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 3 of 14

Chapter 1 is at http://www.asstr.org/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 
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Chapter 3 - Wednesday Morning

I stretched and rolled over onto my side. Yawning, I opened my eyes —
to find them locked in hazel green eyes gazing back at mine. The collar.
It immediately dropped its gaze and blushed as if caught red handed.
Everything rushed back; my birthday, my bike, the collarmaid. I had let
that thing sleep on my bed, all night. It was now kneeling at my
bedside, still in its shabby nightie and had presumably been watching
me; gazing at my face while it waited for me to wake up. Creepy.

As if for the first time, I looked it over, close up. It was near
enough to see each wisp of auburn-tinted brown hair as it curled around
its cheek. The eyelashes were so long, but they seemed to be natural.
The delicate shell-like nostrils moved slightly as it calmly breathed
in and out. It was motionless, I realised, but relaxed, as if it was
content to be there. It was funny to be able to inspect it from so
close, leaning on my elbow while it looked down demurely.

"Good morning," I ventured.

"Good morning, Master. How may this one serve its Master this morning?"
The formal reply sounded strange coming from those soft young lips. So
what was I going to do with it today? I suppose I would have to get it
back to its School somehow.

Well, first, the old bladder was pressing, and had the usual effect on
my pole. I managed to get over to the loo without waving the hard-on in
the collar's face, but I was wishing for once that my toilet and shower
were actually in a separate room, not just in the alcove. I was very
fond of our old house, but en-suite bathrooms were not around in the
eighteenth century so the modern facilities sometimes felt somewhat
tacked on.

"Does the Master need any help with that?" it asked innocently.

"What on Earth do you mean?"

"We were warned that some Masters will require us to assist them with
their ablutions and toilet functions."

"Just... stay where you are," I spluttered, checking that it was still
looking down and away from me. An image sprang to mind, of it standing
behind me, slim arms reaching round my waist while cool gentle fingers
held my prick over the porcelain. Somehow I managed to pee even through
my engorged penis and wandered back. What to do with it, I wondered,
slipping on my dressing gown and gazing at its back.

I sat down on the edge of the bed in front of it and took a breath.
"Now then, collarmaid, if I request it of you, will you tell me the
whole truth?"

"Of course, Master!" it exclaimed, obviously shocked at the thought of
anything else.

"Then starting with when we left for the restaurant, tell me what
happened last night."

It squirmed and hung its head lower at falling into my trap. Then it
took a deep breath and, with obvious determination, started speaking.

"Master, after the Family had gone, this one went down to the kitchen
to discover its duties."

In a steady monotone it related how the Geoffrey had stood over it
while it did all the chores; how the older male collar had accosted it
and threatened to hurt it physically if it "got above itself," and then
how our servant had groped its chest and started feeling between its
legs as a prelude to trying to rape it clumsily. At that point it had
fled to my bedroom and barricaded itself in. The Geoffrey had been
hammering on the outside of the door, promising it detailed vengeance
if it breathed a word of what had happened, when we had walked in
through the front door.

I thought for a moment about the possibility that this was all a
carefully constructed fabric of lies. Then I thought about the courage
necessary to tell me if it was not.

"Stay here," I commanded it. "I will be back in ten minutes."

My Mother was, as I expected, still in her room, and bade me enter at
my knock.

"Good morning, James. Is everything all right?" she enquired. It was
rather unusual for me to seek her out at this hour and she waited for
me to explain. However she acquiesced with some surprise and, indeed,
seeming approval, to my request to discipline the Geoffrey myself.

The collarman was in its room, which was a decent enough space for a
collar. It was ages since I had last been in there, and I was surprised
at the mess. It had few enough possessions (well, none at all, legally,
but of course there were those things and clothes we gave it to use)
but they were strewn around, in complete contrast to the severe regime
of cleanliness and order it upheld in the rest of the house. It was
perturbed to see me, and gave up the attempt to bluster its way out of
my accusation surprisingly easily.

"You damaged my birthday present. You attempted to have sex, illicitly,
with your Master's collarmaid." I sat down on the hard wooden chair so
as to be nearer its eye height. "Look at me." Its face, turned up from
its kneeling position, was trying to be impassive, but not quite
succeeding.

"Furthermore, you have completely betrayed my Mother's trust in you. I
know what you and she do together, to 'keep fit.' Have you thought
about how she will react to your attempts to have sex with another
collar?" For the first time, it began to look distressed. "Why should
she keep such a collar, when it would be so easy to replace it with
another?" Its eyes were terrified now, and it swallowed dryly.

"Please, Master, this one will atone," it said in a low husky voice.

I stared down at it coldly, wondering for a moment what punishment I
should dish out. I was pretty sure my Mother would not really be
interested in the hassle of replacing it, but I honestly had no idea
whether she would be jealous or not. I toyed with the threat of the
coal-mines. Then I remembered one of old Chalky's tricks. Mr. Calder,
otherwise known as Chalky because of his resemblance to a skeleton, was
our most hated teacher. In some ways, however, he was also one of the
most respected.

"So, what punishment do you think suitable, then, for a collarman who
is keen to atone for his mistake? You are to choose."

It swallowed nervously again, and dropped its eyes. "Thirty seconds,
Master. On Number Three," it whispered eventually.

I was amazed. I stood up and paced across the room and back. I did not
see how it could volunteer to endure that, but if that was what it
wanted I could hardly back down and give it less.

"Get in the chair then," I instructed. It got up and sat in the wooden
armchair, gripping the arms. I could not think of any way round this.
"Ready?"

The collarman nodded. I waited for the second hand on my watch to reach
the top and pressed down the yellow Number 3 button.

It did not cry out, or even jerk up as I would have expected. Teeth
gritted and face contorted, it clutched the chair as if trying to tear
off the arms.

"Twenty-five seconds," I called out

The collar was sweating already, and exhaling in short hard pants.

"Twenty seconds," For some reason I could not watch it struggle without
being on its side.

"Fifteen seconds. You can do it!" Now it was really important that it
made it to the end of the time without cracking.

"Ten seconds. Keep going!" It was rocking backwards and forwards in the
chair in time to its panting, but still silent.

"Five. Four, three, two, one, YES!" and I let go before the second hand
got there.

The Geoffrey collapsed back in the chair, and gasped for air. I let it
lay there for a moment to recover.

"Thank you. Thank you Master," it muttered eventually, trying to sit up
straight.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well." I frowned. "But now you have to talk
to me." I grabbed its arm to stop it slipping down to kneel on the
floor. "Just answer one question. WHY?"

It took a little time, but I was as persistent as I was gentle, and I
got there. The Geoffrey had thought my new collarmaid was to replace
it, as a collar for my Mother, not me. Sex had nothing to do with it.
It was simple jealousy, with a smattering of outrage at the imagined
betrayal.

"Silly boy," I told it, although it was much older than I was. "Don't
you know that my Mother would never replace you unless you did
something as stupid as this? She values your loyalty and services too
highly, and..." I wondered for a moment whether to refer to it. "You
and she together, what you do on Thursday afternoons — well, it must
mean something to her." And as I spoke, although I had meant the words
in reassurance, I realised that they were true. My Mother had had that
collar since new, since it was fifteen itself perhaps ten years ago,
and although she never spoke kindly about the thing, in a rare flash of
insight I could see that she always looked after its interests. She
would not part from it lightly. Perhaps collar loyalty went both ways.

"I will tell her nothing about this, other than to say that it has been
concluded to my satisfaction. You will come and ask me if you have a
problem in future. Use your head next time, understand?"

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master, thank you so much, Master." It grabbed
my hand to kiss it, and I had to pull it back.

It seemed appropriate to get it to apologise to my collar as well, to
try to wipe the slate clean between them. Back in my bedroom, my collar
was still waiting on the floor, and seemed surprised when I lead the
Geoffrey in. It accepted the apology in silence, but as far as I could
tell, with good grace. I dismissed the collarman with a sense of quiet
satisfaction.

Sitting back against the bed head, hands behind my head, I mused on my
success. Hopefully there would be no more trouble during the short time
mine would be around, but more importantly, perhaps I had established
some sort of — well, if not authority, at least respect — with the
Geoffrey. It was weird, given that I was a skinny sixteen-year-old
trying to boss around a grown man built like a brick shit-house, but it
might be no bad thing if it got to regard me as a "master" instead of as
the kid hanging around.

Quietly, still kneeling, my own collar asked, "Master, may this
collarmaid have permission to speak?"

"Look, you don't have to bother with... oh, yes, go on then."

It hesitated, and stole an uncertain look in my direction. "It... it is
known this one does not please the Master. But... is there some reason
why the Master does not use it for... " A pause and a swallow, then,
"... relief?"

It took me a moment before I worked it out, and then another to get
over the surprise. "No, don't be silly." I exclaimed. "It's just..."
God, how could I explain while it was kneeling like some harem girl.
"Just get off the floor and come and sit up here." I waved at the
counterpane on the bed next to me.

It looked shocked. "Master, this collarmaid should not sit next to —"

"Don't give me all that!" I cut it off, then remorseful at its alarm,
carried on more gently. "Now, if I am the 'Master', then I get to say
where you can sit, don't I?" It nodded reluctantly. "Then come and sit
up here where I want you to be." Despite its unease at this intimacy
with the "Master", it had no choice.

The bed sagged as it knelt on it, on the other side to mine but facing
me, as I sat up against the bed head. The springs bounced from its
weight, throwing us together so its thigh pressed lightly against my
knee. I grinned inwardly as I saw it struggle not to commit the
rudeness of shifting away from me. I took pity on it and slid over a
bit. My regret at loss of its warmth on my leg surprised me.

I started again. "You are pretty, and desirable, and I am sorry not to
be keeping you. But I cannot, and the reason I do not want to use you
for 'relief' is that I must return you undamaged, still a virgin."
(That, and not knowing where to start, I thought, but was certainly not
going to say.)

For some reason, it flinched at the words, and then looked even more
apprehensive if possible. "Um... M-m-master... this collarmaid
understands. But this one is frightened the Master might not get as
much in return for it as the Master thinks."

How sweet, and how inappropriate, I thought. "Why not? The site was
completely clear. Or is there something I should know?"

Now it looked not only embarrassed but frightened. "N-n-no... it's
just... what if..."

"Look, I am surprised you don't want to go, but so what. I have made my
decision and that is that," I snapped, pretending to frown severely. But
it was looking too scared, and too cute, for me to be really angry, and
for some reason my petulance had faded. After all, this morning,
everything was going to go my way. I caught it looking up at me. Its
big hazel eyes were unfathomable, and it dropped its gaze and blushed
yet again. Why did it keep doing that?

With a shock I noticed real tears gathering at the corners of its
closed eyes. This was ridiculous. Fair enough, I could see that to a
dedicated collar (and whatever else this weird collargirl was, it was
certainly dedicated), being sent back might be a disappointment. But
all this?

Now it was shivering. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, my Master, I have been
so bad," it blurted out, shaking its head. I could think of nothing to
do but lean forward to put my hands on its shoulders and make those
stupid shushing noises that one does. Amazingly, it did the trick. At
arm's length, yet somehow intimately, I held it until it got itself
under control again.

"What the hell was that about?" I queried, frowning but genuinely
curious. It just shook its head again. God knows what was going on, but
I was going to get rid of it anyway, so what did it matter? Its hands
were on its knees but it continued to lean into me. I could not help
noticing how its breasts moved inside its shift, and how its nipples
stood out through the thin cotton. I moved a hand down from its
shoulder, and, somehow braver than last night, I stroked the side of a
breast with the backs of my fingers. The cloth was old and worn soft,
and the smooth warm weight of the contents moved against my cautious
fingers in a way that twisted my gut. The shape of the nipple was
irresistible, and when my fingertips reached it, it was both soft but
also resistant, and pointier than I had expected. The collar gave a
little gasp when I rolled it tentatively between finger and thumb and I
stopped, ashamed.

I let go and I was getting off the bed when I heard "Master... there is
one way for this one to make amends... would he let me..." Its eyes met
mine, hesitantly, and I realised it had looked up from my crotch. It
could hardly have missed the wood I was sporting by now. I kept quiet,
and nodded slowly.

"There is another way," it said, carefully but more positively.
"Fellatio. This collar has been taught how to perform fellatio at
school... Would the Master find that to his liking?"

I hated to reveal my ignorance in front of a servant, but I had to ask.
"Fellatio? What's that?"

It looked uncomfortable. "It is... the provision of sexual relief using
the mouth." My face must have stayed blank. "The collar's mouth. The
penis goes in the collar's mouth and it..."

"Yes, yes, I see," I interrupted. I saw. It sounded vaguely disgusting,
but at the same time... its lips looked very red, and very soft. After
all, it did not mean that I had to keep it. Indeed, who would know? I
swallowed and nodded. "Yes. Alright then."

The bed bounced as it got off it, and stood waiting for me. It
hesitated as if unsure how to start. "Look, you kneel there and I will
sit on the edge of the bed," I said as I walked around to its side. It
felt slightly awkward to formally arrange us like that, but now the
thought of those lips touching my penis was starting to get
interesting. I slipped my trousers and pants down, rather than have the
flies flapping around my privates. The sight of its head between my
naked knees suddenly seemed obscene. Arousingly obscene. My cock surged
up.

I watched it raise its eyes up to my rod, and I saw them grow wide as
it caught its breath. Surely it had seen one before? Slowly, as if in
awe, it reached up to slide its fingers around the base. Its fingers
were cool and smooth on my skin. Then it opened its mouth, leant
forward, and I closed my eyes.

Of course I had no idea what to expect. The sensation was quite
different from my own rare and guilty experiments at stroking myself.
Wet, warm, soft and enveloping. A movement, a slither under the head
— it was the tongue writhing, carefully exploring the underside. Its
other hand caressed my testicles, softly brushing the skin, making them
feel as if they were encased in velvet. God, this was good.

It started to move, now sucking gently and nodding its head back and
forth. The first tentative movements became more confident, both bigger
and bolder. I realised that at some stage I was going to ejaculate into
this girls mouth — what would it do?

My fingers touched the rocking sides of its face and neck, exploring it
while not getting in its way. Its hair was so soft; its ears so
delicate. I opened my eyes and looked down to watch my shaft disappear
into its face and reappear, as it rhythmically impaled its head and
withdrew it. It glanced up, caught my eye, and froze, its expression
unfathomable. Then, eyes still locked in mine, it wrapped its arms
round my hips and sucked all of me into the back of its mouth.

"Ohhh no..." I groaned, pushing its head to warn it, but could not stop
myself exploding, then helplessly grabbing the back of its head to pump
a second and third gout of seed into its throat.

We fell apart, me back onto the bed, the collar coughing and
spluttering to the floor. It composed itself before I did, and was
kneeling respectfully by the side of the bed by the time I sat up
again. I stared, fascinated, at the mess. Its red face was framed in
wild hair, while a dribble of my ejaculate trickled down the side of
its chin, and a lump of snot — no, I realised with shock, more of my
stuff — hung from one nostril. It was panting as much as I was. I
reached out to gently touch the offending slime away, and it froze,
then amazingly, it melted into my hand and nuzzled against it.

"Wow," I whispered. "Who taught you that?"

It started to laugh before catching itself, and then, in suitably
demure tones, replied. "At school, Master. But it was nothing like
that. We had two lessons on fellatio, but I had no idea." It paused to
look down, then catching my now limp penis in its field of view, stared
at it, and I realised that if it had not already been beetroot it would
have been blushing yet again. "It's so big! Master, you are huge!"

"No, don't be silly. I have caught glimpses of other boy's... parts...
and mine is fairly standard."

"But, isn't it supposed to be like a finger? When we practiced in the
lessons, we were told to hold out one finger for the other girl to
suck. Sister Winifred was so embarrassed, it was funny," it carried on.
"We had to pair off, and one pretended to be the boss, sorry, you know,
"the Master," and the other was the collar, then we swapped round. We
could hardly stop giggling." It was smiling at the recollection.

"But this is so strange; not what I imagined it would feel like at
all," it whispered as it reached out to tentatively touch my softening
cock. "Sort of hard and soft at the same time — and so hot." As if
unguided, her soft fingers gently stroked my member. I stared, amazed
at the sense of, not arousal, but intimacy.

"Sheila and Honey really got into it; they were so good at acting the
parts. I remember watching how they looked into each other's eyes, as
if it was for real. They kept practicing in the evenings too, when none
of the rest of us bothered, even though we were supposed to. Poor
Sheila, she cried for ages when Honey was sold first, although... " it
tailed off awkwardly, and then whipped its hand away; obviously
suddenly realising what it was doing and to whom it was talking.

"Don't worry, this Master doesn't stand on ceremony," I reassured it
and was rewarded by a flashing smile of relief at being forgiven its
lapse of propriety. "Time to get going though."

The warm buzz stayed with me all the way to school. All right, it was
not actual put-your-willie-in-the-hole sex, but still — I had done
it, in a real girl — well, only a collar, but still!

School was strangely different. Everyone gets the day off on their
sixteenth birthday, so of course most people knew why I had been away
yesterday, and a few mentioned their congratulations. But it was not
just that. All right, the place itself had not actually changed. The
tall echoing corridors still smelt vaguely of chalk dust and old
cabbage. The quietly fading paintwork was still peeling, and along the
top corridor the dark old paintings of ancient Headmasters still
frowned down at me. But I was different.

For starters I had to get used to being a Prefect — being one of the
people we had always looked up to before. Those half-adult students
that chose to stay on at school even though, after their sixteenth
birthday, they did not have to, were more than school kids, indeed were
almost as powerful and feared as the teachers. Now I no longer wore the
uniform, although the dark plain jacket I had donned instead was pretty
somber compared to the fancy dresses and elaborate suits the other
Prefects displayed. Now the teachers said "Mr. Pilsbury" and listened
to me as if what I had to say made sense. And strangely, although I
cannot actually have been any taller than three days ago, I was now
aware that I could see over the heads of the crowd in the corridor
without effort.

I had decided to keep my lesson schedule almost the same. Strictly
speaking, I only needed to pass School Cert in Applied Maths and in
Electronics to get the position I was after at Smith and Verity.
Etiquette I was going to drop like a hot potato, but that was the only
subject I really disliked, so I thought I might carry on with the rest.
Dance was the other doubtful, but I got a strange pleasure out of
throwing myself around the school hall in time to music, even though it
meant dealing with girls. I would keep up dance for now.

In the first break, I made my way to the Gentlemen's Common Room. It
was the preserve of the male Prefects, but it was more than symbolic
that it was labeled "Gentlemen's". A large airy room, it had two
full-height double windows overlooking the playground, and with its
ornate ceiling and carved wooden architraves it was clearly part of the
older school buildings. In slight contrast were the semi-naked girls
simpering on the posters on the walls. There was no doubting the gender
of the owners of this place! After a few minutes I got over the feeling
that someone was about to ask me to leave, and settled back in an
enormous leather armchair that seemed to be spare. It was all very
comfortable; this was a perk of my new status that I could get used to.

There were a couple of screens in the corners, so I wound up my
courage, plugged in my fone, and tried Liz's code. It was rejected —
she did not want to speak to me. In her shoes, I would have been the
same, but Liz was as tough as old boots, and I had hoped she would have
the balls to face me. Unsurprisingly my messages were spat back the same
way. Feeling discouraged, I tried Rob. I had no idea what to say to him,
but I knew I could not let things between the three of us stand as they
were.

But speaking to him made me remember why he was such a mate. He
actually suggested relaying my message through him so she would at
least read it, and amazingly, acted as postbox as she and I batted more
third party notes between us. Unfortunately their school breaks did not
quite coincide with ours, but over the course of the morning, relayed
messages of "Tell her I HAD to..." and "He should have realised..."
eventually became direct messaging.

[Go on then put your money where your mouth is]

[Alright would you like to go out with me somewhere]

[Tonight You can take me to the flicks that new film]

[As long as we talk afterwards When do you want me to collect you]

[My place Seven]

In an odd sort of way, I had made a date!

I had not thought about what I would do on meeting one of the three
girls from last night, until I ran into Penelope and Charlotte, with
their heads together, just outside the Science block. They clearly had
nothing to say to me — Penelope, looking serious, opened her mouth
but closed it again, and Charlotte just looked embarrassed. A week ago,
I would have slunk away myself, but for some reason something was still
burning inside me, making me reckless. "Ah, Penelope and Charlotte," I
growled, "You will be pleased to know that my collarmaid is well. So,
see you on Saturday, shall I?" I turned on my heel and marched off.
Even to me my voice had sounded scary.

"James!" I heard Penelope call out after me, but not for anything could
I have returned to face them again. So her message, when I plugged in my
fone in the Common Room hoping for more mail from Liz, came as a
complete surprise.

[Please can you and I meet in private I have something to say]

It seemed too — bald — to be a ploy. If she were hoping to pull me
into some little trap, surely she would do better than that? And if she
was really upset, Penelope was not one to play games. Much more likely,
she just wanted to haul me over the coals for my rudeness last night.
Well, I had been unforgivably rude. But they had been worse. Yes,
collars don't count, we all know that. But such deliberate, cruel
humiliation was not just impolite, it was... I did not know, but I
would be damned before I was going to apologise. And neither, I
realised, was I going to hide from Penelope Jones or her friends.

[Your house Tomorrow night Eight o'clock] I replied and watched the
icon shrink as the text slipped down the wires.

When I got home my collar was not in my room. I am not sure why, but I
had almost expected to see it still where I had last left it. Without
changing, I went off to find a snack. Unlike my parents, I had never
been one to worry about going through the green baize door, and I
headed straight for the kitchen. It should have been no surprise to
find my collar in there, helping the Geoffrey while something simmered
on the ancient cast iron Aga.

It did surprise me that it needed glasses to read a kitchen recipe
book. Cute, really — they gave it a domesticated air. It was also
reassuring to see them actually getting along, obviously engaged
together in some joint cooking task. Whatever it was, it smelt pretty
good. For once, I was looking forward to dinner.

The girl dropped to its knees to greet me, while the collarman gave its
usual formal bow — although a little deeper and more heartfelt than
usual, I noticed. I bade them carry on, but obviously guessing why I
was there, the Geoffrey insisted in making me a sandwich. I sat down at
the huge old worn pine table, while he assembled an enormous affair of
bacon, lettuce and tomato. The collargirl could hardly believe its eyes
at the hot fried meat and the glossy fresh tomatoes, and when I told my
man to give it the scraps, it tried to refuse them. It was funny to see
the expression of bliss as it slowly chewed the leftovers with greasy
fingers. I wondered if that was the first time it had ever tasted
bacon.

"Have those strawberries come in yet, Geoffrey?" I asked, as a thought
struck me.

"Yesterday, Master James," he replied, walking over to lift the basket
out of the fruit cupboard.

"Ever had one of these?" I asked the younger collar with affected
carelessness, as I stood up to pick one out for its attention. Even for
us, the first crop of strawberries was a treat, and I was pretty sure
that they did not often make it into the kitchens of the school at
Berkhamstead.

"Oh, no, Master, this collar has never been given strawberries. Even
the Sisters never had strawberries. We did get apples, though, and
oranges at Christmas."

The fruit was beautifully ripe and the distinctive sweet smell was
rising from the basket. "Close your eyes and stick your tongue out," I
instructed, grinning. It complied obediently, and leaned back against
the counter with those surprisingly red lips open and that mobile wet
tongue pushed out, waiting expectantly. I could not help being
fascinated by the close-up sight of where my penis had been just this
morning. I leaned in, paused, and then — I don't know why, I just
couldn't resist — I licked the tip of its tongue with my own. It was
wet, warm, slippery — and gone.

"Eww!" it squeaked as it pulled away. Then, strangely, it cried,
"Master, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" and stood up straight, seemingly
mortified, with its mouth open again.

My thoughts were a whirl. Why had I done that? And why had it reacted
like that?

"What didn't you mean?" I asked, carefully.

"This collar should not have flinched, Master. Whatever the Master
wishes to do, this collar will be pleased to assist," it apologised,
finishing with its eyes still shut and its mouth wide open again.

This was nuts. A strange feeling of power was rushing to my head. I
could spit in its mouth. I could make it take my penis in its mouth
again, right here, with the Geoffrey watching, and it would. I backed
off, worried where this might take me.

Silently I placed the strawberry on its outstretched tongue and watched
it disappear into its mouth. Its eyes opened in surprise. "Good?" I
asked, and it nodded vigorously as if afraid to speak. "Fine. You just
get on here in the kitchen."

I needed to get that thing out of the house as soon as possible. Back
up in my room, I decided to ring the collar school at once to see if
they had replied to my message.

There was no one sensible available when I got through, and the
collarsec just said my message would get passed on. There was nothing
to do but wait, and browse through my bike mags for the umpteenth time.

My Father asked for me when he got home an hour later, and led me into
his study. Although it was a warm comfortable room, book-lined and full
of interesting bits and pieces, this was far from my favourite place.
The collarmaid was already waiting in there. His smile was as polite as
usual, but I suspected this was going to be grim. Thankfully, he got
down to business straight away, instead of beating about the bush.

"I have just had a call from the Berkhamstead Girls School," he
announced ponderously. "Apparently we are going to return the
collarmaid for a refund." Hell, why had they spoken to him and not me?

"Yeah, well it's mine and you can't stop me." I was already digging in,
ready for a fight.

"Of course, your prerogative," he smiled, slippery as ever. "Do you
mind if I ask what you intend to do with the money? After all, it is a
lot in one lump for a young man."

"Don't be stupid, I am going to purchase a certain motorbike that for
some reason has been denied me." This is where it comes, I thought. Too
dangerous, too noisy, nowhere to keep it — all the reasons why it was
going to be impossible to have a bike here. Well, we would see about
that.

"But will it be enough? I had got the impression, from what someone had
left lying around, that such a machine would require more funds than
will be available?" He paused, to see the effect on me.

I could feel the heat flushing my cheeks, and the sensation of losing
control, like on the downslope of the big dipper. Clenching my teeth, I
bit back the retort that had sprung to mind. Come on, remember, don't
get mad, get even. I turned away from him and stared at the photo on
the wall, waiting for "The Class of 73" to steady. When the sea of
faces had come into focus I turned back to him, and shook my head.

"Dad, just cut the bullshit and tell me what's going on." It was not
the swearing that shocked him (although we were a profanity-free
household). It was the "D" word. He stared at me, as if looking at me
for the first time.

He nodded, as if reaching a conclusion. "Sit down," he invited, and sat
himself, behind the desk. He rested his head on his hands for a moment,
to gather his thoughts. Suddenly, he was looking old — no, not old,
but tired. His antique swivel chair creaked as he rocked back to regard
me. "So. You may not know this, but I have quietly supported the
Berkhamstead School over the years."

I shrugged.

"The Sisters there are good people. Unlike some, they insist on looking
after the collarkids properly, and I think that should be encouraged.
But if a school does that, it is surprisingly difficult to make money
at raising and selling collars. I suppose that with all the cheap
imports around, not many people want to pay the premium for knowing
that it was properly trained and looked after.

"Anyway, when your mother and I decided we should get you one —" (I
kept quiet even at this) "— they were the obvious people to fone. But
unfortunately, my budget was ten thousand, and we just could not see
anything good enough at that level. Until —"

He paused, and glanced over at the collarmaid, which had its head down.
I could not see the expression, but its shoulders were hunched over.

"They had one that had been in an little incident. It had been
illicitly used for sex, with full penetration unfortunately. Which
immediately halves its value, of course, unless they were prepared to
do a little remedial surgery and a lot of lying. So they offered it to
me as a bargain lot. I argued them up from their price to taking ten
thousand for it." He sighed and looked me square in the eye. "Look, it
is a beauty. It would not have made any difference to you — yes, I
should have told you, but in the circumstances of yesterday... "

He paused and leant back in his chair again. "Of course, they will only
be able to give you nine thousand back. But it's not just the money —
it's the principle. I had some influence with them, so they did me a
favour. At the same time I did them a favour." He steepled his fingers
together as he mused. " A man's influence is his capital. It must be
invested, not squandered, or eventually he has none. Now this is going
to screw things up and leave a bad taste in the mouth. And quite how I
am going to keep the peace with your Mother... "

He considered for a moment. "How does this sound. You put up with the
thing for a few more days — let us say, until Sunday night — and
decide then. You take it around with you, and use it how you want; but
you must actually keep it with you and look after it. Then if you want
to hang on to it — end of problem. If you still want to return it, I
will take care of it without involving the School, and I will make up
the difference so you can buy that blasted bike."

I was stunned, not knowing what to feel. Disgust. Outrage. And... hope.
All right, he had foisted a present I didn't want on me, and palmed me
off with damaged goods, but it was still a pretty generous offer. All
it would cost me was my pride. A day ago I would have told him to stuff
it, and broken the door on my way out. Now... 

"If you 'take care of it', you wouldn't let it be hurt, would you?"

He looked at me oddly, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then
thought better of it. Finally he just shook his head and barked, "You
have until Sunday. Look after it while you think."

I decided to be out of there. "Come on," I called to the collar as an
afterthought as I reached the door. It followed me out of the room.

It knelt motionless on the floor of my room as I sat and regarded it.
He had expected me not to notice that it wasn't a virgin. Would I have?
Did I care? Maybe I should swallow my pride and accept my Father's
offer, I thought. Sunday. Today was Wednesday so that was three days
and three nights. And then the beautiful Tomahawk could be mine. But
wait, I ought to check out what he had been saying. Maybe I could
afford it anyway. What if I could just sell this thing for what I
needed? That was it, I needed to get a valuation.

A quick flash at the screen and I was looking at the possibilities.
Clarkes was the obvious choice; big and respectable with collars in
stock, but I knew they would charge a fortune. Would they even talk to
me? Or, there was Honest Joe's Used Collar Mart. One look at "Honest
Joe" and I decided to pass. But there was a third, smaller place. I
think I knew where it was. The shop front was undistinguished as I
recalled, but I had walked past it and it was not far. I could take it
in after school tomorrow — no I wouldn't have time tomorrow — but
on Friday then.

I turned back to the collar, still kneeling, patiently waiting for me
to have a use for it. "Is it true, my Father's story about what
happened, you know the, well, rape? And did they really sell you for
only ten thousand?" I asked.

"Yes, Master. At least, this one doesn't actually know the price but it
was a big discount. And it is certainly true about the... r... r..." It
took a new breath, and continued with determination, "the rape." It
looked up, and although shaking, ploughed on.

"Master, this one is so sorry. It should have said, it should have
explained, but it was told to keep everything secret and now I've... it
has spoiled the Master's plans and..." I touched her lips to stop her
speaking. The feeling of the delicate mouth, still moving for a second
against my fingertips, caught me by surprise.

"No. Speak properly. Start by cutting out the silly slave talk." I
interrupted. "First and second person — heard of them? Then use
them."

It gasped at the "S" word, but nodded, swallowed and started again. "I
am so sorry, Master, that I am not worth what you had hoped. I don't
understand about the... motorbike?... but does this mean that now you
will get what you need, Master?"

So, for some reason, waving my hands as I paced around the room, I
explained about the bike. Then I explained about my parents, which
seemed to take longer. And at the end of it, I realised that I had been
really talking to myself. Although she had been listening, what on Earth
would a collar make of such ramblings?

While I was speaking, everything had started to fall into place. I was
beginning to see my parents with a stranger's eyes, and myself, and the
stupid behavior trap that we had worked our way into. Some things were
clearer. But others, that I had thought were obvious, maybe were not so
clear after all. I needed to think.

"I used to daydream about having a mother and a father," she said
wistfully, breaking the silence that fell when I petered out. "I just
assumed it would be so nice to have parents. But of course, real life
is more complicated, isn't it?"

I winced. She was an orphan, or abandoned. Of course she was, that is
why she wore a collar in the first place.

"I suppose you wonder what I'm complaining about." I sat down again and
looked at her. If I did not look at the collar, but the person, I saw a
determined girl not yet my age, whose life made mine seem like a bed of
roses, but who was listening sympathetically. And that was odd, when did
I stop thinking of her as an "it"?

"What is it like, being restrained? I mean, you seem so accepting. I
couldn't stand it, wearing one of those things all the time."

She looked down at the bedspread, and answered in a low voice, almost
to herself. "I have to wear a collar. I am a collar. That's all. No
mother and no father, so that's what happens, and there is no use
thinking about anything else." She touched the thing around her neck,
and then looked up at me. I could hardly meet her big hazel eyes. "Just
as you have to be a gentleman, with the Mother and Father that you have.
All we can do is play the hand we have been dealt as well as we can. I
have to work at being a good collarmaid, and you, well, you are going
to be a salaryman, and a husband, and look after a family, and I know
you will be good at it too."

I wondered how she could think that. "But the things you may have to
do. Do you really not mind that I can do anything to you, any time I
wish?"

She shook her head slowly. "Master, that is what I am here for. In fact
it feels — I don't know — it just feels right, somehow." then added
quietly "With you." What on Earth did she mean by that?

"So. Maybe I should keep you for a few days after all." I could feel
her holding her breath. "Alright, just until Sunday. I will get an
independent valuation for you, and then we will see."

"Thank you, thank you Master, I will be so good," she whispered,
looking up with a glowing face. How strange that someone could be so
pleased to be offered three more days of slavery.

"Master, may this one speak?" she carried on.

"Yes, yes of course."

"Thank you, Master. It is just that — I understand now why you need
to sell me — and I hate to do anything that would be against my
Master's interest. But would my Master object if I tried to please him?
If I behaved in a way that I hoped would change his mind?"

It took me a moment to get my head around this. "You are asking my
permission to be nice to me, to try and convince me that I ought to
keep you here as a slave?" I asked her in disbelief.

She winced at the slave word again, but nodded. "Yes, if the Master
does not mind."

I laughed. "And I though I was the one screwed up. Yes, be my guest!"
But this collar-speak is doing my head in, I thought. I addressed her
again. "Look, if we are going to rub along together for a bit you will
have to stop asking for my permission to speak. If you want to say
something, just say it. And you cannot keep calling me Master. My name
is James. What is your name, what do I call you?"

She looked at me strangely. "I cannot possibly call you by your first
name, Ma... Sir. Mr Pilsbury, if you prefer."

"Mr. Pilsbury is my Father!" I exclaimed. "Sir will do fine, if you
can't manage James. Just never 'Jim', okay?" I added, teasing.

"Yes, Sir! Of course, Sir." The corners of her mouth twitched in
return. "But you have not yet given me a name. Maybe you do not want to
bother yet, in case... " she faltered.

I ignored the hanging question. And, of course, I had forgotten about
the naming of new collars. "What did they call you at the School,
then?"

"Well, I was number 286, Sir, the last part of my serial number."

"No, not the Sisters, the other collars."

"Oh... They called me Anne, Sir," she replied shyly, as if revealing
something very personal.

I liked it. "Fine. That will do, Anne is a pretty name." She smiled up
at me. It is the eyes, I realised, not the mouth. Never mind the name,
she was pretty. And how strange to think that the girl in front of me,
looking as young and perfect as a flower, was used to being hurt and
humiliated, even raped.

Like a slap the memory of my actions on meeting her flashed through me.

"Look... we got off to a bad start, yesterday morning. I was..." what
— an idiot? A selfish, spoilt brat? How could I start to explain?

She was looking at my face in concern. "Sir, you are entitled to use
the controller in any way you like. That's what it is there for. It
doesn't do any physical harm, well not much, unless it is on for too
long."

On for too long! I got the thing out of my trouser pocket and put it in
the bottom drawer of the chest next to my bed. "Right. That's where it
is going to stay. I promise you that I shall not touch that thing for
the rest of your time here." Then, remembering yesterday at the cafe,
"Oh, unless we go out, of course."

She stared again as if in disbelief. "Master! Sorry — Sir. I... I
don't know what to... You will never need it, Sir. I will make sure.
Whatever I can do to repay you, I... " Something was going on in her
head. "Sir, now that you know I am not a virgin, you could use me. You
know, for relief. Sexual relief. I promise that whatever you want me to
do, I will do willingly, and I really won't mind if it is a bit
uncomfortable or hurts. I will be careful not to wince or put you off
in any way."

"That won't be necessary," I replied too quickly, and a little primly.
"I mean you've already... you put my willy in your mouth and let me...
"

"I really don't mind, Sir. "

"You've just been raped." I said gently. "And as for the Geoffrey!
Thank you for your offer, and believe me when I say I find you
attractive, but I am not going to drag you through that again."

Her eyes were glistening. "But what happened was not your fault, Sir,
it wasn't really even the fault of that man who got carried away."

"Not his fault?" I was puzzled.

"I understand how sex works, Sir. It's nature, isn't it. Natural
selection, to reproduce. The male has this irresistible urge to
impregnate any suitable female, and that's how he is built, that is why
it feels so good for him to do it. Of course it doesn't matter what the
female feels as long as she is caught and gets impregnated. Not very
fair, but that is nature." She paused for a moment but I did not
interrupt. "Like if there was a piece of chocolate lying on the table.
I would do anything for chocolate. How long would I resist?"

She was quiet, and I realised she was in another place, remembering.
"And it didn't hurt that much. There was a bit of pain, but mostly it
was just uncomfortable, and degrading, and... such a waste. That's what
upset me. Not the hurt, but that he was damaging me, spoiling me for my
boss. You know," she carried on, with wistful pride, "I trained so
hard, and I had the highest price tag in my class. And now — what
boss would have me now?"

"I would!" I almost replied — and then didn't. How could I say that
and then send her back on Sunday?

She lifted up her head, which had been hanging, and shook it, as if to
clear tears. "Anyway," with a fierce half smile hovering at the edge of
her face, "I managed to bruise his face, really badly. I kept hitting it
with my forehead. I was trying to break his nose, but I couldn't quite
make it."

I smiled and shook my head at her. "You really are amazing. If I was in
the market for a collar... " I sighed. "But I am not, and it wouldn't
feel right putting you through all that when, on Sunday..."

"But Sir, it would feel right. That's what I mean. To be used by my
boss for what he needs, I would be proud to do it." That interesting
blush was creeping across her cheeks again. "When I had your...
penis... in my mouth it was, well alright, a bit uncomfortable, but
also exciting. It gave me butterflies in my tummy. I was doing it for
real, finally having a boss use me for, you know, and then actually
squirting his stuff into me!"

She looked up, coyly. "And if you want to practice — I can only get
better!"

I wished I was not such a pansy. I wished I had even the first idea of
what I was passing up. But there was no way I was going to shaft her,
and that was that.

"No! Now, we are going to work out how to get along for the next few
days, and then we are going to part. You are going to find a new
Master, one who will want you, and I am going to get my bike. But first
of all, we have to go shopping."

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Chapter four is at http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Old-Softy/The_Collar_around_the_Heart/The_Collar_4.txt

If you liked it so far, drop me a line to 
'oldsofty  @  hotmail.co.uk' (don't forget to remove the spaces)

Chapters five and six will be posted Tuesday 6th Nov 08