The collar stayed on all day. I wore it under my shirt at work like a hidden brand. Every time I swallowed, the leather reminded me of her fingers fastening it. Riya didn’t look at me once during office hours. She just typed, her boobs rising and falling under that same thin white blouse, bra visible when she stretched. But once, when no one watched, she slipped a small key into my palm under the desk. The key to the collar lock. She squeezed my hand hard enough to hurt, then walked away.

Her text came at 8:47 PM: