Chapter 2

My second kink, I told you I have three kinks didn’t I? is my sister. I fancy her. I’m in lust with her. Her body anyway. I want to have sex with her. I want to screw her, fuck her brains out, play with her body. Unfortunately she doesn’t like me. She doesn’t know I fancy her and want her; she just doesn’t like me. She doesn’t hate me. Not any more. She did when she was much younger. Back then she seriously resented me. She had been an only child until she was seven and a half. Then she had a baby brother who took all the attention she had been getting.

Her resentment had faded over the years, so that now she was twenty-three and working, not a very exciting job, but working, she just ignored me. She still lived at home as she couldn’t afford to even rent locally, but for the most part she lived her own life and only rarely interacted with me or even with our parents. To be honest, she had only come out on my birthday trip because her on-again off-again boyfriend had been busy and Mum had twisted her arm. Not physically you understand.

So that evening, after I got home from school, I was both surprised and quietly pleased to find Joanne in the kitchen as I walked in.

“Oh, hi Jo,” I said. She glanced at me but said nothing. I shrugged and got my buttie-box out of my bag and put it by the sink for washing. I’d go and get changed then come and sort that out, as well as tea, afterwards. It was my job to prepare tea in the evenings, a job I actually quite enjoyed. I watched her discreetly for a couple of seconds, then went to get changed.

When I came down again she was still in the kitchen, sorting out a pile of washing. She did her own washing, but still used the family machine and usually put other stuff in at the same time. “Shirt,” she snapped at me as I walked back into the kitchen.

“It was clean on this morning,” I told her. “And I had a shower after games this afternoon, so it’ll do for a couple more days yet.”

She shrugged. Her boobs moved quite delightfully in my opinion under her tight shirt. She switched the machine on, then went back to her room, taking the rest of her stuff with her. I wondered whether she would be back shortly, but her bedroom door shut with a finality that suggested otherwise. I shrugged, disappointed but not surprised.

I had never seen my sister naked, never expected to. But I did want to. I had seen her in her swimmys and her bikini; and once or twice I’d accidentally seen her in bra and knickers. She had a figure I lusted over. She could be really nice and lovely, but more often she was just cool. But that body! And since Dad had already said he wouldn’t take her as a concubine, my hopes were raised just slightly above zero that maybe she would be mine.

As I got myself a mug of tea, the movement in the front-loading washing machine caught my eye. I watched it idly for a few moments, not really paying attention, just letting the regular movement catch my eyes and relax me while I thought about the day. For a moment, a pair of her pale blue knickers appeared at the front, before being whisked away again. I smiled, suddenly remembering back to my CAP test. It was the only thing I could now remember about it, that somehow a pair of knickers was involved. Though how and why I could no longer remember.

That’s where my third kink came in. At the time of my CAP test I had borrowed that very pair of knickers and had been wearing them. About once a month, sometimes more often, sometimes less, I borrowed a pair from either Mum or Joanne, and would wear them all day or all night. The softer, silkier fabrics always got me so turned on doing it and my wanks felt so much better. Yet I didn’t fancy Mum in the slightest. She was nice, but no way was she a MILF.

I was as sure as I could be that I hadn’t told the CAP tester that that was what I did, was doing, but the very fact that I could remember something about a pair of knickers, just not those ones, scared me a little. Made me think that maybe, just maybe, I had said something, or that I had somehow been found out.

I frowned, worried. Who reviewed the CAP tests? Surely they weren’t fully automatic? Someone must have seen or heard. I finished up in the kitchen and hurried out.

Three Saturday’s later, Dad stopped me as I was about to head out to town and the cinema for the afternoon. At least, that was what I had told him I would be doing. In fact I was just going to be hanging around the town centre with a couple of my mates.

“Have you got a few minutes Toby?”

I had a quick panic as I was wearing a pair of Mum’s soft knickers that day. The first time I had worn any since the CAP test.

I nodded slowly. “What’s up? I was going to meet Craig and Alex and go to the pics.”

He smiled and pulled me into the living room and sat me down. This slightly surprised me as that room was almost only used in the evenings, after our evening meal, to gather, talk and maybe watch TV.

“Have you thought about your concubines?”

“What?”

“At some point you will have to pick four girls or women, to take as your concubines if you are picked up by the Federation. Confederation.”

“Uh. Oh. Yes. I suppose so.”

“Have you given it any thought?”

“Not really, no.” I had of course thought about taking both Mrs Clarke and Joanne, but knew that both were none-starters. First off, I suspected my sister would probably rather top herself than come with me, and second off Mrs Clarke would be a sponsor, not a concubine. Even if she wasn’t, she would never come with me. I was both too young and not good enough at maths. If she went with any student, it would be with one of the others, someone she could respect because they were good enough for her. No, both my two fancies were exactly that. Just fancies. Daydreams.

I shook them out of my head. “No. No thoughts.”

I must have sounded slightly down as he just smiled. “Don’t worry Toby, it’s not that bad.”

“I thought you chose at the pick-up. That’s what I’ve always been told.”

“And you can really believe the people who told you that?” Dad asked with a chuckle.

“Well, no, maybe not.”

“That might indeed happen if you get caught up in a pickup you aren’t expecting, but I’ve been doing some digging, and have found out we can create a pick-up. Not pre-empt one exactly, but sort of pre-order one.”

“How?”

“We have to get a number of sponsors together, sponsors who have arranged all their concubines in advance. We then tell them where we are going to be, and when, and they arrange to pick us all up quick and neat and tidy.”

“Oh. Are you trying to do that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been told I need ten sponsors minimum. With you I would have seven. I need to find three more. Four if you’re not interested.

“Okay. Yeah. Why not. So when would it all be?”

“Not for a while yet. You need, we both need to find our concubines. Four each. Well, three for me as I want to take your mum. I think I’ve found my other three, but I really need to confirm it before I make any hard decisions.”

“What about Jo?” I asked, curious as to how he would react if I suggested taking her.

“She’ll be safe. A friend of Hillary’s has said he would like to take her, and she’s agreed.”

“Oh.”

I think Dad must have seen or heard my disappointment as he frowned at me. “You would not have been taking her,” he said sternly. “That would be just plain immoral and nasty. I hope you weren’t expecting to take her?”

Fortunately for me I could tell the truth. “No,” I said softly, “I wasn’t expecting to take her.”

He frowned at me. “But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

“Sort of. Maybe.”

“Hmm.” He frowned at me. “Well put her right out of your mind.”

“I already had.”

He stared at me for a moment longer. “Are there any girls in your school who you know would be a concubine?”

“Only three for certain, and one of those I wouldn’t choose in a month of Sundays.”

“Not if she were the only choice?”

I actually shuddered, and Dad laughed at my reaction. “What about the others?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. One’s okay but she would probably want to go with someone else. The other?” I shrugged and shook my head.

“Any older women?”

I must have blushed or reacted in some way, because he smiled slightly. “Who? A teacher?” His eyebrows went up as he saw my reaction, even though I tried my hardest not react. “Which one?”

I just shook my head. I could feel my face burning.

He laughed. “Actually, I think I can guess which one. Mrs Clarke by any chance?”

“No, no,” I gasped, my voice hitting a momentary squeak in my panic.

Dad just laughed even harder. “All right love, I won’t tease you any more.” He paused and his face went serious. “Let’s pretend, just for the moment, that it is Mrs Clarke.”

I started to shake my head, but he held up one finger. “Just pretend.”

“Mrs Smith,” I said.

“What? There is no ... Oh,” he smiled. “All right, let’s call her Mrs Smith. But in your head, you have to be thinking about the right person.”

“All right. What about her?”

“Would you take her if you could?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Think about it. Think about her. Your ‘Mrs Smith’, if she was available as a concubine, would you want to take her?”

“She wouldn’t be a concubine,” I said. “She’d be like you and me.”

“A sponsor?”

I nodded.

“Okay, so you think she’s a sponsor. But if she were a concubine, would you want to take her? Would you like to take her?”

I thought for a minute. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He nodded. “Okay. If there was a choice between her and some of the other girls or teachers that you know have a CAP score that means they would be concubines, how high up would she come?”

I thought about everyone who I knew had a CAP card. “Probably top, maybe two. I can take four people so she would be in the top two.”

Dad nodded slowly.

“Now think about all the girls in your school. Apart from any you know have a sponsor’s score, how many might you be interested in? At least in thinking about? Don’t worry if you don’t know whether they have a CAP card, just think about the person.”

I thought, and began counting off in my head. Becky Miller. Robyn Taylor. Sharon Walker. Leah Walters. Hannah Robertson. Jackie Robinson. I started counting, twitching my fingers discreetly as I thought of names. Six so far. Janet somebody, wasn’t sure her surname: Sladen? Slavin? Something like that anyway. Taylor and Grace; they seemed to be close friends but I didn’t know their surnames. Sandra somebody with the stunning long red hair. Andrea Ledbetter. Stephanie Wilson. No, Watson. No, something else. Walters maybe? I couldn’t remember. Em Shoreditch. Didn’t know whether that was Emma or Emily. Or even something else. I started thinking slightly further afield than my own year, year thirteen. That blonde girl in the lower sixth, year twelve. And her two friends. That brunette from, I think, the fifth form, year eleven. Now she was pretty. Shame I didn’t know her name. I wasn’t really aware of any of the younger pupils. There probably would be some in year ten, and in theory there might be a few in year nine, the thirteen and fourteen year-olds, but it was too early in the year for there to be many. I sighed softly. I could think of a few pretty girls, but as I didn’t even know for certain if some of them were old enough I dismissed them. I quickly came up with a list in my head of about twenty girls, not that I knew, or was certain of all their names, some I only knew by sight. All of them pretty girls, none of them that I actively disliked for any reason.

“Maybe a couple of dozen,” I said “At most.”

Dad nodded slowly. “And would your Mrs Smith still be in the top two?”

I thought about it for only a moment. “Yeah. I think so.”

He nodded. “Have you included any girls or women that you know outside of school?”

“I don’t really know any.” I didn’t know any of Joanne’s friends, and I’d never been a member of the boy scouts or similar.

“Noooo,” said Dad slowly, drawing the word out as he thought.

He just sat, deep in thought for a long while, but when I started to get up and leave him to it, he waved me back into my seat.

“If I could find a few for you, would you consider them?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know yet. I’d like to get my assistant and her kids out. I wouldn’t be taking them, but maybe you could. The people, the sponsors, I have already got together, I think between us, have enough with probably no spares. I’ve been wracking my brains who I could find for you, if you couldn’t find anyone yourself.”

“Oh. Well I’ll have a look, but not many people have bothered taking the CAP test at all.”

“We should have done what the Americans did and made taking the CAP test mandatory. It might still happen, the government want it, but MP’s are in almost open revolt over it; and other related issues, so I’m not holding out much hope at the moment.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Dad gave a big sigh. “All right lad, off you go. Have a think about who you might like to take. Please. And I’ll do the same as well.”

I nodded and left quickly.

I thought about it for a couple of days. That Wednesday, just after lunch when we were about to go into physics, I approached one of the lads in the class. I knew he had a seven plus CAP score. We weren’t friends, but neither were we enemies. We simply didn’t move in the same circles. Physics and maths were the only classes we shared, plus form and therefore general studies. I had an idea he was doing German and French as his other two primary subjects.

“Bondy?” His name was Steven Bond, but everyone called him Bondy.

He looked at me. “Simply?”

My surname is Simpson, and it usually got shortened to Simple or Simply. Occasionally I might even get called Homer, but that was rare. Sometimes I got upset or annoyed, but I had grown a reasonably thick skin about it, so I let it pass.

“You got over seven on your CAP, didn’t you?”

“So?”

“My dad reckons I should be starting to look for people who could be a concubine. Have you started?”

“I’ve finished. Almost.”

“You’ve got your four?” I asked, startled.

“Keep your voice down you twat.”

I glanced around but no one appeared to be taking any notice of us. “Sorry. You’ve got your four?” I repeated, this time much softer, almost whispering.

“Got three, and I know who I want for my fourth. Just don’t know how to ask her.”

“Oh. Erm. Who have you got? Who are you trying for?”

It was his turn to soften his voice. “I got the girl next door to me. She’s three years older than me and her boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, has said he can only take two and she’s not good enough.”