Day 1
I reported to the enslavement centre today, and signed up for a year wearing the collar. I'm allowed to keep this diary but my contract says it's private, so that way no one else ever gets to see it, not even my future owner. My implant computer lets me write it how I like -- subvocally or on a virtual keyboard, and then it gets stored in encrypted memory.
I've been living up in the mountains for a couple of years after coming of age and leaving my grouphome. I fell in with a few other free-males to start with, but they were the extremist types, and my reason for living up high was just to be alone with my thoughts for a while. Theirs was to make plots and fantasise about ruling the world -- idiots, every one of them, and liable for permanent enslavement when the authorities find out. I spent two years in a cabin with only one visitor a month -- the state-appointed welfare inspector. She wasn't exactly talkative. I've said more words since getting back to the city yesterday than have passed my lips in months.
Why does a free-male become a slave for a year? I plan to live a long life, and there's time in it to experiment. I need to know if this is the right planet for me before I decide to stay or go.
Actually, you know, this is my diary. Why lie? I adore strong women. Serving one sounds fun, so that's what I'm doing for the next twelve months. It's all in the contract, how I want things to go -- I can't be bought by a company, I can't be made into a pet, a pony, a maid, or have my mind or body permanently altered. Sex slavery with only a few limits, really just the common ones.
As I write this, my smooth cock is trying to get hard, but it can't. Once I signed the contract, they binned my clothes, collared me, depilated my body, caged my cock, and tattooed me up with all the necessary markings, then shackled me in a room with the other new slaves and made me wait in silence for a transport to the auction house. I was surprised at that -- I thought they'd train me, break me a little, put me through some kind of bootcamp for submissives, but no. Apparently, they sell some of us greenhorns to women who want to do it all themselves. I'm to be someone's project -- unmodified and entirely untested.
Day 2
Sleeping on a warm bed in a warm room without the wind howling at the windows reminded me why I came back to civilisation, even if I did sleep naked and chained to the wall by an ankle. I dreamed of serving naked at an elegant dance, where my lean frame was the talk of the party. Two years on top of a mountain got me fit and healthy, but not stocky. Without enough energy to burn, the body slims down, it gets hard but wiry, and I like it that way.
I'd always wondered what it would feel like to be sold -- it's something almost all men here go through, and perhaps a third of the women too. I was appraised, measured, judged, and found worthy of a fair price, which didn't do my pride any harm. When the auctioneer whipped me on stage, it hit me all at once -- a rush of powerlessness that freed me to live in the moment. I impressed the room with my agony -- the woman selling me called it 'most authentic'. When you don't have human contact, you forget how to edit yourself. The fierce lashes of her whip showed me up for the submissive that I am -- I'm sure the tears increased my price.
A charming female couple bought me to come and live with them and their slavegirl in the middle of the city, where I'm to serve them and their guests as an 'all-purpose' attendant. A little bit of everything is what they promised me while we rode in the air-taxi to the roof of their apartment building, but they didn't let me ask what that might mean. Mistress Christina said I'd find out in the fullness of time, and Mistress Savitri just smiled slyly and winked, then went back to looking at my body. She seemed to like what she saw.
My new owners are in early middle-age; Mistress Christina, the brunette, is the curvier of the two, while Mistress Savitri is taller and slimmer, with jet black hair that falls halfway down her back. The first thing they did when we got inside the stylish, minimalist apartment, was to tell me to unpack -- their little joke to a naked, possessionless slaveboy. The second thing they did was to have their little blonde slavegirl Bobbi come out of her cell and cook us a meal. They keep her naked, just like they'll keep me, and from what I gathered her age has been fixed at the nineteen years of age they all were when they met, while my owners have only just fixed theirs some twenty-five years later.
The third thing they did was discuss what to call me. That startled me, but I realised no one had used my name since I'd signed the contract the day before -- slaves can't contract to keep theirs, it's against the law. I sat naked at the dining table while the trio of women looked me over and tried to find something that fit. They listed all the names of their previous male slaves, but rejected reusing those, then finally opted for Heath, in keeping with my high-altitude origins.
The fourth thing they did, which took most of the rest of the day, was to fuck me senseless. They ordered me down off the dining chair, to crawl behind them and through into the big bedroom. It was filled with light from the south wall, which was all glass and looked out over the bustling city streets thirty-one floors below. The furniture was clean, square, and shined like new, and a huge, dark hardwood toybox rested against one wall, holding all the implements of pleasure and pain that Mistresses Christina and Savitri owned.
The bed is enormous -- two-and-a-half metres long and three metres wide -- and it fits my owners, their slavegirl and me in with room to spare. In seconds, my arms were shackled to the bedposts and Bobbi was tied down too. I tried to take everything in -- Bobbi's breasts heaving as she breathed faster and faster, Mistress Savitri letting her clothes fall to the floor to reveal a sculpted body and a mass of black hair between her elegant legs, Mistress Christina licking her lips as she surveyed her human property. The sound of the bed creaking under our combined weight. The heat of a woman's body, something I'd almost forgotten. The scent of arousal, and the ache in my caged cock as it strained to get hard.
Mistress Savitri lay down on top of me and kissed me deeply, while she ground herself against my chastity cage to get herself more in the mood. When she was ready, she got up and turned away from me, then planted herself down on my face and bent forward so my tongue could reach her clit. I didn't need any orders. Goddess, I've missed the taste of a woman.
My owners came on each of their slave's faces like that, then they donned their strapons and took turns making love to us. I've been taken in the arse by a woman before, of course, but never made love to like this, with a slow-burning passion that let me feel the fire in my owners' hearts. I don't remember when they took off my cock cage, but I remember shooting out my cum into Mistress Savitri's hands as she fucked me, then again onto Mistress Christina's tits as she took her turn penetrating me and filling me up with her cock.
When I'd caught my breath and gratefully accepted a little water, my new owners manipulated my nanites to make my cock get painfully hard and stay that way, then they each rode me to their satisfaction while I panted and moaned beneath them. When they were sated, they let Bobbi out of her shackles and made her ride me while they took turns flogging her breasts. I was surprised when they made my nanites unblock my orgasm and I came with great torrents inside their slavegirl; more surprised still when she sat down on my face to have me clean out her smooth pussy.
