Three years ago. January 25, 2015.
It was gold-plated, gleaming. Three-quarter-inch wide. A clasp at the back pulled the metal snug around my neck. It made me feel held. There was an O-ring in front, thick and heavy, telltale, begging to be attached to something. A leash or a wall or — a dominant man.
In fact, it was a simple, elegant, beautiful piece of jewelry— and clearly a statement of what I was.
Or what I was becoming. This was not my official collaring, the ritual that would happen when he later bought me and made me his property. This was, as he put it, the symbol of what was inside me, what was still developing, what I was destined to become. He called it my chrysalis collar.
We both knew the butterfly forming was a girl becoming a slave.
At this time I was still running a real estate agency, a small company I had founded. It had become profitable, and by the luck of the cycle, business was booming. I was a reasonably successful business woman at the age of thirty. Even so, I was tired of it all. Bored. I wanted more time to write, my heart passion since I was a little girl. I was also awakening to my submissive desires, starting to understand the reality of my alternative sexuality.
And he had entered my life, giving context and shape and possibility to the extreme submissive I was. After nearly a year of exploring with him my sexuality and D/s, we had come to this point.
He said this wasn’t about him, or even about us. “It’s about you, Shae. Slavery is a state of mind. You know what you are becoming. This collar is an outward symbol of what’s inside.”
I remember the metal as heavy around my neck. Not uncomfortably so, but it was a weight, for sure. As he put it on me, I felt both excited and scared. The submissive feeling of it aroused me. But I was apprehensive of the growing weight of this moment in my own history.
He said he wanted me to wear the collar in public.
I did so. The very next day to work.
Wearing a slave collar in public brought on a fever of emotions: embarrassment, pride, humilliation, arousal, defiance, submissiveness, joy, shame. (I still feel that way today.)
That morning, my assistant and colleague, Carol, looked at me funny with a sly grin on her face. She didn’t know everything about my journey but did have some knowledge of my submissive explorations.
“Anything I should know about?” she asked.
“Shut up,” I said, now blushing.
Truth was, the chrysalis collar was a statement of what I had struggled for so long to understand. Now it was becoming clear.
To me and everyone else.