48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 41

Her Inner Goddess was her only support, and all that worthy could say was that this was simply a part of her Job Description. Martin and The Enterprises had valued her highly, and even this evening was a part of a grand project she had suggested and they had adopted.

It didn't prevent the first strike from splashing its fire from her right shoulder down to her left hip. Julie concentrated on taking another breath before she could give the standard response: "One, Master. Please, may I have another?"

Master silently watched as the welts blossomed. He had hesitated to use the cat on his own slaves, worried about disfiguring marks and about the emotional toll such marks might make on his slaves. On this slave, however, he was impressed that almost every one of the nine tails had left at least a short mark. The pattern itself was pleasing. He took a breath and delivered the second strike a bit lower than the first.

This strike caught Julie a bit unprepared, and she let slip a small cry. It was not what she wanted to do and she hurried to announce the count: "Two, Master. Please, may I have another?"

Again, Master watched the welts bloom. But, although the pattern was precise, it was not satisfying. This slave had made no error, done no crime, missed no standard. In fact, a small voice told him, she'd followed his orders exactly, not giving any sign of rebellion as he announced and then prepared her for the whipping. And her small cry? He'd heard louder and more heartfelt cries from a simple spanking. He stopped, his whip hand falling to his side, the falls caressing only the floor. For some reason, which he could not fully fathom, he was unable to continue whipping this slave. Her submission had been perfect and complete, her discipline impeccable. That cry, on reflection, had been more surprise than protest.

He felt a bit cheated. He'd wanted to work off his "bad day" with a good whipping, but this was not happening. Wasn't that what a slave was for? The small voice suggested that, perhaps, one reason was that this was someone else's slave. Yes, he supposed, that too. Another thought, one that he entertained most unwillingly, crept into his mind. He thought of his wife: elegant and beautiful, yes, but no more so than the slave suspended before him. His wife was often aloof, absorbed in her own interests and causes; uninterested in his business problems, as if they were not the source of wealth which made her easy life possible. He remembered, guiltily, that he had sometimes wished he could give her a sound flogging. This reverie ended with a start, as he noticed the reddening back of his borrowed slave, resigned to a thrashing that came from no fault of her own.

The slave he was watching was becoming concerned. The third strike should have come already, judging by the timing so far. When the Master ordered her to turn around, she was both pleased and sad. Master was satisfied with the practice strokes she had endured; now, Master would mark her front, almost certainly marking her breasts. Her Inner Goddess suggested that she was performing up to The Enterprises' standards. That was only a little encouraging.

As she turned, she felt the cable lowering her arms. Was the Master thinking of a different position? a different binding?

"Julie," the Master announced, "you've performed up to my standards, and I shall tell Martin, your Owner, exactly that. But, this whipping isn't making my day better. Come over to the table; I think they've put out some ointments to help with the pain and marks."

A single pull on the half-hitch on a bight and the knot to the cable dissolved. Master grinned at the flash of surprise on his slave's face. "It's a simple knot I learned as a kid. Putting it on a bight maintains the knot but one pull on the working end takes it apart."

Just a few moments were needed to free her hands. Automatically, Julie moved to Position One and "expressed her gratitude" that Master had found her efforts "up to standards."

The broker gave a short laugh. "Well, yes, my dear, but I've still had a bad day. Now, hold still for this ointment stuff. I'm told it feels cold on application."

It did, but it was just what Julie needed to make the pain recede into the background. Master was silent as he worked the ointment into the stroke marks. Julie and her Inner Goddess thought about the mission statement Julie had quoted earlier; part of it was that the slave should be ready with whatever Master was going to need in the next moments, right? What could they do to help Master?

"Please, Master," Julie began slowly, "you mentioned a Baltic Dry Index, something about sea trade routes? But, the Baltic isn't that big a sea, is it?"

The broker's laugh was more jovial. "Julie, that's not where the name comes from. The name comes from the coffee shop on Threadneedle Street in London, where merchants and shipowners arranged for shipment of cargoes, many of which came from what Britain called "the colonies" in the New World. Now, the index covers shipping world-wide and breaks it down by the size of the ship, from Handysize around 15,000 tons, to Supramax at 50,000 tons, to Panamax at 60-80,000 tons, and the Capesize over100,000 tons."

Julie sensed an opening and decided to press a bit. "And which of these is the most important?"

The broker was engaged. "Well, the Capesize is the smallest number of ships, but it carries almost two-thirds of world commerce." He felt more comfortable talking about something that he knew he was good at, probably even an expert. He told Julie about the first time he'd arranged for one of the Capesize cargoes: it was some kind of exotic lumber from Africa bound for furniture factories in the American South. He'd sweated practically an ocean until the ship had docked and unloaded, but he'd made a solid profit and created a bit of a name for himself.

Julie liked the story and, prodded by her Inner Goddess, asked about other cargoes, other voyages. "We never think about all the stuff that moves from where it's grown or found to where somebody makes it into something we buy in a store."

"You're right," answered the broker, adding, "Nobody appreciates us," in a mournful tone.

His slave caught the try at humor and responded with a giggle, something she couldn't have imagined doing just a little while earlier.

As conversations will go, the broker told story after story, with his slave responding to each and asking a question for clarification every so often. They realized that their part in Act I was over when the other men and their slaves began to gather in the Main Salon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 106: Niamh's Party Master

After dinner, Master Takana had taken Niamh by the hand and led her away from the Dining Area.

"Slave, your name is quite foreign to me. What is your background?"

"If you please, Master, my background is from Ireland, where my name is not unusual."

Master Takana considered for a second. "How charming. Apparently, the Irish enjoy making a name into a puzzle."

They entered a storeroom, though it now seemed empty.

"Have you ever been tied, Niamh?"

"Yes, Master. I began bondage training quite recently."

"And what kind of bondage have you experienced?"

Niamh thought for just a few seconds, mentally counting of the kinds of restraint. "Please, Master, I have had wrist and ankle ties, hog-ties and tied to a post, both back and front."

Her Master laughed. "Then, I think this will be a new experience for you. Are you familiar with the terms Kinbaku-bi or Shibari?" He took up a large bag that had been placed by the wall, saying, "These are my paint brushes and art materials."

"Master, I don't know either of those terms. Are you going to paint my portrait?"

"Yes. In a way."

Niamh was intrigued as he unzipped the bag and produced lengths of bamboo and many metres of rope.

"A good portrait should be nude, don't you think? Please get undressed."

She slipped out of her dress, which was all she was wearing, and thought, I'd better go to the Presentation Position, standing straight, hands behind my head and my legs parted.

"Very pretty," Master Takana said, "but you can stand naturally for now." Niamh relaxed as he continued, "Kinbaku-bi means beautiful tight binding; it is the art of Japanese rope bondage. In the West, it is usually called Shibari, which just means 'tying,' usually a parcel."

Niamh remembered that she had, long ago, seen some pictures of Japanese women, usually half-clothed, tied up in what looked like very uncomfortable positions. She explained this to Master Takana in a way she hoped conveyed her misgivings, as well as her acceptance of whatever he intended to do. She had no intention of refusal, which would certainly bring dire consequences, but she also was hoping for reassurances.

He laughed at Niamh's sly assertions. "While it is true that Kinbaku derives from ancient methods of torture, you need not have any worries. I am Nawashi, a master rope artist. I hope you will find this actually a pleasant experience. I will take some beautiful photographs to give to your Owner, as a memento of this evening."

All the while, Master Takana had been preparing his ropes. Now he said, "Lift your arms to the front, parallel to the floor, and I will begin with a simple chest harness. This is called takate kote." He passed the rope twice around Niamh, beneath her breasts, then, from the back over each shoulder in turn, forming a knot, and then, cinching the two shoulder ropes, passed the rope around her again, under her armpits and above her breasts.

He talked to her all the time, telling of the history of Kinbaku, how it had originated with the ancient Samurai practice for holding prisoners of war, to more erotic implementations in the late 19th century.

"Since the war, it has migrated to the West, and it seems that now anything goes. Some of the ties are purely decorative and do not restrain the 'captive' at all."

Niamh was feeling a lot more comfortable now. In fact, the feel of the rope and the touch of the Master were becoming more and more sensual. She felt emboldened to make a quip.

"Master, I hope you will not resort to anything so un-traditional."

The Master laughed long and loud. "I can see you will become a very good Kinbaku model. Perhaps I will buy you from Martin."

Niamh didn't know whether to take this seriously or not, so she put on her most demure smile and replied, "Che sara, sara, Master." Of course, she had to explain this idiom, so ancient that its roots were lost, to the Master, who laughed uproariously and stroked her breasts, causing her nipples to spring to attention.

"It is rumoured Martin once almost sold a slave. But, perhaps we should not speak of this?"

Niamh knew the answer to that question. "Master, it shall be as you wish."

Master Takana finished the chest harness by passing the ends of the rope around the junction of the ropes above Niamh's breasts, the shoulder ropes and the column joining the loops below her breasts, forming a three-sided medallion of rope. When he had finished tying this figure, he turned a screen, which had a mirror on the other side. Niamh saw herself in bondage, and, for the first time, appreciated the aesthetic qualities of an art she had previously found only tedious, or uncomfortable, something she endured because her Owner had ordered it.

"Master, that is beautiful!"

"Are you surprised? This is only stage one. I'm going to take some photographs now." He re-arranged the lighting and shot her from every angle, and from full figure to minute detail.

"Are you feeling relaxed, Niamh?"

"Oh yes, Master. The binding was like stroking, and now I feel I am being tightly hugged."

"Very well, the next phase is more restrictive. Please place your forearms behind your back and kneel up on the platform." She clambered up on the platform and presented her back, arms linked behind. Master Takana proceeded to wind a new rope around each wrist, then bound her wrists together, with one bite of rope under her thumb and over her palm on each hand. The rope then travelled up to join the harness between her shoulder blades, and bound in her upper arms.

Niamh was now quite definitely captive, and virtually immobile. She could perhaps scramble to her feet — with difficulty — but, if she then fell over, she would have no way to break her fall. For a few moments, she felt her heart begin to race, but she also realised that her Master had been gentle with her and had explained each step and tie as he performed it. She remembered the lesson on power exchange: she was dominated, helpless clay in the hands of her Master, but he, on the other hand, would do everything for her, protect her, and guide her through the experience.

She relaxed and allowed herself to be moved and posed like a plasticine model, as he shot a long series of photographs.

"Has your Owner allowed your orgasm tonight?" he asked.

"He has promised us all a nice orgasm, Master."

"Well then, I'm sure he will not object if you have another. There is time to add a simple suspension, so I will see what can be achieved." At this stage, Niamh felt sure that Master Takana could, if he set his mind to it, achieve almost anything with rope.

The next rope wound around her hips, then around the top of each thigh, crossing with a twist over her crotch, exerting pressure on her sex. Niamh's first sensation was pressure on her bladder. I hope I don't have to pee, she thought, but as the binding continued, she felt a growing stimulation of her clitoris building the sexual tension that would have one inevitable end.

Her Master helped Niamh to lie prone on her belly while he attached further ropes to the chest harness, the hip binding, and then another tie to her ankles. All of these were attached to a movable bar which descended from the ceiling.

"This is definitely not traditional," he said as he activated the electric hoist, raising Niamh about a meter off the platform. "But it is very convenient." When he was satisfied, he took another series of photographs to document the event.

Niamh's weight added more tension to the ropes but still she felt oddly relaxed despite her helpless immobility and the swaying motion initiated by the hoist which brought further friction to her upper body and a delicious jolt to her sexual centre. She knew that she would soon be experiencing an intense orgasmic pleasure. But I can't do anything for Master Takana, she thought.

However, that thought was soon falsified.

The Master added one more tie, this time from a generous hank of her hair to the chest suspension, saying, "My dear, you look so erotically arousing, and I can see your own arousal, that I simply must enjoy you myself."

Niamh smiled to herself as she realised that her head was tilted at just the right angle to allow Master Takana easy access to her mouth. He stepped up on the platform and undid his trousers, presenting Niamh with a full erection. She opened her mouth, allowing him to slide into the cavity, greeting him with swirls of her tongue and gentle suction. He moved slightly inside her and those movements, though small, were sufficient to increase the friction on her clitoris. As she was rapidly reaching the point of no return, she was glad that her orgasm had been pre-approved, because she was incapable of asking permission. Nevertheless, she tried to ensure her Master came first, even though he seemed to have extraordinary powers of control.

Finally, Niamh could no longer suppress her body's reaction. She came, with a muffled yelp and a shudder that suffused every part of her body. At the same moment, her mouth was flooded by the Master's sperm. She could barely contain it, but somehow managed to keep most, as he slowly softened. When he disengaged, her mouth remained open, displaying his semen.

"Well done, Niamh," he whispered. "You may swallow."

She did so, gratefully, as he lowered her back to the platform, holding and stroking her for some time, before he began to unloose her ties. Helping the Master coil the ropes, Niamh snatched a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Crimson lines were appearing on her body where blood returned to the areas that had been constricted. The marks were a phantom of the harness she had worn, and Niamh knew they would last long enough to show off to the other slaves. She felt strangely proud of them, the mark of a service she had provided well, not just to Master Takana, but to Martin, her Owner.

Master Takana faced Niamh and bowed. Surprised, she bowed in return and told him, "Thank you, Master, for showing me the beauty of rope."

He smiled and took her again by the hand. "It's time to return to the salon. We are exactly on time for the next act."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter 107: Girl-on-Girl at the Men's Party

The Dining Salon filled with returning Masters and their slaves, once more dressed. Masters had shed their jackets and ties while the slaves had dressed in the Prima Donna Madam Butterfly Bra and Bikini Panty. Igor had selected this pair, remarking that it showed beauty and full coverage in an exquisite floral embroidered, multi-part bra and panty. The angled cup would shape the slaves' breasts while the side support panels would help center the bust and give forward projection. Igor also liked the embroidered appliqués scattered over the front and sides of the set, with an embroidered butterfly appliqué at the center of the back waistband.

The slaves got their men another round of drinks, and each man started telling the others that they had enjoyed the most beautiful, willing and responsive "companion" available. They were mildly joshing Derek, whose story seemed to indicate that he was not quite in full control of the scenario with Dagmar.

Sally whispered in her gentleman's ear and quietly disengaged from his embrace. She retrieved her accordion from the locker where she had stored it and faced the group as the light dimmed and several spotlights picked out the chanteuse and the padded mattress, really a gigantic futon, that had replaced the dining table.

Master Takana noticed the dimming lights and clapped his hands. "Attention, gentlemen!" he proclaimed. "I believe the floor show has begun."

"Messieurs et Mesdames, les chansons d'Edith Piaf!" Sally struck a pose. She explained that her songs were French classics, beginning with the story of a poor street girl who loves the musician at the dance hall. Alas, he has to go to war while she dreams that when he returns they will open a brothel, he as the boss while she takes the cash. But he doesn't return and she is alone, because the guys don't like girls with long faces. She ends up in a low-down dive, where she breaks down, yelling "Stop! Stop the music."

Then, with a brief accordion introduction, Sally began with L'accordéoniste:

La fille de joie est belle

Au coin de la rue là-bas

Elle a une clientèle

Qui lui remplit son bas...

Elle écoute la java

Mais elle ne la danse pas

Elle ne regarde même pas la piste

Et ses yeux amoureux

Suivent le jeu nerveux

Et les doigts secs et longues de l'artiste

There's a beautiful hooker

Down on the street corner

She has many clients

That fill up her purse

She hears the Java music,

But she doesn't dance

She doesn't even watch the dance floor

And her adoring eyes

Follow the nervous playing

And the long skinny fingers of the artist

Dagmar waited nervously for her part to begin. Niamh had begun performing a sultry dance to Sally's singing and Dagmar was to make the first move.

Sally had one particular song for the end of her bracket: Milord: