A Superior Slave (Ganymede Quartet Book 0.5) (8 page)

They were shown the viewing area where they’d be on display tomorrow. This was a cavernous room decorated with bunting in Ganymede blue and cream. There were gilt-lettered signs for STANDARD, CHOICE and SUPERIOR hanging over the appropriate daises; the Superiors would be furthest from the curtained doorway where the prospective masters would enter. They were allowed a peek into the luxurious anteroom, designed to resemble a fancy men’s club with carved wooden paneling lining the walls, images of Ganymede and his chalice everywhere, and the House colors setting off the glowing grain of the polished wood. There were huge double doors opening into the auction hall proper, but they weren’t allowed so much as a peek outside, and the stained glass panels gave only an impression of darkness.

“You’ll be seeing it all from the best vantage point in the house tomorrow,” Mr. Jacob told them, meaning the stage where they’d be standing as they were sold off.

“Do any of you have questions?” Mr. Elliott asked, head cocked. “Any questions for us? For Mr. Paulsen?”

Martin had so many questions, but they were all unformed and panicky, wordless and grasping, and it seemed the others were equally inarticulate, as no questions were forthcoming. Mr. Elliott sighed once again and he and Mr. Jacob ushered them back to their dormitory room.

“See here,” Mr. Elliott said brusquely. “Fresh decks of cards. When’s the last time any of you saw a complete deck?” There were four decks total, and it seemed luxurious to have cards that were clean and unbent. It was novel to have cards that originated from the same pack, all the backs the same. Toys and games on the farm were used hard and were often broken or incomplete. Mr. Jacob gave them boxes of matches to use as counters and four games of poker started up immediately.

Martin didn’t want to play poker and hung back. Mr. Jacob touched Martin’s elbow. “You so love to read,” Mr. Jacob said. “We have books and magazines here that you won’t have seen at the farm, if you’re interested.”

“I’m interested, Mr. J.”

Mr. Jacob showed him to a low bookshelf with the last three annuals for
American Adventure
, a few issues of
Wayfarer
, and a coverless book that appeared to be a shipwreck story. Martin picked up a
Wayfarer
and flipped it open, but then Mr. Jacob took his elbow and bade him to sit on the nearest cot.

“I saw your face earlier,” Mr. Jacob said. “When they were discussing your weight. Please try not to worry about it, Martin. You’re a lovely boy, and you’re not too thin at all. We’ve always known you’ll need to work to keep weight on, though, and you’ll need to continue that out in the world, all right?”

“Are you
sure
I’m not too thin, Mr. J? They seem so unhappy with me…”

“It’s part of their job to anticipate the complaints the prospectives might have, that’s all.”

“They like Stuart so much better, though, Mr. J. They all think he should be top boy.”

“
You
are best-suited to this role of any boy here,” Mr. Jacob said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Stuart is a good boy and an excellent companion, there’s no question, but you’re definitely our top candidate, and Mr. Elliott and I will endeavor to make sure the salesmen understand that before tomorrow morning, all right? Don’t let doubts creep in, Martin. You’re going to make us so proud.” He clapped Martin on the shoulder and left him sitting slumped on the cot, a magazine open on his lap, though he felt reading would be quite impossible now.

He hoped Mr. Jacob was right. He knew he’d have the highest reserve price, and he worried a little that no one would want him enough to pay it. He worried that Stuart would surpass him, and it wasn’t so much that he begrudged Stuart, but he wanted to really
be
top boy and bring in the best price, and it was seeming more and more possible that a towering, bespectacled scarecrow of a boy wasn’t going to be worth the astonishing sums people paid for companions.

Someone plopped down on the cot at his side, leaning heavily against him, and Martin turned to see Georgie at his shoulder.

“Are you more excited, or are you more terrified?” Georgie asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t seem to be able to tell the difference any more.”

Martin smiled in return, grateful for Georgie’s cheer. “I think I’m the same. But with all the things the salesmen were saying, I got a little spooked…”

“Ugh,” Georgie said, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t think they saw anything good about any of us. Did you see? They made Noah cry.”

“I didn’t see,” Martin admitted. “What do they think is wrong with Noah?” Martin didn’t like Noah, but Noah was handsome and smart and accomplished—it was only his personality that was horrible.

“They were all going back and forth about whether or not his hair was a selling point or not because some of them don’t like redheads, and Noah got his feelings hurt—”

“He should know better than to take it personally,” Martin pointed out.

“Well, yes, he should, but he cried a little, and then they all jumped on him for being inappropriately sensitive and questioned whether he has the right temperament, and that just made things worse. Now Mr. Elliott is trying to give him a pep talk.”

Mr. Elliott was not the best at pep talks, and Martin cringed a little at the idea, feeling surprisingly sympathetic toward Noah.

“They’re annoyed by how many of us have dark hair,” Georgie continued. “Too many dark boys, but not enough colored. They wanted at least one colored boy in the Superior group, but Jerome is so clumsy and terrible at sports that they can’t justify putting him with us. They’re not happy with anything.”

“They like Stuart better than me,” Martin admitted. “They want him as top boy.”

“You’re better than Stuart,” Georgie dismissing the idea with confidence. “And cheer up—at least you’re not dark!” He shook his head. “Really, shouldn’t these fellows be encouraging us? Helping us get in the proper frame of mind?”

Noah appeared on Georgie’s other side. He gave Martin a nod and sat down, seeming dejected. “They hate all of us.”

Feeling a tenuous solidarity with his erstwhile adversary, Martin said, “I’m sure most of the prospective masters will think your hair is beautiful, Noah.”

Noah gave Martin a long look, trying to determine if he was being mocked, but seemed to decide Martin was being genuine. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s what I think, too.”

“I like to see you two getting along,” Georgie said, pressing a quick kiss to Noah’s cheek. “Even if it’s only because we’re all scared.” He put an arm around each of them and squeezed. “My gingers,” he said fondly. Martin slipped his arm around Georgie’s waist, and Noah did the same, and for once Noah didn’t complain about Martin’s proximity.

“I’d like a ginger master, I think,” Georgie said, as if it had just occurred to him. “Seeing red hair around a nice hard cock every day would bring back some pleasant memories.” He gave Martin a nudge, then Noah, and both boys snickered.

Martin leaned on Georgie and sighed. He felt such affection for him, and for all the others, even Noah. He hoped his new master would be eager to share him; the sooner he met the slaves who would be his new friends, his substitute cohort, the better. Surely there would be a boy or two he would like especially well, boys who would be sweet to him, and who he might spoil, as well. He would work the hardest to be good to his master, naturally, but he couldn’t expect anything in return beyond an absent-minded caress now and then. He had fantasies about closeness with a master, but it was shameful to want things he had no right to. Maybe the salesmen sensed this in him, this inappropriate grasping after privilege, and that was why they preferred Stuart.

Mr. Elliott came through and suggested that boys avail themselves of the showers before bed. “But if you won’t shower now, you’ll have another chance in the morning,” he assured them. “You should all expect to do an enema in the morning, too. You will be
scrupulously
clean for the viewing.”

The poker games were breaking up, and most of the boys decided to bathe. Martin tied his hair in a knot on top of his head so as to keep it dry and undressed. Conrad and Gideon came around and collected the clothes the older boys shed; their farm garments would be returned to the farm to be worn by other boys. Everything at Ganymede was used until it was used up.

Surrounded by beautiful, familiar bodies, and in very sentimental moods, most of the boys were at least half-hard. Mitch put his hand on Martin’s hip but Mr. Jacob strode up and gave his wrist a brisk slap.

“None of that. Remember what we told you on the train: nothing more tonight,” Mr. Jacob warned them. “It’s better luck to be feeling a little bit of desire when you’re on view. You’ll want to feel eager for some sort of release, boys; the prospectives will sense that about you and respond accordingly.”

It seemed excessively cruel: sleeping alone, no bedtime release, the prospect of an enema first thing in the morning. Martin felt a sullen discontent settle over him and tried to shake it off but with little effect.

They
had
been told they could kiss, however, and Mitch approached Martin again under the shower spray and kissed him up against the tile. He was a better kisser than Martin remembered, with a cleverer tongue. He moved against Martin, their cocks pressed between their bellies, and he might have easily made Martin come, but Martin made him stop. If it was true that it was better to go to the viewing full of unresolved longings, then that’s what he wanted to do. He would do anything that might bring him a good master, a boy who would appreciate everything Martin wanted to do for him.

Mitch was disappointed, but Paul and Randy stepped in to fill the void Martin left behind. Martin took a towel from the stack by the door, dried, and hung the towel on a hook. As he was leaving the bathroom, Mr. Elliott was coming in.

“I’m coming to check on you,” Mr. Elliott warned in a loud, carrying voice. “I expect you’re all on your best behavior.”

Out in the dormitory, boys had dragged the narrow cots into smaller groupings, crammed up tight against one another.

“Over here, Martin.” Charlie waved from the far end of the room. “We’ve saved a bed for you.”

They had put four cots in a row and run out of room, so a fifth ran across the top of the quartet. The four were for Noah, Georgie, Martin and Charlie, and Stuart would sleep stretched above their heads. The air in the room was warm and close, and the unnecessary blankets had already been stripped from the beds. Martin lay down on top of the sheets on the bed his friends had assigned to him.

“I thought you’d want both Georgie and me,” Charlie said shyly. “Was I right about that?”

Martin rolled onto his side and kissed him. “Of course you were. I’ll be lucky if I meet another boy who’s even half as kind to me as you are.”

“Who knows? Maybe our masters will know each other. Maybe we’ll see each other again.” Charlie sounded hopeful but not entirely convinced.

As clean boys came back into the room, everyone found their places and began to experiment with sharing the cots, but they truly weren’t big enough for two boys, and the metal frames made it uncomfortable to lie across the junctions between beds. Martin lay on his back and held Charlie’s hand with his right, letting his left rest on Georgie’s hip. Stuart idly stroked his hair. They were all unusually tense, unusually still.

“You’ll have an early morning, of course,” Mr. Elliott reminded them. “Nothing you’re not used to, but it’s likely you’ll have difficulties falling asleep tonight. We’ll be around with some medicine to help with that.”

Martin was relieved to hear this. His mind was racing and he felt restless and twitchy. He kept thinking about the vast differences between what he
wanted
in a master and what they’d been taught over and over were reasonable expectations. Masters were rich and spoiled and indulged and most of them would be indifferent to the feelings of their slaves, but Martin couldn’t help thinking that some of them might care a little bit anyway. There were rumors, unsubstantiated of course, that there were masters who did all sorts of forbidden things with their slaves, acting practically as wanton as slaves themselves, touching and caressing, and Martin wanted so badly to have a master who would behave like this, a master who would touch his cock and bite his neck and want to make it feel good when he fucked him. The idea made his cock throb and he gave a little involuntary shiver. He knew he couldn’t have everything he wanted, but surely he could have
some
of it.

Sandy was crying again, crowded onto a single cot with Leo, and Mr. Elliott had to threaten to separate them completely to get Sandy to move to his own bed. Martin worried about Sandy. It seemed possible that Sandy would keep crying through the viewing. Not only would that be bad for Sandy himself, but it would make it seem as though Ganymede slaves were unstable, and that was unfair to the other twenty-two boys who were looking for masters. Martin fretted about this for a bit, then went back to worrying about what sort of master he’d end up with.

Mr. Jacob came around with a bottle of laudanum and dosed them all. Martin fell asleep to the sounds of Sandy’s soft sobs.