Finn Ch. 13: Chaos

It was crowded for a Wednesday, at least he assumed. Since he hadn't ever been there on a Wednesday he couldn't really say for sure, but he had been surprised when they had to park at the far end of the lot and run through the rain to the door. Rain did have a way of keeping people inside, though, and maybe for women it brought on the urge to shop. He would have to inform his friends of this recent discovery. For him, however, his focus was where it should be- on his mistress. His collar made sure of it, shifting inside him every time he moved to follow her through the store. Though shopping wasn't an activity he enjoyed, he found she had a way of making all activities pleasurable, even indirectly.

Her rummaging paused while she assessed a red dress that looked like it contained just enough fabric for her to be considered publicly decent on the Las Vegas strip. She held it up against her body then looked at him.

"It's nice." Finn Jonathan Dawson... August eighth...thirty-one...He could lick all the places it didn't cover...green... and all the places it did... Where did he leave off? Finn Jonathan Dawson...August eighth...

"Hmmm..." She hung the red dress back on the rack and linked her arm through his, pulling him to the men's side of the store. "Why don't you grab a few pairs of jeans to try on? Yours are all pretty old and stained."

He hadn't worn jeans that weren't Cinch or Wrangler 20x since he was in junior high, but he would do whatever it took to please her. He grabbed a few pairs off the wall that were his size and tried to guess what the tags meant when they said "straight leg," "boot cut," "relaxed," or "slim."

"Go ahead and try those on. I'm going to look around some more. I'll grab you a few shirts, too," she directed him.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied automatically, then glanced around to see if anyone had heard him. Either nobody heard him or nobody cared because nobody stopped what they were doing to glance his way.

She smiled at him and pushed up on her toes, her lips barely brushing against his before she walked off.

Finn Jonathan Dawson... August eighth... thirty-one... He repeated it over and over while he made his way to the men's dressing room. It was loud and crowded but there were still a few rooms open. He went into the first available one and dropped all the pants on the bench. The sight of his worn jeans, complete with two small holes on one side and a stain on the other, was unavoidable in the mirrors surrounding him. As usual, she was right.

Finn Jonathan Dawson... August eighth... thirty-one... green...Olive... The words repeated faster and faster while he unbuckled his now infamous belt. He stepped out of his shoes and pushed his pants to the floor, avoiding looking at the brown leather weaved through the belt loops. But the only other place to look were the mirrors. The one in front of him reflected the image of the one behind him, proudly displaying the red marks still burning brightly on his buttocks and thighs.

Even though he was the only one who could see them, his stomach tightened with embarrassment. Another part of him responded to the view as well, standing up proudly in the reflection. Finn Jonathan Dawson... August eighth... thirty-one... That was going to be difficult to hide... green... Olive...

He bent down to grab the first pair of pants off the bench then paused. With his stomach still turning, he held his bent over position and looked up. There it was, her proof of ownership, its blue base standing out proudly against his reddened skin. But Ian said it wasn't hers, that she hadn't claimed him yet. He clenched down to feel the resistance. The capital letters of the word "owned" still stood out in harsh black scrawled across his right cheek.

Finn...Finn...Finn Jonathan Dawson... He pulled the jeans on as fast as he could to cover every reminder, tucking his erection into the waistband. Now when he looked in the mirror all he could see was a pair of jeans that looked ridiculously preppy. The sound of the other men's voices in the dressing room were helping him regain focus, so he continued to listen to the laughter and rustling coming from the other stalls while he pulled on the next pair of jeans. He turned side to side in the mirror, contemplating if the jeans he had on truly looked worse than the first pair or if it was just his imagination.

His phone dinged and the screen lit up with her phone number. "Let me in," the message read.

He unlocked the door and she quickly darted inside. His erection was still prominent under the hideous jeans, and her eyes went straight to it.

Finn Jonathan Dawson...Finn Jonathan Dawson... August eighth...thirty-one...

"I have a surprise for you," she mouthed, the words so low they couldn't even be considered a whisper. She untied the belt of her raincoat then pulled it open, revealing her bare breasts. Then her hand went to her slacks, dragging down the zipper to reveal she had learned the trick of hiding an erection in her waistband as well.

"Please, Mistress—" he begged, his face burning. Fi...Fi...Finn...August...Finn...August...

"You'd better do a good job getting it wet," she said, leaning into his ear so he could hear the whispered words. "That's all the lube you're going to get since you want to be disrespectful."

He shakily got to his knees, glancing briefly at the door to make sure it was locked. His eyes moved back to her flesh colored appendage and he took it in his mouth, trying to produce as much saliva as possible.

A pulse shot through his body, ending between his legs. She filled his mouth and he took her all in until she rammed the back of his throat, knowing it was what she expected from him. And she had a right to demand it of him. He had to thoroughly worship her to earn the privilege of having her inside him, and that was what he wanted more than anything.

The laughing and talking between the men in the other stalls echoed in the small space. Shadows of shoes passing underneath the door as more people came in and some left flickered in his peripheral vision. He closed his eyes to focus on his task, no longer caring if he was caught in such a humiliating position. The only person who's opinion mattered was hers, and when he glanced up she was smiling down at him.

Her hand grasped his hair roughly, sending a tremor down his spine. He relaxed and let her take control of his movement. He could feel himself leaking onto the jeans he would now have to buy as she shoved his mouth down on herself. Then she jerked his head back, forcing him to look up at her.

"Good boy," she mouthed as her finger curled, silently directing him to stand up. She undid the jeans he wore, pushing them to the floor. The softness of her hand running down his length make him clench, causing more of his need to spill into her palm.

When she stepped behind him he bent over, putting his palms flat on the other pairs of jeans still waiting to be tried on. She pushed down on his back and he bent his knees slightly to provide her easier access to the part of him she wanted to use. The familiar feeling of cold emptiness when she pulled out his collar caught his attention, but he knew the feeling would be brief.

Doors opened and closed, hangers clanked and clothes rustled while she pushed into him. He bit into his lower lip to keep silent when she found her rhythm, closing his eyes to focus on the feel of her penetrating the most private part of his body. But then he remembered where he was. He looked up into the mirror and was quickly hypnotized by the sight of her hair and breasts bouncing in unison with the intrusion. When she caught him watching, she smiled.

His hand wrapped around himself and matched her stroke. He watched in the mirror as she ground into him, playfully circling her hips. Then she began roughly thrusting before sliding all the way out so he could watch her push all the way back in. When he felt the warmth starting, he silently mouthed his request for permission to come into the mirror. Her reflection nodded back to him. He grabbed a pair of the jeans off the bench with his free hand and shoved them over his mouth, careful not to cover his eyes so he could continue watching her violate him. When the explosion hit he moaned silently into the fabric, doing everything in his power to keep his shaking legs from crumbling beneath him.

His collar was shoved back in place the minute she pulled out, bringing with it another grunt from his lips. Her unstrapped appendage flopped down on the bench next to his head, and he watched in the mirror as she pulled down her pants. She sat down on the folded jeans in front of his face, shoving his head between her legs.

He carefully licked up the arousal that had soaked the insides of her thighs during her ravishment of him. He dragged his tongue over her, craving her taste. He wanted to be a good boy for her, and he knew how to please her. His hands pulled her down towards him then shoved her legs back until her bent knees hit the mirror. Her hands grasped at his hair, her body shaking while his tongue circled her back entrance.

When he began moving back up her body writhed beneath his mouth. Her hands released him and he glanced up to see them clasped tightly over her mouth. He reached over, grabbed the folded jeans he had used as his own buffer then held them up to her. She shoved them over her face as the tip of his tongue slid gently over her clit. He could hear the muffled sounds coming through the fabric as he caressed her swollen skin, and when her body spasmed he followed with it until it relaxed again into his mouth.

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

She stared out her windshield watching the small drops of rain gather on it. When the image became too distorted for her to continue driving she flicked on her wipers allowing them one pass before turning them off again. It was done. He had chosen his twenty-four/seven collar. She now had no justifiable reason to keep him in training. Her time with him was over. She couldn't continue to deny it and play with him as if he was hers to have.

He still hadn't told her whether he wanted to be a community or personal slave, though she assumed it was because she hadn't asked. She wondered if it mattered which he chose. Was there truly a difference between the two? The only difference she could see was if he chose to belong to the community her hopes he may want to stay with her would plummet to the floor immediately. If he chose to be a personal slave, she could maintain denial about their fate for at least a little while longer.

When she pulled up to the curb in front of the two story group home she was surprised to see Natalie's Mercedes already there, shining red under the dull sky. She had purposefully scheduled her weekly appointment at the home at a time she thought Natalie wouldn't be there. She sighed and grabbed her laptop off the passenger seat then headed to the front door.

Natalie was at the kitchen table with several of the residents going over paperwork. She quickly waved and raced up the stairs to the office, hopeful for a few minutes to herself. She sat down at the desk, opened her laptop and hit print on the document waiting on the screen for her. Then she stood at the printer, impatiently tapping her fingers against it while she listened for the sound of heels coming up the stairs. As soon as it spit out what she was waiting for she grabbed the letter, stuck it in the fax machine, typed in the number and hit send.

While she was waiting for the fax to connect she went into the walk-in closet where the resident binders were kept. She grabbed what she needed to prepare her reports then headed back to the desk, stopping when she found Natalie grabbing the paper out of the fax machine.

"How are you?" Natalie asked, placing the letter and fax transmittal page on the desk. "Your fax went through."

"Thanks," she replied, trying to maintain a casual composure. But when she saw Natalie immediately go to her own desk and pick up her phone to send out a text, she knew she'd been caught.

For three hours she waited to see Lexa's name flash on her phone, either from a text or a call. Other than a text from Finn asking how her day was going her phone remained silent. The rain was pouring by the time she pulled up to the restaurant for their normal weekly lunch. She sat in her car watching the drops bounce off the pavement. Lexa's white Subaru was parked several spots over, and when she saw a flash of red pull in next to her, she knew she was doomed.

Though the storm outside seemed much more welcoming than the hurricane she knew she was about to walk into, she pushed open her car door and popped open her umbrella, hurrying behind Natalie into the restaurant.

"Why are you sending a letter of interest to a company in Texas?" The words flew from Lexa's mouth before she'd even had time to take off her coat and sit down.

She slid into the booth next to Natalie, though she doubted the table would offer any protection from the oncoming tsunami. "Because I'm thinking of moving there. Hannah said I can stay with her and Dallas until I find a place."

"You're going to stay with crazy Hannah and her crazy husband?" Natalie asked, trying to fix her hair.

"I don't think anyone at this table has any right to call anyone else crazy," she replied, though in truth she was desperately trying to find her own place before she moved.

"Why are you sending a letter of interest to a company in Texas?" Lexa repeated as if Natalie had never even spoken.

She shrugged and hid behind her menu. "I need a change of scenery."

"This is because of Finn!" Lexa seethed, ripping the menu out of her hand and shoving it down on the empty seat next to her.

She grabbed the menu out of Natalie's hands and popped it open in front of her face. "No, it's not."

Lexa glared at her over the top of the lunch specials. "How can you lie to my face?"

"Fine!" she slammed the menu down on the table. "I'm not going to stay here and watch him with another woman!"

"But he's a slave!" Natalie cut in, her eyes wide in shock. "You make him move to Texas! You don't move to Texas!"

She shook her head and ignored the feel of their eyes tearing into her. "He belongs here. He's never lived anywhere else and his friends and family are here. I would never make him move away." The only reason she had to stay here knelt at her feet everyday. Once he was gone she would be out of reasons.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and tell him you're keeping him," Lexa hissed.

"I'm not going to spend my days knowing he resents me for not allowing him to explore this new side of himself."

"Resent you?" Lexa's voice went up an octave. "That's a big assumption! How do you know he wants to explore?"

"Because I'm a behaviorist! Remember?" She got up from the table and headed for the door, desperate for air. She stepped out into the downpour, fumbling with her umbrella on her way to her car before giving up and continuing in the rain.

"What did you do with it?" she heard Lexa's voice yell behind her.

"Do with what?" she yelled back over her shoulder, though she already knew what was being asked.

Lexa's hand grabbed her arm, jerking her to a stop. "You know what I'm talking about."

Lexa's umbrella stopped the rain from continuing to pour down her face. She carefully wiped the water from under her eyes, trying not to smear her make up. "I threw it in a lake."

"Let him go," Lexa said calmly, holding the umbrella steadily over them no matter how hard the wind tried to blow it away. "See how far he runs from his chains."

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

It was just after noon and the rain was starting to come down harder. His horse balked when he kicked it forward, trying to get back to the trailer as quickly as possible. All the cattle had been where they should be, happily grazing in the correct fields. No pink eye, no down fences, no missing calves, no Trevor. This was the last field he needed to check before he went home. He kicked his horse into a high lope down the fence line, checking for holes and loose wire as fast as he could manage.

By the time he unloaded his horse at his parents' house the haze in his head was already starting to thicken. He repeated his new mantra all the way home. When he pulled into her driveway he wasn't surprised to find her car wasn't there given he was home earlier than normal.

He went straight into the bathroom to undress, not wanting the rain and mud caked on his clothes to drip onto her floors. Then he got in the shower, scrubbed his hair and body quickly, ran a razor over his face and below his waist since she preferred him clean shaven, got out, dried off and went to wait for her.

The residual burn from his belt wasn't as lasting as the one from the cane. When he sat down it was as if the punishment had never happened. But he only had to wait a few more days for the marks to be renewed, and he imagined the hours he had to spend at work on Tuesdays would now seem twice as long as before.

His hands rested in his lap while he waited, and he ignored the tension pushing against them. The dull ache started after awhile, though now it was a familiar and welcome feeling. It was another reminder of her control, and in this moment he could understand the mentality of a man who chose chastity as his collar.

The sound of the front door opening made his heart skip a beat. He clenched down against his collar while he listened to her heels coming down the hallway.

"Bend over the bed," her voice came from the doorway.

He stood up and did as he was told, nervously touching at his bare neck when she pulled out his collar.

"It's Friday night, Finn. Go to your bar. Drink something. Fuck someone. You're free to do as you please."

He straightened up and stared at her, not at her face but at her feet where his eyes belonged. He wanted to tell her it would please him to drink the arousal that poured from her when he worshiped her with his mouth. He wanted to tell her it would please him to be allowed the honor of pleasuring her with his length, or be allowed the privilege of having her violate him with her own impressive length. "But Mistress, I—"

"You know I don't like having to repeat myself," she cut him off.

"Yes, Mistress."

She turned without another word and he heard the door shut to her bedroom.

He mindlessly grabbed clothes out of his closet and put them on. He got his keys but paused at the front door. He didn't like going outside without his collar, but she had made it clear she wanted him to leave so that was what he had to do. He walked quickly to his truck, each movement reminding him the most important part of him was missing. When he climbed onto the seat he rocked for a minute then stopped when he realized what he was doing.

The parking lot at Tiny's was packed like it always was on a Friday night. Girls in pairs of twos and threes huddled under umbrellas as they raced towards the door, all in short dresses and cowboy boots. He used to look at the outfit as a signal of opportunity. Now it just reminded him how lost he once was.

There were no familiar trucks in the parking lot though he wasn't surprised. His friends usually preferred to come later after the girls had some time to down a few fruity cocktails. He made his way to the door and spotted an empty stool at the bar. Andrea smiled at him and he watched her grab the Jack Daniel's off the back shelf.

"You boys better play nice," Andrea said, setting the glass down in front of him, "or Barry will have to escort you out."

He turned in time to see Trevor pull a bar stool up next to him.

"He can try," Trevor replied, glancing over at the ninety-pound bouncer checking IDs at the door.

"You look like shit," he said, half smiling at Trevor's blacked out eyes and swollen nose.