Finn Ch. 04: Goodnight

He opened his eyes and squinted against the sunlight pouring through his bedroom window. His hands went to his neck, rubbing where the collar had been the night before. He still felt somewhat dazed and also slightly depressed. In the light of day in his own bed in his own room he couldn't understand how he had allowed her to do what she had done. But even now through his embarrassment and shame he missed the feel of her hands running over his body.

Good boy. Her praise repeated in his head no matter how hard he tried to drive it out. It had haunted him all night, the memory of the words running like silk off her tongue making his blood pulse. He shook his head roughly, trying to jar loose the memories and force them out. But it was a waste of energy. She wouldn't be so easily ignored.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans off the floor, cursing when he had to maneuver himself into them before zipping them up. Being hard in the morning wasn't unusual for him, but today it was difficult to convince himself it was a naturally occurring phenomenon.

His fingers fumbled over the buttons on his shirt as he made his way to the front door. He pulled on his boots, not bothering to take the time to pull his pants down over the tops of them. The sun was blinding while he crunched through the gravel to his truck. His phone was on the dashboard where he had left it, the screen covered with messages from his friends and his uncle, but none from her.

Where was he? Why wasn't he at work? Why hadn't he gone to the bar last night? Where had he been? He turned the screen off and grabbed his hat off the dashboard, shoving it down on his head.

How could he allow her to do what she had done? Men like him didn't allow themselves to be violated in that way. They didn't allow themselves to be tied up or tied down. He wandered down the driveway to the barn and grabbed his rope off the floor. He quickly shook out a loop, then took two swings and threw at the plastic steer head attached to the hay bale in front of him.

He allowed it to happen because he had been chained to the floor. He didn't have a choice what she did to him. That was the only explanation. He grabbed the rope, jerking it free from the horns, then backed up and swung again.

He could have said her name. It would have ended the minute the word came out of his mouth. She would have untied him and he could've gone home while his masculinity was still intact. His loop sailed over the horns, landing on the ground next to the bale. He coiled it then smashed down on the hando before building another loop.

Why didn't he? Why didn't he say her name? He swung a few times, making sure the slack easily slid through the hando before throwing again. The pale skin on her thighs peeking out between the hem of her dress and the tops of her boots flashed through his head.

"Stop it." The words were stern when they flew from his mouth, but they did nothing to halt the tension building in his jeans. He could still see the dimples on her back and feel her eyes watching him. She always looked so interested, so enthralled with every movement he made. It was unnervingly intoxicating.

He grabbed at his crotch, trying to adjust himself to a more comfortable position. Then he paused, knowing she would tell him "No." After a minute he moved his hand back down and pulled at his jeans defiantly. She didn't own him. She couldn't control him.

The rope swung out again, hooking the right horn then whipping back over the left. He pulled the slack tight until it wouldn't tighten any farther. He needed to forget her. Forget what she had done.

He swung the rope as hard as he could, listening to it whistle as it cut through the air around him. Why did the pain feel so good? It was like a punishment he deserved that was long overdue. Each impact to his skin shot tremors through his nerve endings, intensifying every touch.

His arm was starting to ache, tiring out from swinging too hard. She wanted to train him. Train him to do what? What else was she capable of doing to him? Would she tie him down again? Force him to accept whatever she chose to do to his body?

He threw his rope on the ground and sat down on the bale of hay, rubbing his hands over his face. It didn't matter what she wanted to do to him. And it didn't matter that the brain between his legs wanted to defy the one between his ears. He wasn't going back to her house.

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It was dark when he pulled up and parked under the flashing neon sign at Tiny's. This was his bar, not hers. He had been going here several times a week since he turned twenty-one. She had been the trespasser, not him. And now he would reclaim his territory, even if she decided to show up. And he would find another girl to bring home. One who would appreciate his methods of pleasing.

He walked in and was surprised at how many people were stuffed inside. His eyes wandered over the possible rebounds as he made his way to where Conner sat sipping a clear liquid at the counter.

"Oh good, you're alive," Conner said, eyeing him.

"Ya. I was sick," he replied, avoiding eye contact.

"What do you think?" Conner motioned with his glass towards the bartender. She had short blonde hair, a low cut top and a big smile.

"She's cute." She was exactly what he needed. He smiled when she caught him staring, then sat up straighter in his seat when she headed his way.

"What'll it be," she asked, leaning over the bar. Her full breasts pushed up tauntingly over her shirt.

He ran his eyes over what she presented to him. "Jack 'n Coke."

"Comin' right up." She turned around to grab a glass off the wall, then pulled a bottle of Black Label Jack Daniel's off the shelf.

The sound of boots hitting the floor caught his attention and he turned, expecting to see Morgan coming up behind him. An older woman with cowboy boots on walked by and his heart resumed beating. He turned back around in time for the bartender to place his drink in front of him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Andrea."

"Well, Andrea, I'm thankful to see Joe finally decided to hire an attractive bartender." He took a sip of his drink, watching her cheeks redden around her smile.

"I've gotta go take some more orders," she said, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, "but I can take a quick break in twenty."

He took another sip of his drink, thinking about what would happen if he took her home. He tried to imagine her body underneath her clothes, but the image kept getting interrupted by the memory of Morgan's nipples pressing firmly against the sheer fabric of her dress. He wondered what she would have worn tonight if he had gone to her house. His hand ran over his neck subconsciously until he forced it back down on the counter.

"Fuckin' ridiculous," grumbled Conner. "You ain't even that good looking."

"No, but women find me charming." Morgan was probably pacing her house, wondering if he was coming, her boots thudding across the floor while she slid a whip through her hands.

Andrea looked his way and smiled when she caught him looking back. Morgan would've scolded him and told him to keep his eyes on the floor, then praised him gently when he obeyed. He moved his legs apart slightly, trying to alleviate the developing discomfort.

The sound of Trevor's voice yelling from the doorway helped him get his thoughts back under control. He moved his barstool closer to Conner to make room for his friends.

"I hear you're single again," he said as Johnny claimed the stool next to him.

"Yup, and horny as fuck. I bet that bartender looks pretty good bent over with no clothes on," Johnny replied, his gaze never leaving Andrea's breasts.

"You're too late, she's already got her heart set on Finn," Conner said.

"Oh good!" Trevor exclaimed, clapping his hand down on Finn's shoulder. "Maybe after a good fuck you'll be back to your normal self."

"That's the plan," he replied. But what was his normal self? The normal self that barely grunted anymore during his five second orgasms? Or he could find a new self, one who's body could be forced to peak so harshly it cried out for mercy.

It didn't seem like twenty minutes had passed before Andrea was leaning over the counter to speak into his ear. "Do you want to go outside? It's really loud in here."

He nodded and followed her out the side door, then leaned against the outside wall. "I'm Finn," he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

She gently placed her hand in his. "Your friends seem like they come here a lot."

"We all do. Nowhere else to go." He watched her spin a strand of her hair around her finger. She stood with her chin down, looking up at him with soft brown eyes. He doubted Morgan knew how to hold herself in that way. Even though he was taller, her blue eyes always appeared to be looking down at him.

"So, do you ride horses and stuff like your friends?"

"Ya, all my life." He realized he wasn't keeping up his end of the conversation, but he didn't have much to say. He was tired of these conversations. They all started the same and they all ended the same. "What do you do?"

"Ummm... Bartend," she said, giggling at the obvious answer.

"I mean outside of bartending." He tried to ignore the immature laugh that came out of her mouth.

"I'm just having some fun, trying to decide what I want to do with my life." There it was again. That irritating sound being purposefully pushed from her lips. "I have to get back inside, but I'm off at one. Do you know of anywhere fun to go late at night in a small town?"

"I might." He glanced at the empty screen on his phone. It was already eleven. Morgan probably knew by now that he wasn't coming. She had probably already stripped out of whatever negligee she had been wearing in anticipation of his arrival. Her boots were probably already put away along with all her whips and crops and whatever other instruments she planned on using on him. The restraints, the chains, the collar- all were lost to him now.

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It was past midnight when he pulled up in front of the yellow farm house and turned off his truck. All the lights were out and he hesitated before knocking, afraid to wake her.

"Are you drunk?" she asked when she opened the door.

"No, Mistress." He shook his head, his eyes looking down at her bare feet. "I had one drink and didn't finish it."

"Why are you here?"

He couldn't bring himself to say the words, so he just stood staring down at the ground.

"Showing up at my door this late is not something I tolerate."

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said quietly, his teeth biting into the inside of his cheek.

"Come."

He followed her to the bedroom on the left and looked up from the floor to see her grab the leather strap off the dresser. His pulse throbbed as she walked towards him, slapping it down lightly against her palm.

"Turn around and put your hands against the wall."

He knew he deserved to be punished for keeping her waiting so he did as he was told, bracing for the first blow.

"Lower."

He ran his hands down until they were level with his shoulders. She walked over to him, unbuttoned his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He shivered when her hand ran down his hardened length before wrapping around his sac.

"Back." She squeezed softly, pushing against him.

He shuffled his feet backwards, his hands sliding lower. When he could go no further and still maintain his balance she released him.

"Count to ten, Finn," she said, then brought the strap down on the back of his thighs.

He sucked in his breath at the sting, his nails digging into the wall. "One."

The next hit landed across his buttocks. Tears flooded his eyes so he squeezed them shut, trying to stop the drops before they could fall down his cheeks. "Two."

"Three." His voice broke as the strap landed again. His tongue ran over his lips, the taste of salt filling his mouth.

"Four." He let out a breath as the sting faded into a burn.

"Five," he sobbed, his sweating palms starting to slide further down the wall.

"Six." His lower half was on fire, but through the pain a wave of pleasure rippled through him.

"Seven." He clenched when the sting from the blow quickly dissipated into a tingle that shot straight to his sac.

"Eight." The waves started crashing together, building inside him. He pushed up on his toes, waiting eagerly for the next stroke. When it didn't come he opened his eyes despondently, desperate for her continued assault.

"Stay," she scolded when he began to fidget in confused frustration.

His manhood throbbed, dripping in anticipation of the inevitable. He heard her sit down on the bed and tried to turn his head to see what was going on.

"Eyes on the floor." After a few minutes she stood up and walked back towards him.

"Nine," he stuttered when he felt the sting.

"Ten." The buildup was gone and he was left with the pain and an unyielding ache between his legs.

"On your knees."

He shakily regained his balance and knelt before her, his pants still around his ankles. When he sat back on his heels the sting made him jump back forward. He carefully sat back again, pressing his lips together to hold in his scream.

"Hands."

He put his hands palms up in front of him and she buckled two wrist restraints in place, then buckled a collar around his neck. He ran his fingertips over it, realizing how much he had missed the way it felt.

"Stand."

He did as he was told and she undressed him, ignoring the tension below his waist.

"Lie down."

He laid down on the bed, holding still while she ran a chain through the restraints on his wrists and the ring on his collar. She tightened it until his hands were held fast under his neck.

"Goodnight, Finn," she said, then turned out the light and walked out the door.