How long has it been? As far as I knew it had been years since I signed my literal life away to work like this. Everything, and I mean everything, name, socials, my car even if it was a beat up piece of shit, everything. And yes I do mean my actual name is off the books, it was like I never existed in the first place. I was little more than a nameless coyote slave.

That’s how much dedication I had to this, even if it could be shit. I wanted to surrender myself to it all, even in the worst of times. Some days, like today, it could be a pain in the ass.

It had to be past 87 degrees Fahrenheit, humidity didn’t help. And all I could hear past the cars, the chitchat of passers by was the constant rattling of the chains that were permanently affixed to my ankles. I’ve grown used to it but there was always that distinct rhythm you learned after wearing them for so long. I winced at the heat of the sidewalk underneath my paws and grimaced. My owner didn’t seem to care at all, so long as I carried his backpack while we went out shopping, then all was good.

I couldn’t help but have a resting bitch face at this point, and it didn’t help that some folks just openly gawked at me. From time to time someone would have their tail or even hand brush against my ass. Some people seemed to like the spectacle of what they saw, the scars, the bondage, the brand. They didn't see another person, just an object.

And yet, part of me felt fine, I knew what I signed up for, willingly, knowing full well the consequences when the ink touched the paper. The guy who I once was has ceased to be.

There was a morbid thrill about being a “nonperson” in this regard. The down side was the scars I now had, my owner was strict, a little uptight, and a twisted sense of humor. They were something and they were most certainly larger and stronger than I. When that time came they branded me with the word “SLAVE” across my chest as if to emphasize the obvious point of my existence.

I couldn't protest their actions, I no longer had the right to or physical means as I felt the tip of my tongue brush against the bar that went through my snout and underneath my jaw, fixed to a plate and locked by a master lock. I questioned why that brand, and my owner told me they were the easiest to remove in case of emergency. Then the fact that the metal went into the body, piercing my wrists and ankles connected by a chain that would never come off. Oh that wasn’t the worst of it, the branding sucked and I was awake for that, but the implants no. The worst one was the chastity cage… that was pierced through the flesh, and more than just that, it ensured I could never get hard or erect ever again.

Once they were on, as I was warned before signing the paperwork, there was no way to remove them. I somehow made peace with that fact.

“Slave, hurry up,” I felt the tug against the collar that was wielded on, it stirred me right back out of my thoughts. My owner never gave me a new name or used my dead one, never even called me he or him but rather just “it” to emphasize the objectification of my life. The view of a convenient store came into sight and they would look into the backpack I carried for them. They didn’t say much as they pulled out a few things and would pull me inside, not much to do just a quick return and more gawking. The AC felt glorious from the heat of the sidewalk but the chill between my legs was something else, something I still had a hard time getting used to.

One stop down, and gods knew how many left to go. The next store was different and had some shaded out windows. My owner locked the leash to an anchor point on the wall and took something out of the backpack I wore. I stood there, ignoring the comments and looks, and wishing I had a phone still, I felt something touch the backpack, and moving. Perhaps it was another person wanting to feel me up while my owner wasn’t looking, but the movements didn’t feel right.

If I could have called for my master, I would have, but I was at the mercies of the world and soon I tried to see or think of who or what was touching me. Then I felt whatever it was, it was small and I-

-I lost all train of thought… my head feels so… weird…why am I on the ground?

Di-Did I just cum all over the sidewalk?

~Thoughts of a nameless coyote slave~

Story written by (and a commission for) Skythe Skythe

Something about the fact that two different folks both signed up to that flat colour journal asking to get the lizard slave boy permabondage treatment amused me enough to want to take them both, so I did! Whoever owns this 'yote seems to be a little harder on him than the others we've seen so far, but hey, that's what you sign up for...

Also I've seen a few people ask how they get the stockings/gloves on over the bondage implants. That's easy- velcro! You can see a little bit of a strip in this picture. Everything above the hole is velcro'd together. As for the plate side, a simple hole- the fabric is stretchy, just stretch open the hole (giggity) and slide it under the plate. I'm not just pulling this out my butt right now either, you can see the strips I added into the original design here.

So hopefully that settles that. :P