For Want of a Nail Read online

  ‡

  “That’s it! That’s right, get ’em, girl! That’s me beautiful rat catcher, then!” Jack laughed as Asta dragged another small, limp corpse out of the hole; the little bitch was a natural! Three so far, and she was fairly glowing with pride. He did have to stop her from trying to eat the buggers, though; maybe she really did have a tender tummy. Not that it stopped her from trying to taste a horse ball, gnawing at his boots, or just snapping at anything within reach. Feeling a little pity for her, he offered her some beef jerky he had in his pocket; she seemed to like that just fine. He finished the rest.

  ‡

  “What is this?” Lawrence asked, looking down on the plate. “Are those slices of beet?”

  “Beet carpaccio,” Alex told him. “A vegetarian option, I suppose. Cook has been doing amazing things with beets this year, and I love this way of serving them.”

  “What’s the sauce?” Lawrence asked, tasting it.

  Alex looked up at Brian, who said, “An aged balsamic reduction, sir.”

  “Huh! I like it. What a fun way to present a salad.”

  “Wait until you try the goat cheese,” Nancy said.

  ‡

  Chris fanned the apple slices with one firm gesture and directed Enid to use two spoons to form a neat quenelle of the apple/calvados sorbet. Carefully, he added a sprinkle of mace and star anise and a garnish of mint leaves. Then, he pulled out the sorbet tray still left in the freezer to put it in the refrigerator, took the large container of fresh eggs out of the refrigerator and left them on the counter next to the standing mixer, put a spotless mixing bowl into the freezer, and ran up the back stairs without a word of explanation.

  ‡

  “Hey, Gandhi—wanna try to find my passage to India?”

  Ramesh stopped in his tracks, amazed, and stared at Mercedes. “Pardon me for asking,” he said. “But do you find much success with such an approach? Perhaps it is slightly racist?”

  She shrugged and dropped a rolled-up length of proscuitto into her mouth. “Yeah, but does it turn you on—that’s the question. I’m horny as hell and could use a body to play with. You’re not my type—hell, you’re not my gender—but if they got you here, I bet you can spice my curry, if you know what I mean.”

  Ramesh frowned. “No, I don’t think I do. Did you wish more food? I may fetch you a plate—"

  Chris came down the back stairs, now in livery with a starched white shirt and bow tie; his serving coat over one arm. He grasped Ramesh by one arm and jerked him toward the kitchen. “Mercedes,” he cautioned, “leave the trainees alone.”

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she muttered, eating the last fig. “And yeah, send me something else to eat, OK?”

  ‡

  Chris separated his eggs, then sliced up his shallow, pink-tinted cake and placed blocks of it neatly into a rectangular molding pan. “Now, spoon the sorbet over the cake in an even layer,” he ordered Ramesh.

  “But the Cook said not to use this one,” Ramesh protested.

  Chris raised his eyes to Ramesh for barely a second and the older man started scooping the sorbet with alacrity. The egg whites went into the chilled mixing bowl. Chris hit the power switch on the mixer to start them whipping, then changed knives and started carving the duck. Enid said nothing but concentrated on placing the parsnip and turnip puree onto the plates as the diagram directed.

  ‡

  Rachel came down the back stairs clutching her stomach and growled at Brian as he was on his way to the kitchen to wrangle the staff for the main course presentation. “What the fuck is wrong with you little shits?” she asked. “I’m upstairs fucking dying and no one even brings me a fucking snack?”

  “Oh, hi, Ms. Rachel,” Mercedes said, leaning against the doorjamb to the servants’ hall. “Not feeling too good?”

  Rachel turned to take her rage out on a new target and then her eyes widened. “Mercedes? Mercedes, you fucking doll! Get over here!” She reached out and grabbed the woman by the lapel of her jacket. “Do you have gloves?”

  “Not in the hall,” Chris said from the kitchen door. “Take her somewhere else, please?”

  “No problem,” Rachel snapped. And without even waiting for an answer from the chauffeur, she dragged her through the kitchen and outside into the storm. Mercedes just giggled.

  ‡

  “You’re a fair mess, y’are,” Jack said thoughtfully, as Asta snarled and worried the cuff of his trouser leg. She was plastered with mud and straw and sawdust and bits of grain, her silky hair tangled, and the little bow long gone. But her teeth still worked, and now he could even see her huge, round eyes.

  “Let’s have us a shower, then,” he decided, scooping her up and cupping a hand over her muzzle to keep her from nipping his fingers. Walking out into the rain, he saw the kitchen door open and two figures stumble ou, and wondered what that was all about. They seemed to be heading for one of the visiting cars; well, he’d gladly tumble in the back of a Bentley himself. He tossed Asta to the ground and watched her dash off into the night and for the first time wondered if that was such a smart thing to do.

  ‡

  “So, we’re going to visit with Arturo Massimiliano for a while, and then wind up the tour in England at Rothmere.”

  Terrence nodded. “You won’t find too many trainers who turn out tops the way he does. I don’t know his magic, but I wish we had some of that over here. I could sell ten, maybe a dozen, skilled top slaves a year if I could find them.”

  “Hard to spot for,” Hal said, between bites. “Either they think they really are masters or they think topping their owner is profane. By the way, this cherry sauce is amazing.” He scraped some up from his plate on a slice of duck and looked up as Brian approached with a silver serving bowl.

  “Would you care for more, sir?”

  Hal nodded eagerly and Horace chuckled. “You know, keep the slave tops. I just want service like that.”

  There was general agreement around the table.

  ‡

  Chris piped the last of the meringue over the sorbet and popped the tray into the freezer to firm a little. Ramesh and Enid were instructed to take the dessert plates to the serving table outside the dining room, which left Brian looking somewhat distressed.

  “Are they finishing fast?” Chris asked, pouring a measure of Cointreau into a cup.

  “No... no, in fact, they’re, um, lingering. It’s just, well. I had a question?”

  “Yes, yes?”

  Chris threw off the chef’s coat and replaced it with his service coat and Brian nodded his chin at the outfit. “It’s that. You’re in livery. So, I completely fucked up, didn’t I? I fucked up and you have to take over?” He tried to keep his voice from shaking too much, widening his eyes to keep from tearing up.

  Chris looked up and his expression softened slightly. “No. You’ve done well, under the circumstances. But I never taught you how to serve something on fire.”

  ‡

  “Come on now, girl! Come to daddy, ’ere girl!” Jack called. Where was the little bitch hiding? He could hear her yapping at something behind the main house.

  ‡

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck me you dyke bitch, harder, harder, come on and give mama a good fucking ride!” Rachel screamed, as the Bentley Turbo R rocked back and forth.

  ‡

  The meringue ignited with a muffled whump, and both Enid and Ramesh held the double doors open so Chris could carry it in.

  “Oh, my God, is that Baked Alaska?” Nancy asked, clapping her hands in delight.

  “I haven’t seen one of those since my last gay cruise,” laughed Terrence.

  “What a surprise!” Alison exclaimed. “It is so good to see you, Chris! And , you bring food on fire. I never know what I will see with you!”

  “Thank you, Ms. Cruz,” Chris said with a smile and a bow. He sliced the first portion off, and Hal Lee sighed when he saw the interior.

  “Is that ice cream?” Alex asked, looking sl
ightly forbidding.

  “No, Ma’am, this is raspberry-blood orange sorbet.”

  The trainees hurried to present the plates, and Lawrence laughed. “We finally have your blood, Hal!”

  ‡

  “Now, now, let’s be reasonable, then,” Jack soothed, as he gripped Asta firmly under one pinning arm. Not for nothing had he pinned many a slave under his wiry strength. “You’re a bloody mess, you are, and there’s no time for a proper groomin’ now, is there? When y’go runnin’ off, y’take the med’cine like a good bitch.” He turned on the clippers and went to work, whistling through his teeth.

  ‡

  “That’s a good girl,” Rachel sighed, leaning back. Mercedes grinned, and pushed her matted hair back out of her eyes.

  “Pleasure to be of service, I’m sure!” She tucked the lubed and bloody glove into a trash bag and helped Rachel out of the back seat, pulling the picnic blanket out after her. Good thing she’d thought to grab it from the trunk. She’d either get someone at home to figure out how to get the bloodstains off, or just report it lost. To fist-fuck Rachel was easily worth a beating. In fact, the only thing that could make the night better was to be beaten while fist-fucking someone like Rachel! She wondered how long Madeleine and Carl intended to stay and if she could piss Chris off just enough. Probably not. That guy was made of ice.

  ‡

  They devoured the Baked Alaska in good cheer and Brian filled the little dessert glasses with wine over and over again as the guests lingered at the table before moving to the library for brandy or coffee.

  Returning the staff to the kitchen, Brian ordered them in clean up duties under Chris’s watchful eye, and only one glass was lost to clumsiness. They rotated back and forth to keep the guests served, and slowly the kitchen began look more familiar.

  Ramesh stiffened in horror when Rachel and Mercedes staggered in through the back door, soaking wet and dripping, but Chris only sent Enid for a robe and some towels. Thinking quickly, Brian offered them both coffee, and caught one of Chris’s approving nods out of the corner of his eye. Rachel took hers with a healthy slug of Cointreau and trudged up the back stairs humming to herself. Mercedes took a mug gratefully and asked, “Whatcha got to eat around here? I’m starved!” as she headed back to the servants’ hall, a towel over one arm. Her hair was damp and sticking out all over her head, and her suit rumpled, but she hummed a bit, too.

  ‡

  Jack shoved Asta back into her carrier against her protests, and slammed the door. “Thanks for the fun, sweetheart,” he snickered, as he brought her and her luggage back up to the house. He hoped the torn cuff of his nice trousers wasn’t visible to Nancy and Lawrence, but after chasing the little ratter around, he hadn’t had time to change into something nicer. “Hope they like your new do!” he said to the cage, and got a resounding round of vicious barks in response.

  ‡

  “Please come back again,” Grendel said, shaking hands as the guests started to leave.

  “Any time you’ll have me,” Hal Lee said. “Best meal I had in ages and best company for miles. Next time, maybe you’ll come down to my shore house. We’ll do something a little more casual, like a barbeque, if the weather is nice. But by all means, bring your trainees. After all the time I spend working with spots, it’s nice to have someone around who is actually trained well.”

  “We’d love to,” Grendel said, with a slight smile of pride.

  Madeleine peered out the front windows and sighed. “Where is that girl?”

  “She is bringing the car from the back of the drive,” Chris said, as he helped Nancy with her coat. “There she is now.”

  Madeleine nodded. “Good. Although Carl wouldn’t mind if I dismissed her and got a man to drive around, now would you?”

  Carl laughed. “I got nothing against Mercedes,” he said genially. “But yes, it would be nice to have another man around so I am not always bothering your butler when I want a change of pace.”

  “I’m sure Fletcher is honored to be bothered,” Madeleine said with a slight smile. “But I’ll keep thinking about it. Chris, Claudia sends her affection.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Chris said. He handed an umbrella to Brian, for him to walk the couple to their waiting car, Mercedes already standing by the rear door. Jack was pulling up in the rented car right behind the Bentley, and Ramesh got another umbrella to walk Nancy and Lawrence out. Hal’s sedan was parked to the side, and Enid was helping him on with his raincoat.

  “Where’s daddy’s little sick princess, how are you my sweet—” Terrence stopped cooing suddenly as he reached inside his dog carrier and pulled out a very well shorn little dog who looked at him and wriggled and tried to lick his face.

  Chris stiffened and closed one fist on the umbrella he was holding. A spine cracked under his clenched fingers.

  “This... this is...” Terrence cuddled his dog, which energetically scrambled in his arms, trying to get a purchase for her tiny sharp claws, yapping and squirming.

  Grendel actually paled; Alex’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “It’s a miracle!” Terrence proclaimed. “I thought I was impressed by dinner, but my God, Alex... Grendel! This is a damned miracle!”

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up and her expression immediately changed to one of slight pleasure. “Oh?” she enquired.

  “How could you have known? How could you have fucking known? I was just thinking of having her clipped this weekend. The poor thing is just too high strung for her show schedule; it was making her positively neurotic. And look! She’s cured! Maybe the pressure was getting to her; maybe she knows daddy doesn’t need ribbons to love her to pieces!”

  “Undoubtedly,” Grendel said.

  “Your slaves are miracle workers. Miracle workers! We definitely need to do more business. I swear, an Anderson slave couldn’t have done this.” He beamed at them and they smiled back. “Yes, we need to do more business. Let’s talk when you’re back from all your travels! Ciao!”

  ‡

  “Let’s postpone the review until tomorrow, shall we?” Alex suggested as the last car pulled away.

  “Good idea,” Grendel agreed.

  “Very good,” Chris said. They all walked away with various expressions of amusement and exhaustion.

  ‡

  “We’re all dead tomorrow, you know,” Brian sighed from his bed.

  “No kidding,” said Enid.

  “It is difficult to imagine any other outcome,” Ramesh groaned.

  But as he rolled over onto his stomach, Brian remembered that Chris told him he did well. That felt really good. It allowed him to sleep, dreaming of a soft whumping sound and blue flames flickering over glistening meringue.

  ‡

  Chris went back to the kitchen and pulled out a crème brulee and a small propane torch. Carefully, he fired the top, until the perfect caramelized crust appeared. He grabbed a pair of spoons and went up to the media room where he knew Rachel would be curled up watching TV.

  She grabbed the dessert and spooned into it with glee, and let him change the channel from sort core cable porn to a recap of the night’s baseball game at Shea. He took one taste of the custard and left the rest to her, and they leaned into each other enjoying the peace. “How did it go?” she finally asked, as she licked the spoon.

  “I intend to kill them all tomorrow.”

  Rachel giggled.

  “And then myself, before Grendel and Alex do it.”

  She snorted hard. Chris smiled in the darkness of the room, the flickering of the television oddly restful. He fell asleep there, and Rachel covered them both with an afghan as the rain continued to patter on the roof above them.

  ‡

  About the Author

  Laura Antoniou has become well-known in the erotically alternative community as the creator of the Marketplace series (The Marketplace, The Slave, The Trainer, The Academy and The Reunion), the first three volumes of which were originally published under the name Sara Adams
on. One Marketplace character also appears in her first book, The Catalyst, but she leaves the reader to figure that out. The only independently written Marketplace short story, “Brian on the Farm,” appears in Lawrence Schimel and Carol Queen’s ground-breaking anthology, Switch Hitters: Lesbians Write Gay Male Erotica, and Gay Men Write Lesbian Erotica (Cleis), which has been published in English and in German.

  Antoniou has also had great success as an editor, creating the Leatherwomen anthologies which highlighted new erotic work, By Her Subdued, a collection of stories about dominant women, and No Other Tribute, which features submissive women. Her nonfiction anthologies include Some Women and an homage to author John Preston entitled Looking for Mr. Preston. Antoniou’s work has been published in the United States, Germany, Japan, Israel and Korea, to international acclaim.

  ‡

  THE MARKETPLACE SERIES

  The Marketplace

  $19.95 paperback, $9.99 ebook, released in August 2010

  First book in The Marketplace series! Follow the trial and tribulations of four slaves as they seek to be trained to the exacting standards of The Marketplace, the secretive, elusive underground of masters, mistresses, and owners around the world. Under the firm instruction of Grendel, the exacting eye of Alexandra, and the merciless strap of their majordomo Chris Parker, these slaves will learn that the biggest challenges sometimes come from within themselves.

  The Slave

  $19.95 paperback, $9.99 ebook, released in March 2011

  The second book in The Marketplace Series. Follow Robin, a strikingly sensitive submissive, as she strives for something more than the self-styled masters and mistresses she meets at BDSM clubs can give her. Her life changes when she meets Chris Parker, trainer. Her adventures in the Marketplace eventually take her from coast to coast, into the home of two gay masters who have never had a female slave before.

  The Trainer, coming May 2011

  The Academy, coming September 2011

  The Reunion, coming January 2012

  The Inheritor—in the works!

  ‡

  More Books You Might Enjoy