48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 24: Julie

"Please, Master, does this mean that, when a Mistress beats her slave, says mean and degrading things to her, treats her like dirt, and then lies back to be licked to an orgasm, that she's acting out some fantasy about getting back at all the prettier girls in high school who took all her boyfriends away from her?"

"Yes!" comes from two male throats in unison.

"Exactly," my Master adds. "So, what I'm afraid we had forgotten to train you about is the idea of you getting a potential buyer to tell you his or her big fantasy. Could you play into that fantasy, take one or another part in it, make it real for your new Master or Mistress? Can you imagine how much value you would create for a new Owner if you shared his or her fantasy, if you enlarged it, gave it substance?"

I was overawed. Such a simple idea could be the key to any Owner's desires, let alone his bank account? "Master, it would be like becoming Scheherezade."

"Another cigar for the lady!" my Master calls out.

Charles' face lights up and he asks, "Do you remember the Minister who wanted you just after the formal banquet in the Casino on the first day of Round-up? There wasn't much conversation, but he observed you and liked how you handled yourself. He called me the next day and chattered around until I caught on he wanted you. I was a bit surprised because usually the VIPs aren't quite so open about it. I kind of asked him why you, and he told me this fantasy of capturing a Western Princess, ensnaring her with yoga charms, and driving both him and her to a wild climax. It sounded like fun, and he hadn't mentioned any rough stuff, so I checked with Master and set it up.

"His help with our questions in the kitchen afterward and his phone call the next morning told us you had fulfilled every last part of his fantasy. He told us it was the best Constituent Interaction he'd ever had. And, he's been friendly and helpful whenever we've touched base with him ever since. Those, my dear slave, are just some of the credits in your account."

My Master's face falls back to sadness while Charles is describing the event with the Minister. I can tell he's balancing all those credits with all the demerits from my morning car ride at the Empress' HQ.

I move lower, to the Obeisance Position, and try to tell my Master how I feel. "Please, my Master, this slave will carry your disappointment with her forever. I am so sorry, Master." I quit before I start sobbing.

Master clears his throat, stands up, and says, "Yes, my dear, I understand." There is no more that can be said, and Master goes back up to the Bridge Deck. Charles strokes my head, the move I've come to cherish, and says nothing for several minutes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-One: The Container

Charles smiles and suggests, "Let's walk a bit. At least we can see the scenery. I'm told that China has big plans for this region. The Pearl River is the third longest in China and combines four river systems at Guangzhou, going down to the sea near Hong Kong. The ambition is to provide enough infrastructure that the various areas and cities of the Pearl River Delta can merge into one 'megacity.' Now, the area accounts for about a tenth of China's GDP. They have plans for about 150 projects, in transport, energy, water, and telecommunications. The rough cost estimate is two trillion yuan. In your US, about the only thing like it is the Los Angeles metro area.

"Of course, the Chinese bureaucrats figure they can benefit from some of the LA design goofs. As a matter of fact, some of our Enterprises are involved with a few of the projects, so we're looking forward to lots of business."

I don't really register much of what Charles is saying. It sounds like a travelogue to someplace I'm not really planning to visit. Then, my Inner Goddess wakes me up. Moron, he's telling you a business plan! You've got to be awake for anything that might affect it! Business information is one of the things the First Slave is supposed to pay attention to!

Right. I was the First Slave and the First Lady, but that was some time back. Didn't I throw that away? Nobody expects me to do that spying anymore, right?

My Inner Goddess sniffs and turns away, just as everyone has turned away. Still, I file this "Turn the Pearl River Delta into One" scheme in the back of my mind. Who knows? Perhaps my next Owner will be interested?

As our yacht knifes through the water, the crew is again wrestling with the container that accompanied me in the truck. Locks are sprung and the cover is removed as Charles and I watch. There are a few packs of fluffy material removed and two crewmen start undoing chains and straps, revealing a man packed into the bottom half of the container! As he is pried out of his prison, I recognize the male slave I had serviced for two hours.

I turn to Charles, hoping for some explanation, but Charles is focused on the male slave. When the slave has stretched and moved his limbs enough to loosen them up for walking, Charles calls out to the crewmen, "Aft Hold, number 32." His order is acknowledged with a wave and the slave is marched down a companionway into the ship.

Charles turns to me, smiling. "I'm sure you recognize one of your conquests. During our talks, he was uniformly complimentary about you, your looks, your care, and your skills. If any Buyer here wants a personal recommendation, you may certainly tell them about that slave. The reason he's here is simple. After his correction by you and the new slaves, we found none of our crew chiefs was anxious to have him in their crews. I was amazed to find so many Problem Reports in his file. And when the accountants gave their Profit and Loss statement, it was clear that our Enterprises were not a good fit for that slave. We've spoken with this auction House, and they think they have a place for him." Charles laughs, "But, it certainly is not in this auction catalogue!"

We walk and, intermittently, talk, but I sense Charles is reaching for a simple peaceful space. He has told me this voyage is both happy and sad for him. For me, it is mostly sad. I am leaving a family I grew to like for an unknown future. The chances we will ever meet again are remote.

Our reveries are interrupted by a hail from a crewman above. Charles interprets the words for me.

"Look over to port. See the huge statue of Mazu, Queen of Heaven, between two tall pillars? That's her temple here for the Pearl River. She's the goddess of sailors here."

I look and am startled by how tall the statue and pillars are. My Inner Goddess suggests it is to make the Queen of Heaven so easily visible to sailors far out at sea. I pass this to Charles and, surprisingly, he nods. On impulse, I ask if he knows the legend for this Queen of Heaven.

My Master has come to join us, and he interjects a compliment for his lieutenant. "I'm sure Charles knows the legend. That's the reason his office is so packed with documents."

Charles rocks back on his heels for a moment and, in a serious voice, tells us the legend.

"Mazu was born in the late tenth century to a family of fishermen. One day, when her father and five brothers — although there is some debate about the actual number of brothers — were out fishing, a typhoon sprang up from the ocean. Mazu ran down to the shore and stood, her arms outstretched, praying for her father and brothers. Despite the terrible storm, she stood as strong and fixed as a rock. Her mother was fearful for her daughter, and tried to wake her, but only for a moment. At last, her father and all but one of her brothers were able to return to land. The father said he had hold of the lost brother, but there was a moment when a huge wave came and tore him from his grasp. Clearly, the father said, it was a miracle that so many had escaped the typhoon. Later, it was told that Mazu climbed a tall mountain and was taken to the Heavenly Palace, where she was able to help many sailors return to safety. That is why her statues all show her wearing a Celestial Cap, with beads on the front and back."

As one, we all turn to check and, sure enough, we could plainly see that cap.

The serious mood is broken by a change in the yacht's engines. We slow and turn to port, heading for a large marina. Charles checks his smartphone and announces our arrival at Nansha Marina. "Welcome to Guangzhou, the only everlastingly prosperous harbor for more than 2000 years in world maritime history, and thousands of years of maritime trade. That tall building between us and the Temple of the Queen of Heaven is the Pearl River Delta World Trade Center."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-Two: My Last Day

The voyage up the Pearl River turned out to be rather more serious than fun. I am now only about a half-day away from being turned over to the Slavemaster for the House of Slavery that is running this auction. I have said what I could to Master and his lieutenants about how sorry I am about my misdeeds — crimes, actually. I have told them how much I would rather stay with them, even if not as First Lady. Everything I wanted to say, I think, has been said. I believe that my Master and his lieutenants have said what they needed or wanted to say to me.

All right, then. The serious business is done. I have been trained and prepared for this auction. There is no more to be done until the prep team arrives for my final presentation on the auction block. Photos have been taken, examined, and retaken. My Catalogue Pages have been written and re-written to make me sound as if I'd just descended from Mount Olympus as the personal protégé of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, beauty, and procreation.

My pages match the other slaves' pages, so I'm sure none of the potential Buyers will pay the slightest heed to the text, except for the skills listed. Far more important, as my Master has taught me, is the direct impression I make as potential Buyers test me on Demonstration Day. Well, I'm about as well-prepared for that as possible.

The ship's crew starts tying us up at a magnificent dock which, considering the megayacht itself, is appropriate. None of the Partners at my law firm had any kind of boat, let alone this megayacht. One of them used to snort that a boat was like a hole in the ocean: you just keep pouring money into it. I wonder what he'd say about this "boat."

My Master, Charles and Edward, and I congregate near the bow watching the crews rig the lines holding us to the dock as well as the electrical and telephone cables. Charles is the first to think about the rest of the day. We'd made such good time sailing north that we had most of the afternoon ahead of us. Charles suggests that Guangzhou has one of the largest zoos in China. It's not far from the Marina (is anything "far off" when your Security Department has a few SUVs at dockside?), so how about a visit?

The men are in general agreement, so we load into the lead SUV and we soon are wandering among all sorts of animals. Of course, the giant pandas are one of the main attractions. We barely make it for feeding time: they get fed three times a day with bamboo shoots and something like corn muffins (at least that's how Edward translates it). I was expecting these giants to be slow-moving, but, at least for feeding, they move quite nicely.

Master suggests the South China tiger exhibit. These animals are all captive-bred because hunting and loss of habitat has made them virtually extinct. Nobody has seen a South China tiger in the wild for decades. When we get to the animals, they look just like any other tiger to me, but Master tells us of the breeding program and the "re-wilding" program that are putting a few animals each year into new preserves. As a slave facing auction, I wonder if I will ever get to return to the wild.

Nevertheless, we have a pleasant afternoon and return to the yacht hungry. Chef is ready for us and, just as on my first evening with Master, I am hand-fed at my Master's side.

I also get a surprise. Master also feeds me from his ice-cream dessert! He grins as he waves a spoon I've just emptied. "Just a small gift, really, a token of my respect for your potential."

I don't know what to say, which is good, because it wasn't a question Master posed. I am honoured by his gift, but I am destroyed by his reference to my "potential." Truly, how big a mistake I have made!

After dinner, the men move to the open area at the stern, from where fishing tackle would usually be deployed. Someone has left a kneeling pad for me, and I settle in, relaxed and comfortable, but watching for any order or command. I'm thinking that at least one of these men might want to use me one last time? We watch the traffic go by on the river until it is dark enough that the blaze of shoreline lights make a beautiful panorama of color and movement. At last, Charles rises and says, "Time to go." I follow him to my cell, where he smiles, gives me a peck on the cheek, and locks the door as he leaves.

I suspect that, compared with the handcuffs plus door lock on my first night, I have managed to earn some small promotion. It is another reminder of my Master's care.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-Three: Registration at the House of Slavery

I am awakened by the door lock, as usual. A crewman brings a breakfast of juice, cereal, and a glass of milk. There is also a small donut. How did Chef manage that!

Edward comes in and waves a sort of key. "You're going to get a new collar at the House of Slavery, the people running this auction. They don't want any sign of favor or style to affect how the Buyers work over the merchandise. I've also got a shift for you to wear. Another way of making all the merchandise look equal."

As he works the lock freeing my collar, I reflect on his speech. "Merchandise," he said. Just about as inert as "chattel." Ready to be sold or bought. I wonder who the Buyers are. What do they think of this world? Do they consider the ones they buy anything like themselves? Probably not. How could you just take someone and mold him or her just because you have the cash — and it's always a cash business.

It's not like a real enterprise, where you get some financing from friends, family, or a Bank, build a store or a factory, and create an article of commerce, or a create a service.

Well, maybe it really is a business. We slaves are made, manufactured to an Owner's specifications, and put up for sale. Maybe not a regular business: that would mean lots of units manufactured alike. No, we're mostly unique, so maybe we're better considered as art objects,

Am I unique, one of a kind? The women at this auction all have the same basic structures, the same mouth, cunt, and ass, don't they? Then, why buy me? Why had the man called Martin selected me to be his next First Lady?

The Buyers. Were they sick, psychologically, at least? I hadn't marked any behavior as symptoms of mental illness at the Enterprises. No, they just had the cash to indulge their desires, their fantasies. And now, I'm trained to fulfil those fantasies. My present job is simple: get the Buyer with the most cash to pay the most cash so I can make his or her fantasies happen.

I wriggle into the shift, aware that my neck feels strange without any collar. Igor had placed a collar on me as part of my correction for presumptuous speech and, of course, the sirik featured a collar, but my Master had not decreed a permanent collar for his slave. Anne and Pat had mentioned a collar on a few occasions, and one of them had said, "No woman knows truly what she is until she has worn the collar. To know what it is to be a slave one must be in a collar." Well, now I have lost even the last part of the sirik. I wonder what type of collar the House of Slavery will provide. I'm sure I'll find out at 1300 hours.

Eventually, I am brought up on deck and delivered to a Security crew. A hood is passed over my head, effectively blocking sight and hearing. I was terrified when Igor hooded me for transport to the airplane that brought me to Hong Kong, and when the footman hooded me en route to the Empress. This time, I am just afraid of a misstep and falling. My wry smile is hidden as I realize I'm no longer a newbie.

The drive goes on for about a half-hour, I estimate, ending with a descent into some sort of car park. I am taken out and guided to an elevator. The ride up is surprisingly long, I think. But at its end I am guided into a somewhat noisy room. The hood is removed and I find I'm on a line of men and women, all dressed in the same shift as I am. I almost giggle at how it looks on the men, but then realize that is not the generous manner my Master had trained me to. Also, the Security crewman accompanying me doesn't look like he's exactly happy with this assignment.

Shortly, we reach the head of the line and face a middle-aged man, slightly gray at the temples, with an open, friendly face. He glances at me and turns to my guide. "Name, rank, and serial number?"

It's so out of place that everyone within earshot breaks into laughter. My guide gets control and passes a thick packet of papers to the man, saying, "Slave reporting for duty, Sir," which just sets them off again. Even as scared and worried as I am, I add my own giggle to the merriment. The man turns back to me, raises an eyebrow, and announces, "Slave, undue levity will be severely dealt with."

Panicked, I drop to my knees and plead, "Please, Sir, my Master has not explained the Legend of Undue Levity to this slave."

I have surprised this man! He turns to my guide and asks, "There is a Legend of Undue Levity?"

My guide shrugs his shoulders and answers, "Hey man, I'm just part of the Security Department. I make sure nothing gets lost, strayed, or stolen."

The man turns back to me for a moment and then focusses on my papers. He checks against a screen on his laptop, finds what he's looking for, and smiles at me. "Welcome to the House of Slavery. We've heard about you from our friends in Hong Kong and it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Now, my assistant will take you through our Intake Stations and show you your cell. If you have any questions, he's the one to ask. Don't be hesitant; it's better to ask than to wind up doing something stupid over the next couple of days. Do you understand?"

Somehow, the sound of that question tells me that I'm in the proper place and that everything is OK. I make my "Yes, Sir, I understand," in a strong voice and turn to find myself face to face with the male slave from the Enterprises, the slave from the container on the yacht, the slave I had blown for two hours!

Before I can faint, shriek, or move, he grasps my upper arm and says, "Please, slave, come with me for our standard intake processing."

It is so out of the character I had known that I say nothing but start to follow where he leads. I get my bearings in a moment and pull back. "Please, I haven't thanked the crewman who brought me here."

The male slave blinks, considers, and then leads me back to where my guide is collecting a paper, probably a receipt for package delivery. I tell him my thanks and appreciation for his care, which puts a smile on his face. I turn and follow the male slave towards one side of the room. Before we get anyplace, he slows down and whispers to me, "Please, Ma'am, I'm just the newbie here. Nobody knows me here. Do you understand?"

Yes, I do understand. He's been sold off by one Owner and he doesn't want any dirt from that time to affect anyone he meets in his new Owner's organization. I'm in just about the same boat, so I can sympathize with him. I say just "Yes, I understand." I see his eyes relax and I think we've just made a deal.

The first station goes over my information on the computer, verifying that I'm the chattel to be sold. They have a box into which they push my right hand until prongs between my fingers stop my motion. "Hold your hand real still," I'm told. The computer screen lights up in a few seconds and I'm told that my "palmar venous pattern" has been accepted by the computer. I look askance, and the lady says it's a "biometric scanning device," like a retinal scan, but simpler to use. Putting my hand anywhere will tell them who I am and where I am. This is about as hi-tech as the fob I was given to move to and from Conference Room 42.