textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/collar2.txt

***Preface: Well, this assignment of mine might be a bit vanilla
    for everyone's taste and somewhat cheesy-romantic
    as well (Yes, Rage and I have been known to be romantic).
    It's the recount of my collaring by Rage, and it
    meant a great deal to us, though it may be a big
    bore to everyone else.  Mainly, I wrote this down
    as my assignment because it's not something I ever
    want to forget, so it reads more like a diary 
    entry than a story I suppose.  As always, comments
    of any kind are welcome as I feel they help me to
    become a better writer.  

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The Collaring
by Laurel   
(c) Copyright 1995.  All rights reserved.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I waited nervously in my room, pacing.  He was late.  I
was worried.  I even called my parents to distract myself.
It wasn't such a good idea, since my dad is one of those
old fashioned kinds of dads and was probably
secretly hoping that Rage's plane had crashed.  (Dad's
never too happy about my telling him I'm having a romantic
weekend with someone, and he hadn't even met Rage yet).

My room was a lesson in contrasts.  It was a bland
dorm room with a shoddy paint job and cheap furniture.
However, I had pulled out all the stops for this weekend.
I'd draped linen over the dresser and our dinner was
steaming on silver trays.  There was a little breakfast
tray set up on the bed with napkins, wine glasses, and
a fruit tray.  The room even smelled wonderful because Rage
had sent me a dozen red roses the night before with a message 
saying: 24 Hours and counting.  I was only wearing a green satin 
nightgown.  I wanted to greet him properly.  The lights were out, 
the candles were lit, where was Rage?

When Rage finally did arrive, he was flustered.  Plane
was late, couldn't find the place, etc.  Sometime after
he got his bags put away and his story out, he noticed
the room.  "My gosh. . ." he said.  
I remember he was wearing a turquoise shirt
and an outrageously loud tie.  Funny what you 
remember.  There was some awkwardness.  We hadn't
seen each other since the weekend that he initiated
me into bdsm.  That was over a month before.
It was hard to know if we were strangers, or completely
intimate.

We didn't kiss right away.  We sat down and ate fruit.
We had some wine.  He *finally* realized that I
was only wearing a nightgown and he grinned.  He
started caressing my leg through the satin and feeding
me fruit.  We realized this was cheezily romantic, but
we didn't care.  Neither of us had ever been especially
spoiled or treasured in days past.  It was something
special to us.  

Sting.  I remember that Sting was playing in the background.
The Secret Marriage Vow. . .and the songs surrounding it.
We got up and started to dance.  It was very confusing for me.
This was the man who could treat me like a whore.  The man 
who had spanked me, fingered me, and made me crawl on
a leash.  The same man who held me gently in his
arms was likely to beat me in the morning.  How such
sadism and gentleness could be in one person, I didn't then 
understand.  I only knew that I wanted to make love to him.

We began to unbutton each other's clothing without speaking.  
We danced and undressed all at once, pausing to
kiss or to stare at one another.  Rage would start
to kiss me hard, and then hold himself in check.
We'd discussed it and wanted our first time together to
be vanilla.  Neither of us knew if this was even 
possible.  The d/s dynamic was so strong that
it carried over into the way we kissed and touched. . .
even in the gentleness.  That was a new idea for me.
The idea that dominance did not have to be about
pain or sterness.  Rage could stare at me gently
and put me down onto the floor all at once.  

I don't remember the fumbling for a condom, though
I am sure that there was one.  I do remember the
soft way Rage's fingers probed and opened me.  He was
trying so hard to please me.  I was too frightened.
I don't think I really even wanted to enjoy it.   Some part
of me wanted to lay back and watch.  I remember Rage
entering me and trying to find a rhythm that suited us.
It's such a strange memory now, after such a thing is
second nature to us.  I remember laying very still and
quiet inside myself, knowing that this man was going to
be my master.

I think Rage was frustrated by the fact that he was
unable to make me cum despite his ability to hold
off his own orgasm.  He didn't know I was fighting
him.  He didn't realize I was too frightened to be anything
but a spectator in this event.  I remember encouraging 
him to cum. . . whispering to him that that would make me
happy.  And it did.  When he came, he gave me
the gift of sound.  In all the time I had played with
him on the phone or in person, his sounds were so
quiet as to be negligible.  This time, his orgasm was
punctuated with a growl and that wondrous gasping
moan.  The sound slipped it's way down into my soul,
wrapped around my heart, and soothed me into a peace
of knowing that I was trusted with his vulnerability.

Afterwards, Rage lay in my arms while I pet his face
and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.  There must
have been an awkward moment of disposing with
the condom, but I don't remember that either.  Rage fell right
to sleep in my arms, but I was wide awake.  Never 
in my life had sex ever been an omen of anything good.
Usually, everything in the relationship was going well,
and sex would be the precursor to some terrible
event.  I stared at Rage in his sleep.  I imagined
all the bad things that might happen.  Would this man
leave me now that he'd taken what, supposedly, 
all men want? Would I wake up in the morning to see
that he did not love me any longer? I tossed and 
turned.  I paced.  I don't know when or if I ever did
fall asleep that night.   

In the morning, the caterer knocked.  I told Rage to
go take a shower.  He didn't know what was going on.
When he returned to a breakfast overlooking the lake,
he looked thunderstruck.  I handed him some pink roses,
and his face changed several colors.  He looked at me
in confusion and then would smile and then would
fall silent.  Finally, he looked up at me and said, "No one
has ever given me flowers before. . . I mean. . .guys don't. . ."
I cut him off with a kiss. . .knowing what he meant.

I was still nervous during breakfast.  I had managed to 
secure all this lavish catering by way of some good 
fortune, not by way of huge cash outlay.  I told Rage 
this, but it didn't lessen his enthusiasm.  Somewhere
in the middle of buttering his muffin, he looked up 
at me rather tearfully and said, "I can't believe you 
did all this for me.  I don't know. . .if. . .if I deserve it."
Of course he deserved it.  No one had ever brought such
joy to my life.  I told him so.  He looked at me and 
began to tell me how much he loved me and how much
lovemaking had meant to him.  The spell was broken, 
my fears vanished.  No disasters.  No abandonment.

When we returned to the room, hand in hand, I
think we both knew the moment had come.  Rage
reached behind me and locked the door.  He walked
over to the bed and sat down. . .staring at me.  With
shaking fingers, I pulled the collar he had given me
out of the closet.  I let my robe fall to the floor, put
the collar in my mouth, and painfully crawled to 
him naked.  I don't know what his face looked like -- 
I was staring at the ground.  I think he knew I was going 
to do that.  I almost felt as if he had willed me to.  

When I reached the side of the bed, I had tears in
my eyes that he wiped away with his fingertips.
He took the collar from my mouth and asked me, 
"Are you bringing this to me because you want to
play, or are you bringing this to me because you 
want to accept my collar for real. . .permanently. . .
be my slave. . . ?"

"I want to be yours," I said softly.

"For today?"

"For always." I said.  It felt presumptuous, but he didn't correct me.

"You know I want you very much to be mine.  I've fought
for you.  I've been waiting for you.  . . "

"Yes, " I said again softly.

Rage began to fasten the collar around my neck.  We'd
both talked about the responsibilities and duties attached
to a collar before.  There was no need to go over that
again in the simple beauty of this moment.  The only
addition Rage made was this, "From now on, this collar
is to be in only one of two places.  This collar can be
on a hook in your closet, or on your body.  It's the symbol
of our relationship, of my devotion to you, and of your
devotion to me."

"Yes master."  I smiled softly at using the term in a real way.

Rage pulled me up the bed into a warm hug, repeating into my
hair, "Thank you for coming to me. . .I waited for you so long. . . ."
And then he was upon me in a rush. . .his mouth hard upon
mine.  His hands were pressing mine into the bed and I
felt myself drifting into some lovely space.  I remember
him positioning me on the bed and entering me from behind
while stroking my clit from underneath me.  He enlisted
the help of my own hands when he began to lunge into
me with urgency and vigor.  I remember being embarrassed
by the way the slaps of his body sent ripples up mine.

My flesh was jarred by his motions, and I strove to 
preserve my dignity by gripping the bed.  But I could not
stop Rage's motions from affecting my body any more than
I could stop the orgasm bursting through me.

I remember crying out. . . then crying out again as I heard
him cum behind me, gripping my hips and collapsing over
my back.  I lowered onto the bed onto my stomach
and Rage lowered on top of me.  Our fingers intertwined
over my head. . .and I felt that *now* we had made love.
I was trembling and panting under him, concentrating
on the feel of my collar.  When we recovered we
started again.  Rage would lift me onto my knees
and enter me from behind until we came.  Then we
would collapse again as we were, holding hands and
sleeping long enough to do it again.  Each time it
was brutally hard and embarrassing.  Each time I felt
exposed and raw.  My cries surely echoed through the
halls of my building.  They were cries of pain, they were
cries of humiliation, and they were cries of pleasure.

It was FUCKING, not love making, 
and yet, when Rage's fingers would link with mine, I didn't
know that there was a difference any longer.  I don't
remember how many times we did this.  I do remember
 that it was enough times for me to have trouble standing
when I tried.  My legs were tired from the kneeling and
my body was weak from the intensity of the sex.

We were hungry, and I had a picnic packed.  Rage and
I got dressed and took our lunch down to the lakeside
where we ate on the walkway.  The waves managed to
get us wet more than a few times.  I was too tired
and overwhelmed to speak much.  Rage had had me
remove my collar before we left, and I was missing it.
I remember that we stared at each other a great deal
that afternoon.  My master led me around by the hand
like a small girl, guiding me where he wanted me
to go.  When we passed someone with a pet, Rage would
whisper to me that I was like the pet. . .owned. . .but
treasured.

To prove it to me. . .while we were taking a tour of 
my school, Rage guided me into an old lecture hall
that has scared me from the first day I saw it.  It's
enormous.  Sounds echo.  It's the most intimidating
room I've ever been in, and strongly resembles 
a miniature model of Parliament.  
Rage took me down the steps to the
podium/desk in that room.  He asked me to look out
into the chairs and picture that they were filled.
And suddenly, he twisted my arm behind my back,
pushed me forward and began to spank me!  I was 
so embarrassed!  "Next time you're in this room,
you'll think of me.  You'll never come here again
without thinking of your master." he said.  (He's 
right, I never have).  Now I felt terribly naughty.

This was especially so, because Rage never
released my arm even after the spanking was
over.  He marshaled me right out of the building
like a wayward little girl in front of anyone who
might be passing by.   I couldn't stop moaning 
slightly as I walked.  I know the women behind
us heard me.  I didn't care.  I couldn't think enough
to care.  I couldn't think about anything but the pain
in my arm, the intensity of the way we were 
walking, and about what he might do to me when
we got back to the room.

In the elevator, he pressed against the back of me and 
breathed heavily in my ear.  He whispered to me, "It's
time for a real spanking now."  Now, Rage has an
extraordinary voice.  It's deep and relaxed and so
seductive that it made me knees weak as he whispered
this to me.  When we walked in the door, Rage locked
it behind us again and told me to go stand in the
center of the room.   I went, and stood there with
my eyes closed.  Rage walked around me, and I 
became nervous.  "Take your clothes off," he said.
I started to strip very slowly.  I was told to drop the
clothes where I was, which I did.  Rage ran his fingers
all over me like tickles before stooping to kiss the
scar on my stomach.  He told me to close my eyes.
When I opened them again, he was holding a length of
nylon rope.  Before he began, he asked me where the
scissors were.

Rage took the rope and began winding it around my breasts,
making me lift my arms out of the way, or my hair, when
necessary.  Rage looped the rope like nooses around my
breasts and pulled them tight.  It was uncomfortable, and
I winced, but he continued.  Soon he had the rope around me
like a harness.  It tied my hands behind my back and my 
ankles together as well as running down between my ass
cheeks and back up through my pussy lips up to my neck.
When he was done, I felt thoroughly tied.  He wanted
me to kneel down by the bed, but I didn't know how to
do it without falling.  I remember whimpering and telling
him I was scared.  He took me and tipped me so that I
fell quite safely onto the bed, and then he dragged me
to my knees.  I was panting by now, realizing that
I was truly helpless.

Rage took my hairbrush then, and started to spank me in
earnest.  It was harder than anything I'd ever experienced
before and I wanted to scream and kick like a little girl.
But my ankles were tied, and so I felt the rope dig into
me.  I remember squirming and trying to thrash about
in the ropes.  My bottom stung like fire!  I began to
try to get away from him and found myself on the floor 
on my face but *still* being spanked.  Finally, the
blows stopped and Rage put his lips by my ear and 
whispered to me that I was a good girl and how much 
he loved me.  He started brushing my hair out of my
face.

Rage pulled me up onto my hands and knees (I needed lots
of help moving because of the ropes.)  My breasts ached
from the way the ropes were tightened down on them.
Rage untied my ankles and had me spread my legs.  He
started to probe me deep with his fingers.
I started to feel dizzy.  Something hurt in me and it
wasn't the spanking.  I tried so hard at first to ignore
it because I was enjoying the scene so much, but 
the pain grew.  My abdomen was aching.  Aching
the way it does when I have menstrual cramps only
much more severe.  I said nothing.  Rage's fingering
became more urgent and I felt my stomach start to
clench.  I was sure I was going to vomit all over the
floor.  "Red master."  I looked up at him with fear. . .

Rage didn't hesitate a second.  He was a blur of
motion.  He picked up the scissors
and began cutting me out of the harness he'd made for me
before even knowing what the problem was.  He asked
me while he cut, but I think the pale of my face was
enough to communicate what I could not.  I remember
him lifting me from the ground and bringing me to the
bed.  I curled up in fetal position, trying to fathom
what was happening to me.  I knew I felt sore inside.
Rage covered me up. . . smoothed my hair back from
my face, and started asking me questions about what
hurt and where.  Then he went and got a wet washcloth
to put on my forehead.  I don't remember much after that.
I fell asleep while he was putting little kisses on my
face and wrapping me up.  

When I woke up, I was feeling
a little better.  The pain only hit me when I moved.  
Rage and I talked about it a little.  We decided that
we had been having sex very roughly for a long time and
that we may have bumped an ovary through the wall
of the vagina.  Both of us had read in various sources
about that as a danger of doggie-style, so we decided
that was probably it.  I remember we lay in bed for
a long time napping.  We watched a movie on tv and
snacked on the dinner off the silver trays that was
unfinished from the night before.

We did a lot of taking care of each other that night.
I remember cradling Rage in my arms for a long
time and petting his face softly.  I remember the
way he looked at me when he asked, "You really like
touching me. . . . you really, honestly do. . .don't you?"
 He was starved for touch, I was starved for someone
who would let me lavish affection on them.  

The next morning was sad.  We tried to ignore the fact
that he would be leaving that night, but from the moment
I woke up with his collar around my neck, I was anxious
about the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping with me that
night.  In fact, I can't recall a single thing that happened
that day except riding to the airport with him and walking
out of the airport without him. . .tears streaming down
my face. 

Afterward:  Never have gotten that airport thing down.