It was Monday morning and when the collar dropped from his neck she tried not to look at his face. She didn't want to see the fall in the curve of his lips or his hand reaching for where it had been, both reminders of how cruel it would be for her to delay him choosing a twenty-four/seven collar.
During breakfast, she tried not to notice him only eat two bites before dumping the rest in the trash. This was why they collared slaves. Every other reason came in second to the way she knew he was feeling right now. And she imagined it only worsened the minute he walked out the front door.
"I'll be home by five thirty," she told him, undecided whether having an actual time to count down to would help or make it worse for him.
"Yes, Mistress," he answered, sitting back down on the floor. His head rested in her lap and his arms wrapped around her legs while she finished eating. It was a position she found he put himself in often now, and while she had never allowed any other slave or submissive to get into the habit of touching her without permission, he was different. She ran her hand through his hair, letting him enjoy his last minutes in the safe space he was in before he would be forced to leave it.
When she stood up he grabbed her plate and took it to the sink. He rinsed it off quietly with his shoulders hunched forward then put it in the dishwasher before heading to the door. He kept his eyes down when he walked by her, but she could still see the heaviness in his movement.
"Come," she said, stopping him before he stepped outside. She couldn't choose his collar for him, but she also couldn't continue to watch him fall apart every time he left her house.
He followed her back to his room and started to get to his knees.
"Stand," she directed, then undid his belt and pushed his jeans to the floor. "Bend over the bed."
He shuffled with his pants around his ankles to the edge of the bed, his reluctance not enough to stop his erection from pressing into the side of the mattress.
She pulled open the second drawer on the dresser and peered inside. Dommes often used the excuse it was for a slave's own benefit when they were going to do something which would cause the slave discomfort, especially discomfort for an extended period of time. So that was what she told herself. It was for his own good.
She pushed her lubed finger into him, the sound of his nervous breath pulsing through her. "Good boy," she praised, rubbing his back with her free hand while she inserted a second finger.
His muscles relaxed and his breath become more eager. She pulled out her fingers and began pushing the blue plug in, pausing to stroke him when his muscles tightened against the penetration. He flinched when the largest part disappeared inside him then squirmed when she twisted the base to make sure it was seated securely.
"You can go now," she said, tossing the bottle of lube back in the dresser and shutting the drawer.
He stood up then carefully bent down to pull up his pants. "Mistress?"
"Yes?"
"I don't understand why I'm being punished."
When she looked at him his eyes were sullen and on the floor, his hands clenched in front of him. "You're not being punished," she informed him, pulling her shoulders back. "You're here for my pleasure and my amusement, and this both pleases and amuses me."
*********************
He paced the hallway a few times, trying to adjust enough to walk normally before heading out the door. He couldn't decide at the moment which was more uncomfortable, her will or the erection he had tucked into his waistband. The seat of his truck was well worn and soft, but he doubted the seat of his saddle would be as forgiving.
When he reached his parents' house he carefully hooked up his trailer, checking and re-checking he had properly hooked up all the chains and locked the hitch onto the ball. Hooking up a trailer was second nature, but her will was the ultimate distraction. By the time he had his horse saddled and loaded his erection was calming down but the full feeling inside of him was still at the forefront of his mind.
He turned off the main road then bounced along the dirt road all the way to the ranch he needed to check. His hands started to ache from gripping the steering wheel, which he hadn't even noticed he was doing. It wasn't painful, and he couldn't even claim it was truly uncomfortable. Though he hated to admit it to himself, he found pleasure in the way it felt. The fullness, the stretch, the movement, and most importantly, the reminder. But it was incredibly distracting. He was so distracted he didn't see the cow grazing on the pieces of grass that had broken through the old road until he almost hit it.
"Fuck!" he shouted, swerving to avoid it. The orange ear tag taunted him when he glanced back through his side mirror.
"Fuck." He shoved the gear shift into park and got out, taking a few careful steps before adjusting into his normal gait. The cow watched him approaching before turning to jog towards the main road.
"Fuck." He threw open the back of his trailer and lifted his leg to step in, then paused for a minute before stepping the rest of the way in. He unloaded his horse and after a few minutes of pacing and building himself up he realized there was nothing he could do to make the situation easier.
"One...two...three..." he counted, grimacing in anticipation. He hopped up, stuck his foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn and pulled himself on.
He wheeled his horse around, kicked into a lope then pulled his rope loose from the saddle and shook out a loop. He doubted he needed it, but at least messing with his rope offered some distraction.
As soon as the cow was in view he slowed down, trying not to spook it farther down the road. If he could get around it he could push it back to where it needed to be and walk for the rest of the day. But as usual, nothing with cattle ever went exactly as planned. The cow turned her head the opposite direction and took off as soon as he tried to get around her.
"Fuck!" He lifted his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead then pushed it back down. His horse broke into a lope again and this time when the cow took off he leaned forward and kicked, determined to get around her before she made it to the highway. He arched out as wide as the road would allow then looped around in front of her, blocking her path.
She turned back in the correct direction and he breathed a sigh of relief. But by the time they were headed back by his rig, three more cows were standing around it searching for hay.
"What the fuck!" he groaned, leaning his head back and rubbing his hands over his face.
They fell in line with the original escapee and he herded them back towards the gate, which he found lying on the ground along with a significant amount of the fence. Tire tracks started from the road and went through the field before making a loop back out to the road again.
"Fuck." He could load his horse up, go home and pretend he didn't know the fence was down. But he knew the current object filling him was nothing compared to the hellfire she would subject him to if she found out. So he rode back to his truck to make sure he had what he needed then drove to where the demolished fence lay waiting for him.
"Fuck," he sighed when he heard the sound of a diesel engine getting closer. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to finish the fence and go home. Maybe once he got there she would remove her will, and maybe she would even praise him for being a good boy and wearing it all day.
Ryan leaned out the window of his blue Ford pick-up, his eyes running over the downed fence. "Need some help?"
"I got it. Thanks," he replied, hoping Ryan would take the opportunity to bolt from a job nobody really liked to do.
"Come on now, I'm not gonna make you rebuild all this fence on your own," Ryan said, pulling over and turning off the engine.
"It's fine, I got it. Seriously."
"Don't be stupid." Ryan grabbed ahold of one of the t-posts, setting it back upright and trying to shove it back into the ground. "We can have this shit back up in no time."
There was no point in arguing, and at least with help he would get home sooner. "Okay. Thanks."
"So, what's up?" Ryan asked before starting to pound the post back into the ground.
"Nothing much," he replied, assuming Ryan wouldn't be very understanding about his current discomfort.
"You talked to Trevor at all?"
"No."
