The Collar


I was scared. Fearing the unknown. I knew we were going to play later that night, but this felt different. His energy was different. I couldn’t grasp what it was that created my anxiety. I trust him. I follow him. I love him. I have no reason to fear him. What I needed was for him to reassure me, but he left the house and vanished for most of the afternoon, leaving me alone with my thoughts. What he didn’t know was that my stress built exponentially without his reassurance. What I didn’t know was that he spent the day planning his evening with me. Alone with my thoughts, which became stress and anger by the time he returned home. Stress and anxiety for the unknown. Anger because he wasn’t there to save me from myself. He arrived just in time for a quick shower and then out the door we went for whatever awaited me. We are a couple that is still learning our way in this relationship. We have a wonderful Leader/follower relationship but incorporating some of the D/s has been a learning experience. I had no idea just how much learning I was about to do.

            The ride to our friends’ home was mostly in silence. I was scared and upset. I couldn’t verbalize what was bothering me. I knew he had wanted me to wear a dress, but I chose not to, putting it in my bag to bring with instead. He didn’t say a word or question my clothing choice before we left or on the ride over. He waited until we were with friends to question my choices. Now I had an audience. I was embarrassed and angry…more than I was when I walked through the door. Questioning me about my decisions. I was pissed so I grabbed my bag and slammed the bathroom door when I went to go change into the damned dress. Why is that so damn important? WTF. When I came back and sat down on the couch, I just glared at him. I couldn’t speak. Tears just rolled down my face. I was questioned about why I was fighting him, but I couldn’t fully explain my thoughts. They were all floating around above my head, and I struggled to make sense of them. 

            I cried. A lot. I was out of control and needed to be put back together again. I didn’t know how and that scared me because I am usually in good control of myself. Not tonight. Not even close. I was then given a task. I was told to set the table and prepare for our meal with a friend while he and the homeowner went outside to the grill. I was distracted with my task, setting the table the way he likes, talking with a fellow submissive. I found myself feeling more like myself. Laughing even. We enjoyed a nice meal together, had wonderful conversation and my anxiety eased. The tension in the room lifted and I could breathe. I kept myself busy, cleaning up the dishes while the conversation continued. Then it was decided that we would go back to the living room. 

I felt tense and nervous again…the unknown had arrived. Part of me was relieved. I just wanted to get it over with. Survive whatever they had in store for me. In the room was a Sadist and my loving, sensual Dominant with a definite sadistic side and a fellow submissive who gave me encouragement. A spanking bench was carried into the living room. It was at that moment that I had a realization that I was going to be playing with an audience. I am shy. Modest. Some would argue the shy part but that is mainly because I survive the crippling shyness by using my humor and wit to mask it as best I can. It is always there though. It’s like a dark shadow that is always reminding me that someone is watching, listening and judging everything I say and do. It is a constant battle to ignore the shadow, to tell it to fuck off…that I don’t care what others think. The truth is that I do care. I wish I didn’t. The mere idea of being watched and critiqued (at least in my mind) was horrifying. That’s when the panic happened.

My Leader stood up in front of me, took my hand and instructed me to stand. My hands were shaking, I looked up at him with a quivering voice and tears in my eyes. Looking around the room, there were eyes on me, a bench I knew I would eventually be kneeling on, but not a single toy. What was he doing? He wasn’t giving me any clues at all. I was petrified. I was looking him in the eye and I know he saw my fear. He was kind, loving and reassuring. Then he was talking and I was barely comprehending his words until I finally put together the words and black piece of leather in his hand. It was a collar. It was pretty, elegant even with a pink heart hanging from it. My name was on one side and he tried to get me to read the other side but my eyes couldn’t focus on the tiny letters. Even now, I couldn’t say the exact words, but I know it said that I belonged to him. It was unexpected and my head was spinning. My breathing increased. I could feel my heart racing. He slowly put the collar on me, while calmly speaking to me in words that I don’t remember. My only memory is that he was reassuring me that he loved me and that he was going to take care of me…that I was safe. He attached a leash to the collar…I remember it being thin black leather with sparkles…clear stones maybe. It is a blur because he then told me that when I wear the collar I had to sit on the floor. I cried. Again. He hugged me and then lowered me to the ground. That’s when I fell apart. I sat on the floor, curled up inside myself, and buried my face into my arms on the couch now above me. I was being asked what I was feeling from across the room. I was being asked to put words to my feelings and emotion, but I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed. I was someone different. I was someone that I didn’t know. I have met her before, a long time ago but I have fought to be strong since that time. The submissive that was in control of herself. Unbreakable. There I sat, crying and broken. It wasn’t until I was riding home hours later that I was able to comprehend my feelings in that moment. It was me recognizing that I was, in fact, under his control at that moment. No more arguing. No more holding onto the anger that had me fired up earlier. I had fully submitted myself to him. I was his. Everything changed in an instant, with a small piece of leather and a shiny buckle. It was humbling and overwhelming.

My breathing slowly calmed, and I was able to slowly grasp time and place again. I felt his hand on my back, reassuring me that everything was going to be ok. He helped me stand on my shaking legs and he hugged me, further reassurance that I was safe. Then…a blindfold. OMG. WTF. Just seeing it in his hand…I vaguely remember hearing him say that I needed to wear it. I was petrified. Panic again…I couldn’t breathe. I was shaking…crying…I didn’t understand why that was needed. He held me…consoled me…then as I calmed, I knew it wasn’t negotiable. I was going to be wearing that blindfold. I agreed to let him place it over my eyes. He gently put it in place and then my world went dark. He whispered in my ear that I needed to take off my dress. Panic again…was this the third time? I always thought of myself as a strong person. Resilient. Fierce. Now, I felt weak and pathetic. We weren’t alone. The idea of him taking my dress from me now…making me walk across the room without it. It was a vulnerability and exposure I couldn’t mentally handle. He held me again…full panic…shaking head to toe and crying…again. He didn’t push. He knew it was too much. He said it could wait…and instead slowly walked me to the bench. He helped me to slowly kneel on the bench and instead of removing the dress, he lifted it, leaving me exposed as he walked about the room, preparing whatever it was that he had in store for me. It felt like an eternity. Kneeling in the dark…feeling exposed…feeling the eyes that may or may not have been on me. Listening to him bustling around the room arranging his tools for the evening. 

He slowly started touching me, gently. I felt my dress being raised higher, exposing my back. He was gentle and kind. I relaxed. He slowly put it up over my head and it was gone. The last bit of control that I had left was taken. I was there, in a friends’ living room, exposed and fully under his control. I don’t know how much time elapsed. I know that he was sensual, made me drift off to the light flogging and touching with various textures. I was relaxed. He roused me to make sure I was ready to escalate and I said yes. His tempo increased, and so did the power behind the strikes. I could feel the intensity increase, I could feel the pain but it wasn’t pain. It hurt so good. I couldn’t tell what implements he was using…I noticed a paddle of some sort, a flogger, and something that reminded me of the texture of a witches broom. It was stingy and I loved it. Then the flogger again…it hurt and it massaged and I loved every minute. I laughed and apparently was smiling…and then the intensity and pain increased bringing me close to that edge. Then he slowly calmed me, noting that I was bruised enough, an accidental small break to the skin that I didn’t even feel. It was time to bring me down. My breathing calmed. He helped me recover and then brought me slowly, on shaking legs, back to my place on the floor. I curled into him as he laid out a picnic or sorts on the floor in front of me. He truly thought of everything. I sat there, breasts exposed to the room, with my dress sitting in my lap. I no longer cared. I survived. It was safe. I made him proud. The collar that created stress and panic, now felt like it belonged. The feel of the leash hanging from it and resting on the skin between my breasts felt like a security blanket. When it was time to get dressed and go home, he removed that leather collar and instead of being relieved, I felt like something was missing. I was me again. The strong, resilient girl that I was earlier that day, but I know that I am so much more now. There was a lot to process. The ride home was wonderful, we talked about the evening and my thoughts about everything. The night once home was amazing as well…but I’ll keep that part to myself