Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) (2 page)

Being back here upset her equilibrium. She tried to focus on the soothing murmurs of West’s posh English accent and Sarge’s prairie rumble. After a while, the voices quieted.

Hearing a knock on her door, and West’s smooth voice, she slipped on a robe and answered the adjoining door.

“Just checking on you, lovey.”

Stacy sighed and leaned into West, trying to absorb his calm. She thanked the goddess every day Sarge had sent her to West and Tim. Her family. And even though she no longer lived with them, wherever they lived was home. They were the only two people in the world she allowed herself to show weakness in front of.

Especially Tim. He was a nurturer. “I miss Tim.”

West kissed her forehead. He and Tim both knew she found it the most comforting thing in the world. Soft kisses to her forehead made her feel treasured and safe. “Me too, lovey.”

She cuddled into him. One thing she loved about BDSM parents was they were free with physical affection. Kisses, hugs and cuddling were all for the taking.

“Get a good sleep. Shut off that brain of yours. It’s all good.” Stacy gave a ‘bad-joke’ groan at West’s latest cliché.

She bundled back into bed, feeling cold. Montana wasn’t cold, but it was freezing compared to California. Stacy was so glad it was June, and not winter.

Stacy felt more relaxed now that she’d had some cuddle time. She’d never had that sort of affection from her mother. Her mother got affection from the multitude of men passing through her bedsheets. Mary didn’t really even acknowledge her existence most of the time. Stacy was dragged up, not brought up.

The only affection she had ever had was from her best friend, her only friend when she lived in Cutters Creek. Brendan.

And she didn’t want to think about him. Coming back to Cutters Creek was hard enough. She could cope with everything else. Stacy was thankful she wouldn’t run into him. Although she wasn’t on it, she did a Google search which linked to his Facebook, so she creeped his profile. She saw he followed in his father’s footsteps, just like his mother wanted him to.

A Forestry Warden, in Yellowstone. Hundreds of miles away from Cutters Creek. At least a six-hour drive. Thank the Goddess for small mercies.

Confronting Mary was going to be hard. Mom could compete on a national level when it came to guilt trips. Stacy knew she would view this as persecution.

Even though it had been eight years since she left, it sounded like her mother was still in the same holding pattern. Party, fall into bed and sometimes into love, alienate the loser she wasted all her emotion on and watch him walk away. Or wake up to an empty bed, sometimes with an apologetic note. Repeat.

Stacy had left. Fled was more the case. Thinking back to the day she left was still too painful. West and Tim had made her go to counseling to deal with all that. Cutters Creek was all about bad memories.

There were some good memories, too. Unfortunately, almost all of her good memories were tied to Brendan.

Isn’t it strange how every good memory with someone could be tainted by one terrible act?

The counselor had advised her to focus on all the good memories. And she had. But thinking about the good made what had happened so much worse.

Because he had the same memories. And it meant their shared history didn’t matter to him. That she didn’t matter to him.

Logically, she knew teenagers made massive errors in judgment. But her heart couldn’t be logical.

And what Domme could be logical about their first submissive? No matter how vanilla the BDSM play was between them, Brendan had been Stace’s first sub. Yet the cornerstone of BDSM relationships was trust. When it was gone, salvaging it wasn’t worth the effort. Usually.

She recalled a conversation she had had with West months after her arrival at his and Tim’s doorstep. When she wasn’t as feral. When she started to accept she was welcome. She’d finally learned what it was like to have a home. Her first.

She was having a little pity party, seated between the couple, but snuggled into Tim. He was a submissive, and in his past had endured abuse which was almost as depraved as a snuff film. Tim was hearth and home, with a face that would look more at home in a police line-up and a body that would rival The Hulk. He was a protective teddy bear when it came down to it.

West could explain things in a way that helped her understand better. “Lovey, no one ever forgets their best friend, their first love or their first sub. And losing each is a blow. Unfortunately, you lost all three at the same time.”

There was a lot more discussion into the night, and a lot more cuddling.

She was half tempted to go next door and fall asleep in West’s arms. He was a Master, as she was a Domme. But he was the type of Master all others looked up to. The über-Dom. Cuddling with him wouldn’t be a submissive act. It would be receiving comfort from a father figure. Non-sexual, and truly safe and comforting. Even at twenty-four years old, she needed it.

In counseling, she learned she was starved for affection. There was a thing called ‘touch-hunger’. Most people who grew up without touch found it difficult to receive. But in Stacy’s case, it was the opposite. She craved touch. Since Mary hadn’t ever given her any, she gorged on affection now. She always made sure subs she had scenes with received plenty of affection and aftercare.

Stacy had often wondered why Mary hadn’t had an abortion whilst pregnant with her. Mary wasn’t very religious, and she wasn’t pro-life. The only thing Mary had strong opinions about was how to get her next drink and her next fuck. Preferably from the same guy. Stacy suspected Mary probably found out about her pregnancy too late to do anything about it.

Despite that, Mary must have cared enough to lay off the booze a bit, because Stacy was no dummy. She had taken online tests to see if she had any symptoms of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, but she didn’t. And her IQ was above average.

Stacy knew it was futile to hope Mary would be happy to see her. Until she was thirteen, she was locked in her room whenever Mary had company. Once her mother noticed she’d developed bumps on her chest, Stace became competition and her mother kicked her out until the next morning. Which probably saved her sexually, but not physically. If it wasn’t for Sarge, Stacy would have probably died of exposure.

Stacy was not welcome at her best friend’s house. Stacy was camp trash, and Brendan was from a middle-class home. So no matter what, she would never be good enough for Brendan. Danica Thomas was a schoolteacher, and a single mother, albeit in a respectable way. Brendan’s Dad was MIA like Stacy’s, but Mr. Thomas had a better excuse, since he was dead.

Camp trash was the Cutters Creek equivalent of trailer trash.

It wasn’t as if Brendan had it easy. Mrs. Thomas wanted Brendan to be a Forestry worker, an idealized version of his father, Brent. Over time, Brent had become infallible and perfect. Except for the fact that he died.

So she couldn’t run to the Thomases’ house the first time she was kicked out when Mary was ‘entertaining’. She ran to the only other constant in her life. Sarge.

Sarge was her mother’s employer at the Cutters. But he was also a confidant. Like attracted like, and the Dominant in Sarge saw Stacy as she was: a confused girl who was scared by the perverted thoughts which ran through her brain. Not that she was old enough to even understand the craving to control, punish and dominate. Sarge recognized it and never said anything. She just felt safe to be herself with Sarge. They had a kinship.

Exposing their friendship was something which would have put Sarge in jail, though. Or at least at the center of some very malicious gossip. People wouldn’t understand a middle-aged man befriending a thirteen-year-old girl.

So Sarge hired her to clean the Saloon up mornings. Gave her keys to the back entrance and to his apartment. And he let her use the spare room at his place over the Saloon. This gave her an excuse to be there early in the mornings, so it wouldn’t look like she had stayed overnight.

Mary never knew where she went. Mary probably assumed she went to Brendan’s house.

Sarge gave her a place to be safe and warm. Then, when it mattered most, Sarge got her out of town and somewhere safe. He sent her to West and Tim.

When she arrived on their doorstep, she was so happy she had a place to live she didn’t even notice at first that West and Tim were a couple. A male-male couple was not something she’d seen in Cutters Creek. When the other shoe dropped, Stacy tried to act nonchalant and worldly, until she realized they didn’t expect her to be. They pushed her to ask questions, no matter how hick her inquiries were. And there were some pretty rednecked queries.

The BDSM part of the relationship didn’t become apparent to her for quite some time. All she knew about West and Tim was they owned a club. It wasn’t as if they had a Master/slave relationship. Tim was only a submissive in the bedroom.

She tossed onto one side and then the other, plumping the pillow. Being back in Cutters Creek made her feel echoes of all the feelings she had when she was last here. Insecurity. Fear. Only now she didn’t feel the need to fit in. Stacy knew she didn’t belong here.

At times life here wasn’t terrible, but that last day was so hard to get out of her head. Probably because the day before it was the best day she’d ever had up to that point in her life.

And being in the town where it happened was wearing on her. The sooner she and West confronted Mary and got the fuck out of Dodge the better.

Stacy needed to quiet her mind if she and sleep were going to even be passing acquaintances tonight. She sat up and went into a lotus-style position, leaning against the wooden headboard, feeling the ridge of it against her head. She controlled her breathing and tried to do a simple meditation. Anything to calm the thoughts.

Meditation was another thing that was suggested when she went to counseling, which was a couple of months after her exodus from Cutters Creek.

She remembered her panic when Tim sat her down to discuss it. She thought it was because she was too hard to live with. They wanted her to move on and were trying to fix her quickly so they wouldn’t feel guilty about easing her out the door. After lots of prodding, Tim got that bit of paranoia out of her. Her leaving wasn’t going to happen, unless it was temporary and with friends and a fully charged cell phone.

Stacy tried to be the perfect teenager so they wouldn’t throw her out. It took some family counseling sessions with West and Tim to feel secure.

By the time she was seventeen, she wasn’t as perfect. But she had been walking on eggshells practically from birth, and it was hard to do anything else.

Stacy felt herself go deeper into meditation, and started feeling calm and centered. Letting go of all her anxieties, she drifted in her mind, feeling restful and knowing she would be able to achieve sleep even though she didn’t do a full meditation session.

She bum-walked into the middle of the bed, threw the covers over her head, and let herself drift. As she hung between sleep and consciousness, the memory came. The one Stacy couldn’t escape. Especially now.

Soft kisses and soft touches on Brendan’s bed. Blurry images and we’re naked. He says, “Oh God Cee, I love your soft curves and body. Don’t you dare lose any weight.”

I smile and feel sexy; I believe him. He thinks it’s crazy that others call me fat. He’s wrong, but I love that he believes that.

Bren looks at me questioningly, and I nod. I lie on top of him. It’s my first time. His too. I grasp his wrists and raise them over his head, urging him to hold onto the spindles of the headboard. He stays put. Our eyes meet as I grasp him and line him up with my opening.

He’s my birthday present. My love.

I slowly sink on him, expecting pain, but none comes but the gentle stretching as I allow gravity to push me down. His hips start to surge upward. A widening of my eyes and he controls himself, stops, but it takes him a lot of effort. His face is a strange mix of pleasure and a grimace.

He knows I’m in control. I don’t know why I have fantasies of doing it this way. But B doesn’t judge. A part of me knows he craves being controlled. We’re the perfect match.

I rest there, feeling his hips involuntarily twitch. We’ve been fooling around for ages, building up to, anticipating this moment. It’s been grasping underneath clothes, rubbing over jean seams, fogging up his mother’s car windows.

Brendan followed my request. He masturbated a couple of times today so he wouldn’t come too quickly.

I pull his hands off the spindles, his back arching as my shifting causes me to contract. It’s getting hotter inside me. I can’t tell whether it’s him heating me or the other way around.

I use his hands to pull him into a seated position. “Remember, if you’re close, tell me.”

He nods. I lift my right breast and motion him to suck. He’s done it through clothes before, and last time I almost orgasmed from it alone.

He sucks my nipple in, lets go. Lifts his left hand to my right nipple questioningly. I nod. He fondles my left nipple while he suctions my right.

Again I contract on him. And then again. And a long one after that. He stops. “Cee, I’m close, so close, I can’t, I don’t know...”

I push him down and lift myself off of him. I lie beside him, holding his hand until he tells me he’s got it under control. A new condom is put on.

I’m still so wet, so he slips easily inside me this time. We do the same thing again. Sucking the left nipple and pulling gently on the right. My nipples must be attached to my clit because every pull brings that weighty, tingly feeling tighter low in my belly.

My breathing increases, which I discover makes me bear down on him. He stops, looks at me, pleading, desperate. “I don’t think I can hold it this time.”

I nod. His hips jerk up and down frantically. He groans, “Uh, fuck, Cee, oh god, Cee!”

I feel him spasm inside me.

After he recovers, I move his hand down to my clit. He moves in between my legs and spreads my lips open, fascinated by the way I look down there.

He follows my instructions–“Softer... oh, harder... try circles...”–the feeling in my belly is coiling tighter and tighter, trying to reach that painful barrier. My pussy contracts and I feel the muscles starting to undulate, tightening in ripples. “Oh B, put a finger in–oh yes, both at the same time. I’m so close, so close!” I am so near to that invisible barrier I have to pass to get to the orgasm. It’s just out of reach. Unbidden, he puts another finger in and presses down hard on my nubbin. It hits, just at the right moment. I scream as I finally reach the pinnacle and I clamp down hard, my hips locking. I feel my release enter my bloodstream, my belly uncoiling, pushing warmth into my muscles and bones.