48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 41

"The last song is about a girl from the docks who often sees an English Milord around town, usually with a beautiful young girl. He never notices the singer, until one night, all alone he sits at her table, breaks down and cries."

Vous marchiez en vainqueur

Au bras d'une demoiselle

Mon Dieu, qu'elle était belle!

J'en ai froid dans le coeur

Regardez-moi, Milord

Vous n'm'avez jamais vue...

Mais vous pleurez, Milord?

Ça, je l'aurai jamais cru

Victoriously, you walk

arm in arm with a young miss

My God, she is beautiful

I feel a chill in my heart

Look at me Milord

You've never seen me...

Milord, you're crying?

I wouldn't have believed it.

Dagmar had been primed on her part in the show, and this was her entrance cue.

She had been wrestling with her feelings since the "Commencement" where Sally had been offered her release. Now, she was both excited by the opportunity for sex with the other slaves and repelled by the thought of doing it in public, and before an audience of men, at that. She had hoped that the excursion outside The Enterprises' HQ would provide a chance of escape. If she could hide out for a few hours, she could make it back to her bank.

Her hopes had been dashed by the trip to the wharves. Security was ever present, standard restraints were in place, and the van doors were locked. Sally had sensed her agitation and taken her hand. Dagmar could see that Sally was calm, smiling, seemingly accepting their position. They had been escorted on board the yacht, not hurriedly, but firmly, and never unwatched.

Go on with the show, she decided, was the best thing to do.

She sidled up to Niamh, who was dancing to the song. Taking her by the hand, she led Niamh to the padded mattress, the giant futon, which was their stage. Niamh put her arm around Dagmar's waist and squeezed. They halted for a kiss. Dagmar trembled as Niamh embraced her, whispering in her ear, "Just pretend we are all alone."

Dagmar whispered back, "Don't worry, I'm all right. In fact, I had quite a good time with Derek; tell you later."

Dagmar began to stroke Niamh's back, working her way down to the buttocks as Niamh concentrated on kissing her neck. Though she was not usually attracted to other women, Niamh was happy to put on this show because she had just recently experienced an intense orgasm. She was still aroused and her skin still tingled where she had been bound. Dagmar's touches were enhancing those feelings. She suspected that Dagmar had come as well.

Sally joined Dagmar and Niamh, and moments later so did Julie. They surrounded the two, kissing their necks, nibbling on their ears and slipping their arms between them, caressing breasts and bellies. Sally and Julie began to undo the fastenings of the other slaves' lacy lingerie and slowly made them nude. Their hands were added to sensations building up in Niamh. She disengaged from Dagmar and turned to Sally, her gentle tormentor. Niamh pressed herself against Sally, feeling her firm breasts beneath the lace. Her hand deftly undid the clasps while she teased Sally's neck with her lips.

Dagmar was on her knees, pulling Julie's bottoms down and off her legs, burying her head between Julie's thighs. Julie pressed her closer, sliding down until her cunt was available to Dagmar's lips. Sally and Niamh, both naked, were down on the mattress by now. Niamh was exploring Sally's slit with her tongue while Sally employed her fingers in Niamh's folds, dipping a finger into the well-lubricated cunt. The tension was building in Niamh; she needed more! To signal this, she raised her head and playfully nipped Sally's clit, eliciting a shudder and a yelp of delight.

The desired result came in the form of a new hand that tweaked Niamh's nipple. It was Julie, signalling a change in formation. Sally moved herself about, still allowing Niamh access to her sex, while she now attended to Dagmar with her tongue. Julie took over the stimulation of Niamh and Dagmar continued her service to Julie. In this fashion, the "Daisy Chain" that had been discussed with the Empress and agreed between the slaves was accomplished.

Each girl was sucking and nibbling and being sucked and nibbled in a spiral of pleasure, assisted by the random application of hands and even feet. A seeming perpetual motion machine, that increased the arousal with every revolution, until Dagmar jerked and groaned, setting off a chain reaction of gyrations and orgasms around the circle.

The men had been spellbound and silenced by this display of raw feminine sexuality. Some leaned forward, as if to catch every nuance of action in this drama. When, finally, the moans and twitching of the girls subsided, unrehearsed — but as one — the men burst into a round of applause. The ladies gathered themselves together and, facing the men, bowed deeply.

They stood for a moment holding hands, their bodies shining with sweat, catching their collective breaths. Master Takana raised a finger. "Ladies you must have enjoyed your meal; you devoured it! I must apologize for not providing napkins, but as our mothers taught us, good manners require a clean face. Please turn to your partner and take care of this without using your hands."

After a moment's hesitation, Julie took the initiative — and Dagmar's face, planting kisses and licks on cheeks and chin. Sally leaned into Niamh. She caught a drip under Niamh's chin and worked her way to the upper lip. As the four women enthusiastically completed their task, several men found the display even more arousing than the main performance.

Julie took the lead again and pulled Dagmar into a tight embrace. Sally reacted with a deep kiss and hug with Niamh.

Sally saw to refreshing each man's drink while the other slaves slipped into Lulus' Star Spangled Ivory Backless Lace Rompers for the remainder of the evening. The short uniform drew admiring looks from the men, especially when Dagmar did a few twirls. As the other slaves rejoined the gathering in the salon, Sally also donned the white uniform.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 108: Act Three of the Party

Julie and Niamh were exhausted but pleased that the Girl-on-Girl Second Act had gone so well — for the slaves — and had been received so enthusiastically by the men. Now, Act Three needed to be started.

The young man, Derek, took the initiative away from Julie, something which she was surprised to find irritated her.

"My friends," he announced, "I'd like to invite you to observe a Third Act this evening. As you may know, my family has had slaves for a few generations and I've grown up without thinking much about slaves or slavery. It was always just something there, ready-to-wear, right off the rack, to mix a few metaphors."

The other men paused and, curiosity on their faces, looked around the room for clues about what was about to happen. This hadn't been mentioned in any of the contacts or notices leading up to the party. Derek's metaphor reference eventually settled on them and they returned to their seats, expectant.

Neither Julie nor Niamh thought it wise to interrupt Derek, who seemed to know what and how he wanted to set up the rest of the evening.

"Now, while I've been setting up our business here in the SAR, I've thought about these things a bit more. Frankly, I don't really know much about this topic. So," — he paused for a deep breath and the men could see a look of resolve settle around him — "I asked the Empress to set up an Introduction to Slavery for me."

Everyone could hear the capital letters in his voice, which stayed strong.

"The rules are simple. This is to be as realistic as possible. There is no bar to our hosts saying or doing anything they would say or do to or with a real slave. There is no "safe word" here. I will submit as long as our hosts, and you fine gentlemen, will require it, although we all have to be at our usual offices in the morning."

This last, clearly the end of his speech, was greeted by a smattering of applause and smiles all around. In a moment, Julie felt the atmosphere change. Her nod to the engineer lowered the general room lighting just enough to emphasize the spotlight on Derek. Niamh passed a riding crop to her and Julie moved to face the new slave.

"Slave Derek," she started, "in a few moments we are going to move to the yacht's Playroom. There are a few rules in our slave corridor. Your obedience will be instantaneous and it will be complete. When I or my trainers give you a command, we will ask 'Do you understand?' This is your only chance to ask for an explanation of whatever you don't understand. Otherwise, you will answer simply, "Yes, Mistress," and you will perform the act commanded. Do you understand?"

Quickly and smoothly, Derek answered, "Yes, Mistress, ask for explanation and perform the command."

Led by Julie, the three men, the "new slave," and the Mistresses made their way to the Playroom. From her position just off to one side, Niamh breathed a bit easier. At least, we started off properly.

Julie started the catechism they had rehearsed. "A slave has no rights. A slave is property. A slave does not own his body. A slave's mission is to obey, to serve, and to be used. Do you understand?"

Julie thought there was just a hint of a smile on Derek's face. Was he gaining some confidence that he could manage this act?

Derek took a moment too long to answer the standard slave question. Julie applied a slash from the crop across his right shoulder. It wasn't a particularly hard slash, but it wiped the smile off Derek's face. He's probably not so confident now, thought Niamh, who had also detected the smile.

"Do you understand?"

The answer was rushed; one lesson had been learned. "Yes, Mistress, I am to obey, to serve, to be used."

Julie made sure her face showed neither smile nor frown. A slave must pick up clues to his Mistress' desires from almost nothing. He had a moment of appreciation for how helpful his own slaves were. But, he continued to focus on Julie.

"Your first service is to show yourself to your betters. You will strip. You will make yourself naked. You will put your former clothes into the basket Niamh will bring you. Now. Do you understand?"

He was already opening his shirt as he replied, "Yes, Mistress, strip naked." It wasn't sensuous or sensual, but it was functional and fast. Niamh's basket disappeared. He wanted to wonder if he'd ever see it again, but he closed off that thought as Julie began speaking.

"Now, slave, two more rules. You will not make any sounds except to speak when asked a direct question. You will not look directly at me or any of the Mistresses here. Do you understand?"

Again, a quick reply. "Yes, Mistress, no speaking, no direct looks." And Derek realized that he was the only one naked in the room. The men had dressed after the Act One usages and the females wore the lacy white lingerie. As with the No Speaking rule, he surmised, it was a maneuver to build some humiliation into his slave experience.

"Put your hands at the small of your back."

He felt his hands move before he could wonder what this Mistress was going to do with them. What she did was fix each wrist in a pair of shiny handcuffs.

Julie permitted herself a small smile. It was time for a "nice, soothing, word" for the slave.

"These manacles," she said, deliberately using the more menacing term, "are new. Virgin. Yours is the first skin they have tasted."

It was a test. Derek thought he should respond to such a compliment, but there had been no question. The mild burn on his shoulder convinced him to remain silent.

Julie nodded at the slave. "That was a test, slave. In the free world, you would have a polite answer. In the slave world, nobody is interested in what you think or what you think you have to say. Now, this position is what we call Transport Mode. We will use it to move you around, to get you to the places where we want you."

His mind reacted. Transport to where they wanted him. In slavery, he would not be going where he wanted to go. He felt a layer of control, of civilization, fall away from him and thought, That's a pretty grand idea, and just from wearing a set of handcuffs. But he knew it was true. A bit of worry started in his mind. Where are they going to take me? Off the yacht? To some slave corridor?

The answer appeared without announcement. Julie grabbed his prick and gave a small jerk to get him moving. She led him around to each of the other men, and then to the other females, pointing to his "package."

"It's not the biggest package we've seen, but his history shows it has worked fairly well. Our first modification for his body is to increase the length of his ballsac. For this, we will use a parachute."

Niamh brought a C-shaped disk of plastic and wrapped it around the neck of his scrotum, bringing the ends to overlap, forming a cone with its open end covering his balls. Snaps held the cone in place. Niamh hooked small weights to four rings and gently let their weight pull on the cone.

Derek couldn't see this application, but he did feel the instant pull on his ballsac. It wasn't painful, at least not yet, but he had never heard of such an application, and worry started to grow in his mind.

Julie used his prick as a lead as she showed the parachute to each of the audience. With some thickening and lengthening of his prick evident, Julie suspected Derek was actually enjoying this manipulation of his manhood. Eye contact with Niamh suggested that they were ready to move to the next test.

"Handcuffs are quite adaptable to many uses," Julie lectured the new slave as she led him to a position in the center of the room. "I'm going to change yours. When I free your right wrist, I want you to hold your arms straight out in front of you. No other movements. No shoulder movements. No movements to work out any muscle kinks. Immediately and straight out front. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress, straight out front."

The audience could see a flight of emotions cross Derek's face. For one not used to Transport Position, even the short time he had been in the position must have given the new slave some unfamiliar stretches of unused muscles. But the command included no moves or shakes to get a cramp to let go. It was going to be a test for the slave.

Julie freed the right wrist and Derek swung his arms around to "straight out front." Julie quickly reapplied the right wrist handcuff and left his arms outstretched.

"Slave, you did that exactly as ordered. This is the standard we're going to expect tonight."

Niamh signaled the engineer and the whir of a cable descending from the ceiling filled the room. Niamh clipped the snaphook on the cable to the links between the cuffs and signaled for the cable to rise.

Derek followed the gradual rise of his arms as they passed his shoulders, then his face, and continued upward. He realized that the cable could go all the way to the ceiling, and had a flash of panic as he realized that would haul him off the floor, to hang from just the steel bracelets of the handcuffs.

The cable stopped with his arms pulled up, but his feet still on the floor. His mind sent out a prayer of thanks, but the worry seated itself a bit deeper. The "demonstration of adaptability" for the handcuffs must have some further point, he figured. Stretched as he was, he could think of only one reason: they were going to whip him.

Sally wheeled a small trolley to the slave. He could move enough to see it bore a basin of water and a tray of shavers. The Mistress covered his package with shaving gel — a rather comfortable, cooling sensation, Derek thought. That thought evaporated as Sally started shaving his lower abdomen and pubic region, flipping his prick from side to side as she worked.

"Raise your left leg," she ordered. Derek responded even before he figured out what she wanted to do, which was to reach the hair between his ballsack and the rosebud of his anus.

"Lower the left leg and raise the right," followed in just a few moments. Derek was not ready for the obvious command, and complied slowly. From behind him, Julie applied another cut with her crop.

Anger flared in Derek's mind, along with a short cry escaping from his mouth. He was trying, wasn't he? How fast did they expect him to go?

Julie came around to face the new slave. "I expect you're a bit upset by the cut of my crop. Slaves do not get upset. Because your Mistresses want you to understand their expectations, I will explain. You should be processing each maneuver we put you through. You should understand that we are removing your bush. You should have been ready to change legs when your Mistress ordered it. You were not ready. We think that means you were not thinking about what your Mistress was going to want. That is a failure, and it requires a correction. The correction was a cut of the crop. Corrections often hurt, but they will not harm you. We think you are a valuable unit of merchandise, of property. What would be the point of harming you? Now, a hurt will always heal. Of course, once you are hurt, you will know that you can be hurt again. This knowledge, we know, makes the correction more effective for the slave. Do you understand?"

It was the longest speech Derek had heard about slavery. He saw the logic quickly, and the worry deepened in his mind. They could use the crop, and probably other more painful devices, any time. He could have "hurts" piled on each other. But now, his Mistress was waiting for an answer.

"Please, Mistress," he started, but then realized he wasn't sure what to say. He fell back on, "I'll try better," adding "Mistress" as an afterthought.

Julie waved the crop, an action that had Derek flinching. It was impossible to ignore a simple fact: he was learning that slaves are not in control of themselves, and not in control of what positions or actions they may be compelled to take. There was less confidence, now, replaced by feeling "adrift." He wondered, how did his slaves at home manage to survive this loss of control?

"Did you say 'try?'" asked Julie. "Slave, you must understand that 'try' is a term in rugby —British football — or in American football. Slaves do not 'try.' Slaves perform up to standards. We will train you to our standards and you will perform up to those standards. Do you understand?"

Derek's wall of worry received this explanation with some despair. Did these Mistresses expect perfection every time? He formulated an answer he thought might satisfy. "Yes, Mistress, perform up to standards."

He noticed Julie's smile did not reach her eyes.

By the time his Mistress had his package shaved cleanly enough for her standards, Derek was feeling the cooling effects of the shave gel where his bush had been. Several hands ran over the area, testing for stray hairs. To Derek, these touches were not the pleasant and stimulating caresses of his own slaves, but tests for further passes by the shavers. His prick had stopped responding to flicks sending it one way or another. His ballsac, weighted by the parachute, was beginning to ache, and he wondered if, indeed, it was now longer.

The cable began to let his arms down, and Derek became tense. Another maneuver, another test was starting! The worry, now seated deeply in his mind, added a new dimension. Could he figure out what his Mistresses wanted, and in time to meet their standards?

With his arms at the horizontal, the cable stopped. He was told that the handcuffs were going to be removed, but that he was to keep his arms outstretched. Niamh and Julie unsnapped the cable, which retracted, and freed his wrists from the handcuffs. After just a bit of a dip, he managed to keep his arms at the horizontal until the Mistresses each took an arm and brought it around to his back.