Whips and Stockingtops origin story. I'm not convinced anybody will want to read it though! Here's the opening...
It didn’t start with the flying saucer.
It started with the slave collar I found hidden behind the ironing board in the broom closet of my perfectly normal student apartment in 21st century Manchester, England, my timeline.
An Art Deco slave collar in burnished steel with with corrugations and a geometrical border.
It could almost have been jewellery, except for the O-ring at the throat and the lock at the back that had no key: once snapped shut, it would take cutting tools to remove this permanent collar.
It looked expensive. It was certainly for the dedicated fetishist.
Yet, somebody had left it in the back of the closet.
Specifically, they’d left it in an old fashioned manilla envelope bearing the words “New Slave” in beautiful copperplate handwriting.
The slave collar didn’t belong to my new roommates because they hadn’t moved in yet. Had it been abandoned by last year’s students?
I took it back to my room to… examine it.
Just holding the fetter was a turn on. It was light, with rounded edges; practical. Somehow that made it even more exciting.
Putting the cold metal around my neck and looking at it in the mirror… that almost got me off.
The collar belonged there! It fitted like a glove. All I had to do was snap it shut…
Except I didn’t.
I did, however, jerk off and feel vaguely sordid after.
Then I got on with my first semester at college, failed to pluck up courage to join the BDSM group or even go to a munch, started dating a very normal Business Studies student called Mary. We didn’t have sex. Just did some inconclusive groping. But almost every spare night found me kneeling in front of my mirror, one hand pressing the collar to my throat, the other jerking away at my dick.
Then came the Christmas break. Dad was off whoring in the Far East. Mum was busy with her church group. So I stayed on at the apartment and, since I now had the place to myself…
I snapped the collar shut on my throat.
Just an eruption in my groin.
Then I just knelt there feeling stupid, covered in my own jism, with a irremovable steel collar fixed around my neck. What the hell was I going to do now?
And that’s when the flying saucer abducted me.