The annual fair is a Women Only kinda thing, you know. God knows what they do in there, but they come from all over the country, so it must be something special. So I was really rattled when Milady took me there on the opening day. Man, I’ve never seen so many Women in one place, terribly intimidating! Milady had me collared and leashed and dragged me through an ocean of breasts. I began to hear loud voices. “Rotten tomatoes, get your toma-throws!” And: “Ding Dung! Fresh dung, get your bucket full!” Another voice cried: “Spit-on-da-Spot, only tuppence.” And: “Pee-n-a-Bottle, get your pee-ee-ee.” Milady took me to a pillory and ordered me to place my head & hands in there. She locked it with a padlock, grabbed a microphone and said: “Well Ladies, as you can see: the future has arrived! This creature will be on display for the next three days. Let’s show him what the annual fair is all about, shall we?”
I’d been up and cleaning since daybreak, with only a slave collar to keep me warm. It was around elevenish when the Mistress told me to get dressed, because She wanted to do some serious shopping. Now, wearing a collar in public didn’t bother me a bit. On the contrary; I wore it with pride. Besides, removing a collar after a couple of days is a chilling experience for the neck. But the Mistress had a surprise for me in store that day, because She attached a leash to the collar. And Holy Chihuahua, that’s a real game changer! Because most people won’t even notice that you’re wearing a collar, but I can assure you that everyone notices a man on a leash. Even the blind organ grinder on the corner told me I looked like Labrador. Young and old, Women and men; everyone understands the symbolism of the leash. In that respect the leash is immensely powerful statement. And a lovely treat for a slave.
Some people still think that public humiliation means crawling through the streets of London all day long, sitting naked underneath the Eiffel Tower or standing on Times Square wearing a dogs outfit. Most of the time it’s a lot more subtle than that, I assure you. A Mistress took me to a shop once and told me to wait near the entrance. After 20 minutes or so She elbowed Her way to me, grabbed my ear and dragged me to the counter. There She took the wallet from my pocket and paid for the goods. Two of the Ladies behind the counter looked baffled, the third one however smiled approvingly. That’s public humiliation as well, but that isn’t so bad, is it? Two days later I had to wear a T-shirt with the text I am a Slave printed on it. It put me in the spotlights and several people laughed and joked about it. If anything, it made me feel proud. In public a Mistress is even more powerful than She already is. So enjoy the moment, that’s all there is to it, really.
A slave collar is like a badge of honour really. Attaching a simple leash to the collar however, transforms it into one of the most humbling tools I can think of. From honourable sub to sloppy dog in three seconds flat. It doesn’t really matter if the leash is made of leather, metal, rope or the tiniest thread: from a slave’s point of view it’s unbreakable. However, there’s a big difference of course between being collared and leashed in the safety of a room or wearing it outdoors. The former is as innocent as a baby shower, the latter is utterly humiliating. Somehow I haven’t been on the right side of the leash that much, to be honest. And unfortunately there’s no such thing as a Lease Leash; a dog-walking centre for slaves. That would be so lovely! I shall be re-leashed, as the song goes. Let’s hope and pray that’s true.