The Auction
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.
JANUARY 2036 - 10 Years after the first Slavery Act
Tom's POV:
"Thank you, ladies & gentlemen, for coming along to this press conference. As you know, Parliament this afternoon passed the Slavery Amendment Act, legalising voluntary slavery with the same force of the law as our highly successful system of penal slavery."
"We'll start with a statement by Tom Hill from the Federation to Allow General Slavery, who has led the campaign for this voluntary slavery amendment, and then we'll take questions at the end"
As the parliamentary press officer turned and walked away from the hastily gathered huddle of journalists, jostling for the best spot for their microphones, he was replaced by an unassuming young man, a thousand-mile-wide grin spread across his pasty-white face, his bottomless blue eyes wide with excitement.
Today had been the culmination of a decade of campaigning for Tom Hill. Now approaching his 30th birthday, he'd dreamed of being enslaved ever since the first debates around the Slavery Acts during his formative teenage years.
He'd spent plenty of time role-playing it with dominant partners ever since, but he'd never been able to properly scratch the itch – he knew he would never be satisfied by anything short of the real thing.
"For years, & my fellow campaigners and I have been pointing out the absurdity of forcibly enslaving the nation's criminals while those who seek such a position willingly have been denied the right to do so."
"Many of my fellow F.A.G.S. comrades have sadly been forced to sacrifice their moral character and resort to deliberately committing crimes in order to achieve their destiny in life."
"Today, Parliament has finally seen sense – those wishing to willingly submit to a life of service & ownership will soon be able to, proudly and with a clean conscience. And I look forward to being one of the first to do so when the law comes into force next month."
The campaign had been long. Legalising slavery had been controversial enough in the first place, even among supporters of the crackdown on soaring prisoner numbers. But while ordinary people had slowly been won over by the numerous benefits of a society run on free slave labour, the idea of anybody wanting to volunteer for slavery had been baffling to most people.
Tom and his fellow campaigners had been mocked and vilified. It had taken years for their campaign to be taken seriously, only really coming into the mainstream when Tom's mentor & predecessor in the F.A.G.S. movement, Jamal Thomas, had grabbed the headlines by punching a National Slave Agency officer during a demonstration trying to force his way into the nation's biggest slave processing centre.
Jamal had used his trial and the surrounding media frenzy not just as a platform for the campaign, but to beg for his own enslavement. The judge had laughed at his pitiful pleas before agreeing to enslave him for 10 years. He'd been auctioned off to the Municipal Waterworks Company, where he had finally found fulfilment as a human urinal.
After seeing Jamal's fate (and after using him to relieve his bladder), Tom and his fellow campaigners had been tempted to follow suit, but with their movement finally getting mainstream attention, he had decided to try to seize the bigger prize and lobby endlessly for a change in the law to make fully enforceable, no limits slavery by choice a reality.
Throughout the process, Tom had gathered several high-profile corporate donors, each hoping for the prestige of owning the celebrity slave when the law finally passed, and he could finally volunteer. But ever since he started this journey, his heart had been set on one thing – to truly experience slavery as he knew he needed to on a primal level, with no choice and no control, he had to submit himself to the slave auctions.
ONE MONTH LATER
Jack's POV:
At 6'4" in height, with a neatly trimmed beard, tousled brown hair, and a toned, athletic physique, Jack Hood was a sight to behold. As he admired himself naked in the mirror, before being helped into a snug pair of white Calvin Klein boxer briefs by his domestic slave, he contemplated the opportunities that lay ahead as he worked to put the finishing touches on his latest project.
Having started his career as a "talent scout" for one of London's slave brothel conglomerates, the 35 year old had soon made a name for himself as an innovative thinker in the sector.
But Jack was, first and foremost, an entrepreneur, and his ideas soon outgrew the mainstream corporate world. It didn't take long for him to attract enough investment to leave and set up his own range of speciality sex establishments – and so "Throbbin' Hood Brothel Company" was born.
His first facility had specialised in disgraced former hotshots and millionaires, but soon he was catering for a whole range of niche desires that the market-leading brothel chains had neglected – from outlets specialising in chavs and scally boys, to others focused on enslaved brainboxes, star athletes and even condemned former celebrities.
But his latest venture would be his most ambitious, and the one he was most excited to be working on – a brothel full of pain-slave whores, destined to see out the rest of their short lives being tortured and brutalised by Jack's most sadistic clients.
And so, Jack was headed today to the auctions to finish building his newest stable of slave livestock. Auction days were always great fun, getting to browse and examine the available merchandise before watching the baying crowd of bidders decide the fate of their helpless lives.
Just thinking about it made his 7" cock begin to twitch, forcing him to adjust the growing bulge in his underwear as his slave laid out his designer suit for him to wear.
But something about today had Jack particularly excited – he had the chance to acquire the country's first ever volunteer slave to be the centrepiece of his twisted new enterprise. It was too good an opportunity to miss.
The auction showroom opened to the public 2 hours before the start of the auction, giving the prospective buyers plenty of opportunity to examine the range of property on sale that day. Many were corporate buyers from the big farms or heavy industries, carefully prodding and squeezing the slaves' muscles to assess their strength and stamina. Others, like Jack, were more interested in each slave's more… intimate functions.
As he walked into the showroom, Jack took in his surroundings. He'd been here hundreds of times before. Still, he always had to pause for a moment and take in the sight of row upon row of fresh slaves on display – each dangling from a suspended hook, blindfolded, gagged and thoroughly bound with rope into a hogtie position, rendering almost all movement impossible.
Of course, each trussed-up slave had been meticulously photographed for the auction catalogue, displayed alongside various other photos of them pre-enslavement and during processing. Not to mention the biographies and thorough reports from their physical, psychological and fitness examinations. But for Jack, nothing in the catalogue was as valuable as the chance to examine each lot in person.
It was a fairly decent-sized cohort being auctioned today; there must be a couple of dozen lots – a mix of freshly enslaved convicts and experienced slaves who had outlived their usefulness for their former owners. But Jack knew what he was here for - lot #602 was the first and only volunteer on the bill.
When he finally found his target, it had attracted a crowd of other admirers, each waiting their turn to grope the human merchandise. When it was finally Jack's turn, he savoured his chance to caress the slave's body, squeezing and stroking the soft skin of its ass. Once he was satisfied with the plump yet firm rump, he parted its cheeks and unceremoniously thrust a finger into its exposed hole, to be followed soon after by a second and then a third.
The examination then turned to the slave's front, as he reached out to pinch and twist the slave's sensitive nipples, a sinister smirk crept across his face as he watched the slave wince in pain beneath its blindfold. He would have to make sure he took the chance to savour torturing the boy himself before setting his clients loose with it.
When he finally had to concede that his turn to examine the boy was up, he took one last chance to reach down and take the slave's balls, dangling freely from its sealed chastity cage, into the palm of his hand and gave them a firm, unrelenting squeeze, while adjusting his own sizeable trouser bulge with his other hand.
"I hope you and I are going to have a lot of fun together, boy", he whispered into its ear.
Elliot's POV:
The construction industry had been slow to adopt slave labour compared to many other industries. While it was common to see chain gangs of naked slaves toiling away on menial highway repair jobs, the effort of training them in complex crafts often made slave labour less competitive than skilled old-school tradesmen.
But site foreman, Elliot Beck, was determined to find a way to make it work. At 32 years old, Beck stood a little over 6ft tall, with a tanned body and abs honed by years of outdoor manual labour, while his chiselled facial features and serious demeanour gave him an intense, stern look.
Elliot had always felt it was a no-brainer to replace some of their labourers with slaves – with no wages, rights or protections to worry about, it would make his job so much easier.
But his obsession with slavery had really picked up pace last month, when he had caught a snippet of a press conference on the news – some cute-looking posh kid talking about wanting to be enslaved by choice. He hadn't been able to put it out of his mind since – what better way to prove the potential of slavery than to bag a privileged brat and transform it into a tool for relentless hard labour.
His pitch to his boss had eventually worked – in exchange for the funds to buy the F.A.G.S. guy from the TV, he promised he could prove the construction slave concept could work, delivering their projects early and under-budget, with the potential to expand the program and make his bosses millions.
When he finally got his chance to examine it in person in the auction showroom, Elliot was disappointed to find that lot #602 was not more muscular or better suited to the harsh conditions of outdoor manual labour. Still, he was sure it would adapt naturally after a few years of hard use.
In the meantime, his examination convinced him that anything the object might lack in brute force would be more than made up for by its cute behind. It would certainly make the long days pass more quickly knowing that he and his team could relieve themselves in its tight, pink hole at the end of the shift.
Sure, its first days on site would be a baptism of fire. It would probably be pretty useless to start with, struggling under the weight of carrying the heavy bricks and stones, its naked body fully exposed to the blistering sunshine and the torrential rain, and the rough, uneven ground taking its toll on its bare feet, but it would learn to adjust. It wouldn't have a choice.
Elliot would make sure that the obscenely small, permanently sealed chastity device and, conversely, the large permanent butt plug provided a constant reminder of its place in the post-slavery hierarchy. Not to mention the heavy steel collar and matching wrist & ankle cuffs he would be getting it fitted out with.
Driven on by the lashes of his bullwhip during the day, and motivated by severe canings in the evenings, Elliot was sure that lot #602 would slowly prove its worth.
And when it was finally stored away in its steel cage at night, in the corner of the cold site workshop like an inanimate tool, with multiple colleagues' cum plastering its face and seeping from his red raw hole, it would be forced to confront its decision to submit its life to a power beyond its control – transformed from a spoilt brat into owned property.
All that stood between Elliot and proving his obsession could be a reality was the selling price – the more he ended up paying, the harder he would need to drive the slave to recoup it. Still, as he idly pistoned his fingers in and out of the trussed-up slave's exposed hole, he was more and more convinced that it he had to have it.
Tom's POV:
"The bid is at £30,000. Anymore? Going... going... gone! Sold to the man in the blue jacket"
As the gavel fell on the latest slave lot to have been dragged to the auction stage, Lot #602 waited patiently for its own turn to be sold. It had been nearly an hour since the auction began, over which time the slave's fear and anticipation had been growing, its stomach doing somersaults as its appointment with fate neared.
As it knelt backstage, blindfolded and still bound in uncomfortable rope, its plump lips stuffed with an obscenely large, phallic gag, held tightly in place by a leather strap that was padlocked at the back of its shaved head, its former golden locks now reduced to a rough buzzcut.
Its body on full display, naked except for the tiny chastity device its 6" member had somehow been crammed inside, it couldn't help but reflect on the last 48 hours since it had ceased to be "Tom Hill".
Firstly, it had experienced the slave processing centre, being stripped of its legal and mental identity, its body meticulously examined, challenged and documented in degrading detail, before being shaved, microchipped and stored in a steel cage overnight. As it lay against the cold steel bars of the cage, a whirlwind of emotions passed through the new slave's mind, but it knew this felt right.
But the nerves had really started to build when it arrived at the auction house. The gag had been inserted almost immediately on arrival – ever since it signed on the dotted line of its enslavement paperwork, nobody had any interest in what it might have to say anymore.
Then it had been bound with rope and suspended from a hook, dangling from the ceiling, alongside the dozens of other slave lots on sale that day.
It had felt really strange at first, being so exposed, on public display for the crowd of potential buyers – the people who would decide every aspect of the slave's future fate; who would have the power over its life and death in their hands; who could make all its dreams come true, or make it's every waking moment a living nightmare.
But as each new potential buyer among the stream of spectators took their turn to grope and stroke at its naked body, the enormity of its choice began to really set in – it was no longer a person, it was just a piece of property.
How dare he object to being displayed for its superiors? It no longer had the right to an ounce of privacy. It could no longer expect to be consulted or even kept informed about how it would be used, modified, or even disposed of one day.
This was the whole reason Tom had been so intent on being auctioned – this was the most extreme form of gambling; one could hardly imagine higher stakes than the literal fate of its entire lifetime. As the display session went on, it allowed its mind to adjust to its new reality, slowly embracing the feeling of the butterflies in its stomach and allowing itself to enjoy being the centre of attention.
As the auction finally got underway, it was in those thoughts that Lot #602 found itself slipping into an almost trance-like dissociative state, waiting for its turn on the selling block. It had long imagined how it might feel to be stored away for hours on end until its owner needed it, but the reality already felt entirely natural for it.
When its turn finally came, the bidding started quite unpredictably, as dozens of bidders took turns to raise the object's price.
“£25k”
“£35k”
“£40k”
It didn't take long for the bids to reach – and then exceed – the £50,000 estimated selling price, and soon the interest dwindled until the bidding was down to two seemingly equally determined bidders.
“£60k”
“£65k”
“£70k”
For several rounds, the high bid swapped places between them, neither willing to back down.
"£75,000, Sold!"
When the gavel eventually fell and it was manhandled off stage to make way for the next lot, Lot #602 contemplated who might have purchased it, and for what purpose. £50k was a lot of money for a slave; whoever it was must have wanted it badly.
But the joy of its new position, now finally realised after years of dreaming, was that it didn't matter – it had no choice but to accept it, no matter what.
Which bidder do you hope won? Let me know!
Next Time: As his mountain of debts finally catches up with him, how will the bailiff's visit turn personal trainer Owen's life upside down…
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