The mental clouds cleared away. Sara kept her eyes closed. The left side of her head throbbed almost blindingly. Her left hip ached, obviously at least badly bruised. Her legs felt trapped under something.

She breathed carefully. It didn't feel as though anything was broken. That was the only good news. Other than that, her inventory of her body told her how much trouble she was in.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but it had to be several minutes, at least. Long enough to do this to her.

She was on the ground, sitting upright with her back against a tree. Her hands had been pulled back behind the tree and tied there, wrists crossed. Checking the binding with her fingers, it seemed to be cords of leather... obviously Junior's whip, she decided, pressed into service as an impromptu rope.

She opened her eyes a crack. It was Hairy who was kneeling straddling her legs, sitting back on her ankles, his hands clamped tight to her thighs just above her knees. She tried to jerk her legs free, but it was obviously hopeless. She hadn't nearly enough leverage in that position.

She tested the cords around her wrists. They were tied expertly.

"What was you doin' here, girl? What was you doin' in clothes? Har?"

She wasn't so much in clothes anymore. Her shorts were lying on the ground a few feet away, leaving her exposed completely from waist down, showing all the evidence needed to prove her gender. Her vest had been torn open, popping off the bone buttons, and pushed back on her shoulders -- it couldn't be removed yet with her hands tied behind the tree, but her breasts were there for anyone to see. Her left breast was throbbing, as if it had just been squeezed moments ago. Her hat was on the ground a few feet to the right of the shorts, leaving her slave-length brush haircut visible. Hairy hadn't bothered with her shoes yet.

She hadn't been raped yet, but she already felt more violated than she had ever imagined being in her life.

The tree under which she sat seemed to create thousands of little funnels for the rain. It didn't block the downward flow, but the leaves gathered the water into fewer and larger drops, plopping down on her head, her shoulders, her outstretched legs. She tried again, harder, jerking both legs to try to wrench at least one free, but Hairy didn't even have to move to maintain complete control.

Hairy glared at her. "You answer me, girl."

She glared back. There was no point in saying anything, even if she could -- her vocal paralysis was still in force.

Her hands writhed in the leather cords. They were tight, too tight to slip her hands out of. But the leather was slightly stretchy, more so than rope. It wasn't intended for a job like this. If she twisted her hands back and forth enough, creating tension to make it stretch enough...

Seeing movement in the background, she looked up to see Junior trotting towards her, now about fifty feet away. Her heart caught in her throat. Junior was returning with the set of ankle cuffs, hobble chain already attached, that he had gone to fetch. As soon as they got those on her, it was all over. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Junior had only to close and lock the cuffs on her ankles just behind Hairy's butt. She would be a lifetime slave of these two men, with no escape possible. She'd already seen how they treated their slaves. But first they would punish her for the clothes. They were close enough to Purity Town that they'd probably take her there, perhaps hogtied in a wagon like Cherise, to make the punishment very public. A teachable moment for all of the slavegirls who came passing through. And Sara would get to see if her voice came back enough to scream. After that she would work for them for years, and bear their babies, perhaps a son for Junior to carry on with the farm.

She twisted her hands more desperately, trying to make the cords pull against the knot, tightening the knot itself to create some slack in the loops around her wrists.

Thirty feet away now. Not enough time! she moaned within, I can't get my hands out in the time I've got left! Keep twisting, but try something else. Something that will work.

Sara took a deep breath. Now, Sara, she shouted at herself, it has to be now!

She closed her eyes, and relaxed her entire body as much as she could. She couldn't afford to give any warning, give Hairy any chance to prepare and adjust.

She suddenly jerked her right thigh towards her, using all her strength to lift the knee against Hairy's weight holding it down. Hairy, taken by surprise, was pushed to the left, his hold on her thigh weakening. Continuing the motion, now under less restraint, Sara pulled her lower leg free, out from underneath Hairy. As quickly as she could, while Hairy reached to try to recapture it, she swung her foot sideways, the heel connecting with the side of his head. Hairy gasped in pain and fell over to the side, off of Sara completely.

Now imagine what they'll do to me, ran the fleeting thought through her head.

Junior arrived with a bellow of anger. As he reached for her he made the mistake of putting his two feet on either side of Sara's right. She kicked upward with all the force she could muster, and felt her instep slam up into the apex of Junior's crotch.

He staggered back with a scream of agony, and fell on his butt, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth wide open but now as incapable of producing sound as Sara was.

She felt some slack in the cords at last. Straining every muscle in her arm, she pulled against the leather steadily, feeling her hand begin slipping through, a tiny, painful scraping millimeter at a time.

Hairy was up now, and no longer looked like a man with a new slave. He looked like a man intent on creating some dead meat.

Sara's right hand slipped free so suddenly she scraped it hard against the tree trunk on the way towards her. She brought her left hand around, still tangled in the whip cord, and put it on the ground to support her as she leaned left, swung her right hand around and struck Hairy full force with the heel of her palm on the side of his head where she'd kicked him before. Hairy went down in a heap without a sound.

Sara leapt to her feet, the soles tingling but there, unwound the whip cord and threw it down, grabbed her shorts, pulled them on and up her legs, held the waistband with her left hand, grabbed her hat with her right, and ran.

She ran straight across the road and into the woods on the other side, hoping she wasn't running into a neighbor's farm or a continuation of the same one.

She slowed after a few minutes, wanting to make less noise. At last she stopped and crouched behind a bush. She couldn't hear sounds of pursuit, but knew they would come eventually. Hairy and Junior, as soon as they could stand upright (probably much a much longer time for Junior), would likely work on gathering nearby farmers for a more thorough search. That would take some time, but it would come. Sara hoped she could manage to stay out of the expanding circle of search so it never closed in on her. While locating Cute Guy and his wagon again.

Gradually catching her breath, she tied the drawstring on her shorts, and adjusted her hat to its proper long-hair display. She groaned silently over the state of her vest. The buttons were all gone. She would have to walk around Purity Island holding her vest closed, which would look suspicious enough to attract attention she couldn't afford. The only alternative would be to leave herself exposed from neck to breasts to navel to waist. Obviously going topless was out of the question.

She fretted about the length of time Cute Guy had been out of her sight. As time went on, he would inevitably turn off the road somewhere. If he turned off just minutes after Sara lost track of him, then at least she would know the general area to search once she found he was no longer on the road. But the longer the time delay, the more uncertainty about his location.

Holding her vest closed awkwardly with her left hand, she began jogging again, paralleling the road, on the side opposite the one she had been on before.

She had to take a chance on going onto the road itself. There was no other choice. She had to see where Cute Guy was.

She angled towards the road, cautiously keeping an eye out for anyone who might be chasing after her. Holding her breath, she stepped out into the road.

She felt the greatest sense of relief she could recall experiencing in her life. The wagon was up ahead, still trundling along, not more than a hundred yards ahead.

She retreated a small distance into the forest and continued shadowing Cute Guy, this time keeping a closer eye on her surroundings. She detoured around farms twice. No one saw her.