Chain Of Rules

(Aside – the following transpired after the first time I received a manicure from Leigh, which was discussed in Finger Sandwiches)

It seems so ironic now, but very early in our courtship Leigh wore a collar just for me.

Well, not a collar per se. A choker. It was black velvet with the tiniest lace edging, a faux cameo adorning its otherwise minimalist appearance.

Allow me to backtrack to before Leigh and I met. I’ve always found chokers to be appealing, erotic, exciting. Perhaps this is due to how snug they are, or how they accentuate the natural beauty of the nape of a woman’s neck. Or it could be the chiaroscuro of that thick band against pale skin.

Or maybe it was my yet to be discovered inner Dominant whispering to me “It looks like a collar. She is wearing a fucking collar. She’ll do salacious things at your request, beg for more and thank you for the privilege of allowing her to orgasm.”

Regardless, I like the look. And Leigh was searing a lifelong memory into my brain. You know, one of those last 100 memories you will recall as the grains of the sands of Time all but empty into the bottom half of Life’s hourglass, upon which you discover all the time you tried to save throughout decades of effort sadly do not equate to a Bonus Round before the dirt nap.

Game over. Thanks for playing. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

So when that time comes for me, I already know that one dollar’s worth of memories out of my last Benjamin’s worth of time to spend will be when I saw Leigh in a choker for the first time.

We had only recently met and, even though hundreds of miles separated us, found a way to fall in love at first sight. A few months into the tornado that was our beginning I flew out to see her as a surprise.  In that I would need transportation from the airport she only knew of my intentions with a fortnight’s warning

After a restless night of little, if any, sleep I bordered the redest eye flight imaginable. It was so early bakers were still sleeping when I departed. Coffee ceased to have a monetary value. Need. Now.

I should have saved my money, for when I saw Leigh I was awake. Oh fuck yes, awake.

I remember the short-sleeved knit sweater, snug faded denims, boots that offered both warmth from the reality of winter as well as fashion. Her short red hair was vibrant in the early light of morning (it was her friend even then), and of course how her blue eyes were cliché with twinkling.

But my eyes fixated on her neck. That choker.

I. Was. Dying.

The ride to her house was delightful. Flirtations of the optical and aural sort, light touches with fingertips, lots of laughter which was still tinged with the nervous energy of beginning relationships.

For almost the entire three hour drive I stared at her neck, hoping the massive erection it was causing wasn’t too obvious.

I commented on her beauty and how nice she looked about 37 times. Yeah, that was me. Mr. Smooth Operator. Keep your smirks to a minimum, please. We all start somewhere.


That weekend we fucked like rabbits on Red Bull and espresso. The first time, when she stripped down, may have been the first time I made a Dominating comment to her.

“Don’t take that off” I said as she reached back to unclasp it. It wasn’t a request or a plea, even though it felt like begging. In hind sight it was very out of character for me.

A slight pause, a wicked grin and it was left in place.

Over the following years she would, on special occasions, “choker up” for me. I always appreciated those evenings.

Which brings us full circle to the evening that precludes the remaining Acts in this tale. When she came to me nude except for her wrists and ankles adorned in black leather bondage cuffs, a three ring matching collar, her alabaster skin accented by an open silk burgundy robe, well it was if I was transported back in time to that car ride.

She still takes my breath away when she wears a collar. Every fucking time.

After my manicure I cupped her chin, raised her eyes to meet mine, and kissed her as if I was going off to fight a war on foreign soil in the morning. My right hand, the same one that makes her nipples hard, ass blister and cunt squirt, cradled her jaw like the finest porcelain.

Our kiss ended when her eyes reopened to find the pointer finger of that hand curled snuggly inside the main ring of her collar. A playful tug reminded her of what was in store for her that evening.

The Chains™.

Chain Of Rules Act II

19 responses to “Chain Of Rules

  1. So fantastic Scot! Love your words and how they paint such a passionate picture of how good Sir and doll can be!

  2. mmmm I love to wear chokers , collars. They are inherently sexy. I’m worried that my young daughter seems to have already latched onto this idea, as she will try to fashion a choker out of anything (snap bracelet, necklace, etc). Oh boy….

  3. Your language works like magic, Scot. I wanted to quote some of my favorite sentences here, but then probably I would repeat over a half of your posting.

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