48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 34: Three

Author's Note: The new slaves have finished their basic training and go separate ways. Three has a difficult job interview.

Riddle me this riddle:
I was with Adam, before the fall
I did not exist, 'til Eve did desire
I am everything, I am nothing at all
All men seek me, some women flee
I ever bring fire, often a sting.

- Taliesin1

Answers please, Dear Readers.

Culinary lessons

The male slave we have been working on is unceremoniously bundled out of the slave corridor. He is given a pair of shorts, and put into Transport Mode. He doesn't look nearly as cocky now, but he manages an air kiss as he exits the block. I poke out my tongue at him. Later, I wonder if he might have taken this gesture as a sign of affection.

The schedule for this afternoon starts in ten minutes. We are all going to our Physical Education classes. The trainers clearly believe that Positions and Sexual Arts are all lying around and other sissy stuff that will have left us complete weaklings. They have devised a strenuous workout which, they think, will leave us crying for mercy. That we are able to complete everything they throw at us, raising only a minor sweat, proves them wrong. They have some new games for us as well: Medicine balls and weights for upper body strength and Swiss Ball for balance. After the class, a nice surprise. We are all are taken to the pool for a free swim session.

The pool is terrific! For about an hour, I guess, we are in an environment that is free from control, that does not restrict our movements or our ability to laugh or shriek when some cold water is splashed. It is only our collars that proclaim our reality. When our time in the pool is over, we are lined up and a chain is stretched from one collar to the next, about a metre at a time, and we again become slaves, this time in a coffle. For each of us, the coffle is a new experience. The chain is not very heavy, but it is surprising how much it limits our movement. We must be careful not to tug on the slave before or behind, lest she lose her balance. By the time we are marched in step back to the slave corridor, the gaiety is a treasured memory.

Evening Nourishments go smoothly until the Food Cart has left. One finds it necessary to offer an opinion on Chef's offering.

"That ratatouille didn't have enough onions and garlic to be able to taste them, and it was too lightly seasoned. My mother or my grandmother would have had plenty to say to the cook about it, I'm sure."

We discuss the cooking and food in general for a few minutes until One raises a hand for a question. Guard nods permission and One asks, "Please, Ma'am, how many demerits did Chef assign?"

The Guard breaks out into a moment of laughter. Catching herself, she puts a serious look on her face and gives us all a good lesson. "Listen, slaves, not everything you do or say comes with demerits. If you are thinking of and doing what you know your Master would want, even in small ways, you are doing it right. Your Master doesn't want robots, but intelligent active slaves who are serving his needs. Do you understand?"

One moves into the Obeisance Position to deliver her "Yes, Ma'am, this slave understands."

Working Girls

The following day, we are put into Transport Mode, which is not unusual, but the subsequent parts are. We are taken to the lift and whisked up many floors, where we are ushered into an expensively furnished room, though naturally we kneel on the floor. At least it is thickly carpeted. There are two men and a woman, elegantly dressed, already present. The woman tells us that we are to receive our official Enterprises collars, which symbolize our Master's taking of us into his care and protection and our acceptance of our service and slavery. Our old collars from the slave market are removed. We are to kneel up and hold our hair up from our necks so that the new collar can be fastened. When they are locked, we are to make obeisance.

"Please. Ma'am, what if I don't want to accept it?" That was my tongue, doing its willful thing.

"In that case, my dear," says one of the men, "you would obviously require additional training."

Logical. So this is the employment contract you can't refuse.

He looks directly in my face, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Nothing else is said, but I'm sure I've earned some demerits. I decide to re-engage my brain, which tells me that any further reluctance would be pointless.

"Thank you, Sir. I accept my service."Damned if I'm going to say "slavery" out loud.

An adjoining door opens and a tall man in a very expensive suit enters. Is this our actual Master? He certainly looks the part. The man who spoke hands him a slim, silvery, metal collar; it is open. He goes first to One, who lifts up her long blonde hair, exposing her neck. He places the collar around her neck and murmurs something as it shuts with a click. He strokes her head and shoulder and she bows down. I am next. I lift up my hair, which struggles to escape. I look into his face as he bends slightly to place the collar. There is the trace of a smile around his eyes and mouth. He is plainly enjoying the exercise of power, and his enjoyment seems so commanding, so natural that my lips fall open a little and I feel a faint, but distinct, arousal. I imagine how it must be for him — a young woman, naked, holding up her hair and coincidentally her breasts, knees parted, her shaven mons on display. Surely, the most erotic sight — yet he seems to be, not unaroused, but not incredibly horny, either.

He proclaims, "I take you into my service and my protection."

The touch of the cold metal, but not only that, causes a shiver to run down my body, which he notices, spreading his smile just a little. As the lock clicks, I feel his hand on my head, and he bends a little more and kisses my hair. It seems only right that I prostrate myself before him.

Lastly, Five is collared, but I don't even notice.

The ceremony is over, our handcuffs are replaced, and we are escorted to another part of the building. There is another surprise. As we are unlocked, we are given a tee shirt and a pair of trainer pants. We are all astonished; it's the first time any of us have worn clothing since we arrived.

The Supervisor grins. "You are going to be doing some serious cleaning today, and we can't have you getting strong chemicals on your skin."

We really are going to work. Today, it is cleaning. We are each teamed with another, identically clad, slave (she wears a collar) and set to work, making beds, vacuuming, scrubbing and polishing floors, toilets (gloves and galoshes supplied), emptying rubbish bins. Everything associated with cleaning. The Supervisor comes around regularly to check on the quality. She has very high standards. I earn one slash with her crop, and have to scrub a whole floor again, then catch up to my "buddy." The work is not difficult, but full on, and by the end of the day I am exhausted. Is this what my slavery will be, working as a skivvy?

As we are returned to the slave corridor, we can see that there is a major change. Julie's chains, which she calls a sirik, have been removed. She is grinning and hopping around in her cell and, of course, we are all dying to ask questions. Why was it taken off?

She gives us her insights. The sirik really restricts movement, so it reinforces your sense of being a slave; the removal gives her freedom, just enough to serve the needs of her Master.That ties up with this morning's ceremony.The removal also shows that a period of correction has ended and that the Master will not cruelly prolong corrections. Master has always provided training for her tasks, the failings were hers, and it shows that the Master now trusts her to perform her tasks without being restricted or leashed.There is a lot to think about here, though I remember my almost complete surrender this morning. I am still thinking of how to escape, though I'm not going to say it, and to achieve that, I will need be trusted as much as Julie.

If You Can't Stand the Heat

One, Five and I are not together so much now. We usually have different schedules and tasks. This morning when the guard came to my cell for transport, she handed me a short-sleeved (and short-skirted) shift with a zip from belly to neckline. She sees my astonished look and grins. "You might need this for your next assignment." After a hurried and excited "Thank you, Ma'am," I quickly slip into it and present my hands for Transport Mode.

She laughs and says, "No need for Transport Mode, your new collar will guide you to wherever you need to go. You will feel a tingle, left or right, to tell you which way to turn, and it will allow you to open any doors on your way." She adds, "It will also give increasingly severe shocks if you go out of bounds." I'm excited and a little bit nervous, not knowing where I will be going.

Following the sensations in my collar, I arrive at a pair of swing doors and, from the noises escaping through them, I guess it is the kitchens. Tentatively, I push open the doors and peer inside. A man, all in white, is waiting for me, as I drop into Position One. "You must be Three," he says. "Come with me." He gives me a white apron and a hair covering and leads me to a prep station where a young Asian man is already working. The young man smiles and shows me what to do and prepares to leave me with a large pile of vegetables to slice and dice, so I do a little curtsy and say, "Thank you, Sir." He looks at me a bit oddly and says, "Okay, sure, but call me Siew. I'm just a kitchen-hand, too, you know."

There seem to be many Asians in the kitchen, so I get to thinking that, though this place may not be in Thailand, it must be somewhere in Asia. Anyway, I don't think too long because there is frenetic activity all around, and I really don't want to earn another correction.

A couple of hours later, the man in white returns to see how I'm progressing. "Three," he says, "You're doing pretty well, but there are just a few things to correct." I flash a nervous glance at his face, as I drop down to the floor.Ouch, that lino is hard!He catches my nervous look and smiles. "It's okay, not that kind of 'correction.' Oh, and we work hard here to a strict schedule, so we have to be a team. You don't have to do all these submissive things. If someone gives you an order, just say, 'Yes, Chef,' and get on with it."

He is a Sous-Chef and he takes me with him to do mostly prep work and tidy up. I learn that what we are making will be lunch for the mid-level office staff. It looks much tastier than our usual fare in the corridor. I can vouch that this is true because I get to eat a serving of my own, with a knife and fork, no less, sitting on a bench, at a long table, with the other kitchen staff. I find out that some here are slaves and others just ordinary day workers. That seems really weird to me, but nobody else seems to think it strange.

After lunch, it's back to work. I notice a very striking figure, going around the kitchen followed by a blonde woman in shorts, tee shirt, and apron. It's One!! My Sous-Chef sees I am staring at them and says, "That's the Chef and his new 'assistant.'" He puts an emphasis on the word, which is nothing if not suggestive. Later, Chef and One retire to his private office cubicle and before long the Sous-Chef nudges my arm. Through the cubicle glass, I can just make out a blonde head, bobbing up and down. "Chef is getting his stress relief therapy." says another voice. Another, "I've noticed he's a lot less bad-tempered the last couple of days." They all think it is hilariously funny, but I reflect on the nature of slavery, and hope that One is at least reasonably content, if not happy, with her new tasks.

When I'm returned to the Intake Corridor, just in time for Evening Nourishments, I notice that Julie's cell is empty and she is not present for the Food Cart, or for Evening Rituals. None of the staff say anything, and I know better than to ask! Probably, her correction is finished. I wonder, though, if I will ever see her again. That's the way for slaves, I reflect; she may have gone up the ladder or down, or to an assignment in another place altogether. Nonetheless, it makes me sad, for she was helpful and good to me — all of us — when we first arrived.

Life goes on with rounds of training, gym, cleaning, work in the kitchen, the laundry, even the mid-managers dining room.

I get a little waitress outfit for that!

One morning, I'm put into Transport Mode again and taken by a Guard a long way up in an elevator. I guess my collar has been reprogrammed, or paused, because I can feel no sensations. I am ushered into what I'd call a conference room, where he leaves me, alone, unlocked. There's a kneeling mat, which I kneel down on in Position One, my gaze nicely lowered. Also, I've noticed an easy chair with a table beside it, supplied with writing pad and pens. A few minutes later, highly polished patent leather shoes come into view, topped by immaculately cut trousers.I bet you didn't polish those yourself,I think, but, of course, I don't say anything.

"Good morning, Three." A warm voice. "Good morning, Master." Eyes still downcast. "Look at me, Three." I raise my eyes to a tall and handsome Chinese man, at least I assume he is Chinese, dressed in an impeccable, Saville Row-type suit. He sits down in the easy chair, takes up a pen. He regards me for a minute or two. I keep my gaze around about his mouth and wonder if this is another kind of test. "Slave, you have been tested in a fair number of positions within The Enterprises, and while you have received generally good reports, it appears that you are not really enthusiastic in any kind of work."Why would I be enthusiastic?Some of Julie's words come back to me, about being focused and taking pride in my achievements. I am thinking of something placatory to say.

Then he asks the strangest question. "Slave, do you have any problems?"

My brain is so dumbfounded that my tongue grabs hold of it and runs away.

"Please, Master, apart from being abducted and raped and drugged and transported and inspected and sold in an auction and transported again and locked up and flogged, no problems. Thank you, Master."

Stony face. I can't tell if he is furious or trying hard, and very successfully, not to laugh. Pregnant silence. Then the warm, calm voice continues.

"I think you may agree that, at least, the first six of these cannot be seen as the responsibility of The Enterprises. Is that correct?"

A direct question. "Yes, Master."

"Has anyone in The Enterprises been deliberately cruel?"

"No, Master."

"Has anyone expected you to perform a task without instruction and explanation?"

"No, Master."

"Have you ever been corrected, arbitrarily, without explanation?"

"No, Master."

"Three, I think you have enough experience to know that an outburst like that will result in correction?"

"Yes, Master." I'm upstairs, so it's correction; downstairs, it would be punishment. Julie's words echo in my head —they are not interested in excuses — you make a mistake, you get corrected.

"I think that two strokes of the cane will be sufficient in this case. To be administered after Nourishment."

Oh my God. I remember the stripes on Julie's backside. She said it was just a minor correction. So mine must be a mere peccadillo!

"Yes, Master. Two strokes. Thank you, Master." Back pedaling furiously.

"Three, I was really thinking about the tasks which you have been assigned to recently. Now, do you have anything else to say?"

Thankfully, I have got my tongue back under control. "Please, Master, I am told that you, or the company, has paid quite a lot of money for me, and you have spent time and resources training me, but couldn't you just as easily hire someone to do the work that I have done? I am not doing the kind of work I studied to do."

There is a fairly long silence after this, during which he consults a dossier he brought with him.

At last he says, "Three, do you think that the work you have been doing is unimportant, or beneath you? Do you think you know, better than your Owner, how best to serve?"

Now I am in a bind, because obviously the work of laundry, cleaning, preparing food and serving is necessary and important to The Enterprises, but I'm sure I could "add value" in a role more in line with my skills.

"No, Master," I reply. "I know these jobs have to be done and they are important, but I thought I would be of more value if I was using my skills."

"It is true that we could employ staff to provide these services, but that is not the entire answer. We are also using these tasks to show your status as a slave, to mould you into the kind of slave we wish you to be, obedient and cheerful and focused on the needs of your owner. We have been carefully considering how, and even if, you can fit into the needs of The Enterprises. Your record to date, and incidents like today's outburst, tend to lead to deacessioning."

Deacessioning! That means selling me again. Oh my God! Just as I was starting to become used to this place.

"However," he continues, "I sense an unbalance in the harmony of the Tao. There are many aspects which conflict and struggle. Three, I want you tell me more about your background. And everything that happened to you since your capture." He gives a quick chuckle. "In a calm and seemly manner, of course."

So I tell him everything. Well, nearly everything. Not my private, uncomplimentary thoughts. I'm not exactly lying, just condensing. He has some penetrating questions, like why is your age different from the sale documentation and why are your qualifications not listed. I explain as best I can.

He looks a bit unhappy and says, "All this non-disclosure is very upsetting and worthy of quite severe correction."

I'm shaking and just about melting down, but I manage to croak out, "Please, Master, nobody asked this slave any of these questions — when she was taken, when she was sold or when she arrived here."

He stops, strokes my hair, and says, "Do not be so fearful, Three, corrections are not always for you, and not always physical. Instruction and training are also corrections. I see, from reviewing your intake experience, that there needs to be some major revisions to the acquisition procedures."

These words are fairly re-assuring, but I'm still going to be caned, right? Then, I take a giant step into slavery, as I thinkIf Julie can take three, I can take two.

"I think," he continues, "that we will try you out in a different kind of role. One that will better suit the education and skills you have just disclosed. You will be advised of this role at the proper time." He strokes my hair again, then taps a code into his cellphone. Within a minute, a guard comes to escort me, in Transport Mode, back to the slave corridor.

The rest of the day is spent house-maiding. Making beds, tidying rooms, cleaning toilets and showers, emptying rubbish bins, arranging flowers. I try, and even succeed, I think, to be as enthusiastic as anyone could desire. There are only two slaves in the corridor now, Five and myself, for One has been assigned to Chef, and is accommodated with the kitchen slaves. I wonder, idly, if One has access to knives.

The Food Cart comes with Evening Nourishments. Do I detect the hand of One in the extra garlic?

Then it is time for my caning. The guards bring in the whipping bench. It looks rather like a cross between a lopsided vaulting horse, similar to the one which caused me much distress at High School, and a massage table. There is a padded body, with a distinct slope and a padded bar, low down, which I assume is for kneeling on. There are further bars, on each side of the lower front end. All of these have straps to keep arms and legs immobile. There is a cut out, where I will put my face.