Now, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to.
Anderson left as soon as it was polite, with Ninon at her side. Finally, Chris stood up from the table and Michael shot up after him.
“Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” Michael asked eagerly.
Chris smiled a little. “Yes, Michael, there is. Please enjoy yourself tonight, take whatever invitation pleases you. I give you your freedom until morning, when I or Anderson will see that you are given instructions on departure. I suppose it all depends on what her plans are, so please make sure that you are not hung over or otherwise unavailable to either of us.”
“But—but,” Michael stammered. “Is there anything... I can do for you? Personally? Um—a massage? Another drink? Want some company? Wanna beat the snot out of me?”
Chris laughed. “Excellent use of humor, Michael, very good! Appropriate, too. But no thank you, I am going to be meditating. So go on and have a good time. I’m sure someone admired by all genders and sled dogs will have no problem finding a welcoming group to play in. You may top or bottom, as it pleases you.”
Michael knew better than to argue, but he didn’t much want to go off and party, either. He grinned to show that he was fine, and wandered off as though he knew where he was going, and then ended up at the bar sitting by himself, wondering how drunk he could get without causing a crippling hang-over.
Ron, typically, had already made an assignation with Juan Matilino and the slave they had shared as a pillow earlier, so after patting Chris on the shoulder, he got up and sauntered out as well.
Chris went back to his room, where he could be easily found. And sure enough, by nine in the evening, the call came. Jiro, in house livery for the first time during the Academy, came to bring him the message. Chris himself had not changed clothing; how do you choose clothing for such an event? It seemed appropriate to be dressed in a tuxedo, with a high collar much in the style of his majordomo formal dress at home, crisp black and white. He pocketed the gold pen that had been his sole graduation gift and followed Jiro over to the other building, passing rooms where music—both instrumental and human—escaped half-open doors. He slipped into his shoes when they passed between buildings, and Jiro smiled calmly, waiting for him without a note of impatience.
Slaves carrying trays of beer and sake and champagne passed them with respectful smiles and nods. Anderson’s floor seemed quieter. Jiro knocked and bowed Chris in, and Chris wondered if that would be the last time he would get a deeper bow from him. He acknowledged it correctly, walked in, and stood where he had been earlier, when he had explained himself to Anderson. Jiro did not enter the room, but closed the door quietly.
They were all dressed as they had been for dinner. Champagne was open on the sideboard, and it seemed that Tetsuo and Anderson had already drunk a toast or two before Chris arrived. The box containing the collar was on the table, along with Tetsuo Sakai’s personal chop, next to the newly drawn up contracts.
“As your trainer of record, I have examined the contract and it is acceptable to me, Mr. Parker,” Anderson said without preamble. “Do you wish to examine it?”
“With your permission, Trainer.”
She handed it up to him. He glanced at the first page and noted that it was in fact a three-year contract with an optional two-year continuation at the same terms, no renegotiation, no rise in fees. All he could do was say yes or no. It was a style of contract he never advised people to take, the stakes in it were too high.
Excellent. Quickly, with a practiced eye, he swept through standard wording and mentally absorbed the special stipulations. Tetsuo had reserved the right to pierce, tattoo, and brand him, although he had promised not to alter any existing body modifications. He had the right to profit from Chris’s professional services as a trainer, or to use him in personal or general service, to loan or otherwise arrange for fostering at his will. The usual international riders were there, that Tetsuo would bear the legal costs of getting Chris the proper documentation to work and live in Japan. He promised to provide transportation to the United States and a reasonable amount of time on an annual basis for medical checkups if Chris requested it, to provide any support necessary to keep Chris’s medications available to him. And, spelled out in the contract was one line that almost made Chris crack; instead he took a deep, slow breath.
Client shall present exclusively as male and shall be treated as such.
He wondered who added that line. But he continued through the document until the end, nodded, and laid it down on the table. He would have easily been able to sign it unseen. But that was not what he told his clients to do. He had to follow his own advice.
“Thank you, Trainer.”
“If you have nothing else to say, Mr. Parker, then please sign.”
Chris pulled the pen out, and if Anderson recognized it, she didn’t show it. He knelt carefully, turned the pages on all three copies and signed. His hand, surprisingly, did not shake. He leaned back on his calves as first Anderson and then Tetsuo signed as well. Tetsuo also affixed his chop, as befitted a formal contract.
“Congratulations, Sakai-san. You might not think it right now, but you got a bargain.” Anderson gathered two of the three copies and put them to one side as Tetsuo placed the third into a folder.
“Thank you, Sensei Anderson, I am honored to accept my prize.” He opened the box, and touched the magnetic key to the smaller of the ceramic disks. It clicked open with a very slight sound, hardly the snap of a key in traditional lock. He turned to Chris and said, in Japanese, “Come.”
Chris moved forward on his knees and lowered his head, felt Tetsuo’s hands as they clasped the collar around his throat, letting it fall over his shirt collar, over his tie. The identity cylinder fell right over the knot of the tie, and the cool metal slid down the back of his neck. The click of the two joined ends as they locked together again was louder closer to his ear. He felt Tetsuo’s hand brush his hair and was startled when it gripped a handful and jerked his head up.
“Before I take my leave of you,” Tetsuo said, as Chris’s heart pounded, “I wish to inquire about this.” He pointed to the bruise on Chris’s lip and the slight discoloration and abrasions over the cheekbones. “Previously, of course, this was your matter. But now, it is mine. Is there some fault in this slave which needs correction? Has there been discourtesy which needs addressing?”
Anderson’s mouth curled up in a slight smile. “Oh, no, Tetsuo, would I pass on discourteous property? No, that was merely...for my amusement.”
“That you still find amusement in this slave is the highest recommendation you could make, Imala,” he said, releasing Chris’s head. “I thank you for your valuable time, I’m sure there are numerous things you wish to do tonight. I will speak to you in the morning regarding our travel plans.”
“Thank you, Sakai-san, I’ll see you in the morning.”
When his new master rose, Chris did as well, and bowed deeply to Anderson before opening the door. She nodded, and turned away, and he followed Tetsuo—Sakai-sama—out. The chain felt heavy around his throat. He moved naturally into position and followed, struggling to keep the smile from his face.
Michael woke up in a western bed, and for a moment wondered where he was. Then, he saw the beautiful russet hair touched with gold highlights and remembered that he had come up with enough Italian to make Luciana understand that spending the night with her was definitely a doable thing. Thankfully, Arturo Massimiliano, her boss, had placed no restrictions on her sex life.
They had met each other at a party, at Walther’s orgy, as a matter of fact. They found each other looking over what was a sea of bodies, and they had smiled ruefully. Soon after that, they left together.
It was strange, making love to a woman—a free woman, he had to wonder about, pay attention to, speak to. He had not really had sex with anyone in a long time without there being a top and a bottom, without there being some understanding that one person was due complete pleasure and the other devoted to providing it, or at least suffering for it.
But it had come back to him, and it had been as magical as it always was, a complete drowning of the senses, a spirit of timelessness falling over him that made him laugh out loud when he came, which made Luciana laugh as well. They rolled over together, his cock still inside her, and she teased him to erection again and rode him pleasantly, murmuring endearments in Italian and playing with his nipples the way that most straight girls never do. Then they showered together, and he couldn’t resist getting on his knees under the water and loving her with his mouth, until she gasped and laughed again and they splashed all over the floor, wetting every towel. They fell asleep finally, entwined in each other, and Michael knew a kind of peace he hadn’t in a long time.
But when dawn came and light woke him up, he quietly and gently disengaged himself, put on his trousers and his shirt, but didn’t bother with buttoning anything up. He just threw his jacket over his shoulder and tip-toed out of the room with his shoes in the other hand.
As he passed into the eastern wing, he saw slaves carrying luggage down to the drive-up area by the western building. Almost all the trainers would be leaving today, a skeleton crew of slaves left to clean and return the ryokan to its former state for the regular staff to find when they returned. Technically, he and Chris had flights out of Okinawa in the late afternoon. He wondered if either of them would be taking one.
He got to his room and slid the door open, and grinned. Ron was laying on his back on the futon, the covers scattered across the floor, totally and impressively naked, and there was the smell of sex in the entire room. Ron lifted his head wearily.
“Well, look who went out tomcatting,” he said cheerfully.
Michael raised his hands. “I was given full permission!”
“Yeah, for however long that lasts,” Ron said. “He sure didn’t show up here last night. I’m assuming he’s at the base of one of these overstuffed maxi-pads somewhere right now. Damn, when you already sleep on the floor, where do you put the boy?”
“Wrap him in a blanket and no maxi-pad,” Michael snickered.
“Give me a posture-pedic any day,” Ron groaned, sitting up. “Well, show me to the bathhouse, junior, I need to freshen up and see what the boss lady has in store for the universe today.”
They walked to the communal bathing area, and it was still too early for many people to be up, so they had it to themselves, not counting the attendant slaves. Michael asked, softly, “Ron—sir—did Sakai really put Chris in the hospital once?”
“Yep. Broke two ribs, as I recall, dislocated a shoulder... some other stuff too, I can’t remember exactly. Ever see the scar on his cheek? That’s from Tetsuo-sama.”
“Oh my God! And they let him be a trainer?”
“Two things have to happen to get thrown out for abuse, Mike. One, there has to be a complaint filed—and there wasn’t—and two, there has to be an inquiry, and there wasn’t. No complaint—no abuse. Besides, Chris is one kinky motherfucker, probably enjoyed it. Didn’t tell me about it for a year, if I remember, maybe two, and then I had to drag it out of him.”
“But—what’s to prevent that from happening again? How can he want to go back to someone who hurt him like that?”
“One, nothing except the man’s self control, and two, because I guess there’s something to the guy that goes beyond a moment’s insanity. Keep in mind that he’s a big shot in this field. If he was smacking heads and breaking bones left and right, he wouldn’t be who he is, he’d be gone. And Chris has filed his share of complaints against abusive trainers and masters, he knows one when he sees one. If he’s happy to get sold to this guy, then he must be clear on what he’s walking into. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was smarter then me.”
Michael shook his head sadly. “I don’t even know what to think about it all,” he said. “Everything’s happening so fast.”
“You’re telling me!” laughed Ron. “I don’t even know what day it is!”
* * * *
When they got back to the room, Chris was there. He was wearing the gray suit that Michael had picked out for him the day before, his shirt still open at the collar and a tie draped around his neck, and there was a Sakai house yukata hanging on the wall. He was busy putting his tuxedo back into a garment bag. His hair was still wet, and he looked wide awake and still rather cheerful.
“Hey, bro’,” Ron said, springing into the room and catching him in a hug. Playfully, he sniffed at Chris’s hair until Chris laughed and brushed his hands away.
“What on Earth are you doing?”
“Sniffing for piss, my kinky brother. Suddenly I remember everything you told me about Sakai-sama!” He laughed and released him.
Chris snorted disapprovingly and pulled the sleeves of his jacket down. “And I’m suddenly regretting telling you anything, you foul-mouthed tell-tale. Kindly do me the courtesy of behaving in a slightly civilized fashion before a novice trainer, if you will.”
“Hey, you’re in a peppy mood! I guess Sakai-sama rode you hard and put you away wet!” Ron laughed, actually slapping his knee. “Oh, damn, I can’t help it. I’m sorry, I’ll behave. Don’t even listen to me, Mike, I’m a bad influence.”
“Yes, sir. Um—sir—I can pack for you, if you like. Can I help with anything?”
Chris nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be keeping pretty much everything except for one tux—you can take the round-lapelled one back with you. I’ll also be sending a list with you, and if you would be so kind as to ask Rachel for her help, I’m sure you will be able to pack a suitable wardrobe for me and ship it.”
“Of course! I’ll do anything you want!” Michael struggled to keep the desperation out of his voice and didn’t exactly manage, but Ron seemed oblivious and Chris did nothing but nod gently in his direction. There came a tapping against the door frame and Michael turned, saying, “I’ll get it.”
On the other side, dressed in a yukata himself, was Tetsuo Sakai.