[b][u][center]The Meaning of a Collar For PineconePangolin By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] Living on her own was harder than Isabella expected. The pangolin knew that it was going to be different than living with her family, of course, but she hadn’t expected it to be so…lonely. She walked up the driveway, looking at the empty space where a car was supposed to be for a normal household, shaking her head. So far, she hadn’t been able to afford one, let alone the cost of all the fuel that she’d be using up with her crazy schedule. Public transportation was a nightmare in terms of how much time she lost, but it was better to go for that than something that would break her bank. The weight of her backpack, stuffed with both her work clothes and her school books, reminded her of just how much stuff she still had to do today. Her teachers had assigned probably two hours of homework, and she needed to run the laundry to make sure that all the work shirts were clean, and – Isabella sighed, shaking her head as she walked up the steps. There was so much to do. So very, very much to do. [i]I can’t wait until I can get back to Mistress…[/i] The thought of the dragoness waiting for her on the other side of the country filled her with a small sense of hope, a tiny sliver of happiness. It wasn’t much, but at least it was better than thinking of herself being completely alone for the months ahead. Isabella sighed, pushing the front door open as she finally reached the house. It was a small place, little more than a cottage in the middle of the block, shoved in on both sides by houses that were bigger. Her little yard was little more than a fenced-in garden, and there was pressure everywhere from noise and people that lived in better places. And looking through the front door, it wasn’t much better. It was a single hallway that led past the bathroom on the right, kitchen on the left, and bedroom at the very end of it. It was as if someone had slightly expanded a student dorm, detached it from a college, and plonked it down as a house. The fact that she had a washing machine was a miracle, all things considered. The pangolin stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her. She knew that she had work to do, but the temptation to go to her bedroom and just flop out for a while was too overwhelming for her to resist. Dropping her backpack on the hallway floor, the pangolin shuffled her way down the hall to her bed and just fell into it. The cushioned mattress cupped her from beneath, and her head just disappeared into her pillows. A number of muffled mumblings later, she was finally able to roll onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The soft comfort of the mattress under her took away some of her stress, but not nearly all of it. [i]Another day of work, another day of studying, crushing under it all…[/i] All she wanted to do was get the hell out of here. She wanted to go see her Mistress again on the other side of the country. She wanted to get on a plane and say goodbye to all the stresses and strains of her current life, and she wanted to feel [i]better.[/i] She wasn’t sure how it would be better just by being somewhere else, but she could dream, couldn’t she? The pangolin groaned, rolling onto her side, looking at the wall. They seemed smaller every day, almost like they were trying to close her in, almost like they were trying to shut her off from the rest of the world. Her space, her limited space, just seemed like so little in comparison to what other people could claim. She sighed, rolling the other way before it could get to be too much, as it always did. Grabbing for the nightstand drawer, she gave it a few half-hearted tugs before she was able to pull it open. Sitting there, right in front of her, was her temporary cure. It wasn’t drugs, or a shot, or a knife. It wasn’t anything that would harm her, nor anything that would push her so far out of her own head that she didn’t care about anything anymore. It wasn’t a book, wasn’t music. It was a collar. The pangolin smiled as she ran her fingers along the leather edges of the purple and black band, feeling the intricate work that had gone into making it. The hard, cool feeling of the steel d-ring and the little latch that held it closed, the smooth leather that felt like it took her warmth and gave it back in spades, the soft smell to it that warmed her from the inside out… And the little tag on the front with her Mistress’s claws, an image of fierceness, possession, and protection if ever there was one. Isabella gently undid the collar, holding it to the front of the neck and pulling back on the edges of the band. It pressed tight to her neck as she pulled, almost choking herself with it. There were days when she was so stressed that the lack of oxygen felt more appropriate than anything else as she pulled it tight around her neck. But not today. Today, she just held it against her, feeling the pressure, the constraint, the way that it held her and bound her in the [i]right[/i] way. That was what she needed. That was what she craved. Isabella pulled the back of the band together, tightening it into a proper circle that wrapped all the way around her neck. The soft click of steel on steel as she closed it and clicked it together was just as satisfying as always, and she sighed happily as she felt it supporting her head, keeping her feeling…right. Owned. Loved. She smiled, the pangolin running her fingers along the sides of the collar, feeling the way that it embraced her neck the way that her Mistress had embraced her life. There was something to it that just felt good, that felt like she was on the right track again. Being collared wasn’t the same as losing your choices in life. It was having someone else point out the right ones, and encouraging you to take them. It was less losing freedom, and more gaining direction. It was less losing free will, and more gaining a sense of purpose, of reason, of priorities. It helped her see that she was doing the right thing when she worked her ass off at her job, when she went for sleepless nights for schoolwork. The collar, and the Mistress that it represented, gave her reason to keep pushing herself as hard as she did, and there were days when she was sure that she would have collapsed long ago without that support. Isabella kept rubbing the sides of her collar as she laid on her back again, sighing happily to herself as she felt the tight constraints pulling her back in. She wasn’t floaty, anymore, wasn’t trying to run off. She was grounded once more. [i]Mistress…[/i] The pangolin looked at her watch. It was still over three hours until she and her Mistress would be calling, when she would see the red and black dragoness on the computer screen again, but she was already looking forward to the sight of the other woman. To hear her voice, to be comforted by that authority that she heard every single time that they touched base. It was good. It was good to be held, to be controlled, to give herself up the way that she did. [i]I do what she tells me, and she protects me, comforts me…loves me.[/i] Some people would see it as a horrible relationship, as if Isabella was the one that was being used, that she was the one that was being treated as a slave. The pangolin, on the other hand, saw it a different way. If anyone was using someone, she was using the dragoness, though never in a bad way. She was using her Mistress for stability, for safety, for purpose. Isabella [i]needed[/i] the help and support that the dragoness offered her, required the pressure that the collar and everything that it represented offered her. She couldn’t stop stroking the bands of the collar, couldn’t stop feeling it and reminding herself what it meant to be under someone else. Purpose. Direction. Safety. Love. All of those things and more were symbolized by the band around her neck, and they kept her grounded. They kept her moving. They kept her functioning. [i]Mistress…[/i] Isabella smiled as she let herself sink into sub-space, enjoying the feeling of the soft warmth that came with it. The collar kept her from floating off, kept her from forgetting herself as she could do when she embraced it without that support. She was… She was good. She was a good girl. The pangolin floated in that headspace for a few minutes before rolling off the bed. It had only been ten minutes of ruminating, but she felt refreshed, ready to take on her homework and her chores. Even as she left the bed, she still felt the weight and the support of her collar. Every time she turned her head, she felt the soft rub of the leather against her neck. Every time she leaned down, she heard the jingle of the tag that hung from the front. And every time that she was reminded of the collar, she was reminded of her Mistress, and all the love that she got from that woman. [i]I’m free,[/i] she thought. [i]In slavery, I am free. No need to decide, no need to work it out, no need to work for me. I work for her.[/i] And that was enough. Isabella smiled, picking up her backpack and carrying it to the washing machine under one of the kitchen counters. She had a lot to get done before her nightly phone call. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]