The Hartwell Plantation
Chapter 1: Coping with Stress

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Rape, Slavery, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, BDSM, MaleDom, Rough, Humiliation, Sadistic, Torture, Violent, Science fiction adult story, sci-fi adult story, science fiction sex story, sci-fi sex story, sci-fi post-apocalyptic sex story, science fiction slavery story

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Coping with Stress - The Hartwell Plantation is a series set in a post-apocalyptic United States, where the vast majority of the population of controlled by a small nobility. The story is centered on a single plantation and includes scenes of violent sexual abuse and rape.

Writing about the end of the world seems nearly redundant. It's not like anyone is going to forget what happened. It was over fifty years ago now, I was twelve years old. It was another lifetime ago. All that you really need to know is the people that ran the world 'before' screwed it all up to atomic proportions. I don't know much about pre-war politics but I know it was always a bit of a clusterfuck, and a lack of oil made things bad enough we all felt it would be easier to send each other into nuclear oblivion. I was one of around one million citizens of the great United States of America who lived remotely enough, and was smart enough, to survive. Not just survive though, but prosper.

But the end of the world is old news now, and my story isn't the point. It's not a heartwarming tale of triumph against adversity. I might be arrogant and egotistical, but I'm also acutely self-aware. I'm not a 'nice' person. I'm not even an 'interesting' one. All you really need to know about my life between the war and today is that I made some really smart decisions, I followed my best interests and I didn't let ethics and morals and emotions stand in my way. I'd have wasted away in the old world, I'd be living on a trailer park with an old shotgun, beer gut and an addiction to cable TV – instead, I'm here, enjoying the privilege of my station. Would I trade all I have now to stop the war, and bring those billions back from the dead? Let me try to answer that for you now.

"I'm satisfied with what I've seen, Lord Barrera." The adjudicator smiled thinly, putting a few newly stamped pieces of paper in a beaten up leather briefcase and extending a hand to Saul. A smiling adjudicator was often enough to send most nobles of the West Pacific Empire into a panic, but Saul was pretty certain this was a genuine smile, albeit from someone not particularly used to the expression. "Personally, your methods are a little extreme," the adjudicator continued, shaking his hand with a tight grip and looking out over the plantation, "but then again, we all have our vices. Keep up the shipments, keep down the chattel, and try to avoid anymore ... infringements, will you? The paperwork can really upset less, shall we say, 'bureaucratic' members of the empire."

With that, the adjudicator nodded to Saul and started off down the steps of the plantation house towards his car. Saul stood and watched the adjudicator's unhurried departure, waiting until the car was over the horizon before breathing a sigh of relief. The last two days of inspections had been a rare stress in Saul's life that he was glad to be finished with for another six months. The adjudicators of the chattel compliance and regulation authority were the only agents in the empire to exert any real power over a Lord, especially one with the particular reputation for results that Saul had established in the last few years, and that made him incredibly uncomfortable.

The Lake Hartwell plantation was responsible for nearly a fifth of the food consumed by the empire and despite the climate, was also a major producer of sugar, a cornerstone of the empires burgeoning economy. It had only been a few years since the Empire had officially been formed, and people who had their shit together as much as Saul had found ample opportunities for 'advancement' once the fighting was over and attention was turned to more economic matters. Saul was part of a new and growing class of nobility, which granted him a great deal of land, a beautiful colonial mansion completely untouched by any war, and a small plantation he had quickly turned into an economic powerhouse. The biggest benefit to being a noble for Saul wasn't the land or the status though, it was the chattel.

Hartwell was what would have been referred in the old days as an "equal opportunities employer". Saul had heard of the old plantations of pre-holocaust America, of the persecution of black slaves that became a vital part of the American economy, and the war that it eventually ignited. This plantation wasn't about color though, or age, or gender. It was about the weak versus the strong. The winners versus the losers. Those destined to become gods in this new world, and those destined to become loyal subjects. Saul looked out over his land at the dozens of men and women, some as young as sixteen and others well into their 30s, around the maximum average life expectancy for a regular citizen of the empire. A beautiful sight.

Despite the calming effect surveying his land granted him, Saul needed some more tangible stress relief. Walking down the stairs and across the neatly kept front lawn of the house, he passed a few of the Plantation slave-masters and nodded in their direction, but his target was Alliah, a young girl who had been sold to him less than two months ago, and one of his new favorites. She was carrying a bucket of water towards from the main well towards the western slave barracks when Saul caught up with her from behind, casually grabbing her both her arms with one hand and ripping off her meager linen dress with the other. The water bucket fell to the floor and she cried out. Not a loud cry, more of a terrified whimper of resignation from a person who had been utterly broken and knew exactly how to behave amongst nobility.

Of course Saul didn't think of this girl as a 'person', not in the traditional sense. Not in the same way he or the other lords were people. They sacrificed that right long ago. Some from being weak, slow, stupid or plain unlucky. Others - the younger ones - were just born into it. It was their destiny to serve his needs and his estate, just as it was Saul's destiny to serve the empire.

Saul tightened his grip on Alliah's arms twisting them unnaturally, and the girl's resignation turned a cry of pain. Saul felt a split second of defiance from her, almost certainly a kneejerk reaction to be grabbed like a piece of meat, an instinct which the girl brought under control within a moment. Still, Saul was already on edge, and it was enough to piss him off. He reached around and punched the little cunt hard in the stomach, keeping a firm grip on the back of her hands to stop her from falling over. She gasped and made a sound like she was being strangled, her head falling forward and her body convulsing despite Saul's hold on her.

No, people no longer, if they ever were. Objects now. Tools. Most importantly, in the eyes of the law, they were his property. They had no more legal recourse or right to complain than his truck, or his shotgun. In fact, those things were valuable commodities to be treated with care, worth a lot more than chattel, the most common 'natural resource' the empire had to offer. The adjudicator was here to monitor the situation and uphold the law of the empire, but that didn't extend to the welfare of slaves. They were concerned about production, and they were concerned about uprisings and rebels. They didn't exactly come out and support sexual violence and abuse, but if the job was getting done, who cared about the methods?

Letting go of Alliah's arms, Saul pushed the bitch to the mud. She hit the wet ground face first, her legs opened in a failed bid to steady her fall. He hadn't had to use much effort to floor the girl, a combination of 18 hours a day manual labor and a lean diet kept the majority of his chattel very slim. Alliah's breasts were still young and firm and large for a girl of her size, one of the reasons he had marked her out for special attention. Bruised now, bloodied from weeks of casual abuse, they wouldn't hold his interest for much longer, but right now they served as a reminder of her place, and they sent blood rushing to Saul's dick.

Using force like this was more of a hobby for Saul rather than a requirement. Of course there was the threat of real violence - Saul could have the entire population killed in minutes with a flick of his hand, though he would have the adjudicators to answer to if he could not replenish his supply of chattel quickly. No, he never feared a rebellion from his property, too few, too stupid and most of them far too broken to even think about such an action. In the urban centers though, slave populations outnumbered the nobility nearly 100 to 1, and their population was kept controlled more through propaganda and a lack of education than through threat of force. An entire generation of chattel had grown up believing that Lords like Saul were miniature gods, and that their entire purpose in life was to fall at their feet.

"Knees. Suck." Saul said. There was no anger in his voice. Not even any immediacy or authority. It was the casually bored tone of someone so used to having their orders followed they didn't need to bother with inflection or tone. Alliah reacted with near inhuman speed, pulling herself up from the ground despite his punch; her dirty hands supporting her heaving chest. She reached up with her arms, eyes still firmly planted on the ground, and fumbled with Saul's belt. Within seconds, she had freed his cock from his jeans and shoved all five inches into her mouth, her nose buried in his pubic hair, her tongue whipping around expertly.

Even in the few seconds between her releasing his cock from his pants shoving it into her face, Saul could smell the efforts of the previous evening. He usually had a nearby chattel clean him thoroughly with their tongue after any activity, but the visit from the adjudicator necessitated a change in routine. He pulled Alliah's short brown hair back violently, her mouth making an audible popping noise as his dick fell out. Holding her hair back, her face pointing at the sky but her eyes still averted from his, he saw that the grime from last night was already being washed away in the gasping girl's saliva and spittle. Satisfied, he slapped one of her tits hard, watching it wobble with a smile, and shoved her face back onto his cock.

As he felt Alliah's tongue search around the tip of his dick with amazing eagerness, Saul was glad he didn't have to worry about teeth. He had ordered Alliah's removed on her third day at Hartwell by the camp's doctor. It was far from a standard practice, doctors were not chattel and extensive procedures like that cost actual money, but he felt his investment had paid off in this case. She had no real need for teeth, chattel were fed a mushy nutrient rich substance ordered in from an urban center, and her need for speech didn't really extend beyond acknowledgement of orders. Being a favorite of his also earned her special privileges. Personal access to cold water to wash in, even make-up and 'special clothes' on the occasions Saul wanted to do something special.

Alliah began to jerk violently, interrupting Saul's musing. Not in disobedience, though. Saul had probably kept his cock rammed down her small throat for over two minutes, and she needed air. His hand wasn't on the back of her head, he wasn't constraining her at all, but she maintained the suction on his dick despite the betrayal of her body, knowing that removing it from her mouth before he allowed it would result in something a lot more painful than a simple lack of oxygen. Saul tapped her on the head, her signal that she could come up for air. He sometimes forgot chattel required things like oxygen or sustenance. Lucky for both them that he was far removed from their daily management.

"Look at me." He ordered. Alliah looked up, her big watery brown eyes staring at him in a mixture of reverence, humility and fear. Saul could see loathing in those eyes too, buried deep, certainly, but noticeable to someone used the expression. Tired of playing, and eager to get out of the heat, Saul grabbed her hair on both sides and started rapidly shoving Alliah's face on and off his dick, face fucking the young girl with enough force that some of her hair was coming off in his clenched hands. Despite his violence, Alliah never moved her hands from behind her back during the ordeal, never broke eye contact with him. After a few minutes of watching those desperate eyes and her beaten tits bouncing in time with his motions, he came deep in her throat, his dick jerking uncontrollably and Alliah swallowing quickly.

His appetite sated, the heat of the mid afternoon sun and the strain of the adjudicator's visit weighed on Saul heavily. He put his hands on Alliah's shoulders, pushing her away slightly, letting his shrinking dick fall out of her mouth. A string of dickslime wavered in the gentle wind. Alliah registered his gentle nod and licked it up, softly attending to his shaft and cleaning his balls from any spittle and stray semen. When she was done, she placed it back in his pants and remained staring at him, her position otherwise unmoved.

"Back to work cunt" Saul said dismissively, pushing the girl back into the dirt, doing up his own belt. He turned and started back towards the house. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Alliah pick her muddied dress and, shaking, cover herself up. She picked up her bucket, and began walking back to the well to collect more water. Saul's mind wandered briefly back to that long ago war. Bring back billions and sacrifice a mouth like that? No fucking chance.

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