Finn Ch. 12: Naked

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Finn's mistress takes back control.
5.9k words
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13

Part 12 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/07/2017
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She rolled over and opened her eyes, the darkness keeping her blind. She fumbled around on her nightstand, wondering where her phone was. Then she looked down, the outline of his body on her floor surprising her. She had never allowed a man to sleep in her bedroom, even on the ground next to her bed.

His breath was calm and rhythmic while he slept. She watched him for a moment, enjoying how peaceful he looked. He had pushed the blanket off, leaving it mostly in a heap next to his body though some of it had managed to stay put partially covering his legs. The black leather collar was around his neck, an item she must have remembered to put on him even in her drunken state. The silver studs gleamed, picking up the small amount of light they could manage in the darkened room.

The more her eyes adjusted the more the lines of his form revealed themselves to her. He was on his stomach, and she imagined tracing her fingers down the indent where his spine separated his muscular shoulders. She could dig her nails in when she hit his lower back and drag them over his backside, leaving thin red trails to mark his skin.

The marks from the cane had faded completely, reminding her how long it had been since she had whipped him. Maddie's words came back into her mind. He enjoyed pain, but she wanted to maintain control of that pain. The thought of another domme marking his skin made her veins throb with rage.

She shivered and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders. The night air was becoming colder, sneaking through the window above her head. People in the country always left their windows open when the weather permitted it, and even during the times she lived in the city she couldn't break the habit. She sat up and quietly pushed it shut, careful not to disturb him.

She shivered again and quickly scooted back underneath her covers. He looked so warm, even without his blanket. She wasn't ready for the rain to come. Everyday the weather grew colder reminded her the weeks were passing. Eventually the one would come where he would walk through her door for the last time and shove the clothes hanging in his closet back into his duffle bag. But the next time she found the closet empty, he wouldn't appear back in the doorway as if he had heard the screams in her head begging him to come back to her.

She pushed the covers to the side and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool air attacking her naked skin. But his skin was waiting for her, warm and welcoming when she lay down on top of him. He stirred when she began pressing her lips to the skin on the back of his neck, just underneath the collar, then lightly bit into the flesh on his shoulder.

"Stay," she said when he tried to roll over.

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered groggily, turning his head just enough to press his lips into her fingers resting on his shoulder.

His words brought with them the surge of need they always forced from her body, making it drip onto his skin. Her knees pressed into the floor on either side of him, giving her the stability to rub herself into his back. She dragged her breasts between his shoulder blades then lifted herself so only the hardened tips tickled against his skin. Then she slid down farther, pausing when her body hit against something hard. She reached down between her legs, recognition registering as her fingers ran over the base of an item she had forgotten to remove.

"Why didn't you remind me?" she asked, twisting it with her fingers.

He tensed beneath her, sucking in his breath. "I didn't want to imply you forgot, Mistress."

She continued rotating it inside him, watching the muscles in his back move with every manipulation. "If you assumed I forgot, why didn't you take it out yourself?"

His nails dug into the floor, his body clenching down to try and pause the spin. "I didn't have permission, Mistress, and didn't want to get in trouble."

Both were reasonable explanations, or reasonable excuses. She couldn't decide which. "Then for the rest of the weekend you will wear it for ten hours a day," she said, leaning down towards his ear. "Ten hours of my choosing."

"Yes, Mistress," he grunted as she pulled it halfway out then shoved it back into place.

"Roll over," she demanded, then sat up on her knees while he turned underneath her. She made her way up to his mouth and lowered herself onto it. "Good boy."

His lips latched onto her, sucking her into his mouth. A tingle shot up her spine, then a chill jolted down her arms. When he released her she pulled away just long enough to turn around. She laid her body over him and pressed it into his, absorbing the heat it cried out for.

Her hand ran over his length then gently wrapped around his sac. He was heavy from days of denial, and she imagined the ache kept him more uncomfortable than her will. She laid her cheek against his skin and closed her eyes, keeping her hand wrapped around him. His pulse throbbed in her palm, and she mindlessly caressed it while she focused on the warmth of his mouth.

When the heat began to spread through her she let it take over, whimpering into his stomach until all that was left was the feel of his tongue pushing inside her. She forced her body to tear itself away from his then sat on her bed and looked down at him. He rolled over onto his side, his hardened length still reaching for her.

Fourteen years. The conversation came back into her mind like thunder shocking a silent night. But he hadn't run. He was still here on the floor by her bed, reminding her the next fourteen years would be much worse. Now who would she hunt? She would have to hibernate for the next fourteen years, until the day she woke up and no longer cared when she found the floor by her bed empty.

His eyes closed, his hands relaxing into soft fists, his body starting to accept its fate as another time passed where it wouldn't be allowed relief. But he had been a good boy, even when she had been in a less than dignified state. Though all the details still hadn't revealed themselves to her, she could still feel his arms around her keeping her steady.

She walked out of the bedroom and turned on the hallway light. It temporarily blinded her as she made the quick right turn into his room. She opened the third drawer down on the dresser and grabbed what she wanted, strapping it on herself as she made her way back to her bedroom.

His body was illuminated by the light now filtering in from the hallway. His eyes ran over her new appendage as she paused in the doorway.

"Knees up," she said, pouring lube down her length.

He bent them up, spreading his legs awkwardly before her.

"Good boy," she praised, looking down at all that was hers to devour. She knelt between his legs then slowly pulled out the plug.

His hands pulled his knees farther back as she pushed into him. She slid in easily, only stopping when her hips hit against him. She leaned over the top of him, planting her hands on either side of him. He lifted his head, his mouth searching for hers as she thrust into him.

His length rubbed against her stomach, reminding her it craved her touch. Her hand slid between them and ran down it before gently caressing his sac. Her hips sped up with his breath, her mouth pulling away so she could sit up and watch his body move beneath her. She had never taken a man in this position before and she had never felt more in control. Her womanhood was buried deep inside him where it belonged, and his manhood was at her fingertips where it belonged. His hands clawed at her back, his body arching off the floor. It was as if in this moment he craved her inside of him as much as she craved him inside of her.

"Please, Mistress..." he begged, his seed starting to trickle down her hand.

"Yes," she whispered, watching his eyes squeeze shut.

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

Monday. Always back to Monday. She was beginning to dread it as much as she knew he did. It had never bothered her to leave the darkness for the light during the day. Much like she had told him, it was a good reminder of how everyone else chose to live their lives which convinced her even further she was living the life she wanted. But it was hard to leave him. It was hard to accept there were only so many hours in the day he could be tied down for, or chained up for, or worshipping her for, or inside of her for.

He walked in the bedroom smelling of soap and shower steam and immediately bent over the bed. It was what he had been doing every morning lately. She used a different plug. Nothing bigger, just different. It didn't seem to phase him. He got up and got dressed, unconcerned about her watchful eyes.

When they got to the kitchen she took her seat at the head of the table and he set her plate in front of her before sitting down at her feet. His lips pressed into her shin before he began eating his breakfast.

"What do you have to do at work today?" she asked, watching him shove scrambled eggs in his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.

"We have to start moving cattle," he replied, continuing to eat.

"Are you and your friends getting along better?" she asked, waiting for his fingers to brush against his bare neck.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered. Then he moved. A small rock back that if a person didn't know what it meant they wouldn't have even noticed it.

She put her fork down and sat back in her chair. "Have you given anymore thought to what you want your collar to be?"

He squirmed again, an almost imperceptible movement. "No, Mistress. I'm sorry." He looked up at her with defeated eyes and shrugged. "I've been thinking about it, and I know I need one, but I don't know what."

"Hmmmm..." she mused, staring at him. She ran her tongue along the inside of her teeth and tilted her head to the side.

His eyes moved down to his hands then he rocked back again, ever so slightly.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm done," she said, holding her plate out.

He got up and grabbed it then brought it to the sink. He rinsed it along with his, put both in the dishwasher, dried his hands then came back to where she sat. He knelt down then pressed his lips against her thigh. He continued down her leg until they were caressing the tops of her feet.

She reached down and ran her hand through his hair, silently fighting with herself. She could wait until tomorrow, or the next day, or any day after that. But the longer she waited the worse for him it would be, and it was for his own good.

"Wait," she said, stopping him when he stood up to head towards the door. Then she unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them to the floor. "Bend over the table."

She ran one hand over his back while she pulled the plug out with the other. She balanced it on its base on the table and left it there. "You need to leave for work or you're going to be late."

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

It felt strange to walk without it even after only a week of wearing it. It was almost like he was missing a piece of clothing and needed to check and make sure he had on everything he needed to be decent enough to walk outside. He sat down in his truck and stuck the key in the ignition then watched out his window as she got into her car.

He ran his hand over his neck, wondering what time she would be home. He followed her down the driveway and down the old road, forcing his hands to turn the opposite direction once he reached the cross street.

When he pulled onto his parents' place the familiar feeling of dread that had become a normal part of his Monday mornings, as well as his Tuesday through Friday mornings, came crashing down on him. He had thought he was getting past it since it hadn't been so bad recently, but now it was making up for lost time.

He backed up to the trailer and got out, his heart throbbing in his ears with each empty step he took. His hand ran over his neck again even though it was only making the pounding in his head worse. There wasn't any leather to run his fingers over, only naked skin.

Though there was a cool chill in the morning air his body was burning up inside his coat. He unzipped it and pulled it off, draping it over his arm while he made his way to the pasture. By the time he got to his horse his hands were shaking so badly he could barely get the halter on.

As he pulled out of the driveway he turned the air conditioner on full blast. He pulled the hat off his head and threw it up on the dashboard, contemplating stopping at the gas station for Tylenol to stop his pounding headache.

His hands ran over his face and he groaned when he reached the ranch and saw Ryan and Johnny saddling their horses. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and pushed his hat on, then took several deep breaths before getting out of the truck. As he walked to the back of the trailer he wiped his palms on his pants, then tried to focus on saddling his horse.

He hoped nobody was paying attention when he threw his saddle blanket on backwards, then almost knocked it to the ground when he went to throw his saddle on top of it. His hands were still shaking while he tried to shove the latigo through the ring on his cinch. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they weren't staring at him while he buckled the breast collar and back cinch, but they were too busy laughing at the screens of their phones to notice his distress.

The sound of squealing tires pierced his eardrums and all three of them turned to see Trevor's trailerless brown Chevy screech to a halt on the other side of the gate. His hand rubbed into his neck when Trevor stumbled out and started heading right for him.

"Where's your trailer?" Ryan yelled, trying to get Trevor's attention.

He watched Trevor ignore Ryan's question and continue storming towards him, not breaking stride until he was inches from his face. Trevor's hands pushed into his chest, shoving him hard into the side of his trailer. The back of his head pounded into the aluminum with a loud bang, making the throbbing even worse.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" he shouted, regaining his balance. He couldn't deal with this. Not today.

"I thought you were a man?" Trevor mocked him, his sour breath lingering in the air.

"Don't be fucking stupid." He tried to make his way to his horse, his fingers clawing at his neck. But he was naked.

Trevor blocked his path then shoved him again, sending him stumbling backwards.

If she hadn't stripped him before he left he may have been able to maintain control. But she had, so when he pulled his arm back then let it fly into Trevor's mouth, he decided it was her fault. His fist connected with lip and teeth, sending a trail of blood pouring down Trevor's chin.

Trevor wiped his mouth then held his hand up to his face, his eyes glazing over when he saw the red smear in his palm.

He barely had time to dodge Trevor's fist, shifting sideways enough that it smashed into the side of his head instead of his nose. He swung back as soon as it landed, missing his mark and crashing into Trevor's cheek instead of his jaw.

Trevor lunged forward, his teeth clenched as his fists flew. He swung back, feeling Trevor's body cave beneath the blows. He knew Trevor was landing hits of his own but couldn't feel them bruising his skin. His anger was too consuming. Not at Trevor, but at her. She knew he needed something, anything to cling to so he could get through the day. But she had sent him out naked.

A fist punched into his side, knocking the wind out of him. Trevor's weight instantly dragged him to the ground. They rolled through the dirt, each trying to get the upper hand. Hands grasped at his shirt, trying to pull him back. But unless they were her hands, there was nobody who could make him stop.

He managed to fight his way to the top and was quickly caught off guard when Trevor's hands wrapped around his neck. He grabbed Trevor's wrists, trying to pull them away. When his vision started to darken he panicked and brought his forehead down as hard as he could into Trevor's unshaven face.

Sharp pain shot through his head, overshadowing the air surging back into his lungs as Trevor's hands fell from his throat. He rolled off and landed in a heap next to his adversary then quickly glanced over to make sure he didn't need to be bracing for another attack. Trevor's hands covered his face, blood seeping out between his fingers.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to dissipate. "How bad is it?" he asked when he opened his eyes and saw Johnny's pale face staring down at him.

"Pretty sure Trevor's nose is broken. And you got a bad cut right there." Johnny's finger pointed to his right eyebrow, the point where his head had collided with Trevor's nose.

"So it's all out, right? This is done? Out of your systems so we can get some shit done?" Ryan asked diplomatically as he helped Trevor to his feet.

Trevor glanced down at him, a roping glove pressed firmly over his nose.

"That's up to him," he replied, though he could tell by Trevor's sulking stance they were at least done for the day.

Ryan helped Trevor to his truck while he pushed himself to his feet. He ran his hand over the cut on his brow then stared down at the red smudge it left in his palm.

"It's ugly but I don't think it needs stitches," Johnny said, squinting as he leaned in to assess the injury.

He sighed, undecided whether he should be accepting Johnny's medical expertise. But since he didn't want to have to call his mistress from the emergency room, he made his way over to his truck and began digging around the center console for Tylenol or Advil. His head was reaching the point of exploding. He unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows to try and calm the flashes of heat randomly assaulting his body.

"Do you have any aspirin or anything in your truck?" he yelled to Ryan when his own search was fruitless.

Ryan dug through the trash strewn throughout his truck then shook his head.

He wiped his face on his shirt and pulled himself onto his horse. His hand reflexively went to his neck when the discomfort he had grown used to feeling over the past week when he sat down in his saddle didn't send the familiar tremor up his spine. Johnny rode up alongside him and handed him his hat, now crushed on one side. He took it silently and pushed it down on his head.

The farther they got from the trailers the worse the longing to go home became. He needed a collar, there was no denying it. But there was no possible way he would agree to wear a butt plug all day everyday for the rest of his life. He just had to think fast, hurry up and decide what he wanted. Then he could go home, tell her, have her collar him and be able to breathe again, because right now he felt like he was suffocating.

What were his options? He didn't want to be caged. Extreme tease and denial wasn't exciting to him. Ian had told him some men were locked up for months without release. He could be pierced like Ian, but it wasn't a collar that appealed to him. A shock collar sounded tolerable, but the shocks were random. What if he needed reassurance and had to wait awhile for the next shock? He wanted something more consistent; a collar he could activate or manipulate when he needed it. His neck collar he could reach up and touch. Her will was impossible to forget about, and if he needed a stronger reminder it only took a small movement of his body or clench of his muscles to get it. But those facts were irrelevant. A neck collar couldn't be worn in public and her will was an unacceptable choice. He was still a man after all, so he would have to keep thinking.

By the time they were done gathering the cattle and had them loaded and ready to haul to the ranch they would stay at for the winter, his body was starting to throb along with his head. When they got to Rubie's Diner for lunch he made his way to the bathroom to assess the damage. His hand immediately went to his neck when he saw his reflection in the mirror. A greenish purple hue was already taking over his cheek. His hand moved from his neck to his swollen jawline, then back to his neck again. He looked down at his clothes, covered in dirt and small tears. There was no cleaning up and pretending it didn't happen. She was going to be furious.

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