Chapter 3

George Timmins:

I was ... disconcerted perhaps ... at Chris’s suggestion. I mean, I’m a heterosexual male and young enough to like the idea of several attractive women. I actually quite fancied Ellen, whom I’d admired from a distance as a boy and as a teenager. To be honest, I’d jerked off to thoughts of her, too. Both Jenny and Rosie were pretty and sexy, too. I wouldn’t have allowed thoughts of them to enter my head, not, at least, for more than a few seconds, but having Chris say that she approved? That was a stunner. And what about Ariana? How would she perceive my being intimate with other women? What to do. Oh, yes, what to do, indeed. What I actually did was procrastinate. I mean, why make a difficult decision today when you can put it off until tomorrow? Maybe even put it off until it’s no longer an issue.

What I did do was to delve into the management of the house and estate. The livestock we’d seen on day one belonged to a local farm. In return for grazing pasture and using the sheep to keep the grass short on what I thought was ‘lawn’, we got some milk and eggs. Vegetables and meat, locally butchered, was delivered to the house and paid for on delivery. Just as a matter of interest, some was delivered by horse and cart, and other by hand cart. No one was burning petrol or diesel for the purpose, simply because it was so hard to come by. Indeed, several farms were actually using heavy horses for field preparation. Slow, perhaps, but requiring nothing but grazing to maintain. I was amused to hear that one farm was actually using a steam tractor – a traction engine. Good for them. Plenty of coal in the ground. Climate change? Actually, apart from domestic coal consumption, fossil fuel consumption was way down. Electricity was from solar farms, wind farms and nuclear – for as long as that could be maintained. It was erratic, but we could live with that.

In short, we settled down to what might have been an idyllic existence, especially after our work in the Middle East. Regular meals, made up from locally grown produce. A comfortable house, even if less convenient, sometimes, than we’d been used to before the Wars. A couple of weeks after we arrived, we met our first recruit. Amy Harris was the daughter of a local farmer, who had – before the War – studied horticulture. She moved in to become our gardener. At five foot eleven, she was the tallest woman in the house, only three inches shorter than myself. In good shape physically, from work on the farm and round about, she was, sadly, ‘homely’. However, she had a lovely personality, and a wry sense of humour. I expected she’d fit in to the little community we were forming very well.

She was followed by Shelagh O’Hanahan. Shelagh was the daughter of an Irish couple who’d settled in the village. Her father enlisted in the Army after the first atrocity, like me, except that he didn’t come back. He was caught out by an IED when searching an abandoned house. His daughter lived up to the stereotype of Irish girls, dark of hair and fair of complexion, with a perfect figure and beautiful face. Just seventeen, she needed a home when her mother committed suicide following her husband’s death. Although young, she was a gifted baker, both of bread and pastry. She was pathetically grateful for the job and a place to live.

I thought we were ideally set up at that point. Ariana was accepted and mothered by all the women. I slept each night with a lovely woman who matched my libido as we explored our relationship. When we had hot water on tap, it was fun to shower with her. When, for whatever reason, the water had to he heated and carried upstairs, Chris and I revelled in the pleasure of bathing each other. What could go wrong?

June in Midlands England. I suppose British weather is notorious; it’s not unknown to have a frost in June. It wasn’t quite that bad, but cloudy and wet we were glad to eat in the kitchen and to have a fire in the lounge. But our wedding day – wonder of wonders – was sunny and clear. The village church was decked out with flowers as the whole village celebrated the return and marriage of the heir to the estate, and the village hall was packed for the same reason. We ate finger foods prepared by I don’t know how many cooks – I know Ellen cooked and co-ordinated the effort, and we danced on the village green to music by local amateur musicians.

Christine ... Timmins:

This’ll take a little getting used to. I guess women for centuries have dealt with the change of identity necessitated by marriage. I didn’t expect to feel different because of a ceremony, and I didn’t expect to change my status in the household, but there has been a definite if minor difference in the attitude of the staff to my ... what? Elevation? I don’t like to think of it like that. Oh, well. It is what it is.

I enjoyed my relationship with George, and we relaxed and enjoyed each other, having a holiday from household duties. Duties taken on freely and over the resistance of the staff. Ariana actually spent more time with the others, especially Rosie, just coming to each of us for a cuddle each day. Perhaps that reassured her of our love for her; it reassured us of her comfort with the situation. But as George and I eased back into an active role in the life of the household, and in fact getting back into the level of fitness we’d maintained in the Army, I began to think about the future. In fact, a five-mile run each morning was a good time to think. A couple of months after the wedding, as September brought the first signs of Autumn, I cornered Ellen and took her outside to talk.

“Have you thought about what I said, Ellen?”

“I have, ma’am.” She paused, silent, and I waited her out. “Ma’am, I’d given up thinking about, well, sex. Having a man. I’ll admit to curiosity. I’ll admit to admiring your man. And ... other things. Touching myself. I know that Rosie and Jenny are interested, too, and I think Amy and Shelagh, too, though Amy lacks confidence in her attractiveness.”

“If we move ahead with this, Ellen, I think you should be first. Would you want me there, too? Or would you prefer to be private?”

“I’d be happier with you there, ma’am. It would confirm your approval. And ... I’d be nervous without your encouragement.”

George Timmins:

I’d put out of my mind what Chris had said about the other women. Brought up, as I was, in a society where monogamy was an expectation (if not always practised), I focussed on my wife and was perfectly satisfied with her. But as summer turned to autumn, Chris told me, “I’m bringing Ellen to our room tonight, unless you absolutely refuse her.”

“You really want this?”

“I do. And the others, but this first. One thing, though, remember that she’s submissive? You need to ask, first, that she wants to be your concubine. If... when she confirms that, you need to order her to strip.”

And so it came about. My ... our ... acquisition of the first addition to our marriage. Ellen stood straight in the middle of the master bedroom. Perhaps I need to insert here that while I am ‘conventional’, I am not ignorant. Conversations with others at University and in barracks made me aware of other ways of doing things...

“Sir ... master George ... I have spoke with the Mistress. I need for you to be my Master.”

“What limits, Ellen?”

“I believe I can trust you and the Mistress not to abuse me. But I need you to command me. Sometimes to punish me.”

“I see.” Well, I did, at least within my limitations. She stood there, stiff and straight as I looked at her. How to address her? “Slave.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Strip!”

She hesitated. Perhaps now the moment had come, she was unsure? But she began to undress. The black skirt went quickly, the white blouse likewise and she hesitated again, in bra, panties and stockings. Obviously gathering her courage, she peeled the stockings down. Nice legs. I’ve always appreciated a nicely formed pair of legs. Need I say I think Chris’s are perfect? Ellen’s ... long, smooth, tapered. Next, she slowly released her bra, holding it in place with her forearm for several moments: I’m quite sure she had no idea of the ‘porn-ish’ nature of the action. Obviously gathering her courage, she removed the bra, revealing a pair of C-cup breasts which would have looked good on a thirty year-old. Just a little sag from the weight, but round and firm, topped with small pink nipples. Finally – I was hard, just from watching her – she peeled down a pair of plain, white panties. She was shaved bare, and I could see her plump mound and labia: her labia minora were concealed, the whole ... pretty. Chris and I stood, and Chris collected the clothes Ellen had discarded round about herself.

Inspection time. I walked round Ellen slowly. When she turned her head, I ordered, sharply, “Look straight ahead, Slave!” and her head snapped back to the front. “Hands on your head, Slave.” She obeyed immediately. That action lifted her breasts. They wouldn’t have held the test-pencil like that! After a couple of circuits, I stood behind her and reached round to cup her breasts. Her nipples were swollen and erect; I pinched them lightly, and she gasped, but not, I think, in pain. I stroked my hands down her side, to rest them on the curve of her hips.