Slave Collar Novels & Stories

The collar was too tight again. It always was. Slade liked it that way, he liked how it choked her breath just enough to remind her who held the leash. He said it made her neck look graceful. Like a prized show horse with a bit in her mouth, especially with the electric element

I declared, as I suddenly found myself heading backward. Fast forward. The chair is a chair that can be converted into a bed. The chair is naturally comforting, but this one was exceptionally so. Finding myself heading backward was done by Ruby. Fast forward. We waited patiently for Sarah and her friends to leave before we stood up to leave. As soon as we were heading out, we were each given a package in a bag each. As we headed to where we parked, "That's the lady pretending to be a slave," I heard someone whispering to another.

I bark at Kirkland, my voice rough with barely contained fury. Without hesitation, Kirkland snaps the collar, his own hands sizzling from the silver’s touch, but he doesn’t flinch. The collar clatters to the ground, and as it falls away, we see it—a mate mark, hidden beneath the collar’s cruel grip. The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. It’s against all pack laws to enslave a mated wolf. This isn’t just an atrocity; it’s a blatant violation of every code we live by.

A doll he could dress up and control. “One more thing,” Lin said quietly. She pulled out a black velvet collar with a small silver tag. My stomach turned. “No,” I said. “Please, not that.” “I’m sorry,” Lin said, and she actually looked sorry. “Mr Volkov insists.” She fastened the collar around my neck. It wasn’t tight enough to choke, but I could feel it there. A constant reminder of what I was now. Property. The tag clinked softly when I moved. I couldn’t see what it said, but I could imagine.

Thick metal bands circled my wrists, ankles, and waist, bolting me to what felt like an examination table. And around my neck, I felt it. A collar. Smooth, cold, humming with energy that felt wrong against my skin. The moment my consciousness brushed against it, trying to access my wolf, pain lanced through my skull so sharp I gasped. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," a calm voice said from somewhere beyond the lights. "The neural inhibitor collar responds to attempts at supernatural ability usage with increasingly severe pain. The third attempt usually causes temporary paralysis. The fifth can cause permanent brain damage."

He mouthed as he lowered his top half over me with his hands circling to the back as the gag gently clutch between my lips and inside my mouth. He pulled himself back once he was done, picking the next object; which was the choker. It’s kind of stylish, round and cutely designed. The collar was black and leather with the same-colored trim and a black strap. A silver chain leash was also attached to it with a small gold padlock that made it a locking collar. A mechanism I’d say often associated to the play of a total submission. Carefully he worked it around my neck and fastened the strap to a tight grip or fitting. Then he pulled on the leash with a smirk on his face as my head bopped forwar

The slim woman squealed and whimpered but the way she bit her lip afterwards gave away her true feelings. As they made their way closer to the bar Ben saw a man almost as large and muscular as he was. He was only wearing a series of leather straps with chrome rings and what looked like a loin cloth. He had a ball gag jammed in his mouth and his hands were bound behind his back with black ropes. He growled menacingly at Ben as they approached. The red and white rings hanging from his slave collar swayed as his Mistress pulled his chain tight.

At least when I go to the market, I can go alone. Everyone who is a slave wears a collar and guess who has one. Me! The collar lets the Lord and Lady know my location in the Crite of Bluestoria. If at any time I was to cross the Bluestorian walls, I would be zapped and injected with a poisonous liquid that would kill me instantly from the collar around my neck. It makes it easy for them to let me roam around freely without worry.

And next to it… A collar. A thin black leather with a small silver tag engraved with two letters: S.V. My hands shake as I pick it up. There's a note underneath in elegant handwriting: You'll wear this every night. Consider it a reminder of who you belong to. S. I want to throw it across the room and walk out of here. Just tear up that damn contract, fuck consequences! Ugh!! But I think of my dear sister, Delilah. Just twenty-one years old, scared and alone, paying for a crime she didn't commit. And I put on the collar.

The crest of Unit Vanguard—a wolf's head superimposed over a shield. "Turn around," he ordered. I hesitated. Then turned my back to him. I felt his large, warm hands on my shoulders. He didn't touch my skin. He adjusted the strap of the dress. His movements precise. Professional. "The collar implies slavery," Barzil murmured. His voice rumbled against my back. "Slavery implies weakness. And the Vanguard is not weak." He fastened the pin to the bodice of my dress. Right over my heart. The metal was cold against the silk. But it felt heavy. Anchoring.