From Disappointment To Pride...
Previous - this entry written on November 28, 2001 at 1:06 am - Next


To wear a collar.

To have a simple piece of leather, or of velvet, so much as a short length of chain, or even hemp rope, tied around one's neck. Something to mark them, to show the world that they are a slave.

A tiny bit of almost any material. Insignificant in the big picture of things.

The entire world to a slave.

To many people, a collar is simply a mark of fashion, even of defiance. To the lowest of stations, defiance is the furthest possible thing from the true meaning. Bliss through protection. Protection through utter submission.

A slave who wears the collar of his Owner is granted safeties, protection.

An uncollared servant...could be broken on a simple whim.

This boy is such a one, existing with a throat naked, the rest of him covered, precisely the reverse of the natural order of things.

For the crimes of spending too much time far away from his Mistress, where She cannot so much as feel his trembling flesh beneath Her firm, punishing hand, and of breaking the makeshift collar he was left to wear in the backwater town in which he is trapped, so far away from Her, he has been left without the protection provided by the mark.

For his utter devotion to his Mistress, this boy hopes She will deign to allow him to be collared once more.

Deserve? Never. A slave deserves nothing, is granted nothing, save by the will of his Owner. Nor would this one be foolish enough to think that he deserves anything more. The training he has received at the firm hand of his Mistress has beaten such notions out of him long ago.

An uncollared slave. A slave indeed, collar or not, because he could be nothing else.

His submission is far too deeply ingrained into him, his need to serve, his desperation to please. For most people, Free People, life is a constant struggle to survive. They struggle at work to earn money. They struggle to properly handle that money, that they might buy food. They struggle to control what they eat, to preserve their image in society. Slavery simplifies everything. A slave need not worry about what society thinks of them because they are already the lowest of the low. A slave owns nothing, so must manage no possessions. The primary concern for a slave, the only concern, is that he please the One who Owns him, who deigns to provide him with food, who chooses to put fuel into his body, for the sole purpose, of course, to provide him with energy that he might serve Her.

It provides, also, an endless source of bliss for one who has been trained to understand and accept it. Every properly executed command, every well-taken licking of a strap, each line of blood down his back, earns a slave the greatest of all things, the pride of his Mistress. There is no greater joy in life than to earn this, to blank out everything in existence except for one's slavery, to lie bathed in the pride a Mistress feels for a well-trained slave, one who serves not because he is forced to, not even because he has been trained to, but because he enjoys it. Because he wants to. Because even were the bonds broken, the physical and psychological holds his Mistress has on him taken away, he would stay and continue to serve as faithfully as the day before.

This is the truest pleasure, the purest happiness, the perfect meaning to life. To find paradise in a Hell of punishments and tortures.

That is what this boy wants to have back, more than his dearest other wishes.

A simple article, insignificant to the big picture. He doesn't ask for much, deserves nothing. He simply begs to be allowed back into his world.

A tiny strip of leather.

---

This is the first and second portion of one section of my boy's Trial... his chance to earn back his collar. I asked him to beg to be collared, and to explain writing why he is a slave, what it means to him.

This is the finished product, above.

As you know if you read the last entry, he nearly failed... due to forgetting a simple rule.

Nearly.

So close.

Now, though... now he has my pride, my respect even, his words better than I had expected and certainly as good as I had hoped. He writes so beautifully... it is from the heart, these words of his. Pure, clean, honest... he means what he says, and that alone makes those words priceless.

But even beyond the honesty, there is emotion. Feeling, centering around him and around myself, around the bond between us... wonderful.

Now, it is OK.

I can only hope he passes the rest of his tests with such grace and skill.

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