The Academy

by Laura Antoniou

  Chapter Thirty-Two: I'd Like to Thank the Academy

  A good dozen trainers had already left before dinner, a mixed, casual affair with no set hosts and no scheduled entertainment. The last night of the Academy was set aside for parties and final meetings and one last opportunity to make connections. Chris and Ron were not the only ones to dress up, although the formally dressed contingent was definitely in the minority. Some fetish-wear made it into the room as well, although it was limited to a corset here and there and a pair of leather shorts or a skirt or two. The slaves were apparently in whatever they tended to wear at home, outfits ranging from nothing at all to full serving uniforms to the stylized brief bands of silk favored at auction houses and other display areas. Their motley appearance suited the dinner nicely, and at last, their owners’—and trainers’—names were appended to their collars, so that they could be honored.

  Anderson came late, in a long black dress, with Tetsuo as her companion. They sat at a table with the other Academy gods, Ninon and Kurgan, Corinne, Arturo and the rest. Michael and Ron stayed with Chris, and ended up near Anderson’s table, along with Marcy and Stuart.

  At the end of dinner, as fruit and ices were being distributed, William Longet, elegant in a tailed coat and cravat, got up to make his announcements. Shushes followed his polite cough into the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Academy, I have a few thanks to offer and decisions to report, with your kind permission.”

  He was met with sustained applause, and he smiled briefly and slipped reading glasses onto his nose, peering down at the sheets in front of him. “All of the members of the Academy extend their profound thanks for the consideration and generosity of the Okinawa Guild of trainers, the greater Japan Guilds, and the Shimada family, for a splendid example of hospitality...”

  He went down the list, thanking all the trainers who sponsored and arranged for the slave staff, the supervisors, the entertainment, the chefs—everyone who could possibly be thanked. Applause was genuine, and there was much back slapping and hand shaking among the tables.

  “I would also like to announce that next year’s Academy will be held in the country of Canada, in the province of...British Columbia. Our host, in addition to the Canadian trainers and spotters, is the Rysbeck Corporation, owners of the Lion’s Mane Resort.”

  “Woo-hoo!” crowed Stuart, who immediately blushed as the people around him laughed.

  “Finally, an Academy that won’t cost an arm and a leg to get to,” sighed Marcy. But she was obviously pleased that her northern neighbors got the honor, and Michael could see the Canadian table all grinning and acknowledging more applause.

  “And finally, I would like to announce the results of our afternoon vote,” William said, after people settled down.

  “As if we don’t know,” cried Tucker, and several people laughed. William Longet didn’t. He took this part of his job very seriously, and only raised an eyebrow in Tucker’s direction as he broke the seal on the envelope.

  “In the question of the Parker proposal, forming a voluntary association of trainers which shall be duly recorded and supported by the Marketplace, membership to be decided within that association, with no penalties nor rewards for membership. Proposed: That the International Corporation of Trainers and Handlers permit to be created a volunteer association of training, including a certification process for accrediting new trainers within it, entering membership in said association as part of the available records maintained by the organization.

  “The vote is...in favor of the proposition, by a four-fifths majority.”

  Cheers came up, and more applause, this time accompanied by foot stamping, and both Marcy and Ron leaned over to slap Chris on the back. He smiled thinly, embarrassed by the attention, and stood reluctantly, when he heard his name chanted by a table led by Tucker. He bowed slightly to the group, nodded, and sat down again, blushing.

  When the applause ran out, William Longet gathered his papers and said, “I thank you for your kind attention this year, and ask you to welcome Herr Walther Kurgan for this year’s specialty awards.”

  There was laughter as Walther got up and strode to the podium. He was one of the people there ready for play—he was wearing leather jeans and a vest, his bare chest broad and firm. But it wasn’t his appearance that was amusing, that was just Walther. It was the awards he was about to bestow.

  “Friends and not friends,” he said genially, to more laughter. “Once again, we have been gifted with a fine week of pleasure and politics—teaching and fucking. And once again, we have noticed the rare few among us who deserve our attention for service to the Academy above the call of duty! or well below! For example—our role model in timeliness, the great trainer of trainers, Anderson!” The room rocked in laughter as he continued, “She has shown me the valuable lesson this year that when one arrives late to a party, one may arrive very, very late!”

  He went on, singling out Ninon as the best dressed trainer and the Canadians as the group most likely to use flea collars on their slaves. He awarded Michael the “most admired by men, women, and sled dogs” certificate, and in fact had one of the Canadian slaves deliver it to him in her teeth, which made him freeze in embarrassment before Ron slapped him on the back and he finally exploded in laughter. It had been a while since someone had complimented him so publicly.

  Finally, after complimenting or embarrassing about a dozen trainers, he held one last sheet of paper and said, “And what would this week have been, if not for the honorable opposition, eh? For Best Loser, the award goes to Mr. Geoff Negel, from California, America!” He laughed so had he almost doubled over, and Geoff got up to bow to the laughter and applause of his peers, a rueful smile on his face. When Walther got control of himself, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, “So remember, all of you—you cannot escape the eyes of the special awards committee—we shall see you in Canada next year!” People threw balled up napkins at him as he made his way back to his table, still laughing. But when Anderson rose and approached the podium, silence swept the room.

  She and Walther were of a similar height. The microphone was right where it should be, she gripped the sides of the podium for a second, and then spoke.

  “My friends,” she said. “My apologies for my lateness and my thanks for this award, which I have already stopped treasuring.” She smiled, and they laughed. “I come before you this evening, in our tradition, as a master trainer, and I beg your indulgence. It has been some time since I addressed this body, and I shall be brief.

  “It should come to no one’s surprise that I supported the proposal placed before this body. I am also pleased to announce that I supported the amended version, and am gratified that my peers see both the value in the new association and the value in keeping peace among ourselves. But what pleases me best is that this was accomplished without my presence, and with the leadership of my favored pupil, the trainer Chris Parker.”

  Chris froze as Ron and Michael grinned on either side of him. Some scattered applause began, but Anderson raised one hand and stilled it.

  “It has been a singular pleasure to train Mr. Parker, and to see him grown as an independent trainer. I am sure many of you have studied his writings, whether they were combined with my own or the few times he has been allowed himself the credit. I certainly, have learned much. But his modesty aside, I can honestly say that there are few trainers with his love—no, his passion—for the Marketplace and the purposes we serve.

  “It is a hard thing, to train a trainer, as many of you well know. But every year spent in this task is well rewarded on a day like this, when I can announce to all of you present that I wish to bestow upon Chris Parker the title of Master Trainer, and I ask for your approval.”

  The applause and chanting and cheers became an astounding roar, and as a body, the room rose, and Chris swallowed hard. The bruise against his lip was obvious now, and so were two dark red ones on his cheekbones, heightened by the blush that crept up fr
om his collar.

  “Get up,” Ron said in his ear. “Give ’em a wave, who knows when the fuck you’ll see ’em again?”

  He stood, bowed again, this time first to Anderson, who was applauding with a look of mild amusement in her eyes, and then to the rest of the room. There were no more announcements, no more speeches. People came over to congratulate him on receiving the new title, a few asked him if he was considering starting his own house. Knots of friends began to form as the private parties were to begin soon, and Michael remembered that he had never even asked Chris if he could attend one.

  Now, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to.

  Anderson left as soon as it was polite, with Ninon at her side. Finally, Chris stood up from the table and Michael shot up after him.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” Michael asked eagerly.

  Chris smiled a little. “Yes, Michael, there is. Please enjoy yourself tonight, take whatever invitation pleases you. I give you your freedom until morning, when I or Anderson will see that you are given instructions on departure. I suppose it all depends on what her plans are, so please make sure that you are not hung over or otherwise unavailable to either of us.”

  “But—but,” Michael stammered. “Is there anything... I can do for you? Personally? Um—a massage? Another drink? Want some company? Wanna beat the snot out of me?”

  Chris laughed. “Excellent use of humor, Michael, very good! Appropriate, too. But no thank you, I am going to be meditating. So go on and have a good time. I’m sure someone admired by all genders and sled dogs will have no problem finding a welcoming group to play in. You may top or bottom, as it pleases you.”

  Michael knew better than to argue, but he didn’t much want to go off and party, either. He grinned to show that he was fine, and wandered off as though he knew where he was going, and then ended up at the bar sitting by himself, wondering how drunk he could get without causing a crippling hang-over.

  Ron, typically, had already made an assignation with Juan Matilino and the slave they had shared as a pillow earlier, so after patting Chris on the shoulder, he got up and sauntered out as well.

  Chris went back to his room, where he could be easily found. And sure enough, by nine in the evening, the call came. Jiro, in house livery for the first time during the Academy, came to bring him the message. Chris himself had not changed clothing; how do you choose clothing for such an event? It seemed appropriate to be dressed in a tuxedo, with a high collar much in the style of his majordomo formal dress at home, crisp black and white. He pocketed the gold pen that had been his sole graduation gift and followed Jiro over to the other building, passing rooms where music—both instrumental and human—escaped half-open doors. He slipped into his shoes when they passed between buildings, and Jiro smiled calmly, waiting for him without a note of impatience.

  Slaves carrying trays of beer and sake and champagne passed them with respectful smiles and nods. Anderson’s floor seemed quieter. Jiro knocked and bowed Chris in, and Chris wondered if that would be the last time he would get a deeper bow from him. He acknowledged it correctly, walked in, and stood where he had been earlier, when he had explained himself to Anderson. Jiro did not enter the room, but closed the door quietly.

  They were all dressed as they had been for dinner. Champagne was open on the sideboard, and it seemed that Tetsuo and Anderson had already drunk a toast or two before Chris arrived. The box containing the collar was on the table, along with Tetsuo Sakai’s personal chop, next to the newly drawn up contracts.

  “As your trainer of record, I have examined the contract and it is acceptable to me, Mr. Parker,” Anderson said without preamble. “Do you wish to examine it?”

  “With your permission, Trainer.”

  She handed it up to him. He glanced at the first page and noted that it was in fact a three-year contract with an optional two-year continuation at the same terms, no renegotiation, no rise in fees. All he could do was say yes or no. It was a style of contract he never advised people to take, the stakes in it were too high.

  Excellent. Quickly, with a practiced eye, he swept through standard wording and mentally absorbed the special stipulations. Tetsuo had reserved the right to pierce, tattoo, and brand him, although he had promised not to alter any existing body modifications. He had the right to profit from Chris’s professional services as a trainer, or to use him in personal or general service, to loan or otherwise arrange for fostering at his will. The usual international riders were there, that Tetsuo would bear the legal costs of getting Chris the proper documentation to work and live in Japan. He promised to provide transportation to the United States and a reasonable amount of time on an annual basis for medical checkups if Chris requested it, to provide any support necessary to keep Chris’s medications available to him. And, spelled out in the contract was one line that almost made Chris crack; instead he took a deep, slow breath.

  Client shall present exclusively as male and shall be treated as such.

  He wondered who added that line. But he continued through the document until the end, nodded, and laid it down on the table. He would have easily been able to sign it unseen. But that was not what he told his clients to do. He had to follow his own advice.

  “Thank you, Trainer.”

  “If you have nothing else to say, Mr. Parker, then please sign.”

  Chris pulled the pen out, and if Anderson recognized it, she didn’t show it. He knelt carefully, turned the pages on all three copies and signed. His hand, surprisingly, did not shake. He leaned back on his calves as first Anderson and then Tetsuo signed as well. Tetsuo also affixed his chop, as befitted a formal contract.

  “Congratulations, Sakai-san. You might not think it right now, but you got a bargain.” Anderson gathered two of the three copies and put them to one side as Tetsuo placed the third into a folder.

  “Thank you, Sensei Anderson, I am honored to accept my prize.” He opened the box, and touched the magnetic key to the smaller of the ceramic disks. It clicked open with a very slight sound, hardly the snap of a key in traditional lock. He turned to Chris and said, in Japanese, “Come.”

  Chris moved forward on his knees and lowered his head, felt Tetsuo’s hands as they clasped the collar around his throat, letting it fall over his shirt collar, over his tie. The identity cylinder fell right over the knot of the tie, and the cool metal slid down the back of his neck. The click of the two joined ends as they locked together again was louder closer to his ear. He felt Tetsuo’s hand brush his hair and was startled when it gripped a handful and jerked his head up.

  “Before I take my leave of you,” Tetsuo said, as Chris’s heart pounded, “I wish to inquire about this.” He pointed to the bruise on Chris’s lip and the slight discoloration and abrasions over the cheekbones. “Previously, of course, this was your matter. But now, it is mine. Is there some fault in this slave which needs correction? Has there been discourtesy which needs addressing?”

  Anderson’s mouth curled up in a slight smile. “Oh, no, Tetsuo, would I pass on discourteous property? No, that was merely...for my amusement.”

  “That you still find amusement in this slave is the highest recommendation you could make, Imala,” he said, releasing Chris’s head. “I thank you for your valuable time, I’m sure there are numerous things you wish to do tonight. I will speak to you in the morning regarding our travel plans.”

  “Thank you, Sakai-san, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  When his new master rose, Chris did as well, and bowed deeply to Anderson before opening the door. She nodded, and turned away, and he followed Tetsuo—Sakai-sama—out. The chain felt heavy around his throat. He moved naturally into position and followed, struggling to keep the smile from his face.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Farewell to Okinawa

  Michael woke up in a western bed, and for a moment wondered where he was. Then, he saw the beautiful russet hair touched with gold highlights and remembered that he had come up with enough Italian to make Luci
ana understand that spending the night with her was definitely a doable thing. Thankfully, Arturo Massimiliano, her boss, had placed no restrictions on her sex life.

  They had met each other at a party, at Walther’s orgy, as a matter of fact. They found each other looking over what was a sea of bodies, and they had smiled ruefully. Soon after that, they left together.

  It was strange, making love to a woman—a free woman, he had to wonder about, pay attention to, speak to. He had not really had sex with anyone in a long time without there being a top and a bottom, without there being some understanding that one person was due complete pleasure and the other devoted to providing it, or at least suffering for it.

  But it had come back to him, and it had been as magical as it always was, a complete drowning of the senses, a spirit of timelessness falling over him that made him laugh out loud when he came, which made Luciana laugh as well. They rolled over together, his cock still inside her, and she teased him to erection again and rode him pleasantly, murmuring endearments in Italian and playing with his nipples the way that most straight girls never do. Then they showered together, and he couldn’t resist getting on his knees under the water and loving her with his mouth, until she gasped and laughed again and they splashed all over the floor, wetting every towel. They fell asleep finally, entwined in each other, and Michael knew a kind of peace he hadn’t in a long time.

  But when dawn came and light woke him up, he quietly and gently disengaged himself, put on his trousers and his shirt, but didn’t bother with buttoning anything up. He just threw his jacket over his shoulder and tip-toed out of the room with his shoes in the other hand.