48 Hours on Blue Bayou Pt. 41

Derek's insides were churning by the time his Mistresses finished their "educational séance." He supposed part of it was simple intimidation, and he wasn't currently interested in whatever else was going on. He wondered if his own slaves ever got to this "Let's get it over with" state. If his Mistresses had not been holding him, he thought he'd just run up and mount the saltire.

Finally, his Mistresses did lead him to the instrument. He assumed he'd climb aboard with his back facing into the room, but they turned him around and backed him onto the saltire.

The four Mistresses cooperated on fixing their slave to the saltire, each working with one extremity. In addition to the wristlet and anklet tie-points, he had a wide belt around his waist attached to the crossing point of the device.

Julie picked up the educational discussion. "The saltire is also known as the St. Andrew's Cross. When St. Andrew was to be crucified, he pleaded that it not be on the same type cross as his Savior, because he wasn't as worthy as his Savior. The adjustment still led to his execution.

"The proper procedure for a slave being whipped or flogged is for the slave to count each stroke, express thanks to his Mistress, and request another stroke from his Mistress. However, we would like to keep your bit gag in place. It will save you from saying some humiliating things, we have found. So, one of the other Mistresses will count, thank, and request for you. You should remember to thank her later. And, of course, there will be a later. Despite how you feel or think during your flogging, there will always be a 'later.'"

Derek had just a moment to consider what he was feeling and thinking at this point. He was a bit angry that he was going to be flogged; he hadn't really done anything so bad, had he? He was a bit humiliated to be exposed so completely to other men of his social class. He was even more humiliated that it was slaves who were doing this to him. Still, he had been considering his request to the Empress for some time, and this seemed like a convenient time to put it into action. He realized that he had learned much more in the past minutes than he could have gained from some books or an internet search.

On balance? On balance, he didn't want to be where he was, but he was satisfied to be where he was. Crazy? Well, that's life.

The Mistresses, all slaves themselves, had known that he'd come to this state of knowledge because each of them had followed more or less the same path. The loss of personal control was the most difficult lesson for each of them to learn. The different protocols from different slave corridors or different training schools were not really all that different. The Master or Mistress commanded and the slave performed according to the standards to which they had been trained. Each of them felt fortunate to be at The Enterprises now. Some had heard tales from other slaves that didn't bear repeating. Some Owners were cruel; many were uncaring or unthinking. The Enterprises was definitely a better place to be.

Even Dagmar, who had been a slave for less than a month, understood this. She wasn't sure about all her Masters and trainers, but she was sure about Julie. Whatever that one would ask, Dagmar would move heaven and earth to accomplish.

And so, it was with some pride that Dagmar had accepted the job of counting for any flogging or whipping that Act Three would entail. She took her position just to the side of the saltire and waited for Julie to begin.

Julie had no illusions about this flogging. Derek was going to hurt, but she knew that hurts heal. Whatever he had wanted to learn from this Introduction to Slavery, she hoped she had taught. She hoped her Master and the Empress were satisfied with her performance of this assignment, but she was satisfied she had done as much planning ahead of time, and as much thinking during this Act Three, as possible. As with any slave performance, her Master would tell her what she needed to know when she needed to know it.

She raised her arm and the flogger jumped forward, striking her target: the slave's left thigh.

"One," counted Dagmar. "Thank you, Mistress, may I have another?"

A slight adjustment and the flogger flew forward, marking the right thigh. "Two. Thank you, Mistress, may I have another?"

Then, it was the right shoulder, followed by the left shoulder. She was careful not to mark the neck. These welts would not be mistaken for the "hickeys' of her teen years.

She had considered whether to continue the targets in a predictable pattern. That preparation might have been easier for Derek to take, but the Empress had emphasized the young man's focus on "reality." She compromised by going in the reverse order for the next cycle of strikes.

During the third cycle, Julie realized that Derek wasn't cringing or crying or moaning. He was taking each stroke as if it was a badge of courage. The Laws of Slavery flashed in her mind: A slave never wins. It was important for Derek, while a slave, to realize this. He had thrown down a gage of battle; her Masters and the Empress were relying on her to pick it up — successfully.

She didn't increase the force of her blows, or speed up the rhythm of the flogging. She began to seek out targets in a random order, removing Derek's advantage in preparing for a strike. She glanced at Niamh and was certain that Niamh had picked up the same challenge. A barely perceptible pair of nods confirmed her intent. A line from an old NASA moonflight came to her: Failure is not an option.

She knew that time was on her side. Even if she made no adjustments, eventually the weight of all the strokes would break Derek's resolve. We all have limits, she knew. But, she didn't want this to go on endlessly.

It was a strike on his left breast, right on the nipple, that drew the first sound from the slave. Julie put the next strike on a thigh, and there was no reaction. She went back to the right breast, again targeting the nipple, and drew another sound. They weren't screams or cries, but that was the strategic area.

Slowly, with an occasional blow elsewhere, Julie painted Derek's body from his nipples downward. There were a few blows directly to his navel, usually a sensitive spot, which rewarded her with twitches and more sounds.

As she passed to his lower abdomen, she thought the slave couldn't fail to realize her ultimate target: his prick and balls. A shot to the shoulder elicited a cry; Derek had been fooled by the random target, but he clearly knew her plan. The battle continued, with Dagmar announcing the count, thanking the Mistress, and requesting another.

Julie wondered if any of the men understood the battle going on. A quick look at them showed a smile or two but intense concentration on each of their faces. Yes, these men knew. And they were on her side. Derek might be their business partner tomorrow, but tonight he was just a slave.

The march toward his prick continued, with Derek's responses becoming louder and longer. It was not yet the hopeless surrender that Julie required. She detoured around his package to stripe his upper thighs and thought she saw a bit of sag in his posture.

She wanted it to be over. It had to be done; there was no other possibility. Still, she had admiration for a "worthy opponent." She let fly the first blow to his prick, and heard the cry she had been waiting for. A handwave to Dagmar cut off her announcement with just the count.

As they had prepared, the four Mistresses worked to free the student-slave from the saltire. Julie and Niamh worked the bit gag out of his mouth as the others unbuckled the wristlets and anklets. Finally, Dagmar embraced him, whispering that he should follow her to the showers.

When Derek was gone, the three men surrounded Julie, smiling and offering thanks and congratulations. One said, "I didn't expect he'd be so tough, he's only just past being a kid. But you did exactly what I'd expect you to do. It was beautiful. I suspect you've got some cameras around, and I'm sure he'll treasure this hour or so for a long time."

There was a lot of milling around, with the men inspecting all the devices the girls had used and asking questions about the girls' feelings, especially during the last battle. Thankfully, none of the slaves said anything discourteous or stupid. Julie wondered why the men, all with empires of their own, were not just making their way out. After the emotions of the battle, Julie wasn't sure a fundraising appeal was the best idea to close out the evening.

The appearance of a fully-dressed Derek explained the milling about. As one, the men and the slaves applauded the young man who had the courage to ask a question, make a request, and then follow through so completely.

Derek came up to Julie, who was not sure she could face the man. She was about to drop into Position One when he took her jaw in a gentle hand and kissed her.

"Julie, I think I know how hard this was for you. It is probably the hardest assignment Martin has had for you. You managed the last battle with care and insight. You reflect great credit on your Owner and trainers, and I'll be sure to tell them and the Empress just that."

Julie felt the tears rising, but she managed to keep her voice strong as she said, "Thank you, Sir. Your words mean a great deal to this slave. I will always remember you, Sir."

Turning to the other men, Derek grinned and announced. "I've had the best night tonight. Now, you know this was supposed to be a fundraiser for the Empress' favorite institution, the Opera. I've heard a bit of the plans and I think it's a great idea. My family and I will donate a quarter-million dollars — that's US dollars —toward the project, and I'd like each of you to join me."

Niamh jumped on Julie, embracing her friend and teacher. "That ought to satisfy our Owner!"

"And the Empress, too," added Julie.

The men accompanied Derek down the gangplank and to the parking area where their cars were waiting. The waves and handshakes were testimony to a successful business event.

Pat, Anne, and a Security crew swept into the room and added their congratulations. Even the Captain of the yacht, who had hardly any responsibilities in the evening after the dinner buffet was set up, came in and delivered a kiss to each of the slaves. "Anytime you get a day off, just come visit us," he announced to a round of applause.

As if slaves get a day off.

The Security crew put each of the slaves into Transport Mode and, in a few minutes, cars and vans from The Enterprises had these actors and their troupe moving back to The Enterprises' headquarters.

Authors' Note: The Men's Party is over. How do you, Dear Readers, think Julie and our other slaves have done? Will her performance be satisfactory for the Empress to allow Julie to become Martin's First Lady? What else will be disclosed during the inevitable debriefing? Your opinions and suggestions, as usual, will be welcome!

J Spe and Taliesin1