Author: Old Softy Title: The Collar Around the Heart Summary: James is sixteen today, and his birthday present is pretty unusual. But the future is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Keywords: mf ScFi rom 1st slave bd oral anal Part: Chapter 2 of 14 Chapter 1 is at /files/Authors/Old-Softy/The_Collar_around_the_Heart/The_Collar_1.txt DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction contains sexual situations not suitable for children. It may not be reproduced in any way where readers are charged for it. Copyright reserved Old Softy 2007 ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2 - Tuesday Afternoon Penelope somehow combined the body of a young Amazon, the looks of a vid-star and the presence of my Mother. It was a terrifying combination. Add to that Girl's Head of School, President of this and Ladies Captain of the other, and you will see why she was the terror and envy of every girl in the school. "Ah, Pilsbury; no Mr. Pilsbury now, isn't it! How are you?" she enquired, squeezing both charm and disdain into those few words. She was looking immaculate, indeed even more impressive than usual. Seeing her standing to "welcome" me made me realise that the last time we had met, perhaps three months ago, the corset had been a little strained and the breasts too obviously pushed up; the whole effect a bit contrived. Now, it all fitted. It was a different dress, of course, mostly of blue and cream silk with lots of swoops and frills, but on her it did not look nearly as silly as it might have. Somehow this one was cut as if it had grown on her. The wasp-like waist was well, now she simply had a wasp-like waist. And breasts. It was quite extraordinary how the cleavage and shape of those creamy, swelling globes of flesh were just her. Shit. Too late I looked up, to see a brief glimmer of satisfaction at my indiscretion pass over her face. "You know Madeline and Charlotte, of course." She indicated them blithely, as we sat ourselves down, and I nodded frostily. Oh yes, I knew them alright. Those two snotty bitches had snubbed me twice a day in the school corridors for the last five years, and our last conversation, only two weeks ago, had hardly endeared them to me. That would be the one where Charlotte had sat down next to me at lunch in School, and "made friends". As in all schools these days, the common rooms are segregated like the lessons, and even in Etiquette or Dancing there is hardly any opportunity to chat. It is only in the dining hall that we can really mix with the girls. Even I knew that for a girl to come over and ask to join me at the lunch table was a declaration of social intent, and when Charlotte started chatting to me like an old friend, I was genuinely flattered. She was really good at it too. She must have read up about motorbikes, because she actually knew something about them, and she was really interested in my hoped-for new machine. "And why is it better than the 710RS?" she had asked, gazing into my eyes. "Bigger bore," I responded, showing off my intimate knowledge of such things. "Longer stroke and an extra..." "A big bore is good then?" she interrupted. "Oh, yes, and combined with..." "Being a really really BIG BORE," she insisted, with a strange expression on her face. "Yes, I explained about the cylinder volume. Now..." "And the BIGGER the BORE the better!" she crowed, looking around. I was completely bewildered by now. "I am sorry girls. I can't keep this up any longer, it's too much!" she cried, exploding with laughter, and staggered out of her chair. I realised she was talking not to me but to someone at the table behind me. I had to look round to see Madeline and the others holding their hands over their mouths before I finally understood. They were clutching each other for support they were laughing so much. As I fled the room their renewed howls had filled my ears, and I knew the whole school had been laughing with them. And now here we were. The cats and the mouse were in the same cage, and I could see from the glint in their eyes what was going to come next. Oh, but nothing rude or vulgar, of course. Naturally form must be observed. And so it started the conversation that wriggled over the seconds and writhed through the minutes. Here were the silver teapot, the bone china, and the crustless cucumber sandwiches. And with them came the slights, the bragging, and the unsubtle snubs. For all I knew, lots of subtle ones too, that I was just to slow to notice. Through it all, they politely passed me tea and cake, and barely bothered to hide their giggles. It was a relief when they just cut me out and, presumably tired of the sport, moved on to topics which excluded me completely. While they talked of people I did not know, and what she had said to her about what she had said to her, I leant back in silence on the ornate embroidery of the sofa and drank my tea. I had thirty minutes left to endure. At least the cake was good. That old collarmaid Smithers, did not look up to much, but if it had baked this then it could replace our Geoffrey any day as far as I was concerned. There was nothing to do except watch the girls prattling on in front of me, and surreptitiously glance at my watch every now and then. It was funny to think that my Mother was determined that within a few months I would be engaged to well, if not one of these three (they were way out of my league), then some other girl in the same position. I had refused to even think about the possibility, but everyone else did it. In a year's time I could have one of these extraordinary creatures living in our house, going everywhere with me, and supposedly at my beck and call. How was that going to work? Why would any girl do what I told her to, even if we were called husband and wife? Short of wearing a collar, I thought, and even that did not seem to work too well. Then there was, well, sharing my bed. I stared at the three females in front of me, and tried to imagine having access to one of them; you know, the right to tell her to take her clothes off and lie down on a bed and open her legs so I could stick my thing right inside her. How was that going to happen? But there they were, sitting on that couch just a few feet from me. I stared at Penelope's lap. Right now, just under those layers of silk and satin, where her legs joined, was a triangle of blonde hair and a slit. She was going to offer that to some bloke only my age, and let him do what he wanted with it. And she was probably going to do it soon. After all, "second date" was the rule, which didn't give you much time. I mean, there was nothing stopping me asking a girl out. Well, other than getting her to say yes. But supposing there was a girl sufficiently desperate to take me on. You got one date to see if you get along, then on the second you were supposed to take her to bed and try it out, the whole way. By the third date you had to be announcing engagement plans, or apologies. How are you supposed to choose someone to spend the rest of your life with in that time-scale? It would take me that long to find out if we watched the same vids. I sighed. Perhaps they were right to get me a collar to practice on after all. I gazed forlornly at the three specimens in front of me. Bizarrely, most chaps would have envied me sitting here after all, they were the cream of the school totty. Just for arguments sake, if I had to, which would I have chosen? Madeline Carter was the obvious choice: the school glamour queen, and as even I had heard, really hot stuff. She had the figure. She was slim, but her breasts were sticking out in front of her like melons on display and at least some part of the goods must be real. She had the looks; an elegant face with beautiful makeup and long waving red hair. Slightly too much makeup, I decided, and I wondered if the hair colour was natural. And of course, she had the rep. She must be well over seventeen now, so she had been playing the field for over a year. Her name was whispered in the corridors as the ultimate lay, and I had no idea how many boys she had gone out with (although I bet there were some who were counting!) However, no-one ever made it past the third date. You had to be mad, bad or reckless to ask her out. Charlotte Gubbins, on the other hand, was in a way as much out of her class as I was short, almost chubby, with a simple open face that was too cheerful to be beautiful. Even worse, she spoke what she thought, although she could be friendly enough to be almost naive compared to the other two. That was why I had not spotted a rat that lunchtime of all the people to pull such a trick, Charlotte was last in my mind. Yes, she was definitely outclassed, except for the one thing. Money. Her family owned the Walk-Rite factory, that used more collars than the rest of the town put together, and made most of the shoes for the Kingdom. Her dowry was rumoured to be... well actually I couldn't remember, but I knew it was some ridiculous number. And then there was Penelope. I had not called her Penny since we were twelve, and they had stopped us playing together. In some way or another, I had known her all my life. Our mothers had met in the maternity ward of the local hospital, and we were born within a week of each other; hence the birthdays, and the joint Ball. There had apparently been a time when we were inseparable. The embarrassing photos of two naked cherubs making mud pies together were still around to prove it. There had been other times when she had been the one hanging around at my door, waiting for me to drag myself away from my Airfix model-making long enough to tell her to buzz off. But following the mysterious transformation from gangly girl to expensive young woman, there was no doubt where the whip hand was now. Not for the first time, I was wishing that my Mother would accept that her friendship was only between her and Mrs. Jones, and leave Penelope and me out of it. "James! My dear Mr. Pilsbury, do kindly give us the honour of your attention." Penelope's voice cut into my reverie. "Ah, yes, sorry just ahh... You were saying?" "We were asking Penelope to show us her coming-of-age present" said Charlotte. "Oh, yes, please do!" I chimed in, completely failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. Did I mention that her family lived in a house at least twice the size of ours, and that on any social occasion, she or her mother could be guaranteed to outdo any achievement of ours? She produced a black case, undid the locks and opened it towards me. There, on the purple velvet lay, glistening, a silver chain that supported one single clear tear shape, transparent except for the light that leapt and shone from each facet, colourless except for the rainbows that flared every time my eye moved. One big diamond, and from this family, there was no possibility that it was imitation. The two other girls gasped. "Ohh, Penny, it's gorgeous!" exclaimed Charlotte, her hands instinctively reaching out for it. Madeline just looked green with envy. "Very nice," I joined in, and for once, I meant it. For that girl, it was exactly what she needed. It was going to be a showstopper around her neck on Saturday night, and I was only wishing my parents had had as much insight with their choice. Penelope snapped the lid shut and Charlotte got her fingers out of the way just in time. "Sorry, I am not allowed to wear it until Saturday," Penelope said sweetly. "What about you, Mr. Pilsbury? Did I hear that you now have a collarmaid of your very own?" "Oh yes, do show us!" exclaimed Madeline. There was something about her voice that worried me. "Ring for the Smithers, Charlie, and get it brought up here so we can admire it." Despite my protestations, the Smithers was summoned, and duly despatched to return with my new collarmaid, presumably from the kitchen. My heart sank while we waited. I had hardly noticed the collar when we had left the house, but now, as it was lead in by the Smithers, Madeline's smirk made me forcefully aware of how it looked. For once, I understood just where my Mother was coming from. Yes, its hair was brushed, yes it had a clean face, but in the same room as these three lovelies with their immaculate war paint and the pearl encrusted constructions on their heads, it seemed very plain, even a little pathetic. "Pass me the controller, Pilsbury," instructed Madeline briskly. It is a measure of how uneasy I was that I seriously considered refusing. But Christ, it was only a collar, and it was bad enough being trapped in this room already without antagonising them. I handed it over. "Turn around," she snapped and I winced in sympathy as she jabbed at one of the buttons without waiting for the thing to respond. I saw its knuckles go white as it hastened to obey. "How quaint, I was not aware the circle of fashion had turned so quickly," scoffed Madeline, staring at the collar's dress. "It can't have been born when that style was in vogue." "Although with tents, perhaps style is not so important?" murmured Penelope, shaking her head. "Pineapples!" tittered Charlotte. I stared at the dress, which until then had seemed fine, indeed too nice for a collar. Now it was suddenly out of proportion (my Mother had shortened it to above the knee, as befitted a collar), and too big, and yes, the pattern did have an unfortunate resemblance to pineapples. "Well, it's just something temporary, you know, until I can go shopping tomorrow," I mumbled, and then mentally kicked myself. Any reply at all was always going to be a mistake. "James shopping for a collarmaids clothes! This we have to see!" cried Penelope, to general mirth. "When are you going? We promise not to laugh!" "Go for one size bigger, James, then you will both fit in there." "Oh, I am sure he fits in there all too well. Tried it out yet, Pilsbury?" Surely Madeline could not mean what she seemed to mean. I sat open-mouthed and silent, which was perhaps just as well. "Perhaps it would look better out of the tent," sneered Madeline. "You take it off." The collar looked bewildered, but jerked as she stabbed a button again. "Undress now. Strip!" she ordered again. Scandalised, I could not believe what was happening, but I knew better than to step in and try to protect it. Bright red, but unresisting, the collargirl slowly undid some fastenings and clumsily pulled the dress over its head, to stand there uncertainly, one arm across its chest. Shit, it wasn't wearing a corset or even a brassiere. No wonder it had failed to fill the front of that thing. "James, how could you let it go out in just those pathetic little panties?" giggled Charlotte in mock reproach, waving at the sad grey cotton briefs hugging its hips. "Get rid of those too" snapped Madeline, and I held my breath as the collargirl clutched its breasts and managed to slide the knickers down its legs with one hand. I still managed to notice that the panties were outside the suspenders and stockings. Of course, so that's how it worked. "Oh, dear, we are being so mean to it. Look, it's all shy!" laughed Penelope as the collar straightened up, now with its other hand over its pubes. "Nice suspenders. Almost tasteful do we have a little thing for stockings, then James?" came with more giggling from Charlotte. "So, this is it Pilsbury. A bit of clich, don't you think; a sweet little collarslut for the boy to practice on?" Madeline's smirk as she addressed the remark to me said it all. This was not about humiliating the collar. This was about humiliating me. Well blow that. "What do I care? It doesn't do anything for me," I shrugged and waved at it airily. "This is not my idea it is all my parents. I am going to return it tomorrow for a refund, anyway." "Oh, so you don't think anything of this thing?" Madeline was glaring now. "You! Present yourself." She could not mean... "You know the pose. Do it NOW!" and she emphasised her command with a couple of seconds on one of the middle buttons. The collargirl gasped and rocked unsteadily on its high heels, then started to turn around until it was facing away from us. In slow motion, in horror, I watched it move its feet wide apart and bend over to grasp its ankles. I couldn't look. I watched instead the girl's faces. Penelope, rising to her feet, was oddly fascinated, almost hungry in her stare. Charlotte was wincing; I heard her mutter, "God, is that what it looks like?" And Madeline gazed in triumph not at the collar but at me. "There you are, Pilsbury. Go on, take a good look. Haven't seen one like that before have you?" Against my better judgment, but unable to resist, I turned my eyes to the target. Somehow the contrast of the white suspenders and stockings against the smooth golden skin made it even more naked than the view I had had back in my room, from what seemed an age ago. The tight round buttocks were displayed lewdly by its pose and its legs on those heels seemed so, so long. Its thigh and calve muscles were stretched taut to hold that position, showing that, smooth as they were, there was hardly trace of fat on them. Between its bottom cheeks, the tight little pucker of an anus almost winked at me. And where its legs joined its body, larger than a pair of fingers, two soft plump lips stared at me. The word succulent leapt to my mind, and, for the first time in my life, I could see myself doing this thing. Yes, yes, I had known for years how it was supposed to happen in theory. But now, I could actually imagine standing there, just behind it. I would put it there, and push, and it would go in there, and... God, what would it feel like? Without warning I was so hard it caught me by surprise, and I had to shift on my seat to ease the sudden discomfort. Madeline laughed cruelly. "Let's see what that little hole looks like. Reach back and pull your cheeks apart for me." Unbelievably, it reached back and with both hands and spread its bottom cheeks apart. The actual anal opening was clearly visible - a small, wrinkled hole, darker in colour. There was a movement, a rustle. Penelope had sat down again, too suddenly. The spell broken, I turned away, flushed and angry, to glare at Madeline. On a roll, she continued. "Pity about the tiny tits. Plenty for someone like you, though. And, oh dear, they haven't even bleached its arsehole. Still, it will be even browner by the time you've finished poking around in there, eh?" I did not know the word but there was no doubt which hole she meant. I had not thought she could shock me even more. I looked away from her, back to the collar. Its red face was hanging down between its legs, and its hair swept the floor as it swayed. Its eyes were screwed shut, but not shut tight enough, for shining trickles ran from them, down across its forehead, heading for the floor. "ENOUGH," I shouted, leaping to my feet. I saw Madeline's smirk change to a look of alarm at seeing me loose it. I glared at her, fighting for control. "Oh, my dear Pilsbury." she said, unctuously. "We are so sorry if..." I stood over her and in a voice of ice cut across her. "This will be you. In six months time, if you are lucky, this will be you. Remember this poor girl when you are presenting to your new husband. I hope he is kinder than you were." It was as if I had tossed a bucket of cold water over them. I turned back to the collar, which was straightening up in surprise, and told it, "Get your stuff. We are going." Outside in the hallway, I stopped and leant against the wall to catch my breath, wondering what had I done. Well, to hell with them. "Get dressed," I waved vaguely at the collar. For some reason, it hesitated. "Master, is it true? That you are going to send this collarmaid back?" "What? Yes, your trials and tribulations are over. I am going to return you to the school." But the resulting look of horror was not quite what I was expecting. "Master, what has this one done to deserve rejection?" it asked, wide-eyed. What was it talking about? I could do without this sort of conversation in the hall outside the room where I had just destroyed my social future. "Get in here," I commanded, and grabbing it by the arm, dragged it into the nearest door. This was obviously a spare bedroom. It was tidy and pretty enough in ornate floral wallpaper, but devoid of personal possessions. I sat on the embroidered bedspread and stared at the girl. Disheveled, half naked, panting and clutching the wretched dress to its chest, it still looked weirdly desirable. I put the thought out of my mind. "Now don't get silly. You are not what I want, that's all." "Please tell this one how it one has failed the Master, and it will try so hard to put it right!" It was pleading now, looking quite desperate. "Christ, I thought you would be pleased, considering what you have just endured. You have hardly had a good welcome here, and you must want to get back to your friends at the school." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Or did they mistreat you there?" "Oh, no, Master" it replied, shocked at the suggestion. "They were very kind at the school. But... " it shrugged. "None of my friends will still be there. Most of my year are gone already, except for those who are not yet fifteen, or... did not sell quickly. " I had forgotten that for collars the age of majority was fifteen. It hung its head sadly. "We all knew our old life was ending. I have said goodbye, and if I go back now, I will be only a reject." Its voice was shaky and low, and, I realised with surprise, that it was forgetting to use the third person. "It's because of my breasts, isn't it?" It was close to tears. "I know they are not very big, but I think I am still growing. They take a B cup now, and they are much better than they were last year." "No, no! Don't be silly." "Then... well I know there are collargirls much prettier than me, but I can make it up by..." "STOP IT!" I stopped, myself, and leant back, breathing hard. Here I was trying, God knows why, to break the news gently, and already I was shouting at it. "Look, it's not that you are not pretty or sexy enough, or your breasts... " I could not help staring at them. For a second I had forgotten its nakedness. "Your breasts are beautiful, just like the rest of you. I don't want you to be any better, I just don't want you at all!" I carried on more quietly "I don't want any girl at all. You were supposed to be a motorbike. This is all one big mistake." Its face was blank with incomprehension. What the hell was I doing, trying to explain myself to a collar? "I am not going to argue with you. All you need to know, is that I don't want a collar, I don't need a collar, but I do need the money so I'm returning you. Now is that alright?" It shrank into itself and looked, if possible, even more miserable. I immediately regretted the sarcasm of the last words. "Anyway," I continued, more gently, "There is nothing wrong with you. In fact..." I considered the girl standing in front of me, almost naked, with the dress in its hand forgotten. Its nipples were right at my eye level, and seemed to stick out more than they had earlier. The tiny raised goose bumps on the swollen area around each one was clearly visible. I could just reach out and touch them and suddenly, I really wanted to. But my hand was so heavy, my fingers were never going to reach their target. I stopped, an inch short, and realised both of us were holding our breath. When my hand dropped again, its eyes flew up to mine; its expression unreadable. "Just get dressed and go down to the kitchen," I told it, brusquely. "We will be leaving within the hour," and I headed for the door. Compared to what I had just been through, the prospect of twenty minutes boredom at the hands of my Mother and Mrs. Jones seemed positively alluring. My "treat" for the evening was dinner at the Marsden. It was the smartest restaurant in town, and rated "R16," which meant that I had never set foot in it before, although it was the standard venue for my parents to celebrate anniversaries and special occasions. It had always been my assumption that the age restriction was to do with the consumption of alcohol, but it gradually dawned on me that that was only part of the reason. It took me a moment or two to spot what made me uneasy about the place. It was the collars. Or not so much the collarwaits themselves, who were nice enough in fact more than nice enough. It was how the other diners were with the collars. All the collarwaits were dressed in standard waitress uniforms, with their stockinged legs displayed nicely below the pink and white lacy dresses. The cut of the hem was uneven, being almost down to the knees at the front, but rising really high at the back, exposing the backs of the thighs right up to the top. The stocking tops were red, to stand out, and they certainly drew the eye. What disturbed me was that they were also clearly designed to draw the hand. Of course everyone knows collarwaits in a posh restaurant are there to be touched up. But it was different seeing it for the first time. The way that man there was sliding his hand up and down the back of that collars thigh, going right up under its skirt, while chatting to his companions about the menu the whole time. And I had never considered that my Father might actually do the same thing. This time I watched as the collarwait took our order, and saw how his left shoulder shifted while that hand was "under the table," and how the collar twitched at the same time. Conversation had been going to be sticky at the best of times and that was all I need to remind me how much I disliked the whole business. Starched linen, silver service and "best" behaviour the hypocrisy sickened me. I sat there and sulked while my parents picked away in turn at their hors d'ouvres, and my monosyllabic answers. The same collar came to collect the plates and returned to brush off the crumbs. It was very slow straightening the tablecloth. I could not help staring at its face as it caught its breath and froze for a second. Then all its body seemed to do a little shiver, and I just knew, although there was no way I could see, that my father's disgusting fingers were not just between its legs, but actually inside it. I glanced at my Mother. She was facing away from him, and pretending to be interested in explaining to me about the process of making veal. She knew! She knew, and was not prepared to confront him! "How can you!" I hissed, glaring at him. He raised his eyebrows at me in enquiry. "Oh, don't play along like it's nothing!" I said, louder. My Mother shushed me, and I turned to her. "And how can you pretend to ignore it, while he does that to that thing!" "James, dear, don't make a fuss," replied my Mother under her voice. "Everyone is looking!" "Is that what worries you that people might be looking!" I blurted out, standing up suddenly and knocking my chair over backwards. The crash seemed very loud. Suddenly I was aware that everyone was looking, and not at my Father but at me. Even the collar had straightened up and was staring at me in surprise. "Not that your husband is... is... " I could not continue, and rushed, blinking, for the door. In the lobby I looked around confused for a moment, and was relieved to see a door sign saying "Gentlemen." I took refuge inside. The gentlemen's lavatory was a haven of mahogany panelling and old white china compared to the bright modern colours of the rest of the place. Presumably the budget had not stretched to every corner when they had "improved" the restaurant a few years back, and the worn polished brass spoke of fittings that were old before the Crash. I knew why she accepted it of course. She thought I did not know, but the memory of that afternoon, when I had caught her and the Geoffrey, flooded back. I had come home early, having to pick up a school project for the display that evening, and I had heard the noises coming from her room. On Thursday afternoons that was not unusual it was when she did her keep-fit sessions in her room. She worked out regularly to keep her impressive figure, and even I would admit she looked pretty good considering her age. We all knew the Geoffrey gave her instruction as her personal trainer. It was easy to believe he was good at it; he was frankly an impressive specimen of a man, with muscles like a Greek statue, and he looked like he knew how to wield a barbell. This day, however, they had left the door slightly open, and there was something about the quality of the noises coming out that caused me to peer in as I walked past. He was in his leotard and covered in sweat, leaning over her on stiff arms as she lay flat on her back on the bed. She was still fully dressed, except for the way her dress was bunched up about her waist, and for her long white legs, which stuck up around his torso. For a moment I did not recognise what was going on I had always imagined sex as being sort of naked, and under the covers. It can only have been five seconds before I realised the truth, and I watched horrified for perhaps another ten or fifteen. I left the door open as I stumbled blindly away, my only concern that they should not hear me. My Father was as bad, of course. Never mind what went on at this sort of restaurant, or at his club. I knew about "dress-down Fridays" at the Town Hall. It was a day's holiday at work, every week. He and the other Councillors would turn up in the late morning in casual clothes, swan around doing nothing useful until their long lavish lunch, chat, eat and drink as much as they wanted and then each take a collarsec or two back to their private offices for the afternoon. Hell, I knew that most establishments with female collars had similar arrangements, but that did not make it right. Washing my face and hands felt good, and by the time I had finished tweaking my bow tie back into shape, I was beginning to feel calmer again. I was in no hurry to return to the table, but there was not much else I could do. I turned to face the collarmaid, waiting patiently at the back of the room, and it immediately threw its gaze to the floor. What did people do with a collarmaid in a lavatory, I wondered? Anything they wanted, presumably. It was dark-skinned, with very straight black hair and it held itself completely still as I inspected it. On impulse I addressed it, "Could you um..." and it looked up at me expectantly, eager to help. Just as my hand reached its breast, I caught the flash of disappointment that flicked over its face, before it was replaced by the proper blank politeness of a collar. My own face was burning as I spun round and ran out of the room. In the lobby again, the memory of the warmth of cloth-covered female flesh was still on my fingers. Panting amongst the potted palms, I kicked myself. God, if you were going to do that sort of thing, at least have the guts to see it through. No, I could do better than that, now. Taking a deep breath, I turned and went back in. The collar looked surprised to see me again. "I am sorry," I said simply. "I should not have done that." "On the contrary, Sir. Any master may always..." But then it broke off and looked at me, closely. "Was that the first time?" it asked quietly, speaking as if to a person, not to a master. I wondered if the soft shape of my collarmaid under the towel this afternoon counted. Now I looked, I could see that this "girl" was in its twenties, good-looking but much older than I was, and I felt oddly shy. I nodded slowly. "Do you want to touch me?" It smiled into my eyes, and took my stunned hands in its own, to bring them up to its breasts. They were yielding and heavy, and its nipples were solid patches on the liquid weight of its flesh. Its eyes glowed as I ran my hands over them for a second. Its grin was infectious, and I smiled back. "I can't believe you just let me do that. Thank you." I shook my head in wonder as I stepped back, and then paused. "Do you know a Mr Pilsbury?" "Yes, Sir, Alderman Pilsbury is one of our regulars." "And does he often..." Feel you up? I could not think of the words to put to it. It frowned and replied uncomfortably, "This collarserve may not talk about one of our other customers, Sir." Perhaps my disappointment showed. "Oh... Its just... I'm his son and I just..." I could not think of what I wanted to ask. "Do you actually like what he does?" "A collarmaid is always grateful for whatever attention a Master gives it." "Really?" I asked in disbelief. It smiled, human again. "Well, not always. But with him yes, really. We all like him. He is gentle, and always generous." "Generous. What does that mean? Is there a way to give you some money, or something?" "Oh, yes Sir. Alderman Pilsbury is a good tipper. He always drops us a chocolate or two. Once, after a really good shafting, he gave me a whole box." Shafting. The word just tripped off its tongue, as if it was nothing. "Chocolate? You get paid in chocolate!" "No, of course not sir. We don't get paid anything. But it is a gesture of appreciation. You have to ask the Maitre D' for it and he puts it on your bill. It's very expensive, so being nice to us costs a lot. Although..." and here its face became dreamy as if at the memory of chocolate feasts of the past, "with this one, it's not just the thought that counts. This one would do anything for Chocolate Whirls, Sir." I smiled to myself, suddenly knowing what to do. "What is your name?" "Oh, this is number twenty-three, Sir." It turned to show the numeral 23 tattooed neatly on its left shoulder. I could see that the serial number displayed on its collar also ended in a 23. "Back in a minute, Twenty-three," I told it. It took me longer than I had thought to get the headwaiter, a haughty male prole, to obtain a whole box of chocolate whirls for me, and put it on my Father's bill. My Father himself, although bemused, had no objection, but for a moment it seemed the restaurant staff would be awkward. However I was in no mood to be fobbed off, and I was beginning to get the trick of being grown up. Just behave as if people had to do what you asked, and somehow they did. I was quite enjoying myself as I headed back in to the Gents with my prize. The collar greeted the sight of the box with bulging eyes. "But Sir, this one has done nothing to deserve such a thing!" it objected. "You have done more than you know," I replied and pressed the box into its hands. "Give what you can't eat to the others." Its expression should have warned me but I was still too slow. Putting the box down, it stepped up to me and just enveloped me. Warm wet lips and a mobile tongue touched my mouth, soft breasts pressed against my chest, and eager arms wrapped around my shoulders. It was overwhelming and then gone before I could actually appreciate it. The collar did not speak as we pulled apart but its smile said everything. Still feeling daring, I gave its hip an affectionate pat before leaving it to return to my parent's table. As my Father opened our front door, I could hear voices no, one voice from upstairs. "... a word and I'll make you wish you had never been born, you little bitch!" The voice fell silent as I climbed the stairs, but it had been the Geoffrey's, I was sure. There it was, rushing towards us away from my room door, looking both shifty and flustered. "Young Master, it has locked itself in. It's disobeying a direct order! Don't listen to it Master, it's been telling lies to this one all evening. This one thinks... " "Quiet" snapped my Mother. The Geoffrey knelt immediately, silent. More coherently, it slowly answered her questions, but it was covering something up, I was sure, and its bluster did not dissuade me. As soon as my Mother had established that the matter was some sort of dispute between the two collars, she turned away in disgust. "Deal with it, James," she said. "Your collar, your problem. Geoffrey, you will be disciplined tomorrow. In your room, NOW." She headed for her bedroom herself. My Father, who had said nothing, marched back down to the drawing room (and presumably the whisky decanter), and suddenly I was alone. Where was the zapper? In my room along with the stupid collar, of course. And what would I do with it anyway? The door handle did not shift when I tugged it. The key had been lost ages ago, so it did not lock, but there must be something jammed under the handle on the other side. I knocked gently and waited. "Anyone there?" I called out softly, after a few minutes. I could hear movement on the other side, but there was no reply. "Alright," I said, "I am going to leave you alone for five minutes to think about things, and then I will come back. Please consider talking to me then." I did not leave, but instead quietly sat on the floor with my back against the wall opposite the door, and wondered what had gone on. Some moments later there was a scraping noise, and the door handle shifted slightly. I stared at it, keeping very still. Sure enough, the face of my collar appeared through the opening crack and peered around the door. "Hello," I said carefully, and caught its eyes as it gasped. It opened the door and collapsed to its knees, shaking. "So sorry, so sorry Master," it kept repeating, shaking its head with eyes fixed on the floor between us. "Alright, enough!" I said, gently but firmly when there appeared to be no sign of the abasement ending. It fell quiet, but held its position, kneeling over with bowed head. At least it had stopped throwing itself from side to side. "Get up, come in my room, and tell me what has been going on." I sighed, and stepped past it into my bedroom. While the collar's clothes were disheveled I noticed that the silly dress was torn at the bodice, and was hanging away from its chest even more that it had been there was no obvious disturbance in my room. But I could not get it to say what had happened, and whenever I pressed it, it retreated back into that ridiculous abject kneeling, repeating how sorry it was. I gave up after only five minutes, and left it kneeling there, while I moved around getting ready for bed. What was the point of worrying, when I was returning it anyway? I lay on the bed for ages, unable to sleep. What a day, and I still did not know what to make of it all. As I turned, trying to find a comfortable position, I could hear small noises from the floor at the end of the bed. The collar could not sleep either. I found myself keeping still, keeping silent as I listened to it. Was it... yes, it was weeping silently in the dark, breathing with a catch the way you do when you cannot let anyone know. It was a familiar sound, although never before from someone else. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I got out of bed and stepped over to where it was lying on the carpet under just a thin blanket. It was silent now, holding its breath as it heard me approach. "Shush" I said, hopelessly, as I bent down to touch its shoulder and tried to think of something to say. It shrank away from me. Well, of course, I thought, after what had happened today. Now my blackness seemed a bit pathetic. "Get up," I whispered on impulse, pulling at an arm. "Get in the bed." It seemed not to understand, or to be reluctant, but I tugged it upright. "Go on, in you go." It finally acquiesced, and I slipped in on the other side. Now we were lying side by side, in the dark, with a gap the size of the Grand Canyon between us. In the silence I could hear it breathing. What had I done that for, I asked myself? To get it off the floor. And why couldn't I just leave it there? God, what an idiot, I mused. Go to sleep. And strangely, although it was odd to have another body on the other side of the bed, it seemed alright, as if it was just another part of the jigsaw, a strange piece that fitted at the end of a strange day. I felt it move, and I heard its voice, low and uncertain. "Are you... is the Master going to... use this one tonight?" I was half asleep. Use what to do what? "Not tonight," I muttered, too tired to try to work it out. It breathed out and seemed to relax. "Goodnight," I murmured, and turned over. The collar whispered something I did not catch as I curled up facing away from it. Some part of it was lightly touching my back, but that was all right too. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- If you liked it so far, drop me a line to 'oldsofty @ hotmail.co.uk' (don't forget to remove the spaces) Chapter 3 is at /files/Authors/Old-Softy/The_Collar_around_the_Heart/The_Collar_3.txt