48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 23: Julie

We are all shocked. First, that the Guard had relayed our talk to Chef, himself. Even more, that Chef had given a pretty extensive answer.

One raises a hand for a question. Guard nods permission and One asks, "Please, Ma'am, how many demerits did Chef assign?"

The Guard breaks out into a moment of laughter. Catching herself, she puts a serious look on her face and gives us all a good lesson. "Listen, slaves, not everything comes with demerits. You can't let yourselves be scared of getting a demerit. If you hold yourself back from serving your Master, even in small ways, you are not doing what your Master needs. Master is not training you to be robots. Keeping Master in the center of your universe is a job that requires an active, thinking slave. So, while you don't get an Attaboy, you don't get any demerits. Do you understand?"

One moves into the Obeisance position to deliver her "Yes, Ma'am, this slave understands."

I think about this lesson in slavery for some time before turning to my Evening Rituals. A Guard comes to insert tonight's butt plug and I get into position as the door is opening. As usual, I am not shown the plug, so I have no idea whether it is the same as last night's or a step up in the array. It seems to go in without any unusual discomfort. I am surprised to find that the "fullness" feeling is not distressing, although it certainly is distracting!

The Guard is washing his hands at my hose when a messenger enters the slave corridor. He and the Guard confer and my cell door rumbles open again. My first thought, of course, is What did I do wrong now? Then, the female Guard's lesson comes to mind. I fall into Position One and wait for instructions.

They come quickly. "Slave, you are wanted upstairs in a conference room. This messenger will take you there. Some VIPs, it seems. Let's have Transport Mode, now!"

I rise, turn, and move my hands automatically, making it as easy as possible for the Guard to apply the handcuffs. The news about "VIPs" could be good or bad, I guess, and then I remember to keep an active and open mind. My Inner Goddess has an aphorism: Never borrow trouble.

The messenger marches me to the elevator and positions me facing the back, probably so that I don't see what keys he's punching. We ride silently until the elevator stops and the messenger guides me down a cheerful corridor. I realize two things: I am being transported without a leash and I am being transported with a butt plug filling my ass. I'm tempted to giggle, but my Inner Goddess warns me my Master has a Legend of Undue Levity which he hasn't fully explained to me.

At a door marked Conference Room 42, I am put into Position One, my head bent in submission, and the messenger keys the chime. The door is opened and I see a pair of nicely polished dress shoes. It is the voice that surprises me: it is Charles!

He asks the messenger, "No leash?" I don't quite get the reply, but Charles taps my shoulder and orders, "Come in, Julie."

It is an ordinary-looking conference room, presenting an oval table with chairs for twelve and a kneeling pad. The occupants register and I fall into Position One so fast that I'm not sure of my grace.

Along the table sides are Igor, Edward, and Charles. At the top of the table is my Master.

Charles speaks. "Julie, it's good to see you again. And, no, you're not in any new trouble. Please take a moment to calm down and we'll put you in the picture."

I've been "put in the picture" twice. Anne used it to explain the Laws of Slavery and tell me my mission: keeping Master at the center of my universe. Then, Edward used it to explain the legend of Let's Fuck All the Virgins. So, this is serious, but not inherently dangerous, I guess.

I look around at the room. The walls have surfaces for posting things as well as two whiteboards. A projector dropped from the ceiling is aimed at a screen at one end of the room. Two large monitors are, at present, dark. The table is strewn with glasses, coffee cups, papers and files, testimony to an active session.

My Master smiles and welcomes me "upstairs," well, at least partially upstairs. "Julie," he says — and I guess that his use of my name is a good sign; mostly, the Guards simply call me "slave" — "I do want to correct a bit of an injustice from the other day. When you were sent to the Intake Corridor, there was a series of corrections set up for you. One of them was time in the pillory. You were taken to that correction before the reports of your evening with the English contractor were reviewed upstairs. That was because the Concierge Service didn't mark them properly for Special Attention. As soon as the Concierge Captain saw you in the pillory, she realized the error, made a series of phone calls, and we got you out of the pillory as quickly as possible. The Concierge Service has had their failure noted, along with an Attaboy for their prompt efforts on your behalf. In this way, I suppose, some basic justice has been served."

I bow my head but say nothing, of course, since no question has been asked. I'm glad the Concierge people got their Attaboy, their justice. I understand, of course, that the concept of justice for a slave is inapplicable: how would a chattel require justice?

Charles arranges some files before him and starts a new discussion. "Julie, you know that we've been waiting for a suitable auction for you. The auction that brought the three new slaves was a large one, but the caliber of merchandise was not especially high. We've gotten some details about an upcoming auction and this one should suit us quite well. The organizations presenting units all have good reputations for their selection and training programs. While most of the units will be fresh slaves, there will be a fairly large number of slaves on contingency, that is, experienced slaves who are on offer if the bidding meets their Reserve Price. From the preliminary catalogue, there are only a couple of slaves whose catalogue is superior or comparable to yours. Given the number and caliber of buyers already registered, we think the bidding will be lively and you'll go at a good price, certainly more than your Reserve."

His presentation has been easy, calm, and without fireworks. I am not reassured, however. I remember attending an auction at the Stockyards when I first came to Chicago. There were all sorts of references to Prime, and Choice, and Commercial grades of beef and lamb that day. In a few hours, several hundred animals were sold. I was disappointed that the auctioneer wasn't more forceful, more articulate, more exciting. Still, several hundred animals were sold. I am seeing the same process in Charles' presentation.

Igor is the first to sense my despair. He asks a direct question. "Julie, what's the problem? What is worrying you?"

OK, the rules dictate that a slave must always respond, and truthfully. I take my deep breath and try to explain. "Please, my Masters, this slave was remembering an auction at the Chicago Stockyards — "

Edward cuts me off. "Julie! That was for cattle, and sheep, probably. This auction is for Pleasure Slaves, the highest grade of Body Slave. The Stockyards dealt in herds; this auction is dealing with individual slaves, each with a couple of pages detailing their particular skills and advantages. Now, we didn't bring you up here to worry about details of a procedure. We want you to see what kind of competition you're up against.

"Let's see the photos of the first few slaves, please."

Igor taps the control and the projector flashes a picture of a beautiful African woman. There is a tag "EF 40" in an upper corner. The next picture is an Oriental woman, with the tag reading "XF 45." Women of increasing beauty follow, with tags of AU 50, AU 58, MS 60, and MS 65. I have no idea about these tags, but I can't believe I could compete with any of them in a beauty contest. When Edward looks at me, I am near to tears. My voice is a bit above a whisper as I say, "Please, Sir, those women are all more beautiful than this slave."

Igor gives a short snort of a laugh. "Julie, that's what I like about you. You always have a positive outlook."

I cannot imagine he'd be joking, but everyone laughs. Finally, Edward tells me that these photos are carefully posed and processed. "These slaves are so beautiful because the girls have been professionally lit for the camera after having a professional make-up artist do her face and a professional hairdresser do her hair. We have these things ready for you in our Prep Team. On the auction block, you will be more beautiful than you have ever thought, and that's a promise!"

So, when my photos are submitted, they will also be processed to show my beauty?

The real clue to these slaves' beauty, it turns out, is in the letters of the tag, he says. The letters come from the Sheldon Scale, a scale used for about 150 years to grade coins but now applied to slaves. In the past few years, some organizations, working via the internet, have standardized the scale for merchandise on auction. The letters signify adjectives describing the state of the slave.

Igor continues the explanation. "While the photos show beauty, the letter grades are more important. They tell us, for example, details such as whether the slave is untrained, fresh from training, or too old to train for a new Master. When the letters don't match the photos, we tend to ignore the photos. Still, we wanted you to see the results of all the work that goes into preparing you for the auction.

"Now, the numbers. The Sheldon Scale runs from one to seventy. The skills you have, from answering the telephone, to escorting a visitor to the office, to driving a salesman wild with your mouth all count here. We're pretty sure we can grade you as MS 60, at least. That puts you at the top of this class of slaves."

Edward has more information. "The final step contributing to how well you sell is much simpler. How do you impress buyers when they talk with you? Will they see an eager, confident slave with her Master clearly at the center of her universe? Or, is this slave rebellious, always needing the whip or the crop to get her to move her ass? Can you see how a buyer would react to each of those slaves?"

These are the men who have tried to make me into a valuable First Lady. I'm not sure I worked as hard at it as they did. I feel as if I owe them something, at least my best efforts at this auction. I raise my head, kneeling up in a strong pose, and try to announce, "Please, my Masters, this slave will show them that she has her Master at the center of her universe."

There are smiles all around the table, but I am most happy to see my Master, who has been silent, with a smile that shows his nicest face.

Edward has more details on the auction. It will be in Guangzhou, China's third largest city, during the Chinese New Year festival, which starts at the New Moon of the first lunar month and may run to the Full Moon, when the Lantern Festival closes the season. There will be many tourists coming for the different festivals in the city so that buyers, slaves, and slavers will not be noticed.

I am told that my training for the auction will include many Chinese legends, which I should use in conversation with potential buyers to demonstrate my suitability for their needs.

Edward tells us the Legend of the Door Gods. These are the gods who watch over doors and windows to prevent evil spirits and bad luck from entering the home.

It was in the reign of Emperor Taizong, about a thousand years ago. He was ill and lay in his bed tossing and turning, completely uncomfortable. Then he had a terrible dream, with ghosts howling and screaming in his head all night long.

In the morning, he told the dream to his two best soldiers, Qin Qiong and Yuchi Gong. That night, the soldiers stood guard at the Emperor's bedroom door. One held a club and one held an iron rod. In the morning, the Emperor announced that he had slept extremely well.

Now, everyone knew that the soldiers could not be on guard every night. So, Emperor Taizong commissioned an artist to paint pictures of the two soldiers, armed, on the palace gates. People soon noticed the paintings guarding the palace against evil spirits. First, high officials, and then everybody, asked permission to put these paintings outside their own homes. The Emperor graciously agreed, so now millions of homes are guarded by Door God paintings fluttering in the winter wind.*

[* This delightful and highly therapeutic legend can be found on the chinatravel website.]

There is a respectful quiet as we absorb the beauty of this legend. Charles adds a bit more Chinese lore. "It is important for the house to be clean for the New Year festival. But, on New Year's Day, no one is to clean the house, because the good fortune and wealth which the gods have brought into the house for the coming year might get swept out the door." This is so logical that I see everyone nodding in agreement.

Igor gets us back to more practical problems. "This auction has been set for the busiest travel season in China. We probably ought to decide how many rooms we're going to need, where we're going to stay, and how we're getting there and back. It's only about 150 miles or so, so we can take some limos or the train. On the other hand," and here my trainer lets his grin show, "how about we get a yacht, sail up the Pearl River, and dock it at Nansha Marina? They've just won some award as the best marina in China, right?"

The faces of Charles and Edward light up with interest, and both look towards my Master. His face has a smile and he nods approvingly. Charles waves a hand and says he'll make all the arrangements. Edward mentions a "friend" who might have a suitable yacht handy.

I can sense the exhilaration in the room, of course. These men are going on a business trip, to a city exploding in festivities, at an exciting holiday time, and will be enjoying the finest of arrangements and expecting a profitable outcome from the business dealing.

This slave, however, is going to be torn from the only Master and trainers she has known, is going to be interrogated and probably explored and tested by strangers, is possibly going to be used by strangers, and then is going to be put up on a block, probably naked, and auctioned off to the highest bidder, after which she is going away with some strange new Master to some strange new slave corridor, where she will trained to perform different new tasks.

My Master, as I should have expected, understands my emotions, probably better than I do. He leans toward me and speaks softly. "Julie, my dear, we have selected — and waited for — this auction for you after careful consideration. We know this House of Slavery well. The pre-auction rituals will be done without any aim of causing you humiliation or distress. The Slavemaster will always be trying to bring out the best in you. After all, that would bring the best price and the best new Owner for you. Any other presentation makes no sense. Do you understand?"

I force a composed expression to my face and offer my reply, "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. This slave understands. The auction is to bring out the best in me. Thank you, Master."

By this time, Igor has come to my side and is stroking my back in that way I have come to treasure. He looks at my Master and, without a word spoken, I know messages have been passed and understood. With a hearty tone in his voice, Igor adds, "And you should know that we'll always be following your course. Someone will always be around. Do you understand?"

Igor's question is much more routine, I know. Still, I am glad to respond, "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. This slave understands. Thank you, Sir."

Charles goes over some of the topics that the slave catalogue will cover. I give details of my background, including family history, schooling, professional accomplishments and a few points about my likes and dislikes. When Charles sees my surprise at this last, he chuckles and points out that, for a new Owner, it is easier to buy a slave whose likes and dislikes won't take too much effort to re-align with her new Owner's preferences.

A phone call brings another messenger and I am escorted back to the slave corridor. As usual, the Guard brings his chair and I "report" on the conference for my preparation for auction. As I finish, I take the chance to ask, "Please, Sir, there were some differences in this trip. First, I was escorted by a messenger, not by your Security Service. And, I was in Transport Mode only for the first trip. And, there was no leash. May I know if this is intended to focus this slave on something?"

The Guard grins and tells me he was thinking the same questions as he took my report. He says he'll "have a word," whatever that means, and get back to me later. Of course, I know there has to be a later, at least for a Fellatio Ritual. Given how the newbies performed earlier, I doubt any Guard would want his satisfaction in their cells! And, he left his chair.

I finish Evening Rituals with the realization that I have been to a conference room, walking many yards, kneeling, and dealing with questions and topics while wearing my butt plug. I don't know if anyone noticed it, but my ass had no problem with the work of the conference!

This is also when I realize the Guards are in all the new slaves' cells inserting butt plugs into the newbies. I move around, trying to check whether any of the slaves needs encouragement.

Wrong, again! The Guards know how to do this — they do it for me, right? — and it goes smoothly in each of the newbie's cells. Five is having some trouble twisting to get a look at her plug, so I tell her that, without a mirror, it's just about impossible to see the plug yourself. The Guards have already told her not to touch it. I do suggest that the slaves run through all their Positions and Movements, just to experience how benign is the presence of a plastic pipe in your ass.

It is while I am undressing the Guard that he passes a message. "I don't know who this is from," he says, "but from how Security Central handled this, I'd say it's from some very VIP person. They said to compliment you on picking up on each of the three modifications; you get one Attaboy, they said. Then, they said that you're to think of yourself at a new level of slavery. You're going to be presented at a high-caliber event. What will be different about your behavior? What are you trying to project, to make the buyers understand? How will you do those things? They said to think about these things from now on. Eventually, they'll discuss your answers during your training. Do you understand?"

A deep breath and I answer. "Please, Sir, this slave understands a bit. She will think about these questions and will wait for the proper time to discuss them. Thank you, Sir."

Inside, I am excited by this answer. My Master and trainers are still willing to work with me! I draw out the Guard's orgasm as long as possible as a sort of payback for his efforts. From his smile and nod as he leaves (with his chair), I think he understands.

In the morning, I sense more changes. After Morning Nourishments and my gym workout, a messenger escorts me back to Conference Room 42. The room is empty and the messenger leaves me in Position One to wait. Igor arrives alone and welcomes me with a stroke on my back. "Slave," he asks, "I'd like to hear your thoughts about your new activities, this business of getting ready for your auction."

"Please, Sir, it's been just about the only thing I've thought about since last night. Last night was a lesson, Sir, right? The aim was to get me organized to look forward to this auction, rather than to be fearful and worried, right? You, at least some of you, have the idea that this slave might embarrass you at the auction, might still be trying to escape, might do something that would cost you a profit on her sale, right?"