On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Sixteen – by Tracker

 

Aftermath and New Beginnings

 

Containing Narratives of Slave Fliss, Slave Viki, Slave (?) Juliette, The Mysterious Smith, and Patrick Masters.

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

I hated the drive from the ranch back to our hidden valley.  The Montana Department of Transportation man at the bridge could see me naked in my seat.  He didn’t seem shocked or curious, he just gave Patrick a friendly wave.  As if cars driving by with a naked woman was no big deal.  Maybe around here that was the case, which was scary in its own right.  On the road back to the ranch, I was thankful we met little traffic, but the people driving big transport trucks or even the large pickups they drive out here could look through the windshield or down through the moonroof and see all of me.  After the day I had, I was almost past caring who looked at my naked body, and at least they couldn’t touch me. Small mercies. When he wasn’t shifting gears, Patrick would place his hand on my thigh.  He would touch my inner thigh, slowly, gently, softly stroking closer and closer to my sex.  I grew frustrated, as he never quite touched me, just kept me simmering, almost reaching the boil, but not quite. He was so very different to the cowboys with their grabby ways. But like Mick Jagger, I just couldn’t get any satisfaction. Patrick can sometimes be quite cruel.

 

At the top of the cliff where we would need to climb down to reach our hidden campsite, Patrick carefully backed the Subaru into a position hidden from the road and from any passing hikers.  He drove the Subaru over rock so there would not be any tracks.  Patrick always tried to anticipate any contingency. He left me sitting in the car, secured by a seatbelt I could not undo with my hands tied behind my back, while he changed from his lawyer clothes into his climbing clothes. I wondered if he had brought up my climbing clothes and gear so I could safely climb down. 

 

“Patrick, you may need to spot for me on the climb down, I am weak after being displayed for an entire day.”

 

“Juliette, that will not be a concern. You need not worry about climbing. I know you are weak.  I am worried, too, about you running away again.”

 

“Patrick, I am naked and collared.  I won’t run away.”

 

“That didn’t stop you yesterday.”  

 

Oh, lord, did this whole nightmare just start yesterday? It seemed like it had been weeks, since the deluge washed me away.  Patrick was getting out more ropes from his reserve in the back of the Subaru than really we would need to climb down safely.

 

“Patrick, what are you doing?”

 

He ignored me, and kept preparing his ropes.  There was more of an edge in my voice now.

 

“Patrick, what are you planning.”

 

“Curiosity is not becoming in a slave girl.  I heard that a couple of times on the Lazy F ranch. So be silent until you have permission to speak. You shall address me as Master or Sir.  Is that clear?”

 

I had learned in the past day that naked women do not dispute with clothed men.  Men who are bigger and stronger and dominating.  Patrick was very dominating as anyone he has cross-examined in court can testify.  Testify, that is what Patrick makes them do all right.  Testify, an old term for a man making a woman call out helplessly during sex. My mind keeps returning to being fucked. I suppose that is only natural in a naked woman tied waiting on a man’s pleasure. 

 

“Kneel.”

 

I knelt, clumsily because of my tied hands.  I knew there was a way of doing it gracefully; I had seen some of the ranch slaves, the kajirae do it, but I didn’t know the trick of it. When I do something I want to do it well, and I didn’t like Patrick to think me clumsy. What a strange way to think, my mind told me, wanting to be good at submission and being raped by my boyfriend.

 

Patrick began trussing me up like a bundle.  When done he took me over to the projecting branch from which we had lowered our gear on the day we had arrived. He began to connect me to the lowering pulley. 

 

I screamed. Patrick slapped my ass and told me to shut up.  I was terrified. I like to be in control and I had not been in control for some time.  This was worse than being strung up in front of all those people. My trussed body swung out over nothingness and Patrick began to lower me foot by foot into our hidden valley where we had been so happy the first day. Slowly, as to not swing me into the cliff, I was lowered down.  Patrick, even with the mechanical advantage of the pulley, was very strong. I swung in space for I don’t know how long until I reached the ground.  When I landed like baggage on the valley floor, Patrick shouted he would climb down.  It was a somewhat difficult climb, I knew it would take about fifteen minutes. I waited, trussed like a Thanksgiving Turkey, while Patrick negotiated the climb.  It seemed to take forever.

 

While waiting for Patrick, all I thought about was what an unscrupulous man could do with a woman who was tied as I was.  After all the stimulation of the day, I found I actually was hoping Patrick would be moved to take advantage of me!

 

When Patrick reached the bottom with his gear, and the lowering rope and pulley (he did not want to leave evidence of where we were), he came and stood over me.

 

An atavistic voice from our savage past forced words I could not believe from my mouth. I was shocked as I uttered them.

 

“Use me, Master, fuck your helpless slave girl, fuck me hard.”  I shut up, I was horrified I had uttered the words. I knew I had agreed by that stupid contract to be his slave girl, but this shocked me because I wasn’t role-playing. I wanted him.

 

Patrick did not say anything, but he did oblige me.  He obliged me thoroughly. He made me testify.  Patrick is a very good lawyer.

 

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When Patrick was finished, he carefully untied me and coiled the ropes he had used to lower me.  He then picked up his pack and, taking hold of my leash, lead me to our little camp.

 

I wanted to speak, but he shushed me.  He just looked at me, bedraggled, after the day hanging in the sun and wind, skin rough, hair hanging lank.  He smiled.

 

“You broke your contract.  You disobeyed as a slave girl, you ran away, you were away from camp for over twenty-four hours, you displayed yourself for others.  You owe me twenty-four hours of service from the contract, plus a forfeit, plus a punishment for disobedience and running away.  Can you dispute any of this?”

 

I knew a contract was a contract, and I am a law-abiding woman.  I had signed the contract of my own free will, and I had run away out of fear of being seen by those Danish girls.  I shook my head. “No, Master, I cannot dispute any of that.”

 

“Good.  For disobedience, ten strokes with my razor strop.  It would be the quirt, but I haven’t quite finished that yet.  Of course the added day of service to replace the day you didn’t complete when you ran away.  I will tell you in the morning how many more days I will add to your service as a slave girl, which will be the penalty for breaking the contract.  Do you understand?”

 

I nodded.

 

“Speak up”

 

“Yes Master, I understand.”

 

Patrick, bent me over the picnic table and used the leather razor strop on me.  Ten times. It hurt. All the time, in my line of sight was the nearly finished quirt of Patrick’s.  During this long day, I had learned to hate and fear those things. 

 

Patrick ran his hands over my skin.  It was rough and dry.

 

“Let’s get you washed and cleaned up.”  There was warm water in a solar heated bag we used for showers.  Patrick washed me tenderly and then used all the lotion we had to sooth my skin.  My skin was so sensitive after being naked for two days and available to stimuli, so the soothing motion of his hands sent me to sleep, even though I hadn’t eaten for nearly thirty-six hours.

 

When I awoke, Patrick had made a meal and he tenderly fed me.  I think he really does care for me, but he still made me eat on my knees.  He had prepared all my favourites.  I am so confused by our relationship right now.  After feeding, Patrick picked me up and took me to the tent.  I was asleep before he put me down. In the night, he awoke me to have me testify again, then I immediately fell again into a deep slumber.  I felt secure in his arms, even while wearing his collar and leash.

 

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From Smith’s Secret Diary.

 

I was on guard this evening outside a late-night conference of Mr Wilson Frick, Mr Woodrow Frick, some of the assistant foremen, including James Hawkins, and my own foreman, Randy Schlesinger, and a few others. The Prime Minister and his aide had gone to bed. Mr Wilson Frick laid out his concern that the ranch had been penetrated by a spy who had progressed to aiding the Survivalists in their attacks on the ranch. He agreed with Hawkins and Woodrow Frick that the danger had increased from just a nuisance, as the group seemed to have added dangerous reinforcements and information from inside our ranks. He said they would be using new technology to scan for transmissions.  Off world tech, he stressed that.

 

I have three takeaways from this. The first is I am right in using dead drops and other old school spy craft and not using any tech when I report.  The second is, I am not the only spy on the Frick’s Ranch. The third is, in a showdown, I will be on the side of the Ranch.  Surprisingly, I have developed a loyalty to this place.

 

From Viki’s narrative.

 

My Master’s agent on the Lazy F has been sending transmissions on his low power broadcast all day.  I believe this is foolish, but I am commanded to obey him.  He is adamant that the Fricks don’t have the tech to intercept his messages, but I am the comms expert and know this to be foolish. In addition he should not be sending so much, and especially not in daylight. He could get caught. But I am a slave, he is free, and I am commanded to obey him.

 

The other aspect of his transmissions that worry me, is the coded messages I am commanded to beam, not to my masters, but to a different location.  I know I am commandeered to obey him in all things, but I am worried he is betraying my Master in Montreal, but the agent has commanded me to report nothing of this.  He claims it is for compartmentalized security, yet I smell betrayal.  Yet I obey.

 

I find it odd that, since I was returned to Earth, I miss my collar. The anklet and app is just not the same. My hip still itches where the field dressing was used to remove my brand.  The pain of it is still seared into my mind, yet it is so strange, it is not on my hip.  I find myself running my fingers over where it was, like running your tongue over the place where a missing tooth was.

 

I miss the cleanness of the air and water on Gor. Montana is, I suppose a close second, but it is not the Counter-Earth.  I grew up in Montreal, yet when I was returned to the city to serve the Montreal Family, it seemed small and dirty to me.  Still it has this advantage over Montana: in Montreal you can find decent coffee, the world’s best bagels and great food.

 

The site where my brand was itches horribly.

 

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From Fliss’s Narrative

 

I adore being on the Ranch.  The Lazy F is so much better than Pittsburgh where I was a Lady’s slave.  Here there are men constantly wanting to put me to my proper use.  So much better than being scolded for having slave needs by Mistress Chelsea.  Of course I have slave needs: I am a kajira!  I have to stay out of the way of that Granny Mowbray.  She is scarier than the resident Granny in Pittsburgh. The Pittsburgh girls, especially Fleur, warned me about her, and boy, was she right!  That nice Captain from Lutha has asked for me, he looks like a demanding fellow.  I hope he is.

 

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From Juliette’s Narrative

 

I slept late the next morning, the fourth of my slavery, the fourth deprived of clothes.  It was past ten when I awoke.  My neck was free of a collar.  I had complained about the irritation from the rope the night before. Sometime while I slept, Patrick, Master Patrick that is, removed my collar from my throat and secured it to my left ankle.  He secured me to a tent peg just outside the tent and left me just inside.  When I got up there was cold food within reach on the picnic table and a note, placed under the now finished quirt.

 

            Juliette,

 

I was up early and have gone to Town for extra supplies.  We will need more food as I have decided to extend  your period of servitude by seven days as your penalty.  I will inform my work, and yours, that we will be away the extra time once I have cellular coverage. Eat and wash yourself in preparation for my return.

 

-       P

 

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From Patrick Master’s Narrative.

 

As soon as I reached Town, I left messages at my work and hers that we would be another week. Both workplaces knew that this might occur, so there will be no trouble. I am enjoying having a slave, especially a woman as exciting as Juliette, to return to.  I need a legal way to keep her, or else this will be nothing but a pleasant interlude.

 

When I drove onto the ranch, I had not expected that so many collared and about to be collared women would excite me so.  The best part is that it is all legal.  I don’t want to do anything illegal, it is entirely against my nature.  Of course, many of these women may have been abducted illegally elsewhere, but once they were adjusted slaves on Luthan territory, their fate was legal and therefore right. Of all of them, beside Juliette of course, I was most taken with that enslaved Englishwoman from the University of Reading. She was quite luscious.  If only remote working was more advanced, I would consider moving my practice to either the Frick ranch or the Grand Duchy of Lutha.  But even in 2016, we are not quite there. Soon perhaps.

 

I reached Town at 7:15, which was far too early for anything in a small town to be open except the diner.  I had a quick breakfast but still had time to kill.  Driving around Town,  I passed the Three Moon Saloon, which was a twenty-four hour establishment.  I went in for a drink.

 

The bartender from four days earlier was there, and one of the waitresses.  She was dancing, not very well, on one of the small round stages with poles to either side of the bandstand.

 

“What’ll ya have, Mac?”

 

“What do you have for whiskey?”

 

“I have $6 whiskey and $42 whiskey, Mac.”

 

“That’s quite a gap in quality.” I didn’t call him Mac, although I wanted to.  

 

“No gap at all, Mac.  Same whiskey in fact. Difference is how it is served.  For six dollars, I pour it in a glass, which at this time of day is likely to be clean.  For Forty-two dollars, the server of your choice serves it to you for an hour in one of those alcoves.  Of course, right now, there isn’t any choice cause that one is the only one on. Another one comes on at 8:30.  So, $6 whiskey or $42 whiskey for ya, Mac?”

 

“Six dollar whiskey, please.”

 

“For the please, you get a clean glass for sure, Mac.”  Bartender smiled and poured a measure of whiskey.

 

“By the way, where is that girlfriend of yours, Mac? She was looking mighty fine when she was in the other day, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

 

“She’s all tied up right now.”

 

The bartender nodded.  I wasn’t sure if he took me literally or not.  In this part of the country, he just might have believed me.  If so, he wasn’t shocked.

 

The whiskey wasn’t worth the six dollars I paid, so I drank it slowly. Time passed while old country music played over the loudspeakers. I got up and looked at the jukebox.  What was available for my coins wasn’t any better than what I was already listening to for free.  I know there is good country music but none of it was available at the Three Moon.  Another server came on in a crop top and very short shorts.  The stores were still not open. Just thinking about Juliette and Miss Reading University serving me had made me horny.

 

I walked over to my friend at the bar and ordered a $42 whiskey. I paid him sixty, telling him the extra was so I didn’t have to drink the whiskey.  I picked the girl who had been dancing when I came in.  She seemed about twenty-one or twenty-two, except for the eyes, which seemed like they had seen things.

 

She led me towards the nearest alcove, but suddenly changed her mind and took me to the farthest one.  The curtains, unlocked with a key, then we entered.  There was a mattress with some sort of fake fur on it, and rings at each end.  There were ties and quirts hanging on the walls.

 

“You liked like you might want something special.”  She undid her top, and slid out of her short skirt.  She wore nothing underneath.  She looked at me.

“It’s been ten years since I was allowed a nether closure.”

 

I looked shocked and started to leave.

 

“I’m a lot older than I look, I am nearly thirty-five. I’ve had some special work done.  You should tie my hands. Do you want to use bracelets or rope?”

 

I chose rope. There was also a steel collar in the alcove. I snapped that on her throat too, as it reminded me of the women on the Lazy F, especially Miss Reading University. When we were finished, we lay together.  I asked her name, while I made patterns with my finger on her hip.

 

“Viki, with a K.  I know Viki always has a K, but I mean only a K, no C.” I traced a K pattern, in a soft wavy typeface, on her hip.  She stiffened but relaxed a little as I continued tracing  K on her hip.

 

It was near the time the stores would be opening. I put on my clothes.

 

“Aren’t you going to untie me?” 

 

“I paid for the hour, you can lie here and think until it is up.”  I thought that might be the sort of thing a Master would do. I was surprised when she replied, “Yes, Master.”

 

I liked the sound of that.

 

Viki’s Narrative.

 

Who was that man?  He wasn’t one of the cowboys from around here.  He handled me almost like a Master. It made me quite nostalgic for my days as a Mat and Comms girl on Gor after our base was overrun and I was first collared and branded.

 

Maybe he was a man sent by my Master in Montreal to check up on me, or maybe a man from one of the other Families? Should I report this too?

No, my days of making up my own mind ended the day I was collared. Just keep quiet and serve, girl, for curiosity is not becoming a Kajira, even an undercover one.

 

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Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

I went into the general store and bought enough groceries for a week or more. I looked around, looking for something like a dog collar or chain for Juliette’s throat.  The rope had been chafing her, and when I removed it this morning, I saw how much sun she had got during her ordeal the day before.  I wanted to replace the rope with another collar, as the pale circle around her neck just looked so attractive. I went to the woman behind the counter.  She was dressed in 19th century garb.  

 

She understood immediately, and rather too well.

 

“Ah collars and such.  They are behind the curtain. Janice here will show you.”

 

Janice was dressed in regular clothes, but seemed very reluctant to sell collars and such. She dragged her feet, and looked around for another clerk, until the woman behind the counter told her to get on with her job. Mr Williams was not in until noon, so she would just have to do.  I think she hissed ‘slut’ at Janice as well, but I am not sure, for she had lowered her voice.

 

Behind the curtain was an assortment of collars, chains, restraints, whips, and blindfolds that would have been considered a good collection in San Francisco.

 

“All our gear is made by Frick Restraints of Pittsburgh, nothing but the best.” She seemed very uncomfortable to be there.  Juliette is almost five foot ten inches but slim and athletic with strong shoulders.  I considered she would take a collar one or two sizes larger than Janice.

 

“What collar size do you take, Janice?”  She was both flustered and indignant.

 

“I don’t know, I have never worn a collar, I don’t want a collar.”

 

I picked up one I thought might fit her.

 

“Try this one on, just for fit and size.”

 

“No way. I’m not being collared.”

 

“Do you work on commission? I’m sure your boss would not like that you are not helping out a customer.”

 

She sighed while I snapped the collar around her throat. It was very snug.

 

“Too tight, too tight, get it off me, get it off me now.”  Janice was almost hysterical

 

It took me a little time to figure out the mechanism of the lock and make the key work.  Janice was gasping for breath, but was more upset than a temporary shortness of breath should make one.  It is almost like just wearing a collar induced a short of panic in her.

 

Janice almost hyperventilated as I fastened the next largest size of collar onto her.  She was very subdued as I picked out two in the next largest size for Juliette. I also picked out a chain leash, some wrist and ankle shackles, some handcuffs, and an arrangement that consisted of a chain that connected to the collar and descended the length of a woman’s body, to ankle cuffs with a connection for handcuffs.

 

“That is called a sirik,” Janice informed me.  She still seemed troubled by the collar around her neck but wanted to earn her commission.

 

I collected the items I was buying and headed through the curtains to pay at the counter.

 

Janice whispered urgently, not wanting to draw attention, “you forgot to unlock the collar from me.”

 

“No, I didn’t.  It suits you. Keep it.  I will pay for it at the counter.”  Janice ducked back behind the curtain as I paid and left the store.  I got in the Subaru and headed back to camp.

 

At the outskirts of Town I stopped to top up the Subaru’s fuel tank. The gas station was a rambling structure and contained a couple of other businesses in the strip mall in addition to the kiosk where I paid for the gas.  There was a small convenience store, an outlet selling cheap camping accessories, another selling overpriced souvenirs, and a second-hand bookstore.  I poked around in the bookstore, looking over its small selection for something to read, now we were staying longer.  I found two fantasy book: Nomads of Gor with a cover illustration of a Warrior and a slave girl for me; and Captive of Gor, with a slave girl kneeling at the feet of a Greek Warrior, for Juliette.  They seemed to match our current situation.  It was only while I was driving away it occurred to me, these books were not shelved in the fantasy section with the others of their ilk, but were in non-fiction, in the history section.

 

The bored kid at the gas kiosk had mentioned that the round-up must be going well, as there had been loud fireworks at the Lazy F overnight.  

 

From what I had seen yesterday, the round-up was going very well indeed.