CHAPTER TWELVE
"Down a bit further. Use your tongue more. Okay, stop. No, I said stop. Ouch! Fucking hell, Carruthers, what kind of shit are you pulling on me?"
Tears trickled from Carr's eyes, not only from the pain in his scalp as Jesse yanked his head up by his hair, but also from the pain in his throat. He coughed uncontrollably. Above him, Jesse said, "Now, that was just plain stupid, Carruthers. Way to go in turning on your master: begin chewing on his cock."
"Sorry," Carr managed to choke out. "I didn't mean to—"
In the next moment, Jesse's right palm boxed his ear. "Wrong. Try again."
"I was just attempting to get you into my throat, blast it!" Kneeling on the floor as he awkwardly positioned himself over Jesse's outstretched right leg, Carr looked up at the other youth, who was sitting naked on the edge of the bed.
Jesse just looked back at him. For a long time, till Carr dropped his gaze.
"Wrong again," said Jesse, in the sort of tired voice Carr supposed the youth might use toward a puppy that had puddled the floor twice in one day. "So damn fucking wrong that you'd get this—"
The slap to his face pushed him off-balance; he only managed to stay upright by clutching Jesse's thigh. New tears sprang forth from his eyes.
Above him, Jesse continued remorselessly, "—if you were with a nice master who was having a good day."
"What if I was with a bad master on a bad day?" Carr kept his head bowed, trying to blink back the tears and ignore the searing pain in his cheek.
"You don't want to hear those sorts of anecdotes from my life – not if you want to keep from vomiting. Let's try it again."
Carr took a deep breath. Without raising his eyes, he said, "Master, please forgive me for my insolence and for harming you with my teeth."
"Okay, that'll do. Now stop clutching at my thigh. When you're struck, it's always better to let yourself fall on the ground – that's probably the effect your master is aiming at. You don't want to clutch at him and risk digging your nails into some delicate part of his flesh."
Carr looked up then. "I wouldn't hit my servant in the face."
"So? Chances are, by the time you meet him, your servant has been hit in the face dozens of times. I thought you wanted to know what it was like to be the average servant? But okay, we'll say you've picked up some nice virgin, and you're his first master, and his parents and playmates never said an unkind word to him in his life. Got that?"
Carr nodded.
"Fine. Now fucking answer the question I asked you."
Carr stared until Jesse raised his hand again. Carr said quickly, "I don't – I don't remember the question. Sir."
"Which would earn you this—"
It was a backhanded slap this time. Carr let himself crash against the dresser; then, wincing, he pulled himself back up to his previous position and waited, eyes down, his breath heavy, his bruises throbbing.
After a minute, Jesse said, "Good. I wasn't sure how high your tolerance for pain was."
"I'm on the Second House's team at school." He kept his eyes down.
"Oh, right, I forgot – and from what I've been reading about those games you Landstead guys play, you've learned everything you need to know about pain tolerance. Except being raped, and we'll skip that lesson."
Carr looked up then at Jesse, who was smiling down at him. "Are you sure?" Carr asked in a steady voice. "I thought that came next: You forcing your shaft down my throat."
With a light laugh, Jesse reached forward and stroked the back of his fingers across one of the cheeks he had hit. "Sorry. Hope it doesn't sting too much. Maybe I should have asked first what sort of physical discipline you plan to use on your servant."
"A lot less than when this lesson started."
Jesse's smile broadened. "Great. So you're learning something. Did you learn anything else from me hitting you?"
Carr took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and drained himself of the impulse to strangle Jesse. "Not to forget what questions my master asks me. Will you remind me of what you asked? Sir?"
"Don't make that 'sir' an afterthought. I asked you what the fuck you were doing back there when you tried to bite my cock off."
"I told you, I was trying—"
"You were trying to deep-throat me, yeah. Did I order you to deep-throat me?"
"No, but—"
"Did I give you permission to deep-throat me?"
A pause. "No." Another pause. "I was trying to show initiative."
"Good move if you have some sense of your master's desires and character; bad move if you don't know yet whether your master is a self-centered bastard who will hit you across the head for trying to do your best. Got it?"
Carr swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"Gods, you're easy to teach. I've known slaves who took five years to learn that lesson. So what do you do if you want to show initiative, but you don't want to risk ending up in a coma because your master has a fist like a train engine?"
Carr ran his tongue over his teeth, hoping that they would remain unsmashed by the end of the night. Then he said, "I ask permission?"
"You ask permission, right. So you're that hypothetical slave you'll own some day. How do you ask permission to deep-throat your master?"
Carr thought a minute before saying, "Master, is it your wish that this servant should give you pleasure with my – with his throat?"
"Hmm." Jesse appeared to consider this request for a minute, staring up toward the ceiling, which was dusky-dark. "Not bad. That would do for the right sort of master."
Carr sighed with relief, then yelped as Jesse grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. "But not for you," Jesse said in a hard voice as he stared down at Carr. "Come on, Carruthers, don't be a fucking idiot – think. This is your servant. He's serving you. How do you want him to ask permission to deep-throat you?" He released Carr's hair and waited.
Carr spent a trio of minutes thinking about his aching scalp, his bruised torso, his burning cheeks, his throbbing ear, and how he would never ever ever raise his hand to his servant in anger – not after this lesson. Finally he lowered his eyes and said, "Master, I hope you don't mind if I say this, but I've never learned how to serve your shaft with my throat. If it would please you to receive that service from me, I'd really like to know how, because it would arouse me to give you pleasure like that. Will you teach me, sir?"
After a full minute, Carr ventured to look up. Jesse, still staring up at the ceiling, said, "You know, don't you, that those words went straight to my cock?"
Carr lowered his eyes again, smiling. "Mine too."
"Yeah, I know." Jesse chuckled as he pressed his toes further against Carr's erection. "You're like a damn truth meter, you know? Every time you give the right answer, you get hard. Trouble is, you're enjoying this training far too much."
"I want my servant to enjoy being bedded," Carr protested, looking up.
"Each and every time? At the exact hour and minute you want it?" Jesse snorted as he looked down. "Come on, Carruthers, get real. We're not talking about you holding careful negotiations with your boyfriend to see when he wants to make love with you. We're talking about you fucking your servant. Do you schedule your house-servants' days around their needs? Do you tell your servants to lay the table whenever they feel like it?"
"My parents do sometimes," Carr replied in a low voice.
"Yeah, and you've seen how well that works. Don't fuck with your servant's mind, Carruthers. Tell him what you want; don't leave him guessing by asking him, 'Do you want this? Do you want that? Are you in the mood for sex?' Because that's just plain stupid – it'll leave your servant trying to second-guess what you want, and you'll end up frustrated as hell and will take it out on him."
Carr stared down at Jesse's thigh, trying to focus his attention on the coarse hairs near the groin, which gave way to softer hairs. Above him, Jesse sighed and said, "Look, Carruthers, get it through your head: the type of guy you're seeking isn't looking for romance with an equal. He wants t
o serve you. Even if he doesn't get off physically on having sex with you every single time you want it, he gets off emotionally on the idea of serving you. He likes sucking his master's cock when his own is all shrivelled up. Or so those types of servants have told me." Jesse shrugged as Carr looked up. "I can sort of understand it. Enjoying the sacrifice you make for your beloved. Happens in relationships between equals too – it just isn't as common."
"You make it sound as though it's better to be a master in a relationship with a servant," Carr said slowly.
Jesse shrugged again. "Not better – just different. But if you try to make dates with your servant, you'll get the worst of both worlds. So don't. —What were we talking about before?"
"You were going to show me how to take you into my throat."
"Oh, right. Well, to start with, you have to understand that sucking is like being fucked: the best way to keep from getting hurt is to relax. . . ."
o—o—o
Afterwards, with the sweat drying on their skin, and their breaths still heavy, and the smell of sex in the air, they lay side by side on the bed, Carr still on his stomach, his head cradled in his arms, feeling his bottom ache less than he had expected.
"So how was it?" asked Jesse, staring up at the ceiling.
"It was . . ." Carr had to pause to think. Educational? Survivable? Not horrible? "Interesting," he finally said.
Jesse gave a low chuckle. "It's okay, Carruthers; my master-cap is off now. You can say, 'Boring as hell.'"
"No, really," he protested, which prompted Jesse to laugh louder. "I mean it. I had thought being entered like that would be tedious and painful for the servant. Something he was willing to endure for the sake of service, like washing a floor. But that thing you did toward the end—"
"The wonders of the prostate," Jesse contributed. "It didn't do much for you, though. You're one hundred percent top."
"Oh, I don't know," he said, feeling uneasy at being classified so thoroughly. "It's something I might be willing to try again . . . if I thought the servant would enjoy it."
"Yeah, now, see, that's just disgustingly Egalitarian of you." Jesse continued to stare at the ceiling.
"No," Carr corrected softly. "That's noblesse oblige."
Jesse's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. "Yeah. That's what I meant."
Carr propped himself up onto his elbows. He did not consider himself to be a person who had any special talent for being able to read the mood of others, which meant that, if he was picking up signals from Jesse, those signals must be as bright as a heliograph from one yard away. "What's wrong?" he asked. "The training's over."
"Like hell it is." Jesse didn't move his gaze. "It's your turn now."
In an instant, his shaft, which had deflated during the previous proceedings, inflated like a dirigible. "What?" he said weakly.
Finally Jesse turned his head; his expression was set. "Don't be a fucking moron, Carruthers. I know you. You're not going to pick some seasoned veteran like Variel; you're going to pick some sweet, innocent kid your own age to serve you in bed. And if you think I'm going to let you fuck a virgin without test-driving first, you're out of your gods-damned mind."
Carr was silent a while, seeing the strain in Jesse's expression. Then he said, "So I'll find a seasoned veteran to teach me that part."
"Yeah, well, that's what you've got right here. How do you want me?" As he spoke, Jesse rolled over, pulled open his travelling bag, and began groping in it.
"Jesse, you don't need to—"
"Don't be a twit, Carruthers. You're not the first person I've bottomed to, okay? I've even done it with my boyfriend, though he prefers me on top. So just tell me what position you want, so we can get this over with." His hand emerged from the bag. It was holding one of the items of toiletry he had brought with him from overseas: a white tube labelled "lubricating gel."
"Jesse . . ."
"Oh, hell, so I'm going to have to hand-feed you?" Jesse unscrewed the tube and squirted the gel onto his palm. "Okay, on my back, legs up on your shoulders. On my back, legs folded, held up by my arms. Over the side of the bed, me kneeling, presenting my ass to be fucked. . . ."
The recital of choices went on for quite a while. Somewhere along the ways, Carr ended up in a sitting position, with Jesse seated beside him, Jesse's gelled hand sliding up and down Carr's shaft, sending so much heat into Carr's loins that he felt like a steamboat's boiler, ready to explode.
". . . and then there are the possibilities that come from me hanging from the ceiling, but hey, I don't suppose we want the glass on that chandelier to tinkle and wake your parents, and anyway, I don't like to try that sort of thing without being sure that the chandelier isn't going to come down in the middle of— Are you listening, Carruthers?"
He made some sort of noise of acknowledgment. Jesse's thumb kept tracing the big vein on Carr's shaft until it reached the top, and then it would brush across the peak, ever so lightly, in a manner that was driving Carr mad. It was the twenty-eighth mode of stroking a shaft that Jesse had shown him. Carr had counted.
He was reaching the point where he could no longer keep count, much less retain any form of coherent thought.
". . . Oh, and then there's the possibilities for what one can do in water, that's a whole story in itself, but your bath isn't big enough, and I don't suppose that it's warm enough tonight to use the Bay. . . ."
He had Jesse flipped over in an instant. Another flick, and he had Jesse on his hands and knees. Carr took longer in positioning Jesse's legs, only because it had occurred to him that he was being peremptory in his maneuvering. "I think we should start now, if you don't mind," he suggested.
Jesse – head down, bottom up, legs spread so that his shaft and testicles dangled free, was silent a minute before saying, "Teach me that trick some time, will you?"
"Trick?" said Carr, moving pillows to support Jesse's chest, so that there would be less strain on his arms. "You mean, how I positioned you? That's just a footer move. It's a third-back move, actually, and I'm a forward, but I made sure I learned the third backs' moves too, in case I should—"
"No, not that." Jesse's voice emerged muffled from the cradle of his arms. "Your voice. Fucking freaky, Carruthers. I mean, most masters I know manage to convey orders by being forceful in tone. They'll shout, or they'll let their voices go deep, or they'll snap out the words, or they'll keep their tone very, very cool. But you . . . Your tone is as bland as porridge, and you're as quiet as a mouse, and you'll say things like 'if you don't mind,' and servants will hear you and drop everything they're doing to serve you at once. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes." He ran his hand along Jesse's back, feeling the renewed sweat there.
"Yeah." Jesse's voice grew quieter. "Yeah, I guess you do know."
They were both silent for a while. Jesse had opened the window a crack, earlier in the night; Carr could smell the fresh moistness of the Bay and could hear the slap of the water against the wharf. Somewhere far away, a loon-bird emitted a mournful cry.
"You don't have to do this," said Carr.
Jesse gave a humorless chuckle into his arms. "Don't worry, Carruthers; I'm not going to panic on you. I've done this a million times before."
"Yes." He ran his hand lightly over Jesse's back again. "This is the first time since then?"
Another spell of silence; the wind stirred Jesse's hair, bringing into the room the scent of salt and seaweed. Finally Jesse said, "Yeah, almost. There was one time, with the master who gave me my freedom . . . But that was okay, that was rough sex – he let me fight him, and it was a game between us, you know? It wasn't like me having to sit still, just waiting for the master to do whatever he—" Jesse stopped, his face still half-hidden within his arms. Carr could see that he was biting his lip.
Carr set aside the image that had been building in his mind, of Jesse's first master, demoted to third rank and placed on one of the playing fields of Narrows School, so that Carr could send his team's third backs
out to smash that master's face. . . . He erased that image, saying only, "You don't have to do this. I'll leave now, if you want me to. Or you can simply walk out."
"Yeah," said Jesse. "Yeah, I know. And you know, I lied before."
"Lied?" Reaching over toward the gel, Carr paused in his motions.
"About how being a servant here is worse than being a slave. I mean, yeah, it is worse, when you're with hypocrites like your parents, who pretend they don't have any power over their servants and then treat them like slaves. But when you're with someone who knows the power they have over you, and is still willing to let you walk out on them . . . Yeah, it's different being a servant."
"So what is the difference between letting a servant walk out and being an Egalitarian, do you suppose?" Somewhat tentatively, Carr placed his finger, now covered with gel, against Jesse's hole.
"For fuck's sake, Carruthers, I'm not a gods-damned virgin," Jesse said harshly. "Just fuck me with your cock, okay?"
Carr moved the palm of his hand so that it covered the warmth of Jesse's testicles. "No," he said simply.
After a pause, Jesse gave a weary laugh. "You know you just answered your own question, right?"
"You're not ready yet."
"Come on, Carruthers, why don't you make a more obvious statement, like, 'The sky is blue' or 'The grass is green' or 'This guy in bed with me is a fucking coward.'"
"I was nervous also, when you did it to me." Carr shifted place so that he could reach around and take hold of Jesse's shaft.
"It's different with me, okay?" Jesse's voice sounded breathless.
Carr did not bother to move to look at his face. "Yes, I know. And it's different with me, too. I'm not your first master. I'm not your master at all. I'm just someone you're training, and you're in control here. If you say 'Stop,' I stop. I'll stop at any moment, right up to the end."
Jesse gave another of his humorless chuckles. "Yeah, now, that's the biggest fucking lie you've ever told, but that's okay, because you don't realize it."
Carr made no immediate reply. Partly it was because he was measuring the pattern of Jesse's breathing, which was beginning to slow. Partly, though, it was because he was reflecting, with surprise, on how easy this was.
No doubt he was making many mistakes; he was inexperienced and fallible. But he felt none of the inadequacy and helplessness he had experienced when he had tried to live his life as an Egalitarian. He felt like a man who picks up a tool and discovers that, all his life, he has been meant to work at this particular machinery.
And with that feeling of quiet competency had come another feeling, one that no longer caused his chest to tighten with guilt.
He moved his body slowly until he was crouching over Jesse's back. "Jesse," he said softly into the other youth's ear, "I don't know whether you're ready yet . . . but I am. Do you think you can stay relaxed?"
He had his hand on Jesse's wrist; he felt the pulse-beat rise at his words. But after a minute, Jesse said, "Yeah. For you, I can."
And so he entered, and found himself at home.
o—o—o
The house-servants were all waiting in the kitchen when Carr arrived the following evening. Sally, ever the eager one, curtsied as he entered; the other servants simply watched him warily. Variel, near the fireplace, scrutinized him with narrowed eyes.
Carr paused in the doorway, looking round at the crowd, all awaiting his word. He wished badly that Jesse were still here, ready to offer advice if he should founder. But Carr had escorted Jesse to his ocean-bound steamer that afternoon, ignoring Jesse's sardonic smile and the border-guard supervisor's gaping stare when Carr kissed the young man goodbye.
"You're all set to take my place as chief troublemaker here, aren't you?" Jesse had murmured as he took his travelling bag from Carr's hand.
"You're a foreigner," Carr had replied under his breath. "The trouble will begin the first time I try something like this with a Landstead servant."
Jesse had laughed then. "That won't happen till you find the servant who wants you. Goodbye, Master Carr." And with a smile that wasn't quite sardonic, Jesse had parted from Carr, pausing only to whisper into Carr's ear the name of the servant to whom he could give his donation to the Dozen Landsteads' budding Abolitionist movement.
Now, standing in front of Variel and the other servants, Carr thought to himself that, if this were a shilling-shocker novel, he would proceed to lead the servants in a revolt against the High Masters of the Dozen Landsteads. Instead, he was a journeyman master, hoping that he didn't make too much of a fool of himself in front of his new servants.
He cleared his throat. "First news first. I've talked to my parents, and they've agreed to let you stay here until you find new employment, with the references I will provide."
Sally sighed audibly. The rest of the servants exchanged quick glances, as though they were still waiting for the whip to fall.
It was time to let it fall. Walking forward, Carr said, "We will be holding the Spring Manhood feast tomorrow evening, two days late. My parents have agreed to allow the watermen and their families to attend the festivities as well. I'll provide the money for the food."
Most of the house-servants gave an approving murmur. Millie, smirking, said in a casual manner, "Thanks, comrade."
Carr looked at her until all of the servants fell silent, shifting uneasily, and the smirk had drained from Millie's face. Then he said, "I need to make one thing clear. I am not your comrade. I am your master. I own the certificates of your employment. Henceforth, you will obey my orders."
Everyone in the room was still now. Sally was chewing her knuckles. Millie looked perilously close to rolling her eyes. Variel still gazed narrowly. Cook and Irene simply waited.
Carr took from his pocket the papers he had labored over during the early hours before dawn, while Jesse slumbered in Carr's bed, still touched in his sleep by a smile at what had taken place overnight. Carr unfolded the papers, carefully smoothed them out, and laid them on the kitchen table. Then he forced himself to look up.
"These are the rules you will abide by," he said. "I've left you scope enough to make your own decisions pertaining to work that you know better than I do. But these rules provide the general outline for your service in this household. If any of you do not wish to abide by these rules, I will give you your reference now, for your past good service. If you stay until the time you find new employment, I expect you to follow my rules."
He waited, aware of the silence as he had been aware of it on all the previous occasions when he entered this room. The silence no longer felt empty to him. It felt as though it were simply awaiting his words.
"If you have questions about these rules, or concerns, you may come to me with them," he said. "I will not punish you for pointing out any errors I have made. But by the same token, I expect your patience and your loyalty to me. I am not perfect; I want you to help me to become a better master . . . and I expect you to show equal diligence in bettering your skills. The circumstances have been against you in the past; they will not be against you in the short time we have left together. And I promise you—" He lifted his eyes to look at Variel, who was beginning to smile. "I promise you, by what I owe to my ancestor Fernao, that I will abide by these rules I have given you. I will be the master you have sought."
Master and Servant 2
THE TRUE MASTER
"It is clear, then, that there is some reason for the dispute that slaves or freemen by custom are not necessarily slaves or freemen by nature, respectively, that such distinction [i.e., between a slave by nature and a freeman by nature] exists, and that it is expedient and just for such a slave to be ruled and for a master to exercise the kind of rule which befits his nature, i.e., that of a master. To rule badly, on the other hand, is harmful to both [the] master and slave by nature; for what is beneficial to a part is beneficial to the whole also, whether this be the body or the soul or both, and a slave is a certain part of a master, so to spea
k, an animate but separate part of the body of the master. For this reason, the relation between master and slave, whenever they deserve by their nature to be called such, should be one of friendship and of benefit to both; but if their relation is not such but exists by law or is forced, it leads to contrary results."
—Aristotle: The Politics (translated by Hippocrates G. Apostle).
Master and Servant (Waterman) Page 12
