Chapter 1

Six months after we acquired Yelka and Lena, they’d settled down as our daughters. They’d had enough training in the little sailing dinghy to use it to cross the lake to go to school, at least when the weather permitted. They’d gained confidence, and their English was almost fluent and even somewhat colloquial, though still with a lovely hint of Russian accent. We worked with them on self-defence and, after a while, on firearms. They didn’t really understand why that had to be secret, but believed our warnings of the trouble it would cause if our weapons became common knowledge.

Both girls were already excellent shots with the air-guns, and that quickly translated into competence with the much more powerful weapons. Additionally, all of us were practicing with long-bow and compound bow.

Just as importantly, they worked hard to gain kitchen skills. Sally still refused to let me help in the kitchen, but took to training the twins ‘as to the manner born’. (Should that be ‘the Manor born’? No.) I was relieved about that, especially when Sally was nearing her due date; she’d been newly pregnant when the attack occurred which led to our acquisition of the twins.

Jerry Junior – actually, I insisted he’d be Gerald, rather than Jeremiah, I’d suffered with my name all through school – was born in Furness Hospital in the small hours of the fifth of December, 2019; Sally a perfect madonna to a perfect eight pound baby boy. The labour was relatively short.

So our Christmas celebration was different. Yelka and Lena had no previous religious association; the Russian Orthodox Christmas is celebrated on a different day to the usual Western 25^th December, but said they’d be fine with ours. ‘We are British now’, Yelka stated, categorically.

We got the first indications of trouble at the end of December, with news of a new virus causing problems in a province of China. I didn’t really worry, but unknown to me, Sally started to make preparations; preserved foods, a stock of materials such as flour and oats.

I trust her, of course, and didn’t question what she was doing and buying. I knew, for example, that there was scuba equipment in the store. I didn’t know that that included an oxygen rebreather set. That was pretty ancient, I later found out, but the oxygen bottles were fine, and Sally got them charged and bought extra.

We watched as the situation developed, I, for one, becoming more and more concerned as the first cases cropped up outside China. Of course, we were pretty remote from the problem, even when a global pandemic was declared.

The first cases in Britain popped up at the end of January. At first, logically, in people who’d come to Britain from overseas. Well, I suppose most people reading this have been through it anyway, so I’ll skip straight to Lockdown in March. Sally was organised. Perhaps ‘prepared’ is a better term. When Lockdown was mooted, Sally explained what she’d been up to for the previous months. We had non-perishable staples stored for a year. She’d arranged with local farmers for a regular supply of eggs, milk, vegetables and so on. We were all set to hunker down and wait for the pandemic to pass.

Yelka and Lena got their lessons online, via ‘Zoom’, of which I had never previously heard. Being in a small school was a huge advantage, especially as the staff went to a lot of trouble to maintain the teaching schedule. We had food, we had the little dojo, satellite communications, and several acres of land in which to breathe fresh air and to exercise.

From time to time, the security system would alert us to the presence of ‘intruders’, invariably locals using our footpath to access the fells, or to return from them. That was easy. We were even able to ‘teach’ the system to ‘recognise’ our neighbours.

Three weeks in, though, we were woken in the small hours by an alert. We had an intruder, one who was not recognised and, anyway, should not have been wandering through in the middle of the night. The intruder, a slight figure – woman? Child? Found a thicket in the woodland and crawled in out of sight. I started to get dressed.

“No, Master. I should go, and take the girls.”

“What? You’re saying I should stay here while you take Yelka and Lena to investigate an intruder? No!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, and you’re exactly ... sorry, master... exactly the wrong person to go. If the girls and I go armed, are you saying we can’t look after ourselves?”

“But...”

“Master, please, it looks like a child, or a very petite woman. If you go, they’d be frightened of you and perhaps do something stupid.”

“You mean, more stupid than running around the countryside, during a pandemic, in the dark?”

“Exactly. If it’s a runaway, which is what I think, we need to help. Master, you’ve trusted me since we met, haven’t you? You know how I am. This is safe for us, really.”

I sighed. It’s so unfair when she’s right. “Okay, darling. But dress properly, the girls, too, and take the Glocks.”

“Of course, Master.”

Not too much later, I watched three black-clad figures quietly making their way up the right-of-way footpath, then disappearing into the undergrowth.

I couldn’t see anything for some time, and made my way to the kitchen to put a kettle on. There are monitors in the kitchen anyway, and I saw four figures emerge from the understory.

The boy – he looked about nine, but we found out later he was actually fourteen – was ushered into the kitchen. He hesitated when he saw me, but with Sally, Yelka and Lena behind him had little choice but to enter. He tottered in unsteadily.

“Master, this is Jakub. It seems he hasn’t eaten for several days. He should probably have a glass of water before we give him tea. Would you make tea? And cocoa for Yelka and Lena? I want to check Jakub’s temperature.”

“Of course, my Love.” I ran the cold tap and filled a tumbler with fresh water, placed it in front of the boy.

“Teşekkürler bayım.” Then, “Thank. You. Sir.”

(The words were Turkish, we later found. He’d been taken from some out of the way place, we never found out quite where, and transported, well, the hell of a long way, and ‘trained’ to please Western pædophiles. In the process, he’d (of necessity) picked up a few words and phrases of English, but much of which was unsuitable for public use.

The pandemic and lockdown hadn’t changed very much for a while (understand, we didn’t get all this at the first sitting, and had to guess at a lot of it) but as things really tightened up, demand did diminish. A couple of the men got a mild dose of the bug, and then Jakub showed signs of infection. He was taken in a van and dumped some distance from us and a much greater distance from his abusers. Fortunately, his infection was mild and he was able to make his way off the road and, in due course, find our property and attempt to conceal himself.)

Anyway, he emptied the tumbler before Sally returned with a clinical thermometer, which revealed that, yes, he had a temperature, but not a serious one.

Sally started to heat some of her rich, savoury soup, then began to make hot chocolate. I decided I wanted something a little stiffer, and got up to fetch a drop of whisky.

“Master Jerry...”

“Sally, you’re busy, and I want a whisky. I can get myself a drink.” I turned away to avoid the disappointment I was sure was on her face.

I took my time, and when I got back with a generous tot of Glen Grant, Jakub was spooning up warm soup; I was going to say, ‘hot’, but I knew Sally well enough to know that the food would be hot enough to be good, but not so as to burn the tongue. A pan was beginning to bubble on the stove.

I sat at the table and savoured the drink as it warmed my mouth and stomach. Jakub finished the bowl, and looked up at Sally.

‘Would you like more?”

“More?”

Sally fetched the pan, and Jakub took a sharp breath, wide-eyed. “It is hot,” Sally told him, waving her hand through the rising steam. “Take your time.”

He frowned, meeting her eyes, but nodded, and when she ladled soup into the bowl, began to take small tasting sips. After two or three, he looked at Sally. “This. Good. Very. Good.”

Sally smiled brilliantly. Now, I know what that does to me, and wasn’t surprised that he blushed.

Sally turned to me. “I don’t know if anyone will be looking for him,” she said. “We have the small bedroom, the cell and the ... other places.”

Of course, we didn’t know at that point what had happened, but I thought about it. “Why don’t we put him in the small bedroom? The system can tell us if he leaves the room, and there’s the toilet almost next door.”

“Clothes,” she mused. “Nothing to fit him. I suppose he could use some exercise gear of the girls’ and I can run up some pyjamas easily enough.”

“Sounds good to me. But Sally, I think I need to punish you for excluding me from your outing. Once Jakub is settled.”

“Of course, Master Jerry,” Sally suppressed her smile. As she spoke, the sounds of Jerry Junior stirring came from the security system.

“I will go,” Lena announced, putting her almost empty mug on the table. She took some time, but returned cradling the little one in the crook of her left arm. “I have changed his nappy, as it was dirty,” she announced, handing the baby to Sally.

Sally quite unselfconsciously freed a breast and held Junior to it; he latched on and sucked lustily. Jakub watched in fascination, wide-eyed. As for me, I could hardly help recalling my own enjoyment of them – prior, of course, to Junior’s birth. They were somewhat larger now, the nipples softer, darker and swollen. “You are very beautiful, Sally,” I said quietly.

She coloured darkly. I find it surprising that one who is happy to live naked, who, in fact prefers to be naked, is so embarrassed by a compliment, but I still insist on doing it.

Her response was to turn to the girls. “If our guest has finished, would you show him to the small bedroom? And the toilet?”

“Yes, Sally,” they chorused.

“Perhaps you could find a sweat-suit he can wear until we find something better.”

“Pink?” giggled Yelka.

“Not pink,” Sally said, sternly. “Lena only has the one pink outfit anyway, no? You have several others. Blue, perhaps.”

Yelka nodded, still smiling, and tapped the boy on the shoulder, pointing at the door.

They left quietly, Yelka in the lead and Lena bringing up the rear. I sipped the remains of my drink and watched as Sally transferred Junior to the other breast. He didn’t suck there as long. Sally sighed.

“He always does that, Master Jerry. Would you empty this breast for me...” she paused, “or do I need to be punished first?”

“Darling slave, I think we might put off the punishment for another time. Let’s put Junior down to sleep. I’ll empty that breast and you can relieve my pressure, and we’ll see where we are in the morning.”

Junior was out like a light. The light in the small bedroom was out, just the glow from a night-light revealing the hump in the bed which was our new guest. The girls had obviously taken themselves off to bed too, so we delayed no further.

Sally’s breasts are perfect. It’s strange, I think, how one’s concept of ‘perfection’ is modified by circumstances. My preference is for small to medium, firm breasts, which is how Sally’s used to be. She was – is – fit and athletic, and they sat well supported, high and firm on her chest, with small, responsive nipples. Since her pregnancy, they’re maybe a D cup now, full and firm only before feeding Junior, but still, perfection. I don’t think I’ve ever had a ‘lactation fetish’, but I always enjoyed sucking on them and, now, to empty them to ensure an ample supply for our child. (Okay, so I still enjoy sucking on them, despite not being particularly fond of milk.)