Chapter 1

Five prosperous-looking men sat around a highly polished, round, pale oak table. Although the table was perfectly round and supposed to indicate that the men were peers, one was clearly the leader. These men were the ruling Committee of the Post-Devastation English Midlands Division.

"That concludes the business agenda, unless anyone has any last-minute business?"

No one spoke. Technically, they were entitled to raise non-agenda matters at that point, but the Chairman would have been very unhappy had they done so. The only excuse would be if the issue was actually very serious and time sensitive.

"Very well," he went on. "I hope no-one is in a hurry to leave?" He paused and looked round. Everyone shook their heads. "Someone came to me a few days ago with a personal problem..."

"Chairman, please feel free to say it was me. I appreciate your discretion, but I feel it is unnecessary and will be counter-productive."

The chairman inclined his head and everyone breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the anticipated explosion did not occur.

"Very well, Philippe. You may well be right. My friends," the other four raised their eyebrows at being so addressed, "this is a matter that affects us personally, but also may well have ramifications for the community as a whole. Philippe came to me concerned at the attitude of his womenfolk. You'll be aware that I do not entirely approve of slavery. Especially I do not approve of the abuse of slaves and indentured persons when they are unable to protect themselves. While there are, theoretically, legal safeguards, they are rarely enforced. In fact, I came across a case – Philippe brought it to my attention – of an Irish girl, taken in slavery and so abused, mostly mentally, that she retreated into catatonia. Admittedly, that occurred in the south, but one of our people took her out of a slave dealer's and brought her here. He got her medical help and she's doing as well as can be expected. But what I want to tackle is the attitude that a vulnerable person – and, yes, I believe a slave is still a person – is an object to be used, abused, and discarded. Sadly, that attitude occurs among our social class. Philippe, it might be well if you took up your story?"

"Yes, Chairman."

The Chairman interrupted, "Philippe, I think it would be good to deal with this, initially at least, as peers. Feel free to use given names."

"Yes, s ... Sylvester. Hm. Well, a neighbour of mine, a young man, quite wealthy, bought two slaves. One of them, incidentally, the young woman the Ch ... Sylvester ... mentioned though I didn't know about that. I called round to ... take a look at them. I confess, I was hoping to have permission to have sex with them. Anyway. Joshua, the young man, left me in no doubt that wasn't going to happen. He was protecting the abused one. The other, a very lovely young Russian, was pregnant with his baby. Since then, I hear he has taken out a Vulnerability Order on the abused one. Sylvester, I share your concern that such would be necessary. The blonde, he emancipated and married. She's since borne a baby girl, and Joshua is over the moon about it. Anyway. My daughter, Griselda, had hopes of marrying him herself, and when she heard the news, she had a nuclear explosion of a tantrum. Personally, much as I love my daughter, I have zero illusions about her personality and if she wasn't my daughter I would much prefer not to share my house with her. I'm not evading my responsibility, here. I know it's my fault that her mother has been able to raise her as she has. In short, my family is a mess. My wife – let's just say she's not much of a wife – and daughter, are lazy, unproductive, selfish, have entirely unwarranted feelings of superiority towards anyone of a lower social status and consider slaves and indentured servants to be sub-human. I approached the ... Sylvester to discuss what could be done. I'm sure I'm not the only one with a problem of this nature."

"Indeed not," the Chairman said. "My wife is very similar. I don't mind saying I've kept a slave just in order to get satisfactory sex. My wife knows, but pretends she doesn't."

There was a long, pregnant, silence before another spoke. William Hemming took a deep breath. "My daughter is a drug addict and," he paused and closed his eyes, "and a slut. I'm pretty sure some of the money she spends on drugs is earned on her back. She won't listen to me, she won't listen to her mother."

"My wife," Ernest Jones put in, "has rationed me to one session of sex a month, the day before her period is due. If it's early, or if I have to be away, that's it. Not that the sex is up to much anyway; she lays there like a corpse. But the worst thing is she abuses any young female servants we have in the house. Pure jealousy, though I wouldn't dare touch one anyway."

The last, Alan Beeton, put in, "I'd have to agree."

"So," the Chairman said, "it's interesting no-one has mentioned divorcing their wives, or sending them to the slave block. I imagine it's because of their families. However, I have a proposal. I think the ladies should have a taste of the life of an indentured servant. In particular, I think they should become used to frequent and varied sex, but also regular exercise and some manual labour."

"What about men?"

"We already have provision for indenture of men who abuse servants. We need to take steps to ensure that happens."

"Yes, but actually, I was asking – perhaps I didn't express it well – who is going to be responsible for ... what? Training? Our women."

"Ah. Yes. I wanted to get a feel for the meeting before getting into that. I will not tolerate sadists with that sort of power. I thought certain military men might have the right qualifications. I have someone in mind to consult. I've also had discussions with a professional Dominant and I think we'll need to have someone like that as a consultant."

"Where would this take place? And how would it be paid for?"

"The where is easy. We've got the Horseshoe standing empty. That would accommodate thirty or so in bar-fronted cells, with a large central area for training purposes. The staffing personnel can be accommodated within the complex. We need to do something with the place anyway before it starts to deteriorate. The money – we can find enough to begin, but then the women will have to earn their way." Eyes widened as the men assimilated the implication, then sat around the table in thoughtful silence. "Well, gentlemen?"

"I say, let's move ahead, at least in preparation. There's a lot to sort out, but if the right ... staff cannot be found, everything else is moot, I think," William Hemming spoke firmly, "and we ought to set a time to meet again. Next week, perhaps, not more than a week."

"I second that," Ernest Jones said immediately. The Chairman looked round at his colleagues, all of whom nodded.

"Carried, then. I'll make some visits. Philippe, I'd like you to clear your calendar and join me. Ernest, William, Alan, please enquire around and see if there are any others who would want to take advantage of such a facility. Frankly, if it's just our women it would be better to do something on a much smaller scale."

"Where are we going, sir ... er ... Sylvester?"

"Come now, Philippe, are you so uncomfortable with using my name? If so, you can use 'sir' if that's easer, but informality would be better where we're going?"

"No, Sylvester, it's just difficult to break the habit, I'm afraid."

"Very well, then. We're going to see a young junior officer, who was demobilised on his return. He had an unusual reputation in the Army, and has lived up to it since. His name is Andrew Whitten, Lieutenant Andrew Whitten, in fact. You'll see what I mean when I get there."

It was a very ordinary, pre-War apartment block. Unsurprising, as there was very little call for more housing anyway and the few builders who survived the War had quite enough work on maintenance. They climbed a flight of stairs and the Chairman knocked sharply on the door, which was opened by a brown-haired, fit-looking man in his thirties.

"Chairman Booth. Good morning. Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned to Philippe, "May I introduce Philippe Sturgeon?"

The man nodded and smiled. "Welcome, Mister Sturgeon. If you'll come with me, my wife is just making some coffee – it will be just a few minutes."

Sitting in the small lounge, Andrew looked at his guests. "You didn't say what this was about."

"No," the Chairman agreed, "but I'd rather wait until we're settled. I'll just say I, and the Committee, are facing a social problem and you may have some advice for us."

The man's curiosity was clear, but it was not long before a young woman entered the room carrying a tray. She was very slim, with short, dark hair, wearing very brief shorts and a short t-shirt, which was pushed out by breasts that looked large for her frame. She was clearly not wearing a bra, and her nipples were apparent. So was the collar around her neck. She placed the tray on a small table and knelt beside Andrew.

"Gentlemen, this is my wife, Dorothy."

"Welcome to our home," she told them sweetly.

"Thank you, Ma'am," the Chairman responded, echoed by his companion.

She asked for their preferences, and dispensed coffee, rising gracefully to her feet to carry the cups, then returning to her position, kneeling by her husband. She looked at the two men with a smile. "Gentlemen, I see you're intrigued by my collar." She paused, but went on, "My husband saved my life. He bought me, a slave who was about to be terminated, for five pounds. He treated me with respect, restored me to health and when I became pregnant, freed me and begged me to marry him. I never dreamed that any man would respect me, want to marry me, but I love him and he has convinced me that he loves me too. He won't let me wear this collar outside, but I like to wear it in here. It's a sign of my love, that I want to belong to him totally."

"Thank you, Ma'am," the Chairman said.

"Sir, please call me Dorothy."

"Very well, Dorothy. Andrew ... if I may?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Andrew, we, on the Committee, are concerned about the abuses of young female slaves. Actually, about the objectification of slaves in general. But there's a," he frowned and paused for a moment, "an endemic tendency in the free population to dehumanise slaves. Indentured workers, as well, in fact. It's a big problem to tackle; too big on a local scale. What we'd like to tackle is the attitude in our own families and possibly other, shall I say, 'upper class' families. It's not the men folk – if we have evidence, we can take steps. No, the problem is with the superior attitudes of our women. We're thinking of setting up a sort of 'boot camp' and consigning um, arrogant? women to it on an indenture for, say, a year. They would be subject to strict discipline; have to exercise, clean their own cells, that sort of thing ... and also be subject to sexual training as well."

"Sex?" The young man was puzzled.

"Sex. One of the common features of the problem women is that they disdain sex and refuse or excessively limit sexual contact with their husbands."

"Why aren't they divorced, then?"

"Socially, very difficult. It's quite a tight community and divorce would estrange families which need to interact. Same with the slave block. My wife's family, for example, would never forgive me. I could live with that if I had to, but I'd rather not if I can avoid it."

"Your wife would be one of the ... subjects?"

"I think so. It's necessary, for her as well as me, but also as an example."

"Pour encourager les autres?"

"In a way, yes."

"So why are you here?"

"Because you have a reputation for, well, standing up to peer pressure. Pressure, in fact from your superior officers. One reason you were not promoted further. Your wife's testimony further reinforces that reputation."

Dorothy, who had been watching their two guests with interest, looked up at her husband with adoration, then climbed into his lap, kissed him and whispered in his ear. "Oh, Master. I love you so. I knew you were special, but hearing it from this man ... oh!"