48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 17: Julie

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High Tea with the Empress - and Butterfly.
12.7k words
4.45
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Part 17 of the 51 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 10/21/2014
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Carole99
Carole99
470 Followers

Author's Note: Our Heroine, Julie, is being readied for an "interview" with the Empress, the Territory's leader of high society. Will she be confirmed as a "First Lady?" But first, Julie has a problem. See how our former paralegal deals with it. And then, how she deals with the Empress.

J Spe

Chapter Twenty-Five: Dinner Before Correction

I am heading for my trainers. Master has just helped me get over an outburst of fright and terror of my impending "interview" with the Empress. He has also decreed three strikes with "a nice whippy cane" as correction for my outburst. Then, he asked whether I'd like to be fastened to the whipping bench for such a "minor correction" or could I take it just crouched in the Down position. From his reference to "minor" and his remark about "going to the trouble of fastening" me, I'm pretty sure my Master is expecting me to refuse the fastening to the whipping bench.

The problem is, can I manage the three cuts without recoiling out of position? And, can I do it without the screams that would embarrass me and, I'm sure, my trainers? My paralegal mind notices that Master said nothing about consulting with anyone, so I'm looking for at least one of my trainers.

I find Igor and Anne in the kitchen. Even as I drop into the Position One kneel — which I'm being careful to execute as gracefully as possible — Igor notices my flushed face and upset demeanor. How could anyone miss it?

He nods to me and says, simply, "Speak, Julie."

How's that for a knowledgeable trainer! I pour out the details of my worry, my outburst, Master's homily, and my correction.

Igor looks thoughtful for a moment and then pontificates, "I'm pleased that Master has such confidence in my ability to administer even such a minor correction."

I about choke with anger until my trainers burst out laughing. Now, I'm just confused. I'm smart enough not to say anything right here, especially something that my Inner Goddess is ranting about in my inner ear. In slavery, three can become thirty in a blink of an eye.

Finally, Anne punches Igor on his arm and he explains to his trainee. "Julie, three cuts really is a minor correction. I know that you haven't had a real caning. That means you're going to be surprised at how excruciatingly painful it is. But, you have to remember that it's only three, that it's a hurt but not a harm, and that you'll recover from this hurt with no long-term problem."

Anne picks up the thread of Igor's reassurance. "Now, let's focus on the question Master left you with: fastened to the whipping bench or kneeling free? What do you think about each choice?"

OK, a direct question. I do my deep breath thing and start. "Fastened would be easier. I couldn't jump away or break position. I'm sure that would be better for Igor. Still, Master did mention how much trouble it would be to get everything set up. So, I think I'd do Master better if I tried for the Down position. But, I just don't know if I could hold it."

Igor asks, "What if you had something to hold?"

I never thought of that! Quickly, I realize that could change all the dynamics of my correction. It would still hurt — and my trainer had promised it would be excruciatingly painful — but I would have something to focus on. The physical act of holding on would have to affect my tendency to jump, wouldn't it?

"Now, about the screams." Anne moves us to another practical point. "Of course you would reflect more credit if you could be silent, but my experience with slavery is that it takes a slave a long time and lots of work to reach that stage."

I imagine that Anne is referring to lots of strikes with the "nice whippy cane."

Anne continues, "So, nobody is expecting you to be silent. So, you don't have to be embarrassed by your screams. In a way, they certify that Igor is doing a good job."

Igor has a helpful suggestion. "Now, Master said nothing about a gag, right? If you wish, I can use some type of gag? Maybe a ballgag or a cleave gag? The thing is, they're not actually totally soundproof."

Helpful, right? I bend my head in submission and whisper my gratitude to my trainers for their guidance.

It is dessert time at the dinner table before Master brings up my correction, recounting my crime for Charles, Edward, and Pat, along with Anne and Igor, who already know the story. I can't be sure, of course, but I'd be astounded if the grapevine hadn't already informed everyone of my misdeed. Some entrepreneur is probably already selling tickets for my correction at Hong Kong Stadium or, if it is to be indoors, at the Arena Hall at AsiaWorld-Expo. I have no difficulty not mentioning these thoughts as Master turns to me for my answer.

Actually, I guess I knew from the very start what my answer would be, had to be. I would be embarrassed to put Master to the trouble of strapping me to a whipping bench. I have no idea what a whipping bench looks like, but I can't believe it is as comfortable as a park bench. And, given the training I have had, I think I'd be embarrassed to admit that it wasn't good enough or severe enough for me to be able to take a minor correction without the restraint. My Inner Goddess is counseling me not to play at being a heroine, but I think I always knew I am going to try it.

I take my breath and announce, "Please, Master, this slave will accept her correction in the Down position."

Finally, I've gotten something right! Grins and smiles wreath everyone's face at the table. Master takes my hand and brings it to his lips for a soft kiss. I get that warm feeling again.

Master looks at Igor and Igor rises to announce: "Ladies and Gentlemen, Julie will be ready for you in the Corrections Room in 30 minutes." He waves a bit to me, and I rise to follow him from the table.

I don't know where we're going. The "Corrections Room" was not on the tour Pat gave me on my arrival. Igor strides down the hallway and I hurry to catch up with him. He unlocks a door almost at the end of the passage and enters, turning on the lights.

I enter a few steps, glance around, and stop, paralyzed. The room extends the width of the building, with a high ceiling from which I see an arrangement of pulleys and cables descending. I recall Anne's description of "suspension," and I'm glad that isn't going to be on tonight's menu.

The floor is carpeted for the most part, with several patches of the rubberized surface used in the gym one floor below. There are no windows, just banks of cabinets and racks lining the walls. I can see hanks of rope and coils of chain, each neatly coiled and posted in its place. There is a display of whips suspended from their handles, the longer ones with the lash coiled and hung on a convenient peg. On one wall, a saltire, a St. Andrews Cross, is mounted, extending about a foot into the room. There is a sink and washing station at each end of the room. A few small carts are lined up near one washing station, their cargo covered by a clean white sheet. Towards one end of the room, a pillar, perhaps six inches square, rises from floor to ceiling. It bears several sets of manacles dangling from short chains. At the other end, there are a few pieces of furniture, each covered with a clean white sheet. From D-rings recessed into the rubberized floor areas, short chains lead to metallic or leather shackles.

Each view fairly screams "Pain!" Anne had restrained me in my first days of slavery with some ropes and chains and, of course, the handcuffs. Clearly, that was minor league stuff. This room is clearly at the Major League level.

Igor's smile and a beckoning hand draw me to one cabinet. "Julie, it's necessary for you to strip now. Put your clothes on the hangers in this closet. They'll be right here for you afterwards."

Reassuring, isn't he?

I'm practiced at this, so it takes just seconds before I am naked before my trainer. He twirls one hand and I make a slow turn so he can inspect every part of me. I suppose that, once, I would be blushing furiously at this humiliating act, but my training has taught me that it is actually not intended as a humiliation; my trainer is simply checking to be sure there is nothing to cause delay or cancellation of this appointment.

Well, maybe I blush a little.

Igor manages a "Good" assessment of his trainee and leads me to one of the rubberized floor areas. It shows a plastic bar, about a half-inch in diameter, held about three inches off the floor by a pair of stanchions. Igor directs me to kneel before this bar and reach out to hold it.

"OK, now," he says, "put your elbows on the floor and bring your knees up to your elbows, spreading your knees as wide as you can. This is the position you need to hold. Do you understand?"

I figure this out as I'm assuming the position. It's quite inventive, I think. "Yes, Sir. Holding the bar will help keep me from jumping out. Thank you, Sir."

"Now, the topper is that you can take the bar in your mouth. Chomping on the bar will help keep you from too much noise. Do you understand?"

I try to bite the bar. It's plastic, so it doesn't have much taste, but it's soft enough so that I won't damage my teeth. I notice that putting my head down does wonders for lifting my ass up. It's going to be a great target for my trainer. "Yes, Sir. Biting down will help control for screams. Thank you, Sir." I guess that I don't have to point out how high my ass is.

Now, I realize I haven't seen any canes, especially "nice whippy canes." Whips, yes. Canes, no. My puzzle is explained a moment later, when Anne brings in a large plastic tube, from which Igor draws out several long canes. I see some fluid dripping from them, which does not make sense to me.

Anne brings the tube to me and shows me several canes still inside, along with the fluid. "These are rattan canes, the finest and most flexible in the world. We get them from Imperial Cane and Strap Company, Ltd., of North Yorks, England.*

"Their canes are made from the finest rattan imported from Malaysia and Singapore. Proper care for the rattan entails soaking in brine for at least a day before use. A dried out cane loses flexibility and, more importantly, weight. Indeed, a soaked cane is much easier to control. Tonight, Igor will use a Junior cane, although, with even slight practice, any cane can produce a wide variety of sensations. These are made of a light grade of rattan but are strong, flexible and whippy. Each is the standard 1.2 meters long (almost 46 inches) and 1.27 cm (a half-inch) thick. It imparts a memorable sting, adequate for light to moderate discipline. We use this cane because it has an indefinable combination of density and suppleness, an almost fluid quality which gives the penetrating sting. You will feel a snap at first contact and a thudding finish to each stroke. That is what makes a good caning the most respected of all punishments."

Helpful? Anne's speech sounds almost like the description in a catalog. In some ways, the routine words are comforting: I won't be permanently scarred. In other ways, she has promised each stroke will bring pain different and more intense than any I have borne.

My Master and his team files into the Corrections Room and there is a moment of greetings. My Master takes my chin in his hands and looks into my eyes. I know he will see fear in them, but I hope he will also see his slave's resolve to accept its punishment in a way that meets his standards.

Master whispers, "For tonight, and because there are only three strikes, there is no need to count. Do you understand?"

This is unexpected, a departure from the proper procedures. It is a clue my Master knows about the ingenuity my trainers have called up for my benefit. My answer is prompt. "Yes, Master, your slave understands."

Master says simply, "Igor, you may begin." I do not look up from my plastic bar. I am focusing on the bar with my eyes, my hands, and, now, my jaws.

There is a moment of silence, then a sort of swishing wind noise, and my ass is on fire. The pain, as Anne had said, started as a local sting but exploded into a total body burn. I am so shocked that I cannot breathe, let alone cry out. I have not moved from the bar and my jaws are clamped on it as if I had a case of tetanus.

I do not know how long it takes to start breathing again, but I manage. Big, shuddering gasps. I sense that Igor is waiting, giving me time to save up the oxygen I am going to need for the next blow. He strokes my back, always a welcome feeling.

When the strokes on my back stop their soothing, I grab the bar again, ready — but not ready, never ready — for the stroke of the cane.

It comes, and the bar again helps me hold still and hold silent. The pain is the same, I think, but my brain tells me I'm not thinking now. Again, Igor uses his hand to place soothing strokes on my back while I try to breathe. Now, my brain is telling me Hold the pose! Do not break the position! This sounds like a good idea, I think, but my brain isn't telling me how to do it. Then, amidst the silence in the room, I see the bar in front of me and clamp my jaws on it just as the third stroke falls.

Again, I go into some far off space where breathing is not needed. A cough reminds me to come back home where breathing can be normal. Slowly, I realize the room is no longer silent. There is applause!

I release my jaws from the bar and look up, not thinking whether I have permission to look up at my audience. My Master and trainers are all wearing smiles and applauding!

Igor taps a hand and says I can let go now. It takes a moment or two to relax my muscles and release the bar. Slowly, the whole room comes into focus and I realize my correction is complete. I have survived the hurt!

Unbidden, Igor's instruction from my arrival on Master's yacht comes to mind: once you've recovered from the hurt, your survival will tell you that you can always be hurt again.

Anne comes alongside and pats me on the head, adding "Julie, go to Position One, now."

Automatically, it seems, I am kneeling in proper position. Then, my ass screams its anger and resentment from contact with my heels. Anne is right there with another command. "Kneel up, now,"

I raise up and my ass quiets down. Anne tells me that her first command was to let me know how my ass would feel on any contact. Then, she got me off my ass as quickly as possible.

Master comes to me and also strokes my head and neck. "You did well, my dear, just as I expected. Your trainers will have more to explain to you. Stand up, now, and go with them to your room. Do you understand?"

I hear my "Yes, Master. Go with my trainers. Thank you, Master." But, it takes me a few moments to rise to my feet. My Inner Goddess is making wisecracks about having a pain in the ass, but I silence her as I place my hands for Transport Mode. Nobody says anything about my clothes.

Back in my room, Igor, Anne, and Pat regale me with compliments. I had not broken position. I had not screamed. I had taken my correction well. They tell me this is high praise for a slave. I am not asked for my opinion — when is a slave's opinion important, anyway? Finally, Igor guides me to the full-length mirror I have used to make sure I am presenting the-slave-I-have-become properly. He turns me this way and that and, looking over one shoulder and the other, I get to see three dark red stripes across my buttocks. They are straight across, perfectly level and parallel, evenly spaced across the curve of my ass.

I have never seen the marks of a cane. My eyes are glued to them as I continually turn, left and right, to see them from any angle, again and again. Anyone who sees them will know these marks are from a cane. Anyone will know that these are the mark of a slave.

Pat breaks into my reverie with a command. "Julie, lie down on your front on the bed. I've got some ointment for your ass. It should help with the pain for tonight. Tomorrow, we've got some creams we can use to help the healing."

Anne helps me to lie flat and Pat applies her ointment. In a few moments, I feel the pain recede a bit. Igor comes even with my face and asks, "Julie, I'm sure you couldn't think of anything but the pain, but, now, are you getting back to yourself?"

He was the one who caned me! And now, he wants me to talk to him! Damn yes, I want to talk to him! I want to tell him I hate him, hate his cane, hate all my trainers, hate my Master, hate this slavery, hate everything that's happened since I got on Blue Bayou. And, he's asked a question, so I am OK to talk, right? OK, I have a lot to talk about!

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My anger, my hate, they are silent. I feel lost in a strange world. My mouth closes as my eyes pour out my tears.

It is Anne who takes my hand in hers and squeezes gently. "Julie, I understand exactly what you're feeling now. Believe me, this is not unusual for a new slave. It happened to me, also. Take your time now and sleep on it. We'll talk more in the morning."

Igor adds, "Anne's right, Julie. I'll cancel your 6:00 AM gym. It's more important for you to think and then talk with us."

Pat has a small smile as she says, softly, "Julie, you wear your stripes beautifully. These are your first, and you probably can't see it now, but they are really beautiful."

What is she talking about? I can see them perfectly well, and they just look like big red marks. How can anybody see beauty there? I am about to explain this to my Master's First Slave when Igor strokes my shoulder and murmurs, "She's right, Julie. We all know you don't see it that way now; Hell, you can feel it better than see it, right? But, believe us — and remember this — these marks are beautiful."

My Inner Goddess is silent, and I see the wisdom in staying silent about this point. Instead, I ask, "Please, what will the Empress think about these stripes? There's no way I'm going to be able to hide them if she wants a play session. In fact, she'll suspect something just from the way I walk or sit, if I can sit."

My trainers break out into big smiles — can you believe it: smiles! I've had the worst pain and now I could be marked for life!

Igor applies another soft stroke on my shoulder. "Now, that's the slave we've trained! You're focusing on what your Master is going to need next. All right, now. Let me ask you what you think the Empress is going to think."

I have no idea of what the Empress might think. I don't know the woman or anything about her circle. I gasp at the question, but then start thinking it through and answering my trainers. "Please, Sir, the Empress knows I am a slave, so she won't be surprised to find these marks of the cane. She knows that slaves have no privacy so I expect she'll start asking about the crime that led to this correction." I stop, horrified at what I'm guessing could be the Empress' next step.

Anne reads the expression on my face and asks, "Julie, what are you thinking now?"

It's a direct question and demands an immediate answer. I manage to squeak out, "Please, Ma'am, could she think she's entitled to add her own to Igor's marks?"

I can see my trainers strain to hide their laughter. I realize I've just said a silly, childish thing. I'm a slave. Anybody can use me for anything. If the Empress wants, of course she is entitled to add more stripes. And anything else, I assume. It's the First Law of Slavery, right? Slaves Never Win.

My trainers give me a moment to let this realization seep through me. Anne, again reading my face, observes, "It's OK, Julie. I think you've gotten a better idea of how this game is played. Now, let's get on with trying to think about what the Empress might want. Any ideas?"

My trainer has neatly put the ball back into my court. I must move beyond the stripes to what the Empress really wants from this "interview." This is something that I have really thought about, so I take my deep breath and start.

Carole99
Carole99
470 Followers