The First
A Becoming a Slave Short Story
This new series is a collection of single-chapter short stories, each a snapshot of a different life in slavery. They are set in the same dystopian future as my previous story, Becoming Slave 172, where slavery has been legalised for convicts & volunteers. While you will be able to follow & enjoy this without having read my other works, they are intended to all complement each other.
It should go without saying that all my stories are works of fantasy. I don’t in any way support or condone non-consensual sexual relationships, unsafe, illegal or extreme sexual practices, or any form of forced slavery or servitude.
1 JANUARY 2026
In the years to come, future generations would come to see 1 January 2026 as a turning point in world history; but for Benji Frisk, the day that penal slavery was legalised was just another Thursday in the first year of his 3-year prison sentence for burglary.
The move had been exceptionally controversial, but since coming to power in a populist coup, fuelled by the spiralling escalation of global tensions and conspiratorial thinking, the new far-right Government in Britain had leveraged its popular support to wage an uncompromising crackdown on all forms of dissent, delinquency and criminality. Faced with a soaring prisoner population as a result, and keen to implement the most extreme form of deterrence, the idea of the Slavery Act had been born.
The idea’s genius was in its simplicity – prisoners would be sold to the highest bidder to use and own as they saw fit for the duration of their sentence; the buyers got a source of cheap labour, without having to worry about their new workers’ rights or wellbeing; the state no longer had to foot the bill for running massive prisons, and got to pocket the cash generated from the auctions to fund its policies; and most importantly, the slaves got the harsh punishments they clearly deserved, while deterring others from any form of sedition.
Of course, there had been massive protests at first by the woke lefties, banging on about human rights and other such nonsense. But once the ringleaders had started disappearing, snatched off the street by the new secret police, it hadn’t taken long for people to fall in line. The day the bill had passed, the Prime Minister had gleefully announced that alongside the trial enslavement of low-level prisoners, the protesters would make up the bulk of the first tranche of new slaves.
For 25 year old Benji, stuck inside his prison cell for months, news of the new slavery proposals had been sparse and heavily filtered through the lens of the Government propaganda.
For delinquents like him, following the conveyor belt of fate from a broken home into a life of petty crime, slavery was presented as an opportunity to atone for his mistakes and repay his debt to society through usefulness, rather than mind-numbing isolation behind bars.
But his opinion wouldn’t matter – unbeknownst to him, he’d been selected by the Government algorithm to be one of 2,000 low-risk, non-violent prisoners to be enslaved on the first day of slavery.
The morning started like any other, being woken by the guards and ordered to report for roll call, but as the convicts lined up outside their cells for inspection, the prison governor, armed with a clipboard, selected Benji and a handful of others to report to the drill yard. He didn’t recognise the others, they’d all come in pretty recently for sedition or something, whatever that meant.
Once they were gathered in the fenced off outdoor enclosure, the mid-winter sun starting to thaw the chilly concrete floor underfoot, the governor addressed them: “Right, you lucky lads have been selected for the new penal slavery scheme.”
The lads exchanged glances in stunned silence.
“As of this moment, you have been stripped of all civil rights for the rest of your sentence. Strip out of your uniforms and line up against the fence.”
Angry scuffles began to break out. The new slaves’ reluctance clearly didn’t amuse the guards, who stepped forwards, ready to force their compliance if needed.
With a deep sigh, Benji was the only one who began to willingly unzip his orange prison jumpsuit, revealing the body he took great pride in – his skin was pale and smooth, his physique lean and toned, with faint ridges of muscle across his torso. Atop his head, his short, spiked brown hair that refused to lie flat framed his sharp facial features, perfectly matching the piercing gaze of his bright green eyes.
When he was finally down to his tight, white prison-issue briefs, he looked around nervously to see whether he was naked enough. But making eye contact with the prison governor, he was met with an eye roll and a gesture to lose the briefs.
“C’mon dude, why can’t I keep the undies?”
The subtle smile of the governor was instantly replaced with a flash of incredulity, as he as he lurched forwards and backhanded Benji hard across his shocked face before dropping Benji’s underwear in one swift motion.
Stunned into silence and immobility, Benji’s hands subconsciously moved to cover his modest endowment that had been forcibly exposed. He liked to think what he might lack in size was made up for by his certain other talents in the bedroom, and his many girlfriends would hopefully agree.
“What the fuck, dude, you didn’t need to do that...”, Benji countered as he stepped out of the briefs and carefully bent over to retrieve them, treating the guards to the sight of something that more than made up for his uninspiring cock – the two round, hairless globes of his ass, either side of his tight, pink, virgin hole.
Before long, the whole cohort had joined Benji, standing naked as the day they were born, lined up against the compound’s chain fence. Some had needed to be restrained as their uniforms were cut from their bodies; others had reluctantly complied when the guards’ truncheons had come out and threatened to beat them into submission.
Benji stood defeated, the sting of the slap still resonating in his rosy cheeks – there was no point resisting, they couldn’t win. Besides, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad; surely getting to go out and work was better than wasting away behind bars?
Once the group were lined up, thick steel collars were affixed around each of their exposed necks, linked together by short sections of clinking chain, before one of the guards clipped a leash to Benji’s collar, stood at the head of the line, and led the bound team of soon-to-be slaves off in the direction of a nearby transport truck.
By the time the transport arrived at the newly established National Slave Agency Processing Centre after a 3 hour drive, any solace Benji had found in his release from prison was rapidly wearing off. The new slaves had been stuffed into steel cages in the back of the truck, stacked 3 high on top of each other and barely big enough to shift position when the rigid steel bars began to dig into their naked flesh.
When they arrived, they were made to wait in the truck until each was collected one at a time by a processing officer – and having been the first to be loaded into the truck, Benji was the last to be collected.
When the bars of his cage were finally opened, he waited to be instructed on what to do, but no orders came. Instead, the officer wordlessly reached into the cage, clipped a leash to Benji’s collar and near-enough dragged him out of the cage as if collecting an inanimate object of little interest.
The inside of the centre was bare & sterile, the facilities shiny & new. The processing officer never acknowledged Benji as he dragged him naked through the labyrinth of corridors before finally leading him into a small, cold room, the walls and floors decorated with plain white tiles, unfurnished except for a metal table in the centre, equipped with restraints in each corner that were soon holding Benji immobile on the frigid, polished surface.
When he was finally left alone in silence with his thoughts, Benji took the chance to properly take in his surroundings. He noticed a camera mounted directly above him on the ceiling, and a few more around the room, focusing on the examination table. Whatever was about to happen to him, it would all be recorded in high definition from multiple angles.
It was half an hour later when he heard the door to the room finally open, followed by the sound of heavy booted footsteps entering the room and circling the table, far enough away to remain out of Benji’s view at first.
When the unknown figure eventually stepped forward into Benji’s eye line, he realised this was a different processing officer to the one who had led him here. Tall and well built, the officer sported long brown hair, tied back behind his head in a man bun, and a matching bushy beard. He was wearing a leather waistcoat and chaps combination that left his hairy chest and his bulging underwear on display.
“What the fuck is this place, what are you gonna do to me?”
Benji and the officer would come to know each other intimately during the slave’s stay at the centre. Ignoring Benji’s initial outburst and his ongoing chuntering, the processing officer proceeded to the first item on his agenda – a deeply humiliating physical examination.
Over the course of the next hour, every inch of Benji’s body and every orifice was painstakingly groped, manhandled and photographed, with the boy’s protests disregarded out of hand. At no point did the officer address him or even seem to regard him as a sentient being.
Benji’s only insight into the process came from overhearing the voice note commentary the officer was providing for the video recording.
“Physical evaluation. Slave specimen 345-914-850”
“Healthy physique, but possibly insufficient muscle mass for hard labour, we’ll know more after the fitness test”
“Hair is too long. Recommend a buzzcut during processing”
“No markings. Would be well suited to appropriate slave tattoos or brandings”
The prospect of his body being, to his mind, vandalised prompted another outburst from Benji: “Fuck right off, fuckin’ creep”
As hard as he tried to stifle it, the processing officer couldn’t help breaking out into a grin, before making a point of eyeing the restrained slave up and down before proceeding in even more degrading detail, fondling the slave’s genitals as he continued.
“Penis is below average. Balls small and round. Recommend it be kept in strict chastity for its whole sentence”
“Dude, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you... please, you don’t need to do that...”, Benji pleaded, his tone changed at the prospect of even his bodily freedom being stripped away.
One of the precursors to the Slavery Act in ramping up criminal deterrence had been to impose chastity on prisoners as a punishment for misbehaviour behind bars. Benji had only been unlucky enough to fall foul of the prison authorities once, but his 2 weeks caged had just about driven him insane. It was not long after Benji’s enslavement before the steel cages became standard uniform for all remaining prisoners and parolees.
But the most humiliating point of the exam came towards the end, not helped by the knowledge that it was being recorded for posterity. After Benji had been flipped over to lie on his front, the officer had roughly inserted his index finger into Benji’s ass, lubed only with spit, before withdrawing it and forcing it into the boy’s mouth to be sucked clean, causing the slave to gag.
“Tight pussy. Probably virgin. Authorised for sexual use, no limitations”
Much as he wanted to, Benji was too stunned to object – he was straight! They couldn’t force him to take it up the ass, what the fuck kind of system were these creeps running?!
But the finger in Benji’s mouth was soon replaced by a mouth spreader gag that confirmed all his worst fears. His plump, pink lips were ratcheted open until his mouth was powerless to resist any invasion, before the processing officer uncovered and idly rubbed his growing 7” shaft from beneath his tight underwear.
“Good teeth. Recommend they be kept for now”
Without any further fanfare, the officer stepped forward and pushed his erect member into the boy’s mouth, much to his wide-eyed horror, thrusting several times until he reached the back of the slave’s throat as it choked and gagged.
“Poor gag reflex. Recommend intensive training programmes for both oral and piss”
As the processing officer tucked his cock back into his uniform and finished making some notes, a single tear rolled down Benji’s cheek – what on earth had he gotten himself into.
When the examination was over with, the still-gagged Benji didn’t have to wait long before the processing officer reappeared with a box of more equipment – first up, his pubes and armpits were lathered in shaving foam and stripped away using a cut-throat razor.
The presence of the blade in such close proximity to his privates was enough deterrence for Benji not to fidget or resist. The round orbs and crack of his backside would get the same treatment later when he was flipped over.
Once the hair was gone, the freshly shaved areas were lathered with another gel, inflicting an intense stinging on the irritated skin. The processing officer never bothered to explain any aspect of the procedures, but Benji would eventually realise the gel had destroyed the hair follicles, preventing his pubes from ever re-growing.
Finally, the officer turned his attention to Benji’s head hair. Manhandling the boy’s head from side to side, the officer sheared away Benji’s light brown locks in big clumps before going back over his head to neaten up the buzzcut.
As the processing officer stood back to admire his handiwork, he began to tidy away his implements and undo Benji’s restraints. The decision on any further changes or modifications would be down to the slave’s new owner. For now, it was time for the slave to be fed and securely stored away overnight.
As Benji was dragged from the examination table, he was roughly pushed to the ground before feeling the officer’s leather boot pressing his head to the floor. When the boot was eventually removed, it was clear Benji was expected to keep the degrading position on his knees, his forehead pressing against the cold tile floor, meanwhile his hands were being cuffed together behind his back.
When he had finally been secured to the processing officer’s satisfaction, he was left alone in the centre of the room while a dog bowl of slave gruel was prepared for it.
Recipes for slave gruel varied and would be refined and perfected over time, but the basic ingredients were stodgy, unflavoured oats, reinforced with protein powder and the necessary minerals and vitamins for the slave’s basic health needs. Some owners would chose to mix in their piss or cum, or include their leftovers, but such flourishes were an unnecessary hassle for the processing centre.
Eating the gloopy gruel from the dog bowl on the floor, without even the use of its cuffed hands, was a frustrating and messy experience, but having not eaten all day, the new slave greedy gulped down the insipid mixture as best as he could before the empty bowl was kicked out from under his gruel-covered nose by the officer’s shiny leather boots.
The slave was ordered to kiss and lick the boots in thanks for its meal, the earthy taste of boot polish providing an almost welcome dash of flavour compared to the bland gruel, before he was finally dragged off by the collar to a bare steel cage sitting in an unlit alcove to the side of the room.
As it was roughly shoved into the cage, encouraged by a swift kick to its exposed rump, the officer finally spoke directly to his new captive:
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ve got a fitness test and a psych exam. If you’re not at your best, you’ve got a short and painful life to look forward to...”
With that, the door to the cramped cage was unceremoniously slammed shut and padlocked before Benji was left shivering in the cold, dark alcove.
12 HOURS LATER...
Benji stood panting, fighting to regain his breath, as his lithe body glistened with sweat under the bright spotlights. For what felt like forever, the trainer had pushed him to his physical limits of endurance on the treadmill to which his thick steel collar was chained.
He had been awoken after only about 6 hours of restless sleep by the buzz of the blindingly bright lights clicking to life, dazzling his sleepy eyes before he heard the sound of the cell’s thick metal door being unlocked. After being released from the cage, a leash was clipped to his collar and he was wordlessly dragged out of the cell and off down the gloomy corridor, to the seemingly identical cell he was now in, filled with gym equipment.
Benji was happy enough with his athleticism, he’d even competed at county-level in sprinting during his school days, but the unrelenting Hyrox-style fitness test that followed had left his body burning with lactic acid all over, every ounce of his energy sapped by the rapid switches between weights, bursts of energy, and long endurance challenges.
When the session finally concluded with a 5km run on the treadmill, every fibre of his muscles screamed out for him to give up, but every time his pace started to wane, the sharp lick of the trainer’s bullwhip against his exposed back and ass forced him to carry on until he had finally completed the distance and been allowed to stop, crumpling into a heap on the cold tile floor as soon as he was unchained.
Aside from the periodic barrage of degrading insults and the barking of instructions from the trainer, he had been given no feedback on how he had performed, but simply surviving the challenge felt like an achievement.
No sooner had he begun to get his breath back, than the leash was again clipped to his collar, and he was dragged back to his cell on his hands and knees, his aching muscles scrabbling to keep up. But the relief of finally being able to rest, strapped immobile to the metal examination table in his cell like the previous day, was palpable.
When the processing officer finally re-entered the room, Benji was so exhausted that he couldn’t have offered a shred of resistance even if he had wanted to. As the processing officer ran his rough hands over the boy’s bound, sweat-soaked body, he began to speak to the slave.
“You know that you deserve this, don’t you, slave? Delinquent scum like you needs to be punished. You’re here because this is what’s best for you. You deserve to be degraded. You deserve to be humiliated. You burgled those innocent people’s houses. You stole from them. So now, we’re going to steal your future as payback.”
“Just remember, when you feel the crack of the whip against your back, while your new owner’s cum dribbles down your legs from your sloppy hole, you will only have yourself to blame”
As the officer spoke, the restrained Benji tried but failed to stifle a breathy whimper. But it didn’t go unnoticed by Benji or the officer that as he listened to the degrading monologue, his exposed cock had begun to stiffen and then twitch, prompting the officer to swat the boy’s balls as Benji’s cheeks glowed red in embarrassment.
The psychological evaluation that followed was equal parts degrading diatribe and invasive questioning. The officer had probed the slave’s past misdemeanours, his past jobs, his upbringing and family life, his relationships and sexual history – seemingly no topic was off limits, and the defeated Benji offered no resistance.
By the time the processing officer stopped pacing the room and sat down in the corner to finish his notes, the mysterious man knew every detail of the slave’s life, no matter how small or seemingly irrelevant. The summary of the psych exam, alongside the results of the fitness test, physical exam and copious number of degrading photos and videos taken during the processing would form the basis of the slave’s catalogue entry when he reached the auction house the next morning.
The final act before Benji could be unchained and thrown back into the cell’s metal cage for the night was to finally deal with the elephant in the room – the 4.5” of exposed slave cock that had remained stubbornly hard throughout. Benji couldn’t figure out why his body was reacting the way it was – he was straight, and he had never gotten aroused by pain or humiliation before. But maybe it was a sign? Maybe he was meant to be in this situation?
Either way, it wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. After being dispassionately brought to a ruined orgasm by the processing officer’s rough, calloused hands, the boy’s deflating member was soon being stuffed into a nub-sized steel chastity cage, the rigid metal bars adorned with spikes to punish any further arousal. The final finishing touch for the new slave specimen, ready to be sold at auction.
1 WEEK LATER...
Slave 850 woke the same way it did every morning since being purchased by the Blossom Hills Farming Corporation – by a bucket of stone-cold water being thrown over its naked body, chained up in the stall of the former stable that was now it’s home.
The icy water did at least soothe the glowing red welts across its ass, the result of a harsh caning from its new overseer the previous day for having fainted in the field, the pain of which was exacerbated by the rough anal fuck it’s virgin hole had received afterwards, not to mention the lingering sting from its branding on its left butt cheek, inflicted on its first day at the farm.
Today would be the same as yesterday, and the day before – chained by its collar & cuffs to the yoke of an old-fashioned plough, it would be forced to till the farm fields naked & barefoot. It cursed the exceptional marks it had scored in its fitness tests that had made it stand out amongst the pasty hippie protesters being auctioned off alongside it.
But for the remaining 2 years of its sentence, it would endure. It didn’t have any other choice.
Next Time: We take a trip to the auctions, as newly enslaved Tom discovers what fate has in store for him…
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