48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 41

Authors' Note: At last, it is time for the Men's Party, Niamh's suggestion in support of Julie's Opera Project. Will the men (and the Empress) be impressed with Martin's potential First Lady? Will the three "Acts" go well enough to generate fundraising for the Project? Will Dagmar, the newest slave, manage to disrupt the Party in some way? These questions will be answered in this Part. (Possibly, the next Part will handle The Meaning of Life.)

J Spe and Taliesin1

Chapter 104: Getting to the Yacht

The day for the Men's Party arrived. The planning was done, so far as possible, to the last detail. Julie and One, who seemed permanently attached to the Culinary Service as Chef's "personal assistant," supervised the loading of food and drink, as well as some "toys," into the small fleet of trucks that would supply the Ocean Star for the evening. Julie was nervous, naturally, and fussing around all the preparations. This was an important milestone in her preparation for the First Lady position as well as for the fate of the Opera Project.

Chef growled, "For goodness sake, Julie, this isn't the first party I've catered."

Julie grinned and relaxed. She realised that she didn't have to do it all on her own. Chef's team and the Security team would watch her back, and Niamh and Sally would also be there to support her. She was still a bit concerned about Dagmar, but she hoped the newest slave was intimidated enough not to make any trouble.

Pat and Anne checked the four slaves — houris, for this evening — before bringing them to the lobby of The Enterprises' Headquarters. Martin, Edward, Charles and Igor were there to see them off, not before giving each a "good luck" kiss. Julie thought her trainer, Igor, looked a bit pensive. She mentioned it to Niamh, who shook her head. "No way! They're sending off a team of slaves to a fundraiser with a million-dollar goal on somebody else's yacht. Why on Earth would anybody be worried?"

Sally chipped in with a similar outlook. "It's not like we're going to run off with the cash, is it?"

Even Dagmar cracked a smile. She had been mostly quiet in the week, learning what the Sexual Arts trainers were trying to teach her in an accelerated schedule. She had passed each test, usually with plenty of credits to spare. Still, Julie wondered, was she harboring some plan for disaster?

The Chief of Security marshalled what seemed like a huge detachment of troops, both men and women, along with the usual fleet of SUVs, each a sleek and elegant conveyance, and one Mercedes Sprinter passenger van, windows curtained for privacy for this trip. Nevertheless, he told the slaves, the standard multi-point restraints would be in place for the trip to the yacht. Security crews came forward with the handcuffs for Transport Mode. Each slave was taken to the van and seated carefully. A short chain was clipped to the handcuff link. The three-point seatbelt was applied. Ankle shackles were clipped to D-rings at both sides of each seat.

For Julie, Niamh, and Sally, this was a familiar part of the Security Protocol. But, Dagmar remembered the van used when The Enterprises rescued Claire and her from the slavers; then, they were held by only a seatbelt and a single ankle cuff. Now, rather than fewer restraints along with a party atmosphere, there were more restraints and the atmosphere of going to war.

Sally sensed the despair in her sister slave. "Dagmar," she said softly, "you never were going to escape. Now, think a bit differently. The Enterprises has a huge investment in high-value assets — that's us — moving through rush hour traffic. If anyone tries to hijack these assets, how do you think The Enterprises is going to defend us? These restraints will, at least, slow the hijackers down until the cavalry rides to our rescue."

Sally could see Dagmar's eyes widen. "High-value assets? They really value us so much?"

"Yes, they do. You have to stop seeing everything only from your side if you're going to make it as a Good Slave. Otherwise, you'll miss the good things that can come, even to a slave."

The Chief of Security was finally satisfied with the passengers, the crews, the vehicles, and goodness-knows-what-else. The procession started off with a final wave from the Concierge staff.

Having made several trips to the Opera office, Julie and Niamh were ready for the starts and stops of rush hour traffic. To their surprise, the procession moved smoothly, if not with speed. Julie said something about the traffic and the Security crew riding shotgun grinned. "Little lady, traffic in every big city runs by computer these days. This trip is big enough to catch the eyes in the Transportation IT department. We should have a nice smooth ride all the way."

Niamh and Julie exchanged surprised looks. Who would have thought a Security type would explain anything to a slave!

When they reached the wharf where "their yacht" was docked, the van moved to the base of the gangplank and the escort SUVs parked around it. Security crew opened doors, released shackles, unbelted belts, and unlocked handcuffs. Working in pairs, they moved each slave up the gangway, along with the support staff for the evening, and into a fairly large Reception Area where each slave was transferred to a ship's crew. In moments, The Enterprises' Security staff and vehicles were gone, leaving no markers to show where the "high-value assets" were placed.

Sally voiced a thought. "You know, they did that job with professional skill. We should arrange something to thank them." Julie and Niamh, at least, smiled their agreement.

The Captain made an entrance, with the ship's crew coming to attention. The slaves caught on quickly and followed suit. The Captain's smile signaled that this was the proper procedure.

"Good afternoon to our landlubber friends," the Captain announced. "We're here to help you with your project. The sailor with each of you will show you to the stateroom we've assigned to you. You'll find your costumes, equipment, and toys are already stowed in the cabinets, so take a moment to familiarize yourself with their location. Your sailor will bring you up to the Main Salon, where we've set up the Dinner Buffet. We've got kneeling pads with each of your names alternating with regular chairs for your guests. Please seat your guest to your left, so that you will be to his right. Otherwise, the pad pattern will be screwed up. Do you understand so far?"

Julie and Niamh, who had worked on this pattern, quickly answered "Yes, Sir." Sally, with a mysterious grin, answered, "Aye, aye, Sir." Dagmar, clearly late, murmured her "Yes, Sir" quietly.

The Captain swept onwards. "After dinner, we have two possibilities for you. You can take your guest back to your stateroom or you can use the Playroom, which has another set of equipment to answer any of your needs; our ship's Engineer will be available to help with the lighting or lifts. I understand that the last part of the program will be held in the Playroom.

"Just one note more. This ship has extensive electronic surveillance assets. I understand that's one reason it was selected for this event. Your Security Department is keyed into all the places where you and your guests are likely to go. This is, of course, for your protection. If your guest tries to take you somewhere that is not well-lighted, that may be because surveillance is not available. In any case, check with your sailor for any questions; they have orders to be nearby and easily called, but not to interfere in any of the events you have arranged. Do you understand?"

Again, the four slaves made their understanding clear.

Escorted by a sailor, each slave found her stateroom and checked its "furnishings." Then, they explored the Playroom, where each slave was impressed by the thought that had gone into designing such a space. "There's more room here than in any of The Enterprises' Correction Rooms," observed Niamh.

"Yes, but The Enterprises has a lot more rooms with 'special equipment,'" answered Sally.

Julie checked with the ship's Engineer for the use of the lifts and cables in the Playroom. "We'll be using these towards the end of the evening." The Engineer went over Julie's Outline of Activities and promised, "Ma'am, it looks like smooth sailing for this program." The two shared a laugh at the pun.

As the time for the men to arrive approached, the slaves returned to their staterooms and dressed for the reception. Anne and Pat had worked on the wardrobes for the evening. The first dress was actually a cocktail dress, the Hunter Mini Dress from X by NBD, the "party girl's go-to brand," a modern makeover for the cocktail dress. Just 26" from the sweetheart neckline to the mid-thigh hem, the lacy black overlay showed a mesh of cut-outs. The elastane-containing lining, a contrasting nude color, provided the feminine essence. Martin had observed, "This dress is exactly how to start a party: long legs and short skirts."

The slaves assembled in the Reception Area where each picked up a silver tray bearing a frosty flute of Champagne and formed a line. Again, the Captain swept into the area, but this time he was stopped in amazement by the slaves' presentation. Sally thought she could see the thoughts flowing across his face: I know they're just a coffle of slaves, but — Davy Jones! — what a bunch of bodies!

Recovering, the Captain announced, "Folks, there's a bunch of cars just come onto the wharf, and it looks like your guests are getting acquainted before coming aboard. I've sent a sailor to invite them aboard, so they should be here any moment."

And it was so. Four men, each with an expression of curiosity on his face, entered the area and paused, a bit uncertain of the proprieties. This, the Captain could deal with!

"Gentlemen, welcome aboard! Please allow me to introduce your hostesses for this evening's party. First, is Julie, who is the manager for the overall Opera project. Second, is Niamh; this party was her idea. Third, is Sally. And fourth, our newest member is Dagmar. Each of these lovelies has a flute of Champagne for you."

Julie had worried about how to assign each guest as the evening's Master for each slave. The Empress had sent a short biography and a photo of each man and Julie had scrutinized these for hints on their assignments. Finally, she decided the slaves should be assigned by lot, to avoid any possible suggestion of playing favourites, or that she picked herself an easy man. The Concierge Service had prepared a Welcome Packet for each guest, labelled with the name of a slave, appropriately embellished, and packed them in a vintage Chinese lotus bowl, presented on a wooden stand.

With a flourish indicating the lotus bowl, the Captain invited each man to select his slave.

As each man drew a packet, he was rewarded with a beautiful and attentive woman, who handed him a flute of Champagne and engaged him in light-hearted conversation. First up was Sally, then Niamh, and finally Julie and Dagmar were paired up.

Niamh thought the Captain's speech a bit flat, but then, how many times had the Captain had to introduce a team of sex slaves to some new Masters? She chuckled inwardly at the brief confusion among the men.

But, these were leaders in their businesses. With only a word or two, each identified the slave he had won and the group approached the slaves. Julie's man introduced himself with just a name: John, then added, "I'm a commodity broker." Niamh's man was a Japanese who introduced himself as Master Takana. Sally was selected by a short man named Tom. Dagmar's man was a young man who introduced himself as Derek. Each took the flute of bubbly and, pocketing the keycard, saluted his prize.

Julie had a moment of panic when Dagmar, the newest slave, was drawn by the least experienced Master, the young man who had been nominated by the Empress and would be Act Three. Her Inner Goddess merely laughed and said, "Murphy's law ― you'll just have to wing it." Dagmar, by this time, had decided that her best course was to play along, at least for the moment. She curtseyed prettily and offered the flute of Champagne. Relieved, the other slaves gave Dagmar a quick smile.

Raising a hand to excuse herself from her man for a moment, Julie greeted Derek, the Empress' Young Man. "Sir, we're very pleased you have joined us tonight. We're looking forward to later this evening."

The Captain's invitation to dinner moved the group to the Dining Salon. As each of the slaves led her man across the buffet, it was clear that these were "meat and potatoes" types: each signaled for several slices carved from the standing rib roast; not much salad was taken; steamed carrots and broccoli were the only vegetables favoured. From the quantity of food loaded onto the dinner plates, it was clear that each man knew he was responsible for feeding his slave.

There was no confusion about seating arrangements: each man went directly to the chair to the left of the kneeling pad labelled for his slave. As the dining began, the slaves were pleased that their temporary Masters seemed comfortable with the arrangements. And, each slave felt comfortable after her feeding. Sally, whose experience with dinners alongside a Master was the most extensive, noticed that the men seemed at ease, both with each other and with a serving slave. As might be expected, the conversation was mostly about the impressive yacht, their gratitude to the Empress for their invitation, some recent sports headlines, and — very peripherally — some international politics.

Julie was pleased to answer one question about what was the next production of the Opera, but no one reacted to the news that it would be Mozart's Magic Flute. She began to worry whether this group would be receptive to the fundraising remarks she had prepared?

There was also time to notice that Dagmar seemed to be fitting smoothly into her man's conversation as well as feeding efforts. Julie thought it ironic, but fitting, that the newest slave was working with the man who was going to "try out" slavery later on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 105: Act I Begins

Dinner over, it was clear that the men were ready for Act I. Julie rose from her kneeling pad and announced, "Gentlemen, thank you for your kind attentions during dinner. Now, on behalf of the institution we're here to support, our local Opera company, the Empress and The Enterprises welcomes your use of these delightful damsels. Your Welcome Packet has your keycard for your personal room or, if you'd like, the Playroom is open. Let's all return to this Salon in about an hour, please."

Julie's man smiled thinly as he took her hand and led her to the Playroom. "Julie, I believe the first command would be for you to strip, right?"

The slave smiled and said, "Yes, Master." Wearing not much clothing, there was no sensuous striptease, but the balletmaster's training showed Julie's moves embodied grace and control. She moved to Standing Presentation, with her feet shoulder width apart, her head level, and her hands locked behind her neck, elbows out to the side.

As the man circled his slave, he recounted the commerce of his day. "Julie, I'm a commodity broker; I send ships with stuff all over the world. The US Fed made some moves that made gold and silver drop today. China is having problems in its steel industry, so iron and steel prices fell today. The Bank of England is fussing with the pound sterling and the Bank of Japan is still trying to move the yen. On top of these, the Baltic Dry Index, which assesses the price of moving raw materials over 23 standard sea routes, plunged. The BDI is a leading economic indicator because these raw materials are headed someplace to become finished products, what you buy for your house or factory. It's supposed to be pretty efficient as an indicator of future economic growth and production. Do you understand what kind of day I've had?"

Julie recognized strain in his voice, along with doses of anger and worry about the future. "Yes, Master," she replied. "But, don't these statistics and indices move with some volatility?"

She could see surprise and some curiosity in his eyes. "Hmm," was his reply.

Then, "The problem is that none of these numbers is actually worth anything for predicting the future. The Baltic is supposed to, but the supply of ships is so inelastic, while it's pretty easy to decide to buy or not to buy a load of coal or steel to run through your factory. That makes for lots of volatility. And that might be nice for economics professors, but it's Hell on wheels for brokers.

"So," he finished up, "I've had a lousy day and I'm not in the mood for games. What I'm in the mood for is a simple whipping girl. Do you understand?"

Julie understood. The Playroom's main "feature" was its size: the width of the yacht and the height of two decks. It was designed for a Master or Mistress swinging any sort of whip they fancied.

The standard slave question hovered in the air for just a second before Julie managed an answer. "Please, Master, this slave understands. My Owner has trained me to know that my mission is to serve, to be of service, to be used. My Owner has placed me here tonight to serve, to be of service, to be used by you, to meet your standards."

The expressions crossing the broker's face seemed to show his surprise and then his pleasure. Gradually, his smile widened until it reached his eyes. To Julie, it seemed that he accepted his slave's dedication and would be pleased if she met his standards for responding to the whipping he was proposing.

Well, I've had a caning — OK, a small caning — and I've survived strokes from a variety of whips during my training; I'll probably survive this. Julie realized the logic wasn't exactly Aristotelian, but it would have to serve.

The man issued a stream of orders and Julie moved to comply. She found a hank of rope suitable for tying her hands, used a remote unit to let a cable down from a ceiling beam, and collected a range of instruments for her Master's inspection.

He opened the hank of rope and found the midpoint quickly. He placed Julie's hands palm to palm in front of her and, using the bight of the rope, tied a larkspur knot just above her wrists. He wrapped the doubled rope twice just above the knot and finished the binding with a cinch between her hands.

Carrying the free ends of the rope to the cable, he threw a half-hitch and then a half-hitch on a bight onto the ring holding the snaphook at the end of the cable. A touch on the remote lifted Julie's arms over her head, but did not stretch her. That, she knew, would come when he had selected the instrument of her whipping.

Julie watched his examination of the whips carefully. She recognized the care he took with each whip, testing the handle for a comfortable grip, testing the instrument for balance, and testing it for its ease of swing. Her Master was able to draw a loud crack from each instrument. For a moment, Julie wondered if she would be able to hear the crack separately from the crash as the lashes landed on her body.

The Master selected an old model whip, the standard cat-o'-nine-tails: two feet long, with one-third handle and two-thirds the tails that would mark her. Master's touch on the remote control lifted her arms to the regulation "Stretched" position. Julie just had time to notice the lashes were of rope before her Master ordered, "Slave, turn around. I want the first strikes to be on your back. I find that, when a slave cannot see the lash coming, it has a more powerful effect. Also, your back presents a broad canvas for painting my strokes. I learn from these so that the later strokes on your front are more decorative."

Emotions Julie thought "dead and buried" flooded the slave as she turned. This Master was going to "learn" as he whipped her back? Did this guy think a strike from a cat could be erased if it didn't "look right?" Anger was the first emotion she recognized. With sorrow, she recognized despair and hopelessness following on the heels of anger. Was her back only as valuable as a page in a sketch book?