03

Chapter 1 – I sell myself

Sitting on the monorail, looking at my reflection in the window and ignoring the city as it sped by, I told myself it would only be for three months. Three months wearing the collar, three months of almost no-holds barred slavery. The credits would get me out of the hole I'd dug for myself, and then I could book passage off this matriarchal world and work my way out to the fringes, where people could still live free lives, if dangerous ones. There's nothing wrong with being a slave here; most men are. Until now I'd just been able to make my own way.

I came out here on a work visa, the only way I could find to get off my failing planet before it died completely. I'm as highly educated as these core worlds will allow a male to be, a hydroponic technician with a gift for making rare things grow. Most of the men on these worlds live as slaves, but I'd been making my own way ever since leaving the group home where males like me are raised to adulthood.

I'm told I'm a pretty young man, handsome and slim. My ancestry traces back to the North European nations of Earth; just one strand in the complex web of human genetics we have out here. I burn a little too easily in this planet's constant sunlight, but apart from that I can't complain.

Most of my fellow males have jobs, and lead good lives, but those lives are not quite their own. Each is the property of a woman. The women own most of the men, and about half of the women too. They see themselves as the only rightful rulers of humankind, out here in the stars. The matriarchies have pushed the equal societies right out to the fringes, out competing them on science, agriculture, defence and economics. Psychology too, as it turns out. I knew that in theory, but I can tell you now, I had no idea just how far they'd mastered the male mind.

I savoured my last moments of freedom as the monorail whisked me towards the enslavement centre. My heart pounded in my chest and the sweat soaked through my shirt. My clothes were cheap, dull material with no smart properties. Such luxuries were beyond me. I would have to turn over my personal datafile and let the centre see all my debts. Rent, fines for improper behaviour, licences, environmental violations. Laws I'd never been able to understand or comply with. They'd pay them all off in exchange for just a few months of my life. I could live with that.

I'd tried slavery, back home, with my second real girlfriend. I'd signed up for two weeks wearing her collar, her legal property within strict limits. I'd never been so scared or so helpless, and she'd treated me rough and cold, humiliating me at every step. I figured later she'd only ever been trying to get me to sign my life over to her so she could sell me at a profit. She dropped me the moment I wouldn't renew the contract.

I hoped this time I could end up belonging to some woman who was a little warmer. Someone who looked down on slave owners like my ex who put good men off slavery for life. She'd have been a pariah here, shut out of the social and economic life of the planet until she changed her ways. Just because someone's a slave here, it doesn't mean they get treated coldly; human possessions are treasured, in their way. As I sat there, my legs twitched and bounced around, nervous energy overflowing. I knew I had no influence over who my new owner would be. I had to roll the dice.

I thought about backing out, wavered, got up to get off the monorail, talked myself into going through with it. Over and over again I got up and sat down, my mind a riot of possibilities, good and bad. The monorail glided smoothly to a stop and the doors hissed open. I stepped out into the heat of a summer's day – not that the weather changed much in the temperate zone all us humans lived in.

Enjoying the sunlight on my face and shoulders, I strolled towards the enslavement centre, a large building of cool stone, standing a little apart on its block, which was mostly light industry this far from the centre. It looked friendly and welcoming, but like anyone else I knew the real training would mostly happen a few clicks away in the holding compound, a fortress of fences which stretched across two square kilometres of land. In that space all manner of training happened, depending on what you signed up for and what they thought you'd excel at.

I paused one last time outside the centre doors. The receptionist inside caught my eye and smiled. Poor health and bad looks were a thing of humanity's distant past, left behind when we'd taken up genetic engineering. Even so, she was cute. I walked in – terracotta walls and cool air met me – and went over to her, waited until she talked to me. I knew I had to be deferential here, even though she could tell from looking I wasn't a slave: no collar around my neck yet.

"Are you here to sell yourself or is there something else I can help you with?" she asked.

"Mistress, I would like to sell myself for three months please."

I had to address superior women as mistress; and slavegirls as miss. Men were the inferiors of both. I can't say it bothered me once I got used to it. By now it was second nature. She smiled, gracious and pretty.

"Of course, here, fill in the details and then come back to me. I'll need to summon a witness for your declaration."

I took the tablet she handed me and sat down on a plastic chair to work through the details. First I linked my personal ID to the tablet. It calculated my total debts and displayed them. I needed to construct a contract that would equal or exceed them – the balance would be paid to me when my slavery finished. It was this or debtor's prison, but for a sentence five times the length. So, it was this.

I inputted my details. My name, origin, my education, my skills. The tablet asked for an exhaustive sexual history and list of interests and fetishes. I've always been a sexual submissive, like most men since genetic engineering became common (and controlled by women). I'm heterosexual, like about half of men now. I could've had that changed easily enough, but I was too busy spending credits just to survive to ever afford it. Besides, I liked who I was.

It was tricky to know exactly what kind of slave I wanted to be. I could work for a woman in all sorts of roles – sexual or otherwise. While I sat pondering the questions on the form, a younger man came in and walked up to the desk, hand in hand with a blonde woman his age. I guessed they were both in their early twenties, keen and spritely.

"Back again, Tom?" said the receptionist.

"Yes, mistress. Another two weeks please."

The receptionist gave a form over to him. He quickly checked it over and signed, then a calm seemed to come over him. The blonde clipped a collar around his neck and leashed him there and then, stripping the few garments he'd come in wearing and folding them into her bag. After she had him kiss the receptionist's bottom, she led him out of the centre, his chastity-caged cock clearly straining in its prison. They could walk like that through most of the city, so long as they took care to avoid the family areas. I envied them both.

Above the counter, a display screen counted the new contract. Number of new slaves today: 23. I wondered what had happened to the other 22. Were they in the back of the building or had they been enslaved to a particular owner?

I finished up the form, reading over the contract in detail. I was game for most things, it seemed – in fact it seemed like I was keen to experiment. Strange how you only learn these things when you write them down. I had some limits – bodily waste, cutting, that kind of thing. I tried to see it as an adventure, but there was always the fear. What if I had three months of pure humiliation ahead? I shook my head clear. I would enjoy it or endure, but either way, I was doing it.

"There you go, mistress," I said. "I'm ready to sign if my terms are acceptable."

"The AI says they're just fine. Aileen? Can you come witness please?"

From the rear office, a shapely redhead emerged, trailing a petmale who crawled behind her on a leash. She snapped her fingers and he sat on his haunches, his cock and balls on clear display, his mitted hands raised up in begging posture. The redhead looked me over and smiled, nodding to the receptionist to begin.

"Prospective slave, thumbprint here and read the oath of slavery out loud. When the oath is completed and myself and the witness have thumbprinted the contract, your term of slavery will begin. Two weeks of training as a slave of the state, and fifteen weeks of slavery belonging to a private individual, to purchase you from our market."

I'd expected them to add a training period. Two weeks wasn't bad. I let my thumb press down into the pad and began to read aloud.

"I, Kieron Faber, agree to forfeit my freedom for a period of seventeen weeks beginning from the moment I finish this oath, subject to the terms laid out in this contract. I understand that, subject to specified limits, I will be a slave for the specified period of time. I consent to whatever uses I am put to during these seventeen weeks, subject to the limits specified. I acknowledge that these uses may be sexual. I acknowledge that I will likely be kept naked for my period of slavery. I acknowledge that I will be fitted with control devices and may be punished by or on behalf of my owner. I consent to the physical and psychological harm this will cause. I commit myself to becoming a slave."

"Good boy," said the receptionist, addressing my new status with the diminutive term. "Now, follow me."

"Yes, um?"

"Address me as mistress, just like you did before, slave."

"Yes, mistress."

I followed the receptionist through the heavy security doors that separated the foyer from the enslavement area. My eyes ran up and down her back, down her shapely legs to her high-heeled feet. Her red shoes clicked and clacked on the tiled floor as she brought me through to a medical room, lined with clean white tiles and surgical steel instruments. Like most such rooms on this planet, restraints were fitted into every wall and even the floor. Without hesitation, she stretched out my arms and shackled my hands to chains that emerged from opposite walls. A button press was all it took to stretch them out, helpless. She did the same with my legs, then left without a word.

I stood there spread eagled and stretched out for half an hour. A camera in the ceiling blinked on and started to watch me, but no one came. Slaves are not waited on; we wait. I called out but a shock hit me from the chains. On the walls, the words "Silence, slave" appeared in red text. I was silent. It was coming back to me now, the sensation of being a slave. To have no control, to be utterly at the mercy of the person or organisation you belonged to. My mind drifted into fantasies of serving dominant women, and my cock sprang up hard inside my jeans.

The door opened and two women walked in. One was clearly the doctor. She had dark skin and a bright white coat. Her eyes burned with passion and she wore a superior smirk. I could tell she loved her job. The other woman was a slave like me, collared, but dressed in a normal nurse's uniform, but with a see-through plastic skirt that let everyone see her shaved pussy. She had light brown skin, still a few shades darker than pale me.

"Well done for volunteering, boy," said the doctor, "I see it's your first time. Don't worry, behave and we won't bite. Nurse-slave, strip and depilate this male."

"Yes, mistress," purred the nurse.

She took up a pair of shears and started to cut my shirt away. The cheap fabric fell in a heap on the floor. The nurse worked slowly, now slipping my shoes and socks off. She ran her hands up and down my legs, squeezing my thighs, still encased in my jeans. Then she snipped the base of the right leg. With each snip, she paused momentarily, letting me feel the clothing gradually give way. All the while, the doctor busied herself setting up diagnostic equipment for a full medical.

The nurse finished cutting open one side of my jeans. Her hand brushed over my underwear – the standard lacy fronted g-string that more or less all free men wore in this society. My cock was already hard again, pushing my scant underwear up and out. The nurse peaked over at my penis, then flicked it hard, laughing to herself. The doctor tutted at her and arched an eyebrow. The nurse-slave sped up cutting away my last bits of clothing, snipping through each side of my underwear.

I stood naked and watched as the nurse loaded my clothing into the atomiser, where it was broken down and recycled. It felt different than the many other times I had been naked before women. On festival days all men went naked in public by custom, and we mostly swam and exercised naked too. A coworker had once taken me to the Temple of Matriarchy, where I had to put all my clothes in a locker before walking through the door with her.

But this wasn't the same at all. My brief foray into slavery as a younger man had been conducted entirely in private, alone in my then-girlfriend's apartment. Now I was bare and exposed because I didn't deserve clothing; I knew I would soon walk like this in public. I bore no illusions about my status now.

The nurse inspected my legs and massaged depilatory cream into them. Soon they were as smooth as silk. She moved up to my chest and armpits, ridding them of hair too. Next she made sure I couldn't grow a beard. Losing my stubble made me feel ten years younger. In the mirror mounted in front of me, I looked more and more like I had the first time I'd left the family areas where we were brought up, some ten years before.

My backside was hairless anyway, but the nurse still depilated it. The cream suppressed follicles for months, so I knew it'd be a lot longer than my seventeen week term before things started to grow back. I had shaved my pubes into the fashionable landing strip, but my cock and balls were already bare. It let women who looked know that I was willing to please, but still a man. I hated what was coming.

The nurse worked depilatory cream into my last strip of pubic hair. She took it away with a swift wipe of a cloth, and my cheeks began to burn bright red with shame. In the mirror I no longer looked like a man. I was reduced to a boy, a ward of some dominant woman. I looked around at the doctor, who moved in front of me and looked me over.

"You look very sweet, child," she said. "How old are you?" she asked, though she knew the answer from my file.

"Twenty-eight, mistress," I answered.

"Well, you look almost eighteen again to me, young man, if not quite there yet. There's nothing like a completely smooth male. Are you a man, slave, or are you a boy?"

I knew the right answer, of course, but I hesitated to answer. The doctor stood tapping her foot. She looked over to the wall, where a wicked riding crop hung from a peg. I met her eyes.

"I am a boy, mistress. A slaveboy."

"Quite right, just like nurse-slave Marissa here is a slave girl. Even if she is ten years older than I am." I thought that was odd, given how young the nurse looked, but the doctor went on, "Good work, slavegirl. He looks just the part. Now, ice his cock down and get it caged. Size 3, small-medium."

My heart sank. I'd known it would happen, but not so soon. The nurse-slave took a coldpack and let it get icy to the touch. I gasped as she thrust it into my crotch, then felt my cock shrivel down to an embarrassing size as the blood flowed out of it. Cold and numb, it hung down from between my shackled legs, small, limp and lifeless.

The nurse-slave took out a size 3 diamond-metal cage – the "small-medium" one – and detached the ring. She slipped the ring around the base of my penis, clicking it closed behind my balls, then slid the cage over my shaft. It snapped into receivers in the ring, and then an unbreakable padlock of diamond-metal locked it to me. Now my cock was controlled by any woman with the right DNA to open the lock.

The nurse-slave let the cage flop down, and as the heat returned to my penis, it expanded again but didn't fill the device. I had been shown my place. I was a naked, hairless slave boy with my cock locked in a little cage. The doctor looked at me and tapped some commands into her tablet. The chastity cage was infused with nanites, which turned it bright pink and formed a little satin bow over the padlock. I blushed, as I would many times again.

"Now, slave, let me explain what will happen next. You've been a slave before but I see that was on a different world. When you signed over control of your body to us, that included your health nanites. It also included the right for us to adapt your nanites to necessary purposes. That includes tracking, violence prevention, and the delivery of pain. It also includes changing your appearance.

"You've seen older slaves around, I'm sure. Graceful, grey-haired boys of advanced years with the wisdom of age in their eyes. We're fully stocked on those, but we've not had enough younger-looking males in recently. I know, I know, you're only twenty-eight, and some of those slaves are a hundred and fifty. But you, well, the tablet shows me you'd make a very pretty eighteen year old again."

The doctor took a hypo filled with new nanites and plunged it into my backside. It stung sharply as the nanites infused into my blood.

"You'll wait here for an hour while they do their work, but if you like I can let you down to your knees."

I nodded. The doctor and her nurse-slave exited the room, and I was left to kneel while my body transformed. My muscles slimmed and reshaped, my face grew fresher and young again. My arms became thinner, as did my legs. The traces of body fat in my midriff disappeared and my ribs stood out again. My hair thickened a little, its brown follicles becoming wavier. The transformations happened without pain, just a slow, sickening sensation as my body reshaped itself. They let me feel every second of it, just to show me who controlled my whole body now.

After an hour, I looked in the mirror. There knelt a slave boy with an innocent charm. I found I couldn't stop blushing as the doctor and the nurse-slave re-entered the room. The nurse stood me back up and ran her hands over my skinny frame, sounding out little oohs and ahhs. She was excited by my new look.

"There," said the doctor, "now you could be bought by a mother who wants to give her daughter her very first slave now that she's come of age, or some woman who will delight in your naive and innocent charms. And at least we didn't have to shrink your cock down like the size 6 who came in earlier. Slim slave boys like you need 3s and 4s. Oh, but you do blush so adorably. Did you know your psych profile works out to not much older than this? I can't make you an actual virgin again, though I did set your nanites to make your hole nice and tight. That way someone can stretch you out tenderly again."

The doctor bade me be silent and busied herself with all manner of tests. She violated my newly tight hole with a finger, manually checking my prostate. All in order, apparently. She took blood samples and had me pee into a cup, looked over my teeth and tongue, and checked my hearing and vision. Everything was in good shape. I felt brilliant in my newly revitalised body. I was already horny as hell, my cock twitching with every new examination.

"For the final touches, then. We've updated your inoculations and tested your nervous responses. You're in excellent physical condition. I'm sure your new owner will be very happy. Now, you need a collar and some cuffs. Here, cuffs for your legs and cuffs for your wrists. And finally..."

The doctor opened a drawer full of gleaming diamond-metal collars. She found the right size and opened it, then pushed me down to the floor so that I knelt before her. I found myself looking at her pretty feet. I desperately wanted to kiss them, but couldn't bend that far. Without a word, she closed the collar around my neck and let it fuse shut. Only an enslavement centre could unfuse it.