Dog Collar, please

Fuck me. I’d wear a dog collar, a cat collar…a piece of god damned tinsel around my neck, if it were from Him. This morning, I sent some shots of my bra and panties selection for the day. He said I was off to a good start.

I had bought my pup a new dog collar…it happened to fit beautifully around my neck. The impulse to snap a pic and send it to Him took over. Was I soliciting a collar from Him? Of fucking course I was. I can’t stand it how much I crave His collar. His branding around my neck; a symbol of His control of me. As if His hand were tightly wrapped around my throat. Always there. Always reminding me that He could take me whenever He chooses for whatever He requires.

I can’t tell you how wet that makes my pussy; how much that tortures me. I said that if the collar didn’t fit my pup and left the rest to His sharp mind. There was silence. I checked back over and over and just more silence.

My nerves took over and I quickly wrote, “just kidding, Sir”.

And then He wrote, “fitting to me”.

My heart quickening and aching, “Yes, I always hope so, Sir”.

And again, there was silence. I knew He knew. There’s not much He doesn’t already sense about me. How could He show me a photo of a beautiful leather dog collar with Celtic jewelry on it and not know how deeply my heart fell for it and Him. I’m His already. I always have been. Not since we met…since eternity.

When He wrote, “I know”, I wept. Because I have felt this for so long. I don’t ask. Ever. Maybe because it wasn’t forced but, instead, in the moment. It was real and from my heart of hearts. Maybe that’s why he allowed me ‘I know’. That’s how it felt to me. And that gave me a hope that filled that deep well in me that most of the time feels like despair and failure.


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