48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 15: Julie

Master, of course, picks up on this latest digression from the perfect completion of his order. "I see you noticed my baseball photo," he says. I note his too-casual tone, and guess that he's holding back on another correction for his slave.

Again, wrong!

"I've always liked baseball. When I was growing up, it seemed like a perfect metaphor for life. You had to work hard every day. Each day was its own reward or disappointment, profit or loss. You had to work with a team of players. You couldn't let today's errors affect the next day's play.

"This photo shows the Detroit Tigers' Ty Cobb, probably the greatest player the game has seen, sliding into third base where the Philadelphia Athletics' Frank 'Home Run' Baker is trying to make the put-out during an intense part of the 1909 pennant race. Cobb's spikes cut Baker's arm and precipitated a huge controversy. Connie Mack, owner of the A's, called Cobb the dirtiest player in the game. This photo, taken by William Kuenzel of the Detroit News, showed Baker reaching across the bag to tag Cobb, who was sliding away from the third baseman. The photograph vindicated Cobb. The Tigers won the pennant that year."

"Yes," I answer, as usual without thinking. "But the Pittsburgh Pirates beat them in the World Series, just like we beat them in the 1907 and 1908 World Series."

Master's laugh, so unexpected that I instantly fall into the kneeling Position One, is followed by his — also unexpected — comeback: "Yes, and those were the only World Series the Chicago Cubs ever won. It's the longest drought on record, over a century without success.

"I'm glad to meet a Cubs fan," he says, coming to my side and lifting my face to see his grin. "I've always thought you've got to give their fans credit."

I'm on the other side of the world, and American baseball is a link between people, even a Master and a slave! Master strokes my hair as we talk a bit about the current season, but then I sense a change in his attention.

"Julie," he says, his voice a bit strained, "I had thought this evening would go very slowly, as we got familiar with each other, but you've got me so excited that I'd really like to take you in my arms and undress you and make mad passionate love with you, just like in the cliché."

Well, how often does a girl get such a proposal? I rise and stretch, turning a bit to let Master see all of his slave's curves, a move Igor taught me. Master tilts his head, smiles, holds out a hand, and leads me to his bedroom. Again, it is a masculine room. Here, the large photo shows another baseball great, Babe Ruth, hitting one of his 714 home runs.

Master spins me around and runs his hand through my hair. I'm no longer hesitant or worried. Master's touch, as usual, has brought that warm, happy feeling to his slave. I lean back just a bit, placing my arms at my sides, while Master undoes the buttons and tugs my top out of my skirt. Another twirl and the top has departed. Master's eyes feast on the lacy bra, and his hands cup my breasts, gently supporting them. I reach behind and open the clasp and the material flutters away.

Master's hands are, by turns, gentle and rough, soft and firm, on my breasts. In moments, my nipples have swollen to full erection and Master takes first one and then the other in his mouth, nibbling and swirling his tongue on the buds whose sensitivity I had described to Igor.

I reach for Master's shirt and open his buttons quickly. As before, he helps remove his undershirt by raising his arms. I have no difficulty with his belt or trousers, again because Igor has had me practice so many times with so many belts and trousers. I can see his erection tenting his shorts so, without needing instruction, I use my teeth and lips to lower his underwear. Master grins and waves his erect member at me, so I grin back and turn, presenting my ass for Master to stroke before he tugs my skirt and panty down, whereupon he returns to stroking my ass down to my thighs. The warmth in my core is beginning to heat up from just these opening touches.

Master reaches around and cups my breasts, but this time his fingers are circling my nips, with an occasional pinch or squeeze. With the added pressure of his rampant member on my ass, these two attacks are cracking my composure.

I am led to Master's bed, where he stretches me out and starts a soft massage. I am reaching above my head, my eyes closed, to show myself to Master, when I feel the grip of a handcuff, followed by a single click as I am secured.

My eyes snap open, questions hovering over my mouth, but my trainers' efforts save me from error. Continuing his massage, Master explains in a soft voice, although I can detect some quivers of arousal. "Julie, we all know how special tonight is for you. But we do want you to realize that this is all within your slavery, what we were talking about at dinner. That's the reason for the single restraint. It won't prevent you from any movement you want, but it serves as a marker. And, just to make it official, you do have permission to climax."

I make a tentative movement with the secured wrist and, as Master had promised, the tether is long enough for my full range of motion. I use the hand to stroke Master's hands that are still continuing their gentle massage. I am climbing the arousal ladder and the cuff is just a marker, a reminder.

Master moves on the bed alongside me, and I return the massage movements, stroking him from shoulder to waist, and then below. We are not in any rush, and I think I can tell from Master's moans, rough breathing, and sudden movements that he is enjoying this play as much as I am.

We move in harmony, presenting each other with fresh vistas of skin, or breast, or ass, or vulva, or scrotum, or penis. Master has a few longer nails that make their own signature on me, each one a surprise that makes me jump a bit and makes Master laugh each time.

I am thrashing about a bit when Master's hands separate my thighs and he poses his lance at my entrance. Fearful of dislodging him, I freeze for just the moment he needs to enter me, and then I am full of my Master. He pauses for the second it takes for me to accommodate his size, and then begins to move, some withdrawal, some plunge inward, some other movements that I'm not sure about. A pinch on one nipple is magnified by my arousal into a flash of lightning in my eyes.

I return Master's pinch with one of my own, and Master also responds with a cry. I raise my legs and encircle my Master, drawing him deeper into my core. As always, there is movement and a bit of friction, pushing me further up the rainbow. Master's movements are increasing their depth and tempo, and, together, we crash over the top.

We lie, wrapped in each other, for long moments. I can feel Master's cum slowly dribbling out of my sheath, but I know not to disturb my Master's enjoyment of the afterglow. I can sense his cock is softening, what Anne has taught me is recalled. In a moment, it will withdraw from me, and I'll feel the emptiness. Still, I have the single cuff to remind me that Master has desired me, has picked me out from the crowd, and has wanted to make this First Time great and magnificent for me.

Master's deep and regular breathing tells me it was great and magnificent for him, too.

It is probably an hour or so later that Master awakens me. He motions me off the bed and easily strips off the damp sheet, flipping a fresh and dry sheet in its place. We giggle a bit fitting the sheet to the bed and then Master asks me to sleep with him until morning. We spoon and Master strokes me, both front and back, until sleep claims us. The tether stays on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Plan Develops

I feel wonderful in the morning. Master and I shower together and I am sent off with a robe to my room. I dress casually and join Igor, Pat, and Anne in the kitchen for breakfast. Nobody says anything about last night, which I find a bit strange, as well as amusing. I'm still a slave, right? I'm supposed to report to my trainers about everything, right? Well, it seems that Master is a bit outside this program. I wonder whether that's because both Pat and Anne seem a bit in love with him?

Charles shows up with a handful of files and confirms what we suspected. None of the recent slaves "interviewed" by the Empress had anything to report.

There is some new information Charles brings. He tells us that "resistance" to hypnosis has had lots of study, without any good resolution of the controversy. There is some evidence that people cannot be induced under hypnosis to do something they would not do if awake. There is also evidence that a good hypnotist can confuse a "resistant" subject so that the subject believes their action is not something they would not do.

Master strolls into the kitchen and the conversation goes around Charles' report a few times. I've been at case conferences in the law office that seemed exactly like this one: lots of angles discussed, but none of them offer a "good" solution.

Of course, even though I'm the one most affected, nobody asks me for any ideas. Of course, I don't have any ideas worth adding to the mix, anyway.

Master finally waves a hand to signal an end to the palaver. "Let's recap the situation," he says. "First, we think the Empress is going to interrogate Julie. But, about what? Her intelligence group probably has as much of our 'inside' information as we do. So, I don't see that as a danger to the Enterprises or to Julie.

"Second, the Empress might — correction, probably — will want to play with Julie. We all know that could be a lot of fun, right?"

My trainers actually blush a bit at this! Charles has a blank expression on his face and he is studying his coffee cup with great intensity. Master is showing a nice smile.

I am surprised at the sense of pride that I feel!

Master doesn't let this moment linger. "So, what we are worrying about is what the Empress might do to Julie. But, we have the history of the previous slaves. None seemed damaged after their 'interview,' and none seemed under some 'post-hypnotic suggestion' after their interview. So, where are we?"

Igor jumps in. "Do you think we're worrying for nothing?"

Master raises an eyebrow in surprise. "No, of course not. But, are we worrying about the right thing? Best estimate? I think we don't need to worry about the Enterprises and I don't think we need to worry about damage to Julie. So, what's left?"

Pat has the answer. "Master, could Julie not pass the Empress' standards? Could she be deemed not good enough to act, to be, First Lady?"

Master's smile widens. "Now we're focused on the real problem. OK, you've been training her for all these weeks. You know lots about how she reacts to your challenges. You probably have a good idea of how she would think when the Empress challenges her. How do you think she'll do?"

Even I can tell this is the main question. I try to make myself as small as possible, hoping that my presence will not hamper a forthright assessment. I am, let's not be catty, as curious as possible about my trainers' opinions of me.

In rotation, Igor, Anne, and Pat give a sentence or two. I am shocked by their endorsements. Each thinks I'm going to impress the Empress, even beyond just passing inspection!

OK, they aren't going to disparage their own work, are they? But, I know these guys; they're all committed to Master's service. They won't want to misdirect, subvert, or lead him astray, I think, hoping my evaluation of them is anywhere near correct.

Master ends the discussion. "I think you're right. Since the time on Blue Bayou, she's done all the transitions, all the learning, all the maneuvers we've tasked her with. So, we don't need to worry about her surviving the Empress.

"Now, the last question is, do we tell this to the Empress? How do we present Julie so that the Empress 'gets' our confidence in this prospect? I've dealt with her for some time, and I think that presenting a strong starting position is the best way to a strong ending position. Any ideas?"

Charles is the one with the greatest understanding of how Master operates, so he suggests that a simple straightforward presentation would be best. My trainers have some other ideas, but none are radically different. Nobody thinks some artificial cloak is going to fool the Empress. Charles seems to end the discussion with a startling question.

"How about we ask Julie how she'd like to present herself?"

The discussion has gone on for almost an hour and this is the first time it has turned to me, the subject of all the angst. Of course, this is natural in slavery. The slave never has a complete picture of anything. It's simply "Just the things you need to know."

I may be a bit surprised, but the law office taught me "Never Let Them See You Sweat." I give my standard deep breath and add a toss of my head. I haven't put my hair "up," so my ponytail just sweeps around to hit me in the face. Fortunately, no one laughs.

"Please, Master, this slave thinks the Empress must be expecting that you and your staff have gone through this exercise. I'm reminded of a radio show that interviewed kids about their school, their family, all sorts of things. I think the title was something like Kids Say the Funniest Things, or something like that. And it was true; the broadcasts were almost always hilarious. Anyway, the moderator used to explain his technique for getting the kids to talk. He'd just ask them, 'What did your folks tell you not to say?' I never heard a kid dodge that question.

"If the Empress wants to know something, why don't we just tell her? It's the same as the Minister" — I shuddered inwardly here; did I really want to bring up that disaster now? — "none of it is damaging to the Enterprises. And, if I'm to carry off a presentation of First Lady, I think I'd do best by being First Lady-ish."

There is a moment of quiet as everyone digests this proposal. I can believe that this — consideration of a direct proposal by a slave — has never been a prominent feature of their work. Finally, Igor looks at Master and declares, "I'm for it. I've seen how Julie responds to commands or challenges; she just takes a deep breath and goes after it. If we add any folderol to her, it won't come off as believable."

The others at the table nod in assent or murmur similar thoughts. For some reason, I get that warm feeling again. Was Master right about the "pride and satisfaction" thing?

I don't get a chance to reflect on this question. Igor signals I'm overdue for a gym workout and everyone else has the daily tasks. There is a simple "Transport Mode" command and he leads me to the gym.

After the usual stretching warm-up, I go through the machines I have gotten to know. This time, however, I'm concentrating on "making love" to them. There is only one cut of his crop, a mild one, and I judge Igor is happy with my work.

Well, not so fast. "Julie, you do pretty well on these machines, but we don't know whether the Empress will try you out on these. With all the equipment available, she could have any number of other makes or types. Your job, if she tests you here, is to show you appreciate the workout and you love the machine. Just one word of caution: If she sets too great a load, too much weight or resistance, don't hesitate to signal the problem. Nobody wants you to tear a muscle or tendon or dislocate a joint. Don't be a martyr or heroine here. The job here is to show you appreciate your body and keeping it in tip-top shape. Do you understand?"

It's the first time in a long while since he's asked that question. I realize, of course, that he's waiting for my "Yes, Sir" answer. But I sense that there's more here. I do my deep breath — and realize that everyone knows that maneuver. "Yes, Sir," I answer, adding "What she really wants to know is whether this slave is just going to follow orders or is going to think about what the command really means, what Master really wants. Will I just accept the weight and the reps ordered, or will I match them with my capabilities?"

"Exactly so." Igor's smile tells me I'm seeing the situation as he is. "Now, I'm going to run you on the treadmill a bit longer and harder than usual. I want you to be able to tell when you're getting to your limits."

So, I move to the treadmill and start at a fast walk, moving to a jog and then to a run. I'm not going to know what regimen the Empress, or her gym staff, will use, so I don't worry about the details. I do count the "hills" so I can know whether the Empress' run will be longer than I can take. I am impressed by the number Igor gives me before something tells him I am finished.

Igor has a container of chocolate milk ready for me when, a little unsteady, I come off the treadmill. He's checked the exercise physiology papers, he says, and chocolate milk has all the required fluid, calories, and electrolytes everyone agrees on, plus lots of protein. The law office gym had a few different "sports drinks." Take it from this slave, chocolate milk tastes better. Igor gives me another container and I down that as well. I'm sweating, but a feeling of accomplishment, of "climbing the mountain," brings back the idea of "pride and satisfaction."

I've really got to think about those words.

My day goes by mostly without my noticing it. I am constantly thinking of what the Empress might ask and how I could respond. I know Master seems unconcerned about revealing trade secrets, but I've seen too many "slips of the tongue" in the law office from even practiced attorneys to be confident of not committing a faux pas. I'm not quite so worried about "play" that the Empress might demand. Pat and Anne have told me enough times how they had "enjoyed" me that I am fairly confident in that sphere. But, then again, what if the play gets "rough?" Anne's story of the poker game, with the need for "recovery" after the Japanese suspension exercises, is fresh in my mind, although Charles' files and Master's recall seemed to show no harms had been done to prior interviewees. The problem, I guess, is just the not knowing what is coming.

After the last of Master's meetings, he waves me to a kneeling pad in his office. "Julie," he begins, and the tension of the day just erupts from me.

"Master," I wail, "I'm afraid. I don't think I can do this. The Empress will see right through me. I'll say something or do something wrong or bad and she'll send me back here labeled Unacceptable." As I spill tears, Master's handkerchief is quickly soaked.

Master just waits until the storm passes, as, of course, storms do. For once, I am speechless. I know I have been trained and have been complimented on my performances, but none of that seems protection against the demons I am imagining. Master has assured me that there is virtually nothing untoward or embarrassing I could say. Yet, I am as terrified as I had been when the slavers took over Blue Bayou.

Finally, Master's gentle strokes calm me enough to kneel up properly for my Master. Imagine, I couldn't even hold Position One properly! It adds despair to the terror.

Master is unperturbed, it seems. "Julie," he begins again, "I'm glad you had that outburst. You know you are facing an unknown, so worry and concern are to be expected. Now, it appears I know you better than you seem to know yourself. You must believe your Master and your trainers when we tell you we think you will do well tomorrow. Now, I'm not going to make that a command, because I don't think you require a command. You have adapted to slavery very nicely, we think, and we also think you will go to the Empress as a slave serving her Master well. That is, you will do anything the Empress asks, tells, or commands, just as you have done here. You will answer any of the Empress' questions."