Chapter 1

Bill Sanders glanced round the deck of his vessel. S.B. Lady Betty was over a hundred years old, but had been rebuilt from the keelson up a few years before the War, and was in immaculate condition. He’d acquired her from a distant relative of the man who’d had her refurbished, but who had died, along with all his immediate family, in the first, and greatest, atrocity.

The devastation of the terrorist attacks had left Britain isolated, with little access to petroleum products; Bill, with a heart murmur, had not qualified to join the hastily enlarged army, but with a friend had begun to put Lady Betty to work, fulfilling her original function. For the first time in over seventy years, it made sense to use wind power for freight transport. So they carried grain and vegetables to make up the shortfall of what the United Kingdom could produce for itself. And other stuff, too – whatever was in short supply in their home country.

“I’m going to miss you, Pod,” he said. His friend rejoiced in the name Paul Ormerod Dawson, but had been known to almost everyone as Pod since starting school.

“I’ll miss you, too ... and Lady Betty. But I’ve got two pregnant wives back home, and an offer I can’t refuse from Fisons.”

Bill shook his head. “Two women.”

“Yep. And I suspect June has her eyes on another waif who needs a home and will act as nanny and maid. She was enough on her own, but I’ll bet she has the next in bed with me too before I can look round.” He shrugged. “You know we need to build the population up again, not to mention correcting the gender imbalance.”

“Meanwhile, I need to find a crew. All the sailors here are taken, so I’ll have to train your replacement. If I can find a man willing.”

“What about an IS?*”

*IS, Indentured Servant. Not quite a slave, but subject to their master’s orders, and unpaid, working for bed and board.

“I suppose. I don’t care for the idea. Besides, there’s a shortage of men there, too.”

“You could consider a woman. Before the War, there were plenty of skilled female sailors. Okay, they would probably not be as strong as a man, but, you know, most of them have to work on physical labour. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find several quite strong enough to crew one of these.”

“Hm, Well, I’m off to Derby anyway, to visit my sister. I’ll have to look around and see what I can find.”

Candace Stilson, ‘Candy’, OR 30/597 followed her first master into the Manpower building. Her parents had died in London, and she had been picked up by the State; fed, housed, and educated until she’d been cut loose to her own devices at the age of sixteen. With few resources, she’d been unable to find work to support herself and had been left with only the option of a Minor’s Indenture. At least she’d be housed and fed. The five-year indenture, which would last until her twenty-first birthday, was worth five thousand pounds. The money was placed in a savings account which she would be able to claim at the end of the Indenture.

She was reluctant to do it, but had no choice, other than to starve on the streets, and her reluctance was justified. Her Indenture began with a thorough, and humiliating, medical examination, after which she was – still naked – photographed and shown to a tiny cell. It at least had a bed, toilet and shower, and she was fed, but that was the best she could say about it.

She wasn’t there long. Her Indenture was purchased by an imposing man. Collared and leashed, still naked and barefoot, he led her to his car. She was shown immediately that her future was not going to be comfortable when he made her get into the boot and the lid was slammed down, leaving her cramped and in darkness. Arrival at his home improved matters only slightly. She was to live in the basement of the house. It was, at least, clean, but the only facilities were a metal bedstead with a plastic-covered mattress, a w/c, and in one corner a shower head. She would find out when she tried the latter that there was no hot water for her, just mains water at about twelve degrees, say, fifty-five Fahrenheit.

Her evening meal was a cold stew, served in a metal dish, which she was expected to eat without utensils, on the floor. Hungry, she cleaned the dish up, despite the unappetising nature of the food.

He appeared soon after she’d finished, and she had to carry her dish up to the kitchen and clean up after his meal, which had obviously been much more interesting than hers. Washing up wasn’t a problem, and she soon found out where various items lived, but when he took her back to the basement, it was to be made to kneel on the bed with her bottom in the air. Her protest merely resulted in being tied in the position he wanted. His only concession to her inexperience was the use of a generic lubricant. Her deflowering was very painful, and emotionally devastating. Legally, it was rape, but in the environment which obtained at the time, no-one would have raised an eyebrow, let alone challenged him.

When he finished, he inserted an anal plug with the simple order, “Keep that in except to open your bowels. And from now on, do as you’re told. If I have to tie you down again, you’ll get a caning. Of course, I may tie you anyway, but if you want to avoid the beating, do what I say, when I say.” He finished untying her and she turned and looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and her cheeks stained with the tears which had escaped.

She was silent, her whole expression a reproach.

He sat on the bed, and suddenly she was stretched over his knee, being spanked, hard.

“Your response when given an order is ‘yes, Master.’ Nothing else.” He released her. “On your knees. Head down.”

“Yes, Master,” she sobbed, obeying.

Over the course of the next three weeks, between cleaning the house on hands and knees, washing up, laundry and cooking, Candy was relieved of her vaginal, oral and anal virginities, the latter while she was tied to a saw-horse. After another three weeks, he was tired of her, and she was taken to a slave dealer, where she was part-exchanged for another triple virgin. Clearly he was well able to afford his particular interests.

The dealer wasn’t entirely stone-hearted, but he was a businessman and he made a lot of money from this customer. He looked the girl up and down. Subdued and listless, as was hardly surprising, but she was, potentially at least, very attractive. A little above average height, with dark, naturally curly hair, her body had the budding promise of youth – firm, perky B cup breasts, topped with, now, swollen, sore nipples. Her upper torso, nicely proportioned, tapered to her waist which then swelled to wide hips. Long, smoothly tapered legs ended in perfectly formed feet, rather grubby from walking barefoot. He lifted her chin, and large brown eyes, glistening with tears, gazed up at him. He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t help you. Come along.” He led her to a bathroom. “Use the toilet,” he told her, “you won’t have much chance for a few hours. You can have fifteen minutes for a shower, if you like.”

She shook her head, but went in the door he indicated.

He was at his desk, looking over documents, but keeping an eye on the bathroom door, when she emerged. He took her to a large room, where a number of women were arranged in an assortment of lewd poses. All naked, they ranged in age from eighteen or so up to fifty, and their physiques were equally diverse. More than half were strapped to tables or high stools, legs spread, arms secured behind them. In every case their vulvae were exposed, and their breasts either dangled, if they were face down, or pointed at the ceiling. A few, however, were displayed vertically, strapped to the walls. It became clear that was where Candy was going to be. She was made to stand on a low block, straddling a thick dowel protruding from the wall. Her arms were then spread wide and strapped to a frame on the wall, just below her armpits, at the elbow, and at the wrist. Her legs were then lifted and spread, and also strapped to the wall, and the dowel removed. There was no doubt in her mind that her pussy was displayed at just the right height for penetration.

As it happened, only a few customers browsed the merchandise that morning. When they examined Candy, her pussy, dry with fear, dissuaded them from raping her, but just the fingering was humiliation enough.

Bill arrived, late morning, at the station and headed to a restaurant he remembered well. On the way there, he passed the slave dealer who had bought Candy (although he didn’t know that, of course). He had the names Pod had given him, but this one wasn’t on the list. However, he thought he’d take a look anyway. Perhaps, if nothing else, he’d get an idea of costs.

“I need a slave or IS to train as a seaman,” he told the dealer.

“No men available at the moment. In fact, I don’t know of any males on the market; you know there’s a shortage. I can show you some women. There should be some strong enough for you, and you have the added advantage you can fuck them too.”

Bill frowned, but didn’t challenge the man. “Let’s have a look, then.”

He suppressed an imprecation as he entered the sales floor. He wasn’t impressed with the display (though he couldn’t help a physical reaction) or the physiques of any of the women if he was looking for strength. He shrugged, and was about to leave when he saw Candy. Their eyes met, and his heart lurched. “How much for that one?” he pointed.

“Candy? Only five thousand.”

“Ridiculous! Is she a virgin?” It was fairly obvious that she was not, but he wanted to hear what the trader had to say.

“No, I’m afraid not. But she’s in great condition, look you.”

“Maybe, but I’ll offer three hundred, and that’s generous.”

The dealer didn’t actually scream, but clearly didn’t care for the offer. After a fairly acrimonious exchange, however, Candy was released into Bill’s care, and he handed over nine hundred. The moment the deal was concluded, the trader cheered up – he’d made a pretty fair profit, considering he’d only taken her in that morning.

“How about something to cover her up?” Bill asked as he took her lead.

The dealer shrugged. “I have a few orange slave shifts. Yours for a fiver.”

Another note changed hands, and the dress, along with an envelope containing Candy’s documentation, was handed over.

As they left the building, Bill asked, “Is there anything you need? Your period due?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m on a depo. I don’t have periods. But some panties, perhaps?”

Panties were duly bought, shampoo and conditioner, shower gel, and a pair of sandals. “You’ll need something better than those, but we’ll do better in Goole, I think.” She didn’t understand what he was saying, and just shook her head.

Bill’s sister would be working, so there was no point in going to her tiny bedsit. He led Candy to a nondescript motel, and checked in. The receptionist looked Candy up and down. “I’m afraid your companion isn’t allowed in the restaurant, but we’ll send food to your room.” She handed over menus. “Dinner is served starting at seven. Tea is available now.”

Bill was fairly sure there wouldn’t be any tea, meaning Camellia Sinensis, unless it was prohibitively expensive. “What do you have?”

“Oh, peppermint, chamomile, nettle, echinacea ... We sometimes have Darjeeling or Assam, but not at the moment. You know how it is. There are scones, teacakes, muffins, and an assortment of cakes to go with them.”

“I do know. Chamomile tea for two, please. Toasted muffins – butter if you have it.”

“We do. We have an arrangement with a local farm. I’m sorry, but can you pay in advance?”

“No problem. We’ll be here a few days. Three at least – four nights.”

In the room, a wide-eyed Candy tucked into toasted, buttered muffins, and sipped tea, whilst Bill made several phone calls.

“Hello? Committeeman Hemmings?”

“Speaking. To whom am I speaking?”

“Oh! Sorry. I’m Bill Sanders. I skipper a refurbished Thames Sailing Barge, S.B. Lady Betty. I trade with the near continent. My friend, Pod Dawson, gave me your number. He’s leaving me and I need a replacement.”

“I’m not sure I can help. There’s not much call for sailors in this neck of the woods.”

“Oh, that’s not it. A sailing barge is fairly simple, and I just need a reasonably fit, fairly intelligent body. I can do the training necessary.”

“I see. Well, as it happens, we have a facility here where we ... modify the attitudes ... of middle or upper class women who present their families with problems. Mostly they adjust quite quickly and become compliant. As it happens, my daughter Bernadette got into drugs and I was at my wit’s end for her. She’s done really well, but she needs an occupation. Might she suit?”

“You want to send your daughter to sea?” Bill was rather surprised, and it showed in his voice.

“How long have you been trading?”

“Oh, since the War. About six years now.”

“And you’ve not had any problems sailing a vintage ship across the North Sea?”

“Not really. I’m fairly cautious.”

“Well, my options are limited. I wouldn’t force Bennie to take your job, but if she was willing, I’ll be happy to be able to stop paying to keep her at the Horseshoe. Will one young woman be enough?”

“I collected another IS today. Two should be ample. I normally sail with just one other man as crew. That’s normal for a vessel like mine. A third person adds flexibility, and is known as a ‘third hand’. Of course, usually one would be a Mate, either qualified or working on their Board certification as Master. But I think two reasonably intelligent, fit young people should pick up what they need to know quite quickly.”

“Very well. Why don’t you come to the Horseshoe...” he gave the address, “what time would suit?”

“I’m visiting my sister, who is on late/early shifts, so I’ll be free in the morning, up to about four o’clock. I’ll just have one other call to make. Can you recommend a clinic to give my IS a check over?”

“Your best bet is the GU clinic at the hospital. Do you know where that is?”

“I do. I’ll come by, what, mid-morning? Eleven-ish?”

“Fine. I’ll be there, barring any urgent issues.”

He hung up and looked across at Candy, who was looking back at him. She’d eaten one of the buttered muffins and drunk a cup of the chamomile.

“Have the other muffin if you like, Candy. And help yourself to the tea.”

She stared at him in consternation. “Really, Master?” He nodded. “Thank you, Master!”

He poured himself a cup of the tea and poured Candy another too. The delivery included a couple of Danish pastries, so Bill helped himself to a cinnamon swirl. Candy finished the muffin and looked at him.

“Have the other Danish, Candy, as long as you’ll have room for a proper meal later. I’d guess you haven’t been eating too well recently.”

Her eyes, already large and glistening, widened further. He sighed, and pushed the plate towards her. “Go on. Eat up.”

Nervously, she took the treat. At the first bite she closed her eyes and chewed slowly. It took several minutes for her to consume it, and then she licked her fingers. “Master...”

“My name’s Bill.”

“Master Bill ... what’s going to happen to me?”

“I’m going to teach you to sail. I’m a sailing barge Master, like a captain, if you like. The vessel I sail is quite large, a hundred feet long, but I usually sail her with one other man to help. Because you’re lighter and weaker than a grown man, I’m going to recruit another woman to help. That’s what my phone call was about.”

“Why me? There were older, heavier and probably stronger women there...”

“You called to me.” She stared, uncomprehending. “You’re sixteen, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay. The State – or, at least, the local Committee – took you in, fed and housed you, educated you, protected you, at least to an extent. On your sixteenth birthday, their obligation to you ended, and you were on your own. You went from normality, safety, to ... something else. You were homeless?”

She shrugged. “I had a room in a shared house, rent free. It was dry, at least. But the other kids, well, they were noisy. Drunk, or high, quite often. I thought if I went for an Indenture, I’d at least have somewhere to live, food, an occupation. But...”

“Instead, you were treated as an object. Raped?” She nodded. “Then discarded?” She nodded again, tears once more trickling down her cheeks.

“That is not supposed to happen, but it does. Men – it’s usually men – with power and money, who don’t care about other human beings, do what they like without any compunction. I can’t offer you much. Just a bed, food, hard work, and maybe a little danger, but I won’t rape you. You’ll have appropriate clothing, and eat the same food as me. You must learn the secrets of my life. And in a little less than five years, you can either stay on as a paid hand, get a different job at sea, or leave to make your way elsewhere.”

There was a long silence, broken only by her sniffs. There was a box of tissues by his bed and he handed it to her; she mopped up, blew her nose, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, “Thank you ... Bill.”

The next day, he took her straight to the hospital, where she was examined, and blood taken for tests. He found a work-wear shop which sold him a boiler-suit – orange, of course, he’d have to buy some blue ones when Candy wasn’t with him – and some thermal underwear.

They arrived at The Horseshoe, noting the sign;

MIDLANDS COMMITTEE

TRAINING CENTRE

FOR INDENTURED SERVANTS.

He pressed the intercom button. “Bill Sanders and companion to see Committeeman Hemmings.”