Finn Ch. 10: Predator

The black Camaro was sitting in the driveway when he pulled up to the house. He rushed to the door, thankful to be home. When he didn't see her seated at the table or on the couch he immediately went into the bathroom, stripped and got in the shower. Even though he never thought at his age he would have a routine to follow, it was comforting knowing what was expected of him. He had become more confident in independently following her unspoken orders and longed for the praise she always provided when he did. After he toweled off he went to his room and knelt down on the floor to wait for her.

"Good boy," her voice came from the doorway. She walked to where he was and stood in front of him to buckle the collar around his neck.

His eyes wandered over her slacks, and he wondered what the punishment would be if he reached up and pulled them down then buried his face between her legs. But he didn't have permission to taste her, no matter how much he craved having her thighs trembling by his ears.

He followed her to the kitchen, grabbed their plates off the counter then set one on the table for her and sat down at her feet with his.

"From now on it is your responsibility to wake me up in the morning," she said, running her hand through his hair. "I expect to be woken up at six thirty, and I expect to be woken up by your mouth."

He paused with his fork halfway to his lips, processing the semantics of her request.

"If you wake me up with the sound of your chains, you will be punished," she continued. "I expect to come at least once by seven. If you make me late for work, you will be punished. On weekends, I expect to come more than once, but still expect to come once by seven."

"Yes, Mistress," he said, trying to calculate the specifics in his mind.

After she was finished her fingers ran through his hair one more time before she headed down the hallway. The increasingly familiar daze started to seep into his head from where her hand had touched. He shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth then went to rinse the dishes. He had just shut the dishwasher when she came back in holding two familiar bottles in her hand.

"Come," she directed, sitting down on her normal spot on the couch and patting her lap.

He lay across her, pressing his hips into her thighs and his cheek against the couch. Blood rushed between his legs in anticipation of her hands massaging his healing wounds. Even though it had been a few days, the residual reminder of her authority still scorched through him every time he sat down.

She began rubbing the soothing balm into his skin and he sucked in a breath when she lightly squeezed his thigh.

"Good boy," she praised, the haze around his head thickening the more she rubbed.

The ache from several days of denial was throbbing, and he groaned softly into the leather cushion when she rubbed the lotion into it. He took another deep breath when her fingers pushed inside him and instinctively started rubbing himself against her lap.

"No," she scolded, bringing her hand down hard on his battered skin.

The sound of the slap made him jump and pain shot up his body from where it landed. But when her fingers slid into him again, he couldn't help himself.

"No." Her hand came down again, the loud slap echoing in his head. But this time he was prepared for the punishment and embraced it.

"Floor."

He rolled off her onto his knees, clasping his hands together in his lap.

She unzipped her pants, exposing her flesh colored strap-on. "Do you like my cock?" she asked, running her hand down it.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, though the words sounded slurred. He wanted her inside of him, owning him.

"Come worship it, then," she said, still stroking it with her hand.

His lips brushed against the tip then he ran his tongue lightly down the side.

"You can do better than that," she scolded. "You're a man. You should know exactly what my cock wants."

It had been awhile, but he knew what he would want if he was the one sitting on the couch. He wrapped his hand around it and covered the tip with his mouth, sucking lightly before sliding down it. When he pulled his head back he dragged it gently through his teeth.

"Good boy," she praised, and he ran his mouth down it again. Her hand grasped his hair, pushing him down to the base. He gagged when the tip hit the back of his throat, quickly pulling his head back only to be pushed down on it again.

"Do you think only half my cock deserves to be worshipped?" she asked.

He shook his head, unable to speak with her filling his mouth. The saliva dripped down his chin, falling into his lap.

"Then stop fighting."

She was right. She owned his mouth now. It was hers to use as she pleased. He forced himself to relax his jaw and neck so she could use his mouth as she saw fit. Then it became easier, and when she let go of his hair he continued on his own, doing his best to earn the privilege of having her inside of him.

"Enough," she said, breaking his stroke. "Turn around and bend over."

His cheek pressed into the hardwood floor, and he groaned when her slick fingers pushed into him. But he wanted more. He wanted to be filled and stretched and reminded he was owned. When her tip ran over his entrance he wanted to beg and plead for her to stop teasing and let him feel her penetrating through him.

He flinched when she pushed through his muscles, the feeling still unfamiliar. Then he relaxed and closed his eyes so he could focus on every inch of her slowly stretching him.

"Good boy." Her fingernails gently scraped over the wounds on the backs of his thighs, and he let out a breath when her hips pressed into his. She held her place inside him and he clenched down, memorizing how it felt to be filled by her.

A half moan, half whimper escaped his lips when she started to move. Her hips connected with his at every thrust, reigniting the burn from his marks. His hand wrapped around his length but he paused his stroke so he could revel in the rhythm of her ownership.

When the warmth started he knew the end was near but was desperate to prolong the feel of her ownership as long as his body would allow.

"Please, Mistress? Please can I come?" he begged when the burn tore through him.

"Yes."

He was already dripping when the word came from her mouth and within seconds the intense heat was ripping through his body, scorching his muscles until they were limp and quivering.

He dreaded the feeling of her pulling out, leaving him empty and hollow. It was a feeling he hated, and his hand moved to his collar. The cool leather was soothing, reminding him he was still owned.

**************************

Soft buzzing woke him out of a sound sleep, and he lay staring up at the ceiling trying to figure out what it was. The grogginess drained from his body when he realized it was the alarm on his phone. He had set it to vibrate at six twenty so he wouldn't be late for his new task. He scooted as close as he could to the nightstand then sat up and bent down over it so he could turn it off with his chained hand.

After the buzzing ceased he sat running his hand up and down the small amount of slack she had left in his chain, thinking about how he would get where he needed to be without waking her. At six twenty-five he got up and moved quietly down the hallway to her room. He paused at her cracked open door and grabbed his chain in his hands to keep it from clinking or running through the cuffs.

Though he had been living in her house for over a month he had never been in her bedroom. Soft sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the space enough for him to see her closed eyes and the outline of her body beneath the white covers.

He crept to the foot of her bed, holding his breath, then knelt down and shoved his head underneath the covers. The mattress sank under his weight as he carefully tunneled closer to where his mouth needed to be. He froze, worried the movement would wake her, but her even breath told him she was still unaware of his presence.

Her soft bedding caressed his hardening length as he scooted closer. He noticed she slept naked and ran his eyes over the parts of her he would soon be tasting. He continued wriggling forward on his stomach, avoiding touching her bare legs, until he was close enough to reach what he needed.

His tongue ran over her lightly, avoiding any areas that would be too sensitive. He imagined if he shocked her awake the punishment would be brutal. So he stayed low, teasing her opening then running his tongue lightly around her lips. It didn't take long for her legs to move, inviting him into the areas he had been avoiding. His mouth followed her unspoken orders, and her legs shook in response.

"Good boy," she murmured, bringing her leg over his head.

He rolled onto his back and she rolled onto her stomach, pressing herself into his mouth. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her down towards him. Her hand slid underneath her stomach and wrapped around his hair, gripping it tightly in a fist. She moaned into the mattress, her need dripping down the sides of his face.

His need pushed against the covers, lifting them away from his body. But it would be ignored and turn into an ache when it was suppressed. It throbbed more at the thought. Her muscles tightened and she sucked in her breath. When he didn't hear the air flow back out between her lips he knew, and he tightened his grasp to keep her from pulling away from his mouth. His tongue managed two more passes before her body attempted to involuntarily jerk away from it. But he was a good boy, and he knew not to lose contact before she was done.

When her body began to relax again he moved his tongue back to where he had started, savoring as much of her taste as she would allow before telling him enough. After a few moments she rolled off him and made her way to the bathroom. The clock by her bed read six forty-seven.

**************************

"Can I ask you something?" he started, staring at Ian from across the table. Ian's openness made him feel more at ease, and he needed someone to talk to. So when his mistress had informed him she wouldn't be home for dinner, he had asked if he could see if Ian was busy.

"Of course," Ian replied.

He ran his hand over his naked neck. He hoped once he chose his twenty-four/seven collar the anxiety he felt when he wasn't with his mistress would subside. "How did you choose your collar?"

"It was a compromise," Ian said after a moment of thought.

"What do you mean? I thought the slave had to choose it."

"Technically, that's true," Ian started, shrugging his shoulders. "I wanted chastity but she felt the cage thing was too cliché, so we compromised."

"Why would you want chastity?" he asked, surprised.

"It's just what I wanted," Ian said, shrugging again. "I don't think anyone could explain to you why they choose what they do. It's something you just know."

"Well, I have no clue." He had been thinking about it since he made his decision but had been unable to come up with any option that sounded even mildly appealing.

"You'll figure it out. And once you do, it'll make perfect sense- at least to you. And that's all that matters," Ian assured him.

"Do you know what options I have?" Maybe there was one he hadn't thought of. He wasn't very experienced in the lifestyle so his knowledge was limited.

"Well, let's see...There's chastity, various piercings- I know guys who have both nipples and their dicks pierced and then they tie them all together..." Ian paused and looked to the side, thinking. "...Cages that go around your nuts, some of which can be pretty brutal. Her will, urethral plugs—"

"Her will?" he interrupted.

Ian glanced over his shoulder around the restaurant to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. "That's how some of us in the community refer to a butt plug."

"Oh." He followed Ian's lead but didn't see anyone looking their way.

"If a man has a feminization fetish," Ian continued, "his collar may be women's underwear or something like that. Guys who enjoy CBT—"

"CBT?" he interrupted again, grabbing his drink.

"Cock and ball torture," Ian elaborated. "They usually like shock collars."

"Wouldn't those be noticeable in public?" he asked, his hand going to his neck when Ian gave him a strange look.

"They don't go on your neck, Finn," Ian said, his eyes briefly glancing down towards his groin.

"Oh, I guess that makes sense," he said, embarrassed at his ignorance.

They paused their conversation long enough for the waitress to put down their food plates. Though Ian had given him a longer list of options, there still weren't any he felt drawn to.

"How did you and Madame Lexi meet?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"We worked together," Ian replied, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes.

"Oh, what do you do?"

"I'm the principal at a junior high. She was working as a long term sub—" he stopped for a second as if the words sounded strange. "Substitute teacher, obviously not the other kind of sub," he corrected himself. "Then she lured me into her world."

"Lured you in?" he stopped sawing at his steak and looked up.

"Ya, that's what they do."

"What do you mean?"

Ian put his fork down and tilted his head to the side, chewing on his lower lip. "How did you and Mistress Morgaine meet?"

"She went to my high school but I didn't know her," he explained. "Then I picked her up at a bar a little over a month ago."

Ian raised his eyebrows. "You picked her up at a bar?"

"Ya, I mean, she was there and I went to talk to her," he said, remembering the brief conversation they'd had that night.

"What bar?"

"Tiny's Bar. It's just a small bar out in the middle of nowhere. My friends and I go all the time." At least, he used to go with them.

"Was she with anyone?"

"No."

"Huh." Ian thumped his fingers on the table. "So you went to talk to her and then what happened?"

"I took her to my house." Technically, he took her to his sister's house, but he doubted the specifics were relevant.

"So you're telling me a girl who looks like that just happened to show up at the small town bar you frequent, by herself, and you asked her to go home with you and she went?"

"She was the one who brought up going home with me," he clarified, then realized it was more of an aggravating statement than a mitigating one.

"Wow," Ian replied, exaggerating the word as it fell from his mouth. "Doesn't get much luckier than that, does it?"

"Guess not," he said, running his hand over his neck.

"So she followed you home..." Ian said, motioning for him to continue the story.

"No, she came with me in my truck." He thought back to that night and remembered walking her out to the parking lot. He hadn't noticed a Camaro and imagined a car like that would have stood out.

"Huh," Ian grunted again. "So what happened when you got her home?"

"It didn't go very well," he admitted, still running his fingers over his bare skin. He hated thinking about that night. It reminded him of how lost he had been.

"Oh?" Ian said, feigning a look of shock.

"Ya, she stormed out."

"She just stormed out into the night with no car?" It was clear Ian was done pretending he was listening to a plausible story.

"No," he said, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and let it out, knowing Ian was trying his hardest not to laugh. "Someone was there to pick her up in a white SUV."

"Oh." Ian began running his hand over his chin. "You know, my queen drives a white Subaru Outback."

"Huh," he replied, nodding. He pushed himself back in his seat, his hand falling from his neck to his lap, and laughed. It had never crossed his mind before, but looking back, why would she go to a bar when she had an entire harem of men at her disposal, all well trained and eager to please in any way she desired?

"So they hunt down prospective slaves?" he asked, clarifying the obvious.

"Didn't you know domme is synonymous with predator?" Ian said, still laughing.

"How do they know who would be interested?"

"I make no claims to know their methods of assessment."

"I just don't get why she would pick me."

"I don't know, but congratulations. We are some of the lucky few," Ian said, raising his glass to toast their good fortune.

*********************

It was Saturday morning and her legs were still not fully functional thanks to the new morning ritual she had implemented. She shakily made her way down the hall to the kitchen to start breakfast. After having her body's energy supply drained by two orgasms, all she could think about was how good scrambled eggs and bacon sounded.

He wandered into the kitchen while she stood at the stove stirring eggs in a pan. She could feel him fidgeting behind her, and after a few moments of enjoying his discomfort she turned to acknowledge his presence.

"Mistress..." he started, running his hand over his collar.

"Yes?"

"My uncle just text me asking if I can go check the fence on one of the ranches this morning. He said he can't get ahold of anyone else and they're releasing the lake tomorrow so we need to make sure the fence is sturdy before it's under water."

She stared at him for a minute, assuming he had told her an abbreviated version of the request since it made absolutely no sense. "Releasing the lake?"

"Yes, Mistress. Every year, right before it starts to rain, they open the dam to drain the lake down so the rainwater won't cause it to overflow and flood the houses nearby," he explained, still nervously touching the silver studs on the collar. "When they release the dam the majority of the water fills up a small lake on one of my uncle's ranches. So we always make sure the fence is good so when we bring the cattle there we don't have to stand in the middle of a lake and fix fence when the water starts to drain off in the spring."

"Oh," she replied, removing the pan from the heat.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I know it's Saturday and I wanted to spend the day here—"

"No, you need to go."

"Yes, Mistress," he said, then headed towards the table. "Mistress?" he asked, turning back towards her.

She turned away from the bacon sputtering on the grill to look at him.

"Do you want to go with me?"

Her gaze went back to the strips twitching and jerking as they cooked. Her mouth almost immediately told him she had other responsibilities she needed to take care of, but her heart stopped her from speaking the words.

"As long as you promise to bring a horse that won't buck me off," she said, moving the bacon to their plates.

"I promise, Mistress," he replied, his smile covering half his face.

After breakfast she pulled on one of the few pairs of jeans she owned along with a long sleeved shirt. The weather was already changing from warm summer into cool fall, and where they were going it would be even colder. She grabbed a hooded sweatshirt to take with her and put on a pair of old running shoes since she didn't own any boots. She twisted her hair into a long braid down her back then went to his room to take off his collar.

It wasn't long before they were pulling up the dirt driveway of his parent's place. Unlike her house there were no orchards, just pastures with horses and chickens roaming free. He wound down the path to the barn where a stock trailer was parked, and turned his truck around so he could hook up.

"Are your parents home?" she asked, waiting to see someone come out of the house.

"No, Mistress. Ever since my dad retired they travel a lot." He got out of the truck and she heard the squeak of the trailer being cranked down. She turned in her seat to watch him hook up the chains, then he disappeared she assumed to go catch the horse he promised wouldn't buck her off.