At the same time, I know part of protecting her is protecting her from herself. She thinks she wants this, but she’s being impetuous. She can’t know yet. She hasn’t seen me in action, so to speak.
When she arrives at my door, I take her to her room immediately. Deep red lingerie is laid out on the bed, and I instruct her to put it on and wait for me. When I return, I take her hand and lead her over to the dresser. I take the small, blue box and place it in her hands.
“Open it.”
Yvette carefully removes the white ribbon from the box and grips it between her fingers as she lifts the lid. She opens her mouth and gasps.
“It’s beautiful, sir.”
“Do you still want to wear it?” There’s a small part of me that wants her to say no because of my own uncertainty.
“Yes, sir,” she says with confidence. “Please.”
“Kneel,” I command.
Yvette drops to the floor and holds the small box across her knees. I reach behind me and take the soft hairbrush laid out on the vanity and begin to brush her hair away from her face.
I don’t know what it is about hair brushing, but it’s something I’ve always enjoyed doing with my subs. I don’t just brush through it a couple of times and call it done, either. I spend a lot of time, dragging the brush through her hair until it’s shining against my hands. Every woman I’ve been with has practically come from the attention, and it seems to relax even the most nervous sub.
Yvette is no different. After only a couple of minutes, she closes her eyes and leans back against the motion of the brush. Her hair is nearly black from a distance, but up close I can see shining strands of lighter brown and gold weaved through her locks.
When I’m d
one, I consider braiding her hair down her back but decide I like it best hanging free. I deposit the brush back on the vanity and instruct Yvette to hold her hair up off her neck as I take the chain from the box.
I’ve attended the occasional collaring ceremony, and I know what I’m doing wouldn’t be considered proper by many in the community. I’m quite sure Holly wouldn’t approve of the action at all because it is far too soon, but I feel how right it is. I feel how much she needs this, even before we truly begin.
For her, it is not a symbol of her submission to me but my willingness to accept her as my submissive. It’s not a statement of love but the beginning of a bond of trust. She needs to know that I will keep her safe, and I need to show her I can live up to the trust she offers me.
Reaching out with one finger, I stroke the side of her neck where the collar will lie against her skin. Her skin is warm, and I realize the metal collar will be cold when I place it on her. I take my hand back and rub the chain between my palms, warming it with friction as I speak.
“This collar is a representation of my promise to you,” I say. “As long as you wear it, I will protect you and guide you. I will keep you safe—always. I will never punish you without reason and your clear understanding of that reason. It is also a symbol of the trust you put in me to fulfill my role as your Dominant and Master.”
As much as I want to appear self-assured, I really have no idea if I’m doing this correctly or even if there is a correct approach at all. Maybe there is, and I’m screwing it up, but I don’t think I am. I mean what I tell her—I will protect her as long as she is in my service.
I need to.
“What does this collar mean to you, Yvette?”
Her fingers clench on her thighs for a moment before she answers.
“Wearing your collar is a symbol of my submission to you,” she starts. “In exchange for your protection, I offer you my service in any way I am capable of performing. I will serve you, honor you, and place my trust in your guidance.”
“Are you ready?” I ask softly.
“Yes, sir.”
I wrap the warmed metal around her throat and clasp it at the back of her neck. Yvette reaches up and fingers the diamond heart hanging at the base of her throat, and I see her smile.
“Stand up and turn around,” I instruct. She stands quickly, but her fingers remain pressed against the heart. “Unbutton my shirt.”
She reaches forward with both hands and releases the top few buttons before I stop her.
“Do you see the chain there? Take it out.”
Yvette obeys, and her fingers trace the edge of the key at the end of the chain.
“This key will only leave my neck under two circumstances,” I say. “Either I remove it myself and release you from my service, or you ask me for it, and I give it to you, allowing you to release yourself. Do you understand?”