It seemed almost like fate when, on our way to the shop, the all-too-familiar melody of Gangsta’s Paradise kept playing on a loop in my mind, as if trying to convey a message. Sylvia had wrapped her dress to her waist, so she sat with her bare butt on the Transit chair to avoid that her dress got smudgy. I laughed, and she blushed a little. With a gentle touch, I drew her close, savouring the warmth of her neck against my fingers as our lips united.
“I love you.”
“You fill my heart”, she replied automatically.
“And your pussy.” We laughed.
“Looking forward to this?” I asked.
“You do not know how much, Master.”
“I hope the Kink Paradise lives up to its name, then.”
“It’s already great so far, Sir.”
“Good. Good girl, little one.”
Like the garden of Eden, Kink Paradise remained hidden from view. The navigation led us through narrow country roads in beautiful scenery, from one small village to another. On the outskirts of a bigger town, we saw the neon sign Kink Paradise on a building we recognised from the internet pictures. The roads here were quiet, with only a few passing cars. I was surprised to see the parking lot was already half full. The number plates of the cars showed a large mix of nationalities. Poles, Austrians, French and Dutch. Of course, there were the white and black plates of the Germans themselves, as well.
I parked my Transit away from the rest. This place was ready for a vast crowd.
I told my wife to stay in the car while I turned off the engine. I walked around the front of the Transit and opened the door for her. The air outside smelled familiar to our place back home. In the middle of a rural country, someone builds his or her paradise. I reached towards Sylvia and lifted her from her seat, only displaying her bare ass for a second before the dress flowed to the ground. The whole thing with the dress proved necessary, as there was a small pool of white fluid on the Transit chair. A present from a pleasant fuck earlier that morning.
“What a waste”, I said. “Lick it up, girl.”
To her credit, she didn’t blink an eye. She bent over and licked the stuff until the seat was clean. She surprised me by opening her mouth so I could see the white stuff on her tongue.
“Good girl. Don’t swallow.” I locked the car, and we walked arm in arm to the door.
“Wait. These cords behind your back nearly reach the ground. It’s essential that we prevent them from becoming dirty. Come closer.” In my hands, I held two long cords which I then wrapped around her neck, repeating the process twice to ensure a snug fit.
“Entering an un-collared slave could cause trouble. I want to avoid any potential Masters who might try to claim you as their slave, so we’ll have to improvise a bit.” The black cords around her neck and throat looked brutal and sinful. With both ends in my hand, I led her as if she was on a leash to paradise.
“Lead the way, little one. A few whistles around us made her blush furiously. With a smile on my face, I mouthed the words I’m so proud of you,” unable to contain my joy and admiration.
“Herzlich wilkommen in Ihrem Kinks-Paradies”, the girl behind a desk at the entrance, greeted us as if we entered an upscale restaurant.
“Thank you.” I replied. My Sylvia was the linguist among us. Without flinching, the girl continued in English.
“I see you are both already in the mood,” she smiled, looking at Sylvia tied to me. “We have to charge you 100 euro for admittance. The entrance fee will be deducted from your bill when you buy something. Unfortunately, we cannot refund you. We acknowledge it may be an inconvenience, but it is absolutely necessary to prevent annoying individuals from entering our store.”
I paid 100 euro with my debit card. The Dutch use their pin for everything, even to buy a candy bar.
“Thank you”, the girl said, giving me our tickets. “Enjoy your stay in Paradise.”
I tugged the cords gently. “Come on, girl. Let’s see if we can find something in here. Where do you want to start, little one?” I inquired with her and then loosened my grip on the ‘leash,’ causing the cords to fall against her chest. Despite everything, the choke band around her throat remained a constant reminder.
Her eyes landed on the section labelled “Collars,” and she pointed towards it, her face filled with excitement. On the right, there was a massive rack filled with an assortment of oversized dog collars and their perfectly matched leashes. Positioned in the centre of this part of the store, there was a section dedicated to showcasing exquisite jewellery, elegantly displayed behind a glass enclosure, and a young woman stood behind the counter, helping a customer. To the left was a complete section dedicated to electronic collars. Shock collars, collars with a tracking device so you could track and track and trace your human dog if you lost her somehow. One of them even included extra features like a heart rate monitor, sleep tracking capabilities, and active time monitoring. It sounded intriguing, but it wasn’t what I was looking for. As I looked into Sylvia’s eyes, it was clear that the band, with its rather large plastic box of electronics, wasn’t the accessory she had envisioned.
The jewellery counter was more to her liking. Hardly surprising, but we were not the only odd couple here. The guy in the leather jacket meticulously placed a metal choker around the goth girl’s neck, completing her attire. Clad in black from head to toe, the girl appeared delicate and ethereal, with her thin frame and perfectly coordinated black eye shadow and lipstick.
“This collar has an ergonomic shape,” the saleslady explained. “It’s not completely round, but there is a bend in it, so it naturally follows your anatomy.” The sales lady explained. “It’s also locked with a hex key, and without the key, the choker remains securely closed and removal is impossible.”
“I like it.” The motor guy had a surprisingly top voice. Contrary to what one might assume based on his size, he had a voice that resembled that of a counter tenor rather than a deep bass.
“It’s made of stainless steel and you can wear it 24/7. It’s really comfortable to sleep with.” I wore this collar for a month myself and even swam with it. After a while, you won’t even notice you’re wearing it, but people around you will. If you want to be super discrete, you can leave out the O-ring, but you should really wear it with the ring. The knowledge that your Master can easily leash you at any moment by simply clicking the leash onto it will be apparent to both of you. This collar is designed for extended wear and is of outstanding quality.
The guy said, “We will take it,” as he swiftly reached for his wallet, his fingers fumbling with the bills. The lack of significance placed on the opinion of the goth girl came as a surprise to me. Surely the collar that she would have to wear wherever she went, including family and friends, seemed to me a matter of mutual consent.
I turned towards Sylvia. She already knew the answer to the question I was going to ask.
“Do you want the same, little one?”
“No Sir, I think it’s too much for me. If Peter and Sandor come to visit us, I would like something a bit more discrete.”
I understood. Our private sex life was no one’s business and surely not our sons.
“Can you show us some of the more discrete collars?” I asked the salesgirl.
“Of course Sir. Here we have a nice day ultra thin leather collar, that vanilla people wear as well with a ring on it, and in the ring is a little green stone. The stone distracts the attention from the O-shaped ring so you can really wear it all day.”
Sylvia’s reaction was lukewarm.
“Perhaps you are interested in the top piece of our collection. It’s handmade by one of the local craftsman here in the area. As you can see, in white gold, there is a heart on top and a bigger teardrop beneath it. The teardrop is part of the bow of the heart. And a piece of gold rope is in an 8 form, matching the inner side of the teardrop. The top of the 8 shape connects with a white golden chain. We also sell matching earrings as well, so if the rope shape creates discussion, it’s just a piece of jewellery you like”, she said to Sylvia.
I wish I could have told you that Sylvia had looked at me with shining eyes and had said, “I love it. Let’s take this one.” Instead she said, “It’s not really a collar, is it Master? It’s a lovely piece of jewellery, but it looks like a collar, like a snake trying to pass itself off as a fashion statement. I would prefer a little more expressive collar if you don’t mind, Master.”
The saleswoman intervened. “Of course the collar is an important decision for you both to make. You, slave girl, have to be able to wear it proudly, but the collar will always remain the property of the Master. So it’s ultimately always his decision. But I think I have something you will both like.”
She rummaged through the drawer and came up with a long metal chain with a large round ring on one end and a metal bar about four inches long on the other.
“This is a very hefty slip chain slave collar style choker necklace. It is made of 100% stainless steel. You can wear it as an elegant-looking slave-type collar. The long chain leash end passes through a large stainless steel O-Ring. Let it fall open and free for a playful effect or wrap it around the neck twice for an appealing, more restrained look. There is a certain allure of the forbidden in this, and yet one can easily envision the playful attraction it holds for a woman who is more traditional.”
The saleswoman directed her attention towards me. “Adding an engraving to the steel bar at the end is a way to make it more personal if you’re interested.”
“Could you have it engraved with ‘little one’ on it?” I asked.
“Of course, Sir. No problem. You can write the text on this card here, and I will have it ready for you within the hour,” she said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Well, I don’t see any of the posture collars here. Do you stock those?”
“Of course, Sir. We have a rather extensive selection garden number 5.”
Kink Paradise was just like any IKEA store. Big walking paths with numbers and cubicles on the side. Not all the same size as the ones in your office building, but a bigger one for dildos and vibrators, a smaller one for posture collars. They called each cubicle a garden and decorated it according to the theme or articles they sold there. They also assigned numbers to the cubicles as a reference. The posture garden was truly enchanting, boasting a captivating display of a life-size poster depicting a remarkably attractive topless lady, elegantly adorned with a strict and visually striking collar. The colours of the walls matched the mocha skin tones of the girl. Styrofoam busts showcased the collars. An empty desk occupied the centre of the room. Like IKEA…
Still leading Sylvia by the slips of her dress, we passed several gardens Sylvia was clearly interested in. She asked softly, “A posture collar, Sir? I did not know you were into that.” I could see that she certainly wasn’t. Ah well, suck it up, princess. It didn’t take long to find the sales snake. I think it was a man, be I can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter, as long as it knows everything there is to know about posture collars.
“Sorry to bother you, but we require a rigid posture collar that effectively maintains the posture of this beautiful slave girl and is made with top-notch materials.”
“We stock them in leather and in steel. What do you prefer?”
“Leather, I think”, I said. He removed a pretty collar from the styrofoam head it was mounted on and handed it to me. Layers of complexity. An animal died for this and with a little imagination, you smelled his life’s adventures. Slightly woody, hinting at the raw materials and the craftsmanship involved in transforming this beautiful beasts’ hide into supple leather. The subtle sharpness, a tang that reminded me of fresh-cut wood. When it comes to my preferences, I would choose leather over steel any day of the week.
“This is the one you want”, he said. “It’s not cheap but this top-notch quality. The problem with most affordable posture collars is that they dig into the chin because of the ill-fitting top edge and cause chafing. That kills the mood faster than anything you can think of. This collar originates from the medical neck brace. It helps in maintaining posture, keeping the chin high and the neck extended.”
“Do you want to try it on, love?” The sales guy asked Sylvia. She looked at me. Obviously, she didn’t.
“Yes, please.” I said.
“Very good. Let me help you. On the back, you can adjust the straps to this will fit real snugly.” While working behind her head, he kept talking to me.
“The attraction of the posture collar is of course the restriction of the head. Notice her head is bent ever so slightly backwards because of the boning in the collar. Collared posture slaves look so deliciously proud, don’t you think so, even if they aren’t proud at all like this one here?”
She looked regal in the collar. I knew she was going to wear it often.
“Hold you hair up, girl”, he suddenly snapped and without thinking Sylvia’s hand flew up and held her hair out of the way so the collar could connect to the bare skin of her neck. These guys knew their clientele.
“Try to look down. Can you see your legs?” he asked.
“No Sir, I can’t”, Sylvia replied.
“Now slowly move your head downward and stop when you can see your legs.”
Sylvia had to bend all the way down until her dress showed her bare butt under the sheer fabric.
“Wonderful, thank you. You can assume your normal position again”, the sales guy said. Sylvia stood straight again and her face was red. I couldn’t quite discern whether her blushing resembled the colour of a fire engine or if it was because of her prolonged forward bending. “There is a big D-ring attached on the collar and it’s not just for fun. It’s clear that she cannot see anything in front of her, so if there is an obstacle, she’s likely to trip over it. If you hook a leash on her collar, you can lead her safely without her having to worry about accidents.”
“Tell me how you feel about this,” I requested. I was genuinely interested in that. If her objection was genuine, I would likely decide against buying it.
“I don’t like it. Master, I cannot see what lies ahead of me. I can’t move my head to either side. To see what is happening on my right side, I have to turn my head right. It restricts me so much I feel locked up, Master.”
“You don’t like to be locked up, is that it? You have been lying to me about this need to be restrained?”
“No, Sir, no! It’s just that this … thing is leaning my head a little backwards and … It feels unpleasant, Sir.”
“So, you only want to be restrained in ways that you really like, is that it?”
“Of course not, Sir. You are the Master. You decide what your slave girl is wearing.”
“Two great minds think alike. Let’s buy this one.” I said to the salesperson.
“Wonderful choice, Sir. Shall I bring it to the counter? You can shop at your convenience and it will be ready for you when you leave the store. Under what name can I make this reserved product?”
“De Groen”, I said. “Koen de Groen.”
We shook hands. “If you need anything on this side of the floor you call me, Sir” he said. At this pace, we would be in the store until closing time, and still had only a fraction of what we needed to buy. I made a decision.
