Chapter 1: An Official Visitor

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, Humiliation, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1: An Official Visitor - In the second Victorian era our hero is faced with a new challenge in preparing a woman for her forthcoming marriage.

My clients are sometimes reticent about their identity during our initial consultations. This is hardly surprising. The need for assistance in present or planned marital relationships is not a conversational topic that comes easily to many men. As a result, during my years in business, I have developed a small skill in being able to read the likely trade of my clients from the moment of their arrival at my consulting rooms. (My readers should understand that it is not only the one-time occupant of 221B Baker Street that has developed such skills. I will admit, however, that the accounts of his experiences, provided by the good Doctor Watson, did furnish me with the inspiration to explore his methods.) The posture, the clothes, the turn of phrase; these all conspire to betray a man's nature and his chosen path in life. It is a skill that has smoothed many discussions. The merchant, the entrepreneurial engineer, the ambitious politician; I have recognised all of these as they have crossed my threshold and I have been able to ease the discussions with my eventual clients as a result.

My most recent caller, though, was something of a puzzle. He had made his appointment – according to my maid with whom he had left his card – with a clipped military precision that had led me to expect a member of the Marines, perhaps, but while she had said that his manner was efficient, he had been vague in the extreme when it came to the matters that he wished to discuss, saying only that his project would be of great interest to me.

I was engaged in recording the details of the trials that had been needed to bring the Tusker sisters to the behaviours required of them. I record my observations of my pupils as their learning progresses but collate and analyse the results of my observations once they have completed their studies. It helps me to develop my methods for, while the human psyche is no doubt constant, my own understanding of it is constantly evolving.

The sound of a steam cab in the road outside, a knock on the door and the sound of my maid scurrying to answer it, forced me to put my work aside. I found myself in two minds over his arrival; intrigued as to the nature of his business and more than a little resentful at the fact that he had felt it necessary to be so oblique in our earlier discussion.

My caller's arrival presented me with additional puzzles. He appeared initially to be a man more of intellect rather than action. In his early middle years, he was dressed soberly but in well-cut tailoring and soundly shod with sturdy English brogues. He was, I supposed, well established in whatever field he had undertaken in his professional life but certainly not of the first rank. I would have taken him for a junior bureaucrat perhaps or for some official in a hall of banking. I was discouraged. Worthy though these positions are, neither of them would allow him an income sufficient to engage my services.

I studied him closely as he removed his bowler hat and greatcoat and handed them, together with his rolled umbrella, to my housemaid. For all his pale complexion and studious looks, his stance and physique spoke of a life beyond the shadowy libraries of one of our universities or the columned halls of a banking house. He seemed calm and self-contained as he took in his surroundings. I ceased trying to guess his origins. No doubt our discussions would tell me more.

"Doctor Julian Castwich," my caller announced, "Major, RAMC, retired."

In those few words he answered some of my unspoken questions, although at the same time he also caused me to frame some others. Why, for example, had he retired from the military in the middle of what must have been a career of some potential? He appeared untroubled by any injury nor did he exhibit any neurotic indisposition. Sound of mind and limb would describe him perfectly.

I invited him to sit. He looked uncomfortable with the suggestion, as though such an idea smacked of relaxation and other forms of un-guardedness, but eventually did as I asked. "You are reputed to be a man of discretion," he began. I nodded. Mine is a path that could not be followed by one with a loose tongue. "Our assessments indicate that you are someone that can be relied upon to support the interests of the Empire, in spite of the dubious nature of your craft." I felt my hackles rising and was ready to dispute the point with my caller but the Doctor gave no sign of wishing to be interrupted. "Since the matters of which I will speak are of considerable personal and political sensitivity I require your personal assurance that nothing of what is said will be repeated."

"Of course," I replied with some measure of irritation that anyone would think that any other possibility existed.

"Very good," he said, evidently satisfied that such assurances as he felt were needed were in place. "In which case, I shall explain. I work for Her Majesty's Government. Have you heard of the Office for Genetic Responsibility?"

I had not but that was hardly surprising. Our Government has put in place so many of these so-called independent agencies to carry on those aspects of public policy that once we could rely on the Civil Service to carry out. I was not even sure what such an office might be concerned with. Certainly I knew of the work of Dr Mendel in determining the factors that governed the inheritance of various characteristics between generations but how that could relate to our political life was unclear to me.

"You will know of the difficulties that the royal lineage suffered after the reign of the first Queen Victoria?" He didn't wait for my response. "Her Majesty was the mother of many of the princes and princesses that went on to occupy the thrones of Europe. While this was, undoubtedly, a source of great strength for our relationships with the European monarchies there was a difficulty. The pool of genetic variation from which these countries drew their rulers was, let us say, shallower than would have been wise. There was an undue number of genetic deficiencies in the later generations: congenital idiocy, haemophilia, or in some cases simply displays of degenerate attitudes and behaviours. The current administration has determined that we should take no such risks with our royal lineage in future."

I found his suggestion astonishing. "Do I understand that you are responsible for genetically engineering our Royal Family? Surely that is beyond even our medical skills?"

"Of course." Doctor Julian looked smug. "To adapt the genes of the human cell is quite impossible. Except in one way."

"And that is?"

"I believe the popular term is 'fucking', Sir," Julian said with a smile.

All characters fictitious

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