The Urinal
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 2026
Louis must have finally drifted off to sleep at some point in the night, as faint daylight was illuminating the sterile prison interior when he awoke, the steel bars of the small cage the 22 year old was locked inside casting shadows across his hunched form.
It was hard to sleep here, lying on the cold, bare concrete floor surrounded by metal bars, with no mattress or blankets. All he had for warmth were same set of clothes he had been wearing since he was detained 4 days ago.
As he shifted his weight to try to find any remotely comfortable position, avoiding the still-sore bruises from his arrest, he realised he had been woken by the sound of a commotion from down the corridor. The shouting & clattering of a metal cage door marked the sound of one of his fellow detainees being dragged from the bars of his cage, sent off to meet his fate.
Louis Carpenter had been arrested alongside his friends at a protest march on his university campus in Newcastle. An aspiring journalist, he had been on lots of marches since the coup last year that ushered in the new far-right government. Since then, it had been getting increasingly dangerous to speak out as the authorities began cracking down on dissent. But the passage of the new slavery legislation was too beyond the pale for Louis and his comrades not to stand up and be counted.
Alas, the new secret police had shown up almost immediately and wasted no time in rounding up Louis & his fellow student protesters, dragging them off to the secretive detention centre where they had been kept locked up ever since. That was until yesterday, when he finally got a change of scenery for his court hearing.
It had been a brief affair, barely half an hour, and Louis had been kept gagged throughout as the prosecution laid out their case. The extreme new laws empowered the judge to convict & enslave seditionists for life without trial, which he duly did with Louis, before the manacled young man was dragged back to his cell without being allowed to speak or object.
Over the next 10 minutes, the sounds of commotion inched ever closer to Louis’ cell until it was finally his turn to be manhandled from his cage & hauled off to a waiting transport truck.
A short time later, as the truck came to a halt after a brief trip, Louis expected find himself at the new Slave Processing Centre, where he would be prepared for being sold off into slavery. But he was shocked to instead find himself in the centre of the Newcastle University campus, surrounded by an excited crowd.
The newly convicted and enslaved seditionists were lined up in the centre of the paved square, each accompanied by a guard, as an officer from the National Slave Agency addressed the crowd, explaining how they intended to make a public example of the anti-slavery protesters, to discourage any further unrest.
When the officer finished speaking, he signalled to his colleagues, who each began to cut away the clothing of their assigned prisoner. Some attempted to resist, having to be subdued with truncheons or cattle prods, but Louis just closed his eyes in resignation, fighting the urge to cry as he felt his shirt being torn open and discarded to reveal his shaved, twinky torso, before his skinny jeans followed suit.
Finally, he felt his boxer shorts being ripped apart, exposing his noticeably below-average cock and the curves of his bare ass to the crowd, who gathered around closer, baying and laughing at the spectacle of the dozen young men being degraded for their amusement.
When the group were all finally naked, each was fitted with a thick steel collar, which was bolted shut around their neck. Many of them would get new collars from their future owners, some with fancy padlocks, others would be permanently welded shut, but whatever happened, none of the lads would get to experience a moment uncollared ever again.
As Louis considered this thought, adjusting to the weight of the collar and the cold of the metal against his pale skin, he felt an unexpected kick to the back of his knees, causing him to crumple to the floor, before being hauled into a kneeling position by a rough hand grabbing a fistful of his thick, black hair. Louis wanted nothing more than to lower his eyes and cower away in shame, but the firm hand held him in place, forced to look directly ahead at his former classmates laughing and pointing among the crowd, many of them recording his humiliation on their phones.
But what really caused Louis’ resolve finally crack was the sound of loud buzzing from behind him, as a dozen hair clippers sprang into life. As tears began to roll down his cheeks, Louis’ stomach began to twist and turn within him – this couldn’t be happening! His hair was his favourite attribute about himself, his most prized possession – heaven knows he had nothing to brag about below the belt. But there was nothing he could do to resist, held forcefully in place as the buzzing grew nearer until he could feel the razor make contact, mercilessly nipping at his scalp as clumps of his locks were shorn away, dropping down onto his exposed torso.
The head shave was quick and rough; there would be time to neaten it up later at the processing centre. The goal was simply to humiliate and dehumanise, and it certainly achieved that goal. Louis would barely even recognise himself in a mirror anymore – his identity stripped away in the most degrading fashion.
Once his handler was satisfied that Louis was suitably shaved, he was made to wait on his knees while the others were finished off. With his head finally free of the handler's grip, he closed his eyes and sank his head, trying to block out the world around him.
Once the last of the buzzing noises from along the line of slaves faded away, Louis could hear the NSA officer addressing the crowd again, but he paid no attention to the words – he knew they weren’t for his benefit, he could never again expect to be informed or consulted on his future.
Before long, Louis felt warm water being poured over him, washing away the remnants of loose hair from his scalp and torso. After being naked out on the street for so long, the warmth was a welcome comfort amongst the humiliation, causing him to sigh in relief as a slight smile returned to his face for the first time in many days.
The sight of the kneeling slave enjoying the warm shower prompted a deep belly laugh that sounded familiar from somewhere above him, and when Louis opened his eyes to see why, his vision was immediately blurred by the splash of the stinging liquid hitting his eyeballs. It was only then that Louis noticed the acrid smell – he was being showered with piss.
At the handlers’ request, volunteers from the crowd had been offered the chance to help out with the enslavement by relieving themselves over the kneeling slaves – and in Louis’ case, he realised his volunteer with the familiar laugh was Alfie, the toxic guy who’d been hooking up with his best friend Gemma for a few months now. The pair hated each other – Louis knew Gemma could do better than this jerk, and insisted on reminding her of it at any opportunity.
“Now who’s a waste-of-space, pathetic little loser!” Alfie sneered as his stream of piss slowed to a trickle, making sure to rub his sizeable cock across the slave’s piss-soaked face before stashing it back away in his jeans. At least now he knew what Gemma saw in him; his cock was easily double the size of Louis’.
As Alfie and the other volunteers made their way back to the crowd of onlookers, taking time to high-five each other, Louis was left to wallow in the foul-smelling liquid until he and the other slaves were made to stand and each linked together by lengths of chain padlocked to their new collars.
When they were finally secured, the officers took up the chain and began leading the gang of new slaves off down the street, encouraged on by the crack of the riding crops they had equipped themselves with. The transport truck that had brought them here was still waiting where it had arrived, but the slaves were forced to march across campus and through the streets of the city on foot, naked, barefoot and covered in piss, for miles until they finally reached the slave processing centre.
1 MONTH LATER...
Today was Urinal 274’s first shift since its installation as the new urinal slave in the Newcastle University Students’ Union toilets. Just over a month ago, it had been a student here; now it was the prototype for a new form of plumbing.
Of course, it made no economic sense to pay for the upkeep for a slave instead of a porcelain system, but it served a more important purpose than saving money – serving as a urinal was the ultimate punishment and deterrent for the worst offenders, and the Government had developed the idea especially for the stream of seditionists & fifth columnists opposing it’s authoritarian agenda – as the laminated sign that hung painfully on a chain from a set of nipple clamps spelled out:
“LOWEST OF THE LOW: This urinal was an ENEMY OF THE STATE. Now the enslaved property of the Municipal Water Board, for life. Please use me!”
It hadn’t been used yet since it was installed an hour ago, but it had undergone plenty of training from the overseers and processing officers since it was enslaved – the bitter taste of stale piss had been a constant presence in its life now for weeks, and it wasn’t sure it would ever get used to it.
It shifted position slightly, trying in vain to relieve some of the pressure being applied by the enormous dildo impaled in its ass. It was by no means a virgin before its enslavement; it had been a proud gay man, and its ass had been used almost non-stop since its enslavement, too, but even so, the huge intruder felt like it was ripping its hole in two. Unfortunately for 274, the chains holding it in place prevented much movement, so all it achieved was to, in effect, slowly fuck itself on the dildo.
That in itself might have been enjoyable once upon a time, especially as it had not been allowed to cum at all since its enslavement, but there it was out of luck too – its cock and balls had been surgically removed during processing, leaving it with a smooth front, rendered permanently hairless with laser treatment, and just a small urethral hole in its taint to drain its bladder into the gutter it was forced to kneel in.
But while its genitals were the most dramatic change, its emasculation was by no means the only modification done to it during processing. Honestly, it was arguably the least traumatic, given it was at least anaesthetised for it. It was shown no such mercy when it was branded, the scar from which was still sore as it occasionally rubbed along the cold tile wall it was positioned next to – “274”, the three digits that now comprised the entire identity of what was once Louis Carpenter, seared into the flesh of its ass cheek.
It hadn’t seen – and would never see – the resulting brand mark, nor the “Property of” tattoo that had been inked on the opposite ass cheek, but the memory of receiving them would never fade. Marked for life as nothing more than a piss receptacle for the students of its alma mater.
“Hi Louis, mate, I didn’t realise you'd been installed yet…”
One of his former classmates broke the silence as he entered the bathroom. 274 couldn’t have responded even if it had wanted to – the O-ring gag now filling its mouth would effectively be a permanent feature, preventing the boy from speaking, or from resisting the cocks entering its open mouth to drain the bladders or balls of its superiors.
Smirking, the visitor made a show of lowering his zipper and fishing his juicy cock out from within, wiggling it in front of the urinal slave’s face.
“Well, since you’re here, it would be rude not to. Drink up, bud!”
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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