Friday Evening

In front of the unimposing frontage of the collar shop I hesitated and glanced at Annie. Just two days ago this had seemed such a good idea, but now I was not so certain. If only there was some way of hanging on to her. But — Murdoch; Liz; the Tomahawk — I just couldn't see a way around it. Anyway, it was only a valuation. I needed to know what she was worth to be able to make any sort of proper decision about this mess.

As Annie nipped ahead and held the door open for me, a bell tinkled, somewhere in the back of the shop.

It was not what I expected. The place was well lit and tidy, but a little shabby, as if the stock was not changed that often. The shelves were full, not of shiny new controllers and neck collars, but of strange things I did not recognise. The nearest one had leather straps, no, harnesses, with steel buckles and bits of chain. It was more like — what do you call those places that sell saddles and things for horses? A chandlery?

Another rack had handcuffs, of all things, like the militia use, and over there was an aisle of boots. They were not cheap workmen's boots, but amazing high heeled shiny leather things, knee high or longer, black and red with silver buckles and impossible toes. Then there were books, picture comics and even film cassettes. When had I last seen an actual book, with paper pages, on sale in a shop?

I picked up a box with a picture on the cover. A collarman was bent over a strange wooden frame, tied down, while a lady loomed over him with a horsewhip. She was wearing nothing but boots that could have come this shop and some sort of leather corset. Oddly, he did not have the usual muscular collarman physique. In fact he was almost fat, with pallid skin and a flabby belly.

"She could have found a better collarman than that!" I whispered to Annie, who was at my shoulder, eyes following mine.

She gasped. "He is not the collar!" she hissed. It took me a second to see what she meant. The man was wreathed in a costume of leather straps and buckles, but despite these and despite the hood hiding his head, you could clearly see his bare neck. She, on the other hand, was clearly proud of the metal spikes radiating from the black leather choker around her neck. I dropped it, feeling completely out of my depth. Time to get this business over and done with.

"Just wait here, and don't touch anything," I told her, and headed over to the counter. The man standing there looked ordinary enough. Thankfully he was clearly the owner — I was not sure I could have faced a collar right then.

"Nice," he said, nodding in the direction of Annie. "How long have you been training it?"

I was puzzled. "Well, I haven't had her long."

"Yes, I can see it's young. Let me guess. Three months — am I right? Which training scheme have you been using?"

I shook my head, and said, more emphatically, "I have not been using anything."

He smiled. "So everyone likes to say. But I can tell. I watched you come in. I saw how it opened the door, how it moves around you. Subconscious already — I bet that collar is not even aware of it, but every second it knows where you are and what you are doing. Right now, over there, its whole being is focused on you."

I looked over at Annie, who of course looked up just as I did, to catch my eye. Her eyebrow raised in a "want me?" gesture, and I shook my head almost imperceptibly. She nodded happily and went back to the display in front of her.

The shopkeeper laughed. "Lovely. Now, what can I do for you?"

"You buy and sell collars, don't you?"

"Sam Weller, licensed broker and auctioneer, if that's what you mean."

"All right, Mr. Weller. How much would I get for her?"

He frowned. "Hah, another one. You young men have a go at polishing up some untamed bit of flesh, think you've turned it into something special, and then try and make a turn on it. Sorry, but it hardly ever works."

He leaned over the counter to give me the benefit of his wisdom. "The trouble is, you do too good a job. Yes, the point of a good collar is it wants to be with you. Great if it gets off on obeying you. That's submissive, that is. But you kids make it personal. That thing there, I see how it looks at you, and I bet it would jump in the fire if you asked it. Very nice. But what good is that to anyone else, eh?"

My heart sank. I did not really understand the point he was making. After all, I had only been with Annie three days and I was pretty sure she wouldn't wave a finger through a candle flame for me — well, not without using the zapper in a way I was just not prepared to. But it clearly sounded as if he was not interested in buying her.

"Look I might have to sell her anyway. At least tell me what she might be worth."

Mr. Weller shrugged. "Not my funeral. You understand now, I don't buy or sell for myself. You wanna sell it, I'll put your collargirl up on the board with the rest, and I take fifteen percent if it goes. Or, I've got an auction next month on the 14th, if you can wait. Usually better prices, but you pay fifty to put it in the auction. That's on top of the commission, whether it goes or not."

"What about a valuation?"

"Sure thing. I'll need the serial number, registration, MoC papers and five minutes to look it over," he said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Fifteen quid fee. Fair enough?"

It seemed a bit steep, but I couldn't trust my Father. I needed to get some handle on what she really was worth on the open market. And a valuation was useful; it could be quoted.

He saw me hesitate, and carried on. "Hey, I like the look of you. I'll do it for a tenner if you help me, and if you take my advice after."

"What sort of advice?"

He snorted. "To keep it, you young idiot. This is your first one, isn't it? I can tell. So you've accidentally landed a pretty young piece that just clicks with you. You think the next one will be like that? I get gents coming here wasting money on training courses and remedial stuff and after a year their collar still hates their guts. Hell, I should complain — it's good business. Of course, lots of people like their collars to hate them. If you want to keep it struggling on a short leash, fine. But you don't look that type. My advice is, if you get one that fits, don't toss it away."

I looked down at the counter. "I might just have to." Yesterday the idea of getting a motorbike in exchange for her had seemed a great deal. Now the thought of explaining that seemed embarrassingly weak. "Can I have the valuation, and I will think about your advice?"

I called her over to get started. The serial number was easy enough, and although the paper registration document was back in my desk I had a copy on my fone. But I could not find a copy of the MoC certificate there, and now I came to think of it, I did not remember seeing it either.

"Don't worry," he sighed. "I can look it up." He got his fone out and plugged it in. Despite having a really old model, a brick without a throat mike (you know, you have to it hold in your hand and speak at it), he was quick enough using it and the pages flickered across the shop screen until he found what he was looking for. "Let's just check that serial number again?" he asked. I read it off the back of Annie's collar once more. "No, the one on her skin." She lifted the hem of her short skirt and pointed it out to me, tattooed high on the inside of her thigh. As I bent down to look I couldn't help glancing sideways. The fresh white cotton of her panties was stretched over her mound, hinting at a groove in the soft swollen shape beneath. I gulped and forced my eyes over to read the number out loud. Annie was blushing slightly when she put her skirt back down.

Fortunately the number matched the one on her collar, but his frown deepened anyway. "Berkhamstead School, they're pretty straight," he mused. "So why has this thing got no sign of an MoC then, eh? Are you sure there was nothing funny going on when you bought it? Anything odd at all?"

Where could I start? But before I had got far into my hesitant tale of my birthday present, he interrupted me.

"So, raped, you say? Mind you, you can't rape a collar; surely you knew that. But they don't like illicit use, not from a School. If it's not done by the legal boss it counts as maltreatment, see, goes on their record with the RSPCC."

"But it wasn't their fault. Well, it was the visiting gardener, but I think they made him pay damages."

"Never mind that. I can see the plan. They sell it to your dad on the quiet. Your dad gives it to you, then you don't need an MoC until next year, and by then the mistreatment doesn't count." He grinned. "Unless, of course, you want to sell it beforehand."

I cursed my Father and his eye for a bargain. He looked at my falling face. "Don't fret, young man. It's not the end of the world to knock out an MoC, and you wanted a valuation anyway. Twenty-five for the whole thing."

I gulped and nodded. Now I would have only thirty-seven pounds pocket money left for the rest of the month.

"Alright, this will take about twenty minutes. I'll need to shut up shop, but it's always quiet about now. You just get it in the back, through that door. Oh, and get it stripped off."

It felt odd talking to her while she undressed. Somehow that man made her feel like an "it" again, a possession to be valued and sold. "We do have to get you valued, you know." I avoided her eye. "And whatever happens, you will need an MoC."

She nodded as she slipped out of her panties, and looked directly at me. "I know the score. It's alright, really." It wasn't, of course, but what could I say? She covered her breasts and pubic area with her hands as the shopkeeper bustled in from the front. Funny, really, considering what happened next.

I cannot say I understood much of what he did, but he did look as if he knew what he was doing. It involved a fair amount of poking and prodding, and these doctor type tools. She did not like the stethoscope — too cold, presumably. Then there was this little torch thing he used to peer in her eyes and mouth, even her ears, ticking boxes on his clipboard as he went. And why bang her on the knee with a funny rubber hammer? Finally, he said, "Up on the horse, now, for the exam," and led her over to this strange padded frame.

It took a moment for him to show her how to climb up, but she complied without any of her initial modesty. That was just as well, considering the position she ended up in: face down, on elbows and knees, with her feet towards us. What got me was the way he bustled around as if all this was normal when the padded knee holders were so far apart that her bum hole and pussy were held up on display for all the world to see. I tried not to look, of course, but it was difficult. I had never seen her pussy lips close up from this angle before.

Mr. Weller was running his hands over her torso, then her arms and legs, not missing out anywhere. He paid particular attention to the breasts, I suppose looking for lumps. I winced in sympathy as he tugged the nipples down, and when he finished they stayed extended and swollen. Then he snapped on a pair of surgical rubber gloves, and got out what look like a tube of toothpaste. However, what came out when he applied it to her bottom was clear and glistening. I suddenly realised what he was going to do.

"Is this really necessary?" I started but her gasp told me that his finger was already in there.

"All part of the service, young man," he replied cheerfully as he pushed a second finger after the first. Annie was shaking her head, and grunting quietly.

"Don't worry, it will be over soon," I said reassuringly, for my sake as much as hers. Well, it wasn't the first time she had had a finger up there, and hopefully it would be over soon. "Don't hurt her, will you?"

The man chuckled, as he carried on exploring the inside of her anus, even turning round to get a different angle of attack. "No chance of that. I'm not the first in here, am I? And unless I am mistaken, this little thing doesn't mind at all." He stepped back. "All done! Let's get you other way up!" and so saying he gave her a swat on the rump and started to help her turn over.

Her face was flushed and for some reason she gave me a guilty look as he arranged her on the frame again. This time she was on her back with her arms above her head and her knees were in holders to the sides of her chest, with her ankles in the air and as far apart as they would go. I was beginning to see why this thing was such a complicated shape. It could obviously accommodate a collar in several positions, each of them with padded holders and restraints that would enable it to be there for some time without damage.

"What about the cuffs?" asked Annie in a strange voice. What did she mean?

"Why, you thinkin' of doing a runner?" grunted the man as he rooted around in his bag, looking for something.

Annie was blushing properly by now. "I ... It would make it easier to hold my legs in position. Perhaps ... my Master could do it." I looked at her, puzzled, while the shopkeeper chuckled.

"Like that are we? Be my guest." He winked at her coarsely while he showed me how the clasps worked. She was staring at me intently while I fastened each one, at her wrists, ankles and knees, finishing with a wide leather strap that passed over her belly and held her down firmly. "Tighter, like this" he said, as he tugged on the strap causing her to grunt as the air was expelled from her stomach.

With her body in this reclined posture and her legs at a right angle to each other, her whole genital area was totally exposed and displayed like she was the subject some obscene, gynaecological procedure.

Her outer vulva lips had unfolded into a wide, revealing oval, displaying their smooth, pink inner surfaces and the inner lips of two long, irregular folds of fleshy pink skin. The little clitoris, half hidden by its soft, pink hood, was mounted prominently above the junction of her inner lips, with her vaginal orifice at the bottom where her inner lips met again. I could just see her anus peek out from between her bottom cheeks.

"Surprise, surprise — no lube needed here," he muttered as he held her inner lips apart. I could see what he meant — they were swollen, pink and puffy, and I could even see the glistening of her juices on the inner surfaces. How odd. "Now, let's just see..." he inserted another of his strange stainless steel tools and operated it. In a second it had expanded inside her, and was holding the walls open so he could look right in. He got out the funny torch periscope thing to peer in and ticked more boxes on the clipboard. "Now hang on, I have to open up the speculum all the way. I need to see what your cervix looks like," he told her.

With unusual gentleness he cranked the handle on the speculum until it was wide open and took his hands away, leaving her vagina pried open grotesquely for his inspection.

He bent down, grabbed the torch and moved it in close, brightly illuminating the interior of the tube. Her vaginal walls were fleshy pink and they rippled with each breath she took. Now the clenched button of her cervix was in clear view even to me. The sight of her insides was weirdly arousing. I owned that, I realised. Her insides, and her outsides and everything about her.

The man's head blocked my view for a moment, before he grunted in satisfaction, then collapsed and removed the tool. That was not the end, though, as he promptly replaced it with two fingers.

Annie was looking at me, not him, her gazed locked in mine as he manipulated her insides. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her head was moving erratically from side to side. I couldn't read her expression — I just hoped it wasn't hurting too much.

"There we are," he finally announced with satisfaction as he removed his fingers from within her body and tugged the gloves off his hands. "All done and very nice too. I'll just sort out the paperwork. Now I'll leave you in private to finish it off. See you out front in a minute — or should that be ten?" Laughing to himself he closed the door behind him, leaving us alone. I wondered what he meant as I started to unfasten the clasps.

"Boss, you don't have to..." she started but tailed off as I looked at her questioningly. "I mean, if there anything you maybe want to do... ?"

"Just get you home," I grunted, as I released the last one. "You alright?" I asked. She nodded, without speaking, although she seemed a bit short of breath, and she did look a bit odd. She was lobster pink all over, and her skin felt red hot. I held out my hand to help her down, and I noticed that her breasts looked strangely ripe, as if ready to burst.

I handed her her clothes and watched her as she started to pull on her stockings. Despite what I had just seen, some reason it seemed indecent to watch her dress, almost as erotic as it was to see her strip, and I was suddenly aware of the steel hard-on in my trousers. "I ... I'll see you out front in a minute," I muttered and left.

The paperwork obviously took more than a few minutes. I waved Annie away when she came out, looking cooler, and she went off to wander amongst the merchandise. "Well, Mr. Weller, what is she worth?" I asked anxiously, while he fussed about trying to get a box of paper into the printer.

He frowned. "Young man, I will tell you one thing. I don't know what you have been reading, but you have to be very careful with calling it 'her.' It IS right to think of it as a person, not an object, but it does not do to get a name as a collar-lover. In this business, I should know. Now, you remember what I said?"

"Yes, yes, I will think carefully before deciding. But I have to know."

He stopped what he was doing and considered carefully. "First off then, it's in perfect nick. Lovely specimen, no faults or flaws, haven't seen one as nice for ages. Very sexy, good reactions." He cut short my grin with, "BUT that natural look is out of fashion these days. Everyone wants one with the sex mods, or at the very least with some surgery, you know breast and bum enhancements, and maybe lips. So not much demand, see. But then the accomplishments are good, might get you an income of two or three grand if you put it to work somewhere decent. So less expenses and depreciation and with a yield of four or five percent..."

He nodded to himself, as if deciding. "I can do a valuation at eleven thousand. But I suggest you describe it as an investment, put it on at ten, and make up your mind to accept nine. IF you decide to go ahead, that is. And..." he glared at me "Don't think you are going to find another one as good on any street corner!"

Shit. No better than my Father had suggested. So I was going to have to swallow my pride and go along with his offer. Or ... I looked over at where she was browsing through ... what ... whips? She was a strange one, but somehow she did, as he said, fit. The memory of her eyes, staring into mine as a stranger fingered the inside of her vagina, floated in front of me. Maybe she was worth giving up the bike for. Should I actually think about keeping her? Liz's face swam in front of my eyes, with a look that would freeze at a hundred yards. And somehow I would have to keep Murdoch's greasy paws off her. Oh, hell, how could I do this?

She looked up at me and I jerked my head to bring her over to us. She was carrying a cardboard box, and inside was coiled a multi-tailed leather whip, looking very similar to the one that Mrs. Haversham had used on her collarserve.

"Master, this is what the lady in the dress shop had. What if I do something wrong, and you need to punish me? I know you have said we will not use the zapper, but surely you need some way to ... keep discipline." She was handling the whip as if it was both precious and frightening and she was not sure how to hold it.

"Ho ho," chuckled the shopkeeper. "So that's how it is, eh? Just you take that back, little thing. Get one of those riding crops instead, see there on the top rack." As Annie did as she was bid, he murmured to me, "Word of advice. Don't let it get hooked on pain, and don't you get too fond of giving it neither. It happens easier than you think, and it's never a good idea in the long run."

"I don't know what you mean." I was completely puzzled.

"Hmmm. Well, just keep it to that there crop, and never more than a dozen in one session, alright?"

"Whatever you say." I was still mystified, but it did seem sensible to have an alternative to the zapper. Anything was better than those evil things. Then I had a thought. If I was going to sell or return this girl, how could I stop someone else abusing the zapper? If only I could arrange that, I could at least leave her with a gift worth something to her. Any item I might give her would of course go to her new owner, but perhaps I could do something subtler and more valuable.

"Can you modify the zappers?" I asked. "Is there away of limiting, say the number four setting, to tone it down a bit or put a time limit on it?" If I passed on the zapper with her, then at least I would know she was moderately safe from exactly what I had subjected her to.

He looked at me, puzzled. "'Fraid not. Well not with that rig. It's illegal for a start, and even if I was to admit that it was possible, you'd need a better collar set. This one of yours, see, it's good quality but simple. Not programmable in any way. Some of the fancier ones, now, you can do clever tricks with, and that gives you a bit of scope. Not that I'm saying I would, of course."

"Oh. And that would cost... ?"

"New collar rig? Fair bit of money. Its a complicated job, swapping the collar set. It all depends on exactly what you want. Even if I am a bit of an expert, it'll still take me at least an hour. Plus, well, see the Parkinson set, here, it's the least that would do what you want, and even that costs one seventy-eight, retail. You're looking at over two hundred all in."

So much for that idea then. "I'll just take the riding crop," I sighed.

Mr. Weller saw my face and shook his head. "Look, young man, you haven't thought this through. What were you dreaming of with that there collar mod, eh?"

I could feel my neck turning red. "Well, I just didn't want someone else to be able to hurt it, you know."

"Not like you will when you sell it, then?"

"No, I won't," I replied hotly. "I haven't touched the zapper since..."

"Forget it," he snapped. "You kids never understand — it's not the collar round the neck that matters; it's the collar around the heart."

I looked at him blankly while he frowned at me. He just stared, unmoving, and I dropped my eyes. It was as if I was being assessed, or measured. "Humph. Maybe you might turn out to be human after all," he continued grudgingly. He turned his back on me, and searched on a shelf behind the counter for a moment. "Here, take this," he growled, handing me a small, battered book. "Bring it back when you've finished."

I stared in bewilderment at the thing in my hand. It was a book, a real children's book with paper pages and dog-eared covers. On the cover were the words "The Little Prince" and a hand-drawn picture of a boy with a mop of wild blond hair standing on a round rock.

Before I could question him, Annie wandered back to us, carrying the chosen riding crop. "That will be thirty-four in all, then, young man," he pronounced crisply, ignoring my outstretched hand offering the book back to him, and taking my fone as if the last conversation had never happened. "Nice doing business with you. Don't forget what I said — you sell that thing, and you will regret it later — and never more than a dozen."

We were outside the shop, and the door was locked behind us, before I could think of anything sensible to say. It had grown dark, and as we headed for home our footsteps echoed along the empty pavement. Feeling the little square shape in my pocket I was still trying to puzzle out his words in my head. Why had he given me a book for children? And what did he mean, "the collar around the heart"?

Annie slowed down too, and then stopped in front of me.

"Boss? It must have been a bit ... hard ... for you in there, with me, you know, displayed like that. Do you want some relief?"

"Oh. Yes, it was a bit arousing, but I am fine now, don't worry about it." She looked down, presumably a bit disappointed to have her help turned down. No, I realised, she looked really uncomfortable. As I studied her, she was shifting inside her clothes, as if they were scratchy, or she was itchy. She tugged at the front of her dress, and I noticed I could see the little peaks where her nipples were standing out. "Annie, are YOU alright?"

"Of course, Boss!" But there was something in the tone of her voice. Shit, why hadn't I seen it earlier?

"Annie, stop there." I ordered. "Here, let's go around the back where it's a bit private. Now, stand against that doorway. Lift up the front of your dress." She carried out my instructions, surprised, but the hungry expression on her face was unmistakable. I could tell she was holding her breath as she exposed the front of her panties to me. The damp spot was clear, even in the shadow of the arch over us. I rubbed two fingers against her pussy, and felt warm squishy lips through the cotton cloth.

"Oh, Boss, what are you ... OHHH..." She couldn't help the noise that came out of her mouth as she writhed against my hand, and her head fell against my shoulder.

"Ssshhh." I took both her hands and wrapped them behind me as I stepped in to her and held her close. "Silly girl. You are the one who needs relief. Why didn't you say?"

She hung her head and shook it, then nervously reached up and caressed the back of my neck with one hand. With tentative lips she kissed me shyly. Soon the kiss deepened and my tongue was deep in her mouth, while her tongue responded with unashamed eagerness.

Then her other hand started rubbing over my chest and shoulders, and she pulled away from me to mumble something unintelligible. I did not need to hear to understand — her eyes said it all. Clumsily, I gathered her to me again, but she slipped down to my feet and then tugged me down so that we were crunched in that dark doorway, with me half kneeling and half laying on top of her while she ground her crotch against my thigh. The soft contents of her wet panties felt so hot against my leg. Her lips searched blindly for mine again, and I knew she must feel my hard cock pressing into her waist.

"Oh Boss!" she cried out, breaking our kiss and gasping for air. "Please do it to me. Oh Master, please take me."

And so I did, without any pretence or foreplay. I reached down and tugged the gusset of her panties to one side, so roughly that they tore. Hearing her gasp as the flimsy material gave way really turned me on. Then I reached down and started to undo my pants, pushing Annie's hands away from where they had been fumbling with my buttons. I quickly dropped my pants and knelt over her, trying to get into position. Annie grabbed my prick and, moaning loudly, pulled it down towards her slippery swollen lips. Then she wrapped her legs around my back and wrenching upwards, impaled herself onto my cock.

Of course it was uncomfortable, kneeling with back bent while pressing her against the rough steps. But in a matter of seconds she was calling out loud as she clung to me. She was lost in an animal passion, senseless of the concrete under her and my weight on her legs. She was so hot and wet and tight that I pumped into her mercilessly, knowing that I must not be gentle; that I could not hurt her; and she bucked under me in response. After only a few minutes I could feel her internal muscles spasm around me in that incredible sensation. On top of the sexual tension of the evening, I could not bear it; with just a few more strokes in and out of her I was pumping her full of my sperm. As I slammed into her she threw her head back and screamed "Oh MaaaAAASTER!"

It took me more than a few minutes to recover my breathing. I climbed off of her, and looked down. I could not help admiring her disheveled form. Somehow, even as a complete mess in torn clothes with her back against a green painted door and her splayed legs over the cold concrete steps, even with her newly naked lower lips red raw and shiny with our combined juices, she grabbed my heart. Fresh fucked, ravaged, displayed — she was beautiful and she was all mine.

"Oh Boss, that was so good!" she said softly, opening her eyes to look up at me and smile.

Shit, I thought, leaning my head against the cold, hard brickwork. Monday. If only Monday could be a month away.

I wandered downstairs, heading for the kitchen and a snack, preoccupied again with thoughts of Murdoch. Who else could help, I wondered? Hearing my Father's voice coming from the open door to his study, I paused for a second. On the one hand, asking my Father for help would really stick in the throat. And what if he just laughed and told me to get lost? On the other — well, what little I knew of his business affairs suggested he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. And what did I have to lose but a bit of pride? I owed to Annie, and myself, to try everything.