Britain 2028: Part One

 It was 5pm almost an hour to go before she arrived and to say that Reginald Pickering was excited would be an understatement. The ‘she’ in question was Laura, Reg’s assigned ‘volunteer’ from the National Domestic Assistance Scheme. Reg was a great supporter of the scheme, as he was of the regime in general, and had signed up for it as soon as enrolments began. The idea was simple. Older gentlemen living alone would be assigned a young female helper to assist with various tasks around the home. He would provide her board and lodgings. The girl, in turn, would acquire valuable skills which would make her an ideal candidate for marriage. That at least was the official version. The reality was that the scheme was frequently abused and, while the government did not condone this, it certainly turned a blind eye to it. Critics suspected malevolent intent. In the last few years the regime’s opposition to feminism had become more extreme to the point of open misogyny. The number of restrictions on females increased by the day. They lost the right to vote or run for public office early on. The horrible experience of Theresa May as Prime Minister had dulled anyone’s appetite for woman in public office. Education finished for women at high school although there were finishing schools available to them which taught the traditional feminine arts. There was not much need for higher education especially not in dangerous subjects such as philosophy or cultural studies which were well-known breeding grounds for subversives. Most areas of employment were closed to them, particularly any which involved a supervisory or managerial role. Married women were forbidden to work altogether and for unmarried females the only jobs open to them were either incredibly menial or involved them using their attractions in some way or other. Given how rare job opportunities an attractive female who landed one could virtually guarantee that she would be a target for ruthless and exploitative managers and she would have no legal recourse. One of the earliest acts of the regime was to abolish the labyrinthine sexual harassment legislation and the simplify the laws around sexual assault to cover only the most egregious examples. These in turn were considered property offences against either the girl’s father or her husband. This in effect meant that any woman in a public place without a male companion was basically fair game. For that reason many woman actually came to appreciate the modesty code.

The government actually boasted at its success in reducing sex crimes though critics claimed that this was a combination of legal gerrymandering and the introduction of Social Counselors, the state’s euphemism for a vast system of state sanctioned sex work. No girl wanted to end up as a Social Counselor. The lucky ones had a short shelf life as a Level One Social Counselor servicing those connected to the regime and visiting foreign dignitaries before their inevitable descent down the ranks, ending up in the public recreation facilities. Pretty girls were the most vulnerable.

Laura was undoubtedly one of those so what were the options form someone like her whose family lacked money or connections? She could put her name down for the marriage lottery but this involved a long wait. Laura had done so but in the meantime she had to find something to occupy her. Jobs were few and far between and an attractive young girl walking the streets could find herself in the hands of the Inspectorate and if she was unable to give an account of herself she would quickly find herself charged with delinquency and sent to a Re-Orientation Centre followed by a career in Social Counseling. It goes without saying that ROCs were not pleasant places. Many remembered the sight of the open van taking off shaven headed women.  Initially these were political opponents of the regime but over time as the opposition tailed off they were used against any young woman deemed a suitable target for social counselling. The NDAS seemed like a godsend when it was announced. Laura’s family signed her up for it, although she was rather reluctant.

Reg was delighted when he received the notification. It told him that he had satisfied the financial and character requirements to host a volunteer. He clicked on the link and was even more delighted at the image of the pretty young thing they were sending him. She couldn’t be far beyond her eighteenth birthday (18 being the official minimum age for the scheme). She was wearing the drab official outfit of a knee-length grey skirt, white blouse and cardigan with tan tights and pumps but even so he could discern the contours of her ripe young body. Once he got her that uniform would be coming right off anyway and he had a range of nice outfits for his young charge. He also had accrued a rather impressive set of implements for enforcing the discipline that his role required. His job was to teach her how to be a dutiful and subservient female companion and he intended on taking his task very seriously indeed. Were it not for some of the things he planned to do to her, she could almost be his daughter.

Who then was Reg? He was a slightly corpulent red faced white haired man in his early 60s, the sort of drained looking character one might see frequenting bars in Bangkok or Bali on the lookout for female company and, in truth Reg had spent a fair bit of time in such places during the bad old days, as he liked to call them. The bad old days referred to the time leading up to the regime’s coming to power and in particular those last few years after Brexit. In the chaos that followed Brexit the country had nearly collapsed into civil war. Following this, an extreme left wing government had come to power run by socialists, eco-warriors and worst of all feminists which managed to combine economic ineptitude with humourless intolerance. Men like Reg lived in terror of being publicly shamed for even looking at nice young woman’s bottom let alone anything more forward. Not that Reg would have had the courage. The young females dressed and behaved as badly as they liked, without fear of consequences, and openly scorned men who didn’t meet their exacting standards. The one time had got up the courage to talk to a nice looking young woman she had taken a photograph of him on her mobile phone and told him that she planned to put it on a ‘Creep Alert’ forum on the internet. No doubt about it, it was a lonely and frustrating time for men like Reg, especially as prostitution had been outlawed and the internet was heavily censored. There was even talk of banning men from travelling overseas to destinations where prostitution was tolerated.

No wonder then that Reg and others like him breathed a sigh of relief when one evening he turned on the TV to watch the news. He wasn't that interested in current affairs. Wanking off to the sight of the pretty newsreader was one of his few remaining pleasures.  Despite being very attractive, she was an ardent feminist. In fact she was one of the regime's earliest targets. Reg would often get very excited imaging her in the detention centre having her lovely long brown hair shaven off before being taken to the ROC for re-orientation and a career in Social Counseling. He would have loved to know where she was working so he could pay her a visit although he suspected she would be in a public rec centre now, a shadow of her former confidently beautiful self.

Settling himself down in his armchair got ready to picture himself cumming over her arrogant face. But instead of his favourite newsreader there was a military officer who, against a background of drums and bagpipe music, announced that the government had been overthrown, parliament suspended and a committee of public safety put in place made up of military advisers, businessmen and a few technical specialists. Reg listened as the general announced the regime’s stability program in his clipped upper class English voice but his ears perked up particularly at the regime’s intention to restore traditional values as far as the nation’s females were concerned. He wondered what that might mean. He was a big fan of traditional values and he hoped that they meant what they said.

There were protests, needless to say, but those which the government did not manage to repress completely quickly collapsed under the own internal divisions. Besides, there was a great deal of popular support for the government, especially when the female employment ordinances and the re-introduction of national military service for young men led to unemployment disappearing overnight. The UK negotiated a trade pact with fascist Brazil and the United States (now led by Donald Trump Jr) and the sanctions that had been imposed by the EU itself now dominated by extreme nationalist governments were lifted.

Life was rosy for most people though it might not have seemed so to Laura as she nervously bade farewell to her parents and got in the official vehicle that was to take her to her assignment.

Laura had just turned eighteen so she was old enough to remember life before the regime when woman had real power and opportunity, where they could wear what they like and do what they liked and where any man who attempted to treat them like some kind of object could expect to be severely punished. How things had changed. Now, as she drove to her assignment the driver seemed almost to be talking to himself rather than to her as he regaled her on the details of what she could expect.

“They say it’s just a little light housework and everything but they have to say that. Chances are you will wind up with some dirty old bastard. You’ll be on your back quite a bit, I don’t doubt, when you are not on your front that is.  Even the really old ones somehow manage to summon up the energy to do that when they get their hands on a pretty young thing like you. Can’t blame them mind. I bet you’re really quite something in the sack. Yeah, if you were assigned to me, I’d be on you day and night. It’s a shame we don’t have much time. It’d be nice to pull in somewhere a little private and get you started off properly. What do you say, would you like that?”

Laura’s face was bright red with embarrassment. Like most young women these days she was still a virgin and the government’s education system encouraged modesty where sexual matters were concerned. Sex was to ensure children for the future and to relieve men’s stress. It was not something females were expected to take much pleasure in or even think about.

“Yeah, shame really.” his voice drifted off wistfully. He was eyeing her up intently in the rear-view mirror. He was an ordinary looking guy in his early twenties, not really the sort that Laura found particularly appealing, not that girls these days got much choice in the matter, the marriage lottery sorted all that out- though it seemed to work unerringly in favour of those connected to the regime. Even in the past where she might have had a choice the thought of pulling in somewhere private and letting him screw her would not have been particularly appealing. She noticed the obvious excitement in his eyes as he talked and a panicky sensation overtook her but he continued driving.

“There’ll be discipline too, of course, lots of it. The government is very keen on that. They’re right too. Good looking young girls need lots of discipline to keep them from going off the rails.”

Laura almost laughed out loud at this. The opportunities for young women to go off the very narrow rails the regime enforced were rather limited but any mirth was cut across by the sinister monologue coming from the driver.

“Most of the gentlemen are very keen on discipline too. Some of them just want to screw but a lot of them are keen on spanking and…. other things.” He laughed sardonically as he said this, placing a sinister emphasis on the final phrase. Laura had a pretty good idea of what the ‘other things’ might be and she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t enjoy them.

“I shouldn’t doubt that your gentlemen will want to get those regulation knickers down pretty much as soon you get there, whether for a spanking or for a spot of the other” more laughter.

“Can’t blame him though. If it were me I would want you bending over for a taste of the cane on that big round arse of yours straight away. A caning is very good for a girl, you see, helps keep her obedient and that is what this is all about at the end of the day: obedience.”

The journey seemed to take forever and the driver was making her feel more and more uncomfortable. She wanted it to end but also feared what to expect upon arrival.

The car pulled up the gravel driveway of an ordinary looking suburban house. It was a little drab and the garden needed a bit of attention. It was pretty obvious that the occupant was an older man living alone.

He helped to carry her small suitcase to the front door. As he rang the bell her allowed himself a brief grab of her bottom. “Very well then my dear, here we are. It was very nice to meet you and who knows, if I get lucky on the lottery, we might meet again.

Laura sincerely hoped not.

The front door opened.

“Unprepossessing” was the first word that came to mind when Laura first laid eyes on Reginald Pickering (“Mr Pickering” or “Sir” as he would be to her from now). Nothing about him was particularly outstanding. He was of average height, a little overweight but not unusually so for a man of his age and his attire was drab. His untidy wisps of hair were mostly white. She tried to form a picture of him in her mind of him, when he was a younger man and quickly decided he would not have been someone she would given a second glance.

“Lovely, quite lovely” Reg thought to himself “bloody hell, Reggie old boy, we have lucked out with this one.” His dick was already starting to thicken as he pictured all the things he planned to do to her.“Best not get carried away” he thought again.

Neither Reg nor Laura paid much attention to the younger man as he droned on with the official details and various forms were signed. Reg was desperate for the man to leave; Laura was torn between her dislike for him and the fear of being left alone with this creepy old man.

Both paid attention, however, when the man handed Reg a little silver packet. It contained mostly pink pills and a row of white ones. The days of the week were marked on the packet.

“Better safe than sorry ey?” the driver said “make sure she takes one at the same time of day each day. If it becomes too much of a hassle we can always arrange for an implant, assuming that you wish to keep her for any length of time.”

The pills might as well have been narcotics. Contraceptives were forbidden to anyone except Social Counselors. Married women were expected to produce “future citizens and soldiers” and unmarried women were expected to refrain from sexual intercourse altogether. Any woman found with them in her possession unless she could produce a Social Counseling credential was destined for the ROC. 

It was clear to both Laura and Reg that the regime had a pretty clear idea of what took place under the auspices of the NDAS.

“Quite” Reg replied putting the pills in his jacket pocket “thank you.”

To his relief, the man now finished his tea.

“Well you obviously have quite a lot to be getting on with, so I will say my goodbyes”

Laura stood impassively in the living room, still wearing her overcoat. She had not been given permission to sit. She could make out the sound of the two men chatting amiably and of their laughter. She had no doubt about the topic of their conversation. Then she heard the sounds of Reg’s footsteps and the floorboard creaking under his weight.

The living room door opened.

“Right then, my girl, get that coat off, let’s have a proper look at you.”