by Raul Roget
Chapter 2: A slut is
One stupid mistake. Master lost a lot of sleep wondering, re-living the abortive escape. The admission by his penitent, demoted-to-slut slave that the root cause was boredom pissed him off as much as if the staged escape had been real.
When his collar stopped smoking and calm had been fully restored he made several informed and unbiased decisions. Slave Petra had caused him a lot of hurt. Since he had already stripped her collar from her (and recovered it from the manure pile later) she was now slut, her Petra name lost to her for the near or far future. As for slut, Master told the ranch foreman that, "She may well be drawing Social Security before she gets her collar back."
At the moment slut was on the near side of 30. She was well aware that getting herself back in Master's good graces would take time, but if she had heard Master's sarcastic comment she might well have, in the vernacular, 'shit her britches.'
Determined that slut would never cry 'boredom' again, Master decided that his ranch, which covered 23 sections and a few odd quarters, was big enough and diversified enough to keep slut much too busy to get bored.
Now that winter had come, slut was in winter quarters, in the tiger cage under Master's office floor, Three days of carpentry had produced a hinged section of flooring which covered the cage in the event visitors came by. The hinges and latch were covered by a rug. Master made a point of not installing electricity or running water under the floor, so slut lived a Spartan existence, especially when company came, To ensure any unwanted noise would be stifled, slut was warned that the slightest audible noise would lead to her being tied spread-eagle to the corral gate for an unspecified period. Clothes would be optional - Master's option. The odds? 10 to 1 she'd be naked as a jaybird.
New Mexico winters, except in the mountains, are usually not that severe. Sunny days followed cool nights, with the odd snowstorm twisting out of the Rockies. Once the morning chill wore off Master made a practice of putting her outside in the nude. A half hour to an hour of rigorous exercise was added to her schedule to warm her up for the day. The exact length was up to whomever was supervising her performance, with the slightest stumble adding another fifteen minutes of practice.
I might mention that slut was not a country girl. She grew up in a city of 50,000, so she had hardly seen a horse before Master brought her to New Mexico. In short order she had been taught to ride, rope, milk cows and shovel manure. Since she was almost always nude down to her cowgirl boots there were always a couple, or all, of the ranch hands volunteering as teachers. The order was "Look, don't touch."
That didn't survive the loss of her collar. Posted on the ranch bulletin board was the notice, specifying " anybody, any time, anywhere." The lone exception was the stipulation that any sexual activity would be in full view, not behind closed doors. That by itself would take up a significant portion of her time. When Master told her he couldn't resist a double-meaning cliché' "It will keep you out of the bars."
Since she had lost her house privileges, she had to use the bunkhouse toilet and shower. The men - following one of Master's suggestions - instituted a rule that she always had to leave the door open when she was in the bathroom, and always had to invite one or more of the men to shower with her.
Master moved her clothes to the bunkhouse, emptying the closet that she once rated as a slave. This led to more new rules. She had to call in at least one of the men to inspect and watch her dress, or undress - if she had been lucky enough to wear clothes for some special reason. Just as with the bathroom and shower, if there wasn't one of the men available, she had to wait. The men had veto power over what she wore unless Master had already specified her garb.
When all these changes were first starting, Master called a meeting of all the workers. Slut was sent to the barn and harnessed in a cow stall, with her head trapped in the stanchion that normally kept a cow from backing out of the stall.
Master described the various punishments that slut would receive to begin her long climb back into his favor. His "anyone" slogan drew applause and he cautioned them. "I don't want nightly gang bangs but if you space it out with your regular work it will make for some interesting breaks." The crew got the message. They were being well paid and this was an unexpected and very welcome fringe benefit that they didn't want to abuse.
Master got a laugh when he told them that slut was >bored.' "Not any more," one of the ranch hands laughed, "we'll keep her from being bored."
Master laughed too. "You guys, and gals - nodding to the cook - probably can come up with some fresh ideas to make her miserable. I'll pay $1,000 for the best idea of the year. Write it out and have slut bring it to me."
The meeting broke up with loud laughter. One of the hands clapped Master on the shoulder and joked, "How are we supposed to top those tiger cages you started her out on?"
Master grinned, "You'll have plenty of time. I'm planning on offering the same prize next year. Hell, I'll probably be offering it for the next five years - at least."
Looking up he called, "Before you go back to work, one of you go get slut. She's probably milked by now. Bring her up to the bulletin board and she can read her rules to us. I think she'd like that."
She wouldn't like it a bit, but she would know better than to protest. Jim, the cowboy with the longest legs brought her up from the barn on her leash. He'd left her hobbles on so she was taking four steps to his one, making it look like she was running.
The crew crowded around her as Master gave her instructions to read everything on the bulletin board that pertained to her. She flushed a deep dark red, almost beet color and started reading. When she got through with the rules affecting her she glanced about and saw a note pinned at the corner. "For a good time, call slut." If possible she flushed an even darker red as the jeers went up from the crew.
It was a brisk morning several days later, not quite 50 degrees. Slut, sans clothing, walked barefoot to the bunkhouse, waited in line to use the toilet, joined her shower mate and then trotted back to the house, holding a folded note. She knelt and knocked on the lower panel of the door. Master looked at the clock and let it cross 10 minutes before going to the door. Without a word she handed him the note and waited, kneeling up, shivering.
Master, opened and read it, grinning almost from the first word. "Did you read this?"
"No Master. I was ordered to deliver it, and not to read it."
Master laughed, roared, "Boy, has he got a surprise for you.! Go back and tell him 'Yes.' Quickly! Stay in the bunkhouse until I call."
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."
While that particular surprise was cooking, the crew kept slut busy transporting notes to Master. One of the first was to let them train slut to learn and memorize a dozen different mantras so they could change her tune by calling out a number. She was getting a chorus of "BORING!" any time she repeated the same slogan more than twice.
One of the first new ones was "I'm a stupid, stupid, stupid dummy." They made her add a stupid with each recitation until the 'boring' cries drowned her out. She was a quick study and within an hour had the 12 memorized and was able to match a slogan when the number was called at random. One that didn't quite make the cut was "Slut is just two letters away from shit."
The ranch foreman sent her to the house, first tipping Master to what was coming. She cooled her heels for 30 minutes while Master took an 'important' phone call. When he opened the door she started down her new list. Master listened, shook his head, said 'boring' and shut the door in her face. She was crying when she got back to the bunkhouse, staring into a future of humiliation.
Giving her to the crew for a playmate hurt her cruelly. Master hadn't touched her, or shown the slightest interest in her, a 180 degree turn from the almost nightly sex that she had enjoyed with him as a slave. She knew that it was a two-edged sword. He wasn't getting any sex and she was getting more than she wanted but she knew that the slightest hint of a complaint from her would get her a swimming lesson in the ice cold water in the stock dam - or worse. Thinking of the stock dam brought home once more the cold hard fact that she was treading on very thin ice.
A week later, the surprise the crew had been assembling was ready. Master announced on the intercom that he was going after the mail. He told slut, "You're going along for the ride." He pointedly didn't mention clothes. Fortunately for slut, a warm front was coming through and the morning had warmed up rapidly.
Slut walked out the bunkhouse door and stopped short when she saw the pickup. Mounted in the bed was a crude wooden horse. There was a real saddle on the horse's back, but there was an attachment, a modification, that instantly caught the eye. Running from the horn back to the cantle was an inverted V-shaped piece of wood centered on the seat that literally shouted "Look at me - I'm going to hurt you bad!"
Slut had already figured that she didn't stand a chance of riding in the cab, but the potential of the wooden horse caught her flat footed. Carefully masking her fright she climbed into the back, with the foreman right behind her. Hanging stirrups had boots bolted into them. The foreman steadied her as she slipped her feet down into them, realizing at once that they were at least a size too small and narrow width besides. With all her weight and the foreman pushing on her bare hip she got first one and then the other foot completely into the boots. There would be no escaping them without help. The pain was instantaneous.
There was no need to tie her hands, but they were tied anyway with the reins, looped about her wrists and tied off to the saddle horn. Slut didn't dare sit down, but the reins kept her from fully standing, keeping her crouched over, straining her thighs and calves. Her fear turned to terror as she pictured six miles of ruts, stones and potholes riding this thing.
Master made his appearance, comfortably dressed, still wearing a windbreaker. He eyed slut for a brief moment, taking in her already cramped stance. His grin cut her like a knife. "Let's go riding." Slut remained silent, an answer not required.
The ride was at least as tortuous as she had expected. Master hardly needed to deliberately steer toward road hazards as the slightest sway or jolt pitched her sideways, forward or backward. Before they had driven half the distance to the highway the cramps in her legs were screaming pain messages to her brain. The only solution was to sit. To slut that was not an option, at first.
Slut had ample experience with the horse to color her thinking. The nice ranch crew had equipped every corral top rail with one and she had tried each one in turn, shouting her slogans until the stabbing pains choked off her bellows. She couldn't go near the corral or even look at it without twinging. The deep-seated (pun intended) pain that ran from her clit to her tail bone seemed to last for days after a ride. The herd of horses on the corral fence were rigidly mounted, immovable. The horse she was on was bolted to the truck bed, but was gyrating like a mechanical bull as the truck bounced and swayed.
Master drove out onto the highway to make a U-turn, pulling up near the mailbox.
Barely glancing at his sweating passenger he said, "Sit." He ignored her hesitant descent onto the shaped wood, knowing she would have to obey. She was firmly established, all her weight on her split when he returned. He instructed, "When I stop - for anything - you sit."
She was barely able to keep the pain out of her voice. "Yes, Master." She now had no choice or alternative. When the truck moved, she crouched. When it stopped, she sat. Even a stupid slut could understand, but would her body respond to such commands? The thought stabbed at her. Even she was thinking of herself as a stupid slut.
The seated slut waited while Master inspected the mail. Normally he would have tossed the bag of mail onto the seat and headed back to the house. However, in honor of his passenger he opened and read every letter - even the junk mail. This took the better part of an hour. Slut had lost all track of time, her pain seeming to double and double again every minute or two. She could have raised herself, but Master had told her to sit. Rising would be a violation of a direct order. Master had numerous cruel and unusual punishments waiting for just such a mistake. Slut swallowed her pain, forcing her brain to ignore it, while she waited, and waited. She spent the time listing all the possible and known punishments that might come her way.
What made her frantic was thinking of the impossible and unknown tortures that he might dream up for her. She scared herself to the point of hyperventilating by visualizing some of her own ideas, dredged up while curled in the dirt at the bottom of the hole. She lived in mortal fear that Master would somehow learn of her fantasies and brutally extract them from her brain.
She was on the verge of screaming when he started the motor and the truck started moving. Gasping in relief she forced her trembling legs to support her, wincing as the too tight boots reminded her of their hold on her feet. Her hips and knees hurt from resisting the sways and jolts. If she had to describe their pain it was on the order of being hit with a two by four.
She felt like she was glued to the slick wood between her legs. It took all her willpower to pull herself away, even knowing it would relieve the burning horror of crushed nerve endings and pinched flesh. The relief was over almost before it began, replaced and overshadowed by renewed cramps in her legs. Even her feet cramped, protesting the taut leather that squeezed like a devil's vise.
The cramps were not new. Her mind flashed to the tight confines of the tiger cage again, where cramps were numerous and unremitting. Unable to stretch out or put weight on the cramping leg, they punished her for hours, denying any thought of sleep.
The truck stopped. Quickly she sat. Master stuck his head out the window. "Tell that jackrabbit what you are."
She saw the small animal, huddled against a bush even as she yelled, "I am a stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid dummy slut."
Master watched as the rabbit hopped away, searching for food. Slut sat, hurting. Master drove on. A cow appeared. The truck stopped. Slut sat. She yelled. The cow ignored her. The truck moved on and she crouched, her legs in agony from her toes to her hips.
When the truck finally stopped for the last time, next to the bunkhouse, slut was in a state, often described as being at the end of her rope. She had been pummeled by every rock and hole in the road and now she had to sit again. The intent to rebel was plain in her eyes and Master didn't overlook it. From somewhere a buggy whip appeared in his hand. One stripe across her back, then two. She sat down, too fast, hurting herself before the real hurt set in. Nodding to the foreman he said, "One hour. She's going to be limited to blow jobs tonight." The two men laughed together. Master took the sack of mail and left the pickup in the middle of the yard. Slut sat and hurt, barely hearing the scathing remarks about her passed back and forth by the ranch hands.
The next morning, slut was sent to the bunkhouse as usual. She was nearly an hour late reporting back to Master. She had to assist every one of the men by holding his cock while he emptied his bladder into the toilet. Then three of the crew crowded into the shower with her, all needing to be washed from head to toe and then serviced with her mouth. Cook also needed some head, preformed right next to the serving line as breakfast was served.
Master noted the delay and allowed slut to kneel outside for the same length of time. He led her into his office and pointed to a thick stack of junk mail. "You are to take this to the trash barrel and burn it."
"Yes, Master" She reached for the stack.
"One piece at a time."
"Yes, Master." She picked up the top piece and walked on her knees to the door, which Master opened for her. Once outside the house she could stand erect, but she must kneel at all times in the house and was forbidden to touch a doorknob. To reach the burning barrel she had to go past the bunkhouse and the corral, each with its vivid reminders of her lowly status as a slut. She would know the path by heart before the day was over.
Master had added his usual "Hurry." She would trot back and forth, then wait, and wait for the door to open. She sighed. A slut's life is hard - but she'd asked for it.
Cruelly she punished herself. She said it aloud. "I'm NOT bored." Someone heard her say it.