48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 25: Julie

"Please, Sir, nobody has said anything about withdrawing me from sale. The Slavemaster assessed this punishment, he said, so that other Buyers wouldn't be shortchanged." I'm afraid to say anything else. I can see the red lights in the room corners; this whole meeting is under surveillance.

"All right. Now, is there anything you need? Do you want Edward and I, or even Master, to do anything for you?" Charles is taking the positive look.

"Please, Sirs, tell my Master that I think of him always. I will go tomorrow and do my best, up to the high standards my Master has taught me." My Inner Goddess snickers at my penchant for over-the-top lines.

Edward opens the door and the House Slave comes in, I do the Transport Mode thing, and we return to my cell, where my cellmate is waiting for news about my "appointment."

I am careful to say nice things about my former Owner, and polite things about the Slavemaster. I say nothing about the games being played. There are red lights and cameras in all our cells, right? I cannot believe the Slavemaster hasn't been told about the way Blondie, I, and the male slave cooked up this game. I make the guess that the Slavemaster also wants the wild story to circulate: he doesn't have any other way to excite Buyers for this slave, and, without Buyers, his House will lose commission money.

There is another fireworks display this evening. The New Year celebrations are coming to a close with a Festival of Lights, traditional in the Chinese calendar. Lights out is delayed for the show and, surprise, for dishes of ice cream afterwards. Everyone goes to sleep in a positive mood.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-five: Prep for Auction

This morning is just as excited as yesterday. While the Buyers are allowed to sleep in and have a leisurely breakfast, the slaves to be sold are busy with last minute preparations. Most of the former Owners have hired Prep Teams to make sure their consignment matches the pictures in the Catalogue and provide nice make-up and hair-do for the big moment.

The Security crew tell us that the order on the block is random, but that they try to vary the "type" being presented to avoid comparisons. After the auctioneer's hammer falls, the newly sold slave will be taken to what they call the "Package Room," where the finances and papers get sorted out and where the new Owner can detail how the slave is to be transported to his or her new slave corridor.

I arrived here with only my collar to proclaim my status. I have no clue how I will leave. I certainly don't want to go packed in a container, like the male slave my Master had sold to this House.

A Prep Team sweeps into my cell for Blondie. They are immediately impressed by how long and luxuriant her hair is. They will have lots of material to work with! And, her complexion is as smooth as the proverbial "baby's ass." They quickly decide that just a bit of foundation and blush along the zygoma (wherever that is) is all that's needed.

They are about finished when another team shows up, this one for me. They are a lot quieter, really, just like my Master. They talk with me about how I usually manage my hair and make-up and nod silently. They just exude competence and confidence. There is no rush as my hair is styled, mostly drawn to my left and allowed to cascade to my collarbone in gentle curls. When I bend my neck, as in Position One to show submission, my face will be mostly covered by the curls. They have contrived to make even this simple move exotic and mysterious.

They work over my face with various powders and lotions, carefully cleaning them off after each application. Gradually, my skin begins to glow, it seems. I feel a small tingle, almost like a gentle caress from a lover, and mention it to the Team. They grin back and the leader announces, "That's what the Empress is looking for!"

The Empress? My eyes ask the question and the leader explains. "You weren't in town for very long, but lots of people met you, so there was a lot of surprise to learn you were going in this auction. And the rumors that we heard when the Empress had us over last night for instructions — nobody's talking about anything else! We've worked for the Empress for years, and she got your Owner to let her lend us to you for this morning. It's the first time we're at this House, so we're trying to leave a good impression."

Hearing that the Empress is involved is all I needed! Another Mistress I'd let down. I am close to tears when the Prep Team leader pokes my shoulder. "Listen, kid, nobody is angry or upset with you. We've been doing slaves for a long time. These things happen. You can't undo anything, so there's no point in trying. Just go on to the next task."

The assistant grins and says, "If you cry and make our cosmetics run, the Empress will come up here and personally flog you all the way back to Hong Kong."

Well, that picture is so outlandish that we all giggle and the moment passes. This is what it means to have both a family and friends in support.

Finally, all the Prep Teams have worked their magic and left. House slaves come for one or another slave, everyone wishes them Good Luck in whatever language they can, and the rest wait. It is something slaves learn how to do. I remember a moment when the slaver, Albert, who took over the yacht Blue Bayou and sold me the first time, first "interviewed" me. It was the first time I had been paraded about naked in public. The things that happened aboard Blue Bayou, that seemed so terrifying then, are now an ordinary part of my slavery. I suspect that, whatever my new Owner decrees, I'd learn to live with it just as well. In a way, that idea strengthens me.

And then, they come for me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Fifty-six: What am I bid?

The House Slave's hand is gentle on my arm. There is no need for harshness; she's taking me where I must go, where I want to go. I'm going to find out, again, that someone wants me enough to put out a fortune, and in cash. Houses of slavery usually don't have a Return in Seven Days policy. There also isn't going to be a White Knight riding in to whisk me away.

The House Slave deposits me with a team of Security. They look at me, wondering if this is the slave who will have a case of nerves and upset the business at hand. I smile and slip into Position One, trying to reassure everyone. I can hear the auctioneer's patter for the slave currently on the block. It sounds playful, musical, with no cruelty or bad jokes to humiliate the slave. Really, there's no point in that, I understand.

The auction goes on for quite some time, I think. Towards the end, it moves in fits and starts as two Buyers each try to assess the worth of a slave and the temper of the other Buyer. In the end, there is a loud knock as "the hammer" falls. A House Slave brings the slave, a male, back and passes him to one of the Security crew for shepherding to the Package Room.

He asks, "Did I sell well?" His expression is a bit blank and I wonder if he's withdrawn into himself for what would be a stressful situation for him.

The House Slave pats him on the head and reassures him, "Yes, you did. You can tell from how they went back and forth over you. You'll be in good hands with this new Owner."

He brightens, says "Thank you," and follows the Security crew off.

The House Slave takes a critical look at me, orders a twirl so she can check all angles, and says, "OK, kid, you're on. Like they say in Showbiz, get out there and break a leg."

There is no ceremony for my entry onto the stage. It is wide and deep so I may be asked to move a bit or show some Positions and Movements. I keep the balletmaster's "long drink of water" in mind as I move to stage center. When I see the block, I am startled. There really is a block and the auctioneer is motioning me to climb up on it! It takes me a moment to figure out how to do that and the auctioneer covers this hitch with a helping hand and some words from my Catalogue page. Like a dance partner, he twirls me around on the block, ending with me facing the audience.

I am also startled by the size of the place. It's the largest auditorium I have seen since my one opera date in Chicago. There must be close to a thousand in the audience, and more in the side boxes. As I end the twirl, I curtsy to the left, to the right, and to the center. This is greeted with applause and a few cheers.

I am back to myself quickly. I am put into Standing Display Position and gracefully move my hands to lock behind my neck with my elbows out to the side, a nice position for showing off my breasts. My legs are a bit more than shoulder-width apart, showing a bit of my pussy, and my feet are facing forward. I open my lips a bit, adding a smile which, I hope, shows up in my eyes also. I am open to the Buyers, only the House's collar dressing me for the occasion.

A monitor to my left starts flashing numbers. Nobody has said anything about which currency is used here, but the numbers seem to change at blistering speed.

Then, the numbers slow down. The auctioneer makes a point about my "freshness" — which I don't understand — but which draws laughter from the crowd. More numbers flash on the monitor. The auctioneer has me turn to display my back and ass; I am horrified to remember that the cane strokes — the minor correction — must still be visible!

There is a surge of numbers on the monitor, but then it falls back to a slow cadence. The auctioneer is now a bit tense and he whispers to me, "It's down to just three bidders and they're trying to outguess each other. You're doing great. Just turn back and keep smiling."

I can't tell who the bidders are; there are no hands or paddles waving out there. The numbers stop. The auctioneer seizes the opportunity to stimulate the Buyers. "Perhaps you would be impressed by a demonstration of how nicely this fresh slave marks." There is a smattering of applause, naturally, but I am paralyzed with fear. Someone is going to beat me just to show how fast my skin glows red?

The House Slave who pushed me onto this stage comes up behind me, reaches around, and cups my breasts, lifting and separating them. Her fingers stroke my nipples, provoking instant hardening and erection. For a moment, arousal washes over me and I moan for more stimulation. What I receive is a to-and-fro set of slashes from the auctioneer's crop. I cannot stop the short scream that follows the start of pain across my breasts. The House Slave supports my breasts for a moment, just long enough to let everyone see the perfectly matched horizontal welts on my breasts.

With the command "Go to Standing Display Position," my arms move on their own. I writhe a bit, left and right, just to respond to the pain. The audience takes the moves as an extension of my Display Position, and there is more applause. The monitor puts up new numbers and pauses.

The auctioneer takes a deep breath, ready to pronounce my sale. But, another number pops up and the entire audience gasps. The auctioneer murmurs, "It's a close-out bid!"

I remember that term from the real estate auctions at my former law firm. Someone has gotten tired of the back and forth bidding, moving just a little bit each time. That someone has entered a bid significantly higher than the opposition, hoping to intimidate them.

I hold my breath, waiting for another number on the monitor. It glows steadily with the last number. The auctioneer makes up his mind, slams a block of wood on his lectern, and calls out the fateful word, "Sold!" The bidding is over and the close-out strategy worked. My new Owner must be a brilliant negotiator!

The auctioneer winks at me and I grin back. The drama of the sale was different from the deck of Blue Bayou, but I am just as excited, and terrified, as I was then. Again, I don't know my sales price, but I sense that I've surpassed my Reserve Price, a point that every slave considers a point of pride.

The House Slave takes me off the block and passes me to a Security crewman, who carefully but firmly manhandles me through a few corridors to the Package Room. A team of elderly women gather around me, speaking in excited voices. I ask for a translation and I'm told my price is the second highest so far today. No wonder the House of Slavery is excited!

The Turian-style collar is unlocked and removed. One of the women unwraps a package, saying "Dress from home." It is the Calvin Klein White Label Asymmetrical Zip sleeveless dress from Master's yacht. My Master continues to provide for me! When the zipper is closed, hiding my marked breasts, the women stand back a bit, inspecting. They all wear happy faces and one of them even claps a few times. Then, a shackle and short chain tethers my left wrist to a stanchion and I am left, secure, to await my new Owner.

Slaves enter the Package Room and go through whatever "packaging" has been decreed for them. Most have a short wait before they are unshackled and led away, probably for transport. A few have visits from their new Owner, or, I guess, his agent. Owners get a kneeling slave, some even going to Obeisance Position to kiss their Owner's shoes. The agents get to pat the slave on the head or ass, tell the slave there will be a short wait for "paperwork," and to just stand, still expectant. Most slaves remain naked, with a few given plain shifts. I am the only slave in a proper dress. My Master is making the kind of statement that this House of Slavery will remember.

Author's Note: The "True Story of Fifty's Fellatio" seems to have worked, at least from the flow of numbers on the monitor. The auction hammer fell and the Auctioneer called out "Sold!" Now, Our Heroine waits to find out who will be her new Owner. Any suggestions our Dear Readers have about how she should approach or react to this Owner will be welcome.