Chain + Lock = Collar

The collar I wear does not belong to me. It belongs to Mistress. I’ve received comments on how pretty it is but I feel weird saying “thank you” seeing as I did not pick it out. It took me about a week to become accustomed to wearing it 24/7. I cannot remove it even if I wanted to do, a pink lock ensures that. I’m a simple girl. I don’t wear jewelry or make-up if I can help it. So this is very new to me. Nerves hit my breathing abilities hard my first day at work with it on. What would people say? Was I about to invest in a wealth of scarves? I felt like I was opening myself to nonconsensual humiliation.

I was scared.

I found myself having crazy daydreams in which a large, industrial-sized magnet dragged me away by the neck. Or other dreams in which for medical reasons, I would need to have it removed only to discover that the key had been lost or Mistress was nowhere to be found to unlock it. Go ahead, laugh. I’ve never worn something like this before. The physicality of getting used to this pales in comparison to the emotional aspects. I am proud to wear Mistress’ collar, I proud to belong to her (*whispers* last weekend, she called me her property and I nearly squealed with joy). This collar means higher standards, progression and commitment. I don’t take it lightly and I will do my best not to let her down. But there is an additional factor. This collar does not become invisible when I am at work, with my family or in other vanilla situations. In fact, I feel like it (the collar) screams “Hey look at me!” But I soon realized that last part might just be in my head.

Despite my slow acclimation to this, nothing could have prepared me for the multitude of stares I received in the span of a few minutes. After a busy weekend of events in the community, I wanted to treat Mistress to a massage. We went to a charming place run by older women. The pink lock holding the purple chain together around my neck drew unwanted looks. Mistress got settled as I removed my cardigan. We were side-by-side. She wears the pink key on a necklace around her neck. I’m sure it didn’t take long for those staring to connect the dots. They weren’t sideway looks or even glances. I felt their eyes burning into me even when I closed my eyes to try relaxing. The woman standing over me worked on my neck and fumbled to get around the collar. It was awkward. I had been keeping the lock from public view (except in kink-friendly environments) and now I felt so exposed. That hour massage was the longest ever. If I wasn’t thinking about the looks on their faces, I was thinking about their whispers to each other in a foreign language. I would have preferred direct questions. I felt humiliated and not in a good way. It dawned on me that I wouldn’t be able to avoid moments like this in the future. Maybe they wouldn’t be as drastic as the melodramatic daydreams I described. But it definitely confirmed that I won’t always get away with just a glance at the shiny piece of metal around my neck.