Collared

I can't say for how long I've wanted a collar. The feel of rope, the need for domination, the desire to submit - all these things have been a part of who I am for ages, but the want to be collared was relatively new. It was, in its own way, symbolic. A physical manifestation of the term Master, and of slave.

I was beyond happy to wear the gift, and Master, I think, was happy to have me wear it.

The evening started out with a body stocking - an article of clothing I'm quickly becoming attached to. They're snug and restrictive in a way without being uncomfortable in the slightest, and they don't really cover -anything-, so much as give the illusion of clothing. I'd never worn one for Master before, but I'd had an idea that they'd be well received. I'd also bought more than we ended up using, but they'll get their turn before long I'm sure.

The only thing more enjoyable than the feel of rope against my skin are Master's hands. From the sharp sting of a slap to the gently maddening caress, they're quite capable of anything. I did my best not to get too emotional as the collar was buckled on. I'd helped design it, and really enjoyed the feel of it all around - I couldn't even bring myself to speak for the first few moments, choking on my thanks and biting back tears.

I never wanted to take it back off.

Master's work began after that. Cuffs and rope, blindfold and bondage tape. Sliding his pet onto her back he went to work - tying my hands near the collar, taping my legs to themselves and obliterating my sense of sight. Like the good little horny pet I am, I was horribly wet before he'd even finished. The ropes that kept my wrists near my neck also looped down and gave my feet something to struggle against. It was delightfully restrictive, and yet loose enough that I could squirm as I moaned in anticipation and pleasure.

All the feelings slipped into one another, and I don't remember if that was the night I had to withstand the nipple clamps, or if that came later. In all honesty, to me, it doesn't much matter. I'd earned time with the clamps and I knew it was coming, like it or not, but the slightest caress, the lightest touch from my Master makes so many things bearable.

Whenever the clamps happened, I remember very clearly when they came off. The warning, the steady voice of Master telling me to take a deep breath, and that breath turning into a gasping scream as the blood rushed back into the sensitive bits of flesh.  I don't like the feel of the clamps - the pain is a little too sharp, but I have to admit, I've spent days remembering that moment that they came off. The rush, the warning, the tone in his voice, the fear, the near orgasmic rush I was helpless to stop.

I don't like clamps, but sweet mother of mary I can, at the very least, understand why there's people that do enjoy them.