Chapter 1 - Rescue in the Waste

 

The scout could hardly believe his luck. He glanced again back over his shoulder at the three riders following him across the bleak Waste to the stronghold, as if to reassure himself that they were not hallucinations from being too long out alone in the Waste.

All three of them wore travel-stained cloaks with the hoods up, but the hoods could disguise neither the perfect features nor the flawless complexions of the three blonde aristocratic females. The Master would be pleased indeed with this find. The scout again silently tried to estimate his probable bonus for bringing in these noblewomen.

The mother spoke. Her voice was melodious and her tones gracious and civilized. "I must thank you again and tell you how grateful my stepdaughters and myself are to you, sir. It was our good fortune that you came upon us when you did. Our food supplies were running low, and I did not know if we would have been able to reach a safe haven before nightfall."

The scout replied, "Running out of grub would have been the least of your problems ma'am, if the Pilgrims of the Dust found you before I did."

One of the girls shivered. "Are the stories they tell about the Pilgrims really true? Do they actually eat...?" She trailed off.

"If they catch you, they'll rape, kill an' eat you, in that order, if you're lucky," the scout agreed, nodding. "I've seen what's left of folks they caught. I'm a little surprised you got this far without them catchin' you. You're safe enough now, though." He pointed a finger of his rawhide glove. "There's Westgate Stronghold up ahead."

They were riding on a road that passed through the ruins of what had once been a bedroom suburb of long-dead Philadelphia. Beyond the burnt-out shells of identical split-level houses could be seen a brick wall. The wall had been built to keep trespassers out of the expensive private pre-war townhouse development of Westgate. Both Westgate and the neighboring split-level town of Harrowgate had come through the war unscathed but uninhabited, as the residents had been evacuated by the government in the final days before the mushroom clouds began to sprout over southeastern Pennsylvania.

When the first cautious parties had returned to scout the dead region, the leader of one war band, a former New York City cop named Doyle, had seen the potential of the empty luxury development as a stronghold and caravan stop , and brought his followers in to reclaim it.

Doyle had converted Westgate into a small walled city. The windows of the outer row of houses had been bricked up, and the walls built up and widened to accommodate a walkway for the garrison. There were four massive gates, each watched over squads of heavily armed soldiers from atop the wall, with more waiting outside around the entries.

A burly man with a thick black beard hailed the party. "I see you was in luck's way, Johnstone, findin' these three fine ladies out in the Waste." He leered at the women, smirking nastily. "I suppose the Master'll want to see 'em right away." He swung open the gate and waved them into the town.

The older woman hesitated. She sensed danger here, and realized that she might be walking into a trap if she entered this grim fortress with her stepdaughters. But as a practical matter, she could see no other choice. She had nowhere else to go, and she did not dare risk spending another night in the Waste at the mercy of roving bands of cannibalistic Pilgrims.

"Come along, girls," she said, in her most confident tone.

The heavy gate clanged shut behind them as soon as they passed through. Inside, more soldiers helped them dismount, and led their horses away. Three of the men joined the group as escorts, and the scout Johnstone led them briskly through the winding streets. Most of the buildings were modern townhouses like those along the outside wall. They passed through an open market, noisy with buying and selling, bustling with livestock and redolent with the delicious odors of food cooking on open fires.

A few minutes' walk brought them to a large rambling building which had served as the development's community center before the War. The Great Hall had been built to house Westgate's management offices, and was also the site of a community center, which had a Great Room serving as a combination gymnasium and theater. It was now the reception hall where the Master held court.

The large room was well illuminated by the sunshine streaming through overhead skylights overhead. A small crowd of soldiers and petitioners milled around, talking in muted voices There was a raised stage at one end of the hall, and on it, seated in a high-backed wooden chair reading some papers, was the Master of Westgate. He looked up when the three women and their escort entered the hall.

The Master had short black hair, black eyes and a face that might have been handsome, if the expression on it was not so grim. He was dressed in an unadorned black leather jacket, black shirt and black trousers. His only visible symbol of rank was a silver medallion, which hung on a silver chain around his neck. The stepmother shuddered inwardly when she looked at his face. One glance told her that this was a man who knew neither mercy nor pity for weakness.

"What have you found on your travels, Johnstone?" he asked. His baritone voice was uninflected and flat, and his words clipped. "More refugees from New Bristol, at a guess."

"Yes sir," replied the scout. "This is the Countess Althea herself, Bristol's wife, and these here are her stepdaughters, Kathryn and Samantha. Found 'em wandering around in the Waste, out near Fairless Hills."

"And a good thing for them you did too, I should think," returned the Master. "You will be well rewarded for your find, Johnstone. Go get yourself a drink, find a whore, and tell them to charge everything to me. I'll take care of your finder's fee tomorrow. I'm sure you won't have any complaints about the bonus."

The scout grinned, touched the brim of his hat, said, "Thank you, Master," and departed.

The Master turned his gaze to his three guests. "Why are you so shy?" he asked. "Put down your hoods so I can see your faces."

Althea and her stepdaughters lowered the hoods of their cloaks. The Master's eyes widened a little when he saw their features revealed.

The Countess had pale rose skin, high cheekbones, sky blue eyes, a strong, straight nose and full lips. Her hair was long and golden blonde. The twin girls' complexions were even paler, almost translucent. They had snub noses, huge gray eyes and platinum blonde hair drawn back in ponytails. The Master guessed that they were about eighteen years old. They glanced around nervously, like rabbits in a trap.

Althea did not like the look of the Master. Moreover, she had heard whispers about him and his monstrous appetites. One time she had overheard some scraps of a conversation between her husband and her brother about the Master of Westgate, but when she asked them to repeat them rumors, the Count had refused, saying that they were not fit for her ears. She decided it would be safest to put up a bold front.

"We have come here for temporary refuge, until my husband the Count of New Bristol sends for us," Althea said, her head held imperiously high, looking the Master straight in the eye. "If you treat us as befits our stations, you will be well rewarded, and earn the gratitude of the Count as well. This will be a token payment only." She reached inside her cloak, and pulled out a small leather purse which clinked as she held it out. "Molest us in any way, however, and you will face the wrath of my husband and the great army of New Bristol."

The Master did not directly reply to this speech, although his eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch.

"Billings," he said, addressing one of the soldiers standing behind the refugee noblewomen, "did you happen to see the mighty Count of New Bristol recently?"

"You know I did sir," the soldier replied. "At least I saw his head. It was stuck atop a pole the army of the King of Jersey was carryin' back to Princeton with them, after the sack of New Bristol."

"What are you saying?" shrieked the Countess. "It's a lie, it cannot be true!" She wept.

"And what did the great city of New Bristol look like after the King's army left?" the Master continued.

"Why, there wasn't nothing left of it," Billings stolidly replied. "It was all burnt out, and the only living souls from New Bristol I saw was some slaves the Jerseys had yoked up and were takin' away with 'em."

Upon hearing this, the girls ran to their stepmother, and the three women clutched each other and wailed in despair.

"So, Countess, I do not have any real hope of any reward from a man lacking a head, nor on the other hand, will I lose any sleep for fear of his wrath or his non-existent army," the Master told the weeping widow.

He stood up. "It you three who should fear for your own lives," he continued. He did not raise his voice, but the three women cringed under its lash. His tone was now as cold as ice and as threatening as a thunderstorm. "You come as homeless beggars into my city, and demand to be treated as 'befits your station'? And what high station do you think appropriate for one whose city is nothing but ashes, whose army breathes dirt and whose inhabitants are all dead or else slaves. You are in no position to instruct me, here in my own stronghold, noble bitch from a downfallen city. You are utterly dependent on my goodwill. It may be that I will grant you an opportunity to continue your useless life at little longer, if I choose to offer you refuge in this place. Look at me!" His words made the forlorn, weeping women start. They had been staring at the ground, and now they looked to see the Master's burning eyes.

"Everyone in this town works for his or her keep. I cannot afford to feed useless mouths here." The Master stared down at them, like a wolf considering its prey. "If you ask the boon of my protection, you must earn it, by working for your living, as does everyone else. If you are unwilling to do this, you will be stripped naked, thrown out the main gate, and left for the Pilgrims to take to their larder."

Althea gasped. "I had heard the master of Westgate was a heartless monster, but I did not believe that even you would cast helpless girls out into the night to be eaten by cannibals."

"I said nothing about your stepdaughters, bitch. They can make their own decisions." He looked at the girls, who shrank under his gaze. "Right now, the only question is whether you will be here to look after them. Now, will you swear yourself to be my servant for so long as I wish to have your service, or shall I order my men to eject you from this city?"

The Countess's graceful neck bowed in defeat. "I have no choice. You have the advantage of me, sir; you can do whatever you wish with me. I will agree to serve you. In return I ask only that you find mercy in your heart for these girls."

"This is not a negotiation," the Master replied harshly. "I will ask you again and for the last time: Will you serve me, unreservedly and without conditions, or not?"

A tear dripped from Althea's lip to the floor as she said in a barely audible voice, "Yes sir, I will serve you."

"And you two," the Master said, turning to look down at the frightened twins. "Do you both agree to serve me as well?"

They looked at their stepmother for guidance. She hesitated, and then nodded her head slowly.

"Yes, we agree," the girls chorused.

"Then that's settled," the Master said. "Now, Countess Althea lately of New Bristol, my first command is that you strip down, so that we all can see your noble tits and ass."

Althea had half-expected some order of this sort, but the suddenness and crudeness of it shocked her into an angry response. "How dare you give me such an outrageous order?" She shouted. "I agreed to be a servant, not to..."

Her speech was cut short, as one of the soldiers who had escorted the women in from the main gate, responded to a gesture by the Master. He seized the Countess from behind, and crammed a wad of cloth into her mouth, stifling her. Before she could react to this indignity, she found that her wrists had been tied together behind her back. An instant later, a band of tape was slapped over her mouth, keeping her from expelling the wad of cloth. Then she was dragged forward to the foot of the stage, and thrown face-down over a metal folding chair. The twins, who had been seized by other soldiers while their stepmother was being gagged and bound, could only look on helplessly.

The Master came down from the stage to stand over the writhing Althea.

"Bring me a paddle," he ordered, speaking to someone invisible to Althea from her head-down position. She heard the sound of feet running on the wooden floor, and then heard the Master say, "Thank you."

He planted the sole of his boot on the small of Althea's back, then lifted the rope tied around her wrists, until the Countess felt as if her shoulders were about to be dislocated. She tried to scream, to ask him to stop, to release her, but she could produce only meaningless muffled noises: "Ehhh! Urrrr!"

The Master had a specific reason for pulling on the rope. The pressure on her arms and shoulders forced the Countess to arch her back, and thus raise her buttocks into an ideal position for punishment. "You are off to a poor start as a servant," he said, and swung the paddle down to smack her helpless rear end.

The paddle had been carved from the heart of an oak tree, and was an inch thick. It was much like other paddles that have been applied to the bottoms of naughty schoolchildren for generations, and was capable of producing a painfully rear end, but not of causing any permanent damage.

Countess Althea was from the high nobility, and had consequently never been so much as spanked as a child, nor had any experience whatsoever in being physically corrected. To her, each blow of the wooden paddle felt as if fire was being applied to her bottomcheeks. The Master seemed to know exactly how long the pain of a blow from the paddle lingered; at the moment the throbbing began to fade, he would strike again. The paddling went on for ten minutes, although to Althea it seemed to last half a lifetime.

When he was satisfied with the correction, the Master paused, paddle upraised. "Are you ready to obey me yet, Countess Bitch?" He asked.

She nodded, dislodging tears to fall and splash on the ground.

"Then listen very carefully to my instructions," he said. "As soon as I take the gag out, you will apologize for your insolence and disobedience, and thank me for correcting you. After that, you will follow my orders, and strip naked. Do you understand?"

The Countess nodded again.

The Master removed his boot from Althea's back, seized a handful of her golden hair and pulled her to her feet. He ripped away the tape, took the sodden cloth from her mouth, untied her hands and stood back, staring down menacingly at her, the paddle still in his hand.

"I ...I am s-sorry that I was dis- disobedient," the chastised noblewoman stuttered, barely able to force herself to speak the humiliating words. "Please forgive me, sir."

"Go on," growled the Master.

"Er... thank you...f-for correcting me," she said, then lowered her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept.

"Now, will you obey me?" The Master asked, in a dangerously calm voice.

"Yes, yes, right away," Althea answered, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She removed this garment, then slid her riding breeches down over her boots and pulled that over her boots. After that she hesitated, trembling, clad only in her underclothes and riding boots.

"What are you waiting for?" the Master growled. "Get on with it,"

"My apologies, sir," she said, fumbling with her brassiere, "but I have never been seen naked by any man but my husband before." She unhooked the bra, and dropped it to the ground, then slipped her thumbs under the elastic waist of her panties, and with obvious reluctance, very slowly slid them down to her ankles and stepped out of them. When she finished, she stood in a half-crouch, pathetically covering herself with one hand over her breasts and the other guarding her genitals.

"You will stand properly," snapped the Master. "Place both hands behind your head, and stand straight, with your shoulders back and your feet apart."

The despairing Althea complied. The position demanded by the Master displayed her magnificent body to its full advantage. Her perfectly formed breasts with their delicate coral nipples now jutted at an improbable angle from her chest, and made it clear that the brassiere had been quite unnecessary. Her waist was as slim as that of a teenager. The lips of her sex were slightly parted, undisguised by the few golden strands of curling hair on her mound. Her buttocks were round and firm, her legs long and smoothly muscled. No one in the hall had ever before seen such a beautiful woman. An awed silence fell in tribute to her physical perfection.

The Master broke the spell. "Turn around, slowly," he ordered. Her movements were as graceful as her body was beautiful. The Master's lips curled a little at the corners in what might have been a smile. He was well pleased by how easily a simple paddling had brought this proud blueblood to heel.

"Now kneel down there, and remain silent." He pointed to a place on the floor. "The proper position for a slave to kneel is back on your haunches, knees spread, chest out and hands holding your ankles. Remember it."

Althea obeyed without protest. She could not imagine a more humiliating position, nor a more vulnerable one, if the Master chose to strike her again. The paddling had made a profound impression on the Countess. She was now prepared to follow commands that would have been unthinkable only a few minutes before, to avoid being paddled again. She assumed the obscene pose and waited for the Master's next order.

"Now you two, tell me your names again," the Master said, turning to face the trembling twins.

"I am Kathryn, Master," said one, and the other said simply "Samantha, sir."

"Strip down like the Countess, Kathryn and Samantha, and be quick about it," said the Master.

Althea stirred. "Please sir, they are only..." she began hesitantly in a low voice, only a little louder than a whisper.

The Master turned on her. "If you say another word, I will give you a whipping that will make that paddling seem like a birthday present. After that, you will watch me give your whelps the same treatment."

The Countess subsided, averting her eyes away from her stepdaughters' distress.

"Now," said the Master returning his attention to the girls.

The girls stripped nervously, pulling their garments off with jerky movements. When they finished, they took up the "proper" position without further any directions from the Master. Each wore a gold chain around her neck from which depended an ornate letter made of precious metal and inlaid with glittering stones. Katherine's was a yellow gold "K" inlaid with diamonds, while Samantha wore a platinum "S" set with emeralds.

"At least those necklaces will let me tell you apart," said the Master. "I was considering having your initials tattooed on your foreheads."

The Master approached the girls. When his face came close to Kathryn's, she shut her eyes and turned her head to the side. But when he did the same with Samantha, the nude girl met his gaze back boldly, even provocatively.

The girls were identical twins, eighteen years and a few months old, daughters of the Count of New Bristol's first wife, who was long deceased. Although they were not related to Althea by blood, they were similar to their stepmother in some ways, the most important of which was their beauty.

Their breasts were already larger than those of the Countess, but they were no less firm. Their nipples were a bit longer, and a virginal pink, rather than brown like Althea's. Their skin were almost transparent; the Master could see the blue lines of veins where they rose near the surface of their breasts and thighs. Their hair, caught up in long pony tails, was even blonder than their stepmother's; verging on platinum. Their buttocks and legs were more muscular than the Countess's, although no less shapely, and the Master speculated that they could probably tolerate more whip than she. In short, both Kathryn and Samantha would have made excellent models for an artist working on the theme of Goddess of Youth.

After he had looked his fill, the Master motioned to his men. "Have them cleaned up and prepared for their duties," he ordered. The soldiers bound the hands of the three nude women, and led them away.