(not) Dougray Scott

[locked but visible to karlurban and Harry sinclair]

I don't know why I went looking for a lead. I was trolling websites looking for toys for my Sirs, debating whether anything in the playroom really needed updating, wondering if there is actually anything they haven't already tried that they'd be interested in. Some of the pictures modeling the wares turned me on, some of them always do. I was not touching myself. Instead I found myself fingering one of the D-rings on my at-home collar, which - outside of the occasional bondage scene - have so far been mainly for show. And my eye was caught by a woman (why is it always women on these sites?) crawling, led by a thin chain lead, only the hand of her Master in view at the edge of the photo. She was wearing one of those corset-things - except it doesn't go all the way up, I don't know what the point of those is - fishnet stockings up her thighs, tall boots, no knickers.

She was stunning. The way her back arched, the long graceful curve of her neck as she lifted her chin, as if inviting her Master to pull harder, choke her with her collar. Offering herself as a purely sensual being-- to serve, to be led, to be hurt.

I bought the chain the next day. I've done stranger things on my lunch break. Probably.

I'm still not certain how submissive my nature truly is. I'm not obsequious. I'm not spineless. I can certainly fend for myself. I just... like it. I like being bound for them, being on my knees for them, being used. I'm thrilled to trust them enough to give up control, and some nightmare days it's just a bloody relief to come home and let it all slip away so easily, to feel like I don't have to worry about anything beyond pleasing them, and surely I can manage that?

But sometimes I can't. That damn stubborn voice inside me rears up, urges me to fight back, tell them to fuck the hell off-- because what the fuck are they thinking, assuming I'll just put up with whatever they want to dish out? I'm a grown man! I'm strong, I'm capable. I don't have to take shit from anyone. I could pick a fight with either of them, and surely beat them as bloody as I'd be in turn, leaving neither of us the clear victor. Yes, there's a contract. A contract I signed, which explicitly says that I will be obedient. That must be why I am. I've given my name, my honour, and these things matter to me. And in spite of this knowledge, I still have those moments, those moments when I want to take a swing at them for daring to give me orders, when that inner voice tells me I'm despicable for kneeling as if I'm weak. For begging. As if I have no choice.

I wasn't sure what I was doing with the lead, definitely wasn't sure what would come of it. But when Harry put the chain on me Christmas morning... I felt overwhelmingly free. Finally. It was like I actually didn't have a choice, for once. That maddening voice was silenced instantly, by mere links of steel. For perhaps the first time – ever, with anyone – I felt no conflict, no dichotomy between myself as a man and myself as a boy. Bizarrely, I felt whole, like all the parts of my nature were blessedly in synch, no matter how opposing they might seem at other times. I felt like I could do anything, be anything that my Sirs asked of me, and with no qualms or regrets.

When I saw that picture, I coveted the girl's beauty, dreamed fleetingly of ever being so compelling. But when I wore the lead, even that shallow nagging desire faded. And left me content.