The Tower
Copyright© 2025 by JP Bennet
Chapter 17
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 17 - London, 2027. A deadly pandemic has wiped out most of the population, leaving chaos in its wake. As law and order collapse, survivors form factions, each fighting for control. Dale, a former banker, fortifies the Tower of London, building a ruthless community to withstand the growing threats. *WARNING: racist characters. Avoid if that offends you. Violent but violence is for the most part not sexual*
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual NonConsensual Rape Slavery Fiction Post Apocalypse Group Sex Violence
Founders Day, The White Tower
The sky hung low and heavy over London, casting the Tower’s ancient stones in cold shadow. Yet inside its walls, the air crackled with purpose and fierce anticipation. Today marked the end of uncertainty-the birth of a new era, sealed by a ceremony born of fire, steel, and strength.
Nearly two thousand survivors filled the courtyard, their breath misting in the crisp winter air, bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Around them stood ranks of guards—one hundred fifty in total, rigid and alert, clad in immaculate ceremonial uniforms taken from the deserted barracks of the Household Cavalry and the vacant quarters of the Yeoman Warders. Scarlet tunics and polished helmets reflected the flames from torches mounted along the walls. There was no extravagance - only carefully rationed flame burning just enough to highlight this display of strength and control.
At the head of the steps to the White Tower, Dale stood awaiting Allegra. He wore black, tailored ceremonial armour, salvaged meticulously from the Wallace Collection. The ornate breastplate and finely detailed helmet had once belonged to Emperor Maximilian II—a gift of history now reforged for his reign. Over his shoulders lay a heavy cloak of black velvet lined with silver fur, complementing the cold steel and polished ceremonial sword at his side. Dale stood tall, authoritative, embodying strength.
Finally, Allegra emerged from the shadows, ascending through parted ranks of cavalrymen. Her gown was deep crimson edged in black, draped under a cloak of similar colouring, making her seem both elegant and formidable. Her head was bare; she would receive her circlet only from Dale’s hands.
When she reached him, Dale raised a hand, and the murmurs ceased instantly. He spoke, voice clear and commanding, projecting effortlessly to the gathered crowd:
“We have survived the fall of a broken world. Tonight, we step forward, unafraid, to build a stronger one. I accept the burden of leadership as your Lord Protector, and earn my authority through strength and the will of the people.”
He lifted the ancient helmet slowly, reverently, placing it firmly upon his head. It fit comfortably, as though forged just for him. The symbolism was unmistakable. Martial strength, discipline, and order.
Turning to Allegra, Dale reached for the smaller silver circlet, simple and elegant, salvaged from the V&A. Allegra lowered herself gracefully to one knee. It wasn’t submission. It was respect, carefully balanced. Dale crowned her gently, his fingertips lingering on her dark hair.
“You are Allegra—my Lady Protector, equal partner in purpose. Stand at my side and rule with me.”
Allegra rose smoothly, her gaze locked to his, fierce pride flashing briefly in her eyes. “Always.”
Dale faced the crowd again, raising his voice. “We stand not alone, but with those who have sworn loyalty and courage to this cause. Step forward, those chosen.”
Nicole and Natalie emerged from behind Allegra, dressed similarly yet more simply in matching dark-red gowns. Dale nodded approval, voice carrying clearly again. “These women stand as honoured first consorts, pillars of loyalty and strength.”
Both women bowed their heads in unison, taking their places quietly beside Allegra.
Allegra raised her hand, and from the side a line of young women advanced into the torchlight. Their gowns were deep grey edged with crimson, uniform yet elegant, chosen to frame the ceremony. Nearly two dozen in all, they settled into two neat ranks behind Nicole and Natalie.
Among them, Dale recognised familiar faces. Kat walked with her chin lifted, green eyes sharp and unflinching — proud, almost defiant in her poise. Jaz followed with her sister Leila close at her side, both still looking at him with the loyalty of those he had pulled from fire. Becky was there too, nervous but smiling, her cheeks flushed with the pride of being seen. Emma stood taller than she had before, calm and observant, as if weighing the crowd itself. Lauren held her place with grace, eager for approval, while Isabella’s clever eyes flickered, restless and calculating.
Others filled the line — women from kitchens, classrooms, and work crews — familiar yet nameless in the torchlight. Together, dressed alike and standing in silence, they became more than individuals: a living emblem of beauty, youth, and order. Some faces glowed with pride, others with nerves, but all carried the weight of Allegra’s choice.
He stepped forward again, addressing all who stood assembled: “This night binds us together—not merely in ceremony, but in blood, loyalty, and sacrifice. Our old world failed because it was weak. We survive because we are strong. From tonight onward, strength is our law.”
He drew his sword with deliberate ceremony, raising it high. At the signal, the soldiers lining the courtyard raised fists or weapons in disciplined salute. A single deep cheer erupted, then silence fell again instantly, the air vibrating with barely restrained energy. The pageantry was powerful yet controlled, militaristic and purposeful.
Together, Dale and Allegra descended the steps slowly, consorts and attendants falling into formation behind them. As they passed, the gathered survivors lowered their heads respectfully or nodded solemnly in acceptance. This was not monarchy reborn—this was a new order, disciplined and militarized, forged through strength.
Later that night, in the quiet privacy atop the White Tower among scattered mattresses and blankets, Dale pulled Allegra to him with quiet authority. The passion between them was fierce and urgent — a claiming that left no doubts of their shared ambition. Nicole and Natalie joined quietly afterward, their presence familiar and reassuring.
Eventually, as silence settled again, Dale glanced at Allegra thoughtfully.
“Your staging tonight was impressive.”
She smirked knowingly, running fingers lazily along his chest. “The pageantry matters. They saw strength, order, and plenty.”
Dale gave a low chuckle. “You dressed the walls in beauty as well as steel. It made an impression.”
Allegra’s smile widened just slightly, eyes glinting in the dark. “And you didn’t stop me.”
Dale didn’t reply, but he tightened his grip around her. They both knew what lay ahead — tonight had been the easy part. Tomorrow would begin the true test of their strength.
But for now, Dale allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Tonight, he had claimed his place as Lord Protector, with Allegra firmly beside him. Tomorrow, they would shape the future, one disciplined step at a time.
As the ceremony ended and the torches began to gutter out, the crowd slowly dispersed, their hushed conversations rippling across the Tower grounds. The sheer scale and grandeur of Dale and Allegra’s coronation had awed most into respectful silence, though beneath the surface a range of quiet emotions stirred.
Among them stood Martin, a wiry man in his early thirties, recently picked up from the wreckage of Shadwell. He rubbed his stubbled chin, frowning slightly. He’d initially been thrilled by the security the Tower offered—warmth, food, people—but tonight had him on edge. The precise formation of uniformed soldiers, the gleam of ceremonial weapons, the unmistakable stamp of authority: it reminded him too vividly of history books he’d read as a kid. Order was good, sure, but this kind of order was heavy, absolute, unyielding. He glanced toward Allegra, whose cold beauty made his stomach tighten with nervousness. He’d heard whispers about what happened to people who crossed her.
A few yards away, Jasmine shifted uncomfortably. Just seventeen, tall and lanky with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, she’d arrived at the Tower barely a week ago. Her first impression had been one of relief—finally safe, finally warm. But now unease prickled at her skin. Her eyes lingered on the stern-faced guards flanking Dale, their expressions stony, unreadable. The word “Lord Protector” echoed uncomfortably in her mind. A protector was supposed to defend, shelter—not dominate with a martial display that seemed straight from an older, darker century.
Yet near the dais, Will—a broad-shouldered man nearing forty, new but quickly integrated—nodded approvingly. He’d been rescued along with his young daughter Mia just days earlier. His loyalty was uncomplicated, fuelled by raw gratitude. Dale and Allegra represented safety, stability, a return to something resembling civilization. He clapped a firm hand on the shoulder of his new friend, Gregor, a Polish builder in his late twenties. “Impressive, right? You’ve got to admit, he’s got a strong grip on things.”
Gregor shrugged, noncommittal. His blue eyes remained fixed warily on the Lord Protector’s chosen guards. He understood power, understood why Dale had organized things this way, but the swift ruthlessness he’d witnessed since his arrival still unsettled him. Dale and Allegra’s vision offered protection, but he was less certain about freedom.
Further back stood Carly, small and slender at twenty-six, her face carefully neutral, eyes fixed respectfully forward. She knew better than anyone what happened to traitors—she had narrowly escaped detection during Julian’s failed betrayal, slipping quietly back into Dale and Allegra’s trust. Ever since, she’d worked tirelessly, volunteering eagerly for difficult jobs and quietly reporting even minor suspicions directly to Allegra. Tonight she applauded enthusiastically with the others, nodding approvingly, hoping her earnestness was convincing enough. Her heart beat rapidly beneath her calm exterior; her survival hinged on being trusted, on being useful. She glanced at Allegra, desperately hoping she saw only loyalty.
Toward the back, hidden partially in shadow, stood Ashleigh, small and mousey at nineteen, her thin frame wrapped tightly in scavenged layers. Her brown eyes darted nervously through the crowd. She desperately wanted to believe in Dale’s promise of a new beginning, and tonight had seemed magical. But beneath that longing, doubt gnawed quietly. She’d seen enough brutality on the road here to know that beneath grand speeches lay sharp edges. Her instincts whispered caution, yet she buried that thought deep—she would keep her head down and simply hope to survive.
Above it all stood Dale and Allegra, figures of strength and certainty. And for now, everyone—loyal, uneasy, doubtful, or afraid—understood clearly that there was little choice but to follow.
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