Mathieu

The Collar

My buddy Christophe tapped me five and parted at the entrance of my street. We often walked together from the gym which was not very far from home (we lived two blocks from each other) and where we trained together three times a week (we were in the same fight club and we had started together four years earlier). I walked another ten meters, and opened the door of my house shouting, "Dad, are you home?"

In fact, I did not expect an answer. At this hour, my father was certainly not yet returned from work. After several years of unemployment, he had finally found a very well-paid job in a rehabilitation center for novice slaves. Of course it was not a very popular work. People did not like those who worked in the slave industry that was considered a new form of exploitation of the poor by the rich, since slavery was restored a few years earlier to reduce the number of juvenile offenders. In high school I avoided telling my friends and even teachers what my father did. I just said he was in security. In fact I was a little ashamed. Allthough, he was not really involved in the Rehabilitation Centre… 'the kennel' as it was called by its employees… he only delivered the equipment for the Centre and also shipments to clients. In fact, from what I knew he was not even in direct contact with slaves.

I should have been in my room doing my homework but I was still shattered by the training and since my father was not there I had the house completely to myself. So I got a coke and turned on the TV. It was really hot. I took off my T-shirt, seeing with satisfaction that my pecs had well developed in recent months, and I lay on the couch. There was nothing interesting on TV. I finally fell asleep.

The doorbell woke me up. I got up from the couch still half-asleep to open the door. There was a guy with a package under his arm, but not a post guy. He wore a uniform of the Ministry of Youth and Slavery.

"Hi, I have a package for Mr. Vitello."

"That's me," I answered, yawning.

"Are you sure, boy?" The guy just stared, lingering on my bare chest in a bit of a strange manner. But he handed me the register to sign.

I saw my name, Ma. Vitello, and signed it there. He handed me the package and went away without saying anything. I was upset that he called me boy; it bummed me that he thought I was still a child. I went back to the living room and, without thinking, I mechanically tore the edge of the envelope of the packet. Inside there was an object sealed in opaque plastic and a letter. I glanced at the letter. It was about delivering the object attached to an address and handing it over to a certain Mr. Cagnata. Then I realized that the packet was for my father and not for me, but as our names are similar… my name is Mathieu, my father Martin… and the name was abbreviated on the envelope, I had foolishly thought it was a gift for me since my fifteenth birthday had been only a week earlier. Especially since I was still half asleep when I took the package.

So it was something that my father had to deliver to a client of the Centre. In fact I recognized the name and address. It must be the father of Gabriel Cagnata, a guy from my high school, a cool guy, very good at sports who I knew a little.

I was intrigued by the object in the plastic packaging. My father avoided talking about his work and his deliveries and his silence aroused my curiosity. Slavery was a bit of a taboo topic but, at the same time, it fascinated those who did not know much about it. Like sex, it had become a major topic of jokes at school.

When we were smaller, adults also told us things like "Your father has called the AJS for you." The AJS is 'Agents of Juvenile Servitude'. And the best way to put down a friend was to compare him to a slave, for example if he was showing off in the locker room. That kind of kidding. It was also a kind of compliment, of course; everyone knew that only the most beautiful and strongest guys ended as slaves.

I tried to determine the shape of the object by feeling the package to guess the shape, but it seemed to be full of fluff to protect the contents. I put it down on the coffee table and I returned to watching TV.

I spent some time channel-surfing, but there was nothing interesting and I was nervous. I could not sit still. My brain was obsessed by the object on the table. In fact, I was completely devoured by curiosity, I wanted to know what it contained. I tried to think of anything else but my mind kept coming back to it.

Finally, I could not stand it anymore, I got up. And I began to fiddle with this thing again. The temptation was too strong. I could always tell my father that I had opened it by mistake, just as the packet. After all, the package was torn and it was impossible to close it again. I hesitated again, reading the inscription in red letters on the edge of the plastic bag: 'STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. TO BE OPENED ONLY BY THE RECIPIENT'.

I tore the package by following the red dotted line under the letters and I stuffed my trembling fingers through the white styrofoam that served as fill. I felt something cold, metal. I grabbed it and took the object out and laid it on the table.

I looked at it. It was a sort of large metal ring. The inside diameter was about ten centimeters [4 inch]. The ring of metal itself was good two centimeters [1 inch] thick and three centimeters [1½ inch] high. The inner surface was completely smooth except for a few bulges that looked like electrical terminations. In contrast the outer surface contained twenty small pointed cones of about three centimeters [1½ cm] long at regular intervals. I took it in my hands. It was cold and it was heavy. Of course I understood what it was.

It was a slave collar. I had never seen one. In fact, I had actually never seen a slave. I didn't visit people rich enough to own private slaves and I had never visited a factory or a company where slaves were exploited. I had only seen slaves on TV during coverage about the reduction of juvenile delinquency or in the criminal news., But having in front of me a real slave collar… that was something different. The object was heavy, impressive and, somehow, also really cool. I turned it nervously between my fingers and the hinge opened without difficulty.

All this had a strange scent of sex and it excited me for no apparent reason. The magazines were full of pictures of super beautiful young slaves. The girls fantasized about them of course . In high school they talked all the time about slaves or guys from high school who could have been, or even better, could become one.

A buddy of mine, Maxime, was arrested for drug possession and had to undergo an examination to find out his exact value in case he was convicted. Finally he had not been prosecuted and, although the examination was rather unpleasant, he soon became more popular than ever in high school. This adventure gave him a reputation as a hot-tempered rebel and, at the same time, they admired the way he had escaped, though in truth he has just got lucky. I must confess that, weirdly enough, I was a little envious and I wondered if I would have been treated that way if that would have happened to me, and if people would appreciate me then just as Maxim was now or perhaps even more. In fact I was convinced that I would have been of much more value than him, even if I did not know what his price was exactly, and it excited me.

I turned the collar between my fingers. I wished I knew how I looked with something like that around my neck. I resisted and I began to laugh: I really was completely stupid. Everyone would have laughed at me if they knew that I had such thoughts.

I went to my room and started my homework, deciding to forget the collar. But strangely I could not concentrate. I felt a strange tingling in the lower abdomen and my mind constantly returned to the collar. Finally I was unable to resist, I dropped my homework. I went down to the living room, almost running down the stairs.

I approached the table where the collar still was. The game had to be played without hesitation, I took off my shoes, my shorts and my underwear. I was naked. I took the collar with both hands, parted the two halves, put them around my neck and closed it like a jaw. There was a small click.

The contact with the cold metal immediately caused a shock down my spine, and curiously this shock traveled from my brain to the end of my tail bone like a bullwhip. I was excited. I rushed to my father's room where was a large mirror on the wall and I watched my reflection in the mirror. I was totally fucking hot! My body was well tanned except of course for the mark of my briefs, clearly visible were my muscles that had recently taken more volume, and the metal collar around my neck strangely intensified my nakedness, making it more erotic. I began to take the poses as I imagined slaves had to make. Sure, any chick from high school would have found me perfect, she instantly would have wanted me to bang her. I even thought to take some pictures but I decided it would be better not to. I had also hard-on.

At that moment I heard the front door open and close and my father's voice shouting: "Mathieu, are you there?"

I felt my blood freeze and I quickly grabbed the collar to open it. It did not open immediately, and I forced. No result. Panic took me, Damn, I heard my father's footsteps on the stairs! I pulled on it like a madman, but with no result. In sweat, not knowing what to do, I wanted to get at least dressed but my clothes were still downstairs in the lounge. Lacking anything better, I grabbed a pair of briefs of my fathers that was lying on the floor in his room and I pulled them on just as he entered the room.

"Damn Mathiew, what are you doing naked in my room? But… what do you have around your neck?"

"Dad, I'm sorry … I thought it was a package for me and…"

"And what asshole? You believed that a friend sent you a slave collar and you did not find anything else better to do than to put it on? I told you a hundred times, NEVER touch my stuff!"

"I'm sorry … " I was completely panicked. "Please Dad, this take this thing off!"

"You think it can be taken off just like that?"

"You… you don't have the key?"

"There is no key, moron! It needs an electronic code, which can be performed in a Center, and a special order of the judge is needed. You're in a beautiful mess."

He looked really angry, I realized that this could cause problems in his work. I was totally sorry, I began to cry.

"Calm down," my father told me resuming his composure. "Come with me, we'll go to the Center where I work, I have a friend who should be able to fix it quite discreetly."

We descended. Going through the lounge I saw my mobile on the floor; it had fallen out of my pocket when I undressed. I took it and sent immediately an SMS to Gabriel Cagnata, for if his father had ordered a slave collar, it was not a good sign for Gabriel: "FUCK YOU, YOUR OLD MAN WILL ENSLAVE YOU". Then I gathered my clothes spread all over the floor and I began to redress.

"What are you doing?" asked my father.

"Well, I'll get dressed…"

"Are you stupid or what? If I walk out with a dressed boy wearing a slave collar I will be arrested!"

"You mean I have to stay in this underwear?"

"Of course not silly! Take the briefs off! Hurry up!"

"But …"

"No discussion, even wearing only briefs while you have a slave collar would be a violation and would mean a lot of explaining to the police officer."

Sick at heart and terribly humiliated I removed the dirty underwear that I had picked up in his room and I found myself completely naked again… in fact, hardly different from a true slave. It was also what he said unconsciously, because my father… probably out of habit… had adopted an authoritarian tone which was very different from the tone he used with me usually.

My phone rang. It was Gabriel's response simply saying: "lol." He didn't believe me!

"Leave this phone and come, hurry up."

Without having the time to answer stupid Gabriel, I followed my father outside, completely naked… fortunately it was hot… and I was about to step into the van, when he said, "Stop fooling around, not in this outfit!"

"But how then?"

"In the back of course."

I followed him. At the rear of the van was a small open cage, exposed to wind. He lifted the cage door and silently beckoned me to climb in. With a red face, I obeyed and I climbed into the small cage. I realized that my father at his work did not deliver only 'material' as he always told me… It was impossible to stay in there unless crouched and head down. My father shut the gate.

"I won't lock," he said, "but hold the door with your hands so it doesn't open during the trip."

Then he went to the front and drove off. It was obviously not very comfortable. I was tossed like a bundle, and actually quite happy that the cage was so small and so close around me, so the impact was reduced. Then my father stopped at a gas station for a refuel.

"Wait here, I'm going to buy some cigarettes."

He entered the station. There was a queue at the counter, and it was not moving fast. I was so sore because of the cramped position in which I was imprisoned. After about ten minutes, I opened the gate and got out to stretch my legs a bit.

I had not seen the cop on the other side of the street. He crossed straight towards me, brandishing his gun: "NOT A MOVE, SLAVE!"

"Wait, this is a misunderstanding! My father will explain it to you!" I turned my head to the gas station, but my father was still in the queue and didn't look.

"Silence slave! I saw you leave this transport cage! I do not know how you managed to open it but I can tell you that you'll be sorry." He grabbed a phone at his side. "Agent Lestrade here. I have a case of escape from a pickup truck: subject about fifteen years old, with permanent collar, but not tattooed yet. Probably enroute to the treatment center at the time of the escape."

"You're making a mistake Mister! I am not a slave! It's…"

A taser shot threw me to the ground and the officer put his boot on my chest to hold me there.

"That's it. And why do you walk naked with a slave collar? Plus you're not even fully registered as is regulation. You certainly should not be left out in this state, half-finished, not shaved or tattooed. You've probably already escaped and the agent who owns this truck has caught you. He should be more wary and not leave you unattended. I don't know how you opened the cage but you're obviously a little vicious rebel. Count on me to make a good report and we will treat you accordingly. "

I was still under influence of the taser blow and I had no strength to cry that it was a mistake. Another truck was already here to take me. It started to pull away just at the moment my father came out the station. He did not see me in that truck and probably never realized what had happened. In fact, he drove away without realizing that I was no longer in the cage at the back of his van. He didn't notice my absence until he arrived at his destination an hour later.

By that time I was already delivered to another rehabilitation center specialized in difficult cases…rebels, fugitives, activists. I struggled and I screamed so I was immediately put in an isolation cell, still naked of course and always with my collar. They had my ankles put in two rings riveted in the ground about 60 cm [2 feet] apart, and my wrists in two other rings behind the ankle rings, so I was kneeling in a particularly uncomfortable position and practically unable to move. They attached a ring around my balls, connected to two electrical cords and left me alone while I was insulting them and demanded they release me.

Left alone I continued to yell and shout until I received a good shock in the balls that cut me off the whistle. My belly writhing in pain and losing breath, it took me a good ten minutes to get over it. I started again calling, insulting those who were not there, until I got another shock, more violent. For a long time I remained prostrate with pain, I pulled myself together without yelling back, fearful of receiving more shocks. I was completely drenched in sweat because of the heat and the uncomfortable position…my legs were starting to become stiff…, and I started to cry.

Another shock came quickly, and after that I was concerned about just one thing: how to prevent another one. First I thought that being careful not to make any noise and remaining completely calm would be sufficient, and actually quite a long time passed without anything happening. I started to pull myself together and I told myself that I had managed to resolve at least this problem when a terrible pain in my balls made me realize that I was wrong. Then I panicked, I tried everything, I begged, I repeated a dozen times that I would do what they said, that I would be obedient, but nothing seemed to satisfy them. I began to realize that the shocks came at random and no one was listening to me… when they came to take me out. I was 'out of it', I could hardly stand on my legs but I was doing my best not to show it fearing another shock.

I was taken to a room with metal walls with a kind of metal chair in the middle, equipped with straps to fix someone in the chair. They made me sit there and the interview began. They asked my name, I said "Mathieu Vitello," my age, I said "Fifteen", if I were slave or free… I said "free", when I escaped, I answered, shouting "I did not escape!" This continued for what seemed hours.

When I was finally released, they took me to another room where doctors examined me.

"We have a problem with him," said one of the guards. "He escaped after he got the collar, but apparently before being tattooed so we don't know his barcode. He refuses to give his identification number and gives a false name, Mathieu Vitello. We checked it; the only boy of that name we found in the birth records is not enslaved, so he lies, so he must have tried to confuse us by giving the name one of one of his buddies." I wanted to scream,: "Obviously I have not been enslaved! This is proof that what I say is true," but I did not dare to open my mouth for fear of being punished.

One of the doctors seemed to think a moment and finally said: "Basically it doesn't matter, he is not tattooed because he escaped from one of our training centers, so its owner will be reimbursed. We will just give him the number of the one who drowned yesterday trying to escape, so he will replace that one." One of his assistants seemed to hesitate: "The one we lost yesterday was a little older…"

"What do you know? You know the age of that one? There was no information on him!"

"Yes, but he was to be trained as a slave of burden and to undergo a total conditioning. Normally that doesn't happen with slaves under 18 years."

"A runaway slave without identity number gets the age attributed to him. He looks strong enough to stand it. I will give him one last chance."

He turned to me and said, "Come on slave, give us your real name, you will get only the ordinary conditioning and you will be used for what your master wants. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what otherwise to expect."

"But…" I didn't know what to say. "I've already given you my name, my name is Mathieu, Mathieu Vitello!"

He slapped me and then said:

"Too bad for you. Take him for hair removal and marking of the bar code, then transfer him to serious business."

I tried to protest again, but they put a ball in my mouth. I struggled, but two guards escorted me to another room through a door with a sign 'HAIR REMOVAL'. The door opened and I saw a guard holding a chain. The chain was connected to a steel collar around the neck of a boy who was naked like me. It was Gabriel Cagnata. He looked depressed and scared; I had never seen him like that. Apparently he had undergone the treatment I was going to suffer. His muscular body was completely shaved… even his pubic hair was gone… and he was completely smooth. Since I had seen him in the locker room I knew he had normally black pubes. It was strange. It was a bit cold and his nipples were hard as mine. But above his left nipple was already tattooed a barcode with the word SLAVE just below, in big letters. I could not believe that his own father had wanted to enslave him. At the same time, it must be recognized that he was super hot like that, super cool, like an image in a fashion magazine. There was a metal ring around his balls and he was lightly bandaged.

Suddenly an idea struck me. Gabriel! He could testify who I was. I was saved! I began to wave to get his attention and make him understand by looking and mumbling what to do. He recognized me but did not dare to look at me and seemed to wait obediently until the guard who accompanied him had finished talking with my guard. I could not believe that he was so submissive because he couldn't jave been there much longer than me. And then I told myself that I, too, must have looked completely docile a few minutes earlier, leaving the isolation cell.

"You got a nice piece there," said my guard to the other, pinching one of Gabriel's nipples…who bit discreetly on his lip… and then stroking his buttocks.

"I like yours more. It looks if he is not yet accustomed to the idea being a slave. It'll, be great fun for you."

"Especially since he is entitled to the great game," said my guard winking an eye. And they laughed.

Until the last moment I tried to have Gabriel understand that he must speak, say something, at least show that he knew me. But his eyes avoided me and his eyes were full of fear and submission.

"Damn, you're going to calm down!" my guard said administring me a shock of his electric baton and dragging me towards my destiny. With horror, I saw Gabriel disappear around the corner of the hallway.

I was tied to a kind of examination table, and in half an hour all the hairs of my body had been removed by laser, I had been tattooed with number 000535806, a barcode and the words TOTAL SLAVE. I had been handcuffed and placed in a small cage bound for the Special Centre where my conditioning was to be finished.

It turned out that it was my father driving the transport truck, but among the five other slaves he transported, he didn't recognize me. At least, I didn't think so.

The End?