The Collaring Ceremony

I've been trying to teach this old dog some new tricks. As always, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. -Otis

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Her name was Juliette but he was no Romeo in the ordinary sense as we like to think of that name. Then again these were by no means ordinary times.

They had met at one of the frequent collaring ceremonies performed in the dignified stillness of the powder blue meditation chamber inside the Rothko Chapel safely nestled in the leafy Montrose district.

Some hapless athlete, with well defined abs and cocky attitude no doubt had allowed himself to get in too deep with a glamorous masturbatrix slaver, sporting a two hundred and fifty dollar manicure, who once having seduced him, now led him down the aisle by leash so he could profess his naked and undying devotion to her in front of friends (his and hers), a retinue of BDSM enthusiasts, and prospective buyers seated on the hard Spartan benches under the octagonal skylight.

For the slave, this was the hazard of revealing one's innermost secrets to the wrong person. One could easily forfeit their freedom forever once one's dirty little secrets were revealed to the world.

After all, this was the age of the thought police, ubiquitous and surreptitious, zealously engaged in the construct of a new culture in which there could no longer be a reasonable expectation of privacy.

It was at these social gatherings where men and women weak enough to be ensnared forfeited the privacy of what were once called "private parts", shackled forever into cruel and mocking servitude. The master slave relationship so glorified in this otherwise dignified setting would go on to inexorably extract the slave's body from its personality leaving the latter to wither on the vine.

There had been a time in the not too distant past when individuals like the young man being exhibited were entitled to their own thoughts, opinions, and fantasies, however vile, however deviant, so long as they never harmed others by acting on them.

But after years of political correctness, flash mobs, both virtual and actual, now turned on anyone whose politically offensive thoughts or deviant fantasies were somehow revealed and leaked to social media, ultimately stripping the victim of his reputation, wealth and liberty.

The very technology that had shown so much promise in expanding the opportunities for unfettered communication now threatened and undermined the free exchange of intimate thoughts and sexual fantasy. "Unprotected" phone sex even between friends had led to the public disgrace and enslavement of many a submissive carelessly looking for a safe place to vent.

Ironically, those who had been blessed with the most to lose were now cursed with the strictest vows of chastity and silence when they were among equals and superiors. Indiscretions could only safely occur in front of slaves, as they were no longer considered human and their testimony would be inadmissible in a court of law or court of public opinion. This in turn fueled an ever growing demand for well educated and emotionally intelligent slaves in whom a master or mistress could confide or casually drop pretenses without fear of societal condemnation.

Gary was a regular at these Rothko events. He himself had grown rich as a successful slaver, and, being a tenured professor at a local ivy league university, he taught aspiring and ambitious graduate students the psychosexual nuances and effective training techniques pertinent to the master slave relationship. Not surprisingly, he had managed to enslave quite a few of his own nubile coeds after first bedding them down outside of class.

Gary watched with amusement as the naked young man approach the microphone to confess his moral failings and filthy fetishes to former friends, lovers, and colleagues who had known him when he was still a person in his own right with the legal competency to give or withhold consent to the sexual abuses now awaiting him in this, his next life. Such confessions were good for the soul, and provided the bright line of demarcation between those who remained free and those who had squandered any right to retain their personhood.

While Gary didn't necessary believe in abuse or sadism for its own sake he held the conviction that submissive men and women were existentially lost until they found an honorable and compassionate owner to whom they could surrender. This was the way of the world, at least the world of today, and collaring ceremonies like this one were the brick and mortar, the glue that kept it all together, sanctifying the exchange of vows between Owner and Slave, officially sanctioning the Master-slave relationship, pretty much like the State had legalized gay marriage years before.

The audience roundly applauded as the Mistress recited her vow to forever protect, train, and mold her easy mark until she saw fit to sell him at auction to the highest bidder.

After the vows were exchanged, the slave, his body, sweaty and fully exposed, sprinkled with fragrant red and white rose pedals, his feet shackled in chains, was led outside by a maid of honor into the humid afternoon air towards a remarkable reflecting pool in which a four sided obelisk with a pyramidal point was inverted to touch point to point with a smaller pyramid rising out of a murky shallow basin. In front of the monumental sculpture he was shamelessly groped, photographed and videotaped in his newfound public disgrace. In the background one could hear unobtrusive mellifluous new age music emanating from unseen speakers.

As was the custom, the novice was ordered to get down on all fours to lick the heels and the soles of the shoes of those with whom he had once shared equality, friendship, and intimate secrets. A former girlfriend mockingly posed for the video-cams as she teased his cock into erection, slowly milking him into a very public and copious climax against the befitting double phallic backdrop.

It was at this reception that Gary met Juliette. She was in her mid twenties; he was clearly old enough to be her father.

He immediately observed her exquisite and willowy charm, offset by the wildly windblown black frizzy hair. Upon further inspection, he made note of her fetching freckles, her nicely proportioned hourglass figure, all wrapped together in a cheap poorly fitting navy blue pin-stripe suit, vaguely suggesting at once the genteel poverty of apprenticeship and a subliminal lack of confidence. There was something in her countenance that suggested something more than sensitivity, perhaps a concealment of vulnerability.

He was drawn to her youthful innocence, her apparent lack of baggage, boyfriends, children, commitments.

In time she would be drawn to his practiced swagger, his worldliness, that remarkable appetite driving him to relentlessly hunt down the objects of his desire, and the way he savored his conquests in leisure.

Even in middle age Gary could still serve up that Bad Boys' intoxicating, exotic elixir the younger women always craved, comprised of one part danger, one part rescue, one part delirium, one part lasting regret.

Being the academic, as well as an astute observer of the obvious, he knew that many young woman like Juliette were being pummeled by the "current economic meltdown" with no prospects for relief in sight and as a result were now more inclined to view adult companionship with an older and successful man more palatable than would have been the case in more prosperous times.

After all, he was ensconced in a secure, well paying position at the University, he had nice cars plural, a spacious home in West University as well as a beach house in Kemah, steady income streams from undisclosed sources, and a disarming smile- a royal flush in the casino of first impressions if there ever was one.

At the cash bar he asked her what brought her out to the event. She replied with nervous laughter she had been very good friends with the slave years ago and that it was his sister who had sent her the invite. Gary's eyes narrowed as he calculated that she was likely a closet submissive drawn to this sort of pageantry like one more moth to a flame. She would be fun to train.

Their relationship flowered in due course, slowly unfolding not unlike so many of the vanilla liaisons he himself had observed from a distance. With every new familiarity she found herself being drawn from the outward margins of casual acquaintance into the very interior of his comfortable life.

They came to spend most of their leisure time at his Kemah beach house overlooking one of the canals. She was very comfortable with her body and he encouraged her to walk around the house naked while he was dressed. His fingers hungered for every opportunity to stroke her young and perfect nubile body. She was young enough to be his daughter and he felt the younger man inside him come to life every time he grazed the freckles on her back, every time he cupped his hands to claim exclusive ownership of her haunches. She giggled like a child and her nipples became erect whenever he playfully pinched them and squeezed her perfect perky breasts.

Under his tutelage and patient grooming she revealed herself to be a passionate and receptive lover. He loved to hear her softly moan and cry out like some kind of feral animal in heat under his weight every time he forced himself into the dark moist center of her being.

All that said, he could not help but surmise that she was no longer fully satisfied with ordinary sexual experiences and now she needed something different to satisfy the unmet and unspeakable urges that could have no name in this, the age of the thought police.

Inwardly, he knew that she had the need to discuss her deviant needs with a real adult after years of rehearsing so many forbidden confessions with the transient phantoms of her imagination. If this was to be a successful interrogation he would have to assure her that her secrets were safe with him and that she would not be out-ed.

He smiled broadly as she brought him the two plates of quiche she had prepared for their lunch. She mischievously licked her lips as he poured the fine Cabernet Sauvignon into the two waiting wine glasses. She sat her bare bottom next to him on the sofa and surrendered to his tongue as it snaked deep into her mouth. As was his new found custom he began to play with the trimmed mound of her pubic hair until he found her clit.

He drove her crazy with delight as his fingers found the rhythm that she had already allowed herself to become addicted to. She kissed him and told him that she loved him "a whole lot". She pushed herself into his two probing fingers until his wet knuckles found her ecstasy and climax.

It always gave him no small amount of pleasure whenever he considered how one person's casual habits could become another person's lifelong addiction.

After lunch, after their hunger was satisfied, after her desire was sated, he broached the forbidden topic.

"Juliette, my dearest pet, tell me, how do you feel about the time we spend together?"

"I feel so protected in your arms and free to be who I am. I feel that I can share my thoughts with you without fear of judgment."

He could see a waft of unease cloud her otherwise clear youthful features. He was about to put her assertion and his hypothesis to the test.

"Go on, Juliette."

"Gary, I feel safe and secure for the first time in my life.

"You seem to be able to understand me in ways guys my own age can't even begin to."

"I think we're going somewhere interesting with this.

"Go on," he prodded her.

"But this is a big adjustment for me and it's going to take some time for me to get used to it."

"You're not about to give me that goodbye look, are you?" he asked slyly.

"No, silly rabbit. I'm all yours. I've been very happy with the way we are."

"Juliette, I know that there's been a very bad economy out there. Lord knows, there's so many young people just out of school who may never find work or find a career for themselves, and I guess there's no one to blame for all this."

"What are you trying to say, Gary?" she asked, her curiosity kindled.

"I'm saying that I can understand how it must be real scary for you trying to be on your own, trying to live like a real adult with a real job, trying to support yourself."

"I've been afraid for a long time," she gulped, perhaps making this admission for the first time, tears beginning to rinse her mascara.

"I worry about you being taken advantage of, being exploited by someone who doesn't care about you like I do."

By now her tears were beginning to fall like a light spring rain. Here she was, naked with this older man, tipsy in his beach house, and he was circling her forbidden thoughts like some kind of shark.

"There, there, my pet. It's not that bad. Let's face it.

"You and I both know that there are people who just aren't cut out to manage their own lives.

"They aren't hardwired to make their own choices, their own decisions."

An uncomfortably long pregnant pause began to chill the room.

"You're one of those people, aren't you, Juliette?

"Tell me. I need to know. You owe me that."

This was the moment she feared most. That someone would stumble upon her truth, and call her on it.

"What are you going to do with me," she asked, lamely covering her breasts with a pillow, raising and crossing her legs to protect her sex.

"Don't despair, my pet. You should know by now how much I care about you.

"You should know that I only want what's best for you.

"You need to tell me, my dear Juliette, do you feel overly burdened by having to have control over your own life?"

Her eyes were beginning to burn from the tears. Part of her hated him for forcing her to confront what she already knew was lacking in her life, and another part of her was trying to quiet the arousal rising within her as she imagined what it would be like to surrender her freedom to him and spend the rest of her life as his naked chattel on display to all those who came into his wide social circle .

She had long ago tired of all the shallow chit chat, the monotonous give and take between alleged equals in relationship, and right now, in this, the here and now, she was skating out of control, about to crash the elusive and feeble conviction that she could have ever amounted to anything meaningful in her own right. She was going to reveal herself fully to him and lose it all.

Softly sobbing, she admitted to him that she had always had the urge to serve, to be humiliated. She told him that she had gone to the collaring ceremonies to stoke those fantasies she knew she was forbidden to have.

She told him that she secretly envied those slaves who had been so cruelly brought down in seduction only to be raised up on stage to face a lifetime of public disgrace and humiliation.

She confessed how abjectly draining and deadening it was for her to be in vanilla relationships with so called "normal" men her own age.

She told him how much she hated herself for not being able to curb these feelings.

They stared at each other for a long time.

Finally, he said to her, "that wasn't so bad was it?

"Wouldn't it be comforting just to let someone else take the weight of all that self-control off your aching and exhausted shoulders?"

She felt exposed and ashamed. She felt like a little girl, utterly exhausted, having been put through the wringer, sitting so naked in front of him. But she also felt like he had overwhelmed her senses, rolled her tummy over onto his lap, summarily lancing a festering secret that had darkened her life for such a long time.

"There comes a time in the development of every slave," he told her, "when one has to choose who they will surrender to.

"Wouldn't you rather give away your freedom to someone who you know will love and protect you rather than to someone who will hurt you and abuse you for the rest of your life?"

"What would you do to me?" she inquired guardedly, trying to conceal her concerns.

"I would make you over into something beautiful and save you from that awful burden of having to live your life for yourself."

"Go on, Gary," she said softly, the tears drying on her cheeks.

"I would mold you into the image of all I desire in a slave. I would teach you and train you to find your pleasure in submitting to and satisfying other people's needs.

"You would derive all your pleasure by pleasing me and I would be the center of your universe.

"You would hand over to me the totality of your personality, your likes, your dislikes, your hopes, your fears, your destiny.

"Choosing to stay with me would be the very last choice you'd ever have to make and it would also be the most precious gift you could ever give me."

"Gary, why can't things between us remain the way they are? Why do we have change anything?"

"Because now that we both know who and what you are, we can never go back to the way things were.

"You are in danger and the world out there will never be able to accept you any other way," he told her.

"Why can't we go on letting this be our dirty little secret?" she asked him.

"Because there are no such things as secrets anymore, Juliette.

"You will be found out no matter how careful you are.

"It's just a matter of time before you are captured and enslaved by this unforgiving and mercenary world that could never begin to understand you the way I do, a world that exists to pull itself up on your downfall, a world that will laugh every time you cry out from the hurt and pain it inflicts upon you.

"Whenever I administer your discipline it shall not be to abuse but rather because this is what we both know you want and you need.

"Don't you see? I can complete you like no one else can."

Within several weeks the sizzling summer heat had made its arrival undeniable and tourists were flocking to the beaches and local attractions dotting the Galveston Bay.

Gary and his companion left the beach house in search of some fine dining nearby as they walked towards the Kemah Boardwalk with its assortment of sea food restaurants, amusement rides, boutiques, and the four hundred slip marina.

He was dressed to the nines in his white cotton polo shirt, designer jeans and hipster sunglasses, befitting a man in possession of property and command. In her face one could discern the serenity of one who had finally divorced all her demons, a face without thought, a face without a care in the world.

Her youthful hourglass body was by now fully tanned, supple, graceful, peppered by the freckles on her shoulders and on the top of her breasts, fully exposed to the salty air. As was her new found custom, she wore nothing other than flip flops to protect her feet and His leather collar fastened around her neck. She nodded and smiled at the tourists going hither and yon as he held the leash taut. She had much to look forward to. In a couple of weeks she would meet and greet her friends and family at the Rothko Chapel.