The Collar – Part 2: Renewed

They did not do anything dramatic. That was what he would remember. They sat on the rug together in the candlelight and drank tea, the Mistress and her collared lecturer, and talked about the week ahead. She told him what she expected of him on Thursday. He told her about a seminar he was anxious about. She listened, one hand resting on the ring at his throat, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Every so often she asked, "How is it?" and he said, "Right," or "Warm," or "Good," and once, "A little strange, in a very good way."

"Do you want it off?"

"No. Not yet."

"You may take it off whenever you like."

"I know." He turned his head and kissed her palm. "That is the whole of it, isn't it? That I can, and I don't."

"Yes," said Seraphina. "That is the whole of it."

Around midnight she led him to the bedroom, where the contract hung in its frame, and read the first clause aloud in her judge's voice. He listened with his head bowed. When she finished, she lifted his chin with a finger and looked at him.

"Renewed," she said. "For six months."

It was the word they had chosen, for both of them. And with that the ceremony was over, and she was only herself, and she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him down beside her.

"How are you?"

"Home," said Gregory, softly. He had not expected the word. It had simply arrived.

"Yes," said Seraphina, and her voice cracked. "I think so too."

What followed was tender and unhurried and entirely theirs, and the candlelight burned down, and the collar glinted at the edge of the pillow where he had finally taken it off, with his own thumb, because he wanted to feel her hands instead.

In the morning, he found it beside the toast.

"Do you want it on?" she asked, buttering a slice.

"For the seminar," said Gregory, smiling. "Under the shirt. Just to know it's there."

"Of course," said Seraphina, and fastened it, gently, before he left.

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