nerotx on Collarspace

9/24/2013 5:22:03 PM

There's a girl out there.

I know she's out there.

For years, she thought she was weird, she thought she was somehow sick or twisted, and so she kept her weirdness hidden, secret. She learned the hard way about this, most likely.

The grownups were not pleased to find her bag of 'weird toys'.

So she got better at hiding them.

But when she got some private time..

..she didn't have to pretend to be the same as them any more.

She could be free.

It started out for her in small enough ways.

Shoelaces, at first. Then a bathrobe belt.

Soon it became clothesline.

Then one day, heart pounding, a length of rope, liberated from the tool shed perhaps.

Her hands would tremble that first time. Her heart pounded.

She knew from prior experience that it was pointless to try using the rope on her wrists - she just didn't have the skill.

But, her ankles, that was a different story.

She would strip down to her panties and flimsy little tank top, feeling naughty and sexy.

And, slowly at first, but then with increasing fervor, she would drape the rope across her ankles, wrap it around them, and around again, and again.. pull tight.. find the ends, and tie a clumsy know.

Now, today, looking back, she would cringe at how utterly clumsy and sloppy it looked then.

But then, that moment, it was an epiphany, she saw stars!

A fire, which had previously been only a spark, smoldering and insistent, suddenly fanned into flames which would only burn hotter as the years would pass.

I know she is there somewhere.

She would repeat the process, again. And again. To the point of obsession.

She would sleep like that, ropes around her ankles, the bathrobe sash binding her knees, her tender bare flesh indented, making guilty marks to be hidden in the morning.

She had a constant craving.

She would eventually figure out how to tie her hands, albeit still clumsily, but that first time she successfully managed it - and that awful heart-pounding moment when she felt that panic of 'Oh no! What if I can't get loose?' before furiously struggling her way out of them..

She saw stars again at that moment.

She knew she had to be made helpless. Had to have it.

Would never be satisfied without it.

She eventually found websites which sold toys, cuffs, junk of course, at first. She learned through experience what was good and what wasn't.

Off to college perhaps, carrying her secret with her. She was well into the sexual years, but nothing ever felt 'right' to her. She didn't know why, and her years of habitually keeping her secret, years of believing that should anyone else find out, she would be shunned, rejected, ridiculed.

The few boys she ever felt comfortable enough around to even HINT at her terrible deep dark secret.. well, they could only conceptualize it as a prelude to sex, to them it was only a waste of time, foreplay was for nerds after all...

So she had to live a sort of double life, at least for a while.

Her outward person, the one she showed everybody else, the one she believed the world expected to see, that person did all the same things her friends did, fit, indulged in all the same sorts of things.

But her secret persona, the true her, her true self, that person was locked in a cage for those times. Forbidden. Secret.

Again, she would learnt he hard way, one rejection too many, one empty relationship too many, and she began to lose interest in trying to be so 'normal'..

Seemed like a big waste of time.

It seemed like no one in the world, really, could understand her.

She lived alone, or else lived in such a way as to have plenty of time alone, for that was the only way she could indulge in her secret, the only way she could *breathe*, to feel alive again.

She would, without even thinking about it, come home from work, strip her stifling clothes off, open her ever-growing box of naughty implements, and take out the familiar things.

Leather cuffs, four of them. A one-foot length of shiny chain links between them, solid padlocks at each attachment point, two sets.

Onto her ankles one set would go, padlocks keeping them in place.

Her wrists then as well, in front, if she still needed to prepare dinner or do shores. Behind for other times.

As soon as the padlocks would click shut, she would sigh and relax, feeling her skin tingle and glow.. never failing to make her bare nipples stiffen.

A nice thick leather collar would be locked around her neck.

She even came to love the gag, stretching her jaws. It took a while to find the right size - too far, and it would really hurt her poor jaw muscles.

Yes, it could be uncomfortable, but she was never in it for the pain.

Well, not that kind of pain anyway.

She definitely had nipple clamps in the box.

That is how she would spend her evenings: chained, bound, collared, gagged often. She would have a large oval pillow on the floor, taught herself to kneel properly on it, keeping her posture proper, her wrists shackled behind her back, knees spread just so.

A naked, kneeling, helpless girl,

She would watch TV that way.

She would even occasionally eat dinner that way, on a low table in front of her, from a large bowl, usually something embarrassingly messy, like spaghetti, just because she loved the idea of being unable to prevent the sauce from spilling down her chin and onto her bare breasts.

But through it all, the elephant in the room remained.

She knelt for no one.

No one who understood her need to be kept chained and helpless, no one who understood how her skin felt like electric fire as soon as the ropes or cuffs even grazed her flesh. No one who could possibly understand the yearning she had always felt, to have a leash attached to that collar, and be held by someone who would accept her, love her, understand her, and do to her the things which she had always had to do to herself.

And of course the other fact - she was never *truly* helpless. She was never genuinely in a position in which she could not get herself free. Oh sure she had had a few minor mishaps, but nothing serious, and those few times, while they made her heart pound in a panic, it was not a good feeling.

She is out there now, somewhere. I know she is.

She believes her own someone is out there too.

She doesn't want to be beaten, or humiliated, or made into some kind of a robot, punished for the slightest infraction.

She just wanted to be accepted for the way she is, accepted, protected, loved, cherished.

And more than anything, she wants to love and cherish and serve the One who will understand her, rescue her, embrace her and let her believe that all those years of isolation, of hidden shame, all of those years were worth it, because she has finally found her place, her home, the place where she belongs.

But we all wear our camouflage. We wear it far too well.

Because we are so good at disguising ourselves, we are having a hard time finding each other. We may have walked right past each other and not known.

But I want her to know - I am waiting for her.

I understand.

*I know you, I want you to be exactly the way you are, the real you, the inside you.

You can wear your camouflage at work, out in public, be the person you have to be in order to fit into the crust of the world. But when you come home, you will be exactly who and what you have always wanted to be, because that is exactly what I want as well.

The difference of course is that you will not have the keys to the padlocks. You will not be able to reach the knots.

The elephant will be gone.

You will be genuinely helpless, as you always wanted to be.

You will finally be free.

I have always been waiting for you, just as you have always been waiting for me.*