I had been a man, once, a successful, white man. Yet at twenty-seven I found myself sitting naked on a bench with seven other people as we ate food from the table in front of us. As I finished my meal, one of the trainer’s appeared and hand me a small pot of tablets and a glass which contained one load of a black man’s cum. I looked at the tablets and then down at my naked body. Throwing the tablets into my mouth, I washed them down with the glass of cum. Opening my mouth again, I let the trainer check that they had all been swallowed.

“Good slut,” he said as he moved off to the only other person on the table who had started as a man to repeat the process.

The other six were lucky, they had all been born women and so the submission into femininity was easy for them. For me though, it had to not only be trained, but created through the taking of hormones.

How did I end up in such a strange place you may ask? Well it all started after the Great War of 2076. Until then, life had continued in pretty much the same way that it had the previous two hundred years, but in 2076 there had been a global meltdown and war. At the end of it, Africa was the only continent left with any order or control and most of that was invested in a union of powerful African Alphas. Businessmen and politicians who wanted to reshape the entire world in their image.

 First, they restored peace in the ruins of Europe and North America, creating a grateful population that lived in fiefdoms that individual black men ruled without question or challenge to their authority. Then, came the law changes, polygamy became accepted while alongside that they secured the status of black men and women as superior to those of all other races.

Finally, came the final law change, the one which had led directly to me being in this room. The decision to make the voluntary enslavement of white people acceptable. Thousands of people, mainly women, had taken up the call and had willingly submitted themselves to the training camps that would prepare them for a life of servitude to the superior, black race.

At first, I had resisted it, and continued to chart my life as I looked for marriage and a life as successful as it could be for a white man in this new world. Until, one day I had met one of the trainers, in a bar in New Johannesburg, a settlement located on the English coast. New Johannesburg had been created as a home for survivors of the destruction that had ruined the South of England, but in many ways outside of the architecturally beautiful centre, it was a slum area for desperate survivors.  

“You’d make a good slave,” the trainer had said to me as I tried to order my drink.

“Thank you, I think, but all the slaves are women and besides, I’m pretty dominant for a white man.”

“Are you sure about that?” the trainer had replied as he looked down at me. He was a head taller than me, which was not that tall for a superior black man, but it was enough.

“What do you mean?” I had asked nervously as he had continued to talk to me.

“Well, look at you, you have already demurred in my presence, opting to cross your legs over as you stand in the way that all white people are expected to.”

I looked down and noticed that he was right, my legs were crossed, and my hands were behind my back, another sign of expected submission. “If you had been a dominant white man, you would have tried to resist such submission, and yet you have done it without thinking. Like you were made for the life.”

“Umm,” I stumbled over my words as I found myself on the back foot. My last girlfriend had actually submitted, giving herself over to be developed and trained in one of the camps that had been created for the purpose. Still, that was my girlfriend, and I was a man and surely worthy of some respect.

I forced myself out of my submissive pose and tried to adopt a more dominant air, but the trainer smiled at me and almost unconsciously I submitted again without hesitation. “It doesn’t change the fact that only women are expected to enslave themselves,” I commented as I tried to defend myself.

“That’s not completely true,” the trainer replied, “the vast majority of those who accept enslavement are women, but in every round of recruitment we keep a small number of places for men.”

“Really?” The news caught me off guard as I had not known any men who had surrendered themselves.

“Yes, really,” he replied, “all undergo special treatments, but at the end, they are sold into slavery like all the women.”

“Special treatments?” I asked nervously.

“Yes, let’s call it, feminization.”

I thought about his answer for a moment, “you mean that we are forcibly feminised? Turned into women?”

“There is nothing forced about it, the selection process for slaves is vigorous, only those who may stand a chance of passing the training programme are allowed in.”

“And that includes men who you make into female slaves?”

 “Yes.”

I had ended our conversation in that moment, too nervous to think about what he was saying, but he gave me his card, and told me to call him if I ever changed my mind.

It had not taken long, three days later I left a message for him and a week later I had been accepted into a training camp on the island of Jersey. It felt natural from the start, and the ease with which I had submitted to the guidance of black men thrilled me.

From day one, I was taught how to stand, how to sit, how to wait for the attention of a black man and how to remain silent and waiting when it was not forthcoming. Then came the training in how to sexually submit. Large insertions to prepare the body for the taking of black cock. Daily cum swallowing sessions until the taste and the texture of a black man’s cum became something that I was addicted to.  And, most importantly of all, feminisation in the form of hormones, surgery, hair removal treatment and exercise.

The road had been long, but it had been worth it, and as I approached the end of my time in the training camp, I was able to take pride in what I had become. A blonde haired, large breasted PAWG who had no issues in taking fourteen inches in her ass.

“Slut, report to the medical centre,” the head trainer said as I waited for permission to leave the table.

“Yes Master,” I replied, wondering what I was needed in the medical centre for.

Rising from my seat, I made my way out of the mess hall where we all ate together and crossed the square that had been created at the centre of the camp towards the building that housed the medical centre. It was only March, and it was still a bit cold in the morning with a light frost, but I had been trained not to react to the cold when instructed by a black man. Though nobody had told my nipples that and they stood out from my body like two small stones.

I knocked at the door and waited, a slave in the Black New World Order, was not allowed to enter a building without permission, and it was never given immediately when in training. That way a slave learned the need to be patient and unquestioning.

Finally, just as I wondered if I was about to start developing suffering physically from the cold, a buzzer on the door sounded and a gentle click indicated that the door had been unlocked. Pushing on the door, I opened it just enough for me to step inside before letting it close behind me as a slave should never make a grand entrance. Inside it was warm, and I soon found my skin recovering from the cold air that it had experienced outside, and I was thankful that while I had to wait, I was at least not going to die.

A shuffling sound reached my ears, and a moment later a woman appeared, another white slave. There were small weights attached to her nipples, pulling on her breasts while more weights hung from her labia. Around her ankles, she wore heavy shackles that prevented her from moving her feet easily or comfortably. I recognised what she was going through, it was a punishment detail that was given to slaves during their training when they were too wilful or resistant.

“Hello Mistress,” she said on reaching me and I smiled. In the training environment all of the slaves wore a collar from which hung a small amulet that contained a Queen of Spades logo and a number. The number corresponded to number of weeks that a slave had been in training and the fifty-two that I wore far exceeded the eighteen that she had on her own collar.

“Yes Cunt?” I asked as I kept up with the camp etiquette that anybody trained further that you was a Mistress, and anybody who had been trained less was a Cunt.

“If you follow me, the Master Doctor will see you.”

Until now, most of my medical needs, when I had them, had been seen to by a medical slave who had been trained in how to look after our problems. To be invited to see the Master Doctor was a new thing, and it meant that either they had found a serious problem or, as I hoped, I was ready for tagging.

I followed the Cunt, though because of the shackles her pace was painfully slow until she stopped me by a door and knocked using the slave rhythm of three successive raps of the fingers on the door.

Then, giving me a smile, she stepped back out of the way so that I would be able to enter the door when summoned.

“Enter,” a male voice said from inside and opening the door, again just enough for me to fit through, I slipped into the room.

The door closed behind me, and I waited by it until the Master Doctor, who was sat behind a desk at the far side of the room was ready to speak to me.

 He looked up and studied me for a moment, then looking down at his desk again he smiled, before again looking up at me. “Ahh, you must be slave Abigail?”

Abigail was not my real name, but when I had entered into the camp I had been made to give up my maleness and had been assigned a female name by the trainers. Now, if I was right, it was time to also give up that name.

“Yes Master.”

“Perfect,” he replied as he got up from his desk and walked over to another door in the side of the office. “This way,” he said as he opened the door and stepped through. I followed, having to re-open the door myself as the Master Doctor had deliberately let the door close to remind me of my position.

I entered the room, to find that the centre of it was occupied by a box with a stool inside it. In the centre of the stool was a large dildo, which from the look of the material could be inflated once inserted. In front of the box, was a small electronic screen on a stand.

“Step up to the stand,” the Master Doctor commanded and nervously I did as he asked.

The screen lit up, presenting words for me to read. “I, the undersigned, give up my last vestiges of any legal right to freedom. In signing this I acknowledge that I will see out my days as a slave in the Black New World Order. I surrender all of my freedoms, and any human rights that have been accorded to me by the state, and instead accept the slave charter that was signed into law in 2082 by then President, Master Obomo. In accepting the slave charter, I will become the property of the Union of African Kingdoms, who will duly sell me at market to one of their registered slave owners. I raise no objections to this, and recognise that responsibility for my health, life and right to consent will fall to the sole control of that owner. Lastly, I sign over all of my property, rights and wealth to the Union of African Kingdoms and in so doing, any record of my birth will be expunged along with any name that I have held or have known prior to this day. Henceforth, I will be known as T956, until such time as any owner chooses to name me otherwise.”

“Sign with your full birth name when you are ready,” the Master Doctor said as he watched me reading the contract.

“Yes Master,” I replied as I picked up the stylus that would be needed to sign my name and in so doing erase my non slave existence.

I hesitated for a moment as I read the words again, my family would know I had been enslaved, the lists of all the graduates from slave camp were published every month. My wife, from whom I was separated, but still officially married to, would automatically receive an annulment of the marriage as if I had never existed.

Smiling, I twirled the stylus in my hand three times and then, obediently, and willingly I signed my name, and in that moment all of my past disappeared. I became T956.

“Step into the box and sit on the dildo,” the Master Doctor commanded, and I did as I was told. Sliding it into my ass, I gasped as it suddenly inflated, wide enough that I would be unable, if I tried to, stand up.

The Master Doctor approached and guided my head forward until my chin rested on a holder that was positioned in front of me. He released the collar from around my neck and then making sure that my hair was lifted up and out of the way, he strapped my head into place. As one last action, he tied my wrists to the sides of the support that the chin rest was raised on. Stepping away, the Master Doctor pressed a button and the machine moved and contorted until my head was titled at just the right angle. Then, there was a whirring sound and finally a sharp scratch on the back of my neck. It seemed to go on forever, almost as if it was drawing a picture as it scraped back and fore across my skin. Finally, another needle pressed into my left shoulder, pushing deep before into the skin as it felt like something had been inserted.

“Perfect,” the Master Doctor said as he slowly released me from the straps that had held me in place and deflated the dildo. “You are now marked for life,” he said as he lifted a mirror so I could see what had been tattooed onto my body.

I studied it, a bar code in black, the Queen of Spades logo and my identifying number, T956. Now nobody could argue, it would be there for the whole of my life, a sign that I was a legal slave within the Black New World Order. “Master, my arm?” I asked as I indicated the spot on my left shoulder where I had felt something inserted.

“An electronic copy of the same, along with a tracking chip, so that we will know where you are anywhere in the world for the rest of your life. “You cannot run, you cannot hide, and your registration will be kept until the end of your days.”

“Thank you Master,” I replied knowing that I was now unable to control or change my destiny in anyway.

“Good, good,” he smiled at me as he spoke, “now I want you to kneel down and wait.”

I did what I was told, a Master had commanded, and I had obeyed, just as I had been trained. Waiting, I tried to clear my mind of all thoughts as to what the Master Doctor was up to. When he returned, he showed me my new collar, a metal one instead of the leather that I had been wearing up until that time. Placing it around my neck, he fixed it into place, locking the latch with a soldering iron so that I would never be able to release it myself.

“Thank me,” he said as he released his large, black cock from within his trousers. I stared at it for a moment, composing my thoughts as he took hold of me by the hair. Then, without saying anything else he pulled my head forward as he held the tip up so that it slipped into my mouth.

The Doctor Master eagerly throated me, his large cock sliding in and out of my mouth and down towards my stomach with every thrust. I resisted the urge to gag, just as I had been trained as I eagerly awaited the cum load that he would give me when he orgasmed.

“I can see why they have authorised you for sale so quickly,” he said as I willingly took his long hard thrusts until. It was a pleasure to serve black men, and most importantly of all, it was a privilege to be blacked by them and their large cocks.

He came, a thick stream of cum injected straight into the back of my throat as he held my head tight against his groin, my lungs bursting for air by the time he released me. I panted hard for a moment, regaining my breath, before kneeling back up, I looked up at him, “thank you Master.”