Marketplace (29 page)

But one day, all of that
changed. He became very, well, obsessed, with one thing. If I loved
him, he told me, I would, um, sleep with him. All the other kids
were doing it, he said. And besides, if I didn’t want to, it meant
that there would be no future for us as a couple. Grown up men and
women have sex, he kept telling me. When would I grow
up?

I guess he was right,
really. Everyone was going it. And he was never forceful with me!
No, he was always insistent until I firmly said ‘no!’, and then
he’d sigh and start the car and we’d go home. It was just that even
though I really liked him, maybe even loved him, I didn’t want
to... do that... with him. It didn’t seem right.

So that year, I thought
maybe there was something wrong with me. All the other girls I knew
were interested in boys and sex. They talked about it all the time.
And the grownups at school spent so much time telling us
not
to do it, I knew it
must be wonderful! But I was never interested in anyone enough to
investigate it. I was a good student, and I acted and danced in
plays, and I had a busy life. I guess I didn’t miss it
much.

But I still was always
aware that something was different about me. I knew what it was
when I walked into my first part-time job and I fell in love with
my boss. You see, my boss was a woman. A very sexy, powerful woman,
with short hair and a long stride and a way about her that made men
afraid of her. And there I was, a little invisible nothing, loving
her and wanting to be with her. So, I thought I was gay.

Which was fine. You see,
gay women are just like bigger nothings! No one notices them at
all. When people talk about why they don’t like gay people, they’re
really thinking of gay men. Even in big crowds, almost no one ever
notices the women. So it was kind of natural for me to find a place
where women I thought were like me hung out, and it was easy to
start seeing a woman, and it was easy to go to bed with her. No one
noticed, no one was hurt, and I guess everyone just thought that we
were best friends. The only trouble with this was that it wasn’t
very interesting. She was nice, and I guess I loved her the best I
could, but I always thought something was missing.

I could never figure out
what it was, though. We would lie together in bed, touching each
other’s bodies so softly and so gently, I would just purr like...
like a kitten. And she was very good to me, she always made sure
that I was, well, satisfied. She taught me how to please a woman,
and we lived together for three years before we realized that
somehow we had stopped having sex at all. It had gotten to be
something routine. So we said sad good-byes and kissed each other
and moved apart again.

I tried to find another
girlfriend right away. It took a little while, but I found this
nice cute butch who wore leather jackets and was very political.
She was very smart, too. She could talk about anything, for as long
as you want. She liked me to wear sexy little black dresses and big
jewelry, and she liked to hold my hand when we walked in the
streets. It was scary and wonderful for a while.

I thought she was all right
in bed, but I was a little disappointed, too. Again, I couldn’t
explain why. Again, I thought that there must be something
dreadfully wrong with me.

I found out what was so
wrong because of this woman’s politics. I went with my girlfriend
to this demonstration. There were these women there, who were
saying things about pornography and women, powerful nasty things
about exploitation and pain and degradation. I started to look at
the pictures they had and suddenly, I knew what was so different
about me.

I wasn’t straight or gay.
I was
submissive.
All those pictures they had, of women in sexy costumes, all
tied up and gagged, I wanted all of that. I even remember seeing
this picture of a women lying on the floor, all bound in yards and
yards of rope, and this other woman was resting her feet on her.
They both wore these high heel shoes, so high, I could never
imagine walking in them! But the thing that stopped me cold was a
picture of a sexy lady in a little skirt way up on her thighs, a
little white lace apron, and a little lacy cap on her head. She was
holding a tray in her hands and giving the warmest, most inviting
smile! And this made me... well, it turned me on. More than
anything I ever did before. And I knew this while standing in the
middle of hundreds of women chanting slogans and waving signs
against it.

So I started reading about
it, mostly in men’s magazines. No one notices when women buy them,
you know. I thought that someone would, and he would make a comment
about it, but no one ever did. I read the ads, and started to send
away for books and tapes. I still lived alone, so I hid everything
way back under my bed. In time, my butch girlfriend went on to find
someone more her style, and we parted as friends.

I couldn’t figure out how
to meet anybody new though. Now that I really knew what I wanted,
it seemed that it should be easy to find someone. But it wasn’t!
There were no clubs for people like me where I came from. But just
in case I did meet someone, I started to practice. I bought high
heels and learned to walk in them. I read the books out loud, and
said the words that the slaves said, over and over, until I got the
sounds right. I even read books about being a waiter, making good
tea, and the history of tea time! I really knew what I wanted. I
wanted to be a sexy maid, just like in the pictures, carrying hot
drinks and being ever so embarrassed when people could see my legs
or my, my chest, or anything! It was a delicious
fantasy.

Then, one night, I was
reading the personals in one of these magazines, and there was an
ad for Mistress. She was looking for a new house slave, and being a
French Maid was going to be part of what she needed. It took me a
long time just to get the nerve to write to her. I tore the ad out
and read it every day, having the most naughty thoughts about what
she might be like, and what she might want from me. Finally, my
fantasies grew to be too much, and I poured my thoughts out in a
letter and sent it to the box number on the ad.

And that was it, really. I
answered it, and she invited me to go out and meet her, and four
months later, I quit my job and went to live with her.

Well, I guess it was more
than that. Mistress was more used to men answering her ads than
women, and she was surprised with me. She later told me that there
weren’t a lot of women who actually liked the fantasy, that it was
considered very degrading and something that only men really like.
So she was looking for a pretty blond man to serve tea to all her
lady friends. I explained to her that men or women didn’t make a
difference to me, I just wanted to be submissive, and to be in that
kind of role. And if that was degrading, then I loved to be
degraded. So she agreed to kind of try me out for a few days, and
see if she liked me. She called it playing, but I was never more
serious in my life.

She’s... she’s beautiful.
Tall, and dark, like coffee with cream, and clever and... she’s
just perfect. The minute I saw her in her leather clothing and her
high boots, holding a whip in one hand, I wanted nothing more than
to crawl to her and do anything she said. Oh, how she played with
me those first days! She tied me up, she spanked me, and she told
me what a naughty girl I was. She dressed me up to please her, in
short, short skirts and stockings and little bodices that pushed me
in and up. I wore stiff collars with shiny studs all over them, and
sometimes she would even put me on a leash, and I would crawl after
her like a dog.

I knew that week that this
was where I belonged. I would do anything to live that kind of a
life. I offered myself to Mistress every weekend, and she would
say, not yet, not yet. I think she wanted to make sure I was
serious. So I would try even harder to please her. When she
permitted me to... to... worship her body and please her in sensual
ways, I cried with joy. This was what was missing from the
relationships I had before! I never had the security of being held
by my lover, being told what to do, and having no real choice. I
cried in her arms when she began to love me, and I swore I’d never
love anyone else the way I worshiped her.

It was Mistress who made me
into a maid. She ordered my custom outfits and gave them to me to
wear. She began to take tea every day, just to watch me. Every move
I made, I had her eyes on me, watching that my hands never shook,
and that my posture was perfect. Then, when I was good enough, she
would have real tea parties and invite her friends over to
socialize.

Before long, everyone knew
that I was her little French maid slave girl. I had my own little
room, with pink curtains and a fluffy bed with pure, white sheets
and big pillows. She bought me a closet full of clothes, little
uniforms in different colors, and special costumes for holidays and
parties, and for when I was being very, very good. Every day, she
would tell me what to wear, and I would put it on with a big
smile.

Dainty shoes with tall,
spiked heels, heavy, thick velvet ribbons in my hair and around my
throat, lacy gloves and stockings, the thin gold chains she would
attach to my cuffs, the jeweled earrings and even the starched
white aprons, I loved every piece of my wardrobe. I always tried to
look my best for her.

My life was very simple. I
did a little dusting and cleaning, but not too heavy, because she
had other slaves for that. But I served coffee at breakfast, tea in
the afternoon, and sometimes in the evening. I would carry some of
the lighter trays of canapes during a party, and generally fetch
and carry things around the house whenever Mistress was there. I
had a lot of free time, and Mistress encouraged me to
read.

The best times were when
she would command me directly and continue my training. I was a
very clumsy girl, and I needed correction all the time. Mistress
was very, very patient. But she was also very harsh. I was caned a
lot, and I had to learn to kiss the cane every time. It was so hard
to do that! But I did, and even though I cried, Mistress would be
pleased, and she would forgive me and we would go on to the next
lesson. Sometimes the marks would last for days, and oh, how
dreadful it was when she would ask me to show them to someone! But
I always did, sliding my skirt up around my hips and bending
forward to make them easy to see. Just the thought of it makes me
shiver. Those were some of the times when I felt most like a
slave.

Sometimes, Mistress wanted
me to do things I didn’t know how to do... well, that’s not right.
She wouldn’t have done that, and it wasn’t nice of me to say it.
She wanted me to do things I didn’t want to do, and I would find a
way not to do them! It’s true! I was very stubborn, and stupid. I
didn’t realize it then, but now I do.

I... I was always very shy
about my own... my own pleasure. Do you understand that? I knew I
needed to serve, and that was my greatest pleasure. But...
touching... myself... was something else. It was pleasure that
never seemed to belong to the other thing I wanted. So I just
pushed it away in my mind, and didn’t really think about it. I
suppose I thought that all of my pleasures belonged to Mistress
now, so I shouldn’t do it any more. Or at least that’s what I kept
telling myself when the time came for me to figure out how I really
felt.

Because when she told me
to... do it... in front of her, I just couldn’t. I disobeyed my
Mistress! I don’t believe I did that! And she was so good to me, so
patient and kind, and she loved me so... but I couldn’t let go of
my fears and my silly embarrassment, and she was very unhappy with
me.

At first, she thought I was
just a little shy. So she would try to get me to do things a little
at a time. I never objected when she touched me of course, so she
would take my hand in hers and guide it over my body. But something
strange would happen inside my head and I would just freeze. I
wouldn’t ever fight her, or say no to her, but my body would do
things or not do things without me even thinking about it. And I
would go all cold on her, and then I’d cry, because I couldn’t stop
it, and then she would get angry, and then...

And then she would hold me
until I wasn’t afraid any more and I would sleep in her arms and
hope that she forgave me. And that was only one thing that I
couldn’t do for her. There were others, too, but they’re more
complicated. The simple fact is that when I thought I was
submitting to her, I was really only doing the things I wanted to
do.

No wonder she didn’t want
me any more.

I always knew about the
Marketplace. I—I even met Alexandra and Grendel before. They would
come, once in a while, to Mistress’ parties. Mistress Alexandra
even came to tea! Mistress had a lot of friends who had slaves from
the Marketplace. In fact, one of the reasons why she waited four
months to invite me to stay with her and be her girl, was because
she had almost decided to get a girl from the Marketplace and not
have to train her. I guess she must feel like she made the wrong
decision, because when I couldn’t be what she wanted, she sent me
here.

She didn’t tell me why I
was coming here. She just told me that I was to obey Grendel and
Alexandra and that they would tell me what was happening and why,
and when I could go back. I cried and cried, because I thought that
I was being punished for being such a bad girl. But now I know that
Mistress didn’t want to punish me. She wanted to give me a chance
to change and become the kind of girl she really wants. Or, give me
the opportunity to be a good slave to some other person somewhere
else.