4 – Collared

Content Warning: slavery, noncon, exhibition, humiliation, collaring


“Take her! Take her!” the men in the hall chanted. They were chanting about me.
All those eyes on me… All of them demanding I be… Used. Being the center of so much attention made me want to shrink away into nothing, and I would have literally done anything to get out from under it. My career had been in intelligence analysis, working behind the scenes to gather info and hunt down dangerous beings. Being center stage had never been anything I’d experienced or ever wanted. That I was naked and, on my knees, only made it that much worse.
Jaxon stood up, the look of anger on his face painfully obvious. He shouted something, but it was impossible to hear over the chanting. I could tell by his demeanor that he meant to challenge the expectations of the ceremony. I couldn’t have that.
I needed to be collared tonight in this ceremony. Being shared with all the men in this hall simply wasn’t an option for me. He didn’t seem to have a problem with oral, but fucking me was a bridge too far for him. On one hand, it was endearing that this big boy scout wanted to guard my honor. On the other hand, it was insulting that I was only good enough for oral, while the real thing he rejected outright.
Leaping to my feet, I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, then backed up, pulling him along with me as I reclined on the table. Looking up into his eyes, I whispered, “Please… We have to… Our cover… Please…”
Our faces were close. I could feel his broad chest following me as his face softened. Watching his eyes closely, I could see the conflict in them. I was his commanding officer, we were peers of sorts, and yet the situation was extraordinary. I needed him to do this, no matter what, Boy Scout morality be damned. His bulk settled between my legs as I opened up for him. I hated everything about this. I didn’t feel in control at all. Everything that was happening made me feel smaller, more diminutive, especially as he loomed over me.
Leaning back, I pulled him to me. His hot, blunt cock brushed my outer lips, velvet over steel. My traitorous slit clenched once, slick and ready, before I could stop it. Shame flooded me, my body already knew the shape of surrender I’d spent decades refusing. I didn’t want this, really, I told myself, but I could feel just how slick I was against him; it was utterly shameful.
Still staring into his eyes, I begged him, “Please…”
It was obvious he was conflicted. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, leaving only a small ring of hazel. It was an obvious sign of sympathetic activation, while his gaze remained locked on mine. Typically, I saw this when people were lying to me, trying to avoid arrest. In this case, it was actual arousal, but mixed with a conscious effort to remain present, perhaps out of respect or professionalism. The upper lids were raised slightly, with the lower lids quivering in an effort to suppress a blink reflex. His mental state was firmly in fight or flight, but mixed with guilt and emotional conflict.
Unsure how else to convince him, I added, “I need this…”
His nod was so slight, making it nearly imperceptible, but I felt him relax his torso into me. His length slid wetly along my slick folds, and I hated how my hips tilted up to chase the pressure, offering myself to the junior who once saluted me. The chanting faded away; nothing remained but me on my back, hanging off the table, and him. Our eyes were still locked together, my arms around his neck, keeping him close to me. My legs locked around his thighs of their own volition, yet another unspoken plea that I wanted him.
When he shifted his weight, I felt his thick heat grind against me, stretching my entrance. Shame burned hotter knowing my body welcomed the invasion, my inner walls fluttering like they’d been waiting for exactly this. I couldn’t bear his eyes staring at me, and so clutched at him, bringing my mouth to his ear. One final appeal whispered into his ear, “Please…”
He moved his hips, and I felt the burning tip shift, a slippery spear point poised to impale me. I tried to bite my lips, but the groan escaped me. I clutched at him, waiting for what I knew was coming.
He pressed forward and slipped into me. I wanted it to be easy, to simply be done, but his girth made it a kind of exquisite torment. I gasped, then realized he was only partially filling me.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered as he pressed firmly forward. I groaned as he split me apart. Clutching at his neck, I winced, and my own traitorous legs contracted, pulling him into me. He filled me so deeply that my breath was forced out in a long, high-pitched sigh. My fingers clutched at his short hair, trying to find anything to grip onto.
His hips thrust forward, suddenly shoving the rest of him inside me. I fell back, suddenly seeing his whole face hovering over me. His pupils blew wide the moment he bottomed out, drowning in how I gripped him, and the guilt in his eyes made my own clench feel like a deeper betrayal.
It was a textbook sympathetic flood. There was no hiding how I grasped him wetly. His brows shot up in startled bliss, then creased in guilt while his mouth opened in a silent hissing O. His jaw locked so hard that muscles twitched. He was drowning in how good I felt, and the shame of wanting or enjoying it was written in every spasm.
He saw me as his commander but still wanted this. I felt reduced to his wet hole, every slow thrust dragging a languid squeal from me while his eyes stayed locked on mine, seeing the commander he once respected now moaning beneath him. I was trying to make sense of my own body working on autopilot to give myself to him as he took me as gently as possible in front of the cheering crowd.
As his rhythm stoked the fires inside me, I tipped my head back and moaned loudly for the leering men all around us. A ghost in my mind rationalized that they needed to know this man was my owner, that I was his. My body was moving faster than my mind could keep up. As he began thrusting into me in a steady tempo, rational thought fled, leaving my mind blank and only able to absorb the insane flood of sensations. I cried out incoherently, an attempt to beg him to slow down, but it came out as a slut’s moan, and the sound of my own voice echoing in the hall burned worse than the pleasure.
When he shifted back, standing fully upright before me, still buried oh so deep inside, I reached up for him, wanting him to cover me from the endless leering stares. Leaning forward, he placed a large, calloused hand on my shoulder, the thumb pressing against my neck, and I snapped.
The hall and voices vanished. I was back at university, in my first-year dorm room. The Officer Training Corps uniform hung on a wall above my twin-sized bed. Brend Rial has his hand under my blouse as we made out. I was anxious; other boys had fumblingly explored my body before, but Brend was different, caring, interested, and willing to wait for me. Most of the other girls in the dorm shared sexual experiences openly, explaining how they took care of their partners as needed to keep them from wandering. My plan was to do the same with Brend and to finally just get it over with.
It didn’t take long before he’d peeled off my clothing and his own. He pressed me back onto my bed as I stared nervously at the uniform. It was a badge of higher ideals. Something even back then, I was willing to pledge my life to. Brend’s crude pawing at my body while the uniform looked down at me made me feel small, like I wasn’t living up to the ideals of it. Which simply affirmed my desire to get this over with.
After an eternity of kissing as his sausage fingers played with my naughty bits, he finally heaved himself up on top of me, forcing my legs apart as he settled between them. I went rigid with fear and anxiety, arm-wrestling with my body.
When he shoved in, it was painful and awkward. I gasped, and he seemed to take that as enthusiasm. He moved in me frantically until I gripped his arms and begged him to slow down. He did, apologizing, tell me how much he cared. All of that vanished when he put a hand on my shoulder, his weight pinning me in place as he moved inside me. His thumb pressed to my throat, and it made me feel small. I said nothing further as he finished and rolled off.
He lay next to me while I looked at the uniform and fought back tears. Some escaped I’m sure, but I felt gross, fluids leaking out of me, sticky and warm between my thighs, marking me as changed even though I’d tried to stay untouched. I was no longer a virgin, at least that was done.
It was a long, awkward night. He threw an arm around me, and I rolled away in a fetal position. In moments, he was asleep, and I spent the night curled and unmoving in my own bed. The next morning, he rushed out while I showered for what seemed like hours. When I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel that something had changed, that anyone looking at me would know I was a slut.
I felt used and small until I put the uniform on for morning drills. When I looked in the mirror this time, I saw a competent, determined woman who would someday command a starship. The uniform gave me the courage to eventually break up with Brend when his demands for repeat sex became overwhelming.
And now my junior partner held me down against the rough wooden table just like Brend had. With the shouting and being the center of a lewd show, I was once again small, diminutive, letting a man use me to gratify himself. This time, however, I had a better reason than just getting over with it… Although I was wishing that as well.
I whispered desperately, “Slower… Please…”
Jaxon seemed lost in himself, eyes barely open in slits that told me he was now enjoying himself more than he’d probably expected. I recalled his psych report warning, “elevated empathy toward women,” and now it stung, my body responding to the very weakness I'd flagged.
In university as a full scholarship athlete, he’d gained a reputation for womanizing. I figured he’d sown his oats and wouldn’t feel uncomfortable around a culture of naked women.
When he shook his head in a simple no, along with a brief curl of his lips and slight eye crinkles, he was telling me, “I know what you need, better than you do.”
I gripped his arms, trying to pull him off me while pleading, “Please no…”
He didn’t relent. He kept shoving into me, rocking my body under him, making me gasp with every thump against my cervix. I felt tiny once again, my hips rising traitorously to meet him, every thrust shrinking my world to this humiliating need. The fires flaring inside could only be caused by the laced wine, he knew, and was using it against me, forcing my body to perform against my will. I didn’t want this, but my own hips betrayed me, rising up to meet his thrusts as moans spilled out of my throat.
His hand moved, coming around my throat. He’d collared me with his own flesh, his fingers pinning me in place as my body thrashed against his. The heat and pressure building up were insane, narrowing my vision to just his face. For once, the cascading lists of options always playing in my mind were blank. I could only see his face looking down at me in pure lust, as my own body betrayed me, demanding more.
“Please…” I whined softly. “Please…”
He didn’t stop. I don’t even know if he thought those final begging words were for him to stop. He just kept going, churning me from the inside as I begged.
“Cum for me,” he hissed at me. His face was flushed and contorted. I should have been able to tell what it meant, but the fires inside me, the pressure building to breaking point, made it impossible to decipher.
“Cum for me. Right now.” He demanded.
To my utter shame… I did. I felt something inside break, and suddenly I was thrashing wildly against him, trying to force him even deeper into me as he thumped relentlessly, bottoming out. My cry filled the hall, and I clutched at him, trying to pull him down, deep into me, to cover me.
Eventually, I heard the crowd roaring. Mugs slammed the tables again as the men yelled, “Taken! Taken! Taken and claimed!”
Opening my eyes, I saw Thrain giving the leather collar back to Jaxon. My partner turned it in his hands, and when he saw me looking up at him, he leaned down and snapped it around my neck, the bite of it against my skin felt like a final seal, locking me into this new, humiliating role. I was his now, fucked and claimed.
The new round of cheering was so humiliating that I threw my arms around Jaxon’s neck and pulled myself up into him. He slipped out, and I could feel a mess leaking down my thighs. I buried my head in his neck, our juices spilling down my thighs, hot and sticky, marking me as his, while tears pricked my eyes, unbidden and unforgivable since that first dorm room mirror.
That was when I remembered… All of this was recorded by the two of us and the files uploaded to satellite. When the Feds came to rescue us, those files would be scandalous.
As I fought back tears, the first that had stung since university, I buried my face deeper in his neck and whispered, broken, “We need to talk…”