I woke up in a pleasant daze, a bit later than I usually would, confused in that wonderful morning way about why the light through the windows was so bright. I made a guess that I must have been pretty tired last night to have forgotten to even close the blinds in my bedroom.
I became even more aware of the open blinds as I realized that I was naked under my heavy comforter and soft sheets. Why did I sleep naked?
I stretched, and remembered. It all came rushing back as felt the touch of leather, the foreign weight and sensation around my neck. My fingers traced its outline intimately, lifting the tiny lock and feeling it fall back against me.
I slid out of bed, pulling my heavy terrycloth robe off the back of the bedroom. I had to see it again. So once more I stood in front of my full length mirror, drinking in the sight of this thing around my neck. I had wrapped my robe around me tight, bracing against morning chill, but now I eased it open again, to see the collar more completely.
A bit more and it stood out against my tanned, lightly freckled cleavage. More, and the warm touch of the metal stood out against my crinkling nipples. Open more still, and the grip of the collar around my neck held me as my roaming hands did, cupping my right breast with my left hand, as my right hand reached down to test the warmth and sensitivity of my shaved sex.
I thought of him as the tingling flowed all through me. He was handsome, but his beauty shone from within. There was a gleam in his eyes. He was wicked, imaginative, and full of joy. I could see that he was expert at this, at playing at a woman's desires and needs like he was plucking the strings of a bass guitar. His instructions – his commands – had been so clear, simple, well thought out. It was arousing, fucking hot in fact, to think of how he had planned each step of my evening, my descent into lust and humiliation and slutty exposure.
I shivered with the memory, so detailed and complete, of kneeling there on the open balcony, looking up at him and down at my potential audience, as his cum exploded out and splattered and splashed over my face. My own need still raging and being suddenly alone and yet surrounded by others. The looks as I made my way out, varying from drunken leering at my displayed breasts to confused stares and the collar to knowing glances and shared laughter at the obvious mess of my face and smeared lipstick.
I had to pull my hands from my body.
I had to make some decisions to make, first of all about the collar, and I needed to have a clear head to think. I padded into the bathroom for a long, steaming shower. I was as careful as I could be with the collar, but I was in dire need of a good soaping.
In that shower, finding a calm way to let the memories and experiences percolate in my mind, while attempting to evaluate the highs against the fears, I made my decision. I pledged myself to meeting you on Sunday with my collar on, with the key's envelope still sealed shut.
I knew myself, of course, and my own history of letting my fears stand between myself and my desires. As I dried myself off, I set my self on a plan of one step at a time. Sure, I was using this cliché to give in to a high, but it seemed appropriate somehow.
And so, step one – a morning in the city. I wiggled into comfortable cotton panties and a basic bra, pulled on a long thin cowl-necked sweater over black tights and a red tank top. One of my bargains with myself was that hiding the collar was outside the rules. I looked like my casual self, but there was no hiding the deep black and gleaming steel of it around my neck.
I purposefully left the key at home, grabbed my bag, and head out into the bright light of day.
At first, I kept my eyes downcast, not wanting to meet the glances that might be directed at me, but eventually my curiosity got the better of me. I lifted my head as I walked, looking right into the eyes of those that I passed. There were a few glances, a few lingering stares, but in the daze of morning, it seemed that people weren't all that attuned to anyone else.
That led me to coffee, to wake myself up as well. The best look yet came from the girl at the Starbucks counter.
"Sexy collar," she said, sliding my change into my offered palm.
"Thanks," I replied, suddenly blushing.
She smiled, and I noticed her own appearance for the first time. He wore a shade of lipstick too red for the morning and her lower lip was full and pierced with a silver ring that curled into her mouth. She was dressed all in black, right to her nail polish. I wondered if she was also of his world.
I chose a seat out on the sidewalk patio, partially to forcefully expose myself to passers-by and partially to get myself out of her view. It was easier to be eye candy to strangers than it was to anticipate a conversation with someone about just what I was doing and wearing.
It was a beautiful morning, cool enough so that the warm sun felt delicious. As I read the paper, sipping my coffee, I realized that my fingers kept going up to the collar, fidgeting with it. It drew my attention, my touch, and I wondered if you could ever get used to wearing something like that. Could you ever forget it? Could it be possible to have it become so much a part of your wardrobe that it was second nature? I laughed to myself, thinking about forgetting that I was wearing it one day and walking into work with it there.
When my coffee was finished and my paper losing its interest, I moved on. I needed some groceries and supplies, so I walked down to the market. The collar seemed, to me at least, to be even more out of place here than in the Starbucks, but I drew even less attention. Everyone seemed to be in their own world.
When I paid, I didn't even get a second glance from the distracted cashier.
Steps from my door, I realized I was feeling a bit blue. I tried to sort out why and it hit me in the elevator. I was depressed because not enough people noticed. I didn't get the stares I had the night before. No one was looking me like a freak or a slut or some kinky whore. I was actually upset that I wasn't more humiliated. Oh dear god, what was he doing to me?
At home, I put away my purchases and rushed to check my email. I was crushed when there was nothing from him. I had a moment of panic, but I convinced myself that he knew I needed this so badly. Of course, it was all still part of his plan. To give me that first taste and watch me squirm, waiting for me to be in a state of need and lust when I came to him. I couldn't tell if I was frustrated or happy that it was working.
I poured my frustrations into cleaning. In a couple of hours my apartment was spotless and I was tired and ready for a break. I made a light lunch for myself and flicked on the TV to vegetate for a bit. I exchanged a couple of emails with my girlfriends about our plans for clubbing. In no time, I was bouncing against the walls, needing to do something or think about anything else than the constant flash of memories and the feeling of the collar around my neck. I threw sweats and my iPod in a duffel and headed out to the gym.
I got a couple of glances and looks there, but as the gym was full of other women they tended more towards disdain or judgement. Mostly I just put myself into a zone of music and strain and sweat and pushed myself though a strenuous workout. My mind was focused on the night ahead. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to keep the collar on, but now it was question of dealing with what else I would wear. I wasn't going to hide it, and I knew now that I wanted to feel the embarrassment of having it noticed. That didn't mean though that I had the nerve to look like a total slut, nor did I have a plan yet to explain it all away to my friends. These weren't really the kinky kind, at least not that I knew, and I wasn't about to tell them a man had collared me like his pet or property and that I was wearing this because I was hoping he would do even more humiliating, degrading and amazing things to me.
.... There is more of this story ...