48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 21: Julie

I also get a straw to sip a cup or two of water.

Within a short time, I am again wracked by spasms in my back, my thighs, my neck and shoulders — just about all over. The level the Concierge lady left me at was no better than the Guard's level. When he returns, he seems surprised to find the post moved from his setting. He doesn't ask me about it, and, of course, I am not permitted to say anything. He unlocks the padlocks and lifts me from the machine, rubbing my back a bit until I can stand unaided.

He walks me back to my cell, where I find Evening Nourishments are on the bill. I finish the portion, and the juice that comes afterward, with such a smile that the Cart Attendant offers a refill. I grin and nod my appreciation.

It must be evening, I figure, so I am not surprised when a Guard opens my cell and drags his chair in. He sits and I kneel. He asks for my report of my day's activities. This evening, that report is short. The Guard leaves the chair as he goes to enter my report into the computer; he does not forget to lock the door. I know, because the chair has remained, that he will be back. He has not ordered me to stay in Position One, so I move around, stretching and exercising a bit while I perform Evening Rituals.

His timing is impeccable. Just as I finish the Rituals, he returns and I complete the Fellatio Ritual to his obvious enjoyment.

I am surprised by a visitor. It is Charles! After checking in at the Security Station, he brings the chair back to my cell. I'm not sure if he knows how often that chair has been in and out of my cell, and for what purposes. Again, I do not have permission speak and to provide this information.

"Julie," he starts very professionally, "there has been one of the routine auctions and the Enterprises have purchased a few new slaves. According to their manifest, they are mostly untrained. Actually, we are not exactly certain of their orientation to their new lives. The Acquisition Team is planning to have them here tomorrow and someone had the idea that you could explain slavery — their new Path in Life — to them much more effectively than someone from Training. One of the Accounting guys said that it would help with your debits and credits, with how much Net Asset Value the Enterprises has tied up in you. They presented it to Master, and he agreed."

I am outraged! They want me to act as a bellwether, the sheep that leads the rest of the flock to the slaughterhouse! Charles sits back in the chair, wearing an air of expectation. My Inner Goddess manages to suppress the first words out of my mouth.

In a moment, I am giving thanks for her effort. What would be the use of an outburst? It was such an outburst that got me shifted from First Lady to prep-for-auction-to-the-highest-bidder, wasn't it? These new slaves would have just gone through an auction and, if Charles' information was correct, they would probably be scared, uncertain, and looking for some guidance, right? I remembered the words Igor and Anne had for me on the yacht and the airplane to Hong Kong; they were the only ones who told me anything about my new life. Too bad, I think, now, that I didn't take their counsel more to heart.

I have my answer ready for Charles. "It shall be as my Master wishes." It could hardly be otherwise, could it?

Charles nods and picks up the thread. "Someone from Training will be in to outline the Training Course that's planned, the course we want you to explain to the newbies. You are permitted to describe anything about Master, the Enterprises, and how they will be used as long as you don't give details, especially details about your former status. None of them, I understand, have a chance of getting to that level."

He pauses, and I suspect that he wants to say more about my "former status," but he makes a quick frown, stands, and taps on the bars for the Guard. In moments, he and the chair are gone. The Guard returns and restores my night-time butt plug. If it's the same one as before, it's now going in easier. My Inner Goddess cracks something about Progress is our most important product, a slogan from a twentieth century iconic corporation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Forty-Two: Training

I sleep fitfully, waking to consider what I will do — or, more precisely, what my Master wants me to do — with these new slaves. Of course, there will be the First Law of Slavery; that's an obvious topic. And, it follows, so is the Second Law of Slavery. But, something seems missing. These Laws are really just background, I've come to understand. For a slave to be a success, he or she must reach that level I sometimes reached, the one where I had those warm feelings of satisfaction, of achievement. If a slave can't delight in those feelings, the slave is going to feel that the slave is just a prisoner, and one without an end date to the sentence. That is no frame of mind for anybody's life.

Morning comes, of course, and I am still unsure how I will attempt my new assignment. Removal of my butt plug during Morning Rituals gives me a glimpse of the instrument; I think it's a bit bigger than the first plug. I'm sure the Guards have noticed I've gotten well-practiced with the enema protocol — internal cleansing, they call it. How long before I am required to surrender this last virginity?

An elderly lady comes into my cell with, naturally, my leash. She introduces herself as a member of the Physical Education training group and takes me to the slave corridor gym. I make love to the machines as she ticks off muscle groups, winding up with a few treadmill kilometers up and down hills. I manage to collect only two strikes from her crop, and not harsh cuts at that.

I am back in my cell for just a moment when another visitor appears. Although he wears no uniform, the fact that the chair is brought into my cell and the further fact that he carries a folder of papers announces that he is from the Training Department and is here to brief me on my role with the newbies.

He tells me that I will address him as "Training Master," that I have no need to know his name, and that, while we will work together on the new slaves, the work will be by his direction. I develop an instant disdain for this guy, but, of course, try very hard to suppress any evidence of this.

Training Master starts with the three newbies. For some reason, they have been given numbers rather than names. I recall that, on my first night aboard Master's yacht, Anne had informed me that Master was allowing me to retain my own name. It was a grace note I didn't understand. I kneel before him as he opens the folder.

"One is a twenty-year-old female from France. She was originally sold by a disgruntled boyfriend and has passed through two slaver organizations until this auction. Her background is rural, some type of farm, and she has no college. Three is twenty-one and was taken in Ireland only last week, so she has essentially no slave training. Her red hair caught the Acquisition Team's eye; it was the only thing recommending her and they got her at a good price. Five is twenty-five and was originally taken in the Balkans. Her original slaver team picked her up on recommendation of a divorce clerk. Her catalog page claimed she was submissive from the start and gave no problems in learning the basic positions.

"None of these girls is a vaginal virgin. There is some question about their oral skills and experience. All are anal virgins, as, I understand, you also are?"

His tone implies a question, so I answer, "Yes, Sir. I have just started anal training."

"Good," he replies, "it will give you an immediate bond as the newbies work together with you."

He goes over some basic ideas about slavery that he wants me to instill in the newbies. As I expected, First Law and Second Law are at the top of his list. He also wants me to "imbue" — that's the word he uses — them with respect for him and any other trainer they encounter.

I get the idea that Mr Training Master gets quite a high from being in control of slaves. It seems as if he sees himself, not my Master's Enterprises, as "the center of the universe" for these girls. I raise a hand, asking for permission to speak. An eyebrow flicks up for an instant, but he nods permission.

"Please, Sir, is there a position set for these new slaves in the Enterprises?"

Training Master's facial expression shows surprise by the question, so I add, "Please, Sir, it might help to direct their training."

"Hmm, yes, of course." He doesn't seem too convinced. He ruffles through some papers and finally comes up with a simple answer. "There is no Department or Team assignment, just the functional job description listed here. Sex Slave, it says."

I have one more question. "Please, Sir, does it list a time for the training?"

Again, the paper shuffle. If this man is my Master's "Training Master," I'm not going to understand everyone's emphasis on high standards.

"One is listed for assignment in one month. The others are not listed."

OK. Not an impossible project, but I think it will depend on the slaves' willingness to be trained for providing sex. This is very different from "having sex" with a partner of your own choosing and at your own timing. The activities are not all that complex, but being active in the activities can be very complex. I know — now — that Master and my trainers brought me along quite gently, but it still took time until they were satisfied. It's that "high standards" thing, again.

A few hours go by, with a Guard bringing me a half-liter of juice and a wink, and then the slave corridor erupts into a small hurricane of action. Three young women are hustled to the Security Station by a pair of Guards each. There is a great deal of shouting and shoving, with each Guard waving a wicked-looking crop. I cannot tell whether this is a performance aimed at terrifying these new slaves or really necessary to get them into the slave corridor. When I first came to this corridor, I was thoroughly terrified.

The Guards at the Station quickly organize the three parties and exchange sets of papers. As the processing goes on, I get my first look at my new "students." They all share many attributes, probably because of the Acquisition Team's proclivities and preferences. Each woman has her arms in a boxtie, hands tied to elbows and lifted to her shoulder blades. The redhead is the only one without a ballgag. I can tell by the bend in the other girls' necks that the gags have been applied expertly, that is, tightly. All the slaves wear leg irons and the chains seem very heavy. Probably more for its mental impact than its restraint effect, I guess. The Acquisition Team is delivering a full court press of messages to these young women!

They are about average height, but each has a stunning figure, with a slender waist flaring out to comfortable hips and a nice ass. Each has the long legs we used to call "ponies" when I was growing up. They are all barefoot and the dirt on their feet testifies to where they have been.

Where they differ is, mostly, in their faces and complexions. One girl has a sallow look, another has a flushed face — possibly from anger? — and the redhead has that pale color flecked with rose-colored freckles that always suggests the Irish. While each has a collar, they are all different.

With the Intake paperwork completed, the Security Station crew chief gives a short whistle to get everyone's attention. I lean forward to catch this first command to the new slaves in my Master's slave corridor. "Listen up, slaves! This is the Intake Unit for your new Owner and Master. You'll stay here until your trainers are satisfied with the skills we want you to learn. The uniform here is no clothes, so the first thing my team will do is cut those rags off you. Your job here is to stand perfectly still. These disrobing knives are sharp! After all, they have to cut lots of layers and all sorts of material. If you move and get cut, you'll have to lick the blood off our nice clean floors. So, will you all stand still? Nod yes if you understand and will comply."

Three heads bob up and down vigorously. Guards move to slice the T-shirts and jeans down each side. Small tugs pull the materials from three bodies. Instantly, each girl tries to crouch, hiding her nudity.

The Station Chief applauds for a few seconds, and then lectures the new slaves. "Slaves, the uniform here is no clothes. You are not out of uniform by being naked. This is how you are supposed to be. You are supposed to be this way because this is the way your Owner and Master wants you to be. He bought you for a reason, and part of that is your beauty. Not all of it, of course, but a good part of it. So, stand up for yourself. We don't consider any of you to be a wallflower or an Ugly Duckling. You shouldn't think that of yourself either. Do you understand?"

It is the first time they have heard this question in their new home. I wonder if they will remember it as clearly as I remember Igor asking me on Master's yacht. Slowly, each woman straightens up. The redhead even tosses her hair a bit. I can see why she caught the Acquisition Team's attention. With a bit of care and grooming, any of these women would look good on Master's arm. But, hadn't Charles said none of these girls had a chance of getting to "that level?"

Security Station Guards manhandle each new slave into a cell. Doors trundle closed with a loud clang and each slave is left to herself. The redhead is on my right. She wanders around the cell seemingly aimlessly, but I catch her examination of every fixture or item in the cell. She flicks a glance at me every so often, but makes no move to engage. Someone, I'm sure, has told her that she is to be ready to respond to any order at any time, as well as not to take on any activity not explicitly permitted.

The flush-faced girl is on the other side of the redhead. She moves around the cell, but doesn't seem to examine anything, just moving to burn off her anger.

The sallow-faced girl is on my left. She looks about the cell and moves to the straw pallet, all but falling down on it. She kicks some chain out of her way and curls up for a nap.

Training Director bustles into the corridor and the Security Station Guards come to attention. There is a whispered conference, at least Training Director is whispering; the Guards are nodding agreement. My cell door begins to open and two Guards come to bring me to the center of the slave corridor. The three newbies come alert and follow my response to the Guards. I am impressed by this show of force and sink into my Position One kneel, with my head bent in submission. I hope Training Director appreciates my part in this act.

He does! He pats me on the head, clears his throat, and begins his oration to the new slaves.

"Slaves, welcome to our Intake Unit. You will address me as Training Director. The Guards are either Sir or Ma'am. You will thank them for each attention. Now, you have been purchased at a competitive auction. I don't mind telling you that each of you went for a good price. Your new Owner and Master, whom you may meet during your training, has a reputation as a knowledgeable expert on female slaves. He and our Acquisition Team have seen something in each of you which we believe will become valuable for our Enterprises here. You are part of a global operating platform and we will be training you to perform your part to the highest standards. Let me assure you that performance to our standards will lead to your peace of mind, your sense of accomplishment, of achievement.

"On the other hand, failure to perform up to standards will lead to a 'correction.' We prefer not to use a harsh word like 'punishment.' Much of the time, a correction will hurt. However, no correction will be a harm to you. Why would we damage a slave by harming her? That makes no sense. Do you understand?"

The slaves to the right of my cell nod Yes, while the sallow-faced slave makes no reply. Training Director pauses, then turns to me and instructs me to explain a slave's proper behavior when asked a question.

I straighten up, look Training Director in the eye, and announce, clearly and immediately, "Please, Training Director, a slave will always answer a question out loud, without delay, without any dissembling. If a slave could lie to her Master or trainer, it would be a great mark of disrespect and would warrant a severe correction to the slave."

Training Director beams his approval. I have a feeling of revulsion. I have been used as a simple puppet!

Training Director looks at the slave who has not answered. Finally, she figures it out and nods Yes. Training Director flicks an eyebrow, acknowledging her answer.

"Now, your duties here will require you to be healthy and strong. Your nutrition will be managed by our Chef and his team. Whenever nourishments are brought, you will consume everything you are given. Do you understand?"

This time, the Yes nods are immediate from the slaves with ballgags and a clear Yes from the redhead.

"Performance of your tasks will require some strength and dexterity. You will have a training regimen in our gym overseen by a Physical or Exercise Therapist. Your trainers will see that time is scheduled for you. Do you understand?"

Again, one after another, three positive replies.

"From time to time," Training Director continues, "you will provide sexual services as the Enterprises require. Your trainers will have more details as you become more skilled."

As if he has just discovered a useful little toy, Training Director pats me on the head again and resumes his lecture.

"Now, this slave had done well in her training program but, just a few days ago, she failed an important task. Her correction has brought her to this corridor. My training staff thought that you might benefit from talking with someone experienced in slavery here in the Enterprises. You will not whisper; all your communications must be loud and clear enough for our video and audio taps to record. Of course, for those times when talking is prohibited, there will be no communication. Do you understand?"

The three Yeses come a bit more spread out, but quickly enough for Training Director.

"One caution, however. Do not ask this slave about her failing and her correction. There is no need to humiliate her further. Indeed, as I'm sure she will tell you, a slave is always generous to another slave. Do you understand?"

The replies are getting quicker and more definite, I notice. Training Director has been building a natural reflex of response. These girls are already into their training.

Training Director outlines the schedule for the remainder of the day. The new slaves will be in their cells for instruction by the Guards on proper etiquette in the slave corridor. Evening Nutrition will be followed by instruction in Evening Rituals. There will be free time until Lights Out. The slaves are informed that they will be awakened for Morning Rituals at the proper time. That is, they won't know the time until someone clangs something against the bars of their cells. Another bit of uncertainty in their environment?

Two Guards move me back to my cell and the door trundles closed. At the same time, teams of Guards enter the new slaves' cells and remove the two ballgags and unlock their leg shackles. The Guards wait, shackles in hand, until each slave figures out that her response is needed: "Thank you, Sir."

The Guards' next maneuver is to cut the boxties, freeing the new slaves' arms. Amidst a frenzy of arm-waving and movement, each slave manages her "Thank you, Sir."

I watch as each pair of Guards stands close to each slave, an intimidating posture, and explains how the slave is to act in this corridor. No voices are raised, but each Guard uses his or her crop to illustrate a point. Another intimidation? The Guards take each slave around her cell, demonstrating how the hose is to be used, which drawers she may open, what items she may not touch, and how the straw pallet will provide her rest. A Guard moves from cell to cell drawing the usual blood specimens. Finally, I hear each team describe the protocol for the Food Cart.