Wednesday Morning

I stretched and rolled over onto my side. Yawning, I opened my eyes — to find them locked in hazel green eyes gazing back at mine. The collar. It immediately dropped its gaze and blushed as if caught red handed. Everything rushed back; my birthday, my bike, the collarmaid. I had let that thing sleep on my bed, all night. It was now kneeling at my bedside, still in its shabby nightie and had presumably been watching me — gazing at my face while it waited for me to wake up. Creepy.

As if for the first time, I looked it over, close up. It was near enough to see each wisp of auburn-tinted brown hair as it curled around its cheek. The eyelashes were so long, but they seemed to be natural. The delicate shell-like nostrils moved slightly as it calmly breathed in and out. It was motionless, I realised, but relaxed, as if it was content to be there. It was funny to be able to inspect it from so close, leaning on my elbow while it looked down demurely.

"Good morning," I ventured.

"Good morning, Master. How may this one serve its Master this morning?" The formal reply sounded strange coming from those soft young lips. So what was I going to do with it today? I suppose I would have to get it back to its School somehow.

Well, first, the old bladder was pressing, and had the usual effect on my pole. I managed to get over to the loo without waving the hard-on in the collar's face, but I was wishing for once that my toilet and shower were actually in a separate room, not just in the alcove. I was very fond of our old house, but en-suite bathrooms were not around in the eighteenth century so the modern facilities sometimes felt somewhat tacked on.

"Does the Master need any help with that?" it asked innocently.

"What on Earth do you mean?"

"We were warned that some Masters will require us to assist them with their ablutions and toilet functions."

"Just ... stay where you are," I spluttered, checking that it was still looking down and away from me. An image sprang to mind, of it standing behind me, slim arms reaching round my waist while cool gentle fingers held my prick over the porcelain. Somehow I managed to pee even through my engorged penis and wandered back. What to do with it, I wondered, slipping on my dressing gown and gazing at its back.

I sat down on the edge of the bed in front of it and took a breath. "Now then, collarmaid, if I request it of you, will you tell me the whole truth?"

"Of course, Master!" it exclaimed, obviously shocked at the thought of anything else.

"Then starting with when we left for the restaurant, tell me what happened last night."

It squirmed and hung its head lower at falling into my trap. Then it took a deep breath and, with obvious determination, started speaking.

"Master, after the Family had gone, this one went down to the kitchen to discover its duties."

In a steady monotone it related how the Geoffrey had stood over it while it did all the chores; how the older male collar had accosted it and threatened to hurt it physically if it "got above itself," and then how our servant had groped its chest and started feeling between its legs as a prelude to clumsily trying to rape it. At that point it had fled to my bedroom and wedged a chair under the door handle. The Geoffrey had been hammering on the outside of the door, promising it detailed vengeance if it breathed a word of what had happened, when we had walked in through the front door.

I thought for a moment about the possibility that this was all a carefully constructed fabric of lies. Then I thought about the courage necessary to tell me if it was not.

"Stay here," I commanded it. "I will be back in ten minutes."

My Mother was, as I expected, still in her room, and bade me enter at my knock.

"Good morning, James. Is everything all right?" she enquired. It was rather unusual for me to seek her out at this hour and she waited for me to explain. However she acquiesced with some surprise and, indeed, seeming approval, to my request to discipline the Geoffrey myself.

The collarman was in its room, which was a decent enough space for a collar. It was ages since I had last been in there, and I was surprised at the mess. It had few enough possessions (well, none at all, legally, but of course there were its clothes and those things we gave it to use) but they were strewn around, in complete contrast to the severe regime of cleanliness and order it upheld in the rest of the house. It was perturbed to see me, and gave up the attempt to bluster its way out of my accusation surprisingly easily.

"You damaged my birthday present. You attempted to have sex, illicitly, with your Master's collarmaid." I sat down on the hard wooden chair so as to be nearer its eye height. "Look at me." Its face, turned up from its kneeling position, was trying to be impassive, but not quite succeeding.

"Furthermore, you have completely betrayed my Mother's trust in you. I know what you and she do together, to 'keep fit.' Have you thought about how she will react to your attempts to have sex with another collar?" For the first time, it began to look distressed. "Why should she keep such a collar, when it would be so easy to replace it with another?" Its eyes were terrified now, and it swallowed dryly.

"Please, Master, this one will atone," it said in a low husky voice.

I stared down at it coldly, wondering for a moment what punishment I should dish out. I was pretty sure my Mother would not really be interested in the hassle of replacing it, but I honestly had no idea whether she would be jealous or not. I toyed with the threat of the coal-mines. Then I remembered one of old Chalky's tricks. Mr. Calder, otherwise known as Chalky because of his resemblance to a skeleton, was our most hated teacher. In some ways, however, he was also one of the most respected.

"So, what punishment do you think suitable, then, for a collarman who is keen to atone for his mistake? You are to choose."

It swallowed nervously again, and dropped its eyes. "Thirty seconds, Master. On Number Three," it whispered eventually.

I was amazed. I stood up and paced across the room and back. I did not see how it could volunteer to endure that, but if that was what it wanted I could hardly back down and give it less.

"Get in the chair then," I instructed. It got up and sat in the wooden armchair, gripping the arms. I could not think of any way round this. "Ready?"

The collarman nodded. I waited for the second hand on my watch to reach the top and pressed down the yellow Number 3 button.

It did not cry out, or even jerk up as I would have expected. Teeth gritted and face contorted, it clutched the chair as if trying to tear off the arms.

"Twenty-five seconds," I called out

The collar was sweating already, and exhaling in short hard pants.

"Twenty seconds," For some reason I could not watch it struggle without being on its side.

"Fifteen seconds. You can do it!" Now it was really important that it made it to the end of the time without cracking.

"Ten seconds. Keep going!" It was rocking backwards and forwards in the chair in time to its panting, but still silent.

"Five. Four, three, two, one, YES!" and I let go before the second hand got there.

The Geoffrey collapsed back in the chair, and gasped for air. I let it lay there for a moment to recover.

"Thank you. Thank you Master," it muttered eventually, trying to sit up straight.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well." I frowned. "But now you have to talk to me." I grabbed its arm to stop it slipping down to kneel on the floor. "Just answer one question. WHY?"

It took a little time, but I was as persistent as I was gentle, and I got there. The Geoffrey had thought my new collarmaid was to replace it, as a collar for my Mother, not me. Sex had nothing to do with it. It was simple jealousy, with a smattering of outrage at the imagined betrayal.

"Silly boy," I told it, although it was much older than I was. "Don't you know that my Mother would never replace you unless you did something as stupid as this? She values your loyalty and services too highly, and..." I wondered for a moment whether to refer to it. "You and she together, what you do on Thursday afternoons — well, it must mean something to her." And as I spoke, although I had meant the words in reassurance, I realised that they were true. My Mother had had that collar since new, since it was fifteen itself perhaps ten years ago, and although she never spoke kindly about the thing, in a rare flash of insight I could see that she always looked after its interests. She would not part from it lightly. Perhaps collar loyalty went both ways.

"I will tell her nothing about this, other than to say that it has been concluded to my satisfaction. You will come and ask me if you have a problem in future. Use your head next time, understand?"

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master, thank you so much, Master." It grabbed my hand to kiss it, and I had to pull it back.

It seemed appropriate to get it to apologise to my collar as well, to try to wipe the slate clean between them. Back in my bedroom, my collar was still waiting on the floor, and seemed surprised when I lead the Geoffrey in. It accepted the apology in silence, but as far as I could tell, with good grace. I dismissed the collarman with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

Sitting back against the bed head, hands behind my head, I mused on my success. Hopefully there would be no more trouble during the short time mine would be around, but more importantly, perhaps I had established some sort of — well, if not authority, at least respect — with the Geoffrey. It was weird, given that I was a skinny sixteen-year-old trying to boss around a grown man built like a brick shit-house, but it might be no bad thing if it got to regard me as a "master" instead of as the kid hanging around.

Quietly, still kneeling, my own collar asked, "Master, may this collarmaid have permission to speak?"

"Look, you don't have to bother with ... oh, yes, go on then."

It hesitated, and stole an uncertain look in my direction. "It ... it is known this one does not please the Master. But ... is there some reason why the Master does not use it for... " A pause and a swallow, then, " ... relief?"

It took me a moment before I worked it out, and then another to get over the surprise. "No, don't be silly." I exclaimed. "It's just..." God, how could I explain while it was kneeling like some harem girl. "Just get off the floor and come and sit up here." I waved at the counterpane on the bed next to me.

It looked shocked. "Master, this collarmaid should not sit next to —"

"Don't give me all that!" I cut it off, then remorseful at its alarm, carried on more gently. "Now, if I am the 'Master', then I get to say where you can sit, don't I?" It nodded reluctantly. "Then come and sit up here where I want you to be." Despite its unease at this intimacy with the "Master", it had no choice.

The bed sagged as it knelt on it, on the other side to mine but facing me, as I sat up against the bed head. The springs bounced from its weight, throwing us together so its thigh pressed lightly against my knee. I grinned inwardly as I saw it struggle not to commit the rudeness of shifting away from me. I took pity on it and slid over a bit. My regret at the loss of its warmth on my leg surprised me.

I started again. "You are pretty, and desirable, and I am sorry not to be keeping you. But I cannot, and the reason I don't want to use you for 'relief' is that I must return you undamaged, still a virgin." (That, and not knowing where to start, I thought, but was certainly not going to say.)

For some reason, it flinched at the words, and then looked even more apprehensive if possible. "Um ... M-m-master ... this collarmaid understands. But this one is frightened the Master might not get as much in return for it as the Master thinks."

How sweet, and how inappropriate, I thought. "Why not? The site was completely clear. Or is there something I should know?"

Now it looked not only embarrassed but frightened. "N-n-no ... it's just ... what if..."

"Look, I am surprised you don't want to go, but so what. I have made my decision and that is that," I snapped, pretending to frown severely. But it was looking too scared, and too cute, for me to be really angry, and for some reason my petulance had faded. After all, this morning, everything was going to go my way. I caught it looking up at me. Its big hazel eyes were unfathomable, and it dropped its gaze and blushed yet again. Why did it keep doing that?

With a shock I noticed real tears gathering at the corners of its closed eyes. This was ridiculous. Fair enough, I could see that to a dedicated collar (and whatever else this weird collargirl was, it was certainly dedicated), being sent back might be a disappointment. But all this?

Now it was shivering. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, my Master, I have been so bad," it blurted out, shaking its head. I could think of nothing to do but lean forward to put my hands on its shoulders and make those stupid shushing noises that one does. Amazingly, it did the trick. At arm's length, yet somehow intimately, I held it until it got itself under control again.

"What the hell was that about?" I queried, frowning but genuinely curious. It just shook its head again. God knows what was going on, but I was going to get rid of it anyway, so what did it matter? Its hands were on its knees but it continued to lean into me. I could not help noticing how its breasts moved inside its shift, and how its nipples stood out through the thin cotton. I moved a hand down from its shoulder, and, somehow braver than last night, I stroked the side of a breast with the backs of my fingers. The cloth was old and worn soft, and the smooth warm weight of the contents moved against my cautious fingers in a way that twisted my gut. The shape of the nipple was irresistible, and when my fingertips reached it, it was both soft but also resistant, and pointier than I had expected. The collar gave a little gasp when I rolled it tentatively between finger and thumb and I stopped, ashamed.

I let go and I was getting off the bed when I heard "Master ... there is one way for this one to make amends ... would he let me..." Its eyes met mine, hesitantly, and I realised it had looked up from my crotch. It could hardly have missed the wood I was sporting by now. I kept quiet, but nodded encouragingly.

"There is another way," it said, carefully but more positively. "Fellatio. This collar has been taught how to perform fellatio at school ... Would the Master find that to his liking?"

I hated to reveal my ignorance in front of a servant, but I had to ask. "Fellatio? What's that?"

It looked uncomfortable. "It is ... the provision of sexual relief using the mouth." My face must have stayed blank. "The collar's mouth. The penis goes in the collar's mouth and it..."

"Yes, yes, I see," I interrupted. I saw. It sounded vaguely disgusting, but at the same time ... its lips looked very red, and very soft. After all, it did not mean that I had to keep it. Indeed, who would know? I swallowed and nodded. "Yes. Alright then."

The bed bounced as it got off it, and stood waiting for me. It hesitated as if unsure how to start. "Look, you kneel there and I will sit on the edge of the bed," I said as I walked around to its side. It felt slightly awkward to formally arrange us like that, but now the thought of those lips touching my penis was starting to get interesting. I slipped my trousers and pants down, rather than have the flies flapping around my privates. The sight of its head between my naked knees suddenly seemed obscene. Arousingly obscene. My cock surged up.

I watched it raise its eyes up to my rod, and I saw them grow wide as it caught its breath. Surely it had seen one before? Slowly, as if in awe, it reached up to slide its fingers around the base. Its fingers were cool and smooth on my skin. Then it opened its mouth, leant forward, and I closed my eyes.

Of course I had no idea what to expect. The sensation was quite different from my own rare and guilty experiments at stroking myself. Wet, warm, soft and enveloping. A movement, a slither under the head — it was the tongue writhing, carefully exploring the underside. Its other hand caressed my testicles, softly brushing the skin, making them feel as if they were encased in velvet. God, this was good.

It started to move, now sucking gently and nodding its head back and forth. The first tentative movements became more confident, both bigger and bolder. I realised that at some stage I was going to ejaculate into this girls mouth — what would it do?

My fingers touched the rocking sides of its face and neck, exploring it while not getting in its way. Its hair was so soft; its ears so delicate. I opened my eyes and looked down to watch my shaft disappear into its face and reappear, as it rhythmically impaled its head and withdrew it. It glanced up, caught my eye, and froze, its expression unfathomable. Then, eyes still locked in mine, it wrapped its arms round my hips and sucked all of me into the back of its mouth.

"Ohhh no..." I groaned, pushing its head to warn it, but could not stop myself exploding, then helplessly grabbing the back of its head to pump a second and third gout of seed into its throat.

We fell apart, me back onto the bed, the collar coughing and spluttering to the floor. It composed itself before I did, and was kneeling respectfully by the side of the bed by the time I sat up again. I stared, fascinated, at the mess. Its red face was framed in wild hair, while a dribble of my ejaculate trickled down the side of its chin, and a lump of snot — no, I realised with shock, more of my stuff — hung from one nostril. It was panting as much as I was. I reached out to gently touch the offending slime away, and it froze, then amazingly, it melted into my hand and nuzzled against it.

"Wow," I whispered. "Who taught you that?"

It started to laugh before catching itself, and then, in suitably demure tones, replied. "At school, Master. But it was nothing like that. We had two lessons on fellatio, but I had no idea." It paused to look down, then catching my now limp penis in its field of view, stared at it, and I realised that if it had not already been beetroot it would have been blushing yet again. "It's so big! Master, you are huge!"

"No, don't be silly. I have caught glimpses of other boy's ... parts ... and mine is fairly standard."

"But, isn't it supposed to be like a finger? When we practiced in the lessons, we were told to hold out one finger for the other girl to suck. Sister Winifred was so embarrassed, it was funny," it carried on. "We had to pair off, and one pretended to be the boss, sorry, you know, "the Master," and the other was the collar, then we swapped round. We could hardly stop giggling." It was smiling at the recollection.

"But this is so strange; not what I imagined it would feel like at all," it whispered as it reached out to tentatively touch my softening cock. "Sort of hard and soft at the same time — and so hot." As if unguided, her soft fingers gently stroked my member. I stared, amazed at the sense of, not arousal, but intimacy.

"Sheila and Honey really got into it; they were so good at acting the parts. I remember watching how they looked into each other's eyes, as if it was for real. They kept practicing in the evenings too, when none of the rest of us bothered, even though we were supposed to. Poor Sheila, she cried for ages when Honey was sold first, although... " it tailed off awkwardly, and then whipped its hand away; obviously suddenly realising what it was doing and to whom it was talking.

"Don't worry, this Master doesn't stand on ceremony," I reassured it and was rewarded by a flashing smile of relief at being forgiven its lapse of propriety. "Time to get going though."

The warm buzz stayed with me all the way to school. All right, it was not actual put-your-willie-in-the-hole sex, but still — I had done it, in a real girl — well, only a collar, but still!

School was strangely different. Everyone gets the day off on their sixteenth birthday, so of course most people knew why I had been away yesterday, and a few mentioned their congratulations. But it was not just that. All right, the place itself had not actually changed. The tall echoing corridors still smelt vaguely of chalk dust and old cabbage. The quietly fading paintwork was still peeling, and along the top corridor the dark old paintings of ancient Headmasters still frowned down at me. But I was different.

For starters I had to get used to being a Prefect — being one of the people we had always looked up to before. Those half-adult students that chose to stay on at school even though, after their sixteenth birthday, they did not have to, were more than school kids, indeed were almost as powerful and feared as the teachers. Now I no longer wore the uniform, although the dark plain jacket I had donned instead was pretty somber compared to the fancy dresses and elaborate suits the other Prefects displayed. Now the teachers said "Mr. Pilsbury" and listened to me as if what I had to say made sense. And strangely, although I cannot actually have been any taller than three days ago, I was now aware that I could see over the heads of the crowd in the corridor without effort.

I had decided to keep my lesson schedule almost the same. Strictly speaking, I only needed to pass School Cert in Applied Maths and in Electronics to get the position I was after at Smith and Verity. Etiquette I was going to drop like a hot potato, but that was the only subject I really disliked, so I thought I might carry on with the rest. Dance was the other doubtful, but I got a strange pleasure out of throwing myself around the school hall in time to music, even though it meant dealing with girls. I would keep up dance for now.

In the first break, I made my way to the Gentlemen's Common Room. It was the preserve of the male Prefects, but it was more than symbolic that it was labeled "Gentlemen's". A large airy room, it had two full-height double windows overlooking the playground, and with its ornate ceiling and carved wooden architraves it was clearly part of the older school buildings. In slight contrast were the semi-naked girls simpering on the posters on the walls. There was no doubting the gender of the owners of this place! After a few minutes I got over the feeling that someone was about to ask me to leave, and settled back in an enormous leather armchair that seemed to be spare. It was all very comfortable; this was a perk of my new status that I could get used to.

There were a couple of screens in the corners, so I wound up my courage, plugged in my fone, and tried Liz's code. It was rejected — she did not want to speak to me. In her shoes, I would have been the same, but Liz was as tough as old boots, and I had hoped she would have the balls to face me. Unsurprisingly my messages were spat back the same way. Feeling discouraged, I tried Rob. I had no idea what to say to him, but I knew I could not let things between the three of us stand as they were.

But speaking to him made me remember why he was such a mate. He actually suggested relaying my message through him so she would at least read it, and amazingly, acted as postbox as she and I batted more third party notes between us. Unfortunately their school breaks did not quite coincide with ours, but over the course of the morning, relayed messages of "Tell her I HAD to..." and "He should have realised..." eventually became direct messaging.