He groaned and tried to roll over, rolling back onto his stomach when pain shot through his lower body. The dull ache between his legs reminded him of the pleasure he had been denied. He tried to straighten his arms, but the chain held his hands tight underneath his chin. He pulled against it then closed his eyes, finding the restriction strangely calming.
When he heard footsteps coming down the hall he opened his eyes in time to see her walk through the doorway.
"Good morning," she said, looking down at him. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, Mistress." He winced when she ran her hand over his wounds. His body responded desperately to her touch, hardening when the softness of her fingers cooled the heat still tearing through him.
"In the morning I expect you to be up in time to shower, eat breakfast and get to work. What time do you need to get up to complete all those things?"
"Seven, Mistress."
"Okay. You will get out of bed and wait for me here," she said, pointing at the floor in front of her.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Go ahead," she said, still pointing at the floor.
He got to his knees slowly, pain searing through his body.
"After you take a shower and get dressed you can come eat breakfast." She reached down and undid the chain then unbuckled the collar. Her hand moved lower, wrapping around his length. "Do not touch yourself while you're in the shower."
He bit into his lip when her hand stroked from his base to his tip. "Yes, Mistress."
His hand ran over his bare neck as he made his way to the bathroom. He shut the door and turned on the shower. While he stood waiting for the water to heat up he turned around to glance in the mirror. Thick red marks covered his backside starting just below his waist and ending midway down his thighs. He quickly averted his gaze and stepped under the flow of the water.
Every move and every thought brought back memories of every moment he had spent with her, and every way she had pushed and punished his body. His desire for release was unyielding, and he realized any evidence from misconduct would be quickly washed down the drain. He grasped himself and began stroking, turning his back towards the water so he could imagine the sting against his wounds was her punishing him once again. His mind was too lost in his reverie to hear the bathroom door open.
"I thought I told you not to touch yourself," she said, jerking back the curtain.
He jumped and froze, releasing his hold. "I...I...," he stammered, but the tension in his body betrayed his truth.
She reached into the shower and spun the left handle. Ice water poured down on him, shriveling his arousal within seconds.
"Out," she said, turning off the water.
He stepped out and toweled off quickly, trying to rub the goosebumps off his skin. Even through his shivering his face burned, mortified at having been caught masturbating in her shower like an adolescent boy. He followed her back to the bedroom then got to his knees, thinking it was what her next command would be.
"Stand. Legs apart, hands behind your back."
When she walked to the dresser he tensed, waiting to see her grab the strap. Instead she opened the top drawer and began rustling through it. The item she pulled out was clear plastic, and from what he could see he was already regretting the poor choice he had made.
"When you realize you don't get to do anything without my permission this process will become much easier for you." She slid a ring behind his sac and up over the base of his shaft, slipped a clear case over his length then locked everything in place with a small padlock. "Get dressed. And you'll need to bring some clothes from your house if you intend to continue staying here, but not too much."
He watched her walk out of the room then went to grab his jeans off the floor where he had left them the night before. The device felt strange and heavy when he started moving. There was no way out without the key, which he prayed she had somewhere. After he pulled on his pants he examined himself to see if anyone would be able to notice. The prison was well hidden under his jeans, its prisoner incapacitated.
She was already seated at the table when he walked into the kitchen, and the heat in his face lit up again under her stare. He grabbed the plate off the counter and brought it to the table, then hesitated before deciding to sit down on the floor.
"Good boy." The words came softly from her mouth, not intending to mock or patronize but to assure him that he had made the right choice.
The cage crushed him when his body began trying to recover from its recent ice shower. Part of him wanted to shift his weight as much as possible to alleviate the pain, but the part of him that had brought him back to her house made him want to grind his hips into the floor to relive the memory of the previous night.
"Am I allowed to ask questions?" he asked, though he wasn't sure if he should be asking questions when he was terrified of the possible answers.
"Of course."
He looked down at his plate and jabbed his fork into the pancakes, unsure of what to ask first or how to ask it. "What am I supposed to be doing? I mean, what is it that I'm expected to do, or not do?"
"I expect you to behave, and be obedient," she said, stripping him with her gaze.
His eyes ran over her work attire, which consisted of black slacks, a light blue button up shirt and shoes that though he didn't know what the proper name for them would be, they were clearly not boots. It was much less revealing than what he was used to seeing her in, but it didn't make her appear any less intimidating. "Am I supposed to become like the men at the house you brought me to?"
"You're not supposed to become anything, Finn. People are who they are, no amount of training will change that." She crossed her legs and tilted her head to the side. "Why did you come back here?"
Because he missed the feel of the collar around his neck and the sound of the chains when he pulled against them reassuring him that he was no longer in control. But he had only become that person since meeting her. She had a way of running off his self respect, and his self control. "I don't know."
"You don't know or you don't want to say it?"
He shifted his weight slightly, just enough to send a shock of pain up his spine. He could never say it. Not to her, not even out loud to himself.
"It's okay, you don't have to say it," she reassured him. "You don't have to make this easy for me. I don't mind taking the time to figure it out for myself."
He moved his eyes to her legs, remembering what they looked like underneath her slacks. "Are they slaves? The men at that house?"
"Community slaves."
"I don't understand what that means." He looked up at her face, trying to focus on the words coming out of her mouth and not just the movement of her lips.
"Our community has eight chateaus, and all our members have to abide by our set of regulations. In our community the submissive decides after their training whether they want to stay a submissive or become a slave. If they choose to become a slave, they make the decision whether they want to be owned by one mistress or serve all the dommes in the community."
"What's the difference between a submissive and a slave?"
"A submissive who is trained by one of our dommes is always considered part of our community, and they can participate in community activities at their discretion, and participate in agreed upon scenes with any domme who wishes to top them." She paused and looked away briefly, her lips pressing against each other. "A slave is a slave. They choose to abide by the rules of consensual non-consent. They're a slave all day, everyday and can be used in any way and at anytime their owner chooses."
It took him a moment to absorb the meaning of her words. He couldn't understand why a person would willingly give up that amount of control and willingly live that way for the rest of their existence. "Why don't you have your own personal slave?"
"I don't keep slaves."
"Why not?" She was part of the community she spoke of and admitted to enjoying controlling men. It made no sense that she wouldn't want to keep a slave of her own, or possibly more than one if the rules allowed it.
"I have my reasons."
He looked down at his hands which were busy folding and unfolding the bottom of his untucked shirt. There was only one other question he had, but had been afraid of the answer since the first time she had collared him on the floor of the limousine. "What are you going to do to me?"
"Come on now, Finn," she said, the curve of her lips turning up at the corners, "you know I can't tell you that. Half the fun is in not knowing what's coming next."
"But what if it's something I don't want done to me?" The words came out more hoarse than he had planned, and his heart felt like it would burst through his ribcage if it pounded any harder.
"Like what?" she asked, leaning towards him.
He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." He had never been so lost. How could he list his limits on his fingertips when right now all he could think about was how she looked from his knees?
She stood up and walked over to him, kneeling down so her eyes were the same level as his. "I'm not here to beat you down, I'm here to make you strong enough to handle giving up control." She spoke softly, running her fingers through his hair. "I know you enjoy when I punish you, but I also know you're not comfortable saying the words. And that's okay. I will always push your limits, because that's where you will find yourself, but I will never cross the lines you set."
He wanted to lean forward and press his lips against hers, and if it meant she would reignite the marks on his hips, it made it even harder to resist the urge.
"Do you remember your safe word?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"What is it?"
"Your name, Mistress."
"Good boy"
*******************************************
It was still early when she arrived home from work. The driveway was empty and she wondered how Finn was faring at his job with his wounds from the night before. Her own arousal was becoming more nagging the more she played with him. Every time he knelt before her a familiar need pulsed through her veins.
When she walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner she thought about how lucky her subs were. Most dommes expected their subs to do the housework, but cooking was an activity she enjoyed. It was peaceful and allowed her another outlet for creativity. It was also an act she considered vanilla. Whenever she cooked she escaped the lifestyle for a little while, just long enough to miss it.
She began dicing carrots and potatoes, thinking back to the events of the morning. It was her responsibility as his trainer to figure out what he wanted and guide him to discover what his body and mind could handle, and what they couldn't. As far as she knew there was no such animal as a no limits submissive or slave, though they could have no limits in a certain area. Some slaves even had no limits in multiple areas, but everyone had limits somewhere. Even she had limits as a domme, and if her limits clashed with his desires she would have to make the decision whether she was the best trainer for him.
During her commute she had been mulling over possible reasons why he hadn't locked the bathroom door. Had he purposefully left it unlocked so he could be caught? He enjoyed being punished, that was clear. And that was fine, she could play the disciplinarian to his ill behaved boy. It would just mean that if she needed to extinguish a behavior her methods would have to involve discomfort he wouldn't find pleasurable.
She also had to consider that maybe he hadn't wanted to be caught for the punishment, but for the embarrassment. Did she need to be the horrified girl to counter his ashamed boy? Or had he left it unlocked because he had planned on behaving himself, but wasn't able to maintain control? Self control wasn't one of his strengths, and neither was waiting.
