Chief

by Lesli Richardson

  Hey, WFLA has a huge viewing audience, one of the biggest markets not just in Florida but in the Southeast, and not only in Tampa. They have viewers all up and down the entire west coast of Florida, and east into Lakeland.

  I’m not stupid. I want them on our side.

  By the time we get out of there to make it to our next interview, Dray’s grinning. “It’s breaking on WaPo, The New York Times, CNN, and #susaspregnant is already trending on Twitter.”

  Susa and I high-five each other and Dray. I notice it takes Owen a second longer to reach in, too.

  When he does, his expression looks a little…tight.

  I reach around Susa, who’s sitting between Owen and I, and squeeze Owen’s shoulder, refusing to let go until he meets my gaze.

  “Love you,” I whisper.

  And like that, the storm has broken. Owen takes a deep breath and this smile looks real. He accepts a nuzzle from Susa, and then she grabs his tie and pulls on it, makes him lean over even farther so I can kiss the top of his head.

  “Love you, both,” he whispers before sitting back with a sweet smile on his face.

  He’s happy, and that makes me happy.

  Both my pets are happy.

  Susa holds his hand, and I squeeze his shoulder again, keeping my arm there, with Susa bracketed between us.

  Chapter Seven

  Then

  Now that I’ve met the monster masquerading as Owen’s mother, have seen the enemy up close and personal, and witnessed her tactics first-hand, I know what I need to do with him. It also means I can step up my game with Susa, now that I’m sure I can win over Owen. I’d hesitated to take things farther with Susa before I knew that for sure. I didn’t want to crush her heart by discarding her if Owen would never be mine. The trick now is balancing Susa and Owen so I get the timing right to bring the three of us together.

  Susa’s loyalty is nearly guaranteed at this point. That means it’s time for me to work on Owen.

  I have a plan for celebrating Owen’s twenty-first birthday with him. It works out even better since Susa won’t be around for it.

  Much better.

  Because my plan is to get him shit-faced, hopefully enough to loosen his tongue and start him talking, and then shamelessly explore his fantasies with him.

  It will hopefully reveal if I am totally wasting my time, or if I can start turning up the heat on Owen.

  The frog doesn’t jump out of the pot when you heat the water gradually like that.

  I can’t tell you how many times I beat off in the shower thinking about Owen, especially in the morning after our PT sessions. I also won’t deny there are mornings I keep us at a slower pace and shamelessly claim I’m in pain just so I can more easily talk with him. I mean, I’m always in pain, but there’s tolerable pain and intolerable pain. So technically I wasn’t exactly lying to him on all those mornings.

  Although I do lie to him at other times, to hide what Susa and I are doing.

  I’m not proud of that, but it’s for the greater good and to prevent hurting him.

  The first night he helped me out of a nightmare, it took everything in me not to lean over and kiss him then, and I’ve only fallen harder for him since that night.

  He’s hot, and gorgeously subby, and sweet, and smart as fuck.

  Yet he has practically no self-confidence, thanks to his thundercunt of a mother. Now that I’ve met her, and Owen understands I’m not scared off by her, that hurdle’s successfully been jumped. I know one of Owen’s fears was that I would meet her, be charmed by her, and not believe a word he said about her and think he was a liar.

  The thing is, I completely believed him when he told me about his mother and what she’d done to him over the years. Absolutely. I’ve known people just like he described.

  Survived my own relationship with one.

  Barely.

  I can’t tell Owen any of that yet, though. Not now, and maybe never. I don’t like to think about Elsa, or what I survived under her. Unless Owen is committed to me, I don’t want to bare myself like that to him. Even if I do decide to tell him some of it, there are parts of that tale I will never talk about.

  Parts of it that need to die with me, and with Eddie.

  Seeing Owen in the belly of the beast, how he reacted to his mother—how he deferred to her—gives me my best tactical advantage of how I can manipulate him.

  Uh, hello, bastard.

  He responds quite well to positive reinforcement. I learned that the day I met him.

  I also want to see what buttons I might have to push when a little extra motivation is needed, as well as what triggers I need to avoid entirely so I don’t trip an emotional IED and get my balls metaphorically blown off in the fallout.

  Susa? That’s easy, a no-brainer. I know what she wants. She’s not coy at all when it comes to stating her case.

  But I want Owen. He’s my true endgame.

  Susa’s my ace-in-the-hole.

  Except I have to get Owen to the hole before I can actually play it.

  Thanks to Elandra and Austin, it looks like I’ll easily be able to get what I want.

  God help them if they try to fuck with my boy once he’s well and truly mine. Because I will bring the wrath of the heavens down upon them.

  Hell, I’ll turn Susa loose on them. They’ll never know what hit them.

  Owen’s special, malleable, willing, and open.

  All I need to do is show him how good it can be and coax him into our arms—me and Susa.

  First, though, I need to make sure I haven’t been misreading his nonverbal cues all this time. Cues I’m sure he doesn’t even realize he’s throwing off.

  The way he started getting doors for me and for Susa. The way he willingly takes care of both of us, without us even asking.

  Despite us telling him he doesn’t have to.

  It makes him happy when we thank him, give him praise.

  Hug him.

  Snuggling with him on Susa’s couch to watch TV, all three of us, it lights those gorgeous green eyes of his in a way I’ve never seen anyone glow before.

  He loves and appreciates the simple things most people take for granted.

  It makes me want to make him mine even more, mold his natural tendencies around me and Susa so he never wants to leave us, and then spend the rest of our lives together making each other happy.

  Yeah, I’m a bastard, all right.

  Ask me if I care what you think about me.

  Using Susa’s house for Owen’s birthday weekend will logistically make everything so much easier on me. Not just for working with him, but hopefully allowing Owen to more readily open up to me without her around.

  Having to share a bed with me.

  Also might have been my idea for Susa to hold off on buying a bed for the guest room.

  The potential to get Owen naked in the hot tub or pool doesn’t escape me, either.

  That Friday night, I treat it as a date. I take him out to a nice steakhouse and smile as he drinks his first rum and Coke—unbelievably, the first alcohol he’s ever had. By the time we make it to the tap house later, he’s adorably buzzed and happy, smiling in a way I usually only see him smile for Susa.

  He’s having fun, enjoying himself.

  Yes, I played dirty and ordered several sampler flights for him.

  #sorrynotsorry

  He’s totally wasted by the time we return to Susa’s. I help him undress and get into bed, and yes, it’s soooo fucking tempting to go down on him right then and show him how good it could be between us.

  But even this bastard has a limit. I refuse to take Owen’s consent from him. Even if he did consent right now, he’s drunk and can’t give informed consent.

  Buuut…

  That doesn’t mean I can’t sound him out, now that his defenses are down. I’d been looking at Doctor Who rings I found via an ad that popped up on Facebook. When we start talking, I set the laptop aside so I can give him my full attention. Besides, I’d love to pu
t one of those rings on Owen’s hand, except we’re miles from that point.

  Or…are we? I realize as we’re talking that I have an easy way to direct the conversation exactly where I want it to go. “Well, we could talk about fantasies…”

  And after finding out that, hell yeah, Owen has been actively fantasizing about Master and slave scenarios with Susa—with him as the slave—I grab my laptop again and pull up a couple of my favorite videos to show him.

  The first is a FemDom scene, fairly tame, but Owen ends up shoving down his boxers, grabbing his cock, and stroking it.

  I fight the urge to do a touchdown dance. When that clip ends, I switch it to a stricter male-male scene, and…yeah.

  I’ve hit pay dirt.

  “I bet you’d be a good boy for me, wouldn’t you?” I ask, unable to decide if I want to stare at his eyes or stare at where he’s stroking his gorgeous cock.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I risk reaching over and stroking his blond hair. “I could teach you positions. Let you serve me. Teach Susa how to be a good Domme for you. Would you like that?”

  He nods, unable to pull his gaze from the screen, where the scene continues playing. “Yes, sir.”

  I can’t help it, but hey, I’m a bastard. I tightly grip his hair. “Then show me how much you’d like it, boy. Come for me. Now.”

  After his cock explodes he promptly passes out, the sound of his soft snores making me chuckle.

  Duuuude. He’s fucking adorable. I can’t help smiling as I press my lips to his forehead. “Happy birthday, boy,” I whisper.

  I get a wet washcloth from the master bathroom, and Owen doesn’t even stir as I clean him up. It’s tempting to lean in and suck his cock…

  Too tempting.

  A little taste, that’s all.

  I’m just so fucking lonely. I’ve tried to hold a wall in my heart against Susa, but it’s slowly starting to crumble. I certainly haven’t shown her all of me. I don’t even know if she really wants me, or what she thinks I represent.

  Someone not her daddy.

  Besides…

  She’s not Owen, and he is the one who owns my heart. Hell, she could be gone at the end of the semester, for all I know.

  I don’t know her true loyalties. Not really.

  Owen, however…

  He’s different. It’s easier for me to map his heart and soul because in many ways, I know what he’s feeling.

  Except I know he’s feeling it mostly for Susa.

  I close my eyes and deeply inhale his scent as I slowly swirl my tongue around the head of his soft cock. Then I force myself to sit up and carefully tug the waistband of his boxers back into place.

  I settle in bed next to him and pretend we just made love. I nuzzle my face in his hair and deeply inhale. Knowing I’m torturing myself, I grab my phone and tuck my head next to Owen’s and snap a selfie of the two of us together.

  The next day, I order the ring anyway. I don’t care it’s not a sure thing—I have hope.

  For the first time in a long fucking time, I have genuine, deep hope.

  Fuck me, I’m so screwed.

  * * * *

  At least the night brings a breakthrough. From the next day on, I’m able to officially start training Owen as my willing submissive. Now it’s only a matter of time before he’s in my bed all the time, and in all ways. With Susa’s help, Owen is quickly craving more, thriving on our attention and domination.

  Until Susa accidentally triggers me.

  It’s less than a week after the new world order starts, on Friday night, and we’re at Susa’s.

  She didn’t mean to do it, I know she didn’t. But if I can trigger that hard, god only knows how hard Owen could have triggered about that, or about something else we haven’t even stumbled across yet.

  We’re sitting on the couch and Owen’s standing in front of us. I’m paying attention to how Susa’s working with him, and I’m carefully watching Owen for any sign he’s about to freak out, so I can step in, if necessary. She orders him to finish stripping and he’s nervous, I can see it.

  “How do you feel right now, boy?” she asks.

  “Nervous, Ma’am.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to disappoint you, or Sir.”

  I hear Susa’s sigh, likely part gentle exasperation, and part sadness that she’s as gutted as I am about the emotional depths Owen’s mother dragged him to. “Don’t be stupid,” she says, “you could never—”

  “Devotion, boy. Now.” I’m already standing and heading for the hallway, not even looking back once I see that Owen’s dropped into the position. “Susa, a word. Now.”

  I don’t wait. I hear her scrambling to follow me and once she’s in her bedroom with me, I close the door and wheel on her. I struggle to keep my voice down.

  “Don’t you ever use that word with Owen in that way again. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

  I harden my heart against her wide-eyed shock. “What? What’d I say?”

  “You called him stupid.” No, not directly, but I have no clue what triggers Owen might have. The last thing I need is Susa uttering one careless fucking word and sending Owen fearfully skittering away from us.

  If it triggered me and it’s been several goddamned years, I can only imagine what Owen’s triggers might be.

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”

  “That’s right.” I jab a finger at her as I let Sergeant Wilson take over. “You did not think. You have no fucking clue what a careless word might do to him. You promised to put Owen first, and that was not putting him first, girl. So let me make myself perfectly fucking clear—if I ever hear you say something like that to him, ever again, I will immediately take Owen and walk, and we’re done. Period. No more play, no more sex, no more friendship. There are no second chances for this—this is your only warning. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Her eyes widen—in a different kind of fear, this time. I harden my heart even more when, for the first time, I see tears in Susa’s eyes that I didn’t put there from pain or play.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Do I make myself perfectly clear?” I repeat.

  Her head bows. “Yes, Sir,” she whispers.

  “Do you understand what you did?”

  She sniffles. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then tell me what you did, girl.”

  “I used the wrong word.”

  “What happens if you do not speak more carefully to Owen in the future?”

  “You’ll immediately end things and leave with Owen.”

  “Eyes on me. Do you understand why I’m so upset?”

  She lifts her head. “Yes, Sir.”

  No, she doesn’t. Not really. She can’t, because I haven’t told her about Elsa and what I survived.

  Frankly, that’s none of her business.

  I step closer, so she has to look up to meet my gaze. “This is not a game to me, Suse. This is serious fucking business. Owen’s been through enough hell in his life. When he is with us, nothing we do can make him associate us with his mother and what that bitch did to him. Understand? I might spank him, or torture him, or make him hate me for what we put him through physically, but nothing I do will ever hurt his feelings or make him feel inferior. Ever. I will never engage in the bad kind of mindfucks with him, or belittle him. Everything I’m doing is designed with the ultimate goal of building him up, including his self-esteem.

  “I let you play with him. Make no mistake—Owen is mine first, the way you’re mine. Just like I will never let him do something I thought would harm you, I will not let you do anything to harm him. So let me hear you say it one more fucking time so I know you are perfectly fucking clear regarding my opinion of this.”

  She’s choking back tears by the time I end my monologue.

  Seems that I have finally found the thing that can break Susa, her weak point.

  Owen’s not used to succeeding. Or, at the very least, he’s used to no
t being recognized when he succeeds.

  Susa, on the other hand, is completely unfamiliar with failure. I am probably the first person in her life to talk to her like this or dress her down in this way, especially for actions that impact someone else who’s more vulnerable than her.

  The bastard extraordinaire notes it for future reference and exploitation.

  I can barely hear her when she speaks. “I must be careful in how I speak to Owen. Nothing I say or do can make Owen feel bad, or feel like his mother makes him feel. Nothing I do can harm him. If I do it again…” She chokes up and I don’t interrupt her while she’s trying to compose herself. “If I do it again, you’ll end things with me and leave and take Owen.”

  I let those words—her words—hang in the air for a moment so I know she’s really processing what I said and not thinking I’m simply being an asshole.

  Don’t get me wrong. As much fun as we’ve had, and as much as I do consider her a friend already—and more—I mean every word.

  Give me a fucking reason not to share him.

  Except…I do care about Susa, and I don’t want to lose her. Not only because of what she can do for Owen, or even because of how Owen feels about her.

  But because I’m feeling things for her, too, and that fucking terrifies me.

  I finally take a deep breath and let it out before I open my arms to her, and she practically climbs me in her desperation.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she tearfully says. “I’m so sorry.”

  I close my eyes and inhale, hold it, let it out.

  Me, I want to say. You triggered me.

  If I’m lucky, neither Susa nor Owen will ever need to know anything detailed about Elsa, or the kind of man Sarge used to be, other than Elsa was a bad life choice that didn’t work out.

  Understatement of fucking ever, but I’d rather not taint either of them with knowledge about Elsa and what she did to me, or what I did for her.

  That’s a clouded darkness that’s foul and oily, rotted fish and backed up sewers. It’s not the fun darkness Susa and I enjoy playing in, or where I’m slowly teaching Owen how to play.