48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 32: Julie

All eyes move to One. The girl is tethered to her platform, bound to the post at her back by a few loops of cord at her waist. Her arms are crossed just below her breasts, which are squeezed together, forming a socket for her candle. Her head is tilted straight back, the flame just a few centimeters from her chin. I can see her eyes, wide open and filled with fear. I smile, and nod, and wink at her, trying to show her my support. Dmitry is stroking her shoulder and whispering in her ear; I hope he is more helpful to this newbie than Aleksei was for me.

Sergei measures his position, his stance, carefully. The candle is breast-fucking One, whose breasts are probably only B-cup size. I had thought they were exactly right for the rest of One's body, but, right now, I would have lent her some of my own size if it would hold the candle more steadily.

The Russian leader gets comfortable with his position and shakes the coils of his whip out behind him. There is a flurry of motions, a few flashes as the whip reaches out to its target, and the flame disappears, the tip of the candle disappears, and then the candle itself disappears.

The applause is the loudest and longest so far. I feel my own face wearing a wide grin. One sinks against the pole, held up only by the cords at her waist. Her hands cover her breasts until Dmitry gently moves them to her sides; slaves are not permitted to cover any part of themselves. I am surprised when Dmitry moves to the front of the platform and tenderly plants a kiss on One's lips. I can tell she is also surprised by her snapping upright. Then, her face shows a smile and she leans forward to return her Master's kiss.

My eyes move to Sally. She is similarly trussed to the post on her platform, but there is just a simple cigarette in her mouth. Kolya announces that, since Sally is a non-smoker, the next demonstration will be with an unlit cigarette. Still, everyone can see the even smaller target area for the whip in this presentation. I am heartened by Sally's calm demeanor. I guess that she has probably taken heart from Sergei's demonstrated excellence. At least, I hope she has. Kolya is beside her, as Dmitry was for One.

Well, Sergei performs flawlessly. His first stoke cuts the cigarette in half. His second cut takes it out of Sally's mouth. I look around, but I don't see either piece of the cigarette. I wonder if the whip has shredded its target? I am impressed and, as much as my handcuffed hands can, I join in the general applause. Sergei grins, bows, and waves his whip.

As the celebration winds down, Aleksei resumes his Ringmaster status. "OK, folks, the Master Schedule shows we have time set aside for the resort's gym and spa. After that, of course, will be lunch. Let's go!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Seventy-Five: My Ring, Part II

The Russians get us freed from our platforms with surprising speed and grace. The thought flashes through my mind that these guys probably have slaves, and similar furniture, of their own, or, perhaps, at SVR headquarters in the Yasenevo District in Moscow.

I look for another small package, perhaps containing some sort of warm-up suit? Nobody else is waiting, however. Each Russian takes the slave he has been attending this morning, with Sergei taking Pat in tow, and the party flows into the corridor and down to the spa. Our two PE trainers are waiting for us. I am expecting some flash of conflict — we have been out of contact for about a day, right? And our executive, Pat, has disappeared, right?

Wrong! I don't know what is going on, but Pat steps right up and introduces our PE trainers to our new Masters and everyone gets going on some piece of equipment in the gym. There is some horseplay among the Russians, but one trainer, pointing out the need for safety on these machines, puts a quick stop to that! Each trainer makes notes on his hand-held device about what we do — resistances, repetitions, time — for transfer to our permanent records at The Enterprises. Sergei and Aleksei spend some time with the trainers, following what devices and maneuvers each slave is following.

It is all so normal! I knew there were gym sessions on the schedule, but the atmosphere in the gym is so different from that upstairs that I am a bit disorganized. That, of course, brings me a cut from one of the trainer's crops.

The other slaves are glancing at me. I'm not sure what they are expecting; I don't know any more than they do.

When Pat is working on a treadmill alongside me, I try to catch her eye, but she avoids my look. A few minutes later, a trainer comes up to her and, handing her his mobile phone, says, "Call for you, Ma'am. It's the Master from his office."

I can hear Pat's side of the conversation, and it is quiet, with no report of anything that has happened! The nearest Russian is maybe 25 feet away, working his Latissimus muscles, and not seeming to pay us any attention. But then, I hear Pat, in an off-hand tone, say, "Thank you for calling, my Lord."

That's not part of Pat's usual speech pattern with our Master! It takes a split-second for me to realize Pat has just passed some sort of signal! Our Master must now know the Circus has gone awry. Somehow, the cavalry will soon be coming over the hill to rescue us!

I grin at Pat as she returns the phone to the trainer. She returns a glare, however, and an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Cancel the cavalry!

As we move through our routines, Pat always seems to be on the other side of the gym from me. I figure that whatever is going on is more complicated than my pay grade covers and I should back off from any actions. Finally, I catch Pat's eye and give her a grin and a slight nod of my head. I think the expression on her face can only be one of relief. I've done something right, but I have no idea what it was.

When all our routines are complete and our trainers have got everything logged, there is a bit of conversation between our trainers and these Masters, but no information I can detect. Our Russians shower with us and I am startled by Aleksei's attention to my hair. He uses a generous amount of shampoo and lathers my hair gently but thoroughly, taking care to keep the suds out of my eyes. The feeling of this service is so sensual! When I worked at the law office, a trip to a beauty salon was reserved for special occasions. Aleksei is making this a very special occasion!

When he is done and we are both rinsed clear, we dry each other with huge bath sheets. Our Masters get thick terry cloth robes, and my sisters and I return to our main salon as naked as when we left. The few resort guests we pass do not fail to give us a smile and a wave of a hand. Normal, right?

Back at our salon, we are returned to our platforms, hands handcuffed behind us around the post. Aleksei suggests we move to Position One. "It will be more comfortable until you are fed."

The lunch buffet is similar to yesterday's, but with different cheeses and the addition of croissants. We slaves wait until our Masters are satisfied, and then we are fed. This time, it is Dmitry who feeds me. I guess that, while dining, our Masters traded us around. I have a flash of anger and rebelliousness at this cavalier process, but my Inner Goddess reminds me that this, too, is part of a slave's job description.

Our Ringmaster, Aleksei, finally announces that, because we have an exciting evening ahead of us, we will accompany our new Masters to their suites where we will bring them some relaxation. Again, we are released from our platforms with some ease and pair off for "relaxation."

I'm not sure what my new Master, Dmitry, considers relaxation, but he wastes no time in explaining his requirements. He has a "bad back," he says, from "an old Army accident," he says, and he wants a massage. I grin and announce that my trainers have taught me several types of massage and I would consider it an honor to demonstrate each of them and abide by Master Dmitry's assessment of which is most effective. My Inner Goddess laughs that, again, I've gone over the top, but Dmitry accepts my claim and shows me where the oils are before he disposes of his robe and, after I've laid out a large towel, lies prone on his bed.

For the next hour, I caress, stroke, knead, pound, and massage from his neck to his knees, back and front, but staying away from his package. I don't find any "trigger points" and his muscles generally are soft, not well-defined.

When Dmitry signals a halt, he tells me he's going to shower off all the excess oil, but pauses to announce, "Julie, I've heard about your Magic Tongue, but I can testify that your hands are really the 'Golden Hands' you only hear about in stories." I'm afraid I blush quite a bit and have to scurry to get the shower open and going.

I do the soap and lather thing, with particular attention to Dmitry's package, which is a bit smaller than the other Russians I have served. I expect to do some oral sex here, but Dmitry waves that off. He accepts the big fluffy towel, but pats himself dry. With a just a few words, he tells me he's going for a nap, to wake him at 6:00 PM, and to clean up the bathroom.

He hasn't been rude or abrupt, but this makes me feel somehow cheap, inferior. The point of the Circus is to present our thanks in the role of courtesans, isn't it? This makes me seem like just a routine maid! I'm saved from an "inappropriate response," as Pat would describe it, by a poke from my Inner Goddess. She makes two points: Dmitry had appreciated my massage with a high compliment, and towel collection is part of my job description. I do manage to point out that my permanent Master, Martin, doesn't get me going like this!

When I return to the bedroom, Dmitry is sound asleep, breathing a bit noisily. I would like to join him on the bed but think better of such presumption. I get a spare blanket from a closet, noticing a Tuxedo hanging with the rest of Dmitry's clothes. I set the bedside alarm clock a bit early, and, wrapped in the blanket, settle myself and the clock at the foot of my Master's bed.

The nap does its job! I awake refreshed and ready for whatever evening services the Russians will require. A tap on the suite door leads to delivery of a package, clearly labelled by Pat with my name, by one of our logistics crew. She wears a grin and delivers a wink with the package, so I'm sure she knows something I don't, but that's just par for this course, I decide.

Author's Note: So, the "information" was sent out, but the cavalry wasn't called! Is this some kind of "Russian nesting dolls" operation? And now, a package from Pat, and delivered by one of our crew? What is going to happen at 6:00 PM? Does everybody else know what's going on in these Rings?

— J Spe