Vignette: Saffron (Catherine Binnington) by Tracker

 

Catherine Saffron Binnington Vignette.

Excerpt from Chapter24 of Banks of the Bighorn.

Slave Juliette’s Narrative

The two cowboys who took me yesterday had planted an unpleasant thought in my head.  That I was not sexually responsive enough as a slave; that my reactions to being mastered were not intense enough; that I was failing and shaming Patrick.

I am finding it hard, even in a collar, with Patrick’s initial on my thigh, and traipsing around naked all the time to let go of my entire life since I can remember – being respectable, being contained, not over-reacting to sexual stimuli.

 

I wanted, I want, to be the kind of woman men marry; not the kind of girl they trifle with. I agreed to be Patrick’s slave for a night, then when I ran away I was sentenced to at least a week as his property.  Patrick and I both highly respect and follow the law, but this week is making changes in my thinking. At least for this week I want to be his best whore, his best slave.

I do pant for him, I do take pride in arousing him, I want him to exult in possessing my body.  But after this week, will he still love me, will he respect me, will he still want to marry me?

Last night he re-inked his initial P on my left thigh. As he brushed on the letter with indelible ink, he would stop to cup my rear, or stroke my sex, or run his fingers along my thigh. While he was waiting for the first coat of ink to dry, he took another brush and dipped it in water and used the damp hairs at the end of the brush to tease and tickle my clit and dampen my pussy hair.

I responded in a way the Cowboys would approve, but Patrick made me wait until both the first and second coats of the ink marking his initial had dried.  Then I was a good slave girl.

Funnily enough though the ink was wet and cold, it felt hot, almost burning when Patrick put it again on my thigh.

This morning after I had prepared breakfast, served Patrick, and then eaten myself, and all the cooking and eating utensils were washed and put away I was permitted some clothes.  Not clothes to cover myself, but my climbing boots and some socks.  Then I was fitted into my climbing harness.

I had a chance to get used to how the harness felt on me while I prepared a picnic lunch.  We were going to be away from camp all day.  Of course, when we set out on our hike to the cliff face, I was the beast of burden who carried our lunch, our water and our extra gear.  Slaves do all the extra tasks

Being in the harness when I was essentially naked was entirely different from being in harness when I was clothed.  Clothed it felt like armor, as though it was extra protection.  Naked, its straps and harness seemed to accentuate my vulnerability, none of the straps covered my bits, but by being so close to them, the straps, the chest strap, the crotch and leg straps seemed to draw attention to what they were near but did not cover.

Patrick and I spent a lovely strenuous day.  We hike to the farthest cliff face from the river and climbed to the top, a moderately difficult climb up, and an equally arduous climb down.

After a quick lunch of sandwiches, Patrick used his slave girl as a cruel barbarian would, then we had a quick nap in the grass.  The straps of the harness were tight; I felt like a bondage model 

We spent the afternoon hiking to a cliff face on the north side of our valley, one we hadn’t climbed before.  It took us about an hour to climb to the top; I felt it was quite an achievement.  The sweat stood out on my body drying in the breeze as we stood together at the top.  I felt so close to Patrick.

We heard voices coming towards us from a tumble of rocks that separated us from the river.  It sounded like hikers, rather than enemies, but I tugged at Patrick so we could start to descend before they came into sight around the rocks.

Patrick shook his head.  “I want to see if there is any news. You can stand up, no need to kneel.  Unless commanded of course.”

So I stood there, naked and exposed in my harness as three hikers, with overnight packs and tired looks came around the rocks and walked towards us.  They stopped when they saw us, especially me in only boots and a climbing harness. And of course my steel collar and the short chain hanging down the front of my body.  Until other people came into sight, I had almost really forgotten it was there.

There were two men and one woman, as they approached in response to Patrick’s friendly greeting they could not keep their eyes off me.  These were the first civilians if I may use the term I had seen in this state.  By civilians I mean people not from the ranch, the Lazy F, where apparently slavery and nudity were common.  These were ordinary people, from outside the strange world I had found myself in.  It was all I could do, not to crouch down, not to cover myself. 

Instead I obeyed Patrick’s orders to stand tall.  The last time I had disobeyed his orders, I had ended up on the ranch, displayed and exhibited for an entire day.  In addition I had earned this extra week of slavery. In a way, I was curious to what their reaction would be, what my reaction would be.

I felt small under their eyes, lesser than they, less of a person, more of an object of curiosity.

Their eyes devoured me.  I cast down my eyes, but I don’t think it would have mattered.  Even with my eyes looking down, I could feel their eyes, and they weren’t on my face.

Patrick introduced himself, but not me.  I stood there mute, unacknowledged.  Their names were Saffron, Samuel and Jason.  They all shook hands with Patrick. They did not offer to shake hands with me.  I just stood there, excluded from the conversation, even with ordinary people.

Jason asked if there was a way down into our valley that did not involve climbing that they could use a short cut, so they would not have to hike miles out of their way.  Patrick said there was not, but it was a simple walk around the cliffs and they would come out again by the river.  He offered to show them on our map and let them make a rough copy.  He turned me around, extracted a map from the backpack I was wearing and led Jason and Samuel some distance away to a flat rock where they could trace out their route.  As the three men walked away I heard Samuel murmur something and then Patrick’s hearty laugh, “No, she’s a nudist, loves to show off.”

I felt humiliated.  Patrick knew how shy and reserved I really was. I held my head up, so I wouldn’t cry.  I met Saffron’s eyes, then lowered them.  I could feel her walking around me as I stood there, like a statue.  I really couldn’t move.

Saffron was taking in my whole body.  She was more observant than Jason and Samuel, or maybe she noticed different things.

“You have a collar and a chain.  Most nudists don’t wear those accessories.  She pulled my chain, forcing me close to her.  I could smell her perfume.  I was sure she could smell my sweat from exercise and being out exposed in the sun. She kept hold of the chain as she turned me around.

“The collar is locked onto you.  Do you have the key, or does he have it? What I mean is, can you free yourself or are you at the mercy of that yummy man?’

My mouth was dry.  I could not speak.  I shook my head.  Finally I was able to speak. “No, I can’t unlock it myself. I don’t have the key.”

“So, he had the key, and you do not?”

“Yes, Master Patrick has the key.”  I could have shot myself.  I had just betrayed my true situation, not a nudist, but a collared piece of property. I wanted to shrink down, but Saffron held the chain close.

“Master Patrick. So you are his slave, his sex slave.”

“Yes.” I added before I could stop myself, “Yes, Mistress.”

Saffron grinned.  She traced the P that Patrick had inked on my thigh the night before.

“So the P is his mark?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Does he share you around? Would he give you to Jason and Samuel if they asked?”

“I have been shared Mistress, I don’t know if he would share me today.”  I wanted to say that Patrick would give me to Samuel and Jason, if they gave Saffron to Patrick, but I didn’t dare. I did not want to offend her.

Patrick strolled over. The two male hikers were still copying the map.

Saffron was bold, “she looks well in your collar.”

“Yes,” said Patrick. “I am finding out that many women look well in a collar.”  He looked her up and down. He twirled his finger, and surprisingly Saffron turned slowly around.  I think she was surprised that she did so.  Patrick put out a hand and took one of her wrists, then joined it with the other behind her back.  Saffron was standing now, with her shoulders back and breasts thrust out under her shirt.  She was breathing heavily but did not call out. Patrick reached out and undid her top fastened button. 

“Your throat might look well in a collar too,” he said.

As we heard Jason and Samuel returning with our map, Patrick released her.

Patrick gave them his business card, and we watched as they hiked off.  Only Saffron took a backwards look.

As they went out of sight, I collapsed in Patrick’s arms.  His arms were so strong.

* *

Catherine Saffron Bingington followed the waitress to a booth on the far side of the diner. She had asked for a seat away from the windows; it was raining in San Francisco, a dull gray day in November and Catherine did not want to be reminded of the depressing scene. It was an old-fashioned independent diner with booths along the walls and the back of the restaurant was dark. There were few extra customers, in the booth behind her was a pair of University students; a man and a girl. They wore matching University sweatshirts well broken in, the man wearing khaki chinos and boots; the woman baggy cargo pants and shoes. The seat of the booth had a low back; tall dividers of plaited bamboo went to the ceiling. Although the looked solid, voices could easily be heard unless the speaker spoke very softly.

Catherine ordered a coffee and a tiramisu. It was three hours before she would meet Sam for dinner. It was their regular Saturday date. Dinner then some activity. Tonight they were attending a lecture at the museum on Byzantine Numismatics. Sam would come back to her apartment for coffee and then go home. Catherine sat back and sipped her coffee. The couple in the next booth were talking in normal tones. Catherine listened.

“I wish I knew that what I was doing had some value, Robert. You know? I just want to make an impact. I want to know my worth to society.”

“Well, Cora, there is one way a woman can know exactly what she is worth…..”

“Not that again, Roberrt. You know I am a white ribbon girl. My purity ribbon means a lot to me. I can’t be one of the fraternity sluts.”

“It would let you know what your true worth is. You are a business and marketing major. A thing is only as valuable as what someone is willing to pay for it.”

“I’m not going to stand naked on a platform while a bunch of men bid on me!”

“Cora, it is the only way to know what you are worth as a woman, or a person if you insist. You are worth what someone will pay for you.”

“Oh, shut up Robert, let’s talk about something else.”

Catherine’s memory was jogged back to that intense scene on a cliff side in Montana. Nor for the first time since it happened at the beginning of summer, she recalled the brilliant blue of the sky, the breeze, the fresh air. She and Sam and her brother Jason had been on a hiking holiday and were tired and not quite sure of their way, when they came upon two climbers. One was a naked woman, an incredibly beautiful Chinese woman in a steel collar with a chain hanging down her front between her breasts and all the way to just above her naked pussy. The ring at the end of the chain would swing against the top of her slit; it must be so exciting. She was covered with sweat. Jason introduced themselves to the man Patrick. Jason called her by her middle name, Saffron as a joke. Catherine talked to the woman, an actual slave. I bet she knew her exact value, thought Catherin.

The camping trip had not gone as Catherine Binginginton had hoped. First Sam had invited her brother Jason, (after all, we need a chaperone) and then he had Jason and shared a tent. Catherine would have preferred other sleeping arrangements, but Sam would not sleep with her with her brother in the next tent. Sam was always careful to treat her delicately and gently. “After all Catherine, we are equals.” They had sex on alternate Saturdays, then Sam would leave. “If I stay any later, it could damage your reputation.” Catherine was sure that the girl who climbed in only boots and harness with a collar did not worry about her reputation.

Catherine sighed and accepted a refill of coffee from the waitress. She served the couple in the next booth and then went back to the kitchen.

“And that’s another thing, Robert. After being exhibited naked and being passed around to the audience for assessment, the girls who are auctioned have to serve at the banquet. Serve naked.”

“So they do, Cora, how do you know that though?

“I have talked to girls who have been there. Not as auctioned girls, no never that, but some men take their girlfriends as guests. They watch the auction and then watch the naked girls serve the banquet. They say terrible things about girls who are sold. They are sluts. One girl was in my sorority in my first year, and they made her leave. She had to join Kappa Tau Zeta Rho. You know what they call that sorority, Kajira for short. You know what kajira means, Robert. I will tell you. They say it means slave girl in Greek.

After Cora’s outburst the topic changed again. Catherine thought, Sam will never treat me like a slave girl, he won’t even let me give him a blow job, because it is unequal and a woman should not be on her knees to a man. I agree that outside the bedroom that is true, but…

Catherine took a deep breath. She remembered turning around so that the man, Patrick, who owned the stunning slave girl could look at her. She remembered his unbuttoning the top button of her shirt to look at her throat.

“I happen to know, Cora, that there is a vacancy at tonight’s affair. They usually want three to four girls a night, and right now they have only three.”

“Don’t be silly, Robert, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have time to prepare.
“Prepare? All you have to do is take off your clothes.”

“That’s all you know. A girl, if she was going to do such a thing needs to prepare. Do you know what the girls, the sluts, that are going to auctioned tonight are doing right now. I will tell you. They are getting their hair done. They are getting facials. They are getting properly groomed, and by that I mean Brazilians. There is no way I could be ready in time, even if I was going to, which I am not.”

“Cora, you are stunning, I am sure that no man there is going to care about your grooming.”

“If I am going to be judged, which I am not, I would have to be looking my best.”

Cora changed the subject. Catherine took out her phone and made an appointment at the spa. Every Thursday, Sam came for dinner to her apartment. He never stayed late, ‘can’t stay late on a school night’, he would joke. Catherine wondered what Sam would do next Thursday if she met him at the door wearing only a bath towel. With the towel covering from just above her breasts down to her thighs, and clearly with no nether closure. She would pull him in and then drop the towel. She would stand in front of Sam, naked, with the lights full on, not dimmed as in the bedroom on the alternate Saturday when they made careful equal love. Sam would be in his suit and she would be stark naked, except for maybe a choker around her neck. Skin shining from the spa, totally bare of hair below the neck, wearing a new perfume. She would have carefully dabbed in the hollows of her wrists, in the hollows of her neck, just below her breasts and a small spritz around her naked mound. Sam would smell the perfume behind as she sank to her knees before him, then spreading her knees wide to conceal nothing.

Sitting in the booth at the diner, Catherine could almost feel the fibers of the Persian rug in her foyer. Then she would lower her head to the threads of the carpet, stretching out her arms with her head between them. Her haunches would remain suggestively high as the rest of her body stretched out before him. Now her breasts would be pushed in the carpet as well, as the bodies of slave girls had stretched out for thousands of years.

“Your slave girl Saffron welcomes you”, she would say.

Catherine sighed. Sam would run from the apartment. Or worse, he would be ‘understanding’. He would offer to get her therapy. He would be ‘disappointed’.

Despite her proclaimed distaste for the topic, Cora had returned talking about the auction.

“Besides, once the girls are bought, they have to do ‘it’ with the man who buys them. And his friends if he says so. She belongs to him for twenty-four hours.”

“You are very well informed for someone who has not been to a fraternity auction banquet. Have you been doing research?”

“NO! Robert! How can you even suggest such a thing. Sometimes someone hears rumors, that is all. Besides when you brought it up last month, I asked around. I was shocked. I am not giving up my white purity hair ribbon.”

“You wouldn’t have to give up your ribbon. Not if you were a temporary slave, Then it doesn’t count. At least I don’t think so.”

“Of course it counts. You don’t know other girls. I could never wear my ribbon again.”

For a while there was silence. Catherine thought that with Sam only laying with her twice a month, she might as well wear a purity ribbon herself. From the next booth, Cora finally spoke again.

“If I was auctioned. I mean auctioned naked as a Slavegirl, would you bid on me?

“No.”

“Robert! Why not, am I so ugly?”

“You are beautiful, well worth a bid, but I am your boyfriend. If I bid it would not give you an accurate assessment of your value. You do want to know your true value don’t you.”

“Well, maybe a girl does wonder sometimes.”

“Besides I can’t bid tonight, or even next year either. I am the auctioneer for the next two sessions.”

“Oh right, no more gatherings of your little group in December because of Christmas. How did you become the auctioneer? No never mind, I can guess. Would I just have to stand there?”

“No. You would be prepared back stage. Your clothes would be taken away of course and you would be assessed for your status. To see if you had been opened by use for men.”

“How would that happen. No never mind, I can guess. I am a virgin, would that mean I would not have to have sex with the buyer?”

“Not at all After purchase you would be taken to an alcove and opened. But first you would be sold. You would be put, locked actually, in a steel collar, and then a cloak, white in your case, draped over your shoulders. It would come down to your knees. You would not be able to keep it closed though, because your hands would be braceleted together behind your back. A chain would be attached to the collar and you would be led around the room. They buyers would get glimpses of you as the cloak opened and closed. Then you would be led onto the platform. You will kneel, or be forced to your knees and the cloak removed. You will be revealed fully to your potential owners.”

There was silence. Then Cora asked in raspy breathless voice.

“And then what? What will you do then?

“If you have knelt with your knees together, they will be kicked apart. You will feel the switch for your impudence in hiding yourself. All the watchers will see how you have prepared yourself, your Brazilian, your glowing skin and make-up and hair, all the things you tell me you need to do to prepare.”

“And what then, Robert, what then.”

“Then I put you through your paces. I display you in different positions, display to your best advantage, show the buyers your body, your responsiveness. I would lead you naked around the room, let them touch you, feel you, assess you. All that time I would be taking bids. With a girl like you, the bidding and display should take at least twenty minutes. Then once I have the final bid. I will close my hand and you will know exactly what you are worth.”

“And then what?”

“Your owner will drag you to the alcove for the first of your slave-rapes. Just the first, remember he owns you for twenty-four hours. And then you serve at the banquet.”

“Oh my God!  But I could never do it, Robert. Let all those men look at me, touch me, possess me. And the other girls, the ones not being sold.  They would mock me, abuse me, pinch me.”

“They would envy you your freedom in slavery.”

“They would take out their envy in abuse.  No, I just can’t do it, Robert.”

In the next booth, Catherine was thinking, I could do that Robert. Saffron could be sold from a platform and dragged to an alcove. Saffron could be that girl. But she didn’t say anything.

“Think about the January sale, Cora. You would have plenty of time to prepare yourself.”

“No Robert. I really can’t. I am not that kind of girl.”

“Yes Robert.” Catherine thought. “Saffron definitely could be that kind of girl.”

Catharine took a business card out of her pocket. It was the card of the man who had owned that beautiful slave girl in Montana. Robert was trying to own Cora for a night, a weekend. The man whose name was on the card would not be content with a weekend. He would take a girl for as long as he wanted. Catherine wondered if he would want another girl, when he already had one.

Of course he would, he would want to own multiple slaves. Too bad though, that this Patrick Masters was not allowed to legally own slaves. Too bad.

“Robert?”

“Yes, Cora?”

“Could I go to the January auction? Not as one of the sluts, but just to see what goes on. Could you protect me?

“Of course, Cora. I think you will enjoy yourself. Many girls attend as guests before they decide on being put up for sale.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t stand on the auction block, Robert. Never. But maybe just to see what all the excitement is about. Just to see.”

“Of course, Cora. You will see.”

As Robert and Cora left the diner, Saffron was wondering how to get an invitation to the January auction. And not just to watch.