48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 45

"But, did he get off?"

"Oh, sure," the slave replied. "And then he had me suck him for maybe twenty minutes until he was ready to go again. All that time, he didn't seem to be paying me any attention: he had a porn show on his computer."

Julie considered the slave's report, matching it with her own experiences. "My dear, I think I know how you feel, because I had almost the same experience when I was first starting service here. I used the same words to my trainer: like a piece of meat.

"Let me tell you what the trainer told me; perhaps it'll help. He told me that, to many 'clients,' we are 'just a piece of meat.' But he added that this idea misses the point of your assignment. You weren't sent to have an arousing, or even a good erotic experience. You were there to make the client feel that The Enterprises' slaves perform well, that he gets off as many times as he can. And, you did that. That was what your Owner wanted — needed and expected — you to do. You know the line: as a slave, your job is to serve, to be of service, to be used, right? You know you did that, right? So, you served your Owner well. That was your purpose in doing that client. Now, you should feel a sense of achievement, of accomplishment. There wasn't one complaint or even a poor rating about any of the six of you. How many times does a player go to the racetrack and win six races? You've heard of a trifecta? This was a six-fecta, if there is such a word."

The slave giggled at the racetrack comparison, but her face had brightened during Julie's encouragement.

"So, I did OK, after all?" she asked.

"Of course, you did! If you hadn't done well, don't you think your trainers would have set up some 'extra homework time' for you?"

The slave giggled again. "Please, Ma'am, I just never thought of it that way. Your way makes it all seem so simple."

Julie nodded. "It is simple. You are a slave. You belong to The Enterprises. What you feel about an assignment doesn't matter; what matters is whether you performed up to standards. Here, you did. Now, you're entitled to that sense of achievement."

Julie paused, and continued in a softer voice. "I didn't understand this for some time, but now I have the chance for that sense of achievement lots of times. It's not easy being a slave, but those times of achievement are what make me keep going.

"And, you have one big advantage over slaves in some other Houses. Here, your Owner takes his responsibilities seriously. That's why your trainer and I were told to look after you. We all think you're not just a piece of meat, but a valuable asset. Haven't you heard the trainers call you that?"

"Yes, Ma'am, lots of times. But I thought it was just a phrase they use to get slaves to submit."

Now, Julie could laugh. "So, now you know it's real, it's serious business."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for telling me."

Ann and Pat were satisfied with Julie's discussions with the six slavegirls who had participated in the Dalliance Promotes Alliance production. Each of the girls was back to "normal," or what passes for normal in a House of Slavery. The girl who had been taken up her ass, however, was using that distinction to try to dominate the others, somewhat like a scout completing a Merit Badge test. The trainers were watching carefully, however, to prevent any "topping from the bottom." Igor explained that, once each of the slaves had been used anally, any idea of preference would evaporate instantly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 136: Fashion week

Hong Kong Fashion Week is a thing much anticipated by the ladies of Hong Kong, the Empress especially, and not least by Niamh and Julie. The Enterprises are among the major sponsors, and Martin has promised to take them to the Runway events. That prospect left them excited and with smiles all over their faces. They would seize any excuse to chatter about it.

The Enterprises Head Office was busier than ever that week. Several important projects were coming to a head. Martin, the Chairman, was missing his slave, Niamh, who was also his confidential researcher. She should have been working in the Outer Office.

Perhaps, he thinks, she is in the Library.

As Martin enters the Library, he can hear the sound of sobbing. Niamh is kneeling on the slave mat, clutching a magazine and racked with tears. He grabs a box of tissues and squats down beside her. He strokes her back until she quietens a little. Gently, he wipes her tear-streaked face. "Come to my office, my dear."

Niamh manages a weak smile as Martin helps her up. She follows him to his office, where she heads for the kneeling mat.

"No," he says. "Private Space. Come to the sofa and we'll have a talk."

He places her on one of those sumptuous white leather sofas, hands her a glass of water, and sits beside her.

"Tell me."

Wordlessly, she hands him the magazine, somewhat worse for wear, still open at the page she had been reading.

"The Fashion Week programme." He looked puzzled, "I thought you were so excited at the prospect of attending."

She gulped for air. "Master, I was, but look at this featured event: 'Bridget Designs.' That's my sister's label. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't go to the show and not meet her." Niamh sniffled some more and added, "I'm sorry, Master."

Martin was silent for some minutes as he stroked his slave's shoulders and back. He considered some of the possibilities. "What would you say if you met her?"

Niamh boldly looked straight into his eyes. "She would want to know everything. If I ever tried to keep a secret, she could always worm the truth out of me, and she can be very persistent."

There followed another long pause. Martin said, "There are many flavours of truth, my dear. Like good whiskey, they can be blended almost infinitely. The question is, what flavour would you blend that was best for Bridget?"

Niamh considered her Master's words, with rising hopes that she might yet get to see her sister.

"Master, she wouldn't believe that I, say, went off with a man I'd just met, without telling anyone."

"Perhaps a version of the truth might suffice. You were abducted and brought to Hong Kong..."

"But, somehow, I got away!"

"How did that happen?"

"Ummm, perhaps they were even more incompetent than the gang that snatched Julie."

Martin laughed, and Niamh giggled, too. He considered the situation and the likely problems.

"Niamh, I think you had a very traumatic experience, which caused you to fall into a dissociative fugue. One of our staff found you wandering on the Aberdeen Promenade by the waterfront and brought you here, to our infirmary. There were no clues to your identity. People who suffer this condition don't forget how to speak or drive, or other everyday tasks, and can often perform the jobs they previously did. You could retain your professional skills, but not know who you are. They are not brain damaged; the memories of the trauma and before are sealed away. They can be unlocked, a few at a time, given the correct trigger."

"Master, that might work. The magazine article was the trigger that made me remember my sister."

They were both silent again. Since Niamh had become more of a concubine than a slave, Martin was conscious that he had promised to give some thought to how she could see her friends and relatives again. He was not reluctant for that to happen. The real question, that had remained unspoken, was what was her motivation? Could he allow a meeting that had the potential for disaster?

This was the crux of the problem. They were both aware of the dangers and consequences for each other if the secret of slavery was revealed. Niamh broke the silence.

"Master, I confess, when I first came, I thought of little else but how to escape, but now I feel this is my home. Since you allowed that we could be equals in private, I have no more desire to leave. When I'm working at the Opera with Julie, we are not secured, we communicate with colleagues around the world. I know we are monitored, but still there are opportunities to send messages. We are content, at least, I know I am. You would have to throw me out on the street to get rid of me. This is my family and you are my Master and my Lover."

Martin took out his phone. "Put me through to the Harbourview Hotel, please. " Niamh stared in amazement. Martin prowled around the office. "This is Martin Bramleigh, from The Enterprises. Please connect me to Bridget Connor.

"Good morning, Ms Connor. My name is Martin Bramleigh. My company, The Enterprises, is a Fashion Week sponsor... thank you, I'm well. This may come as a shock, but one of my staff has told me you are her sister." Even from the sofa, Niamh could hear her name screamed down the line. "Yes, that's her name... It's a long story... May I suggest lunch tomorrow at 12, here at our headquarters... It's a case of memory loss, she's rather upset... I think she needs some time to prepare... I'll send a driver for you. Eleven forty-five."

As the call ended, Niamh slipped off the sofa and, kneeling, embraced Martin's legs. "Thank you, Master, thank you," was all she could say.

Martin bent down and lifted her up. He took her to the door. "Off you go now." He swatted her on the rear. "You've got homework to do."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 137: Bridget Goes to Lunch

The Harbourview Hotel is not the swankiest in Hong Kong, and certainly not the most expensive. Bridget's business was doing well, but she still had to keep to a budget. Its great advantage was being close to the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition centre, where Fashion Week was staged.

Bridget couldn't help being impressed as she was helped into the black Mercedes sedan by the uniformed driver that picked her up sharp at 11:45. Nor did she fail to notice the subtle signs of wealth in the appointments, the entertainment system and media outlets for phone and laptop, her seat subtly changing to suit her size and weight.

"I'm surprised this car needs a driver at all," she said.

The driver replied with a chuckle, "Ma'am, you're almost correct. In two or three years, we will probably be able to programme it to pick someone up by itself."

The trip from Wan Chai to The Enterprises' headquarters takes only about twenty minutes, but long enough for Bridget to begin to wonder about the purpose of this display. Is he trying to seduce me with luxury — I must see if it really is Niamh — I'm fairly well known in Ireland and getting known in Scandinavia and Germany, but I'm not famous — Oh, I hope it is Niamh — I was lucky to get a spot here for Fashion Week — why didn't she contact us? — he said she was on his staff, what does that mean? Marketing, I suppose — well, it all seems a bit odd — Mmm, there's a subtle fragrance in the air.

As the limousine emerged from the motorway tunnel, Bridget could see the Peak from a different angle, with the jumble of high rises on one side of the road and quaint floating restaurants on the other as they slowed and turned into an expansive forecourt.

A young woman, with a slightly nervous air, opened the door. "Miss Bridget?" she asked, and without waiting for confirmation, "Welcome to The Enterprises. Please come this way."

Upstairs, a pager whistled. "OK team, let's go," said Martin. Julie took Niamh's hand, with just a gentle squeeze, and five people moved out into the reception area.

The lift chimed and the doors opened, revealing Fifteen and a slim, pale woman whose black hair was urchin cut.

Bridget scanned the group awaiting her: three men, a woman and, standing out like a beacon, the bright ginger mop of her sister Niamh.

"Niamh!"

"Bridget!" They ran together, hugged, cried, danced around. Fifteen discreetly disappeared.

"You naughty girl. Where have you been?"

"Oh, Bridget. Don't. It's been so hard, I don't remember the beginning. I only recovered my name a few days ago. Let me introduce you to my colleagues and — friends." Niamh turned to the others and Bridget saw that she looked first to the tall European man, with an expression she couldn't quite read; a mixture of awe, timidity and something else.

"My sister, Bridget; Ma—artin." He advanced and took her hand.

"Welcome, Bridget, I'm so pleased you came."

"Edward." He bowed and also took her hand. "This is a most fortunate meeting," he said. Bridget noted that, like Martin's, his accent was Oxbridge.

"Charles." Charles bowed, "So pleased."

"And Julie." Julie came and kissed Bridget on the cheek. "We were so excited when Niamh saw your name in the Fashion Week programme, and it brought back a memory. Though she was pretty cut up, too."

Bridget struggled to stay calm amongst all these greetings. Her designer's eye noted that Julie, and glancing sideways, Niamh, too, were wearing understated, but clearly very expensive outfits, something she was sure she had seen in Paris, last spring, almost certainly by Calvin Klein. But Bridget had an agenda which she was determined to stick to.

"Mr Bramleigh," she said, turning to Martin. "I hope you will be able to tell me what happened to Niamh."

"Some of it, yes, and please call me Martin. But let's talk over lunch. Chef has been catching my eye, which means everything is ready, and as he says, it's never better cold."

Martin seated her next to himself on his right, with Niamh at his other side. Julie was between Edward and Charles. A very conventional arrangement, Bridget thought, the guest of honour on the right of the host, his partner, was she his partner? on his left. She noted it also neatly separated her from Niamh, and opposite Julie, whose confidence shone out with every word and gesture.

The first course arrived along with two bottles each of Hock and San Pellegrino. Martin poured a glass of wine for Bridget and himself and passed the bottle on. Bridget noted that Niamh and Julie only took the mineral water.

She leant forward on the table. "Not drinking, Neevy?"

"Oh, did I use to drink?"

"Your girlfriends at Marks and Sparks said you were pretty happy, the night you disappeared."

"Well, I don't think it agrees with me anymore. I really don't remember, Bee. Oh, your nickname, that just came to me!"

Martin took up the story. "One of our security women found Niamh wandering along Aberdeen Promenade, about four months ago, and brought her back to our infirmary. She seemed blank and unresponsive. Our security staff are trained to recognise the difference between ordinary drunks and possible medical states."

"Why would she go somewhere with a complete stranger?" Bridget asked.

"That's the thing. Someone in their right mind, even drunk, probably wouldn't. She had no identification and didn't know her name."

Julie added, "I was right there when Niamh came in; she was pretty upset. I think I helped to calm her down."

"Yes, you did." said Niamh.

The arrival of the second course, an Asian salad with seared beef and crispy noodles, interrupted the conversation.

Bridget saw Niamh glance quickly at Martin. "I think I will have a little wine after all." He poured half a glass.

"Julie?" It seemed as much like an order as a question. She held out her glass. There are some power games going on, thought Bridget. Niamh had slipped her hand into Martin's.

"I don't understand," she said directly to Martin, "why the police weren't brought in? Niamh's a 'missing person.' The Garda say her bank account hasn't been used, and nothing obvious was missing from her flat."

Charles said, "Miss Bridget, I look after the running of the headquarters here, personnel and staff welfare. So, I was informed immediately when Niamh arrived. I thought it best to look after her here. The police here are no longer British bobbies, especially since reversion. Then there are the Immigration people. With no passport or documentation, poor Niamh would probably have been locked up for some time.

"On the other hand, a phone call from The Enterprises, a call-in of favours, the support of allies. That's how it works."

Martin's rakish smile almost disarmed even Bridget. "Niamh wanted to do marketing work, and she's been a winner. I want to keep her."

Niamh beamed.

"And speaking of favours, I'm taking these ladies to the Runway events. We are pretty well known in Hong Kong society. Perhaps something from your collection?"

Bridget knew she was being flattered, but she was flattered anyway. It certainly couldn't do her any harm to have her designs shown off on the arms of a billionaire.

"Of course. I've been imagining each of them in one of my garments. Everything's loose fitting this year, so no problems."

Julie and Niamh showed Bridget around the executive suite, introduced Anne and Pat, who had been keeping the Enterprises' empire ticking over, and showed her their bedrooms.

"It looks like quite a harem he's got here. You live at work?"

Julie giggled, "More of a her-rem really. Actually, it's quite a perk, considering Hong Kong prices."

"Niamh, come home! We all miss you terribly, the whole family."

Niamh looked slightly panicky. "But, this is my family! No, no. I know you're my sister, but I don't remember any others, even you, our past, are all quite shadowy in my mind."

"OK, I understand. I'll tell Ma you're alive and well." She hugged her sister. "Look, here's my card, it's got my cellphone number. Call me any time."

Niamh accompanied Bridget to the foyer.

"Well, I can see why you might want to stay here. I looked him up. It's a private company, worldwide, right?" Niamh nodded. "So, he owns all this, everything... you're in a relationship, aren't you?"

Niamh flushed a little. "Yes,... yes. Not quite...everything. Charles and Edward have shares, but most of the assets, yes."

"And, are you one of those assets?"

"I hope he doesn't think I'm more of a liability."

"Was I too pushy, again?" Suddenly, "How does Julie come into the picture?"

"It's complicated." Niamh's brows furrowed, just a little. "She's my best friend."

Bridget laughed, "Well, if you're in a ménage à trois, far be it for me to judge. I always thought I was the more adventurous one. You look happy, at least."

They reached the grand glass doors, where a black limousine waited to whisk Bridget away, back to her hotel. The sisters embraced and kissed.

"Will I see you again?"

"I have some dresses that I think you and Julie will look nice in. Let's try for 10 am tomorrow, if that's OK with your work here?"

The sisters giggled a bit. Niamh was sure it would be OK with her work at The Enterprises.

Niamh, a little wistfully, watched her sister walk out onto the forecourt and into the car. Abruptly, she straightened, turned, and strode to the lift. Her Master was waiting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 138: Bridget is Surprised.

When Bridget reached her hotel and went to pick up her key, she was met by the Duty Manager.

"Miss O'Connor, I'm so glad I caught you!" He had obviously been waiting for her.

"We have just realised your important contribution," he continued, "to our fabulous Fashion Week, and we would like to offer you an upgrade to a private suite. No extra charge, of course."

Bridget was astounded. Could Niamh have arranged this? She hadn't even told Niamh where she was staying. But Martin knows, of course, perhaps he mentioned something to the Management? Perhaps the Management thinks I'm important because of who picked me up? He might own this hotel, for all I know.

"Umm, well," she mumbled, then decided, Why not, "Thank you, Mr ―?"

"Chang, Jason Chang. We can move you in just a few minutes." He gestured to a staff member, and several porters and maids appeared, as if out of nowhere. They all ascended in three lifts, packed up Bridget's room, and whisked it up several floors.