Chapter 4: Collars of Control
The red light glared. Unblinking. Hungry. It cast long, accusing shadows across the clutter of the streaming room – the discarded energy drink cans, the tangled cables, the neon signs buzzing like trapped insects. Merleperle shivered, the thin, borrowed sports bra digging painfully into her ribs. Baso’s bra. It was a size too small, the fabric stretched taut over Merleperle’s taller, slender frame, the hem riding high, exposing the delicate ladder of bones beneath her sternum. It smelled faintly of Baso’s cheap coconut body spray.
Across the screen, Baso fidgeted, looking impossibly small. Merleperle’s own leggings – designed for her long legs – were a sagging, pooling mess around Baso’s shorter legs and wider hips. She kept hitching them up, the waistband slipping down over the curve of her ‘bubble butt’, a constant, clumsy reminder of the forced swap. The Chat scrolled relentlessly on the secondary monitor, a waterfall of commands, demands, and gleeful emojis.
>> Show collars closer! Need proof!
>> Baso pull up those leggings again lolol
>> Merleperle flex those pathetic little abs for us stick insect
>> Start Task 1: Mutual Inspection. NOW.
A cold weight settled around Merleperle’s throat – the cheap metal collar, engraved with ‘Property of Chat’. It felt heavy, permanent. She saw the identical gleam around Baso’s neck. Proof indeed.
“C’mon,” Baso mumbled, her voice small, eyes darting away from the camera. She looked exhausted, dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes. The non-stop endurance stream was taking its toll, stripping away their carefully curated online personas. “They want… they want us to look.”
Merleperle swallowed, the collar pressing into her larynx. The air conditioning hummed, chilling the sweat already prickling her skin. She stepped closer to Baso, the mismatched outfits amplifying their physical differences – Merleperle’s angular starkness against Baso’s deceptive softness below the waist. The camera captured every awkward inch.
“Turn around,” Baso whispered, avoiding eye contact. Her cheeks were flushed bright red.
Merleperle obeyed, the movement stiff. She felt exposed, the borrowed sports bra offering zero support, her small butt feeling insignificant beneath the sheer fabric of Baso’s leggings. She heard Baso’s shaky inhale behind her.
“Okay… uh… Chat says… the collar looks tight. Good.” Baso’s voice trembled. “Says it suits the tall skeleton.” A pause. “Now… me.” She sounded miserable.
Merleperle turned back. Baso had reluctantly hitched the leggings up one more time, presenting her profile. The curve of her backside was undeniable, even swallowed by the excess fabric. The collar stood out starkly against her pale skin. Merleperle had to report. The humiliation was the point. “It… it fits you,” she managed, her voice flat. “The collar. Tight. Like… like you belong.”
>> Baso’s got the ASSet! Props to Chat!!
>> Merleperle jealous of that dump truck? Bet you are u flatty
>> Task 2: Presentation. Front and center. Hands behind heads. Arch those backs. Let’s see the merchandise.
Baso whimpered. Merleperle felt a familiar, unwelcome heat bloom in her stomach despite the cold dread. The blackmail kink, tangled with shame, twisted tighter. They had no choice. The things Chat held… the private photos, the messages… leverage absolute.
Slowly, shakily, both girls raised their arms, interlacing their fingers behind their heads. The movement lifted the tiny sports bras higher on Merleperle, exposing more of her angular ribcage, the knobs of her spine pressing against the thin fabric of Baso’s leggings. Baso, forced to arch slightly, accentuated the roundness beneath Merleperle’s sagging leggings. The contrast was brutal under the unforgiving studio lights.
“Gooood girls,” Merleperle murmured, parroting Chat’s earlier praise, the words ash in her mouth. Baso’s eyes met hers for a split second – pure, trapped terror mixed with something else, something that mirrored the sickening churn in Merleperle’s own gut. A shared, degrading understanding.
>> Merleperle squeeze Baso’s ass. Rate the bounce.
>> YES! DO IT!
>> Gotta compare the stick and the peach!!
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Only the drone of the computer fans and the frantic scrolling of the chat filled the room. Baso flinched, her breath catching audibly. Merleperle stared at the command on the screen, her hand trembling at her side. The collar felt like a noose.
“I…” Merleperle started, her voice cracking.
>> REMEMBER the photos, Merle. Your ex would LOVE that shot of you in the bathroom.
>> Baso’s mom follows this channel now. Imagine her seeing her little girl like this.
The threat hung in the air, colder than the AC. Explicit. Final. Baso squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling. Merleperle’s stomach lurched.
Slowly, mechanically, Merleperle lowered one hand from behind her head. She reached out, her fingers hovering inches from the curve of Baso’s backside, barely contained by the borrowed leggings. Baso tensed, every muscle rigid.
“I’m s-sorry,” Merleperle breathed, the apology meaningless.
Her hand landed. Not a caress. An assessment. She squeezed the firm flesh through the thin fabric. Once. It was undeniably full, soft yet resilient. A choked sob escaped Baso.
“It… it bounces,” Merleperle reported to the camera, her voice hollow, dead. “A lot. Soft. Full.” She withdrew her hand like it was burned. Baso shuddered, tears tracing paths through the light sheen of sweat on her cheeks.
>> LOL SHE SAID IT BOUNCES!
>> Baso crying again! So hot!
>> Merleperle looks like she’s gonna puke. Perfect.
>> Task 3: Reciprocation. Baso’s turn. Feel the plank.
Baso shook her head violently, a tiny, desperate motion. “No, please… Chat, please…”
>> DO IT OR THE LEAKS START NOW.
>> Show us the nothing burger Baso! Squeeze the stick!
Baso’s trembling hand rose. She turned towards Merleperle, her face a mask of anguish. Merleperle braced herself, locking her knees, staring straight into the camera’s unblinking eye. She saw her own reflection in the lens – pale, gaunt, collared, dressed in clothes that mocked her shape. Baso’s fingers brushed the fabric covering Merleperle’s small, flat buttock. It was a perfunctory touch, then a quick, awkward squeeze over the leggings.
“It’s… it’s hard. Bony. Small.” Baso’s voice was thick with tears and disgust – disgust at the act, at herself, at everything. “No bounce. Nothing.”
The confirmation of her own inadequacy, forced from Baso’s lips, hit Merleperle like a physical blow. A wave of nausea rose, sharp and acidic. The borrowed sports bra felt like a vice crushing her lungs. The collar choked her. The red light burned her retinas.
>> LMAO NOTHING BURGER! STICK INSECT CONFIRMED!
>> Both broken. Love it.
>> Endurance phase complete. Commencing Degradation Protocol.
>> Prepare plug insertion.
Merleperle swayed. Baso sank to her knees beside the desk, burying her face in her hands, silent sobs wracking her body. The leggings slipped down her hips again. The collars gleamed. The Chat roared its approval, scrolling faster, demanding the next humiliation, the next violation. The red light didn’t dim. It never dimmed. They were trapped in its glare, exposed meat on display, their lives reduced to pixels and pain. Merleperle closed her eyes, not against the light, but against the terrifying emptiness settling within her. The ‘next phase’ was loading, and they had nothing left but obedience. Nothing but the crushing weight of being Property.