Northwesthunters: Finding Happiness
Junie looked up from the picture of R. P. Sanders that Donna had found on the internet. She pointed at the picture. “Yes, Ma’am, that was the lady.”
Donna started muttering soft angry obscenities, and then she took a deep breath. “Good girl not stopping and talking to her.”
Junie giggled, “Sometimes being afraid of strangers is an advantage.”
Donna marched out to where Bob was working in the yard, “Honey, that Sanders lady tried to ambush Junie in Seattle. It is just a matter of time before she shows up here. I think it is time to post the property.”
Bob frowned. “You know I hate the idea of no trespassing signs. Why don’t we just let her show up and get frustrated. I think maybe we need to have Junie tell her to go fuck herself and then she will go find someone else to bother.”
Donna had a sour look on her face. She turned to Junie, “Do you think you would want to do that?”
“Well, Ma’am, of course I would not want to do that. But if you think it is the best solution, I am sure I can do it, especially if you are there with me.”
That evening as Junie was helping put the furniture back into the dungeon, Bob questioned her, “Have you been putting the rubber bands on?”
Junie nodded as the she stretched to hang the chains back on their assigned hooks in the ceiling, “Yes, Sir, three times today.”
Junie obediently climbed down from the step ladder and pulled off her loose t-shirt and unsnapped her peek-a-boo bra and dropped it onto the floor. She lifted her heavy breasts up and offered them for his inspection. She looked proudly down at her swollen red nipples. Bob cupped them in his warm rough palms. Little sharp shocks of pain and pleasure ran through her. Junie shivered and murmured, “Nice, you know I like it better when they are like this. I am sorry that I forgot.”
Bob’s voice was low, “I am not done with this.”
A tremble went through Junie’s frame. Her voice shook, “Yes, Master.”
“Forgetting is not an excuse. You made a decision to put off what you knew was a requirement. You are well aware that you let your enthusiasms distract you from your duties. I have not asked a great deal from you, Junie. You have disappointed me, putting my request last and then forgetting.”
A soft sob shook Junie. “I am sorry.”
Bob stroked her hair. “I know, but when I tell you to do something, I do not have the time or inclination to monitor you all the time. How am I going to trust you to obey?”
Junie sank to her knees, her eyes brimming with tears. His words were more painful than any lash. “Please forgive me. I promise to be good. Please, Master, I will do anything.”
Bob stroked her hair, “I know, Junie. And you will do everything I say. For now I want you to come to me each time you remove the rubber bands. You will come to me and kneel before me nude from the waist up and wait for my words to remove the bands. For now I will observe your obedience. We will see how long it will take for me to start to trust your attentiveness to my requests.”
Junie gulped and nodded, “Yes, Master.”
“I think that I will also spend some more time making sure that your nipples are a constant reminder to you. Perhaps if they sing to you constantly it will be more difficult to forget your duties. In that light, I want you to fetch my crop. It is on the top of my dresser.”
Junie scurried to comply, running up and down the stairs, her large breasts bouncing, and her nipples throbbing with the sudden movement. Soon she was kneeling at Bob’s feet, her head lowered with the crop offered up on the palms of her hands. “Please, Master, teach me to be better. Help me to remember.”
“Stand up, Junie, and put your hands behind your neck and offer up your breasts to me.”
A wave of almost giddy happiness seemed to sweep over Junie as she stood and arched her back, thrusting her breasts out at her Master. Her voice was breathless, “Yes, please.”
The crop was snake swift as it lashed out and struck one nipple and then the other. Junie gasped and hissed as the pain shot through her and then seemed to grow stronger. Her voice cracked and wavered, “Thank you. Please, Master, hit me again.”
Each pair of blows seemed to push the pain higher and higher, forcing squeals and then screams from Junie’s lips. Just when she thought she could not stand one more wave of agony without falling to her knees, he stopped and said, “Hold out your hand,” and he gently placed the crop in her hand. “When you come to me to take off the rubber bands, bring this with you.”
The next morning Junie woke to the familiar sensation of Bob’s fingers tugging on her nipple. A sharp stabbing pain accompanied the warm rush of excitement that seemed make her cunt swell and well up with warm moisture. Stifling her impulse to giggle she turned to face him and breathed, “Thank you, Master,” and slipped from the bed.
The first time she presented herself to him in the morning, proudly nude from the waist up, her nipples swollen and purple, Bob sat with his coffee and looked at her. He held out his hand and she almost ritually placed the crop in his palm. His voice was soft, “Junie, remove the rubber bands.”
A soft shudder of pain shook her as the blood flowed back into her nipples, but she kept her hands soft and still by her side, breathing softly, letting the agony flow through her. She murmured, “Thank you, Master.”
“You are welcome. Hold out your hand.”
She looked at him puzzled and he handed the crop back to her. Bob smiled, “Do not forget to bring this with you each time, Junie.”
Junie looked down at the crop in her hand and murmured, “Yes, Master.”
Each time she came to him that day it was the same. He would hold the crop as she removed the rubber bands and then would return the crop to her, prompting her to remember to bring it with her the next time.
Junie opened the latest letter from Monica; inside there was a lot of things they had already talked about in their emails, but as she read further she tensed…
…R. P. Sanders has talked to me about you. She asked me where you lived and asked me about what kind of person you were. She said you were a slave? I did not tell her anything that you have said and I did not tell her where you lived. But some of the things she said made me curious. She actually offered me a lot of money for a look at your letters. My mom was so pissed when I said no.
I just said that it would be wrong to talk about other people and she would have to talk to you if she wanted to know about you. She said that she was going to be doing that.
Junie I don’t know how to ask this but can you explain to me about what it is like for you. You talk about having a Master and a Mistress. In your first letter you said you have given yourself to them. You mention chores. What kinds of things do they make you do? Do they punish you?
I know that my boyfriend was really into tying me up and wanted to beat me with a whip thing. I let him tie me, but I said no to being hit. That was too weird. He wanted me to call him Master and wanted me to have sex with other people. I did like the idea of swinging. I wanted to be cool and impress him, I guess, and I have to admit the idea of a stranger seemed exciting at the time. Even writing this makes me shudder with fear now. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.
Anyway, my mother forbids me to communicate with him now. And I have to agree, he turned out to be kind of a creep. He never even came to see me after I was hurt. He called, but he tried to say it was not his fault that the man hurt me, that there was no way he could have known. Maybe he was right, but it pissed me off. I told him not to call me anymore.
Junie made an enraged squall, “God damn it, that woman is everywhere.”
Donna looked up, her eyes questioning. “Sanders?”
“Yes; she has been trying to ask Monica about me too. She has found out that I have been writing to Monica and has been trying to get my address. She actually offered to pay to read my letters.” Junie was beside herself with anger, pacing back and forth, “That bitch needs to mind her fucking business. I could just tear her hair out.”
Donna was looking at Junie with a surprised look on her face. “This is a new Junie that I have not seen before.”
“Pisses me off that she is bothering Monica. And her questions were upsetting to Tammi too. I am sure that it was the lurid bullshit that she was spouting to Greg that had Tammi looking sideways at Bob like she was half afraid he was going to do something bizarre.”
The pent up energy from feeling so angry had Junie muttering and slamming things as she went about finishing her morning chores. Finally Donna looked up from her work on her laptop at the kitchen table and cautioned, “One of the things I most admire about your housework, Junie, is how quiet you are as you work.”
Junie’s voice was soft and still frustrated, “I am sorry, Ma’am. I will be quieter. What are you doing?”
“I’m just reading some forums and articles about some legislation being proposed by some groups regarding campaign funding and disclosure.” Donna shook her head, “Pretty boring stuff by most people’s standards, but I like to keep up on what’s going on in politics.”
“Have you ever thought about running for office?”
“Good lord, no. I am smart and devious enough. And I probably have that streak of ruthlessness that is required. I just would hate the idea of being open to public scrutiny. I like my privacy too much. No, I will work in the background. I write articles and try to be a community activist.”
Junie laughed, “My Mistress, I completely appreciate your deviousness and ruthlessness. I need to learn at your knee. All my impulses are so primitive. All I can do is think about violence toward that woman. I want to hit her with something.”
Donna shook her head, “Do not indulge that fantasy, Junie. I am sure if you were to assault her she would have your ass in court in a heartbeat. And people like her thrive on attention, personal and public attention. She would welcome getting the police involved and the news media too. But I think that Bob is right. If we put up no trespassing signs, she will just lurk around the outside. We need to face her and convince her that she will get nothing from you. I would not be surprised if we see her show up around here soon.”
“I can’t figure out what she wants from me anyway. I hardly laid eyes on that man.”
“She is asking questions about our lifestyle. She wants the lurid sexual stuff. Remember that Monica was just a dabbler. She probably has interviewed Monica’s boyfriend. I am sure, if she could, she would love to talk to that online bastard, Sir James.”
Junie looked thoughtful, “You know I mentioned to Tammi that a man I knew online had told Sam Card about me. And Tammi asked me if Bob was that man. I told her no, but now that you mention it, I wonder if Tammi got that idea from that Sander’s woman. I wonder if that woman thinks Bob was the guy that was Sam Card’s puppet.”
Donna’s voice was dry, “That would also explain Tammi’s shyness around Bob.”
Junie giggled, “I bet that Sander’s woman wants to talk to Bob too.”
Donna raised a brow, “Now that would frustrate the hell out of her.”
When Junie sat down to do her email, she wrote a nice long email to Tammi raving about how much she had enjoyed the visit. She also wrote that she had realized that R. P. Sanders had been at the house and had chased her down the road. She wrote a description of the tight-skirted woman chasing her down the street that had her giggling. She cautioned again that she would prefer to be the one that spoke with the writer and to just ignore any questions that her father or anyone else had for her.
Next she wrote to Monica a long email.
I got the letter you wrote me. I was pretty frustrated that R. P. Sanders was bothering you too. She has managed to get my address and she has written me a couple of times. Apparently she has been trying to talk with all the people I know. She actually bought some pictures of me from my ex-husband, if you can believe that. She has filled my daughter’s head up with some bullshit about my kinky sexual lifestyle.
Am I a slave? I don’t know exactly what that means. I have committed myself to serve my Master and Mistress. Serving them fulfills me and makes me happy. My chores are the same chores any housekeeper would do and I am paid for the work I do. I will not lie to you, Monica; it is a sexual relationship as well. I find being dominated very sexually erotic. I like to be tied. I find experiencing pain from my lovers very exciting. Yes, I get punished, but only when I disappoint my owners. But it is a relationship that I can end anytime it is not good for me. It is not a lifestyle for everyone, but it is what I need and I am wildly happy. All I ask is not to be judged.
I cannot help but believe that that Sanders woman just wants to write a story about the worst aspects of what has happened to you and me. She wants to write a book that will make us look like freaks and victims that deserved the horrible things that have happened to us. I do not trust her to be sensitive or truthful. I want you to be very careful what you tell her about what happened to you. It may end up looking cheap and tawdry. I can’t help but believe that her books are the kind you find on the backs of a thousand toilet tanks for real perverts to masturbate to as they reread the dirty parts.
Don’t forget she will be using your real name. And I wonder how much of the money she makes we will really see if she does write this great piece of true crime, tell all, journalism. You will become a public figure, known for the scars and horror, not for the wonderful, beautiful girl you were and are.
Darling Monica, I am sorry if this is a bit strong. But I am just so angry right now that this woman seems determined to profit from our agony. She once said to my ex-husband that ‘there was a lot of money to be made’.
You do what you need to do, but please don’t give that woman any information about me. She managed to get my address from someone. She can ask me what she wants, but I have a pretty distinct impression she will not be happy with my answers. My Master says I should tell her to just go fuck herself.
Again I am sorry that I sound so angry. Write me back and tell me how you are doing.
It was later that afternoon when Monica wrote her back.
I am so sorry that Rachel has made you upset. My mother was the one that encouraged me to talk with her. She gave me a thousand dollars and I signed a contract to do some interviews with her once the trial is over. She said she would give me another $5000 dollars after the book was published. My mom said she was a famous author. I talked with her a little and she seemed really nice. She is really good friends with my mother. My mom says I deserve to have at least something good come of out of this, that I deserve some kind of payback.
David does not like her very much either. He calls her a vampire. He says she is just trying to make a livelihood out of sensationalizing other’s people’s suffering, but he says that it is up to me.
All I know is that we really needed the money. My mom had missed a lot of work and we were behind on rent.
I promise to never tell her anything you tell me. But I am sure that my mother would tell her anything. I would not be surprised if she got your address from my mom. I will keep your letters hidden and maybe we should stick to emails for now. Mom has no idea that I am even on the computer. She would get totally hysterical if she knew.
Thank you for telling me a little about your life with your Masters. I guess I had some kind of crazy vision of you being kept in chains or a cage or something. LOL Chained to a sewing machine, being forced to make corsets. I don’t think I could ever bear to be tied up ever again. The idea makes me feel like throwing up. I never liked pain. My ex-boyfriend spanked me a few times and it just seemed weird and I made him stop.
Send me some more pictures of the puppies and let me know how you are doing. I did not know you had any children, tell me about them. The baby girl I am sitting is so sweet and cute. I hold her all the time.
Junie was putting the finishing touches on dinner, talking with Bob and Donna about finishing sewing the sex sling, when the barking of the dogs alerted them that they had company. Bob stood up. “I don’t hear a car. Could just be a deer in the garden. I will go check.”
Junie pressed her lips together and kept stirring the hollandaise sauce. Her body tense and listening as the dogs continued to bark.
It was not many minutes before Bob poked his head in the back door. He had a very amused grin on his face, “Donna, grab the camera and come on out and see what Bump has up a tree.” He looked at Junie, “You can come along too, little one; it is not often that I get to see such a funny bird perched in an apple tree.”
Bump was standing on his hind legs trying to reach up into one of the apple trees, barking excitedly. The other three dogs were circling the tree adding their voices to the chorus. It took a minute, but Junie could see the slender form of a woman kicking futilely at the young dog, cursing and pleading for the big dogs to be quiet. Bob took the camera and began to snap pictures. He called to Bump, one word bringing the panting Golden Retriever to heel, the other dogs coming to sit at their master’s feet.
Bob called to the woman, “You might as well come on down. They wouldn’t have bitten you. They just are excited to have a new friend.”
Donna leaned over and picked up a large expensive looking camera. “Look, Bob, you are not the only one interested in taking pictures.” She began to cycle through the images stored on the digital SLR camera.
Junie recognized R. P. Sanders from her picture, but now she was wearing a stylish pair of designer jeans and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. She was wearing a pair of dark glasses that were sitting a little crooked on her nose and her expensively frosted hair was coming out of the band holding it back from her face. As she climbed down from the tree her pants caught on a tree branch and a loud tearing sound was accompanied by a loud curse, “God damn it!”
Bob continued to snap pictures of the woman as she climbed out of the tree. Junie could not help but giggle.
Rachel Sanders turned to Donna and held out her hand, “That camera is my property.”
Donna looked at her and turned the camera over in her hands, examining it carefully. “Really? I don’t see your name on it. Perhaps you have a receipt or some other documentation to prove this is yours.”
Bob growled, “Donna, give her the camera.”
Donna made a face and held out the camera to the disheveled woman. When Sanders looked at the camera, she cursed again. “Fuck, it’s broken. What did you do to it?”
Donna shrugged and said, “Maybe the batteries fell out when you dropped it. Maybe they are in the grass around here somewhere.”
Bob handed the little digital camera he had been using to take pictures to Donna. He turned to the angry woman, his face no longer amused, “Perhaps you would like to explain what you were doing climbing in my apple tree.”
“That dog attacked me.”
“My dogs are well trained and not the slightest bit aggressive. They might have barked and run at you, but they would never attack anyone. So, perhaps you would like to try again. What are you doing sneaking around my yard with a camera?”
“I wanted to see Miss Thomas. I wanted to have a chance to talk to her alone. You are keeping her prisoner here.”
Junie made an outraged gasp, but Bob shot her a warning look. “You will have your turn to talk, Junie. Until then, I expect you to listen.”
“Like I said, a prisoner.”
Bob looked at the woman, rage smoldering in his eyes. “Are you accusing me of doing something illegal? If so, I would remind you about slander. If you wish to talk to Junie go ahead. Say what you want.”
“Yeah, right, like she would be able to talk freely with you here.”
Bob turned on his heel, “Donna, come to the house. Let’s leave Junie to speak with this woman alone.” He called to the dogs and walked away, Donna reluctantly trailing behind him.
Junie made an alarmed squeak as she watched her Master and Mistress abandon her with this woman. She resisted the impulse to run after them. She turned and looked at the woman, an angry, wary look creasing her features. “I wish you would just leave me alone!”
“So they call you Junie?”
“You know that. That is what everyone calls me.”
The woman smiled softly, seductively. “Miss Thomas, may I call you Junie?”
“No! I just want you to go away!”
“Why? You have never even met me.”
“I know what kind of books you write. I don’t want you to put my name in your stupid book.”
“It’s too late for that now, Junie, your name will be in my book. You might as well talk to me. I will pay you for your time. You will be able to tell me the truth about what is happening to you.”
“Would I get the right to say exactly what you write?”
The author frowned, “I cannot let you have that kind of control over my writing. I would not let anyone have that kind of editorial control over me.” She paused and looked arrogantly at Junie, “I am an artist.”
“Would you give Monica and me half of all the profit off the book?”
“Half?” The woman’s voice was disbelieving. “Do you have any idea of how much money you are talking about?”
Junie interrupted her, “And you are giving Monica a whole great big $6000.00. Agent Durant is right, you are a vampire. Now get the fuck out of my yard and my life. If you write any lies about me, I will sue you for every fucking cent you make off this book and any others you might write in the future.”
“Junie, you don’t have to stay here and let these people abuse you. I will help you get away if you want to go.”
Junie resisted the urge to attack the woman standing in front of her, “I am not a prisoner. I am not being abused. I am perfectly free to come and go. Get the fuck out of my life you stupid, stupid bitch.”
A look of frustrated rage darkened Rachel Sanders’ features. “I somehow expected more respectful behavior from a slave.”
“Well, I guess then I must say to you very respectfully, go fuck yourself!”
Junie turned and marched toward the house.
Rachel Sanders refused to be discouraged, walking behind her, “Is it true then? Are you his slave? Are you both his slaves?”
Bob and Donna were sitting on the front deck. Donna was still snapping pictures of Junie and the woman tagging after her when Junie went into the house and slammed the door. Bob stood up and blocked Rachel Sanders as she tried to open the door and follow Junie. “You are not welcome in my home. It seems that Junie is done speaking with you. I think it is time for you to go.”
Rachel Sanders whirled to face him, her voice acid, “Your little sex slave has quite the mouth on her.”
Bob stepped up to her, “Interesting choice of words, sex slave, I can’t imagine what you mean by that.” His voice was a deep ominous growl. “Once again I would suggest you choose your words carefully. Look up the definitions of slander and libel. I would love nothing more than suing you and taking what is yours. Now once more, I am telling you to get off my property and I am expressly saying to you, in the presence of my lawyer, that you are not allowed onto my property in the future. If you do not leave immediately or if you choose to return you will be facing trespassing charges and very likely a civil suit. I am sure that you would not like to be tied up in court when you have so many lies to write.”
Rachel Sanders made an enraged, inarticulate squawk, and then turned and marched down off the deck. At the bottom of the stairs she turned and barked, “This isn’t over, you know. I don’t need the interviews to write the book.”
Neither Bob nor Donna spoke. Donna lifted the camera and snapped a picture of the angry author. Junie watched as she marched away toward the woods, the tear in the back of her pants gaping open and closed as she walked, revealing the white skin in regular flashes as she stalked to the woods and disappeared into them.
Bob shook his head, “Well, she is probably going to go ahead and write the book, but at least I don’t think we will see her sneaking around here anymore. Did you really break her camera?”
Donna dryly commented, “No, I just took the batteries out, after I deleted all the pictures on the memory card.”
Bob roared with laughter, “That’s my goddess, so devious and delightfully vindictive.”
Junie came out onto the deck and slipped her arms around her Master. “Dinner is ready any time you are.”