A Slave under Contract Ch. 01-03

"Oh, you'll make a very fine slaveboy. Now for your microchip and your tattoos."

I stood again and her micro-chipping needle slid into my neck, embedding a chip that could be scanned by the authorities to provide full details of my registration, identity and ownership. The doctor took an auto-tattoo gun and had it imprint the word "Slave" on my belly, then used it to draw on a barcode beneath. I could be called by my given name for the time being, or a shortened designation, but officially I was now Slave KF-M-3-28-18-238357465. The designation noted cock size on the common scale, original age and adapted age. I was no longer so much a person as a collection of vital statistics.

The doctor motioned to the nurse-slave and she released me from the restraints. I knew enough about slavery to stand with my hands behind my back, legs apart, eyes forward. I had to display my new body to everyone around me. I felt a rush of warmth as I displayed myself, comfortable and safe. The doctor beamed at me and clipped a leash to my collar. We walked out to the foyer and she showed me to the receptionist, who squealed with delight and pinched my hard bottom. The doctor had me kiss the receptionist's shoes and thank her for enslaving me, while the receptionist held my leash.

As I knelt debasing myself, a young woman walked through the main entrance and asked to volunteer to be a slave. I glanced up at her – pale skin and red hair. A little frightened. The receptionist took her details as I continued to kiss her feet and express my gratitude at her role in my enslavement. She thrust her toes into my mouth and had me suck them. She had exquisite feet, elegant and soft. I sucked hungrily.

The doctor watched from behind me, thoughtful. She sent a low-intensity shock to my balls, making me jump. With her foot, she tapped my thighs. I understood – I needed to kneel with my legs open so that my cock, balls and backside would be properly on show to anyone behind me. I would be punished if I forgot. I could feel her eyes boring into my newly tight, virgin hole. Hormones raged through me, and I ached with longing to be filled with a strapon. The same rush of warmth hit me again just as soon as I obeyed the command to expose myself. I'd never felt quite so submissive before.

The receptionist acknowledged my thanks and handed my leash back to the doctor. Instructing me to crawl, the doctor led me past the new volunteer, who sat hesitantly filling out her forms, and took me back into the enslavement centre proper. I was taken through to a waiting room where seven other slaves sat around the edge of the room. Their hands were locked behind their backs, and they each sat with their legs spread lewdly apart. The room was designed to keep us calm: green walls, potted plants, a relaxing scent in the air.

Five slaves were male and two female. The doctor asked me if I needed to use the toilet. I did, so I went in the stall in the corner; at least it had a door. Privacy was a privilege I no longer warranted, but the slavers knew to keep the volunteers coming back, there had to be some limits. Once I was done, the doctor sat me down near one of the women, an older-looking woman with a mass of dark curly hair and coffee-coloured skin. She was stunning. My cock twitched in its prison, and she smiled knowingly. I opened my legs, displaying my submission just like all the others.

"Slaves, this is our newest slave boy, whose free name was Kieron Faber but who will be referred to by his short designation of Slave KF-M-3, indicating initials, gender and cock size category out of 8. Slave KF-M-3, tell these boys and girls how long you are enslaved for, and what was done to you today."

I knew better than to disobey and started to speak immediately.

"Mistress, today I volunteered for seventeen weeks of slavery, with availability as a heterosexual submissive sex slave subject to certain limits, or with use of my skills in other areas. I have ... um, I have ... been reduced in age from twenty-eight to eighteen. Ah!"

The doctor had used a remote control to make my collar shock me. The electricity shot through my nerves, jolting me against my bonds. The pain was intense, breathtaking, exquisite. I felt immensely grateful for it, which came as a surprise to me. The doctor saw it on my face and simply smiled. The nanites in my blood were now "helping" me react like a slave, though I only discovered this much later.

"Your age, slaveboy, was not reduced. It was corrected. Say it again."

"I ... am sorry mistress. My age has been corrected from twenty-eight to eighteen. I have lost all of my body hair, including my pubic hair. My body has been ch- um – corrected from twenty-eight to eighteen, making me slimmer and more boyish. My cock has been locked in a chastity cage-"

"Describe it, slaveboy," said the doctor.

"It is a size 3 cock cage, small-medium ... in pink ... with a bow. Mistress." She nodded "I have been fitted with cuffs and a collar, and tattooed with a slave identification, and microchipped." I could see the doctor wanted more, "And, um, I have had my arsehole reduced back to a virgin tightness, and have licked the feet of the receptionist to thank her for enslaving me."

"Good boy, slave KF-M-3. Now, feel free to chat with your new slave brothers and sisters while you wait. In approximately two hours, you will be transferred to the training compound outside the city. Remember to address female slaves as 'miss', to show your inferiority to their sex."

The doctor swept out of the room. I think she must have gone to process the new slavegirl who volunteered while I was debasing myself with the receptionist.

"Hi honey," said the woman sitting next to me, "I'm Pearl, or Slave PL-F-6, if you prefer." -Pearl's number was a breast measurement- "This your first time as a slave?"

"Hi miss. Nice to meet you. On this planet, yeah, my first time. I did two weeks somewhere else, but all in private. It feels really different this time."

"Poor little boy-" I blushed "-didn't do your research huh? The control nanites they injected you with are reinforcing slave behaviours, making you eager to please. It's legal under the slavery laws here, but if you're not prepared for it, it can be a rough ride. Addictive, too. This is my tenth go. I set very specific terms, but I always get bought."

"Your tenth time, miss? What keeps you coming back?"

"I love dominant women! I love it when they tie me down, spread my legs, take me hard with a strapon. When I can't say no. I love having my naughty bottom spanked in public. Being made to eat the pussy of a woman a third of my age. But not all the time. It's sort of a birthday present to myself, once every few years."

"Wow," I said.

Pearl had a presence to her, a self-assurance that I had rarely ever seen before. She told me about her life. She was an executive in an important company, expected to lead, to show others the way. That was fine as it went, but it meant she rarely got to be all of her true self. Her little holidays in slavery were her compensation. They kept her balanced.

The other girl spoke up, "I'm going to be a ponygirl!" she exclaimed. "They had some at my finishing school and me and a girlfriend tried it out for a few hours once after dark. I loved it so much! It's all an adventure, you see? Six months of ponygirling then I go to university. Mummy has a friend who's a trainer. She's going to come and buy out my contract." I wondered why they hadn't already collected her, but she went on, "But that's after I've had basic training, though. They say I have to be ready first. I don't know much about being a slave."

"What's your name, miss?" I asked.

"I'm Desiderata Espera," she replied, "or Slave DE-F-4." The number was her relative breast size; smaller than Pearl's but perkier and with exceptional little pink nipples. "I want to be called something else though. Like Golden Girl or Bright Spark. You know, a ponygirl name." I nodded. She was certainly sparky.

Three of the males I spoke to had much the same situation as me. They needed some money and had to clear debts, fast. They planned to serve for three months to a year. All had been made younger, just like me. Two were bi, one was straight. It seemed like we were all hoping to be sex slaves; the tallest of them wanted to be a maid, too. I tried to imagine him in the black mini-dress – he had the winsome bone structure for it.

The fourth male simply barked. Pearl cut in, "He's going to be a petmale, you see. Two year term. They already did his vocal cords – unlike Desiderata, he's done this before so they can skip some training steps. Between you and me, I'd be surprised if he didn't extend indefinitely." The soon-to-be-petmale woofed and lolled out his tongue. He was clearly happy to have lost his human voice.

The last of the five other males spoke up then, "I'm Slave AF-M-4. I'm forgetting my given name; I'd like my new owner to name me, if she desires. I'm a slave. I'm your age, but real: eighteen a few days ago. I left my group home and came straight here."

I gave the assured young slave a nod of respect. I envied him his certainty.

"How long?" I asked, wanting to confirm a suspicion.

"Ten years, brother," he answered. "You know it's the legal maximum for a first timer?" I nodded. "They put me through a full psychological evaluation over the last few days, just to make sure I knew what I was doing. But I've always known I'm a slave. I'm meant to be owned; I was created to belong to a woman. As soon as the ten years is up, I'll do another ten. Then I can be permanently enslaved."

"This one's a real virgin," said Pearl, roving over his body with her eyes. "You know, anal and all the other things. So he's going to be very expensive indeed. It's a ten year contract so they'll put the money in trust, but you just know he'll never claim it. It'll go to the state; helps fund places like this."

"I wonder if the trainers will take my virginity?" asked the boy.

"Not likely," said Pearl, "they'll want to keep you nice and pure. Obedience and service training only, I'd think."

"In any case," he replied, "I'll submit." His body radiated calm.

We spent a while then talking about what kind of slaves we wanted to be, how we'd ended up where we were, our hopes for the future. The redhead ponygirl had "slave for life" written all over her, but I hadn't the heart to tell her. I wondered if she would train well as a ponygirl, winning shows or races, or whether she'd end up someone's hobby, somewhere between a ponygirl and a live-in pet. She certainly had the drive to succeed.

An hour later, the new slavegirl came in, led on a leash by the doctor. "Slaves," said the doctor, "this is Maya Smith, or Slave MS-F-2. Introduce yourself, slavegirl."

"Um... hello, er fellow slaves. My name is Maya. I'm a trainee priestess in the Temple of Matriarchy. I'm doing my year's pilgrimage as a slave, to see if I want to become a slave-priestess or a domme-priestess. I've not been modified much beyond the collar and cuffs – it's not allowed for priestesses. But don't let that put you off me. I'm as much a slave as you are."

"Well, Maya, no need to sit down. Slaves, cuffs – release. And stand to attention."

Each of our cuffs released from behind our backs. We stood with legs apart and hands behind backs; ramrod straight and ready to serve.

"You will now be transported to our training facility on the edge of the city. I will leash each of you and lead you to the transport truck, which is parked in front of the building. You, petmale, crawl on all-fours. The rest on two legs, after me quickly now. I want to get you there before dark."

We left the enslavement centre quickly, a gaggle of naked bodies led by the businesslike doctor. The street was mostly deserted, but a few passing women eyed us up. The truck was waiting outside, it's electric engine quietly idling. It was tall, so that slaves could stand up in the back. We stepped up inside, and were each directed into individual pods, standing up and facing out. There, our legs and arms were shackled in place, with waist straps buckled around our midriffs so that we couldn't turn away, but with our slave tattoos still on show. I had a feeling I knew what was about to happen.

The doctor toggled a switch and the solid walls of the truck became transparent. I was going to be transported through the whole city like this: naked and exposed, collared and wearing a pink cock cage with a bow on it. I turned my head to look at Pearl. She was excited, blowing kisses at passers-by. Slave AF-M-4, the ten year termer who would be a slave forever, stood proud and confident. He fervently believed that his body should be completely exposed, so as to make it clear that he was someone's property and not the master of his own world.

The doctor climbed up into the passenger seat and the truck glided out of the parking spot. We wove our way through the evening traffic. The sun was low in the sky, sometimes right in my eyes. I had been ordered by the doctor to keep looking forward, out of the truck, not at the other slaves. She told me not to be ashamed of my cute slim body, and reminded me that potential buyers were everywhere.

I had been loaded into the side of the truck that was closest to the pavement. Every time we stopped, women walking past took a moment to stop and stare. A few took pictures and walked away giggling. I wondered what they would do with them. Pictures of fresh slaves were treasured by certain collectors. No doubt some of those women would be masturbating over my vulnerability soon.

Right in the middle of the city, we made a long stop not far from where I had been working, as a hydroponic technician. The doctor got out and went inside a shop, leaving us new slaves standing to attention as groups of women gathered and stared, chatting about our attributes and wondering who might buy each of us. AF-M-4 drank in the attention, and Pearl positively beamed with happiness. I was having a lot less fun.

Minutes passed – what was the doctor doing – and from the crowd emerged someone I recognised, a co-worker from the hydroponics lab. She walked right up to the side of the parked truck and tapped on the transparent body. My eyes looked down and met hers. I was mortified as she drank me in. She thought for a moment and took out her tablet computer. She pointed the camera at me and snapped picture after picture, then leant her back against the truck.

With the tablet held up so I could see it, she started attaching the pictures to a social media post. There was me, fully nude, collared and enslaved, bound and helpless. Here was a close up of my pink cock cage. Here was my tattoo and slave barcode, here my collared head. She typed in a large font, so I could see:

'Slut-slave Kieron Faber, soon to be for sale to the highest bidder. Finally he's stopped pretending to be a free male, as if such a thing really exists. Cock size category 3, age reduced to eighteen. Probably an anal virgin again. Just look at those blushes, ladies! And that pretty pink bow on his lovely cock cage – so cute! He is a good little boy who has finally learned his place.'

Free males like me were rare in the workplace, and seldom popular. Tagging my name and those of many of my former co-workers, she uploaded the shots, then blew me a kiss and waved goodbye. As she walked away, a thought hit her and she returned. Filming my reaction, she slipped her dress down over her breasts and exposed them to me as I stood, bound and helpless. Then she lifted her dress and let me see her translucent boxer briefs. So much more substantial than men's lacy g-strings, but she still made them sexy. I'd never seen her pussy before, but now I was a slave she felt free to expose herself to me. I didn't count anymore.

In its cage, my cock strained and writhed. She watched it try helplessly to get erect, laughing all the while, then the truck mercifully started up and we drove away. Everyone I knew could now see that I was a slave available to the highest bidder. It was humiliating and liberating. I was going to have to get used to living without privacy.

When we reached the enslavement compound, the truck passed through three checkpoints, each the only way through the high steel fences topped with razor wire. The compound was mostly open space for training, dotted with low concrete buildings. I saw stables, showers, pools, corrals, cages, whipping posts and stocks in the last light of day. I wondered which I might end up in.

I was fed and watered and allowed to use the facilities, then led to a sleeping cage and locked in with Pearl, who had been put into a tight chastity belt that bisected her dripping pussy. We kissed and held each other until our nanites were set to put us to sleep. Guards patrolled as we slept in the long room full of slaves in training, our bodies completely exposed to their eyes. I can only guess at how powerful they must have felt.

Chapter 2 Training

At 0800 hours, the sleeping cages unlocked and we staggered upright. The guards locked our wrist cuffs behind our backs and tied our leashes in a chain, then led us single file to a courtyard dotted with showers and toilets. It was open to the air on all sides, with cameras mounted all around, though at least the toilets had walls. Once we had been unlocked, a head guard stood before the group of fifty slaves and addressed us.

"Slaveboys and slavegirls. The government of Matriana thanks you for volunteering to take up your rightful roles as slaves. This is the first and last time you will receive such thanks from me. From here on in, expect to be treated as pieces of property. This is the shower and toilet area you will use. Pair up and clean each other. The cameras you see are recording everything you do. All these recordings are available, permanently, from our online archives.

"You signed over your right to privacy when you took the slave oath. From now on, every square centimetre of your bodies is on public view. Try to enjoy the feeling. You all look ravishing, of course, but you need to clean yourselves up. In fifteen minutes I expect you back here in a line, clean and dry, in display position. Dirtiness will be punished. Begin!"

I looked around to Pearl and raised an eyebrow. She laughed and nodded, but admonished me, "I'm still your superior even though we're both slaves. Ask something like "May I have the privilege of cleaning you, miss?" OK?"

"Yes, miss. May I have that privilege, miss?"

"Of course, slaveboy. Come over here. Here, I'll get the shower started and you can soap me up."

I took up a bottle of shower wash and worked some into a lather in my hands. At Pearl's beckon, I rubbed it across her shoulders, down her back, then let my hands come around to her front, around her wonderful breasts. She sighed with pleasure, leaning back into me and kissing me on the mouth. I kept on lathering her up then washing her down with the shower head, all up and down her whole body.

A guard came by and unlocked Pearl's chastity belt so I could clean her smooth slave pussy. I knelt down on the concrete floor and worked the soap into her folds, then I moved around her and did the same with her backside, soaping deep into the crack of her arse, to her continuing delight. As I knelt, I made sure my legs never came together, so that I was always on display. A pulse of warmth from my obedience nanites let me know this was the right thing to do.

Pearl loved the attention. I cleaned her whole body that way, just soap and hands, working over every little bit of her skin. I wondered who might be watching us on the livestream; perhaps my former coworkers or people from Pearl's company. When I was done, I stood and looked her in the eyes.

"Is that satisfactory, miss?" I asked.