48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 30: Julie

A slight round of chuckles and laughs ripples around the room as Master pauses. I can tell he's ordering something big, but it's as if he's speaking a foreign language for all I can tell about it. I do catch the reference to Macau and the Venetian. That's the casino where the former Opera Boss Slave was sent. I wonder if we'll have to deal with him again.

As if reading my mind, one of the Concierge Service pipes up, "Sir, isn't that the place where that guy who was going to buy Julie went? Do we have to deal with him again?"

Master's expression hardens for a moment. "Yes, we'll have to deal with him and, No, we won't have to deal with him."

The laughter this time is a bit louder and longer, and my Master's face breaks into a grin. I'm now both thoroughly worried and thoroughly confused. My Inner Goddess comes up and tells me not to worry; I'm glad she understands what these guys are saying!

There is a bit more discussion, mostly what seems like captains appointing people to different functions. Just as at the Round-up meetings, my Master's Enterprises seem well organized.

The meeting breaks up and the room quickly empties, except for my Master, Pat, and me. You know how I've said that "when I need to know, someone will tell me?" Well, it seems that time has come! I take a few deep breaths to get my heart and breathing rates under control. Master pulls a chair to just a meter or two in front of me.

"My dear," he starts, with that gentle voice that I've come to rely on. "I'm sure you are a bit confused and uncertain about all this to-do. You don't need to know all the details of what the Empress and I have been up to these past weeks, but here's the view from thirty thousand feet.

"None of the Empress' opera friends had heard of Harry Brown. In itself, that wasn't a surprise; he hadn't been around very long and he hadn't been at a senior level. Then, one of the Italian types mentioned Brown to a friend in Russia and got a startled reaction. So, he followed up and, eventually, we got out of opera folks and into Russian intelligence folks. I don't know how much you know about Russian State Security agencies, but they've always been an important part of Russia's relations with the world. Starting with Lenin's Cheka and moving through Stalin's OGPU and NKVD — and, of course, you'll remember the KGB — we now have the SVR. It is the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation (in Russian: Слу́жба вне́шней разве́дки, transliterated as Sluzhba vneshney razvedki), formerly the First Main Directorate of the KGB, and which is responsible for Russia's external intelligence activities, mainly civilian affairs.

"Well, long story short, it turns out that the SVR's efforts to weaken Western democracies and prevent American hegemony involve setting up a network of operatives in strategic cultural institutions and policy-making circles. The idea is that this is where the major actors in some society can be contacted and handled, perhaps even recruited to the State's cause. Your guy, Harry Brown, is one of these operatives. I'd say he's probably not a star in the system. After all, a simple law clerk spotted him after a couple of conversations.

"So, we owe our new Russian friends a big debt. The way intelligence operations work today has less to do with paying money for information. Mostly, it's a lot of trading and sharing of information and influence. There are a lot of alignments today that weren't there during the Cold War. Now, we cooperate against terrorism, against the drug cartels, organized crime, money laundering, and so on.

"What we're going to do for our new friends is to throw them a party. At this party, we will have some entertainment, a company of people showing off their amazing skills. For the last couple of centuries, this kind of performance has been called a circus, after the Homeric Greek κρίκος (krikos), meaning 'circle' or 'ring.' Philip Astley organized some equestrian trick riders in England in 1768, using rings that were 13 meters (42 feet) across because that was the minimum diameter that still allowed an acrobatic horse rider to stand upright on a cantering horse while the rider was performing his tricks. Later, other impressarios added a second or third ring so that we now have the familiar 'three-ring circus,' with a Ringmaster to introduce each performer. Does that sound like a good party for our friends?"

Have I mentioned that I'm not a moron? Even with such a brief explanation, I guess that my Master has me down for one of the performers. If he is serious about having four rings, as he mentioned in the Main Salon, I wonder who the other three "performers" will be.

Master has asked a question and my answer is required. I now have more experience than when I was assigned to the construction salesman from England, but Master has also said the performance would run for two or three days? I imagine several kinds of "performance" my Master could command. Can I keep someone entranced for that long?

In the end, I give the only answer that works in this society. "Please, Master, it sounds like a marvellous party for our new friends." I already know that slaves don't get to volunteer for an assignment. If my guess is good and Master wants me to perform, then I'll take it as a sign of his confidence in me and I'll go out there and perform. What is it the stagehands say on Opening Night? Go out there and break a leg, right? Well, I trust my Master to see that I don't break anything bigger than a fingernail.

My reply is welcomed with a burst of applause from Pat and my Master's stroke on my head and neck that they have taught me to love. Pat suggests that the other "rings" be set up for Sally, Five, and One. Indeed, I will have my own ring! And, it will be an international cast!

Pat takes me to the First Lady's workstation where she starts a spreadsheet for Project Circus. She sets up columns for the hours of five days, figuring about one day for Setup and then "Dress Rehearsal." She has rows for each of the Performers, plus groups of rows for each of the supporting Services: Security, Concierge, Logistics, and so on. As she works, she offers a running commentary. "Julie, you'll have to know all this stuff because, once the performance starts, you'll be the Ringmaster as well as a performer."

My Inner Goddess laughs at this news. Once the performance starts, she says, as soon as Sergei and his team realize they have four submissive women at their beck and call, there won't be anything to hold them to a program or any rules. They'll use us however they like, and it won't stop until every one of them is plumb wore out. The stories I've heard about Russian spies all mention how big and strong they are; two or three days may not be enough to wear them out!

I relay this to Pat, who nods, shrugs, and says, "We'll have to cross that bridge if we get to it. These guys are not some low-level operatives; they do have to operate in a culture where there is some give and take, and excesses can cost someone his job." It's cold comfort, and not much of that!

We are interrupted by Fifteen. The girl looks anxious but waits for Pat to permit her to speak. It seems she has been looking for me to take me to Igor for my Physical Ed workout and we're almost going to be late. Pat grins reassuringly and tosses the key to my collar and cuffs to Fifteen, who works quickly but easily to get me freed from restraints I've worn all day. Of course, she has a regulation set of handcuffs for Transport Mode and easily applies them to her charge. We head off to Igor's space and Fifteen is relieved that we make it with seconds to spare.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Seventy: Circus, Part I

The spreadsheet Pat started with just a few columns and rows has now morphed into a three-dimensional work of art. The original columns are now pages: Set-up, Dress Rehearsal, and Days One, Two, and Three, with a Miscellaneous page for Clean Up and stuff that didn't fit anywhere else.

Pat has been in touch with Sergei by e-mail, fax, and telephone. They've seemed to click, although I think at least some of that has to be Pat's desire to please this temporary Master as well as her permanent Master. For the "Performers," she's kept me very "up to date," to the point that I can't imagine anything she hasn't considered — and then checked with our Master, Sergei, or the staff at the Venetian.

That staff, incidentally, has been very supportive. They didn't offer any pushback when Pat requested that the former OBS have absolutely no part in this project. Whether that was routine or because they've gotten familiar with the guy, nobody has asked.

Master's Training Staff has worked with the four performers to make sure we know at least some of the Russian ways of naming the common kinks as well as polishing our movements and responses. They even got a few "volunteers" to test us and we wiped them out in one day! Finally, we get our contraception shots, blood tests, and Medical Certificates all up to date.

Charles has arranged for our group to take the hydrofoil ferry to Macau. He has booked the entire JetFOIL Super cabin for our team, and it is the first time I appreciate how many support staff we will have in Macau. I can only admire how Pat seems to have everything under control. She is smiling as she checks to make sure everyone is on board. The trip takes only about an hour, and the meal is much better than the airline flight meals I was familiar with! SUVs greet us at the dock and we are checking in at the hotel before long.

Which is where things start to go wrong. Pat had booked a group of adjoining suites so that the performers could bunk together; she and my Master had wanted us to be able to comfort each other if something went awry. Now, we find the suites are scattered along a corridor. Inquiries of the Manager explain that Sergei, the leader of the Russians, the man with the distinguished gray hair and beard, had already arrived (several hours early), seen the accommodations, and requested the change. Pat is, of course, furious but, since it's Sergei and the Russians we are trying to please, she can't make a fuss.

We performers put a smile on brave faces and charge into the main salon at the center of the suites, ready, as they say, for romance. A tall man, however, has a different idea. He shuts down our enthusiasm with a barked command: "Stop, slaves!" His tone of voice is cold and my mind recalls a dressing-down I had from one of the law partners after our firm had lost a case. I never found out why we lost, but the partner made me believe it was all my fault.

With us paused just a bit into the room, the tall man has a few terse words for us, which he barks as if he is drilling recruits on a Parade Ground at Basic Training for the Army. "Is this how the finest slavegirls of the Orient welcome their Masters? This looks more like the hooligans at a football match in England, or the crazy Americans at a sale at Filene's Basement. Present yourselves with respect for your Masters, if not for yourselves! Line up, single file, in order of seniority! Walk into this salon with respect, slowly, and with grace and charm! You should have your heads down, as is proper for a submissive slavegirl. Line up in front of that table, facing into the room. Move!"

We haven't practiced synchronized movement! That would have been an answer to these commands, but, startled and confused, we barely manage to walk across the room to stand before the table.

I manage a quick look around and see four young men, none of whom are small, or even average-sized, lounging around the four walls of the salon. I get the impression of black turtleneck shirts and black slacks as their uniform. The man who has taken charge of us walks across our line-up, barely glancing at us. He turns and nods to a fifth man, more middle-aged, with distinguished gray hair and beard, who is seated easily in a large armchair. He is dressed in a gray suit whose jacket does not show a wrinkle, and whose trousers show a crease that could cut a steak. I transfer my idea of "Sergei" from the Drill Sergeant to this man.

Speaking in a flawless Received Pronunciation English, what we now call BBC English, he informs us that he was displeased with the original accommodations because "it is improper for slaves to gather together, away from their Masters, even for sleeping. Slaves are to serve, to be used, to care for their Masters continuously. In a little while, you will be assigned to a Master, whom you will serve with care and grace, until he trades you to another Master for another slave. You will then serve that Master. You will keep your Master at the center of your universe. Do you understand?"

My Inner Goddess is giggling at this man's quotation from the teaching of my Master and trainers as well as from the use of the slave question. I am not giggling, however; I'm too scared to do or say anything except, after a quick glance at the other slaves, to say "Yes, Master, this slave understands. Thank you, Master."

I am a bit reassured when I hear that we have all managed to answer, and even come together for the final syllables. I sense a bit of strengthening and straightening of our backs.

The man is speaking again. "There is another change we need. As you see, there are five of us but only four of you. I understand that the woman Pat who helped arrange this adventure is also here in Macau. You..." and he looks directly at me, "Is this correct?"

I suspect what he's about to ask, but I can't see any way out of the dilemma. "Yes, Master," I answer.

"Good, my dear. Thank you for your help. Now, there is a house telephone on the table. You will call the operator, ask to be connected to Pat, and ask Pat to come here to join you. That will square the count, as it were. You will do this, now! Do you understand?"

Again, I cannot see a way around his demand. I murmur my "Yes, Master," and reach for the telephone. It takes just a few moments to establish the connection; the hotel is taking good care of its guests! I see one of the younger Russians on an extension, so I am careful with my tone of voice and with my words. Pat doesn't ask what the problem is, just says she'll be up to our suites "in a moment." The young Russian nods and smiles, and the leader manages a small smile as he says "Thank you."

The leader stands and comes to stand before the line of slaves. "Slaves, my name is Sergei, but you will address me as 'Master' at all times. Do you understand?"

Again, we manage an almost simultaneous "Yes, Master."

"Now," he continues, "the proper uniform for a slave on my Estates is nudity. Each of you, therefore, is overdressed. You will now disrobe. Fold each item of your clothes and place it on the table behind you. Do you understand?"

I'm getting a bit irritated with his constant questioning, but I see his aim: he is getting us trained to respond and submit almost like a reflex. I am impressed, however, with the ease with which he has managed to dominate us.

We manage to get "into uniform" within whatever time Sergei had in mind. The four men come forward to examine us and, as we had trained to do, we offer ourselves as sexily as we can. The man examining me is particularly taken with my breasts, hefting first one and then the other, as if trying to determine which is heavier. He also plays with my nipples, which starts me on the arousal ladder. Of course, he notices and stops that with a pinch on each bud.

A door chime announces Pat's arrival. She is welcomed by Sergei, who signals two Russians to take her arms, effectively capturing her. With just a few words, Pat is reduced from the executive in charge of our team to just another slave, naked and standing at the head of our line. I can't begin to guess what she is thinking, but my heart goes out to this woman who has served my Master so well, and who has worked so diligently with me. She must be exerting great strength to stand so straight and seem so at ease.

The Russians have been busy moving five pieces of equipment from one wall out into the middle of the salon. When they whip the covering sheets off the pieces, I see that each is a small platform, perhaps five centimeters high, perhaps a half-meter from front to back, and a bit less than a meter wide. A square post rises about two meters high from the middle of one long edge. Sergei comes up to Pat and, with a hand grasping her arm, guides her to stand on the platform with her hands crossed around the post. Gently, Sergei locks handcuffs on Pat's wrists, trapping her on the platform. Two Russians approach and, each working on an ankle, shackle Pat's legs — spread more than shoulder-width apart — to the sides of the platform.

As pairs of Russians approach the rest of us, no one offers any resistance and we all join Pat on display. It is not exactly like a set of stocks, but the effect is the same.

Sergei now assumes a professorial air and begins to lecture us. "Slaves, my Estate has a traditional welcome for a new slave. It goes back so far that no one is sure exactly when or how it started. We want the new slave to understand her status. That is, as a slave, she has no rights; she can own nothing; she must submit to any use we require. Nevertheless, we do want her to have a warm welcome to our Estate. So, we have a post and platform much like these for her to stand on. And, we warm her with spanks and caresses. Usually, we use a series of instruments because hand-spanking broad expanses of female flesh is a bit wearing on the hand.

"Let me introduce each of my associates to you. First, Aleksei will demonstrate with the usual kind of riding crop. It weighs about a quarter-kilo (eight ounces) and is about three-quarters of a meter (29 inches) long, with the leather flap at the end, called the flapper or popper, about three by three centimeters (an inch square).

"Anton is the thin blond man. You will note that Anton's crop is a bit shorter and has a larger than usual leather flapper. Actually, this is really a jumping bat and it is used to tap the horse's shoulder as a signal to teach, remind, or encourage the horse to properly 'tuck' its front end in a jump.

"Dmitry is the short man. He carries a leather paddle. While the leather is thicker than the leather on a crop, it is still quite bendy and makes a nice sound during its use.

"Kolya is using a kind of whip called a quirt. The quirt has a loop that goes over the wrist (thus keeping the hand free), then a short handle covered in leather and finally a ten inch or so lash. Most cowboys actually use the quirt on the cattle rather than on their horse. They use their spurs to give their horse forward signals.

"Now, each man will give his formal introduction, first, with his hand. One or two spanks should start the warming process. Then, a few slashes with the instrument. Now, slaves, you know that, for most things, no one is interested in a slave's opinion of anything. However, today is different, and I'm sure we'll all be interested in your opinions on these instruments, so please pay attention as each man introduces himself to you. We'll form a circle and go once around so everyone will have fair shares."

Just as enumerated, the men form a line along our platforms. Anton shows me his hand and I notice it is a bit calloused; this man works with his hands! He surprises me with how gentle he is as he strokes my back and butt. But, his spank is hard and loud, and it hurts! I get one on each buttock, producing a yelp each time, and then there is a pause.