Submission Ch. 01

Hi folks!! This is my first story I've written and I'm really psyched about it. I can't promise any regular timelines because graduate school is slowly killing me buuuuut I can do my best to do a chapter every week or two... or three. This story is going to revolve around an M/s (Master/slave) dynamic, with elements of BDSM, bondage, humiliation, degradation, non-con... that whole sort of genre... however, the story includes a transgender protagonist, as well as other LGBT characters- it's not the focal point of the story, but it naturally comes up here and there.

I'll try to include specific things in the preface of things that people may get squeamish about. This chapter will include brief scat, and brief transphobia.

Pleeeeeeeeease lemme know what you think after you read it!! It'll help a lot and I'll genuinely take your thoughts into consideration. xoxo, T.

*****

Where do you see yourself in ten years? They ask you questions like that when you're young, like somehow you'll be the one who magically can foretell the future and be able to judge an entire life that sits beyond reach just by thinking about. I can't even remember what I told the counselor. Probably something blue collar, honest but dead end, like working at a factory. That idea was swiftly blown out of the water by the rapid expansion of automation and the creation of Matter Printers.

You would think that giving the human race everything it ever wanted for mostly free would be a good thing. But when the bullets stopped flying and people finally started to get it through their heads that "Work" meant something very different than it used to, I found myself at a turning point I had never seen coming. I found my calling in life, something that had I said it to that counselor all those years ago would have caused her to go white with shock and fright. I became something that retained its value even in a world where someone could print rubies the size of ostrich eggs for nothing. See, in such a world as the one I live in, there are only two things that retain their value. The human mind, and the human body. So I used my mind to make use of others' bodies.

I became a slave trainer.

I never really thought of myself as a "Handsome" man. I certainly am not the type you write novels about. But I have learned that you can make up for quite a bit of missing natural beauty with a combination of dignity, confidence, and poise. I've been told I remind people of everything from Santa to primary school principals. The Santa jibs had gotten worse once I began to go grey, but hell if I was going to look like an elderly baby by shaving my beard instead. Of course, that was by people who dared to jib. I remember once reading about how slave owners of the past would beat and even kill the chattel they owned for so much as daring to look at them askance. Waste on that scale was an anathema to me, but the past is the past. "Fools" I couldn't help muttering to myself. I held out my arms and felt the soft touch of my robe glide across my skin. The patterning on it was exquisite, and I'm sure the designer had been paid in several servants or even slaves for it.

"Four". I let my voice come out stern and steady. The young man on my left stepped forward and quickly and neatly tied the belt of my robe. I looked in the mirror for a moment, and let silence hang briefly.

"Good job Four. No mistakes. You'll earn your name yet. Six, notice how Four used me to align the rope, not the rope itself. That way, it stays center on my body." I looked over my shoulder- a young woman, her face a bright red as her body shuddered uncontrollably. "Remember," I reached out and cupped her chin to force her eyes to mine, "that it is the minute details that truly show the shine and polish of a gem. Any half assed slave trainer can teach his charges to tie a knot. You are here to learn how to tie them..." I glanced down at the intricate network of knotted rope that bound the young woman's body tightly, pressing into her skin, her breasts, and tightly squeezing her clitoris so that so much as a breath would cause it to squeeze and rub against her. "Perfectly."

"Y-y-y-y-yes Master." The girl whimpered. I waited patiently, staring into her eyes, not letting her look away. Humans are much like animals when it comes to eye contact. A firm glance can break the will of the weaker. She turned her eyes away from me and bit her lip, the trembling increasing in her body.

"Good. Now, remember, keep track of the time... I'd hate for you to miss your chance to orgasm at 5:38 and have to wait another week." The grin on my face made it very clear that I did not hate that idea in the slightest.

She whimpered and resisted the urge to look at her watch that I was making her wear. What she did not know was I had tampered with it, making it move slowly. I was not overly cruel, I would let her if she timed it correctly, but minutes would seem twice as long, and a thousand times longer to the poor deprived girl. She had made a minor mistake, but was very far along in her training, to a place where minor mistakes were all that were left to be corrected. She soon enough would earn a name that she would be sold under. Six was a fine young woman, but she held nothing of particular interest to me, and I would not keep her when training was done. I kept some of them, every now and then, those with unique skills or traits that made me want to keep their value for myself. Those special ones were few and far between however. I stepped away from the shuddering six, letting her chin fall to her chest as she shuddered again.

"Four, status report on one, two, three and five." I strode quickly through the hallway, four and six keeping pace behind me.

The young man rattled off the information without a moment's hesitation.

"Yes Master. One is currently finishing her endurance regimen, Two is waiting in your office with today's agenda, three is cleaning the stables, and five is preparing herself for evenings leisure."

Four knew that the question was a test. I knew where each of my numbered slaves were at any given time. But I was training the boy to be an office assistant and recall memory was important. He had been an academic before he had signed on to be a slave, and upon his release would probably go back to his studies yet again. Six on the other hand had been a high society girl, daughter of a creator before it was realized she showed no aptitude for creativity. Her father had refused to believe it for too long, and had left her without any appreciable servant skills. She had chosen to life of the slave over that of being a near worthless servant. Considering how well she had adapted to the sexual aspects of being a slave, it had not taken long to discover that Six was a masochist with a penchant for humiliation, degradation, and abuse. Her beauty and how well she took to more "Unpleasant" circumstances would make her valuable at sale. Anyone could be broken with enough training, but it was a rare bird indeed that took to it not just willingly, but happily. My focus snapped back as we entered into my office and I saw two standing at attention near my desk. A large man of what I could only guess was Middle Eastern descent, his muscles absolutely rippled with every move. He held in his hands at a 90 degree angle from his body a piece of rice paper that I had him write the day's schedule on. I grinned as I could see the strain in his massive arms to hold the delicate sheet without tearing it while also resisting the urge to lower his arms. I sat down in my seat behind my desk and leaned back.

"Two? What's scheduled for today."

His deep baritone was quick and succinct.

"You have an auction today Master. The reject fair is today."

My ears perked up instantly. I loved the so called "Reject" fair. Full of people who most trainers didn't want to bother with. The "Rejects" came in all shapes and sizes and experiences, but all would be more expensive than simple servants, and difficult by normal methods to bring to market standards. People with disabilities or disfigurements, people too strong willed to take well to slavery, people who didn't fit the standard mold of "Beautiful"... all found themselves at the reject fair. Some would be bought by crueler trainers who just wanted cheap furniture or other jobs to menial to be done by other slaves, I took pride in picking up those whom even our society had deemed as "Worthless" and making them into something that the world would desire. Certainly it was often harder than picking up a "Standard" model, but my clients paid top billing for the unique and extraordinary, and the simple fact was that many people over estimated how impactful a particular "Failure" might be. Not to mention the level of prestige that taking a Reject and transforming them into something actually desirable endowed..

"Good, Two, go get the car ready. Six? Go lay out my clothes for evening. The black suit and tie thank you. Four?"

I shifted aside my robe letting my already rising cock fall free.

"I have paperwork to do. I hate paperwork. You can make yourself useful at the very least while I do it. Remember all the numbers as I call them out."

Four dropped to his knees and slid under my desk, whispering "Yes, master", leaning over to take me into his mouth.

I stifled the moan as he began his work and stared intently at my computer screen.

Who would I find at the Reject fair today... Hopefully, someone interesting. Most of the current crop of six were almost done and nearly "Graduated" to earning names. I needed a new set, and hopefully I would find at least one or two of them at the fair. "Standards" were easy to train, but horrifically boring. I needed something new, something exciting, something unusual. Hopefully before the day was out, I would have my latest canvases to perform my own unique brand of artwork.

________________________________________

The mascara brush clipped against the hood of my eyelid again, leaving a soft, black smear where there had once been light tones highlighting my almond shaped eyes. I sighed heavily, starting my makeup over again for what seemed like the millionth time, why did this have to be so darn difficult?

I quickly wiped everything off my face, and chose a small nub of a used pencil to give a quick liner to my eye before throwing everything back in my kit and turning to face my bed. Clothes? I didn't have much, and what I did have was on my body. Makeup and basic hygiene products that had been scrapped together by my parents, as a pseudo-going-away present? Sigh... Check. Nymphadora? The stuffed kitty sat, facing me with its eyes drooping towards my feet. "Me too, Nymph..." I thought aloud, piling everything into my backpack and doing one last look around the cramped room that had been home for years. It was time.

I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I didn't know that side of the world that well. Even though I'd been a servant my entire life, and came from a long line of "working class" men and women, my vantage into slavery was limited.

There had been once, when I was young. It was during the summer months, when I was out in a field with my guy friends playing some rough and tumble type of game. One by one, each of the guys stopped what they were doing, and turned towards the edge of the field, where a fully clothed man led several... things behind him. They looked like people, but were draped in so many chains and leather straps that they more closely resembled human-shaped treasure chests.

Back then, we all knew that there were people who were owned by their "betters", and that there existed a hierarchy of owners and masters and slaves, but if you had told me back then that I would eventually be forced into a role of a slave, I would've ran. I would've ran far away, where no one knew about that weird girl who never spoke and kept to herself; where no one knew me or who I used to be.

As I walked through the city, I wondered about the events leading up to today. Growing up as an average boy born to lower class servants certainly had its ups and downs. When I told my parents who I actually was, they grieved for the loss of their son before accepting their daughter some years later. When I told my employers who I actually was, they were... less accommodating. I tried my best every day at work, but was far from a fastest or most precise laborer. I knew that. My bosses knew that, and resented me for it. I believe their exact wording to my divulgement was "You can stay on board as a male servant- hell, you can even wear makeup and gay little dresses... But we will not have a woman working for us here, and we will do everything within our power to blacklist you if you tried to go anywhere else to work as a woman."

It was so humiliating. I hated the fact that bigots and assholes could control my life on a whim. I hated what they saw me as. Just because they saw a man with little to no beard stubble, and a thin frame lined with thinner muscles didn't mean that when I closed my eyes, I saw someone entirely different- the real me. The me who didn't just wear dresses or cheap, flashy makeup. The me who was ME- a woman. When I left their office after that shift, I closed my eyes, looking to Her for guidance. I found only frustration and sadness wrapped around a scared and teary eyed 20 year old girl. A servant girl like me without means to be of help to society threatened expulsion to the wide deserts surrounding the city, where only death would accept me.

A couple weeks later, after my struggling against my oppressors at my site, I reeled in my anger and sadness. I tried to think about my choices, and where my life could lead. As a servant, I had two 'practical' options- continue living the lie of being a 'man' working for nearly nothing and being tied to the chains of 22nd century poor socioeconomic class...or... following who I am, and subsequently sliding down to the only rung below mine on the class ladder, where laborers give their freedom away in exchange for a tough "life" led by cruel masters.

Slavery.

Once I had accepted my fate and told myself enough lies about it not being that bad and only marginally different than what the rest of my life had been, I found myself in a dusty part of town that I had always stayed far away from. It wasn't quite that it was a bad neighborhood... so much as a terrible neighborhood. Servants constantly went missing, presumably by illegal slave dealers, and there was virtually no semblance of order. Except for today. Today was the D-grade Slave Market, or the "Reject Fair" as it was commonly called due to the sub-par participants. Since the market district execs didn't want to lose money on what had become a more 'exotic' auction, they hired guards to protect the merchandise, and stationed them along the main road leading up to the pavilion, usually hidden in the torn down homes so as to not scare off flakey potential volunteers.

After walking for several blocks down the guarded road, I came to the last stop on my journey as a servant. It was probably the largest building that servants were permitted to enter without petition, with many fliers (some new, some ancient looking) plastered to the stone columns out front. Quietly entering the only intact building in the area, I came to a sort of front desk, where several women dressed in neat, black suits sat. I sat my mostly empty bag down on the floor next to me, and waited to be addressed.

"Name?" the leftmost woman asked in a frustrated manner, as though I had done this several times and knew to state my name. "You do have one, yes?"

"Umm... well... my legal name is-" I paused for a moment, caught between what I wanted to say versus what was actually correct, "My name is Tracy"

The woman who addressed me extended her hand, shaking mine, and responded "Not anymore!", with a hoarse laugh and turning to the giggling women next to her, "I can't believe they always fall for that, as though their old name means anything to anyone here."

I blushed, embarrassed and a little shocked at how my first human interaction in the slave world had been. The woman pointed between laughs to a group of burly men just down the hall from them. Rather than ask for clarification, I picked up my bag and walked towards them, hoping for anything better than that. I was about to be disappointed.

Once I was within several feet of the first man, he made a motion as to take my bag. I handed it to him, while another forcefully took my hand in his and led me further down the hall, turning at the end and winding down several turns before eventually entering a small room. The man with my bag closed the door behind us, and flicked up a light-switch, revealing a small, cold cement room.

"Back to the wall opposite the door," the man who had led me to the room ordered, "You are permitted to sit on the floor during this interview, but any other movement aside from standing still will be met with force." From the back of the door, the man's partner retrieved a couple packets of paperwork- intake forms if I had to guess. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions. Failure to answer will not end well for you. First, we will go over medical history." The man went through several series of questions, grading me like the piece of meat I apparently am now.

Eventually the questions turned more personal, asking me about sexual history and various preferences. I wondered why the preferences really mattered, but I guess they did give potential buyers some information to work with other than looks.

"What is your sex at birth?"

"Male..."

"Gender?"

"...Woman"

The man made no pause, continuing the paperwork to my surprise, as though it wasn't relevant at all to him or mattered in the slightest.

"Orientation?"

"I like men and women"

"Past sexual history?"

"I have none."

"Elaborate."

"I've never been with another person... just lefty and righty here" I held my hands up with a small, forced smile, trying to cut through the immense tension in the air. The guard flicked his dark eyes up at me without any other change in his expression. "I have far too many cunts on my list today to get through. Don't waste any more of my time, or we'll raise your starting bid so high that not even God could buy you."

I felt my heart start to race a bit more. I didn't want to go through the auction without a bid, doing so would only lock me in a cell until the next auction, or maybe even the one after that. I'd heard that the slave companies didn't enjoy "wasting merchandise."

The guard stared deep into my eyes for just a moment more to get his message made before continuing my intake.

"Fetishes?"

I blushed, caught slightly off guard, "Umm... None really. I haven't slept with anyone so I mean, I'm not super into much really..." I trailed off, hoping that would count as an answer. There were some things that certainly got me all hot, but I didn't quite see the point in revealing them to these two. I didn't want to be that type of slave to some creepy owner.

The questioning continued on for what seemed like hours, but the interview was finally finished. My interrogator slid some of my paperwork under the door, where it was promptly retrieved by someone on the other side. The other man approached me, taking my wrist in his hand and pulling it towards the ceiling of the cell. Unbeknownst to me, there were actually two leather bracelets mounted on the ceiling, hanging down. The guard firmly locked the cuffs around my wrists. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but the leather of the bracelet prevented the metal clips from digging into my skin, and they hung just low enough for me to stand flat on my feet.

I closed my eyes, hoping for the best and praying nothing terrible would happen right off the bat. The cool feel of metal pressed against my chest, as the guard cut away all of my tattered clothing and allowed it to pile at my feet. I opened my eyes to see the second guard with a small hose. The two crudely sprayed me down, walking around me to get into every little nook and cranny. The hose stopped spraying water or just a moment, while one of the guards attached a small cone-shaped tip to the end of the nozzle. He brought it behind me, but before I can realize what he's doing, I feel the hard plastic press against my virgin asshole and slowly push past my outer sphincter. I brace myself, and a second later my insides are greeted with a spray of freezing water. They instantly start painfully cramping up, when the man removes the nozzle and sets a plastic bucket under me. "Expel."