On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty One – by Tracker

 

Testimony

 

From Slave Fliss’s Narrative

 

A second night on the prairie.  The only reason I survived was my Navy training.  Even with my training though, I would not have survived if I had not grown resilient and strong in my three years as a slave to the Fricks. I learned to bend like the willow and accept what could not be changed.  I learned other things too, which were not relevant to survival at night on the plains, but I was able to make a fire last night out of dried animal dung which I started with making a friction bow to light some dried grass.  Such a fire makes considerable warmth without making a lot of smoke or a high flame.  Burning wood in this dry clean makes a smoke that can be smelled for miles.

 

Down by the river this morning I saw a couple swimming in the river.  He was wearing trunks, while she was naked and had a chain leading to a collar.  Is she a slave like me?  Was she kidnapped from the ranch?  More intelligence for my Masters if I can ever reach them.  I snuck further upriver towards the bridge before I drank.  I didn’t want them to see me.  

 

Well hydrated, but hungry, I knew if I could reach the bridge, I could reach the ranch. I need a master to be complete. I want to be protected in a strong man’s arms.  

 

I walked on my bare feet along the riverbank.  The sand and large rocks were kinder on the scratched and cut soles of my feet than the pebbles and harsh grasses of the prairie. After three hours I sat down to rest.  The sun was pleasant, not yet blazing hot, the birds were chattering, the river making pleasant water sounds.  I dozed a little.  I woke up when I heard the sound of voices.  Suddenly I felt a rope surround my body.  I was jerked off my feet by the lasso of a cowboy.  At least I hoped it was a cowboy and not one of my masters’ enemies. There was no struggle; how could there be, I was captured by men with ropes. It was a familiar and comforting feeling for a girl such as I am.

 

I was pulled along the beach to a place where four men were gathered.  Familiar voices reassured me I was in safe strong hands.

 

“Hello, Masters.  Slave Fliss greets you and thanks you for her rescue from your enemies.” Smith, the cowboy, whose bed I had been dragged from two nights before, looked down on me.

 

“A runaway slave is whipped at the very least.”  Master Smith seemed very tired and tense. I could not make him less tired, but I knew ways to ease his tension, and have him arise more relaxed.

 

“Slave Fliss begs for use, Master,” I said in my most piteous voice.  It had been two long nights and days on the prairie and I needed my tensions reduced as well.

 

“Throw her over your saddle. We have to keep scouting. There’s time enough for fun later.”

 

“Masters, I have news!”

 

“Later, we are looking for our enemies.”

 

“Please, Masters, listen, I have news about the enemies, about their communications and where some might be.”

 

“Speak quickly.”

 

In the Navy, where I served before I served the Fricks, I had learned to make quick accurate reports.  I spilled out what I had learned about a spy on the ranch, about communications betraying my masters’ plans and locations, about extra contractors reinforcing the Survivalists, and lastly about the camp of some strangers who held a slave.

 

I spilled out all this as coherently and quickly as I could.

 

Smith, who had dismounted while I talked, removed his lasso rope from around my body, and looked up at the boss who turned out to be Woodrow Frick himself. As Smith tied my hands behind my back, Woodrow spoke.  

 

“The stuff about the communications and the contractors confirms what we thought.  I will report to the ranch.  Then we will go back along the shore and check out this camp.  It may be the enemy or it may be that Lawyer and his slave. I would like to look in there and confirm she is actually a kajira, and that  he is what he says he is.”

 

Master Woodrow Frick spoke into a bronze-coloured cylinder, around six inches long with rounded ends and about 1/3 of an inch in diameter.  Smith had pulled me further down the beach, so I could not hear what Master Frick was saying.  I was curious, of course, but Master Smith knew the ways of slaves.  

 

Master Woodrow rode up, leading Master Smith’s horse.

 

“I have reported to the Lazy F.”  His American had an overlay of an accent which I could not identify.  The first I had heard of Master Woodrow was when he had returned from a long time away, but no one would say where.  

 

“We still have them on the run and are routing out stragglers. It is mostly the contractors now.  Let’s check out that camp and we can tick another grid off the list.  We will rest the horses there.  These are good horses, but they don’t have the endurance of a tharlarion.”

 

Master Smith looked at him.  He was as confused as I about what a tharlarion was; likely a new brand of ATV.

 

Master Woodrow shook his head, “Never mind, let’s ride, we need to check out that camp.”

 

As we rode, Master Smith took advantage of a tied squirming girl and felt my thighs, my bum, and the areas in between. He commented on how natural I juiced when touched by a man.  In polite company of course, he would have said oiled, but here there were no Free Women present.  

 

The casual familiarity with which he touched me was so comforting. I felt safe and at home.

 

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

 

From Patrick Masters’ Narrative.

 

It was about noon when the horses appeared from the direction of the river.  They were upon us before we knew they were there.  Later, I found out why they were so quiet and suspicious.  When they appeared without warning, bracketing me from two directions, I was upset and annoyed.  Of course I did not show it, for letting someone else see your reactions is to give away an advantage or betray a weakness. It is good to have both adversaries and friends underestimate you.

 

“Hello, we are about to make lunch.  Can I offer you some food? Juliette has just made coffee.” 

 

I recognized the cowboy with the naked girl over his saddle from that tense day on the ranch when I retrieved Juliette. She had looked a little the worse for wear after a day exposed to the wind and sun, not to mention the gaze of the entire round-up. I hoped she made a better presentation now.

I looked around: she was on her knees, back straight, knees apart.  We had been working on ‘positions’ again this morning. Juliette said she had been taught that one during her time of exhibition on the ranch.  The cowboy with the girl - I now recalled his name was Smith - dumped the girl from his saddle on the ground. She gracefully fell to her knees, her thighs were spread wide, wider than Juliette’s, but her hands were tied behind her so she could not place them gracefully on her thighs.  I noticed Juliette try to copy her grace.  She knelt up with her back straighter and widened her thighs. I felt proud to have her in my camp.

 

“I am Woodrow Frick.  I think you retrieved your slave from our round-up a couple of days ago?”

 

“Pleased to meet you Mr Frick.  I am Patrick Masters. Yes, Juliette had been swept across the river when the water was released from the Bighorn dam. Thank you for your graciousness in returning her. I deal in patent law in San Francisco, and we are on a little vacation.”

 

I mentioned patent law, because Mr Frick and his retainer seemed on edge.  Nothing is more boring and respectable and disarming of suspicion that being a patent lawyer, except maybe accountancy.  It is good to put the people one meets at ease and disarm suspicion.  Outsiders have no idea of the stakes involved or the viciousness of the legal fighting over patents.  No need to disillusion the outsiders.

 

I motioned Mr Frick and Smith to sit with me by the fire. Smith sat down after untying the slave girl’s hands.  She moved to kneel beside Juliette.  Despite the smooth grace of the unnamed slave, I think that Juliette was the finer looking of the two. Juliette strove to emulate the posture of the Frick slave, almost as if it were a competition.  I guess women are always in competition.

 

I offered coffee to Mr Frick and Smith.

 

“Would you like Fliss to serve?” countered Mr Frick.

 

“Fliss?”

 

“The kajira there, my half-sister named her.  Silly name, but it is just a name for a girl.”

 

I confess I was curious.  I told Frick to have Fliss serve. The girl got gracefully to her feet and approached us.  She took two of our enamelled camp mugs and looked around for a third. I indicated the camp utensils box.  She retrieved a third.  I pointed at the coffee, and the condiments, the UHT milk, the honey, and the little cakes I had purchased when in the town named Town.

 

Her movements were so delicate as she collected all the necessities for coffee service. When I could take my eyes off Fliss, I glanced at Juliette. More than the coffee was simmering. I wanted more than coffee.

 

Fliss enquired of Frick how he took his coffee.  Mr Frick, indicated that as it was my camp, I should be served first.  This is not the usual custom in the United States, but there was a bit of a foreign sound under his American accent.  Of course, I realized that he wanted me to drink first, just to prove the coffee was harmless. Such is the way in many suspicious cultures. I informed the kneeling girl I took my coffee without additions.  I don’t think I have ever seen coffee poured so sensuously. I swear she seemed to make love to the liquid with her eyes as she poured it so smoothly into the cup. She walked on her knees toward me, the cup held in two hands.  She knelt before me, eyes downcast a bit, then held the cup with two hands just below the cleavage of her breasts, then raised it up between them, holding the cup close to her body, raised it to her lips, and kissed the cup.  If the hot liquid burned her, she did not show it.  Then she lowered her head as she raised her arms offering the cup to me.  When her arms where at full extension, I took the cup.  I sipped from the other side. I had never enjoyed coffee more. The presentation differed a great deal from that of Starbuck’s when one is lucky to have one’s name approximately correct as a disposable cup is thrust at one.

 

“A simple, but elegant serve, suitable for a camp. Good girl, Fliss,” said Frick.  

 

The girl practically purred as she absorbed her praise. The kind words from Frick seemed to arouse her almost.  She repeated her actions, almost exactly, as far as I could tell, for Frick and Smith. What a beautiful girl, and so graceful. In that moment, I desired her so much. I would have paid a fortune.  I wondered how she had acquired such grace and if it was possible to gain some sort of training for Juliette to emulate such perfection in movement.

 

Frick smiled.  “She does have some good points, some training as a pleasure slave. She is wasted as my half-sister’s maid, but my sister is wilful and we let her have her way in small things.”

 

Over the coffee we talked of small things. Frick inquired if they could rest their horses for a while as they had been pushing them hard all morning.  “Hunting predators, vermin,” was all he would add about the morning’s activities.  I did not push. He would get to the point in his own good time. I offered to have Juliette make some sandwiches, he offered to have Fliss help in the making and serving.  I wanted to watch Fliss serve again, I gratefully accepted his offer.

 

If it was pleasant to have one naked collared woman in camp, having two was heaven.  Although I considered Juliette to be better looking, I may have been biased.  Fliss was undoubtedly more graceful though.

 

As we ate, Fliss served Frick and Smith. Juliette did her best to serve me in the same manner.  It seemed like a good deal of training would be needed for her to achieve the grace of Fliss. 

 

As we sipped more coffee after our lunch, Juliette knelt close to me.  I fed her a sandwich which she ate from my hand.  Frick was smiling with approval.

“Her training seems to be coming along.  Have you had her long?”

 

I counted back the days in my head. This was the third day since we had returned to the camp from the ranch, then there was the day Juliette had spent on the ranch, then the day  the river had risen and she had run away, then it was the day before we had read the scenario from the Imaginative Sex book.  

 

“It was six days ago that I marked her.”

 

“The mark is looking a little faded.  Wearing away. Would you like for us to have her branded?  As a courtesy?”

 

I thought fast.  The idea was appealing, but I wasn’t yet ready to go that far.

 

“There is something sensual in renewing the mark with brush and ink, so for now I will pass, but thank you very much.”

 

Frick looked disappointed; he must have wanted to return my hospitality.

 

“Would you like to have the use of Fliss for an hour?  She is needful and hot.  While not fully trained as a pleasure slave she should serve adequately.”

 

I thought quickly.  I had watched Fliss serve coffee, so I was sure her ‘service’ would be adequate indeed.  Was this a trap? Was this offer meant to be polite, and just as politely declined? After all, he, or his family owned this creature. Or would it cause offence if I declined.  And what should I offer in return?

 

“I would be delighted to make use of Fliss.  And while I am occupied, may I accord you the freedom of my camp. Juliette would be delighted to have you make use of her.  There is a slave ring by the fallen tree beyond the tent. She is used to being taken over that tree.  I would be interested in your opinion of her.”

 

Once I had decided I could not refuse Frick’s offer without him taking offence, I knew I had to reciprocate.  I hoped Juliette would understand that her use being shared was part of her slave contract.  If not, I had finished the quirt.  I would not allow her to disgrace me in front of these dangerous men.

 

From Juliette’s Narrative

 

I could not believe Patrick’s words: “I would be delighted to make use of Fliss.  And while I am occupied, may I accord you the freedom of my camp. Juliette would be delighted to have you make use of her.  There is a slave ring by the fallen tree beyond the tent, she is used to being taken over that tree.  I would be interested in your opinion of her.”

 

Since the arrival of these three in our camp, our idyll had been broken.  It was no longer just us two having an intense encounter.  I was naked again in front of strangers, although both these men had seen and touched me before.  I had squirmed when I recognized Smith - Master Smith that is.  I remembered his insistent fingers and my response.  I had been around naked collared women before when I was on the ranch, but this Fliss creature was not a captive, she was a full blown slave.  I could see where she had a mark on her thigh, her left thigh, just like mine.  Except not like mine, as hers was burned into her flesh.  I was so relieved when Patrick, Master Patrick that is, had declined the offer to have me branded in that way.

 

I hated her for her grace and fluidity in movement. Although I was sure I was better looking, she would draw all eyes as she moved.

 

And now she was to be fucked by Patrick.  My Master Patrick, not hers. Then Patrick offered to have these two men fuck me in return, just to get an opinion on me!  It was so insulting! Yet, I often wondered what it would be like to be fucked with people watching. It was not the thought of a respectable modest woman, but for this week at least, I was a naked slave, who had to obey orders. Besides I had been fondled in front of hundreds, had served that Captain on my knees as I took him in my mouth, so how could I complain now?  

 

It was totally legal for Patrick to do this too.  I had signed that contract.  To object would shame Patrick in front of other men, and I would be breaking the law. Besides, I am a lawful person.  

 

I heard myself saying, “Please use me masters, use my slave holes, let me serve you.”

 

A lot of the words came from my reading of Captive of Gor, of course, but the worst thing was that I at least, partly anyway, meant them. These past six days had made me so aware of my body, and I, with no clothes, could not deny my arousal.  Clothing lets us women make a pretence of uninterest in sex and sensual matters.  Since I had been denied clothing, I could not deny when I was aroused, which only made me more aroused.

 

As Smith led me away to the fallen tree branch, I watched Patrick tie Fliss’s hands together with some rope, then tying one end to the Slave ring he had set outside our tent while leading her inside.  It would be more supportable if he was not going to fuck her in the same place he used me.

 

Smith saw the fallen tree branch lying horizontally at such a convenient height to bend a girl over.  He bent me over the branch, securing my hands to the slave ring Patrick had placed at the other side.  His knots were not as elegant or fine as Patrick’s, but secured me just as well.

 

He remarked on my breasts, the ones Patrick loves so much.  I was glad he approved, both for my own sake and for Patrick’s.  I would not want him shamed by any shortcomings in his slave. He was pleased at how quickly I ‘juiced’, which is an awful word to apply to my readiness, but at least better than ‘moist’.  He stroked my left hip, remarking it was a pity I didn’t have a brand. Then, oof, he was in me.  I squirmed; I did my best to please him.  When I was free, I let men have me. I figured they would get their pleasure, and I didn’t have to do anything extra. Now I wanted him to think I was as good as Fliss, so I tried to remember what girlfriends had said about pleasing men, and what I had learned in class.  I whimpered, partly because I felt good, partly because men like that. I was rewarded with some intense orgasms, something I would never have guessed could happen when I was bound outside, bent over a tree branch.  I felt so helpless, and so alive.

 

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

 

From slave Fliss’s Narrative.

 

I am always so excited when I am given to a new man.  I love variety, and the challenge of learning how best to please a new master is something I love. This Master Patrick had such a lovely slave too. I was jealous of her looks. I am a beauty, I know that, but I always try to earn the good opinions of my masters.  When the love lights are low, and the masters cannot see us, we must earn good opinions by our deeds.  That is what my first Thorne, my first trainer said. Effort is all, and when a beauty goes to the effort, she is rewarded.

 

That Juliette, with her high tone name, is lucky Master Patrick is not a novice.  Juliette is too fine a name for a slave, though it is not my place to say so.

Inside the tent, through the thin walls, we heard the sound of Master Smith using Juliette.  She seemed to be enjoying her ordeal by the noise she was making. 

 

Master Patrick heard it too, “Let’s see if I can make you testify too.”

 

Testify; I had not heard that old-fashion phrase since I was a little girl.  I had been hushed when I asked what it meant. I learned to testify myself under the whip of the Thorne and the training of men.  And I testified for Master Patrick.  He had said he was a lawyer, and he made me testify. When he was done, he arose and left the tent.  I hadn’t been given any orders, so I lay there in the furs.  

 

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

 

From Patrick Master’s Narrative.

 

I composed myself and left the tent. I didn’t think it good manners to leave my guest alone.  Frick was drinking coffee and Smith was nowhere to be seen.  Juliette was bent over the tree branch, still tied, so I guess I had done the right thing in leaving Fliss tied in the tent.

 

Frick nodded as I poured myself some coffee from the thermos flask.  It was not as exciting as being served by Fliss.

 

“I have a few things to tell you.  Please regard them as confidential.”

 

I nodded, “I am a lawyer, a good one.  I understand confidentiality.”

 

Frick went on. “Our ranch was attacked, many of our people were killed, some were seriously injured. Someone, we don’t know who, backed the survivalists who live north of us to wipe us out to take over our range.  They hired contractors to help out.”

 

I must have made some demurral, but Frick went on, “yes, it happens. Law is spread thinly out here, and possession is 9/10ths of the law. That may not be a legal maxim, but a practical one.”

 

I replied that that was a true saying. Someone in possession with enough money has the actual control and is difficult to displace.

 

Frick nodded and named a prominent figure who is famous for owning a lot of western land.  “Not all that was acquired by free purchase, but if there are no heirs to complain….” Frick tailed off then resumed. “However, we are more difficult to displace than most, and we have family in Pittsburgh to call on if need be.”

 

“Frick Steel and the Frick Organization.” I offered examples.

 

“Yes.  It is surprising how few connect the ranch and the big Eastern steel company, even though we don’t try to hide it.”

 

I had done a quick Google search on the Fricks when I was in the Three Moon Saloon.  They were bigger than most people knew.  They didn’t get a lot of attention because they were privately held and didn’t seek publicity. To attack the Fricks was to be in tough because of their resources.

 

“I don’t think you are in danger here, but I want to give you this to communicate with us if necessary. We can’t get cell coverage here, we are too far out, and the cliffs limit radio to some extent. This is not cell technology.  This is something new that no one else has. Not known, not licensed.  I am going to need your word to keep entirely quiet about it.”

 

“You have it.  My work is in patents for technology and communications. Silicon Valley. I am so quiet, a lot of people don’t even know I am involved, until they find themselves fighting my patents.”

 

Frick took out a narrow cylinder, about the thickness of a fountain pen. He slid open a panel. It showed numbers from one to six.  

 

“Select a channel here.” 

 

He spoke into the end of the cylinder that was covered with a mesh like surface 

 

“Select voice.” 

 

“Voice selected.”

 

“Calling the Lazy F, Woodrow Frick speaking.”

 

“Go ahead, Mr Frick.”

 

“I have checked out the camp, and they are friends. I am leaving them a communicator which they will return when they leave the area.  They can keep an eye out for us in this area.”

 

“Very good.”

 

“End report.”

 

The mesh end of the bronze cylinder stopped glowing gold.

 

“If you select data instead of voice, you can send a data file.  You can tell it just to take the data from your phone or computer.”

 

“My phone and computer are protected.”

 

“The communicator can automatically bypass all that. It is far more advanced than anything else on Earth. We are supposed to have the only examples.”  He frowned as if he were worried that was not true.

 

Smith returned after attending to the horses.  He and I talked while Frick, with permission, took use of Juliette. She testified.  When Frick was done, he and Smith collected Fliss and rode off, with Fliss over Smith’s saddle.

 

As he had untied her, Smith complimented me on the quality of the knots I had used.

 

I took that as a compliment.