The chain clinks and my heart melts

There is definitely something hot about the sound of a chain, not a dainty one that suspends a pendant, but a heavy chain like my collar.

I love it when my Husband grabs my collar, whether that is simply holding his hand across the back of my neck during a passionate kiss, or the sound of it cinching tighter and tighter if he pulls on the padlocks. Just recently I have discovered a love of pleasing him, rather then simply being a selfish lover. I have discovered I actually rather enjoy giving him blow jobs and he certainly isn’t complaining. Over the last few months we have ended up having more oral sex than standard sex, yay.

Why am I telling you this? Well, I’m not really sure, but as a lady that used to Hate giving head, I guess I’m writing about this for myself. It used to make me feel physically sick, the idea of ramming a penis into my face. The idea of swallowing his semen, gagging as my tonsils get covered in salty sticky goo, it was vile to me.
But now I enjoy it – I enjoy watching his body move and react, the glint in his eyes, that look of almost pain as he climaxes. It is rather bloody satisfying if I’m honest with you all. That feeling that my mouth can do so much to his entire body, almost make him dance. When I try to make love, be that loving gentle sex or fast and furious fucking, I feel awkward and clumsy. I really cannot move my whole body as easily or gracefully as my tongue.

But my Husband had to go one better, and be in charge still. He will grab my hair, and direct my head down the bed. Then after several times taking the control back by using my ponytails, he started using my collar. Grabbing my collar firmly and pulling my face up his shaft, and pushing me back down with the other hand. Up and down, and up and down, harder and harder until I am stifling tears from the pain of my gag reflex versus forced deep-throat.

It is glorious, the sound of my chain clinking as my head bobs up and down fast. My padlocks hit his balls, and my nose bashes on his belly. It feels like it lasts for hours, but it is just minutes. I roll my eyes to the side and glance in our big mirror – the joy on his face would make me smile if I was able to, but, yanno, penis stuffed in my mouth and all that.

I lift my head away after he cums, and he releases his grip. I snuggle up with my head on his chest, he will stroke my hair, wipe my tears and kiss my forehead. In those moments, I feel special, I feel overwhelming love from him. It’s not just sex, it’s so much more than that. It’s like blind trust, the pulling of my collar, (which is a symbol of trust and love) and restricting my breathing. All the time I could tap out (safeword) and stop it, but I don’t.

There is a beauty in brutality.

How did this happen? Freedom

A long long time ago my life felt like it was over. I had no future, no freedom, I did as I was told, I barely existed.

Yet here I am, with my body draped over a lovely chap that respects me, head on his chest feeling almost blessed. I’m pondering how unlikely it was that we even met, let alone that we would end up with each other. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking as he says “happy happy happy”, “what are you happy about?”, “that I’ve got you!”.

I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. we’ve been in love for 15 years now, but the last year has definitely been the best. We’ve been vanilla(ish) most of our relationship, with things getting gradually more fun as I learnt to trust again. I learnt to live, and how to be free.

I proposed to him in January, married in June and got collared in September. Since being married I’ve felt such love, protection and acceptance that I suggested that he collar me. Now that sounds strange, finally able to feel free, and I ask for a virtual chain.
But it is not a desire to be chained, shackled or hurt – it’s a deeper level of trust. Husband pretty much owns my soul, and my heart, why not my body too?

It’s a strange feeling of liberation, being collared. I feel stronger and happier knowing that we have such a connection. Even when vanilla types glare at my (very unsubtle) collar and seem disgusted or offended by it, I feel proud. I chose my Husband. I asked his parents permission. I dropped to one fucking knee and told him I wanted him. I married him. I submitted to him. And all as my own choices.

I never thought I’d be here. I truthfully didn’t think I’d live past my early twenties – I escaped from the danger I was in, but I still got death threats. I still had meltdowns and nightmares – part of myself was still there, locked in to my own home and being raped, abused and hurt. I never thought I would have the strength to run. To survive. To make it through the suicidal times. But somehow I did. It wasn’t easy, and I have no idea how Husband coped with me in the early years of our relationship – I know I was a fucking wreck. But now I feel completely over it, safe, happy and settled.

I still pinch myself sometimes, I’m alive and married. Respected and loved completely. I matter and I’m so much more than just a survivor.

I’m HIS.