The Tower
Copyright© 2025 by JP Bennet
Chapter 20
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 20 - 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
The Tower – February 2028
Dale’s team had gathered around the oak table. Reports came in one by one.
Things had gone almost too well. Natalie and Allegra’s propaganda drives had swelled the Tower’s population close to five thousand. More would have come if they’d continued, but they had already hit the ceiling. Processing, feeding, and housing arrivals had strained them to breaking point. They were forced to put a pause on things.
The numbers hid a darker truth. Food was fine. Scavenged tins and bulk rations from warehouses were plentiful, but water was faltering. Pumps failed more often than they ran. Laundry backed up. Solar trickled just enough to keep some basics alive. Vehicles were grounded more than moving. They couldn’t operate the washing machines. Cooking was with scavenged gas. Showers were cold and doled out sparingly.
Dale knew there was only one way forward: power. Not his own power, but real power. Enough to run pumps, charge batteries, cook at scale, wash, move. Enough to restore some sense of civilisation and stop if all collapsing again.
The engineers had drawn the map. The target was obvious. The South East London Combined Heat & Power Plant.
The problem was its position. It as south of the river. They had avoided the area. Easier to keep everyone on one side of the river than a stranded crew. Bridges were easy to defend.
There were also the sewers top contend with. North of the River they could rely on gravity to keep things moving. Where they were heading that would rely on pumps. Those in turn needed power which they didn’t have.
They’d have to push hard. Bermondsey, Rotherhithe, Southwark, Deptford. Dense streets where more than a hundred thousand people had lived before the fall.
He’d sent drones to scout but the footage was inconclusive. There were signs of life but impossible to tell if anything organized awaited them
Today’s council was to settle it.
“The plan is simple,” Dale said at last. “We cross at London Bridge and Tower Bridge. Our perimeter will be the rail tracks. That gives us a barrier we can defend with a light force. Then we sweep north to the river and clear it section by section. Once the ground is ours, the engineers move in.”
They all knew the risks. Stepney still needed holding. Regent’s Park. The Admiralty. The Tower itself. And five thousand restless mouths waiting for a spark to turn them riotous.
But this was important. Dale would be assigning 120 armed men and another 600 for clearance duty. They’d be stretched thin.
“What about supply lines?” Joe asked, leaning forward, voice clipped. “If we stretch south and something flares here?”
“We keep reserves in the Tower,” Dale cut in. “But if we don’t take that plant, we won’t have much worth holding.”
Dale pushed back his chair and stood. “We move at dawn. Tower Bridge and London Bridge both. The railway becomes our wall.”
No one argued. They rose with him. Everyone knew what needed to be done.
Natalie sat in the bathroom, staring at the slim plastic stick on the sink. A faint second line forming a cross, barely there. Too early to be certain, but her body felt different. Late period, the tight ache in her breasts, the sense that something had shifted inside her.
She pressed her hand against her belly, still flat. The thought made her throat tighten.
First Consort. That title placed her at the top of the Tower’s hierarchy, below Allegra and next to Nicole. It gave her authority and privilege. She could move through the corridors freely, attend council sessions. She was by Dale’s side during ceremonies, her beauty a symbol of his power. People saw her and knew she was his. She was untouchable. She was safe.
But she also knew what happened behind closed doors. Allegra brought other women to his bed. Yesterday Olesia was with him. Tall and blonde like her, with striking Slavic features. Natalie knew she was special. She even knew she was more beautiful. Emma had been there the day before. Was she a threat? She was older and married to Tom, but she gave him something Natalie couldn’t name. Natalie smiled through it, but the ache never left. Who might it be tonight? She wanted him whole, but she knew she couldn’t.
Sometimes she still woke from dreams of the place she’d been held. The laughter of men who treated her like a thing. The weight of hands she couldn’t fight. She had stopped believing anyone would come. The world had ended and then ended again. Then Dale had rescued her. He had killed her tormentors. From that moment she wanted to be close to him. Gratitude. Fear. Desire. All tangled.
Now this. A faint line on a salvaged test. The possibility of his child. It would be his first.
She imagined how it would unfold. Allegra, quick to turn it into a spectacle: the leader’s virility, the Tower’s future secured. Dale, accepting it with that quiet certainty that the world bent to him. Nicole, her friend and fellow consort, would smile and hug her. Did she want the same?
Natalie hid the stick in her pocket. For now, it was hers alone.
She stood and lifted her chin. Out in the corridors, the Tower sounded the same. Boots on stone, orders barked, the hum of life continuing. But to her, the air was charged. She was not only Dale’s rescued girl, not only First Consort paraded at his side. She was carrying the future.
The admin conference room had been stripped of its old staff, but the bones remained: a long table, whiteboards with marker scrawl still ghosting through, binders stacked in uneven piles. Manuals lay open, diagrams of boilers and turbines spread across the table.
Dale sat at the head, Joe to his right. Across from them was Marcus Ellison, the newest figure in their inner orbit. Early forties, solid build, his voice still carried the clipped confidence of someone used to command. Before the collapse, he’d served as an engineering officer in the Royal Navy, then moved into a desk role overseeing major infrastructure projects in London. After weeks of vetting and proving his worth, he was now their expert.
Marcus pointed to a schematic. “The good news is we can run this plant, at least one line at reduced load. There are consumables in stock — baghouse filters, some reagents, oils. Enough for a safe start and maybe a few months of operation if we keep it light. But two bottlenecks hit us straight away: diesel and water.”
Dale leaned forward. “Explain the diesel first.”
“The plant needs auxiliary power to start itself — fans, pumps, conveyors, control systems. Without black-start diesel generators, nothing turns. There are sets on site, but the tanks are low. We’ll need more fuel, and a more as backup. Hospitals, depots, transport yards — those are where we’ll find the scale we need.”
Dale’s voice was even. “So it’s not a question of if, but how fast we secure them.”
“Exactly,” Marcus said. He turned another page. “Then water. Mains are out. The boilers can’t take raw Thames water. We’d foul the system in weeks. We need feedwater that’s clean enough to protect the machinery. There are reserves here, but once they’re gone the plant fizzles out. Without a reliable flow, there’s no point even starting.”
Joe frowned. “So we wait?”
Marcus nodded. “Yes. We can prove it works on what’s in storage, but that’s just a show. Until we’ve got proper water supply this site can’t breathe properly.”
“Where do we get that?” Dale asked.
“Beckton is our best bet. It’s mostly a sewage works but also does freshwater. We’ll need to get it running.”
“And how do we do that? What do we need?”
“Power for sure. And then chemicals. We’re looking into the details but chlorine will be critical. Once we’re on site we’ll have to study the manuals.”
“So it’s chicken and egg. We need water for power and power for water?”
“Get a list and Joe will get you your supplies. And Polina – give him however many people he needs. This is our biggest priority after food.”
He paused, then tapped the schematic again. “And one more thing. This place doesn’t feed power on its own. The grid’s a corpse. If we just push current into it, the whole city swallows it and the plant trips. We need to cut ourselves an island. Substations. Networks. We need to send power only where we want it and start small.”
“And operators,” Marcus added. “Dozens. People we can train while you’re out securing diesel and water. By the time supplies are in place, we’ll have crews ready to run it.”
The room fell silent, the shuffle of papers the only sound. The dream of instant light had dulled into a calendar of fuel convoys, water corridors, substations, and months of training.
Dale finally broke it. “So we wait. No fireworks, no half-measures. We only bring this plant online when we can keep it running. Diesel, water, substation, trained men. We concentrate our people. Only feed power into the sectors we hold. Otherwise it fizzles out and we look like fools.”
Marcus gave a tight nod. “That’s the picture.”
Dale looked to Joe. “Then we plan accordingly. Secure the fuel and the water first. Mark the substations we need. Marcus, train your crews. When this place comes alive, it stays alive.”
Hannah shuffled with the batch into the courtyard north of Tower Bridge. Ahead, the Tower rose out of the dark. A few floodlights burned, but most of the battlements were in shadow.
A smell drifted — onions, broth, something hot. Her chest tightened. After months gnawing scavenged biscuits and cold tins in Bermondsey, the smell alone felt like salvation.
Her hand went to her pocket. The leaflet was still there, soft with folding and sweat. Hot meals. Secure housing. Medical care. The words had kept her walking, and here they were made solid.
Then she saw the rest.
Crowds jammed into roped-off lanes wating to be processed
A guard stepped in front of her, the barrel of his rifle hanging down. He tied a strip of grey cloth around her wrist without meeting her eyes. “New intake. Keep moving.”
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