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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!”

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.

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!

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

Meanwhile Back at the Ranch

 

(oh come on, as if anyone thought I was going to write chapter after chapter about goings on in and around a ranch without at some time using that expression…)

 

Wilson Frick and his nephew Woodrow were holding their early morning war council with two of the assistant foremen, Jim Hawkins and Randy Schlesinger. The Ranch Foreman, Buddy James, who was too old for battle, and anyway was not a wartime foreman, was holding a council elsewhere with the cattle foreman and the facilities foreman.  Since the death of Trelawney Hawkins in the earlier assault there was no arms foreman at the War Council. Such an absence was missed.

 

“There is only a small band of the enemy contractors at large on our range,” began Wilson Frick.  “Woodrow and Hawkins can take a couple of groups and try to corner them; hunt them down.  I don’t think we are missing any of our human livestock, which is good, with the Silver Ship scheduled for Friday.”

 

“Randy, I want you to make a list of supplies and replenishment we urgently need.  Send Smith in a truck to town to pick them up later this morning.  Call the order in as soon as our shopping list is ready.  Then it will be ready for pickup. I don’t want trained hands off the ranch for too long.  Smith is a fighter.”

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.

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

 

Training Day

 

“My owner calls me Tiffani, Master.”

 

“I am a dancer.”

 

Slave Juliette’s Narrative

 

From the minute I saw her, I hated her.  Even before she opened her mouth and uttered her name in a husky voice, so obviously fake, I hated her.

She moved out of the water like Venus rising from the waves, her green short dress clinging to her body like it was painted on.  She glided towards us, and then she knelt in a smooth movement, seemingly going from her bare feet to her knees in an instant, continuing on to what I recognized from my Gor book, Dancer of Gor, as an obeisance position.  Her arms were towards Patrick, her head pressed right to the earth of the riverbank, her rump in the air.

 

I hated the smooth grace with which she did this.

 

Patrick was smiling. I guess any man would.

 

“Follow me to my camp, Tiffani, I must report this to the Lazy F.”

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

 

Smith’s Secret Diary

 

Last night’s dinner was good, but we shut down early.  We knew we were going out again this morning, and anyway, there is still a shortage of captive women.  After our first two pitchers of beer for our table, we had weak cocktails.  We know this fight is not over; the struggle continues. Not that we didn’t have our fun training the new girls, but an untrained girl cannot compare to a girl whose desire is solely to give pleasure and has been trained to do so.

 

This morning Wilson Frick gave us a briefing and our orders.  Our Native American friends have reported that they broke up a large formation of survivalists and mercenary contractors heading north to their own lands by the simple expedient of stampeding a bison herd through them.  The enemy broke formation and scattered. Some women and cattle will be returned to us today or tomorrow, and the enemy headed west.  The fuel truck they were using to refuel their ATVs was captured. 

 

Our task now is to track down the broken small groups and one by one neutralize them.  Mr Frick is very anxious to get Tiffani the dancer back. “She is worth almost the rest of the girls combined.”  She was a loan from Willard Frick, the chieftain of the Frick clan, so to lose her would be a huge loss of prestige for the Lazy F in the Frick Family.  And if the other families ever heard?  That might even mean losing the leadership of the Old Families!

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

 

In the Big Tent on the Ranch

 

Fred the Spy’s Narrative

 

I came to take the sluts to the Victory Supper.  The damned Fricks are having these each night after coming back from a day fighting our guys out on the plains.  The people I was supposed to use to destroy the Fricks weren’t up thot the task. The Big Man in Silicon Valley can’t blame me though: the tools I was given just weren’t good enough.  Those Survivalists failed me, and the extra hard men, the contractors weren’t tough enough.  The Fricks beat them!  A bunch of ranchers, a bunch of hicks, beat them! And every night they have a big dinner after hunting out the rest of our crew.

 

Granny Mowbray is in charge of the slave pens under the house.  She scares me.  I rousted out four girls, one from each cell, and got three boys to help me take them over to the dinner tent. These cowboys know how to herd women, I will give them that.  Each had her hands behind her, with the handcuffs they call bracelets.  Then the girls were bent over at the waist and me and the boys grabbed a handful of hair and we marched them off. The heads were down, and they couldn’t see where they were going.  So humiliating for them; their heads at crotch height, held by the hair, bent over and trying to walk at our pace.  They can’t steady theirselves ya see; no balance with their hands secured behind their backs and them bent over.  A girl in a humiliated position can’t rebel; makes ‘em feel helpless.  And bein’ helpless makes them hot, or at least, easy. 

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

 

Patrick Master’s Narrative

 

When I untied Juliette after the Ranchers, Frick, and Smith, had left, she did not seem much worse for wear, or usage, as I learned to call it from John Norman’s book.  Far-fetched as his fantasy story was, and convoluted as his prose was, he did seem to have some insight into the human condition.

Juliette seems to be a little disoriented, but she assured me that it was due to being tied for so long with her head hanging down, and her unsteadiness on her feet to being motionless for a while.

 

“You weren’t making sounds consistent with being motionless a few minutes ago.”

 

“Neither were you, Master.” Master was coming to her lips more easily all the time.  

 

We went down to the river to swim and clean off.  I carried the collapsible buckets down to the river to bring water back to our camp.  I would have her carry them back. It just seemed more fitting that way.

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.  

On the Banks of the Bighorn Chapter Twenty – by Tracker

 

Patrick and Juliette explore their changed relationship oblivious to the Drama around them.

 

Slaves’ Narratives as Range War Rages.

 

From the Slave Viki’s Narrative

 

Throughout the night I lay in fitful sleep in my small attic room in the Three Moon Saloon.  Above the bar and kitchen a false roof had been constructed.  The main room of the saloon was high, almost fourteen feet, so there was space above the service areas for small low rooms for the girls, as long as you don’t mind stooping.  Gor taught me to live on my knees anyway, as the price for living. As I wait for a response from my Masters in far off Montreal, regarding my report of possible treachery by our agent on the Lazy F,  I thought on the strange turns that had brought me to this place.

 

Victoria Mary Elizabeth Diana Windsor.  That’s me.  Or it used to be.  Now I am enrolled as Viki in some slaver’s house on Gor, an unacknowledged Planet circling the sun, in the same orbit as our own.

 

Nerd Girl, Tech Girl, Mat and Kettle Girl.  Now in godforsaken Montana in 2016 known as Bessie, although I told that man Patrick my real name.  He reminded me so much of a Master, I could not lie to him.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Nineteen – by Tracker

Moving towards Nightfall.

 

From Viki’s Narrative

 

Ever since Mac the bartender released me from my collar in the alcove, I have been inundated by messages from my Master’s spy and contact on the Lazy F.  All the messages are coded and are to be sent on to his mysterious second contact.  There are no messages to be sent to his employers, my masters, in the Montreal Family. I keep the communicator hidden in my apron when I am serving drinks on the floor. It keeps buzzing, but no messages for Montreal, and lots of messages for the other people to whom he apparently reports.  This is not why my Masters supplied him with Kurii comms technology!  I am off duty here in ten minutes and will have to report to my Masters.  I will be whipped for doing so.  I was ordered by the Family to obey him in every particular, and the agent strictly ordered me to pass on his third party messages by the Narrow Beam Reporter.  I was also strictly ordered to not report this messages to Montreal.  I will be disobeying a direct order and must be punished.  I know that.  If the agent has betrayed my Masters though, and I don’t report that, I will also be punished or even destroyed. I am a slave.  My loyalty must be first to my Master, and then to the orders of another Free Man. I must act and do what is right, because I shall be punished in any case.

On the Banks of the Bighorn Part Eighteen – by Tracker

 

Paradise in Camp; Hell on the Ranch

 

Paradise in Camp

 

Juliette Chen’s Narrative

 

The morning had almost gone, and I was very hungry.   Patrick had been kind enough to remove the rope collar from around my throat.  After two and a half days, and being dunked in the Bighorn river, it had begun to chafe and irritate me. While I slept, Patrick had removed it from my neck for which I was grateful.  He had secured me instead by my left ankle, for which I was not grateful. The way he had secured me, with the other end of my rope attached to a stake driven into the ground, meant  I could not reach our food store, high in a tree to not attract dangerous animals.  I could see the food, but I could not reach it. There was a squirrel chattering on top of the food storage box, trying to get in, but he couldn't reach our food any more than I could.  

 

Birdsong filled the air, the breezes here among the trees were softer and much gentler than the stiff brisk winds of the prairie. The sun was filtered through the leaves and boughs of the trees. It was much more pleasant than being exposed to sun and wind on the bald prairie as I was yesterday.  There was no audience to see my nude state. Nature was much kinder today.