On the Banks of the Big Horn Part Six – by Tracker

 

The Contract between the Barbarian and the Slave girl

 

From Smith’s Secret Diary

 

I was called to my boss, Randy Schlesinger’s, office this morning.  He was chatting over coffee with a sheriff’s deputy with his leg in a cast and crutches beside his chair.

 

“Hi Smith, this is my brother Abner Schlesinger.  He covers this side of the river for the Cheyenne County Sheriff's Office.  He understands our traditional ways.”

 

As I shook hands with the deputy, he gave me that cop stare.  In my forty-five years I have seen that stare a lot in a lot of different countries. It’s the same stare from LA to the Russian Border.  I have got that stare from a Mountie in Canada and a lady Bobby in inner London.  Or is a Lady Bobby a Bobbi?

 

“Just Smith, is that all?”

 

“All I can remember.”

 

“With Abner laid up, we will need to get Deputy Morrison from Town to be our deputy on site, just to remind people of our diplomatic immunities of the Consulate portion of the ranch.  That should not be a problem, he has worked here before.  He will be well paid and appreciates the perks of the ranch.”

 

“Now to business.  The breakout at the steel corral by the house.  Where the sloop’s passengers were. Are you sure that there was no possibility it was an accident?”

 

“No, that padlock was cut, even though it was rigged to look like it was broken. Those girls were deliberately released, sir.  Your brother can confirm about the padlock if he takes a look, he knows what to look for.”

 

Deputy Abner Schlesinger grinned, “I already did. We needed to know if you would confirm the breaking of the lock or try to cover it up. Randy was sure it wasn’t you.”

 

I wasn’t upset to be tested like this. I am suspicious by nature myself.  It is how I have survived to my ripe old age, be suspicious of everyone and don’t look as dangerous as you are.

 

“Who else was on patrol with you last night?”, the deputy continued.  

 

“Jake, Aaron the young kid, and Tom Harris from the Harris ranch.  Aaron has hardly ever been off the ranch, while Jake is new like me, and Tom was away at agricultural school for a bit before his dad got sick.”

 

“Okay, thanks Smith.  How many got away?”  

 

“All twenty boss, but we have rounded up nine already.  Not used to exercise or running in bare feet.  We should get most of the rest today.”

 

“Okay, we need all twenty to make up the shipment for tonight, plus the ten we have processed and in the kennels under the house.  Mr Frick says if we are a few short, we can make up the numbers with a few of the girl-sailors who were the crew.”

 

Abner raised his eyebrows, “Won’t that be a shock to them!  Won’t the rest of the crew we don’t ship squawk?  Maybe Mr Frick should ship them all.”

 

“Mr Frick says no.  We contracted to send thirty, thirty we will send. We aren’t throwing in extra merchandise just because it is convenient. Any we don’t send we will slap anklets on and keep track of through the app. They can’t go to any authorities because they are neck deep in this.  We can use them as scouts and recruiters, as was planned.”  Randy Schlesinger then turned to me.

 

“I can’t trust any of those other three.  Abner is laid up, so I will need you to give me a hand getting them to the shipping point.”

 

“The private airstrip?”

 

“No, a different place.  Woodrow Frick will help, he doesn’t mind putting his hand to work.  You are going to see some sights tonight Smith.”

 

Juliette Chen’s narrative.

 

The cowboys are coming closer now. There is no way I can let them see me like this.  I can’t be caught trespassing and certainly not naked. I wonder if they really enforce Luthan slave law on this ranch or if it is just a story and I will just be raped!  

 

But I am so hungry.  I might have to give up just to get some food.

 

Oh God, if only I could go back to that morning two days ago and do things differently!

 

Patrick Masters’ Narrative.

 

It was a lovely morning.  The mist off the river was just dissipating as I finished my coffee. I had even poured some Baileys Cream into it because I was on vacation.  Juliette was cooking some breakfast.  Seeing her in such a domestic role it made it very easy to imagine marrying her.  If only we could smooth out the bedroom department!

 

Juliette was wearing her swimsuit from yesterday, plus loose shorts and hiking boots.  The deep vee of the cleavage was encouraging, but the shorts covered up so much of what the skimpy bottom of the suit revealed.  Half a loaf I guess.  The little wind up emergency weather radio squawked into life.  It was our only contact with the outside world, camped as we were out beyond cell coverage. The weather would be hot and sunny for the next week, though cold at night due to the altitude and the time of year.  The Bighorn dam would be releasing a lot of water in the river tomorrow as the reservoir was overflowing due to the recent rains.  Fly fishing organizations were said to be delighted and people near the river were warned to be careful near the banks as the sudden added flow would raise water levels and flow rates.  I made a note to check the times carefully to more.

 

“We’d better check those times carefully tomorrow,” said Juliette, “We don’t want to get swept away.”

 

While she was finishing preparing breakfast, I paged through her sex scenarios book.  Many of the ideas seemed goofy to me, but in the back there was a section of outdoors and secluded areas ideas.  Even the risky ones that in built up areas risked public exposure seemed doable in such a private setting as we had.  I hoped Juliette would not be too resistant to trying them.

 

After breakfast, we took a long hike along the cliff face, returning by the river front.  We found a deep pool where the water eddied due to a curve in the river bank, and just below that the main current of the river swept from one side right to the other.  We decided to keep our swimming upstream of the dangerous current.

 

Juliette and I swam then walked back with Juliette carrying her shorts.  The view of her butt only half covered was delightful, and not something I normally saw in full light.  As she walked, she had to stop regularly to pull the suit out of the crack in her butt.  As we walked, we talked.  It is often easier to talk seriously when not facing the other person directly.

 

“Patrick, I have been thinking that if we are going to continue to have sex scenarios, we should commit to seeing them through.  Commit to doing them right, like a contact.  What do you think?”

 

“I agree,  I looked in your book this morning, it had a number of outdoor and camping scenarios in the back.  I think we should do some of those as we are so secluded.  If we do both, the contract and the outdoor, it should be fun.”

 

“Well, let’s try it for one night anyway.”  Juliette was obviously as eager as I to use this vacation to forge a closer relationship.

 

“How will we choose which one, which idea?”

 

“Why don’t we pick one at random?” I asked.

 

“Done!”  She spit in her hand and we sealed the deal as I did the same and we shook.  We would write a more formal contract after dinner.

 

After eating and cleaning up, I got out the small portfolio I always carry and extracted a couple of sheets of heavy bond paper. I drew up a contract where we each agreed to take the scenario, as yet unspecified, but with a space to fill in the scenario number, seriously and do our utmost to complete it.  If one of us failed to totally complete the scenario with faithful dedication there would be a forfeit decided on by the other party.

 

I wrote out the fair copy of the contract in my best calligraphy hand using one of my fine fountain pens and signed using my second best ‘signing’ pen (my best was in my office).

 

Juliette had out her calligraphy brushes and entered her name in both English and Chinese Characters.  Then we kissed and turned to Juliette’s silly book.  

 

There were twenty-six different ideas, ranging from easy and short, progressing through longer to more difficult and kinky.  Juliette suggested using cards from a playing deck to represent the suggested scenarios, starting with hearts for the easier ones, and diamonds for the harder ones.

 

“Hearts are soft, so the first ones, then Diamonds for the harder ones.  Like Yin and Yang.  Aces low in each suit and we take the first one out of the deck,” she declared.

 

I agreed.  I shuffled the deck, then she reached out to cut the cards. I made a drum roll with my hands. She cut the half a deck about a third of the way  down, then dropped to cards, and turned over her cards.

 

“Five of Diamonds.  A more difficult one.  So, thirteen plus five is eighteen.  What is number 18, Patrick?”

 

She looked a little concerned at the higher number that had come up.  I leafed through the Outdoor section.

 

“Number 18: The Barbarian and The Slavegirl”

 

Juliette looked concerned, but swallowed bravely.  “Before we look, we should write the number into the contract, so we can’t back out. Then we are committed.”  We filled in the number and name of the scenario into the space I had left for it in the contract and initialled the change.

 

“Well, signed and sealed, read it out Patrick.”

 

I read: The Barbarian and the Slave Girl

 

One afternoon, a scantily clad Slave Girl has escaped from the caravan of her cruel owner and, panting and out of breath, takes refuge in the remote camp of a lone barbarian, far from his tribe. The two come together in mutual passion, but there is no change in her status. He marks her as a slave in the way of his tribe. The barbarian fashions a crude collar out of rope, and stripping her of her skimpy finery takes her to his crude skin tent, where they share a night of torrid lovemaking as the bound Slave Girl surrenders to the lusts the barbarian arouses in her. Lusts her former cruel master could never satisfy.  The former princess turned captive admits for the first time that she has become a true slave to the demanding barbarian.

 

This scenario is good for an adulterous wife and needs a remote camp or a securely fenced backyard.

 

“I’m not adulterous, or even married,” Juliette pouted. “Or even promiscuously hot like a Slave Girl likely is, but I will try, Patrick, I really will.  I promised, after all.  Are you going to strip me out of my swimsuit right here, or can we move into the tent and pretend?”  She was practically begging not to have to get naked outside the tent.

 

“No.  It says you are stripped of your finery outside the tent, er, cave. Change into your underwear so I can strip it off.”

 

“It will have to me my skimpy bra, the bralette.  Getting out of a sports bra is almost impossible, even if I cooperate with you.  I don’t really like wearing that outside.”

 

“I’m going to strip it off you anyway”.

 

“Oh, right.”  Juliette was not enthusiastic, but she turned to the tent.  She came out wearing the little bralette and the shorts she had been wearing over the swimsuit.  I shook my head. 

 

“Skimpy.  Not those shorts, not regular panties, a thong.”

 

“I don’t like prancing around in those, my butt hanging out like that!”

 

“Stripped of her finery,” I quoted.

 

“Oh yeah right.”  She turned back into the tent.

 

Juliette came out of the tent.  She had totally surrendered. The bralette was worn with one strap off the shoulder; the thong she had chosen was the bolder and skimpier of the two I had slipped into the bag: the red lace one.  She was going to play along totally, as she had agreed. But I wasn’t going to rush things.  I took her around the back of tent, into the birch grove. One birch had five main trunks growing out of the ground from a single root and a sixth that had died at some time and had fallen at about waist height.  Over time, its bark had peeled away over time and the bole of the trunk was weathered and smooth.  

 

While Juliette had been changing, I had been making my preparations.  I had two gold coloured ropes, two blue ones, and a single red rope.  I hoped by carrying out the first part of the scenario, the outside part, slowly, I could help rid Juliette of her excessive body shyness.

 

“Oh ho,” I boomed out, “what a pretty morsel of loot.  My tribe will regard me as a great hunter.”

 

Juliette winced at the volume of my voice.  But we had not neighbours to disturb here.

 

She kept her voice low.

 

“Oh no, I beg you, I am really a princess, my father will reward you greatly for my return.”

 

“Where is your father?”

 

“Away over the mountains”

 

“Too far.  I have you here now.”

 

I took her hands, binding them together in front of her with the red rope.  I threw the other end of the rope over a branch of a standing birch, and hoisted up her hands until she was standing straight up.  A strand of the blue rope went around her throat, and was quickly tied, but loosely enough that I could get two fingers between the rope and her lovely throat.  She gulped, but looked at me with trust.  A yellow rope followed the blue rope, a second blue and another yellow.  Juliette had four strands of alternate colour rope to form her collar, each tied to the other in an elegant and complex knot. The four coloured ropes hung from the collar knots down her body and pooled at her feet.

 

I started to braid the ropes together to make a pleasing pattern making a flat complex knot every four inches. As the braid reached the point where the cups of the bra came together, I said, “time to strip you of your finery!”  She was breathing a little quickly at this point.  I lowered her hands and untied them.  Then slowly, I pulled the straps down her arms, stripping her as I removed the bra.  I secured her hand behind, forcing back the shoulders and pushing out the breasts.

 

As I continued to braid, I touched, commenting on her likely price and the contours of her body. As I reached the level of the thong, I stopped.  She looked up hopefully, maybe we could continue in the tent? I took the ends of the rope and paraded her around the tent three times.  Juliette clearly wanted to get to the ravishing part and away from the parading outside part. I led the thong clad girl to the picnic table where we had signed the contract and told her to get up on one of the seats.

 

There she was, elevated, nearly naked. There was no crowd, but in her imagination, I am sure she felt she was exhibited to a whole tribe.  I had her turn around several times as though on an auction block, and then continued braiding the ropes together until finishing with a knot.  The total length of the braided leash fell to her knees.  I then had Juliette turn around, so she was facing away from me.  I cupped her buttocks; she had such a perfect bubble butt. Then slowly I pulled down the thong, finally having her step out of it. 

 

“Turn around and face me”.

 

She turned.  It cost her a huge effort of will.  Standing there in the evening sun, she was a beauty, the rope collar and leash proclaimed her a captive beauty.  She could not face me.  Her eyes were downcast. The crowd was only in her mind, but she was defeated. I reached up my hand to her.

 

“Come sit down.  We are almost done.  I just must make my tribal mark.”

 

Juliette Chen’s narrative.

 

It had all been so horrible.  More horrible than I had imagined it would be.  I thought he would tear off my underwear and drag me to the tent.  I would be exposed outside for only a few seconds. Even though I knew there was no one here by Patrick and me, it was all so difficult.  He took so long, over forty-five minutes to strip me of two pieces of cloth and put a rope around my neck.  There wasn’t much to those pieces, but in them, I was dressed, out of them I was a slut. And sluts don’t get married. When he tied my hands together in the air, I lost my last protection.  I couldn’t cover myself.  I had agreed not to, but this took away the option. And then he took forever to put that complex collar on my throat.  He was careful not to constrict my breathing in any way, but it felt like my throat wasn’t free to breathe any more.  I started breathing faster, sure maybe a bit due to excitement, but partly fear.

 

All the time he was working he was talking about my body, even the way the skin moved over my clavicles, how my breasts rose and fell.  As he talked he touched.  He touched me as he undressed me, caressing me, feeling me up, slapping my rear, putting his fingers in places.

 

For forty-five minutes he undressed me, touched me, paraded me around, made me stand on the seat of the picnic table so he could put me on display.  I was ashamed both of my nudity and the fact that he acted like he owned me.  I got aroused, but that was just his touch, not because I was tied up.

Patrick was in his clothes, but I was naked, I could feel the evening breezes across my body. I could feel them on my shoulders, my breasts, my thighs, it felt like a lover was blowing on my intimate places.

 

Patrick said he just had to put his mark on me.  I watched him get out his portfolio and take out his pen case; then he got out my writing brushes, he took two from the case and a bottle of ink from his portfolio.

 

Patrick placed the ink, a mug of water, and the two pens down beside me.  He stood very close to me.  He cupped a breast as he ran his other hand down the left side of my body, he circled my belly, ran his fingers through my nether hair, and slid his hand finally onto my hip, then to my thigh, just below my hip. His fingers traced a P, just as they had yesterday.

 

He picked up one of the brushes.

 

“Close your eyes”

 

I stood there, finally I did as I was told. My heart was beating wildly, the breeze caressed my body I had no idea what he would do.   I felt a brush touch my breast, lightly very lightly tracing a line around the nipple, up around the top, around the circumference.  I gasped.  The brush pulled away.  It touched my navel.  I was breathing quickly now.

 

I felt the brush touch my left thigh, high up, under the hip.  It was damp.  The wetness though felt like it was warm.  My mind told me it burned, even though it was only warm.

 

“I warmed the ink bottle in hot water,” said Patrick.

 

There was an ink line on my thigh now.  I felt a brush, a dry brush, tickle the hairs of my groin.  Then it lightly traced up to my navel. Then it pulled away.  The wet brush touched my thigh again, making another curve. The dry brush, touched me just below my hair, in the part I shave, around the lips, it tickled my clit, then pulled away.  In shiatsu massage, you can feel the hands of the masseuse hovering just above the skin. Patrick was doing that with the dry brush. Occasionally the dry brush would stroke me intimately, the rest of the time it just hovered, but I could feel it.  I could feel my lips opening, even though mostly the brush did  not touch them.

 

Then the wet brush again, another stroke on my thigh; the ink wet and warm.  I felt burned where I was painted or marked by the brush.  I could feel Patrick kissing me, hard on the mouth.  

 

“I’m going to blindfold you now” he said.  Even though I had kept my eyes shut, this was another level of autonomy taken away.  I was naked, outside, collared and leashed with rope, exposed, and now I was blindfolded.  I could not stay calm. My breathing was shallow and deep.  He sat me down, half reclined, my left hip turned towards him.  He parted my legs widely. He kissed my nipple and then started again with the dry brush. I could feel I was wide open, my lips engorged, flushed, hot, ready.  But the bastard would not take me to the tent, he kept teasing me with the dry brush, and then making another curved stroke with the wet pen, filling in the mark he was making on me.

 

“The mark is done.  I just have to wash the brush, dry it and put it away.  Not too many minutes now.”

 

I heard him swishing around the brush to clean.  My ears were so sensitive now, I was blindfolded.  I heard the squirrels chattering in the trees as they watched me being prepared, so hot I could almost come just by thinking about the dry brush.  The dry brush just grazed my nipples and then my lips, the ones on my mouth.  I jumped.  At first it had just felt like the breeze.

 

Patrick took off the blindfold.   I was crying from frustration and arousal.  “Ravish me you barbarian, ravish me.”

 

“Just a couple of minutes until the ink dries”  He took up the dry brush, gently touching my sex.  The lips were open wide down there, he tickled the inside.  He stopped, He put away my brushes and closed the case.  He closed his portfolio.  As he did so, I saw which ink he had used on me.  The bastard had used indelible ink. That mark, whatever it was, would last for days!

 

I twisted to see, it was a P.  P for Patrick, a curving feminine P, suitable to mark a Slave Girl. My thigh muscles were almost spasming, wanting to pull him inside those wide open lips.  Patrick calming carried our pens and inks into the tent to put them away.  I was left hot and tied on the bench seat of the picnic table.  He finally emerged, naked, and engorged.  I didn’t even care anymore if he did me outside or in the tent as long as it was soon.  Soon like now.

 

Patrick was meticulous to the words of the scenario.  He picked me up and carried me into the tent where he ravished me.  I was comprehensively ravished.  And then he did it twice more in the night.

 

I woke in the morning which was cold due to the altitude and pulled a blanket around me.  In addition to my sleeping bag, Patrick had brought some lovely warm wool blankets from Pendleton.  I was naked of course, for Patrick had not let me put on my nightgown. ‘Slave Girls don’t wear nightgowns.’

 

I opened the book to see what game we might play today.  I was hoping it was nothing like Slave Girl and Barbarian, that had been too embarrassing, being striped and fondled outside.  I opened the book and turned the page from the Slave Girl scenario.  And was totally shocked.

 

“Patrick, can you come here, please?”

 

“No, I’m building a fire come on out.”

 

I started to get dressed, then pulled off the jeans I had pulled on.  That was not in the spirit of what I had read.  So, entirely naked, not even cleaned up after what Patrick had done to me in the night, with a rope around my neck, that fell between my breasts to my knees, Patrick’s mark on my left thigh I went to show Patrick that we should have turned the page; that we had not read the whole scenario.  This was the rest.

 

On the next page the scenario continued: 

 

Over the next twenty-four hours around the camp the two fall into a tempestuous loving dominant submissive relationship.  

 

The barbarian parades her around, glorying in his possession of such a yielding captive. He chastises her at the slightest sign of disobedience, making her submit in all possible ways.

 

Suitable for established couples looking to change up their relationship, or two horny singles coming together for an adventurous weekend.  Can be combined with multiple warrior/Slave Girl couples for mix and match fun.

 

My naked Slave Girl degradation would continue for the rest of the day, until almost nightfall.  And I had insisted on that contract and signed it.