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 b
liss, 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.
Once decided, she was excited about breaking in her dungeon. Letting him into her sanctuary, her home, was a huge deal. Stacy was the type of person who didn’t answer the door unless the person called first.
Her sanctum. Her domain. Her territory. It was because she hadn’t ever had a place that was solely hers. Tim and West never entered her room without permission.
Brendan was staying at Agua Caliente Casino, a nearby hotel. Just because she’d decided to give him dungeon rights didn’t mean he was staying over.
She watched Bren walk out in the airport, wearing button-fly jeans, another soft t-shirt. This one was plum and it seemed to make his eyes even greener.
He had a way of sauntering. Not rushed, but not meandering either. Taking everything in. He always had the talent of looking like he wanted to be wherever he was.
He fit here. She could see him living in Palm Springs. Stacy tried to put the thought aside. Looking at him, how his smile lit up when he spotted her–she knew she was fucked if it didn’t work out.
In that moment, Stace accepted the fact she’d fallen for him again. If this weekend went well, she would allow Brendan to discuss a future together. Something she had put the kibosh on when he consistently brought it up.
He came up and stood there. Then he shrugged, dropped his carry-on bag to the floor and hugged her. He smelled like his toothpaste and clean sweat. Minty and musky. Undertones of soap underneath.
Stacy relaxed into the hug. It felt so good, being in the shelter of his strong arms. Being a Domme didn’t mean being a hardass all the time. Something else had gotten hard when they were hugging though, which pleased her. She loved having an immediate effect on him. Physical reaction trumped sincere words every time when it came to attraction. Telling someone you’re attracted to them is one thing. A straining hard-on is proof. She was tempted to have a feel to see if Brendan had followed her “go commando” order.
The hug lasted a long time.
Stacy put her hand out after the embrace and he picked up his bag and clasped her hand.
She dropped him off to settle in at the hotel, to pick him up later. She had some work to do at home.
***
Brendan felt jittery. He was usually unflappable. His dick had been hard from the moment he had seen Stacy. Seeing her in the September desert sun, even more comfortable in her skin than last time, made him rise to attention.
Cee had stunning eyes, full lips, honeyed voice. Plus an hourglass figure a pin-up would envy. But ever since they had reached puberty, she’d had an innate sexiness which had little to do with her features.
It wasn’t intentional on her part, but her sexiness made him hard. Had been the cause of a million jack-offs. Sometimes, he even had flings with look-a-likes. Until he realized the similarity ended there.
Tonight. Tonight. Scared. Excited. Both emotions messing with his nerves. Making smooth motor control near impossible.
He couldn’t fathom to this day why he craved sexual submission. He was a confident man, wasn’t cowed by anyone. The oilfield had a lot of blowhard bosses. He stood up to them easily.
But in the bedroom, to give up personal power was amazing. He had finally figured out a major part of it. Watching a strong woman control his physical being was a sexual high. Pleasing Cee was the ultimate goal, and the ultimate rush.
He waited outside the Casino in the warm dusk, wearing casual clothes as ordered, waiting for Cee to pick him up. He didn’t have to wait long. She was wearing a blue semi-transparent top and a flowy skirt. Not too dressy.
The trip was short, to a small two-story apartment complex. So not the club then. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
She took his hand again. That little intimacy meant so much.
On the ground level at the end of the hall, she unlocked the door and let him in. It was roomy, airy, without clutter and filled with artwork. Cee always did love art.
She gave him a quick tour, and then led him to a room. Inside it was a mini-dungeon. He’d done a lot of research and learned quite a bit when he tested the waters before. There was a massage table, a small St. Andrew’s Cross and a spanking bench. Strangely, a loveseat in one corner.
“This is just going to be a training session. Your first.” She smiled, almost shyly but not quite. “Hopefully there are going to be many more. You won’t truly submit to me. It takes time. We’re just exploring here, okay?”
His nerves spiked. He started to breathe faster. She led him to the massage table, her warm soft hands pushing him. On closer inspection, it was more like a table he had seen in a doctor’s office. His hair was standing on end and he felt cold. “Give me your shirt. Lie face up for me, Bren, okay?”
He nodded spastically. His nipples pebbled in the warm air.
“What color are you at, Bren?”
She’d told him to gauge his feelings by the traffic light system. Red was the safeword. The scene would stop and there would be no more sexual play that day if the safeword was said. It motivated a person to be really sure before they said it. Yellow was discomfort. They would discuss the discomfort. Green was all good.
“Green. Scared shitless, but green.”
Her eyes flashed with something that made his insides all warm and safe. “Green what, Bren?”
“Miss.”
“Good. Now, for now, we’re going to discard green. Make an okay sign with your hand. Good. I’ll make that sign when I’m checking on you. If you’re green, you’ll do it back. If not, say yellow or red. If at any time you are at yellow or red, tell me. Communication is very important.” Her smooth, quiet voice commanded him. Intimately she leaned against his shoulder. “There’s no reason to be scared, Bren. I would never hurt you.”
“It’s not quite that sort of scared, Miss.” As he lay on the table, his dick got harder, anticipating. The base of his spine tingled.
“Talk to me. Dominance and submission is all about communication. What kind of scared?”
He tried to think it through in his head, but he wasn’t really firing on all cylinders right now. “I want this. I so want this. But it’s sort of like losing your virginity, you know?”
Cee kissed his forehead, and he calmed at the touch. “I am so grateful,
Brendan, that you chose to save your submission for me.”
She retrieved two rubber circles out of her pocket. “Now stay still, Bren.”
Cee traced her fingertips around his nipples, gently pinching one, and then the other. He couldn’t stifle a groan. It was taking all his strength not to force his hips upward.
Tracing down to his button fly, with excruciating slowness, she unbuttoned him.
Stacy loved Brendan’s reaction. His groans went straight to her nether regions, and she felt her inner muscles clench. His voice was amazing. His groans, oh, his groans zinged under her belly, giving her butterflies and pre-orgasmic tension. It wouldn’t take much to get her off after she took care of him.
She took hold of his hard cock, hot to the touch. Lubricated at the end. Wet with pre-come. The tremors in his body increased. She made the ‘okay’ sign, which he mirrored. “Remember, Bren, if you’re close to coming, tell me. You aren’t allowed to come without permission. This thick, hard cock is mine.”
He rasped, “Yes, Miss.”
Miss sounded so fucking fantastic from those light pink lips. After she applied the cock ring, she kept her hand there as she leaned up and took a kiss from him.
Stacy kissed him gently, close-mouthed to begin, enjoying the wet soft warmth of his lips. He opened up and questingly pushed his tongue forward. She opened, deepening the kiss. Gentle deepness. Affectionate. Swallowing his groan when she started squeezing the base of his cock above the ring.
“Miss...” he whispered into her mouth. Stacy ended the kiss. Looked in his eyes. “I’m already getting close.”
She took her hand off. Went back down to his cock. Checked they were still ‘green’. She motioned him to lift his hips, taking his jeans off.
His legs were hairy and very muscular. His hipbones jutted out. Stacy traced his legs from hip to feet. Remembering his ticklishness, she didn’t touch the bottoms of his feet.
While she belted his ankles to the table his breathing increased, but he motioned her to go on. She then put cuffs on his wrists. Moving his arms above his head, she pulled his arms taut, chaining them to o-rings in the wall. She completed his restraint by belting his hips to the table. “Now you won’t have to restrain yourself.”
Twice Shy (The Restraint Series) Page 6
