Logging Camp Ch. 01

The logging season was over. Tilly heard it on the radio: the first big storm of winter would overtake the camp the next day. That meant 6 feet of snow, gale-force winds, and sub-zero temperature before wind-chill factored in. Time to close up operations until spring. That meant at least four months of solitude. Tilly was ok with that.

Matilda Gulo was an athletic voluptuous wolverine who ran the largest natural lumber company in all of Canada. She had been the hippy-black-sheep of the family because she used her family-funded college degree to conserve the wild areas instead of clear-cutting them. But when a freak bush-plane accident had taken out her grandfather, father, and elder brother, she was the only one left with the business savvy to manage a multi-million dollar company. She made a lot of changes, which the board of directors wasn't too keen on at first, but when the company was making money AND headlines as one of the most progressively eco-friendly businesses in the nation, they grudgingly gave Tilly her due.

After a few years of hard-won success, Tilly was now in the habit of visiting all of the logging camps at the end of the season to make sure the employees were happy and productive and upholding the company values. This was her last stop, and she had already given the employees a cake-and-beer sendoff. Now she lounged in the lunchroom, eating the last slice of cake and listening to the radio.

Suddenly the door burst open and a frozen-looking dog stumbled in. He was a mutt, barely of age, predominantly husky or another cold-weather work dog. He had one floppy ear that gave away his mixed breeding.

"V-very f-f-f-funny, g-guys," he shivered. "Leav-ve the rook-k-ky looking for th-the f-fornort-tner v-valve. Ha-ha. It-t d-doesn't exist-t-t."

Tilly sat up, alarmed. "Are you alright?"

"Oh! M-miss G-gulo!" he exclaimed. "I'm-m-m f-f-fine. J-just a litt-tt-ttle c-cold."

"You're in the early stages of hypothermia," Tilly exclaimed. She quickly found the survival kid and pulled out the reflective blanket. She swirled it around the dog's shoulders and forced him to sit in the old recliner that she had just vacated. "You sit and get warm," she ordered. Then she pulled out the chemical hot-pads, cracked them over her knee, and tucked them under his arms, close to his rib-cage. "Now for tea."

"Th-thank you, m-miss G-gulo," the dog chattered. "b-but I'm o-k-k-ay. R-really."

"You can't finish a sentence without chattering," she replied with a quelling glare. Fortunately, the water cooler also had an automatic heater, so she was able to brew a steaming cup of tea in seconds. She pushed it into his trembling paws. "There. Just try to warm up. What were you doing out in the cold, anyway? Everyone else was here and gone hours ago!"

"M-mac asked me to f-find the fortnortner valve that fell off one of the trucks," he replied, sheepishly. "He said it had two round knobs at the base and a long shaft with a triangle top. He said it was a critical part. It wasn't 'til I tried going back to the truck, only to find that everyone had left without me that I started suspecting it was a joke."

"Why would they do that?" Tilly demanded. She knew hazing went on—it would be impossible to stop it in camps with this much free-flowing testosterone. But to abandon a coworker before a storm was an act bordering on homicide.

"I...I j-just don't fit in," he mumbled.

"I'm going to have a talk with the supervisor," Tilly declared, pulling out her cell phone.

"No!" the dog cried. "Please don't. They didn't do anything wrong. I was slow. They probably just forgot me."

Tilly arched an eyebrow at him. A supervisor NEVER left a man behind. They counted their men more rigorously than a sergeant in the Marines. Most of them had been in the armed forces. But the dog was so desperate—his begging so intense—that she paused.

"What's your name?" she asked, in an effort to get more information and to slightly change the subject at the same time.

"Silko. Vaughn Silko," he muttered.

"Tell me, Mr. Silko, why any-beast would forget about you?" she asked slowly. Her steely voice compelled him to tell the truth, even if it cost him his job. But, a small part of his mind reasoned, he was already out of a job. The other loggers didn't want his kind in their camp.

"I'm not...very tough... I'm not a fighter," he mumbled. She pinned him with a demanding glare. He squirmed. "I'm not dominant. I'm...I'm a sub." he confessed.

"I beg your pardon?" She wasn't sure she had heard him right.

"I'm a sub. An S&M submissive male. A fem-boy. They all make jokes, like calling me a girl and asking to see my panties," Silko replied, looking away in humiliation. "I put up with it, because I need the money. I don't even have a dom right now. My last mistress just threw me away like a piece of trash. That's all I am, and I know it."

Tilly took a moment to take in this poor creature. His dark brown and white fur was fluffy, which probably encouraged the ribbing of his coworkers. His expressive blue eyes couldn't hide Most of the beasts working in her logging camps were bulldog mutts, half-wolves, bears, or the odd weasel. They were rough and resourceful out of necessity, and she knew the kind of attitude it took to log remote parts of the Canadian north with the surgical precision she insisted on. They could get stone drunk every weekend when they went into town only to come back and precisely tune the oversized machinery with their pocket-knives. Silko didn't belong with their types. He was a tenderfoot, and she didn't see him toughening up any time soon.

"Look, Mr. Silko, I'm sincerely sorry for the men's behavior," Tilly said, staying professional. "I acknowledge that they were in the wrong, but I think you need to find a new career path. I can pay you for the trouble—"

"No, I'm not worth it," he pouted. "Just...can you drive me back to town? I can find my way from there. Maybe if I went farther north..."

"You're not heading north any time soon," Tilly corrected him, severely. "There's a killer storm rolling in tomorrow, and you should be heading home to wait it out."

"I have no home," he whimpered, tears sparkling in his ice-blue eyes.

"Don't you have an apartment in town? Family?" she persisted.

"I lived at camp. I only have a duffle bag of clothes to my name. I didn't even go in to town on the weekends," he explained. "It was my quite time away from the guys."

Tilly sighed in frustration. She rubbed the spot between her eyes while she tried to talk herself out of the crazy idea that had just formed in her mind. She shouldn't play favorites. She didn't need a houseguest. This wasn't her problem. But still...the poor pup was down on his luck and down on himself. He just needed help until the storm passed.

"Mr. Silko, if you like, you can stay with me until the weather turns," she offered. "And I've got some influence in a few companies farther south, so I might be able to help you relocate too."

He looked up at her, hope glinting in his eyes. "You—you'd take me...home?"

"Just until the roads are clear," she hastily insisted.

He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "O-okay. Thank you."

She reached out and cupped his cheek, lifting his face a little so she could look at him directly in the eye. "Vaughn, relax. Things will turn out alright. You'll see." He smiled sheepishly but gratefully. Tilly let her hand drop and smiled back. "Let's go—and keep the blanket."

Tilly led the pup by the hand out to her truck where she cranked up the heater. She made sure he was buckled before setting out in the dark stormy twilight. The truck's chains bit into the icy mud as they wandered down the mountain logging tracks to the employees' cabins, where she reluctantly let Silko get out and retrieve all his worldly possessions—one duffle bag, barely half full. Then she maneuvered the truck through the blowing snow and ice slowly down the steep gradient. She got out for a minute at the base of the mountain to remove the chains before heading out onto cleared blacktop. Silko looked like he was going to help but she firmly pushed him back in his seat with one heavy paw. After another hour of intense driving in the rough weather, they finally made it to her home.

Tilly had always loved the log cabin look, and now that she was president and CEO of a logging company, she had built a beauty with logs from her own tree farms. It was only 40% publicity stunt. It ran on solar energy and well water, which was eco-friendly and suited her just find when she got snowed in. The house looked modern and chic on the outside, but the inside was rough and cozy, just like her. Tapestries and ceremonial robes, made for her by several of the native wolf tribes whose land she had declined to log, hung on the walls. She'd even been half-way adopted by one of the Ross River packs for protecting their traditional hunting grounds. It helped that being a wolverine she had tribal blood in her already.

"Welcome," she called over her shoulder to Silko. "It's not much, but it's home."

"It's amazing," he murmured in awe.

"Glad you approve," she replied with a smile. "You can take the guest room down the hall. I'm going to get dinner started if you want to freshen up a little. Hope you like steak!"

"Ok, thank you Miss Gulo," Silko said, bobbing his head in appreciation.

"Please, call me Tilly. This is my home, after all," she chuckled. Silko turned down the hall and put his paw on the door knob of the guest room. Tilly turned as she heard the knob click, and shouted, "Wait—not that one!"

It was too late. Silko opened the door to a veritable domination playroom. There was a pillory, a St. Andrew's Cross, a 4-point sling, a Pegasus bench, and a polished stripper pole. There were several pieces of ordinary furniture—a boudoir, a dresser, and a very comfortable looking head-shrinker's sofa.

"Oh...my..." he breathed, heat stealing into his ears and turning them bright red under the pale fur.

"Aw, damn," Tilly groaned. She grabbed the doorknob and closed the door on the room—and hopefully on his imagination. "Look, forget what you saw in there. It doesn't mean anything."

"Miss Gulo...are...are you a dom?" he asked, his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy shop.

"Only in the bedroom—I'm not a full-timer," she insisted.

Silko dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her leg. "Could I serve you? Just for the weekend?" he begged.

"Come on—Get up," she ordered. She tried not to look at his adorable supplicating eyes.

"Please? Please-please-please-please-please—" he pleaded, clinging to her like a leach.

"You do realize that you are propositioning your boss for sexual favors, right?" she reminded him.

"It doesn't have to sex," he claimed. "I could rub your shoulders, bring you tea, or be your footstool."

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself," she insisted. She turned and moved towards the kitchen. Silko held onto her leg, making her drag him behind her. He wasn't heavy, and being a wolverine she could easily lift three times her body weight. But it was awkward. As annoying as he was, she didn't want to hurt him. Strike that—she kind of did. The thought of locking him in the pillory and paddling his butt was quite attractive right now. But she knew it was a bad idea to get involved with a full-time sub. That was a lot of stress on the dom. And even if they had a kinky weekend, where would it lead? It wasn't as if he could stay with her forever. He wasn't even her species!

"I quit!" he cried. "You're not my boss anymore. And you know I won't press charges for being left in the blizzard. All you have to do is order me. Please. Serving you would give me purpose, even if was just for a few days."

She sighed. "Silko," she said in a tone of voice that allowed for no defiance. "Get up. Now."

He reluctantly let go of her leg and stood up, but he hadn't given up his petition. "Besides, when was the last time any beast gave himself you completely? Everybeast says you work too hard—that you're always stressed out—I can help with that!"

One large paw wrapped around the dog's throat, stopping his persuasion effectively. He gulped against her paw but didn't pull away. "Silko, you're right. It's been a long, long time for me. And I am very stressed out. But you don't know me. I could be worse than your former coworkers. I'm a rough-and-tumble she-wolverine who can make beasts like them tremble with a single word. Did you ever think of that?"

He gulped again. "It's because you can make them tremble, and yet they respect and trust you."

She smiled at him. His fervent adoration and blind faith, not to mention his handsome canine features, made him quite the temptation. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad...just until the storm was over.

"Here are my terms," she said, very slowly and carefully. "We are going to play safely and cleanly and it's not going to be a constant abasement. I'm not going to have you tied up the entire time. Your safeword is..." she thought for a moment, "...Sunflower. I expect you to use it if anything is uncomfortable or frightening or overwhelming. Don't think of it as a weakness or losing the game. When you say Sunflower, it's like hitting the pause button so that we can re-adjust. We can always continue where we left off, or take an extended break if we need to. Got it?"

"Yes, mistress," Silko replied.

"Say the safeword."

"Sunflower."

"Good boy," she praised. She pulled her hand away from his throat. "So, my first order is to go get settled in your guestroom while I start dinner."

Silko's ears drooped but he smiled and turned to go back down the hall.

"Don't worry, cupcake," Tilly called after him. "Once we both have a hot meal in us, you'll get all that you're craving...and more."