48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 38: Three

I have basically finished my massage, so I kneel by the bed, waiting to see if Master Hari requires any sexual services.

He continues. "Martin has promoted me, too, which is why I have these new rooms, but it means I will have to return to Australia, several times, and probably New Zealand as well. I've heard the trial was so successful that The Enterprises will proceed with a full roll-out. Martin is convinced that there will be many opportunities in these markets now that we have a foothold."

Hari falls silent, looks at me, beside the bed, "Umm, would you mind finishing the, ahh, massage?" I love the way he is so circumspect.

"Of course, Master." I climb back on the bed and attend to his semi-rigid penis. A few licks and kisses have it responding nicely. I take the head fully into my mouth and apply suction, interspersed with explorations with my tongue. I can't get all of him into my throat, so I compromise with running my lips along the underside of his shaft, teasing his balls with my lips, then returning to the head.

After a few minutes of this routine, I sense that I will not be able to delay his orgasm much longer, so I prepare to swallow his coming ejaculate. When his balls arise out of my hand, I know the moment has arrived and take as much as I can into my mouth, which is suddenly filled. His spasms recede and I can hear his deep breaths as he relaxes. I let him slip out, carefully retaining the remains of his cum. His breathing recovers and, as he opens his eyes, I open my mouth to display my obedience.

"Please swallow, Three."

He indicates for me to lie down with him, so I stretch out beside him, my head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. After a few minutes quietness, he says, "I'm so tired now, Three, I think you should go to your dormitory."

He is already asleep by the time I have dressed and slipped out of his suite.

Meetings, Bloody Meetings

The next day I am back at the Marketing Department, working with Tan on his TV commercial. We pretty much get it to the stage where it will go to the client for approval. I expect this will be my routine from now on, but, the next morning, Helen has a new destination for me, this time on the 21^st floor, Room 2102. I dress in the clothes available in the locker. As usual I follow the promptings of my collar until I arrive.

The door gave no hint of what was behind: a very grand boardroom with a large oval table. There are several people at the far end, including my Master and Owner. I'm about to go to Position One, when he catches my eye and beckons me over.

He looks me over and says, "Standard slave office smock? Hmmm, I'd like something a bit more ambiguous." Turning to his companion, "Anne, can we do something better for Three? Something of indeterminate status? We have about thirty minutes before the meeting begins. She could change in the back room."

Anne gets on her phone immediately and crisply orders, "Change of clothing for Three. Office but not too grand. Yes. Yes. Slacks? Yes, that sounds perfect. Fifteen minutes."

Meanwhile, Master directs me to a place near the head of the table with a kneeling chair, like the one in Master Hari's office. This is so I can use the table to write on, I suppose, and also it is ambiguous in itself. I might have a bad back, rather than not being allowed on the furniture.

"I want you to take the notes for this meeting," he says. "Get some stationary from the back room and I'll brief you."

I go into the room he indicates and find some pens and pads on a bench. I consider the last few seconds, my head in a whirl. Obviously, they have records of all my sizes and measurements, to expect a change of clothes within fifteen minutes. Do they have full wardrobes for every slave — or just a few? Should I feel flattered that they have one for me, or annoyed that I have no choice? I decide that I will regard it as an accounting improvement in my value.

When I return, Master gives me an Agenda. He outlines who will be coming, and their areas of responsibility, while I scribble notes as fast as I can.

A few minutes later, a slave arrives with new clothing for me and I scramble into it in the back room. I have no idea why Master wants me to appear less like a slave for this meeting, but I suppose he is making some kind of point to the people who will be attending. Perhaps he just wants to show me off to better effect. I have just finished and reappeared in the boardroom in my new finery, when the first attendees arrive.

I don't recognise anyone except Edward, and Jane from Marketing, but Master sticks strictly to the Agenda. Each item has a name and position associated, so I don't have too much bother knowing who is speaking.

There is the Chief Financial Officer, who presents the monthly results, forecasting a record Quarter, but predicting more difficult conditions over the coming six months. Master asks some questions about interest rate forecasts, exchange rates, and rate of return on some projects. The other divisions present are IT, Property, Trading, Construction and Environmental Remediation.

The Construction Manager, James, reports on several projects and adds, "I am pleased to say we have gained a lot of credibility as a result of the recent earthquake in Yunnan province. Our buildings all survived with minimal damage and were soon back in operation." Master asks about the humanitarian assistance that The Enterprises provided and calls for a more detailed report.

Trading is the division responsible for the product Master Hari was promoting in Australia. Kurt, the Division Manager, is very enthusiastic about the reception of the new product and believes we should roll it out in the rest of Australia and also New Zealand.

IT reports on developments in encryption and hacking. He is especially concerned by the ability of governments to intercept and read our traffic. Especially concerning the "Interns."

"Governments aren't too concerned with our alternative employment policy, as long as the targets aren't from the local elites," says Master, "but, by all means, spend some money on extra security."

This puzzles me, until the penny drops: Master is referring to the slaves. So, I am not a slave, but an alternative employee! I am impressed but still puzzled by the contradictions. His concern and interest in humanitarian efforts seems to sit awkwardly with his keeping of slaves.

The meeting is over, and I expect to return to Marketing this afternoon, but I am waiting for orders and wondering to whom I should give my notes. Only the Master, Edward, Peter (the CFO), and Kurt remain and they slowly drift into a kind of lounge room next door. I follow on, not knowing what else to do. That seems to be correct because nobody chases me away.

I am surprised when some kitchen slaves arrive with trolleys of finger food, which they arrange on the side table. It looks absolutely delicious and I hope that I am invited to the feast.

It appears that I am, as Master Martin indicates a kneeling pad next to one of the armchairs as he piles high a plate. The rest of the group, having filled their plates, settle themselves in the remaining chairs around a large coffee table.

Master says, "Three, will you pour tea or coffee? I've heard you are quite good at it." I do as he asks, of course, because it was really an order. I go around to everyone with cups, teapot and coffee carafe. I also note that everything I do, or that happens to me, is common knowledge.

"Come and kneel beside me," he says, and with a wink, "I hope you can read your notes."

It seems that this is where the real business of the meeting will be finished and decisions made.

I whisper, "Master, shall I take notes?"

"No need," he replies, "we will all remember the decisions."

Thus, over lunch, which I am hand fed by my Owner, and amidst considerable banter, they dispose of the major issues of the recent meeting. Occasionally, they ask me to refer to my notes to clarify some points, or verify some figures. Fortunately I have an answer to all questions. I am impressed again how Master listens and adopts good advice, yet effortlessly dominates the proceedings without appearing to.

One more item, which is apparently still super-secret: whether and when and how to invest in Solar Energy. China has made a huge commitment to solar power, and is now the premier manufacturer of solar cells. There are several options available: investment, loan, or green field development. After much lively discussion, it is decided to take equity in a small to medium (for China) company with excellent research and development resources and brand new manufacturing capacity.

At last, plates are empty and all business has been completed.

A couple of cleaning slaves have come in to tidy up. I remember that uniform well. I am waiting around rather nervously, as no-one has told me what to do next. I expect to be sent back to Marketing. I see the Master coming towards me.

R & R

I begin to go into Position One, but he takes me by the elbow, raising me up. I come up to his shoulder.

He is looking at me a bit strangely. "Three, do you have to rush away?" he asks with an ironical note, and with a twinkle in his eye.

I'm a bit stunned by this turn of phrase, but I manage to say, "Master, I'm completely at your disposal."

"A little bird told me you're a sailor."

I realise he must have been talking to Master Hari. I had told him about my sailing, the time we went out for the morning.

"Yes, Master. I used to sail whenever I could. Every holiday."

"Well, would you like to go out this afternoon?" As if I would, or could, refuse him anything. Then I grasp what it is he is saying.

"Oh, Master! Yes!! Yes, please." I'm almost jumping up and down with excitement.

"Right, then," he says, "a little detour to my office, and we're away."

I follow him out, floating already, to the lift, and we rise further up the tower.

"I have a little dinghy I love to sail," he tells me, "but I don't often have the time" — he looks at me — "or the crew."

We emerge into a huge reception area. Master strides purposefully forwards and I trail behind him. The woman behind the desk is slightly familiar, but I can't think of her name. She smiles at me complicitly. So this expedition is not totally spontaneous. I suppose she has had to scramble to free up Master's afternoon. I follow into his office, which is even bigger, a large group of sofas around a coffee table, white boards and a computer station. Around the corner from the door, an aircraft carrier for a desk.

Master grabs some keys and comes up to me, where I'm still gaping at the splendour.

"I'm going to remove your collar. It wouldn't do for this afternoon to be a shocking experience."

He grins, and raises his hand to my neck. On his keyring is a tiny remote which turns off and unlocks my collar. He opens the locking section and slides it off my neck. For the first time in months, my neck is uncollared. I really can't decide if the feeling is one of freedom, or insecurity.

"These are experimental," he remarks, "they require a lot of programming and, of course, all parts of the building have to be wired, but they will save on security staff."

I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to take part in this conversation, but I reply, "Master, I feel so different without the collar, it's almost unsettling."

He nods as he puts the collar into a wall safe. "I think that, psychologically, slaves might feel a greater sense of responsibility if they can move about relatively unrestrained. What do you think?"

Well, I hadn't really given it much thought at all, to be honest, but Master has asked a direct question so I have to put my brain in top gear and hope my tongue doesn't sabotage me.

"Please, Master, I think that might depend on the slave." Stalling. "I know that Transport Mode is really to make us conscious of our slave position, and to keep us always a little off balance, not because we can't work out where to go when told. I do appreciate moving around with the collar and without being in Transport Mode. It seems to me to be unnecessary most of the time. If your slave has accepted her slavery, then the greater freedom may well increase her sense of responsibility and commitment."

Ah, there's the rub. I don't want to tell him that I'm pretty unsure whether I have accepted my slavery. He just smiles faintly and nods. Master turns and touches my elbow, as a signal to leave, and we pass out into the reception area.

He says, "Tell Edward where I am, please," to the lady at the desk. "Already logged," she replies.

We drop down in the lift to a garage where a classic sports car awaits. He indicates that I get in, while he settles into the driver's seat.

"Seat belt on," he commands. "Not standard in this old girl, but required by law."

So, belted up he charges off, slowly through dense traffic at first, then faster as we leave the built-up area.

"I'll take the scenic route. I expect you haven't seen much of Hong Kong yet." The understatement of the month.

Master winds along the twisty roads that cross the island, a legacy of the times before motorways. We thread our way through the congested streets of Central, climbing up we pass some of the grandest mansions I've ever seen, and as we go over the Peak, I glimpse jungle clad valleys, blue-green reservoirs and the outer harbour.

"We could have taken the Express-way," he shouts, "but we wouldn't get this view!"

Hong Kong island is not large, so pretty soon we have zipped down to the coast. Master has to travel at a more sedate speed along the Stanley village Promenade. He points out some of the features, the working fishing fleet, Stanley Market and Murray House, the colonial heritage building, relocated from Central.

"Even though all the blocks were carefully labelled, they weren't quite reassembled correctly." He chuckles, "I've heard there were even some left over!"

There is still a little way to go, to St Stephens Bay, where Master's yacht is stored.

"It's really a Sailing School," Master remarks, "but I have an arrangement with them for storing my dinghy."

Master leads me to the last of a group of boathouses. Really, they are just like garages under the main building. The door is open and the young woman waiting says, "Have a great time on the water. I'll lock up again when you're back." She leaves us alone.

There is a two man dinghy on a trailer; the mast is unstepped and I can't see any sails. Master heads for the gear room at the back and I follow on.

Once we are inside he says, "We're not really dressed for sailing, are we? You'll find a variety of shorts and tee shirts in that locker."

He slips off his shoes and strips off his shirt and pants, while I rummage through the locker til I find a pair of shorts and a tee shirt that will fit me. I wonder who has worn them before me. Was she a slave, a girlfriend, or just a sailing companion? I also find some sneakers that more or less fit. Master has already donned a similar outfit, and watches me as I unzip and shed my office clothes. Well, he has already seen a lot more of me than this, so, really, there's no need to feel embarrassed, but somehow, this perfectly normal situation unsettles me more than all of the sexual training and nudity I experienced while in the Intake Corridor.

"Life jackets, under the bench," indicating a cupboard.

I open it and take out two jackets which I think will fit us. I take one and hand him the other.

"I think this will be your size, Master."

"Thanks," he says. "Give me a hand with the sail bag."

Together we carry it outside, then pull the dinghy out to the beach on its trailer. This casual, normal behaviour by my Master rather un-nerves me. I don't know how to react, or what is allowed, but I decide to just follow his lead and hope for the best.

"Look to the sails, Mister Mate, while I step the mast."

"Aye aye, Captain!" It seems as if this is the Master's fantasy of the simple life. I'm very prepared to go along with it.

While I unfold the mainsail and slide the battens into the pockets, Master lifts the mast and steps it into the thwart. I am having a flashback to all those Irish holidays down at Baltimore, and before long we are working together, rigging the dinghy. He's smiling while we work and I think he is pleased that I know exactly what to do, without being told. When we've finished, we carry the dinghy down to the water.

"Life jackets secure?" he asks. "Mister Mate, you work the sail."

I hop into the yacht and take my place on the gunwale as he pushes off and takes the tiller. I lower the centreboard and haul in the boom as the wind fills the sails. We are away.

Master has the tiller and sails a straight path, as can be seen by the wake spreading behind us. We are working to windward, close hauled, tacking up to a small island in the bay, sailing close to the wind. Soon we will have to change direction to keep on target.

"On sheets."

Master warns me he is about to shift from port tack to starboard, which means the sail will swing to the other side of the dinghy. I haul the sails in as close as possible and prepare to turn.

"Ready about."

He pushes the rudder over and I crouch down in the cockpit also moving to the port side, so the boom can swing over without whacking me in the head. Even before he can give the order, I "ease sheets" and receive an appreciative grin. We are working as a team. Even though, obviously, we are not in a race, we both want to show off our sailing skills.

The breeze is freshening, causing the little dinghy to ride up on the port side. I lean out over the gunwale, and ease the sheets a little to counteract. Master is holding a straight course, watching the water for signs of wind shifts and fresher gusts. Sailing upwind, the prow is cutting through the waves, occasionally tossing a bucketful up over us.

Master's hair is blowing mussed in the air, and, as he scans the bay, his air of seriousness slips away, leaving a happy boyish grin. Can he be almost twice my age? I am reminded of a teacher, for whom I had a long ago crush. Now, my wildest masturbatory fantasies are realities. He will take me, play with me until, if he allows, I dissolve in orgasm.

At last, we have tacked upwind of the island. Now we can reach across the wind towards the island. It's called Round Island and Master says there is a tiny beach, where we land.

"When I was a child, I used to daydream of living on a desert island." He grins. "Now, I could buy an archipelago of them, but I've no time to go there."

I say, "Shall we build a Tree house then, in case of wild animals?"

He laughs and says, "I'm probably the wildest animal you'll find out here."

I jump back, "You'll have to catch me first!" and pretend to run away, down the beach, very slowly. Within ten paces, I'm caught and hauled back over his shoulder. Laughing, we subside on the sand.

A few minutes sunbathing and it's time to start back. Now, the wind is behind us. I let out the mainsail and the jib, and we're sailing goosewinged, flying back down to St Stephens Bay, and reality. As we near the bay, I haul in the sail, knowing we will soon turn for the beach.

"Gybe O," from Master. This is like tacking, but with the wind behind, more difficult because of the greater distance the boom travels. I duck down as the boom swings over and haul in the sail as fast as I can. We have pulled off a very tidy gybe.

Now heading back to the clubhouse, after a fine afternoon on the water, Master Martin seems relaxed, not that I have seen him tense, but sometimes pre-occupied, as if he was sitting on a volcano, waiting for it to erupt. As for me, I haven't felt so carefree, or free, since I was kidnapped. That makes me think about being actually free.