Read Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) Online

Authors: Jill C Flanagan,Jill Christie

Tags: #domme, #firefighter, #Rubenesque, #Betrayal, #Revenge, #small town, #curvy women, #Survivalists, #Bdsm, #lost love, #bbw, #D/s, #Dominatrix

Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) (7 page)

BOOK: Twice Shy (The Restraint Series)
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The moment passed. West blinked a few times. Breathed. After a few minutes while Stacy and Sarge talked about inconsequential things, he nodded to Sarge. “That is better.”

“I was just saying to West that I think Mary’s after money.”

Sarge shook his head. “I don’ think so, Stace. I think she’s downright scared. Those Patriot people are not playing with a full deck, an’ they’ve got guns. She stole a kid. Plus she left. Those people don’t take kindly to that kinda stuff.”

Stacy explained how she was now conflicted about Mary; she was thankful Mary had taken her away from that place, which slightly mellowed her resentment about the neglectful and unloving upbringing. Stacy felt that once she could get past the emotion, logic would prevail.

“She got messed up in those... whatchamacallits?” Sarge paused, then found the word he was searching for. “Formative years. She passed it down a generation. She may be your aunt by blood, but she is your mom. Mothered you in a piss-poor way, but she’s yer mom.”

“We’ll offer her money.” West finally spoke and looked like he was faring better. Water bottle number six or seven was in his hand. “We’ll see if we can buy the scared out of her.”

Sarge nodded. “If not, I have a Plan B. Don’ want to use it so I won’t tell you about it.”

Mary was off on Saturdays and Sundays. They took Sarge’s vehicle. Stacy couldn’t have a driver’s license and West was most likely not yet legal to drive.

“She’ll be in as rough shape as I am.”

“If she’s true to form, she’ll have had her first Caesar of the day. She avoids hangovers by being a functional alcoholic. Staying drunk.”

West got a troubled look on his face. Stacy, concerned, asked, “What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why, but meeting her makes everything... more visceral. And I don’t like her, but... I’m almost jealous of her.”

“That’s some fucked-up shit, West,” Sarge interjected.

Stacy gave West a WTF look. He gave a low chuckle. “I know. Although there isn’t any real connection between the two of you, I’m jealous she had so much time with you.” His face grew very serious. “You are our daughter.”

Stacy’s throat got thick with emotion. She reached forward and took his hand.

They arrived at Mary’s house. It was a different house than the one Stace grew up in, for which she was thankful. Her brain was close to overdosing on Memory Lane.

It was a tiny little house in the older part of town, similar to the house they grew up in. It had a little glassed-in porch.

Mary lived in quiet chaos. Never dirty, in varying degrees of messy. West was going to need his anti-bacterial gel after this. He didn’t have the ability to differentiate between messy and dirty. He was a male Monica from “Friends” when it came to tidiness.

Sarge approached the house and knocked. Hard. It took a few minutes, but Mary wordlessly let them in, squinting in the mid-morning summer sun.

She sat down in the living room. Sarge and Mary followed. West, germaphobe extraordinaire, stayed standing.

She lit up a cigarette. “Before you start, I cain’t tell you.”

West and Sarge had decided Sarge had a better chance of getting through. He rumbled, “Would money loosen your tongue?”

Non-mom Mary’s eyes darted again. Left then right. “I dunno, how much?” She sipped on her hair of the dog.

Sarge looked to West. He nodded. Sarge offered, “Five thousand.”

Mary broke into a laugh which turned into a cough. “Five grand? I’m talkin’ life-changing money. Hundred thousand, nothin’ less.”

Stacy started to stand. Sarge put a quelling hand out to stop her. It got her hackles up. Too many dominants spoiled the broth. She smiled to herself; that was almost a cliché. West was rubbing off on her.

Sarge said, “Okay, Mare. Hardball time.” He put his hand in his jacket. Pulled out some papers. Stood up and crossed over to hand them to her.

“What’s this?”

Sarge sat back down. “It’s every loan I’ve ever given you, Mary. That you’ve not paid back. I made you sign a simple loan agreement every time. The secon’ to last piece of paper is yer notice of termination. The last paper is your eviction notice, as yer more than three months behind on the rent.”

Mary’s hands shook, most likely not from the DT’s. “But...” Then she fell silent. Stacy did feel sorry for her in that moment. Auntie dearest, yes, but in that moment she truly was a victim of her addiction.

Stace wasn’t aware Mary had borrowed from Sarge. Mostly because she never thought Sarge was much of a soft touch. He knew full well he’d never get the money back. Pissing money away was Auntie Mom’s specialty.

Sarge was putting up a good front. But he did have an affection for Mary. He took care of the broken people around him. Until now, she never thought giving money was part of it. Letting them earn it, yes. Sarge always had said functioning alcoholics made the best bar staff. They might steal a little, drink a little, maybe be late for a shift a time or two. But they always came back to work. They needed to be near the source.

Stacy thought it was more. Something about Sarge himself drew him to the Saloon. He didn’t drink himself. Maybe he was a reformed alcoholic. Yet he never tried to stop people from drinking. Her non-mom and the everyday drunks included.

Mary kept looking at the papers. Then she gave Stacy a look of contempt, as if it were her fault. Which, in all fairness, it was. Sort of.

“I’ve gotten away with it. I don’t want to do anythin’ to come up on their radar.”

“We just need to know your birth name, and Stacy’s. I don’t give two shits whose social security number you’re usin’.”

Mary shook her head while her body trembled.

“Mare, do you really think they’re looking for you after all these years?”

“They’re evil crazy. Who knows what crazy will do?”

West said, “I don’t think they will even find out. We just need a starting point for the lawyer, so we have some legal footing.”

Mary was backed into a corner that she had no way out of. She looked at Stacy. “My sister’s name was Marianne Jonas. You were Anastacia Jonas. Or Roberts if the sack of cow dung counts. I was Shayla.” It was obvious it had been years since she said the name. It sounded scratchy as she said it.

West asked, “The father’s first name?”

Mary shook her head, and looked defiantly at Sarge. “Go ahead and do all these things. I’m not tellin’ his name, never.”

Sarge put his hands up in a placating gesture. Then he put his hand out for the papers he handed to Mary. She stood, slightly wobbly, neared Sarge cautiously as if he were a pussy cat who had morphed into a cobra, stretched to hand back the papers and scurried back, downing her Caesar in gulps.

Stacy couldn’t help but asking, “I know you didn’t want me, didn’t want to take care of me, but there’s one thing I don’t understand–why do you hate me so much?”

Mary didn’t look at her, just turned her face to the side, unanswering. The clock ticked loudly in the silence of the house. The rays of sun glinted over the drifting cloud of cigarette smoke. When Mary realized that her silence wouldn’t suffice, she finally answered. She shrugged and said as though the answer was obvious, “You kilt my sister.”

She then stood to refill her drink and stayed in the kitchen. The message was clear. She couldn’t say it; at this point she was probably afraid of antagonizing her landlord. But she wanted them gone.

The post-mortem at Ma’s Kitchen didn’t bring up anything new. They had the information they wanted. West, unused to being hungover and still a bit shaky, took Sarge’s advice and loaded up on greasy food, which Stacy teased him for. She texted Tim asking him to get in touch with their travel agent to arrange flights.

There were a few furtive looks thrown her way but no one came up to talk to her. In typical small-town fashion, the choice was to whisper behind her back. Sarge assessed West’s sobriety and let them go, promising to come down soon.

There weren’t any direct flights from Missoula, so they chose to fly through Salt Lake City. But going home to Tim was a salve both West and Stacy craved.

Saying goodbye to Cutters Creek the second time was even easier.

Chapter Eight

“It’s always amazing what you can do when you have a congressman in your pocket.”

Tim said, “I would say you had him by the balls. Because at one time, you did have him by his balls and he really enjoyed it.”

West snorked involuntarily. Only Tim could make him laugh unselfconsciously and without vanity. West tangled his fingers in Tim’s thick silver chain, which had a pendant: a compass which only showed the direction West, the needle pointed to it. It was Tim’s public collar, a sign of commitment and ownership. The silver meant permanence. The collar they used for play was also silver, but locked in the back and said ‘Property of West’.

Tim raised his mimosa. “To Stacy Knowles.”

She blushed. Tim had taken West’s name when they married. Now Stacy had their name too. They had offered to adopt her. Her birth certificate and social security number had the name Anastacia Knowles. She still went by Stacy.

It had only taken four months to process with the help of said congressman. West was a man with many connections, and it helped to grease the wheels.

Mary, unfortunately, had had to have a chat with the FBI and ATF. Even though her information was twenty-four years out of date, they had eagerly interrogated her.

Sometimes it was hard not to feel sorry for Mary. Sometimes it was even harder not to hate her. Stacy had considered going back to the counselor, but felt she learnt enough tools to cope the first time around.

And Brendan. Well, it was a work in progress. He had texted, emailed and voicemailed as promised. Had adhered to every rule and protocol. Surrendered his orgasms to her. She was very stingy with the orgasms at first, but less so now.

Once he was feeling more secure in the relationship the alpha male in him had come back with a vengeance. After Bren had run into Barton Ellis, he questioned her and found out the circumstances of how Stacy came to witness his initiation. Bren had always thought that Stace found out from the high-school mean girls.

Stacy had agreed with Brendan that doing anything to Barton Ellis would come back to his mother and maybe even Mary and Sarge. Not that Sarge gave a rat’s ass about the Ellises.

But Brendan swore that Bart would get his comeuppance for his cruelty. Stacy preferred to believe in karma. Potato, potahto. Except she suspected Bren might engineer the karma. If he could get away with it, who was she to argue? This was one situation in which she refused to take the high ground.

Every day her connection to Brendan was growing stronger. She came to accept the fact that they were both products of their childhoods in Cutters Creek. He with an overbearing mother with high expectations, and her growing up with the opposite.

This weekend was the first time she’d allowed him to come visit. His flight was arriving in a few hours. Excitement jangled in her stomach. Arousal too. She craved Brendan.

He was trying to get work in California. Barring that, he wanted to set up roots here and get a place. Oilfield work kept him away from home for long periods of time. Consequently, he had longer break periods and reasoned he could easily set up home here.

Privately, Stacy was pleased but didn’t want to get her hopes up for their future. They might not even be sexually compatible in person.

Goddess knew they were very compatible on the phone. The rush she got controlling Bren on the phone sent her into an adrenaline high which happened during a good scene. Stacy could count on one cat-o’-nine-tails the amount of times that had happened sceneing at the club. With Brendan, it happened often.

West brought her back into the present. “Planning your scene tonight? Are you taking him to the club or at your flat?”

“I think, for tonight, the club.”

“Still cautious, Stace?” Tim asked.

“Your birthday present is languishing at your place. It needs to be used or it won’t feel loved,” West mock-reproached. West and Tim had transformed her spare room into a dungeon. St Andrew’s cross, spanking bench, the works.

“It’s only going to be used with someone who I’m committed to. You know that.”

West sighed melodramatically. “It is such a pain in the ass to raise a Domme. Take a chance, lovey. You know he’s earned it.”

Stacy had volunteered information from time to time. The couple had revealed to her that a major schism had happened between them at the beginning of their relationship and they had gotten through it. Looking at their domestic bliss, it gave her hope for the future.

“He’s never been to a club. Montana has very limited BDSM activity. So it’s gatherings at someone’s house.”

“Sarge said Idaho has lots of perverts like us, though,” Tim added.

Stacy leaned against Tim’s huge chest, loving the way he made her feel petite. Brendan had filled out a bit, but although he was taller, she would never feel tiny around him. Of course people Tim’s size were rare.

He leaned down. “Bring him for Sunday lunch, okay, Stace?”

She turned around for an all-encompassing hug, looked up and nodded. Sundays were family time. Tim and West would give Brendan the third degree. Ultimately they would leave the decision up to her.

Tim continued. “If you want his first experience to be positive, think again about taking him to your house. I think it would be better for both of you. Less daunting. He’s not trained yet. I hope you’re going to make his first time more casual.”

Stacy kept turning Tim’s words in her mind for the rest of the day. By the time she was driving to the airport, she’d acquiesced.

This was about making Brendan’s first Dominance/submission experience a positive one. It wasn’t about her needs.

She’d forgotten it, until Tim had reminded her. Up until now, it had been all about delayed orgasm games, which she loved. Perhaps they should practice in person what they had been doing on the phone first.

They’d discussed hard and soft limits. Things Brendan wouldn’t do–extreme pain, humiliation, etc. And soft limits–anal. She didn’t like scening with pain sluts and humiliation whores herself. As for anal, well, it was something she truly enjoyed. The orgasm a male sub got from anal was intense. Hopefully there would be time in the future for that.

BOOK: Twice Shy (The Restraint Series)
11.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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