48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 25: Julie

Julie Scene 18 Part 25

Author's Note: Julie is getting settled into a new slave corridor in preparation for her auction. As usual, things don't go smoothly. Sorry about that.

— J Spe

My cell is already occupied by another female slave. She is shorter and younger than I, and I have a flash of jealousy for her long blond hair and blue eyes. She's the exact kind of girl who, since High School, was always more popular and more desired by the boys than I ever was. Then, I realize we're both in the same cell, just as we're both in the same auction. It's a metaphor for being in the same boat.

A bit hesitantly, I offer my hand in greeting, but the blonde just laughs and embraces me in a full-body hug. In moments, we are trading our hopes for this auction. I'm not sure why, but neither of us seems to want to detail why our Owners have put us up for sale. As the corridor fills with slaves, both male and female, we wander to the adjoining cells and make friends, or at least an acquaintance, with the others. Eventually, I am struck by the realization that all this friendliness is sort of at odds with our current situation. In another two days, we'll all be gone to new Owners, new lives, new purposes. It is almost certain we'll never see or hear about each other. Something Anne told me rebuts this idea: Slaves take what pleasure they can whenever an opportunity permits. It was true when it was just a sexual thrill and it's true when it's a wrenching change in my life.

Eventually, a Guard blows a whistle and everyone instantly comes to either Position One or Standing Erect Position. The room is absolutely silent. The Slavemaster steps on a small podium and welcomes us all, formally, to the House of Slavery Winter Exceptional Unit Auction. I can just hear the capital letters his pride in his House generates. I do learn that all of us have graded in the Sheldon MS range. If this was a beauty pageant, the competition would be intense! And, cut-throat!

Slavemaster mentions this, and pauses for effect: "That will not be how these next days go. Let me remind you that everyone here has the same business goal: to find the best new Owner who will pay the highest price. That is where you should direct your efforts.

"Now, the carts with Evening Nourishments will be here soon. Anyone with special dietary needs, please speak with the Staff. For some of you, the time of Nourishments is a time when speech is prohibited. In this slave corridor, however, speech is always permitted, and especially when you are being examined by a potential Buyer. It just makes sense, doesn't it, to engage the Buyer, to find out what he or she is looking for? If you fit that picture, tell the Buyer. If you know of another slave who fits the picture better, tell the Buyer that. If a Buyer buys another slave, that just makes it easier for your ideal Buyer to spend his or her cash for you.

"Our Scheduling Desk has had so many requests that we have moved the Examination Phase up to this evening. After Nourishments, you will have an hour to rest, do your teeth or hair, whatever. One of our House Slaves will put you in Transport Mode and take you to the potential Buyer. By the way, you will address all of our Staff as Sir or Ma'am; that goes for me and down to our newest House Slave. Now, our House Slave will leave you with the Buyer. These Buyers have been given the rules for examination. You may be used but there will be no hurts or marks from the examination. We have surveillance in all our suites, so someone will always be monitoring you. The Security Guards are only moments away if they should be needed. We do this because we want you to concentrate on your presentation, not on any worries about your safety. I can tell you that our prep of the Buyers has allowed us to maintain this safe environment for some time. We have never lost a slave, and it has been five or six years since we had to expel a Buyer."

There are a few more rules, most pretty much similar to the rules at the Enterprise's Intake Unit slave corridor. After Nourishments, I clean my teeth, take a pee, check my shift for tears or stains, and wait. My cellmate gets a call, but none comes for me. My cellmate returns and tells me that the potential Buyer was a woman who, really, just wanted a session of cunnilingus. She seemed to satisfy the woman, but my cellmate thinks she was called just as one of the slaves with that skill listed in the Catalogue.

A little while later, a House Slave comes for me. I present myself for Transport Mode and thank the House Slave for not making the cuffs too tight. He takes me up a few floors, removes the handcuffs, and positions me, kneeling, at Apartment 2375. He knocks and my Potential Buyer welcomes me to his rooms. The Buyer is a young man, well-dressed but with unkempt hair. He tells me that he's been at this School for New Owners for hours, he didn't learn anything his father hadn't taught him at home (he has an American accent!), and he'd picked my picture out of the Catalogue because it said I had expertise in fellatio.

"I also noticed your MS Sheldon grade. The slaves we've got at home are all graded AU. What's so special that you have an MS?"

I have no idea what an AU grade would be like, so I put a few phrases together. "Please, Master, my trainers have worked with me extensively in this skill. They are known for their high standards. Would it please you for me to demonstrate these skills?"

He falls for my contrite air and selling points. I circle him once, just to create an aura of mystery, and use my hands to stroke him as I undress him. When he's naked, I also strip out of my shift and lead him to the big bed, sitting him on its side with his legs spread widely. I kneel submissively before him, stroking his legs and thighs. I haven't gone near his package, but his cock is almost fully erect.

I blow a stream of warm air over his cock and it is now at full mast. I kiss it at its base and tip and this potential Buyer begins to buck. I take his manhood into my mouth and start my Swirls and Twirls tongue action. Almost immediately, he comes, shooting warm semen which I swallow as fast as it comes.

I keep a mouthful of his cum so that, as he completes his climax and his cock starts to subside, I can show him my care with his seed. I look at him, my mouth open, and he doesn't seem to realize what his next command should be. So, I swallow and smile at him. He doesn't realize I have taken charge of him, so I proceed to take his soft cock in my mouth and lick it clean. I am presumptuous enough to look deeply into his eyes and ask the inevitable question. "Please, Master, was it good for you?"

Well, it was probably the best blowjob he'd ever had, judging by the grin on his face. Automatically, he replies, "Best ever, my dear." I don't expect he really wants to buy me, although his strokes on my head and back suggest he'd spend his entire budget on me. I think he just took advantage of the Demonstration Day schedule because he was upset with the niceties the House of Slavery School for New Owners had been trying to make him understand and appreciate. And because he was horny.

I sit back in Position One, my head bent in submission. In a moment, he realizes that he's got to call for transport to get me back to the slave corridor. A House Slave arrives, has me don my shift, and places me in Transport Mode, which surprises and intrigues the man. He asks a few questions about the ritual, which the House Slave answers. With a final pat on my head, he dismisses me and the House Slave brings me back to my cell.

This is when I notice that the cell has windows! We are not underground, but high up over the city. It must be midnight, because there is a vibrant fireworks show going on over the Pearl River. Looking out, I see the Marina where my Master's megayacht is hard to miss. My Master is just a short walk away! This House of Slavery must be in the Pearl River Delta World Trade Center that Charles pointed out from the river.

I go to sleep much more comfortable.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-four: Demonstration Day

The excitement floating around the slave corridor wakes most of us up and into our Morning Rituals even before a Security type rings a bell. Our cell doors trundle open when the Food Carts arrive with Morning Nourishments. I take orange juice, cereal, and toast. There still is no coffee for the slaves.

The Slavemaster appears, his presence commanding silence. He waves a sheaf of papers and announces that House Slaves will be coming to take many of us to early-morning appointments with potential Buyers. I am both hoping and worrying about these interviews, examinations, try-outs, demonstrations — whatever anyone wants to call them — because they are so informal, so unstructured. I cannot know the Buyer, his or her personality or understanding of slavery, or what fantasy he or she wants to explore. My paralegal training made me comfortable in my old law firm. My Master and his trainers and lieutenants made me comfortable in the Enterprises. I have none of that now, and it's a bit unsettling. To be a bit practical, there's the old saw: Never Let Them See You Sweat. How can I do that in these circumstances?

The Slavemaster comes into my cell and "suggests" that the blonde go visit somewhere. I had dropped to Position One as he entered, of course, and now I'm frozen into it, barely breathing.

"I was shown the tapes from your interview at Apartment 2375. The interview was remarkably short, I thought. Usually, our slaves manage to stimulate and pleasure a male for about a half-hour to an hour. Would you like to explain why you gave this potential Buyer such short shrift?"

"But, Sir, he said it was the 'Best ever' blowjob he'd had."

"So, you're telling me that some young man, who probably hadn't had many blowjobs, is the standard by which you work?" The Slavemaster's voice is soft, but his tone is hard.

I have just a few seconds to find a defense. My Master had explained that slaves are expected to perform up to standards. Not performing is a failure. Nobody is interested in the reason for the failure. Correction is almost automatic. Now, the Slavemaster is saying, the situation is different. Now, I need a defense

I try to explain the context, what the Buyer had told me. "Sir, he said he'd just come from the School for New Owners and he hadn't learned anything his father hadn't already taught him. He sounded somewhat irritated, Sir. He said he'd picked me out of the Catalogue because fellatio was listed as one of my skills and he wanted to know what made my MS grading different from the AU grades his slaves rated. Sir, he was just irritated, horny, and curious.

"Then, when I just started with him in my mouth, he had no resistance. Sir, he started spurting with only a few movements of my tongue. And then, Sir, he got soft very fast. He wasn't upset by this, Sir; it seemed like this sequence was familiar to him." I stop. There is no more I can say. If the Slavemaster doesn't match my impressions with what he'd seen from the cameras, I guess I'm in for some type of punishment. Of course, the Slavemaster is in a bit of a bind there, isn't he? He still has to present me on the block tomorrow, and then I'm gone to my new Owner.

The Slavemaster considers for a few moments while I barely breathe. Then, as if from the Oracle, I hear his decision. "OK, Fifty. I can see at least some of what you claim in the images from the cameras. Still, you performed only up to a passable level. Our slaves are trained to provide excellent services at all times and to all comers. You didn't do that, for whatever reason. So, I'm taking you off the Demonstration Day schedule. There won't be any further Buyers to get short-changed. You can spend the day in the gym or here in the corridor. Just stay out of my way. Do you understand?"

I manage to gasp my "Yes, Sir," thrilled at not facing at least some punishment. Then, I am appalled. I won't get to make a presentation to any potential Buyer. There will be no one whose fantasies I can engage. It is as if I am consigned to Purgatory. The British have an idiom: being sent to Coventry. There is a tale that, in the English Civil War, Oliver Cromwell sent some Royalists there for imprisonment. The citizenry refused to speak with them. Its modern meaning is to ostracize, to cut off from communication.

I could see the consequences. Without interested Buyers, there would be little bidding when I was on the block. Little bidding means a poor price — I might not even make my Reserve price! My Master stood to lose a large sum from his slave. And, what Owner would bid on me? Probably not one like my Master.

By the time the Slavemaster leaves my cell, these thoughts have me almost frantic. Charles had suggested that someone would always be monitoring me, but how could I contact him?

My blond cellmate comes back as soon as the Slavemaster leaves. I spill my tale, barely holding back tears. She sits, silently, and I wonder if all those "Blonde Jokes" are real.

"OK, kid. Look, this isn't as bad as it seems. For one thing, they'll have to post that you're no longer available for a Demonstration visit. That is unusual, and should provoke lots of curiosity and gossip. Do you know what they say about publicity?"

Clutching at a straw, I reply, "Just make sure you spell my name right?"

She grins. "Exactly. So, our job is simply to give them something to really gossip about. It has to have some connection to reality, but it can't be ordinary. Something that, at a minimum, shows you in a good light."

I'm trying to think of something, but my Inner Goddess has gone off somewhere. "It has to be far out, but really nearby?"

"Nice way to put it," she says. Our cell is an island of silence in the corridor. A male slave comes in, asking why the quiet, what's the problem? We tell him and now there are three slaves trying to come up with something.

I can feel the tension ease as Blondie straightens up, grinning like she's just swallowed a canary.

"How about this. We put it out that the Buyer who called for you has one of those mystifying male potency problems. Something to do with a recent motorcycle accident or something. He had heard there was this amazing slave from Hong Kong when he registered for this auction. He paged through the Catalogue and narrowed it down to Fifty, here, so he booked an appointment as soon as the Scheduling Desk opened for business.

"He was struck by Fifty's beauty as soon as he opened the door last night, but he knew enough not to get his hopes up; all the slaves in the Catalogue are beautiful. Then, when she started to undress him, when she touched him, it was unlike anything his own slaves had done. By the time Fifty got to taking him in her mouth, he was more excited than he'd ever been since whenever the accident was. What she did with her tongue and lips was unbelievable — it's always safe to call something unbelievable. It shows you're trying to be truthful — and he spurted like he was back in his teens. His orgasm was so great he had to be reminded to call for the House Slave to take Fifty back to her cell.

"We don't go into details. We don't make specific claims. Maybe we let someone pressure us into admitting that he said it was 'Best ever' afterwards, but we don't push that line ourselves. Let the grapevine push that line. What do you think?"

I don't know what to think. The male slave chuckles a bit and says he likes it, likes it a lot! "You don't make extravagant claims. Those would be automatically suspect. There's a whole lot of truth starting from after the accident, so it has a good ring to it. You need to be pushed to let out the punch line about 'Best ever.' No advertisement. No hard sell.

"Ladies, we won't have a moment's trouble getting this to be Topic A at dinner tonight!"

I'm confused. What about dinner?

Blondie's grin widens. "It's really simple. We tell the slaves you've been grounded. They ask why. We tell them this story. They pass it on to the other slaves, who will be glad to have some choice news to tell other slaves and even potential Buyers. There hasn't been a whisper of scandal or even a good joke coming out of this House of Slavery, according to my old Owner, for many years. That's why he booked me here, even with the Registration Fee that they're asking. This story will spread like wildfire. The result: Fifty becomes the Slave with the Magic Tongue. And, they'll add to it as it goes around. Tongue. Lips. Teeth. Fingers, maybe even Toes. By tomorrow, even we won't recognize it."

The male slave looks at Blondie with admiration marked clearly on his face. "I'm never going to believe a Blonde Joke again."

Blondie hauls off and smacks him on the arm and they both start laughing. Of course, some slave asks about the joke, so they tell her the story. I'm not sure what she believes — it's a true story or a made-up maneuver to get the best of the Slavemaster and his House of Slavery Exceptional Unit Auction.

Even I can't tell. Making me look bad and sell poorly can't be good for the House's commission, right? So, the Slavemaster really wanted something else to happen? He really wanted us to start this wild story going, or some other wild thing? I quit thinking before I get dizzy.

I ask my cellmate, "How do I play this if anyone comes to ask, to verify?" I don't want it known that this slave has lied to an Owner, or to anybody.

"OK," she says. "You don't repeat any of it that you didn't actually see and feel. You keep your words scrupulously honest. Anybody will take the rest of the story as the usual decorations that come with gossip, especially such a juicy story. You don't confirm or deny. Claim something like 'client privilege.' You're the paralegal, use some fancy words. If anybody really pushes, just refer them to the Slavemaster. Nobody is going to ask him face to face about such a story, are they? End of problem."

By now, I'm laughing along with my co-conspirators. I put on a sad face and wander in the corridor. It doesn't take long for another slave to ask about my punishment. Am I really off the schedule for Demonstrations? Everyone knows these are usually crucial to selling well, it seems.

With the ammunition from this story, I begin to think I may have another shot at selling well.

I spend some time in the Gym and my routines are interrupted by House Slaves as well as slaves on offer with questions about the True Story of Fifty's Fellatio, as one House Slave put it. I wonder if the Story will get back to the Slavemaster. It seems impossible that someone won't mention it to him. I catch sight of him once or twice during the afternoon, but he is always moving on to another part of the corridor. I hope he doesn't see me.

It is after Evening Nourishments when a House Slave comes for me. In Transport Mode, I am taken to a small Conference Room on another floor. Charles and Edward are there, both looking worried. The House Slave takes the handcuffs and I slip into Position One.

Charles starts. "Julie, we've heard that there was some problem last night. This morning, you got dropped from the Demonstration Day schedule with no reason given. We've been into our sources, and they tell a crazy story. We checked with the Slavemaster, and his story doesn't jibe with the other stories. With the sums at risk here, we got him to agree to let us talk with you for a few moments. What happened?"

I tell Master's lieutenants the unvarnished truth. I am aware of what they've taught me over these months: if a slave could lie to her Master, what kind of relationship could there be?

Charles looks a bit relieved, but Edward has more questions. "What happens now? Do you still go on sale tomorrow?"