Slave Collar Novels & Stories

That had been the beginning of the collars. To achieve equality and fairness as the jealous folks had termed it, they had created collars with little bits of grinded silver designed in a way to keep their wolves at bay. Kaden had rejected it at first, but when some of them had been taken captive by the rings, he had succumbed to the plan. So, they couldn’t shift nor could they remove the collars. The pain that accentuated from that numbed them for a while.

Just when I thought he was going to refuse his subordinate's request, he suddenly retracted his claws and turned away. “You have only two minutes, Colin,” he warned, his voice low and rough. “After that, I'm going to put those collars on them whether they like it or not.” As soon as he walked away, Colin immediately reached for Kianna and pulled her in his arms. I gave them a few seconds of privacy before approaching them. “Hey, do you know what your leader was talking about? What are those collars you are holding?” Colin lifted up the silver collar in his hand. It looked like a piece of jewelry with intricate designs with a blue gem in the middle. But there was something about this collar t

“Tristan said anyone from that shithole Emerald Howl Pack is a potential criminal, unfit for important positions. Oh, and to prevent us from ‘committing crimes,’ he made us all wear this—” Trent pulled down his collar, revealing a shock collar around his neck. It was used to prevent werewolves from shifting. Fury surged through me, and I snapped, “How dare they!!!”

However, the second lycan official raised his hand, and spoke arrogantly, “Keep your lousy metal away from royal servants. We have brought their collars.” All girls sighed in relief as this branding was the hardest part of being sold. This wound often got infected, eventually killing the slaves in the first two weeks. The harmless leather collars instead were more like jewelry, everyone was happy with developments until now. We were blindfolded and directed to sit in a minivan, the model of the vehicle was my wild guess as all of us couldn’t be adjusted in a small car.

I had no choice. I lowered my head again, silent in my defeat. Antonio walked over and fastened the collar around my neck, snapping it into place like I was nothing more than his pet. There was a small keyhole at the front where he inserted its gold key and locked the collar. The weight of the collar felt heavier than it was, a constant reminder of what I had become. A slave! “You’ll wear this everywhere,” Antonio said coldly. “So you don’t forget your place. You’re mine.”

position. He studied me with critical eyes. "This is your presentation position. When I tell you to present, this is how you kneel. Understand?" "Yes, Sir." "Good." He walked to the cabinet, returning with a leather collar—thicker and more elaborate than the one from last night, with a silver ring and tiny diamonds embedded in the leather. "This collar means you belong to me. That you've surrendered your body, your pleasure, your submission to my control. It doesn't come off except when I remove it. Do you accept?" My heart raced. This felt ceremonial. Important. "Yes, Sir. I accept." He fastened it around my throat, and the weight of it settled something inside me. Made me feel claimed. Ow

I had no idea what Elijah intended to do, but when he looked at me with such seriousness, I knew whatever he did would be bad. “Fasten your seatbelt tight,” Elijah said before accelerating hard. I screamed at the sudden rush, and he crashed into a group of wolves, sending them flying through the air. Then we stopped near Giselle. When she saw me, she raised her eyebrows, and I froze when I got a good look at her neck. She was wearing a bondage collar—but not just any collar; it was a relic that had historically been believed to be destroyed. The collar was the symbol of the dark bond of slavery, and I finally understood what Hall had done to her.

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.

The complete and utter possession. I should have been disgusted with myself. Instead, I was... what? Confused? Angry? Aroused? No. Fuck that. I shoved the thought away and swung my legs over the side of the bed. That's when I saw it. The collar. It sat on the nightstand like a coiled snake. Black leather. Silver buckle. Simple. Elegant. Unmistakably a claim. "Since you came to me on your own accord, you belong to me now."