48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 35: Julie

48 Hours on Blue Bayou, Part 35, Julie, Scene 25

Author's Note: Our Heroine and her sister slaves have had vacuum tubes affixed to their nipples to test for enlargement, or something. Now, they are waiting for their Masters to return. Will these slaves breast any new barriers?

Oops, sorry about that one!

— J Spe

Chapter Seventy-Nine: A Tale of Two Tubes

The silence is surprising. Perhaps we are all afraid that the surveillance cameras and microphones will carry our words to our new Masters? But, I don't remember any orders forbidding our talk, right? Still, my Inner Goddess is suggesting I not make the first sound.

It is Pat who, after moving her shoulders a bit, asks if everyone is OK, if anyone is in pain. The answers spill out quickly. Nobody is in pain, but nobody is admitting to any erotic feelings, either.

I risk a question. "Please, Ma'am, I don't think there was any command of silence; is it OK for us to talk?"

Pat grins and replies, "I'm sure our new Masters will not object to a pleasant discussion."

Right! She's offered a wise compromise: talk, but no "back talk." I think a bit and find I have only one question that needs a current answer. "Please, Ma'am, do you have any information about this vacuum treatment of our nipples?" All the rest, I guess, we can talk about back at The Enterprises.

Pat shakes her head. "Sorry, Julie, but I really don't know about this. I've heard all sorts of stories, over the years, but mostly they seem out of this world. Still, none seem to have had bad outcomes. Usually, they seem to stress how sensitive our nips will be after the tubes come off."

Sally pitches in. "When Kolya sent me to Anton, he was feasting on Five's breasts." She gives a quick giggle. "Shall we ask Five how that felt?"

Amid a bunch of giggles, Five gives a graceful toss of her head and allows as how Anton's tongue felt a lot better than these tubes!

One, who was first into the vacuum, says she's not sure what's happening. "I don't feel anything from my buds."

Pat asks a few questions, but One's answers give no evidence of damage. There are some shoulder movements, slow and gentle; no one wants to shake off the vacuum tubes. Or, perhaps, no one wants her nipples bare when our Masters return. Gradually, conversation subsides and we do what slaves do: we wait.

Eventually, the door opens and there is a rush of Masters coming to greet their slaves. I see Sergei with a huge grin and Kolya struggling with a large package. At least, it looks large. Whatever it is, they've wrapped it in a huge white cloth. Aleksei pushes a table out from the wall and Kolya dumps his burden on it. The cloth falls away and everyone can see a tub of ice cream. I cannot believe they've done this, but the tub is right there! My Inner Goddess, ever practical, warns me not to ask how they got such a thing or how they got it up to our salon.

Dmitry shows a handful of paper plates and a huge metal spoon. With a flourish, he begins carving chunks of the ice cream onto the plates. After the second plate, someone asks about spoons and Dmitry looks startled. Clearly, none of the Masters has an answer, or spoons. I'm sure that I'll be just as satisfied licking the paper plate as a spoon, and, in the silence that seems to stretch out to eternity, I hear myself announce, "The Magic Tongue can do anything!"

There is about a microsecond of shocked silence, and then howls of laughter, both from our Masters and my slave sisters.

Anton is rushing from one slave to the next, snapping photos as fast as possible, to complete the data collection he is going to want for later analysis. He just does get us all done when our Masters present our plates.

Sergei brings me what has to be more than 200 grams (almost eight ounces) of ice cream and I barely notice it is all white before I'm lapping it up. It is only then that I realize it isn't plain vanilla. I take a moment to savor the taste before I decide it's butter pecan. Just then, one of the slaves makes the announcement official: "It's butter pecan!"

Sergei grins and nods. "It was the most solid of the tubs in the freezer, so that's why we took it."

It's the first ice cream I've had since theBlue Bayou, and I'm as excited as a child. What a strange world this is!

Sergei does something with the fittings on the ends of the tubes and my nipples come free. There is a moment of a cool sensation, probably from cold air coming off the ice cream, but then Sergei licks one engorged nipple and I get electric shocks that run straight to my pelvis. Surprised, I let out a small yelp. Sergei checks my expression, decides my sound was not from pain, and disappears for a moment.

When he reappears, he's got the tub and the spoon in hand. He proceeds to spread a layer of ice cream on one nipple. I barely get to register the cold when his tongue starts lapping the confection away. The electricity flows again and I'm pushing that nipple as far forward as my bonds allow.

Sergei hands off the ice cream tub to someone else and concentrates on my nips, first one side then the other. I'm not sure how engorged they were by the vacuum, but the sensations are tremendous! Pat was right!

My Master gently inserts a finger in my slit, and I realize I'm as wet and aroused as I've ever been since this Circus started. My Inner Goddess is shouting "Now, dammit, fill me up!"

I think I see Sergei working at his belt, but things are going so fast I'm not sure of anything, including who is yelling in my ear. In a moment, however, I've got my legs spread as wide as the platform and my Master is filling my request, along with my cunt.

I'm rocking my pelvis, trying to match my Master thrust for thrust. His hands are at my hips, locking us together. Every kiss or nibble or lick on my breasts is driving me higher on the rainbow. I just barely hear my Master's command, "Slave, no orgasm before your Master!"

Well, my Master may be out of luck on that one! I'm so taken that I'm having trouble breathing, let alone controlling my orgasm! It's my Master's shout that clues me that he's climaxing and I go over the cliff a moment later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Eighty: Another Redistribution, Another Ring

There's no clock available, so I can't tell how long I was "out" from the climax. I'm the only slave still bound to her platform. Sally and Five are entwined on the floor with Kolya and Anton, sleeping, I think. Pat and One are not in the salon.

My Master, Sergei, is sitting, composed, in his original chair, surveying the salon with a satisfied smile. His trousers still show their sharp crease, with no evidence of our recent coupling. My Inner Goddess makes a comment about "leadership traits" that makes me grin a bit. Master picks it up immediately.

"Welcome back, Julie. I trust you're feeling well, now?"

I take my usual deep breath and, trying for as frosty a tone as possible, allow that I'm well. Master responds with a deep laugh.

"And your nips? Are they back to normal?"

I give up the effort at highfalutin fashion and answer, truthfully. "Please, Master, could you tell me what happened? I mean, there was the cold from the ice cream and the electricity from your touches to my breasts, and then ..." My voice peters out.

Master's smile widens. "It seems the butter pecan has some heretofore unknown aphrodisiac powers. You had maybe an ounce of it, and I had about the same amount, and then you were screaming to be filled, which I thought was a bit unusual, for a slave. Anyway, I did, and you kept screaming and moving in a very creative dance. I can't remember when I enjoyed a girl so much. I must remember to offer appropriate remarks to your Owner and trainers."

So, high praise from our Russian guest? I wish I remembered more of what happened; it could be useful in the future? Yes, of course; Anne had told me there isalwaysa future use for a slave. I sink into Position One and whisper my thanks to my Master.

Aleksei and Dmitry, with Pat and One in tow, peek into the salon and then enter, smiling. The couples on the floor are awakened and everyone is very friendly. In a few moments, Sergei is speaking, issuing orders, in Russian, naturally. His lieutenants seem to organize themselves and I hear names sounded.

They are, again, redistributing the wealth!

My Master this time is Anton. Perhaps my nipples engorged nicely for his tubes? He has a leash for my collar and a key to release my handcuffs from their post and we head for his suite.

I am, again, pleased not to find a whipping post, although there are a few pieces of furniture, pushed against one wall and covered by a white sheet, which might be anything. Anton gives me a twirl, dropping my leash, and I glide into Position One with ease.

Wrong! My new Master raises an eyebrow and I try to rise with an equal amount of ease. He gives a chuckle and begins his Instructions. "We've been pretty active so far, and I think a short shower would be refreshing. Please undress me and we'll get to try out a few ideas. Do you understand?"

The slave question, of course, tips me that Anton has a definite plan for our next hours. My reply is almost automatic: "Please, Master, your slave understands." The beauty of this question and answer is that it covers an elastic form of time, from the next minutes in the shower all the way to next summer. I know he's got ideas and he knows I'm going to serve, to be of use, to be used. The power exchange is in effect and I'm going to be given further commands, about which I can request clarification, but which we both know I will obey.

Anton empties his pockets and I undress him, putting the Tux back on its hangar. He likes the shower a bit cooler than my preference, so I am not upset that we do the rinse, lather, and rinse routine with dispatch. He does appreciate a bit of cuddling as I maneuver the big bath sheet to dry us. A tug on my leash positions me, kneeling, on the king-size bed facing the head. Anton brings a few coils of rope from the closet and selects one, dropping the others on the bedside table. He shakes it out, matches the ends, and selects the center of the rope. About 30 centimeters from the center, he throws a simple overhand knot to make a loop, with another knot about ten centimeters below the first.

He climbs onto the bed, behind me, and drops the loop over my head, with the knots lying between my breasts. He reaches under my arms to snag the tails of the rope, bringing each to an opposite arm. He wraps a few turns just above my elbows, positioning my arms near my spine. It is tight, but not uncomfortable, at least not yet.

The tails are tied in the center of my back and Anton bends my forearms so my hands catch the opposite elbow. "Hold tight here, my dear," he instructs. The tails are wrapped about my forearms, immobilizing them, and I can feel another knot being set to keep my arms pinioned high on my back.

A tap on one shoulder suggests I turn around to face my Master. He reaches for the remaining tails and brings them forward, across my breasts. Each tail catches one of the ropes between the two original knots and my Master pulls the tails, opening the originally paired ropes into a diamond shape. He ties them off and sits back to admire his design.

I am helpless, with my arms immobile and ropes compressing my breasts. Any attempt to move an arm pulls another length of rope tighter into a breast. I discover that the rope crossing my left breast is digging into my nipple, which is still more sensitive than I would like.

Anton points to a wall mirror so I can see the beauty of his design. For just a moment, I have to agree: his slave presents a beautiful picture. The diamond "window" between my breasts is set off by the neatly trisected portions of my breasts. Then, I realize that, in just a few moments, the tensions among the rope segments are going to start transferring to my arms and breasts as pain.

My Inner Goddess prods me and I manage to whisper, "Please, Master, it is beautiful. Thank you, Master." There's no need to provoke my Master, is there?

Master smiles and, leaving the bed for another coil of rope, advises that the lower body design will complement his upper body design. Who knew Anton is an artist?

Before climbing back onto the bed, Anton tilts me onto my left side. The new position seems to lessen the pressure on my left breast, but increase it on my right breast. I try to concentrate on my breathing: slow, regular, deep (as deep as the ties will allow) breaths.

Anton shakes out the new coil and wraps an end around my right ankle. He lays each loop precisely above the prior loop, creating a nice white band at my ankle. A few taps has me flex my hip and knee a bit and Anton leads the rope from the inside of my ankle to the outside of my thigh, securing the ankle almost alongside my hip. Again, he places the loops just so, gently but firmly binding my thigh to my leg with a nice white band. The tail of the rope he continues around my back and across my Venus mound to the top of the thigh band, where he ties it off.

I am rolled onto my right side and a third coil of rope is used to bind my left thigh and leg. Igor, Anne and Pat have tied me in myriads of positions and ways, but none as simple yet as ominous as this tie. From the movements Anton has done to get me as he needed for the next tie, I can anticipate where the pains will be. I suspect there also will be something worse: muscle cramps as my body responds to the stresses.

Anton doesn't give me time to worry about these. I am positioned on my back, resting on my crossed arms. My trussed legs and thighs fall out to the side, opening my pussy for inspection. Anton does more than inspect. He has a flogger, made with only a dozen or so falls, but quite short. He holds the falls in one hand as the other hand, on the handle, starts the instrument's arc. The falls jump from Anton's hand to impact on my pussy. The pain is immediate, sharp, localized, falling off into a burning sensation that continues after the flogger has returned to its position in my Master's hands.

The blows are not rushed, perhaps a half-minute or a minute apart. Anton has not instructed me to count, but a slave can't help but count to herself; shehas to knowhow many blows she took. Is it one of the "magic numbers?" Five, ten, twenty-five, thirty-six? If a general area is in focus, will the blows be spread out or concentrated? If a particular area, will Master favor one side or be generous to both sides? And, perhaps of most interest to the slave, is there a set number for Master to administer? I remember focussing on Three as the number for my caning just before my visit to the Empress. Could I have done anywhere nearly as well for Five, or if Master had not set a number? Anton has not said anything about numbers or areas for tonight. I try to push away the idea that this could go on forever, but it never seems to go far.

The first blows are simple pains. With my labia and clit more than "warmed up," a sense of panic, of loss of control, is developing. I have been trying to hold back screams, allowing myself just a yelp or cry at each stroke, but I sense that screams are only a few strokes away. I start pleas to my Master, promising him any of my openings for his enjoyment, promising him any service for months and years, promising him anything he wants. I know it is irrelevant; he has anything and everything he wants right now, right here. Still, it is what slaves do. Once, Igor mentioned, almost as a side thought, that the different cries and screams were like different themes in a symphony.

I do not recognize the moment the strokes stop. It is only when Anton's fingers are exploring my pussy, massaging my labia, and stroking my clit, that I realize I am wet. Somehow, the flogger has been a stimulant for me. Perhaps the combination with the bondage? Anton's fingers are not causing pain; they are driving me up the rainbow of arousal!

His hand stops, compressing my pussy just a bit, with a middle finger just inside my slit. I tense in anticipation, in fear. "Slave Julie," Anton says, "I want you to calm down a bit. I have a few plans, but you will get your come later."

I manage to gasp, "Thank you, Master. Later, Master. Thank you, Master."

Anton brings a cool washcloth to my pussy and a warm washcloth to my face. I'm not sure which is more effective, but, by the time he's got me clean again, my Inner Goddess is back. This time, she's wondering about my Master's "plans."Do all these Russian spies set up plans for everything?

For sure, that's a question Iknownot to ask!

My Master turns me over, so I am resting on knees and chest, which eases the weight on my arms considerably. With a pillow lifting my chest, it also puts my mouth at a comfortable location for sucking Anton's cock. I grin and plant a quick kiss on his helmet and go to work. Maintaining the reputation of the Magical Tongue may be a point of professional pride, but it's still a lot of work!

This time, however, my Master is controlling the tempo. He holds my head — not tightly, but firmly — and "tells" me when to speed up or slow down. He works his cock deeper into my mouth, but pulls it back before my gag reflex kicks in. He has a way of moving his cock around that prevents me from controlling his arousal. And, with my hands bound, I cannot manipulate his balls either. I guess we go at this for perhaps a half-hour when he pulls out and pronounces my efforts worthy of an Attaboy!

My Inner Goddess and I are confused. Wasn't the idea to get aroused and go to climax? Isn't that what foreplay is for? But, here, this Master has controlled both his body and mine to prevent a climax!

Anton turns me over, back on my shoulders and arms, and I see him reach for the flogger. Before I can panic, he waves it, grins, and says he's just going to clean it. "Rest for a bit, my dear. The last part of my plan is about to start."

I also get a small bottle of ginger ale to help my "Rest and Recovery" effort. The bondage doesn't get eased.

Anton fancies a bit of cunnilingus while I'm so available, and I have to admit he's quite good at it. In moments, he has me climbing the arc of arousal, but he never lets me get too high up. If I get asked anytime, I might say that he had me enjoying but not excited. Still, I'm pretty well wet when he moves up a bit and I feel his prick nestling at my vulva.

He is in and out over the next few minutes until I'm aroused and confused. Doesn't he ever head directly for a climax?

"Julie," he says, "plant your feet and push your pelvis up a bit."

I don't think the bondage is going to allow this, but I try, and it does! I match him thrust for thrust, backing off when he does, and I feel my cum gathering force. He's given permission, but not mentioned a time! I'm distracted enough to miss a thrust or two.

Anton picks this up! "Julie, are you ready?" he asks.

I barely get my "Yes, Master" out when his prick starts moving at an unbelievable speed. I try to match him, but my climax comes so quickly I'm not sure of anything. I do let out a scream, however.

By the time I'm back to a functioning slave, he's still inside me — filling me nicely, I might add. He's moving slowly and gently, a very pleasurable sensation. I manage a "Thank you, my Master."

He laughs a bit and I feel him slide out of me, leaving an empty feeling that's new to me. He pokes at the ropes he has so carefully placed all over me and, like magic, they seem to roll off me. In just moments, I am free of restraint. How did he do that?

I go to clean him and he accepts this service with a nod and a smile.

I start to strip the bedlinens from the bed and, to my surprise, Anton simply picks up from his side of the bed and, together, we get the new bed made in just moments.