Ah, collars. I bought my first collar a while after we’d been experimenting with our more kinky side. We’d tried a few restraints, floggers, and paddles, even a tailed plug before the idea of a “real” collar came up. The one I bought was actually more like a choker: plain black leather, with a snap closure, simple and unadorned. I’ve had many since, most made of leather, and some glorious colors (particular favorites are a red set and a purple set that go well with matching cuffs and leash) mixed among the black. I even have some that label me as “bitch” or “slut.”
There’s something about wearing a collar that can really change my mindset. The smell of the leather arouses me. The weight of the collar on my neck, with its slightly constrictive grip, causes me to hold my head higher. The look in my partner’s eyes when he sees me in one gives me a chill. And when a leash is attached, or his finger pulls me closer and controls my head by the D-ring, I know it’s time to behave accordingly.
I’ve only worn an actual collar in public once. I wore a spiked one to a concert, and it didn’t really garner any looks, as I mostly looked like a total Kiss groupie. I wear a symbolic collar almost every day, though. My partner enjoys buying me jewelry, particularly necklaces with pendants on them, and while it’s not a true collar, when he puts it on me it says I’m taken, I’m owned, and I’m loved.
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