48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 33: Julie

48 Hours on Blue Bayou, Part 33: Julie, Scene 24

Author's Note: In just under a day, Julie's new Masters have introduced her to a variety of instruments and she has been flogged, front and back. She has de-virginized Kolya (orally and vaginally) and done massage for Dmitry. Now, it's time to get ready for the evening "Ring."

— J Spe

Chapter Seventy-Six: The Dinner Ring

Just before 6:00 PM, I gently climb next to Dmitry. I lift his cock and take it into my mouth, providing a warm and welcoming environment. I don't know if Dmitry is a "green," an environmentalist, but who could be against this? It turns out that Dmitry is "all for" this. He writhes as I do my Swirls and Twirls and his moans complement my humming of Полюшко Поле (Polyushka Polye), The Song of the Plains, which I learned as Meadowlands, the Russian Army Marching Song, when there was a scare about the Soviet Union's military might during the Cold War while I was growing up in Texas.

I add some hand ministrations of his ballsac and Dmitry is now wide awake! "Careful, girl," he announces. "You're holding the DNA of legends in the palm of your hand."

My response is a gentle tug and then support for his jewels. I'm moving my tongue from his frenulum, the sensitive spot just under the glans, along the sides and, especially, the underside of his shaft. I am pleased that he hasn't grabbed my head and forced his cock down my throat. I'm trying to get it as deep as I can, using what my trainers have taught me, probably a point of professional pride. By the time Dmitry's climax is on him, I have him deep enough that I don't get much of his cum in my mouth. I do show him what I can, of course, and he compliments me before giving the "swallow" command.

I manage to get him out of bed and both of us through a quick shower before dressing him in the Tuxedo for tonight's festivity, whatever the Russians have planned. I unwrap Pat's package and find a white gown featuring a Dior label. The bra and panty with it are dainty, to say the least, or the most, depending on your point of view. As I manage to drape the gown's material properly, I find my right shoulder is bare, the gown relying on material flowing from my left shoulder over my breasts and down to my ankles. There is a sort of cape draped from my left shoulder midway down my back. I try a few steps and discover a slit for my right leg. Altogether, it is an exciting gown for me to wear. There is just enough time (and cosmetics) for me to get my hair and "face" as I like it.

Dmitry remarks that the gown is "becoming." He grins and does not say what it will become. At the bottom of the package, Pat has enclosed a suitable pair of heels, just high enough to make an impact on my posture, but not more than I can wear for an evening. I don't have any idea what our new Masters have planned, but — based on Dmitry's Tux — I'm confident I'm dressed for it!

We join the other Russians and my sister slaves at the entrance to a private dining room. The men are all in Tuxedos and, massed together, are quite a nice sight! Pat has had packages for the other girls, of course, and each one is dressed in a different white gown. I don't actually see the labels, of course, but I'm impressed that someone, probably from The Enterprises (but perhaps even from the Empress?), has gone to this extreme. One, the young girl from France, is carrying herself as if wearing her nation's pride. Even Five, coming from a relatively poor background, is making a lovely presentation. And all this with just a gown! No jewelry! And hair styled with just a comb and a few pins!

I recognize two of our Security crew mingling in the entrance, trying to get photographs of everyone. They manage to separate our new Masters for a group portrait, and Pat manages to whisper to us that we will get to put on one of the pieces we had prepared. There isn't enough time for details and I see some scared looks for a moment or two. Then, each slave goes "back to work," looking as beautiful and desirable as possible. The appearance of these of our crew reinforces my earlier feeling that, somehow, the "takeover" by the Russians is provided for in The Enterprises' plans. Again, I am reassured by the rule: when I have to know something, somebody will tell me.

In the meantime, I manage to put Dmitry and myself into a position or two for the cameras. After all, I'm going to want to see how I looked, right?

The dining room presents a large oval table, with places set for the five Russians and kneeling pads for their slaves. There are bottles (vodka, I guess) and platters of dark bread lined up from end to end. Sergei, naturally, is at the head of the table with his lieutenants comfortably spaced around the oval. Dmitry finds a place at the end opposite his leader and directs me to the kneeling pad to his left. Sergei welcomes us all to this у́жин (pronounced uzhin) which he calls a "banquet" and compliments all the slaves on looking "as beautiful as anyone at the Miss Universe pageant." He has a few words in Russian (grace before meals?) and several servers appear with a salad course.

Dmitry favors me with a smile and a forkful of the salad. "Olivye," he says, and adds, "Salad, in English." I take his offering with a smile; it is a Caesar salad, with anchovies and some bits of meat added. Dmitry is alternating bites of salad with the bread and with the liquor. He gestures with his glass and says, "во́дка — vodka," but doesn't offer any to his slave. I do get a few bites of bread and it is as good as any I've tasted anywhere. I can see why this чёрный хлеб, rye bread, known as "black" bread, is a staple throughout Russia.

As the salad plates are being collected, Dmitry goes off for a few words with Sergei, who seems a bit startled and gives me a hard stare for just a moment. I feel a cold wind down my back, until Sergei asks Dmitry something that makes them both laugh. Laughter, my trainers have told me, doesn't often lead to a hurt for a slave.

Our second course is a soup: "Солянка (Solyanka)," Dmitry announces. "It's another favorite, Russian Salted Meat Soup," he says. I get several spoonsful. It's salty, sour, spicy, and filling. I can see several different vegetables in it and Dmitry mentions that there are usually several different kinds of meat involved, all to give it a complex flavor. Dmitry gets a few more sips of the vodka. I get more bites of bread.

Sergei rises and everyone comes to attention. He glances around the table and starts to tell a story. In a moment, I know what Dmitry has done: he's told his leader that I hummed the Meadowlands song! Sergei never mentions who or what, but his vague figures of speech and waves of a hand are enough to leave nobody in doubt about how the song was sung.

I am mortified! I would be blushing if I was not also near pale with fear. But, Sergei has a different aim. "My friends, Полюшко Поле (Polyushka Polye) is a song that all Russians have learned at their parents' knee. And now, Dmitry has suggested that, in the break before our Main Course, we treat our girls to a live performance of this song."

And, as if already rehearsed, every man comes to his feet and, at a nod from Sergei, they produce a beautiful performance, sometimes soft, sometimes brash. At the end, there is a moment of silence and then each of us applauds. I stand up and embrace Dmitry, who has the grace to blush just a bit. My sister slaves have also embraced their Masters and there is a lot of kissing going on.

Sergei stops this with a question. "Well now, our side has provided a song from our Motherland which you all seem to have enjoyed. Perhaps there is one of you who would like to favor us with a song from your homeland?"

I look to Pat. Is this where we go into one of our acts? But Pat is shaking her head. The moment seems to draw out unbearably, so I jump in with an offer. I haven't had time to think this through, and I haven't any idea if this will be satisfactory, but my Inner Goddess is pushing me: Remember how they keep saying to keep your Master at the center of your universe? You're supposed to be ready with whatever he'll want before he knows he wants it.

I start slowly. "Please, my Masters, thank you for your song from your Motherland. My earliest years were in Texas, where I learned to love the land and the people who worked it. Everything you've probably heard about Texas, about how big it is, is probably at least a little bit true. But, there was a movie when I was a kid and I learned the theme song from it because it sort of got all the Texas things right. If it pleases you, I will try to sing it for you."

OK, I gave them the choice, right? They could wave and laugh and go on to something else, right?

No Way! I see Pat grin and nod to Sergei, and know that I have just time to take a few breaths and straighten my gown. Sure enough, Sergei's face lights up with a grin that just tells me he's expecting as good a performance as I gave Dmitry with Meadowlands!

If you know the theme from the movie Giant, you can sing along with me.

Just like a sleeping giant sprawling in the sun,

In one great hand the Rio Grande

In the other, Galveston.

Where oil wells laugh at angels

And buzzards wheel above,

This, then, is Texas — Lone Star State of Texas.

This, then, is Texas — Land I love.

God made these lonely acres where I ride alone,

But the devil cursed this land with thirst

And he bleached it like a bone.

One day a wild tornado,

Next a gentle dove.

This, then, is Texas — Lone Star State of Texas

This, then, is Texas — Land I love

I suppose there are more verses, but these are the only ones I can remember. I finish, and find that I've teared up, probably from all the salt in the soup. Right.

I manage to give Pat a glance and she's grinning and applauding and I realize everyone is grinning and applauding!

I'm sure you can imagine my relief! I'd stuck my neck out a mile and gotten away with it!

At least, so far. My trainers had taught me that a Master's mood can change quicker than the weather. When Sergei stands up, I get ready for a punishment to be decreed.

Wrong, again! "Our slave has sung very prettily. And, it is suitable that she has favored us with a song by Dimitri Zinovievich Tiomkin (Russian: Дмитрий Зиновьевич Тёмкин). One could ask how a Russian, educated at the Saint Petersburg Conservatory among Vladimir Horowitz, Alexander Glazunov, Sergei Prokofiev, and Dmitri Shostakovich, could make music fitted to America? May I suggest that he came from a Big Country, too? The steppes of Russia are much like the prairies of America. I have seen the vastness of America's big skies, the endless landscapes of her prairies, and her mountains' rugged masculine beauty. It must be that Tiomkin saw a reflection of the steppes of his native Ukraine.

"At all events, such philosophy should not be allowed to interfere with the next creations from our Chef."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Seventy-Seven: у́жин — Third Course, and More Songs

The servers are ready with a carving station, wheeling it into the room and showing everyone the beautiful roast ribs. Dmitry whispers a quick "Rare or well-done?" to me. I come back with a "Medium, Master, if you please." It's another time I've modified a Master's question, but I'm feeling on a bit of a streak.

In his turn, Dmitry gets two ribs, with the ribeye steak attached. I'm not sure how many ounces he's taken, but each one is far more than I can manage, I'm sure.

Baked potatoes, steamed carrots, and broccoli florets appear in family-style serving dishes on the table and Dmitry goes to work. I get a taste of "Well-done" followed by a taste of "Medium." I smile at my Master and say, "Please, Master, the Medium, Master."

Dmitry makes sure I get lots of steak, potato, carrots, and broccoli. He more than matches me, of course, so we stop only when both ribs are down to the bare bone. I am stuffed, but my Master is still poking around on the table. He settles for another vodka. Most of the bottles on the table are now well past half-gone, but none of the Russians seem drunk, or even slightly tipsy. Perhaps there is something to the Practice Makes Perfect rule?

In a lull in the conversation, Sergei rises, a grin creasing his face. "My friends, in the planning for this delightful Circus, The Enterprises' executive suggested that an escape from the stresses of adult life could be found in the songs we all learned in childhood. Of course, childhood in Russia is completely different from anywhere else, something that I have learned is also true in every other culture. But, we all know the scouting culture, Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. Young folks in these activities easily develop their own lyrics for the songs of their times. Our slaves have prepared some of these inventions for our enjoyment this evening. Please welcome their executive, slave Pat."

Pat waves us all to one side of the room. We have learned some songs that Pat and I knew from our teens and pre-teens and taught them to Sally, One, and Five. Even with the language barriers, these women had seen the points of the invented lyrics and we had enjoyed singing and practicing little dances around several. Pat introduces the first song and, with a suitably serious air, we begin The Baby Song:

A year ago, our baby died.

She died committing suicide.

Some say she died to spite us

Of spinal meningitis.

'Twas a naughty baby anyhow.

She only cost three dollars.

We didn't send her flowers,

Cause she really wasn't ours.

We pick up the pace with a Tom Lehrer song which he called a "tender ballad:"

I hold your hand in mine, dear,

I press it to my lips.

I take a healthy bite

From your dainty fingertips.

The night you died I cut it off.

I really don't know why.

For now each time I kiss it

I get bloodstains on my tie.

I chance a look at our audience, the tough Russian spies of the SVR, and they are laughing their heads off. If they also knew that Lehrer was a professor at Harvard University at the time he wrote this, they'd have to wonder how they came to lose the Cold War. Or, perhaps not: a good sense of humor is a powerful weapon in any confrontation.

For our last piece, Pat has researched My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean. We were astounded to find so many different inventions for this tune. When Pat mentioned it to Sergei during the planning, he knew the original and liked the one or two "extra" verses Pat sang for him. We hope his team "gets" the various verses we've prepared. We start with the "standard" edition of the verse:

My Bonnie lies over the ocean

My Bonnie lies over the sea

My Bonnie lies over the ocean

Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.

And go into the Chorus:

Bring back, bring back,

Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me, to me.

Bring back, bring back,

Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.

Pat picks up the next verse, the first of the "inventions:"

My Bonnie has tuberculosis.

My Bonnie has only one lung.

My Bonnie can cough up raw oysters,

and roll them around on her tongue.

After Pat gives the standard Chorus, I pick up the next verse:

My Bonnie has tuberculosis.

My Bonnie has only one lung.

My Bonnie spits blood in her pocket

And dries it and chews it for gum.

I repeat the standard Chorus, and Anton joins in. Sally picks up the next verse:

My Bonnie leaned over the gas tank,

The height of its contents to see;

I lighted a match to assist her,

Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me.

Now, we've got Anton and Dmitry singing the chorus. One starts a new verse:

Last night as I lay on my pillow,

Last night as I lay on my bed,

I stuck my feet out of the window,

This morning my neighbors were dead.

Now, all the Russians are on to the Chorus:

Bring back, bring back,

Oh, bring back my neighbors to me, to me.

Bring back, bring back,

Oh, bring back my neighbors to me.

We've got the room rocking now. Pat, with the rest of us humming and moving as the backup to a rock and roll star, starts a new verse, calling out "Turkey!:"

My turkey went walking one morning

The November weather to see.

A man with a hatchet approached her

Oh, bring back my turkey to me.

And everyone figures out the Chorus:

Gobble, Gobble,

Oh bring back my turkey to me, to me.

Gobble, Gobble,

Oh bring back my turkey to me!

It's my turn again, and I continue the Turkey Song, adding a few dance steps that just happen to flash my right leg and make my "cape" flutter:

I went down the sidewalk a-shoppin'

The sights in show windows to see.

And everywhere hung great fat gobblers.

Oh, bring back my turkey to me.

Nobody misses the Chorus and Sally jumps in for her turn:

I went out to dinner and ordered

The best things they had I could see.

They brought it all roasted and sizzling;

They brought back my turkey to me.

They really belt out the Chorus, some of the Russians with a vodka in hand, and One continues:

My turkey has two juicy drumsticks

My turkey has two crispy wings

My turkey has ten pounds of stuffing

But only one wishbone, poor thing!

Five waits for the Chorus and pushes on to the final verse:

My turkey looked great on the platter

My turkey looked great on my dish

But after that last turkey sandwich

Hold onto that wishbone and wish!

By the time the assembled multitude has finished the last Chorus, all the servers have joined in! I was in Scouts for only a few months, but I remember the fun we had with these songs and I'm glad Pat had this idea for our Circus.

So, it turns out, are all our Masters. As we head back to our kneeling pads, each Russian gets to kiss each slave.

I'm wondering about dessert. I'm stuffed, right? Still, one can't help wondering what our new Masters have ordered.

It turns out that Russians like to talk and drink for an hour or so before someone suggests, "Shall we have some tea?" Tonight is just a bit different. We are swept up and taken to the resort's nightclub, where we dance for a while. I start with Aleksei, who is, to be polite, not well-coordinated, although I have no idea whether his vodka intake is really responsible. Kolya turns out to be quite smooth, with a few nice touches as he shows me off in a twirl or two. But the surprise is that Sergei, the man from the prior generation, is really a master of this craft. By the time someone suggests "Tea?" I'm no longer so full and I'm hoping Dmitry has a sweet tooth. I figure the PE folks back at The Enterprises will take charge of my nutrition when we get back. Then, my Inner Goddess observes, If we get back! Suddenly, I'm not quite so hungry.

Dmitry manages a few slices of cheese and some melon. I see a cannoli or two, but Dmitry ignores these delicacies. He selects Earl Grey for his tea, murmuring that Russian Earl Grey often contains ingredients such as citrus peels and lemon grass in addition to the usual black tea and oil of bergamot. Without much thought, I pass on the Grey family story that the tea was specially blended by a Chinese mandarin for Lord Grey to suit the water at Howick Hall, the family seat in Northumberland, using bergamot in particular to offset the preponderance of lime in the local water. My Master does not seem amused by this bit of trivia.