Olwen the First

Reading Notes:

1. Two recent events in the U.K. gave me the inspiration for this story.* (*See end of story for disclaimer.)

2. It is a work of fiction, which takes place in a parallel universe where Women rule and men serve. Breeding is controlled and regulated by Women.

3. All characters and their individual interests and fetishes are products of the author's imagination, and bear no resemblance to anyone, living or dead.

4. All sex takes place between adults aged 18 or older.

When the news broke, the country was already in the midst of a crisis. It was a matter of record that during the nationwide lockdown, imposed to try and stem the rise of a new and deadly virus, the Prime Minister had been involved in several wild orgies in her official residence, Number Sixty Nine Upping Street. She had been summoned to Fuckingham Palace and dismissed on the spot by the Supreme Leader And Guardian, Elspeth the Second.

The fact that Doris Janesdaughter had spent lockdown fucking didn't bother the country that much. Women ruled and all women had their needs. What upset everybody was that she had been fucking a man. Several men, in fact. And the crucial and damning part was that during all of these orgies, Doris had been submissive and allowed men, yes! mere men, to take her in every position they wanted, in any hole they wanted and it was rumoured that there were photographs of her tied up over the Prime Minister's chair in the Cabinet Office, whilst a queue of several men waited patiently in line to take their turn to fuck her. Worse still, Doris had committed the unpardonable offence of having sex with men who were unauthorised, and not registered in the Tomb of Official Lovers (Book of Necessary Childbirth) also known affectionately as the TOOL BONC.

So the premiership of Doris Janesdaughter came to a premature end, and in the six weeks of jostling for her job that followed, a new leader of the Cuntservative Party emerged from the group of hopefuls. All women were required by law to cast a vote in any election that was called, but in this instance, only women who were members of the Cuntservative Party were eligible to participate.

And so Lesley ("Call me Les") Struts emerged as the winner, and next political leader of the nation. As soon as she had taken the Oath of Office, it was traditional for the Prime Minister to go to Fuckingham Palace to be asked to form a government by the Supreme Leader And Guardian. This offer was always accepted and formally sealed by the age-old ceremony of 'kissing the cunt.' It was televised and always attracted a huge audience.

Viewers were stunned therefore when the pictures of the Prime Minister-to-be's car suddenly disappeared from their screens to be replaced with a still photograph of Elspeth the Second. A sombre voice informed the nation, "The SLAG is dead. Long live the SLAG."

In the village of Tribbing-on-the-Clit, on the south west coast of England, Olive Simpson was enjoying her usual afternoon distraction, pegging one of her stable of fuck boys. It was taking place in the Mistress bedroom of her sixteenth century manor house, and Olwen's victim was in agony.

Bound in the spread eagle fashion to her huge four poster bed, the tanned and muscled young man wondered how much longer he could endure the pegging he was being given by his Owner. His arsehole was being ripped to shreds by the studded metal strap-on cock Olwen was wearing. His nipples were on fire, thanks to the clamps that had been screwed on tight, flattening the sensitive buds, sending waves of pain through his chest every time Olwen tugged on the reins attached to the clamps.

Even if protest had been allowed, Jason twenty two (for that was the unfortunate male's name and number) would not have been able to talk. His mouth was filled with a rubber horse bit, complete with another set of reins, which allowed Olwen to ride her lover as if she were riding one of the magnificent steeds that she owned, and who were stabled in much better conditions than the fuck boys who tended to the pampered beasts, under the supervision of stable mistress Sadie, when they were not required to be on house duty.

Olwen thrust in and out of Jason's arse. Sweat ran freely down between her large tits, and she was breathing heavily. She wasn't getting any younger, and her lifestyle could hardly be said to be ideal for maintaining fitness. Olwen was a heavy smoker, she enjoyed most forms of alcohol and anyone who mentioned exercise in her hearing was sure to be taken to the whipping post in the courtyard and given a severe thrashing.

Olwen felt her orgasm building and she continued to fuck Jason as the sensation grew and grew. She was right on the edge when there was a frantic knocking on her bedroom door. Before she had a chance to call out to allow whoever was outside to enter, the door burst open and Cumilla, Olwen's wife burst into the bedroom. She was accompanied by Mary, Olwen's body maid, Tina, who held the same position to Cumilla, and bringing up the rear were Well-hung Willy and Eric Eight Inch, who were Olwen and Cumilla's authorised, registered male breeding cocks.

Olwen stopped her pegging.

"What the fuck?" she snarled. Then she registered that Cumilla and the two body maids were all wearing strap-on dildos. She opened her mouth to resume speaking, but before she could utter another syllable, all five intruders dropped to one knee. They all spoke with one voice.

"Goddess Bless the SLAG. Hail Slag Olwen the First, Supreme Leader and Guardian," they chanted three times in unison.

Olwen tugged viciously on both sets of reins and slammed her dildo deep into Jason twenty two's arse. She howled in ecstasy as her orgasm washed over her. Still trembling, she pulled out of her fuck boy, who collapsed, unconscious and face down on the huge bed.

She turned and stood in front of the still kneeling group, her studded metal dildo glistening with a mixture of arse juice, blood and the odd smear of shit.

"Is it true?" she asked breathlessly. "Is my birth mother dead?"

"Yes, darling. She passed not an hour ago whilst preparing to meet that lying, deceitful bitch who has been elected to the head of the Cuntservative Party," Cumilla replied, getting up from her kneeling position, and moving closer to her wife.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," she continued softly, kissing Olwen tenderly and slipping her tongue into her wife's mouth as she knew she loved. She broke off the kiss and spoke again.

"I am reliably informed that she died doing what she loved," Cumilla said with a sad smile. "Les Struts was on her way to Fuck House (she used the term by which Fuckingham Palace was known affectionately by everyone in the nation) to kiss the cunt."

"Your mother was being fucked so that Struts would have a mixture of cum and cunt cream when she took her oath of allegiance. Elspeth had no choice but to ask that horrible, right-wing cunt to lead her Government, but she had enough about her to let Stuts know that she wasn't happy to have to do so."

Olwen smiled sadly and pulled Cumilla closer. She returned her wife's kiss and tugged gently on one of the nipple hoops that Cumilla had been fitted with on the day of their wedding. Both women were deeply in love, but everyone in the household knew that Cumilla was totally submissive to Olwen. The sounds of her moans as she was being caned were a regular occurrence in the manor house.

Everyone looked up as there was another knock on the bedroom door. The new arrival, Betsy, who as Mrs. Butler, ran the day-to-day goings-on of the manor as Housekeeper, stood in the doorway.

As Olwen made eye contact, Betsy dropped a deep curtsey.

"Goddess Bless the SLAG. Hail SLAG Olwen the First, Supreme Leader and Guardian," she intoned sincerely before standing up straight again.

"I am sorry to disturb you, my SLAG," she began in her beautifully subtle Lowland Scots accent. She was speaking to a point about four inches to the left of Olwen.

"Dear Betsy," Olwen smiled. "I'm over here. Why are you addressing the wall?"

"Um... I thought your majesty would continue her late mother's ruling that her household staff were never to look directly at her," Betsy stammered.

"Goddess Bless her. She was such a dedicated, loyal and wonderful SLAG.May she Rest in Peace."

Olwen reached out and pulled Betsy closer.

"I suspect that I will be required to move pretty quickly to Fuck House," she said thoughtfully. "When we're settled in, you and I are going to have a long chat about who is going to be my new Housekeeper."

Now Betsy did look at Olwen directly.

"I'm being dismissed?" she gasped, and her big blue green eyes filled with tears.

Olwen giggled mischievously.

"Don't be obtuse, Betsy," she replied, patting her housekeeper's hand. "I know what you and my stable mistress Sadie get up to when both of you are off duty."

Betsy blushed and lowered her head.

"I'm going to need eyes and ears in the Upper Chamber, the House of Ladies," Olwen continued.

"My first order to you as SLAG, is that you have my permission to marry Sadie. I know she won't refuse you, and I know that she'll be reluctant to leave my horses too. So I'm going to make you a Lady; Sadie can carry on as my stable mistress and you will live in a Grace and Favour house in the grounds of Fuckingham Palace. How does that sound to you?"

Betsy sniffed furiously, trying and failing to stop the tears in her eyes from overflowing. She knelt in front of Olwen and touched her forehead to the metal cock that the SLAG still wore.

"It has been my privilege and honour to be your Housekeeper, ma'am," she said softly. "You know that my late mother served SLAG Elspeth for many years. You are her worthy successor, and I pledge my loyalty to you, and your wife for the rest of the time granted to me. Thank you, ma'am. Your proposal sounds perfect to me."

She stood up.

"May I go and propose to Sadie? She'll be in the stables I know. She always makes sure that your mount for your early Saturday morning gallop is turned out perfectly."

"Of course you may," smiled Olwen, "and tell her that the new SLAG expects her to give you the correct answer. You may go, and don't stay fucking in the stables too long! The kitchen staff will need your oversight in preparing our supper tonight, and this afternoon's news and activity have left me ravenous!"

Betsy dropped another curtsey and rushed off to find Sadie. Her clit was tingling, and she hoped that the younger stable mistress would have time to put Betsy over her knee and warm her arse up with a brisk hand spanking before she dropped her bombshell and asked Sadie to marry her.

Meanwhile, the news had reached the politicians that there was already a new SLAG ready to assume power following the death of SLAG Elspeth. The Speaker of the Lower House, sprang into action, and recalled all members back to the House. Thanks to an ingenious little device that all elected Members of the House were obliged to carry, everyone was in their seat two hours after the the news of the death of SLAG Elspeth was announced.

It was unusually quiet and sombre when the Speaker got to her feet.

"Order! Order!" intoned Georgina Thomas in her lilting Welsh accent. "The House will rise and observe two minutes silence in memory of our recently departed SLAG, Elspeth the Second."

Georgina bowed her head reverently, and three hundred and sixty women, from the Government and the Opposition benches did exactly the same. The public gallery was empty, and the only sound to be heard in the Chamber was the occasional creak as the ancient wooden floor settled.

Exactly two minutes later, Georgina raised her head.

"Goddess save our Gracious Slag," she said loudly and clearly. Three hundred and sixty voices repeated her words in unison, and from somewhere on the Opposition back benches a beautiful soprano voice rang out with the first line of the National Anthem.

Speaker Georgina beamed. Normally she would have come down like a ton of bricks on anyone who dared to sing in the Chamber, but today was a very special day. She joined in with the soloist, and gradually so did everyone else. The ancient hall echoed to the sound of singing, and when the anthem was ended, Georgina pulled off her ceremonial wig that she was required to wear when sitting in the Speaker's chair, and waved it wildly above her head.

"Goddess Bless SLAG Olwen the First!" she bellowed, and the "Hear! Hear!" traditional response thundered out from every mouth present.

Georgina replaced her wig and sat down.

"Order! Order!" she intoned. "There will now be an emergency statement from the Prime Minister in waiting. The Prime Minister," she called out officially.

She made eye contact with Les Struts, who got to her feet and leaned on the dispatch box on the table in front of her.

"Thank you, Mistress Speaker," responded Struts. She paused and looked at her hastily scribbled notes.

"Mistress Speaker," she began in a voice trembling with emotion, "I did not expect that my first duty as the new Prime Minister and Leader of the Cuntservative Party would be to pay tribute to the magnificent service rendered to all women of this great country by our late SLAG, Elspeth the Second. But I do so, sincerely albeit with a heavy heart."

She paused, and a loud chorus of "Hear! Hear!" rang around the Chamber once again.

"I was on my way to an audience with SLAG Elspeth when the dreadful news broke," she continued. "I returned immediately to Upping Street, where I received Speaker Georgina's summons to come and address the House. I have yet to be informed when I will be summoned to Fuckingham Palace to greet the new SLAG, to offer my loyalty and service, and of course, to kiss the cunt."

Olwen snuggled up to Cumilla on the sofa they were sharing in the drawing room of the manor house. She looked at her lovingly and smiled.

"I love seeing you with that pipe in your mouth," she said softly, reaching out and plucking the long stemmed church warden from her wife's mouth. She puffed on it herself and then the two women kissed.

Olwen passed the pipe back to Cumilla and sat back.

"Things are going to change, darling," she said seriously. "But don't worry. How does the title SLAG Consort sound? That's how I want you to be known from now on."

Oh Olwen, I do love you so much," gushed Cumilla through a cloud of aromatic smoke. "Of course I'll be your Consort. But only in public! In private I'd much prefer to remain your slut cunt wife."

"You will continue to punish me, won't you?" she continued anxiously. "I mean you're going to have an awful lot of duties and visits and visitors. Please don't delegate one of the staff to administer my punishments."

Olwen pulled her wife closer and kissed her.

"Don't be so fucking dense," she smiled. "I love hearing you moan as I put stripes on that beautiful arse of yours, or when I'm flogging your tits. I know pain gets you so wet, and I don't want to be fucking a dried up old cunt, now do I? Have no fear, darling. I'm going to schedule a regular daily punishment time when you and I are going to enjoy our different, but complimentary kinks. You want pain, I love giving it. This, my love, is the start of the kinkiest, most perverted reign of any SLAG in the long history of SLAGs this country has ever seen!"

Cumilla squealed with pleasure, and slid a couple of fingers into Olwen's nicely damp cunt as she passed her wife the church warden.

The day of the funeral arrived. It was a day of tradition, pomp and ceremony. The late SLAG Elspeth the Second's ornate coffin was taken to the mausoleum by eight of her closest houshold staff. As tradition demanded, these women were all naked, save for a face veil, and following the death of the SLAG, they had stopped shaving their armpits, legs and cunts. The coffin was followed by SLAG Olwen the First and her newly titled SLAG Consort Cumilla.

They walked along deserted streets,as all citizens had been granted a day's grace, as long as they watched the funeral and committal at any of the one hundred and fifty community sites that had been set up around the country. Registration at these sites was mandatory, and those citizens who did not attend would be visited by a police cuntstable and fined during the next few days. Following the ceremony, orgies, mass group sex and fetish play were all encouraged to mark the accession of SLAG Olwen.

Citizens watched spellbound as the coffin reached its final destination. The funeral was conducted by the Archbishopess of Cunterbury, Justine Wellill-Befucked, and after the coffin had been lowered into the ground, the Archbishopess turned and faced the cameras.

"The SLAG is dead," she intoned solemnly. "Long live SLAG Olwen. Now, by her Grace and Royal Command, let the play begin. Citizens, get fucking!"

The red light on the camera slowly faded away, and the production producer called out, "OK everyone, we're off air. We'll collect all our equipment tomorrow. Let's honour the late SLAG and obey the new one. Our party is back at Television Centre. Last one back goes in the glory hole for the first couple of hours!"

Olwen smiled and took the hand proffered by the Archbishopess.

"Thank you, your Grace," she said warmly. "That was a beautiful ceremony. Now, we mustn't keep you. I trust you have a party to attend?"

"Yes thank you, Ma'am," replied the Archbishopess, blushing in a very attractive way. "When I'm not being all Archbishopessy, I relax by becoming the submissive slut cunt that my Mistress likes me to be. I believe that she's arranged for the whole of the Mother's Union and all the cathedral choir to strap on and fuck me to mark your ascension to the throne."

Olwen grinned. There were at least thirty members of the cathedral choir, she knew, and a similar number of women in the Mother's Union. Justine Wellill-Befucked was going to have to live up to her name, Olwen thought.

The new SLAG and her Consort were driven straight back to Fuckingham Palace. In the time that it had taken to bury SLAG Elspeth, an army of male drones had removed all of the late SLAG's possessions, and replaced them with everything taken from SLAG Olwen's manor house. Betsy had supervised the move, and had given the males a hard time, but by the time that SLAG Olwen and SLAG Consort Cumilla swept into the grounds of Fuck House, everything was ship shape, and Betsy and all of the household staff lined up outside the entrance to greet the new SLAG and her Consort.

As they exited the Rolls Royce that had brought them from the mausoleum, Betsy, holding hands with her fiancée, Sadie,yelled at the top of her voice, "Three cheers for SLAG Olwen! Hip! Hip!..."

"Hooray," responded everyone, and then they all broke into a rendition of "Goddess Save the SLAG."

Olwen was really touched. She thanked everyone and congratulated Betsy and Sadie. Then she shoo'ed everyone off to enjoy their first ever fuck fest in Fuck House. Betsy assured Olwen that sufficient fuck boys had been delivered to ensure that anyone who wanted some male cock would be provided for, and those who just wished to amuse themselves by teasing and torturing a random male could satisfy their needs too.

Mary and Tina were lingering in the huge hallway, waiting respectfully for their Mistresses to finish chatting with Betsy. They heard the new SLAG dismiss the housekeeper with the words.

"Now fuck off back to Sadie and get that glorious arse of yours well striped before she fucks you!"

Betsy curtsied with a grin, and hurried off to begin her orgy.

Olwen and Cumilla sauntered into the palace hand in hand. They spotted their respective body maids and walked over to where they both stood, heads lowered respectfully.

"Mary? Tina? What the fuck are you both doing here?"asked Olwen. "Don't you have a fuck fest to attend to mark my accession as SLAG?"