Chapter 22

With the air now significantly cleared about our recent, relatively non-minor household problem, the thought of establishing in writing a few carved in stone house rules for the slave girls began to make a certain amount of sense. Everything and everyone was crazy with stress as the last of the big internet and mail-order supply deliveries began to slow down to a trickle the week before Thanksgiving. This should have given us a small amount of quiet time but we were all still too busy to really notice if or when it ever actually did occur.

We were all getting exhausted and working silly hours, each trying to manage our little part of saving future civilization, and more often than not now, everyone was crawling into bed too late and way too tired to even think about fucking. Even sleep was sometimes now beyond me as my brain just wouldn't shut down some nights, but instead it worried and pondered over the problems that I would have to deal with tomorrow. Honestly, without Walt's little confidence building session I think I would have crawled into a ball on the carpet and begun whimpering long before. I was even getting into the mood to beg him for a little refresher drug treatment.

I shouldn't have been panicking. All of the really important shit was getting done and except for the contracting delays for our new medical clinic and the one building schoolhouse, and perhaps also the final detail work on our combination office/canteen/barracks, everything was going to meet our December 14^th informal 'deadline'.

Next above Security/Safety in the hierarchy of needs, lies Love & Belonging, or basically the enjoyment of one's family, friends and loved ones ... and yes, of course that includes sex. I wanted one last final week of fun and frolicking to enjoy some love and belonging without worry, for the week before doomsday week. Some last final shopping, fine dining, beautician appointments, or anything that wasn't going to be either possible or practical once the shit hit the fan. I also wanted a weekend (at least) at the most expensive hotel in Houston, fucking in the biggest bed of the largest orgy suite that they had, and living upon endless room service until the minute it was time to head home and wait for the lights to go out and the world to turn to shit.

I wanted my memory of this old world to go out with a bang, a big bang, preferably in an oversized bed with lots of naked female bodies!

It was the small stuff that we were constantly sweating over, since fortunately the really big shit was tending to itself, on time, on schedule and even at or close to budget. The perimeter fences around the village were all 99% up, and we had a couple of thousand yards worth of spare poles, fencing and razor wire rolled up in one of the three main storage warehouses. The hardware for the solar farm was just about done as well, with spools wound with miles of extra high voltage grade electrical cable – enough to rewire an entire neighborhood if necessary, stored away as well with the solar panels, all buried for now underground, ready to quickly reinstall after doomsday, once the danger of the EMP had passed. While testing, we had noted that on a good, bright day we were filling up the storage batteries faster than expected, so Lumpy scrounged another dozen commercial storage batteries and ordered another few dozen to be shipped by priority air freight. Plugging them into the battery circuit could wait until later as well. In theory, even with the powerful growlights running, our energy storage (without external charging from the solar array or the wind tower) should be enough to run The Secret Garden for at least three full days in an extreme emergency situation with zero incoming power.

The poles for the wind generators were all up in our cul-de-sac and we'd even already tested everything for the first of the two smaller 25-kWh wind units that were intended to normally fully power the Secret Garden, making our propane and new natural gas storage tank reserves for backup contingency use only. It worked like a charm when tested the day before Thanksgiving and we disassembled all of the electronics the next Monday. The larger 50-kWh unit and the other smaller one were nearly ready to test as well. Lump had procured and received delivery of six more identical 25-kWh units and even a prototype 33-kWh unit that mostly used the exact same parts and poling, but had upgraded internal gearing and optimized (in theory) energy transfer. Those mounting poles should be up upon other hills in the village by our deadline as well, and their internals and wiring could then safely wait until we'd optimized the village electrical grid, making it independent from the world outside.

In theory, another six 25-kWh units were on order and might arrive in San Antonio via rail container freight by mid December too, but we'd decided not to count upon them, and just be grateful if they actually did arrive on time. Lumpy hoped to have the last poles up and the initial testing completed at least a week before our set deadline, and he meant it. We'd been paying Lump's crew full wages to handle our needs almost exclusively, and privately we were warning anyone who would listen to spend their paychecks wisely back in San Antonio now that this part of the installation project was mostly over.

We'd arranged for Lumpy to select a follow on crew of five of his best workers that would stay on with us, to handle future installation and maintenance needs. Each was single and amenable to working with Lumpy indefinitely in the future here in Austin next year. This covered two assembly men, two electricians and wiring experts and also a guy who could skillfully handle the truck mounted hydraulics for the sky crane necessary for assembling windmills and getting a crewman up there to install, repair or maintain one. Keeping this critical truck mounted crane functional after the EMP was going to be tricky. The truck itself was diesel and the rest of its more modern electronics were going to be removed and stored underground and reassembled later. A pain in the butt and a nuisance, but it was better to be safe than sorry ... and have no further technological means of mounting windmills ... or anything else tall that we'd need constructed in the future.

These wind powered electrical generation units were going to be a cornerstone of our future for decades to come and they needed to last! I had Lori mark off another one of our limited supply of empty houses, and also add five more names on our master list of people that we would agree to provide future support for, food and security in the years to come.

We'd found an underground garage not too far away that we thought might do a decent job of protecting and shielding the sky crane and also a few other pieces of heavy diesel equipment, like a big backhoe, a pair of bulldozers and three different sized forklifts, including an industrial sized heavy beast that could move heavy shipping containers. At this point we didn't really have the budget to go wild (or even timid) buying heavy duty construction and earthmoving equipment, so Jason more or less made an executive decision that during the last week before Christmas he'd just lease a bunch of whatever older but serviceable machines he could get his hands upon. Sure we wouldn't own them, but post-EOTW if the actual owners felt like tracking us down we could work out some sort of arrangement or deal with them then.

It was worrying about the other unfilled jobs of skills that we wanted or needed that was now as often as not keeping my mind rolling over aimlessly at night. It was clear however that we didn't need any more 'whores' or even 'apprentice whores', or at least not yet!

The biggest laugher was when the semi-notorious Wells twins came over to the house one Friday night just before dinner and asked us seriously if we'd take them into our household family and let them fuck us for their keep! Really! The answer was for the moment, no ... but that didn't stop Garry and I from very nearly screwing the pair of them when they dropped their panties and bent over the sofa for what they hoped would be a firm rogering. It was awful tempting, but unfortunately we needed to decline their delicious offer.

The twins, a pair of seventeen-year-old very identical long haired blonde vixens, were semi-notorious wanton sluts at Kristin's high school and fairly close friends with her. When Kristin had proudly announced her pregnancy at school the other day, it was the twins that seemed to be the most jealous of the rather complicated fun their teen slut friend was having with us ... and they wanted a piece of it. It was also obvious that between the two of them they didn't have enough brains when combined even to make one adequate woman, let also two airheaded sluts. In a post war future, these gals only had one open career path ... strictly working on their backs.

According to Kristin, it was an open secret around school that the twins were just waiting to turn the dot of eighteen before starting their porn careers. They already had a verbal agreement to do a DVD porno and photo shoot to be performed exactly on their eighteenth birthday in January for some 'Just Barely Legal' porno group, but if the end of the world actually came along, this might spoil their plans. Banging seventeen year old hot-to-trot'lettes is legal in the state of Texas, but we politely took a rain check for what they were offering and we offered a backup career plan for the enterprising twins, should their film careers never come to pass. I was sure, once the shit hit the fan, that their hot fuckable asses were just as good of a trade commodity, eventually, as liquor, ammo or MRE's ... or a container full of tampons and other feminine hygiene products. We'd planned to set up a trading post with a rustic bar, and their asses were perfect suited to working the customers and taking semen deposits in return for cash or trade.

We then patted the slutty twins upon their tight and very sodomizable asses and told them that they were good sweet girls and that they should come back and see us right after Christmas, when we could put their talents to work. They giggled, jiggled and left. Their family didn't live in our Village but were in Ranger Meadows next door, but I told Lori to add them to our 'acquire' listing. Besides, as blatantly slutty as the twins were, this just made me mentally salivate at the thought of meeting (and meating) their mom!

Amy just rolled up her eyes at their vapidness and Kathy just sadly shook her head. She'd once enjoyed playing the act of being young, dumb and always full of cum, and didn't like to see other young women intentionally heading down that exact path, but even she admitted later that the sisters were undoubtedly completely unsuited to anything else in a future world where most of civilization had gone into the toilet without working cell phones. They were cute (and utterly identical) and loved to fuck – skills that having a room temperature IQ wouldn't hurt them too much. Having a tight cunt and the will to spread their knees apart at the drop of a silver penny could indeed be a useful and necessary survival skill for them, otherwise their empty giggling heads weren't worth what their slutty mouths were going to cost us to feed!

This got me thinking one late November morning, silly early in the morning when I couldn't sleep, about sluts, whores and slave girls, and some house rules to keep them obedient ... and out of the trading 'hospitality' tent with the Wells twins and the other real 'whores'. It might be harsh and cruel, but for a lot of women very soon their only useful skill to obtain another day's rations might be either on their backs or upon their knees. Being a whore was not only going to be legal very soon, but it was going to become an honorable and necessary life survival skill. Being a slave girl, cockdoll, fucktoy or even an owned painslut was going to become a dream job soon for many starving women and girls out on the street. Yes, this was extremely unfortunate ... but my little family band and our village tribe couldn't rescue them all ... or even a very tiny small percentage of them, unfortunately. This particular Noah's Ark was already getting uncomfortably close to full already, and when we reached that carved in stone four hundred survivor number the ark doors were going to close up tight.

That's why I'd given Lori the HR job, the ultimate person with the thankless job and the final power to say 'yes or no', to admitting a post-disaster stranger into our community - to stay ... or tell them to keep on walking and go starve somewhere else. This meant in very real terms, the power of life and death for someone. Lori, having been a hardcore prostitute could turn on the stone cold, cutthroat bitch switch when she needed it. None of the rest of us could. Anyone who possessed a skill that we needed (and Lori had been given a long list) could stay, and they and their family would have access to shelter and food. For the others, well ... maybe we'd give them a few cans or a MRE or two but the road was their future and 95% of them, or more, weren't going to make it. It was cruel – Mother Nature and mathematics can both be a bitch!

Anne-Marie, our Commissariat, assured me that we could safely support four hundred people right now, and maybe five hundred once we had all of the gardens and fish ponds in full production. This was about how the rationing math worked out, giving each lucky survivor the promise of regular meals for at least a dozen years, probably more like twenty, even without the MRE's, which we hoped to mostly use just for trading or carefully applied charity. Sure, we could risk everyone and everything to instead cram in thousands of survivors for just a few potential years of security but that plan was unsustainable and just postponed the inevitable disaster for most of the survivors, while considerably shortening our likelihood of long term, sustainable survival.

We had to assume right now the very worst possible case, that our gardens might fail, the chickens and fish might all die and the Secret Garden grow room might produce better potent weed than tomatoes. For our conservative estimations, we'd projected for little or no external food production, living upon our ten year supply of stored cans, boxes, and storage bins and sacks. If our gardens, aquaculture and poultry produced, then we'd have a surplus we could work with ... and slowly and carefully we could carefully reevaluate how many survivors we could then support.

With these cruel mathematics in mind, we'd given Lori executive authority to be our cruel heartless bitch, but knowing human nature we'd agreed to allow each of the other officers one (and only one) 'Get Out of Hell Free' card. A golden ticket, a pass inside of our gates for one person or family. Good for two adults plus their children. I hoped to never actually need to use mine, but we were sure that someday we'd find some pathetic refugees without needful skills that called out to our heartstrings, people so desperate with need that without our charity further survival was unlikely. A very finite exception to our rules. We couldn't promise them a roof over their heads other than maybe a tent, and maybe a minimal survival diet, but it would beat being one of the doomed 99.9% left outside our fences.

I had to keep Amy's and my daughter safe. Not to mention now Kristin's unborn child as well, and the others soon to come. Our slave girls were all off of their birth control now and I was expecting more glad tidings of future offspring soon. I loved my lovers, my friends and my forthcoming children and to save them, a few hundred others, and future civilization, I'd resigned myself to allowing 99% of the world around me to go mad, wither and ultimately die. Pathetically or violently. I had to – what else could I possibly do?

"We'll just have to do the best we can, Master. We can't save everyone, but we'll do our best with what we have and with what we can do." Amy muttered half sleep from dozing on the floor next to my chair. She never slept well unless I was in bed next to her and when I couldn't sleep, she nearly always encamped to be by my side to share my restlessness.

"You should be sleeping, and not worrying like me!" I gently chided her.

"You're the one that should be sleeping, and if you don't shut down that computer right now and take me to bed with you, I'll give you another blow job!"

"I'd rather like that actually, so get your mouth to work my pretty little pregnant slut. Besides, I've found these really nasty Master/slave photos up on Flickr and I've rather got the urge now to tie up your hands behind your back so that I can mouth-fuck your bitchy whore jaws."

"Mmmm, I wish you would! Those have been some rather nasty internet porn photos that you've been looking at, with lots of very obedient slave girls getting their mouths, cunts and asses fucked by a stern Master. I hope you're taking notes. I'll want all of those things done to me, and hopefully soon."

"Actually, this is really research and not play. I'm reading this guy's collection of House Rules, with his notes for how his sluts and slave girls are to behave in his house. Since mine are complete and utter shameless whores, I'm going to need some of those rules ... all the better to punish them when then misbehave!"

Amy giggled and held her arms behind her back for me to enclose with a pair of wrist cuffs. Every well prepared gentleman keeps a set in his desk drawer! Then I grabbed her ponytail and also her throat, both rather firmly with my hands, and I forced her open mouth around my cock. This wasn't a pleasant blowjob where Amy could swirl her tongue for hours and do obscene things with her throat muscle and utter lack of any gag reflex, but this was a fairly brutal mouth fuck with no art or subtlety involved in it, just a large stiff cock being mercilessly and roughly forced into her warm open mouth and throat and then out, repeatedly.

"Push deeper, I want all of you! Show me that you control me, even every breath that I take! Squeeze harder!" She gasped and I gently slapped her face to remind her not to speak when she was at my service. The slight chastisement only made her eyes burn brighter with desire and need, especially after my left hand did squeeze slightly tighter around her throat as I fucked it. Being gently choked while face-fucked had to frighten her, at least a little, but from her face I could only see arousal, even as her face began to turn slightly red. Her eyes were still begging for my cum and it didn't take me long to explode into her throat, and I held her head tightly against my crotch until the last spurt and entered there. As deep and rigid as my penis was she couldn't hope to breathe, but I held it in deeply place there, as far as it had ever penetrated before, waiting for her to even hint that she'd had enough and needed to breathe, but she was content to allow me to entirely suffocate her with my cock.

I watched with affection as her face even began to turn purple, increasingly faint without breath for over two minutes now, but still she refused to back off of my cock and even tried to force it impossibly deeper, against the pressure of my restraining hands until she began to wobble, and almost fainted in my hands and then I gently released her and allowed her to resume breathing, slapped her gently to help revive her, to shock her body a little into taking a desperately needed breath. After a gasp or two she kissed me before resuming her handless worship of my cock and balls.

"I love it when you flood my throat and remind me, every part of me, and I'm yours. You're always too gentle with me! Like Kathy and Anne, I can take more ... and I want more. Now, I want to feel both of your hands around my throat again while your cock is in my pussy! I want to feel you control me, my life entirely in your hands. I always feel your kindness, but sometimes I also need to feel your intensity, your urges, to be made your willing obedient bitch. To be used solely for your gratification, with no regrets or apologies. So, just fuck me!" She hissed, and I did. I didn't squeeze her throat as hard this time, but I did grasp it firmly as I fucked her. Hard and fairly brutally ... and entirely to her complete satisfaction.

Well, it did help me get to sleep afterwards! Especially since I also left her arms tied when we went to bed. This also made her all the more affectionate in the morning!

Amy wasn't all that complicated a person really. She was at her very happiest with a cock in her mouth, or sleeping or just resting cuddled up in my lap with my penis in her hands or next to her lips and cheek. At most, she sometime just yearned to be controlled, to be reminded that she was simply and completely mine. I was getting increasingly comfortable with this, but still I was often at a loss for keeping Anne-Marie's even more complicated needs under control, though I had an idea or two.

At her heart Anne had always longed for forbidden things, desiring most of all anything that had ever been denied to her. She had lived in a life of repressed fantasy, until the day that everything became permissible to her! Now that there were no limits to her indulgences, the issue had become 'how many' perversions and fetishes she could now freely indulge in, not 'which ones?'

I had a thought or two about this situation but decided that a quick 'guy meeting' to agree upon a common plan of action would be for the best so that we could be consistent in dealing with her.

"Anne-Marie's problem is that she just has too many erotic fantasies and wants to wallow and indulge in every single one of them, more or less simultaneously. She's a bit like Trixie, definitely slutty and very wanton, but without an evil mastermind in the shadows giving her the marching orders. She's just making it all up as she goes along, and frankly she has the attention span of a teenager when actually following through with most of them. She's a piss-slut one day, pain-slut the next, and gangbang slut the day after that. Fun, sure ... but the frenzy of it all is just making everyone nervous, including the rest of the women. She's going to need a little structure to her slave girl act if this is going to work out for everyone in the long term, or eventually she'll just get bored someday and find a nastier, crueler master who promises her more amusing and novel but brutal attentions. Here are my thoughts on correcting this..."

Anne did seem to love every conceivable fetish, but I'd been paying attention to her antics lately and had discovered what I suspected were a few core perversions that she took a bit more seriously and permanently than most that we could exploit.

First, at her very core, Anne-Marie was now very much an exhibitionist, and a shameless one at that. In the past she'd always dressed conservatively for her husband and then later whilst being a lonely and shy widow. For example, her swim suits had been strictly one-piece and fully covered her breasts and ass cheeks. Now, she never even wore a thong and thought nothing about even answering the door to strangers (like our constant flow of delivery truck drivers) in the nude. She'd sometimes even offer them blowjobs.

Certainly Anne loved the new freedom of being nude, but when she was feeling sexy or particularly horny, she loved to show it with lingerie. Invariably expensive ... and very see through ... except for the footwear. The shoe fetish had exploded upon her in a sudden savage storm relatively recently and like a tween-aged girl getting her very first cell phone, Anne was mesmerized by the fetish opportunities that wearing very, very high heels now offered. She had good sized feet and could take an extremely tall heel, but her current absolute favorites were a pair of ballet boots, the ones she'd worn to the mayoral election.

To compound the seriousness of her growing 'fuck me pump' collection, the main fact of significance was that she had bought her favorite pairs (the very highest heels that made her balance on her sheer tiptoes) had been purchased out of her own personal money. Since the discovery of the Secret Garden, she'd continued working her pharmacy job, but staying on now only two days a week now, part time. She was also proudly spending the balance of her personal checking account at serious fetish and erotic party clothing stores, of which Austin had a couple upscale ones. She'd done some shopping out of our big petty cash fund, but her favorite apparel items had all been self-purchased.

To go with the heels, lately her 'normal' household uniform, if she was feeling frisky, was high black heels, black hose and a garter belt, and a sheer black lace demi-bra that supported but still exposed most of her bare breasts. She was also still teasing me about when I'd complete this uniform with a slave's collar, a locking one please. I had some ideas about that too, but first things first. Her request to get her nipples and cunt lips pierced was going to have to wait awhile too.

If she was feeling really wild about exhibiting herself in public in the neighborhood, one of several black lace catsuits, or leather and PVC outfits that always completely exposed her breasts, and often her ass and cunt to full display as well, were her immediate outfits of preference. Not even Trixie had felt the need to completely exhibit herself in public in such a blatantly sexual manner!

Together, the guys and I decided that we'd encourage this clothing and footwear fetish by making it part of her official slave's uniform. Anne-Marie did have a lot of assigned duties outside of the house, but we also decided that our slave girl needed to learn patience, especially while bound up in restrictive positions ... and frequently from now on. Anne's personal porn collection on her laptop did have a lot of pure bondage photos, not to mention videos of bound slave girls receiving chastisement and a good hard fucking afterwards. We'd bound up Kathy (or rather Trixie) a good many times in the past, but this had been usually for punitive reasons of punishment. Now we decided that bondage, very regular and often severe or strict, would make an excellent part of her daily training. To truly teach her patience, obedience and submission!

As for Katherine, I wasn't sure these days what she did really want within the comfortable borders of her new sexual environment. Like Trixie, she still seemed to be game for anything and everything. She didn't pout and never hesitated obeying anyone's commands, or even polite suggestions. She was readapting to our household wonderfully and I didn't want to push her with demands, but it was clear that she now envied the position Amy held in my heart, to be my ever most obedient slave girl, without limits or boundaries to our love. Katherine was already a much more outgoing woman who no longer withheld any thoughts or concerns from her lovers, but still for the moment our personal intimate connection wasn't quite as tight as it had been in the early days of our relationship. We both wanted to return to that comfort zone, and I think like continental drift, we were slowly inching our way back to that happy place, but it was clear that for the present, Amy had offered far more of her very soul into my hands for safekeeping. Kathy had to resent this, deep inside, and clearly she was slightly troubled by this.

I know that she discussed this issue during her weekly therapy meetings with Mary. I'd asked her therapist for a bit of advice about improving this situation but she'd just slyly smiled and said that this issue would take care of itself soon enough, without my intervention.

Mary and her husband Andrew had already made arrangements to meet with us down at Lovett the weekend immediately after our preparation deadline was over. They had been originally making their own plans to move down to that town permanently and at one point most of their household items and patient records had already been packed and were waiting to be transferred. Then they changed their minds and it more or less seemed to us that they had decided to stay, but our therapist friends were keeping their last minute plans now held very firmly in reserve.

Now that everything was about to be over, I got the hint that they might be in the mood to play with us a bit, and they mentioned that their friends Allison and Myra wanted to treat all of the girls to a final luxury weekend in Houston, especially at a certain members only spa that catered to the hyper-rich and kinky. This fit in with our plans as well, and we agreed to make it a road trip ... I'd be picking up our vintage FUTURLINER from the military refurbishment contractors near San Antonio that same morning along the way, and our battling bus of the post-apocalyptic highways was going to get an epic shakedown cruise of rolling debauchery!

That night we held a household meeting and I unveiled my new tentative household rules to our slave girls. For the most part they weren't entirely original since the internet is lousy with every Master Tom, Dick or Harry's own rules for their own submissives, and I creatively borrowed most of mine. Most sets of Rules, like the original ones for the medieval religious orders, were too long, too restrictive and frankly too egotistical for our tastes. I was still getting used to this whole Dominant/submissive sort of relationship and Garry and even Lumpy were more inexperienced than I was. I decided to let this be a first stepping stone, sort of a basic declaration of our slaves' submission first, before sitting down to write a full constitution, or something like that.