by Danny Tyran
“Thank you, Master! I was so worried I’d have to fulfill my contract here.”
“That option is not excluded, if that’s what you want. I still believe that would be the best thing that could happen to you. You need to learn not to see yourself at the center of your master’s universe.”
“If you order me to stay, I will.”
“No, Max. It’s up to you to decide what to do with your life now. You have to learn to make your own choices, be responsible for your own decisions.”
“If I spent several years without being your slave and then you sell me, won’t I get... rusty? I mean, I wouldn’t have been a slave for a long time.”
“We’ll see, Max. If you still want to be sold, we can put you in training for a while before the sale, to refresh you a bit. That might work.”
“Why... Why not get me back into training right away, Master?”
“Max. Training a slave requires a lot of time, energy and attention from his master, even if the slave has already gotten his basic training and he is the wonderful Max Lemay. I intend to train other slaves, but not you.”
“What did you mean exactly by teaching me how to spot slaves and become a master?”
“We’ll talk about it when you get home, Max. Hand me over to Johnny.”
The man who was no longer my master spoke with Johnny while I went back to finish my shower.
That night, Johnny and I slept in separate beds. The next day we went to see the other man that wouldn’t be my master either.
Antonio was in his early forties. He had black eyes and salt and pepper hair already graying at the temples. He had quite dark brown skin and he was thin. He must have Hispanic blood in him somewhere. At any rate, he reminded me of one of those Spanish hidalgos. He barely looked at me as he settled the end of my contract with Johnny and determined what my life would be from now on. I stood while I waited, legs apart, hands clasped behind my back. But two or three times, my gaze met his. There was something fierce in his eyes. He seemed to be a man accustomed to fight and conquer, to command and be obeyed.
We purchased tickets at the airport and left for Montreal the same day. During the return flight, I remembered the previous one. Then I had been unhappy at having to leave my master. This time, I closed my eyes and fell asleep smiling, happy to be going in the opposite direction. As I did, I dreamed of Antonio. I was bound spread-eagled on my back on a table. He had a knife in his hand and was saying in a deep voice, laced with a strong Spanish accent: “Now, niño, we’ll see if you’ve got some guts.”
Even though I was more than happy to be going home, I couldn’t help thinking that my decision not to fulfill my slave contract, as expected, had disappointed my master. He said he believed that the best thing for me would be to stay in New Mexico. And despite this, I was returning to Montreal. Maybe it was true. I didn’t have enough “guts”.
Epilogue
For five years, I continued to live with James Teka. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t my master. Not in the true sense of a master and slave. Instead, he became my master, but in the sense of a professor. We lived in a professor/student relationship. He taught me “slave-spotting”, which meant going to bars, gay or not, together many times. Not only in Montreal, but also in Quebec, New York and even Paris. He also taught me the basics of domination, that is to say a master’s rights and his obligations to his slaves and what the community related to the slave market permits and prohibits. He also allowed me to participate in the training of all the slaves he had during that period.
To complete my education, I had to train my own slave under his supervision. I found him myself, trained him for a few months, then sold him. This sale added a significant amount of money to what I already possessed.
Antonio, the master I was supposed to have in Albuquerque, never accepted the refund of the amount paid for my purchase. James didn’t want to keep anything for himself. So I made an agreement with him. I’d stay with him until I finished college, but I’d pay him rent and contribute to other expenses which my presence at his home incurred. I felt that what he allowed me to give him was too little. But I could never convince him to allow me to pay more.
I became his friend and his lover. Both roles made me very happy. But, some days, I missed my period of slavery under his authority so much that I found it difficult to accept my new life with him. That’s when tears came to my eyes. I wiped them away impatiently, hoping that James wouldn’t notice. But the pain, often intense, never left me for hours at a time, sometimes even days.
Then James would ask, “Are you all right, Max?”
“It’s nothing.” I’d assure him. “I’ll feel better soon.”
Sometimes he insisted on knowing what saddened me so much. I told him. Those days, we made love more passionately than ever. He too, I believe, missed the “good old days”. But he was more experienced than I was and knew that the past is the past. We can’t go back in time and living in the past is a recipe for failure.
As I figured I hadn’t spent enough time in slavery to become a good master and a trainer worthy of the name, at the end of my studies, I looked for a new master.
Often, in those bars we attended on Saturday nights, James would point out a man or woman who, according to him, had the qualifications to be a good master to me. Sometimes I didn’t understand what he saw in those people. I couldn’t see anything. But, over time, I discovered that he had an almost infallible instinct to identify both good masters and true slaves.
One day, perhaps, I’ll tell you more about this important period of my life with James, as well as the blissful time I lived after that with Johnny, my master’s friend who became my new master.
I could also describe what happened to Helena, Louis and Jean.
I’m not so young anymore. I’ve experienced everything the Market had to offer. I served in all possible ways, both as a slave and a slave hunter, as a trainer and as a master. All those unusual life experiences allowed me to become a respected member of our community. I’m sure many of those fortunate and unfortunate events in my life would surprise and delight you.
Isn’t writing also a form of servitude, a way to lay bare for one’s masters, to dedicate oneself to them, body and soul?
The End
Other books by Danny Tyran
Esclave à l'entraînement, Éditions Textes gais, Septembre 2012
Conseil de discipline, Éditions Textes gais, Septembre 2012
L'Enlèvement, Éditions du Tyran, Novembre 2012
Obsession, Éditions Le Divin Abricot, March 2013
Ève et Adam, Éditions Le Divin Abricot, July 2013
L'Envol, une découverte du BDSM, Éditions Dominique Leroy, July 2013
Bonne fille, in: À corps et à cris, Éditions Dominique Leroy, August 2013
BDSM Illimité, Éditions Textes gais, February 2014
