The Birthday Collar

The Gift

Jennifer Keller leaned back against the sticky vinyl booth at O'Malley's, the cheap birthday banner sagging over her head like it had already given up. Twenty-five candles had melted into a waxy puddle on the cake nobody wanted to eat anymore. Her friends and a handful of coworkers were laughing too loud, the kind of laugh that came from one too many pitchers of watered-down beer. She felt good. Sharp. In control. The promotion she'd clawed for last quarter still buzzed in her veins like good cocaine.

"Next year," she announced, raising her glass, "buy me something actually useful. Or hell, make it pink and girly. I don't care. Surprise me."

The table exploded. Sarah from accounting snorted so hard beer came out her nose. "Pink and girly? You? Miss Power Suit?"

"Exactly," Jennifer said, smirking. "Watch me rock it ironically."

Michael sat across from her, nursing his whiskey, eyes sliding over her tits like they always did. He worked two desks over, the kind of guy who smiled too much and remembered every little complaint she made about her ex. Harmless enough at work. Tonight he looked extra pleased with himself.

"Careful what you wish for, Keller," he said, voice low enough that only she caught the edge.

She flipped him off with a grin and downed the rest of her drink.

Later, when the party thinned out and the Uber waited outside, Michael caught her at the door. He held a small black box wrapped in shiny pink paper with a ridiculous bow.

"Couldn't resist," he said. "Happy birthday, boss lady."

Jennifer laughed, already half-drunk and warm from the attention. "If this is lingerie I'm burning it in the parking lot."

"Open it."

She tore the paper right there on the sidewalk. Inside the box sat a thick pink leather collar, soft as butter, studded with tiny silver hearts. A little silver tag dangled from the front: SLUT in delicate script. A small padlock hung open on the buckle.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Jesus, Michael. Subtle."

"You said pink and girly." He shrugged, but his eyes stayed locked on her throat. "Figured you'd look hot in it. For laughs."

She should have shoved it back at him. Instead she snorted and lifted it out. The leather smelled expensive, faintly sweet. "Fine. Dare accepted. Put it on me, asshole. Make it official."

Michael stepped close. His fingers brushed her neck as he wrapped the collar around her throat. It fit snug, not choking but definitely there. The buckle clicked. Then the padlock snapped shut with a tiny metallic sound that seemed louder than it should.

"There," he said, stepping back. "Locked for the night. Can't take it off till morning or the spell breaks."

"Spell my ass." Jennifer tugged at it. Solid. The leather warmed against her skin instantly. She felt a faint buzz, like a phone on vibrate somewhere far away, but ignored it. "You're such a perv. Thanks for the gag gift."

He just smiled that same smug smile and held the Uber door for her. "Sweet dreams, Jennifer."

She flipped him off again as the car pulled away.

Back in her apartment she kicked off her heels and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. The pink collar looked ridiculous against her black dress. SLUT stared back at her in shiny letters. She laughed once, sharp and loud, then tried to open the lock.

Nothing. The tiny keyhole mocked her. She dug her nails under the buckle. No give. The leather didn't stretch. It just sat there, warm and heavy, pressing gently against her pulse.

"Asshole probably glued it," she muttered.

She yanked harder. The faint buzzing grew a fraction louder, right at the base of her skull. Like a whisper she couldn't quite hear. She shook her head, went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and drank it fast. The buzzing faded.

In bed she stripped down to panties and a tank top, the collar still snug around her neck. She lay there scrolling her phone, trying to ignore how the soft leather rubbed when she swallowed. Every few minutes her fingers went back to the lock. Still nothing.

The room felt warmer than usual. Her nipples tightened against the thin fabric. She told herself it was the beer.

She reached for the lamp, clicked it off.

Darkness.

The buzzing returned, softer now, almost soothing. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Words drifted through her head, too quiet to catch. Something about pretty. Something about good girls. She shifted on the sheets, thighs pressing together. Her pussy felt slick for no reason.

"Stupid fucking collar," she whispered, but her voice came out breathy.

She rolled onto her stomach, face in the pillow. The leather pressed into her throat. The whispers got a tiny bit clearer, like someone murmuring right behind her ear.

...look so pretty in pink...

Jennifer's hand slid down her belly without thinking. She caught herself and jerked it back.

"No."

She lay still, breathing hard. The collar buzzed again, gentle and steady. Her clit throbbed once, a lazy pulse that made her bite her lip.

She told herself she would cut the damn thing off in the morning. She'd make Michael bring bolt cutters if she had to. Right now she just needed sleep.

Her fingers drifted down again. This time she didn't stop them.

She rubbed slow circles over her panties, the pink collar warm against her neck, the faint whispers curling deeper into her skull.

...such a pretty little slut...

Jennifer moaned softly into the pillow, hips rocking, shame and heat mixing until she couldn't tell which was stronger.

The collar kept buzzing.

She came quietly, shuddering, the tag SLUT cool against her flushed skin.

Afterward she lay there panting, fingers sticky, staring at the ceiling.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?"

The whispers answered, too soft to understand, but they felt like approval.

Jennifer closed her eyes and tried not to listen.

The collar stayed locked tight around her throat all night.