Mistress Talia: a sadistic domme

The scent of coffee woke her and she realized she'd overslept, again missing a chance to be useful.

When she returned from a walk to the bushes, he handed her a cup of coffee. "Breakfast will be ready in a bit," he said, "Meanwhile, why don't you tell me how you came to be in the predicament you were in when we met."



She told him her story, finishing up as he plated a bowl of rice and beans.

"Well, this is the problem," he began. "The town you're from is easily a half day ride from here. I can't take you now, as this is trapping season. I live on what I earn now all year."

"We're in the wilds," he continued, "So the odds are good that a woman alone would not make it back without being absconded. Especially given you couldn't even protect yourself from your own town to your home, I don't think you'll make it."

She winced at his criticism.

"I'm already very grateful to you," she said in a small voice.

He snorted at her in reply. "Gratitude is just resentment. You resent that you're indebted to me and just want to get out of debt as soon as possible."

"I just want to go home," she said tearfully.

"Yes, and that is somehow my problem because I risked my own neck to save your silly ass."

She was surprised at his cynicism and shocked at his language. Not knowing what to say, she refrained from saying anything, but looked at the floor.

He got up, washed her plate, and fixed himself a plate of food, muttering to himself, "And now I have a guest to caretake too."

"I can be helpful," she said in a small voice.

"Good," he replied, "Take some time today, there's tools in the back, and make yourself a plate, cup and spoon so we don't have to eat in shifts. We'll talk more later, but I have to get to work now."

He put his hat on, grabebd his rifle, and left via the front of the cave.

She felt tears begin to well up in her chest. She was an unwanted guest, with no way to get home on her own. Well, she'd better begin making herself useful rather than sitting here crying.

She went and looked at the available tools, then went out the back and surveyed the area. Yes, there was some deadwood she could fashion simple utensils out of. Her body hurt as she worked, the bruises and scrapes from her captivity hurting her as she moved. But she was determined to be useful.

Afterwards, she returned inside and took stock of the food supply. He had a large stock of rice, beans, flour, salt, lard, baking soda, sugar, coffee and a surprisingly large amount of whiskey, but no vegetables, no herbs or spices, no dairy, no eggs. Impressing him with her cooking skills would be a challenge.

He had made a large enough pot of rice and beans at breakfast that there was really enough leftover for dinner, so she decided to simply mix up some biscuits and fry them over the fire as a side dish. If she made enough, there'd be some for breakfast also, and she could mix up a simple syrup for breakfast in the morning.

Having planned dinner, she still had some time to kill before it was time to begin. Looking around, she made a list of priorities.

The beds. There was not enough straw for either of them to be comfortable, since he'd split his bed in half for her. Looking through the tools, she found a small hand sickle, went out the back way, and began cutting the long grass in the meadow and hauling it back inside.

It was grueling work, and made her sweaty and tired, further excaberating the bruises and cuts from her bondage the previous day. But she persisted, determined to show she was genuinely grateful, to overcome his cynicism.

After several hours of this back-breaking labor, she stopped, though the pile of dead grass she'd collected was pitifully small. She added it all to his bed rather than splitting it, thinking this would do the most good. She could gather more grass for herself another day, it probably wouldn't snow for a while yet.

She considered that she needed a bath, but realized that bathing in the bucket and throwing the water out was wasteful. So she went outside to the stream to bathe, taking the bucket along to refill.

She was unsure when he'd return, but the sun was low enough in the sky that it seemed time to start dinner. She mixed up a batch of biscuit batter and was frying them when he returned.

"I should have expected you could cook, it's one of the few things women are good for," he said as he entered.

"You don't like women much, do you?" she asked.

"I don't find them very useful, no. Mostly just decorative. And completely untrustworthy, unlike my dogs."

He threw some carcasses on the floor next to the fire, "Are you useful enough to clean these?"

"Yes, I know how to butcher," she replied.
"It's a different type of butchering. You need to preserve the skin as much as possible, rather than butcher for meat. Fur is my business. Not that we can't use the meat, but it's not the priority."

"OK, that gives you a chore for tomorrow. What did you do today?"

As she recounted her day, he nodded and made comments at various points. He pointed out that there was a scythe she had missed behind the woodpile, which could've saved her some work over using the sickle. He also cautioned her that she should cut randomly, that the meadow should not look "mowed" to passersby, since one could assume a stranger out here was a potential danger.

"Well, you tried to be useful," he conceded, "but don't give me any of that gratitude business. You just want me to like you because you're dependent on me. You're hoping if I like you, I won't rape you like those losers I stole you from."

She felt the crimson rise in her face at his words, "You have been a complete gentleman to me in every way and I am truly grateful."

"Bah! If you were truly grateful, you'd not be worried about what I might take from you, but instead considering what you might give to me. No, you're a woman, dependent and therefore potentially treacherous."

She considered his words as she fell asleep that night.

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