Chapter 1

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?"

"Thank you."

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..."

"Sir?"

"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."

"Thank you."

"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."

"Ethnic origin?"

"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.