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Contains enslavement, humiliation, nudity, fisting, piss, chastity, anal and more.
Chapter 1
Jeff had always wanted to tour an enslavement center so when a bunch of guys from his track team suggested it as a spring break activity, he had jumped at the chance.
Waiting in the lobby, Jeff goofed off with his buddy Ramon until four slaves entered and his jaw drop.
Slaves were on a strict diet that kept them at 8 to 10 percent body fat, making their bodies obscenely lean. They were no bodybuilders, but their exercise regimen kept them in shape.
They wore metal collars with green indicator lights. Gray triangle cloths covered their crotches and asses. Jeff knew that underneath those triangles was a thong and hoped that somehow the loincloths would lift and let him peek.
Their only other clothing were sockless sneakers and a bracelet on each slave's right arm, with a tag dangling off it, which Jeff knew indicated their job.
"Please hand over all recording devices," one slave said, surprisingly confident, "such as camera, phones and smartwatches. Place them in these lockers."
Only rarely had Jeff been this close to a slave. He could clearly see the serial number and QR code on their foreheads – uncovered as they were fully bald.
The image went right to the spank bank. Every one of his fantasies was about slaves, slave drivers or both. He knew his stuff.
The way they were dressed let the teen know they were class C slaves: low risk, high compliance – therefore allowed to carry off visitors' electronic devices for safekeeping.
"Hey," someone whispered in Jeff's ear.
It was Conner, a red-headed, freckled, fashionable pretty boy. "I know you must be braindead after seeing four nearly naked men but can I borrow you for a second?"
Jeff rolled his eyes and stepped away from Ramon and the group. "What's up, ginger?"
Conner leaned in, secretive. "I know you're hanging out with Ramon a lot but... he made out with Otis' girl on Saturday."
"Fuck. I didn't know anyone else saw. How did you find out?"
"Never mind that," Conner said, glaring toward the distracted Ramon with narrow eyes. "We discussed it and we need to scare him off. I hope you agree."
Jeff was always up for a good prank, and he knew Ramon was, too. The boy would probably appreciate getting to atone for his drunken slip-up with a taken girl if it kept the team together.
"Sure."
Conner nodded. "Okay, play along. We'll pretend we're getting him enslaved."
Jeff chuckled. "Yeah, no. He's never gonna believe that."
The idea was hot, but he would not admit that to anyone.
"Let's just see," Conner said and drove his fingers through his ginger hair. "Maybe we'll scare him straight."
"Wouldn't you rather scare him gay, considering the girl trouble?"
"Heh, good one, resident homo," Conner said and punched Jeff in the shoulder.
After fooling around with Ramon for another minute, two slave drivers walked in.
Those two men were Jeff's wet dream in a different way.
They were tall, had buzz cuts and wore all black uniforms. Tight black pants with many pockets clinging to their huge legs, large belts holding punishment gear, shining black boots and sleeveless shirts with their ranks in white written across. One shirt said PUNISHER', the other ENFORCER'.
The older one spoke to the students. "I'm punisher Johnson. You will address me as sir, is that clear?"
The students agreed, with a good dose of sarcasm and chuckling. Jeff could feel his dick twitch. Like the other college athletes he said "yes, sir" but not sarcastically at all.
Did he want to be a slave driver or worship one? Hard to say.
"Welcome," punisher Johnson said with a smile, his voice gentler now. "Welcome to the enslavement center. I'll be your tour guide. Enforcer Garamond will take over later." He gestured at the other officer, then led the chattering college boys deeper inside the massive, windowless concrete box.
The first weird thing was the music. Hard techno beats like Jeff knew from clubbing droned from the ceiling. They got louder as they wandered down a boring hallway.
Punisher Johnson went over facts Jeff knew by heart. Number of slaves processed in a plant? About 200 a day. What were reasons for enslavement? Numerous, but mostly crime or debt.
Who could get enslaved under the slavery-reestablishment act of 2035? All abled males from 18 to 30, except for some protected groups like black men (because of original slavery), Asian men (because of the internment camp thing), natives of any kind (because of colonial history), and followers of some minority religions.
This still left the majority of young men in the country `eligible'.
Jeff started goofing off with Ramon again until they arrived in a highly interesting room.
Three more class C slaves stood at a vending-machine-looking thing that gave them new tags for their bracelets – new instructions. They stood close to the tour group, letting Jeff see muscle fibers ripple under their smooth skin.
But even better: There was active enslavement happening.
Jeff had to tuck his boner into his hem and pull his polo shirt down to hide the bulge.
Five fully naked, unprocessed men stood in a line, feet to the sides of a thin track. Their balls were shackled to a steel string that led into said track between their feet.
Their wrists were bound behind their backs by thin shackles with a steel string between them, giving enough leeway for them to have their hands hanging by their sides or to slip one hand forward and cover their bound junks.
Two wore ring gags. Those gags forced their mouths open but not so much it would be painful. Just a bit ajar. Those two guys were easily the hottest – buffer than the non-gagged trio.
Jeff took in the sight of their body hair and the few tattoos they had. All that was soon to be gone.
Enforcer Garamond pointed out the yellow line in the middle of the room and instructed the tour group to stay on their side at all times.
Jeff tore his eyes away from the soon-to-be slaves to see what else was around.
Five men's worth of clothes lay on a table in a disorganized pile, along with two phones, a pen and three wallets. The three slaves who had gotten instructions were sorting them and carried them off.
On the wall behind the future slaves hung equipment that made Jeff leak precum.
An officer labeled "EQUIPPER" grabbed collars from that wall and fitted them on the unprocessed guys. Jeff took note of the details to stimulate his fantasy.
What was a hotter idea? Being a slave or an enforcer? He kept flip flopping.
"This is where the journey starts," said punisher Johnson. "Much of the processing is automated, but some steps still require a helping hand."
Enforcer Garamond stepped up to a terminal, scanned his ID card and flipped a switch. "This is how it all starts."
The crotch chains got dragged along the track at snail's pace and the men shuffled after them, none too eager, toward a curtain of heavy plastic strips.
"On the other side of this curtain," the enforcer said, "begins a long, forking railway to the rest of their lives. There's already others in line in the next room but new arrivals come on batches so you just got to see the process from step zero."
"Follow me," punisher Johnson said.
The groups marched along but Conner and his tall soccer buddies `Min & Max' (technically, Benjamin and Maximilian, two Hawai'ian hunks) distracted Ramon to keep him behind.
The group filtered out and the cloth sorting slaves left with baskets of clothing.
They were alone.
Conner hopped across the yellow line and stole a ring gag from the wall.
When the whole touring class was through the steel door, Otis shut it and turned toward Ramon with an evil smirk.
"You think you can steal my girl, fucker?"
"Uh," Ramon made. Then Conner grabbed Ramon's face from behind and pushed the ring gag in.
Min and Max held Ramon's arms while Conner zipped the gag tight. The soccer duo pulled Ramon's shirt off. The boy struggled but Otis grabbed the kicking legs.
Jeff stepped in and pulled Ramon's shoes and socks off, grinning from ear to ear. This was such a funny, stupid frat boy thing to do. But also incredibly hot.
Otis pulled Ramon's jeans down and off, leaving him naked. The victim seems to understand that this was a prank and half-relaxed, mumbling despite his gag.
Jeff grabbed the clothes off the ground and deposited them on the now empty table.
"So, you little fucker," Otis said. "No jokes from you now. Just so we're clear. She's my girl and if you ever touch her again, I'll send you through that curtain. Are we clear?"
The fully exposed teen's lithe, light brown body flexed in the grip of the two big Hawai'ian athletes. His pubes and pits hadn't been trimmed in a while.
Otis kept blabbering. Long winded as usual.
Jeff stole handcuffs off the wall and closed one cuff around Ramon's right wrist. Max let go of Ramon's arm and helped cuff the faux-slave behind his back.
Conner reached through Ramon's legs, grabbed his balls and snapped a string onto his crotch.
This was the fulfillment of Jeff's every dream. He should have been thanking his friends for the experience. He enjoyed it to the fullest.
"Hey Conner," Jeff whispered. "Collar too? I can show you how it's done."
It might have been the funky hardtechno music that pumped him up, or maybe he was just horny.
As they snapped a collar on the defeated but annoyed looking Ramon Jeff realized he wasn't sure how to open it again. Any second now they had to undo their work and rejoin the group.
Maybe they'd have to ask for help. Embarrassing but worth it.
Otis continued. "Let this be a lesson to you. When a- Oh, shit, it's moving."
The string that chained Ramon's crown jewels to the track pulled him along. He made alarmed grunts with an open mouth.
"Shit," Conner said. "How do we stop this thing?"
Ramon's arms were let go and he grabbed the metal string between his legs with his shackled hands, but no amount of panicked pulling detached it from the track.
He was forced to stumble onward, through the curtain, making increasingly high pitched squeals.
"Shit," Otis said. "What now?"
"We have to find an officer," Conner said.
"C-can we just," Min said, "ignore it. Wait till they notice? They have to notice, right?"
Jeff swallowed hard. "Actually, there's this conspiracy. You know how they sometimes enslave `high risk individuals' when the crime prevention unit flags someone as a future culprit?"
"So?" Min asked.
"There's rumors that when they wrongly enslave someone, they just claim that guys was high risk."
"Fuck," Otis said. "Let's find an officer."
They walked – with quick but quiet steps – through the huge door.
Their tour group was nowhere to be seen, already farther along. The corridor they were in was separated from the processing area by a hip high wall, topped by a yellow line.
Ramon was dragged through a gate like a metal detector at airports. The string between his wrist cuffs snapped solid, basically turning into a spreader bar.
"What is that?" Otis asked.
Jeff knew the answer from his `research' on slave porn forums. "It 3D-scans his body inside and out, including a full medical exam. There's a scale in the ground that weights him and so forth. I've, uh, studied this process a bit."
Ramon was dragged along slowly and stepped into a plastic box the size of half a shipping container, nearly slipping on wet floor. Something activated inside the box.
Otis grabbed the low wall and swung a leg over the ledge. "We have to safe him."
"Wait," Jeff said. "That's just water and shampoo."
Otis held still. "B-but he's screaming."
"Well," Jeff said. "I've heard it involves automatic brushes. A bit like a car wash."
Min chuckled. Jeff found it hard not to laugh, too.
"And if he had tattoos that's where they would be removed."
Max absentmindedly rubbed his tatted forearm. "Good thing Ramon wasn't inked. We'd have to buy him a new one."
"Hey, there's a person," Otis said. "Finally."
At the end of the box, a bored slave driver grabbed the wet, trembling Ramon by the collar and lined up a thin rubber dildo on a hose with Ramon's hole. The way it slid in despite all resistance must have meant it was lubed, or the officer was extremely practiced at using the right amount of force.
Of course, Ramon tried to communicate but the slave driver only stepped away and nodded at the onlookers. The hose stayed inside Ramon's hole. Its base must have snapped into the ball-ring. It moved with the false slave along the track.
"What is that?" Max asked.
Jeff tried to hide the tremble of horniness in his voice. "They're cleaning him, inside and out."
This time, everyone chuckled at least a bit.
Ramon arrived at a bunch of hoses and robot arms hanging from the ceiling.
A robot arm shot down behind Ramon's head and grabbed his collar, holding him still. Another grabbed the end of a hose and guided it at Ramon's face. The falsely enslaved athlete tried to shake it off but the arm found its way with laser precision, popping the hose onto Ramon's ring gag.
Ramon kept screaming – now very muffled – and shook while trying to grab the hose. The cuff-chain-turned-spreader-bar prevented him.
Apparently the enema administering officer had had enough and retrieved an electric prod from his belt. He aimed for the upper back.
Zap. Ramon jumped so high he must have torn his balls. Zap. Ramon tried to bend away, shouting into the hose-gag. Zap. The teen flexed his whole body and screamed one long scream, face bright red.
"Oh fuck," Conner said. "We, like, we have to stop it."
"No no," Jeff said, feeling precum in his briefs. "Are you crazy? If you go in there, you'll get that prod, too. We have to find the tour group again and tell punisher Johnson."
The robot arm that had added a hose to Ramon's gag now pointed swimming goggles at the teen's head. They were nontransparent black and had no string to put them on.
The goggles stuck over Ramon's eyes with adhesive, making him blind. The college kid scream-groaned with despair and shook as his flight reflex kicked in.
The station's officer tested if the goggles were firmly attached and said something to Ramon.
"The corridor ends there," Max said. "I think we have to go through that door."
Otis took a few steps. "We can catch the group farther ahead. I hope Ramon isn't too mad at us. I mean, so far he only got a good scrub."
The blind Ramon's collar was released, all robot arms retreating. He shuffled into another container.
"What's in there?" Otis asked.
Jeff was glad to be of use. As he spoke, his slightly softened dick re-hardened. "The next station is hair removal. The substance stings a bit. The breathing hose makes sure he doesn't swallow that stuff. Everything but the eyelashes goes."
In fact, the substance was supposed to sting a lot. Jeff bit his lower lip. He sometimes dreamed of shoving unsuspecting guys into a machine like that. And sometimes he dreamed of being shoved into one. It was fairly fifty-fifty.
"Shit, he's gonna be hairless?" Otis asked.
"Not a big deal," Jeff said. "Lots of people have body hair removed nowadays. I got my chest done, too."
"Me and my girl got our junks lasered," Max said. "And she wants me to get my hairy knuckles done. I guess it's normal."
Otis grunted. "Not on the fucking head, though. Ramon's gonna freak out if he goes bald at twenty."
They walked through into the next section after watching Ramon get ball-dragged into the hair removal box.
Around a bend they found their group again.
Jeff got distracted by the sight of twenty perfectly hairless men in a line on the ball-track. They didn't yet have the bodies of trained slaves but some looked rather fuckable.
The five guys from the first room looked completely different now. What a difference crotch hair, scruff and eye brows made. And of course their now missing head hair which some of them had surely hated to lose.
Jeff almost moaned as his mind tore itself between seeing him stand in that line and imagining himself in the uniforms of the enforcers along the track.
The music here was different. Death metal or something. It made the uniformed officers feel more sinister – more sexy.
"Oh fucking hell," Otis said. "They'll all see his face and know. We're screwed. They'll see what we did. Fuck. "
"Not necessarily," Jeff said. "Over there's starts the dehumanization-screen."
This was a fancy name for a glass wall separating the visitors from the slaves. It had a stained glass strip on eye level, big enough to obscure the faces of everyone standing on the other side.
"We have to get moving," Conner said. "If nobody looks back, they won't spot him. Go go go."
"Distract anyone who looks backward," Jeff said as the gang reached the tour group.
The visitors formed a semi-circle around the punisher who gave technical details.
After a minute, Ramon entered through plastic curtains. Nobody in the tour group paid attention to the dripping wet straggler.
An enforcer immediately pulled the goggles off him. The breathing tube popped out and retracted into the ceiling.
He was gorgeous. Fully bald. No hair left on him. His skin was raw and red from the treatment. The wet sheen evaporated fast.
It was amazing how different he looked, how big his ears seemed without the hair.
With a gaping mouth and blinking heavily, Ramon looked simply hilariously stupid.
The lack of pubes made Ramon's dick look quite different from the locker room. Somehow more noticeable but also pathetic with the string pulling his balls down.
Jeff grinned widely. His good friend wore the slave aesthetic perfectly.
He looked so completely transformed, Jeff wasn't even worried one of the others might recognize him through a quick glance.
When the false slave locked eyes with him, Jeff had the decency to look away. Then Jeff saw the other members of the gang also stare with barely held laughter and dared to look again.
Ramon glared at them, then the ball string dragged him along and he saw the line ahead. He freaked out and screamed through the ring gag, trying to tear apart the cuffs' string which had gone `soft' again.
The five men who had come before Ramon also still wore enema hoses plugged into their asses. One by one they popped out and got retracted.
Clean water sprayed from their holes.
"Holy fuck," Min said, laughing. "That's fucking perverse."
The douche between Ramon's cheeks shot out with a gushing flood of clean water, so hard it made Ramon's knees buckle.
The gang chuckled as did a lot of others in the tour group.
"Ooooh, fuck," Max made, then whispered. "He looks so screwed. Man, I can't imagine the pure embarrassment. I wish I could film that."
Min laughed, "Ew no, pervert."
Conner slapped Jeff's back. "You into that?"
Jeff gave a good natured chuckle. In fact, he was nearly delirious finally seeing the procedure in real life after reading about it over and over. Sometimes he wished he had an automatic enema system at the dorm.
A robot arm descended and held Ramon's slave collar in place, forcing him to stand upright. Then the teen moved ahead, shuffling as fast as he was pulled by the hairless balls.
Every slave was held up by a robotic arm this way, facing forward without a choice.
Ramon made it to behind the dehumanization screen, his face hidden from the audience.
The gang relaxed.
Jeff bent down to see the slaves' faces behind the barely transparent bar of stained glass. The twenty naked, hairless, upright men got injections into their necks. Jeff knew this was a nanochip sequence, measuring the body in real time and tracking the slave's behavior. Many pets nowadays had them.
To his pleasure he spotted two fit guys with erections they had no way of hiding. Plus a few more with semi hard-ons.
He wondered whether he'd be rock hard if he was getting enslaved. It felt like a miracle to him that neither the slaves nor the officers were super horny all the time.
"Did I forget anything?" punisher Johnson asked his colleague.
"Nope," Garamond said. "That's everything the chips do. It's really a marvelous piece of tech."
"Next up," Johnson said. "Mister Garamond will take you to the aptitude testing for C class slaves, where these men get their initial skill checks."
Ramon was getting his chip implanted but kept fighting the officers on the other side of the glass. He got the e-prod again.
Nobody in the group paid attention aside from Jeff and Otis.
Zap. Ramon jolted, back arched. Zap. The boy tried to get away, pulling the ball string taut and choking himself on the immobile collar. Zap. He continuously spasmed, knees giving in. He couldn't go to the ground because his collar held him up, so he wobbled on weak knees.
A few enforcers labeled `IN TRAINING' carried cups of water and fed them to the non-gagged slaves. For the gagged ones there were special bottles with tubes that prevented spilling.
Ramon refused to drink, so the enforcer poured the water into his open mouth and held the false slave's nose shut. This way Ramon had to swallow five `sips', with the officer holding his nose even when Ramon started cooperating.
A few black drones hovered near-silently at the start of the line. They carried what looked like a VR headset. The slaves couldn't move their heads away as the drones `attacked' one after another.
They placed their devices not over the slaves' eyes, but rather on their foreheads.
"Oh shit," Otis whispered. "That's the stamp. He's getting a fucking stamp."
Yes, each slave who had worn the device now had a bold designation on their forehead – a QR code square, with letters and numbers underneath.
"Do we just let Ramon get that tattoo?" Max asked. "I mean, those come off, right?"
Jeff shook his head. "They haven't been using regular tattoo ink in years."
"It's digital ink, right?" Conner asked, fearful. He pulled his sleeve back to bare his wrist rings. "Like mine? It can change color and turn off?"
Jeff shook his head again. "It's called Skin Line Print, changes your skin cells. This stuff doesn't fade and doesn't come off."
"Shit," Conner said. "He's gonna have to wear a hat forever once we get him out of there. Hm, maybe it's not that bad. Being bald he'll want to keep his head warm anyway, right?"
"Hehe, look," Otis chuckled. "This is the BJ line."
Indeed, today's slaves' numbers all stated with BJ. The gang waited in tense silence until the drones reached the end.
Jeff bowed down to see the false slave's expression of terror, breathing heavily.
Ramon screamed, looking at him with eyes wide in fear and rage. He struggled to turn his head away from the stamp drone. He made more of a fuzz than any other slave.
With a practiced swing, a punisher withdrew a rod from his belt and crisscrossed Ramon's back at the speed of lightning.
The teen's eyes rolled back into his head as his screams died in breathless croaking.
No longer resisting, Ramon got the `forehead-set' pressed onto his temples for ten seconds. As the drone flew off, it left bold black letters under a QR code: BJ-603.
Jeff's briefs were about to burst. He had dreamed about putting those Skin Line Prints on his class mates. To see it in real life...
"What's with the hoods?" asked somebody farther up in the group.
Enforcers walked along the line and put black hoods with eye and mouth holes over some slaves.
"Good question," discipliner Garamond said. "You'll notice, only those with a gag get covered in black hoods. To our QR code scanners this fabric is transparent but people can't tell those slaves apart. This is another dehumanization technique. Who knows what makes those slaves different?"
Jeff's hand went up automatically. "While processing, slaves are considered class B – medium risk of outbursts or minor compliance issues. Class C is established through good behavior and skill testing at the end of processing. Meanwhile, some slaves are class A from the get go."
"That's right," Garamond said with a nod. "Class A is for those who show low compliance or a high risk of violence. We isolate those for less intellectual labor."
"This is perfect," Otis whispered. "If Ramon stays hidden under a hood..."
The gang fell silent. Were they going to accept that Ramon would not be freed from the track?
The hood distributing officer arrived at the teen and pulled the black sack over Ramon's smooth head. Nobody would recognize him just by the eyes and lips. He had been turned from a person they cared about into a cheap joke.
"We're..." Conner said. "We're still saving him, right? Guys?"
"I mean..." Max said. "He's been pretty fucked already. I feel like he fits in there better."
Class B slaves due to be tested for class C received thongs with triangle loincloths and had their wrists unshackled. They also got simple bracelets on their right wrists.
"I suppose," Jeff said, "it's not like the stamp can be removed, so... We don't even have a choice anymore. It was an accident."
As the men shuffled farther, the track forked and the nude, hooded class A guys were moved aside while the now clothed slaves went straight ahead.
The drones returned with a belt-like contraption that wrapped around each class A guy at the height of his nipples. The first few guys cried out.
"What's happening?" Conner asked with some concern.
Punisher Johnson heard him. "They're just getting pierced. Low compliance slaves `lose' their bracelets a lot so we found a different solution."
Jeff breath was obnoxiously heavy. He had only heard rumors about that fun fact.
As the drones moved on, he saw the buff class A slaves left behind with ringed nipples. Instinctively, his hand wandered to the studs on his ear lobes. Maybe he'd get his nipples pierced soon.
"Follow me," discipliner Garamond said.
"Um," Conner asked. "Sir, where do the class A slaves go?"
Punisher Johnson stepped up to them. "That's not part of the tour. Though..." He looked at his colleague. "If you're interested, I can take you along. It's not an often visited area."
"We'd appreciate that massively," Jeff said. "I've only been able to find clear information about class B and C processing."
The robot arms retreated to the ceiling, letting the hooded figures slouch on weak knees.
Jeff noticed that the class As were forced a lot closer together, occasionally touching as they shuffled into a room perpendicular to the main track.
"In that case," Johnson said with a chuckle. "I'll satisfy your curiosity."
Curious too? Check back soon.