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 
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 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 http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Old-Softy/The_Collar_around_the_Heart/The_Collar_3.txt

