The Kink of the Week is Collars. It’s a topic that has been covered before in the KOTW, but as Molly noted in the introduction, that was back in 2013; there are new writers out there; and there are also plenty of us that will revisit the topic again with new perspective. I discussed the topic myself for that 2013 KOTW, though it was on Kink & Poly, and of course my partner was W. You can read that post here, if you’d like. I just read it again myself, actually, and thought I would call out this part, in case a certain someone out there decides to read this but not that (I’m looking at you, V. ;-) )
I’d forgotten how incredibly visceral being collared for play is, how tied into something primal inside of me it is, how just reading this plucks that need for subjugation in me, for feeling owned in this way, as just a thing for his (or her) use.
On the other hand (and on a less personal note) having someone put a collar on for play is always a turn on, symbolism (or lack there-of) aside. Quixotically, rather than the contented and almost prideful feelings that wearing a collar as a symbol of ownership evokes, a collar during play means the exact opposite. I can be yanked around by it, tied to the floor like a dog with it, chained to a post. It can be part of bondage, and very much plays into the “subjugated” headspace. It also means ownership, but in a much more visceral and objectifying way. I am chattel, I am an owned body, I am not my own while the collar is on. I also like the thrill of having it tight around my throat – like a corset it is perpetual breath play, restricting and confining me even if the Top has not laid a hand on me.
But that kind of collar is not what I aim to speak to here.
I’m still trying to figure out, and how to align, my own feelings and desires for the ritual, the symbolism, of a “collar” collar with V’s. I am afraid I have focused my mind on the topic in a very specific way, one that doesn’t always align with his. As he has said, his approach is and always be his own, not something the internet or some misguided “One True Way” bullshit declares. And he is the Owner, I am the owned: where he leads I follow.
Or try to follow. I do try. And sometimes, by some miracle, I succeed.
V gave me a collar recently. When he first presented it to me, it was hard for me to believe in it as a “collar” collar though. As what I perceived to be what a collar should be/is. I’m ashamed of that, now.
It’s beautiful; a delicate silver chain with a kind of tag that says, in tiny, delicate script, “Viper’s Kitty” on it. It’s not a thing to call out ownership, not a thing that anyone in the vanilla world would even recognize as a symbol of our relationship, or possibly anyone in the BDSM world. Perhaps that was where my initial inability to think of it as a collar stemmed from – I want our world to know that I am what I am to him, that he values me enough to proclaim his Ownership of me in such a visible way. But I have realized how wrong that is, on so many levels. And I am ashamed of being so myopic; of not seeing what he saw – sees – when he looks at it. When he fastens it around my neck.
It took me a day of wearing it at the office for me to understand, for me to appreciate his gift the way I should have from the beginning.
It is my collar because he says so. Because he placed it around my neck with trust and love (and well, ok, he was fucking me at the time, but that is as much a beautiful part of us as all the other things.) The trappings are nice, but I don’t need anyone else’s symbols to show that I am owned, that he is my Owner. The only symbols I need are the ones that we hold between us.
I know. “Duh,” right? I should know better. And I do/did…but I needed that moment at work, when I snapped a pic of it for him, for me to feel what it meant. For me to know it. To feel it, viscerally, deep inside. No, not in my cunt, though I definitely get a twinge there when I think about it. Deeper than that, though. Somewhere in the pit of my belly. Somewhere that suffuses out to the rest of me, and cradles me, gently; holds me still and quiet.
Why was it in that moment to understand? I don’t know. Perhaps I am succeeding in following his lead.
I love my collar. I love that I can wear it everyday if I want to, and no one but he and I will know what it means. I am his, I am owned – and he and I are the only ones that need to know that this is our symbol of that.