The Collared Coed

“Feast or famine.” Sir says as we trek through the slush to His apartment building. He goes away on business a lot, and since He’s been home the last week or so, we’ve been taking advantage of the amount of time we can spend together before He leaves again. Sir and I have been spending a lot of time together lately. I’ve slept in His place four out of the last seven days. And I love it. (So does He. Heh.)

I just like sleeping all curled up with Him. I like the way He’s all warm and His smell and… I could go on and on. Makes the hour long commute to see Him, or the mad rush to get back to University in the mornings, not seem so bad. We haven’t been doing much hard playing, though.

Except last night we did a bit of breathplay. Breathplay is one of those things I never thought I would want to explore. It always seemed too dangerous and taboo. Sir and I play with it regularly.

I’m addicted to that momentary total loss of power. Breathing, something so natural you don’t think about it, suddenly having that control taken from you. So intimate, someone controlling the air you breathe. We played last night in the dark after lounging in bed chatting. He started fucking me and His hand crept up over my mouth. His hand was pressing down firmly on my mouth, but not covering my nose. We both like that edge, but He doesn’t want to put me in any real danger. I felt like my breath was restricted a little bit. Mmm. Him using me and pressing down on my mouth.

When He let up, I would get a headrush and pant for air, and coupled with Him fucking me hard… ooh. As things got more and more intense, He started using both hands, fingers pinching my nose shut and another hand over my mouth. He would tell me to breathe, then clamp down. In the dark, it was slightly more menacing to have both my mouth and nose shut. Incredibly arousing. He started telling me all the things He says when He’s using me hard, that this is where I belong, this is what I’m for…

I like the feeling of helplessness. My hands pressing against His chest as He’s pressing down on my mouth and nose, hands scrabbling for somewhere to push Him away. I like that feeling, and deep down I know I can use my safesignal if things were going really wrong. I started breathing hard behind His hand, which made me feel like the seal around my mouth was tightening. He can sense me well at this point, just like I can read Him, and He let up at just the right time. I was lightheaded and panting and wet and hot and so, so close.

“Are you going to come for Me? Hmm?” Driving into me. “Yes, Sir, please Sir, please may I come?” I panted.

“Yes.”

His hand covered my mouth again and I came. Hard. Eyes closed even though it was pure dark in the room, body wracked with spasms. Even Sir noticed. I was spent and still shaking a bit.

“Sssh. I’ve got you. Rest now.”

–

I’m a bit oblivious to things. Certain things, anyway. Sir and I had a little too much drinky drink Friday night, and He ended up leaving a hickey on my neck. It’s Tuesday and it’s still visible, and it’s right underneath where the collar rests. It’s late afternoon and I just realized I’ve been wearing polos that leave it plainly visible. Ha.

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Sir and I hadn’t seen each other in a few days, so it wasn’t any surprise that He stripped me within twenty minutes of being in His apartment last night. He stripped me when He felt my shirt and saw that I was wearing a bra. He doesn’t like my bras, thinks my breasts are “perfect” and fine without any enhancing bras. (Sorry, I’m a child of the Victoria’s Secret generation.)

However, I was surprised to find my hands cuffed to the chain at the foot of the bed later on that night. I figured Sir would be too tired to play. Mmm. It wasn’t a long scene like the one we had done the week or so ago, but it was *so* satisfying. You see, I’ve been on this sudden anal sex kick- really interested in it, masturbating about it, watching anal sex porn. Instead of feeling nervous when I felt Sir applying lube to my ass and slowly sliding in a plug, I was aroused. Except when He said it; “Don’t let it fall out, pet, or I will punish you.”

Of course, I tensed, which is the OPPOSITE of what I should have been doing! I was nervous! He applied nipple clamps and made me kneel on my hands and knees on the bed, preventing me from resting my torso on the mattress. I liked the fullness of the anal plug, but I was concentrating *so* hard on not letting it fall out. I was full and in pain from the clamps, and Sir still spanked me, used the slapper on my ass.

“You want to come, don’t you?” I heard some mysterious rustling in the toy bag.

“I’m afraid the plug will fall out, Sir.” I begged. I knew that if I had to move at all, it was falling out.

“It’s in just fine, pet. You’re allowed to come. Just don’t let it fall out.” And I felt His hands down near my pussy and He flipped it on. The magic wand. I shrieked.

(Yes, I am a magic wand convert. I’ve never orgasmed so quickly with anything else.)

I was doing what I do when I’m in a lot of pain, pulling down on the chains HARD. Two hands. Despite the fact I was rocketing towards an amazing orgasm. I didn’t dare want to move, I was afraid the plug would slip out.  It was incredibly, insanely intense. The plug, the wand, the clamps. I wasn’t gagged, so I must have sounded downright incoherent. Sir seemed to know exactly where to pivot the head of the wand to make me scream. “Don’t let it fall out!” Sir was barking at me. I was struggling so hard.

I orgasmed, shaking, crying out… and still as a stone. I did NOT move at all. I HATE having my feet caned. This shows just how much.  Even though I did end up having them caned for letting the clamps fall off my nipples when I was orally servicing Him. Oops.

It was just *so* nice to see Sir again. Our schedules have been so hectic and busy. He chained me to the bed last night before we went to sleep. Some of my hair got caught in the chain. Sir needs to get bigger chain. Sir has told me to go get myself a mini toy bag. In my haste to get to His apartment, I forgot a few things. Grr.

And today, I am just relaxing and content and happy. Woke up next to Sir all nice and warm. Mmm.

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Sir: I don’t know how I feel about my submissive learning how to use a firearm. Seems kind of dangerous.

Me: Haha.

Sir is off on business on Valentine’s Day. He’s my Valentine. Heh. In lieu of that, I had the crazy idea that A. and I go and get certified to shoot guns at a local shooting range. And spend Valentine’s Day shooting paper targets. Alas, we couldn’t find a place that had available seats in safety lectures for this week. So, instead, A. and I will be drowning our sorrows in food and watching movies in our pajamas and drinking champagne. (Sir: Are you going to make out with her? Cause that would be hot.)

Sir and I aren’t exchanging cards, but we don’t need dumb Hallmark cards to tell us what we already know.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

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Sunday night, after that hard scene, I was back in college girl world, eating sushi in my pajamas with a friend of mine, watching ‘Fight Club’. We were hanging out in her dorm room. I’d spent the day commuting back to my dorm room, cleaning up Sir’s apartment before I left. Too lazy to go out and get food, A. and I just had it delivered. Sushi for me, BBQ for her.

I was curled up around a pillow of hers when it hit me. The drop. It’d been so long since such an intense scene that I’d almost forgotten about how intensely the drop can hit you. That day after crash, after being hopped up on endorphins and adrenaline. That heavy, hazy, achy feeling.

What confuses me is that immediately after, I wasn’t experiencing any ‘down time’. After harsh scenes, sometimes I get so drained that I can’t sit up to take a drink of water. Sir has to literally cup his hand under my chin and pour the water into my open mouth. While it’s tender and sweet, it also shows how much a scene can take out of me. However, on Saturday night, I was pretty wide awake and more or less ‘fine’ after the play. I sat up and drank my own water.

(Save for some leg weakness when I got off the bed. I stood up for a second, then pulled a Bambi and nearly fell. Sir rushed back into the bedroom to prop me up as I walked into His living room. “I have to watch you next time! Make sure you’re okay enough to walk.”)

Now I’m sore and totally baffled by it. I wasn’t even in any stressful positions or anything. My arms weren’t strained, and my legs weren’t, either. But I felt sore and down. I almost started nodding off during the movie.

I don’t have many marks (that I can tell, anyway) developing today. Even sitting in one of my classes today, I felt blah and uninterested. I was taking detailed notes (one of Sir’s contract rules was that I’m to keep up on my studies) but I wasn’t engaged in the lecture at all. I’m tired just sitting here. Not to mention the fact that’s it’s below freezing out, and all I want to do is curl up under the sheets somewhere. What I really want to do, is curl up with Sir in His bed, and sleep the day away.

Instead, I’m sitting in my little dorm room all bundled up. Blah. I feel a little melancholy and achy right now. Doesn’t help that I’m PMSing, either.

Merrrr. Can’t I make this part go faster? Does it get easier over time? What happens after the heavier, longer scenes? Do I just go catatonic?

I’m shuffling around and completely letting myself go. Eating gummy bears in my pajamas, drinking hot chocolate instead of coffee, wearing comfy sweatpants to class instead of jeans, rumpled hair. Recovering, I guess. A bit of days after pain is worth the intensely right, satisfying, toe curling pleasure that I experienced with Sir. That feeling that everything is right with the world and that I’m experiencing it with someone I really care about.

Have to do a bit of homework. Then I can curl up in bed with a book.

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I officially live up to my namesake now! I am officially collared.

(Not to say my collar is ‘nothing’, but I wanted to be all, you know. Witty. Bloggers are usually witty, aren’t they?)

Sir and I signed a three month BDSM contract, and He locked my collar very late last Friday night. On my knees in His bedroom, naked in front of Him, I scratched out my signature on the neat, well written, two page contract. He came up right behind me and pressed Himself against me as He signed the contract right underneath my signature and slammed the pen down.

My collar is very pretty, very elegant and is extremely comfortable. After using me on Friday night, I curled right up against Him and fell asleep. Didn’t even fidget a bit. Mm. I love waking up in the morning next to Sir. All warm and comfortable and safe. I especially like when the two of us are still groggy and He’s guiding my hand to His cock to stroke him. Or when He’s absently touching my pussy and I slowly spread my legs for His hand, half-asleep.

Now I’m in a bit of a dilemma. I’m proud to be His, and I want to wear shirts that show off my collar. I’m all happy and giddy and proud. But I can’t really do that. My suitemates, my roommate in particular, would not be amused by this. So I feel like I have to stuff it under my collar, wear my college hoodie more.

However, sometimes I get that feeling I alluded to, that “I don’t give a fuck what you think” feeling, and I let it ‘pop’ out of my shirt. I’ve been doing it more and more. In class, on the train, on the street, sitting in a coffee shop. Peeling off my college sweatshirt and wearing a polo shirt underneath, the collar in plain sight. It’s different when I’m surrounded by strangers, by acquaintances. But when I’m with my roommates, or close friends, I feel more on guard.

Sir tells me I’m making a big deal out of nothing. That if I don’t draw attention to myself, no one will say anything. I’m trying to listen, but it’s just a fucking habit. To want to blend in. I’m getting better about it now.

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I get the same reaction when I walk into a tabletop game store (a la Games Workshop) that I do walking into a BDSM club by myself.

I know, it sounds odd. Let me elaborate.

I am a nerd. I play Dungeons and Dragons and I have a healthy interest in World of Warcraft, and other games of that type. (Sir reads comic books, so I don’t feel so bad.) I regularly go into Games Workshop, a store that sells all the supplies and books and paraphernalia needed to play these games. As soon as I walk in, there’s a subtle -gasp- moment as the two guys behind the counter look up. One makes a beeline for me and they start showing me everything they know. Once, I got into an amusing conversation with a shopboy, telling him everything I knew about one game, because he was skeptical that I actually played the game.

Then he dropped it: “You know, we have our open play hours on Saturday, you could totally come by and uh, you know, check it out.”

Ha. The last time I went to GW, I just bought a set of (pink) multi-sided dice.

Cut to last weekend, when Sir is preoccupied and cannot accompany me to a BDSM club we frequent. I ask for permission to go by myself, then hesitate, feeling strange going without Him. I just wanted to watch other scenes. Usually when Sir and I go, and He leads me around by my leash, I don’t get the chance to watch as many scenes as I’d like. My hand rests on my new, shiny collar as I talk to Him on my Blackberry.

“If you DON’T go, I’ll be angry, pet. Because I know, you would like to go. Go.” He says. I go.

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My head is nodding during the lecture part of my Intro to Media Criticism class. It’s not that the class is boring. It’s just that ANYTHING at 10am on a Friday is going to make me zone out.

My instructor is going on and on about theories of sight and perception and out of my boredom induced haze, I hear him say something about slaves and the Greeks and I perk up a bit.

“The Greeks used to believe that Masters could never be trusted. That because of their superiority, they had supreme, well, mastery, over their perception and interpretation. They had the power to lie. Slaves didn’t have that power, that because of their subordination, they were helpless and to believe whatever their Masters said. So they would torture the slaves into telling what they had seen, because a slave’s testimony could ONLY be true. They could only repeat what they had seen.”

Whether or not this is true, it’s still pretty interesting. Then again, my instructor is a bit ‘out there’, if you know what I mean.

Any instructor that’s going to force their students to watch LIFETIME movies in class definitely has a few screws missing.

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