He stands at attention and waits for Chris to need something. 

"Eat. Do you have any questions about the errors you made today?"

Might as well. 

"Was the last error failing to be quiet during my punishment?" 

"No. In fact, many owners appreciate hearing noises."

…Nod. 

"Thank you, Chris," he says. 

He eats. 

After dinner, Marlo has his hour of free time. 

Chris is reading about accounting. He doesn't seem to be paying attention, but as Marlo has previously learned, Chris not seeming to be paying attention will not prevent him from giving you a twenty-minute explanation of all your inadequacies.

He has more nervous energy than usual; it feels like there's a live current just under his skin. He tries to continue reading the book from yesterday; after ten minutes he decides this isn't going to get anywhere, does twelve push-ups, and tries again. 

"It is," Chris comments, "conventionally considered to be 'night' at this time."

— so it is. 

"Thank you, Chris," he says, and finds an empty room. 

He leans against the wall and closes his eyes and tries not to think too much. (He thinks anyway. About — the impact on his back, and nothing else.) 

When he's done, the thrumming under his skin is quiet. 

Chris doesn't comment when he returns.

He never really feels clean after he's done that. This time is no different.

He's able to concentrate on reading, now. 

Chris watches him for a bit.

...then stands up, walks over to him, and puts a hand in his hair.

"Good boy."

He melts into Chris's hand. "Thank you, Chris." 

Chris strokes his hair affectionately and a little possessively. 

A soft torn-off sound from the back of his throat. Marlo melts just a little more. 

Having his hair petted plausibly counts as a recreational activity!

Marlo isn't thinking about that right now. He's too focused on Chris's hands in his hair, on the way Chris is smiling. 

But yes, it does. 

With the exception of the one hour in the evening, there is not a single moment for the next week that Marlo is not busy. 

Chris approves the exercise routine Marlo was doing, with some modifications and some yoga. He adds a daily meditation practice-- ten minutes, on the theory that if Marlo was left alone with his thoughts for much longer he might explode. To build on Marlo's military background, Chris hires a specialist slave, Sensei Chen, to teach him martial arts for bodyguarding. Every inch of Chris's house is scrubbed, polished, waxed, and dusted several times over. Marlo cooks three meals a day. He memorizes innumerable details of protocol. He is drilled on forms of address and body positions until he can do them in his sleep. When Chris runs errands, he stands behind Chris's shoulder and holds his things. When Chris works, he stands at attention near his desk, ready to fetch whatever Chris may need. Mealtimes are spent being quizzed on everything from the proper way to clean silver to how Marlo would respond to his owner having a stalker. 

On the third day, Chris gives Marlo a journal. "I expect you to write in it daily, at least two pages," he says. "I won't read it."

Chris is demanding, relentless, and perfectionist. Anything that is not done perfectly-- a mantel with a speck of dust, a stumble when he's carrying a package, a sentence with imperfect grammar, a kata or lift with slightly incorrect form-- must be redone. At one point, Marlo spends two hours walking into and out of the room until Chris is satisfied with how he did it. When Chris thinks Marlo should be doing better than he is-- and he often does-- his words are harsh: "lazy" and "disobedient" are joined by "arrogant," "willful," and "weak." If Marlo executes something flawlessly the first time, he earns a smile or a "good boy." Chris is visibly unhappy when he has to give an order to have something he wants accomplished; when Marlo correctly anticipates what is needed, Chris will not only praise him but sometimes even stroke his hair.

Though he extensively studies the etiquette of such encounters, Marlo does not encounter other slaves, owners, or trainers. 

Every evening, after dinner, Marlo is hit, dozens of strokes, with the strap or a cane or a whip or Chris's bare hands. As he hits him, Chris explains every mistake Marlo made over the course of the day, every deviation from the behavior of a good slave. When the punishment is finished, Chris kisses his forehead and praises him, points out some details of Marlo's behavior that day that were particularly excellent, assures him that he has the potential to be a fine slave and that Chris is pleased with him. Unlike the first time, Marlo is clothed; also unlike the first time, Marlo is not given permission to masturbate.  

He learns. Not just forms and terms of address, but how to tell when Chris wants him back quickly and when Chris wants him to do extra work, how to tell what Chris will want from him. 

Arrogant and willful and weak join lazy and disobedient in echoing around his head when he pauses to let them. Medititation practice is taken up almost entirely with letting them. He writes two pages every day; sometimes he accomplishes this by copying out things he's trying to memorize, but he does accomplish it. 

He learns to look forward to after dinner; the beatings hurt but he feels clean when they're finished, he glows when Chris tells him what he's done well. The echoing stops, at least until he does something wrong again, which inevitably he will. 

He continues to not remember his dreams. 

One evening, Chris looks at Marlo's back and says, "this won't work. You're solid bruise across your entire back."

…he does his best not to interpret that as "you've needed so much punishing that you're making it more inconvenient to punish you," because if Chris meant that he would say that. 

Chris is not known for his willingness to hide his disdain from his slaves, no.

He sits. "Pants off. Lie across my lap."

…okay. 

He does.