48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 14: Julie

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Getting her attention.
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Part 14 of the 51 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 10/21/2014
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Carole99
Carole99
470 Followers

Author's note: Our Heroine, having committed a crime against her Master, awaits her correction. This Scene describes how she comports herself and her trainers' reactions. Then, a new Force appears.

J Spe, co-author

Chapter Nineteen: Correction

The door lock awakens me, but however long I slept has not refreshed me. My Master and Igor enter, with Igor holding another slice of bread and glass of water. My Master's face is calm, but without any expression. Igor sets the rations before me, and I manage to consume the meal. There is not enough joy in me to say I manage to "eat" the meal.

I express my thanks for the meal silently, with just my facial expression and eyes downcast in submission. My Master sighs softly and says, "Julie, we have come to a correction for your loss of concentration on what should be at the center of your universe. We hope you will learn from this." He strokes my neck and back a few times, then turns and leaves.

I am overjoyed that he has not sentenced me, his slave, to de-accessioning. The correction has not been described, but I am resolved to survive it and, certainly, learn from it.

Igor pokes about in the dresser, finally coming up with a length of chain that ends in a large hook. The end is rounded, slightly smaller than the size of a table-tennis ball.

"Julie," Igor starts, and I rush to assume a proper kneeling position. "This is an anal hook. It is designed to go into your bottomhole without any damage. Today, we're going to use it to fill your ass and give you something to focus on, something you can center your attention on."

I had read about such an implement some time ago, but had never seen — or ever thought I would see — a real one. Igor waits while I look at the instrument for a few moments. As he turns it over so I can inspect it from all sides, it becomes clear why this will be part of my correction. This would enter the axis of my body, its very center. I would be forced to focus on its intrusion into my core, my center. Igor notes the slight wry smile that twists my lips.

"It seems that you see the symmetry between this instrument of correction and your crime," he says. "Do you remember the nightmare you had your first night here? You have lost your Master from the center of your universe. We will make this the center of your universe until you realize that having Master at your center is preferable. We will, of course, be patient with you. You may take as long as you wish to come to this realization."

My trainer points to the bedpost harboring my restraint, and I back up to it. He applies a bit of lube to the ball at the end of the hook and, slowly and steadily, forces it past my sphincter, the muscle closing my anal canal. Stretching the muscle, it finally pops into my canal; the ball will now hold it inside me. Igor runs the chain up to the top of the bedpost, and I lean up against the post to ease to strain. Igor nods thoughtfully and lets an inch or two back before securing the chain. He checks the dresser again and retrieves a leather collar, which he fastens around my neck. Another short chain snubs my neck to the foot of the other bedpost, taking up all the slack in the first chain. I am on all fours now, with no freedom of movement at all. The hook has an insistent call, and my mind has no other focus than this center of my being, my universe.

Igor takes the plate and glass from my rations when he leaves. Master's slave is neatly presented to the silence of contemplation. The first thoughts seek for any erotic sensation. The hook is not slender, and my canal feels full, but there is no pleasure from the fullness. I wonder how near the sensation of the hook is to the anal penetration of a cock. Nobody has asked, but I am still a virgin in that hole. In the end, however, I cannot but come back to the symmetry of the hook in my center and my Master at the center of my universe. Igor, of course, never even hinted at how long this scene would last, just that they "will be patient."

When Anne comes with my next ration of bread and water, she surveys my chains and then unlocks the hook and collar from their stations. I freeze in position, not wanting to give any sign of displeasure to my trainer. She circles a hand, and I switch end-for-end, confused. Simple, actually. She just exchanged bedposts, and I am now tethered facing the opposite direction. The vista is not exciting.

I raise one knee out to the side, attempting to mimic the canine motion for urinating. Anne grins her understanding and, in a moment, a bowl appears into which I splash my relief. A moment later, the door click signals the end of this visit. Not a word was spoken, but that sixth sense that develops between a slave and her trainers tells me that they are satisfied with the way I'm performing this correction. In a way, I'm proud that I am able to sense this without spoken words.

The import of this hits me minutes later. I am adjusting, I am accepting, I am becoming the slave Master purchased at auction on the deck of the yachtBlue Bayou.For some time, I cannot think. Then, my only thought is that I am learning what it means to say that "Master is at the center of this slave's universe."

Anne and Igor bring me my rations of bread and water for two more meals, switching me between the bedposts each time. At the second meal, I rearrange myself without instruction, anxious to show compliance with my trainers. Good idea, right?

Wrong. Igor laughs and waves me away from the bed. "Thank you," he says, "that was the move we were waiting for. You've passed the first part of this correction. Now, we move a bit up the scale."

He removes all my restraints and decorations, except for the anal hook. He has me wrap a bungee cord twice around my waist and fixes a short chain to the cord from the hook, holding it in place. I am told to fold a bath towel lengthwise into quarters, tuck one end under the bungee cord in front, pass the towel between my legs, and tuck the other end under the cord at my back. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and see that my feminine center is well-covered. Igor gently inserts his hand under the towel and determines that I am not lubricating. Well, what slave would be during a correction?

"All right," Igor says reassuringly. "Your next appointment is with me in the gym. Transport mode!"

My hands fly to the handcuff position without thought, and we move out of the bedroom my Master has assigned me and down to the gym. I am aware that, except for the towel, I am walking through Master's apartment naked. In a few moments, I am also aware of the gentle movements of the anal hook, still in my center. The sensations are not painful, but, as I am led down the stairs, I begin to feel some heat building between my legs. By the time we reach the gym, I am beginning to lubricate.

With the warm-up stretches, the hook is less stimulating, and I begin to hope I can complete this portion of my correction without further arousal.

"Julie, your aerobic work today is a few miles on the treadmill. There will be a few hills to climb and a few speed changes, but nothing you haven't already done. Piece of cake, right?"

I'm not as certain as my trainer seems to be, but my response is easy. "Yes, Sir, piece of cake."

Igor starts the treadmill slowly, and I quickly fall into a comfortable gait. There is some rubbing of the towel against my pussy, but it is not painful. However, as the treadmill demands a faster pace, and especially when my trainer adds a small incline angle, I realize that the long loops with zero-twist yarn of extra-long-staple combed Turkish cotton that make the towel dense but fluffy are quite like fingers stroking sensitive skin. After a few minutes, the warmth in my core starts to build. I realize that this arousal could build up to a full-scale climax. Would my trainers grant permission for their slave to have a climax? Could this be possible during a correction?

My mind is whirling with these considerations as Igor reduces the incline and announces "You're doing fine, my dear. One hill complete."

It's as if this is a regular, routine session. Thankfully, the forces at work from the Turkish extra-long staple cotton come down with the treadmill angle. I push my worries about an unpermitted climax away and concentrate on my gait and breathing.

Soon, another "hill" arrives, one with a steeper incline but my trainer reduces the treadmill speed. The arousal rises, but I push it down successfully.

Over the next minutes, I realize that my trainer is varying the treadmill speed and incline in a pattern. He is trying to find the combination that maximizes the stimulation of the towel and hook but does not push past the limits of my endurance and stamina. I remember his expertise in judging equine conformations, where "stamina" was a major component. I worry that this treadmill session will be a competition between my stamina and my arousal.

The anal hook is participating actively in stimulating my arousal. The sense of fullness is growing steadily, unlike the variations from the towel. At the 5K mark, about 25 minutes into the run, it is clear that my trainer has found the magic combination to keep my arousal level climbing. It is a battle this slave will not win. I raise a hand, hoping for permission to speak.

"Julie," Igor asks, "do you wish to speak?"

"Yes, please, Sir," I manage in a less-strong voice than I would like.

"Go ahead, slave," he replies.

"Please, Sir, may this slave be permitted to climax, Sir?" This comes out in a few gasps.

I see a smile trying to crease Igor's face, and he nods, "Yes, my dear, but don't fall off the treadmill if you do."

I can't help but giggle at the situation. I'm wearing an anal hook and a Turkish towel for correction as well as stimulation. My trainer has me running on a treadmill as part of a regular exercise session. I'm going to be allowed to cum, but I'm not supposed to fall off the treadmill?

Of course, when I do climax, Igor shuts down the treadmill, and I hang on as the waves of feeling shake me from head to toe. Igor sits on the treadmill, gathers me in his arms and holds me safe. The smile he was hiding is now a wide grin.

As the orgasm recedes, Igor strokes my neck and back, just the way he and Anne have taught me to like. The thought passes through my mind that, even as a slave has no power, the power exchange does make the Owner responsible for care of the slave. My Owner and trainers have just given me the most powerful orgasm I can recall.

I'm not sure how long we rest, but eventually Igor lifts me to my feet. I teeter a bit until I can get some balance, and Igor leads me the gym shower, where he instructs me to undo the bungee cord and remove the towel, now heavy with my juices. He grasps the anal hook and, telling me to bear down, pops the tool from my rectum. I know enough to take the instrument and wash it until it glistens. By that time, Pat has appeared with a short robe for me to wear to return to my room, in Transport Mode as usual.

Pat has a small smile on her face as she tells me that my schedule is open until Dinner. She produces a small speech, which I sense is part of a standard protocol, to the point that, with my correction served, my slate is now back to clean. I would be well-advised to ponder the lessons of the correction so as not to require a future correction. I'm sure she's delivered this piece dozens of times, but I listen hard because it's the first time for me. She sees my look of concentration, of course, and breaks out into laughter as soon as the speech is concluded.

"Sorry if I rushed through the speech, Julie," she says, "but I've delivered it to so many slaves over the years that it just comes out in a rush. The main point, which I'm sure you heard, is that you are back to a clean slate and this bad time is really over. We all expect never to bring this up in the future." She turns and leaves, the click of the door lock a now-familiar sound.

I wonder, for a moment, how far and how long I managed to go on the treadmill, and whether I scored a "good time." Before I can think it through, exhaustion claims me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Twenty: The Empress

The young girl who woke me that first time for my early morning workout wakes me again. She is no longer unsure but waves me to the toilet and into a pair of shorts and a tank top before an authoritative Transport Mode command. Igor greets me with his usual smile, unlocks the handcuffs, and directs me to the machines.

I am just through the upper body cycle when a crush of people enter the gym. A glance at my trainer's face shows a startled and somewhat fearful expression. In the time it takes to untangle me from the machine, he has me kneeling in front of an elderly lady, dressed in a white blouse and flowing long skirt. Her face shows the fine lines of a graceful aging process, but her erect posture proclaims no infirmities of age. Her eyes are jet black, bearing an inquisitive gaze at me. Immediately, I recognize that this is a Mistress of great stature. I am thrown into some confusion when I realize that Anne and Pat, my trainers, are also kneeling, one on either side of me.

The silence in the room is broken seconds later when my Master bursts into the room, a wide smile on his face and his hands out, ready to embrace the sudden visitor.

"Empress," he announces, "how good to see you again! Thank you for coming to visit our humble dwelling."

The woman turns slightly, allowing my Master's embrace but not returning it. I sense she is testing my Master, but I have no idea about what. Nevertheless, my Master swoops in and plants a discreet kiss on her cheek. Now, she lets a smile begin to break out as she pushes him away.

"Martin, did you think you could keep your new First Lady a secret from me? You didn't call when you returned, and you didn't call after the Project Round-up. You've been quite a bad boy, haven't you?"

I nearly faint at the tone of chastisement she is directing at my Master. But, he barely waves a hand in dismissal. "Empress, I would never insult your Intelligence Service by presuming to call you at every little event, would I?"

My Master's ready response assures me that he's up to this exchange, and I look up a bit for a better idea of this presence. Immediately, Anne's strong whisper corrects me: "Down, slave!" From the other side, Pat's whisper adds, "Obeisance position, now!"

Thank goodness for training! Instantly, I flex forward until my face is almost to the floor, my arms stretched out in front of me. The figure called Empress approaches and slides her shoe under my face. Automatically, I kiss her foot with just enough pressure for her to register my submission. The spicy aroma from the leather of her shoe is a surprise.

"I see you have started her training already. We will have to discuss when to present her."

I cannot see my Master, but the tone of his reply, easy, relaxed, and friendly, is reassuring to this slave. "Of course, my dear. Would you do me the honor of allowing a Tea Ceremony this morning?"

Her reply is instantaneous. "Don't be silly, young man. You men have no idea how much work has to be done to keep life going around here. My staff will set it up."

There is a shuffling of feet, and I gather that the Empress, my Master, and an assortment of aides have left. Igor taps my shoulder and says, "Kneel up, slave."

I rise to the position and see smiles on the faces of Igor, Pat, and Anne. Igor strokes my head and neck — a maneuver they have taught me to treasure — and Pat starts to explain this event.

"That old lady — I guess you could call her the dowager — is about the most powerful lady in our Master's social and business circle. She practically runs high society here on Hong Kong. Many of the cultural institutions have her on their boards, but she's so powerful that she doesn't need tobeon any board to get her way. If you're going to be accepted as Master's First Lady, you'll have to satisfy her that you deserve the position. Only when she's satisfied with you will she allow you to be presented. You go first to the ladies and then to the gentlemen. It's almost like a hazing when you apply to a sorority in college."

Anne picks up the story. "She goes back to some family that came here with British rule. The story is that she has some ties to British royalty. Whatever the case, she's the chatelaine of society here and now. Nothing happens, as they say, without her imprimatur." Anne pauses for a giggle and adds, "I'll bet one of her aides is, right now, on the phone with one of Master's aides trying to coordinate a calendar for you."

There are so many questions swirling in my brain at this new aspect of my life! It is probably lucky for me that I can't sort them out fast enough to ask any, because Igor waves his crop and suggests that this slave still has the larger part of her gym routine to perform. Pat and Anne nod gracefully and leave me to my trainer and the machines.

It takes barely a few moments before a slash from Igor's crop tells me something new has been added to my routine. I continue my repetitions while Igor fills me in. "Julie, you've been working on these machines for a couple of weeks, and you've gotten to know the routines very well. Your trainers are all proud of the work you've put in. I've been able to increase some of the resistances and reps for you, and you've moved along very nicely.

"With an appearance before the Empress, however, you've got to add another dimension to your work. When she tests you, you've not only got to do the reps, but you've got to do them with beauty, with style. Do you remember our discussion of judging a horse, the ideas of animation, stamina, vigor, alertness, adaptability, attitude, and tractability? The Empress is going to be looking at your stamina, your attitude. You have to show her your eagerness to serve and to serve with beauty in your way of moving."

For a moment, I'm not sure exactly what my trainer wants me to do on these machines to show all that. As if he knows exactly what his trainee is thinking, he sets it up for me.

"For these exercises, it's not enough to show you can perform the number of reps at the number of kilos resistance. You've got to show your attitude to the routine, to the machines. You've got to make the Empress believe that you love the machines, the routine."

I'm beginning to get an idea of the scope of this new assignment when he makes it crystal clear what I am going to do. "Julie, I want you to make love to these machines."

The idea is preposterous! Reflexively, I'm about to say something which I'm sure a slave shouldn't say, when my Inner Goddess makes a point.You know how you move when someone is making you aroused, when someone is pushing you to an orgasm, when you're screaming your climax? You really look great at those times. That's the kind of looks and moves he wants you to be doing when the machines are pushing you to activate some muscle group or when you're about to complete a third set of reps on some machine. You feel the exertion; you enjoy the exertion; you enjoy the idea of completing the routine. You look great at those times, and he wants you to let everyone know — to show how great you feel at those times. You'd have to be a moron not to want everyone to see how great you feel. Am I right, or am I right?

OK, I'm not a moron. And, she's right about how good I feel when I've got a routine done without collapsing from exhaustion. I give my trainer a grin and offer, "You just want me to make love to these machines? Like, during a chest or shoulder press, it's really my breasts that I'm exercising? Trying to get my breasts bigger, plumper, more sensitive?"

Igor's grin tells me I've got the concept. Then, of course, my trainer has a topper. "You could also try to fill them with milk, ready for suckling."

Carole99
Carole99
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