplace is not counted as a failure, he seems to be a success.”
Michael thought about that for a minute, continuing his battle with the dumb horse, who was determined to sample every bush they passed, and trying not to get distracted by Chris’s handsome riding boots.
“I—I don’t think that’s fair,” he said finally. “Other people’s clients must leave the Marketplace after one contract, too. Maybe it wasn’t right for them. But if they fulfill their contracts and then leave and there are no complaints, that isn’t a failure.”
“You are right, from the strictly technical perspective. But we can’t survive on two-year slaves who pop into the Marketplace to ‘see if they like it’ and then leave, taking with them the knowledge of our existence and our methods and leaving nothing behind. Neither should we allow people to be called ‘trainers’ when their experience is constrained to preparing someone for such a limited relationship. Yet Mr. Negel registers more new trainers than any other trainer of his level in the United States. What’s more to the point, he registers more owners.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” The horse bent her head sharply to one side, and Michael lost the struggle with her. She gleefully grabbed a clump of weeds and started to graze, and Michael grunted with the effort to pull her head up. Chris came to the rescue by miming a pull on one rein, and Michael followed his instruction until the mare gave in with annoyed snort.
“The difference is the same as the difference in our riding styles,” Chris said with a short laugh. “We have horses that seem similar on the outside, and the same equipment, and we proceed from the assumption that the horses will perform according to our wishes. But your mount is getting the message from you that she can bend the rules; you are not consistent in reminding her of her duty, so she cheats. But you can’t blame her alone for her behavior because she doesn’t know any better. So the ride won’t be exactly what you want at the end—but it won’t be worth giving her away, either. You know you don’t have the experience to take her in hand, so you forgive the cheating until it gets tiresome or embarrassing. At a certain point, you might get frustrated enough not to want to ride her any more.
“But a more experienced rider takes the mount in hand and will know whether it’s the horse or themselves that is lacking in schooling. You may harbor some doubts—is it your riding, or her training? If you take no more lessons with me, you may leave here and never expect more from a horse or know what to do to keep them behaving. You are like a new owner right now—aware that you should have the potential for great power and pleasure, but not exactly sure how to manage it.” Chris turned his mount again, showing off, walking the horse backward for a few steps.
“Geoff Negel creates the market for his unschooled mounts,” Chris said with a sharp gleam in his eye. “He proposes ownership status for people he cultivates to require less from property than a more traditional owner does. You told me yourself that he trains owners—invites them to his house and makes matches between them and his clients. If he sets up a system of lower expectations and doesn’t give his owners exposure to the potential world they might have access to, then he controls the market for his own product! And frankly, I think he encourages short-term contracts, although you would be more knowledgeable about that than I am. It’s hard for me to imagine a trainer who would so work against the standards of Marketplace tradition.”
“But—but—a lot of his owners want short-term slaves—some people really like variety!”
“In a bed partner, a pleasure slave? Yes, many owners do. But in a housekeeper? A childcare expert? A personal assistant? These are positions that benefit from a longterm relationship. As does a good sexual partner, but that’s more a matter of taste. If you will always and only like twenty-three-year old blonds, that’s your fetish. And if all Geoff did was train those twenty-three-year old blonds and make them available for the two years that they will fulfill that fetish, that might be acceptable. But he trains them and sells them as general clients, supposedly available for any use. When they grow dissatisfied and leave, he finds a new one to replace them. When the owners go from slave to slave, distracted by the variety at their hands, they never learn that something more stable and rewarding is available to them. He is only in one corner of the world, Michael. But his influence has the potential to be vast. Every slave he trains, every trainer he vouches for and every owner he nominates will pass on what they learned to someone else. And because there are few obvious failures on his record, he continues to look successful. Don’t confuse the image with the reality, Michael. You are better schooled, now.
“In fact, you can show me how much better; let’s get back at a trot, shall we? Post, Michael. It’ll hurt less if you post.”
And posting did make a difference, of course. Michael tried to remember all the ways that Geoff taught clients, and what kinds of values he tried to instill in them, and contrasted with the things he was learning now, what he had learned in his time at Anderson’s house. And he compared the slaves he worked with under Anderson and Parker and now under Grendel and Alex. He couldn’t help but notice that there were differences between them and the slaves he was used to in California, and hated the way he felt guilty when he wrote as much in his notebooks.
* * * *
It was very uncomfortable
, he reflected as he wandered,
feeling like you’re trapped between two philosophies
. Geoff wasn’t a bad man, in fact, he was a very good man, patient and kind and generous. A sexy man who celebrated a sexy lifestyle. And living with him was always a joy, comfortable and happy and easy going. The slaves were mostly cheerful and grateful and eager to please.
But none of them, Michael thought, looking around the resort as he walked, could serve here this week. None of them. Even as pure pleasure slaves—there wasn’t a single pleasure slave here who didn’t know at least two languages and wasn't skilled in some non-sexual entertaining skill.