Sergeant's Concubines Ch. 01

Roger Bertram never counted on the future being so damned weird! Mind you, his life was better under the new system in some ways, but he had to adjust to not calling himself an American in the old sense. The Republic of Nevada liked to think of itself as a sovereign nation, so emphasis was put on being a "Nevadan". This new nationality was just the beginning of his new life.

There was also the disruption of the Internet and the global economy. Granted, most of the Net still worked. However, it moved slower and sites, especially the porn ones, had to worry about keeping up with the laws established by the various factions ruling the countries of the world. Also, the political instability contributed to the confusion in international trade. Borders, customs, and bureaucracy were all far more complex than in the old days. He had to get a Republic of Nevada passport, issued by the expanding Department of State.

Fortunately, he was an officer in the Department of Public Safety, the highest police authority in the absence of the federal agencies. This gave him more connections. He no longer had to give Miranda warnings to suspects, since the US Constitution was moot. However, he gave an equivalent on most occasions, since it helped inform the stupid crooks of the freedoms that they still held under the Republic's bill of rights. He was relieved that Nevada wasn't a dictatorship like many parts of the former USA.

There were some other changes. For instance, federal marijuana laws had lapsed and the state hadn't bothered to replace them with its own version. Heroin, crack, and other "hard drugs" remained illegal, but pot was sold openly.

The State Supreme Court had struck down the city ordinances against prostitution where it was still a crime, declaring that the rights of privacy and property entitled a person to make a profit off his or her own body if he or she saw fit. The state legislature responded by passing a comprehensive code of regulations for sex workers under the Adult Industries Protection Act of 2011. Condoms were mandatory and prostitutes were unionized. A small excise tax for "adult services" was imposed as well.

Bertram, not given to paying for sex at such high rates, used such services only on occasion. Mostly, he continued to meet women in bars and get laid. Since he was a DPS sergeant, he achieved a lot of female attention. He was divorced and still a bit gun-shy about getting back into a marriage or serious relationship (which scarcely differed from the former at all).

The courts recognized sexual or romantic relationships lasting a minimum of 3 months as equivalent to marriage. They called them "regular companionships". A mere month was sufficient to establish one if the couple lived together. The only major distinction was the lack of ceremony in forming and dissolving such unions.

The most recent major change was the passage of the so-called "Concubine Act" by the state legislature 2 months ago. It was a form of indentured service. Because of the poverty of some refugees from other states in worse shape than Nevada, many men and women had started attaching themselves informally to residents of the Republic, now known as "citizens". Since the outsiders lacked citizenship and there was the possibility of abuse, the state had enacted some rules and stipulations, designed to ensure the safety and well-being of the immigrants.

Ads had begun to show at bars and in magazines, offering to "match" Nevadans with concubines of their own. A Republic of Nevada man or woman could sign a contract with a refugee, sponsoring him or her for as long as the outsider performed whatever services the resident required. Nor were these contracts exclusive. A Nevadan could "employ" as many of these migrants as he or she could afford to house.

This idea appealed to Bertram, for sure, though he didn't think that he could keep more than one or two of these indentured servants on a long-term basis. It was freer of the emotional complications that he sought to avoid at this point, but he would have to either pay them or provide for them financially in some other way. It wouldn't be that easy, even on his improved police salary.

All of this went through the sergeant's mind as he entered his favorite pub. He hated to stay at home on Friday nights. Saturday was one of two days off that he received on his schedule. The other one was Wednesday, which was a chance to rest in the middle of the week. The DPS had a rotating duty roster, where a senior officer could choose his off-days, while the lower ranks took what they could get. Not being particularly religious or interested in football, Roger preferred to have Saturday and Wednesday off. This gave him 2 min-weeks instead of a 5-day one.

Jeffrey's was a good, old-fashioned bar and grill. The owner had the television sets on several channels, ranging from sports to politics. The latter, with its increasing unpredictability, had recently become another opportunity for betting pools at the taverns and elsewhere. A man or woman could place bets on whether or not the City-State of Greater New York would allow the Hasidim to keep pork out of their neighborhoods through zoning, or about the "grave" issue of polygamy being formally legalized in Arizona, where the Mormon Fundamentalists were pushing for it. One could even wager on the outcome of the Ohio Civil War between the Evangelical Commonwealth in Cincinnati and the Columbus-based State Provisional Government under Governor Daryl Banes.

Gambling didn't personally interest Bertram, however. He wanted some nice bar food, such as BBQ ribs, steak fries, beer-battered fish, and quesadillas. He also wanted some beer. Hard liquor was out of question, unless he just thirsted to get drunk and pay through the nose. Tariffs on whiskey were too steep these days and the same was true of gin, vodka, and Bertram's personal favorite: genuine cognac from France. Only rich people used those, except on special occasions. Mexican tequila was the only hard drink not subject to high import duties and it disgusted Roger.

Another thing absent from the new Reno was tobacco. The unreliability of interstate commerce and the dangers faced by truck drivers made it easier for the Carolinas, Kentucky, and Virginia to sell their cigarettes to Europe, where more people smoked them anyway. Most brands were priced completely out of the marketplace. It was so unprofitable that the state didn't bother to tax it anymore. Gone were the smoke-filled pubs of the "good old days". Then again, Bertram noticed an overall improvement in the air and his own health since the ashtrays disappeared from the taverns.

Pot was discouraged from most bars, because the proprietors found it too competitive with alcohol for their liking. Most joints were smoked at home or in a few Dutch-style cafes.

In any case, he noticed a brand new bartender in the establishment that night. It was hard to miss her, as she had green hair, a tattoo of a whiskey bottle (clearly sentimental), and a conspicuous absence of piercing on her body. What was a wild girl like her doing with most of her skin intact? Her eyes were the same color as her hair, strangely enough. She also had no top at all. Thank whatever God might exist for the repeal of indecency laws, thought Sergeant Bertram. Many women still wore pants and shorts, if only to hold their possessions, but bras and other tops were relics of the past, at least after the fiery Sun had set.

From the lack of tan lines, Bertram realized that the lady probably took full advantage of the new legislation. This girl also wore a denim skirt with a slit in the back, which he saw as she bent over to get a glass for a high-paying Irish patron who had demanded Guinness. She didn't wear panties either. That skirt and her shoes were the only articles of clothing that she kept.

It was when she turned to him and asked him what kind of beer he wanted, that Roger saw that she had an ankle bracelet on her. Why the hell was she being monitored and by whom? Was she a parolee, and if so, did the state know what she did? Bertram knew that the alcohol and "fornication" prohibitions of ex-convicts were abolished long before, but most authorities were still unsure about the wisdom of undisciplined parolees associating with bikers and other ex-cons.

"I'll take a Michelob Light, in a bottle, with some fish and chips. I'm also curious as to why you're wearing an ankle monitor, if you don't mind telling me," Roger finally asked her.

"I'll get you the first two, but I don't think you'd understand the answer to the third," she replied, blushing as much as her tanned complexion permitted.

"Try me. I'm a cop. I've seen a lot," Bertram urged her.

"I'm a concubine, not an ex-con," she then told him, somewhat embarrassed.

"A concubine? You mean an indentured servant under the new law? That explains why I haven't seen you before. What's your name, or are you forbidden to say it?" he reacted. "Tabitha. I'm from Pittsburgh. What's yours, Officer?" she responded saucily.

"Actually, it's Sergeant Roger Bertram of the Department of Public Safety. I'm a detective with the Reno district. Who's your sponsor? I've never run into a servant before. I take it that you're still treated largely as a person," he commented.

"I belong to the bartender, Jeffrey Gomez. So far, I'm his 3rd companion. I didn't expect to become a virtual slave when I moved out here, but I also didn't have any idea of how to survive out here in the first place. I'm just glad that I ended with a good guy, not a pimp or a pusher," she declared.

"There are no pimps anymore. There are a lot fewer pushers too. Apparently, a more obvious form of control has replaced underground arrangements. So, whose idea was the topless thing?" he asked her.

"Mine, of course. I am as wild as my new Master. I still get a kick out of calling him that, since I used to try some light bondage with my ex-boyfriend. I like to think that I'm freer than most citizens in some ways. It's odd to be a concubine, but I have no complaints about Jeff. He's let me do what I want, as long as I service him and work for him. I just hope he doesn't make me get pierced. That's the only punk thing I don't like. Tattoos hurt enough, but at least they are artistic. They express something about me. Piercing is just meaningless pain, if you ask me," she announced with a wink.

"So, you don't mind pain from a Master or a tattoo, but piercing goes too far? Damn, you're strange, but I must admit that you're cute. I wouldn't mind 'borrowing' you from Jeff for a night, if both of you are cool with it. I'd definitely like to talk to him about where he found you. Was there some agency, by chance?" Roger probed.

"As a matter of fact, a private contractor arranged it. This guy handled the details rather well. It was done through an ad in a men's magazine. It was amazing how quickly he set me up with a Master. Technically, Jeff is my 'patron', but we all know better. I have to say that I wouldn't exactly object to helping if he's cool with it. I also like the idea of referring you to Tim. He's the contractor. He'll be very happy to get more business by word of mouth, especially from a happy concubine, which I am," Tabitha smiled flirtatiously.

"Well, if you can set it up with Jeff, I'd be very nice to you. You don't mind anal, do you?" Bertram proposed, while eating his fish and chips.

"Anal sex doesn't bother me. My ex used to do it a few times. Jeff has fucked my ass too. I have to warn you, though, that I don't like condoms. Would you be opposed to riding me 'bareback'? I was tested for STDs and HIV by the agency and passed. That's one of the conditions of my emigration. My only sex partners since then have been Jeff and his other girls," Tabitha suggested.

Roger loved that idea. He hadn't taken a woman bareback, especially in the ass, since his divorce. This girl seemed very wild, which was very much to his taste. He wanted to fuck her like a rabbit and send her back to Jeff with praise. He also wanted to know more about her.

"How old are you?" he asked her after they left the bar later that night with Gomez's permission.

"23. What about you, sir?" she grinned at him.

"43. I'm literally 20 years your senior. Does that bother you?" he inquired curiously, not too worried about the age issue.

"So, you're old enough to be my father. Big deal! Jeff is just a few years your junior himself. My ex was 15 years older than me. Of course, he was also married, which didn't concern me until I met his wife and heard HER side of the story. I found out that she wasn't the royal bitch that he claimed her to be. HE was the one depriving her of sex, because of his obsession with me. Apparently, he was going to trade her in for a 'younger model'. How fucking cliché! I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this stuff," Tabitha (or "Tabby cat", as she preferred to be called) informed him.

"Actually, it's quite fascinating to hear about your past," the sergeant said.

When they arrived at Bertram's apartment, the bartender/servant wasted no time at all with further talk, however. She quickly removed her skirt, asked him where she could find the lube, and headed to the bathroom to get it. Then she shocked him by immediately bending over his love seat, inviting him to take her ass.

Not wanting to be cruel, Roger made sure that Tabitha received some pleasure too. He grabbed her cheeks, spread them, and began licking her crack. As he rimmed her, she eagerly responded to the pleasure. He could smell the strong scent of her soaking pussy as he tongued her bottom. Her cunt would have to be another area that he fucked like it was his last chance.

When he had thoroughly dampened her with his mouth, Bertram lubed up his cock and Tabby's sphincter. Slowly, but steadily, he stuck his 7 inch dick inside her backdoor. She reacted by pushing back against him with her ass. Evidently, the experience of his meaty member in her butt was even greater than the idea of it to her. It became obvious to Roger why the concubine didn't resent her lot. She may not have been a slut, but she had an unashamed love of sex.

Whatever had driven her to Nevada, the DPS man knew that he was pleased that it had done so. He might not keep her long-term, but he would make full use of her while she was present. He thought about this as he rode the punky bartender anally. Looking at her smooth, silky ass, he had little difficulty cumming. He spilled a considerable load of his juices in her bottom, before she came herself and they both slumped from the considerable exercise that they had just shared.

Despite the fatigue, which was not surprising at midnight, they looked forward to another session after they had recovered. Roger just hoped that he would last longer the next time that he screwed her.

*

This is posted on another site under "Col. Jack Harrison". That is my other pen name.