How Long had I Waited for His Collar? (Journal)

How long had I waited for this night, the night that he would make me his personal slave? Master Agrippa has had me serve him while I remained a slave in the slaving house for over many a hands. I've come to know others of the city, those that he surrounds himself with. There are so many, after all he is the Administrator of the city!

The first time I saw the collar was in his office at the Inn. He had retrieved it from one of his desk drawer. We left the Inn, and made our way to the Pharos, that collar was in his hand. It was laid on the couch next to him as he had me serve his pleasures. I had made myself available to him, to his every whim for some time now. Neither of us said a word about that collar, and I was sent away that night. Yet I was sent away with a glimmer of hope that he actually found me, the simply slave scribe, desirable.

He had let me glimpse the collar for the second time about a couple of hands ago. He taunted me with it. While I was doing my work at a low table he pulled in front of his desk, he pulled open a drawer and withdrew the collar. He tossed it to the top of the low table. In an instant I felt my heart rate climb, and my breaths quicken. I looked to him, then the collar. I reached out and picked the collar up, traipsing the tips of my fingers over the cool steel.

"Did I tell you, you could touch it?!"

He snapped at me and yanked the collar away, putting it back in the drawer, and slamming it closed. I wanted to cry out, and beg him to forgive me! It felt as if I had been thrown a life preserver and a huge wave crashed over me and ripped it from my grasp.

The third time I was allowed to lay eyes on that collar was a night I shall never forget. I was working late for him in the office at the Inn. He caught me looking at a tattoo on his shoulder; I had never noticed it before. He pulled his chair away from the desk, and his strong arms seemed to beckon me to him. Once I was kneeling between his thighs he drew open that draw. My heart was thudding against the inside of my chest. He withdrew a straight razor and flicked it open. He drew it to the column of my throat, and I swallowed hard. If he ended my life, I would have died knowing that I found the one true Master that made my heart soar, him.

He slowly cut the leather collar that encircled my throat; it fell to rest on my shoulder, and then slithered down my silks before hitting the floor next to my knee. He coiled his strong hands around my throat, and I could feel the warmth of them. He could probably feel the beat of my heart in the veins in my neck. He drew his hands away, and took the collar out from the draw and settled it to the edge of the desk.

"You know it has been long enough it is almost like it doesn't matter whether that collar is on you or not. I mean, whose my scribbles right? You're my scribbles. That collar is just a collar."

"I will forever be your scribbles, Master."

He was right, the collar was just a collar. He made me understand he owned me without it being around my throat.

He drew my hands up and kissed the tips of each of my fingers, all ten of them, even the ink stained ones. He then let me touch the collar, feel the notches on the edge of the steel. It was inscribed with my name 'Elizabeth' and hanging from it was a tag that had the word 'scribbles!' on it. With the aid of his hand we both lifted the collar and placed it about my throat. I heard and felt the tumblers fall into place, and click close with a solid sound.

"Scribbles. You are so mine."

He then claimed me with the most passionate kiss. I think I have been his from that first night when he brought me back to the pharos with him and his sensual slave glory.

That night I was allowed to see a tender side of my Master. He spoke such beautiful words to me. These words I will not even put down to paper as they were for me, my ears only. I hold them in my heart, safe. They were his gift to me. I am fully aware that he is a hard man, and perhaps that is why I am so in love with him. He pushes me beyond the limits I thought I had. He likes to see me blush; he knows it is something I have no control over. He teases me, makes me cry, and my tears seem to please him, so I no longer hold them back.

I am now the slave of Agrippa Pontus, his slave scribe, his Elizabeth, his scribbles.