Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

A Brief Foreword: I (AlinaX) had an odd idea for a post-apocalyptic Earth bouncing around in my head, but I couldn’t quite work out how to turn it into an interesting story. I invited Bazzle to take a look, and very soon the ideas were bouncing back and forth between us. This has proved to be an exciting and fertile collaboration, and there are lots of ideas left to feed into an eventual sequel.

Day 1: Greeting

“Ladies. Gentlemen. How lovely to see so many of you.”

Duchess Melissa, standing on a makeshift stage outside Buxton’s Grand Pavilion, wore a white shirt decorated with green leaves, and a blue skirt that failed to reach the tops of her black, fishnet stockings. Scarlet ribbons were woven into the clips that fastened the stockings to an unseen garter belt, and her shoes, blue like her skirt, were of course the high, platform stilettos much loved by duchesses. Her long, vividly red hair was ironed straight in places, and fell in tumbling ringlets elsewhere, and she could have been my age, or my mother’s, or even my grandmother’s. She looked young, but wielded the authority of age.

“To my left here,” she said, indicating the pink-haired figure to her left, “is Duchess Nerine, and here to my right is Duchess Bethany.” Bethany flicked her dark hair back and waved. She wore a scarlet jacket over a black silk dress, fingernails sharp and polished black. Nerine, in cheerful contrast, wore a pale blue summer dress with a white daisy pattern. In real life, I had only ever seen duchesses from a safe distance. To be facing these three immaculate beauties, to have them sitting in judgement over me, was deeply intimidating.

Of the three, Duchess Melissa was the only one who I thought I recognised. I’d no doubt seen her on television at some point. She was clearly the one in charge too. “Today is the first day of Testing. The first of five, hopefully, for those of you who complete the full course.”

There were over two hundred of us standing at attention. An even mix of men and women, all of us adults for less than a week. I was wearing my new silk dress, violet and yellow, cut to just above the knees; a gift from my father for my eighteenth birthday and made by Ida Green herself. My shoes were my mother’s, the same shoes she wore all those years ago for her Testing: platform stilettos with black leather straps. I felt taller than I’d ever felt before, but of course I was surrounded by women and men all perched on equally impractical heels.

I had been giggling all through breakfast at the sight of men in skirts and heels. It seemed an absurd requirement for the Testing, especially since I had never seen a male duchess – or any adult man wearing heels and skirt, for that matter. To force them to dress like women for the Testing could be only, I was sure, to humiliate them.

Duchess Melissa strolled back and forth, gliding effortlessly. She was close enough for the amber of her reptilian eyes to be seen clearly. “It’s a warm, sunny day,” she said. (There was a touch of sibilance to her words – “It’ss a warm, ssunny day” – that reminded me of Princess Caroline on the television.) “You will all be provided with water and snacks, and a map showing which areas of the town you are allowed to explore. Do not leave the marked areas.”

There was a rustling of chiffon like a shiver of panic as we all understood our skill at walking in heels was about to be tested. Duchess Melissa put a finger to her lips, asking for quiet. “We have a treasure hunt for you.” She held up a small white disc with a black something marked on it. “There are a thousand of these scattered about the town for you to find. We meet back here at the Pavilion at six, and you can show my sisters and I what you have found.”

“Sounds easy enough,” my cousin Isabel said five minutes later as she rummaged through the backpack and fished out the map. We’d each been issued with a small grey backpack. It was heavy with a large water bottle, but I guessed that as the sun climbed higher into a blue sky with only a few tentative wisps of cloud, we’d soon be grateful for the liquid refreshment. There were sandwiches too; and, importantly, the map.

“Depends how well hidden they are,” I pointed out. “And are we supposed to find all of them, or is one each enough? Maybe those who have the most discs get to pass the Test. Although that seems a bit simple.”

“At least we have the advantage,” Isabel said, tapping her heels together and grinning. “Let’s go, Julia.” As I glanced around at the men, who almost all were taking slow, cautious, tottering steps, I had to laugh. I was twelve when my mother bought me my first pair of heels to practise with. Isabel got her first pair at ten. Men, if they practised at all, left it until the day before the Testing.

According to the map, we had the whole of the Pavilion Gardens, a large semi-wilderness with streams and a small lake. We had the area all around the Old Hall to explore too. There escort bursa were so many narrow paths that we could follow away from the gardens. One that we explored took us along an old, cracked, tarmac road between crumbling houses and up to a hilltop with a grand view of the valley – and a rather ominous entrance to some ancient, deep cavern that we were not permitted to enter.

It was, in truth, a lovely day for a walk, but I’m sure we would have enjoyed it a whole lot more if we weren’t in heels. Even my mum’s expertly crafted shoes were soon rubbing against my feet that were not used to such exercise. What was worse was that the paths were not in good condition, being mostly hard earth laced with tricky roots and troublesome stones – and it was only by leaving these paths that we could find the treasures we were seeking. The little white discs weren’t exactly hidden, but they did need to be searched for. Between the growing warmth of the day and the exertion of walking and hunting through undergrowth, we both soon had a sheen of sweat and a frequent need to halt for a rest and a drink.

One thing I was becoming increasingly conscious of was that there were no houses or buildings within the area permitted for the treasure hunt. Even the Pavilion was out of bounds. “I’m beginning to wish I went to the loo before rushing out here,” I said. I’d gone before breakfast, but not since.

Isabel chuckled. “We’ll just have to hold it in, I guess.”

Maybe I could. It wasn’t yet urgent, but there was a long day ahead of us. “Until when?”

We came across the trunk of a fallen tree that provided a convenient seat, and we sipped water as we peered between the trees. A quartet of women here, a pair of men there, several by themselves, all making slow progress in their heels and wearing expensive dresses that would have looked spectacular at a dance… but really didn’t suit such a countryside treasure hunt. My own dress had been snagged by a number of mischievous brambles during the morning so far, and I was sure my parents would criticise me for not being more careful.

From somewhere close we heard giggling. “Oh, look,” Isabel said, pointing.

I followed her outstretched arm to where the three duchesses were strolling alongside the river, down from where we were perched. They turned onto the bridge and paused there. Duchess Melissa’s hair blazed like fire in the sunlight, and I wondered if it would burn my fingertips if I were to brush it away from her face in order to kiss her. “She’s so pretty,” I murmured.

“I guess. She’s also an alien,” Isabel pointed out.

“Half-alien,” I corrected.

As if to prove some sort of point, the duchess interrupted my fantasy of passionately kissing her. In one smooth action, she lifted the hem of her skirt and squatted. We were treated to the sight of her bare bum cheeks, paler than the honey tan of her arms, chest and face. She wore no underwear save for the black garter belt, a fact confirmed by the glittering stream of golden pee that arced down from the bridge into the river.

There was no shyness to it. Duchesses Nerine and Bethany were equally unembarrassed, neither of them turning away to offer privacy, instead laughing together as they did likewise. I was ashamed of myself for not looking away, for staring at the three duchesses as they did what I had never imagined I would ever watch someone do. Ashamed too at the heat of arousal ignited within me.

The Coronation

When I was twelve, the whole of Appleton gathered to watch the Coronation on the big screen in the Hall. Like every television in the village, and there were a few, the big screen had a choice of three channels. News was a mix of national and local news and weather that was no doubt useful for someone but certainly not us as kids. Education had programmes about the natural world and science and, sometimes, history that showed clips of how we humans once nearly destroyed our own home through industrialisation and warfare. Entertainment was music and arts and adventure, and everything else to do with duchesses and royalty.

All three channels covered the Coronation. In honour of the event, the day was one of celebration and much food had been prepared for the evening’s festivities – but the event itself was magical. My cousin Isabel, who was born on the same day as me but a hundred miles away, was staying with us for the summer. We sat together in the front row as we watched in awe.

It was rare to see the Queen. England’s Princess Caroline was often in the news, and the duchesses of course, but to see the Queen was something quite special. The ceremony was held in Italy’s ancient capital Rome, in the Colosseum. We had learned about Rome in history class and had seen pictures of the great theatre where gladiators had once fought for the amusement of emperors, but it had been transformed for the Coronation.

Tens of thousands of people were there, görükle escort watching. Politicians and celebrities from all around the world filled the seats. Aunty Catherine had somehow managed to get an invite, and we were all hugely jealous. Isabel stared at the screen, studying the audience in the highest seats in the hope of a glimpse, but the camera was far more interested in the spectacle below, because upon the tiled floor of the arena knelt rows and rows of colourfully dressed duchesses, thousands of them.

I remember my father pointing at the crowd of duchesses on the screen and whispering to my mother, “Oh, look, it’s you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mum said, blushing for some reason. He was joking, of course. My mother wasn’t a duchess and she certainly wasn’t a thousand miles away in Italy.

But for once, the duchesses were not the centre of attention. Closer to the central dais, the princesses sat on chairs arranged in a circle, the silver chair backs making a gleaming tiara about the central throne. They had arrived in a grand procession to a fanfare of trumpets. “There’s Princess Caitlin of Scotland!” Isabel had shouted, and then we all cheered as Princess Caroline walked out a few minutes later. The princesses were all wearing white as if they were brides in some fantastic wedding ceremony, and whenever the camera zoomed in you could see the material was studded with pearls and crystals.

Last to arrive was Queen Hikari herself, wearing a deep blue dress with silver detail, with lipstick and nail polish to match, and her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a crown of white gold and diamonds that shone with a thousand reflections, and though she had to be at least sixty years of age, there was little sign of it.

Gradually the crowd settled and the camera focussed on the throne. The Queen met the camera’s gaze, and in so doing seemed to look into the eyes of the whole planet watching. “When our alien overlords arrived at Earth a century ago,” she said, a hidden microphone capturing her calm voice with perfect clarity, “they were merciful.”

Her English had an accent and that slight but distinctive sibilance. We had all heard this speech before, or variations on it, but to hear the words spoken by the Queen herself, and as her last words on Earth, gave them a new significance. “They destroyed our military with trivial ease, but spared the lives of all who surrendered. And then they left in peace.”

Even as a child of twelve, I knew that for the lie it was. Even in the quiet village of Appleton, there were people who chafed at the bit and resented everything about the aliens and their ambassadors on Earth. It was rarely more than grumblings and mutterings.

“We are free to rule ourselves,” the Queen continued, “under three conditions. The first is that Humanity must no longer develop and use weapons.” That was only sensible, and I had seen enough old films in history class to know what terrible weapons Humanity had used in the past against themselves.

“The second is that Humanity must revere my sisters and I as your highest royalty.” As children, we certainly did. Duchesses and Princesses were magical creatures full of colour and adventure that we saw only on television. As girls, we all wanted to be duchesses when we grew up, so that we would always have fantastic clothes and easy lives and be able to travel to faraway places.

And it wasn’t impossible. “The third,” the Queen said, “is that every young human, on reaching adulthood, must surrender herself to the Testing.”

The Testing. The ultimate rite of passage. That subtle but deliberate gendering was because almost no men passed the Tests. Of course, very few women passed them, either, but it was necessary for all to try.

“Humanity has much to be grateful for,” the Queen said. “Our skies are blue, the air is breathable, and our rivers and seas are clean of pollution. No longer do we slaughter millions through war and famine, and we have taken our first steps towards the stars. So let us offer our thanks to our overlords, and let us make the Earth a paradise for our children, and our children’s children.”

A great cheer went up from the crowd, and from our gathering in the Hall too. We had all seen pictures from before when the Earth was poisoned by Humanity’s short-sighted eagerness to strip the soil and crack the bedrock in an unchecked lust for resources. We had seen pictures of terrifying weaponry, urban wastelands and deserts home to starving populations. Life was better now, more in balance with Nature, and people were happy for the most part.

“Today I leave you,” Queen Hikari said, “and the crown passes to my successor: Princess Masika of Congo.” This was greeted by us in Appleton with a quiet sigh of disappointment. We had hoped she would choose Princess Caroline to be the new Queen.

Princess Masika rose to her feet, approached the dais and knelt before the throne. Queen Hikari lifted the sparkling crown from her own head and positioned it carefully on her successor’s. “Rise, Queen Masika,” she said.

Even as the new Queen rose, a silvery craft descended from the sky to hover above the dais. It was a spaceship, and so large that it cast a deep shadow across the whole floor of the Colosseum. A bright column of blue light pierced that momentary darkness, and we all watched in amazement as Queen Hikari rose up the light into the belly of the ship.

Just as swiftly as it had arrived, the silver craft ascended again, and was soon lost to sight. The camera shifted back to the dais where Queen Masika now sat on the throne, and the crowd quieted in anticipation. “Queen Hikari has gone to the stars, and one day so will I. Until that day, I will guide you the best I can.”

Again the crowd cheered, and this time the princesses leapt to their feet, and behind them the duchesses too, and quickly the arena was a riot of colour and movement and cheerful celebration.

“Wow,” Isabel said, and I could only nod in agreement.

Day 1: Searching

“You’re blushing,” Isabel accused.

“Am not.” My eyes continued to follow the duchesses as they adjusted their skirts, or dresses, and strolled away. They were soon hidden from view by the trees.

“You so are.” She shook her head in mock disappointment. “I don’t know why. My mum says they’re all like that, pissing all the time on the streets of London without a care who sees them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Isabel shrugged. “My mum doesn’t wear underwear, and she doesn’t care who sees her pee. Sometimes, after a glass or two of wine, she even uses the duchess pot.”

Aunt Catherine had a fancy duchess pot. It was a glazed, white ceramic pot on three stubby legs, with well dressed kittens playing inside and out. She kept the duchess pot pride of place in what she called the reception room, because that was the room where she would greet duchesses when they visited. Aunt Catherine was the sort of person important enough to get occasional visits from duchesses and of course she made sure everyone knew whenever one had stopped by.

We had a duchess pot too. It was a simple pot and was kept clean and close at hand, but it had never been used. “What if a duchess should visit?” Aunt Catherine would demand every time she stayed with us. “What if the Princess!”

“I’m sure Princess Caroline would be perfectly satisfied with a simple pot,” my mother would reply indifferently.

Of course, duchesses never visited our house, and certainly the Princess did not – although, since my mother had five tattoos and not the three I had always believed, maybe there was a good reason for duchesses to drop by.

But the thought of Aunt Catherine using a duchess pot herself? Ugh, that was just embarrassing. “Have you ever used it?” I asked Isabel.

“Of course not!”

I might have believed her, had she not blushed immediately after. I had to wonder how many people – how many adults – secretly pretended to be duchesses and squatted over pots to pee instead of going to the bathroom.

Not my mother, though. My mother often liked to say, “Human civilisation gave us clean underwear and plumbed bathrooms, and not even our alien masters can take those away from us.”

To me, the duchesses were such ethereal creatures it was hard to believe they needed to pee at all – but it was difficult to argue with the evidence of my own eyes. Seeing Duchess Melissa’s pert, bare bottom and hearing the others laughing and joking had been quite a sexy show, at least in my mind. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that the duchesses had no underwear on – garter belt aside – beneath their short skirts. My mother had drilled it into me from a young age that good girls always wore underwear, and a clean pair every day. In consequence, there was something very naughty in the idea of going without, and something even naughtier in that casual lifting of the skirt to do one’s business.

So of course Isabel was right. I was blushing. I had my heart set on passing the Tests and hopefully, thereby, becoming a duchess myself. Would that mean I too would go without underwear and happily squat in public to do my business for all to see? I couldn’t believe I ever would, but my imagination was working overtime to picture it, and that in itself was both exciting and shameful.

I also had a building urgency. “I still need the loo,” I said quietly to Isabel, looking around in increasingly desperate hope while bouncing a little on the spot.

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, me too. Let’s just keep exploring.” Laughing suddenly, she added, “Duchess Irena visited my mother last week on my birthday. She stayed for a cup of tea and used the duchess pot right in front of me, right in the middle of asking me what I would be wearing to the Testing. After Duchess Irena left, my mother said, ‘Isabel, you’re an adult now. You can have the privilege of cleaning the duchess pot.’ Some birthday present that was.”

Of all the things to be jealous of… and yet I was. “What did it smell like?”

“Lavendar. My mum always kept lavender in the pot, and that’s all I could smell.”