Ainsley's Adventures: This Was Our Land - Chapter 2
Chapter 2 - The Watcher.
Ainsley's breath caught in her throat. Her heart raced.
I knew I saw someone.
She was still shirtless, having just put her bra on when she spotted him. She grabbed her flannel and held it across her chest, and when she looked back up the figure was gone. Again. What the fuck? She went to the other side of King so he was between her and the the spot the figure had stood. She quickly buttoned her shirt and packed up the blanket. She looked frequently, scanning the hills, but did not spot anyone. She realized she was afraid.
Calm down. You will be fine. She decided to turn back for home anyways. She kicked King sharply. "Sorry ol' boy. Need to pick up the pace." She said, patting King on the neck. They worked back down the hill, Ainsley scanning the countryside carefully. Still no sign of the creep. She took her phone and checked the time, and noted she had no signal. It would come back in about an hour or so.
They trotted along for another half an hour with nothing eventful happening. Ainsley was slowly relaxing, but still felt an urge to get home. She paused at the top of one of the larger hills and took a long pull from her canteen. She looked around, turning King in a full circle, and checked each hill carefully. Nothing but trees and rocks. Not even a deer. The only signs of life were birds.
She steered King down the hill, but halfway down came to a stop. There was a horse standing at the bottom, in the valley between this hill and the next. He had a saddle and tack, but no rider. Ainsley looked around, apprehension setting in. She wanted to keep riding, tell her husband what she experienced, and get to safety. The only thing causing her guilt, though, was the thought of leaving someone who was hurt.
"Hello?" She shouted. She hadn't wanted to speak as that would definitely give her away, but she also didn't want to surprise anyone. There was no answer, no movement. She led King down towards the other horse, who just stood there, not even grazing. Someone told it to stay. That meant it wasn't as likely they were hurt. Still possible, but usually if a horse had a hurt or fallen rider they would be agitated. This one, a mare she noted, was perfectly calm.
Ainsley made the decision to just go home. She didn't feel right about this. She kicked King to get him going, and he began trotting up the next hill. Suddenly, something grabbed Ainsley tight and ripped her from her horse. She hit the ground, her wind knocked out of her, and began gasping. Then the world went dark.
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Pain. She noticed that first, before light began to fill her vision. She blinked slowly. Her wrists hurt. Her head hurt. No, it throbbed. She almost blacked out again. She also felt pain on the sides of her legs, near her groin, and the insides of her arms. As she became more aware, she realized she was tied to a horse. Further examination revealed that she was tied to King. Her arms were bound around his neck, wrists tied, hence the pain there. Her feet were in the stirrups, but her ankles were tied and bound to them. She lay over her saddle horn, her head resting against King's mane. The saddle horn pressed into her chest, chafing and bruising her there. The insides of her arms and legs were chafed, hence the reason they hurt.
The next thing she noticed was that she was nude. What the fuck.
She lifted her head, which was not an easy task, and looked around. Nothing to either side, nothing behind her. She strained to look in front of her, peering around King's head as it bobbed up and down. She saw a horse and rider in front of her and King, a lead rope stretching from King's bridle to the other rider's left hand.
"Hey!" She shouted. "Stop! Who are you and where are we going? Where are my clothes?"
The rider did not respond, and they kept plodding along. She kept shouting, cursing him, telling him to stop. Her hands and feet were going numb, but the pain from the chafing was getting worse. Humiliation was settling in as she became more aware of her predicament. The way she was tied put her ass up in full view over her saddle, and she could do nothing about it. She started shouting "help!" at the top of her lungs. She recognized where they were, roughly. She knew they were not going the original direction she'd been headed, but were headed west now. She also knew there was almost no chance anyone would hear her, and no one would be looking for her. She couldn't see her watch, but the sun hadn't moved enough to indicate more than an hour or so had passed since she had last noticed its position.
She started screaming louder, cursing the rider in front of her. She was scared, but she knew she wasn't getting help from whatever this was, and she was nothing if not feisty. Finally, the rider stopped, causing King to as well. He turned his horse and walked slowly up along side King's left side. Ainsley glowered at him, but couldn't stop tears from falling. The man was definitely Native American. He was wearing leathers and authentic jewelry. She did not fail to notice the rifle sheathed behind his saddle.
"You will be silent." He said, and suddenly and viciously slapped her across the ass with the excess length of his reins. The sensation was shocking, sharp, and stung something fierce. "Any more sounds from you and I remove your tongue." He slid a knife from his belt sheath and held it up momentarily for emphasis before re-sheathing it.
Ainsley was sobbing now, the whipping of the reins having made her more fully aware of the situation. Her ass continued to sting. She wanted to rub at the pain, but could not. "Please." She said. "Let me go. I'll give you whatever you want from my house. Don't do...whatever you are doing."
He whipped her again with the reins, then two more times. The sensation was too much. The pain was so sharp, so intense, that she almost blacked out again. "I said silence. There will be no more warnings."
Ainsley shivered. If those were warnings, what would real punishment be? She suddenly felt like this man would absolutely cut her tongue out.
The rider turned his horse away again and resumed leading King westward. An hour passed, then probably another, and they kept riding. She hurt, she ached, she cried and she whimpered. More than anything, though, she thirsted. The rider did not stop, and he did not show any interest in her well being. Finally, she risked it. "Please may have some water." She said, weakly, also trying to sound subservient. She did not want to anger this man or discover the next level of his punishment. The man stopped, turning around to come up next to her again, and offered a canteen to her. He poured some water down her throat, but half of it sloshed across her chin to the ground as she couldn't get a good angle. He closed it and went to back to his position, leading them onward. He did not say a word.
As two more hours passed, evening approached. The temperature dropped significantly, and the warmth of the sun on her skin, now likely very sunburnt, dissipated. They were entering what she and her husband jokingly called "the cracklands", named after the series of small canyons that cut through their property here. The rider turned to follow one, then dropped down into a shallow section on the side of a shorter wall. They were using a very precarious section of trail to get to the bottom. Most of the cracks in the land here carried water when there were storms, and this one showed evidence as well. Piles of brush and debris made it so they had to meander back and forth along the canyon floor, and wash outs created soft spots to be wary of, lest the horses get caught off guard. They continued on for about 20 or 30 minutes before the rider finally came to a stop.
Down here, between the sun being low in the horizon and the walls blocking what light was left, it was nearly dark. She could make enough out due to her eyes having had plenty of time to adjust, and was able to watch as the rider dismounted and, it seemed, began setting up camp. Ainsley began to panic, her exhaustion and fear giving away to real terror. Why would he be setting up camp? Surely they weren't staying here? She could come up with only one scenario that fit with her being naked, tied to a horse, and threatened, and it wasn't one she found comforting.
The rider took his time, seemingly in no hurry, and also apparently unconcerned with Ainsley's discomfort. She was freezing, shaking very visibly, and still in a world of pain. Her privates hurt from rubbing against a leather saddle for hours, and, though dull, the welts from her whippings throbbed. She stayed quiet, though, not wanting to anger her captor. He seemed completely calm and at ease, but focused. He unrolled a couple blankets, carefully set out some packages of what she guessed was food, along with his water. He built a fire, tending it with patience and care. Ainsley stayed quiet, closing her eyes from time to time, but not so long as to risk missing him if he moved. She could just barely feel the fire, but it wasn't nearly close enough to provide any actual warmth.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity and well after the sun had completely gone down, the man stood up and walked up to her. King was still tied to the man's horse, so he wasn't going anywhere. The man looked eerie with the orange light of the flames flickering across his face. He unbound her wrists, causing them to awaken from their numb state, pain flooding into them slowly. Ainsley took a deep breath, but made no noise. Stay strong girl. Stay alert. You can get out of this. He held one of her hands firmly, obviously taking no chances. He was strong. She could tell he was strong enough that she would not be able to overcome in this position, and it wasn't worth the risk. He quickly bound her wrist with a rope, and tied it to her other wrist, then tied both of those to her saddle horn. He was being very careful, risking nothing. It seemed like he had done this before.
He untied both of her ankles, causing fresh levels of humiliation as he stood right next to her naked ass. He did not touch her, and did not seem to look at her lasciviously. Once both ankles were undone, he reached over her waist and slid her off the saddle. This hurt her like nothing she'd felt before, well except maybe for giving birth, but this was from sore muscles, sleeping limbs, chafed and blistered skin, and a hundred other things. She nearly collapsed to the ground when her feet touched, but used the saddle horn to help her stay up until the blood returned them. Just as she was catching her breath and getting steady on her feet she felt his fingers thrust into her vagina.
The violation was so unexpected, so shocking, and so painful that Ainsley at first didn't say anything. She jerked sharply, thrusting her hips forward and pressing against King. She tried to pull away, but the man slapped her hard on the ass, and began thrusting his fingers furiously in and out of her very much unlubricated hole. "You will not move. If you do, you will know another level of pain." Still shocked at this unexpected change in behavior and motive, Ainsley sobbed, but tried to stay still. This was not pleasurable in any way. He was rough, furious, and frenetic. He said nothing, just fingered her with the fury of a jackhammer. Ainsley was just starting to wonder what the point of this was when he pulled his fingers out swiftly and stood up. He said nothing, but she could feel more than see that he was getting ready to enter her. Sure enough, she felt him press against her, his bare skin and very erect cock pressing against her ass. He very mechanically pressed his tip against her vaginal entrance and thrust hard and deep, bottoming out immediately. He was not small, definitely bigger than Jameson. Still not wet, and still in shock, his sudden entrance was nothing but painful. She gasped as he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back as he thrust into her again and again. He did not grunt, nor make any sounds. Ainsley's mind teetered between pondering how odd he was and fighting off panic. She fought against her body's desire to black out. Her head still hurt and she was cold, in pain, and getting raped. There was no nice way to say it. This was every woman's worst nightmare.
The man seemed to have endless stamina. He pounded into her for a solid ten minutes at a frenetic pace, jerking her back by her hair, choking her, and sometimes biting her ear and neck. Finally, she felt him spasm quickly, and knew he was depositing his load inside her. Great. Ainsley thought. No protection and the timing couldn't be worse. He pulled out of her and she heard his pants slide back up into place. Still saying nothing, he untied her hands from the saddle horn and led her towards the fire.
"Sit." He said simply, pointing to a spot on the blanket by the fire. Ainsley sat where he indicated, pulling her knees to her chest. The fire felt great, and her shivering soon subsided, outwardly at least. Her vagina throbbed and pulsed, waves of pain rolling through her lower body. She was amazed she hadn't completely broken down. While she definitely wasn't composed, she hadn't lost control of herself, physically or emotionally, either. She was in hell, and might not survive this, but she was not weak and never had been. If there was any chance of survival or getting home safe she wanted to make sure she was able to take advantage of it.
After 15 minutes of watching the man eat some jerky and peel an apple with his knife, which he then also ate in small pieces, she got the nerve to speak. "Why are you doing this? Surely a tall and handsome man like you doesn't have to take women against their will. Also, I'm starving. Can I get something to eat from my saddlebag?" Her demeanor was a lie, but she wanted to present confidence, not weakness. She wasn't sure if this was a strategy, or just who she was.
The man continued peeling and eating his apple, ignoring her long enough that she didn't think he was going to answer her. Finally, he spoke. "Your phone is no longer in your bags. Your phone is no longer functional, either." He kept peeling and eating, slowly and methodically.
Dammit. Ainsley though. Of course he would have checked for that. "I assumed that was the case." She said as calmly and confidently as she could manage. "But I really am hungry."
"Eat." He said, and tossed her a piece of beef jerky. Ainsley wasted no time scarfing it down, tearing at it with her teeth like it was the best thing she'd ever eaten. Ainsley was about to say something else when he spoke again. "This is not about desire. This is about punishment. I am Nemetakah. I am Shoshone. To you, I am vengeance. To me, you are nothing but a vessel to give the fury of my people to. You take our land, here, now, where we sit. This is not yours. It never was. I see you come out here bouncing on your horse, blissful and ignorant. You dress like a whore, disrespecting this land and possessing no dignity. I will treat you like what you are, and punish you for what you represent. You will know humiliation like my people. When you get home, if I let you return, your humiliation will be so deep that you will say nothing of what happens tonight. Tonight will be long for you, but not long enough for me. Eat, stay silent, and take what comes your way. If you survive, so be it, but you may wish for death before we are done."
Now, at last, Ainsley's body betrayed her and her composure collapsed. Sobs wracking her body, Ainsley stared into the fire, terrified of what the night would bring.