48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 38: Three

48 Hours on Blue Bayou, Part 38, Story of Three, Scene 5

Author's note:

Has Three said farewell at last to the Intake Corridor and, if so, where will she end up? Two verses from Taliesin1 give some cryptic clues.

Wind-filled sails, a rescued Lord,

A careless word, tips the scales.

Silence bepains, two days unheard,

Water and bread, a name regains.

-Taliesin1

Jade Dragon

Thunderous night, anger soars

Jade Dragon tête flambé

Seeks shelter, through clouds and rain

Arrrk,

Arrrk

Finds at last his home domain

Slips into his Moon Grotto

The living mountain shudders

With its roars

An ancient Chinese poem translated, in the manner of Ezra Pound, by Taliesin1

Going Up

The morning alarm wakes me from a deep sleep. So different from the Intake Corridor, this is more like a regular alarm clock. Nevertheless, I am instantly awake as the lights come slowly on, listening for orders.

Nothing.

The seven other occupants stir themselves slowly. There is obviously a tolerance built into the morning routine in this dormitory. I notice the Dorm Leader, whose bed is next to the door, pulling back her covers, so I quickly go to kneel by the end of her bed. She casts a sleepy eye over me. "Oh, are you Three? I was told to expect you."

"Please, Ma'am. Yes, I am Three."

"Mmmm. Just go and have a shower. I'll join you in a minute."

A shower sounds just great so I trot down to the end of the dorm, where one of the girls smiles at me and says, "Hi, I'm Twelve, what's your name?"

"Three"

"There are four shower heads, so we usually just crowd in together. There are towels in that cupboard."

Some of the girls have nightgowns, which they strip off and hang on hooks, but I arrived — and slept — nude, as did Twelve. We go on through to the shower room and revel in the lovely hot water. Before long the Dorm Leader arrives and ducks under the shower next to me. She appears to be a little older than most of the other slaves, thirty five, perhaps forty, but her body is still perfectly toned and tight. The Enterprises' gym, training and nutrition programmes certainly appear to keep us fit.

"My name is Helen. I don't really have any information about you — just that you'd be spending a couple of nights in my dorm. When you're finished, you'll find a dress in the cupboard by your bed and underwear in the drawer. Get a new toothbrush from the cabinet over there." She points to a cabinet at the end of the shower room. "There are disposable razors too, if you need them.

"I expect someone will come for you, but I don't know when. In the meantime you'll have to help Sixteen with cleaning. Usually two of us have an extra fifteen minutes to clean and tidy, but we're short at the moment. If your escort doesn't come by then, you'll have to be locked in, but there are some magazines on a shelf by the linen cupboard. Dry off now and get dressed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I understand."

I move out of the shower, wrap a towel around me and grab a toothbrush. I was so well-groomed yesterday that I don't need a razor. Next to the bed I find some utilitarian briefs and bras in the drawer and a simple smock dress in the cupboard. The other slaves are dressing and making up their beds. When they finish, they stand by the ends of their beds. Helen comes around and inspects each slave and checks her bed. Her's is still unmade, and I guess this will be part of my and Sixteen's duties.

Inspection finished, Helen unlocks the dorm door and the slaves leave for their breakfast and work. They aren't escorted, but each has a collar, like mine, which restricts her movements to her designated areas. Outside the door is a large bundle of linen which Sixteen and I bring in and stack. "Beds are changed every other day," she says, "today we clean the showers and toilets and sweep the floor." And so we do, scrubbing and mopping like mad, because fifteen minutes' work each isn't a lot of time.

While we do this, Helen is writing up a report in an exercise book. Lastly, we make up her bed and stand by her tiny desk. She finishes the entry and turns to us.

"Sixteen, you may go to your assignments." Sixteen leaves and she says to me, "Three, I have received a message that you are to report to room 1335. Thirteen is the floor number; you take the lift at the end of the corridor. I will show you, as I have to go to my own work now. We can stop off for breakfast on the way. Do you understand how your collar will guide you the rest of the way?"

"Yes, Ma'am, a tingling sensation for left, right and straight ahead."

"Good, then let's go."

We leave the dormitory, which Helen locks with her card. The slaves' dining room is on the same floor, so I follow her. Breakfast is a kind of rice porridge, to which you can add a variety of pickles and sauces if you want. Helen makes some suggestions, so I give them a go. Mostly delicious except for some particularly sour vegetables.

She can see that I've wrinkled my nose. "I guess those are an acquired taste."

As we leave the dining room, I feel a sensation on the right side of my neck, and that is the direction we take, down the corridor towards the lifts.

"Will I come back to the dorm tonight?" I ask.

"I think so," she says, "but slaves often end up in strange and unexpected places."

Helen pushes the Up and Down buttons, saying, "You go up. I have to go down to Inwards Goods, to pick up some parcels."

The Down lift arrives first and Helen steps in, giving me a "See you later" wave as the doors close. A few seconds later, a chime announces the arrival of the lift going up. The doors open and a prickle at the front of my throat urges me to enter. As the doors close, I can't resist the urge to press button 14 (well, it could have been a mistake). Nothing happens. The lift knows where I am going better than I do. I press 13, the button lights up, and the lift begins to move.

At Floor 13 it stops, the doors open, and I step out nervously into a corporate world. Though the decor is bland, there is a subtle impression of quality in material and design that tells me I am nearer to the centre of power. My collar tells me to go right, which I do, then left, until I arrive in front of Room 1335. I stand and stare at the door for many heart beats, trying to discern what lies behind this nondescript, corporate grey portal.

I take some deep breaths, as I think how to proceed. Should I knock and wait, or should I knock and enter. Knock and enter, I decide, I will have to wing it from there.

The room I enter is a large office, marginally larger than Master Hari's, I think. Behind the desk is a woman. Slave or not, I cannot tell, but she is obviously my superior, so I go to Position One.

"Come over here," she says, indicating a spot by her desk. When I am settled in place, she looks me over carefully and continues. "So, you are Three. I seem to be hearing a lot about you recently."

I, of course, have no idea who or what she is, but some kind of response seems required. I opt for the safest I can think of. "Yes, Ma'am, I am Three. May I serve you?"

She lets out a rather alarming snort, quickly suppressed, which I gratefully interpret as laughter.

"You've no idea who I am, have you? My name is Jane and you can call me that — at least when we're alone. I'm the Head of Marketing here in Hong Kong. The ubiquitous Hari has been singing your praises in emails, so I thought I should have a look at you. Hari has applied to have you assigned as his personal slave, you know." I didn't. "Until that happy, or unhappy, event takes place, you will be working here as part of the Marketing Team. Do you understand?"

I do know the answer to that question and, since we are alone, I say, "Yes, Jane, I understand. I will work for the Marketing Team."

"Good, and if you are any good, I will fight to keep hold of you. As you may have gathered, we are a bit short-staffed at the moment. Now, come and meet some of the team. Oh, and don't go kneeling all over the place either; it looks untidy, and it gives some people ideas. While you're here you can sit on a chair like everyone else."

I'm quickly warming to this woman, who seems quite eccentric compared to most people I've encountered within The Enterprises. She obviously knows I'm a slave but is deliberately ignoring the conventions.

"Thank you, Jane," I say, "Master Hari — Hari — did say he was finding it difficult to get help with his marketing needs. Nobody knew I was trained in Marketing. I do hope I'll be useful to you," and I add, "but I wear a collar and have a slave name; everyone will know I'm a slave."

"Well, that is true," she replies, "but they will still treat you as a peer, and a member of the team. We're all creative types, so there's always a lot of cut and thrust; just jump in and say what you think. We all disagree on everything, but somehow we get results. Yes, we know you're a slave but we don't pay much regard to that."

Jane leads the way through another door to a large open office, full of colourful posters and the kind of creative muddle I remember from University projects. She announces me, "Hey everybody, I'd like you to welcome Three to the team. She'll be working with us for the immediate future, so treat her as gently as you would your own mother."

There are three women, two Asian, one European, and two men, an Asian with bright green hair and, by his accent, a tall skinny Australian, who says, "Oh, Lord, another sheila. I'm going to call you Sheila, OK? Welcome to the Ship of Fools, destination unknown."

I'm not sure how to take this — it sounded rather dismissive — but his tone is light-hearted and I think he said it to avoid using my slave name. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, so I flash him a smile. The others all wave and say, "Hi."

Jane announces, "Concept meeting in ten," and ducks back into her office.

The Australian says, "They call me 'Cobber.' I'm First Mate on this leaky boat. Grab a pew and tell me what you can do."

So I pull up a chair beside "Cobber," and we talk about my qualifications, and my marketing experience, which frankly isn't much. "I think Mm — Hari was impressed because I found some rather obvious holes in the plan he had."

While we are talking, he is putting together a whole lot of papers in two piles, one of which he passes to me. At that moment, Jane reappears, ready for the Concept meeting. The team all gather around the central table.

"Come on, Sheila," says Cobber, "bring all that stuff, and don't be afraid to say what you're thinking."

I'm thinking, Let me go home, but I don't say it, because I know it is impossible that anyone here would have the authority to do that.

The product under discussion is a cosmetic that is being introduced to the Australasian and Pacific markets. The Enterprises are obviously moving to expand in this part of the world. Logical. The markets are not huge, but their economies are doing well, so there is growth potential for high quality products.

There is some discussion of the advertising budget, but then they move on to the image of the product itself. Should we use this kind of model or that, or multiple models? Is it a fun young product or a sophisticated mature product? I have been rapidly skimming through the papers, to see if I can add anything of value, when my eye lands on the name of the product. Oh my God.

I give a cough, and wave my hand. They all look at me.

"Orgasm Illuminator™ might go down well in Hong Kong, but I'm afraid it would be regarded as either downright sexist or hilariously funny in the target markets. And I don't think you want either of those reactions." ¹

Stunned silence.

Cobber lets out a great yelp of laughter, tilting his head to the ceiling. "You Beauty! I tried to tell them something like that, but apparently men know nothing about cosmetics."

Jane says, "Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I have been here too long."

So the meeting continues, with a note to discuss a new name, and new packaging, with the client. They toss around ideas for publicity, free samples, mall stands, media, including print, television, mobile and on-line. There is a lot of yelling, banter and laughter, but decisions are made and tasks assigned. I will be working with "green hair" guy, whose name is Tan, on a draft script for a television commercial.

About mid-afternoon, the Grumpy Master from Master Hari's office comes in looking for some artwork. He seems to be in a better mood today, but I'm petrified when he notices me sitting on a chair next to Tan. Should I kneel? Jane has told me not to but I'm sure he likes all possible deference from a slave.

I'm still dithering when he announces. "Hah!" he snorts, "I see you've landed in the "slave free zone." He turns to the others, "You're not doing her any favours, you know. What if she forgets how to behave outside of here?"

Perhaps he has a point. I venture, "Please, Master, I'm only doing as I was instructed."

"Oh, I know, but don't forget these people are the eccentrics."

He seems to have got what he came for, as he leaves. I get back to work, and find that I'm actually enjoying myself immensely. We are bouncing ideas off each other and reading the script in Monty Python voices, cracking up with laughter. They seem to know (of course) all about Master Hari and me. Tan does a really impressive Indian accent, describing a ludicrously complicated tea preparation ceremony. I can't help laughing, though I feel a bit uneasy, because Tan has got Hari off exactly, but even though he is not my Owner, I feel some sense of loyalty to Master Hari, who was really the instrument of my promotion from skivvy to Marketing.

Revelations

Later the Marketing Team decide to go out for dinner, and no doubt some serious partying. They don't have the authority to take me, so I make my way to the slaves' dining room, feeling rather deflated. When I've got my dinner tray, I look around for a seat and I spot Twelve, from the dormitory, and Nineteen and Seven, the beauticians. I think to join them as they are the only slaves I know. They are very welcoming.

Twelve starts to introduce me, but Nineteen says, "Oh, we know all about Three," and to me she says, "You're looking remarkably well. How did it go with the Master?"

"Well, I don't think it's going to be my favourite, but it wasn't painful, the Master allowed an orgasm and complimented me on my performance. I thought I was going to get champagne, but it was only ginger ale. Julie was with him. Do you know Julie?"

"Oh my," says Twelve, "the 'First Lady!' You do move in exalted circles! I bet you won't be long in the dorm."

It's the first time I have heard the title "First Lady," and I mainly remember that Julie was being "corrected" in the cells, so I am intrigued. "What does 'First Lady' mean? I didn't know slaves had titles."

"It's more of a job description, she's like the Master's Personal Assistant, and — you know he's not married — she will usually accompany him at social occasions."

I'm impressed. "So, he's available!"

Laughing, "Good luck with that. What man would marry, who has a stable of beautiful slaves?"

I haven't really had much chance to chat with other slaves before, so I am delighted to be included in the gossip. Not that I have much to impart, but I have a lot to learn. I'm feeling a bit better about missing the night out with the Marketing Team. We swap stories of how we were enslaved, and about our work. Seven and Nineteen tell me they also work on staff wives, and sometimes outside women. They giggle about some of the slaves who have been selected to serve the Master, and how some of them had highly exaggerated ideas of their value.

"Not you, of course. But usually, we never see them again."

Twelve works in Accounting and explains how slaves are valued, according to their original price, the cost of training, maintenance and how well they have pleased the Master or benefited The Enterprises.

"We also calculate on a nominal salary, plus overheads, relocation expenses. That kind of thing. Of course, you don't actually get these, so that counts as a credit — income — but if you fail and get demoted your 'salary' would also be reduced. You have to make sure your income is a lot more than your expense, because you might suffer impairment as well."

"That doesn't sound good, but what does it mean?"

"Well, if your market value declines a lot more than expected by normal use, or just time passing, because you are less valuable when you get older, or physical damage, you might have an accident. Or perhaps the division to which you belong might be discontinued or restructured and the kind of work you do isn't needed."

I'm starting to feel depressed again. What if The Enterprises outsourced their marketing?

Dinner is over. Twelve and I are going back to the dormitory when Master Hari appears. We both go to Position One.

"Ah, Three," he says, nodding to my companion. "I was looking for you. They said you would be in the Marketing Department, but it's all dark in there."

I say, "Welcome back, Master. I was in Marketing today, but they all went out for dinner and I came down here to eat."

"Good, good, I was wondering if you had eaten. Can you come with me now?" He seems a bit uncertain. I was planning on going to the gym; we all have to log a certain number of hours each week, but I'm not about to tell Master Hari that.

"Of course, Master." As I rise to follow, I catch Twelve's eye and she gives me a wink.

I follow behind Master Hari to a new suite, five levels higher than his previous rooms. As he opens the door, I see it has a separate sitting room and is so much larger. He goes straight into the bedroom, flopping down in a heap on the bed. He looks exhausted, not ready for sex, so I wonder why he was so keen to find me. I can only think that he's feeling a bit lonely and looking for company, or perhaps a soothing hand.

"Would you like a massage, Master?"

"Mmmm."

"OK, let's get your gear off." With the minimal necessary cooperation, I get him undressed, then strip off myself. I learned the basics of massage in my training, and there's oil in the bathroom, as I knew there would be. Straddling his lower back, I begin at his shoulders, working on his trapezius and deltoids and moving up to the mastoids. I try for a bit of friction on my own bits, as that seems likely to be the only excitement tonight.

He gives a deep sigh. "Ahhhh, Three, that is wonderful."

"Master, I heard your trip to Australia went well." Giving his spine a good going over.

"Yes, it did, and part of the success was due to you." Working on his glutes.

"Thank you, Master. I did hear that in a round about way." Finishing off with his thighs and calves. "Now, let's have you on your back."

Hari rolls over. He doesn't seem to be so tired any more, and his penis has recovered quite well, too. I'll get to that in due course, but first I attend to his pectorals and abdominals. As I work my way down, I slide over his package, which gets a boost from this treatment. I'm conscious that a slave should not usually be so proactive, but I'm pretty sure Master Hari will be glad that I take the initiative. He hasn't yet fully acquired the habit of commanding slaves.

Master Hari tells me some more about his trip. There were seemingly endless meetings and presentations. Perth is not a compact city like Hong Kong, but very spread out. There were also two hops in small planes to Geraldton and Albany. "I thought I was exhausted each night, but the most exhausting experience was when I got back. Martin gave me a through grilling, though he called it a debriefing. Whew! That man has the energy of a typhoon."