After The Bighorn, Chapter Sixteen.

Release the Sleen.   

(illustration by TroyDM used by permission)

Patrick Masters's Narrative

“Release the Sleen”, J Augustus Frick IV had commanded, and Zach Frick pulled the lever, the two sleen thrust forward and off we were in full pursuit of the two escaped kajirae.

Well, no. It was not quite that simple. First, we had to saddle a couple of horses, so we could follow the sleen without slowing them down too much. Second, we needed to attach leashes to the collared sleen. But soon we were in full pursuit. Zach and I were on the horses, with walkie-talkies so we could communicate with Augustus Frick at the house. We started in the walled garden, with the two sleen, each on its six short legs, snuffling around for the scent. We started in the garden, of course, because the ballroom opened out into this charming space, and the exit from the dungeon training room, a trapdoor, was the only one that had not been secured when the absence of the two kajirae, Seventeen and Nineteen, had been discovered.

I surmised that the trapdoor in the ballroom to the dungeon had served two purposes. The first, to bring kajirae  up to the ballroom to perform for the guests at Gorean themed events, the delightful curvaceous bodies delighting with their beauty and availability. The second, more sinister, was to remove such Free Women who had fallen afoul of the games of the Fricks and were condemned to a life of slavery, perhaps on Earth, more commonly on Gor.

Zach Frick had described such games to me, games designed for a selected woman to lose, with the forfeit being their freedom. Rigged games of chance, where the cupidity of the woman was enlisted to have her risk her freedom against a prize. They would be allowed to win small prizes, then asked if they cared to risk their small prize against a larger one. The targeted women would have seen other women walk away with the larger prizes and would eagerly agree. Of course, when they lost, they would lose all, the small prizes and their freedom. At some point they would be taken behind the curtains on the dais or orchestra space, and down the trapdoor they would go. The civilian guests would be none the wiser, the Fricks and the other members of the Families of North America, the Families aligned with the traders who were on Voyages of Acquisition, would have a good chuckle.

In their own way, the slavers of Gor, were as cruel as the tawny sleen Zach and I watched casting about for a scent, playing with their quarry before seizing it.

“Are they a breeding pair” I asked Zach as the sleen darted towards an exit from the walled garden.

“They were supposed to be,” but the dealer on Gor cheated Uncle Willard.”

 I had never met the murdered Patriarch of the Fricks, but from all I had heard, he was a cruel and vindictive man, unlikely to overlook an injury.

“The dealer sent us two males. He thought he would be safe, and we foolish Earth people would be unable to tell for years. But Uncle Willard had spent six years on Gor as a young man. He knew as soon as he examined the sleen that we had been swindled. We have contacts on Gor, that dealer died a painful prolonged death. These are juveniles, coming into their full growth, they are prairie sleen, they won’t grow much bigger than the six-foot length you see here.”

Suddenly, the sleen started off. They were clambering at the gate of the walled garden. This was the gate by the hedge maze, where I had been pleasured by the Kajira Nineteen. Zach opened the door; the sleen rushed through, with Zach and I following.

Out into the treed, grassed area behind the mansion, past the stables, then off the Frick property. We traversed a corn field, with the sleen on their stubby legs pulling at their leashes. They wandered through the corn, then for a moment were confused. Apparently the escaped kajirae had not taken a direct path through the corn. Perhaps they had lost their way in the dark?

After some time in the corn, we plunged into the woods. The low-hanging branches forced Zach and I to dismount and lead the horses, the sleen straining at their leashes to follow the trail. We ended up on the edge of some wetlands, nearly a swamp, mosquito infested, where we found some footprints. Naked feet had made these footprints, and they were fresh in the mud. The sleen circled around, then started away from the swamp into the woods. Back through the woods we went, Zach and I panting as we tried to keep up the pace that the hunting sleen set. The animals were enjoying themselves, their strong weasel-like smell increased in pungency.

We re-entered the cornfield, the sleen plunging through with greater confidence this time, ignoring the false trails. Zack and I remounted and followed the hunting beasts again across the corn, then re-entered the wood at a different point. I was sure this was the true trail, we were following a bridle path this time and did not need to dismount. The beasts pressed on, seeming to know no fatigue, pulling at the leashes.

Born hunters, cruel killers; they were enjoying this. Even when domesticated, the sleen is never truly tamed, it is like having a tiger as a house pet. Even when the beast is disposed to be friendly to you, it can turn at any moment. Zach told me these things as we rode along. Like the sleen, he was enjoying the hunt.

This was food for thought. I enjoyed consorting with the Fricks; I expected it to have its rewards. I must never forget though, that the Fricks too, many of them, were ruthless hunters, capable of cruelty, living in a harsh world. If they held their hands against VanRijn, fighting in the courts rather than with violence, it was because it was sound tactically to not to break cover, not from any moral scruples. Riding with them was like riding a tiger, or a sleen. I would have to be careful in this environment.  I thought of Juli in her collar, of owning her completely and legally, and decided it was worth the risks.

At a large dead oak at the far end of the woods, by the bridle path we came out into a meadow. The sleen did not even stop to gather a breath but headed straight across it. It had recently been cut for hay, the smell was captivating and delightful, although it did was not strong enough to cover the stench of the hunting sleen.

“Tally-ho,” shouted Zach as we moved quickly across the open grass carpeted meadow.

I grinned. I too was enjoying the chase. A couple of times in England, I had been invited to ride to hounds with ancient packs. This was much better than chasing an inoffensive fox. This was real quarry. Naked, curvy girls, collared already, slaves. So much better than an inedible little creature. They were Man’s natural prey in fact.

The meadow was large, it contained clumps of trees, but the sleen bypassed all of them. I saw we were headed towards an apple orchard. It looked old, as though almost forgotten and abandoned.

We swept into the orchard, through it and ended at a country road. The sleen stopped, circled around then came to a stop under two of the trees in the middle of the orchard. Up in the tree’s branches were fruit more delectable than the ripest apples: two naked women, clinging to the branches out of fright. The sleen were trying to get at them, their two front legs reaching up the trunks of the trees, their four hind legs crouching to leap.

We heard a car coming to a stop. Zach went towards the edge of the orchard. Suddenly the vehicle took off, going back in the direction from which it had come.

“They got away.” I was angry. Who were these bold thieves that tried to steal the property of the Fricks?

“I recognize the car.” Zach got on his walkie-talkie.

“Augustus, we have the girls, and I know who set them free, and who tried to steal them.  It was Chelsea.”

Kajira Nineteen’s Narrative.

If I had not been so scared as to what was to happen next, lying in the sun in the apple orchard, waiting for our savior, the person who had arranged for us to be freed would have been idyllic. Seventeen and I had spotted a stream on the other side of the road, and greatly daring, had dashed across and then laid on the ground, drinking from the cool running water. We were very thirsty. We drank until we were full.

A farm truck drove by. We did not flag it down, instead hiding in the bushes. The two young men did not look the sort to rescue two naked women, they looked like old time folk, unaffected by modern ideas of treating women with respect. That was the feeling about them that I had, and Seventeen agreed. We would wait for our rescuer. Surely after going to the trouble of getting us out of the House of Horrors where we had been confined, they would come and get us.

What horrors we had endured! Stripped of our clothes, of our freedom, then of our identities, finally of our very names; sorted like merchandise for dispatch to an alien world. I now believed in the alien world, I had been forced to start learning its language, and even worse, its ways. Women were slaves there, subject to men and their demands. Their representatives here kept us naked, forced us into submissive positions, took their pleasure with those who were already ‘opened for the use of men’. Those of us who were virgins were destined to have our ‘first use’ auctioned off. How degrading it was!. The worst was that it was beginning to seem natural, as though it were genetically encoded. I had learned to please men on my knees, using mouth and hands. And, well after a while it had seemed not too bad. The man was pleased, and sometimes I was given a piece of candy. Because everyone in our kennel shared in any rewards or punishments earned by any of our group, everyone in our kennel received a candy when I did well.

Punishment. I hoped that the other two who were kenneled with Seventeen and I were not punished because we had been rescued. It was not their fault! Eighteen was not white silk, she had been opened by her fiancé, but they had broken up. Our captors used her often; she claimed to like it. I liked the extra rations and sweets we got because of her.  Twenty had known about Gor from books she read; I think somewhere deep in her heart she had always hoped Gor was real.

I really hoped they were not punished because of our escape. We had drugged them, so our escape was not their fault. I did not mention this to Seventeen, I did not want her to worry.

We took another long drink, then carefully watching the road to make sure no one was coming, we dashed back across it to the orchard where we were to meet our rescuer. We had been late getting to the rendezvous but we hoped they would return.

The sun came filtered by the trees down into the orchard. We lay on the grass, luxuriating in being out of the enclosed dungeon feeling the breezes of freedom on our naked bodies. We were still naked, but it was more like being in the garden of Eden than in the slavery we had known for the past ten days.

“Nineteen, do you really think that they would have branded us. Burned us with white hot irons, marked us on our skin. Like people do with animals.”

“I don’t know for sure. Kailieka and Jade, our trainers, were branded. You could see it on their left thighs. So, they must have been branded, terrible as it is to think about.”

“Do you think it hurt very much, when they were marked as slaves. Marked for life?”

“I think it would hurt very much. I burned myself a bit once, when I accidentally got some hot boiling water poured on my when I was making tea. It really hurt and that was only second-degree burns. I think a hot iron branding would hurt more, and longer.”

“I think the Masters want it to hurt. So the girl remembers it. Remembers that she is marked as a slave.”

“Do you think we would have got used to it, got used to being slaves.”

“Oh no, I think that getting used to it is for natural slaves like Eighteen and Twenty. Eighteen liked it when the men fu.. I mean put her to use. She really liked it. I heard her beg Niles one time for just a quick use. She didn’t use the word use though. I think she was a natural slave.”

“Twenty as well. She had dreamed of it, I know she spoke of it lots of times, that she had had those kinds of dreams. And she read those kinds of books.”

“Nineteen, did you ever have those kinds of dreams?”

“Not really, maybe once or twice, but not really, It was certainly not what I wanted.

“Of course not.”

“What about you, Seventeen, did you ever dream of being ravished by a strong man, under the moon in a strange place?”

“No. Never. Well maybe as with you, if I had seen a movie or read a book. But no, Not really, not like I ever wanted to be a slave.”

I wondered as we lay on the grass in the orchard if Seventeen was lying as much as I was. Sometimes, when I was near sleep, waking or just going to sleep, when I was not in control of my thoughts, I had had those kinds of dreams. But those were just dreams. Not an indication of something my subconscious wanted. Indeed, the whole idea of the subconscious has been rather debunked these days anyway. I was free now and I intended to remain free.

We heard a vehicle coming. We crawled on our bellies to the edge of the orchard. It was that same farm truck going back the other way. There were a couple more men in it now. They were sitting in the back, in the truck bed and they were drinking beer and singing. For sure we were not going to hail them now. I was glad we had not revealed ourselves to them earlier.

We returned to the center of the orchard. It was a lovely day to be free. Even our nakedness did not bother us, it seemed normal somehow to be naked in nature.

“You will crawl on your belly, begging to be used.”

Where had that come from? Obviously, I had remembered something that one of the trainers had said. Yes, it was Jade. She was telling us that once we were trained, once we were opened, once our slave fires had been lit, we would crawl on our bellies to men, begging for use. Just a memory triggered by crawling to observe the truck go by. It meant nothing.

“She is too pretty to be freed.”

One of the trainers had said that about me. Were pretty women destined to be prey to men? Were we destined for the collar?

I had come into a room when Jimmy Klein, Amanda Sloan’s boyfriend had been talking. I had heard him say ‘Janey Anstruther is to pretty to…’ Janey Anstruther had been my name. I mean it is my name, it will be by name again when I am free. I think Jimmy was one of the people who gave my name to the Gorean slavers. I have to escape so I can warn Amanda about him.

I looked at Seventeen, as she lay in the grass, collared and naked, gently dozing. Was she too pretty to be freed? Objectively, if pretty women were destined for the collar, she would remain as she was right now, a collared naked girl. She was my friend; I could admit her beauty. Not quite as good looking as I am, but definitely pretty enough.

I shook my head to rid it of such thoughts. I was free, and Seventeen was my friend, and soon we both would be free for real. As soon as the car with our savior came.

“Tally ho.”

What was that?

“Tally ho.”

The sound of hoofs. I recognized them from movies I had seen. And some other sound of animals running.

“Quick. Up in the trees, we have to hide up in the trees, maybe they will miss us.”

Seventeen was up on her feet. She was alarmed but had a plan to hide. Clearly, we could not run to escape the men on horses. I was sure it was men.

I am short, Seventeen held me up so I could catch a bough and climb into a tree. She is a good friend. She climbed into the tree adjoining mine. Two men on horses rode into our orchard. It was no longer our haven, our Eden. One was the cruel young Slavemaster who had ‘processed’ us on the first day we spent in the dungeon. The other was the older one, the first man I ever pleasured. I remembered him in my mouth. I hoped that if he remembered that; he might treat me with some kindness.

With them were two tawny beasts. Beast with six legs and a foul stench. They circled our trees. They tried to climb up at us. I was very afraid.

“Protect us. Protect us from the beasts!  I beg you. I beg you.”

“Why should we protect you? You are runaway slaves. You can be whipped, or have your feet cut off, or thrown to sleen to devour.”

“You have to protect us. We are women; men are supposed to protect women.”

“You are beasts, slaves. Men protect free women.”

Seventeen was desperate.

“If we are slaves, we must have some value. Surely you want to protect your property?”

“But you claim to be free women.” It was the older man, the one in his thirties. He seemed to enjoy arguing; like a lawyer.

Seventeen would not give up. She was very afraid of the beasts. I was too.

“We are slaves, see our collars. We are slaves. Protect your property.”

The Slavemaster spoke to the older man, the one I called The Lawyer.

“Hold the sleen back, please.”

The older man, The Lawyer dismounted. He took the leashes of the beasts, the sleen. They seemed very reluctant to obey as he pulled them away.

“Come down from the trees, slaves. Come down if you would live.”

Seventeen came down from her tree. How beautiful she looked standing there naked and collared..

“You too, down out of the tree.”

I came out of shock and climbed down until I fell out of the tree.

“Nadu.”

Automatically Seventeen and I assumed the slaves’ position. Kneeling, hands on our thighs, back on our heels, legs and thighs widespread.

“Do you confess yourselves to be slaves, truly slaves, slaves forever, without any appeal?”

“Yes, yes Master.”

“La kajira?”

La kajira, Master.” We both confessed to being slaves forever. We had tried to escape but just ended up more enslaved than before.

La Kajira.