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May 6 – Letter & Recollection
“Still Wearing It”
✉️ Anonymous Letter:
“I wore the band on my thigh — soft, white, bridal lace.
It was a gift. A rule. A promise.
I wasn’t allowed to remove it without his hand or his voice.
No one could see it beneath my skirt…
But I knew it was there.
And sometimes, while talking to friends or colleagues or strangers, I’d wonder…
If they could sense it.
If they’d speak to me differently if they knew.
That under all my small talk, I was waiting for permission to be touched again.”
— “C.”
💭 May’s Private Recollection (her thoughts while sitting alone, collar still on, letter in hand):
I hadn’t thought of the collar like that... not as a secret promise.
Not until now.
But reading her words made me remember…
The coffee shop on the evening of May 5th....
The man who saw me. The girl who didn’t understand.
“She’s been collared,” he said, like naming something sacred.
“She’s been claimed.”
And I sat there... cheeks hot, thighs aching... pretending not to notice.
Pretending not to want more.
I left early.
But I didn’t take the collar off.
I walked the long way home, wind pulling at my coat, my chest too alert to hide.
Even under layers, I felt bare.
And when I got home…
I didn’t undress all the way.
Just enough to see it in the mirror.
The black collar. My name, worn in silence.
No leash. No voice.
Just me... aching, marked, remembered.
I hadn’t been touched.
But I felt taken.
Witnessed.
And tonight, even without a command, I slept with it on.
Not because he said so.
But because I wanted to wake up still feeling like his photograph.
Photographer’s Observation – May 6, Mid-Session
She didn’t tell me about her night.
She didn’t need to.
I saw it in the way she walked into the studio...
coat open, collar visible, not even pretending to cover it.
She moved like the collar wasn’t part of the costume anymore.
It was part of her silhouette.
Her poses today were slow, deliberate... not shy, not bold…
but inhabited.
She wasn’t showing off.
She wasn’t teasing.
She was being seen on her own terms.
And when she draped herself over the velvet backdrop... one thigh bent, robe half slipping down her spine...
she looked not posed…
but resting.
Like her body had found its home in the frame.
Photographer’s Final Note – May 6, End of Session
She posed today like the collar wasn’t something she wore...
but something that spoke for her.
Her eyes didn’t search for approval.
They waited to be understood.
And I wondered, for the first time, if she realized:
she doesn’t belong to the camera.
The camera might belong to her...