collar

On the bench in the dim light were his tools. He had laid out what he may use this first time they met. She stood looking at the bench where her eyes were greeted with bright and shiny metal and there was some leather too. Chains and paraphernalia lay silent in a small plastic Tupperware container. Though she has never experience these things she recognised most of the objects from the stories she had read and the pictures she had viewed on her journey to this room.

She felt herself throb as she took in the clover clamps, the sharp gleam from the Wartenburg pinwheel and from the corner of her eye she saw the collar. Two inches width of black shiny leather. She took in a sharp breath as she tried to look at it. The red thread stitching on the cuffs with it matched perfectly. In the centre of its length the collar held silver metal O ring anchored to the leather by a another thicker and quite beautifully crafted ring fixed to a round metal plate which in turn was embedded in the body of the collar.

The absence of a curve in the leather told her that the bindings had never been worn. Many weeks earlier during one of their many conversations He told her that He had acquired a set of cuffs with a collar just for her. "They are yours." He said. She had let the comment slip out of the conversation feeling both a sense of nervousness and excitement.

She didn't allow herself to look at the collar for more than a second or two. During her next few visits to the room the collar lay on the bench. It was quietly insistent on her attention. She had accepted the cuffs with ease but the collar was something different, even if it was only in play. Her next visit to the room she admired the collar from a distance. She began to wonder about the feel of it on her tender neck; what would it look like as she watched her own submission play out under His hand.

The next time she came to the room she touched the black leather and shiny cool metal as it lay on the bench. Her finger tips skimmed across its smooth surface. She began to long to feel it on her skin. Still He didn't beckon her to bring it to Him. Her breath grew short as she imagined herself with this small piece of leather circling her neck, His finger looped through the ring to guide her and push and pull her where He desired.

She felt the insatiable need in her as she travelled to the room. He would be waiting having had prepared the room to his liking. She knew the collar would be on the bench, like a beacon for her. The collar had a life of its own as it lay in silence waiting for her to come to it. She walked into the room on that final day. She undressed as He bade her, as He always did. Then without invitation she walked to the bench and with no hesitation she picked up the collar, turned and with an outstretched arm handed it in silence to Sir. She gathered up her hair and bowed her head as he placed the collar around her neck fastening the buckle at her nape. He hooked His finger under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Good girl."




photographer unknown. Sourced from the Internet

the littlest things

It's funny how the littlest things can bring a sense of reverie. The warmth of dreamy notions as I move through the most unusual of places.

I was in the supermarket aisle yesterday rushing from errand to errand in my life. Next on the list? Rice. Basmati. Jasmine is nice but there's nothing like the aroma and texture of Basmati. There it was, just down on the lower shelf. I bent at the hips and then remembering my state of knickerless-ness and a shorter skirt, a little rule left me by a distant Local D,  and I quickly bent my knees to retrieve the small prize of white kernels.

I gazed at the packet as my thoughts drifted, hurtled really, back to a man who had found me searching for a Dominant character. Just over a couple of years back I hardly knew who I was or what this thing was in me that tapped at my brain, pushing me forward into the unknown. He found me and claimed me. It was a slow process, it always is. We never met, as is the way with D/s in a lot of cases these days, we were content for that time with an online connection. I was far too timid to even step in a direction that would see us come into the offline world. He lived in another state. We were at least in the same country and he travelled a great deal. Up until then I had kept most potential Dom's at a distance, safely with an ocean in between us. I lived in the knowledge that we would meet one day, though the very idea of that terrified me. I was able to explore this thing in me and have almost unlimited contact.

I loved how he exerted his control. He was a methodical man and controlled my dress, everyday. I sent him a list of all my known activities for the week or two if he was to be travelling overseas. I had previously delivered to him a not insubstantial list of all my lingerie.  In return he somehow provided me weekly a list of garments I was required to wear (or not) for my activities. This frankly, impressed me. He rarely missed a beat. The list was always delivered to me in time to know what to do. I never had to make a decision, though there was an established rule around that should the occasion arise. He did not care for black and over time he trained me not to care for black very much either. To this day I rarely wear black though it still fills my draw with it's lace and filminess in case...one day...

In the supermarket aisle I gazed at the company name, his company name, on the packet of rice as my thoughts drifted back to my first Daddy. My first real taste of another's control. As I held the packet of rice made by his company in my hand, this simple food, a staple of so many people, I remembered with some fondness my first time. Now that same packet of rice sits in my pantry, a memory of Daddy gone but certainly not forgotten. That small packet connected me in that moment to Daddy-gone. There was a small sense of loss too in that packet. A little sense of regret. If only he had come into my world at a later time, when I was more brave. But then he is one of the reasons I have become braver. He was who I needed at that time. Now there is one (or two ;)) who I need at this time. One or two who guide me further on the journey and in their own way encourage me to be braver still.

Source Internet: photographer unknown