The Trainer (18 page)

The questions were about housekeeping and
wardrobe maintenance and jewelry and... oh, they went on and on.
Yet, Joan never missed a single one. Whether kneeling or standing
or even crouched in a penitent bow, she could rattle off the way to
clean linen of wine stains, set an informal breakfast table, care
for opals, or tell mink from fox.

Again, it was totally devoid of erotic
interest. But Michael found himself moved nonetheless. As he asked
the questions and read the answers to them, he realized he barely
knew one tenth of the things she did, at least about housekeeping
and things like that. He had clothing made of silk in his
wardrobe—two ties and one shirt and a pair of boxer shorts given to
him as a gift. And he knew, generally, that silk should be
dry-cleaned. But he didn’t know that there were many kinds of silk,
or what their names were. Joan did. And so did Anderson, who did
not hold an answer sheet herself, but nodded at every correct point
Joan made and then moved her again without waiting for confirmation
from Michael.

Was it necessary to know all these details
to be a good slave? Maybe not for most of them. But Joan’s mistress
was going to get quite a knowledgeable little maid for her
money—one who could be trusted with almost any piece of property
before she even entered the door. She might start out dusting and
sweeping, but Michael knew that no one in their right mind would
keep her there for long.

Even if she wasn’t meant to sleep with. At
the end of the exercise, he returned the quiz sheets to Anderson
and went back to his room to write in his journal. He missed Tara’s
presence—it would have been nice to get in a quick blowjob. But on
the other hand... he sat back in his chair and gazed at the wall
for a moment. Was he really horny right now?

The truth was... not very. He was a little
tense, the way he always was when he was allowed to work with
Anderson, in any role at all. And he had gotten used to having Tara
around for a quick bit of tension release. He turned pages back in
the book and re-read the scant comments he made about her, and the
descriptions of what position he had fucked her in, and which
orifice he had used and whether or not he kept her long enough for
two orgasms. The words annoyed him suddenly, and he couldn’t figure
out why! Sure, he still wasn’t conducting in-depth interviews with
her, but Anderson rarely commented on these notes and when she did,
she didn’t scold him or tell him to change tactics. And Tara
herself was always willing and capable, and once he started to keep
a bottle of lube nearby at all times, she was much more comfortable
and receptive.

So, what was it?

He lost the desire to continue writing his
impressions of the exercise with Joan. He put the book away and
slipped into a sweater and headed back downstairs to see if he
could find something else to do for a while. He was trying to get
into a book about military etiquette when the front bell rang. Joan
came out of the kitchen to get it, and he watched her as she moved
quickly but without any panicked movements toward the door.
Anderson came out of her office and looked down the front hall, and
at the sight of her, Michael got up, barely suppressing a sigh. He
was finally getting used to standing when she entered a room—and
finding out when he should and shouldn’t.

“Emil!” she said with a warm smile, stepping
fully into the hall. “What a pleasure to see you!”

The man who came forward to take her hand
was easily as old as she was, small and vaguely European in
appearance. His neat, double-breasted suit was revealed as Joan
lifted what looked like a cashmere coat from his shoulders. He had
thick, wavy hair, all white, and Anderson had to lean down to kiss
his cheek.

“The pleasure is all mine, all mine,” he
insisted, his voice melodious and slightly old fashioned in its
intonations. “You were kind to see us on such short notice.”

Us? Michael started to move forward, even as
Anderson was leading Emil into the front living room, and then
Michael saw Emil’s companion.

Michael had gotten used to Tara being the
image of feminine beauty in this house, and for one second, he
thought the woman in the hallway was her, somehow magically
transformed. He saw the pale skin and blonde hair and had to blink
to clear his vision again. But it wasn’t Tara at all, but a taller,
more shapely and much more classically beautiful woman who entered
after Joan took her wrap away. She had a stronger face than Tara,
too—with high, arched cheekbones and deep-set ice-blue eyes. Her
hair was trimmed very short, with a wave over her forehead. Michael
regretted that; he liked long hair on women, and thought that
Anderson’s mane of straight black hair shot through with silver was
her best feature.

But with short hair or not, Emil’s companion
was quite something! Michael smiled as Anderson made introductory
movements.

“Michael LaGuardia, please meet Doctors Emil
Kaufmann and Greta Mueller. Emil, Michael is studying here.”

“How splendid for you!” the doctor
exclaimed, shaking Michael’s hand. His grip was dry and firm, just
a little longer than a business handshake. “It is a pleasure, young
man.”

“Thank you,” Michael responded, his eyes
flickering to the other doctor. “But like you said, the pleasure is
all mine.”

Dr. Greta Mueller smiled back at him, and
Michael felt the first honest surge of arousal he had in days. She
was dressed richly, too, in a mid-length turquoise dress with a
long jacket over it, and some nice gold jewelry, including a
herringbone necklace that should have set someone back a few bucks.
He wondered if this power couple was in the market for a slave.

Dr. Kaufmann glanced from his companion and
then back to Michael, but his smile remained genial, not threatened
at all. Michael was grateful for that. He’d been the target of far
too many territorial snarls from men and their trophy wives—or
girlfriends, as the case might be here. It was difficult to tell,
with different last names.

“Tell you what, Emil,” Anderson was saying.
“I’ll take my favorite doctor into my office, and Michael can stay
with you for a while. Keep Joan useful, Michael.”

Michael couldn’t keep his eyes from opening
wide in shock. Was he seriously being told to entertain one of the
Trainer’s high-powered friends?

“I cannot think of anything better,” the
doctor responded with a nod. “Please take as long as you like, we
have no pressing business to tend to today.”

Anderson gave a short nod to Michael and
then opened her arm for Dr. Mueller to slide under. The two women
entered the office and Joan closed the door behind them and then
looked at Michael for direction.

Michael gaped for a second, and then grasped
hold of himself. “Right—um—Dr. Kaufmann. Would you like
some—coffee? Tea?“

“Tea sounds lovely,” the older man said, his
hands behind his back. Michael waved Joan off, and she curtsied
before she left. Then, he turned back to the doctor and waved
nervously at the chairs. “Would you like to sit out here?”

“Splendid!” The man chose the seat Anderson
usually sat in, and Michael wondered whether he had actually been
waiting to be invited to make himself comfortable. He took the
other chair and studied the guest intently, trying to read
something from him the way Anderson and Chris kept telling him he
should be able to do. Well, all right. Nice, well-cut suit, good
shoes, gold watch, gold cufflinks—the man knew how to dress and
didn’t spare the expense. He had an old-world style but spoke
without a real foreign accent. He looked comfortable with himself,
too, and was unthreatened by other men admiring his woman.

“How long have you been in training, Mr.
LaGuardia?” Emil asked, settling into the chair comfortably.

“Well—I’ve only been here for a few weeks,”
Michael said. “But I trained for two years before this.”

“My! What dedication to the craft!”

Michael stopped himself from frowning in
confusion. That was the last thing he expected to hear! But he had
been dedicated, hadn’t he? Before he got here, lots of people were
impressed with the fact that he spent years being taught how to do
this. He smiled, and leaned back himself. “I guess,” he said
modestly. “But some people train even longer than that.”

“Indeed they do,” Emil agreed. “But most do
not complete even two years. You are to be commended.”

“Really? Most?”

“Training to become a trainer is very
rigorous, no matter where it is done. And the rewards are few. Many
trainers will not be able to become independent even if they
complete their training. And so, they become handlers for owners,
or assistants for senior trainers, or they simply move into other
fields. Some, of course, enter service themselves.”

“Really?” Michael cursed himself for
beginning to sound like a parrot. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yes. The finding and making of slaves
is not an easy or rewarding profession, unless one has a personal
calling to the task. And for some, that calling can be... hmm...
mistaken.”

“Oh, I knew this was for me the minute I
heard about it,” Michael said.

“Did you? How wonderful! And after only two
years, you find yourself with our Trainer of Trainers! It must be
very exciting for you.”

Michael remembered the list of detailed
housekeeping questions he asked of Joan and his many frustrations
and the hours of trying to drag himself through one dry report
after another, but he nodded anyway. “Sure,” he said. “Very
exciting.”

Emil laughed warmly and leaned forward to
tap Michael gently on one knee. “I think I would have to be deaf to
not hear the resignation in your voice, young man. Don’t think I
don’t know how tedious the early days of training can be,
especially here. I know more about training than you might
think.”

“Are you a trainer?” Michael asked.

“Oh, no,” Emil said, settling back again.
“But I have many friends and associates who are. Tell me; with whom
did you train for two years before being chosen to come here?”

Well, here it comes, Michael thought with
genuine resignation. The careful nod and the look of amusement or
pity. “Geoff Negel,” he said, and then added defensively, “He’s the
biggest trainer on the West Coast.”

“Oh, yes, I have read some of his papers,”
was what Dr. Emil Kaufmann said in response. Michael blinked, and
Joan appeared at the doorway with her tray. Michael could barely
keep his voice steady as he gazed at Emil and asked, “You
have?”

“Certainly,” Emil said, with a glance in
Michael’s direction. He accepted a cup and added honey to it,
stirring thoughtfully. “I have long thought his opinion on
discussion groups for clients is quite meritorious. And one cannot
ignore the influence he has had on our world. Two years with him!
That must have been interesting.”

“It was,” Michael said, still amazed at this
turn of events. But how wonderful it was to talk to someone who
recognized the work he had done, who even respected his former
teacher! “It was totally different than it is here.”

“I should imagine so,” Emil said with a nod.
“Did you enjoy the training in California?”

“God, yes,” Michael said with a laugh. “I
had the time of my life! Not that it was all fun,” he added
quickly. “I—we all—studied a lot. And we worked with slaves every
day of the week; you never had time off unless you left the
premises, you know?” He took his own tea from Joan and felt more
than thought there was something else to be done. He looked at
Emil, who seemed to glance for a moment across the hall, and
Michael drew in a sharp breath and looked up into Joan’s expectant
eyes. “Er—you should bring some to the Trainer as well,” he said
quickly. “And some of those pecan cookies she liked from last
night.”

“Yes, sir,” Joan said, with a slight dip of
a curtsey.

Of course, he said to himself as she left.
By turning her over to me, Anderson made me responsible for using
her. If Joan took it upon her own initiative to also serve
refreshments to the Trainer and her guest, she would be right in
action—but wrong in that she was under different authority now. It
had been Michael’s responsibility to direct her, to make sure that
she knew what the new—however temporary—chain of command was.

How convoluted could you get? What on earth
was wrong with just letting them do what they were supposed to do,
and punishing them when they failed? Why set it up so I look
bad?

Dr. Kaufmann drank some of his tea in the
silence, and then Michael felt himself snap back to the present,
with a faint blush. “I’m sorry,” he said at once. “Not enough
sleep, I guess.”

“Do you suffer from insomnia, or does the
Trainer keep you up to all hours?” the doctor asked with a gentle
smile.

“Actually, I sleep fine—usually,” Michael
admitted. “But I guess everyone has a little trouble sleeping every
once in a while.”

“Oh, indeed, yes. If you find it a continued
inconvenience, I or Greta will be honored to provide you with any
guidance you wish. So—you trained with Mr. Negel and then came here
to cold New York City! From the land of young, tanned beauties to
this shaded little enclave in Brooklyn, with only—what was it, two
slaves in attendance? And I know Anderson does not entertain much,
or take her juniors out to parties and events. It must be quite
challenging for you, to accept such changes.”

Michael blinked again, uncertain of what to
say. But what the older man said was true, and there was no harm in
admitting it. “Yes,” he said cautiously. “It is challenging. But
worth it.”

“Is it? Why do you say so?”

“Well—she is the Trainer of Trainers. And
everyone respects her. Everyone—all over the world! And, they study
her—her reports and stuff. So, who would give up the chance to
study with her in person, you know?”