Smutmonger
Posts: 995
Joined: 2/17/2010
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Five years ago,I stood on the wooden arched bridge over the Duwamish river-right out in the center.
I had let the last girl, the moocher-go about three weeks previous. The day was sunny, and the river it's usual cloudy color-green with algea.
I had brought along two collars I had taken back. I thought about the events leading up to this,and what I might have done differently. The past is gone,nothing more to do.
The first collar had been a simple thing of leather. Not something I made,it had just turned up during cleaning. I dropped it in,and it was gone.
The second was more elaborate. Stainless steel with a turned edge,and built in hinge. A tiny brass rendition of a daisy affixed with a small brass rivet-she was a blonde. Lined with red elkhide.
This one followed next, dissapearing with a melancholy splash in the dark rivers flow.
I imagine it lies there in the mud to this very day. I decided that collars had to be earned with devotion after that.
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I didn't get into an alternative lifestyle to explore new frontiers in conformity.
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Two collars. - 
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