Becoming Slave 172: Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The Story So Far:

After being convicted on trumped-up drug charges, straight boy Noah has been sold into slavery.

Stripped of its old identity and forced to serve Master Ross sexually and domestically, it has slowly accepted its new reality as slave 172.

The story picks up a few months into 172’s sentence, just before its first Christmas in slavery.

Character Reminder:

Many of the characters we’ve met so far re-appear in this chapter, alongside a few new faces. So here’s a reminder of who we’ve already met:

Slave 172 (formerly Noah Roberts) – Now 20 years old. A former law student, enslaved at 19, for 5 years on petty drugs charges.
Master Ross MacLeod – 172’s 24 year old owner. An orphan since childhood, he was raised by his grandfather from whom he recently inherited a house and a small fortune. Compassionate and emotionally intelligent, he is firm but fair with his slave.
Lewis Bannon – 19 year old student. Once 172’s best friend and roommate before his enslavement, he is now Master Ross’ submissive boyfriend.
Josh Collier – 23 years old. Master Ross’ best friend since childhood & a fellow slave owner. Arrogant and sadistic, especially with slaves, he has an insatiable libido.

3 MONTHS in SLAVERY - 10 DECEMBER 2034

By the time its 100th day in slavery rolled around in early December, 172’s routine had become second nature.

The one main addition was showering and dressing its owner. Each morning after breakfast, the slave would follow Sir into his sizeable walk-in shower and painstakingly massage the soapy lather over every inch of his body before carefully rinsing it clean. 172 had always appreciated how attractive Master Ross was, but it had truly come to worship the perfectly sculpted body it had gotten to know so intimately.

After stepping out of the shower, the slave used one of Sir’s soft, fluffy towels to dry him off before using a cheap, scratchy towel to dry itself. Once dry, it followed Sir to his bedroom, where it retrieved Sir’s choice of clothes for the day and proceeded to dress him while he played on his phone.

The festive period also brought a few other changes. For a start, Master Ross’ brother had returned home from university for the Christmas break.

Master Alex, as the boy had been instructed to call him, only bore a passing physical resemblance to his brother. At 5’8”, he was 3 inches shorter than his brother, and his messy, gelled hair was longer and a darker brown than his brother’s dirty blonde fade.

One of 172’s favourite features of its owner was his piercing, ice-blue eyes. Here, too, they differed; Alex’s round eyes were a deep, emerald green, but equally hypnotic.

Alex clearly looked after his body, sporting a toned, athletic physique that his place on the college swim team had helped to craft, framed by a smattering of chest hair and a prominent treasure trail leading to his bushy pubes, usually kept hidden beneath his designer CK boxer briefs.

But where the brothers differed physically, their personalities had much more in common, sharing the same effortlessly smooth charisma and sense of humour, which shone through in their identical broad, cheeky smiles.

However, having been largely raised by his older brother after they were orphaned and their elderly grandfather grew ill, Alex had developed a rebellious streak absent in the impeccably responsible Ross. Even in his early teens, Alex had been a party animal, staying out beyond his curfew and using his charm and good looks to procure alcohol from adults for him and his friends.

Now, at 18, Alex was using the freedom of being away at university to experiment and play the field. Frankly, he wasn’t fussy whether he was sleeping with men or women, so long as he got what he wanted. Ross couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the stories of Alex’s promiscuity and partying. And he’d audibly tutted when he caught a glimpse of Alex’s handful of new tattoos spread around his torso, although he had to admit they suited his brother.

When it came to slaves, Alex had encountered plenty at Oxford. One of the perks of going to one of the wealthiest and most prestigious universities in the country was being served on a daily basis by the herd of slaves owned by the college. Whether they were drinking his piss, swallowing his load, or just carrying his books, Alex had grown accustomed to the highest levels of slave service.

So he had been particularly keen to get a good look at the slave his brother had spent a chunk of their inheritance on, finding it kneeling in the hallway as he kicked off his boots.

“Hmm… I knew it! You just can’t resist a cute twink, can you? Nice bubble butt… is it a good fuck?”

The slave cringed at being spoken about as a sexual object but couldn’t help smiling at its owner’s response, “Oh, it’s the best…”, accompanied by a cheeky wink to the kneeling boy when his brother wasn’t looking.

172 was sent to pack away Alex’s luggage while the brothers caught up, but later that evening, it had its first experience of serving Alex. He had approached the slave in the kitchen while it was preparing dinner. Without saying a word, he span the slave round, pushed it to its knees and pulled out his cock (a respectable 6.5” compared to his brother’s 7”).

The slave had barely got it in its mouth before a bladder full of piss was forced into its mouth at full speed. The boy gulped furiously to keep up but managed not to spill any. When Alex was done, he just stuffed his cock back into his pants and walked away.

In Alex’s mind, he didn’t thank a chair when he sat on it, so why would he thank a urinal after pissing in it?

It had caused Alex great amusement when Lewis mentioned that the slave had been studying law, the same as Alex, before it was enslaved. But whereas Noah had wanted to be a defence lawyer, fighting against injustice for the little guy, Alex hoped to be a prosecutor.

Alex didn’t particularly care whether a suspect was guilty or not; society needed a certain quota of convicts to serve the growing population in manual industries, and he planned to do his part in keeping the supply of fresh slaves flowing.

3.5 MONTHS in SLAVERY - 25 DECEMBER 2034

As Christmas Day approached, Master Ross had decided to implement some of the new festive traditions being developed by other like-minded liberal slave owners, whereby slaves got an easier ride over the festive period, and some of the usual rules became more flexible.

Weekly maintenance spankings were suspended between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day, although slaves could still expect their mistakes and infractions to be logged for punishment in the new year.

The slave had even been allowed to spend some downtime in the evenings, cuddling on the sofa with Sir watching TV. It barely thought any more about what it would be doing if it weren’t enslaved; it was just grateful to have a more relaxed, compassionate Master than many of the poor slaves it had heard about.

The day Master Ross, Alex, Lewis, and 172 decorated the house and put up the Christmas tree was a particular highlight. In fact, it was the most fun 172 had had since its enslavement. It had been allowed to borrow one of Sir’s Christmas jumpers to wear and had been treated mainly as an equal as the four of them joked and messed around with the tinsel.

It had even laughed and played along as Lewis proclaimed the slave would be taking the place of the Christmas tree, encouraging it to kneel in the corner of the living room, draped in fairy lights as he hung baubles from its chastity cage.

When Ross and Alex eventually managed to manhandle the real tree into the house, Lewis and 172 took the lead in decorating it while Ross and Alex looked on, playfully admiring the view of the two twinks’ plump assets.

Christmas Day itself would keep the slave busy; it would be responsible for single-handedly cooking and serving the full Christmas dinner for Ross and Alex, with all the trimmings, and doing all the cleaning afterwards.

But on the flip side, it got to sit at the table with the free men and tuck into a portion of its own, with a glass of wine and a silly paper crown from a cracker.

172 had even received presents, which caught the boy completely off-guard. From Master Ross, a new pillow and blanket for inside the slave’s cage, although Sir quickly pointed out they would be confiscated without hesitation if the slave misbehaved.

Secondly, from Lewis, a bag of chocolate-flavoured slave gruel mixture, with real chocolate chips! The boy had gotten used to the flavourless slop it usually ate, but it was absolutely over the moon that it would get to eat something sweet, at least for as long as the bag lasted.

Even Master Alex, who had softened towards the slave over Christmas, got the slave a gift - a dog tag for its steel collar, engraved with its slave number on one side and Sir’s contact details on the other. 172 had grown to like Master Alex; he was equally as demanding as Master Ross (if a little grumpier and less patient) – but the slave found great amusement in watching the cheeky twinkle of mischief in Alex’s eyes as he set about playfully winding up his older brother as only a younger brother can.

4 MONTHS in SLAVERY - 31 DECEMBER 2034

The days between Christmas and New Year passed uneventfully for the slave. It had returned to serving as usual on the 26th, although Sir was still more generous and lenient than usual. But tonight, it had to be at the top of its game. It would be serving as the centrepiece of Master Ross’ New Year’s Eve Party.

This was by far the most people the slave had served simultaneously, but Sir expected the boy to swiftly adapt to the new circumstances according to its training. It had started the night as effectively a naked waiter, although thankfully, a few of the other guests had brought their own slaves to help out.

172 had been particularly intrigued when Master Ross’ best friend, Josh Collier, had arrived - dragging his family slave, 526, with him. Its slim body, shorter than average at 5’6”, was pale and covered in bruises, but sported the same steel collar and restraints as 172, along with the same chastity device which had never once been removed.

Sir had told the slave about 526’s history a while ago after one of Josh’s visits – Oleksandr, as it had once been called, was a few years older than 172, now in its mid-20s. He came to Britain as a teenage refugee from Ukraine during the war, but after a rough adolescence, he dropped out of college and fell in with the wrong crowd, eventually being caught shoplifting.

He’d been sentenced to 2 years in slavery, but the Collier family had flagrantly abused the Government’s slave demerits system. The slave earned an extra month in slavery for each instance of “poor performance” or “ill-discipline” they had logged, increasing his sentence to 12 years and counting, of which it had so far served 5 years.

Such a slave would have every right to feel bitter about its fate, but 172 was surprised to find 526 was totally and absolutely absorbed into the slave headspace. After years of beatings, rapes and humiliations, it had learned that, no matter how unfair its owner's actions may be, getting angry would not change it, but just risked making it even worse.

As the night wore on, the slaves were increasingly multi-tasking as urinals as well as waiters, before Master Ross found it around 11pm and led it to the padded fuck-bench that had been moved into the living room. After its period of enslavement, the once-straight boy was by now accustomed to being used at Sir’s parties, but it knew it was in for a long and uncomfortable night with the crowd of drunken guests.

An hour in, 172 had settled into the rhythm of taking loads down its throat and up its pussy. But shortly before midnight, it heard the sounds of Josh Collier’s thick Welsh accent approaching, deep in seemingly mundane conversation with an unknown companion, though the slave could barely decipher the words among the drunken slurring.

But it couldn’t mistake the feeling of the 6’2” rugby player’s strong hands grasping its waist and thrusting his extremely thick cock into the slave’s hole in one sudden motion. Thankfully, the night’s prior loads acted as lube for 172’s gaping hole. But it was reminded of the first time Josh had used its ass a few months ago.

172 had been scrubbing the kitchen floor on its hands and knees with a bucket of water and a brush, unaware that Sir had anyone coming around. The boy was so engrossed in making sure the floor was spotless that it hadn’t heard the door open. But the slave suddenly became aware it wasn’t alone when it felt its butt plug (much smaller than the one it wears now) being unceremoniously yanked out of its hole.

The boy tried to turn around to see who it was – neither Master Ross nor Lewis had ever ambushed it during its chores, nor had either been so rough with it, for that matter.

After taking his slave’s anal virginity, Master Ross had deliberately kept the slave’s ass to himself and Lewis for a while, making the most of the tight velvety hole while it was still fresh. But after a few weeks, unbeknown to his slave, he had relented and agreed his best friend Josh could use it next time he came around.

Just as the slave turned to set eyes on the hunk towering over it, eyes wild with lust, Josh’s powerful right hand grabbed the boy’s head and shoved it into the bucket of dirty water while he pulled his jeans and his boxers down with his left, freeing his throbbing 8” boner.

As the boy’s head was released for air a few seconds later, it felt the thick head of Josh’s cock touch his tight, clenched hole. Lubricated only by precum, the invader rammed forward as the slave’s head was again dunked in the water. Josh could usually fuck for hours, but it was rare that he got to use a hole as tight as the recently deflowered slave, so he mercifully blew his load into the slave’s colon in a matter of minutes.

As the slave’s head was finally freed, gasping for air, Josh pulled out his member and stuffed it back into his jeans before wandering off towards the sofa without any words or acknowledgement for the stunned slave panting on the tiled floor.

“Aah, there you are, mate. I was just…”, Master Ross entered the room, noticing Josh’s arrival before turning to see the slave in the kitchen, “172! What are you playing at? You’re getting water everywhere, you moron. You’ve got 2 minutes to mop that up, or else I’ll give you a thrashing…”

The boy quietly sniffled, fighting back tears as he frantically contained the spilt water. Josh didn’t say a word.

Later that night, the still traumatised slave had recounted the experience to Master Ross, who had been uncharacteristically angry at his friend for having been so reckless with his property. 172 didn’t know what Ross had said to Josh on the phone that night, but he never laid a finger on the boy again without Ross being there.

As if by magic, Josh blew his load into the slave’s slack pussy exactly as Big Ben chimed midnight on the TV before heading off to watch the fireworks.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur for the slave. Before the boy knew it, he was being untied from the bench and helped to his feet by Alex and Lewis as Master Ross showed out the last of the party guests.

“Well done, 172. I’m so proud of how you handle these parties”, Lewis smiled.

“Yeah, that hole’s a fuckin’ wonder of the world”, a drunken Ross drawled, wandering back into the room.

“You know, I still haven’t used its ass”, Alex idly added, guiding the slave towards the stairs into the dungeon where it slept.

“What? What’s the matter with you? Get on the bed and present your pussy for Master Alex, boy”, Master Ross ordered, trying his best not to stumble down the stairs in his drunken state.

As 172 did as ordered, positioning himself doggy-style at the edge of the bed while Alex stripped out of his clothes. Master Ross whispered into Lewis’ ear, and he also began to undress.

As Alex stroked his cock to full hardness, a naked Lewis joined 172 on the bed in the same doggy-style posture. A surprised 172 shot a glance at his friend kneeling beside him, receiving a wink from Lewis in response. A smirking Master Ross high-fived his younger brother as they took their positions behind Lewis and 172, respectively.

1 JANUARY 2035

“That’s him, that’s the bastard…”, the young man explained to the police officer, sobbing. He was sporting a black eye and a cut lip, his clothes torn to the point of looking like rags.

He pointed in the direction of the belligerent, half-naked drunk being restrained by 2 more police officers a short distance away. His speech was slurred to the point of being indecipherable, but that didn’t stop him from hurling abuse in his thick, Welsh accent at the men fighting to cuff him.

“Sir, you’re under arrest…”

[…TO BE CONTINUED…]

by Tombscreen

Email: [email protected]