Finn Ch. 12: Naked

He grabbed a paper towel and blotted at the cut across his right eyebrow, hoping it would magically disappear. When it didn't he threw the paper towel in the trash and put both hands up to his neck, rubbing it to try and calm himself down. But it was just bare skin. The pounding in his head wouldn't stop, and now it was jolting through his entire body. He felt like he was crumbling. And it was so hot. He turned on the sink and splashed cold water on his face and neck. Then he bent down and put his hands on his knees, desperate for the room to stop moving.

For the past week sitting down had been an instant reminder of his place as her will pushed deeper inside of him, stretching him just a little farther. Now when he sat down at the table across from Ryan he grabbed his menu and held it open in front if his face, hoping to get himself under control before any of the tears he could feel forming fell down his cheeks.

How could he sit at lunch with them with that as his collar? But he'd been out with them on Friday night. Nobody had noticed. Maybe the physical form of his mistress' will should be his collar since the psychological form was what he missed the most during his time away from her. Nobody in the vanilla world had to know, or would know. And the slave world? They were all caged and pierced and penetrated anyway. There was no judgement in that world.

"Finn!" He jumped at the sound of Ryan clapping in front of his face. "What's goin' on with you? If you rub your neck anymore the skin's gonna come off."

"Nothing," he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky to them as it did to him. He shoved his hands into his lap, clasping them together in an attempt to keep them there.

"Did you smoke somethin' this weekend? 'Cause you're sweatin' a lot..."

"It's just hot in here! Why's it so fuckin' hot in here? They need to turn on the fuckin' air or something."

"It ain't hot in here. And it was only about fifty five degrees outside and you were sweatin' out there, too," Ryan said.

"Why is everyone drilling me?" he replied, rocking back in his seat then reaching for his neck, both movements beginning to feel like a punishment. "Just talk about something else, okay? I don't have to be the center of every conversation."

"Okay..." Ryan said, eyeing him while he chewed on his straw. "Johnny and I did have a question we wanted to ask you..."

"If it's about eating pussy I really don't feel like going over it again. Google it." His eyes assessed the cup full of ice water sitting in front of him. He wondered if anyone would think it was odd if he poured it over his head.

"No, not that. We were just curious if your girl had any single friends—"

"No." The response flew out of his mouth before his mind even had time to process the entire question. She probably did have single friends, and he didn't know if all her friends were dommes. He also didn't know if any of his friends would enjoy the lifestyle he was now living, and he didn't want to know.

"Why are you being so greedy?" Ryan whined, stuffing a french fry into his mouth.

"I'm not being greedy!"

"Every time I get a girlfriend I always serve up her fuckable friends on a silver platter. That's the deal. So when are you hooking me up?" Ryan asked.

"Ya, me too," Johnny chimed in.

He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Only four more hours to go.

***********

She opened the front door to her house and walked into the silence. He wasn't home yet and she wondered how much longer until he came home and knelt down to press his lips into the tops of her feet.

She went to the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator, contemplating what would match with the thickening grey of the sky outside. She quickly chopped up potatoes, carrots, celery, onions and a few other random items she thought would go nicely in beef stew. She dumped it all in a big pot on the stove then went back to her room to change.

A knock on the door made her pause halfway down the hall and turn around. She peered through the peephole. The distorted image of a man in tan pants and a black shirt came into view.

"How are you, Mistress?" Ray asked from her doorstep.

She glanced down at the box in his hands then the badge clipped to his belt right in front of his gun. "Doing well. Aren't you slightly out of the area of your jurisdiction?"

"Yes, Mistress, but Madame Lexi told me to bring this to you," he said, holding the shoebox-sized package out to her.

"What is it?" she asked, pulling the lid off. Her hand shoved the tissue paper out of the way then her heart jolted in her chest, her stomach tightening along with her lips. She shoved the lid back on and tried to push it back into his hands. "I told Madame Lexi a long time ago I had no need for one. Bring it back to her."

He raised his palms up, refusing to take it back. "I'm sorry, Mistress, but I'm just doing as I was told and I can't go against what Madame Lexi instructed me to do."

"Fine," she said, "I'll bring it back to her myself."

"Okay, Mistress," he replied.

She stood staring down at the box, her hands white as they gripped the edges.

"Mistress?"

When she looked up his eyes were respectfully on the ground, but he kept glancing up at her from under his brow.

"Am I dismissed?"

"Yes. Go," she said, stepping back and shutting the door.

She went straight back into the kitchen, slammed the box down on the counter then picked up her phone. "I don't want it," she said when Lexa's voice sounded on the other end.

"All dominants in our community get one bought and paid for by the community. You know that. I'm just following the rules," Lexa replied.

"Now you're using the rules against me?" she hissed, her voice shaking.

"I'm not using anything against you," Lexa fired back, the cadence of her words slowing. "Lock it in a closet, throw it in a lake, bury it out in your orchard. I don't care what you choose to do with it. It's yours to do with as you please."

"You shouldn't have wasted the château's money on it."

"Like I said, I'm just following the rules."

She put her phone down and picked up the box, trying to decide what to do with it. She made her way back down the hallway and turned left into his room. She opened the top left drawer on the dresser and pulled everything else out of it, shoving it into the middle drawer to make room. Then she shoved the box inside the top drawer and pushed it shut.

When she turned around his open closet stared back at her. She wandered over to it, running her hand over the various plaid and striped patterned shirts hanging inside. She grabbed a handful and shoved her face into the fabric, inhaling him. She wondered how his day was going and hoped he was hurrying home. But even if he was hurrying, he still wasn't there.

She unbuttoned her blouse then her slacks, leaving both in a heap on the floor in front of his closet. She pulled one of his shirts off the hanger and put it on, buttoning it as she made her way to the living room.

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

He walked passed her Camaro, thankful she was home. His hands were trembling as he fumbled around trying to get the key in the door. Though she didn't call him to her, he fell to his knees and crawled to where she sat on the couch in one of his shirts and nothing else, flipping through channels on the TV.

"What happened?" she asked, running her fingers gently over his wounded face.

He shook his head then laid it in her lap, hoping she wouldn't tell him no. Her fingers trailed through his hair, and he wondered if she could feel the incessant pulse at his temples that had been torturing him all day.

"I know what I want for my collar," he mumbled. He didn't care anymore. He couldn't spend another day like today.

"Okay, tell me."

"Your will, Mistress." He waited to feel her push him away, tell him how disappointed or horrified she was at his choice. But she continued running her hands through his hair, thickening the fog that had already started to cloud his head the minute she touched him.

"Are you sure that's what you want, Finn?" Her voice was as soothing as her hands, and he squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on the sound. It wasn't what he wanted. It was what he needed.

"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled into her lap, wrapping his arms around her legs. His heartbeat was still throbbing through him, the sweat from his forehead soaking her bare thighs.

"Go get it off the table, wash it and bring it to me with lube."

"Yes, Mistress." He didn't want to leave the safe place he was in. It was where he had been longing to be all day. But he shakily stood and grabbed it off the table then took it to the sink.

He'd never held it before, never more than glanced at it. Though he'd had permission to take it out as needed as long as he put it back in, he'd been fortunate enough to not have the need occur during the timeframes he'd been wearing it. Now as he stared down at it, it didn't seem so large in his hand. Not as large as it sometimes felt, and not near as intimidating looking as the anticipation of it was. It was an extension of her, and he missed feeling her inside of him.

A new pulse started, separate from the one in his head. This one was much lower, originating between his legs. He went to his room and grabbed the lube off the dresser, then went back and handed both items to her from his knees.

"Stand," she said softly.

He stood and she pulled down his pants then motioned for him to bend over her lap. She ran her hands over him, up underneath his shirt then down his exposed backside. When the lube bottle snapped open the only part of his body that jumped was the part now pressed uncomfortably into her lap. It jumped again when her will pushed against his entrance, then through it, bringing with it the feeling of fullness he had missed so much.

"Good boy," she said, running her hand over his back and up his neck.

He clenched against his collar, the resistance instantly soothing his anxiety. It felt so good to be owned again. The heartbeat that had been pounding in his ears since that morning subsided into it's normal, soft thud. Then he was frozen, shivering in her lap. The sweat covering his body and clothes from the day was now like ice water soaking his skin.

"Knees."

He slid to the floor then wrapped his arms around her legs.

"No," she said, pushing his arms away.

"Please, Mistress," he begged, trying to maintain a shred of masculinity by not bursting into tears.

"You're soaked and freezing," she told him, pushing his chin up with her hand then leaning down to press her lips to his. "We can come back here after you're warmed up."

She stood and he followed behind her on all fours. Once they reached the bathroom she turned on the shower then helped him undress, frowning as she assessed his injuries. He knelt down on the floor, his teeth chattering when his skin touched the cold tile. She allowed him to cling to her legs while the water heated up, and he reluctantly released his hold when she directed him into the shower. The water burned against his frozen skin and he huddled under the flow to absorb the warmth.

"Good boy," she said when he winced as she ran a washcloth over his bruised skin.

"Are you disappointed in me, Mistress?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

She put her hand against his cheek and pushed his face towards hers, forcing him to look at her. "Never."

When the water started losing heat she helped him dry off and brought him back to his room. He knelt on the floor for her to buckle the collar around his neck and for the first time, he didn't run his hand over it.