After the Bighorn, Chaper Twenty-two

 

After the Bighorn Chapter Twenty-two

Narrative of Kajira Shorty, formerly Kajira Nineteen, born Janey Anstruther, formerly of the University of Michigan

I have been marred, my former clear and pristine skin disfigured and damaged by the infliction of a hot piece of iron pressed into my flesh. I am forever disfigured by the mark burned into me. Like an animal. Even worse than an animal. Most animals are marked as property nowadays, not by burning with an iron branding iron, but with an eartag. Of course, I never had my ears pierced, as so many girls are eager to do in these times. Why should I mar my body for decoration, at the bidding of others? It is almost as bad as a tattoo! But now I am disfigured by the painful imposition of that mark.
As I understand it, it is not even the usual mark that these monsters place on the girls they want to degrade into their creatures, their slaves. It is of a plant from their world, the dina, they call it. So I am not even one of the normal groups of their sluts, but one that will single me out of special attention and no doubt, abuse. As if being short and busty was not enough!
The monster who marked me came over to where the three of us lay in the straw suffering in pain. The clear covering over the wound had been smeared with a salve so the physical pain had been abated, but the mental pain of the marking and disfiguring only increased. The memory of that instant the iron touched my thigh is something I will never forget, which is I suppose the point.
As he stood over us, the girl Juli struggled to her knees, then bowed her head into the straw in what is called the obedience position. She encircled his ankles with her hands and actually began licking his boots.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you for finally marking me and making me your real slave, your slave forever.”

Her words chilled me, how could she thank this monster, this beast, for disfiguring her beauty? But his reply was even more chilling.

“Mine, yes. And a slave forever. But perhaps not my slave forever. Remember, you are my property, like my pen, or a car, or a suit of clothes. I can keep you, or give you away, or sell you. You are property. Nothing more.”

“Yes Master, your property, your slave.”

He jerked her to her feet. “Come and satisfy me then. You will be my full and total slave now.”

He attached a leash to the ring on her collar and led her away. She was heeling him, a little behind and to his left, like a well-trained dog. I was horrified. It was one thing to hear that we would love our masters, another to see a fellow woman so reduced. I would have been sick, if I still had anything in my belly. As it was, I felt bile in my throat.

The cowboy spoke to the other lawyer. “It is often thought desirable that a white silk girl be opened as soon as possible after being marked, which of these two newly marked sluts would you prefer?”

I was shocked. After the indignity of the long ride in a cage in the back of a truck from the East to here, the hanging in display in front of the corrals, and lastly the branding, I had not anticipated any further horrors on this night. I had no doubt of course that I would be picked. Seventeen as a sweet girl and nicely formed, but I think I am the more desirable, with my great curves and face. I felt sorry for her, having to wait in anticipation all the night for her slave rape, or to be given to one of the anonymous  henchmen these monsters maintained to do their dirty work.

But no, he pointed at Seventeen. “I will take that one. I think she is the most comely of the two virgins, she attracts me the most.”

I could not believe my ears!. How could he pick Seventeen over me! She is comely of course, even beautiful, these beasts would not have ‘acquired’ her overwise, but it was impossible she was picked over me. I was Janey Anstruther and was recommended for acquisition by no fewer than three sources. How could Seventeen be chosen over me?

“No master! Choose me! I am more comely, I have wide hips, a delightful bosom. Everyone says so! Pick me!”

I could not believe that was my voice. I was not a slave begging for use. I had been Janey Anstruther, a white ribbon girl! I was silenced by a burning feeling, a quirt across my back. I subsided in pain.

The lawyer raised up Seventeen. He took a piece of rope through the ring in her collar. He tied her hands behind her back, caressing her butt as he did so. By the light of the kerosine lamps I could see the look of triumph she gave me as she was led away. I lay in pain on the straw. How could I be rejected? Even if I did not want to be opened, how could I not be chosen.

The Cowboy looked at the blacksmith and at Hawkins, the brute.

“Well, who will take this leftover slave and open her?”

I was resigned now. I just hoped it would not be Hawkins, the brutal man who claimed to be in charge of special livestock, which is to say female slaves. But the blacksmith shook his head.

“I have a girl for the night. Let Hawkins have her.”

There was no ring on my collar. After binding my hands behind me, Hawkins threaded a rope through my collar and led me away. The rough rope scratched my neck. I followed Master Hawkins for about a quarter of a mile, as near as I can guess to his cabin.

It was so much different from what I had imagined my first time to be like. I had imagined my wedding night, in a luxurious hotel, with my attentive husband. He would be gentle and kind and understanding. I would be in bed with a nightie. After putting the lights out he would delicately raise the hem of my nightie and it would be sweet and lovely.

What Hawkins did to me was not sweet of lovely. I had no nightie. I was naked, my thigh had just been marked. My feet were dusty and sore. There were no soft satin sheets. Hawkins threw me across the scratching wool blanket on his bed. Using the rope through my collar He tied me to a ring set in the wall. A slave ring. I was to learn these rings were all over the ranch, for the convenience of the men to use us girls. Then he tied ropes to my legs and pulled my ankles up by my head and tied them to the same ring. I was wide open to whatever the beast should decide to inflict on me. Leaving me thus, ready for his pleasure, he then went across the room and made some coffee. While he drank the coffee, he had a cold supper of meats and bread. I was ever so hungry. I wanted him to get on with it.

He took off his shirt; he looked very strong. I thought he looked the kind of man who would not be gentle with a girl. He lit a couple of kerosine lamps and turned off the electric ones. The scene seemed barbaric; something enacted thousands of times over thousands of years of human history; a captive slave woman to be raped by her conqueror. Shamefully, something in my past genetic coding perhaps, made me ready, or even eager for a first night unlike that which I had imagined since I was twelve. Then Master Hawkins, without any ceremony, started to use me. Again, shamefully, I responded in his arms. Me, the former Janey Anstruther, who had been a white ribbon girl, responded to a brutal man taking me without asking or begging. He just took what he wanted, the beast. He stole my pearl of great price, the gift I was to bring my husband on our wedding night.

I loved it.

He untied me. Pushed me to the floor. He tied my hands behind me, of course, and tied my left ankle to the bed post. He slept in the bed; I slept on the floor. I slept there all night, except the two times he pulled onto the bed, as he made sure I was well and truly opened for the use of men.

Narrative of Patrick Masters, patent attorney of San Francisco.

“Order in the Court. All rise for Judge Kellogg.”

I was back in Pittsburgh. Zach Frick had summoned me urgently. Dana Wynter and Richard Thornton had discovered more about the Wichita Project in the material Vincent VanRijn had turned over to us. They did not understand it and had asked for Zach’s help. He had had the data clerks and exhibit preparers overseen by Jane Bennet in the San Francisco office correlate some of it. The references were cryptic and scattered, but Zach had some interesting inferences he was having our new tech person work on. Meanwhile, he wanted us to prepare for court to extract more if possible from the VanRijn side.

“May it please the court.” Dana Wynter had risen and was leading our side in court this morning.

“Dana Wynter for the Respondents, Frick Steel, Frick Enterprises et al.” In civil matters, there are no defendants, just plaintiffs and respondents. Augustus Frick and I had decided to have Dana and Zach speak for our side this morning, with Richard Thornton backing them up. We had noted the tensions between Samuel Vansittart, VanRijn Patent Aggregators corporate attorney from Oakland, and Barbara Quigley, the local counsel engaged by VanRijn for this case. Barbara was young, barely thirty if that, and eager. Vansittart resented her questioning of his strategy and there had been open dissention at the plaintiff’s table. We hoped to exploit that by putting up Dana, who was female like Barbara, and a bit younger; and Zach, who as a young prodigy was barely twenty or twenty-one. We thought that he would take out his dislike of Barbara on Dana and Zach, and make hasty ill-considered decisions.

Dana led off, countering Vansittart’s arguments for more delay. She argued that the uncertainty of the case was hurting business, and it was time to get to cases. Barbara Quigley tried to rise, it was usually the job of local counsel in such cases to deal with procedural matters. Vansittart pulled her down, and rose, speaking over Quigley to the displeasure of the Court.

“One at a time please. I thought that Miss Quigley spoke on procedural matters.” Judge Kellogg looked annoyed. It is a good rule to not annoy any judge first thing in the morning.

Vansittart barked out. “I am in charge of this case, Judge, I speak for VanRijn.”

The judge was really angry now. “I am addressed as Your Honor. I am in charge of this case. You are in charge of presenting your arguments. Is that understood?”

Good, the judge was angry with the other side, and we had not done anything that anyone could point to as provoking it. One for us.

Vansittart glared. Judge Kellogg asked again.

“Is that understood?”

“Yes Your Honor.”

After that dust-up, Vansittart had no chance of getting a delay. One for us. Never piss off a judge before the morning coffee break. They are much more approachable after their mid-morning coffee and a snack.

Zach Frick took over. He asked for more materials in discovery, materials related to how exactly VanRijn had acquired his patents. Of course what we wanted was to have the VanRijn side to another data dump on us. This is a tactic that lawyers in such cases do, dumping huge numbers of boxes of unsorted paper on the other side, and is usually to be avoided. But in this case, it was exactly what we wanted. With our data and exhibits group in San Francisco, we were confident we could make short work of sorting and correlating. The VanRijn people had not staffed up for the patent fight, expecting a payment to buy them off to go away. When the Fricks started to fight back, VanRijn and Vansittart were not prepared.

Richard Thornton took over from Zach. He presented the work that the Frick company lawyers under Augustus Frick had done preparing their work product on the Frick patents.

“Your Honor, if the Frick Companies are ready to defend, why are not the plaintiffs also ready?”

Vansittart fell into the trap. He thought he was taking advantage of the young lawyers, Zach, Richard, and Dana.  “We will have the materials ready for next week Your Honor.”

Dana rose and sweetly asked, “Perhaps it could be earlier, maybe Wednesday or even tomorrow?”

Barbara Quigley shook her head, “Your Honor, we will need more time to vet the materials, to make sure no business secrets or extraneous materials are there.”

Again Vansittart spoke over her, jumping to his feet. “It will be tomorrow afternoon, Judge, I mean Your Honor. We can have it ready by then.”

Quigley was shaking her head in negation, but Vansittart had spoken. Dana and Zach, with Richard’s help had obtained all we wanted and more. As we rose for the Judge’s exit, we were quite pleased.

There were a few aficionados of patent cases in the gallery. I recognized a few from other cases around the country, including the East Texas court which handles a lot of tech patent cases. Two spectators stood out in the sparce crowd; an older woman in old fashioned clothing, almost Amish like, and a large barrel shaped man in bib overalls.

I had no idea why such a pair were watching an arcane patent case, and was astonished when Zach Frick went up and greeted them warmly. He led them over to see me.

“Patrick Masters, I would like you to meet Grizzly Monroe, and his Companion, my aunt Wilfrieda Frick. Grizzly makes replica weapons and hand-crafted knives and axes at his artisanal forge in the Minnesota Iron Range.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr Masters. We have quite the little operation going on now up there. We get our steel from the Fricks, of course. That is why we took an interest in the trial.”

Zach was surprised. “You came all the way here just to see some routine motions?”

“Well mostly we came because our boy, Bear, is going into his third year of material Engineering at Carnegie-Mellon University, and we wanted to visit him. And to see how

Wyandotte is settling in as Head of the Family of course.”