The Collaring

To look at me now, I'm sure that you would never guess how this all started. Back then, I was a simple college junior. I thought of myself as a well-behaved, upstanding young woman. I was lying to myself, of course. Every weekend at school was filled with beer, pot, and sex. But I was able to corral those hours off from my 'normal' self. He taught me the opposite - that the Monday-Friday me was the shadow; the weekend me was the reality.

So it was that I was driving my foreign hybrid home from church when I remembered that I needed to bring home a Christmas gift for my Dad's dog. I'm not sure why. I just remember being told by my Dad's girlfriend that I better not forget a gift for Bruiser. Whatever.

When I chose that particular pet shop, I had no idea my life would change forever. I was looking for a present for a dog for Christmas, honest. The store itself was nondescript. It was just a shop in a strip mall on the outskirts of town but it was the only one open on a Sunday afternoon.

The shop was very clean for a pet store and I immediately noticed the lack of that pet smell that permeates such establishments. Maybe that should have tipped me off. But I forgot about that when the owner appeared from the back.

He was tall with salt-and-pepper hair. His body was trim and seemed athletic under his crisp white dress shirt, open at the collar, revealing a wisp of that same hair. His blue eyes pierced mine as he spoke. "May I help you, dear?" His voice was a baritone with a husky timbre. I'm sure I looked out of place, still in my flowery sundress and flats from church. "May I help you?" he asked again.

"Oh! I'm sorry," I apologized and blushed, which is hard to hide when you have fair skin like I do. "I was, umm, looking for a dog collar?"

He smiled in a way that seemed to indicate more than politeness. It was sort of a I-know-something-you-don't-know kind of smile. "Right this way," he said as he directed me down an aisle of leashes and collars.

There were so many that it all seemed confusing to me. After all, the dog wasn't mine and I wasn't even sure of the size. "This is a wide selection of collars," I remarked, "especially for a shop that doesn't even sell animals."

He gave a scoffing laugh. "Animals come in many varieties, dear." He let me browse before he spoke again. "What size of a dog is it?"

"You know, I'm not really sure."

"You're buying a collar for a dog you don't know?" he asked.

"Well, it's my Dad's dog. I haven't been home in over a year. I guess he's what you might call a medium sized? I think he said a Lab mix?"

"Sort of like a Lab," he mused.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Then," he said, taking a black leather collar from the display, "this might be the right size." He held it up. "But, and I know this is going to sound strange, but, your neck and the dogs might be the same size."

I know I blushed then as I tilted my head. "Do people usually try on their pet's collars?"

His eyes pierced mine again. "Some do, some people buy collars for themselves."

I don't know why, but that was equally shocking and intriguing. I should have left right then. The good girl in me knew it was wrong. But I just stood there, transfixed as he moved, ever so slowly, to place the collar around my neck. However, he didn't fasten it. He just tested the sizing. "Yes," he said, "this would fit you fine."

"Me? No, no, I'm buying for the dog."

"For a pet, my dear."

"A pet," I falteringly reply. "A pet, of course."

"Are you someone's pet, dear?" he asked as his hands still held the collar in front of me. His eyes penetrating mine.

"I, I don't have a boyfriend, if that's what you mean." I could feel my body temperature rising and that feeling of both discomfort and curiosity that got me in trouble too many times before.

"It's not what I mean at all." He took a step back and looked me over like he was purchasing a car. "You, my dear, are pet material. You're fair skin and that gorgeous red hair and your temperament. You'd make a perfect pet."

That's when I got my dander up. "I'm not anyone's pet and I don't appreciate you gawking at me like I was some kind of object." That was my attempt at a protest. I think he knew my heart wasn't in it.

His hand moved quickly to gather my hair behind my head, tightly. His face came close to mine. "This might be your only chance to discover who you really are."

I felt my breath catch and an image flash through my mind: me on my knees next to a chair that he was sitting in. I had the collar on. I felt relaxed.

I swallowed. "I...I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't? Or, perhaps, won't? Or, maybe, can't?" I stared at him. The tension on my hair increased. ""Answer me!"

"Sh-sh-shouldn't."

"Because good girls don't do things like that?" he asked, taunting me.

I tried to nod but found it difficult. "Yeah," was all I could manage.

"A Good Girl is one who fulfills her destiny. I think your destiny is being my pet."

We stared at each other for a minute. It seemed like hours. Then he jerked my head. "Yes or no."

It was an eternity in my mind, my internal struggle, that until that moment, had never been raised. I still don't know why I said it. I only know that I'm glad that I did. "Yes."

He yanked my head again, harder. "Yes, what?"

"Yes.....sir?"

"Good girl," he responded softly. Then I felt something I'd never felt before. It was that feeling of finally hearing the words you've longed to hear all your life but you didn't even know you needed them...Good Girl....and I melted.

He released my hair then took my hand. "Follow," he commanded me and I obeyed. We walked through the store to the back, which, I discovered, was his living area. It was richly appointed with thick rugs and ornate dark colored furniture. It could have been inside a mansion. He sat in one chair, a dark red, heavily upholstered antique, and motioned to me. "Stand before me."

I stood before him feeling like he was staring deep into my soul. His eyes roamed over me, examining every inch from my hair to my toes. But, instead of being embarrassed, I felt exhilarated. "Strip," he commanded.

I only hesitated for a second and saw a flash of disappointment on his face. I quickly obeyed, tossing off my dress, kicking off my shoes, unclasping my bra, and sliding my panties down and off. I stood again before him, naked and unashamed. "Good girl," he said. A wave of pleasure flowed through me.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do you deserve to be my pet?"

The question caught me off-guard. Wasn't that why we were here? Could he still reject me? Am I deserving? No, I thought, I wasn't. I had no idea what I was doing there. "No, sir." I said, looking down at the floor.

"That's the right answer. I can work with that." He leaned back in his chair. "Turn away from me."

I obeyed. I felt even more vulnerable as he examined my ass. I knew it was attractive, many men have told me so. I suppose it's the running every day. "Bend over and grab your ankles."

I obeyed.

"Feet apart."

Again, I obeyed. I was being inspected. The blood was rushing to my head but I fought to remain composed. I heard him stand and walk toward me. I felt his hand on my ass, caressing it. Then he spread my cheeks apart. "You shave." It was a statement, not a question. "You'll be waxing here."

"Yes, sir," I managed to get out. I knew that it was both painful and effective. I had avoided it for years because, truthfully, no one else cared. But he did.

"Stand up."

I stood and felt the rush of blood flow from my head. "Thank you," I said.

Then his big strong palm slapped me across the face. "What?!"

I ran through everything I'd done and said since I walked into the shop. Finally, "Thank you, sir." My cheek burned.

"On your knees." I dropped to my knees as he sat back in his chair. "Back straight, hands on your thighs." I assumed the posture. "Keep your eyes down unless I tell you differently." I stared at a design in the carpet. There was a few moments of silence before he continued.

"You will agree to live here and do what I tell you do without complaint. In return, you will have room and board and spending money for the two days a week I let you out." He paused. I assumed he was gauging my response. I remained still and silent.

"You will tell no one of this arrangement and I can cancel it at anytime. You will keep yourself clean, bathing twice a day as I direct you and always naked in the house. You are never to enter the store. Meals are taken with me, only." He paused again and this time I felt it necessary to respond.

"Yes, sir."

"All of this will be contracted out at a later time. Now, on to your duties." He stood up and walked over to me. I saw his polished loafers come into my view. "You've sucked a cock before, I trust?"

Many times, I thought to myself. Sometimes I think I spent more time on my knees than in a chair during my freshman year at school. But I suppose all of that practice is going to finally pay off. "Yes, Sir," I responded, still looking down.

I heard him unbuckle his trousers and unzip his fly and then, it hit me on the head. "Look up," he directed me.

I did and as I did, his cock traced its way down my face. It was only semi-hard and still curved downward. I was thick and veiny and pulsing to life. He was cut and the helmet was a dark purple hue. I bit my lip slightly. This may be the biggest I'd seen. "No hands," he said.

I took that as his command to start. I began with my tongue which is difficult when you can't steady the object with a hand. However, a light lick and especially encouraging underneath kept him within my mouth's range. He was salty and musky and I found myself slowly craving his cum.

In just a few moments, he was rock hard and I wrapped my lips around the head, sealing it off from the world, and sucked. One good long hard suck that hollowed my cheeks and caused him to moan.

I released the suction and let him stay in my open mouth as my tongue swirled the head. Then I resealed around him and sucked, this time pulling more of his rigid shaft into my mouth. "Yes," he moaned. "You are better than I had hoped. A real cock sucking slut."

His encouragement prompted me to increase my actions. I drew him in deeper, allowing him to fill my mouth, even to the back. "Look at me," he growled.

I lifted my eyes to his, four inches of his eight in my mouth. "Take it all, slut," he commanded.

Only last year, such a command would have been the end. It was Jill Giaconni who taught me how to take a cock deep. I promised her I'd name a child after her if I ever got pregnant from swallowing cum. He commanded; I obeyed, and opened my throat and pushed my head to him and felt his length slide down.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "You're the real deal." Then I felt his strong hands on my head and he began to thrust into my face. He must have used me for several minutes before he finally drew out. I was left panting, saliva dripping down my chin.

"You enjoyed that, slut?" He asked it in that way that is either statement or a question. I took it as a question.

"Yes, Sir."

"Of course you did," he said as he walked around me. "When I first saw you, I knew you were a cock sucking slut. How many cocks have been in that dirty mouth of yours?"

I only stared at him, unsure if the truth would ruin me or not. He wasn't happy with my delay. A quick and hard slap across my face soon followed. "Answer me, whore. How many?"

"More than enough, Sir." He slapped me again.

"A number."

I quickly made one up. "Twenty-six, Sir."

"What a slut you are," he said. "But you like it, don't you? Being a cock sucking slut?"

"Yes, Sir." I responded without hesitation. I was and I knew it. I pretended to be a good church girl from a good home. But I was a slut. I loved cock and cum and sucking and fucking. I lived for my weekends. I was tired of denying it and this man gave me the chance to embrace who I was. "Yes, Sir," I repeated, "I love being a cock sucking slut, Sir."

"Stand up and walk over to my chair, slut. Bend over with your arms on the seat. Show me that slutty cunt of yours."

I obeyed, taking the position. He kicked my feet apart and I felt his hands on my ass. They were strong and big. I knew I wanted him and I knew he could tell. A girl can't hide her arousal when she's like I was.

I felt the head of his cock stroke up and down my already wet pussy lips, gently pressing but not penetrating. I dropped my head and bit my lip, waiting for the inevitable. It never came.

He held himself there, teasing me, watching my pussy pulse in anticipation. Then his hand came down hard on one cheek and the sound echoed throughout the room. I heard him step back and zip up.

He began to pace around the chair. "Do you have a name, slut?"

"Ellen, sir," I said into the seat cushion.

His response was swift and shocking. He yanked my head back by my hair and spit in my face. Then he growled, "Did I ask you to tell me your name, whore?"

"N-n-no...sir." His spittle dripped down my cheek.

"Then I will ask again but I must warn you, I will not tolerate stupidity. Answer the questions I ask, and only those."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm," he mumbled. "And what is that name?"

"Ellen, sir."

"Ellen," he repeated. It sounded glorious from his lips. "From now on, you will only answer to Slut or Whore."

"Yes, sir," I responded somewhat dejectedly. He could tell.

"The road to Pet is one that entails stages, Slut. You are just beginning." I heard him walk behind me again and unzip his trousers. "You have promise, but a Pet has to earn her collar."

"Yes, sir." I never felt him touch me. Then I heard a soft grunt and felt a splash of hot semen on my back and ass. I sighed, knowing I satisfied my Sir.

Then he grabbed my hair and pulled me around and pushed me to my knees. "Clean me," he commanded.

As his cum dripped down my back and ass, I sucked and licked him clean. His flavor was intoxicating to me. It wasn't bitter or overly salty. It was like tasting the liquid essence of masculinity, as if I were tasting life itself. I wanted more.

He lifted me to my feet and gently ran his fingers through my hair. My skin tingled at his touch. "Follow me." We walked from the large room down a short hall that had three doors. One at the end and two on either side. He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. "That," he said, "is my bedroom. You are never allowed in that room uncollared. Do you understand that? Never."

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

He pointed to the door on the left. "This will be your space until that time. It is your sanctuary and the only place I will refrain from entering. Consider it my gift to you for being a good slut."

Again, I nodded. "Yes, sir."

He pointed to the door on the right. "This is the bathroom." He opened it and led me in. It was a spacious tiled room. The floor had numerous plush rugs covering the cold tile. A double sink vanity stretched on the right wall with a mirror that went to the ceiling. Opposite it was a shelf unit that was full of towels, cloths, and robes.

Taking up the back of the room was a walk-in shower. It had a wide variety of nozzles, sprayers, and two shower heads, one at each end. He opened the door. "Get in. I'm going to instruct you on how to bathe correctly. Pay attention."

"Yes, sir," I responded, stepping into the shower. I then listened as he instructed me on each nozzle and shower head and sprayer. When he first told me that I'd be showering twice a day, I was apprehensive, but this would be luxurious.

Then he pulled a thin tube from the wall near the floor. Above it was a set of buttons. "This is your enema. I had this specially installed. The top button is a large volume flush, the middle button is a small volume flush. This is the one you will normally use. The bottom button is leaves the flow constantly on. Don't use that." He grinned but I was bewildered. "I can see that you're not familiar. You will be." He let the tube retract. "But first, let me watch you bathe."

"Watch me bathe, sir?" I would learn, eventually. The slap was quick and sharp and burned my cheek. I stepped in and began to wash as he watched. I cleaned myself thoroughly and used the soap and shampoo on the shelf. They were rather bland and generic. I would learn later that he wanted my scent to not be masked by artificial odors. He only allowed me a mild deodorant.

When I was done, or thought I was done, I turned the waters off and looked at him for approval. "Now," he said, "for the enema."

He instructed me to get on my knees and lift my ass up. After assuming the position, He took the tube from its housing, spat on it, and inserted it into my ass. Then he pressed the middle button. "Hold that ass up high, slut." I obeyed as the liquid filled my colon.

After a few minutes of holding it, he allowed me to release. The now brownish water was expelled out and down the drain. "Now wash yourself again."

I obeyed. When I was done, his mouth was raised in one corner. I had pleased him and that pleased me. He took a large white towel from the shelf and spread it wide, inviting me in. I walked into his arms and allowed him to engulf me in that towel cocoon. "You will repeat that every morning and after every time you defecate, and every afternoon at 4:30 and after every sexual encounter. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded. It sounded like many more times that twice. But the whole experience was rather pleasant, so I wasn't going to complain. Besides, I didn't want another slap.

"Good girl. Go retrieve your clothing and purse and go to your space," he directed me. "It's now 3:00 in the afternoon. This bathing will serve as your 4:30. You will need to contact anyone who might miss you. You are now living here." He walked out of the bathroom without my response.

I tucked the towel around me and started for the door. Then I remember, 'always naked in the house'. I toweled off as best I could and left the bathroom, naked. I walked into the large living area. He was there, reading in another chair. I felt his eyes on me and I felt his approval. I gathered my things and retreated to my space.

It was a room that was larger than I expected. There was a double bed, a dresser, a mirror, and a closet. There were no windows, only a skylight. In fact, the entire house was windowless.

I examined the closet, at first for a hanger for my dress. I found it empty. I wondered if the dress was all I would ever have to go out in. Maybe he would let me retrieve my clothes from the dorm? I realized that I didn't even know how to ask.

I inspected the dresser drawers. They were all empty save one. It contained a variety of toys. Personally, I only owned a simple vibrator. The collection before me contained dildos and vibrators and butt plugs.

Just as I was about to close the drawer, a small device buzzed. It was a small purple egg vibrator. I looked at it and it buzzed again. He wanted me to put it in. He was controlling it. I bit my lip, but obeyed. After I inserted it, he gave it two quick buzzes, then nothing.

I retrieved my phone and made the calls I needed. My Dad and my roommate were the only ones who might miss me. I wondered about my classes for the spring. But my primary concern was the next month. Dad was disappointed, or feigned disappointment, I could never tell with him. My roommate was curious but I gave her no further information other than I'd see her in the spring.

At 5:00, my pussy tingled as he buzzed my three times. I wondered if that were a signal. I decided it was, so I left my space and walked into the living area. He was in his Chair again. A smile graced his face. I smiled in return.

He pointed to the floor beside him and I dutifully knelt in the position next to his chair. His hand stroked my head. I almost purred.