Finn Ch. 09: Break

He grabbed his water and carefully sat down in his truck then poured three Advil into his hand out of the bottle she had sent with him. He grabbed his phone off the dashboard and noticed he had a message from her and one from a number he didn't know. He opened the one from his mistress first and his hand instantly went to his neck when she informed him Natalie needed her help so she wouldn't be home for dinner. He rubbed his backside into the seat, sending pain shooting up his spine. Then he opened the next message.

"Hey Finn, it's Ian. Do you want to grab dinner tonight? Make sure to ask first."

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When he walked into the nearly empty restaurant he easily spotted the rest of his losing bowling team seated at a table in the corner. He sat down in the empty chair next to Alex and when the waitress approached to take his drink order he requested a water only, despite the tall beers positioned in front of the other men. He had forgotten to ask his mistress if he could have one and wasn't about to ask the waitress if she would wait for a minute so he could get permission before he ordered.

"Uh oh. Are you on alcohol restriction?" Ray inquired after the waitress had walked away.

He touched his neck then put his hand down on the table when he felt the other men's eyes watching him. "I guess you could say that."

"What happened?" Ian prompted.

"I got drunk and passed out and didn't make it home when I was supposed to," he admitted.

"I bet she about skinned you alive for that one," Ray said with a smile.

This was worse than being with his friends. At least he could lie to them. But there was no lying to the men currently surrounding him. "It was more similar to being burned alive from the inside out." He looked down in embarrassment, not wanting to see their stares of judgment.

A collective groan sounded from around the table, and he looked up to see Ray nodding in sympathetic acknowledgement of his pain.

"Master Aaron's Special Lube. That shit is potent," said Alex, cringing.

"When I first went into training that was practically a daily occurrence for me," Ray shivered.

"Why?" he asked then pursed his lips, worried he had crossed a line.

"Because I'm stubborn and had a hard time with the concept of not coming without permission," Ray answered with a smirk.

Now it was his turn to nod in acknowledgement. Maintaining control was still the hardest part for him, though he knew he was improving. It was difficult to accept his orgasm was no longer a guarantee and was far from a requirement.

"Did you enjoy your first Monday Funday?" Ian asked, picking up the menu.

"Monday Funday?"

"At the chateau last night," Ian explained.

"Oh, I didn't know it had a special name." His hand instinctively went to his neck but when he noticed Ian's eyes on it he put it back down on the table. "Ya, I enjoyed it, but I didn't see any of you there."

"It's hard to see people when you're blindfolded," Alex said, taking a long swig of his beer.

His cheeks burned hotter than the red stripes covering his lower half. He reached for his neck again when he realized Alex must be well aware of the discomfort the chair was causing him.

"Finn's new to all this so let's try not to scare him, please," Ian warned.

Ray laughed and scratched his arm, pushing his sleeve up just enough to reveal a pattern of bright tattoos covering his forearm. "If he scares that easily this is the wrong table for him to be sitting at."

Ian sighed and folded his menu back up. "I'm sorry. Ray's obnoxious, if you hadn't already noticed."

He shook his head and tried to keep track of where his hands were so they didn't keep touching his neck. "It's okay. I'm just, I don't know, surprised at everyone's openness about...well, you know."

Ray moved his beer to the side then leaned forward in his seat, propping his elbows up on the table and folding his hands together. "As far as I'm concerned what happens behind my closed doors, and your closed doors, isn't anyone's business. But there's no point sitting at a table with other people who already know and trying to pretend we don't all know."

They did all know, and more importantly, they all knew more than him. "Are you a slave?"

"Twenty-four/seven," Ray said, flashing a wide grin. "Though I prefer the term 'Community Slut.'"

"Oh, please," Alex said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "You belong to Mistress Natalia. You're just in denial."

"Don't be jealous because I'm her favorite," Ray replied, exaggerating his movement as he pressed his hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes.

"Why don't you make it official?" Ian cut in. "You practically live with her."

"I don't know if I'm done being a slut, yet," Ray replied. "Besides, I wouldn't expect a one owner dog to understand."

"Here we go." Ian's grey eyes rolled up towards the ceiling before coming back down and landing on Ray. "I have no regrets about my decision, and I'm sure Mistress Natalia can think of plenty of ways to make you still feel like a slut."

Ray shook his head and put his hand up as if to block Ian's words. "It's not the same. Quit trying to act like it is. Finn, don't listen to him. It isn't the same."

He nervously touched his neck, wondering how much longer the food would be.

"How often do you feel for her collar when it isn't there?" Ian asked.

"I don't know," he lied.

"Really?" Ray started, raising his eyebrows. "Because you've done it about twenty times in the twenty minutes we've been sitting here."

He felt his face reddening again but gave up and let his hand go back to where it wanted to be. "A lot."

"Why don't you pick a twenty-four/seven collar? Then you'll feel better," Alex asked.

He turned to look at him, shocked at what he was implying. "I already have a collar at home, but there's no way in hell I'm wearing it around in public."

"That's not what I meant," Alex said with a quiet laugh. "All slaves are double collared. They wear a twenty-four/seven collar at all times that can't be seen while in public."

"That way we don't walk around touching our necks all day like we have a nervous twitch or something," Ray added.

"Your piercing," he mused, ignoring Ray's comment and moving his eyes to Ian.

Ian nodded.

"Isn't it painful?" It was the question he had wanted to ask since the first time he saw it.

"Only when she takes it away to punish me," Ian replied.

"Finn, let me tell you something," Ray started. "You know your a slave when your more comfortable in your collar and chains."

"What's your collar?" he asked.

"Chastity," said Ray.

"You wear one of those cage things all the time?"

"Slaves choose their own collar and each slave's preference is different. Right now it may not make sense but if you decide to become a slave it will make perfect sense," said Ian.

"What's it like to be a slave?" He had to know, especially since every moment he spent with them further tore apart the original image he had of what life as a slave must be like.

"You should know," Alex said, smiling. "You're living as one right now. Everyone's a slave when they're in training."

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Morgan turned off the ignition to her car and pushed open the door, stepping out into the warm air. Natalie was already standing on the front steps of the château, impatiently tapping her foot against the stone.

"Finally!" Natalie exclaimed, turning around to walk back through the door.

"I got here as fast as I could. I didn't get done at my last appointment until four thirty," she said, following Natalie's high heeled pumps down the hallway. "What's the emergency?" She had been shocked by the eight missed calls on her phone earlier in the day and couldn't understand what emergency there could possibly be at the château that couldn't be handled by those living there.

Natalie stopped outside the door to one of rooms then turned to face her. "I don't know what the hell to do with him, and nobody can get ahold of Lexa. But he said he knows you..."

"Who knows me? What are you talking about?" Besides the men who were already frequent visitors or residents of the château she couldn't imagine who would have shown up and caused such a disruption.

Natalie opened the door and pointed at a man seated on the floor by the couch.

She froze in place, her breath fleeing her body faster than her heart could catch up. He was looking down at his hands folded quietly in his lap, still unaware of their presence. His golden hair shined as it always had, bleached to glowing from spending so much of his time at the beach. She could still remember how even after a shower he always smelled like the sea.

"Mistress Morgaine!" he exclaimed, looking up briefly before averting his gaze back to the floor and crawling towards her. His mouth went straight to her shoes, licking over the leather. She took a step back, wondering if she took another, then another until she was back outside getting into her car if Natalie would try to stop her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. She wanted to ask how he ended up four states away from where she had left him. Four must not have been enough. Next time it would have to be six.

He sat back on his heels and moved his hands back into his lap. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Where's your owner, Logan?"

"She said she didn't want me anymore, so I had to leave." Red was bleeding into the whites of his eyes, and the tears began falling down his face soon after.

She made her way to the couch, remembering how manipulative he could be with his feigned emotions. His tears weren't for his lost relationship. They were for himself, as they always were. "Mistress April told you to leave?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head and wiping his cheeks. "Mistress April gave me to Mistress Katina who begged her for me over a year ago. Then yesterday Mistress Katina told me she didn't want me anymore and took both my collars and told me to get out." His tears began pouring more frantically down his face. "I'm a slave! How can I be a collarless slave? How can I be an ownerless slave?"

And there it was. Her reminder of what he was. What they all were.

"Would you take me? I could be yours until you find someone else to take me—"

"No." He was already too close to her as it was, and she wanted him gone. Maybe eight states this time.

"Please, Mistress? I'm a good slave. I was a good slave when I was in training with you. I know you remember—"

"No." She did remember. She remembered how even though he was the one wearing the collar, she ended up being the one on her knees. She remembered praying he would want to stay with her after his training, and breaking all her limits to be the domme he needed her to be. And she remembered him telling her she wasn't strong enough to be his owner, and he wished to be given to someone else.

"Please! I can't keep going without my collar. Please take me."

"I don't keep slaves. Not even temporary ones." He had always topped from the bottom, manipulating scenes so they would go his way, but love had hidden the obvious from her. It had been five years since he had taught her the hardest lesson she ever had to learn, and now she knew better.

The door opened and Lexa stepped inside, her checkered summer dress and flat sandals standing out against the dungeon-like ambiance of the room. She looked down at the man on the floor, stopping mid-stride when she realized who he was.

"Mistress Lexi!" Logan exclaimed, crawling towards her.

"Stay," Lexa commanded, and Logan paused halfway to where she stood. "It's Madame Lexi now."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect—"

"Excuse us for a minute," Lexa cut him off. "Mistress Morgaine..." she started, then turned and headed for the door.

She got up off the couch and followed Lexa into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Lexa asked, letting go of the neutral expression she had managed to hold in his presence.

She threw her hands palms up in the air then began shaking her head. "His owner threw him out."

"She can't just throw him out!"

"You don't have to scream the rules at me! I know the rules! I'm not the one who broke them!" She leaned back against the wall and buried her head in her hands, trying to maintain her composure.

"I'm sorry," Lexa said, wrapping her arms around her. "I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

"Morgan," Lexa said, taking a step back.

"What?" She moved her hands away from her face when Lexa's tone demanded her attention.

"Finn has nothing to do with this."

She narrowed her eyes, angered at Lexa's accusation. "I know Finn has nothing to do with this. Why are you even bringing him up?"

"Because I wanted to make sure you knew."

By the time she sat down in her car and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel the sun had almost completely disappeared. Lexa wanted her to forget, or get over it, or whatever it was Lexa had managed to do so the thought of Ian being true to her only to maintain his servitude didn't keep her up at night. Or maybe Ian was different. And if he was, it was because Lexa had taken control the right way.

It didn't matter at this point. She had already messed up. Maybe if she had waited, given Finn an opportunity to fall in love with her before introducing him to the lifestyle she would have stood a chance. But it was too late now, and she couldn't remain in denial about the path he was headed down.

Every slave she had ever trained had happily gone on to their new owner. They kissed her thigh then crawled eagerly over to be collared by a new mistress. It had never bothered her until Logan. But she had been young and naive. Now she was older and wiser. As a mistress she was replaceable, and her trainees never failed to remind her.

She realized she hadn't started her car and was still sitting outside the château, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles. She reached down and turned the key then shifted into gear. Finn would be in his room, waiting for her on his knees, his body fidgeting with the nervous anticipation that made him so stunning in his submission. And when she walked in she would run her hand through his sandy brown hair as she always did. His hair wasn't blonde or bleached by the sun, and it was soft when she touched it, not dry and rough from too many hours spent in salted waters.

Five years ago she had put him in her past. Locked him away in the farthest corner of her memory and pretended to throw away the key. What did she need his memory for? She had her beach boy with the sun blessed skin. But Logan was never really hers. He always only belonged to himself. And Finn would never be hers, either.

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It was after nine when he heard the front door open. He rubbed his palms down his thighs and waited. Even though he didn't look up at her face when she walked through his bedroom door he could tell by her movement she was exhausted. Her authority was still there but the normal energy in her step was not. She quietly buckled his collar around his neck then motioned for him to follow her.

She slumped down on the couch, leaning her head back and letting her body sink into the cushions. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and handed it to her, glancing up at her face as he did so. Her eyes were on the screen, but her mind was somewhere else. Maybe her thoughts were spinning as his often did. But she could always make his stop, and now it was his turn to make her's stop. He didn't know how, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

He reached his hand towards her leg then paused. He didn't have permission to touch her, but rules always had loop holes and gray areas. His hand ran over her calf, taking the risk. He pressed his fingers into it, a novice attempt to massage out the tension. When she didn't scold him he lifted her legs enough to pull off the shoes she usually left by the front door.

"We need to talk," she said, breaking the silence.

Both of his hands immediately went to his neck and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Please don't make me leave." They were the only words he could manage to get out. He was already in a bad place every morning and couldn't imagine having to be there every night, too.

She slid off the couch and sat down in front of him, pulling his hands away from his neck. "Finn, breathe."

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used those words. That isn't what I meant."

"I don't want to leave." The room wasn't spinning anymore, paused by her hands linking into his.

"Okay, then you will stay," she told him, and he released another deep breath. "But what I meant when I said we need to talk is that I need you to talk. I understand you want to stay, but I need to know where I'm going with your training." She ran her hand through his hair, and he turned to kiss it when it trailed down his cheek. "I need to know if I'm training you to be a sub or a slave. You don't have to decide right this second—"

"I want to be a slave," he interrupted her. Why was she even asking him? Couldn't she see he was already her slave? He could barely function without his collar, and he couldn't imagine having to spend a night without his chains.

Her eyes assessed him. He didn't have to look at her to feel them on his skin. It was a feeling he was used to now, and one he missed when he wasn't with her.

"I don't want you to make an uninformed decision, Finn. I think you should think about both of your options for a few days before you decide. If you choose to be a sub, you hold all the power. You can decide what types of power play you want to participate in and what can and can't be done to you. Your pleasure will be at the forefront of any scene you choose to participate in."

She paused then pulled his head up, forcing him to look at her. "A slave is a slave, Finn. You will be owned. You will be at the mercy of your owner in all aspects of your life. You will be there for your owner's pleasure. Your pleasure will be secondary, if it's allowed at all. The only power you'll have is whether you choose to stay or leave."

"I want to be a slave." He didn't blink, look down, fidget or try to avoid her stare. He knew what he wanted and knew what the consequences of his decision were. But he didn't care. He was already existing for her pleasure, but that was where he was finding his. At her mercy was where he belonged.

"Okay," she said, standing up. "You'll have to choose a twenty-four/seven collar. I can't make that decision for you. And whatever you decide is what it will be for as long as you choose to live as a slave."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, though he had no idea what he would feel comfortable being uncomfortable in for the rest of his life.

"Once you've decided, let me know. It's time for bed," she said, getting up and heading towards the hallway.