The Pink Collar

"Cute necklace, where did you get it?" trilled the diminutive voice of Chloe. She was pointing at the bright pink collar, locked around my husband, Mack's neck.

At several muscular inches north of six feet, not many people will ask Mack, my husband, about the pink collar he wears locked around his neck.

Whenever a man asks about the collar, they normally find something else entirely to become interested in after the former soldier focuses his full, attentive, gaze on them.

When a woman asks about the collar, however; they trigger my gentle giant's Rule #6. That particular rule requires him to answer the question and offer to provide further information to the woman if requested.

Chloe, according to her name tag, was a middle-aged, petite, mousy looking, brunette hotel clerk who apparently wanted anything Mack was offering.

Generally, I would intercede and answer on Mack's behalf. Occasionally, even though I am present, I will leave it to Mack to answer the woman. I love hearing his bass voice iterate the words to Rule 6.

"Hello, Miss." Mack's voice rumbled forth, "I am wearing this collar to signify and demonstrate my absolute obedience to my wife." As he completed telling Chloe the definition of Rule 6, he handed her one of our 'Get To Know Us' cards.

"What does the obedience thing mean?" Chloe asked, continuing with "Like, what does she make you do?"

Mack responded to both her questions, "The obedience part means my wife, even though she is standing here in a skirt; is the one who wears the pants, so to speak, in our family. To your second question, the answer is I do whatever she wants me to do."

"Hi, Chloe," I interjected, "My name is Cheryl, I am Mack's wife. Please feel free to call us at the number on the card when you have time and we can discuss Mack's collar and anything else you might be interested about Mack and I in a more private setting."

"That is, if you are interested in the answer he gave you." I teased.

To date, approximately 10% of the women who encounter Mack while he is alone and ask him about the collar will then follow through and pick up the phone. When the initial encounter includes both Mack and I together, about 40% will follow through with a call. The number who meet with us in person for the discussion is about 5% or so of those women who called.

As Mack and I made our way to the elevator, I noticed Chloe placing our card in her purse. That meant Mack and I were probably going to be having a discussion with little Chloe later on. The room's phone rang within minutes of entering our room. Chloe was asking if she could meet with us when she got off of work.

After settling into our room, Mack and I spent the next hour or so making love. We usually do this when we have the time prior to discussing the collar with anyone in person to reaffirm our personal commitment. This is more for my benefit than Mack's. Ironically, even though I am the one pushing for having these discussions with women that we meet, I find I become a 'Nervous Nellie' before the discussion. Mack seems to simply roll with it.

After showering, Mack freshened my manicure and pedicure and put my hair into a twisted chignon. (Retirement leaves him extra time to learn new things.) He then dressed me in a dark blue, long sleeve, split skirt maxi dress and added white open toed sandals to the mix.

Mack knows exactly how to dress and prepare me so, from all outward appearances, I exude supreme confidence.

We left the room, going downstairs to have dinner at the hotel restaurant.

As we passed the service desk, Mack and I waved at Chloe, pointing to the dining room to indicate we would be there for the next hour or so.

Mack and I had an enjoyable dinner. Before returning to our room, I stopped by and inquired of Chloe as to the time of shift change at the hotel. Chloe said that she would get off work at 6 PM and would go directly to our room if doing so was okay with me. I smiled warmly at her, placing my hand on the back of hers and saying, "We will both be waiting for you. See you after six o'clock."

Mack grew up in the military. In addition to living all over the United States, he also lived overseas several times. As Mack explained it to me, "You learn to make friends quickly, sadly, you are likely to know them for only a short while as one or both of you will be transferred to another post soon." Mack's parents were open about sex with their kids.

Consequently, Mack's attitudes towards sex were open. He told me that he had participated in both combinations of threesomes, he preferred having the extra female if both females were bisexual. He was not interested in other males what so ever and this probably influenced his thoughts on threesomes with two males and one female.

Mack had joined the military himself, serving one term. He told me that at his last posting, in North Carolina, an older female working on post as a civilian had taken a keen sexual interest in him. It was from her said Mack where he learned patience and how to use intense foreplay to pleasure a woman. She had also explained a young man, like him was usually only concerned about getting his own rocks off and while many women enjoy having a pure straight up banging on occasion, he would be more likely to get invited back if he concerned himself with the woman first. Mack said he had spent six months with the woman before she moved on to another posting herself.

Comparatively, I was raised in a conservative household in a large farming family in the rural Midwest. My family was deep into religion.

Growing up in this type of family, you quickly found daughters were second citizens. The boys were it. The daughters, like myself, more or less raised themselves and tried to stay out of the way of the men.

The attention a daughter got was mainly from the three conversations your mother had with you as you matured.

Your mother explained menstruation. You were instructed to ensure all your pads, soiled or not were never left in a common bathroom. No one, other than yourself needed to know about your period.

Your mother explained that God did not want you to touch yourself. It was unclean and nice girls did not succumb to the temptation to do it. It pleased God for you to wait and receive your sexual pleasure from your future husband.

Mom also let it be known, in the event you became pregnant out of wedlock, you did not need to tell either her or your father, simply pack your bag and hit the door, you were no longer welcome in her house.

I don't know if there has ever been a teenager that has not masturbated and I can say I certainly wasn't the exception to the rule. I knew where and what my clitoris was and while I most definitely fingered myself, I didn't experiment with inserting other objects.

Sex with boys was light. In my Sophomore year, I gave my then boyfriend a hand job.

As an adult and out from under the roof of my parents, I read Cosmo, I knew women were supposed to be capable of intense orgasms in a myriad of ways. At eighteen years of age, I finally learned to masturbate when I wanted sexual release. While I could climax, it was not as satisfying for me as I thought it would be. Perhaps my parents were right, maybe it did take two adults to engage in sex in order for it to become an ultimate pleasure.

The other thing I learned about as an adult was that loved to dance. First at dance clubs and later on at bars with dance floors. Dancing a great outlet for pent-up energy and great source of exercise.

Physical fitness was not the real reason that I loved dancing. I used the fitness angle when talking to my friends and family when explaining why I was spending so much time at the clubs.

The real reason I adored dancing was for the excruciating eroticism that my body experienced when a man's erection was being pressed against my body in response to my flirting with him. I knew that given the opportunity the man I was dancing with would probably like to use his erection to bed me. This became an overwhelming intoxicating feeling for this farm girl turned dance floor tease. I let the men I danced with feel my body while on the safety of the dance floor, so long as they didn't get too carried away. The men reaffirmed their excitement with their erections. During any given night, my batteries were charged anew each time I got another dance partner.

I met my first husband through a church social. He seemed to be a nice, charming man. We dated through a summer, then married. I was finally ready to fully experience the full passion and lust accorded only to married couples.

Sex with my husband was stupendously unsatisfying. I enjoyed masturbating more than having sex with my husband. About as adventurous as we would get sexually was to have the lights on, or perhaps do the act doggy style. In retrospect and placing the blame where it is due, a large part of fault of our pathetic sex life was mostly due to my prudish upbringing. A smaller part was due to his selfishness.

Foreplay to my husband consisted of him getting me into a position where he could fuck me, perhaps also making a swipe at pawing my breasts. Then he would rapidly fuck me until he ejaculated in me. There was no post-coital embracing. Nothing in our sex life could be construed as romantic or loving in any way, shape or form. I grew to dread this ultimate pleasure only afforded to married couples.

Cosmo, always the young woman's fountain of knowledge, let me know my husband had an average length penis at a bit under six inches. Perhaps I was one of those females I read about that needed a bigger than average penis to be satisfied with intercourse.

The short story of our sad marriage was my husband also liked to drink entirely too much and when he drank he tended to get mean and physically abusive. It took me three years of scraping and saving to be financially and emotionally able to work up to filing for a divorce, all the while covering up the odd bruises with makeup.

After this marriage experience, I decided I wouldn't need a husband in my future life. For sexual release, when I wanted something more than what masturbation was offering me, I was pretty sure I could find a man willing to spend one night with me.

While our divorce proceedings were pending, I returned to the dance floor. I found I got more sexual satisfaction dancing, and only dancing, with the men I met than I had in my marriage.

On Friday night, the day my divorce was finalized, I went to a bar to celebrate. If everything went as planned, I was going to have slept with the second person in my life after this evening. At five foot ten, with blond, sandy hair, and having a naturally thin figure, I didn't anticipate having too many problems leaving with a man for the evening. I danced with several men, drank with several others.

I ended up going to the room of a man in his forties who was passing through to have my official liberation sex. It was not as fulfilling as I was expecting. There was not much in the way of foreplay, and while this man also had the average penis length, it was much thinner than the penis of my ex-husband. The intercourse was gentle and lasted for a short 10 minutes.

"Not as fun or liberating as you thought it would be." I said to my 30 years old self, gathering my stuff to leave.

After the encounter with the older man and some serious soul-searching, I knew a life of one night stands weren't going to be for me, I was going to need stability.

A few weeks later, I danced with my first black man. I kept my teasing to a minimum as this was a small town with a few loudmouthed racists and neither he nor I needed the grief that would ensue if these boneheads thought something inappropriate was going on.

Even though I had tamed my flirting down and he was the dancing prim and proper, there came an occasion where I felt his erection press into my hip. This man had a massive erection and the sensation of feeling it against me was unreal.

Back to Cosmo, my library for all things sexual. Cosmo is telling me black men were generally well-endowed and were also masterful lovers. I began to masturbate to the idea of sleeping with a black man and having his huge penis filling me up for hours on end.

I had started noticing the 'packages' of my black male co-workers and fantasizing about the many ways they would make love to me. This soon became an obsession of mine. I did manage to dance with a few more black men. While it might have been my imagination, by and large, those men seemed to live up, package wise, to what I had read. As I stated earlier, unfortunately a white woman leaving a bar with a black man would have stirred the local rednecks into a frenzy, so I never attempted to sleep with those black men. I wanted to. I wanted to sleep with at least one of them, I wanted that ultimate pleasure orgasm.

I hoped that when I finally settled on a man to marry, that I would be a better judge of his character. I knew one thing was certain, I was never going into a relationship where I feared the man, nor would I lock myself to someone who did not respect me as a woman. I also hoped I when I found this mystical man that he would be a little more, um, satisfying in the downstairs department.

Even though I was now looking for a more permanent lover, I still went out and enjoyed the attention I received from men when I danced. At times, I would leave with one of my dance partners and have sex with them. I even managed several clitoral orgasms with some men. Mostly though I settled for rubbing my breasts and crotch against them on the dance floor, all the while appreciating the feeling of their hard erections pressing back against me in return.

My black cock fantasy was still running rampant in my thoughts. I had started making plans to get a hotel room in the next city over and settle my desire, once and for all, to be penetrated by a black cock. This involved locating dance halls in the city where finding a black man to dance with and then possibly sleep with would be likely. Another item was in locating an area safe for both my vehicle and I.

I thought I had finally found the perfect intersection of club, men and security to make my fantasy a reality. I made reservations for a weekend at the hotel next door to the dance club that met the criteria I had been looking for. Three weeks to go. My anticipation level was high.

Out of the blue and still not having, shall we say, scratched the nether areas of my sexuality with black men, I stumbled into Mack.

At 21, Mack was nine years my junior, never married and fresh out of the Army. He was tall, easily six inches over my five foot ten. He was a huge bundle of muscle. Not heavily muscled like a weightlifter, but he had the physique one gets when they perform heavy labor and cardio simultaneously.

Like many young men, Mack was not as 'directed' as he could have been. Although he was extremely intelligent, it seemed he was happy performing menial jobs that required plenty of horse, but not much brain, power.

Earlier, when I said I stumble into Mack, that might have been the wrong phrase to use here. I think it was more like, 'ambushed by Mack'. It seems Mack was always conveniently hanging around outside my apartment building when I got off work or went to work. He always did have a nice smile ready for me.

"Handsome enough kid, " I thought. He was obviously attracted to me, I wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. I began making plans for Mack to be my next one night stand. Since he appeared in his early twenties, I figured I was likely to get a fun ride from him.

On a Thursday, I asked Mack if he wanted to go hiking with some friends and I on the local trails at the nearby State Park on Saturday. He responded quickly in the affirmative. Even though there weren't going to be 'friends' along, I wanted him to think there might be before he answered. The next day I bought a small day pack, put a blanket to lay on in the pack along with some picnic supplies and looked forward to Saturday.

On Saturday morning, I finished packing the picnic lunch and added a couple of canteens of water.

I had decided I wasn't going to leave much to chance in my quest for Mack's cock. I had cut some buttons off a sleeveless shirt to make a halter top which I wore with no bra, I matched the top to a pair of loose shorts, pink anklet socks, sneakers, a ball cap and sunglasses. At 7:30, half an hour before our agreed upon meet up time, I peeked around the curtains of my bedroom window, sure enough, Mack was already here, dressed in a short sleeve shirt, jeans and boots.

"Well, well, look who is eager for a little walk, " I thought as I poured myself a cup of coffee, returning to the window to watch Mack try to act all nonchalant for a while.

I left my apartment five minutes early wearing the day pack so it pulled the halter top firmly across my breasts. Through my sunglasses, I noted the expression on Mack's face indicated he liked what he was seeing. His eyes quickly found my nipples which were hardening under the thin material of my top. Quickly, his eyes went back to my face, the eyes then flicked down again, taking in my legs, shorts, midriff, back to my breasts, then up to meet my amused gaze.

"You look nice today," he said while beaming a lovely smile at me. Gesturing at my pack, "Let me carry the pack for you."

"I can manage it to the car, but after that, if you don't mind, I'll have you carry the pack today." I responded.

The drive to the park took less than half an hour. I was driving with my left arm on the door, my right hand on the wheel, windows down. I could feel the air entering the halter from the arm hole which causing the halter to flutter over my breasts. I wondered how much of show the fluttering was allowing Mack to see, but every time I looked at him, Mack was looking up at my face.

When we arrived at a trail head, I noted no one else was parked there, meaning we should be alone on the trail for a while. I parked, tossed the keys to Mack and got out of the car. Mack opened the trunk, put on the backpack and handed the keys back to me. I locked the car and asked if he had ever hiked this particular trail before. He said he hadn't, but noted that the sign indicated it would not be difficult.

"I have hiked this trail before." I told Mack, "There will be a nice place for a picnic about three miles in."

We made light conversation while walking the trail. There were areas where we could walk side by side, but for the most part, it was single file. Our conversations had covered work, or lack thereof, drifted to past relationships where I told of my previous marriage, Mack mentioned he had never even had a long term girlfriend mainly due to never being in one place more than a year.

At one point, there was a log across the trail too high for me to simply step over with any grace.

"I can help if you want." Mack said. "Face me and grab the pack straps. I will have to touch you, though. I hope you don't mind." With me holding onto the straps, Mack reached down, placing one hand to either side of my hips and effortlessly picked me up and stood me on the log to one side of the trail. He then put his left hand under mine while keeping his right hand on my hip until I was stabilized on the log. He then effortlessly bounded over the log and helped me down the other side in the same manner.

We arrived at the picnic area which was a pretty secluded spot not far off the trail to have our picnic. It was nice and sunny, a light breeze and about eighty degrees.

"Oh, how Perfect!" I thought. If everything went as planned, I would be feeling the warm sun on my naked body while Mack and I were doing wonderful naughty things.

After we got the blanket staked out and set ourselves on it. Mack started rummaging through the backpack, pulling various lunch items and neatly placing them on the blanket. I had also packed two pieces of chocolate cake in a Tupperware container for dessert, smart boy that he was, Mack returned the cake to the pack without being told, keeping it out of direct sun. I was putting the condiments on our sandwiches when Mack asked where I had packed either paper towels or napkins.