I absolutely LOVE wearing my collar. Whenever Milord puts it on me, the world goes away. All of the stress, worry, responsibilities. Everything. I have one responsibility. Just one. To please him. I have one decision to make. Just one. Yes or No. The moment I feel the kiss of leather on my neck, the snap of the lock securing it in place, I am free. If Milord chooses to attach the chains, I have one choice. Yes or No. He will respect this choice. If Milord chooses to use my mouth. I choose Yes or No (okay, I’ve NEVER chosen No.) It is Milord who decides if I wear clothes or not, if he will make love to me or fuck me, which hole or holes he will enjoy, if I massage him or he massages me, if I am to be pampered or punished. I am free to obey or respectfully decline. I am free of all other decisions. But more, the collar is a constant reminder of Milord’s love, respect, and protection. It is a symbol of my trust in him and his in me. It is a visual and physical reminder that he has earned my love and trust to the extent that I, literally, offer him my throat, my body, my mind, and my heart.
Sadly, because of LIFE, I am usually only collared on weekends. This left me sad and anxious during the work week. Then, Milord gave me a bracelet. A beautiful silver and gold (so it goes with anything!) intertwining (as our lives do) bracelet. This I can wear any and everywhere. Which is good, because it is locked onto my wrist. Yes, I carry a key to it – for emergencies – but it is Milord’s key that can only truly unlock it from my wrist. Now, even if I’m negotiating a multi-million dollar deal, I can look down and be reminded that, at the end of the day, I belong to a man who values me in his life enough to take on the responsibility of a 24/7 submissive woman. At the end of the day, I will go home to strong arms and a stronger heart. At the end of the day, I am his.