Eleanor's Education

by Tedbiker

Copyright© 2017 by Tedbiker

Sex Story: Dave Jenkins reaches his limit with his wife and consigns her to the Training Centre. He then decides to seek companionship in the Slave Pen - but there's nothing so permanent as a temporary expedient.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual   NonConsensual   Romantic   Slavery   Heterosexual   Fiction   Post Apocalypse   Interracial   White Male   First   Pregnancy   .

Five years. Five years I lived with that snobbish, arrogant, lazy, frigid bitch. Five years of her ‘doing her duty’ a couple of times a month (when there was little or no chance of conception). Five years of soothing my housekeeper’s feathers after Eleanor criticised, scathingly, some meal or the state of the house. Then, thanks to a business acquaintance I heard about the Training Centre. Some enquiries, a visit to a judge in chambers – he certainly didn’t rubber-stamp the order, but after ten minutes talking to her he approved the order without reservation – I delivered her to the hospital as the first stage of her induction. The automatic divorce was nice, and avoided neatly the shit storm her family would have brought down on me if I’d got rid of her any other way. The expense? Two grand for the hospital investigations, and a grand a week thereafter. Well worth it, just for the peaceful ambience of my home, alone. Three months, extendible, and she should come back a different woman. In the meantime, I could find someone congenial to share my bed. Oh, by the way – frigid? I don’t hold that ‘frigidity’ is always the woman’s fault. But Dad made sure I knew my way round a woman’s body thanks to some training from our local Madame – Madam Anastasiya. Eleanor wouldn’t allow me to get her ready for sex. Oral was ‘dirty’, and I wasn’t allowed to handle her. As a result sex was, at best, uncomfortable and perfunctory. The Training Centre, I gathered, would change that.

So, as I left the hospital, I headed for Manpower. I cannot really approve of slavery or even the indenture I’d subjected my wife to, but our society is what it is, as they say. The proprietor recognised me and fawned over me as I laid out what I wanted.

“Well, sir ... if you really want to do your own training, I’ve just had a delivery. There’s a selection of females – cross-section in age and ethnicity – in my arrivals pen. Why don’t you take a look?”

The twenty women did, indeed, form a cross-section. The ages ranged from maybe sixteen to mid-forties. Skin colour from peaches and cream to almost black. All naked, all showing signs of beatings, all with wrists cuffed behind their backs and ankles hobbled. I wandered among them until my eye was caught by one cowering in a corner. She was olive-skinned, with dark, wavy hair, and when I got closer, I saw she had the hawk nose characteristic of Arab ethnicity. It was surprising she’d made it this far without being beaten to death, I thought. The unreasoning prejudice arising from the Islamic terrorist atrocities of a number of years previous had made it very difficult indeed for anyone appearing middle-eastern. She was also beautiful.

I stood in front of her and tangled my fingers in her hair, which was thick and long. It only took a light pull to get her to stand. She was of middle height and build, with large, dark eyes glistening with incipient tears. Her breasts were firm, wide mounds, with no sag, and when I caressed them her nipples sprang to attention and resembled long pencil erasers. I cupped her mound and found she was flooding; a finger at her entrance produced a wince. A virgin? Surely not! I pulled a lead out of my pocket and clipped it to her collar; she followed me dejectedly out of the pen.

The dealer looked at the collar. “This one? Sold as seen, of course. No guarantees. A grand to you.”

A bargain, I suppose, especially in view of her general condition. I frowned. “Seven-fifty.”

“Nine hundred. I really can’t go any lower than that.”

“Very well.”

The formalities observed, I had her cuffs and hobble removed and led her to my car. The Renault Zoe suits me very well. The batteries could do with replacement, but overall, the range is plenty for my needs and our battery technology suffered, along with all our other manufacturing, during the Wars. Thinking of the swamp I’d found when I fingered her, I doubled a towel on the passenger seat before indicating I wanted her to get in. I drove home. We still hadn’t exchanged a word. On arrival, I parked out front and turned to her.

“Ma hu asmuk, sayidatan jamilatan?” (“What is your name, pretty lady?”)

“I will reply in Arabic if you wish, sir, but I am British, third generation, and my first language is English. My name is Sabina Almasi.”

I laughed. “Well! That serves me right for making an assumption. Sabina, my name is Frederic Jenkins. Am I right that you are a virgin?”

Her face, which had been almost relaxed, tightened up. “You are right.”

“Sabina, I feel as though I reached into a dustbin and pulled out a diamond. I hope you will be able to relax and learn to trust me. I do not wish to hurt you, but you will need to work and I did buy you to warm my bed.”

“As if I did not realise that was one reason. I am glad, though, that you treat me as human. Did you know that my family name means ‘diamond-like’?”

“No – I didn’t know that. Come inside, and I’ll introduce you to my housekeeper.”

Missus Cooper is a late-middle-aged widow – her husband died in Syria during the Wars. She looks after me very well, but suffered frequently from my wife’s acid tongue.

“Mister Jenkins! And who is this?”

“Missus Cooper, this is Sabina. I just bought her from Manpower.”

My housekeeper knows my views on slavery, and showed her shock at my words. “Sabina will be taking Missus Jenkins’ place in the house,” I elucidated, “though exactly what that entails remains to be worked out. She is expecting to help you about the house – I don’t know what skills she has – but she will be sleeping in the master bedroom.”

Her eyes flicked from me to Sabina several times. “Very good, sir. Will you be wanting some lunch, or have you eaten while you were out?”

“No, neither of us have eaten. Sandwiches, or anything you have ready, will do. Perhaps we could eat in the kitchen.”

“Certainly, sir. Sabina, if you’ll come with me, we’ll begin to get you used to the house. Sir, give us fifteen minutes and there’ll be food on the table.”

I took myself to the study, where I poured myself an unaccustomed tot of whisky. I sipped it comfortably and didn’t worry too much about the passage of time; I think it was probably nearer thirty minutes than fifteen when Missus Cooper called me to the kitchen. Sabina had obviously had a shower, her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and she was wearing one of my t-shirts. There was a pile of sandwiches on the table.

“Thank you, Missus Cooper.” I just smiled at Sabina. “Let’s eat, people. Yes, Sabina – I want you to eat, too. I expect you know what there is.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Her hand stretched out and took a cheese sandwich – my choice was corned beef.

“I ate earlier,” Missus Cooper said. “With your permission, I will go out and buy some basic clothes for your new lady.”.

“Oh, certainly! I should have thought of that earlier.”

She left and we ate our way through the mound of sandwiches. Sabina did justice to her share; I was unsurprised, as I suspected that she probably hadn’t been well fed since entering the system.

“So,” I said. “Sabina. What’s your story?”

She sighed. “Dad disappeared a few weeks before the attack on London. I’d like to think he didn’t have anything to do with any of the attacks, but I suppose he was involved. They took Mama – I never saw her again – and I was just six and was put in a sort of hostel. They did at least provide schooling. I got to sixteen ... and they kicked me out to the dealer, and I was brought here, and you bought me. I was really scared, ‘cos I know what happens to people like me sometimes.”

“Well, Sabina, I don’t get my kicks by hurting young women, and I don’t hold your background against you. I’ve just got rid of a woman who has made my life very unpleasant for the last five years, and I would like someone – a woman, that is – with whom I could share my life ... with pleasure. I hope ... that’s you.”

“Will you give me a baby?”

“Do you want a baby?”

“Oh, I always wanted to be a mother. Of course, part of the dream was being married, too. But I wanted lots of children.”

“Let’s go into the lounge.” I led the way, and once there, “Don’t sit for a moment. Sabina, how would you feel about marrying me?”

Her eyes widened and, once again, glistened with tears. “Please, sir – don’t tease me.”

“I am not teasing.”

“But, sir – you are white, and free, and wealthy. I am Arab, and a slave.”

“Nevertheless, I would have you as wife. First wife, probably, with the new laws. It would not be straight away, for legal reasons, but I am a man of honour, and I will promise now, if you wish.”

She stared at me, unbelieving, then, suddenly, hurled herself at me and clung, like a python, and wept.

Without trying to detach the almost stranglehold she had on my neck, I bent and scooped her up, then sat, holding her in my lap as the paroxysm of tears subsided.

“Are you happy?” She nodded, and the towel wrapped about her hair rubbed my cheek. “Come with me, then.”

She didn’t let go of my neck, though, so I just stood and carried her – she wasn’t heavy – upstairs to the master bedroom. There, I sat her on the stool at the dressing table and managed to get her to let go. I unwrapped her hair, dark and glossy with damp, picked up a brush, and began to brush it. She sighed, and leant against me as I stroked the tangles out. It might have taken, oh, thirty minutes or so, before I was satisfied with her hair, which tumbled in a mass almost to her waist. Then I lifted her to her feet. We stood facing each other, and held hands. “‘ana ‘atazawwajuk. I marry you,” I said.

I suppose I should not have been surprised by her response (though I was) for she flung her arms around me and kissed me with an intensity which stunned me. In fact, I was so involved, so quickly, that it was only when Missus Cooper came into the room on her return and coughed behind me that we separated. Sabina blushed darkly, and judging by the heat in my face, so did I.

“I’ll just leave these things here, then, shall I?” she asked.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Missus Cooper.” I managed to get the words out fairly naturally as she dumped several bags inside the door.

“It’s only basic stuff, but it should work until we can look for more.” She turned and left the room.

Sabina, still blushing hotly, took hold of the hem of the t-shirt – it was one of mine, and reached to her mid-thigh – and peeled it off in one, quick, movement, standing there nude, and very beautiful.

I stepped up to her and brushed her cheek with my finger-tips. “So beautiful,” I murmured.

She turned and walked to the bed and for the first time, I watched the gyrations of her rear. I was already hard, but that made matters painful! She flicked the duvet back and off the bed, revealing the expanse of smooth linen, climbed up and lay spread-eagle in the middle. She told me (much later) that she expected me to just get on top of her and take her virginity and I’d have to say it was very tempting. It had been months since I’d had sex with Eleanor, and then it was hardly satisfying. I hadn’t even resorted to masturbation – frankly, there wasn’t much about Eleanor to rouse me. Sabina was a much different proposition.

But no. I approached from the foot of the bed, on my knees between her spread legs, aware of an intoxicating scent from her pussy. One look at her face, a mixture of determination and fear, and I lowered my lips to her breasts. I licked and sucked around the areolæ and tried to fasten onto the nipples, but they were too small to be really satisfactory to suck. Sabina, though, was clearly enjoying the attention and when I looked up from her mounds, thought the fear had largely subsided, so headed south, a journey of pleasant discovery.

Her sex was, once more, flooding, and she protested briefly as I homed in on the source of the tantalising aroma. However, that changed at the first swipe of my tongue. I heard inarticulate sighs, groans and hums as I explored her folds, and squeaks as I circled and sucked on her clit, which was quite large in contrast to her nipples. The culmination of those efforts was a scream as she convulsed into a most satisfying orgasm.

At that point I wasn’t going to wait any longer and moved up, positioned myself carefully, and pushed.

Her cry wrenched at my heart, but I was through the obstruction and part-way inside her.

I stopped while she panted, eyes squeezed tight shut. But then they opened again.

“Okay, my master, my husband. I’m okay. Thank you.”

It took a while, slowly moving in and out, getting a little deeper each time until I was fully seated. I could feel the slight additional tightness signalling that I was touching her cervix, and began use longer strokes. She was so tight, and it had been too long for me, so I came far too quickly, but I remained pressing deep in her. When I made to withdraw, her legs and arms wrapped around me, holding me there, and she tightened her arms until our lips met.

It’s a curious thing. I’d left Eleanor at the hospital barely six hours before. I’d seen Sabina for the first time less than four hours before. But as I rolled to the side and she clung to me and ended up on top, the only word I could think of which encompassed the way I felt was ... complete. My cock slipped out of her and she slid down my body until she could rest her head on my chest – I revelled in the sensation of her sprawled on top of me, suddenly realising that she was asleep. I stroked her body gently, enjoying the silky smoothness, the gentle curvature, and slipped, unaware, into sleep myself.

Missus Cooper woke us, tapping on the door.

“Just a minute!” I called, once I’d woken sufficiently to speak.

“Dinner in thirty minutes!” she called through the door.

I looked at the clock. Seven thirty. Where had the time gone? Sabina wriggled on top of me – we’d slept like that for three hours. “We’ll be there.” I replied, then murmured in my lady’s ear. “We need to shower, wahidat jamila.”

“Why do you keep on using Arabic, Master?”

“Because I lack the vocabulary to describe you properly in English. And I don’t want you to forget your heritage completely. One day, our two cultures will be able to be friends again.”

“I am ashamed of what some so-called Muslims have done. Ashamed to be of the same blood.”

“And if I thought about it, I’d be ashamed of what some of my ancestors did – Crusaders, slave traders, the inventors of the concentration camp.”

She sighed, and lifted her head. “Do you think so?”

“I think all people are of equal value, whatever their differences in heritage, appearance or intellectual capacity. Come on, pretty one. I want to shower with you.”

We rose from the bed, though not without much touching and caressing, and she coiled her hair and covered it with a shower-cap. It was as enjoyable as I’d thought; no, better. Much better. We knew each other’s bodies even better by the time we emerged and dressed perfunctorily. We made it to the kitchen – a few minutes late, truth be known – but Missus Cooper had set the table in the dining room. Set it with the best cutlery and crockery, the best crystal, the best linen, and two candles lit.

“Won’t you join us, Missus Cooper?”

“Not this time, sir. Let this be your marriage feast.”

A feast it was. Fruit salad, soup, fish, a main course of roast beef, cheese board, apple pie and cream.

“Magnificent,” I congratulated my housekeeper. “Thank you.”

“Will you have brandy? Port?”

I looked at Sabina. She shook her head. “Not for me, my master, my husband.”

“Just coffee, then,” I told Missus Cooper, who looked at Sabina, who nodded and smiled.

“For me, too, please.”

When it was time for bed, Sabina, who had been walking a little awkwardly, was clearly sore. She made it clear she was willing to join again, but I told her no.

“I would love to, wahidat jamila, but tonight I want to just hold you. There will be plenty of time.”

That was quite a beginning, but from there it only got better. Sabina worked with Missus Cooper, and worked so hard Missus Cooper had to enlist my support in getting her to slow down. As to the sex, familiarity bred virtuosity; we learned to pleasure each other and, from my previous experience of maybe twice a month, I found I was often chugging out two and three – occasionally four – orgasms a day.

Anyway, six weeks or so after I took Sabina home, I took a call from Major Prestwick at the Centre, suggesting I might wish to visit Eleanor. “I believe you will be surprised and pleased with the progress she’s made.”

“Er, Major ... I, er, purchased a replacement when I consigned her to you. I didn’t really intend for her to be a replacement, but in all honesty I have no desire to dispose of my new partner.”

“Oh, I don’t see that as a problem. It’s very much in line with other men who have sent their women to us. If you come, bring your new lady and make it clear that fifty four,” (Eleanor, as an Indentured Servant Trainee had been designated IS30/54) “would only return to your home as a subordinate female. Are you intending to remarry?”

“I intend to emancipate and marry Sabina. As to Eleanor ... fifty four ... that depends.”

“That sounds fine to me. If Fifty-four cuts up rough, she’ll either learn better or you can set her aside. Does she have family she could go to?”

“I suppose so. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“Well, there it is. Come mid-morning or mid-afternoon at the weekend. Just check before-hand to make sure she isn’t assigned to work elsewhere.”

“Work? You make Eleanor ... fifty-four ... work?”

“Certainly! That’s an important part of our regime. Our trainees rotate through duties with kitchen, laundry, cleaning and outdoor maintenance, and Fifty-four has partaken of all those. Additionally, we encourage them in constructive use of any free time they may have. Fifty-four has taken to making tapestry. She has quite a long way to go, but shows promise.”

“Yes, embroidery was about the only constructive activity she’s ever indulged in.”

“As I say, just give us a call, the previous evening or before eight in the morning and we’ll make sure she’s kept here.”

“Thank you, Major. Will I see you at the weekend?”

“I’m afraid not. Joshua Sutherland is covering for me on Saturday so I can have a few days away, and Reg Smith, our Sergeant Major, is overseeing Sunday. Either have full powers of management decisions.”

“Oh, I think I know Joshua. I didn’t know he was involved with you. But I’ll let you get back to work. Thank you for your time, Major.”

“Not a problem, Mister Jenkins. I hope your visit goes well.”

I hadn’t taken Sabina out of the house, and I realised her old leather collar sent the wrong signal. I obtained a gleaming, inscribed, gilt-metal collar and sighed as I fastened it round my lady’s neck.

“Master, why are you sad?”

“I hate this symbol of your servitude. I hate the whole institution of legalising the ownership of other humans. This collar is only to protect you from others, but none-the-less I would prefer to see you without it.”

She touched and stroked the metal. “Master, I belong to you, body, heart and mind. I am proud to wear your collar.”

I kissed her forehead, but she tipped her head back and pulled my head down for a kiss on the lips. “I love you,” she whispered, “and I bless the day you walked up to me in the slave pen.”

Saturday morning, we glided up to the entrance of the Horseshoe in the Zoe and parked by the front door in a ‘Visitors’ space. The heavy old front door bore an equally heavy wrought-iron knocker which I used before noticing the discreet bell button at the side.

Sabina stood beside me, in a blouse and knee-length skirt. Under those at my insistence were bra and panties. She pouted when I told her to dress like that, but I didn’t want any mistakes made. Sandals on her feet, beautiful, perfectly formed feet, and the gilded collar round her neck. The door swung back, the only noise a loud ‘clack’ from the iron latch, and a man my age or a little older in shorts, t-shirt and ankle boots waved us in.

“Good morning! You must be Mister Jenkins. I am Corporal Sam Howe, on door duty today. Your companion?”

“Sabina.” I hesitated before going on, “OR21/49.”

He just nodded, and turned to palm open an inner glass door. Inside, a desk to one side bearing intercom and computer screen, an office chair behind. Our greeter moved behind the desk and removed ‘Visitor’ badges from a drawer. He handed them to us. “Not that everyone won’t know you aren’t resident or staff,” he laughed. “Come with me.”

The next door required a retinal scan. A short walk brought us to another glass door, with a palm lock; inside that was a barred door having another palm lock. The hinge emitted a shrill screech as it opened. Sabina shrank against me and I wrapped an arm round her shoulders.

“We need to get some lubricant on that,” the Corporal commented, leading the way to one of the barred cells which had, however, been fitted out as an office. “Mister Jenkins and companion,” he announced to the occupant at another desk. We recognised each other.

“Mister Jenkins! How is business?”

“Fair to middlin’,” I smiled. “Pays the bills and covers the expense of one of your residents. I hope my companion isn’t a problem? Major Prestwick seemed to think bringing her was a good idea.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem at all. Several of us have IS companions. Both my wives were slaves until I emancipated them, and I will be marrying a third when her indenture expires. Yours is very lovely; you’re a lucky man. Perhaps as lucky as me.”

“I consider myself very lucky. Sabina is as sweet as she’s beautiful.” I glanced at her and smiled to see she was blushing darkly at the compliments. “We came to see how Eleanor ... Fifty-four ... is progressing.”

“Oh, she’s doing well. The first week was difficult, not unusual, but she quickly caught on. She’s quite competent in the work areas, and is popular sexually.”


“Oh, yes. Shall I take you across? She’s in cell four.”

“Yes, please.”

We crossed the open area, with Sabina trailing close behind me. I saw an odd wooden contraption in the middle. It looked for all the world like a large, long, saw-horse. “What on earth is that?” Looking around, I could see various items of exercise equipment, but couldn’t for the life of me think of a reason for that.

Joshua glanced round and saw where I was looking. “That? It’s a wooden pony. A particularly nasty punishment for a recalcitrant trainee. Imagine straddling that, nude, with your legs stretched apart so all your weight is on your crotch.”

I did. I expect I went very pale. What would it do to a woman, for God’s sake?

“No-one gets more than fifteen minutes. The basic spell is five. We’ve only used it ... three times, I think, in the, um, eighteen months we’ve been open. Spanking is usually enough.”

At the door to cell four, I saw Eleanor. She’d gained a bit of weight, which was good, and her tits had filled out too. I noticed that her nipples were larger than I remembered, and erect. She looked up and saw me, almost smiled, then saw Sabina come to stand beside me. She slipped from the chair she was on to kneel on the floor with her head down.

“So, El ... Fifty-four ... Major Prestwick and Mister Sutherland tell me you’re doing well.”

“Thank you, sir.” Pause. “Will you fuck me? I haven’t had a real cock yet today.”

“I think not, this time at least.”

She glanced up, her eyes lingering on Sabina. “Your wog slave keeping you drained, then? Or just incapable?”

I tensed and was going to respond angrily, but a hand on each shoulder made me pause. Both Sabina and Joshua reached out to calm me. Joshua murmured in my ear, “I suggest you order her to bend over the bed, and use that paddle on her rear. Ten strokes at least.”

I took a ragged breath, letting most of it out before speaking. “I see you have not changed in essentials since coming here, Fifty-four. If, I say if you have any hope of returning to my home when your indenture is complete, you need to know it will be – at best – as junior wife, and possibly as house-maid. For your insult to my lady, stand, and bend over the bed.”

She did not respond immediately, and Joshua called out; “Dusty! Monty! Come to cell four, please!” He turned to me. “If I may, Mister Jenkins, this has become a disciplinary matter for the Centre.”


Two men in the Training Centre uniform of shorts and t-shirt, trotted over. By the time they arrived, Eleanor was standing and looking rather pale. “Outside, and bend over the frame,” Joshua told her, without raising his voice. Without a word, she left the cell and draped herself over the frame outside the door. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary to strap her down,” Joshua commented. “I think you should administer the first ten. Don’t hold back, please, however much she fusses.” I picked up the paddle and followed him outside. Joshua went on, addressing Eleanor. “Fifty-four, for your insult and disobedience, I award you thirty strokes. Your ex-husband will administer the first ten, and Dusty and Monty a further ten each. If you do not remain still, I will order you strapped down.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, resignation in her tone.

Well, I didn’t hold back, despite my reluctance, but the two trainers certainly laid into her. Her backside was glowing red when they finished and her tears were dripping on the floor. Joshua told her to stand, and when she did, she knelt, first in front of Sabina. “I’m sorry for my insult,” she said quietly.

“For my part, I forgive you,” Sabina responded.

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