Becoming Slave 172
by Tombscreen
5 Nov 2023 9289 readers Score 9.3 (45 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
Chapter 6: A Slave's Place
The Story So Far:
After being convicted on trumped-up drug charges, straight boy Noah has been sold into slavery and begun to be moulded into Master Ross’ ideal slave property.
In the last chapter, having already been made to suck cock for the first time, Master Ross continued moulding his slave into his ideal slave object by introducing piss training.
DAY 4 of SLAVERY
Master awoke just before 6am the following day with a raging boner. It was waaaaay too early for him to be awake, but he knew he’d never get back to sleep until he got off. Usually, he’d just deal with it himself, but he stopped himself a few strokes in. What was he thinking?! What was the purpose of having a slave if not for these moments? As he rose out of bed, he grinned like a Cheshire cat at the thought of never having to “deal with it himself” ever again.
He got up and trudged down to the dungeon, regretting that he hadn’t considered putting a cage in his bedroom to save the trip downstairs. Being earlier than planned and with every intention of heading back to bed before long, he didn’t bother to dress.
“You remember your first duty of the day, 172?” Sir asked as the rattle of the padlock woke the sleeping slave, slowly stroking his cock as the slave crawled free of its metal confines.
The slave slowly rose to its knees and began to suck Sir’s cock, still shocked at how far it had fallen from its former life, slowly acclimating to its new reality. In future, it would be expected to obey with more enthusiasm, but for now, Master Ross was just happy it had complied without needing to be threatened or told a second time.
Master Ross pushed his slave a bit further today than he had the day before, causing the slave to gag almost constantly. “Continuous Improvement”, he called it. But it was too early for giving the slave lectures on technique; he just wanted to get off quickly so he could get back to bed.
When he finally came, rather than pump his load down the slave’s throat, he pulled back to instead coat the slave’s tongue with it and ordered the boy to hold his cum in its mouth while he retrieved the slave’s dog bowl and filled it with the cold gruel that would be a staple of its diet from now on.
The sloppy, flavourless gruel was a staple of most slaves’ diets, being simple and cheap to make while affording slaves no pleasure from eating it. Purely utilitarian. Just a mixture of blended-up oats and water, reinforced with protein powder and vitamins to ensure slaves remained healthy.
Master Ross had pre-prepared and refrigerated a few days' worth to ensure it was stone cold for his new property. Eventually, he intended to replace the water with his urine to ensure the acrid taste remained in the slave’s mouth as long as possible each day.
Placing the bowl in front of the slave, he ordered it to spit his cum into the bowl while he stirred it in and left it to eat from the bowl on its hands and knees while he fixed himself a cup of tea.
When the bowl was eventually empty, Sir retrieved it and tossed it into the small sink next to the shower and toilet in the corner of the dungeon before dragging the slave by its collar to the shower cubicle. He couldn’t be bothered with the rigmarole of the slave’s piss training this morning; he just wanted to get back to bed for a lie-in.
And so, as he ordered the slave to kneel, look him in the eye and open its mouth, he unloaded his bladder onto the shocked slave. He was ostensibly aiming for its mouth, but by the end, the slave’s whole body was drenched in the pungent fluid.
The slave recoiled at first in disgust, but Master Ross had to give it credit for remaining put with its mouth open. It even managed to maintain eye contact for the most part, scrunching them closed only briefly when the unpredictable stream threatened to veer in the direction of its eyes.
Master Ross had intended to rinse the slave off with the shower before storing it away again, but the sight of the drenched slave kneeling before him, its nose wrinkled at the smell of the strong morning piss, caused an evil smirk to cross his face as he decided to drag it back to the cage and store it as it was for a few hours. The experience would help to mentally reinforce the slave’s new place in the hierarchy.
Having emptied his balls and his bladder thanks to his new cumdump, Master Ross headed back to bed for a few hours, leaving his slave to spend the rest of the morning back in its cage, the stale aftertaste of Sir’s piss in its mouth and the stench filling its nostrils.
Eventually, Sir returned and fed it lunch – more of its Master’s cum, which Sir made it work harder for.
After being suitably fed in Master Ross’ eyes, the slave was again dragged to the shower cubicle and this time, hosed down with stone-cold water before being made to dry off with a cheap, scratchy towel.
Then, Sir led it upstairs, and for the first time, it was taken up to the first floor. It was led by the collar past Sir’s bedroom, with its plump king-sized bed. It wondered if it would ever get to sleep in Sir’s bed. Wait, what? It should be dreaming of freedom, not cuddling up with its captor.
Sir gave the dawdling slave a tug on the collar, dragging it into what appeared to be Master’s study. In front of the big curvy desk, complete with a state-of-the-art PC, was a chair with a hole in the seat. Beneath it was a pillow. Sir manoeuvred the slave, instructing it to lie with its head under the seat on the cushion. 172 got a horrible sinking feeling but did as it was told.
Sir fitted it with a blindfold and heavy-duty headphones, and 172’s world was briefly black and silent. Then, it heard a click and the sound of Sir’s voice through the headphones.
“Slave, I need to work for an hour or two so you can make yourself useful worshipping my hole. I want to feel the eagerness in your tongue action, boy. If I sense you’re getting lazy, you’ll hear a buzz. Every buzz earns you a punishment. Have fun!”
With that, Sir’s voice disappeared and was replaced with white noise as it sensed Sir’s perfectly rounded rump get into position on the chair above. Where did 172 even begin? It had never rimmed anyone before. The loud, high-pitched buzz snapped it out of its dread-filled trance.
Ashamed, 172 stuck out its tongue and began to lap at Sir’s hole. It took a while to settle on a technique which satisfied Master Ross, during which time it received two more buzzes and a warning from Sir through the headphones.
“That’s 3 now, you lazy fuck. It’s as if you don’t think my hole is worth worshipping? If you get to 5, I’ll make you spend the whole night doing it on top of the 5 punishments. You need to learn your fucking place, boy”.
172 was very much an unwilling slave, but its brain had already rewired enough that Master's words cut deep. 172 wanted to do a good job and was determined to prove himself to Sir. Another half hour went by without a single buzz before it felt Sir’s ass lift from the seat above him, and the headphones were removed.
“Much better 172. It's such a shame; you could have really earned yourself some brownie points if you hadn’t started so lazy. But now you’ve got me all worked up, you can finish me off. On your knees, mouth open”.
172 could only muster a muttered “Yes Sir, sorry Sir” before complying, bracing its already sore jaw for the onslaught of its Master’s cock once more. So it was surprised when it felt something soft and rounded being placed in its mouth.
“All this slave training’s left me with sweaty balls, 172. So you’re gonna give them a nice bath, slave. Lots of tongue, and if I feel any teeth at any point, I’ll have them all ripped out. Don’t test me. Get to it...”
The threat was as menacing as it was compelling, and 172 had to believe that Master Ross meant it. But it was delivered in such a calm & measured way, which just made it all the more effective.
172 spent the next 10 minutes gently linking & sucking its Master’s ballsack, the initial saltiness soon giving way as the slave dutifully cleaned the plump orbs, which wasn’t anywhere near as unpleasant as 172 might have imagined.
As it did so, it could feel its Master furiously wanking his thick, beefy member just centimetres from its still blindfolded face, until suddenly Master Ross quickly pulled his balls loose & replaced them with his big cock, shoving it immediately to the back of the slave’s mouth & unleashing his load directly down its throat.
“Good boy. You need to get used to worshipping my body with your pretty little mouth. It’s gonna be one of your most frequent tasks. That’s your place in the world now, 172. As your owner, I deserve to be worshipped".
Once 172 had finished cleaning its owner’s cock of any traces of cum, Master Ross left the room, leaving the blindfolded slave alone as he raised his phone to his ear and placed a call.
The slave could just about hear its Master in the hallway through the ajar door. While it couldn’t make out anything the voice on the other end was saying, it could piece together the gist of the conversation:
“Hey mate, you alright? Yeah, not bad, man. Pretty great, actually. My new slave’s arrived this week, so I've just been breaking it in, you know how it is. Yeah, you know it! I was wondering if you wanted to come over tomorrow? If you bring your tattoo gear, I can introduce you…”
A cold shiver ran down the slave’s spine. Was Master planning to tattoo him?!
Its racing mind thought back to its law lectures. The Supreme Court had ruled just a few months ago that tattoos didn’t count as permanent modifications for the purposes of a slave’s rights because they could fork out for having them removed when their sentences ended. That was bullshit, of course, but the idea of the courts siding with former slaves over their owners was ridiculous.
If Master had it tattooed, that would be it; its chances of ever putting its slavery behind it and moving on in the future would be gone. But 172 would be powerless to stop it.
In shock, the slave had zoned out from the rest of the conversation but felt its owner re-enter the room, silently raise the boy to its feet by the collar and manoeuvrer it down the flights of stairs, into the dungeon and into the cage.
“You made up for it a bit at the end, but you still haven’t earned dinner today, boy, so straight to bed for you. Let’s hope you try harder tomorrow”.
With that, it heard Master disappear off up the steps. It knew Sir had gone and that the dungeon would be pitch black anyway, but it didn’t dare take the blindfold off. Sir hadn’t told it to, and it didn’t want to be found the following morning without it just in case it was deliberate.
Slave struggled to sleep that night – a mixture of hunger, shame at being used as a human urinal and rim-chair, disappointment that its performance had let it down – but mostly, the boy was haunted by the visions of what Sir might do to the body it had once been so proud of.