Finn Ch. 07: Lesson

When she walked through the front door she was surprised to find the house in darkness. "Finn?" she called out, her hand flicking on the light.

The silence echoed through her head. She walked past the kitchen and made her way to his bedroom. Even though his truck was parked in her driveway she pulled open his closet doors and breathed a sigh of relief when she found all his clothes still hanging inside. His scent floated through the air, filling her lungs. She grabbed her phone out of her pocket and turned on the screen. No messages. No missed calls.

She stripped out of her clothes and made her way into her bathroom, but the hot shower did nothing to calm her nerves. The house was still in silence when she crawled into bed. Though she doubted he would stray for a vanilla girl, it didn't stop the incessant thought from torturing her imagination. She picked up her phone again, willing the screen to light up with a text from him.

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The pounding in his head seemed to course through his entire body. He kept his eyes shut tight against the throbbing, waiting to hear the sound of his mistress coming down the hall. He pulled his hand down, hoping the feel of the restriction and sound of the chain would alleviate some of his pain. When his hand moved silently until it hit against his leg he groggily opened his eyes, bringing his empty wrists up to his face.

His fingers flew to his neck, touching frantically against his bare skin. He pushed himself to his knees and looked around attempting to remember where he was. When he saw Conner asleep in the bed next to Andrea everything came flooding back to him. The alarm clock on the nightstand caught his eye and he crawled closer so he could see the time. It was almost seven in the morning.

His chest began to burn while his hands clawed desperately at his collarless neck. Besides the pounding in his head he couldn't feel anything. There was no pain in his back from where she'd whipped him. There were no chains, no collar, nothing to remind him of her. His body was stiff and shaky from sleeping on the floor so he used the bed for balance to pull himself to his feet and scanned the room for his phone.

"Good morning," Andrea whispered sleepily.

"Where's my phone?" he demanded, rubbing his hands over his face.

She rolled her eyes and leaned over to open her nightstand, pulling his phone out of the top drawer.

"You hid my phone!" he shrieked at her, ripping the phone out of her hand.

"It was just a joke. Don't be such a bitch," Conner grumbled, rolling over to face them.

He stared at the blank screen then dialed his mistress' number with trembling fingers. When it went straight to voicemail he bit into the inside of his cheek, causing the taste of blood to invade his mouth.

"You need to drive me home," he said, picking the jeans up off the floor and throwing them at Conner.

"I ain't fuckin' takin' you home right now," Conner replied groggily, rolling over to go back to sleep.

"Where's Trevor?" he asked.

"Across the hall," Andrea answered, then made her way to the bathroom.

"Trevor!" he yelled when he entered the other room.

"What?" Trevor mumbled into the pillow.

He saw Trevor's pants on the floor and reached into the pocket, pulling out the truck keys. "Either you're taking me home now or I'm taking your fucking truck and you can figure out how to get it back," he threatened.

"Run back like a bitch," Trevor replied, closing his eyes.

He made his way out of the house and climbed into the truck then tore through the glove compartment, praying Trevor had aspirin. When he found a bottle he poured some into his hand then swallowed the pills with saliva.

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When she heard the front door open she looked up from the kitchen table. His clothes were wrinkled and his face was pallid as he approached her.

"Mistress..." he started, fidgeting before her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to not come home last night. Trevor forced me to go to Andrea's because we went to dinner and I was in his truck and he wouldn't take me home and I had no way to get home and she gave me a drink and I didn't realize how much alcohol was in the drink because it didn't taste like it had much alcohol in it and nobody would take me home and I passed out because the drink was stronger than I thought and I should've known better than to go out with them but I did and I'm sorry."

Justifying his behavior by blaming it on others must have always worked in the past, which was why he was thirty-one and had never learned to accept responsibility for his own actions. But while he had been unconscious due to his lack of self control, she had spent her night rapidly swaying between intense worry and violent anger. She continued picking at her breakfast, curious to hear what would come next from his mouth.

"Please, Mistress,' he stammered, biting at his lip. "I know I fucked up and I'm willing to accept my punishment."

She sat back in her chair and ran her hands down the smooth wooden armrests. "Is that what you want? To be punished?"

"I know it's what I deserve," he replied, bowing his head.

She crossed her legs and mulled over his response. He wanted to be whipped, but would never ask. Instead he was attempting to control the situation to get what he wanted, while at the same time avoiding claiming ownership of his needs.

It was clear he had thought through what her responses may be, and determined that she would either whip him to punish him or refuse to punish him altogether. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't realized there was always a third option. And it was time for him to learn several valuable lessons.

"Until I'm interested in looking at your face again you can crawl," she said flatly.

He dropped to the floor and moved towards her on all fours.

"Stay," she ordered.

He stopped where he was and sat back on his heels.

She finished her breakfast slowly, listening to the sound of his nervous shuffling. When she headed back towards his room he followed her on his hands and knees.

"Strip," she commanded.

He sat back on his heels and began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Once he was naked she buckled the collar around his neck and watched with interest as he immediately ran his hands over it. It was a slave response, one she was surprised to see from him.

"Hands," she directed, and he held them out eagerly towards her. She put restraints on him then chained his hands behind his back. She shoved his head to the floor then put restraints around his ankles, locking them together. Stealing one of Lexa's favorite tricks, she reached between his legs and pulled his sack out behind him. She wrapped a piece of rope around it before pulling the rope tight, bringing his hips down until they rested on his heels. Then she tied the rope to the chain holding his ankles together. He scrunched down further, trying to gain some slack. She brought her hand down hard on his backside, causing him to lurch forward. The rope caught his sack almost instantly and he jerked back into his original position.

He eyed her from the floor when she pulled the ball gag out of the dresser and balked when she pulled it down over his face. It was the first time she had ever gagged him and she watched with amusement while he tried to adjust to the feel of it in his mouth.

She went back to shuffling through the dresser, watching him squirm in her peripheral vision. When she found the bottle she was looking for she glanced at him to watch him flinch when he heard it open.

Half of her was certain what happened the night before was only partially his fault, which made her feel guilty for what she was about to do. The other half of her, the half that tingled when he was on his knees, reminded her that he had disrespected her by allowing another master to control him.

He grunted through his gag when he watched her pouring a generous amount of lube over a small plug. She knelt down behind him and reached through his legs again, wanting to feel his arousal before it disappeared. It was well engorged and dripping in anticipation. She stroked it gently, a mild apology for what she was about to do.

She pushed the plug in without warning. He jumped then grunted when the rope caught and forced him back into place. It didn't take long for the burning to take him over from the inside. Sweat started pouring down his reddening face, mixing with his frantic tears. Drool dripped from the gag to the floor. Every time he tried to move the rope caught, bringing him back.

She watched him struggle until he finally collapsed into weak sobs. The burning would fade after about an hour though she knew to him it would feel like an eternity. She removed the ball gag and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up towards hers.

"Every time you take a sip of alcohol without my permission this is what I will do to you," she informed him.

"Yes, Mistress," he whimpered back, his flushed face covered with sweat, tears, and saliva. The half of her that felt guilty went and grabbed a towel to clean him off. The tears continued to rewet the areas she dried but they were slowly subsiding. She unchained his hands from behind his back then re-chained them loosely to his neck before leaving the room.

There were some reports for work she needed to catch up on so she grabbed her laptop and sat down at the table. After a few minutes of typing she began hearing the sound of running metal. She walked back to the bedroom and found him on his side facing the wall, running his wrist slowly up and down the chain, relaxing to the sound. She stood watching him sliding further to the slave side of the scale.

When he heard her footsteps coming towards him he stopped and carefully rolled back to the position she had left him in. He seemed calm, his eyes cast downward at the floor. He stayed perfectly still while she removed the plug and untied the rope from his sack. After she removed the ankle restraints she unsnapped the chain from his collar.

"Come," she said, and he crawled behind her, dragging the loose chain along with him.

He sat at her feet and she reached down and pulled the chain tight again, fastening his hands underneath his chin. He pulled softly against them, the tension in his muscles dissipating. Another slave response. An addiction to the restriction.

A short while after she started typing he lie down and she could feel his mouth caressing the tops of her feet. When he stopped she looked underneath the table and found he had fallen into a deep sleep. She lightly touched his collar, careful not to wake him. It was just a play collar. The same type of collar all subs wore. She had assumed he would stay a submissive, only to be collared during play after his training was complete. But now she couldn't help wondering if one day he would wear a slave collar baring the initials and emblem of his owner, or the symbol of a community slave. But in the end it didn't matter. All that mattered was her time with him was limited.