Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/ft, Reluctant, Coercion, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Post Apocalypse, Spanking, Rough, Humiliation, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Lactation, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A longer tale in the Post-Apocalyptic Britain of 'Auction' and 'The Heir'. The Chairman of the Midlands Committee, and his colleagues wish to modify the behaviour of their womenfolk and social circle. Some codes relate to later chapters. Please check them before beginning to read!

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!"

Andrew blushed. "Isn't Junior about due to wake up?" trying to divert her.

"Not for at least half an hour, I think."

"I still don't see why you're here, Chairman."

"We need trainers. We need an officer, or several officers, to be in charge. But we need people who will do what is necessary without sadism, torture, or unnecessary pain. I appreciate that some pain may be necessary to instil the necessary discipline, but I will not have the ... trainees ... abused. Bear in mind that they will probably think they're being abused anyway."

Andrew smiled. "Recruits always think they're being abused. I did, certainly. I wanted to murder my Drill Instructor."

The other men chuckled dutifully at the little joke.

"So, would you like a job?"

"I don't..."

But his wife interrupted, "You should, Master. You would be fair, and as gentle as you could be. Besides, you might enjoy the women."

"What? Really, Dorothy?"


"It looks as though I've got my orders. What would be involved?"

"We'd like the Officer in Charge to live in..."

"No. I don't think so. I don't want Dorothy and our son brought up in an institution. Moreover, I wouldn't want to be full time."

There was a short silence before the Chairman spoke again. "Can you recommend anyone else? You'd be welcome as a part-timer, but the OIC would need to be there and on call."

"Ah. There was a Major ... Major Prestwick. Maurice Prestwick. He was one of very few I saw eye to eye with on human rights. The RSM, too. Sarn't Major ... Smith. Reg Smith. He was absolutely dead straight. And my platoon. With one or two exceptions, I'd trust them."

His two guests looked at each other. "We can track them down," the Chairman said. "Thank you. How much time would you be willing to work?"

"One day. Perhaps two. Very occasionally, three if you need to cover for holidays or sickness, maybe. No night shifts."

At that moment, they all heard a baby working up to a good cry, and Dorothy got up and went to fetch her son. Before she returned with him, the Chairman and his companion stood, shook their host's hand and turned to leave. They passed Dorothy, who was carrying Andrew Junior, on their way to the door.

"Thank you, Missus Whitten, for your hospitality, your testimony, and your encouragement to your husband."

When the two men had gone, Dorothy whipped the t-shirt off and sat to feed Junior. The sounds of a hungry baby suckling at her breast was loud in the room. "I can't tell you, Master, how special you are to me. You've given me a life, a baby, respect ... and love."

"You're a very lovable woman, Baby. I'm a lucky man to have found you. Why you'd want me to have sex with other women, though..."

"I don't mind; you'll come back to me and I want you to have pleasure."

It was Philippe's turn to introduce the Chairman. They called on Joshua Sutherland. The Chairman had heard of him, but had never actually met him.

The housekeeper admitted them to the house and showed them to a reception room, where they were joined by a petite, attractive, short-haired blonde, carrying a baby in her arms. "Welcome, gentlemen. Excuse my daughter, she doesn't seem to want to sleep today. May I offer you refreshment? Tea, coffee, something stronger?"

It was Philippe's place to make introductions. "Missus Sutherland, may I introduce Sylvester Booth? Chairman of the Committee?"

"You may, Mister Sturgeon. Welcome, Chairman."

"Thank you, Ma'am. We've just had coffee, so perhaps not just now."

"Actually, Sylvester, Joshua keeps a fine selection of Scotch Whisky." He looked back at the blonde, "If that's okay, I'd like a drop of whisky."

"Certainly. Do you have any preference? Highland, Lowland, peaty?"

"Oh, dealer's choice, Ma'am."

She turned to the Chairman. "Would you like to change your mind? Joshua will probably indulge in a glass if you do?"

"Well," he smiled, "you've twisted my arm. I'd love a drop."

She left the room briefly. On her return, she blushed. "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Please, be seated."

Even so, they waited for her to sit. She blushed as she did so. Shortly after, a slim, dark-haired girl, wearing an unusual collar, entered with a tray, bearing a bottle of Scotch, a small jug of water, and three glasses, which she placed on a table near the two visitors. She bowed, and left.

The Chairman commented, "I don't think I've seen a red-and-white striped collar before anywhere. I know the significance, of course – the Vulnerability Order. Your husband has done a good thing, there."

"I think so. He has been very good to me."

The girl re-entered the room and knelt by he lady, head down she said, "Ma'am, Dorcas is stirring. Would you like..."

"Please, lift her, Myra. She's not due for a feed quite yet. You can bring her to me if she won't settle for you." She reached out and stroked the girl's head. "Thank you, Myra."

The slave-girl stood and bowed before turning and leaving. The two men saw that she was blushing and smiling happily.

"Myra dearly loves my daughter, and loves looking after her. If I didn't love Dorcas so much myself, I'd hardly need to see her."

"She's clearly devoted to you," Philippe commented.

"Yes," Ksenia agreed, "almost as devoted as she is to my husband. He did save her life, after all. Even without that collar, though, he wouldn't touch her." She looked her guests in the eyes. "I can imagine how Joshua's ... domestic arrangements must look to an outsider, but I want to assure you he is an intensely honourable man."

"So I believe," the Chairman commented in reply. "If I may say so, he is also a very sensible, and a very lucky man, too."

Ksenia coloured darkly. "Thank you, sir. But I think I am the lucky one. But, please – you are not pouring your whisky. I won't offer to do it for you, as you'll want to add water, or not, to your taste. I'll just warn you, it's cask strength, a Highland Park malt from Orkney. It's my husband's favourite at the moment."

That activity served to fill several minutes until the men sat back and sipped, producing expressions of surprise and pleasure. They hadn't drunk very much before Joshua Sutherland entered. "Good..." he looked at his watch, "afternoon, gentlemen. I apologise for keeping you waiting. I trust Ksenia has ensured you feel welcome? Ah ... whisky. I see she has. It may be a little early, but I think I'll have an appetiser too. Will you stay for lunch?"

Ksenia schooled her features into neutrality. Knowing how Joshua disliked socialising with those who considered him their social peers, she was puzzled and indeed shocked by the invitation.

Their two visitors looked at each other over their whisky glasses. "That ... would be most hospitable of you, Mister Sutherland ... and Missus Sutherland. Thank you; we accept."

"Shall I inform Missus Griffiths, Joshua?"

"Just a moment, Love." He turned to the other men. "Is your business private, or may my wife sit in?"

"It would be acceptable and possibly helpful if she returned and sat in on our discussion."

While Ksenia was gone, Joshua poured himself a measure of whisky, added a little water, sipped, nodded approval, and sat. When Ksenia returned, she adopted a kneeling position, leaning against her husband's leg. His hand absently stroked her hair and she rested her head on his knee.

"So..." Joshua invited.

Philippe began. "We ... are concerned ... with the attitudes of our womenfolk. They feel above the general grind of society, contribute little or nothing to the family and are abrasive, arrogant and unpleasant to anyone of lower status in their eyes. Objectionable towards slaves and indentured persons." He paused looking for a reaction. Joshua merely raised an eyebrow. "What's precipitated this is my daughter's reaction to your marriage."

"Ah. I see. But I don't see what you want from me."

"Perhaps nothing. But you are one of very few we are approaching who do not share the elitist, chauvinist attitudes we are worried about, and we were hoping you – and your wife – might have some insights that would be helpful."

Ksenia lifted her head. "Joshua ... is ... the way he is. His attitudes stem from his integrity, honour, and human compassion."

"I see. I see indeed. Thank you, Missus Sutherland. I would ask if ... Myra? ... could offer any insights, but while I'm sure she could, I suspect it would be too much for her. Joshua ... if I may?"

"Yes, Chairman. Certainly."

"I'd like you to consider a management position, or supervisory position, in an institution we are considering. We were thinking a military style training centre might be able to, shall I say, reshape some women's attitudes. However, we are concerned that such a regime might go too far in discipline, that the treatment would constitute sadism, rather than discipline. The regime would include manual servitude in cleaning and perhaps cooking, exercise, diet ... and sex. In short, they would be indentured for a minimum period – we're considering one year – extendible for resistant candidates, during which they would get a taste of being a slave, albeit in a fairly liberal situation."

"I don't know..."

"Just consider it. Nothing is set in concrete at the moment and I'm certainly willing to discuss what the regime may be."

Joshua glanced down and met the eyes of his wife, who was clearly trying to communicate something.

The door opened, and Myra entered, carrying a small baby. "Mistress, excuse me, please."

"I'm coming, Myra. Thank you." Ksenia took the child and followed the young woman out of the room. They went upstairs to the nursery, where Ksenia sat, lifted her top to reveal swollen breasts, and brought the child to one of them. Dorcas immediately latched on and sucked noisily. Myra, kneeling nearby, watched avidly. "Oh, Mistress, I would love to do that."

"What, feed a baby?"

"Yes. You look so beautiful, so content, so right."

"You know there's a process to go through? Would you want that? Intercourse with a man?"

"If it were the right man, Mistress, I think I would enjoy that."

Ksenia carried on feeding Dorcas, swapping her to the other breast after a few minutes, then burping her and handing her, reluctantly, to Myra to change. The baby was asleep again shortly after that.



"Dorcas never empties both breasts. Joshua usually enjoys helping me with that, but he's busy. Would you suckle me, please?"

"Mistress, I..." Myra broke off and Ksenia realised she was weeping.

"Come here, Myra."

The young girl slowly and tentatively approached. When she was close enough, Ksenia drew her to her lap and held her head to her breast. The girl latched on just like Dorcas had and sucked vigorously, even after the breast ceased to yield milk. Ksenia just held her, enjoying the situation in two ways. She was happy to feel she was helping Myra, whom she had come to love like a little sister, but she was also aware of a definite sexual frisson from the activity.

Meanwhile, the men had been summoned to lunch by Joshua's housekeeper. Joshua decided not to wait for Ksenia, who could be some time with Dorcas and would be pleased to eat in the kitchen anyway, and the three men ate and chatted, avoiding the reason for their visit. Having eaten, the Chairman, Sylvester Booth, and Philippe Sturgeon, departed for their homes.

Ksenia held Myra as she gradually stopped sucking and went to sleep. Joshua found them there, and gently lifted Myra and carried her to her bed. After which, he carried Ksenia to their bedroom and lavished all the attention he could on her beloved body. They drowsed there together until Myra found them. If she was bothered by seeing her mistress and master naked and twined together, the aroma of sex heavy in the air, she didn't show it.


"I'll come, Myra. Joshua needs to rest, I think."

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