Chapter 1

The Lady Danielle stared at her father and mother in some dismay.

“But why does he want Carl and me here too?” she asked plaintively although with more than a hint of worry in her young voice.

The Earl of Bentleigh returned her stare with just as much dismay tinged with a very real sympathy. He was pretty sure why the bank’s bailiff had insisted the twins be at the meeting…

The depression of 2030 had caught most people by surprise, not least John Westcroft, eleventh earl of Bentleigh. Until the crash, he had been a very wealthy man – still was, at least theoretically. Depressions, however, have a habit of destroying asset-rich but cash-poor people and the banks, ruthless as ever, had pounced. They had been unable to touch Bentleigh itself as it was entailed, but when his note had not been paid, their agent had descended on him, informed him they would be taking everything else and that they would put a tenant into Bentleigh. He would be moved to one of the home farms which he would have to work like any other tenant farmer.

He knew that while on paper, at least before the crash, he had been almost a billionaire, at today’s prices the sale of his stocks and shares and any non-entailed real estate would bring in almost nothing.

But as he stared at his so handsome son and truly beautiful daughter, he had a horrible sinking feeling in his gut that they were going to be the real targets today.

Slavery as an institution had been reinstated some ten years earlier in an attempt to combat an out-of-control crime rate and the continuation of a religious-based terror campaign that had started during the last century.

Persons convicted of major crimes faced a life of slavery equally as bad as anything the Romans or the Ottoman Turks perpetrated on their slaves. Once created a slave-for-life, a person ceased to have any rights at all. He or she was now a thing, an object, a possession which could be used (and abused) at the whim of his owner.

Lesser crimes brought fixed terms of slavery and a degree of security for the slave but they still faced a hard life if they were unlucky enough to be bought by a sadist.

The earl knew all of this and he also knew that while the values of stocks and shares had plummeted at the crash, there was one item which had kept its value and even increased.

Slaves were now at a premium, especially young and handsome or beautiful men and women. Those with the cash, and there were many who had read the signs and converted their holdings so that they could make a killing when the fateful day arrived, now bought up (for a song) good properties in anticipation of better times ahead. They also began to indulge in the acquisition of slaves.

It is doubtful if there isn’t a man or woman alive who has not hankered to own another human being. To use her (or him) at whim and to delight in subjugating their minds and bodies. Few would admit it, of course, but the idea is there, lurking in the back of the mind in most people. Yes, of course there are some, many in fact, who crave to be a slave. To be owned and abused by a cruel master or mistress, but far more people desire to be the owner.

Forcing a servant to strip naked and to display her body totally nude is beyond the pale, but that isn’t the case with a slave. You can even keep them naked all the time if you choose, even make them go out naked into the snow, perhaps pulling a light gig while you sit up in its seat, well rugged up and watch as the slave or slaves struggle to pull you along the snow-covered roadway.

And then there is the punishment aspect. Servants may have their pay docked for a misdemeanour but that is about the limit. Thrashing a servant went out early in the Twentieth Century, but slaves are a different matter altogether. Caning a comely young slave wench across her shapely bottom as she bends to touch her toes is quite the thing for an up-and-coming young master these days and there are those who delight in doing the same to the muscular buttocks of a handsome young male.

The earl was well aware of all this, even if his wife and children were not. He knew the bank would realise very little from the forced sale of his realisable assets while the twins, if they consented of course, would cover the debt very easily.

Not that he had any intention of allowing this to happen. He would rather be a pauper than see his only children reduced to slavery. He just hoped they wouldn’t do anything foolish of their own accord. This was his worry.

They were wonderful children; always had been. A joy to both their parents. They were bright at school and had inherited good physical genes from their sporting parents. Both had excelled at all sports at school: Carl had been captain of the First Eleven and swimming teams and had also excelled as a gymnast while Dani had been an outstanding track and field star and was a contender for the English Olympic tennis team.

They were also exceedingly good looking. Both were blond with fine silvery hair that wafted everywhere as they moved, cornflower-blue eyes and skin that was pure peaches and cream. Neither was overly muscular but their muscle tone was so good it left the beholder aching to stroke their fine skin.

Carl could have been a matinee idol and his sister a top model if they chose. As it was, they had decided to stay at home and help their parents run the vast estate. Now, as John stared at the two of them while they waited for the bailiff to arrive, he feared the worst.

Ben Shawcroft was not a nice man, but then few in his profession were. His title was bailiff and he certainly acted in that capacity for his employer. Banks didn’t like to touch the dirtier side of their business and hired people like Shawcroft to do it for them. Yes, he was trained to assess a debtor’s real and personal assets but in this new slave age, he was more concerned with the value of human flesh.

As he approached the huge, wrought-iron gates of Bentleigh, he mused over the twins. Of course he had researched the earl’s financial and family situation and was well aware of the entailment and that unless he had a personal grudge against the man, there was little point in stripping him of his (at the moment) near worthless assets. At best they might realise a hundred thousand pounds and that was being optimistic.

The twins, though, were another thing. He had acquired photos of them in sporting gear and had instantly appreciated that as like twins, they were worth a fortune. Far more than the earl’s debt. He doubted not that the man would try to dissuade them from offering themselves in lieu of bankrupting their father, but he was wily and thought he might be able to persuade them to sign on the dotted line notwithstanding their parents’ objections.

And so it proved.

He first addressed them all together. “You are aware, Earl Bentleigh, that I can take everything you own except this estate. We know it is not self-sustaining at the best of times but right now, without your other assets, it would be a millstone around your neck…

“If I was to strip you bare, you would go under in a few months or even less.”

“Yes, Mr Shawcroft, I am well aware of it,” the earl said quietly, waiting for the bombshell to drop.

“Of course there is another alternative…”

“Not the twins!”

“Hear me out, please. Yes, of course it would mean slavery for them, but just think, in a few years, when this depression is over, you could buy them back. Indeed, we could place a caveat on their title to allow you to do so at any time of your choosing – as long as you had the cash to consummate the sale, of course.”

The twins had sat silent through this little exchange but their mother had not. “No, John, you cannot allow it. Please!”

“I’m afraid it is not up to him, Countess. This decision can only be made by the twins themselves. They are now eighteen and perfectly able to decide for themselves.”

He turned to the two youngsters. “You do see, don’t you, that by offering your bodies on the block, you will save this estate and your father from any further charges against it. The debt will be free and I suspect there will actually be some cash left over to keep your mother and father in food and clothing for the duration of the depression.”

They had turned white as the realisation of what he had been saying had sunk in but now, inflamed with the idea of saving their parents from certain ruin, they spoke up, as so often, in unison: “We will do it – as long as that caveat you mentioned is inserted in the bill of sale so that Father may buy us back when better times prevail.”

“Well said, young master. Yes, such caveats are not uncommon and are binding on subsequent sales so you may have no fear of it being forgotten at some later date.”

“There is another thing, though,” Danielle said, “we want to be together through all of this. Can such a clause also be inserted?”

“Of course,” the bailiff soothed. “No problem…”

Their parents tried to intervene, of course, coming up with all the expected pleas: ‘keep the family together’; ‘we’ll all see this through to the end’; ‘once transformed into slaves and we will lose you…’ But the twins were now determined. They saw it as their role to save Bentleigh and their parents from the shame the bailiff had painted. To see him struggling as a tenant farmer alongside his own people would be dreadful. Not that the earl or his children were snobs, far from it. They got on very well with their ‘people’, as they called them. But he had had no training as a farmer and they all knew it.

Shawcroft was a cold and a ruthless man but he had got what he came for. Of course it was quite within his rights to strip them right now, in front of their parents then collar and chain them for the trip to his house but he didn’t. He left them with the clothes they were wearing – for now.

He did collar them, of course. All slaves wore an identifying collar by law and these contained a tiny chip which could be read by any computer attuned to it. It served both as an identity badge and locator. Once locked in place the collar could not be removed except by its key-holder. Any attempt to force its intricate lock would trigger a horrible shock on both sides of the neck. Once experienced, this was very seldom, if ever repeated.

Of course he was aching to strip them. To watch their shame as he forced them to bare their beautiful bodies to his gaze and then, best of all, make them stand in the standard slave pose: legs one metre apart, hands clasped tightly behind the neck with elbows pulled right back and eyes staring straight ahead – never – not ever allowed to stray to look at him or what he was doing. In this pose, slaves were in a perfect position for ‘fingering’. The so indecent and shaming inspection of their bodies – every single part of them, including and especially, their genitals and anus, areas that had hitherto been private and sacrosanct.

It wasn’t really that he cared for their sensibilities or those of their parents, either. He well knew that a pleasure deferred is one enhanced and in this case, almost immeasurably.

Ben Shawcroft ran his own slave house. Here, on behalf of the bank or any other client, he trained new slaves in the basics of slave etiquette and also put them through a gruelling physical development course designed to enhance their already fine bodies. He never bothered with substandard candidates for slavery; they just weren’t worth the bother, but as well, he delighted in the bodies of perfect young male and female slaves and turning good subjects into paragons of the human physique was also his hobby. His employers gave him free rein. His results were outstanding. A quick sale might bring in a tidy sum but after a few weeks of his training, the new slaves were both docile, obedient and their bodies as good as any Greek statue of old. He was sometimes able to double the price offered for them.

He led them out of the huge house now, admonishing their parents not to follow. “You will not wish to see them caged, earl and countess. Far better to say your goodbyes here.”

They believed him. Ann Westcroft, Countess of Bentleigh clung to her daughter and then her son but Ben Shawcroft said it was time to go. The twins followed him meekly enough out through the great hall and the massive front doors to his truck. It, like all vehicles these days, had no wheels and used the new antigrav technology to keep it up off the ground. In every other respect, though, it looked like an old flat-topped utility truck with twin rows of small cages lined along its length.

These were small: only a half metre wide, one high, and one and a half deep. He opened the first one on the left side and ordered Carl to back up to it, raise one leg and insert it into the cage, then ease the rest of his body into it so that he was crouched on all fours – just like a dog.

The young aristocrat gulped but he didn’t demur. He knew he and Dani had burned their bridges when they had signed the Bills of Sale for their bodies and in any case, this was quite standard as a means of transporting mere slaves. Once he was inside, it was Dani’s turn. Unbeknown to them, their mother and father were watching from a window near the front doors.

“Oh John, what have we done?” the countess wailed.

“We have done nothing, my love. We tried to dissuade them but they were adamant. Let’s not cheapen their sacrifice by moaning over something we can’t change. I will say, though, that if their bodies bring in a surplus, we are going to keep it as the start of a nest egg to eventually buy them back. We will buy nothing for ourselves; live on the barest minimum and we will ask our tenants to forego for the moment any improvements they might have been going to ask for. I know they will understand.”

“Of course they will. Our people are wonderful. I know they will stand by us.”