Twice Shy (The Restraint Series)

by Flanagan, Jill C

  “Saying that, when we were together. Having our first time together...” Brendan cleared his throat and paused. “It confused me. And I did have some hard feelings about it. I used those feelings when I was telling the IC about us. It was the best thing that had ever happened but I felt–less manly. I didn’t understand.”

  Stacy nodded, softly said, “Neither of us understood. We just went with our instincts. Enjoyment of being dominated can be confusing. I can see it. I didn’t know I had to ground you after. It’s called giving aftercare. Taking care of you and making sure you don’t have yo-yo emotions.”

  Brendan asked, “Do you... um, dominate that West guy?”

  She laughed. Brendan looked confused. “West is like a father to me. He and his boyfriend took me in when I ran away.” Brendan looked relieved. “He’s a Dominant. So am I. Have you ever been submissive to anyone else, or are you vanilla?”

  He looked a bit embarrassed. “I went to a Munch, you know one of those potlucks for people wanting to know more about the life? I went to a couple of parties after and watched.” Brendan shrugged. “I know I am a sexual submissive, but I haven’t ever had sex that way. Well, except...” His voice trailed off. Then more quietly, “I was hoping someday I would see you again. And we could try again. That you would forgive me. I still love you, Cee.”

  Stacy didn’t know what to say at first. Part of her wanted to erase the past and forgive Brendan. But it wasn’t that easy, was it? No. “I can almost believe you mean that. But you love the sixteen-year-old. That girl is gone. I’m the bitch who lives in her body now.” Stacy said it with a smile, so it wouldn’t come across harshly.

  Brendan shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would stop me loving you, Cee.”

  “Stacy,” she gently but firmly reiterated.

  All those years of shared friendship were harder to discount when he was sitting right across from her, his hands tucked between his legs so he wouldn’t touch her. Such obvious body language.

  He was still so gorgeous. More so, even. Stace wanted to touch him so badly. Wanted to see if his actions followed his words. Standing, she motioned him to stay put. Moving her chair in front of his, she seated herself. She put a finger against her lips and then stretched her hand out.

  Brendan gave her his hand. Stacy delicately traced each finger, feeling the little hairs on his hand stand to attention. She turned it palm up, drawing light circles over the hard callouses.

  She could hear his breathing increase. The simplest acts of domination could be the most effective. He squeezed his legs together to maintain control. She could see the outline of his cock getting more distinct against his jeans.

  Bending her head over his hand, she pressed a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. His fingers involuntarily contracted as Stacy lifted her head. His pupils had dilated. It was obvious he wanted more. He’d used all his control not to move.

  Having put his hand down, she moved her chair back and resettled herself.

  Brendan’s eyes were confused. “What was that?”

  In her Miss S voice, Stacy asked, “What was that, what?”

  His breathing increased, his chest movement was more rapid. In a choked voice, he said, “Mistress.”

  She corrected him. “I’m not your Mistress yet. Call me Miss or Miss S. It was a test to see how you respond to dominance. You might have changed over the years. At this moment, it’s far as I’m willing to go with you. We’re leaving tomorrow.” She could see the objection starting in Brendan’s face and made a hand motion to show him she wasn’t finished talking. Stacy had decided how far her forgiveness would go. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Brendan. I want to. But the responsibility will be yours. I’ll give you my phone number and email. I will never live in Montana again. California is home. Text me and give me your schedule every week, informing me of when you are available. You told me you quit the Forestry Service, what do you do now?”

  Brendan told her briefly about his work in the oilfield.

  “I will use the schedule and choose when and where to call you. And you’d better answer. I know you don’t really take orders out of the bedroom. But I will push you. It doesn’t mean you can’t push back. But remember, you can discontinue the relationship at any time. As can I. It’s your second chance, Brendan. There will not be a third. Think of the consequences before you text me your schedule. I don’t hear from you by midnight tomorrow, it will mean you have decided not to pursue this.”

  Stacy stood, signaling him to leave.

  “I’ll text you tomorrow, email, and leave a voicemail. I don’t want a communications mix-up.” He looked at her, happiness in his eyes, his dick still bulging in his pants. “I want this.” The sincerity was almost Hallmark movie-of-the-week in its conviction.

  As she let him out the door, she said, “Oh, and Brendan?”

  He looked up.

  “No masturbating without my permission. Your orgasms are mine.”

  A look of disappointment and then grim satisfaction crossed his face. He nodded, and using that choked voice again, said, “Yes, Miss.”

  Good boy.

  ***

  Brendan walked gingerly down the hall. Feeling exhilarated. Hopeful. Unfortunately every step he took rubbed against his hard-as-nails dick. Even so, he didn’t care whether Cee dressed him up in drag and walked him down Main Street.

  Well, he hoped she wouldn’t do that.

  It amazed him how she got him close to coming just by touching his hand. Once he was out of sight, he fist-pumped, happier than he’d been in ages.

  In the near future, her creamy freckled skin was going to be his to touch. Those luscious generous breasts his to suckle. That perfect round ass his to knead. With permission of course.

  He hadn’t been celibate since Cee left, but he’d only had one relationship which lasted longer than a fling. Everyone he fucked tasted not quite right.

  He was tempted during those house parties to try sexual submission out. But he wanted to save that type of sex for Cee. The thought of giving his control over to anyone else rang false, as did being in a relationship with anyone else.

  He guessed he had that in common with his mom. She had never dated anyone else after his father died in a forest fire. She always said he was the one for her.

  Cee was the one for him.

  He pressed the down button for the elevator, forgoing the stairs, his raging hard-on making longer strides a bit too exciting.

  A voice sounded behind him. “Tommo!”

  Brendan cringed. Being in town meant that you inevitably ran into high-school comrades. Whether you wanted to or not. He looked down at his arousal. Fuck it, who cares what anyone thinks. He wished Cee were witnessing this. Hard-cocked and proud.

  Turning around, he saw his once good friend. “Hi, Bart, what brings you to the Super 8?” Bren knew full well Bart had to be up to no good with a wife left at home.

  Bart looked a bit worse for wear. The muscle built up in high school was more bloated now. Bart wasn’t fat, but he no longer had the impressive build he had had back when he was lineman. The guy wasn’t bald yet, although he had those receding scoops in his hairline.

  “Hey, Tommo, you know the saying. What happens at the Super 8 stays at the Super 8, right? You wouldn’t fail a man-test and go blabbing to Melissa, would you?”

  Crossing an Ellis was not wise. No matter what problems he had with his mom, if he pissed off an Ellis, she would be the one suffering for it.

  Bren shook his head. “Not my business, man.” Turning back to the elevator, he hoped it would arrive soon.

  Bart stood beside him. “You staying here or visiting?”

  “Visiting. You remember Stacy Jones?”

  “Shee-it, Tommo, I thought she was dead or something. I don’t fault you for going for the soft landing, she’s got to be a cushy ride. But she’s just like her mother, camp trash through and through.”

  Brendan’s fists were clenched tight
. He could feel his nails breaking his skin on his palm. The pain cleared his head and made him think logically; it stopped him from belting the fucking asshole. He almost kneeled in thanks when the elevator finally arrived.

  At least his penis wasn’t as happy now that he’d seen and talked to Bart.

  More soberly than his whiskey-laden breath should have allowed, Bart said, “By the way, anything she says about me is a lie. She’s always had a hate-on for me, that one.”

  Bren asked, “Like what, Bart?”

  “Nothin’ important. Just mind my words.” The elevator doors opened. “Nice seeing you Tommo, let’s get together for a couple of sociables soon.”

  Brendan called out, “Hey Bart?”

  Bart turned around with a sloppy smile, which froze when he saw the look on Brendan’s face. “We may’ve been friends in school, but don’t go thinking that we’re still buddies. Stacy is a better person than you and me combined. Know this – I would kick the fuck out of you right now, or I would give it a helluva go. But if I did that, you’d get revenge by making life hell for my mom, because that’s what Ellises do.”

  Bart was silent for a moment, then smiled, “I’ll give you a free pass on that one, ‘cause you’re cunt-struck. I can see she’s already been telling tales about me. You’ll soon realize that she’s lyin’, and I’ll accept your apology then. You have a good day Tommo.”

  Brendan would have to get to the bottom of this. Stacy might not know it yet, but protecting her, keeping her happy and safe in the world was going to become his responsibility again. Just like in school. Except this time he was going to do it well.

  ***

  Stacy heard a bang next door. Easing open the adjoining door, she spied West sprawled half on the bed and half off, cell phone in hand, trying to use his voice command. He slurred his words, which sounded a little like, “Callshub.” The voice command responded, “Did you mean ‘Castle’?” West gave an aggravated “Nuh!”

  Puzzled, Stacy walked over and smelled him and took his cell and disconnected it. “Oooh boy, West, you reek. How did Mary get you so drunk?”

  West mumbled something which sounded like, “Yuggerbum.”

  She snorted. Thankfully being a bar manager gave her a degree in drunk-speak. “Jägerbombs? West, we need to get a couple of Advil down you. I’ll call Tim and tell him you’re incapacitated.”

  He pulled her down on top of him. He ‘oomphed’ when she landed. “My girrrl.”

  “Your girl.”

  Then a bubbly cough, and he started snoring. Stacy had never seen West even tipsy. Taking off his shoes and trousers, she then turned him on his side and pancaked him in the bedspread. He would freak in the morning, germ-freak that he was, knowing he slept on top of the bedspread.

  Deciding to sleep on the pullout to keep an eye on him, she got ready for bed and called Tim to inform him of West’s condition.

  “He never gets drunk, Stace. Damn! I miss everything. Could you get me a video?”

  “I think you value your ass, Tim. So do I. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. It’s this town. I can’t wait to get back to Palm Springs. I miss you.”

  They expressed their love, bantered a bit more, and hung up.

  Before bed, she assembled the hangover kit by West’s bed. Two bottles of water, more Advil and a piece of fruit.

  Before she drifted off to sleep, the question occurred to her whether West had charmed her name out of Mary’s mouth, or whether Mary got West snozzled first. Stace betted on the latter.

  Chapter Seven

  “She’s angling for cash. You know that, right?”

  West and Stacy sipped tea. His, peppermint for the belly and head. Hers, full-throttle caffeine. They had just come back to the room after breakfast. Stacy had tried to return the favor and bring breakfast up. West refused. Although he was hurting, he didn’t want to admit it.

  He’d guzzled the water, downed the Advil, and then lurched out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The drugs came back up too, so Stacy got some more. She hoped these would stay down.

  The second set did. West didn’t attempt to talk, so she didn’t ask any questions. Any change in air pressure probably caused him pain at that moment.

  They sipped tea in the room. West had related how her former mother, now aunt, had drunk him under the table and given nothing away. It was then Stacy supplied the opinion that Mary was after money.

  Sarge knocked, and Stacy let him in. He was carrying a smelly concoction and had a slightly evil sparkle in his dishwater-blue eyes. “Drink this.”

  Stacy recognized the smell. It was a hangover cure he’d made for others who were hurting.

  West eyed him and the drink suspiciously, sniffed and recoiled. “Not happening.”

  Sarge chuffed, did the male thing. “Pansy.”

  West smiled, then winced. Then attempted to smile again, with less strength behind it. “Yes, I am. Tim wouldn’t like it if I changed teams.”

  Sarge made that almost-laugh sound again. “It’s a prairie oyster. Egg, tomato juice, Worcestershire and Tabasco sauce. It’ll burn the mornin’ after right out of ya. Come on, down it, Westcott.”

  West eyed it again. He must have been really hurting as Stacy could see him considering it. He took a breath and downed it. For a moment, his whole body shuddered and both Sarge and Stace moved so they weren’t blocking West’s path to the toilet.

  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 li
ved 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.