48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 22: Julie

Scene 15

Author's Note: Our Heroine has been tasked with teaching three new slaves. Our Heroine has some helpful orientation for the "newbies," and then gets a whole new assignment.

J Spe

Chapter Forty-Three: Three Earns a Correction

The clanging of something against the bars ushers in the new day for the slaves in the Enterprises' Intake Unit slave corridor. Morning Rituals take longer than usual because the Guards are training the newbies in all the steps, and the steps include "internal cleansing." Each of the new slaves reacts to the realization that this is preparation for anal sex. For One and Five, a few words from their Guards end their reactions. For Three, her reaction involves some language the Guards felt was rude and offensive. There is some consultation with the Station Chief and she is informed that the penalty is five strokes with a flogger, the correction to be administered later in the day.

Conversation is prohibited during Morning Nourishments, but, as soon as the Cart leaves, the slaves have questions for me.

"How can they do that?"

"She was just telling them . . ."

"Can they do that on their own?

And one good question: "What's a flogger and how does it work?"

I wait until everyone has gotten their concerns off their chests. "Look, slaves, this is a part of slavery. Your Owner and Master has standards. Slaves are not allowed to use such language. Slaves are not allowed to refuse an order. Your Owner is justified in setting these standards and, because he has set these standards, you are required to meet these standards. Whatever legal system you came from, this is the reality of slavery. The Guards have obligations to your Master to enforce these standards. They acted properly. They consulted with the Station Chief and checked the standards for correction. This is not a personal beating they have sentenced Three to. After her correction, the Guards will treat Three as if she had never committed her crime. That is, she will have a clean slate and nobody will refer to her crime again."

I'm not sure who, but someone shouts at the Security Station "Is that true? A clean slate?"

The Station Chief appears to consider this outburst. He comes to the center of the corridor and looks around. "Slaves, I'm going to pass over this last outburst, but only because a more important point needs to be made. The Enterprises don't run on individual's whims. That would be chaotic, inefficient. Yesterday, slave Julie told you a lot about slavery here. She made the point that your slavery means acceptance of orders, of commands. Obedience and compliance: these are what are required of you. If you should fall short of Master's standards, you deserve a punishment, what they call a 'correction' upstairs. The idea is to make the slave understand the standards so she can meet them. As Julie said, there is nothing personal here. Three did not meet her Master's standards, she committed a crime, she will be 'corrected,' and we will go on with her training. So, yes, she will have a clean slate. Our job is your early training. Administering punishments is a side activity; really, it is a distraction from our jobs. Do you understand?"

He turns to each slave, ending with Three. He has been so clear, so calm, so quietly assuring, that each slave understands.

As if to emphasize that training is the main job in this Intake Unit, Training Director arrives with a group of trainers. Each slave is taken to an activity: Gym for physical workout, Positions and Movements for the basic positions a slave must know, and Anatomy for their introduction to Sexual Arts. The slaves will rotate among these sessions until the Intake Unit is satisfied they can meet Masters' basic standards. It is somewhat like Basic Training for the army, I suppose.

I am taken to Madam Chan where I rotate among Sort, Wash, Dry, and Iron for the day.

I am returned to the slave corridor just before Evening Nourishments. Three is in her cell, lying prone on her pallet. I can see the stripes on her back, fresh red welts raised by the flogger. The female Guard is administering some lotion to Three's back. One and Five are standing at their bars, watching and giving silent support to their classmate. The Guard finishes and leaves, the door to Three's cell rumbling closed.

I move to where Five is pressed against the bars and ask how Three took her correction. Five looks at me, her eyes a bit glazed. She starts to whisper to me, but I stop her. "Please, Five, slaves have no right to privacy. You must speak clearly. The audio and video taps must be able to pick up everything you say."

Her eyes become more alert, and she tells me that they had three classes and then they all came back to the corridor. The Guards had set up a post in the center of the corridor. Three's hands had been shackled in front with a short chain between the cuffs and the chain had been looped over a fixture high up on the post, so that she was just on her toes. One of the Guards had taken a flogger around to show each slave what it was.

"It was awful, but it was also beautiful. There were dozens of thin leather strands, about two feet long. The handle was intricately carved from some dark wood. He let me feel the strands. They felt so soft and gentle."

When Five pauses, I murmur, "Those strands are called falls. You can think of them like tongues. Since her crime was with speech, it is a symmetrical correction, I think."

Five nods and picks up her narrative. "The Guard went to Three's side and stroked her back for a few moments. And then, he raised his arm and brought the flogger down on her back. It made a loud crack and a second later Three screamed. She moved as if she were getting electric shocks. He waited until Three had gotten herself in control and moved to her other side. Again, a few strokes of his hand and then the strike. It was a repeat of Three's cries and thrashing about. By the third strike, Three was crying and pleading for him to stop. She promised him anything. He wouldn't stop. He just moved to the other side and gave the next strike. After the fifth strike, he just left Three hanging there. She was sobbing and crying, and we couldn't help her!

"They left her for some time and finally took her down and back to her cell. The Guard came with some lotion. It seems to have helped.

"Please, Julie, I am so scared. When I was taken, they used a crop on me a few times. It hurt a bit, but it didn't leave those welts that Three has. This came up so sudden-like. During the classes, I almost couldn't believe they'd do this. But they did it, and it was so easy for them! It was almost like a routine, like brushing your teeth. If they could do this to Three, I suppose they can do this to me. I'm terrified! I don't think I could survive five strikes with that flogger. What can I do?"

I take a chance and reach through the bars to stroke her arm, trying to reassure her. "Please, Five, you have to know that this is just a hurt, a pain. This is not a real harm, you see? There's no point in harming any slave, is there? Three will recover, and her slate will be clean. That's how it is in this slavery. You can't worry about a flogger because it will take away from your efforts to meet Master's standards. You just need to work at your training. You can't let the correction be the center of your universe. You need to keep your Master there. Work at that and there probably won't be much need for a correction. Do you understand?"

It is almost the first time I have asked the question. I suppose the charge Charles gave me to work with these newbies gives me the authority to ask the question, but it still seems odd.

Five thinks a moment and answers, "Yes, Julie, I understand. Keep Master at the center of my universe. Work to his standards. Don't worry about a correction." She pauses.

"Can I do this?"

I manage a quick laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "You'd better, girl, or you're going to be miserable. You have to have a positive outlook, or you'll never get those warm feelings of pride and satisfaction I was telling you about. If a slave can't delight in those feelings, the slave is going to feel that the slave is just a prisoner, and one without an end date to the sentence. That is no frame of mind for anybody's life."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Forty-Four: A Male Slave Joins Us

Three's back heals over the next few days, and the new slaves seem to be settling in for their training. They are doing the three-class rotation: Positions and Movements, Anatomy, and Gym and I am hearing bits of conversation about some small success or accomplishment from each one.

The female Guard tells me that I've gotten about one-third through the array of butt plugs. They still seem small to me as I clean them each morning, and I still haven't gotten any arousal from wearing them. I've been doing the Gym routines as Igor (and now the elderly lady from the Physical Education training group) has set them out. Mostly, I've been assigned to Madam Chan's Laundry. In addition to linens and kitchen uniforms, I've worked up to shirts, mostly from some mechanical group, judging from the oilstains they come with.

Today, I come back a bit early from Madam Chan's service. My Guard has to maneuver around a cluster of Security crew who are manhandling a handcuffed man into an empty cell. They seem unconcerned by his shouting and rude language, but I am glad that none of "my" newbies is here to listen. Finally, the Station Chief pops a ballgag into his mouth, an assistant pushes his head down, and the Chief buckles the strap tightly. The silence lasts a minute or two before I can feel the tense mood lift in the slave corridor.

Obviously, I'm dying to know what's going on, who the man is — slave or prisoner? — all the stuff that fills the Late News shows. On the other hand, I know when to keep to myself. I've come to know how easily "corrections" can be spread around. And, I can rely on the rule that I will be told what I need to know just when I need to know it.

Handcuffed and gagged, the man kneels on his pallet. He is still pulling on the restraints, so I figure that he is still angry about something. The Guards, however, are much more relaxed and I overhear one comment that "That went better than expected."

A few moments later, Training Director and then Master's Chief of Security enter the slave corridor. They don't even glance at me, but head directly to the Station to confer with the Station Chief and the Security team. Of course, I'm listening as hard as I can while not being obvious about it, but I don't overhear anything. These Guards are good!

I do notice one or two glances my way from one of the younger Guards, but there is nothing to connect to.

Finally, the confab concludes and the Chief of Security and Training Director enter the man's cell. Their conversation goes on at least as long as the Security confab. I can tell from his face and body motions that the man has calmed down considerably. Clearly, his position in a cell, in restraints, and gagged tells him that he's in major trouble. If he is, indeed, a slave of the Enterprises, he could be facing de-accessioning or even what the CIA, many years ago, euphemistically labelled "termination with extreme prejudice."

With a nod of his head, the man's conversation ends. The Chief of Security stops for a word at the Station and leaves the corridor, but Training Director comes to my cell. The door rumbles open and a Guard furnishes the chair. By the time he sits, I am kneeling one meter in front of the chair, my head bent in submission. Training Director must like that, because he takes time to pat me on the head. It's not the stroke that my Master and trainers have taught me to treasure, but it is a mark from this jerk.

"Julie, I have a new assignment for you. The Security Chief and I have cleared this with your Master, but we wanted to explain it to you in order to maximize your cooperation."

That's the sort of introduction that, at my law firm, led to a really nasty job.

Training Director plows forward. "Have you noticed the recent appearance of a male slave in the corridor?"

I answer the direct question easily. "Please, Sir. Yes, Sir."

"This slave was caught abusing another slave. He faces a string of corrections over some length of time, but we would like to administer a correction today that is symmetrical with his crime. Your file indicates good experience and competency with oral sex. We would like you to apply those techniques to this slave in order to keep him aroused but not to provide any climax. We would like three cycles of one hour each, with an hour rest between cycles. From the list of corrections we outlined to him as possible in light of his crime, he selected this one to start his correction process. We will adjust the Food Cart appearance to come during a rest period. Do you understand?"

What's to understand? This guy hit on some slave, now they want me to hit on him back, but without letting his arousal get to orgasm. Keep him on the edge for three hours. I don't know what he did, but this seems almost like the Enterprises wants me to be their tool for torture of this guy. Suddenly, I'm not sure of the justice here. With my Inner Goddess warning me to just shut up, I take a chance and raise my eyes to look at Training Director.

"Please, Training Director, three hours seems like a very long time?"

Training Director misses my point entirely. "Do you think you won't be able to sustain the activity for an hour at a time?" He probably cannot conceive of a slave questioning his orders. To him, the fact that he has given an order is prima facie evidence of its rightness.

"Please, Training Director, this slave is just concerned that such a long arousal may have unexpected psychological consequences." The danger word here is "unexpected." They damn well do want this criminal to have psychological consequences; they don't want him feeling OK with abusing another slave. But what happens if the arousal drives him mad? OK, I'm probably giving myself a lot of credit, but that's what "unexpected" means.

Training Director is an expert in bureaucracy, and I see him stiffen and look more warily at me. His response is a bit surprising. "Yes. Your Master asked the same question. We consulted with a psychiatrist in this field and were assured that this outcome was 'very unlikely.' The term she used was 'black swan.' Do you understand?"

"Black Swans" are events that are so unlikely — less than 1% probability — that you need not consider them for routine planning. I had always followed that rule, but had a Plan B in my law firm pocket "just in case."

I favor Training Director with a smile and complete my reply. "Please, Training Director, this slave understands her assignment and is ready to proceed."

His sigh tells me that I've solved a big problem for him, not that he's going to award me any Attaboys.

I raise a hand, signifying a question, and Training Director nods permission. "Please, Training Director, the new slaves are due back from class shortly. What should they be told about this assignment?"

Training Director looks puzzled. "Why should they be told anything?"

He phrased it as a question, so I plunge ahead with an answer. "Please, Training Director, it may appear confusing to such new slaves. The male is to be punished, but he will seem to be deriving pleasure." I leave it there, hoping he'll figure out what needs to be done.

He does! "That was a subtle perception, Julie. I would like to let the newbies observe the assignment and draw any conclusions. Then, when the assignment is completed, you will survey them and note what they concluded. Then, you may enlighten them, making the points that the Enterprises take the safety of its slaves very seriously and corrects violators in a symmetrical manner. Do you understand?"

I figure I've pushed this as far as my own and my newbies safety is concerned. I smile again and reply, "Please, Training Director, this slave understands and will comply with the assignment. Thank you, Training Director."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Forty-Five: The Three Hours

Each of my newbies returns from class and is checked in at the Security Station. I notice there is a short conversation during what should be a routine stop, with the girl's head swiveling between the new male in the corridor and my cell. As each slave is returned to her cell, each studiously avoids making eye contact with me. Clearly, they have been warned!

My Inner Goddess and I laugh at these precautions. Instead of making the newest slave appear insignificant, their warnings have made him the center of attention. Of course, anything new in a slave corridor is going to be at a slave's center of attention, so that's actually a wash.

I return their studied avoidance with some nonchalance. It will add to the gossip afterwards, I'm sure! I notice that Security Station is busy with phone calls and I guess that they've hit a snag for the timing of the Food Cart. Well, I'm sure they'll get that sorted out without my help.

Wrong again!

A mechanical crew comes into the corridor moving a huge machine, presently covered with a tarp. They position it against the bars of the man's cell and remove the tarp as they fix it to the bars. It is a gynecological table, complete with stirrups! The crew chief tests the table's stability and uses a remote to run the table up and down a few inches as well as tilt forward and back a few degrees. Job completed, the crew salutes the Security crew and leaves, to mystified silence from the new female slaves as well as the male slave, who probably could not see much of the table from inside his cell. If it was a female slave he was abusing, his first glance at this table should impress him with the symmetry of his correction.

Three Guards enter the male's cell and bring him out to the table. He has a moment of hesitation but the Guards move him to the bottom of the device and start to undo his handcuffs. First, they add a cuff to each wrist, snapping its pair to a section of the table. Then, the handcuffs are removed, but the male is still restrained. He is lifted onto the table and the cuffs are moved up to the head of the table. The maneuver takes just seconds, and the male is never free. One of the Guards lifts the male's head and undoes the strap for the ballgag, removing the gag without incident.

Working together, the Guards remove his shoes and socks, move his feet into the stirrups, and strap them in place. Another Guard comes up with two pair of shears. Working easily, two Guards cut his shirt, pants, undershirt, and shorts away. Wide straps hold his chest and abdomen to the table. Regardless of what angle the table moves to, the male will not fall off.

One Guard directs the team in placement of the stirrups. When his legs are spread fairly wide and the stirrups hold his feet a bit elevated, we can all see his package. His prick is about average in length, but fairly thick. I estimate that he will fill my mouth, but I won't choke.

Another Guard comes up with a plastic bottle and prompts the male to void his bladder. I am very happy to see this: drinking his piss is not on my list of Favorite Oral Tricks. The Guards have one more step for the male. They bring a basin of water, some soap, and a shaver and proceed to remove his pubic bush. When he is as bare as a baby, I see some movement in his prick. He's probably feeling cool air for the first time around his package.

The Guards check all the bindings and table settings. One even runs his hand over the now smooth skin at the base of his prick. They turn and leave, without any words spoken to the male.

The slave corridor is silent. The Guards are completing their Task Reports. The newbies are plastered against the bars of their cells, watching. I am waiting for a Guard to come for me. The male is awaiting his torment. For some time, the male lies quietly, but then I see him squirm and fidget. Finally, he finds his voice and calls out, "OK, Guards, can we get on with this?" I notice that he has selected language that is not so salty.