collared bdsm submissive

A tale of two collars

In all my years of love and sex I have never found myself caught between the affections of two men until the Battle of The Doms began between Stew and James.

Stewart was my Owner (and technically is and always will be my registered Owner*) and James, at the time, was a Domly man I had strong feelings for which caused all manner of kerfuffle between Stew and me.

Our relationship was the first real foray into a D/s dynamic for both Stewart and me (my 5 minute stretch with Michael doesn’t count). We played it by ear (and cock and pussy) for the most part. My subness with Stewart was mainly based around sexual exploration and domestic sorting – making coffee, bringing food, making the bed, mending the jumper (all of which I absolutely flipping loved).

It was confusing for us both as we were not a perfect match in this department. I am a wholesale sub; within a relationship framework I am a sub all of the time. Within a relationship framework, Stewart is a Dom about 47-63% of the time. So, between us we had huge bliss when the D/s dart hit its bullseye, and a fair amount of angst when it didn’t.

When I met James I knew he was a born Dom. Just as I didn’t choose to be submissive, he didn’t choose his dominant tendency. It is him, and irrefutable, as much as his eye colour or height is.

It was, and is still, fascinating to me to compare and contrast the Dom aspects of these two wonderful men.

The first time I physically met James (for a fuckmeet arranged via a swinging website) was at the end of October. I knew before meeting him that he was a bit Domly but it wasn’t until I was with him that this really hit home. His firm and aggressive, but kind and sweet dominance was an eye opener.

About a week after this meeting, Stew sent me an amazing present – a box from Bondara full of bondage magic! In the box: a roll of bondage tape, rope, a massive dildo, pretty jewelled nipple clips… and the pièce de résistance: a big, marvellous, suedey, velvety (‘feely’ was Stew’s word) collar, one with a huge metal loop.

Ohhhhhhh. My first collar!

I must have seen him within days of receiving this as I recall sitting in Stew’s posh country garden drinking coffee, wearing nothing but his dressing gown and this collar and feeling very smug at how my life must be about 1000% better at that moment than anyone else’s in a 100 mile radius.

Then James told me he wanted to buy me a collar as well. Wowee, I thought. How lucky am I?

When I arrived at James’s for our second ‘date’, the first thing he did was make a ceremony out of collaring me. He did this with his usual care and attention and it was a very moving experience.

There was just one issue.

It was the same collar that Stew had bought me.

bdsm collared submissive

I wore Stew’s collar only on a handful of occasions. It was not part of our ritual. I wore it for pictures and I wore it when we were doing anything particularly bondage-y. It was symbolic of my submission but not of our relationship.

Of course, I only wore James’s collar the once before we were separated.

In my ideal fantasy world, I would have had a beautiful polyamorous existence with James and Stew. Each lives an hour from me, but in different directions. I imagined them sharing me, talking about me, deciding what was best for me. Stew as Owner and James as Dom, with me between them as the Über Kitten. Even writing it now that everything is said and done makes my heart sing a bit.

James tried to talk Stew into this plan but the concept didn’t translate well and the rest is history.

Sigh. If only.

When I collected my things from Stew’s last week, my beloved collar came back to me at the bottom of a carrier bag. This is very telling.

The next day, I walked into James’s house for the first time in two months.

He lead me into the living room and said, ‘on your knees.’ I obeyed (while trying not to pass out from the extreme rush of sheer love and lust this command set off.)

James then collared me and claimed me; the heavy weight of the collar felt like gentle hands around my throat.

I had brought a lead for the collar. He clipped it on and lead me upstairs and to bed.

Last night I finally told James about the collar conundrum. His immediate response was, ‘we’ll have to get rid of it.’ I pointed out how symbolic this particular collar is – it is a metaphor for a dozen things that have happened between me and him and him and Stew and me and Stew over the past three months.

He relented and said we could keep it but he would buy me a new collar.

Aren’t I a lucky girl?


*On the Slave Registry, Stew is, and will forevermore be listed as the owner of Slave 328-466-769. 

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