Twice Shy (The Restraint Series)

by Flanagan, Jill C

  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 aro
und.

  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.

  Bren plops down beside me and spoons me. Both of us are sated. We have a couple of hours before his mom gets home from school.

  We skipped classes today for this. To have privacy together.

  The rush I get from controlling him is almost better than the orgasm he gave me with his hand.

  Fast-forward to the next day.

  Brendan walks into the Saloon, where I’m cleaning, like I do every morning before school. I look up and smile at him. He smiles back, but there’s a reticence to it.

  He had football practice to go to after we made love, and I haven’t seen him since we kissed and hugged goodbye.

  I set down the mop and go over to hug him. His hug is the same as always. Warm, strong, safe.

  He loosens his embrace, but is still close enough that warm air brushes my ear. “It’s tonight.”

  “Why? Why do you feel the need to fit in with their stupid group?”

  He lets go of me and turns away. “I thought I’d let you know so you don’t think I’m avoiding you.” He turns back and makes eye contact. There’s a weird vibe with it, but I could be oversensitive because of what happened between us. “I love you, Cee.”

  I feel relieved. I reply, “Love you always, B.”

  It’s not the first time we’ve said it. Does it mean more now?

  Fast-forward again.

  I’m in a car with Brendan’s other best friend, Barton Ellis. The fact that he is an Ellis gives him a sense of entitlement as half the buildings in town are named after them. He is also a member of the Inner Circle, aka the IC. The group of guys Brendan’s being initiated into tonight. Bart has never taken to me, nor me to him. We are allies only when it comes to Bren.

  I say, “I thought the initiation was just for the IC.”

  “It goes down like this–there’s five guys getting initiated, to replace the ones graduating next month. We park the cars around the initiation circle with the headlights on. He can’t see you. But there’s one witness who is...” Bart makes finger quotes. It looks strange on him as I wasn’t sure before this moment he had the ability to punctuate. “‘Close’ to the Inner Circle pledge. They have to witness it. You were chosen.”

  I assume it’s because Bart is in the IC. He would have probably been the choice if not.

  Bart pulls up around the circle. Gives me a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Stacy, I swear, no matter what, don’t make a fuckin’ sound. He won’t get in if he finds out you’re here. And then where will he be?”

  Better off, I think. But it’s not what Brendan wants. He became a football player to become a member of the Inner Circle. He has always wanted to be a part of the IC. Another thing his dad was. Football player and all-around cool guy. Which is not how I see Bren. But I nod.

  Bart gets out of the car. I see the guys, one of them Bren. I’m thankful it’s warmer than usual for May, because they’re naked except for...

  And then I realize what Brendan’s wearing. My underwear. The ones I was wearing last night. And he’s got safety pins in them, so they don’t fall off.

  My face feels red. A sick wash comes up the back of my throat. I swallow to keep it and the feelings down.

  I know now I’ve been set up. Bart has to be enjoying this. This is some fucked-up Carrie scene, but without the blood.

  I should get out of the car. I shouldn’t care Brendan won’t get initiated. The foreboding feeling is getting stronger.

  A voice sounds. I don’t know whose it is. It doesn’t matter. “Men, you are pledging tonight. You each entered the Dogfight and are wearing the dog’s panties.”

  I don’t know if I can keep from throwing up. I breathe through my nose and keep my mouth clamped. I just want to get out of the car and run. Go to the sanctuary of Sarge’s place. I’m suddenly relieved I obeyed Sarge and didn’t tell anyone, including Bren, I’m staying there. I kept it sacrosanct.

  “You have the panties of who you’ve fucked and the committee has voted on who wins the Dogfight. The winner is... Tommo!”

  Tommo. Brendan Thomas.

  Chapter Three

  The memories, once called, had become a mindworm. She’d managed to avoid replaying the worst part of that night. Stacy finally gave in to her insecurities and crawled in with West around three in the morning.

  West waking her up at eight in the morning did not go over well. “Are you insane?”

  “The complimentary breakfast food is not of high quality after 8:30 in the morning.”

  Stacy buried her face underneath the pillow and groaned. She loved West, but he was very particular about food. “You go. I’ll have a protein bar.”

  West harumphed, and then continued in his best saccharine-flavored voice, “Lovey, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Stacy sailed her pillow at him, which he dodged because her aim sucked. West smiled. “Now, see? You’re awake now. Mission accomplished.”

  She sat up against the headboard and let her eyes adjust to being open. She patted the bed and West took her invitation and sat with her.

  She said, “You’re not used to small-town living. At breakfast, there’s a possibility there will be staff from town, people I might know. Or who might know me. And then Mary will know I’m here. Word spreads in a small town like wildfire. Especially...”

  West nodded and finished for her, “Especially since you’re a part of town folklore, the way you disappeared.”

  Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. He understood and wasn’t going to make her go have a proper breakfast. West was a big proponent of nutritious eating, a bit of a Californian stereotype. He was into whole foods and was a quasi-vegetarian. Which meant he and Tim ate fish and very occasionally other meats, but hardly ever beef. Eight years ago, coming from the place where beef was the only meat, that was another shock. She smiled, thinking of what a food fascist he was back then. Stacy had thought it was because of her weight. Having been made fun of most of her life, she was hypersensitive
and had food issues. But along the way she came to understand West cared about health, not size.

  As if he could read her mind he asked, “So what would you like?”

  Eloquently, Stacy gave a “Huh?”

  “If you think a protein bar will suffice for breakfast, you are mistaken. I will bring breakfast up to you.”

  Stacy decided not argue, but whispered “food fascist” under her breath.

  Just before the door clicked shut, West said, “I heard that, lovey.”

  “Sorry!” Stacy yelled. Shit, now he’s going to bring up yoghurt. Probably plain. Without fruit.

  West was in a forgiving mood. He even brought bacon. He was probably feeling sorry for her because of the day ahead. Stacy was trying not to think about it.

  Savoring the fatty goodness, Stacy thought about the task ahead. The Saloon opened at eleven-thirty, and Mary would be there first thing. If her mom hadn’t changed her tune, Saturday was drunken stupor night. Her tips from last night would be long gone. It was Saturday, and there was partying to be done.

  West, the prescient bastard, said, “You thinking about how you’re going to approach your mom?”

  “Trying not to. She’s not all bad. I hope you know that, West.”

  West thinned his lips and gave her his ‘Dad’ look: “how many times do I have to tell you?” His ‘Sir’ look was more “obey or suffer the consequences”. Similar, but coming from different contexts. Tim got the second, Stacy got the first.

  West sighed, exasperated. “She was bad enough.”

  “But you’re only getting one side of the story. She wasn’t a great mom, but she didn’t beat me.”

  Another harumph, and then West said in a gentler voice, “You can still be a terrible mother without beating. You know this, lovey. We’ve talked about it. I thought you’d moved the blame away from yourself.”

  Stacy felt herself tearing up. “It’s this fucking place, West. I feel like I’m being haunted by the Stacy of Cutters Creek past.”

  West hugged her. “We can go home right now and not do this. We’ve talked about it. Tim and I can get you a ghosted ID. The best papers money can buy. Or I can go and confront her myself and you stay here.”