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A New Collar for a New Chapter

August 8, 2014 by Heather Cole

Collar 08_08_2014

 

Sir said that he had been eyeing this collar for awhile, but it was a comment by Dumb Domme that spurred him to finally purchase it. I was surprised and delighted. Material gifts from Daddy were rare and extremely special. He made my toes curl with joy when I shook it free from its velvet bag. The collar was heavy and warmed to the same temperature as my skin after he locked it around my neck. It needed a special key to turn the tiny pin to open and close the circle, and as it fell into place, I felt the stainless steel as if it was his hand around my neck. I felt owned. Possessed. It felt like some kind of magic.

Sir is leaving in two weeks–fifteen days to be precise. I have the day marked on my calendar in red. Dramatic, I know, but in some ways that red represents my heart’s blood. Ever since he accepted the contract overseas, we have lived in an odd sort of limbo. We’re posed on the precipice of goodbye perpetually, wanting to begin the next chapter and resisting it at the same time. It’s a horrible place to be, and yet there are gifts here too. Not only the shiny metal ones.

The other night I burst into tears thinking about a possible delay in our tentative plans for an October visit. These cloud bursts of saline are not uncommon. I can hear a song, or read a passage in my favorite book, and the pain of sir’s departure will sweep over me like a rolling wave. I cope by crying until it fades, leaving me empty and somehow relieved. After my tears dried, I had an insight. If I loved sir any less, then I wouldn’t feel the pinprick of pain at the slightest reminder of our chapter ending. Honestly, I don’t ever want to reach a point where I don’t mourn our separation. Yes, I may be resigned, but I don’t ever want to feel neutral. Neutral would be the death of us, the final ending of our dynamic. So I do what all masochists do, I embrace the pain and surrender to it. When I think about sir leaving, I dive into the deep sadness and then come back up for air and continue living. The contrasts can steal my breath, moving in between the darkness and light, but I always manage to regain my equilibrium to move forward to the new chapter.

 


4 Comments »

  1. deniwom says:

    This moved me. It moved me so much that I will meld my newest story/brainstorm to encapsulate a few of of the emotions I felt as I read your piece. The story name (unless I decide to change it) will be ‘The Twins’.

  2. Angel says:

    Nicely written. It’s my belief that women don’t start wars because we know how to release pressure by crying. A man can only do that if he, or a dog, dies.

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