Being collared will set you free. I could recall the sign word for word, as I saw it often hanging over the door of His dungeon. I pondered the phrase, initially thinking it was a contradiction. How could being owned and being collared result in any type of freedom? The more he trained me and sculpted me, emotionally breaking me down and working me back up to a stronger, more obedient boy, I began to see the genius in my Master.

I began to see, like the difference between the grass and the sky, that some men were naturally born to dominate and lead where was others were not. There was no situation my Master could not handle with grace and his own charm; there was nothing he couldn’t fix with a certain facial expression and corresponding body posture; there was no mystery in life he had not pondered and solved. I felt mentally weak and inferior to his brilliance, in awe of the clarity in which he saw the world. With his training I gained manners, then I learned to check my pride and my ego. Just because I was a male, it did not mean things were owed to me. My Master taught me this, and a great deal more things, and through pain and love, helped me gain a stronger foothold in life. A deeper, appreciation, so to speak, for things I could change and the things I had to accept as is.

One of those things, was that He would always be a superior and an alpha in my life, even though we were cut from the same a template of the same bone and muscles. In my early years, I found him aggravating and his opinions frustrating, but now there was only an odd sort of peace in being content with my status. I had an open window to his knowledge. I often felt deep reassurance in knowing he would always be there to keep me in check, to keep me on a straight path, and to discipline me when I had faulted. I could always ask him for advice. I pitied those who were left to discipline themselves.

I tore my eyes away from the handsome black and silver collar in his manicured, outstretched hand, and looked beyond it to my Master’s hopeful face. My silence had perplexed and worried him. I could read his expressions like an open book these days.

I cupped the soft leathery collar in my hands and knelt, offering it back up to him. My Master stepped forward – I could hear the creak of his leather pants – and took it out of my palms. I felt his fingers unhitch the silver chain around my neck – my training collar. My neck felt light without it. The buckle jingled as He handled it, then He wrapped the real collar around my neck. I bowed my head as it was fixed in place. Even after one second, it felt as if it had been there all my life.
“Lift your head,” my Master said.
“I did.”
He smiled, looking dazzling. “Look at that.” I was surprised to detect a bit of emotion in his voice.
I raised my hand and felt the material around my neck. I couldn’t wait to see it in a mirror.
“Thank you Sir,” I said, “Thank you for this fine gift, and for allowing me to serve under you.” My Master nodded, then to my surprise, he responded: “Thank you for being a fine pupil. I saw enormous potential in you, but I am surprised you gave me the honor of staying with me and allowing me to teach you for so long. There were so many times I was sure your machismo would get in the way and you would break. You have exceeded all my expectations.”
At that moment, my throat was so tight, I couldn’t say a word or even cry.
“Merry Christmas, boy,” He said.
I broke my form. I leapt to my feet and embraced him in a huge hug. To my relief, he crushed me back instead of chiding me for it. I was shocked to feel a sob go through him. “God, I love you,” he whispered in my ear, barely audible. I wanted to tell him the same words back, but “I love you” did not seem to convey enough the adoration I felt for him. Instead, I said, “I will always be yours.”

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Text is fictional. Cannot believe I forgot to post this yesterday. It had been sitting in drafts since November.