Becoming Slave 172

Chapter 3: Master Ross

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The Story So Far:

After being sentenced to enslavement for trumped-up drug charges, in the last chapter, Noah underwent slave processing before being sold to his mysterious new owner.

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DAY 2 of SLAVERY

Noah finally heard the engine shut off. He wasn’t sure how long they had been driving, but it wasn’t that far. Noah might even have recognised the area if he had the chance to look around, but there would be no time for that.

The darkness was suddenly broken as the boot was raised, flooding in light to temporarily blind the new slave. He was hauled out of the car and in through the door of what he correctly assumed was his new owner’s house. It was an ordinary house; it wouldn’t look out of place in any British suburb, but slave 172 would discover it had been retrofitted with a large, well-equipped cellar he would get to know well.

He was directed through the hallway to a conservatory overlooking a pretty, well-kept garden before being pushed to his knees in the centre of the room as his Master sat on the sofa before him. For the first time, he had a chance to properly look at the man who would control every aspect of his life from now on.

The first thing that struck Noah was how imposing his captor was - although he was only 2” taller at 5’11”, it was clear that Noah was no match physically. He began to fully appreciate the hunk before him.

Even a straight guy like Noah couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was, with his short but messy, dirty blonde hair and designer stubble, the latter perfectly framing his dreamy smile and complimenting his piercing, ice-blue eyes.

After a few moments, the warm smile changed in the blink of an eye into a sinister, almost cruel smirk as his Master spoke.

“My name is Master Ross. You’ll always call me Master or Sir”.

Ross MacLeod was very fortunate for his age, at only 24. Although orphaned as children, Ross and his younger brother Alex were from a wealthy family and were lucky enough to be taken in by their grandfather, who raised them to be compassionate and emotionally intelligent young men.

When his grandfather passed away last year, he left the boys the house in the Manchester suburbs and a small fortune to go with it – enough to send Alex off to Oxford University debt-free, enough for Ross to quit his job as a trainee accountant to work part-time from home for a children’s charity, and enough to now invest in an item of human property.

Master Ross continued: “I've already forgotten your name, boy, and eventually so will you, so from now on, you're slave 172.”

Individual 9-digit slave registration numbers were randomly assigned by a computer to each newly enslaved individual, their former identity replaced by one of a billion possible combinations. The slave opened his mouth to remind his Master that he was Noah, but before the words could come out, he was cut off by Master Ross.

“You will only speak when spoken to, slave. Stand and strip while I fetch your new uniform.”

He was apprehensive. He could be forced into anything for the next five years. Still, something about his Master’s demeanour told him that he would probably be safe, whatever was thrown at him. He stripped off the jockstrap from the processing centre and resumed kneeling, ready to be given his new uniform. So, he was puzzled when his Master reappeared carrying only a bag of clinking metal pieces.

For the second time in as many days, the fit ladies’ man was naked and exposed in front of another man. He had a feeling he would need to get used to this. Little did he know, he would never wear a single item of clothing again for the remainder of his enslavement.

“Sir, I don’t…”

Noah’s attempt to speak was cut off with a swift backhand across the face from his new Master.

“Usually, daring to speak without permission would incur a more severe punishment, but I appreciate you’re still adjusting to your new status. I should explain – I am a fair & patient man, but I expect complete obedience. I am no sadist; I don’t plan on hurting you for the sake of it, but failure will certainly be punished. Your time here will be as painful as you make it”.

“Many of your duties will be new to you, so you’ll be given some leeway initially while you learn. But I want to see clear effort on your part, so I suggest you learn quickly before my patience runs out. You’ll be disciplined the second I think you’re resisting, slacking, or falling backwards in your training.”

“Now, it's time to get you dressed. Stand up, arms out in front of you.”

The slave did as he was told, not wanting to test the truth of his new Master's warning. He watched as thick stainless-steel bands were closed around each wrist, featuring rings for attaching restraints, and secured with an Allen key. These were followed by matching ankle bands.

172 was again instructed to kneel as a matching steel collar was affixed around his neck. He couldn’t believe this was happening and was terrified of what lay ahead for him. He felt himself beginning to well up but wrestled to compose himself. He couldn’t let this creep think he was frightened. He clung to whatever semblance of moral superiority he could convince himself he had.

But it wouldn’t last long as his Master took out the final item of his “uniform" – a small metal contraption that puzzled Noah until his Master explained:

“172, this is a chastity device. Your cock has been the focus of your life for too long and will only distract you from your new role. This will prevent you from becoming erect or masturbating. I hope you had a good wank yesterday; you won’t be having another for as long as you remain here.”

172 watched in horror as this device was fitted to his cock and balls. Surely he wouldn’t have to wear this torture device all the time!? His fear now got the better of him, and he began to shake as his Master manhandled his cock and balls before again fixing the device in place with an Allen key.

“Don’t you look smart, boy! You’ll get used to the weight. This is your uniform from now on – sometimes more on top, but never less”.

172 struggled to contain the trembling, and his Master couldn’t help but notice. While he didn’t suffer fools, Master Ross wasn’t horrible; he could be warm and gentle when necessary. His friends actually thought his views on slave treatment were overly soft, but he didn’t feel it would help to point that out to his petrified slave. Instead, he hugged the boy just long enough to calm him down a bit.

“Th… thank you, Master”, the boy mumbled.

“Good boy. Follow me,” he ordered.

172 followed his Master back through the hallway and into his Master’s lounge.

“On all fours, boy, between the sofa and the coffee table”.

172 did as ordered while Sir fixed himself a drink. He wasn’t overly surprised when he felt Sir settle into the sofa, now naked, and put his feet up on his slave’s back, although he was surprised when Sir placed a pair of his used boxer briefs over the slave’s head to sniff and removing his vision.

172 was Master’s footrest for nearly two hours, huffing the scent of his Master’s sweaty balls and ass as Sir watched the football. He occasionally shifted and fidgeted under the weight of his owner’s feet, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, but he never dared to move too dramatically. He could tell from the sounds his Master was making that his team were winning, and 172 didn’t want to spoil His fun and risk punishment.

Plus, the smell of Sir’s undies had an almost hypnotic effect on 172, making him feel strangely content. So much so that he was slightly disappointed when the final whistle blew and he felt Sir remove his feet from his back and remove his underwear from his slave’s head.

“Well done, 172. You have a lot to learn and a lot of new duties coming your way over the next few days and weeks, but if you keep submitting, it will be plain sailing. Remember, if you start resisting, I start forcing. And that won’t be fun for you”.

172 was again nervous at the prospect of what he would be made to do as he formulated his response to his Master, settling on “Thank you, Master. I’d like to be a good slave for you, Sir”. Master seemed to find that acceptable and ruffled the slave’s hair before standing.

“I’ll keep wearing these for you; keep the smell nice and fresh since you like them so much”, he chuckled, putting the undies back on as he watched 172’s caged cock give an involuntary twitch before the boy he meekly responded, “Thank you, Master”.

“It’s getting late, and we still have one more thing to do, so let me introduce you to your new quarters".

Master Ross guided his slave to a small door beneath the stairs. It seemed normal enough, but 172 noticed it was heavily soundproofed on the inside, as were the walls beyond. He was led down a set of steps into a large, open cellar, kitted out with a whole range of BDSM equipment. But Master Ross had sensibly hidden most of it away in the fitted storage cupboards or under dust sheets so as not to spook his new slave. It would discover the many tools and contraptions soon enough.

All the slave could see was a steel cage in the centre of the room, a double bed against one of the walls, and a small bathroom area with a toilet and shower in one corner.

“Kneel in there”, Master Ross instructed, gesturing to the shower cubicle.

While the slave scrambled to comply, Master Ross retrieved a set of hair clippers from a storage cupboard. He’d decided the slave’s sparse pubes and body hair could stay for now, but the boyish locks had to go. A nice short buzz cut would look much better on a naked, collared slave.

“OK, 172. At the moment, you still look like a ladies’ man. Time to get you looking more like a slave”.

172 was deeply unhappy at the prospect of losing his hair. He had always put a great deal of effort into his appearance – always working on keeping his body in perfect shape, keeping his trim just how he liked it, and sporting the trendiest outfits his family’s extremely modest budget would allow.

But now his body was no longer his, and even clothes were out of the question. By the time Sir finished on his hair, there would be nothing left of the old Noah. Just the blank template of slave 172.

But 172 already knew better than to resist. It would happen either way, and he didn’t want to make his owner unhappy. 172 lowered his gaze in shame as his Master got to work removing the last element of his former identity, the clumps of removed brown hair falling around him as the buzzing of the clippers drowned out all other noise.

Once satisfied he had finished, Sir gently patted his slave’s freshly buzzed head before turning on the shower, soaking the boy in cold water and instructing him to wash off the fallen hair covering his body.

Once the hair was gone, Master Ross turned off the water and threw the boy a towel. It was old and very scratchy, but the slave was glad of the chance to dry off the freezing cold water as his owner placed a dog bowl of cold pasta on the concrete floor in front of the slave, instructing him to get on his knees and eat – no hands.

172 didn’t recognise the sauce on the pasta until he was a few mouthfuls in. Sir had cum over the top of his boy’s dinner, but 172 was too starving to care, wolfing down the bowl of food and even licking it clean.

Once finished, he was led to the bed at the back of the cellar. The slave would have to get used to sleeping in the steel cage, the bed being designed purely for sexual use, but his owner would allow him to spend his first night as a slave in the bed. He wanted him well rested for his first day of training tomorrow.

172 barely noticed as his Master padlocked one of the rings on his collar to a length of chain attached to a previously unseen anchor point in the bed’s headrest. Master Ross suspected his new slave wasn’t the type to attempt an escape, and he would never get out of the locked cellar even if he tried. Still, he didn’t want his new property doing anything daft. New slaves could be unpredictable.

“From tomorrow, you’ll spend most nights in the cage. Sleeping in bed, with or without me, will be a rare privilege you’ll need to earn. Sleep well, boy. Your training starts in the morning”.

Master Ross walked away, plunging the dungeon into darkness as he ascended the steps, leaving his new property alone to contemplate what lay ahead.