Granted this wasn’t completely unexpected, but still a surprise nonetheless. Daddy had been saying for a while now that he wanted to “upgrade” my collar, but for a number of reasons I resisted the idea. Mainly because the lock that he placed on my neck 6 years ago could only be removed by cutting it.
At BBM (Bears Bikers and Mayhem) in 2018, during a heartfelt gathering of our closest friends and chosen family, Daddy professed his unending commitment to me, and I stated my willingness to serve him as his boy.
Collars have become kind of a “trendy” accessory in many of the circuit bear circles. And I get it, they are fucking sexy, making you feel powerful, edgy, submissive, and look fantastic with all kinds of kink kit.
But to those that understand the deeper meaning behind the idea of being collared to someone, it’s a very considerable fucking commitment between two consenting parties. I can wax on about the culture around collars, but for the moment let’s just try to simplify their power by equating them with the same imbued meaning as a wedding ring.
My collar has been with me everywhere as a constant reminder of that commitment between Daddy and me. A wearable security blanket, it’s been in 5 of the world’s oceans, traveled the globe during my different adventures, and accompanied me when I competed at IML40.
So now that we have set the stage with some background you can understand the sentimentality and why the idea of having this lock or collar, the symbol of Daddy and I’s dynamic, our life together being “forcibly” removed from my person simply fucking filled me with bone-chilling anxiety.
Still, the time had come, the lock was starting to show significant wear, many times shredding most of my shirts and something myself, so the decision was made to replace it.
Daddy knew that this would require both some convincing on my part, as well as making sure that the moment was spontaneous and meaningful.
It Happened During Folsom, at Mr. S.
We knew we were going to Folsom this year and that a trip to Mr. S. Leather, the high temple of all things D/s would be in order. My original collar and lock were from there, so we knew we wanted to get its replacement there as well. At this stage, I had NOT committed to the act of replacing collar (yes I am speaking about it in the first person at this stage, fucking sue me!) and for the moment we were just shopping.
Mr. S. was beyond packed that day, like a fetish version of Macy’s on 36th Street the night before Christmas. Daddys, Sirs, boys, pups, and subs of all kinds — enjoying the act of shopping for the wares of our practice in this FAO Schwarz of the kinky arts.
If you have never been to the collar counter at Mr. S it is basically the fucking Zalles of kink. Everything is laid out with the greatest of care like a D/s synonym of a Faberge Egg. The collars and associated locks are simply beautiful. This isn’t a Home Depot off of 83 (which is where Daddy’s training collar and lock for me came from.) The craftsmanship is second to none and befitting the intended meaning a proper collar has to those dedicated to the power of their symbolism.
My first thought was to just replace the lock. There were several there that I really liked, and as a stop-gap, I convinced Daddy that we should get a new one, but Daddy had lined up something special.
Called the Tallon Collar, each is hand-made to specification by a European jeweler. Made of solid stainless steel, a section at the back of the collar is able to be removed with moderate pressure. Each end of the removable piece has a small stalk that fits into a milled cup on both sides. Inside the stalk is a locking pin that is open and closed with a supplied jewel-milled alan key.
Daddy’s goal for collar 2.0. One he wanted something that would “wear” well. We learned from my first collar that we needed something that would hold up to total and complete continuous wear. Much of what I am is built into the collar, it’s a continued reminder of my place in the higher order of things keeping me in fucking check and correctly on my knees.
My first collar was also a statement piece. It told the world very publically and ostentatiously that I was owed and off the meat market. This collar was meant to align a bit more with my goth “lite”, elder emo style and be more permanent — intended to last or remain unchanged indefinitely.
If I could, I would have had this collar welded on my body. Unremovable, for time and all eternity. But the logistics of health and security require otherwise from time to time so knowing all of this Daddy felt that the Tallon, was the best option.
Let’s not forget that my existing collar needed to be cut off my neck, and to my fucking surprise, there was a fucking LINE of people within the Mr. S. Staff that wanted that honor, and while Daddy should have had that right, he felt that it was better to have a “professional” do the deed.
I wish we would have gotten pictures of the collar cutting (and if anyone was there and had gotten pics, please send them to me.) but I was too busy being de-lock-ified.
At this very moment, as expected I nearly had a panic attack. Note the tan line, which I honestly was not expecting. And while Daddy was standing just out of frame (He took this pic), he was smiling so big. This was such a major step for us and for him.
I could not be more happy with my new neck bling. It is perfect – without any words, it clearly shows that I am Daddy’s fucking bitch-boy. That when the moment comes, I am the one taking the dick or the beating. That I am meant to be on my knees — drinking piss, swallowing the load, and wrapped around his leg with his hand firmly resting on the top of my head.
Even my mother fully understood its meaning, and as she put it, is a classy choice, so you know it was right.
