On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Fourteen – by Tracker

 

Patrick Explains the Law

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative. 

 

I had agreed to be  slave girl in a little fantasy game Patrick and I had been playing.  Somehow it had come to this; me giving a strange man a blowjob in front of a least a hundred people.  I had been naked on my knees, in the bright sunlight, striving to be as pleasing as I could be.  I had given the best blowjob of my life, because I cared for the first time that I be truly pleasing at that degrading skill.

 

How had this happened in just forty-eight hours? In addition to my public shame, I had shamed myself in a way that only I was aware of.  I had wanted that man to approve of me, and the pleasure I was giving him.  Somewhere inside me something had broken in my self-esteem. I was a naked woman on my knees trying to please a man who had mastered me.  I had no shame in serving in front of a huge crowd, my entire attention on his dick, pleasing solely with my mouth. To be sure, I had been soothed in my internal revolt by the calming presence that stroked my hair and encouraged me, but that made things worse.  The person who soothed me and made me feel better about performing as a slave girl was my jailer.  He secured and unsecured me to ropes, he switched me to better present myself, he encouraged me to display myself to better advantage.  And I felt grateful to him!  It is true he watered me, petted me, made much of me when I obeyed; but would not any farmer do as much for his stock? What was wrong with me that I felt gratitude that he was kind when I cooperated with my own subjugation?

 

Worse, I had felt a warmth in my sex when the Count had climaxed in my mouth.  I was pleased Patrick’s rope leash was still entangled in the folds of my sex. All this exposure had made me horny, even as I was shamed.

 

I stood between my sisters in shame and servitude: Lorna from the reservation, hoping for rescue from her brother Ira; and Kathy, shamed woman of the Traditional Ranch People, waiting on judgement from her family. Lorna and I had both served on our knees, while Kathy had been rejected because of her sunburnt body and ravished face.

 

“Don’t worry,” I said to her, “maybe you will be chosen next time. It will be all right.”

 

“How could you wish that on me? You are a monster.”

 

The girl was devastated. I realized what I had done.  I had spoken to her as if we would both remain slaves, naked and abused. Lorna just grinned.

“If her father doesn’t accept her back, she will indeed be ‘lucky’ time after time.”

 

“Shush, Lorna, you can likely return to your people, Kathy cannot.”

 

In the background we heard the words and the tolling of the slave bell as the survivalist women were, one after the other, declared slaves.

 

The official party, including the man who had used my mouth, moved off.  The sun beat down, the wind blew, and I wished I was not as aware of each nerve ending in my body.  

 

--------------------------------------------

 

Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

The weather radio finally reported that the bridges over the Bighorn would be open in a little over an hour. I put aside the nearly completed braided quirt and prepared for the rock climb up to the Subaru.  I intended to be the first in line to cross over to the Lazy F and get permission to search for Juliette. I needed to bring her back safe to camp. She must be terrified, alone on the prairie, or worse, captured trespassing. Once she was safely out of danger, we could discuss her disobedience, her discipline and the completion of her contract.

 

I drove as quickly as I could, subject to speed laws and safety concerns.  When I reached the bridge over the Bighorn, the water was still boiling as it passed over the weir under the bridge; the level though was clearly down from the day before.  The worker from the Montana Department of Transportation told me that he could remove the barriers in about fifteen minutes after completion of a final structural check.

 

While I waited, I listened to a podcast on patents in the Steel Industry.  A family named Frick from Pittsburgh and their private family company was mentioned as being in the forefront of metallurgical research in the US, competing with China, India, Germany, and a company named Steel Worlds in the UK. I wondered if there was a connection between the Fricks of Pittsburgh and the Frick ranch.

 

The man from the Department of Transportation, in a grubby orange High-Visibility Vest, was removing the barriers. He advised I could proceed over the bridge, and that the turnoff for the Frick Ranch, the Lazy F, was about three miles further on, on the right.

 

“You can’t miss it. They have a sign.”

 

I turned off at the sign and I now approached the Lazy F in my search for Juliette Chen.  I drove through the first set of gates just off the gravel road and drove a further half a mile until I reached a second set of gates.

 

Lazy F – Absolutely No Trespassing

 

The gates were closed. A small guard house, manned with a rough looking man stared at me.

 

To the right was a second smaller gate, 

 

Consulate of the Grand Duchy of Lutha

Admission on Official Business Only

 

The guard walked over.

 

“I’m looking for my girlfriend, she got lost when the river rose.”

 

“If you are looking for a woman, go through the Luthan gates.”  The pistol at his belt was not an old fashioned western gun but a modern automatic, a Glock. Clearly he meant business and it was not a rustic decoration.

 

The gates were open and beyond I could see corrals and a lot of activity.  I nosed the Subaru Forester over the Texas Gates Cattleguard and drove towards the activity.  Over the top of the rise was a Sheriff’s car and deputy Morrison, who had sold us our camping permits in Town.

 

I pulled up and lowered the window.  “Hello, Deputy Morrison, working today?”

 

“Hi, Mr Masters, no, just working private security for Honorary Consul Frick today.  What brings you here?”

 

“I’m looking for my girlfriend, Ms Juliette Chen. We got separated when the Bighorn river rose.”

 

“Maybe Randy Schlesinger can help you. He is sorting foreman today.  But I should warn you, Lutha has strict rules about trespassing.”  The deputy looked concerned.  “This is sovereign Luthan territory, I have no official authority here.”

 

“I know how that works. Maybe I can explain things to Mr Schlesinger.”

 

Deputy Morrison nodded doubtfully and grabbed at a youth running by.  “Caleb, please tell Randy Schlesinger I have a man here looking for his woman. Ask him to meet us at the loose woman display.”

 

The youth nodded and ran off.  The deputy took me by the arm and walked me through the chaos of the roundup.  There were cattle being herded every which way into different corrals, and horses the same.  The din was incredible.  Cattle lowing, calves bawling, horses neighing, cowboys cursing and shouting, cracking their cattle whips.  Those whips, or quirts looked just like the one I had finished braiding back at camp while waiting for the river to subside, so I could search for Juliette Chen.  I saw a mounted cowboy herding three barefoot women in short tunics or slips into a small pen.  They had steel collars around their throats.

 

I of course said nothing.  This was sovereign territory with different laws, and I could not interfere.  I was here only to obtain Juliette Chen, not change another country’s laws. The women were very beautiful. I wondered what it would be like to legally own one.

 

We rounded a corner around a small corral and a pavilion like tent and then I saw the most astounding sight.

 

It was a platform with a scaffold like pole across the whole platform and it displayed a number of women; naked women.  As we came closer, I saw Juliette in the middle of a row of women, all with their arms raised and tied in the air.  The platform was about six feet wide, twenty four feet long, all of fitted stone.  The stone was green and veined, and I believe it may well have been marble, but the deputy would not let me approach.

 

The women were all good looking, except that one was badly sunburnt. There was even an older woman there, but she was quite handsome.  Juliette stood out even in this company and in this condition as the best looking, at least in my opinion.

 

Juliette saw me then and cried out, “Patrick, Patrick,” and then burst into tears.

 

“Hang on, be brave,” I shouted back.  What a foolish thing to say, when she was tied on the platform.

 

The deputy’s grip was firm on my upper arm, so I just stood there taking in more of the details.  Gathering facts and thinking fast, like the lawyer I am.

 

All along the base of the platform, there were three marble (?) steps leading up to the level where the women were displayed.  At each end was a tripod, reaching about ten feet into the air.  Between the tripods ran a thick pole, like a telephone pole, the entire distance of the platform.  From this pole descended the ropes holding the arms of the displayed women.

 

Miss Chen had pride of place in the middle. She still wore the rope collar I had made for her, two circlets of the bright blue rope, and two of the bright yellow around her lovely throat, then the intricate knot at the front, the yellow and blue intertwined, then the braided blue and yellow roped descending from the knot to her knees.  I would know my own handiwork anywhere. Even at that moment I was proud of it.  At some point the leash had become pulled into her sex, during her struggles, no doubt.

 

I then scanned the other loose women - ’the Unclaimed’ - as a bronze plaque by the left tripod proclaimed them.  First there were two blonde fit women, like Viking queens, muchly depilated, looking proud and scared.  Next to them were two women with long hair that looked like they had not seen a salon for a long time, the hair thick and not shaped.  They were fierce looking, and had in addition to the ropes that held their arms above their head, a third rope that attached to a noose about their necks.  Clearly the cowboys were taking no chances on this pair getting away.  They looked like caged tigers.

 

After a gap there was a group of three in the centre.  The first was the sunburnt but pretty girl who when she saw me pleaded, “please, I am a Free Woman from the people, this is all a mistake, please get me down, this is a mistake, I am free.”  A glance from a passing cowboy quelled her.  Then Juliette Chen, then a woman who looked aboriginal, who was comely, but looked not too concerned, as though she was confident of freedom, though embarrassed right now.  At the end, four or five nondescript females who were nothing special and would bring little if there was a sale.

 

Then a tall authoritative looking cowboy strode up, “I am Randy Schlesinger, what can I do for you?”

 

I introduced myself then said I had come for my girlfriend, Miss Juliette Chen, which led to a conversation I didn’t wholly understand at the time.

 

“She is your woman?”

 

“Yes, the one in the middle, with the rope.”

 

Randy Schlesinger relaxed then, as though he was now on firm ground.

 

“You put the rope collar on her? That is your rope, your collar?”

 

“Yes, in our camp on the Bighorn, we were separated by the flood.”

 

“You used blue rope and yellow rope and you tied it on her?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you were separated by the flood, and she had no intent of trespassing?”

 

“No, the flood was a surprise.”

 

“Well Consul Frick would not want to take another’s property.  You assert she is your woman?”

 

“Yes.” I did not say more than that.  As a lawyer I know that talking too much causes more trouble than almost any other cause.

 

“Well, walk along the line and check them all out, as we don’t want any mistakes. You can start at this end.”

 

He stood at the foot of the platform and motioned for me to climb the steps. I stopped at first at the blonde Viking looking women. As I looked them over, I looked for an excuse for conversation. I had never been in a situation like this before.

 

“I am a lawyer, how did you come to be here?”

 

As their stories spilled out, I recognized them as the Danish girls who had helped cause this problem by interfering with Juliette getting out of the river by interposing their rubber raft.  They had verbally abused me, and flashed their breasts defiantly. The breasts, along with the rest of them were totally displayed now, though they did not look at all defiant.

 

After a time I interrupted their chatter.

 

“You are Danish?”

 

“Yes, we are Danish and protected by EU law, the EU charter of human rights, and the US constitution.”

 

A boy used a switch on their calves.

 

“We mean, yes Master, we are Danish.”

 

“You admit trespassing on the lands of the ranchers?”

 

“Yes, it was just a bit of camping though, Master.”

 

“You admit you knew it was forbidden?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

“You admit that you weren’t enslaved on the ranch land that is within the US?”

 

“Yes Master”

 

“You were only enslaved on this area, the consulate of the Grand Duchy of Lutha, where slavery is legal and neither US or EU laws apply?”

 

“Yes Master.”

 

“Then I can’t help you.”

 

“Can we appeal?”

 

I was clear now.  “There are no grounds for an appeal. When you were on US soil you were detained for trespassing, but not enslaved so you could not appeal against something that had not happened yet. When you entered the territory of the Luthan consulate, where Luthan law applies, you entered slavery-trespass protocol. Once you entered the protocol you were subject to judgement, and could not appeal until judgement was passed. But once you were adjusted a slave, you cannot appeal, because only a person can appeal and a slave is not a person but an animal under the law.”

 

A mounted cowboy was passing by, herding two or three cattle and smacked one on the rump, who complained with an outraged moo.

 

I gestured to the cow and turned back to the Danish women.

 

“You can no more complain about or appeal from your treatment than can that cow.  In the eyes of the law your status is the same.  In other territories the law may be different, but here is where you are, so you must accept that you are slaves and make the best of it.”

 

I turned to the foreman, Randy Schlesinger.

 

“Did I get all of that right?”

 

“I have never heard it put more clearly, Sir.”

 

I passed on to the two wild looking women.

 

“We don’t appeal, if we cannot remove our collars we don’t deserve the name wyld wymen.”

 

I said nothing which is best when there is nothing to be said.

 

Randy Schlesinger steered me past the group of three in the middle.  Juliette Chen was in my opinion the best looking on the stage.  I admit seeing so much naked female flesh had a powerful effect on me. So beautiful, yet so vulnerable.  I wondered what it would be like to live in a country where such slavery was legal.

 

The women at the end, indifferent as to beauty, began shouting about their rights as POWs, prisoners of war.  

 

“We are at war with an oppressive government and as free and sovereign people were occupying our rights!”

 

“They were rustling and ‘occupying’ our cattle,” observed Randy Schlesinger drily.  “Two of our people from Assistant Foreman James Hawkins’ crew were killed.”

 

“You have no case,” I told the scruffy women.  “You are not part of a regular army.  You are not wearing any uniforms. At best, even admitting all of your claims, you were mercenaries, contractors, and as such are not covered by the laws and conventions of war.  As either criminal captives or trespassers, you are indeed slaves beyond appeal.  Your detention and disposal is entirely legal, and therefore right.”

 

We turned to the group in the middle, with my Juliette in the middle.

 

The foreman stood close to Juliette.  Far too close in her personal space, she shrank away.  I noticed for the first time there were marks on her lovely body.

 

“Woman, do you belong to this man?”

 

“Yes, no, he is my boyfriend.”

 

“Woman, is this the man who put the rope around your neck?”

 

“Yes, yes, he is.”  Juliette was almost in tears now.  She must have been through a lot hanging then on the platform.

 

The foreman turned to me.  “Did you put that leash on this woman?”

 

“Yes, I did.  Two days ago.”

 

“Did you braid that collar around her neck?”

 

“Yes, two days ago.”  Never answer more than you are asked.

 

“Did you know that silver and gold or yellow are Gorean slave colours?”

 

“No, I did not.”  I didn’t know what Gorean slaver colours were, but wanted to keep to essentials.

 

“Well, we will still extend to you all professional courtesy.  Did you make that mark on her hip?”

 

“Yes, I did.  P is my initial.”

 

“It looks permanent enough and would do well until you have time to brand her.”

 

Randy Schlesinger turned to a youth who was standing beside Caleb, “Alex, climb up and slacken her ropes. We are returning her to her owner.”  Alex grinned and scampered up a ladder by the tripod and ran out onto the varnished spar, easily maintaining his balance.  He loosened the ropes, and as he did so, Juliette’s wrists were released and she collapsed on the ground.  While Caleb neatly coiled the ropes, I massaged Juliette’s wrists and calves and helped her down off the platform. After about ten minutes she was ready to walk to the Subaru.

 

Deputy Morrison gripped her by the arm to escort her through the confusion of the round-up camp, while Caleb and Alex walked behind us.

 

I opened the passenger side door, and Caleb darted in and placed a piece of old rug on the seat.  “That should protect the seat, sir.”  He grinned.  I gave him five dollars.  He winked. I gave another five to Alex, who thanked me, telling me how good Juliette had been.  I wasn’t sure how to take that so I let it pass.

 

I was just about to help Juliette into the car, when Deputy Morrison produced a short piece of rope and tied her hands behind her back.  “Just so she doesn’t squirm and cause an accident.”  He grinned.  It was a simple, but effective knot.  Then he put her in the seat like the police do on TV, protecting her head with his hand.  I reached in and did up the seat belt, the shoulder belt passing between and separating her breasts.  She looked lovely.

As I stood up, a cowboy came by.  He was leading three naked women with ropes around their necks.  They looked like they had been out in the bush on the range for at least a couple of days. All three looked very lovely.

 

“One spoke to Morrison,  “Deputy you have to help us, we are Americans, they can’t do this to us. Help, help.”

 

The deputy shook his head.  “I have no authority here, this is sovereign territory of Lutha.  You must appeal to the Luthan Consul.”

 

“But we were kidnapped, we don’t know how we got here.  I am a student at Harvard. My tuition for next year is already paid.”  She wailed but the cowboy just swatted her rear with his quirt and she subsided in tears.

 

The third girl said with quiet dignity, “I am a graduate of the University of Reading, and I have a degree in conservation of documents. I don’t care what you Americans get up to with your own people but you can’t do this to an English subject.”  The cowboy raised his arm, and she too subsided.

 

I said nothing, for, while the law may be sometimes unfair, it is the law and must be enforced if we are to have a civilized society. I believe firmly in the law of property.

 

I got into the driver’s seat of the Subaru.

 

“Please Patrick, can I have some clothes?” Juliette Chen said in a defeated voice.

 

“Why now, particularly? You didn’t try to cover yourself with your hands all the way as we walked through the round-up?”

 

“What was the point?  By that time all the men had had very good looks at me exposed.  I had already been shamed in front of those particular people.  I was on the platform for over six hours, I was touched and poked and felt and worse.  Everything I have to see, they saw. But now we are leaving I want to have something to cover my nakedness from exposure to others.”

 

“I can’t while we are on the ranch.  Not if I want them to return you to my custody.  In their eyes you are my property, and we must behave as such.”

I drove to the ranch gates.  Before I turned out of the ranch road to the road back to our camp, I stopped the car and turned to Juliette.

 

“Juliette, you were exposed to all those men because you ran off to bathe in the river and would not come back.  You ran away from the camp and your exposure was a consequence of that.  Now I am going to drive us back to the camp.  By the contract, you owe me another day of service, and a forfeit for running off.  We will discuss the matter of clothes when we return to camp.  If anyone sees you on the way to the camp, that is a consequence, not a punishment.”  I opened the moonroof of the Subaru and drove off.  I had one hand on Juliette’s naked thigh, and more than half my mind on the English girl with a degree in Conservation of Documents.  What a pity one could not have her working for my firm in San Francisco, naked in a collar.  But that would not be legal there.  But she had a lovely body with a lovely smile. There is something about that peaches and cream complexion some English girls have.