Buying Bad

This story is coming out of the genre of legal slavery, made popular by Katie Smith, Joe Doe, GentlemanMariner, Carl Bradford, and many others. To cut to my spin on it: I am trans woman and this series will wrestle with the logistics of trans people in this niche genre. This isn't any kind of informational (lol) this is above anything a sexy story meant to get you going and tapping your metaphorical toe whomever you may be. I will not be using slurs for transgender people throughout, so sigh with relief or make peace with this before going on.

It's set in Canada, which doesn't matter much but it might matter a little, later. This first chapter is a somewhat short, call it a happy introduction. Later entries will be longer. I'm always happy for feedback, and thanks for reading!

Part 1 - The Buying of a Leash / Snapping the Collar

Penina was her name, she had a red leather dog collar with a little silver tag that read "pebble". That little tag and a thin black leash were bought for her by Jack on their fourth date. It had only taken two dinners and a lunch for Jack to know how far he could push her, and how far she would willingly bend for him.

He walked her into the pet store like he was showing off the pride of his pack of bloodhounds. His strong tanned hand lay firmly across the back of her neck, holding her head and its blushing cheeks up high. "You find me a collar that you like, baby," he said.

Penina said, louder than she needed, "Y-You mean that-- that she would like, ha, ha!"

He looked down into her eyes and his smile never faded. "Your favorite color is red, right?"

"Uhm," she said. "Y-Yeah it's good... uh, it will help us see her if, uh... Like, in the dark!"

A pet store attendant, a fully dressed woman with short dark hair, thick black-framed glasses, and a professionally put-together courtesy, came to give them the company sales pitch. "Good Doggie-Meow Morning to you, is there anything I can help you find today?"

The clear nametag pinned awkwardly to her thin green apron read "MANAGER - Mary." Behind her was a life-sized cardboard cut-out advertising a new brand of dog treat, something like a meat yogurt in a disposable Go-gurt tube, that Mary had probably set up herself whenever the company sent its ad package for the month. The woman on the cut-out was totally nude, and her clear nametag attached neatly to a piercing in her left nipple. On her pubic mound was a Doggie-Meow paw print tattoo in the usual friendly yellow and blue. Although slavery hadn't been decided in their province yet, corporate seemed to know which way the wind was blowing. And soon it would be blowing Mary's apron off and using brand new shop equipment to pierce her left nipple just like the model on the cardboard. Penina thought that if they were allowed to stay as managers after slavery passed then short-haired Mary would have to assign herself a piercing time between the tagging of dogs and cats. Right between "Emperor Fluffs" and "Rosco" she would write "Mary (slave-manager)" in ballpoint pen.

Jack smiled wider. "Really we're here for my Penina. What would you like her to do for you, babe?"

She couldn't stop swallowing, she couldn't stop the stream of nervous laughter popping from her throat anymore than she stop holding her thighs so tightly together, or anymore than she could stop the sweet and stick leak very quickly soaking the flowery blue panties she had on beneath her canary yellow romper.

"No-- no thank you! We're just here, ha, ha, we're just looking for our dog. Uhm, a collar for her. That's all!"

Mary nodded. "Aisle 7 for dog collars. We do the tags once you get to the register. If you don't have a tag yet. What breed is she?"

Jack offered nothing but a patronizingly deferential look at Penina. "Oh," she said. "Oh we don't, uh, we don't know, uh--"

She struggled desperately to think of dogs. Marmaduke? Was that a breed or a name? What was the Frasier dog? Eddie, yes, but...

"A j-jack russel terrier, is what she is!!"

"Oh cute! My brother has a jack russel."

Jack cut in. "No, Pen, that collar is going to be way too small for us. A jack russel? They hunt mice, come on."

"Right, n-no, she's not a jack russel," Penina said. "Uh, we don't know, she's, uhm, kind of a mutt! But bigger, than uh, than that."

"Aw, well, every dog needs a home, purebred or street." Mary said. "What's her name?"

Fuck this bitch go stock some fucking tuna cans, Penina thought. "Marie. Marie the mutt!"

Jack laughed in his smooth smoky way. Even when she surprised him he never lost the butter in his manner. "Thank you Mary, I think we can find it from here," he said.

He nodded, and Mary nodded to him, and left. But Penina knew she had taken that insult and mentally noted that this guy's girlfriend was a huge bitch. She could already tell how the rest of their relationship would go: girls would always love Jack and hate her. But she hated them too! It wasn't easy getting Jack and it wouldn't be easy keeping him. She had been working overtime all week to keep their dates exciting and keep herself done up and beautiful and perfect for him. His dating profile had said he liked "casual girls" and this was an extra challenge, to be perfect in a casual way. Penina fancied herself a very extra girl: a full face of makeup to get convenience store ramen at 3am, painstaking hours practicing wings, perfecting the blend, matching her nails to her hair to her outfit and cool as a cucumber Jack wanted all that but casual? She could deliver. She learned to be extra, she could learn to be a fuckable hang-around girl. And either way, no bitch was going to out-do her at the game of adapting to her man's preferences. She would show them.

Jack's hand found it's way down to her ass. "Bad dog," he hissed into her ear and pinched as hard as he ever had.

An older couple were looking over dog brushes at one end of aisle 7, and at the other were rows of collars. Penina grabbed the first red one she found, it was a thick corrugated cloth with a black plastic snap and as soon as she yanked it off the shelf she turned into Jack's chest and said, quietly, "Got it!"

"Oh you've got it?" Jack said, not quietly. "I can tell you've put so much thought into it."

He pulled her off of his chest and took the collar. In his hand it looked very small. "Well let's see. Pull your hair up."

She glanced at the older couple only fifteen feet away. "Uh, J-Jack--"

"I'm not wasting money and I'm not buying two. Pull up your hair now. Don't waste my time, little Penina."

She pressed her thighs and pulled her long blond hair away from her neck, which she stretched without him needing to ask, and stared terrified at the old folks. "Hurry, please hurry," she whispered.

He measured the leash and her neck like a hangman. "I don't know if this red suits you," he said, pressing it to her throat.

"This is a little dark for your pale ass."

God he's talking so loud

"We-we could t-try another."

"No, don't be silly. You wanted this one, let's see."

He stepped around her and turned her shoulders before pulling the collar around her as if it were a diamond necklace. The black snap didn't reach past her ears on either side. "I don't know if this size works, babe, what do you think?"

"No I guess it doesn--"

He yanked the collar tightly together. It bit into her soft white neck under the cruel push of his fingers. She coughed, gagging under the pressure. The old folks looked over: little her with her pigeon-toed sneakers and slutty pointed manicure, bright glossy lips swung wide open in what would have been a moan if she could have made a sound, surely there was some instinctive understanding that she wasn't pulling away from the massive man smiling and hulking over her, but rather pushing into him. They were already physically comfortable like this, Jack had taken her in his position almost every night they saw each other. Only then she was naked, wet with sweat and red on every cheek not from blush but from Jack's fast hands, and his hard, slick cock crashing into her ass again, and again, and again. Thank god her tuck hadn't come loose or these old fogies would have seen a tiny bulge pressing out just between her bright, creamy thighs. "S-Sorry," she coughed. "Just a j-joke!! Sorry!"

The old man looked at the old woman and frowned. They left aisle 7. Jack gave her back the collar. "Put it back and pick another one."

She did put it back, but without even pretending to look she spun around and pushed back into his chest. "Please, please, this is so embarrassing. I just want to be your little dog in private, Jack. Fuck I want you right now please please. Take me back to the car I'll give you the best blowjob you've ever had, please, I'll suck you off from here to your garage I swear to God."

She gave him her fuck-me eyes, so long practiced, and bit her fat bottom lip like she knew he liked. She liked it too.

His hand returned to his little dog's neck. His voice got low and thick as blackstrap molasses. "You're going to do that anyway, little girl. And you're going to do it with your collar around your throat. And you're going to pick a collar now so that you never forget, in private or public, that you're my bitch, always, forever, signed, sealed, and delivered."

His thumb and finger found her nipple through the fabric of her romper. They squeezed and yanked more cruelly than he had pulled at the collar. "We need to get you kitted out, babe. Pretty soon I'll just have to buy you anyway, don't you think?"

Everything in her squeezed together all at once. "Oh god," she said.

"Think about being in court, trying to fight this," he laughed. "Did you knowingly buy slave gear, before we even passed a law, to submit to this man? And you'll be up there, tits out on the stand-- oh no, not even on the stand. I bet they'll have you kneeling before the judge, your legs spread wide where every slave girl keeps her legs spread, a very standardized distance, dangling there in front of this wise man who knows what to do with little submissive cunts like you."

She wished he would pull on her harder, meaner.

"Pick out your collar," he said. "And then you can get your little daily fix of my cock in your throat. Would you like that?"

She nodded, silently, desperately.

They walked up to the register with the thickest, most expensive collar she could find. It was heavy leather, meant for some vicious security dog. It seemed like it would never fray or rip or break. Penina like how it looked on her, which she saw in the pictures Jack took on his phone, how small and vulnerable it made her seem. She was like a slender flower strapped by chains to the hood of a MAC truck. To compliment how little force he would need to control her, Jack said, he picked out a slender little leash that hooked its rose gold clip to the blunt steel ring on the back of the blood red leather.

Mary was working the register, and she said hello again but only to Jack. "It looks like you found what you needed today?"

"Oh yes. Thanks to your help, Ms. Mary," he winked.

She smiled. "I'm so glad I could help you out. Oh my, this is a lot bigger than what you would need for a jack russel, isn't it? Did you still need a tag?"

Jack nodded. "I even have my eye on one. That one."

He pointed to the top left corner of the display, where there were tags shaped liked dogs, hotdogs, soccer shoes, fire hydrants (and Penina was overjoyed he hadn't picked that one), and all the other monopoly pieces you could want. He chose one shaped like a half-eaten bone. Mary got it instantly with a smile that said "Great choice, sir!" in what Penina thought was an increasingly less professional demeanor.

"And what will be the name?" She asked him, taking it over to their laser cutter.

Jack's smile turned to a handsome grin, he hadn't told a word of this to Penina. "Her name is Pebble."

Mary looked down at the little cartoon bone in her hands, then to the collar on her countertop, and finally dead into Penina's eyes.

"I thought it was Marie?"

/////////////////////////////////////////////////

Pebble pulled herself under the sharp bramble of the campground hedges. Little green thorns bit her shoulders and scratched red lines down her ass as she wiggled it through and out. It hurt less than the hard stones in the soil felt, dragging under her breasts and their new piercings, but she didn't feel either very much. There was too much panic beating through her heart.

As soon as she could be on her feet she was. She ran through the forest, leaping over bigger logs and trenches, pulling herself forward by the hard, nasty bark of the pines she could reach. The slave braid Franco had bound her hair into kept the brush from yanking at her but branches still whipped over her head as she bolted recklessly forward.

In the distance the barking had just started. How did they find out I was gone so fast??

The awful hounds of the Boucher Brothers were winding up to a hunting frenzy. She could see Franco even in her fear, laughing and clapping in front of his purebreds, waving the tatters of her clothes over the pack.

Did she even smell like those anymore? Like perfume and girl? She probably reeked of sweat and pine sap, or the dirt they kept her staked too beneath the ugly blue tarp tent they kept the stock underneath.

She knew she couldn't outrun the dogs but if she could find campers, rangers, anyone connected to the city! Legal or not she didn't have a, a, a what??

A slave number, or a registration or whatever they use!!

She wasn't a legal slave even here she just needed someone to see that and save her!

Her black-bottomed feet took her to a hard earth wall that looked too large to go around in time. Without even thinking if she was strong enough she leapt for the tallest thing she could reach and started climbing. Her thighs could barely lift her, they were already shaking and crisscrossed with the red arabesques of the whip. "This is my hand writing," Franco Boucher laughed. "I sign this and I get a slave, no counterfeit needed!"

When she pulled her body over the lip and onto the cliff's edge she took a moment to gather her breath. Her mouth was thick with the taste of pussy, and she was grateful to any God around that made the flavour of pussy stronger than that of adrenaline in the back of the throat. She hadn't felt the thorns rake over her back yet, and she was wilfully ignoring the agony of her feet torn up by the forest floor. The swollen pain in her nipples was now a daily background noise. But what did bother her whilst running was the heavy metal pendulum slamming into her legs, back and forth, with every long stride of her gait. Franco's crude chastity cage was heavy in the worst spot. It was too small, pinching at the best of times, but the run had made it unbearable. Her balls were tugged with each sway of her hips, and an ugly metal point dug into the sensitive hairless valley between her mound and her leg. The metal ran up between the cheeks of her ass and around her waist before coming back to the jagged point. A hard steel circle kept her hole available for use. All of it made running harder, it made everything harder. And it was a hideous thing to wear, she thought. Even as ragged as this I can pull it off, but I deserve better.

She huffed and puffed and rubbed everywhere that was sore. The dogs barked in the distance and she had no idea if they were closer than before. There was a river that ran alongside her, but she didn't trust her swimming well enough to cross. Didn't the Mythbusters show that "people smell" for bloodhounds was... was...

Franco's insipid slave mantras were pushing at every thought, drowning out her mind like a radio playing all day at work.

...hydrophilic. I would drag my smell behind me even longer...

She wondered if the girl from that show was a slave yet. After only four weeks of the Boucher's methods, anytime she thought of womanhood she thought of slavery.

Her hand felt her heart and the swollen little breast overtop it. It was beating in a fast, steady rythm. Master's Tits. Master's Body. I am slave, make Master Money.

She hated Franco's voice. She hated her own, repeating his words. Leaving her tit she reached for the hard white metal locked around her neck. She didn't believe Franco that it was permanent. When she felt behind her neck she could feel an ugly sort of lump with a hole in it that she figured was a lock. Someone could open it up again. As soon as she got back to civilization this would all be cleared up. This could all be cleared up!

She wasn't a slave, she was Pebble, a free woman from a free province with a job and an apartment. She laughed. "Even if I don't have any savings," she croaked. "Or assets, or a-- or a car... I have to pay rent. They'll want me free for that, ha, ha..."

It wasn't the barking that cut her little joke short. "P-Penina," she said. "I picked that name."

I am obedient, I am driven, Master's Name is what I'm given.

She picked herself back up and ran.