Over the past couple weeks I have been able to wear my leather slave collar out in public pretty consistently. This is mostly because we’ve been away from our vanilla life and kids, hanging out at our other house. It’s a fun and safe place for us to play in in a truly full time mode, where the vanilla world doesn’t interrupt. Our dynamic is somewhat unique because I slide between a more little/middle space and into a slave space, however, the level of power exchange stays equal in all spaces. I wouldn’t label or define myself as either slave nor little, just to be clear, but rather submissive with times crossing each mindset.
Wearing my leather collar out is a small way I can be more public with who I am, and I love to be able to prance around in it. It is simple with a small silver ring in the front. We had it custom made by the same artisan who made a matching pair of wrist cuffs. I’ve worn them enough times the leather is soft and pliable, formed to the shape of my body. I normally wear all three together, paired with my usual bright, spunky colors, and all are set to stand out. The edges of each is emphasised with white stitching, adding to the effect. Next to my pink hair and lighter tones the black really pops, so those looking at me find their eye drawn from my collar to my wrists. Quite commonly some other black is worked into my ensemble in subtle touches, slowing the eye as it moves across me. It may be a border along the zipper of my jacket, a belt, or the edge of my black bra peeking out of a deeply cut neckline.
As I have worn my collar around in public, I found it garnered more attention then I initially expected. No one has yet to approach me or my Master directly – who stays close by as I am not allowed to leave his sight without permission. I think those in the community would be either absolutely unphased by the sight of my collar, or simply pleased to meet someone else in public. There was once, I suspect, where we talked to another man who was in the community, though he didn’t out himself directly. He talked to my Master first, commented on my outfit, overtly pink and playful at the time, a knowing look in his eye. It is the other people who don’t know what to think or do.
It starts with a glance from my face to my collar that only I can see. Even if my eyes are downcast, I notice their eyes bouncing from black to black, pausing to study small details. Then their expression changes slightly as a thought traces through their mind; a fantasy, a fear. It is just a microsecond, but I see it. Sometimes, I think they make sure I see it. Sometimes, I think they are betrayed by their own response, unaware the image in their head is playing out on their face, giving away their secrets. It is never anything that makes me feel uncomfortable, unsafe, or worry that I need to pull back from wearing my collar. I have always worn a collar, mind you, so long as we have been D/s, but my usual day collar is unassuming, a simple necklace, and is still worn alongside this one. It is this leather collar – connected to 50 Shades of Grey, The Story of O, and other fantasies – that garners a reaction.
I am secure in our choice, however, and love this little way we can be more public and open in our dynamic. But the reactions, nonetheless, are interesting, sometimes comical. A polite hello and a smile will snap them back into reality, if needed. Either way, their reaction doesn’t phase me. It comes from them and is not a reflection of me, but rather them. It is their story, their perceptions, their ignorances and fantasies.