A Western Whimsey

This little tale came about as I thought of the word slavery. I apologise now for anyone offended at my appalling attempts to mimic pioneer speech patterns. Be gentle with me, I am only a Brit after all, and have fun.

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It's a hot late summer's day, near evening. I've been hewing wood for nigh on two hours and I have a powerful thirst brought on by the swinging of the axe and the raising of the dust.

I stop and step over to the water barrel, holding the wooden ladle to my mouth as I drink the woody, slightly brackish water. It will soon be time to pour this onto the field and refill with fresh from the stream a hundred yards away lower down the valley.

I stretch up, gazing at the mountains standing watch around me, keeping me and my own safe in this temperate valley while the world goes to hell in a buggy outside. Further down the valley I can see the bright cotton dress of my woman, Nadine. Well, I call her my woman – it's more like she chose me and has a mind to stay a while, as long as the mood fits. I'm mighty glad she does, because with her, my life has taken on a golden sheen like the Shekinah Glory the Good Book talks about.

There's just us the two of us here in this valley, way out West in the shadow of the Rockies. I leave the homestead here about once a year for a few weeks in the spring and trade at Dead Pine Creek about 80 miles downstream. On my last visit I heard talk about the South wanting to secede from the Union, and set up its own Slave Owning Confederacy. Sounds like a recipe for disaster if you ask me, and it don't take an old man to see that North and South will come to blows before the year is out.

We locals are pretty much the first settlers to make it out this far West, brought here in search of a Holy Paradise where we can live in God's way and be at peace with the world, neither fighting nor striving with our fellow man, but seeking to live in love and harmony.

Well, that was the notion of the early days, before that old fashioned sin we had hoped to escape turned out to be too deep rooted to leave behind. So, a bruised but wiser man, I set off and moved even further out, reckoning that me and God needed to spend some time alone with each other while I let my inner wounds heal.

That was some fifteen years ago, and since then I have carved out a mighty fine little place here, with a good bit of help from the Lord of course. I have a couple of acres which do just great for corn, root vegetables and some greens. There is a small orchard, and some open ground where my cows and horses can graze in peace. At night I keep them locked in the barn, safe from those wolves I sometimes hear at night, serenading the moon with their wild hymns.

But, somehow it was just a part paradise, a place of quiet, but no company. Now don't get me wrong, I have God to talk to and His Book to read. And me and my thoughts, we get on pretty fine as well. It was just the answering back that I had been missing.

And all that changed about 5 summers past. She just turned up, shaky, bedraggled, half starved, wet through from a flash storm which had just raced through the valley, running with glee down the mountain flanks and then on to the plains below.

Nadine; a mighty pretty name for a damn fine woman. As I said, she just turned up, silent, watching me from the other side of the rail fence like a doe about to bolt for the trees. Except that this doe had just about had enough of running. She wanted to stop, to draw breath, to find a place of sanctuary.

It was like finding the trust of a new foal, getting her to let me step close to look properly at her. As I guessed, she was a runaway, a slave fleeing some God cursed place of hell and torture. Me, I'm as anti slavery as they come; there ain't no cause a man has to hold his brother or sister in bondage, whatever way they mangle the Bible to say so. But I don't fight about it, I just keep my peace and my distance.

But God had seen fit to close that distance down, and brought the cause to me. After an hour of talking and some fresh water left in a pail where she could get to it without me touching her, she started to think that just maybe I could be trusted. Poor thing, she was almost dead on her feet.

It was several months before I got the full story, but it seemed she had struck out for the freedom line, the underground railway that spirited runaway slaves up North to Canada. But Nadine, well she was a loner, and she didn't trust no others, and so she set off due West, looking to keep away from the hunters, those who went out to "retrieve" their master's property, as if any man can own another.

As it was, she almost lost them, but they was tenacious varmints, them retrievers. The two of them rode in about 5 hours later having found some signs that gave them reason to believe she was heading this way.

Well, I did what any normal decent God fearing man would have done. I invited them to look around, and when they came out of the two room hut I call home, I gunned them down in cold blood before they could bring up their rifles. In my opinion, it was fair time for them to meet their own infernal slave master, and see what life was like for the innocents they harried, day in and day out.

Nadine was in the barn, and she saw my actions, and more than any words, they convinced her that she was safe. She ran to them and when she saw they was dead, she just spat, and turned her back on them like they was two dead curs in the road. And then, she thanked me, and collapsed in a cold faint on the ground. Turned out she hadn't eaten in three days, and she was almost dead from hunger. Had I not been there as God's avenging angel, she would have been with Him in the heavenly places by nightfall.

Mind you, she was mighty angry with me the next morning. I had seen fit to undress her before putting her in my bed and then going to sleep on the floor in the main room. She was all convinced that I had taken some advantage of her while she was so exhausted.

"Listen", I told her, "as a good Christian man I have given up my bed for you, and let you sleep the best for many a month I'll figure. If I wanted you for rutting, I would have left you all tied up so that you was there waiting for me when I needed you."

Strange to say, she went all quiet at that, and I could have sworn she blushed, though her being black an all it was hard to tell in the dim of the room. But she was good, and she quietened down.

And since then we have become more and more close. It was a couple of weeks before she first came to me where I slept in the barn. She lay down beside me and held me tight, telling me that it weren't natural for a man and a woman to be apart like this when they could share so much. I sure weren't arguing with her on that point, especially as I had a powerful reason in my breeches to do a whole lot of sharing with her. And brother, could she share, and she let me and the whole of creation know that she was enjoying it too.

I was like a young man reborn that night, and we must have coupled three times on the straw, going from hard fast urgency to lazy dream time wallowing. The final time I was a mite slow in rising to the occasion for her, so she moved down to give my friend a good talking to. Well, not exactly a talking to, because she was well brought up and wouldn't talk with her mouth full, but she sure knew how to coax my manhood out to play. I could have sworn she had the whole of me in her warmth, and I nearly gave her my seed there and then, it was so awe inspiring.

Thereafter we shared the bed in the hut, and she proved to be a warm and willing companion, with adventure a plenty.

Even her monthlies were no cause for her to go without. It was during one of those times that she showed me a new way of joining that let me hold her tight while still held fast in her body. Such a sweet tight sensation she gave me, using the hidden place deep in the cleft of her behind. When I first entered there, she made me go slow, and she gave a low sound like a bitch growling. She had her self lying face down, and I watched as I sank into her nether regions like a miner down a shaft. But then, when I started to move in and out, she seemed to gain a new energy, meeting me thrust for thrust, and telling me how good it felt to have me fill her there. When I finally let loose my volley, she joined my cries of pleasure with her own, and she bucked like a new born lamb.

When I told her that I had sure enjoyed that way, she looked at me with a mixture of relief and pleasure, kissing me full on the mouth. Apparently some men are appalled by this way, and she was worried I would think less of her. I set her mind right on that, and since then, many has been the time that we have joined, me deep in her bottom, and celebrated our love.

What really puzzles me, though not enough to stop, is that when we do that, or she kneels to give me her mouth, she asks that I call her slave, and allow her to call me Master. At first I was sure reluctant to do that.

"You mean you want to be my slave, when I haven't even bought you?"

"No, dunderhead," (for she could sure put a man straight with few words), "I am no man's slave for money. But I will happily be that man's slave for love."

And love was the rightness of it, for we have laughed and shared so much of love.

And still, she continues to amaze me.

Over the past months, she has taken to sitting on a low stool in front of my chair, and sitting patiently as I brush her long thick hair. I just happened to joke that I felt like I was her Daddy, and she went all quiet, the way she does when I say something that touches her deep inside. That night, when we made love, she had more passion with her mouth, and when she opened to me, and she cried out in her joy, she held me tighter than normal and called me Daddy.

Since then I have discovered that when the mood is upon us, she loves to play at being my little girl, and I am her Daddy. And she sparkles and plays and teases me with her pretty body. And if she is naughty, as little girls can be at times, she is spanked, bare arsed naked, and she turns into a creature of the most amazing appetites and desires. In those times I have done things with her that I would be afeard to ask of a whore, and she seems to delight to be pushed to it, even more when I call her all sorts of shameful things.

But, God knows the love we have for each other, and when the passion is calmed and the sky blue again, then we curl up together like two happy puppies.......now where did I put that old dog lead and collar, I am sure it would look mighty fine on her neck...........