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

 

Training Juliette

 

From Slave Juliette’s Narrative

 

Oh, that Tiffani, ‘I’m a Dancer’, she makes my blood boil. Everything about her annoys me.  Her sweet green silk dress or tunic or whatever it is.  Her constant smile and sucking up to Patrick.  Her dancer’s legs and supple torso. But most of all her smoothness in movement, her grace, her walk.  I envy all those.  I admit it. Tiffani is a better slave than me.  Natural aptitude no doubt.  

 

She mocked my name!  In front of Patrick, she told me that Juliette was too grand a name for a slave, that it should be shortened to something like Juli.

“If you were a dancer, or some kind of valuable slave you might be called Jewel, but a mat and kettle girl like you is no jewel, you should be Juli.”  Patrick just ignored this abuse.  He was honing his knife and his razor.

 

I want to be the best slave I can be to Master Patrick, at least for the rest of my sentence to slavery for running away.  But I am limited in being a slut by the whole of my upbringing and my desire to be respectable. But I am doing my best.

 

At supper time it all came to a head.  I was washing the vegetables to place upon the grill.  Tiffani waltzed up, her green silk covering was swinging. (how she made it do that, I did not know).  She ordered me to take the buckets and go to the river for more water. 

 

I ignored her.  I knew we had plenty of water. I had gone to the river, at Patrick’s orders, only an hour before.  All the water containers were full. When I returned, she was demonstrating to Patrick how a slow sensuous dance could arouse a man, even by not touching him.  Just as I was filling the containers, Patrick took her by the hand and led her into the tent.  So I knew there was plenty of water.

 

“Don’t refuse an order, slave girl!  How will you learn to be a proper kajira if you can’t obey orders?”

 

I ignored her.  I picked up the knife to trim the vegetables to similar lengths.

 

“Must an order be repeated? You are low girl in this camp and must obey me, the first girl.”

 

She advanced towards me.  I ignored her.  I put the trimmed vegetables in a bowl and began rehydrating some mushrooms.

 

Then she slapped me!  Twice!  I just stood there shocked. Tiffani had pinched me a few times through the day in a sly way, but I had ignored her because I did not want to bother Master Patrick.

 

I was bigger and stronger than Tiffani was, I stepped close to her.  What I did not understand is that strength is nothing if one is untrained to use it. Tiffani was prepared.  She kicked me in the stomach.  Those dancer’s muscles knocked the wind out of me.  Then she scratched me, four long red marks down my face.  I finally moved towards her.  As Tiffani dropped into a fighting stance, Patrick grabbed my wrist.

 

“What is going on here?

 

Tiffani got in her complaint first.  “She won’t obey, she refused an order, now she is physically resisting her punishment.”

 

I was trying to answer, but Patrick’s loud voice drowned me out.  It silenced the nasty dancer bitch too.

 

“What gives you any idea you have any authority in this camp?  My camp!”

 

Tiffani cowered and dropped to her knees.

 

“I thought it was obvious Master that I was first girl. That one there is so clumsy in her movements and responses, and you have not allowed her any clothes and…”

 

“I am not clumsy!  I teach yoga!”

 

“Silence.” Master Patrick is very emphatic when he is angered beyond control.  I have only seen it a couple of times in the two years we have been going out, and never directed at me. Even when he collected me from the Lazy F, when I had run away, he was cold and controlled.  

 

Patrick turned to Tiffani.  She was shivering with fear.  I did not know then the kinds of punishment a slave girl of the Fricks, or other Gorean influenced families could expect at the hands of their displeased masters.

 

“I did not tell you that you were in charge.  I did not ever indicate to you in any way that you were over Juliette. You are kept in this camp as a courtesy to Mr Frick and the Lazy F.  If anyone here is the low slave, it is you.”

 

Through tears, Tiffani got out, “I was only trying to help, Master.  I am always over most of the other kajirae, I am a dancer.”  The rest was lost as her crying drowned out any more words.

 

I was thrilled that Patrick was defending me.  He cherished me. At that moment I harboured hopes that when all this was over, he would still want to marry me.  Of course, our marriage would be different from what I had originally dreamed of.

 

“You have disrupted my peace and contentment; you have damaged my slave.”

 

Oh!  Maybe Patrick was angry because his property was damaged.  Me, that is; he was thinking of me as his property! Well, still he cherished me, and was defending me.  Patrick has always been a strong defender of property rights.  It is why he is such a good property lawyer.

 

“What do you have to say for yourself?”  Patrick was standing over Tiffani now. He was still shouting.  He had released my wrist and I had dropped to my knees as well. It seemed the natural thing to do.

 

“Well.”

 

“I have no defence, Master.  I was wrong, very wrong.  I beg your forgiveness.  Please, I beg your forgiveness.  I deserve to be punished.”

 

Yes, I agreed she needed to be punished. I could feel the blood on my cheek where she had drawn blood. There was a dull pain in my stomach, where she had kicked me. I wisely did not say anything.  I did not want Master Patrick’s wrath  turned on me.

 

Tiffani had moved into obeisance position now.  She was shaking with fear, but she still managed to make the movement seem graceful.  I was impressed, even as I hated her for that grace and smoothness in motion.

 

“Punish me Master.”  Tiffani was terrified.  Master Patrick is six foot four and strong.  Tiffani was at best five foot, six.

 

“Take off that piece of silk, if that is what is making you arrogant, you have lost all rights to clothing in this camp.”

 

Tiffani returned to a kneeling position, even from that position she made removing the sleeveless short dress a graceful seductive operation.  Looking back, I honestly don’t think that she meant to seduce Patrick with the gesture, it was just innate in her.  Patrick was not seduced.  There was a vein throbbing in his left bicep. He was still in the grip of fury.  He turned to me.

 

“Fetch rope and my quirt.”

 

I was pleased that Tiffani was to be punished, but I was worried for her too.  Patrick is very strong, and with him so angry he might really do some damage to Tiffani.  I confess, I was torn about that.  I wanted her to stop bullying me, and wanted her hurt, but I was afraid Patrick might go too far.

Patrick threw a rope over the same tree branch that supported our food cache.  He tied one end to Tiffani’s wrists and pulled her upright.  Her toes were barely touching.  I wanted to tell my master to ease off the rope a little to reduce the strain on her body, but I didn’t dare.

 

Patrick took the quirt.  I don’t think he knew how much pain even a short leather whip like that could do, but I had felt it in the rancher’s camp, and I was afraid Patrick’s blows would be much harder.

 

He swung and Tiffani howled. My master was not lashing with an insensate fury, but coldly.  I could tell he was so very angry he did not realize the pain even one heavy blow could give to a woman’s body.  

 

Master Patrick swung again, and finally had landed five blows before I thought of a way to act.  I knelt in front of him and embraced his ankles with both my hands, kissing his feet, and begging him to stop.

 

“Please, Master!  She has been punished deeply.  Listen to her cries!  If you persist, you may damage the property of another.”  I was pleased to find an argument that would have force with Master Patrick who is strongly in favour of property rights.

 

“I was given slave rights over her by the Lazy F.”  

 

At least he had stopped striking the poor girl.  Poor girl, I would not have had any sympathy for her fifteen minutes previously, but now her piteous condition had made me sympathetic to my enemy.  It was strange, because I had never been sympathetic to any of my free friends when I was free. I had pursued them with all the weapons society gave a woman.

 

“Please, Master, she has been corrected.  As a dancer she is too valuable to destroy.”  Again I played up the question of her value, her value as property.  Before this week, I would have been ashamed of considering a woman as property.  But this week, I had seen it legally done.

 

Patrick turned and pulled me up by the hair.  “Leading position,” he said.  It was one of the positions we had practiced two days ago. Stumbling, Patrick led me to camp.  He left Tiffani dangling.

 

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

 

In camp, I cooked our meal, and fed Patrick.  He then fed me from his hand.  It was surprisingly affecting and domestic.  While Master Patrick read his book and sipped his coffee, I cleaned up and put things away.  When I took the food containers to the food cache, Tiffani, who was suspended from the same bough of the tree, did not look at me.  Patrick’s blows had been heavy.  I pitied the poor girl.  Then I returned to the campfire to snuggle with Patrick. I admit I forgot about her when I was in my master’s arms.

 

The sky was dark, and the fire was crackling as Master Patrick and I snuggled beneath the soft, warm, Pendleton blanket.  I remember the day we had purchased it.  We had been on a weekend trip to Seattle and had bought it at an outlet store.  We had taken almost an hour to select the pattern. I was warm under the blanket, by the fire, with Patrick’s arms around me.  I pulled my foot under the blanket, it had become cold outside.  I thought of Tiffani, entirely uncovered in the cold night.

 

“Master?”

 

“Yes, Juliette?”

 

“Tiffani must be cold out there by the tree.”

 

“Should I warm her up with my quirt?”

 

“I was thinking it might be time to bring her to the fire before she expires of cold?”

 

Patrick didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare say anything more.

 

About five minutes late, he got up from the fire and went to the tree, releasing Tiffani’s wrist from the rope.  I had followed, the blanket around me, the chain hanging from my collar glinting in the moonlight.

 

Tiffani was so stiff she could not stand.  She fell to Patrick’s feet, thanking him for releasing her.  We women can be strange. It was Patrick who had strung her up there in the first place, but she was thanking him for untying her.  I have done the same.

 

Patrick grunted, “Thank Juliette, she begged me, until she reminded me, I had forgotten. I would have left you there all night.”

 

He went back to the fire. I gathered up Tiffani, rubbing her legs and wrists.  I wrapped her in the blanket and took her back to the fire so she could warm up.

 

Tiffani was hungry, but all the food had been put away.  I could not offer her anything, not that I would have done so without permission.  She would just have to go to bed without any supper, like a disobedient child. I held her, as we huddled under the blanket, giving her some of my body heat.  I had never been so close, touching skin with a woman before.  She kissed me, saying, “Thank you, slave sister.  I am sorry”

 

“I am sorry too.  Shush, get warm”.

 

Patrick stirred, stretching out his legs towards the fire.  After a bit, Tiffani stirred, she knelt between his legs, caressing his thighs.  “May I, Master?”

As Tiffani struggled to unzip his fly, Patrick murmured, “I am sure this is why men of Gor wear tunics and robes, much easier for the slave girl to pleasure him.”

 

“I am sure you are right, Master,” Tiffani cooed.

 

I was outraged!  I had got Tiffani released from the tree and here she was, attacking Patrick’s cock right in front of me!  But I reflected, Patrick’s cock only belonged to me as a free woman, and even then, I was sure that Patrick was unfaithful to me.  But I ignored that.  Patrick’s needs were greater than me, at least then, and why make an issue that might drive him away? I strained for a better look at what Tiffani was doing.  She seemed skilled. As a free woman, I had never wanted to develop such skills. But now as a slave?  Maybe I needed them.  

 

As a slave, there it was.  At least a slave for now.  As a free woman, Patrick’s cock had belonged to me.  But as a slave, in a way, I belonged to Patrick’s cock.  At least his manhood.  After all, that is what made him male and my owner.  I had not thought about it like that until I watched Tiffani and Patrick.  I watched her technique intensely, as a kajira needs to know such things.

 

She smiled up at me, “I can help you learn, chain sister.”  She returned her attention to Patrick.  I knelt beside her.

 

In the morning, we were all sated. As we happily worked together cleaning up after breakfast, Tiffani addressed Patrick.

 

“Master, may I show Juli some things I have learned?  Not as a trainer, but just as a fellow slave, a friend?”

 

Patrick nodded.  “Yes, do so, and Juli, you learn what you can from Tiffani, as her friend.”

 

It appeared my name was Juli now, and I would get instruction from an experienced slave! I looked forward to it.

 

Three hours later I was covered in sweat.  Assuming positions was easy for me.  As a yoga instructor I knew the importance of correct positioning.  But the movements between them were hard.  I had expected that.  Correct movement is part of yoga as well.  

 

But in these positions and movements I was a beginner.  Patrick had watched for a while. What man would not watch two nude women in slow lascivious movement?  But he had become bored and gone for a strenuous run.  Tiffani and I practiced and practiced.  How to walk away from a man so he wants to follow you and ravish you.  How to walk by a man so he wants to stop and pull you to the ground.  These are different walks, as slaves must know.  How to smile at a group of men, so each thinks you are smiling specially for him.  How to kneel with your hands quietly on your thighs yet moving them so subtly that unquenchable desire is indicted.

 

I will learn as much as I can while I have this wonderful resource in my slave sister, Tiffani.  While Patrick was gone, she took a pair of manicure scissors and trimmed just a few of the hairs on my sex.  “Just to point the way,” she said.  I anointed her hurts with the ointments and lotions that Patrick had brought back from the store when I had first returned from the Lazy F ranch, sunburned and windburned and hurt by the quirts.  

 

We were both gleaming when he returned from his hike and in the tent, he took full advantage of the situation.  He was well pleased with his slave girls and afterwards we all swam naked in the Bighorn River.