by Dakota Trace
“Perhaps once, but you weren’t here earlier. Either I allow him to make me his slave or I do this by myself. I can’t give him what he wants.” A bitter hiss left her. “So alone it is.”
“Then pull yourself up by the bootstraps, slave!” The harsh tone and removal of Olivia’s hand had her swinging to look at the Domme.
“Eyes ahead!” she barked.
Immediately Myrna’s eyes darted back towards the play area. The abrupt change from her loving pseudo-daughter to Domme had done the one thing Olivia’s caring hadn’t. It slipped over the wall of hurt and anger she’d built up with Grant’s betrayal. She responded without a thought or conscious decision.
“Now, you will describe what you see, or I’ll leave you here to deal by yourself.” When Myrna’s silence continued, Olivia snapped at her. “I’m waiting.”
“Ah, I see…a Master flogging a blonde slave…she’s strapped to a…” Olivia found the details spilling past her lips as she let go of her iron will and did Olivia’s bidding.
For the next several minutes, Myrna detailed each person, Master or slave, each act visited upon them – flogging, whipping, fellatio and bondage. The people were indulging their inner most sexual beings without a care or thought about whether it was right or wrong.
When she finally described the last couple, a petite white Domme and her much larger black slave, she ran out of steam and fell silent. She waited but knew not for what. Then Olivia spoke and it became clear to her.
“Very good, slave Myrna.” The approval in Olivia’s voice and brush of her fingers over Myrna’s shoulder gave her a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. A small satisfaction, knowing she’d pleased someone - even if it had only been her daughter - with her submission filled her. The now foreign feeling scared her. Myrna darted away from Olivia and out of the main room. She had to leave. She didn’t want to feel this way – she couldn’t feel this way – not now.
* * * *
A low growl escaped Amery when a large calloused hand settled once more on his shoulder. He glared at the man who’d stopped him from following the fleeing Myrna. He’d had to sit and watch while Myrna and Olivia had stood at the railing. From the way Myrna’s body had gone from stiff to soft and then back to stiff, he could tell she’d been happy to see the younger woman, but probably hadn’t been happy about what the woman had said.
Knowing Olivia as he did, he was sure Olivia had been brutally honest with Myrna. Despite all Olivia’s faults, she abhorred lies. What the hell had she told Olivia?
“Stop, you’ll only make matters worse, Amery.” Simon’s grip didn’t lessen.
“She’s upset and running. She’s in no shape to drive, let alone make it back to her house. She could get an accident, just like…”
Simon nodded his understanding. “…Emma. But remember that’s the reason we’ve changed the rules.”
The death of Emma O’Rielly, Amery’s part-time sub while he’d waited on Myrna, had been tragic to all concerned. When she hadn’t been able to force a permanent collar out of Amery, she’d ran from the club crying and just a bit tipsy from several glasses of Guinness she’d consumed. She’d died in an auto accident about a half hour later. That’s when the founding members of the Sanctuary had changed the security measures to include full-time staff to man the front door. Not only did they keep out unwanted guests, but they kept a repeat of what happened to Emma from happening again.
“She has to make it past Sanders.” Simon reminded Amery, referring to the bouncer who’d been manning the door all night. “And we both know he won’t let an upset submissive leave the premises without assuring of their safety.”
As if the man realized Simon was talking about him, the slender phone attached to the dark leather belt encircling Simon’s slender waist chirped. Lifting it to his ear, Simon answered it.
“Hello?” There was a long pause which grated on Amery’s nerves before Simon spoke again. “That’ll be fine.” Another pause before Simon replied once more. “No, there’s no need for that. I’m standing next to him. I’ll let him know. Thank you, Sanders.” He closed the phone before returning it to its holster.
“Well?” Amery barely recognized his own voice as he waited. “Tell me what?”
Simon gave him a brief smile. “That was our man Sanders. He stopped Myrna at the front door and after speaking to her briefly, he ascertained that while she was a bit agitated she isn’t a danger to herself or others. He offered to get one of us and when she refused outright, he convinced her to let him pay for a cab to take her home. So relax, she’ll be fine.”
Relief washed over Amery. Myrna wasn’t going to get herself killed because she ran off into the night like Emma had. Even as memories of his last submissive tugged at him, he forced them away when he heard the furious steps approaching them. Had Myrna returned? Even if she’d returned to give him hell, hope sprang eternal and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Well, maybe relaxing is the last thing you should do. That’s one pissed off Domme headed our way.”
Amery swore internally even as he turned to face the seething Olivia. Her eyes were snapping with fury and her chest was falling and rising with her angry breathing.
“You and I need to talk, Master Alastar! What the hell where you thinking by telling her she had to either choose to be your slave, or you’d withhold your help?” The slender fists were propped on her hips and there was no doubt in his mind Olivia was way, way beyond pissed.
“Fuck,” was the only thing Amery said before ordering a shot of scotch.
Chapter Four
Slamming into her house, Myrna tossed her keys onto the small stand where she kept her mail caddy. The clink of metal against metal did little to sooth her already frayed nerves. Her little trip to the Sanctuary’s Lair had done nothing to help her. While seeing the other members engaging in various games of domination and submission hadn’t bothered her as she’d expected, her innocent response to pleasing Olivia had. Was she so desperate to recapture the feeling of submission that she’d taken her pleasure even from a woman she considered a daughter?
As she mused over the question, she methodically emptied the pockets of her coat. Chapstick, a small bag of sugar-free butterscotch candy, and a scrap of paper with a scribbled number on it joined her keys. Spotting it, she picked it up. Soothing it out, she remembered her promise to the doorman/bouncer.
Studying it for a moment, Myrna kicked off her shoes before heading to her kitchen. She’d call him while she was waiting for the coffee to brew. She needed something to steady her nerves. Ignoring the flashing light on the phone next to the entryway, she entered her favorite room. Large and airy, decorated in country blues with its butcher block countertops and oak cabinets, it was her dream kitchen. When she’d bought the house, she’d imagined preparing family Christmas feasts here for her extended family – Caelan, Olivia and their future families, and of course, Amery. She sobered. While she’d imagined both her son and daughter having families, she’d never once considered Amery marrying and having a family of his own. Surprisingly the very idea of it was extremely disturbing.
Flipping on the lights, she clicked on the coffee maker before gathering the half empty container of half-cream out of her fridge. A brief smile touched her lips. When she’d spoken with him on the phone earlier in the evening, Caelan had been interrupted by Nisey who’d asked if he’d wanted half and half in his coffee. She’d been puzzled at first until he’d explained it was the same thing as half-cream. Amazing how the Americans can have a different name for something as simple as half-cream.
Moving to her pantry, a small but dusty bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream was her next victim. Setting her booty down on the immaculate surface of her counter, she headed for the phone. Now that her drink was brewing, she’d better get this over with, she decided.
Without a thought, she pressed the flashing red button to listen to her messages first. The first was from her insurance man asking her to call him ab
out December’s payment. Absently she made a mental note to call his office tomorrow to clear up the matter before hitting the delete button. She’d mailed his payment over a week ago, but knowing his absent-minded secretary who just happened to also be his mother, it must’ve gotten misplaced again. The woman was notorious for misplacing things but her son refused to fire her. She was getting up in age, and the job gave the woman not only needed support, but also got her out the house.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. She idly wondered if Caelan would do the same for her when she got that old…but then decided no. She wouldn’t mind visiting her son in America but she loved her little home here in Ireland. Even as disgusted as she was with Amery at the moment, she thanked the Lord regularly he’d been there for her after Grant had left her. It was his doing that she even had this home. His generosity over the years was almost enough to forgive his earlier ultimatum – almost but not quite. Despite it all though, she’d move in with Amery first before even considering moving to America. A giggle escaped her at the idea of both her and Amery in their late seventies, chasing each other around Amery’s huge house. Him with a tattered old flogger and her with his favorite tie – the ugly one she’d been trying for years to get rid of.
Her giggling stopped and her smile disappeared when a voice she hadn’t heard in more than thirty years filled her kitchen.
“Myrna, this is Grant. I need to see you. I’ve just arrived in Dublin a half hour ago. I’ll be jumping on the train and should arrive in Killarney in a couple of days. Make some time for me, we need to talk.”
Fury like none she’d ever experienced before filled her. She’d thought she’d known anger earlier this evening, but it was paltry compared to this hot burning rush of emotion. “Like hell I will. You rotten bastard! You can take the long train to Hell before I’ll ever let you tell me what to do again.”
She hit the delete key once more. Her ire hadn’t even begun to ebb away when the final message played. It was her bank.
“Mrs. Doherty, its Charles D. Spurnman at First Trust of Dublin. I’m in charge of Consumer Accounts in our Dublin office. I was just reviewing our records and was disappointed to see your husband had closed out your account two days ago. I was wondering if there was anything we could do to retain you as a loyal customer. Please give me a call.”
Myrna’s breathing halted. She swayed on her feet - the shock of the message cutting through her fury. “Oh please tell me he didn’t… Not again!” Grabbing the wall to keep from falling, tears stinging the back of her eyes, she made her way to her small home office and to the brand new laptop Amery had given her for Christmas last year. With trembling fingers she turned it on. Within minutes she was on the bank’s secured website. There in black and white was the evidence. Her rotten, lying, cheating, deserting bastard of a husband had cleaned out every penny she’d saved over the past thirty years. Her savings were gone. Her retirement money was gone. Her checking was empty. No wonder her insurance check had bounced.
Fear had her mouth drying out and her shoulders slumped. How was she supposed to survive? How could Grant have taken the money? It wasn’t even his! She’d earned every last Euro that had been in her accounts. None of it was his! He shouldn’t have been able to touch it.
While she’d never pursued a divorce under Irish law, the accounts, which had been originally joint accounts, had been closed out and she’d opened new ones in her name alone. At Amery’s insistence, she’d added him as the only person with power-of-attorney so Grant couldn’t do this again. Her husband - estranged or not, wasn’t supposed to have any access to her accounts. That’s what both Amery and the bank had assured her. So how the hell had he gotten her money?
Thinking back now, Myrna realized she should’ve taken Amery’s offer to help pay for her divorce when they had lifted the referendum against it in ’95. But I just had to be stubborn. I didn’t want him spending any more money on me - after all he done. I didn’t think it would matter. Why the hell couldn’t that bastard Grant Doherty just stay gone?
Nearly an hour later, she shut down the computer with numb fingers. She’d done some research online. Her future didn’t seem as bleak as it had earlier, but it still wasn’t rosy. She’d have to cut back on her charities and go back to work. She’d call the staffing service in the morning and see if they could place her. With nearly thirty years of secretarial experience, it shouldn’t be an issue to find her work. Then her next call would be to her former bank. She had to find out how Grant had gotten her money and if there was any way to get it back. She had to get it back…for her sake and her son’s.
It was either that or she really would have to move to America and live off her son. She refused to go crawling to Amery to get her old job back. He’d helped her pick up the pieces last time Grant had screwed her over, but she couldn’t allow him to do it again. Determination filled her. She was a grown woman - as such she now had the skills to support herself. Wandering back into the kitchen, she poured herself half a cup of coffee before adding first the liquor and then the half-cream. That’s when she noticed the rumpled piece of paper on the counter.
She’d completely forgotten about calling Sanders back. Sighing, she took a sip of her drink. After a quick clean up the kitchen, she trudged back over to the phone. She was just getting ready to dial the number when the phone rang. Answering it, she wasn’t surprised that it was Amery. In the background, she could hear the faint noises from the club – the moans and slaps of leather striking flesh. Her breathing increased as her imagination ran wild. She imagined him standing where she’d been earlier in the evening, staring down at scene below him. Next to him at his feet, she was kneeling waiting for his direction. He was absently playing with her hair. When he tugged on a strand, she looked up at him. His mouth parted and…
“It’s obvious, you made it home. I’ll let Sanders know.” The curt tone in his voice set her on edge. Despite his calm tone, she could tell he was pissed. She twirled the cord around her finger, debating on whether or not to tell Amery what had happened. She couldn’t do it – couldn’t admit what a fool she’d been not to take his help with the divorce. She couldn’t tell him how that rat bastard Grant had cheated her again.
“I’m sorry. I had a few things to take care of. I was just getting ready to…”
“Well now you won’t have to. Good night, Myrna.” The sound of the dial tone in her ear had tears welling up. She’d never been on the receiving end of Amery’s wrath before. It hurt. Slowly hanging up the phone, the tears which had been threatening since she’d ran from the club, spilled over. Sometimes, she decided, when it rained it poured.
Clicking off the light to the kitchen, she carried her drink into the living room. After changing into her flannel nightgown, she settled into her favorite chair, cupped the barely warm mug of coffee and stared into the flames in her fireplace. It was going to be a long night. She needed to think about all the things that had happened and what she was going to tell Amery when he found out. Sure as the sun rises in the east, the bank is going to contact him and there’ll be pure hell to pay. A low moan escaped her at the thought of Amery turning her over his knees. She was hopeless, she decided.
* * * *
Myrna’s eyes grew heavy and flames wavered. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget the fact her louse of a husband had screwed her over again. As she skated along the line of slumber, her mind turned towards Amery… Her Amery – the strong Master who taught others to be like him. The flickering need to submit to him teased her along with the flickering light of dawn. The sun had just breached the skyline as she drifted towards sleep. A small smile covered her mouth at the thought of accepting what Amery offered her. In her dreamy state, she thought she’d heard the deep rumble of his voice before a pair of strong arms picked her up. The tantalizing scent of his cologne and warmth of his body teased her senses as she slipped further into sleep. Her last hazy thought was of relief. Amery – he’s here. He’ll take care of me.
Once
slumber claimed her, Myrna never realized the arms that carried her, the scent of his cologne, and huskiness of Amery’s voice were real. She never felt him deposit her gently on her bed before pulling the covers over her. Nor did she hear the exasperated sigh he gave as he stared down at her. Her body had finally given into its need for rest. It didn’t realize when she awoke there was going to be pure hell to pay.
* * * *
Several hours later in Myrna’s office, Amery clacked away on her laptop and felt absolutely no guilt at his invasion of her privacy. The need to know what she’d conveniently forgotten to tell him last night had driven him. The shock of returning home to find a voice mail from the bank had pushed past his anger. Now he wanted answers – from both Myrna and Mr. Spurnman. Dragging a hand through his hair, he scowled as he reviewed the browser history on the screen. He wanted to know if she’d known or not before he accused her of anything.
When he’d listened to his voice mail, his first instinct had been protect Myrna. Then he’d wanted to go out and beat the living hell out of Grant. That had been quickly followed by irritation that Myrna hadn’t confided in him. If Spurnman had called him, he’d also called Myrna. So the first thing he’d done after finding the worn out Myrna slumped over in her chair – sound asleep, was to check her answering machine. She’d been so tired she hadn’t even stirred when he’d replayed the bank’s message.
Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Amery sat back in the chair while he waited for the page in front of him to load. So why hadn’t she confided in me?
It was one of the many questions he was going to ask her when she awoke. Even though he’d been short with her last night on the phone, she still should’ve told him. As her friend and as the sole person to hold her Power of Attorney, he had the right to know about any major changes in her financial background.
A low growled emerged from his throat when the page finished loading. It was for a local staffing service. Her intent was quite obvious. She was going to go back to work instead of asking him for help.
