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Collared (Diana Philbrick)

Collared by Diana Philbrick

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Kristen's contract seems harmless--a little fondling, some gentle sex, a bit of soft-core bondage--until the contract is lost in a high-stakes poker game. Her worst nightmare follows, complete with inverted crucifixion-cum-fellatio, whippings, and "shockingly" cruel sensory deprivation. Her only hope is Shepherd, the hard enigmatic man who trained her, who made her a pony-girl.

Marina just wants to dance in the classical ballet. Unfortunately, she looks like a stripper--everything about her screams sex. Frustrated with the constant rejection, she naively accepts a contract that lands her in a modern-day Arabian harem.

There is nothing modern, however, about the sadistic eunuch who oversees the harem's girls. She escapes his torture by enticing the Sharif only to discovers that sometimes the frying pan isn't much better than the fire.

The two desperate girls meet in Monte Carlo on opposite ends of a collar chain. Together they plan an escape, only Kristen wants more than freedom, she wants revenge.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 7 / 2014

No. words: 46432

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Bondage/BDSM Fantasy

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle



She hadn’t meant to curse him. The pain had made her crazy and the words had just slipped out.
Everyone in the room had been stunned. Even the eunuch whipping her bare back had stopped in mid-stroke, frozen in a kind of shocked disbelief. Mudarris, the Kizlar Agha (harem master), looked as if the girl had slapped him in the face.
He recovered quickly and immediately ordered the room cleared. The odalisques (slaves) rushed to obey, tripping over each other in their haste. They knew that the Russian girl, Irina, would be punished for her words. Her punishment would be far worse than the ten lashes she had been promised.
Challenging Mudarris in any way was a serious offense in the harem. Causing him to lose face in from of the other slaves and the eunuchs was unimaginable. In their small world it was a sacrilege, a threat to the very fabric of their society.
Mudarris spoke quietly to the whip-master. The man rushed to Irina calling several other eunuchs to help.
“Please, PLEASE! Master,” she screamed. “I didn’t mean it. I beg your pardon. Please, have mercy!”
He stared at her as they released her hands from the overhead chain, indifferent to her pleas.
“The Sharif will understand," she said forcefully, playing her last card. "He…he would not want me hurt badly. He will punish anyone...”
“I speak for the Sharif not you,” Mudarris roared, signaling his men to continue.
She was naked, frantic, dancing a tattoo on her long almost prehensile toes as a man lifted her by the waist to provide the slack needed to unbuckle her manacles. The girl was beside herself, struggling like a wild animal. Even in normal times, she had a kind of untamed look like a gypsy with a mane of curly black hair, large firm breasts, and a tiny, waist. Now she appeared totally out of control and dangerous.
Her legs kicked out at the nearest man as soon as she was free from the chain catching him in his sensitive crotch. Another man moved quickly to grab her ankles, tucking them under his arms while he held tightly onto her muscled thighs.
Outraged by her struggles, Mudarris stood up and walked to the terrified girl.
“You will not be killed or damaged, Irina. The Sharif enjoys your fiery spirit. But you will suffer. Challenging me in this place is not permitted. You know that.”
Irina stopped fighting the three men who held her and stared at Mudarris. She knew that no matter what he said there would be no mercy from this monster, no human consideration. She tilted her head back and spit full into his face.
The eunuchs holding her were so astonished they nearly let go. For a moment, there was a terrible rage on Mudarris’s face then he regained control and…smiled.
“Leather manacles on her wrists and ankles,” her ordered quietly. “Chain each of her arms and legs to one of the columns…three feet off the ground. Put a belt on her waist and chain it to the overhead.”
Another man ran to fetch the manacles and chains. In a few minutes, she was suspended between the columns. The belt around her waist held half of her weight the other half was pulling painfully on her joints.
“Bring me an asshook and tie her hair to it so that they can see her face. I want them all to understand the cost of such blasphemy.”
There was spittle at the corners of his mouth and he was talking much faster than normal. It was evidence of his rage, a rage he was barely controlling.
She screamed when the asshook was inserted. Normally, there would be no pain when the hook was pushed past the sphincter, but the eunuchs were franticly trying to show their support, their absolute allegiance to Mudarris. He had been known to have a hesitant eunuch chained with the slave and punished in the same way, his demented screams mingle with hers.
Mudarris bent at the waist and put his face inches from hers.
“Do you want to split at me again, Irina?” he asked calmly.
She stared back defiantly. She knew she was about to receive the worst he could give. There was no point in holding back.
“I will suffer for a short time, pig,” she hissed, “but without a cock, you will suffer for a lifetime…which may not be that long once the Sharif learns what you've done here.”
It was the very worst thing she could have said. Mudarris was a semivir—his cock had been removed, leaving only a stub, but his testicles were intact. They had even grown larger over the years in the harem. The mutilation meant that he still felt enormous sexual desire but that he had no way to affect ejaculation. He was condemned to suffer agonizing frustration for life.
His eyes blazed furiously for a moment then he straightened and took a deep breath.
“The pain you are about to suffer will feel like ten lifetimes.
“Bring back the others," he ordered the men. "No one leaves this room until the morning light.”
Two of the eunuch ran to fetch the other odalisques. The girls shuffled back in terror and were strapped sitting cross-legged on the marble floor just a few feet in front of the suspended Irina's face. The silver chains holding her were hard to see in the flickering gaslight. It looked as if she was flying with her arms and legs open to the sides.
Mudarris waited until there was absolute silence then he walked to the sideboard and selected a long wooden cane. It sounded like sword as he flicked it, cutting the air. He gently slipped it in a small trough then turned and stood between Irina’s spread legs. She had a hard ass that jutted up and out. It was trembling in anticipation of the fearsome events to come.
The girls to her front could see her face and in the background Mudarris standing sphinx-like as he waited for the cane to absorb the water. Irina was licking her lips, breathing hard through her mouth and nose with her nostrils flared. She was trying not to show them the fear she felt inside. It was no use, after a few minutes of waiting, everyone felt the same terror.
Mudarris reached into the trough and swung the cane once to shake off the excess water. The water in the trough was mixed with salt which was now imbued in the wood. Each stroke would leave a salty residue that would enhance its terrible effect.
Wh-tsh. Aaargh.
The first stoke landed squarely on the center of her ass. She suppressed her cry, allowing only a low groan that barely hinted at the pain to escape. Mudarris smiled. He didn’t care what sounds she made. He waited until her body stopped twitching. Later, he would overlap the strokes so that each new layer of pain built on the other, but for now he wanted the others to see every detail of her defeat, to see how thoroughly he broke her arrogant spirit.
Wh-tsh. Aaargh.
The second stroke was an inch lower. She was still holding back her cries. He waited patiently.
Wh-tsh. AEEIII!
Her first scream echoed in the domed chamber. The slaves shrank back from the sound as if the pain was a living thing, suddenly unleashed.
Wh-tsh. AEEIII! Wh-tsh. AEEIII! Wh-tsh. AEEIII! Wh-tsh. AEEIII! Wh-tsh. Aeeii!
He moved the cane slowly down the outside of one of her legs then finished with a flourish on the sole of her bare foot. He paused a moment watching her closely then started down the outside of her other leg.
Irina was twisting in her suspension, her muscles full articulated, trying to somehow escape the unbearable pain. Her beautiful face was transformed in an ongoing grimace. Mudarris stopped and signaled for the leather mouthpiece. The cruel device kept her from swallowing her tongue.
He moved to her underarms, five strokes, finishing on the girl’s rock-hard nipple then moved to the other side. He paused to watch her writhe; she was suffering the ultimate agony. He waited until her twitching subsided then brought the cane down the tender inside of one leg then the other.
She was moaning now with a constant sustained whine.
He signaled to his man to remove the leather from her mouth.
“What do you have to say now, Irina?” He waited. “Speak freely, we are all waiting to hear your defiant words.”
“M…mercy, Master, mercy,” she begged weakly.
“Mercy…? Mercy is for those who are contrite. I will ask you again in the morning.”
He turned from her and disdainfully threw the cane back into the trough to drink its fill of the salted water then turned to one of the eunuchs, “Repeat the punishment every hour until the sun rises; no one leaves this room until then. Understood?”
The man nodded, terrified. Mudarris walked out.
Irina suffered the agonies of Hell for the entire night. In the morning, she was set free. She never cursed again, but she was not the same.
The Sharif immediately noticed the difference on his next visit and asked Mudarris about her.
“She was unruly and I was forced to discipline her,” Mudarris answered. “It…humbled her a bit, my Lord.”
The Sharif nodded calmly, “Next time humble someone who I don’t enjoy so much,” and ordered him whipped.
That was the end of it.


Marina watched as another girl was taken off her chain and led onto the stage.
"...Just another audition," she whispered to herself, trying to calm her nerves.
It wasn't true of course. None of her other auditions started with her standing naked on her toes, collared and chained to a ceiling hook. They didn't start with someone binding her arms behind her body so tightly that she could hardly breathe.
"It the same thing," she repeated stubbornly, "...the same." It's about showing yourself, giving people an opportunity to see what they're buying.
She had been auditioning for a year, first for the Royal Czech Ballet then the Janá?ek group then half-a-dozen lesser-known companies.
"You dance well," they said, "but your body is too ‘suggestive’ for the ballet."
Suggestive…she knew that they sexy. They wanted anorexic ingénues who photograph like fairy princesses.
"You look like a stripper," one of the more obnoxious casting directors had told her with a snarky effeminate tone. "Our dancers represent the essence of the female gender; they symbolize its eternal mystery. What happens on my stage is art not some fucking pole dance! Peddle your ass with the moderns not with me."
So she did, performing in the nude for several of Prague's more risqué modern-art productions. The results were the same. Her breasts were too pronounced, her nipples too large, her legs too long, her face too sensual.
"Putting you on stage," one modern director said haughtily, "would give credence to the libelous assertion that modern dance in Prague caters to prurient interests."
Of course, as everyone knew, the assertion was absolutely true. They just didn’t say it out loud.
But that was it; she had had enough of legitimate dance. If they didn't want her because she was too sexual then she would find someone who did. That was the day her friend suggested private contracting.
"With your looks" she said, "you could earn a million dollars, easy."
She knew nothing about private contracting, but she did know about money. What she had said about a million dollars sounded good and she listened more closely.
"You just need to be willing to remove the stops," the girl went on.
She was willing, more than willing. For the last decade, Marina had seen herself as a prima ballerina. The rejection she'd endured in the last year had ground that dream into the dirt. Money was a poor substitute for fame, but it was a lot better than having neither.
And removing the 'stops' was no problem either. She was already as Bohemian as they come--she had danced naked on stage where she had pantomimed vaginal, oral, and even anal sex. How much more could be demanded by a private contract?
That's what she was going to find out tonight.
Her agent had managed to get her into the audition held once a month at Karlovy Zlin Castle. "We wouldn't need to audition if you had a portfolio," he had sniped, but that was a $10,000 investment she could ill afford.
"It's totally private," he went on. "Just a way for qualified investors to get an idea of what you're like in person. It is all very professional."
She nodded, but inside she knew he was lying. For a million dollars, they would expect sex, maybe some kinky stuff, perhaps even a little pain. They would want evidence of her willingness and ability in an audition. She was okay with that. Every dancer endured pain it was the price of fame. She was much more nervous about what she would be expected to do at the "audition”—how she would perform.
There were nine other girls waiting in the dressing room when she arrived. The master-of-ceremonies came into the room with a smile and offhandedly asked them to strip. He made it sound ordinary and no one objected--no one wanted to appear surprised. He did the same thing when his assistant came in carrying ten leather arm sleeves.
"The sleeve creates the kind of look our clients want to see," he told the group of doubting faces then added, "It will make you even more beautiful." One of the girls stepped forward. Once the line started to form, everyone joined.
He had not lied. The leather sleeve held Marina's arms tightly together behind her back, pushing out her shoulders and breasts, narrowing her already narrow waist. She WAS more beautiful. The girls exchanged admiring glances, marveling at the effect.
But it wasn't just their appearance that had changed; the bondage made them literally helpless. Suddenly everything had changed. They no longer had control...over anything. They were unprotected, vulnerable. As they looked at each other's beautiful bodies and all had the same thought--we exist to satisfy men's lust. They all felt it. Marina could smell the raw fear, the heightened sensuality that swept through the room. The addition of a matching neck collar doubled the stunning effect. The soft leather binding at their throats accentuated their long necks and kept their heads up high. It also put more of a curve in their naked backs.
There was no more light patter after that. The bondage had introduced a kind of dark intent. They were escorted in silence to a dungeon room and the attendant began to hang them by the collar's ring to an overhead chains. No one objected, by now this kind of treatment seemed almost...normal.
"On your toes…!"
Marina obeyed the order with a nervous smile, arching her back and legs at the same time to lift her naked dancer’s body as high as possible. She wanted to look as beautiful as possible. The man smiled back at her then reached up and snapped the chain to her collar ring.
For a moment she had balancing herself on her toes and her naked body fell hard against his chest. He smiled again, put his whole hand over her mound and gently pushed her back into an upright position. Her smile faltered then disappeared as he slipped his index finger deep between her labia. She shuddered but didn't say anything.
"Nice," he whispered in her ear, wiping his wet finger off on her nipples. "Nice and tight…”
The act seemed to warrant some kind of payment so he leaned in close to her ear. "If you want to be selected, beauty, keep your head up and your back arched when you get on the stage. Your body will do the rest. I can feel the need in your cunt. It will fuck the pole for you. They always bid on the girls who fuck the pole."
His face was only inches away from hers. She stared, not really understanding the advice, but too scared to ask what he meant. She was afraid of the lust in his eyes, of the heat in his breath. They both knew that he wanted to fuck her, here, now, in front of everyone. She could feel the air vibrating between them; she could feel the blood rushing to her lips, to her nipples, to her cunt lips...pounding in her ears.
Incredibly, she wanted it as well...naked and helpless, hanging on her toes in front of a strong powerful man. She couldn't suppress the feeling. She wanted him...inside her. She arched her body towards him and he quickly stepped back. Sanity had returned.
“Save it,” he said smiling again. “From now you will want to be paid for that.”
He sighed and moved on to the next girl. She breathed as well, her sexual parts pulsating with unfulfilled desire. She knew about sex and arousal, but she had never felt anything like that before. It was unadorned, raw. It's the situation, she reasoned, the fear, the excitement, the bondage, the nakedness... What she was feeling was not real; it was manufactured out of these strange circumstances.
She focused her eyes on the round ass of the girl to her front. It was incredibly high and pronounced. She thought about how amazingly desirable it would look in a pair of tight jeans. Is that what this is all about, she wondered, making ourselves more desirable…for men?
A dimple kept appearing in the girl's ass cheek as the pain of being on her toes intensified. Her exquisite calf muscles were quivering; the muscle-shadow running the full length of her long thigh kept getting darker. She isn't used to such pain, Marina thought absently, remembering the long hours she had spent on the bar building her own leg strength and balance.
She was definitely better prepared to handle the pain, but no one had ever purposely hurt her before. This was entirely different than the dance. She continued to stare at the girl's naked body. Each of her lines, each of her muscles was beginning to show up, outlined in perfect relief. Somehow the pain was making her more attractive, more sexually desirable. She was surprised; she had never thought about the association between pain and beauty before.
Embarrassed by the errant thoughts, Marina tried to turn away, but the girl's suffering was too compelling. It was like watching a car accident or an execution, she thought. The girl’s body was vibrating, creating an aura around her. It was intense; Marina couldn’t pull her eyes away. It was as if the girl was slowly being consumed by the pain, devoured by it.
Marina wondered how she would look when she reached her personal limit. Would she be as beautiful...as desirable as this creature?
A man approached and released the girl from her chain. She collapsed in his arms. It was just as much a mental thing as it was physical, Marina thought. The girl had been overwhelmed by the pain, by her helplessness. He stroked her until she was steady, standing on her own feet, then he led her away on a leash. She continued to walk on her toes as if unaware that she was now free of the chain.
I'm next! Marina realized suddenly. A wave of uncertainty swept over her. Am I the kind of girl they are looking for? I don't know... I don't even know what they want...or what I'm supposed to do when I get out there. Someone should have explained this to me...
Slowly, her panic eased until only resignation was left. I'm here now and there's nothing I can do about it. It's not my fault. Someone should have explained what was expected of me. Do I even want this job anymore...? She wondered.
It didn't matter, she was committed now. No one was going to allow her to back out gracefully. Anyway, she was curious about what was happening on stage and…and she desperately wanted to explore her incredible feelings of the last few minutes...explore, but on her own terms. Was that even possible? Did being in control negate the feelings? …And what about...
The man who had felt her up was standing in front of her again. There was no helpful advice this time, no touching. He unhooked her quickly from the chain and attached his leash. She followed him into the light lifting her knees.
The stage was circular and lit by bright spotlights. Marina couldn't see anything beyond the lights as the man walked her like a show dog around the perimeter. She remembered his words, "head up, back arched," and complied.
"Gentlemen, please meet Marina," an amplified voice said. "As you can see, she is a ravishing example of Eastern European pulchritude. Marina is nineteen years old and has trained as a dancer for ten years. She had indicated a willingness to sign an unrestricted, 3-year, escort contract for the right price. Please note her specifications and her background data on your information sheet."
She glanced out into the darkness trying to see the audience. It was impossible; it was as if she and the man, her groom, were alone onstage with the voice of God tracking their progress. A persistent tug on the leash pulled her gracefully in an inward spiral towards the center of the stage until she was facing a leather covered pole.
She had a moment of panic. Would they want to see her do a pole dance?
Her handler quickly removed the leash, replacing it with a narrow chain that seemed to come out of the pole's center. He moved to the back of the pole. Suddenly, her collar was pulled up hard against the leather, so hard it was impossible to turn her head.
"...A virgin to the lash," the announcer was saying. "You will be the first to witness Marina's responses."
The lash...! She heard the words and tried to look around, but the collar was holding her too tightly. The man kneeled and secured a manacle to her lower thighs, forcing her knees up on either side of the pole. He bent down more and secured her ankles to manacles on the near side. She was being forced to her toes with her vulva pressed up against the leather and her arms still secured behind.
"Why am I being chained this way?" she whispered to the man, not wanting to fail the audition, but also scared and confused.
"Take it easy, beauty. As I told you, let your body speak for you."
Suddenly, the spotlights were turned down so that the stage disappeared. Her body seemed to be floating in the air. She closed her eyes terrified of what was going to happen next.
The whip came hissing out of the darkness to strike her ass. For an instant, she was more surprised than hurt. The lonely sound of her brief scream echoed in the hall for several seconds. The whip hissed again striking her an inch lower. She screamed more loudly and jerked violently against the chains, her body flailing helplessly on the leather. The whip hissed again, and again, and again.
She lost all awareness of where she was as her mind struggled to cope with the fire consuming her ass and legs. Her crotch kept slapping the pole in an impossible effort to escape. Suddenly, her body arched and began to shake. The whipping stopped as her legs squeezed the pole in a death grip. Every muscle in her body was beautifully flexed.
Suddenly the pain changed; suddenly she felt a wave of infinite pleasure sweeping her along as if on the crest of a wave. Her mind became, as they say, unhinged. She didn't know if she wanted it to stop or to continue forever. She felt disconnected from herself as if she was watching herself in the throes of an orgasmic experience that was totally alien to human experience. She felt something terrible awakened inside, something primitive. Somehow she knew it would never sleep again.
When it was over, she was carried from the room mumbling deliriously. There was an eerie silence as the men watching made frantic notes on their sheets. Even the announcer remained quiet, allowing them time to process what they had seen.
Marina Pasekova's contract was submitted the next day to Prague's dark pool for CELTs--a financial market in which a few select and anonymous bidders transacted with each other in secret. Her contract sold to an unnamed bidder for an undisclosed amount. The sale was one of the quickest ever on the Czech CELT exchange.

Author Information

I enjoy submission. It opens the door to another world--one filled with extremes of sexual feeling that just don't exist anywhere else.
NYC is home, but I travel often for work writing stories about BDSM along the way.

Your feedback is important to me. Please leave a comment or write to DianaPxxx@gmail.com.


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