The Debt
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.
MAY 2030
Life for Owen Barnes had been something of a rollercoaster recently. Since crashing out of school with no qualifications, the 30 year old gym bro had spent the last decade working relentlessly to build his own personal training business, finally getting to the point where he was just about earning a comfortable living doing something he loved.
But since the recession hit at the start of the year, work had been slow, and matters had only gotten worse when one of his buddies talked him into throwing all his savings into a series of crypto investments that had gone disastrously wrong. Owen was left with a patchy income stream, no savings and struggling to make ends meet, forcing him to rack up increasingly unsustainable loans to pay his bills until business picked up again.
But as the slowdown dragged on, it was only a matter of time before the repayment demands started landing on his doorstep, prompting even more loans to repay the earlier ones. Owen could only get away with robbing Peter to pay Paul for so long; soon, the demand letters became more frequent and more menacing, with the threatened consequences of non-payment printed in ever-bigger fonts on ever-brighter coloured paper.
And throughout, Owen had buried his head in the sand.
Surely something would come along eventually, and it would all turn out all right. Right? A few new clients and he’d be back on his feet like nothing had happened. But unfortunately, Owen’s time was rapidly running out.
That Sunday, as he was enjoying a well-deserved lie-in, the quiet morning peace was broken by a loud knock on the door. Owen tried to ignore it at first, rolling over in bed and planning to doze back off into sleep, but the caller wasn’t going away, and the incessant knocking was only getting louder.
Eventually, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Hauling himself out of bed, Owen threw on a pair of grey sweatpants that he’d left strewn on his bedroom floor, idly adjusting the bulge formed by his 7” morning wood as he shambled down the stairs towards his front door.
When he finally opened the door, yawning and rubbing his eyes, he was met with the sight of a sinister-looking, unknown man.
“Owen Henry Barnes?”, the man inquired in a thick Glasgow accent.
“Erm… yeah”
The stranger slowly eyed up the shirtless young PT in the doorway with interest. His cute face, still half-asleep, was framed by his wavy ginger hair and short beard, the glint of sunlight on his auburn locks accentuating his bright, sky-blue eyes, still sleepy and squinting against the bright morning sunlight.
The visitor’s eyes slowly fell, curiously taking in Owen’s bare torso, the pecks and abs on full display, perfectly defined through years of work in the gym, hairless except for the treasure trail starting at the navel and disappearing off below the waistband of the loose sweatpants in the direction of the obscenely noticeable bulge, subtly twitching beneath the grey fabric.
His own appearance couldn’t be any more opposite – he was dressed head-to-toe in polished black leather, matching the aesthetic of his spikey, jet-black hair and black ear-tunnel piercings. A look designed to intimidate, helped by his naturally chiselled jawline and dark eyes.
As those eyes made their way back up to Owen’s dreamy face, he cleared his throat and introduced himself, speaking in a deep, almost growl-like voice as he produced a wad of paperwork from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
“I’m Carl Cartwright. I’m a court bailiff. This is a final notice for your debts. If they aren’t settled within 24 hours, I’ve been empowered to repossess your belongings – up to and including your own enslavement, if the value of your assets doesn’t cover it. All the details are in the paperwork. Read it carefully. See you tomorrow…”
With that, he gave the shirtless Owen one last glance up and down before turning and silently leaving, a broad smile forming across his previously stern face as soon as his back was turned.
One thing was for sure, if there wasn’t a pile of cash waiting for him the next morning, he would do whatever it took to make sure Owen’s perfect body ended up naked, kneeling and collared.
Tomorrow was going to be a lot of fun.
Owen was decidedly less enthusiastic. There was absolutely no way he could pay off all his debts, certainly not by tomorrow, and he couldn’t take out any new loans to buy himself more time – with the bailiffs circling, his credit score was becoming virtually non-existent.
His only hope was to scrape together enough valuable possessions to give the bailiff, so he could at least save himself from slavery, but as he racked his brain thinking what he could offer, he kept drawing blanks – his home was only rented, and he had no car. His furniture was worth something, but nowhere near enough. Maybe he could pawn his gym equipment, but then how would he earn a living?
Owen knew he was well and truly fucked.
When the knock on the door came the following morning, Owen slowly rose from the edge of his bed where he had been sitting waiting all night, unable to sleep. He considered using his 24 hours to make a run for it, but he knew that would only make things worse.
Instead, he’d spent his time desperately gathering as much of his gym equipment and other valuables together as he could – he just hoped he could convince the bailiff it was worth more than it probably was. They would obviously realise the shortfall eventually, but it would buy him some time to think of something.
An hour later, after carefully examining the contents of the flat, Cartwright the bailiff excused himself to make a phone call, it was clear that Owen had failed miserably. In truth, Owen’s stuff could have been worth millions; it wouldn’t have made a difference – Cartwright had decided the moment Owen opened the door the previous day that he was just too cute not to enslave.
As Cartwright re-entered the room to find Owen sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands, he allowed a smirk to creep across his usually austere face. This was, without a doubt, his favourite part of his job.
“OK, boy, the slave agency guys will be here to pick you up in 10 minutes. Let me give you some advice – nothing you can say or do is gonna change this, so don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”
He paused to let Owen respond, but seeing him offer no reaction, he continued in his Scottish drawl.
“Stand up and take your clothes off”
Owen slowly lifted his head, his eyes pleading for mercy, but was met only with a raised eyebrow from the leather-clad man who had turned his world upside down and inside out.
“Seriously, I wanna make this as painless as I can for you, so work with me. You’re not gonna need them anymore, so take them off and fold them up over there”
Suppressing the urge to cry, but too defeated to fight, Owen stood up & started to awkwardly pull his t-shirt over his head before slowly lowering his sweatpants to the floor and stepping out of them, delicately folding them and placing them on the pile of valuables being repossessed alongside their owner.
“Undies too, pal, then come and kneel over here”
“Do I have to? Please, I promise I’ll take them off when the agency guys get here”
“It’s not up to you. Get them off. Now.”
After a moment more of hesitation, Owen gave in and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his tight, white briefs, shedding his final vestiges of modesty before slowly kneeling in the centre of the rug in front of the bailiff.
His head instinctively bowed in humiliation, his arms subconsciously came to rest across his thighs so that his hands covered his exposed privates.
“Arms behind your back, boy. It’s not your body anymore, you don’t get to choose who sees it”
“What… what’s going to h… happen to me?”, Owen asked timidly as he moved his hands as instructed, his voice barely more than a whisper, unsure if he was even allowed to speak anymore.
“Usually, I’d say that’s none of your business anymore, but it’s a fair question, and you’ve been cooperative so far. I’ll do you a deal, if you crawl over here and lick my boots clean for me, I’ll explain how it goes from here. Deal?”
“Erm… OK…”
The stunned Owen couldn’t believe he’d ended up in this mess at all, let alone found himself agreeing to crawl naked through his own lounge to lick another man’s boots. But he figured Cartwright had been far gentler with him than most bailiffs would be in this situation, so maybe he’d get some brownie points for doing as he was told.
The boots looked pretty clean anyway; they’d been freshly polished that morning, but he tentatively stuck out his tongue and ran it along the length of the bailiff’s foot as he contemplated the taste of the leather – it was definitely strange, not like anything he’d ever tasted before, but not as unpleasant as he would have guessed.
“Good boy. Well… cute-looking guys like you hardly ever make it to the auctions. We’ve got a bit of a deal with one of the slave brothels in town. They get first pick of the hotties. They’ll pay off your debt for you, and you’ll stay enslaved with them until you’ve earned them back what they’ve paid out, plus a few extra months for your upkeep, processing fees and interest and the like...”
Owen began to sob but continued to lick the man’s boots.
“I get that it’s not great, but a couple of years getting that hot fuckin’ pussy of yours plowed is a lot better than hard labour slavery, then at the end of it you get to start again with a clean slate – and a loose hole, obviously, but that’s not such a bad thing…”
Cartwright’s blunt, matter-of-fact delivery did nothing to ease Owen’s sorrow, but before he could continue, he was interrupted by a knock at the door, as the National Slave Agency handlers arrived to take their newest slave off for processing.
1 WEEK LATER...
It was very rare that Carl Cartwright found himself at the slave brothel. Usually, the handsome 20-something was inundated with offers from hot guys in the gay bars every weekend, so he could take his pick without having to resort to paying for it.
But ever since he handed over Owen last week, he’d not been able to shake the thought of him. It was unusual for Carl; he was so desensitised by his work that he usually just handed the slaves over and then forgot about them almost instantly.
In fact, he’d enslaved another two lads since Owen, and yet it was the young PT that was stuck in his subconscious. Whether it had been the innocent look on his dreamy, half-asleep face that first morning, or the way his grey joggers clung so obviously to his impressive bulge, or even the way he so meekly accepted his fate, and even got down to lick his boots, all Carl knew was that Owen was truly living rent-free in his mind.
He had a couple of mates who worked in the slave brothels, so he’d called in some favours and got a tip off for when the new slave would be available for use for the first time. And so here he was, in the lobby of “King Arthur’s Cum-a-lot Castle”, scrolling through the catalogue of slave whores on the touchscreen menu looking for one specific entry.
Whore #575
This new specimen is fresh from the processing centre and it’s holes are still VIRGIN, but we’re sure it’ll fuck like a porn star.
Come and try out its pole or its holes, we guarantee it’ll milk you dry and leave you wanting more!
£50 per half-hour time slot, plus £500 anal virginity surcharge.
Extra fees for any damage or bruising.
Just the text alone had Carl’s 6” cock twitching, but the accompanying front & back pictures of the boy taken during slave processing, posing seductively under a red-tinted spotlight, almost made him cum in his pants right then & there. He’d gotten a bonus from his boss for bringing in such a fine specimen, so it only seemed right to blow that bonus on trying out the lad’s virgin hole for himself.
The slave’s cute smile still shone brightly in the photos, but the slave’s processing had left its marks – it now sported a tongue piercing, for enhancing its oral services; a thin metal collar, welded shut around its neck; and a similarly secure nub-sized chastity device on its privates when they weren’t being used.
Then there were the tattoos – the brothel’s logo (an ejaculating cock and balls, surrounded by a circular chain and padlock) in the centre of the slave’s upper back, between the shoulder blades, and a barcode encoding its enslavement details just above its left hip.
Less visible externally was the vasectomy (standard practice for brothel slaves so they could be safely used by the small minority of female clients) and the microchip with a GPS locator implanted beneath the skin near its shoulder, in case of escape.
Unlike Carl, Owen had been straight when he was a free man, but it wouldn’t take long in its new home before it would have had sex with more men than out-and-proud homosexual Carl would likely ever manage – but tonight being its first night on display, its holes remained virgin and Carl was more than happy to pay over the odds for the privilege of changing that.
He selected the boy on the touchscreen and swiped his card, before being directed to the room where the whore was waiting for him, kneeling blindfolded in the centre of the dimly-lit room, undecorated except for the fuck-sling hanging from the ceiling behind it.
Carl didn’t waste any time in unzipping his leather trousers to free his throbbing hard cock, stepping forward and eagerly placing it to the trembling lips of the waiting slave.
It had been forced to wear a phallic gag for most of the previous week since its enslavement, and it had undergone some rudimentary basic training with dildos of various sizes, but feeling a real cock being pushed past its lips for the first time hit different.
As he began to piston his growing cock in and out of the boy’s pretty mouth, he wasn’t overly impressed by it’s oral skills, but that was to be expected for a brand new slave – the real treat, the one that justified the boy’s rental fee, was its anal virginity, and after a few more minutes of the clumsy blowjob Carl was getting impatient for his reward.
Pulling his cock out of its mouth, Carl gently lifted the slave to its feet and guided it to the sling hanging nearby, positioning it on its back with its legs secured into a set of stirrups to expose its tight, virgin hole. After taking a moment to enjoy the sight before him, he leaned forward and carefully removed the slave’s blindfold – he wanted to see the look in its eyes as he stretched its hole open for the first time.
As he positioned his tip against the waiting hole and slowly pushed forwards; Carl relished the sight of the boy’s pupils swelling, the room’s dim light glinting off the tears now moistening the deep, blue irises as the last vestiges of innocence slipped away from the boy’s soul beneath, its new reality as a slave whore finally becoming undeniable with the inaugural consummation of its fate.
Despite lasting over half an hour, the experience of being fucked for the first time passed like a blur for whore #575, until it was snapped back to reality by the first in the long line of paying clients pulling out of its sore ass to cum over its face; the sticky fluid covering it’s pasty cheeks and splashing into it’s bloodshot eyes with a stinging sensation.
As the boy looked up, through its now blurry vision, it swore it recognised him. Was it someone it used to work out with before all this started? No, it didn’t think so. Had he been one of the officers from the processing centre? Maybe, but it couldn’t be sure.
Not that it made any difference, so long as he left satisfied after using its holes, that’s all that mattered now.
“Great fuck, boy”, the distinctive Scottish voice growled after catching his breath, “worth every penny..."
Next Time: Betting on sports can be fun, but when university rowing star Diego is goaded into betting his freedom on the championship-deciding race, will it end up being a big, big mistake…
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