There was nothing particularly special about the offending object; it was a light, pleasant pink, appeared to be thick and sturdy enough to be used for its intended purpose, and had a little red metal tag in the shape of a heart dangling from it. None of that mattered; the moment I lay eyes on it, something overcame me. I could form no reason as to why, but I knew then and there that I needed to put it on. It made little sense, but somehow, for some reason the thing that had called to me for miles upon miles was a collar. There was no sensible justification for it, so the part of my brain that wasn’t telling me to put it on came to the only conclusion it had the bandwidth to process: magic. It was magic, it had to be, and now this bewitched object of sexual desire was willing me to put it on. Tugging at my mind, caressing my thoughts tenderly as it urged me to let it slip around my neck.
Fear gripped me; what sort of curse was this that brought me here? Did it simply seek out and lure lost souls like myself into its grasp? And then what? What dark ends did it have in mind for me after it had bent me to its will? Even as fear gripped me, some other dark curiosity pierced it with ease, bidding me listen to the siren song. Not that it was necessary, my hands were already clasped around either end, bringing the soft leather to my neck. The moment it touched my throat a violent pulse of raw feeling ripped through me as I slumped to my knees. The collar was pouring thoughts and feelings into the gaping void in my sense of self, filling me with something, someone new.
In my mind’s eye I saw her, that woman, more vivid than ever, tall and imposing, looming over me with a pleasant grin and half lidded eyes as she gazed down at me. Her hair was a gorgeous dark red, and spilled over her shoulders down to her breasts, her face elegant and angelic, but not without a commanding presence that rendered me helpless in the wake of her piercing blue eyes. She bent low, exposing heaving, milky-white cleavage, and gently ran a hand through my hair, causing me to go completely limp in relaxed, fulfilled pleasure as a soft, feminine moan escaped my lips followed by a single choked word: “Mistress.” In response she simply crooned lovingly, and I sank into an ocean of bliss.
I opened my eyes back in the real world; the vision had cleared, but the feelings had only grown as more and more desires patched up the gaps in my sense of self. Was this how the collar worked? Had some nefarious curse been placed on it that made it call to any and all weak enough, fragmented enough to be so easily molded, and fill them with the personality of some submissive pet? I could feel her now in my mind, the girl the collar wanted me to be. The girl it was making me want to be, it was impossible to deny. The more of her I felt, the more I wanted to give up and become her. She was so happy, so blissful and devoted to the service of her Mistress in ways that were more fulfilling than anything I had ever experienced. But it was a lie, it had to be. I wasn't some girl, I was me. Whatever that meant, I wasn't sure, but I knew I wasn't a girl, as much as I wanted to be. As much as it hurt to see myself. Was that even the collar talking? I didn't know, I just knew how badly I wanted to give in.
There was more; its magics were kneading me from all sides, covering me in tingling waves of energy that rushed all along my body. Somehow I could sense their intent; they were trying to give me that form the collar made me crave. I wasn’t weak, though; I would resist, I had to, even if I didn’t know how. And, as though in response, the sensation lessened, fading into the background, but always there, like a lion circling its prey and waiting for the first opening to strike. And so much of me wanted to give it that opening, but I wouldn’t, not until I understood what was going on. It was so hard to piece together any sort of coherent narrative.
So much of myself had been missing to begin with, how was I to say what was real? The collar was giving me these thoughts, these feelings, but was it making me like them? Making me want them? It was so hard to know for sure; I didn’t even know who I really was. What I did know, though, was that I couldn’t think clearly with this collar around my neck, dominating my will. Despite that, my hands remained still, making no motion to undo the clasp and free myself from its influence, and before I had the chance to build the strength to do so, I was interrupted by a soft gasp behind me.
She was in the doorway, back to the dark hallway and lit only from the light streaming in from the unused bedroom I now occupied, but it was her. She was dressed only in a pair of panties and a loose t-shirt. Despite that, she somehow still looked regal, important, powerful. I suddenly found myself struggling to breathe at the sight of her there. The woman whom the collar called Mistress was so beautiful, but I already knew that. And she looked, well, she looked confused, but also awestruck and probably happy? It was hard to say; she seemed to barely believe what she was seeing. Her mouth hung open, her eyes were wide and watering. Dangling from her left hand was a small metal bat, now held loosely only by the tips of her fingers; moments later it fell to the floor with a soft fwump onto the carpeted floor.
She took a tentative step forward, and, as much as I wanted to bolt, or even just keep my distance, I was glued in place, I couldn’t even stand back up. My legs refused to obey any and all commands to move. Besides, the collar was deciding for me what to do now, and it was telling me to let myself belong to her. I really wanted to give in, too. There was another step toward me, and I found myself instinctively making myself as small as possible in her presence, hunching low and barely meeting her gaze. She opened and closed her mouth several times, seemingly struggling not to burst into both tears and joyous laughter as her mouth contorted from wide smiles to bewildered gaping to borderline hyperventilating. Finally though, she found her words.
“Cass, is that really you?” she croaked, her voice was exhausted, wavering and quiet, hanging in the back of her throat, likely stuffed and held there by the overwhelming emotions she seemed to be feeling. Nevertheless it was melodious to me. The collar made sure of that. It also made very sure that the name Cass meant everything to me; it surged through me like an electric current, soaking every neuron in dopamine and lighting them all up so bright that, just for a moment, I felt like that gap which had been torn out of me wasn’t so empty after all. Not when I could be Cass for her. Still, my resolve held true, I would not let her make me someone else. That didn’t mean I felt strong, though.
“I -- I don’t know.” My head fell at the admission; I didn’t know who Cass was any more than I knew who I was. She was as much a stranger to my psyche as the rest of me, so who was to say for certain?
“It’s you, it has to be you.” She took another step, and this time I managed to flinch, tumbling backward onto my back.
“Please!” I cried, inching away from her, “don’t come any closer! I don’t know what magic you’ve worked on me with this collar, but I won’t give in. You’re not in charge of me,” I insisted, though I could barely believe it myself.
“My sweet girl, please don--”
“Shut up!” I cried, arms lashing out at the air before me. “Don’t call me that! I’m not a girl, that’s the doing of whatever horrific curse you put on this thing.”
“But I didn’t,” she looked hurt at the insinuation. “I didn’t curse it, I, there shouldn’t be any magic on it at all,” she trailed off, seemingly not only unfazed by my assertion that the culprit was magic, but completely on board with its existence and her connection to it. Which was weird; while my brain had jumped to magical curse quickly, that was only because the rational parts of my brain were too occupied fighting the collar’s influence, and some part of me still clung to the belief that there was some other mundane explanation for it all. That being said, I’d been feeling the connection for a long time, and it was hardly the first time the possibility of magic had occurred to me.
“Don’t lie to me! If this isn’t cursed, then why did it call to me from thousands of miles away? Why did it lure me into your home? Why did it tell me to wear it? Why did it make me want to be a girl? Why did it make me want to submit? Why does it all sound so wonderful? Please, please tell me, I can’t go on like this. Take these false desires away from me. I just want to be whole again.” By the end I was less accusational and defiant, more begging and groveling.
A look of pity crossed her face, one that was eclipsed by grief as she closed the remaining distance between us and crouched before me, running a hand through my hair just as she had in the dream; with that, I collapsed forward into her lap. She put up no resistance, and simply resumed her doting strokes of affection. “Hey, it’s okay, there’s no curse, just stop fighting it. It’s not trying to harm you. You said you wanted to be whole again, I think that’s what it’s trying to do.
“Stop it!” I shouted, though no effort was made to lift my head from her soft thighs, “you’re lying to me, the collar is making me want these things, it’s not me! It’s filling the gaps in who I am with lies, changing me.”
She winced, for a brief moment retracting her hand in a moment of reproach and pain, a shuddering breath poured from her lips as I felt her trembling against me, before she regained her composure and squeezed me tightly. “Sweetheart no, it’s not changing you,” she insisted. ”It’s showing you who you really are. You’re a girl, my girl. I promise.” She continued playing with my hair, and I wanted so badly to give in and let her decide my truths for me. I could, if I wanted to. I could be whoever and whatever she wanted me to be, and she wanted me to be a cute girl, wanted me to want that too. And god, I did. I really really did want it. I wanted it so, so badly, but I couldn’t let her make me something I wasn’t. Even if I wasn’t entirely certain who I was at the very core of my being. She seemed to sense this internal struggle, and with growing sadness and resignation, spoke again. “You really don’t remember, do you?” It seemed as though that was the magic word, because the moment she said it, my head shot up at the prospect of her actually having the solution to my troubles.
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So many emotions
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