After the Bighorn Chapter Five: ‘Battle is Joined’, by Tracker

 

(A reminder that the story takes place in 2016 in the early days of New Feminism)

 

The Frick building, the Marriot Downtown, where my lawyers were to be housed and headquartered, and the Federal Courthouse form a triangle within a block of each other in downtown Pittsburgh.  There is a sort of park between the Marriot and the Courthouse, with a Plaza connecting to the Frick Building.  The Hilton, where VanRijn’s minions lurked, was across the street from the Marriot.

 

Wyandotte Frick proved competent enough at Administrative chores, though I was still unsure if enough strength lay hidden under his bland exterior. He assigned me Zach Frick, who is a lawyer, though exceedingly young.  He should be able to understand my requirements though.  We first toured the Marriot Downtown.  It was Wyandotte’s idea that my team of lawyers should work and live there while he wanted me to stay at the Frick Mansion where I could be close for consultations.  I was not at all adverse to the idea of staying where there were so many curvy distractions, hot in their collars.  

 

I wanted to observe the running of a headquarters of an acquisition operation just in case the chance to operate one for myself should occur.  I truly miss Juli, I treasure her so much.  I know she has much to learn; she is eager but needs instruction.  But still, semi-trained as she is, I would not trade her for any of the hot lovelies in the Frick Mansion.  I would like, though, to have that Chelsea Frick at my feet, begging for mercy, begging for love and use in a collar.

The Paga Diaries (20) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Banishment’

 

I really did not want to be around Mirus and Tereus.  I was disgusted with the beating of Lina by Mirus.  Her little laugh when my string broke was harmless.  It probably did look funny to her and I was not offended at all. I have never owned a woman but it seemed to me that Mirus had a very heavy hand when it came to disciplining Lina.  I wanted to take her away and make her my own.  I was hoping that Mirus would change his mind about selling her to me.  I did not feel like spending the afternoon with them but I was thankful for his work on my gemstone appraisal, and everything else that he had done for me.  I did not want to offend him.  

 

It was very easy to say yes to going to the Dautium Square Market with its luxury taverns and the exceptional variety of beautiful slave girls who worked in them.  We went into the Shackle and Chain again and were looking for a low table close to the sand pit where the slaves dance.  To me the dance was a show, a mesmerizing display of sensuous skill, passion and beauty.  I got distracted by the moves of a short brunette in the pit and didn’t notice a man waving at us to join him at his low table.  

 

The man was Atticus, the hulk of a man who was an officer of the city guard and whom I had met last time I was here.  The three of us joined him at his table and ordered paga, except for Mirus, who ordered ka-la-na. 

 

“Tal Atticus, has the Shackle and Chain become a new guard station for our city?” Mirus joked. 

 

“Tal. I am exploring guard station locations that increase the surveillance opportunities of criminals,” Atticus said. 

After the Bighorn Chapter Four: ‘Council of War’, by Tracker

 

While I was waiting for the strategy meeting with Wyandotte Frick and a horde of Frick cousins to begin, I read the local newspaper, the Post-Gazette.  I am fascinated by the differences from city to city, in layout and organization, each city thinking its way is normal and the way other cities’ papers do things slightly off.  The Post-Gazette had an old fashioned news round-up column of strange and off-beat stories from around the world; “World’s biggest cucumber grown in Swansea, Wales.  That sort of thing.  Today the second last item was from Montana, the Bighorn country in fact.

 

It was that Dateline that got me to read further. 

 

Evidence of Old Cowboy Feud.  University of Montana archaeologists have discovered evidence linked to legends of a feud between old west outlaw gangs, The Hole in the Wall Gang and the Robber’s Roost Gang.  Old West folklore has long held that an 1887 battle took place between the two outfits, but more sober historians, who insist on evidence had pooh-poohed the tales.  Well now evidence has been found in the form of a burial pit inside a cave on the Lazy F ranch by the Bighorn.  University of Montana researchers, consisting of Professors and students found the cave with the aid of a foreman on the ranch, a man named Smith.  Mr Wilson Frick provided funds for the dig, and the bones recovered will be housed at the U of M Frick Museum of Western History.  On a side note: four U of M co-eds who wandered away from the dig-site are still missing, and feared eaten by Bears.

 

I smiled.  I did not think that the co-eds had been eaten by bears.  I believed that by now the young women had begun a journey through space to a new life. From an accompanying picture of the cave, I reconstructed what had happened.  It was the same cave to which the Fricks had carried the bodies of the slain mercenary contractors that had attacked the ranch earlier in the summer in an effort to force its sale. Knowing nothing of the Fricks, they had been surprised and overcome by the Fricks.  Their bodies, now disintegrated, had been recovered from the cave under the cover of an archaeological dig and would rest among the bones of thousands of others in the bowels of a museum.

The Paga Diaries (19) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Little Bird’

 

This morning was bright and sunny as I was walking to Mirus’s house for my next stabilization injection.  My mind was on last night and some of the things Trem and I had talked about after we left the Feasting Tarn.  Trem had asked if I had noticed that the tavern had a different feel to it, did it seem quieter than normal or was there anything odd.  I was honest with him and said that I did not notice anything odd.  He told me that news had come to the city about the war with Corcyrus and it wasn’t good.  Argentum forces had been beaten and the front line had been compromised. 

 

He went on to say that the Argentum government was downplaying this loss as a minimal setback.  The front lines had been restored and progress was being made towards Corcyrus.  But the curious thing was that they have now forbidden any talk of defeat or the possibility of not winning the war.  He said that last night, the war was the main topic of conversations everywhere in the tavern and that many people spoke with hushed tones or even in whispers.  The government ban on this topic only magnifies curiosity and talk amongst the citizens of this large city.  Trem warned me not to talk about the war with anyone.  He said that as a barbarian, people might treat me with more suspicion than normal, and that I should be careful.

 

I was now more determined than ever to become fluent in Gorean.  Should I leave this city and go somewhere peaceful, with no war?  Where would that be and how would I get there?  As I walked, I decided I would stay and hope that the war would be over soon, and not touch this city. 

After the Bighorn Chapter Three: 'An unexpected Death', by Tracker

 

Shocking News comes to the Lazy F.

 

Early in the morning on July 14th shocking news came to the Lazy F.  Willard Frick, head of the Family had been murdered in London. (Steel Worlds, Chapter 28).  Despite the early hour, the Fricks on the ranch were already up and at breakfast, setting the tasks for the day.  The news pushed all that to the side. Woodrow Frick and his uncle Wilson set out immediately to see to the security of the Lazy F.  Every man capable of bearing arms was on high alert. Around mid-afternoon, Wilson and Woodrow met alone in Wilson’s office.  The meeting was grim, and the two men were wary of each other.

 

Wilson began.  “I have talked to Cousin Wyandotte Frick in Pittsburgh.”

 

“I as well.”

 

“Then you know the situation.  It was some kind of power play by the folks in London. They have been getting above themselves and denied Willard his rightful tribute.  And then they killed him with the Families Council on the line.”

 

Woodrow looked grim and strained.  “He was my father.  I need to take vengeance.”

 

“The Ubar of the North American Families will exact vengeance.  We need to pick a new leader for the Family. Urgently. The Family needs a leader.  My brother Willard left no son.”

 

“He left me!”

 

“Willard did not marry your mother. That matters on Earth.”

 

“They were Free Companions when I was born.”

 

“Except for those who have been to Gor, they don’t understand that.  Wyandotte understands, I understand, you understand, but the rest of the Family does not understand that, not in their bones.  Even many of the council do not understand and we need a leader tonight. London may take further action; our less friendly friends on the council may try to diminish us. Willard was removed from the council; we need someone who can push to have the Head of the Family back on the council. Otherwise, our interests suffer. Most of the rest of the cousins are too old or too weak. We need a leader right now.”

After the Bighorn Chapter Two: 'Master Patrick and Slave Juli', by Tracker

 

Slave Juli’s Narrative.

 

My homecoming to San Francisco was not what I had expected when we left.

 

I had expected to be dressed as a respectable engaged woman coming back to sign a pre-nup.

 

Instead, I am a barely clothed, collared slave girl, a kajira in a collar coming back to sign a slavery contract that will bind me until Patrick, Master Patrick, can figure out a legal way to keep a slave in San Francisco.  There does not seem any way to do that, but legality is very important to Patrick, and he is a very good lawyer.

 

I had many adventures and near calls getting out of the car on the way home from the Bighorn.  Patrick obtained a slave tunic for me on the Lazy F, low cut on the top and extremely brief in the skirt, with the skirt split up the left side showing where his mark is on me.  For now, it is only ink, but combined with my shiny collar, there is no doubt as to our relationship, even if it is not a legal one yet. Honestly, as I am allowed no nether closure, as the Goreans say, or no underwear as we say on Earth, I am not sure I always avoided displaying myself a la Lindsey Lohan as I got out of the Subaru. I always wondered what it would be like to be a slutty bad girl, and now I know.  It is terrifying, but I am secure belonging to Patrick.  And to anyone Patrick gives me to.  That is a little harder.  On the night before we left the Bighorn, he gave me to Master Woodrow, while he dallied with that Angela slut. Woodrow knew how to make me testify too.

The Paga Diaries (18) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Tea with Free Women and Comfort in Kaissa’

 

My mind was numb as I walked toward Mirus’s house to get my second stabilization injection.  When I arrived, I knocked on the front door of his mansion.  Fen, his assistant answered the door and invited me in.  He told me that he would be handling today’s injection as the Physician was occupied at the moment.  I wondered if Mirus was occupied with the appraisal of the gemstones I had left with him. 

 

We went into the windowless green patient room.  Fen was quick with the injection and the pain became nothing.  I left the house after saying that I would return tomorrow for the next shot. 

 

I did not know what to do next.  I really wanted to go to the tarncot and see Trem and Jesop and learn more about tarns.  I also had a powerful need for a strong drink.  But drinking and tarns don’t mix.  I started to walk to the tarncot.

 

As I walked, I kept replaying the events of the morning with Penny.  I knew her name was really Five, but she was Penny to me.   I kept thinking about what I should have done different with Lenious, her master, in my attempt to purchase her.  What had gone wrong?  Why wouldn’t he sell her to me, especially for the high price I offered? 

 

After a pasang or so, I walked past a building that had a unique smell of something freshly baked, with spices.  I wasn’t hungry yet but the smell was unique enough to draw my attention into seeing what it was.  The building had an open door and I walked in.  There were several low tables placed about the room with large spaces between them.  Only two of the tables had anyone at them, both of them with groups of women, wearing veils and robes of concealment.  The women were laughing and did not pay any attention to me.  I noticed another door that opened out into a beautiful back courtyard area. 

The Paga Diaries (17) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘The Offer’

 

I was happy to see Penny standing at our meeting spot at the sixth ahn.  She dropped to her knees and knelt in nadu as I got close to her.  The bell on her neck rang as she knelt.  “Tal, Master,” she said with happy blue eyes and a smile on her face.  She was clean today, as was her shabby camisk.  I was happy to see that. 

 

“Tal, Penny,” I said. “We do something different today.”

 

“Yes Master, what are we doing?”

 

“I take you to apartment. Want you to know where I live. Make new meet place. So, when you can’t meet, you come next day,” I said.

 

“I don’t understand, Master.”

 

“On day when you can’t meet, you come morning that you can. You come to me, where I live,” I tried to explain. 

 

“Yes, Master.  There are days when I can’t meet you.  On days that I can meet you, I will come to where you live, and this will become our new meeting place.” 

 

“Yes, morning at the sixth ahn.  Now we get breakfast and go to apartment,” I said.

 

We ate our pastries on the way to my apartment or insula, which wasn’t very far from our meeting place.  The building was two stories of stone masonry that was built in a “U” shape, with a small courtyard in the centre. The building was two stories with twelve apartments on each floor, each apartment having its own exterior entrance door.  I unlocked the door and we entered my small single room apartment.

 

“Strip Penny,” I said.  She gracefully removed her camisk, revealing her thin tan figure, perky breasts, and long slender legs.  I enjoyed looking at her and wanted her to remain naked while she was in my apartment.  I had Penny kneel and I took a towel and used it to wrap and muffle the triangular bell that was chained around her neck along with the metal coin box.  The bell was very distracting and irritating.  I started to point at things in the room so that she could teach me the Gorean words for them.  I learned the words for simple household things like the cabinet, countertop, fireplace with hanging pot, the chamber pot and everything else that was in the room. 

After the Bighorn - Loose Ends and New Beginnings, by Tracker

 

June 2016

 

Smith’s Narrative

 

It was June 8th and Smith was content. He was sitting in wooden chair on the veranda of his new cabin on the Lazy F.  He had an explainable amount of ‘bug out money’ in his mattress, and even more under one of his aliases in an offshore bank. Nature was burgeoning and later he would go and withdraw a ‘sleeping library’ from some of the intelligent livestock down in the new processing centre that Hawkins was constructing.

 

From Smith’s Narrative.

 

I’ve always wanted to know more about Italian literature.  Fortunately a graduate student from Italy was careless in where she wandered down by one of the rivers of Pittsburgh. Just wandered right into one of the agents of Mr Willard Frick himself.  A full belly, a little learning, and a fine morsel to enjoy.  I landed in heaven here.  The last of what turned out to be Navy money was paid into my offshore account last night.  Why they let this investigation blow up into such a big deal I don’t know, but it played out to my advantage. If only the Fricks would give me Fliss, formerly Miss Florence Fabricant, my life would be complete.  Not much chance of that happening though, with her owned by Big Mr Frick himself, and his daughter Chelsea using her as a private maid.  I hear that girl is a terror when she visits the ranch.

 

Maybe after a few years, the Fricks will offer her to me as a bonus.  As an assistant foreman now, in charge of armoury and supplies, I might rate a bonus.

 

Ah, well, it is good for a man to have a few dreams, no matter how content he is.  I’m forty-five and expect to age and die on the Lazy F.

The Paga Diaries (16) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Dautium Market Square’

 

Tereus was a large muscular man, over six foot tall and always serious.  He proceeded Mirus and I as we followed him through the busy streets on our way to the Dautium market square.  Before we left Mirus’s mansion, he saw me inside the home wearing my sword.  When he had entered the office, leading the leashed Lina, I noticed him look at my sword when he first saw me, sitting on a floor cushion at the low table. It was at an awkward angle, for it can be uncomfortable wearing a sword on your belt when sitting on a floor cushion.  It has to be positioned just right to lie without pulling on the belt when sitting. If being armed with a sword in Mirus’s house bothered him, he didn’t say anything to me.

 

When we left the area where Mirus lived, the homes in the neighbourhoods that we passed through became smaller, but were still very nice and well kept.  I would be really comfortable living in a neighbourhood like these.  I really needed to move out of the slums and I wondered if I could afford anything in this area.

 

As we walked towards Dautium, we passed two massive cylindrical towers built very close together.  They were amazing.  A suspended walkway connected the two towers very high up, at least two-thirds up the height of the building.  I could see many other towers not far away and a concentration of them in what was the city centre.  There easily over a hundred of these massive towers in this city. 

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter 32 by Tracker (Conclusion)

 

Two Nights on the Lazy F.

 

Patrick Masters’s Narrative.

 

Smith didn’t talk much as I drove the Subaru towards the Lazy F and the decision on my fate.  He seemed a man comfortable with silences. I believe interrogators use silence to encourage prisoners to speak, to fill the uncomfortable quietness.  I didn’t say anything.  I am a lawyer, I use this tactic myself, to let a witness talk on, to say too much.  It is the rare witness who can force themselves to confine their answers to Yes or No.  More fools they.

 

I tried to marshal my thoughts; to prepare my arguments as to why Juli and I should be allowed to depart from the Lazy F, to return to San Francisco.  One thing I was determined on, I would not leave without her.  Not to ‘protect’ her, but because she was mine. Events and experiences had transformed us and our relationship.  One protects a Free Woman, one keeps hold of one’s property.  

 

Juli was property.  Our time on the Bighorn had transformed her.  She had called out that she was a slave; that she burned with slave fires. I would not leave the Lazy F without my property; I would not cravenly surrender my property to save my life. Juli was mine!

The Paga Diaries (15) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Stabilization’

 

Penny was waiting for me, having arrived at our meeting spot early, before the sixth ahn.  I was very happy to see her.  I woke up this morning, intent on coming here, in hopes that she would show up, despite the lack of a prior arrangement.  She looked good this morning, with a clean camisk, and her usual smile and bright blue eyes.  She knelt in nadu on the side of the street as I approached and her neck bell rang.  She said, “Tal Master. You have been cured even more! There is no sign of withering on you.”

 

“Yes Penny, thank you.  We find breakfast,” I said.

 

“Yes Master!”

 

We didn’t have to walk far before we found a street vendor that was making fresh pastries.  I bought  one with meat and melting cheese and Penny chose a sweet one with berries.   We ate them steamy hot, before starting our walk.

 

“You did not come, when we arranged,” I said.

 

“No Master, I am sorry.  I could not come then.”

 

“Army camps?” I asked.

 

“Yes Master,” she said, her smile fading.

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

 

Tidying the Camp

 

Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

Woodrow Frick said, “Almost done now.  Our reports were that there were eight in this group, the last group of them there was.  We got six, once we get the last two, we will be done with this.”

 

“But there are all eight of them here.  The other two are buried under the tent. The tent has an internal frame that supports it.  The pegs just hold it down. I killed the first two, then wrapped them in tarps, unpegged the tent, buried them in shallow graves, and moved the tent back over the bodies.  No one could tell they were there.  Meanwhile the girls rode the ATVs to the river and sank them in a deep spot.  Then we made the camp look normal and waited for you.”

 

Juli, I could tell, was wondering why I was putting myself in Woodrow Frick’s power by admitting to two killings.  I knew that Woodrow Frick was the sort who would never want anyone to have something to hold over him.  He carried himself and had the aura of a dangerous man. Even more than when he had visited the camp earlier, he was now grim.  The events of the range war had not mellowed him.

The Paga Diaries (14) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Second Treatment’

I woke up on the couch in the guest bedroom, very early in the morning, many ahn before sunrise.  The room was dark, with very faint twilight coming through the window.  I had an unbearable urge to urinate and my body was sore.  I swung my feet over the side of the couch to the floor as I sat up.  My left foot landed on a small cold metal chain.  I shifted my foot to the side.  I felt lightheaded and unsteady.  My stomach growled in hunger.  I heard rain outside.  

 

As I sat there hoping the dizziness would fade, my eyes adjusted to the twilight.  I looked at the chain on the floor and followed it from a ring at the bottom corner of the couch, to only a few feet  before  it went under a blanket covering someone laying on the floor.  The shape was hard to make out but it was resting on the ground lying parallel to the couch.  I heard a very faint snore coming from the blanket, so faint that it could only be a woman’s snore.  

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Thirty – by Tracker

 

Slave Inge’s Narrative

 

Each day, as our processing continues, I am less and less able to think about life before I was collared.  All in our group are what the cowboys call red silk, opened to the use of men.  We have all husbands, or partners, or boyfriends and have known the pleasures of sex. Even the young wyld wyman, Luta, who grew up in the men despising camps has known a man or two.  She whispered to me that when she made her first capture of a man she was allowed to tie and then mount and ride him until she orgasmed.

 

In my present condition this seems strange now.  It seems like it is backward to what is normal.  A cowboy came yesterday and used her right over the water trough.  She cried out and the unprocessed women in the other corral mocked and jeered at her. The cowboy was still putting her to use, with her hands tied together and the rope holding her bend over when the rest of us gathered by the fence between the unprocessed and we the processed and we threatened them.  We are in greater numbers than they and they shrank back.  It is well for them that there is a fence between their part of the corral and ours.  The harshest condemnation came from the stripped rancher’s women who had been condemned for being captured and raped.

Luta’s mother, Velma, was strongest in her defence of her daughter crying out in passion as Aaron the Cowboy rode her daughter to ecstasy.

 

“You have never made a man happy as he used you.  To mount you was just a chore as you lay there, frigid and cold, not daring to move!”

The Paga Diaries (13) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Jesop’

 

I woke up early in Trem’s apartment.  He had encouraged me to stay the night at his place after a long evening of eating and drinking at the Feasting Tavern.  It was dark when we left and he reiterated that my neighbourhood was not safe at night.  My place was also a good walk from here. 

 

I heard Trem getting ready for work and he was making something for breakfast. It didn’t smell or look good.  It was some sort of porridge, or oatmeal, or, well, I didn’t really know.  But I was hungry too and got up, thinking I would get something on the way to meet Penny.  I bid Trem farewell as he left for work and the long walk up the stairs to the tarncot.  

 

On the street I sniffed out a bakery.  I walked out with two little vulo egg and cheese pies.  Very delicious, they reminded me of quiche, and was just what I needed.  As I walked, noticing many Goreans walking briskly to work or other morning errands, I thought about yesterday.  My solo tarn flight was amazing and I was eager to fly again and again.  I had asked Trem if I could volunteer to work for him in the tarncot, so that I could learn everything about tarns.  He said yes, and I would have gone with him this morning, except I had made an appointment to see Penny.

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

 

Slave Tiffani’s Narrative.

 

Juli screamed as Patrick fell to the ground.  The man beside us got off his ATV and grabbed her arm, spun her around, and threw her to the ground. I did not kneel; I stood and watched closely.  The man by us took out a pistol, and moved towards Master Patrick.

 

The other man, the one who had knocked down Master Patrick, had swung his ATV around, and drove in front of the first man.

 

“Not with a firearm, you fool.  Not on this side of the river where it could draw the attention of hikers or vehicles passing by. They might report it to the Sheriff’s office; we know that Deputy Morrison is on the Lazy F payroll.”

 

Juli was crying; it made her face ugly.  I understood, to find your Master and then immediately see him struck down must have been terrible.

The two men argued a little in low voices.  They stood nose to nose for a bit, near us and the picnic table.  I watched Master Patrick.  He still had not moved.  He was likely unconscious, or even dead.

The Paga Diaries (12) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Solo Tarn Ride’

 

After my morning with Penny, I wandered a bit, further out, in a part of the city that was new to me.  I had lunch in a new tavern.  I saw another passage of army units pass through the streets, apparently heading for a city wall gate and one of the camps outside.  The banners, shields, spears, helmets and uniforms all looked brand new to me.  My impression was that these units were freshly mobilized and being sent to the front.  The front was further and further out, approaching Corcyrus closer every day.  The war was a popular topic in the taverns and even though I could still only understand bits and pieces of an eavesdropped conversation, it was expected that the conflict would be over very soon.  Many men in the tavern seemed to get excited about maybe being able to afford purchasing a Free Woman of Corcyrus, sent to Argentum as a cheap captive slave.  

 

I had no idea how much slaves cost and I certainly hadn’t been looking at slave markets to see if prices were actually getting cheaper.  I knew that if I lingered too long at a market, I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of buying my own kajira.  Someone like Lina or Penny.  I was still enjoying the use of paga sluts.  Someday I would be ready to take on the responsibility of caring for, and keeping a woman secure in my bonds.  I was still too new on Gor to think that I could manage that type of relationship.  The master/slave relationship requires a lot of time, if done right.  There are many considerations.  Feeding, clothing (maybe not clothing), bathing, sheltering, training and discipline all require time and I looked forward to those things, but they would be a distraction for me now. 

The Paga Diaries (11) by Arizona Wanderer: ‘Use of Penny’

 

Trem and I went down the wide stepped central staircase of the Feasting Tarn.  I had a few questions in my mind about what had happened with the altercation we had just left on the rooftop lounge.  As we walked he muttered something about going somewhere to talk.  When we got to the first floor of the tavern, he led us off the staircase and into the busy tavern area.  There was a lot of hustle and bustle of tavern activities that we walked through before he found us a small unoccupied table, that we sat at. 

 

“Rykart, it looks like your treatment has gone well,” Trem finally said.  I felt like he was trying to talk about something other than what had just happened. 

 

“Thank you Trem, one treatment then stabilize,” I said.  “Neris is who? Man I hit is who?”

 

 “Yes, yes” He said. “Neris and Otho, I owe money and they are sent to collect it.”

 

“I have money, l pay for you. You pay me later?”  I said.

 

“No, Rykart, I owe them more than you have and some of I what I owe them is not money. You would not understand.”

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

 

Slave Fires

 

Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

If having one slave girl totally subject to my orders and my use was good, having both Juli and Tiffani is great. Seeing the two of them together, both stripped and in collars, subject to any kind of usage at any time has made this one of the best times of my life.  I see now, that much as I love Juli, having a variety of women would be ever so much more exquisite.

 

This is something rich men and rulers have had and enjoyed throughout history; almost a universal male dream. There is no arguing that such feelings are innate. Today though, even rich men have to settle for mistresses, women they pay and who can leave if the terms are not to the woman’s liking. That is not ownership though. Haggling over every encounter and terms reduces and diminishes a man’s power in an unseemly way. It is unfortunate that when I return to San Francisco, I will not be allowed, by the conventions and laws of society, to own, truly own, even one slave. It may be time to investigate changing the laws of property, or at least finding a loophole.  As I always say, the loophole is part of the law!

 

Tiffani and Juli are so different in build and figure and colouring, even in temperament, but they are so deliciously alike in their femininity and submission.  I wish I could own a hundred like them!