The Collar – Part 1: The Agreement

The collar lay in a small box lined with grey velvet, a slim band of soft black leather with a single silver ring and a clasp as small as a thumbnail. Seraphina held it in both hands and looked at the man in front of her.

Gregory knelt on the rug in the candlelit living room, his hands loose on his thighs. He was forty-four, a university lecturer, a gentle, careful man who had been seeing her for six years and living with her for two. She was forty-eight, a judge, a woman who lived her professional life by rules and her private life, until recently, by none. The year before, over a long dinner, he had told her he was ready to say something he had been afraid of for decades.

He wanted to be hers, in a way that was agreed and visible, and written down.

It had taken them twelve months to get here. Twelve months of conversations at the kitchen table, of lists and drafts and revisions. A written contract, three pages long, signed by both of them, listing what each would give and what each would never ask. It was renewable every six months. It could be ended by either of them, without penalty, at any time, in a single sentence. It was framed on the wall of their bedroom.

"Before I do this," said Seraphina, "I would like to hear you say it."

"I want to wear your collar," said Gregory, steadily. "Not because I have to. Because I choose to. And I want to be able to take it off if I ever need to."

"And you can."

"I know."

"The clasp is not locked. It will never be locked. It opens with a thumb."

"I know." His eyes were bright. "That's why I can do it."

She stepped round behind him and lifted the collar. It was light in her hands, very light, and it smelled of leather and her own skin. She slipped it round his neck and, with one slow click, closed the clasp.

"Is that comfortable?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Can you breathe?"

"Easily."

"Good." She came back round in front of him and crouched so that their faces were level. In the candlelight, with the collar on, he looked suddenly very young and very certain. "Gregory. I accept this. I promise to keep it safe. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take the rules seriously, every day."

"And I promise to tell you the truth," said Gregory. "Even when it is difficult. Especially then."

"Always."

"Always."

She put her palm against the side of his face, and held it there, and for a long moment the whole room was silent but for the wick of a candle.

"Are you content?" she asked, very quietly.

"Content, Mistress."

"So am I," said Seraphina. "More than I knew I could be."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Renewed.