The collar is a symbol, but the leash is electrifying. The collar is worn, but the leash is held by someone else. Therein lies its true power, one of connection, one of transmission of the will of the dominant partner.
The collar as a symbol of submission is an incredibly powerful one. There are few things that as quickly put me into sub-space as being collared. That brief moment when I lengthen my neck and some divine Human collars me is one that I could relish a thousand times over and never tire of it.
I love how it feels, I love its weight, I love knowing it’s there, and above all, I love what it means. Not just to me, but to the person who just did it. As if to say, “look, you see, no matter who you are, or what you are, you are my slave, you wear a collar when you are with me, so that you never forget your status nor mine, and should others see it, that they should know too.”
Yes, truly delicious.
Mistress has showed me that anything can be a collar, and indeed has illustrated this to powerful effect. The ritual of collaring is a powerful one in the D/s world, and I hope that one day I should merit this important step.
I didn’t grow up eroticising collars. It was a GF when I was 20 years old who gave me that gift. Her parents had just gotten a puppy, and she was completely taken by it. I was staying with her and her parents at the time. There was a pet store near her house, and we walked in one day to pick up some things her folks needed.
She and I had never really done anything kinky together, let alone talked about kinky things, but in the pet shop things took a different turn.
“This is a nice collar,” I said, pointing out a rather plain black webbing one, but which was nice and sleek in its design.
“What? For you?” she teased. I blushed.
“That’s not what I was thinking,” I protested.
“It would look good on you,” she said, encouraging me. I stood there, hesitating as she walked deeper into the store. On a whim, I got it, along with a matching leash.
As we left she looked at me sideways, “you got it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Interesting,” she said, “very interesting. I think we are going to have some fun later.” Of course, that got me kind of excited. I had no idea what she meant, or even what was going on, or what I was doing, or why I bought it in the first place. But I was uncommonly aroused by it, anticipating, wondering, curious, eager.
That night her parents were out and we were left with the puppy. We had to take him for a walk.
“But maybe I should take you both for a walk,” she surmised. The thought both excited and terrified me. She couldn’t be serious. Or was she?
“Let me see what you bought today.” I went and got the collar and leash and brought it to her where she was sitting in her room. She looked at it, held it in her hands, and then pointed to the floor in front of her feet. I knew instantly what she meant and I knelt there in front of her, suddenly very tense and excited.
“Hah,” she laughed, “it fits perfectly,” and indeed it was exactly the right size. It was a very strange feeling going on, and then when it was fastened on, it felt suddenly real, like we had just crossed a line that I hadn’t really understood, and that now I was collared…and it felt very present around my neck. She leaned back and observed her handiwork.
“It looks good,” she said, “I think I like seeing you like this. Do you like being on your knees? Hmm?” I nodded my head yes. “Good,” she said, and then she took the leash and attached it. And while I could say that being collared felt powerful strange and wonderful, there was nothing like what I felt when she leashed me.
She stood up and started walking, and I had no choice but to follow her. There is no resisting a leash. The neck has no leverage. You follow. You obey. She walked me out into the living room and as I crawled behind her my knees slipping on the slick wood floors, I felt just like the puppy that had still not quite found its feet as slipped around on the same floors. And the puppy wanted to play with me.
“Bark for me,” she said, laughing…and I did. “You can do better than that,” so I did. And the puppy jumped on me and bit me, and she had fun walking me around, making me keep up…and I don’t think that I had ever been more aroused than I was in that moment, physically yes, but something else, like I never wanted this feeling to dissipate.
After playing around a little bit more, she led me to the bedroom and ordered me naked. And then we had the wildest most physical sex we had ever had, but she never let go of the leash…it was like we were two wild animals.
After, she said, “that was fun,” and “I guess you like this,” as she fingered the collar. “Yes, very much,” I said.
Unfortunately, our relationship didn’t last for too much longer—I had graduated from college, and she had one more year, so at the end of the summer, it was over…but while it lasted, she and I discovered things about ourselves that speak to me to this day. Oh, and I still have the collar and leash.
Many years later a woman I dated confessed to me that her deepest fantasy would be to take me out to a fancy restaurant and have me collared and leashed the whole time. She liked to call me the “perfect accessory.” She was a real fashionista, and loved her glamourous clothes, bags, jewellery. More than anything else, though, she loved having her “man” be her “boy” in public—carrying her shopping, walking behind her while she looked fabulous. In many ways we were very well suited. She became the second person to collar and leash me, but I will tell that story another time.