Trying on a Collar

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is common-place for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or be involved in slave business operations. This is strictly a FANTASY—I do not condone slavery or forced sex in the real world, nor do I believe in the male chauvinist nonsense that a woman would actually wish to be treated that way against her will.)

The cavernous lobby of the Longhorn Slave Market in Houston was crowded on a Wednesday morning, filled with persons. I say persons, because almost half of them were not legally "people"—they were naked save for their collars, cuffs, and leashes, waiting to be checked in for either assessment or auction. That had been me 48 hours ago—led around by slave handlers because, in order to be slave-graded, you had to accept all the rules and discipline of the place. Now I was back, restored to my clothing and my freedom, although I still felt intimidated by the consistently large and powerful slave handlers (aka wranglers) of both genders. Myself, I'm barely 5 feet 6, 120 pounds with shoulder-length chestnut hair. However, now I was a potential customer instead of slave meat, so the handler at the concierge desk was smiling and helpful when I approached her.

"How may I assist you, ma'am?"

"Mmmm, I have an appointment at 10:00 to see Doctor Sheldon?"

"Sure! Just a minute, please." She murmured into her phone, then turned to a teenager standing next to her—he must have been 18 to work here, so I guess he was a new hire or summer intern. "Sean, will you take this lady up to the shift manager's office to see Doctor Sheldon?"

"Please follow me, ma'am." To be called ma'am by a tall guy who couldn't be two years younger than I was reminded me again of how different southern culture was from upstate New York, where I had grown up. Time for a brief recapitulation, I guess. I was visiting the family of my college roommate and best friend forever, Pamela Foster, who had led me into the fascinating world of legalized slavery under the 34th Amendment. I had no desire to BE a real slave—I'm not crazy, and the thought was terrifying (but in a thrilling way with overtones of rough sex in a horror movie). I had discovered that my very uneven sense of self-worth responded with joy and excitement to the concept of PRETENDING to be a slave, especially when that meant being the helpless plaything of another (usually male) person who "forced" me to yield my body sexually. At first, it was just a masturbatory fantasy, since I knew the reality of slavery would suck, both literally and figuratively.

Three months ago, however, Pam had played matchmaker for her brother Jessie, and he and I had begun my first serious relationship, with equal parts romantic cuddling and dominant/submissive sex. I should add that Jessie was always respectful and sensitive even when he dominated me in bed. When I visited the two siblings on semester break, Pam talked me into staying overnight, Sunday to Monday, at the slave market to experience the temporary submission of going through slave-grading—something many Southerners, especially women, did after reaching age 18. And Jessie, being the night manager at the market, had not only helped me play out my sexual fantasies in his office—the very office to which I was now being led—but also switched collars so that I could mix with actual pleasure slaves for the night. Scary but ultimately fun. All that had been such a rush that I wished aloud that there might be a way to re-live or expand that experience. Knowing my predilections, Pam had already researched a new form of specialized personal services contract called Texas FINO (Free In Name Only). According to her, the new law created a kind of limited slavery (now there's an oxymoron) in which a person remained technically free, including time-outs for other activities, but was contractually obligated to ACT as a slave the rest of the time. Pam had made this appointment with a slave psychiatrist, Dr. Sheldon, both as the first step in possibly signing up for such a contract and to ensure that I got a disinterested explanation of the rules.

The young handler Sean knocked on the manager's door and announced, "Your 10:00 o'clock appointment is here, Doctor."

I don't know what I thought a "slave psychiatrist" would look like, but the person who opened the door was not what I was expecting. Blonde, smiling, well-built, and three inches taller than me, she had the poise of a dancer. Doctor Sheldon looked more like one of my college classmates than a double-doctorate and published author. She was also terminally cute/sexy in an all-American girl kind of way, which may explain why she appeared to be so much younger than I had expected. She grasped my hand and pulled me into a half-hug.

"Hi! I'm Nikki Sheldon, and you must be Shirley Thompson. Glad to meet you—please come in." And she ushered me over to a couch where we sat side by side. She smiled at me in a very friendly way for a few seconds, then continued talking.

"I've known the Foster family for I don't know—five years? So any friend of theirs, and so on. Before I forgot—anything you say here is covered by patient-physician confidentiality. Pam told me you were curious about the new Texas FINO law, but before we discuss that--you seem very nervous—have I done something to put you off?"

"No, it's just—well, to be honest, I was in this office Sunday evening when I came to the Longhorn for grading, so the place has some memories for me."

She appeared unphased. "Don't tell me—Jessie Foster played 'wrangler and slave' with you in here, right? Gotta watch that guy, even if he is cute!" I blushed, of course, but she was unstoppable. "Don't worry about it—I'm hardly in a position to judge anyone! In order to be licensed in slave psychology, I had to enslave myself for six months, and I don't think I'll ever stop blushing about some of the lewd things I said and did with my masters. All right—here's one of the milder examples: when I was in-processed as a slave, my platform performance in slave poses made my handler call me 'cheerleader cunt'—and the nickname stuck!'" She covered her face in mock embarrassment.

"Oh." I said, surprised. "I didn't know you'd worn a collar—now I understand why you seemed so empathetic of slaves in your book."

Nikki: "You're kidding—somebody actually read that thing? You just made my day!" I murmured that Pam and I had both read it. The blonde psychiatrist continued: "Anyway, what I meant to ask was, would you mind telling me how you felt when you went through slave-grading? That's probably the best place to start any discussion."

"Helpless, terrified, embarrassed, submissive, stripped of my humanity as well as my clothes—and horny as heck!"

Nikki smiled sympathetically. "That about sums it up, doesn't it? So, on the basis of that brief experience you're even more scared about being enslaved, but also a little curious about the new Texas FINO law, am I right?" I nodded, still feeling flushed.

"OK," she continued. "If you haven't already done so, you really MUST look it up on the internet—make sure you read the actual statute. The whole concept is so new that no one is quite sure how to handle it. You're only the third person who's even discussed it with me, and I'm sure you're not sold on the idea. The Longhorn is just developing a processing program for FINO participants, and therefore the market is offering a bargain price for its services—which is NOT a good reason to sign up, by the way, just an indicator of our uncertainty about details."

"So, the obvious good points of Texas FINO is that it's a contract with a set duration, and during that duration, by prior agreement between the parties, the person providing personal services—let's call her 'slave' for simplicity—can have specified time periods where services are NOT required. You're a college student, right? So, hypothetically, if it were included in your contract, you would have time to study, go to classes, and take exams. Moreover, this quote slave unquote remains legally free and can't be tricked into giving up her rights. With me so far?" I nodded.

Nikki: "To protect the slave's mental well-being, a slave shrink like me," she smirked, "has to interview the quote slave unquote before, during, and after the contract period. The shrink can't really protect the person on a day-to-day basis, but if a contract is in dispute, the courts will treat the shrink as the guardian ad litem, a sort of disinterested person representing the interests and intent of the slave. Why? Because the law treats the quote slave unquote as being of diminished capacity for judgement, like a child."

"And the contract specifies what compensation the quote slave unquote receives for performing these personal services. If the contract is only for a few days, the compensation is probably nothing. If it's for a period of weeks, then the temporary owner provides room and board—although remember that, since the services involve performing as a slave, room and board may translate as a locked dog cage and slave kibble!" She giggled, but looked hard at me until I nodded.

Nikki: "That leads me to the negative aspects of a Texas FINO contract. Outside of the specified time-out periods, the person providing services is required to act AS A SLAVE in all respects. That ensures that the temporary owner gets some value out of the deal, while protecting the quote slave unquote from being charged as a prostitute—he or she has no choice but to do whatever the owner wants, dressed however the owner wishes, anywhere, anytime, twenty-four-seven except during time-outs. And that's the part you have to think hard about if you or anyone else signs such a contract. It's not like being slave-graded at the Longhorn, where the market has to follow the rules because of the business repercussions of mistreating a free person. Whoever signs such an agreement will have no way to protect himself or herself from coercion by the temporary owner."

She continued. "I know this sounds depressing, but I'm trying to give you both sides of the story. Suppose—and I know you haven't agreed to anything—but suppose you signed a personal services contract with Mister or Mrs. Foster. I'm sure you have warm dreams of playing slave girl with Jessie, and that might happen. But, any adult member of the family could restrain you at will or order you to have sex with any adult free person in any way they specify. You strike me as a strongly heterosexual woman, right?" I nodded, although I had so little experience I could have been wrong.

"There's nothing wrong with any sexual orientation of course. But—are you prepared to provide oral service to a woman on demand? Or to give all three of your openings to Mister Foster? I'm not trying to frighten you, but please recognize the bad aspects of being a slave, even a temporary-contractual-FINO slave. And if you refuse? Well, your temporary owners could tie you up and punish you. Or they could dock your pay for that month. Or, depending on how the contract was written, they might decide to extend your contract without compensation or time-out periods. I'm not saying that the Fosters would treat you like that—they're the best, but lots of folks don't apply the same rules to slaves that they do to free citizens."

Me. "Whew—that's a heavy load. I'm glad you're being so blunt, though—it gives me a lot to think about."

Nikki—she insisted that I address her as such—and I talked for another hour, giving her some idea of my horrendous inferiority complex, for example. She finished by saying, "Listen, Shirley—IF you decide to go farther with this idea, you and I should talk further, if only to prepare you for what you might experience."

Me: "I'd love to talk to you more, Nikki, but you're a professional person and I can't afford to pay you what you deserve."

Nikki replied. "Well—how about this? I said you're covered by patient confidentiality. If, however, you decide to go forward with a Texas FINO contract, and you were willing to let me write up your experiences ANONYMOUSLY, then I wouldn't charge you beyond the nominal fee for shrinks under the new law. You'd be an important case in a new field of slavery, and I'm all about research to help those in collars. Think about it, OK?"

*****

Pam drove me home, and after a light lunch Mrs. Foster asked the two of us to join her in the home office, where she sat in the power position behind a big desk. She was polite and friendly, but all business.

"I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a FINO personal services contract. I understand from Pam that you're embarrassed about this idea, but there's really no need."

"You're very kind, Ma'am, but even

discussing

such a contract must make me seem like the most wanton gold-digger you've ever encountered." I replied, bashfully.

"Not at all, Shirley," she responded. "Before I ever met you, my children gave me a very good impression of you. Since you've been rooming with Pam, I know she's been studying longer and harder than she ever did in high school, because you set a good example. Jessie is over the moon about you—of course, he's not going to talk about intimate things with his mother, but I gather that he's ALSO (ahem) very impressed with your mind and character. I hope we'll all be friends for many years. As for your embarrassment about becoming a FINO—well, I'm going to tell you something that Pam knows but I'd rather my boys didn't hear about, at least not until we're all much older. The plain truth is that Pam's father bought me when I wore a collar—I was one of the first women who became an indentured servant for non-payment of college loans, because I flunked out of college when my mother got cancer."

Me: "I'm so sorry she was ill, ma'am."

She continued. "And that's what we like about you—instead of being scandalized that I was a slave, you're really sorry about my mother, right?" I nodded, eyes downcast.

Mrs. Foster: "When I was about your age, I got used in every way and every opening you can imagine by Mr. Foster, and sometimes he loaned me out to business associates." She shuddered at some bad memory. "My point, though, is that Joe Foster did not despise me for being a slave, and we won't hold it against you if you enter into this contract. While you're wearing a collar, yes—I don't intend to coddle you, and this isn't charity, so be prepared to live as a slave. You'll earn your keep in various ways, some of which will be unpleasant. But if you honestly fulfil such a contract to earn the money you need for college, no one in this home will look down on you afterwards. In fact, I wish more young people had this experience of the real world, which is why I'm experimenting with the FINO statute in your case. OK?"

"Thank you again, ma'am—you're very kind."

I'll spare you the ensuing hour-long discussion. She made sure that Doctor Nikki had told me the drawbacks of wearing a collar, and went over a detailed contract with me, scheduled to begin at spring break three months later and run for 17 months, up to the start of my senior year. The contract included almost unlimited time for studying during the next two and a half semesters, as well as time off to visit my parents at the end of each semester and even at Thanksgiving and a few other holidays. It also had a schedule of monthly payments—the first month would yield me very little money because of the fees to be paid to the state and the Longhorn; thereafter, the payments varied depending on how much time I was available to provide "personal services"—from $2,500 during school semesters up to $11,000 per month in the summer. All this would be deposited directly into my account on the last business day of each month. The contract even specified that I did not have to "dress or provide services" going to the airport in Houston at the end of a service period, although the rest of the time I spent here would clearly be slave naked. During the semester, I was not expected to wear a collar or bare myself in public, although Pam would be my "mistress" when my studies permitted me to serve. It also specified that the contract could be extended for up to three months, with low compensation, if I failed to perform.

Mrs. Foster finished up by saying: "I don't expect you to agree to this today—take a month to think about it, and be sure to discuss any questions with Pam, Doctor Nikki, or me. Run this contract past an attorney. Then, call me by February 15, so we can schedule the process to begin when you come down here on spring break. One more thing: If you agree, I need to telephone your mother so she's comfortable about you staying down here. It's only natural that, when you tell your parents you're going to earn college money by acting as a personal assistant to our family, she's going to want to talk with me, mother to mother. I don't intend to 'out' you as a FINO to your Mom, but neither am I going to lie about the situation. If she asks a question that shows she's concerned about you being some form of slave, I will tell her the truth, just as I would expect her to tell me the truth about my daughter if she visited your home. Agreed?"

*****

The rest of my visit with the family passed in a flash, involving much shopping with Pam and one more round of "making the beast with two backs" with Jessie. Before I knew it, Pam and I were on the plane back to Logan Airport—thanks to her, first class! She tactfully said nothing about my perspective contract for the next three weeks, while I researched FINO, slavery, and such in every way I could think of. I found one of the few slave lawyers in Boston to review the contract, and I agreed to be an anonymous research subject for Nikki. She in turn e-mailed me a beta version of the "Sheldon Preference Indicator" that she was working on, intended to help perspective slaves prepare for their future debasement by identifying their likes and dislikes. She and I talked for hours by telephone.

As the deadline for my decision approached, I asked Pam to talk about what would happen if I agreed. She assured me that it wouldn't change our friendship or even have much effect on us during weekdays. Weekends, however, she would require me to engage in private or public slave yoga practice and do various chores for her.

"What kind of chores?" I asked.

She replied: "Well, like yesterday—you did all the laundry for both of us, changed the sheets, emptied the trash, and so on."

"Not a problem—I knew you had to work on your Poli Sci paper, so how does that satisfy duties as a FINO?"

Pam chuckled. "Oh, sweetie—since the day I've met you, you've been so eager to please that I could have maneuvered you into doing ALL the chores like that—that's when I knew you were a natural submissive." (Darn! I thought—she was right, I was way too willing to please her.) She continued, "I've resisted the temptation to just have you do all the chores, because that would be unfair, but if you're the family slut you'll get to do all that and a lot more."

Me, quoting a slave mantra. "I live to serve you, Mistress—but surely you'll want something else from me?"

Pam: "There are lots of things I've wanted to have you do to expand your experience and give you self-confidence. You know, enter a wet T-shirt contest, have a 3-way with a guy and me—but maybe not with Hal—he's all mine!" She grinned. "I promise I won't 'out' you as a slave in the Boston area, or put you in real danger, or leave you somewhere without any clothes—you're my BFF, I could never hurt you like that. But I DO intend to continue my project of developing my friend, and this way you couldn't refuse."

She continued: "Now, when we're in Houston, we have to follow the full rules—you'll be naked most of the time and collared all of the time. You'll sleep in my room, still, but probably in a cage or restrained as my personal bed-warmer, things like that. And you can't be disrespectful or disobedient, especially in front of the family or servants. If my parents think I'm too soft on you, they'll take over control and you'll wake up with a sore bottom, chained in the doghouse or the garage. A lot of the time, I imagine that Mom will turn you over to Stephen, our butler, who will give you the most unpleasant chores to do. I think you're tough enough to survive all that, but I want you to be prepared."