Slut Collars
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Slut Collars free porn video
Slut Collars
by Imperator Mentus
Jeremy had a problem, and that problem was himself. He really, really
liked slut collars.
Now on its own, this wasn't such a big deal. Most guys were fond of
them, didn't even count as a fetish these days. The difference between
Jeremy and those other guys is that they imagined collars clasped
around some hot babe's neck. Jeremy preferred them around his own.
The collars had been around for just about fifteen years, and nobody
had the slightest clue where they came from. Oh, everyone knew who
manufactured them. There were no less than five different companies
making them worldwide. The funny thing was, even at the companies,
nobody could say where, why, or how they started making them. They
were, quite literally, magic. So far as scientific inquiry showed,
they were nothing more than the strips of cloth they appeared.
What an effect they had, though, science be damned.
In short the collars did two things. For a starts, every woman over a
certain age had to have one. The mere sight of one worn by another
woman would stir an obsession that could only be satisfied by wearing
a collar of their own. In just a couple short years, the collars went
completely unknown to a world wide phenomenon. What kept scientists up
at night was the way this worked across print and television. There
had been a cautionary news broadcast once, back during the early days,
warning viewers about the suspicious craze. It had meant to help, but
only wound up introducing the collars to millions of new viewers, half
of whom immediately went out to buy ones of their own. Two new
companies sprang up almost overnight, and to this day not a single
person could tell you how they got started.
In almost no time at all, the collars became a fact of life, and so
had their second effect. On hearing a certain random code phrase,
something would trigger, turning the women into their perfect "slut
self". Bigger breasts, slimmer waists, hourglass figures, and a wicked
powerful libido. When it came to sex, the word "no" instantly vanished
from a slut's vocabulary, adding a nigh insatiable desire to go
looking for more if their needs weren't satisfied. The mental changes
weren't permanent. Given a year or so, there wouldn't be anything left
besides a moderately heightened libido and a year's worth of pleasant
- if perhaps embarrassing - memories.
There were many different trigger phrases. Style Nouveau shipped a
copy with every collar they sold, and even had a line of collars with
the words embroidered across the front. Intimate Secrets never, ever
released their words publicly, though they were always "leaked"
online. Others took a middle approach. Some simply listing all the new
phrases on their website every quarter, while another treated them as
riddles, releasing coy hints throughout the year. No matter how,
though, none stayed secret for long.
At first, everyone had assumed this only mattered for women. They were
the ones who'd all gladly collared themselves. The ones who had to be
on guard for trigger phrases.
As it turned out, that was not quite the case.
Jeremy could still remember the first time he realized this fact. He'd
been watching a news broadcast, where a shocked world learned
firsthand that a collared man could be triggered every bit as easily
as a woman. In the space of a few seconds, the man had transformed
into his "slut self," a sexy, horny babe that was, the report stated,
completely female and eager for action. Jeremy had feigned horror and
shock along with everyone else, but inwardly he'd had a very different
reaction.
It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life, and ever since
that day, he'd been addicted to the thought of wearing a collar.
Jeremy pulled open the middle drawer of his computer desk and pulled
out the "secret" stash. Inside were a trio of collars. Two of them
he'd worn before. One plain, one with the former activation words
written across the front. Both were inert, their magic faded, just as
all collars would given time. The third, on the other hand...
To him, it looked and felt no different from the others. A sultry red
ribbon with the letters S.L.U.T. emblazoned across the front, but
nothing obviously mystical or magical about it. A woman would have
been able to tell, she'd know at a glance which was a Collar, and
which a mere strip of fabric. For Jeremy, there was no secret
compulsion, no magic telling him to wear it. Just his own hidden
perversion.
His "dealer" had promised that it was still good. Jeremy didn't need a
dealer, really. They weren't illicit in any way. You could buy one in
just about any store, or order them online from a hundred different
sites. Jeremy was always too nervous for that, worried that they would
somehow know why he was getting one. Silly, plenty of guys bought them
for girls, but Jeremy couldn't even bring himself to ship one openly.
Instead, he'd gone through Reuben, an old roomate who'd accidentally
stumbled onto Jeremy's fetish and hadn't judged. He'd known where to
get a couple used, inert collars, and he'd been Jeremy's go to source
when he finally decided to try a real one.
It felt no different than normal, but the mere fact of what it
represented drove him wild. He was vulnerable now, for real. All it
would take was the right couple of words, and boom, he'd become a
girly slut. This was something all women lived with, true, but for
Jeremy it was a new and fascinating experience.
Slipping out of his pants, he pulled open his favorite transformation
video and sat down to watch.
---
Angelo had a problem, and it was the four annoying troublemakers in
his classroom. Today was his turn to monitor after school detention,
so it was his turn trying to keep these four troublemakers in some
semblance of order.
At times like this, he couldn't help but think that he really, really
ought to take up a sport. Busy with practice, the coaches were all
excused from the rotation. Worse, much of the female staff was excused
by virtue of their... condition. This being a school full of
adolescent teenage boys, most of the teachers were sluts at any given
moment. Leaving them to watch a room full of horny teenagers would
have resulted in something very different from the intended
punishment.
That meant the remaining men, and the few women who'd kept their
phrases secret had that much more work to do.
Today it was his turn.
Scott, a sophomore, was mostly a decent student, but he'd been caught
sneaking off before the end of class. He'd just gotten a car, and
still had to get it through his head that this didn't mean he was free
to wander off whenever.
Best friends Tom and Tim were in here for fighting. Each other, of all
things. Their "secret" before-school fighting ring had not gone over
well with the administration. They were mostly good kids, but far too
impulsive. Especially when around the fourth member of this little
detention club, Vincent. The youth liked to think of himself as a
class clown, and was in here for some recent prank. Something
involving a potted plant, Angelo gathered, but he'd not gotten the
full story.
"All right. This isn't your first time here, you lot know the drill.
We will be in this room for one and a half hours. Stay seated, stay
quiet, no sleeping. You have permission to quietly work on homework.
Abuse that permission and it will be taken away. Any questions? Good,
then sit down and get started."
After they had done so, the teacher took a seat at the desk and began
grading papers. Between this week's quizzes and the last of their mid-
term essays, it would be all he could do to get on top of things
before the next test came around. When Tim and Vince snickered to
themselves, his deathglare was enough to settle them back down. At
least for a moment.
That gave me maybe ten or fifteen minutes of peace before Scott stood
up and headed for the door.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Just gonna go take a piss," he said.
The teacher glared harder.
"I mean, I need to use the restroom."
"That's not how it works," he said. "Sit down, and I'll call the
office for someone to escort you. This is detention. You don't get to
wander off unsupervised."
Especially not Scott, who proceeded to open the door anyway.
"But I've really got to go," he complained.
Sighing angrily, Angelo got up and headed to the door.
"Are you a teenager or a toddler? You had your chance before the
detention started. Sit down this instant and wait like everyone else,
or I won't let you go at all."
"Fine," Scott said, smirking suspiciously. "But first, there's
something I have to tell you."
"What is that?" Angelo asked.
"Surprise!" Vincent yelled from behind as he pulled a collar around
Angelo's throat.
---
Noah had a problem, and it was his wife.
"It's nothing wrong with you," Kelly promised him. "The truth is, I'm
just not attracted to men. Never have been. I tried, sweetie, I tried
so hard to pretend to myself, but it's just the way it is. I'm a
lesbian, and I can't hide it any longer."
She'd come to him in tears half an hour ago. It had taken him ten
minutes to calm her down enough to tell him what was wrong, and when
she had he was completely blindsided.
How was this possible? They'd been together nearly twenty years.
They'd been high school sweethearts, for crying out loud. Married
right after college. They had a house, two wonderful careers,
everything they could ask for. Everyone had said they were the perfect
couple. So how could this be happening to him?
"It's going to be ok," he said, hugging her tight, "we'll find a way
through this."
Was it wrong to hug her now? Should he leave her alone, not touch her?
Noah just didn't know how to handle it. He didn't know how to handle
any of this. His wife was a lesbian. How could this be possible?
Were there signs he had missed? True, Kelly hadn't always been the
most passionate in bed, but he'd just taken that as part of who she
was. He'd never even considered the possibility that it might be him
she was not attracted to.
The strange thing was, Kelly didn't want to divorce, didn't even want
to separate. No, she had a very different answer in mind.
"It wouldn't be such a big deal, really," she said, holding up the
collar.
"Not a big deal? Are you crazy? You're asking me to give up my
manhood!"
"But we'd be together," she plead. "I love you, Noah. It's just, I
can't stand living with a man anymore. Please understand."
"You know," he said, "you could always-"
"No!" she yelled. "Never. I won't become some man's slut, I won't. Not
even yours. I'm sorry."
"But you'd turn me into one?"
"Please understand," she begged, "I know I'm asking for a lot, I do.
But this is who I am. I can't, I won't change it. I love you, Noah, I
want to be with you for the rest of my life, but I can't. Not like
this. Besides, I don't even know my words."
Noah did. He'd looked them up once in a pique of curiosity. A
meaningless, doggerel phrase, but one that would turn his cute,
pleasant, and apparently lesbian wife into a raging slut. He'd never
admitted it, never shared them, never even considered saying them, but
he knew them all the same. He knew it was something she was afraid of,
and he'd never once brought the subject.
Just say them, and all of the problems go away...
No! He wasn't going to do that. Not ever. Not to the woman he loved.
The alternative, though. It was unthinkable.
"Just- just consider it, ok?" she said, pushing the black ribbon into
his hands.
He promised that he would, too numb to really notice what he did or
didn't say. She left the room, and he collapsed onto the couch,
staring at the collar still cupped in his palm.
---
Martin shouldn't have had a problem. It was a beautiful, sunny day,
he'd just finished orientation at his dream job, and even had a hot
date lined up later tonight. Everything was going swell.
Carryout in the park was his own quiet way of celebrating, a simple
indulgence on a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the grass was
green, and there were people all around. Whistling tunelessly to
himself, Martin walked the path along the lakeshore without a care for
who heard or saw.
He heard the giggling adolescents behind him, but didn't think much of
it until something sent him crashing to the ground. Without him
noticing it, one of the pranksters had crouched down by his knees, a
light push from a young girl caught him off guard. It wasn't hard, all
things considered, but it sent him tumbling to the ground.
"Hey, get back here you brats!" he yelled as they ran off giggling to
themselves.
"Kids," he muttered. It's not like he would have done anything had
they stayed, except maybe the pranksters a piece of his mind, but it
would have felt good.
Ah well, what can you do? They weren't exactly kids, mind you, and
should have been old enough to know better, but he could remember what
it had been like to be that age. Middle school, maybe early high
school at the latest. Young enough that the girls had been bare
necked. Kids that age could really be twerps.
Standing up and brushing himself off, Martin noticed that they'd done
more than just knock him over. He reached up and felt the thin band of
fabric now wrapped around his neck. Damned brats! One of the girls
must have slapped a collar on him while he was down.
"Those little shits," he said.
For the sake of formalities, he reached up and tried to take it off,
but wasn't surprised when it didn't work. Man or woman, nobody wearing
a collar could undo the catch. Why this was so? Who the hell knows.
Best guess was that whoever designed them wanted to make women just
that little bit more dependent. Who'd do that? The same sort of person
who, given this sort of power, would use it to make some weird fetish
collar.
"So much for a quiet walk in the park," he muttered, immediately
starting for his car.
In theory, any guy would do, so long as they weren't wearing a collar.
There were any number of men in the park. He could easily walk up to
one and ask. The jogger coming up along the path, for instance, or the
two throwing a frisbee back and forth by the tree, or that guy reading
on the bench. Any one of them could easily take it off.
They could also ruin everything for him with just a couple words.
It was a risk. Maybe they'd recognize the serial number and decide to
take home a slut. There was cute couple holding hands just a ways up
ahead. The girl wore a collar, of course, but didn't look like she had
ever been a slut. Did that mean the guy was safe? Maybe, or maybe his
restraint would not extend to a stranger. Or, for that matter, maybe
she thought it was funny to see guys transformed.
He'd known someone, a friend of a friend, who'd been changed that same
way. He'd met a hot girl at a bar and, thinking with the wrong head,
had listened when she told him how hot it would be to fuck while he
was wearing a collar. In her defense, she'd been telling the truth.
She just hadn't told him she'd be activating the collar first. Turned
out she just had a thing for transforming men, and he was hardly her
first victim.
What can you do about it, right? It was, after all, perfectly and
completely legal to activate someone's collar. Man or woman.
Suspiciously so, he Martin sometimes thought, but that's just how it
was.
No, he would not be trusting a stranger with his future. The safest
route was to head straight for his car and find someone he trusted.
Truth be told, Martin couldn't quite bring himself to blame the kids,
even if they had ruined his so far perfect day. He'd been about that
age when the first collars had surfaced, and he could remember the
giggling fascination they'd had with them. Especially the girls, still
too young to be spellbound, but just old enough to understand what
they meant. For girl that age, it must have seemed the height of humor
to see a man forced to wear one, going through the same risk that they
would once they became older.
On the other hand, there was one key difference to the risk he'd face.
Once the mental effects faded, the most they'd get was a slight
makeover. For Martin, there would be no going back. Not physically.
Once a guy became a slut, their manhood was gone forever.
He had no intention of letting it get that far.
"Alright," he told himself, "six blocks through downtown to get to the
parking garage. I've got this."
Six crowded blocks. Full of people.
Wonderful.
It had felt like such a short distance before lunchtime. Not anymore.
Nothing to do except get started.
---
"Unless you want to spend the rest of your short lived academic
careers in detention, you will remove this at once!" Angelo said
sternly.
Usually that was enough to cow his students, but not today. Not while
he was wearing that ridiculous pink band. At best, the students were
smirking outrageously, but Tim was actually laughing so hard he'd
halfway fallen out of his desk.
The teacher had tried to remove the offending garment, of course. It
was the very first thing he had done, but for whatever absurd reason,
it would not come off.
"Can't take a collar off if you're wearing one," Vincent told him.
So be it then. If threats would not work, he would deal with them
later.
"All of you stay here. When I get back, I had better see you in your
seats, writing an essay about why your behavior today has been
completely unacceptable. Is that understood?"
He was never going to hear the end of this, but so be it. Who would be
left in the building? Two custodians, Mr Hillmeijer running the AV
club, two football coaches if he dared show his face in front of the
entire team. There was also Ms Applebee, as well as two administrative
assistants in the front office, but only if the boys were lying about
how the collars worked. All three of the women would, of course, be
wearing collars of their own.
"Hold on a minute," Tom said, shoving the door closed before he could
slip through it. "I thought nobody was allowed to leave until
detention was over. Isn't that right, MISS Ginello?"
"That is not what I said, and you will cease this disrespect
immediately, or face the consequences."
"Maybe, or maybe frolicking paperclips compulsively yield."
"Oh. Really?" the teacher said wonderingly.
A tiny part of him protested that those words had been a bunch of
random nonsense, but how could that possibly be true? Not when they
felt so deeply, significantly meaningful. They woke inside him a
profound sense of understanding, as if he had just unlocked some great
secret of the world.
Evocative, that was the term he was looking for. Each a random,
meaningless word on their own, but together they painted the most
marvelous of pictures.
He could all but see it, caught in his mind's eye. The image of a
woman. Beautiful, he was drawn to her instantly, knowing her more
intimately then he knew himself. She was gorgeous, but could she be
better? Could she be more perfect?
Yes. So very near, but there were changes to be made. A slimmer waist,
that fine, pillowy ass could be just a bit bigger still. Her boobs
were fine, though maybe they could be just a tiny bit perkier. Size
was nice, though. She ought to have red hair, bright, eye catching
locks that cascaded down to her ass in loose, flowing curves. The face
was fine, a few tweaks here, slightly altered cheekbones there, nice
plump lips, always ready to take a cock between them.
There. Just like that.
Now she was the perfect slut.
That was exactly who he should become.
---
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," Jeremy swore over and over again as he
tried to get out of the stupid collar.
Everything had been going great. Jerking off with a real collar on was
fucking amazing. He'd gotten himself off what- three, maybe four times
that evening? So intense, watching his favorite videos, imagining
himself in the newly made girl's position, getting changed and fucked
like a filthy slut. Absolutely incredible, but he was all done now
ready to stop.
So why the hell wouldn't it come off?
He'd tried pulling, tried turning it around and looking in the mirror
to see if he'd been doing something wrong. Nope, nothing wrong, it
just wouldn't work. In desperation, he'd even grabbed a pair of
scissors and started cutting for all he was worth. The didn't leave a
scratch.
What the heck? All his other collars came off with no problems. Why
was this any different?
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