Collared Novels & Stories

The leather collar was hidden beneath a high collar on my shirt. We went to a private, high-end jewelry store that Aiden clearly had a personal relationship with. The owner greeted him with respect and barely glanced at me. Aiden made me stand in front of a mirror while he selected a new collar — a sleek, thin band of black titanium with a small silver ring in the front. It looked elegant enough to pass as fashionable jewelry, but we both knew what it really was. He fastened it around my neck right there in the store. “Perfect,” he said, voice low. “This one doesn’t come off.”

“And I am yours. But today… today you wear my collar. Tomorrow, at work, everyone will see that thin red line on your neck and won't understand. But you'll know. You'll know you're mine.” He smiled, touching the collar with his fingertips. “I love this.” Hellen lay beside him, pulling him to nestle against her chest. Their bodies pressed together, sweaty, satisfied. “Tomorrow you wake up with it,” she murmured. “And send me a photo before leaving home.” “I will.” She kissed his forehead. “Good boy.” They stayed there, in silence, listening to each other's breathing. The collar rested hot against his skin—discreet, permanent, invisible to the world, but palpable to them.

Stepping out of the room even if it was for something as grimly as a council summon still felt refreshing even when the air seemed to thicken with a sense of impending gravity and doom. My eyes widened when I noticed the guard was holding an object that resembled a collar. "What is that for?" I asked, my voice revealing apprehension. The guard met my gaze impassively. "It's a precautionary measure. The collar is designed to prevent you from shifting during the council proceedings." A shiver ran down my spine as the reality of the situation sank in. This was no ordinary meeting; I was being treated like a criminal who had performed crimes against humanity. "I hardly think the collar is necess

Staff moved quickly through the halls carrying trays of food, glasses, and bottles of expensive wine. Lance stood near one of the tall windows in the main hall, adjusting the collar of the suit Porto had forced him to wear. “Stop touching it,” Porto said from beside him. “You look fine.” “I feel like I’m suffocating, why can't we wear normal clothing?” Lance muttered. Marcus chuckled quietly. “That’s because it's a birthday and you’re not used to wearing anything that costs more than twenty bucks.” Lance shot him an annoyed look but didn’t argue because it was actually somewhat true.

He's stopped trying to say anything. I study the picture he makes for a moment. Then I reach into my jacket for the collar. "Good proportions," I say, and clip it around his throat before he has time to register the intention. The clasp catches. S makes a strangled sound, eyes going briefly skyward. I sit back and look at him. The collar sits pale and precise against his open collar, a thin line of restraint over the violet of his jacket and the flush of his skin. "No sedative loaded," I tell him. "It's just a collar. Decorative." I tilt my head. "You look good in it. Don't take it off.

Eli stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his sleek black suit. The platinum collar around his neck caught the light with every small movement, heavy and unmistakable. It rested perfectly at the base of his throat, a clear declaration to anyone who looked. Cove stood behind him in an identical black suit, tailored perfectly to his broad frame. The white bandage on his shoulder was hidden beneath the fabric, but Eli could still see the slight stiffness in his movements. “Are you really sure about this?” Eli asked, turning to face him. “Taking me there like this? With this collar on full display?”

The four of them sat at the table that Noah had previously ordered. Noah sat beside Cara and Sean sat across from him. Sean took off his jacket and put it on Rena's shoulders, they looked harmonious. "I'm not cold," Rena said. "I told you not to dress like this, the doctor said the night wind is not good for your health," Sean said. That voice sounded much warmer when he spoke to Rena. "Cara, what would you like to order?" Noah said and Cara immediately turned to him. "Me? Order whatever's best here," Cara said.

Please let it be exactly what I think it is. He flips it open, slow and dramatic, the way only Alexander fucking Wolfe can do. But inside… isn’t a ring. My breath catches. It’s not a diamond. It’s not even a piece of traditional jewelry. It’s a collar. Black leather. Sleek. Stunning. Elegant in a way that feels utterly dangerous. And dangling from the center? A small gold tag. Engraved with the words: Property of Alexander. The air leaves my lungs. I physically stagger back a step, hand flying to my chest like it might calm the thunder behind my ribs.

The cold air is cooling against my skin as I smile and hum my way to the dumpster, only halting abruptly to meet the familiar back of someone. “Taren?” Huh? I pause in my breach, curling my fingers back at the sight of something disturbing clasped around his neck. He shows no sign of hearing my voice or even realizing my presence behind him as I focus a stern gaze on the metallic collar-like object. I’ve seen it before. It’s the same black collars fixed onto the necks of the male wolves at the Shelters. But, why does he still have it on? I finally move to make my presence known when I ask boldly, “Why do you still have your collar on?” His rigid build tremors and I return my hand to my side

It was backless, slit dramatically up to the hip, held together by two thin straps that converged at the neck. The garment was less clothing and more frame, designed to showcase everything underneath while guarding nothing. Next to it: a velvet box, heavy and resonant with promise. Inside the box: a collar. Not a necklace, not a piece of jewelry, but a collar. Matte black leather, one inch wide, lined with silk so it wouldn’t chafe, a tiny concession to comfort that only highlighted the discomfort of the intent. A small silver ring sat precisely at the front. And engraved on the inside, hidden against my throat, pressed into my pulse: Property of M.