When Alice returns to her bed from the humid atmosphere of the nearby shower, she finds him laying on her bed casually. He is dressed in black silk boxers only, his strong arms meeting behind his head with clasped fingers. When he notices Alice standing there, hair in a towel and wearing a simple set of pink, cotton bra and panties, her host’s face takes on a stern look. He sits up quickly, planting his bare feet into the thick black carpeting and rests his elbows on his knees. Hunkered over and grim, he scrutinizes her body from head to foot and back up again. Their eyes meet. His gray eyes bore into her with a cold gaze. She feels him judging her. After another moment he rises up to his full height and purposefully walks towards Alice. She can feel her skin goosebump and the hairs on her neck rise when she sees what he is carrying.
It is black and heavy looking. Leather overlapping leather forming a circle and pierced with three silvery nickel rings the size of silver dollars. It looked like something authorities might require to be worn on pit bulls. It is Alice’s collar.
He stands in front of her and motions for the removal of the towel in her hair. Wide-eyed, Alice pulls it away so that her moist heavy hair falls haphazardly about her shoulders and upper back. He slowly reaches up to her face, as a man might a cowering dog, and brushed a strand from her cheek.
“It is time.” He says. Alice is visibly shaking now. Fear and anticipation war inside her, she kneels at his feet and rests her upturned palms to present herself as she has been instructed earlier. Her eyes look down at her naked legs and slim waist. She swallows hard. She swallows again.
“Look at what I am holding.” He waits for her to obey. “You know what this is Little Girl?” The man intones standing over her. She looks at his legs and then focuses on the slave device held above her eyes after its leathery smell strikes her nostrils. She blinks and nods.
“This collar is a symbol of your acceptance of my will as your own. It is also a very real tool that I will use to master you in any way I choose.” If he is gauging her face he will be disappointed because Alice is as stiff as stone. He continues. “By accepting this collar and allowing me to harness you with it, you are choosing to relinquish your power to me, your Master, until it is removed again. Accepting this will be the last choice you make until it is removed.” With that his voice takes on an ominous tone. “Do you, Alice, accept this collar of servitude, and with it, accept my mastery over you?”
Alice tries to speak but her throat refuses. It is clenched, holding a ball of emotion inside it, and she has to swallow again to make it work. She can feel her eyes welling up with a heavy compound emotion - something that is a merging of gratitude and uncertainty and half a dozen less recognizable feelings. This is like the Christmas morning when, as a child, she has been particularly bad on Christmas Eve and isn’t at all sure if Santa has left anything for her that year.
“Speak.” His words break her from the reverie and her mind focuses again.
“I - I do. I mean…yes, please.” She stammers out. Her eyes flicker up to look at her new master despite his earlier warning to remain passive and submissive. He is smiling. He bends down over her, his silk-covered penis dangling mere inches from her left cheek as she lifts her moist hair away from the collar and his deft hands buckle it on. She hears the thing make little metallic noises as leather slips through leather. She feels the weight of it settle over her. Not loose, but not tight. My collar, she thinks, and pale delicate fingers unconsciously rise to feel it. To feel herself collared. A slave to a Master.
* * *
To be continued…