48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 46

48 Hours on Blue Bayou: Part 46, Julie and Niamh

Authors' Note: Your authors offer sincere apologies for the delay in posting this Part. Sometimes things just happen in Real Life that move everything else to the back burner. Rest assured, we are committed to finishing our saga; it will not join the list of unfinished stories. For now, Real Life having been overcome, we continue the stories of Julie and Niamh, slaves to Martin, their Owner at The Enterprises.

J Spe and Taliesin1

Chapter 140: Truth and Consequences

In the back of the limousine, on the way back to The Enterprises Headquarters, Julie and Niamh were silent. Each was sunk in her own feelings, clutching the bags containing the dresses Bridget had selected for them. Each also knew that she had overstepped even the generous boundary allowed them as favoured slaves. Their pleasure, and pain, belonged to their Masters; but they had stolen pleasure and feared they would pay with pain.

The driver, seeing they were wrapped in thought, tried to engage them.

"Have you ladies had a pleasant morning?" he asked.

They replied only, "Yes," and said no more. They knew that any conversation would be reported, and they preferred to make their confession in their own time.

Fifteen met them in the Reception area of the Executive Floor.

"The Master wants to see you show off your dresses, as soon as soon as possible, in his office."

"Thank you, Fifteen," said Julie. "We should not be more than ten minutes."

The girls hurried along to Julie's room to put on the dresses that Bridget had made for them. They hurried because their Master was waiting. Each was also conscious that, as they had to confess their crime, the quicker they changed and appeared in his office, the better.

Julie's dress was a dark blue, A-line, with a low-cut bodice, covered with a sheer blue over layer with a high neck and three-quarter sleeves. It was printed with a subtly lighter blue and green floral pattern. The dress suited Julie's colouration and showed her figure well. It was practical and feminine, appropriate for the more formal role of the First Lady.

Niamh's outfit was a bit more complicated. A top with panels of two materials: one dark orange with vertical stripes and the other green with orange spots. The neckline plunged between her breasts, only just joining below them. It had short sleeves of sheer black covered with tiny gold stars. A fringe of the same material trimmed the bottom, though divided at the front leaving her navel bare. A short skirt of asymmetric panels, from the same materials as the top, and underneath mid-calf pantaloons of the sheer black and gold.

A little fussing from Fifteen, the addition of matching strappy sandals, and they were on their way to Martin's office.

"He's been waiting impatiently to see you," Anne said. She pushed the button which announced their presence, and they entered.

Martin, who had been standing at window, turned to his two slaves and came to meet them. He was in a happy mood and they ended up in a three-way hug.

"You both look fabulous. Niamh, your sister Bridget has done you proud, and I've arranged an 'impromptu' television interview, which should make her happy. Now, let's see a few twirls, so that I can appreciate you better."

They both spun about and walked to and fro, using those seductive walks they had been taught. Martin observed them carefully, watching for any signs of tension. He felt there was something amiss, but couldn't put his finger on the problem.

"Now, tell me what you talked about." he said.

The two slaves came to kneel before their Master to report on their time with Bridget.

"We talked a lot about fashion, of course," said Julie, "and what she was hoping to achieve from Fashion Week."

Niamh added, "She talked about Ireland and our family, so I had to 'remember' bits and pieces, but I'm sure she still has suspicions that I wasn't telling everything. She commented on how Julie and I both walked the same way, and unlike the way I would have walked before. I didn't say anything about how I came to Hong Kong."

Martin felt the tension in Niamh's voice and forced himself to resist the temptation to bite his thumb. It was an emotion he had not experienced for many years. Perhaps, he thought, it had not been such a good idea to let Niamh meet her sister? He had wanted to please her, and the lunch meeting had gone just as planned, so he had made the extravagant and slightly cheeky statement about dresses. He had sent his slaves off to a situation where they were unsupervised, a situation fraught with danger. He thought of the driver's report, which had flashed up moments before they came to his office — "uncharacteristically quiet."

At last he spoke. "Niamh, it's not how you came to Hong Kong. We have already said you were 'probably' abducted — it's how you came to be at The Enterprises."

"Master, we didn't talk about that at all."

Julie said, "Bridget also commented on our shaving, but Niamh said it was because of the heat and humidity in Hong Kong."

"And Julie mentioned the company gym, and how there were free ballet and yoga lessons."

Martin began to relax.

"But we have to confess," Niamh continued.

"Stop there!"

The slaves looked at each other slightly panicky as Martin went to the intercom. "Anne, please come in for a moment and ask Pat and Igor to come, too."

There was mounting tension in the office as Niamh and Julie waited for their fate to unroll. Martin sat on the sofa watching his two exquisite beauties.

Anne entered, followed, a few seconds later, by Pat and Igor. The Master and Trainers, somewhat bemused, sat and watched the two slaves kneeling before Martin's great desk. It was plain to see that they were upset and ... of their situation, but it was difficult to say what had brought it on.

Martin looked towards the newcomers and announced, "These slaves, as we know, are well-trained and loyal, but they have indicated that they have something to confess. This means they are conscious of having failed in some respect. I thought that you, their primary trainers, should also hear their confession and judge the appropriate corrections."

Turning back to Julie and Niamh, Martin continued. "Julie, Niamh started a confession with 'we.' Do you agree that covers your behaviour as well?"

"Yes, Master."

"Very well. Niamh, please continue."

Niamh looked as though she was completely tongue-tied. Her eyes darted around the assembled panel as if she could not speak at all. Finally, she found some words. Somewhat incoherently, she babbled.

"Master, when we got to Bridget's hotel, we were — well, I was — so surprised to be sent up to a really incredible suite, and I'm so grateful, Master, because I know you must be responsible, because I know Bridget couldn't afford that level of luxury. And really, because Bridget was delayed, we didn't have anything to do." She gave a little sob, then took a deep breath and continued. "It was so beautiful and impressive, especially the bedroom, that we both felt happy and excited, and then one thing led to another. We kissed, and then we made love to each other on the bed. We — I — felt so relaxed, we fell asleep and Bridget found us there when she returned. I was so embarrassed when she gave me such a whack on the bottom." Niamh broke off, her face reddening, and stared at the floor.

Martin relaxed and had to stifle an impulse to laugh out loud. Even though the slave training always emphasised that the slaves' sexuality belonged to their Master, he didn't really mind his slaves having sex. He had imagined some much more compromising slip. He knew, though, that he had to seize control of the situation or his slaves might become uncontrollable. A correction would have to be allocated.

Once more, he turned to Julie. "Julie, do you have anything to add?"

"Master, only that I was the one who started."

Niamh would have protested that point, but she knew better than to argue in front of the Master.

"Julie, that does not help at all. As the senior slave, you should be the more responsible. Niamh and Julie, I am disappointed in the way you have behaved. First, because you have stolen what did not belong to you; the pleasure of your bodies belongs to me, as does your pain. Second, because your antics exposed you to an outsider, even though she is Niamh's sister, who is not aware of your slavery. I have asked your trainers to witness your confession because I want their advice on how best to correct you."

Martin turned to the "Jury" of Trainers.

"It's many years since I felt the cane, but I remember it was very effective!" said Anne.

"Tempting, but tomorrow is the Runway Event, and reception, and I don't want any marks to be visible through these sheer gowns."

Igor said, "What about the new electronic Chastity belts?"

Martin considered. "Again, we may want them to be available after the Runway tomorrow, and one night of chastity is not much of a correction."

Pat came up with the right solution. "They should spend the rest of the day and the night in the foot stocks. That will not mark them, but it will be uncomfortable, and will give them time to think on their behaviour."

"Thank you, Pat. That sounds like the optimal correction." Martin picked up the desk phone and pressed the button for Security.

~ ~ ~ ~~

Chapter 141: Time for Reflection

The Security Guards gave Niamh and Julie just enough time to strip off their fancy finery and put on plain slave smocks before they were put into Transport Mode, and thence to the Correction Facility.

The slaves were taken into a passageway with small enclosed cells on either side. They were quite different to the barred cages Niamh remembered from the time in the Intake Corridor, when she first arrived in Hong Kong. Each slave was taken into a separate cell. There was a thin mattress on a wooden frame, with leg stocks at one end. Niamh was told to lie down on the mattress and her legs were locked into the stocks at the ankles. The stocks were padded so that she would not be damaged by the inevitable twisting. Her wrists, too, were shackled to the sides of the frame, the wrist chains long enough to give her arms some movement, but insufficient for masturbation. The stocks were meant for a slave's reflection, without distraction.

As the Guard left Niamh's cell, she said, "You will be here until the morning and you will be monitored at all times. If you need the toilet, say so — but remember, we will not be amused if you can't perform. You will have bread and water for supper and a standard slave breakfast. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." At least, Niamh remembered the correct answer.

The Guard closed and locked the door, leaving Niamh alone in the dimly lit cell. She could imagine Julie similarly restrained across the passage. At first, she wriggled around and tugged at the wrist chains until she realised that she was achieving nothing and straining her muscles as well. Since there was nothing else to do, she lay back as quietly as she could, and thought about the strange way her life had developed.

At the start, she was angry. Angry for all the assaults and violations and enslavement and humiliation that had been heaped upon her since that terrible night in Dublin, long ago, when she had been abducted in a perfectly ordinary suburban street. She was angry that she had been ripped away from her normal, if somewhat mundane, life. Angry that she had been worked so hard at her profession for no reward.

A little later, Niamh was angry with herself for being so willing and eager, yes, even excited, to do that work. Why didn't I refuse, why didn't I put up more resistance? Then she remembered that she had resisted, had suffered a whipping for her trouble, and had changed nothing. It was only when it was hinted that she might be sold again, that she had begun to co-operate. Since then, she had achieved something, accompanied by an emotion strangely like contentment.

That thought led her to think about her Master, Martin. She recalled how she had reacted when he had first put a collar around her neck and claimed her as his own. The remembrance came with a tingling in her loins and lubrication in her sex. Even when he is punishing me, I want him. She tried to resist the thought, but couldn't. Her tension increased until she was panting slowly, imagining him coming to her, releasing her from her bonds, carrying her to his bed, and entering her body.

She came down with a bang at the sound of the cell door unlocking.

A Guard came in with her meagre supper. She checked Niamh's bonds and helped her to sit up while she ate and drank.

After the Guard left, Niamh tried to get back to her previous mood, but she was unable to do it. Instead, her mind worked on the reasons for her current predicament. She supposed that her Master did not really care that she and Julie had made out; he would certainly have no qualms ordering her to have sex with Julie, or any other woman, to further his own strategies. The problem was that she had thought only of her own desires and pleasure, when she should have been focused on what her Master required.

Her rapid rise to favour, and a position of trust, had almost made her forget that she was a slave. Niamh knew that a Master could be capricious, though she thought that Martin had not shown that trait. But he can be calculating, and I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to cut his losses if he tired of me. She vowed to herself that she would never again neglect her duties. Exhausted, at last she fell into a fitful sleep.

For Julie, the correction felt like her banishment to the Intake Training Slave Corridor so many months before. She arranged herself on the thin mattress as her ankles and wrists were captured and fastened. She quickly tested the limits of her bondage and then relaxed into it.

The thin mattress provided little comfort from the wooden frame. Julie wondered if her position — supine — would be more or less comfortable compared to the sitting position she had seen in pictures of people in stocks. As a slave will, she imagined some trainer coming in to change her position every few hours. Of course, no one had mentioned such attention. Slaves only needed to know what the current command was.

She was surprised when Igor appeared in her cell. He made a quick examination of her position and bonds and said, "Looks like what was ordered."

How reassuring! She'd be sure to let the Security Team know that a top executive approved of their work!

Instantly, she felt bad. Someone had come to check on her, to be with her, during her "correction." Someone cared. She drove her "bad attitude" away and offered her Trainer the best smile she could manage.

Igor continued. "I particularly wanted you tonight. Tomorrow, you're going to be out with High Society, and who knows who will want you for some service." He stopped and went to the door, where he stuck his head into the corridor and spoke with a Guard. In moments, a small chair appeared and Igor drew it up alongside his slave.

He rubbed his hands briskly, as if to warm them, then moved to stroke Julie's left arm. He worked from wrist to shoulder and back, kneading the muscles of forearm and arm. Julie could feel the muscles soften and lengthen under these ministrations. Igor moved to her right arm, working those muscles until his slave's smile told him the extremity felt really good.

Igor's next move was to Julie's right foot. She had given her Trainer many foot massages, but this time she was benefitting from the attention. Still below the stocks, Igor also worked on the left foot. He was silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When he moved above the stocks to massage Julie's legs and thighs, she began to worry. Was he trying to arouse her? To drive her crazy with desire while fastened helpless and vulnerable?

As Igor's fingers began toying with her mons and exploring the folds of her sex, Julie could not help responding. Her Trainer was playing her body like a musical instrument, and her moans and gasps sang with each measure. As his fingers followed her inner and outer lips, she began to rock her pelvis in time with his strokes. Lubrication began to make each stroke easier and more stimulating. As Julie rose up the ladder of arousal, she wondered whether the spread of her legs enforced by her confinement on the narrow frame would allow her Trainer to fit between her legs, penetrate her opening, and fill her cunt.

But, no. Her Trainer stilled his fingers and then withdrew. He placed the fingers wet with her juices at her mouth and Julie eagerly sucked them clean. She thought she had never tasted so sweet!

Igor stood, rocked on his feet for a moment, and explained, "Slave Julie, we don't mix orgasms with corrections because that would confuse the purpose of the correction. Still, I did want to show you that your Owner and your Trainer care for you. I'll be waiting for you after the Runway event. Just see Fifteen."

In moments, he was gone. As Julie came down from her aroused state, she felt his absence as much as she had felt his presence, and a part of her ached. She spent the hours before Evening Nourishment thinking about this man. He had been her Introduction to Slavery and her Basic Slavery courses. She giggled to herself that he'd also taught her some Advanced Slavery lessons. Despite her early refusal to accept this Path in Life, she had come to embrace her status, even work hard to earn the First Lady position. She wondered how that job would fare if her main attentions were to her Trainer rather than to her Owner. She wasn't sure if this was a question she could take to Anne or Pat. Certainly not Charles or Edward!

Evening Nourishment was, as ordered, a half-loaf of bread and a litre of water. The attendant moved her to a semi-erect position, fed her the bread in easy-to-chew morsels, and let her sip the water through a straw. As she returned to lying on the frame, she reflected that she had never been released from her restraints. That was part of slavery, she now understood. She was, as the slave mantra, to serve, to be of service, to be used. Her Owner had decreed her correction and The Enterprises was carrying it out. It was all up to Standards.

Through the evening hours, Julie thought about the two men who were directing her life: Martin and Igor. In some ways, they were alike: they were Dominants, taking their slaves as a normal part of life. They brooked no rebellion, but they were understanding of the need for mercy along with the demand for submission.

But, for Martin, I'm simply the female he selected as appropriate, after training, for his First Lady. For Igor, I think I'm something else — and she giggled as the many meanings of the phrase chased each other around her mind.

Even as he has used me, he's made it clear he wanted me to join him. He always asked me, not for permission, but, at least for agreement. And, he made sure of my satisfaction every time. Is this, Julie wondered, what Love is all about?

Idly, she remembered some of the boyfriends she'd had before embarking on Blue Bayou. None of them had stirred her as Igor had. In fact, she couldn't remember the name of her date on that cruise! If this isn't Love, she finally decided, then it's probably close enough to last a lifetime.

All that thinking and deciding finally allowed her to fall asleep.

The two slaves recognized their Morning Nourishments from their training before they earned Executive Floor status. It made them more certain that they would work harder to keep their Master at the center of their universe.