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She is not cooperative as I put it on, but she is also easily locked into position over my lap. Squirm as she likes, her throat is as vulnerable to me as any other part of her anatomy. It is immensely satisfying to fasten the tool around her neck, and to know that now she is contained in a way she has likely never been contained before.
“This is a collar,” I tell her as I fasten it. The ends slide into one another, locking in a way I will have no trouble removing, but which her fingers will have no chance at taking off.
“No shit!”
“It is more than a simple piece of apparel. Among other things, it is designed to be able to apply punitive stimulation if you disobey one of my rules or leave a set area. In this case, that would be my quarters. One step outside the door, and you will regret it.”
As I tell her this, I stand her up again, still properly naked aside from the collar.
“You mean this is a shock collar, you freak.”
She satisfies her need to cover herself by crossing her arms over her breasts. Her outrage at being spanked and collared is enough to give her the nerve to deploy her most sassy attitude. Some humans learn quickly when punished. Others, not so much.
“Yes. It may very well shock you. You catch on quickly. Perhaps you’re not completely untrainable.”
She narrows her eyes at me with a flash of temper, but she keeps her thoughts to herself for once. It may be that she is beginning to learn.
“I don’t care what you put on me. I’ll always run. That’s what I do.”
In spite of being warned for the consequences, she proceeds to do just that. She rushes for the door, still entirely naked, wearing only the collar. I thought the most satisfying thing I would do to her would be to spank her. Suddenly, I realize I was wrong. Watching her leave my room is going to be much, much more satisfying.
The sight of her red bottom wriggling side to side as she dashes through the door is quite enchanting. The sound she makes as the collar activates once she is a fraction of a hair of a millimeter through the door is very gratifying. It is somewhere between a yelp and a howl.
Her hands shoot back to cover her rear, fingers splaying across bright red cheeks. The heat and the hue are from my own treatment of her disobedient flesh, but I am certain she imagines she is experiencing physical stimulation all over again. The beauty of the collar’s work is that it plays with the nervous system, recreating sensations of pain without actually harming the physical flesh. I have calibrated the system to a relatively low level of stimulation, which means she is experiencing the equivalent of a very well-deserved spanking right now even as she dances about in rebellion, hands cupping her cheeks, tip-toes dashing against the floor.
She is so immersed in the intensity of the punishing experience, she has forgotten that she was the one who initiated it, and the one who can make it stop. She rebels not only against me, but against the simple concept of common sense. And so the pain goes on for her, little gasps, groans, and even moans escaping her lips.
I feel myself getting hard again. I swore I would never have a human pet. I definitely told myself I’d never mate one, no matter how fuckable she might be. That was before I met this stimulating, rebellious creature.
She dances forward a few steps, moving ever further away from the safety of my rooms, but quickly discovers that only makes matters worse…
Stella
I thought the collar would send a pulse of pain around my neck. It doesn’t. It somehow creates a cascade of sensation that rushes down my spine and terminates across my ass. It feels like being spanked super hard by an unseen hand.
“Come back inside the allowed area to avoid further pain,” he says, looking at me with his smug and icy gaze. This alien seems to have some personal investment in making me hurt. My pain seems to please him, even more so when it is self-inflicted.
I resist the urge to obey as hard as I can. Every second I spend outside the collar’s allowed range, I feel my cheeks getting hotter and more sore, responding to the electrical pulses which hijack my nervous system. I know I should go back, probably. But I don’t. I take another step away, even though I can barely do it. My muscles are tight and the pain is getting even more intense, and the surface of my skin across my ass and even the tops of my thighs feel like fire ants are running across them. But I’m fucking stubborn. I’m not going to stop until something stops me.
Another step.
I grunt. Sweat is starting to run down my forehead and into my eyes. I wasn’t even aware of it until this very moment. This collar is activating every potentially punitive system in my body, and I know there’s a limit to what I can take. It really feels as though my ass is being beaten now. There’s a steady pulse, a thrum that works its way through me every other second or two. I feel an impact that isn’t there. I feel pain that is all too real from a strike that never happened.
“This won’t stop hurting when you finally give in, stubborn little thing,” he growls, watching me from just outside the door. I’ve gotten three steps away from him. This collar is definitely going to slow me down, even if it doesn’t stop me.
“I… don’t… care,” I grunt.
“You will,” he says. “If that collar keeps doing its work, then your muscles will be cramped and aching for days.”
“I…. Don’t… Care,” I repeat. I mean it.
“You won’t even act in your own best interest,” he says. “You’ll hurt yourself, and for what? To prove a point to yourself? To me? Is this how you got yourself shot? By refusing to notice when you are making a terrible decision?”
Being lectured while I am in pain is worse than being in pain. It’s one thing to be getting hurt because I refuse to submit, but it is something else to be observed and have my rebelliousness commented on while it is in progress.
“I can stand here and watch you fight your way through this as long as it takes,” he says.
“Fuck you,” I curse, pushing through the pain to take two more steps.
