Author's Note

The Purple Band Collar written by Sepia, edited by Silent Whisper, Pretty Penne and Dioxin

Contains: BDSM Themes, Heavy Bondage Fantasizing, Painplay Fantasizing.

The Purple Band Collar

Soft Cell returns to the sub locker room with a dopey grin on her face, swaying back and forth to a sweet little tune in her head. Her hooves carry her left, then right, then around in a little spin, then a few more twists and turns towards her locker. Her haunches plop onto the bench and she raises her hoof once again to her collar, to stroke at the little heart-shaped clasp. That was just what she needed.

But there’s a little tension in her chest, butterflies in her stomach. She bites down gently on her lip, suppressing her grin just a little as she opens her locker again. Soft Cell sucks in a short, shallow breath as she replaces her gold band collar in her locker, and looks at her other collar.

Her purple band collar.

As she stares at the red collar with its purple band, her heart starts to race, her hoof rises to press against her chest as if to catch it, and her other hoof reaches out.

Just as she touches its leatherlike length, a flash of memory hits her, of a whip strike up her back, leaving her crying out in pain, a ball gag shoved roughly and mercilessly past her teeth, cold, unfeeling irons clasped around each of her hooves.

She straightens, her head rising at just the thought. Yes, be obedient, good posture is important for a slave like her. “Yes, sir,” slips past her parted lips.

She freezes, looking back and forth, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She said that aloud, didn’t she. The corner of her mouth curves up, but she quickly bites it down again, letting out a soft moan through her nose, muffling it, muffled just like her and her fellow slaves, tied together just so it’d be easier to stuff them into a cramped cage and fucked from both ends, all of them at once.

Her purple band collar, held by her hoof, comes forth, her eyes widening in feigned fear, her lips parting wider. Oh Luna she’s still holding her breath! She wraps it around her neck, imagining the way her cruel captors tug a sack over her muzzle and head and tie it tight enough that she can only breathe in shallow pants. Her thighs squeeze together, as if catching the kind of vibrator they would stuff up her foalhole just to make her wet before dragging her by her mane, hoof tangled up in her hair to tug it all too hard--perfectly so--all to be hauled onto a hardwood stage, bared and exposed to the cool air and the crowds, to be sold like property at the next slave auction.

A laugh echoes. She gasps and sits upright, looking this way and that. It reminded her of the laughter of the doms, who whipped and struck and slapped their subs into orderly submission, oft followed by a harsh cry echoing down the stony walls. But this time, it was just another mare in the locker rooms.

The butterflies are almost overwhelming.

She shifts her hooves behind her back, squirming them together while held by imaginary ropes, lips open and wrapped around an imaginary ring, the perfect size for a warm, needy cock. She’s no one, another slave, another fucktoy, another object. Yes… yes it needs to be now!

Just as her heart feels like it’s about to burst, she pulls her hooves away, lifts them, and clasps the collar around her neck, sealing it shut by its heart shaped lock. A thrill shoots up her spine, and she finally lets out that breath, before standing shakily, walking with a new tension towards her next scene.