Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Slavery, Heterosexual, Fiction, Post Apocalypse, First, Pregnancy, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - He's young, wealthy, needs an heir, and doesn't much care for the eligible young woman in his area...
It was a large house, in extensive grounds. Not a mansion, but none-the-less a clear statement of wealth and privilege. The staff, a middle-aged married couple who had started working there on a ten-year indenture under the present owner's father, had begged to stay on under his son when the indenture was complete, recognising that they were unlikely to find a better position elsewhere in the economic and social climate following the Wars. They looked after the property and its owner and the wife cooked; they lived in a small but comfortable apartment over the coach-house. They were genuinely fond of the owner, though they realised he probably didn't notice.
So who was he? This wealthy, reclusive, young man? Six foot two and athletic from regular workouts in the small, but well equipped, gym, with undistinguished brown hair and pale blue eyes – who was he? Joshua Sutherland, only son and heir of Amos Sutherland, whose wife, Joshua's mother, had died in one of the first major terrorist atrocities that had triggered the Wars. Joshua had a heart murmur which had kept him out of the Army, though he'd desperately wanted to avenge his mother's death. His father's wealth was in secure industries, food, for the most part, and he had little or nothing to do with them except accept the income from his investments. He detested the social round, the self-satisfied men and their vacuous women. He detested golf, about the only acceptable activity, with tennis, for his socio-economic status. Once a week he took lessons in Aikido from an ex-Army officer. Once a week he relieved his sexual needs in a local brothel; his father had introduced him to the Madame there when he turned fifteen. She had personally instructed him in the art of giving and receiving pleasure – thoroughly enjoying herself in the process – before turning him loose among her girls. All of whom were slaves and likely to remain so, but she was a humane mistress and ensured they were not abused.
Apart from that, he had a light aircraft and a licence, a small yacht, several cars, and a motorcycle. Everything, you might think, a young man might want who didn't enjoy socialising.
Yet ... something was missing.
He couldn't settle to anything.
He listlessly scanned his bookshelves, then turned away with a shrug. Music media and videos, likewise.
He changed into exercise gear and thumped a punch-bag for half an hour without noticeable relief, showered and changed before wandering into the kitchen, where his house-keeper was preparing lunch, the room suffused with the fragrance of fresh bread baking.
"Good morning, Master."
"Missus Griffiths." He was always punctilious in courtesy to his staff. "Any coffee made?"
"Nothing fresh, but I can have a pot ready for you in a few minutes, sir."
"Please." He sat at the kitchen table to wait as she started the coffee-maker.
"Master..." she hesitated, but went on tentatively, "is something the matter?"
"I need an heir."
"Ah." She hesitated, but took a deep breath and went on, "Surely, that's no great problem? There must be a dozen young women keen to marry someone like you? The Sturgeons' daughter, she'll be, what, nineteen this year?"
"She's..." he stopped before expressing his opinion, not realising his expression said it anyway. 'That hard-faced, grasping, self-centred bitch. She'd make my life, and everyone around her totally miserable.'
They were silent together as the coffee ran through and Missus Griffiths poured a mug and placed it in front of her employer.
"You could..." the woman hesitated again before forging ahead, "you could purchase a slave. Train her to be the way you want her."
He grimaced. He had quite bloody thoughts about the groups who had caused the overthrow of civilisation through their terrorism, but apart from that had no desire to dominate or control. Still, it was an idea. How to go about it, though?
There were public auctions, true, but ... and there were dealers, but...
"Why not call on Madame Anastasiya?"
His house-keeper's voice broke into his musings. Why not, indeed? "Yes. I think I will. After lunch, anyway."
"It's a cold lunch, and I'm nearly ready with it, so whenever you like, sir."
He stayed in the kitchen, sitting at the table, and she topped off his mug of coffee. "Will you go to the dining-room, sir?"
"Do you want me out of your kitchen, Missus Griffiths?"
She gave a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, no sir..." before noticing the wry smile on his lips. "No, sir, if you want to eat in here, that's fine, of course."
"How about you join me? And your husband, if he wishes?"
"Carl will eat later, and I'll eat with him, but I'll sit with you if you like?"
She busied herself, placing bowls and plates on the table. There was smoked salmon, a green salad, potato salad and coleslaw, tomatoes, cucumber and pickle (though she knew he never ate the last, it was a part of the traditional 'ploughman's lunch') and there were fresh bread rolls, still warm from the oven, and butter.
He filled his plate and for some minutes ate silently. "Missus Griffiths..."
"You ... and Carl ... look after me very well."
She blushed. "We ... it's our job. We like to do it."
"None-the-less, I appreciate what you do, and I want you to know that."
"You're a good Master, sir."
He acknowledged the last with a nod, and returned to his meal.
Finished, he dressed with care in suit and tie, and went to the coach-house, intending to drive himself in the big Mercedes. Carl Griffiths saw him and intercepted him. "Will you be wanting me to drive, sir?"
The young man thought about that. "Yes, why not?"
"Ten minutes, sir, for me to get into uniform."
"Fine, no rush." He walked back to the house where he waited in his lounge until the doorbell rang and Missus Griffiths came to say Carl had the car at the door.
In all honesty, he could have walked the mile and a half to Madame Anastasiya's, but as it was, he thought, a somewhat formal matter, he was approaching it in a formal manner.
The Madame met him at the door. "Why, Joshua – it's only three days since you last visited! How lovely to see you. Lida is available now, or I can call Jana, if you prefer; she could be ready for you in quarter of an hour or so."
"Actually, Madame, it was you I came to see, if you have time for me."
Surprised, she smiled. "I'll always have time for you, my dear, but..."
"I need your advice, Madame."
"Advice, is it? Come to my office, Joshua. Can I get you a drink?"
"Yes, please. A whisky would be good."
"I have no Glenlivet for you, but I do have some Glenfiddich."
"That will be fine, thank you."
Once settled in her office with a generous measure of Scotch in his glass, he began.
"I need an heir, Madame. In order to have an heir, I need a wife. However, the prospects do not appeal and I don't know how to find someone suitable. Missus Griffiths suggested purchasing a slave, but not knowing how to choose someone suitable in that way, she suggested consulting you."
"Hm." Madame Anastasiya sat back in her chair. "You want a congenial, attractive and reasonably intelligent young woman who would be able to act, with training, as a hostess and mother. I can see your reservations about most of the young women in your social ... setting, and I agree. One of my young ladies might do..." she held up a hand to pre-empt his argument, "but, of course, their origin would be well known and she would never be accepted. A pity. Jana would do nicely and would love to do it. Hm." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine guidance. "There is always the Auction. I sometimes purchase at auction. However, I prefer to interview prospects, and I can only do that at a dealer's. Hm."
"I wouldn't know how to interview a prospect," he inserted.
"No. I would go with you, of course. And it would be better if it was somewhere at a distance from here. I know a reliable dealer in Winchester. We could fly there, could we not?"
"We could. Airspace over London is still prohibited, of course, which makes it longer." He frowned. "I wonder how long it will be before the Capital is safe ... not that it matters just now. When?"
"Give me a couple of days to make some arrangements."
"If you're not in a hurry, I think Jana would enjoy your company for an hour or two."
Jana was waiting in the foyer. As he and the Madame approached, she dropped to her knees with her head down in a theatrical act of submission. Joshua was well aware that her submissive act was just that – an act. He knew, though, that they could please one another greatly.
"Jana! How good to see you. If you have time, perhaps we could ... talk?"
She rose smoothly to her feet. "For you, sir, I always have time to ... talk." She held out her hand, and when he took it, led him demurely to her room. There, for far from the first time, she coaxed three loads of semen from him in the course of two hours, enjoying many orgasms herself in the process. She was certainly his favourite among the Madame's girls.
"I wish I could do more for you, Jana," he said as he was leaving.
She smiled a little sadly. "You are very good to me, but this is my life now, and it's not such a bad life. You are a good man, sir, a pleasure to serve, and you deserve a good woman."
"Thank you, Jana. Thank you very much."
A private flight, from the north Midlands to south of London, was not that easy to arrange, but a flight-plan was submitted and approved with a two day, three night, layover at Winchester. It was a little expensive in gratuities, but the whole trip would be expensive. Madame Anastasiya, in an expensive and elegant trouser-suit, watched as Joshua loaded their suitcases and pre-flighted the twin-engined light aircraft. He helped her in, showed her how to use the headset and harness, and took his own place in the left seat.
Even with a detour through a narrow corridor between the devastated cities of London and Birmingham, the flight was little more than an hour and a half, and it was only another half an hour to place the aircraft in a secure hangar space – more expense, but well worth it – before they could enter the limousine to travel to their hotel.
The check-in was a formality, the hotel staff showing extreme deference as they showed them to the penthouse suite. Joshua had no compunction about distributing generous – excessively generous, in fact – gratuities, that would ensure the best service and no questions asked.
A substantial breakfast for him, muesli and fruit for her; coffee and fruit-juice for both, then the hotel's limousine to take them to 'Marcus and Johansen, Manpower Services', where they were met by Peter Marcus, the proprietor.
"Madame Anastasiya! How good to see you again. How may we help you?"
"Good morning, Mister Marcus. We're not here for me today; I'm here to introduce my young friend Joshua Sutherland, who requires a female slave. I may be needed as an interpreter, but also to guide my friend to find the perfect ... partner."
"I see." He turned to the young man. "Welcome, Mister Sutherland. Please – what are your requirements?"
"I'm not entirely sure. A female, of age, certainly. A virgin, I think..."
"You appreciate virginity raises the price bar dramatically? And the resale value drops equally dramatically on the loss of virginity? You'll certainly be looking at a price in excess of twenty thousand pounds..."
"I won't say 'price no object', but I won't baulk at a fair price for the right maid."
"Caucasian, definitely. She must have at least basic English, too."
"That may be more difficult. English slaves tend not to be virgin by the time they get to us. Central European ones, tend not to have much English."
"Joshua," Madame Anastasiya interjected, "I think we can get round the language barrier. I wouldn't like it to be a sticking point."
The young man nodded in acceptance. Watching him, the older man suggested, "Why don't we take a look at our stock? If you'll come with me. I'm afraid we need to pass through the pre-owned area, but who knows – perhaps one of them will catch your eye?"
The first area they passed through was a long, narrow room. Down the right-hand side were a series of pallets, divided alternately by a wash-basin and a toilet stool. On most of the pallets sat a collared naked woman, with a chain from the collar to a ring on the wall. All had very short hair. Most looked up as the small party passed; some in hope, others with fear. Some just sat head down without moving. Most bore scars on their backs and buttocks, though the scars were old.
On the left were several rooms with the doors open, through which beds were visible. The proprietor saw Joshua's curious glance. "Our serious customers are allowed to... test drive ... the used lots. We do monitor that, though."
As he was speaking, they heard screaming from a closed door further down the room. Marcus reached for a communicator of some sort, but before he could use it two large men came hurtling through, followed somewhat more quietly by an older woman. The men entered the room, shortly after dragging a struggling man, trousers round his ankles, out and back the way they came. The woman nodded in passing and entered the room, closing the door behind her.
Marcus sighed. "We can't do much about what happens after they leave us, but we can try to deal with anyone who abuses the girls while they remain our property."
"What will happen to him?" Joshua enquired soberly.
"Referred to the Magistrate. We monitor and record activity in our rooms. He'll probably get a whipping – twenty lashes, I'd think."
"Well, that's something," grunted Joshua. As they reached the end of the room, he pointed at a girl curled fœtally on her pallet.
"Ah," Marcus sighed again, "we took her when the Police raided a drug house. She wouldn't speak. We don't even know her name. She has to be fed – everything done for her."
"Joshua..." Madame Anastasiya reached out to take Joshua's arm, but he shook her off.
Marcus looked at him in surprise. "Take her, if you want her. I couldn't take any money for her. If she stays here, it'd be a lethal injection in a few days, I'm afraid."
"Very well. Perhaps she could be dressed for us? Or ... I don't like to leave her, but it might be better to collect her in the morning when we're due to leave."
"As you say." Marcus agreed and they passed through the door.
The next room was somewhat smaller. There were no 'test-drive' rooms, and each slave had her own space, though it was open at the front to view the occupant.
As in the previous room, the occupants were naked and chained to the back wall by their collars. However, as the party entered, the girls in there stood – at least, the first ones they could see. They stood straight, arms folded behind them, legs parted, but their eyes lowered. When the party stopped, the girl rotated slowly, and when her back was to them, bent double from the waist. Each had a number written on her back in permanent marker.
The party strolled down the row, pausing at each space.
"It's impossible," Joshua murmured to his companion. "They're all gorgeous. I could take them all."
Madame Anastasiya murmured back, "Choose ... two, three, or four, and I'll interview them. If it helps, try looking for faults so you can eliminate some from your selection."
"Good idea." He walked along, pointed at one. "I like brunettes, but that one's breasts are much bigger than I like." He walked on, "That one, her breasts droop." And on again, "That one looks sulky. I can understand that, but I'd rather not have to cope with it."
Eventually, he'd reduced the choice to three, coincidentally a blonde, a brunette and one with auburn hair. "I like the auburn hair, but I'll go on your assessment of their personality."
In each case, Madame Anastasiya spoke to the girl, telling her in her own language – they were all Russian – that her companion needed a woman who would bear him an heir.
"He is a good man, a gentle man, though he will not tolerate any nonsense. It is a great opportunity for you, as he will not dispose of you when your primary purpose is fulfilled. You will not end up back on the slave block, but will be a valued member of his household ... provided only that you play your part honestly."
The first two eyed Joshua up and down with evident approval and said all the right things, but the last, the blonde, fell to her knees and held up her hands.
"Please – take me! I've been so scared. He looks nice and I want to trust you. I ... I ... I'll try to please him, really I will."
"Madame Anastasiya?" Joshua spoke firmly, and she went to him, leaving the girl on her knees.
"Obviously I couldn't understand what any of them were saying, but that last one..."
"Would be my choice for you, yes. She is obviously highly motivated."
He turned to the proprietor. "That one – the blonde. How much?"
He flipped through a small ledger. "#5023? Fifty thousand."
"Fifty thousand! I'll offer twenty-five."
"Sir! I need to make more than a splinter of profit on her. Forty-five."
"I'll meet you half-way. Thirty-eight."
"That's not quite half way, but if you'll throw in a dress for her and something for her feet, it's a deal."
The dealer held out his hand. "Done. And, by the way, thank you for taking the other one. I'd hate to have had to put her down, or let her go to further abuse." He unlocked the chain from the kneeling girl's collar. "Will you need a shock-collar? Only fifty pounds."
"I think not. If I change my mind, I'll pick one up in the morning."
The party, enlarged by one, made their way back to the office, watched en route by several eyes that may have been envious.
Contract and cheque signed, and #5023 dressed, though without bra or panties, they departed for the hotel.
"That was a good thing, Joshua, offering to buy that girl. Possibly foolish, but a good thing."
He shrugged. "I just couldn't leave her there like that. If we can't help her, we can ease her out of her misery in this life and give her an honourable burial."
The older woman looked at him in surprise. "You'd do that?"
The new purchase sat, listening, half comprehending, half wondering if they were talking about her. She was very nervous, but clamped down on her emotions.
At the hotel, they ordered from room service, not wanting to expose #5023, even in a dress, to public gaze.
Madame Anastasiya took the girl into the bathroom to prepare her for bed. "What is your name, girl?"
"I am Ksenia. I am scared, a little. More than a little."
"There is no need. It will probably hurt at first, but it will soon feel good. Listen. In the room, wait on your knees. Let him get you ready, but be prepared to get on top. That is usually best for a first time – you can go at your own speed. Do you know what to do?"
"I have seen, yes. I will ... I will ... serve him well."
"That will come later. This time, let him lead."
They both wrapped up in soft towelling robes, and left the room. Madame Anastasiya gently propelled Ksenia in the direction of the bedroom and, when she had entered and closed the door, spoke to Joshua. "I shouldn't need to tell you to be gentle. Take your time getting her ready; try to give her an orgasm or two before entering her. I told her to be ready to ride you on top so she has control over the speed of entry, but you could also enter from behind on your side, which is quite good for a first time. She will be waiting for you when you finish in the bathroom."
He nodded, and went to shower and shave...
She was naked, on her knees, by the bed. He closed the door and shed the robe he'd put on moments before. He'd been roused through out the visit to the slave dealer, and the arousal had scarcely subsided through their meal. Seeing her there, her submissive posture, her nubile body, made him as hard as ever he'd been. He stepped up to her and gently stroked her short-cropped, almost white hair.
"You are very beautiful," he didn't know how much she could understand, but hoped she got the sense from tone if nothing else. He lightly grasped her upper arms and indicated he wanted her to rise, which she did, a little awkwardly. When she was standing, he lifted her chin as she had been demurely looking at the floor, so that she looked up at him, then dipped and softly pressed his lips to hers. She gasped – or tried to – and as her lips parted, he swiped them with his tongue. She sagged a bit and he slipped his arms around her to support her. As he did so, her arms went round his neck and her tongue timidly met his.
They kissed – the kiss went on and on, or perhaps it was many kisses – until he didn't want to wait any longer, picked her up and sat her on the bed, the covers of which had been turned back. He flipped them right away so he could lay her out, then lay beside her and recommenced kissing.
She had been nervous – frightened, even. She'd been shivering, trembling in her anxiety, but she rapidly became lost in the overwhelming sensations from her body. When he took his lips from hers, she felt bereft for a moment until those lips were fastened on first one, then the other, of her nipples, and zings of pleasure shot between them and her pelvis.
Her arousal was more and more apparent and the aroma of it soon tempted him to taste of her. She had, he decided, the sweetest, juiciest pussy he'd ever tasted as she writhed in ecstasy under his tongue, babbling nonsense.
She was so far out of it it was obvious there was no way she would get on top of him when he didn't want to wait any longer to be in her, so he rolled her to the side and tucked in behind, lifted her leg and guided his cock into position. If penetration hurt, he could not have told, but he held still deep in her, gently rubbing her engorged clit until her pussy clamped down in yet another climax. At that point there was no holding back, but she was so tight on him that his semen couldn't get through his cock. It was a unique sensation, to be sure. She did relax on him after a brief eternity and the relief as his prostate pumped her full was exquisite.
He surrendered to oblivion.
Ksenia lay there as his hold loosened. She was a little sore, but it had been so much better than she'd feared. She wouldn't mind doing that again and again and again. The wetness between her thighs, though, prompted her to leave the bed and head for the bathroom. To do that, she had to pass through the sitting room, where Anastasiya was waiting. The older woman stood and went to her, holding out a white silk handkerchief.
Ksenia didn't understand until the woman gently moved her hand from where it was retaining the results of her deflowering, and held the cloth there instead.
"Suvenir. YA nadeyus', chto khoroshego opyta? " ("A souvenir. I hope, of a good experience?")
"O, madam ... ne prosto khorosho, zamechatel'no! " ("Oh, Madame ... not just good, wonderful!") Then, haltingly, "Thank you. You good. He good."
Madame Anastasiya smiled. "Good, indeed, for both of you. Let's get you cleaned up." She waved at the bathroom and there was no need to translate that.
It must have been the door opening which disturbed him. Perhaps Ksenia leaving had an effect, but certainly it was the slight sound of the well-maintained latch which caused him to open his eyes. He'd dimmed the lights, rather than switching them off and perhaps that contributed too. But what it meant was that he saw the girl walking carefully towards him. She knelt by the bed, head down.
"Come back to bed."
"You ... me ... again?"
"Just ... come here."
She slid into the bed and allowed him to wrap his arms around her, but reached for his cock with her small, soft hand. It hardened rapidly and she gasped, but began to move it. When it was fully hard, she threw her leg over and prepared to lower herself onto him, but he grasped her hips and lifted her back to lay beside him. Kissed her lips.
She did, feeling safe for the first time since she'd been taken.
So did he, curiously happy with the petite, nubile, young woman.
She dreamed of bearing a child – he, of an heir.
Neither realising their dreams were being realised right then.