The Bet
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 2038
It was just after 11am when Diego Moreno strode into the changing rooms, sipping a protein shake from his bottle as he slung his kit bag down against one of the wooden benches. He was suffering a lingering hangover, the result of almost a whole week of partying.
It was the end of the term for the students at the University of Nottingham, so second-year Diego had been out drinking each night with a different one of the numerous societies he had signed up for. But his most significant commitment was rowing.
With the final year students leaving the team & graduating any day now, he had just been elected captain of the university’s rowing club for the coming year, the last before he graduated himself. After competing all year against their fellow uni teams around the country, Nottingham were top of the league heading into the final race of the season. All that stood between Diego and the first glory of his presidency were their bitter local rivals, Loughborough University.
Standing at 6’3” tall and with an impressive, muscular build, the Hispanic 20 year old Diego was a prime athlete. His shoulders broad and his limbs as thick as tree trunks, he was built for power and endurance.
With thick, black hair atop a soft, clean-shaven face with a strong jawline, Diego was the envy of the team around the ladies, and he carried himself with a natural, relaxed assurance that made him every bit as charismatic & approachable as he was striking. Not to mention, he was probably one of the most competitive men you were likely to meet.
But a whole week of late nights and hangovers had pushed him to the edge of a breaking point.
As the rest of Diego’s teammates gradually filed in, exchanging bear hugs and elaborate handshakes, Diego quietly tapped out a reply to a good luck text from his girlfriend before slotting his phone away to start hyping up his teammates.
But his pep talk was interrupted by a commotion in the corridor outside as a booming American accent echoed off the walls of the small, tiled corridor separating the home and away changing rooms – the unmistakable accent of international student and captain of the Loughborough team, Ethan Hamilton.
At 6’2” tall and with a solid, athletic build, broad shoulders and a sturdy frame, Ethan was effortlessly handsome and rugged. His short, black hair and thick eyebrows framed his dark eyes, while his neatly trimmed beard enhanced his impressive jawline.
But with his looks came a level of confidence that bordered far too close on arrogance for Diego’s patience.
Diego got on with most of his opponents away from the competition – whatever happened out on the water, there were no hard feelings afterwards. But Diego really couldn’t stand Ethan. He was a show-off; he and Diego had gotten into numerous scraps over the past two years of competition, and he really wasn’t in the mood for any of Ethan’s shit today.
As the rest of the team finished getting changed into their tight Lycra kits, Diego ventured out to check that everything with their boat was ready for the race. He wasn’t leaving anything to chance today. They had to win. They would win.
As he marched down the corridor, through the ajar door of Loughborough’s changing room, he could see the back of Ethan’s nearly naked body, his toned ass cheeks on full display as he relieved a bladder full of piss into the open mouth of their team’s slave mascot, while the rest of the team cheered and goaded.
Diego tutted as he carried on down the corridor towards the lake. Nottingham’s own slave mascot had been released just a few weeks ago, having completed his 3 year sentence for whatever it was that he’d done wrong.
Diego was somewhat disdainful of the idea of slave mascots; they were just another potential distraction that could cost them victory. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t bother replacing it, but he knew the rest of the team were expecting a new plaything, and he couldn’t afford to rock the boat when he’d only just been elected. But that would be a job for over the summer break, first they had a title to win.
As Diego carefully checked over their boat, perched on the dockside waiting to be lifted into the river, he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind him.
“Ready to lose today, Moreno?”
The unexpected voice startled him, causing him to trip and topple towards the water’s edge, only narrowly avoiding plunging into the frigid water as group of the Loughborough lads howled with laughter at the sight of Diego’s arms, frantically flailing like windmills to regain his balance.
Ethan was probably no match for Diego in a fist fight, and by God would Diego love to prove that one day. But he never seemed to be able to catch him without his lackey teammates backing him up – today, besides the group of Ethan’s first year sycophants, he was flanked by Loughborough vice-captain, Connor Cairns.
Connor was a few inches shorter than either Diego or Ethan, but what he lacked in height he made up for in physique – with broad shoulders, a defined chest, and toned arms & legs that he kept in excellent condition.
He was less cocky than Ethan, shy even. Diego could almost see himself being friends with him in different circumstances, although he couldn’t help feeling there was not much going on in his head at any one moment. But Diego had other reasons to dislike Connor – envy.
Even a straight man like Diego could recognise Connor that was undeniably an adonis, as much as he hated to admit it. With fair skin, soft, clean-shaven cheeks, light blue eyes and short, slightly tousled blonde hair, Connor exuded youthful charm.
Diego scrambled to compose himself as his hungover grumpiness gave way to a seething rage, muttering obscenities under his breath as he turned to throw an icy glare at the lads.
“You know, you lot strut about like some big shots, but you’ve never won fuck all”
“Ooh, fighting talk. I can’t wait to wipe that smile off your face”, Ethan smirked.
“Dream on. I could beat you bunch of scrawny losers all by myself, you won’t stand a chance”, Diego retorted.
“We’ll see, looks like you’re past your best. Either that or you’re still drunk from last night, you do look like a bit of a lightweight in fairness. I think we’ve got this.”
Whether it was Ethan’s insufferable bravado or his infuriating smirk, Diego felt himself getting more and more worked up, the red mist of competition rising inside him.
“Yeah, right. OK, then. If you’re so confident, let's bet on it. Loser buys the winning team’s drinks all night”
“Oh come on, you can do better than that, don’t be a pussy. How about… the loser has to be the winning team’s slave for a week”
“Ha! You wouldn’t fucking dare. You could make it a whole year, and I’d still be confident you’re going down”
“Deal”
Diego had barely even processed what they had actually agreed to, the rising waves of hubris and aggression taking over and clouding his mind. But before he knew it, he was shaking Ethan’s hand.
The smirk still firmly on his face, Ethan turned to his Connor, who stood slightly bewildered at the exchange he’d just witnessed.
“You study law, right, Con? It’s a binding contract if we shake on it?”
“Sure, I think so”
“Good luck, losers”, Diego muttered as he walked back to the changing room to gather the team. Just one race. One race to claim the title. One race to lift a trophy as team captain at the first try. One race to put that damned Ethan back in his place, the jumped-up moron. His team were the favourites for a reason, time to show everyone why.
*What the fuck just happened*?!
Diego tried to process the events of the race, panting as much in disbelief as exertion. They’d clashed oars with Loughborough early on and then never got their rhythm back; all the Nottingham lads could do was keep desperately heaving away as the sound of their jubilant opponents got further and further away into the lead.
In the end, Loughborough won by over a length, and overtook Nottingham in the league table in the process. Their tireless efforts all season were for nothing; Loughborough had won the race and the trophy. The sense of dejection in the boat was almost funereal.
But unbeknownst to his teammates, Diego had a much bigger problem on his mind.
*What the fuck had he and Ethan agreed to? What was he thinking?*
Well, it was clearly a joke; nobody expected the loser to actually go through with it, surely…
At least that was what he had told the unbearably smug Ethan when the Loughborough crew had surrounded him, jeering and leering at the hunk who had, as far as they were concerned, just legally become their personal property for a year.
In the ensuing scuffle, Diego’s crewmates had managed to smuggle him away to safety, but not before he had received a black eye and a split lip in the brawl. It was barely 48 hours later when the court summons landed on the doormat of Diego’s dorm room, giving him just a week to prepare himself to face being sued by Ethan in court.
When the court date finally came, Diego stepped gingerly into the courtroom, wearing his borrowed suit that was at least a size too small for him, accompanied only by his public defender lawyer, who had not only seemed largely disinterested in the case from the start, but had rather bluntly snuffed out most of Diego’s optimism.
It wasn’t a dead cert, but the terms of the bet were clear – the loser would volunteer as the winning team’s slave for a year – and Diego’s case was not helped by it being him who had suggested the terms. Then there was the matter of them shaking on it in front of witnesses, and with all those witnesses on Ethan’s side, Diego really didn’t have much to go on.
The next few hours were a frightening combination of uncontainable anxiety and mind-numbing tedium for Diego, as he tried to follow the banal legal proceedings in the stuffy surroundings, as the lawyers banged on about the intricacies of contract law.
But his interest piqued, as did his despair, as Loughborough’s star witness took the stand – law student and eyewitness to the bet, Connor Cairns.
Connor clearly wasn’t as dim as he usually came across, recounting for the court a sufficiently embellished yet not-entirely-untrue account of Ethan and Diego’s bet – enough to tick all the boxes needed to demonstrate a legally binding contract.
By the time Diego himself took the stand, he looked like a defeated man, stumbling over his words and unable to coherently refute any of the evidence presented.
Yes, he was the one who first suggested a bet. Yes, he suggested upping the stakes to a year. Yes, he had shook on it. But it was just a joke! Surely everyone could see he didn’t mean it! He would have to be stupid to have meant it!
The latter outburst had prompted a raised eyebrow from the judge. It was stupid, very stupid indeed. But looking up and down the bumbling mess standing before him in the dock, with his ill-fitting suit and black eye, he could easily believe the young man was indeed stupid enough to have meant it.
In the end, it would be a simple decision for the jury, barely worth wasting a day in court for – after just an hour of deliberation (it would have been shorter if there hadn’t been a queue for tea in the courtroom cafeteria), they unanimously sided with Ethan and the Loughborough team. Diego had been reckless enough to make the bet, and he had then lost that bet fair and square. He only had himself to blame for the consequences.
Diego sat in stunned silence as the judge thanked the jury and went through the formalities of the enslavement paperwork and declarations, his mind dissociating to avoid accepting the horror of his situation.
As the courtroom guards lifted him out of his seat and began to strip him out of his suit, exposing the plump, round globes of his virgin ass to the gallery behind, and his washboard abs and flaccid cock to the smirking plaintiffs sitting opposite, a single tear streaked its way down Diego’s cheek before he was dragged away for processing.
*What the fuck had he done*
2 DAYS LATER...
The plain white van of the National Slave Agency slowly pulled up to the small boathouse by the river that was the home of the University of Loughborough Rowing Club in the pouring rain.
It had almost finished its rounds for the day, delivering the newly processed slaves from the NSA facility to their waiting owners. Only 2 naked, collared pieces of slave property remained in the stacks of steel cages that filled the rear of the van.
Slave 701-699-402, formerly known as Diego Moreno, looked up sullenly as the van’s rear doors opened with a clatter, the miserable-looking NSA officer fiddling with his chain of keys to find the correct one for Diego’s cage.
As he was dragged from the metal bars of the cage and out of the van, he took a sharp intake of breath as his bare feet touched the cold, wet concrete pavement.
He had gotten used to being naked around the strangers in the NSA centre, having been kept that way ever since his ill-fitting suit had been unceremoniously ripped off in the courtroom before he was thrown in the slave holding pens, deep in the bowels of the courthouse. But he knew it would be entirely different soon when he was handed over to his new owners, left fully exposed in front of the athletes he had been competing with as equals just weeks ago.
Well, not completely exposed. The team had decided to get their new slave mascot fitted with a top-of-the-range, fully enclosed steel chastity belt to match his steel wrist and ankle cuffs and the thick metal collar around his neck. Everyone knew that using a male slave for sex didn’t make you gay; after all, slaves aren’t men, they’re property, it doesn’t count. But since most of them considered themselves straight, they didn’t want to be put off by the slave’s useless junk flopping around while they used it.
Diego would be interacting with more cocks in the next year than he could have ever imagined, but neither he nor anyone else would be seeing or touching his. Just weeks earlier, his 6” had been making his girlfriend scream in ecstasy; now it was trapped in the cramped, unforgiving steel prison.
As the NSA officer clipped a leash to Diego’s collar and led him to the door of the clubhouse, the muffled sounds of a party emerged from within as the slave silently pondered the horrors that awaited him inside.
His eyes fell solemnly to his feet as he heard the click of the door opening, wanting nothing more than to avoid making eye contact with Connor in the doorway, his face beaming with a thousand-mile-wide smile.
After an exchange of pleasantries and paperwork with the NSA officer, Diego felt Connor take his leash and gently lead him inside, into the centre of the team’s common room. As his new owners gathered around him, he felt Connor’s strong hands press on his bare shoulders, pushing him to his knees in the centre of the crowded room.
“Well, well, Moreno. Not so cocky now, are you – literally!”
Ethan’s unmistakable voice emerged from somewhere in the crowd behind him, as the other lads howled in laughter, many of them recording the slave’s humiliation on their phones for posterity.
After circling him for a few moments, Ethan finally came to stand directly in front of Diego, squatting down to his level and grabbing the slave’s chin, forcing him to look up from the floor for the first time since he arrived to eye-contact with his new owner.
“We’ve decided we need to give you a new name. Your old one’s boring, and we can never remember the damn numbers they give you slaves – so we had a little vote and decided that from now on, you’re gonna be called Blowie!”
“Blowie” could feel his cheeks glowing bright red as the lads taunted and wolf-whistled, clearly revelling in how funny they thought they were, before the sound of a trouser zipper being undone caused the slave’s stomach to churn.
“So on that note, Blowie, I think you can guess what comes next...”
Ethan turned away and walked over to a leather sofa, positioned in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the river, settling himself down on the couch as he lowered his trousers to his knees as Connor gently yet firmly ushered Diego forwards to meet him.
Over the following year, Blowie would come to know every millimetre of the rock-hard 9” member he was now staring at in alarm – and not just Ethan’s, all the rest of the team’s too. In fact, by the end of his sentence, he would probably remember their cocks better than his own, since they had no intention of ever unlocking his chastity belt. Maybe he’d even learn to tell each of them apart just using his mouth.
“Buckle up, Blowie, you’re gonna have a pair of sore holes by bedtime”.
Next Time: They say life is hard, but for Unit 716 it couldn’t be much harder, toiling away under the keen eye and blistering whip of the quarry overseers…
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