The shop sold premium stripper poles, at prices which Aidra, their most recent employee, thought were absurdly expensive. She was required to dress like a stripper to work there, and demonstrate the poles, which seemed reasonable (all things considered) and she was paid well.
Part of the uniform was the silver collar, which was welded into place on her first day. It was weird and worrying, but she was too insecure to protest, and at least it looked pretty.
She found out its purpose on the day that she sold her first pole to a male customer. After watching her hump the pole, slide it between her tits, climb it and lean backwards, her fuckbags flopping out of her see-through mesh top, he looked towards Aidra’s manager and said, “I’ll buy this one.”
The manager smiled, and pressed a button on a small plastic device. A sharp electric shock flared out of Aidra’s collar, and she dropped to her knees, grasping at the collar and trying to get it off. It wouldn’t budge. The manager shocked her again, and she stopped.
“We only hire the ones nobody’s going to miss,” the manager said. “Ms Dee here is now yours for life. She looks like she has a very tasty set of holes – I hope you enjoy.
She hadn’t been selling poles, she realised – she’d been selling herself as a fuckslave. She tried to protest. The customer, now holding the manager’s remote, pressed the button, and the resulting shock silenced Aidra.
“What’s her name?” the customer asked.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, just make up a new one for her. Fuckpuppet, or Cumcatcher, or whatever.”
“She looks like a Slutmuffin,” the customer said. “Come with me, Slutmuffin. You’re my slave now.”
Aidra tried to rise, crying, understanding that she was now going to be nothing but a rapetoy for this man. The man shocked her again, and she fell back to her knees.
“Slaves don’t walk,” the customer told her, smiling. “Crawl, Slutmuffin. Like a bitch.”
Like the bitch she now realised she was, Slutmuffin obediently crawled along after her owner, towards her new life…