Chapter 4: The arrival of the Smith

The arrival of the Smith.

I was not the only male in the village. Of a population of about a hundred, there were, perhaps, twenty-five males. Five were under sixteen, and the rest were all older than me. For the most part, the villagers had commuted, either daily to Nottingham or weekly to London. The London people were mostly dead, of course, just a couple who for some reason hadn’t been in town on the fateful day. Additionally, the houses left vacant were attractive to folks retreating from the city to a place where life, if not actually easy, at least gave access to food and clean water. One of the ‘immigrants’ was a retired blacksmith. Other residents of the village had useful hobbies, such as weaving, and soon enough people were finding occupations which did not require the sophisticated technology which we’d depended upon before the Wars. We were adjusting to a new way of living. You might say, we were reverting to a more primitive life.

Chris and I were interested in promoting an effective community. In any village there will be odd tensions, sometimes dating back decades, but it was important that we could all rely on one another for essential skills. The only relevant skill I had, quite honestly, was leadership, though I did gradually acquire other, more practical abilities. But one of the things I did was to encourage village gatherings. Since everyone seemed to have enjoyed Chris’ and my wedding, it wasn’t a reach to come up with an idea for a village gathering. I liaised with the Vicar and at Harvest Festival, we didn’t just have a Harvest service, but an all-day party with dancing and food. That gave an opportunity to chat and get to know each other.

“Mister Timmins? Or should I say Lieutenant? Or Squire?”

I turned toward the voice to see a stocky, heavily built and powerful older man. “Call me George,” I smiled. “I’m no longer in the army, and was Hostilities Only anyway, and I certainly have no claim to special status.”

He cocked his head. “Living in the Hall? Employing several young ladies from the village? Anyway, I’m happy to call you George. I’m John Smith.” He shrugged. “It was inevitable I would live up to my name. Been retired a few years, now. But I understand the Hall has a Smithy?”

“It has.” I looked at him with interest. “I feel sure you would find plenty of work in the area, especially if you have farrier experience.”

“I can shoe a horse or pony, for sure, or work in wrought iron or steel. Most of my life has been spent with decorative stuff, of course.”

“You want to use the Smithy?”

“I think I ought to make myself useful. I could train a ‘prentice, too. Or even two ‘prentices.”

“Excellent! I thoroughly approve. Can I suggest you consider taking a female apprentice? The women hereabouts need employment as well as the few young men.”

“Oh, gender doesn’t bother me. Just need the stamina for heavy work.”

“Come to the Hall in the morning, and I’ll sort you out a key for the smithy. I’ve got house-coal, if that’s suitable for the forge.”

He shrugged. “Have to see what we can get, won’t we? Anthracite is best, but getting it is tricky nowadays.”

We shook hands. It was apparent that a life spent blacksmithing had built powerful muscles in his arms, but he controlled his strength and didn’t offer a competitive grip, I was happy to find. And to have a Smith in the village? There must be a dozen ways he’d be useful, at least. I knew that one or two of the local farms had acquired heavy horses and the antique equipment they used to pull. Perhaps a smith could build a better plough for the horses to pull?

The day ended with dancing. The musicians were amateurs, but that was of a piece with our new way of living, and we all had fun.

Chris and I were catching our breath after a particularly energetic dance, sitting and watching the villagers. We could see Ellen, Jenny, Rosie, Amy and Shelagh circulating, dancing either with one another or, sometimes with the few men and boys. The latter, of course, were in demand by the ladies. They were therefore required to overcome any reluctance to dance...

But Rosie and Jenny came over to us and knelt on the grass of the village green.

Rosie spoke first. “Sir, ma’am, we’d like to ask to be your slaves, like Miss Ellen.”

“We’re ready to do whatever you require,” Jenny put in. “Including babies. We just didn’t know how to approach you until we spoke to Miss Ellen.”

Chris and I looked at each other. She nodded, a query in her expression, and I nodded back. “One at a time, or together?” Chris asked. “I suggest one at a time would be better, but if you prefer to support each other...”

Rosie and Jenny looked at each other for a couple of minutes. “I’d prefer individual attention,” Jenny said, slowly.

“Me too,” Rosie chipped in immediately, then turned to me. “One at a time, please.”

“Very well. We’ll need to discuss together when, but we’ll let you two know. Meanwhile, toss a coin or something – rock, paper, scissors, even – to decide which of you go first, okay?”

“Okay!” they chorused, then Rosie kissed me – a scorcher – whilst Jenny kissed Chris, then they changed sides, and I got another scorcher from Jenny. It was apparent that I was in for an experience.

It was in the middle of the week. Ellen had had her night with us after the Harvest Party, and presumably Rosie and Jenny had had their discussion and spoken to Chris. I wasn’t involved in any negotiations, so it was a mild surprise to find Rosie, small, plump, fresh and beautiful, kneeling in the middle of the master bedroom. She had used the servants’ passageway to get there; the first ‘slave’ to do so, though Ellen began to use it also. It became de rigour for those who wanted to be ‘slaves’.

Rosie was also the first to be given a collar. Having received her submission, Chris handed me a leather collar. I hadn’t known about that beforehand, but Chris had found a woman in the village who possessed a sewing machine which was capable of handling leather – she had made collars and leashes for pet animals and tack for horses – who made several for us. Actually Ellen came to us the next day, near to tears because we hadn’t given her one, but that was easily amended. Anyway, back to the moment, Chris and I worked Rosie over with hands, lips and tongues until she was almost vibrating before I penetrated her. Her hymen was rather tough, but I managed to complete her deflowering without too much pain. She was, however, too sore to repeat the act that night. We slept, the three of us tangled together, and when we woke enjoyed an oral daisy-chain.

As I said, Ellen, when she saw the collar on Rosie, felt upset that we hadn’t given her one earlier. We did our best to make it up to her that afternoon with a ceremonial collaring followed by using her until she was unconscious for a few minutes. We held her as she came round, telling her that we loved her and she was still the ‘head slave’. We insisted that she slept with us that night, too, though she left us early in the morning to get on with her duties.

A couple of days later, Jenny, too, accepted a collar. Her hymen went almost unnoticed, and she kept us awake until almost midnight making up for lost time. She was the first to ask for anal, something which had never had much attraction for me. It became something she got as a special treat, which may surprise some. It certainly surprised me.

Amy came to us, asking if she needed a collar too. We explained that the collars were for girls who wanted to be ordered around. If she wanted sex with her employers, rather than with a Master and Mistress, we welcomed that, and she was happy with that and the orgasms, and the fucking, we gave her after the discussion.

Which left Shelagh as the only unbroached maid in the house. Not that I needed more pussy, dammit. Chris on her own was quite enough, let alone the additions, but I suspected that Shelagh might be in our bed sooner rather than later.

As it turned out, Chris had a word with Ellen, who talked to the others. What happened was that I was alone with Chris alternate nights, which was good, and we had a third with us on the other nights. This cycle continued through two iterations after we ‘had words’ with Ellen, who still harboured ideas of inadequacy. The third cycle, however, we found Shelagh in our bed.

“Hello, Shelagh, we weren’t expecting you tonight...” Chris smiled to show she – and I – were not angry.

She flipped the cover back to reveal her naked body, which was exquisite. “I ... I need to be a part of the family properly,” she told us.

“You are a part of us,” I said. “You are welcome in our bed, but it’s not necessary in order to be part of the family.”

“I want this,” she said. “I need this. And sooner or later, I want a baby. But I’m like Amy. I don’t want to wear a collar and that.”

No problem. Absolutely no problem. Shelagh was, I was surprised to find, completely shaved. That exposed a very pretty pussy. When I complimented her, she told us that her pubic hair was thick, long, bushy and tough. I was just glad I wouldn’t be picking hairs out of my teeth.

Shelagh had previously borrowed a dildo, used it, thus accepted my length easily; indeed welcomed it like a long missed friend.

So I was living with an attractive wife, and five other women of various ages, none of whom I’d have ‘kicked out of bed’ before I married and with whom, now, with my wife’s approval I was having sex. Actually, I have to admit, I was coming to love them all too, so I suppose I ought to say ‘making love’. The sex, at that point, was invariably in bed, at night (though with the light on, usually) and my wife was a participant. The change came a couple of weeks after Shelagh came to our bed. By this time, it was late autumn and the days were short and the temperature dropping. I had become involved in the overall running of the district – rather, I suppose, like the medieval ‘squire’ the Smith had described me. I negotiated the sale of meat and vegetables to the suburbs of the city, and brought back coal and other products like metal for the forge. Increasingly, I used a horse and trailer rather than the pickup. It made sense – grass, hay, grain, was much easier to come by than diesel. In between, I was spending more and more time in the ‘office’ off the library, and the girls were looking after fires, a small one on the study (my preferred term for the room I’ve just referred to as the office), and one in the lounge. The coal-fired range in the kitchen provided hot water and warmth in the kitchen, while (when we had electricity for the pump) keeping the chill off bedrooms.