“You have a choice to make.”

She gave a quick, jerky nod, terrified to do anything more.

“You can turn me in, but then I’ll have to tell the FBI about your involvement, and that’s a whole thing. Our daughter will lose both her parents. Is that what you want? She was so excited to finally meet me. Do you want to take that away from her, Mish?”

She shook her head.

“Then I present you with your other option. We’re getting back together. You’re going to put on a smile and make Chelsea think we’re going to be one big happy family. I know you’re good at that.”

Michelle Palmer nodded again, having to take a deep breath to avoid bursting into tears. For nearly twenty years, she’d kept herself and her daughter hidden from Jack. She’d moved to the middle of nowhere, changed her name, and raised their daughter by herself.

“Don’t worry.” He reached out, caressing her cheek. “This is going to be good for us.”

She tried to shrink back from his touch, but her grabbed her roughly by the ballgag strap wrapped around her head. “But don’t think I haven’t forgotten about how you stole my daughter from me. There will be repercussions.”

Clearly the brutal spanking he had already given her wasn’t punishment enough for her transgressions. That was just him settling into their old routine. Two decades later and the only thing that had changed was her tolerance to pain. His hand hurt a lot more than she remembered. A lot.

Jack smiled, that charming smile that had made her fall for him in the first place. “Good girl.” He patted her on the head, before unbuckling her gag and pulling the drool coated orb from between her lips.

“How did you find us?” she dared to ask, her voice wavering.

“I didn’t.” He reached up and started untying her wrists from the pipe she was dangling from. “Chelsea found me.”

Michelle’s heart sank. She’d spared her daughter the details about the man her father truly was, to try and protect her. All she’d done was fail to warn her about the monster that Chelsea had inadvertently invited back into their lives. She slumped against the wall, rubbing her wrists, grateful to be off her tippy toes.

“What’d you tell her?”

“The truth. Not all of it of course. I don’t want her to think less of her dear mother, not if we’re going to make this work.” He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace, their naked, sweaty bodies pressed together. “I just told her I never stopped looking for her.” She could feel his dick stiffening against her thigh. “I never stopped looking for you either,” he whispered in her ear.

Michelle whimpered. She’d had nightmares about this day.

“I’m glad you kept your figure.”

She worked hard to keep in shape, and felt that she looked pretty good for forty, but he was the last person she wanted appreciating that fact.

“I’m curious if kept your cunt tight for me too.” His hand found its way between her legs, and she dared not resist him. “I see you’re still a pain slut.” He brought his glistening fingers up to his nose, breathing in deep her musky scent.

She’d enjoyed it, once upon a time. The sting of his palm across her ass when he spanked her. How he threw her around the bedroom when they fucked. How he pulled her hair and called her names. The things he did to her. The things he made her do. But the violence hadn’t stayed contained to the bedroom. Her attempts to tell him things went too far fell on deaf ears. Safe words and pleas for mercy were met with gags and harsher punishments.

Then she got pregnant, and knew she couldn’t stay. He was well connected in the criminal underworld, far more than she was, but she still had friends she could trust, that helped her steal away in the night with her unborn child, to forge a new identity across the country. The first few years had been the worst, raising Chelsea on her own, struggling to get by, and always looking over her shoulder, sure he would find her. As the years went by it got easier; her fears never fully went away, but they weren’t a constant in her new life. When Chelsea graduated from high school, Michelle breathed a big sigh of relief. She’d done it. Her baby girl was an adult. She’d protected her from her father. She’d just never considered that Chelsea would look for Jack. It wasn’t her fault; she didn’t know any better. It was all Michelle’s fault. She’d grown complacent, and she’d left a window for her ex husband to come back into their lives.

He put his fingers in her mouth, forcing her to taste her arousal. She remembered it well. Every time she tried to tell him to stop, his fingers in her mouth, his words, cocky and assured. “Does it taste like you’re not enjoying this?” It was hard to argue with that, as she sucked her juices off his fingers.

“That’s what I thought.” He yanked his fingers from her mouth and slapped her hard, catching her again by the chin as she was thrown to the side by the force of the blow, pulling her back, he spit in her mouth. “Tell me you’ve missed me.”

“I have,” burbled, his drool running down her chin. She didn’t have a choice, but that didn’t make it untrue. She didn’t resist as he spun her around, pushing her to the ground on all fours.

His strong hands grabbed her ass, his fingers feeling the welts he had left there. Michelle dropped her face to the floor, pressing her cheek to the cold tile, and her ass thrust into the air. It was amazing how quickly her body fell into those old positions. She’d dated a little, over the last twenty years, and while she told herself she never formed a relationship was because of her daughter, that wasn’t the whole truth. The sex just never compared.

“Your cunt has missed my cock.” He slid into her.

“It has!” she gasped, clenching her fists. She hated herself.

An hour later she was downstairs meeting her daughter for dinner. It was almost cold enough to justify the turtleneck she’d had to wear to cover the marks he’d left on her body.

“Sit down,” Jack said, patting the chair next to him.

Michelle eyes the hard wooden seat, trying to hide her apprehension. She needn’t have worried; her daughter’s attention was entirely focused on her father. Chelsea hadn’t stopped talking since she’d arrived.

“I’m studying art history at school. I really wanted to go out of state, but it was too expensive,” Chelsea prattled on.

“Can you transfer?” Jack asked, patting the chair again. He never took his eyes off of Chelsea, but Michelle could feel him watching him out of the corner of his eye. Steeling herself, she sat down, grimacing through the pain as her bruised ass made contact with the unforgiving surface. The butt plug he’d shoved in her ass wasn’t helping either. Even the absence of that thin layer of protection her underwear might have provided, had he let her wear any, didn’t go unnoticed.

“If I keep my grades up.” Chelsea was oblivious to her mother’s pain.

“Are you?” Jack asked, putting his hand on Michelle’s thigh under the table.

“Mostly. I’ve got As and Bs, and one D. The teacher doesn’t like me.”

“You just have to make them like you.” He squeezed Michelle’s leg possessively.

“Easier said than done. Did you go to college?”

Michelle tensed. Up until then the conversation had been solely focused on Chelsea.

“No. Sadly, I missed out on that opportunity.”

“But you seem like you’re doing alright. Mom didn’t go to school either, but she wouldn’t let me think about not going.”

“As she should. She’s just looking out for you.”

Michelle’s heart was racing in her chest.

“How’d you and mom meet?”

Jack looked at her for the first time since Chelsea had arrived. She was sweating profusely under her sweater. He winked at her. “We met at a bar. Your mother hustled me at pool.”

There was more to the story, a lot, but he thankfully abridged their meet cute, leaving out the less than savory details of the bar they were in, and the criminal activities everyone involved were party to.

“I can’t picture you picture you playing pool,” Chelsea said to her.

“It’s a skill I’ve lost,” she answered. Her mouth was bone dry.

“There’s a lot about your mom I bet you don’t know.”

“Oh really?” Her raised eyebrow was so reminiscent of her father.

“And there’s plenty you don’t need to know.”

Chelsea gave a disappointed pout, but she didn’t press further. Michelle knew it was only a matter of time. She had her father’s persistence too.

“I’ll be right back.” Chelsea got up and excused herself to the bathroom.

“You’re not doing a very good job of selling that you’re happy to see me,” Jack said the moment they were alone. His hand has drifted further up her thigh. “Where’s the old Mish, who could make me believe anything.”

“It’s been a long time. I’m not like that anymore.”

“Not like what? A conwoman? A charlatan? You’ve been lying to my daughter her whole life.”

“She is MY daughter!” she hissed with sudden strength, grabbing his hand on her leg.

“Careful.” He grabbed her wrist, squeezing. “You wouldn’t—” he stopped, suddenly all smiles again as he looked over at Chelsea coming back. “Hey.”

“So, um, Jack?” Michelle savored the small victory that she hadn’t called him dad while she rubbed her tender wrist. “How long are you going to be in town?”

“I was thinking I’d stick around awhile.”

“That’s awesome!”

“It is. My work gives me the flexibility to travel, and your mother has graciously offered to let me stay with her so I can get to know you.”

“Oh really.” Chelsea fixed her mother with a curious look.

“For a little bit. I hope you don’t mind if he stays in your room?” she responded quickly. She knew he wouldn’t be sleeping in Chelsea’s bed, but she wanted to quash any ideas that Chelsea might have that she and Jack would be sleeping together.

Jack smiled at her, amused. She did her best to ignore him.

“I was actually thinking I’d stay here tonight.”

“But you’ve got class in the morning,” Michelle said.

“I can miss that one. I was hoping to spend some time with Jack.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. School is important. I might have missed the first nineteen years of your life, but I promise you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise felt more like a threat to Michelle. She was in a trance while she cleaned up from dinner, listening to them say goodbye. Chelsea sounded so happy. She had no idea what she’d done.

“Goodbye mom.” A call from the door before she walked out was all she got, an afterthought after a hug from her newfound father and a promise to see him on the weekend.

“She’s a smart kid,” Jack said as he came back into the kitchen.

“How long are you staying?” she asked, turning away from the dishes.

“I dunno. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Michelle’s hand tightened around the fork she was still holding.

“You thinking about using that? You’re already in trouble, Mish. Do you want to make it worse?”

She looked down at her hand. It was trembling slightly, and she’d rolled her sleeves up to do dishes, and the fresh rope marks on her wrist stood out as a reminder that he was in charge.

“No,” she replied, the fork slowly lowering until the tines pointed at the floor.

“Good girl.” He opened the fridge, rummaging around inside. “What’ve we got to drink.”

She knew what ye was asking for, but answered anyways. “There’s orange juice and almond milk. And water.”

“Where’s your booze?”

“I don’t drink.” She hadn’t had a drop since she found out she was pregnant with Chelsea.

“That’s not the Mish I remember.”

“That’s because I’m not the Mish you remember.”

He smiled, sidling up to her. She took a step back, pressing against the sink as he closed in. He leaned in close. “Bullshit.”

“I don’t drink anymore. There’s a bar up the road, you’re welcome to go but I don’t want any of that shit in my house.”

“Your house?”

“Yes. My house. I paid for it. I worked for it. I didn’t take a dime from you when I left—”

“You took my daughter!” he roared, grabbing her by the throat.

She dropped the fork and grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to pull him off while she gasped for air.

“You ran away like the little bitch you are and you stole my daughter!” He threw her down onto the kitchen floor. Michelle curled into a ball, coughing. “Now I’m going to run to the liquor store. And since I can’t trust you not to run away again,” he started undoing his belt. “I’m going to make sure you can’t run.”

“No, please, Jack.”

“Shut up.” He knelt down, rolling her onto her front. He pinned her down with a knee on her back while he pulled her arms behind her back and bound her wrists with his belt. She’d expected him to beat her with it again, so this was better, if only marginally.

“You don’t have to—”

“I said shut the fuck up.” He grabbed a dish towel and cleave gagged her with it. Another one bound her ankles, and a third he used to swiftly tie the belt to the one around her ankles, effectively hog tying her.

“I remember how hot and bothered being tied up gets you,” he whispered in her ear, slapped her sore ass through her tight jeans. She screamed into her makeshift gag. “I bet your snatch will be nice and wet for me again when I get back.”

She listened to him leave, sobbing quietly on the floor of her own kitchen. Not twenty minutes ago her daughter had been sitting ten feet from where she now lay, completely unaware that her mom was now a prisoner in her own home.

She probably could have escaped. Jack had tied her improvised bonds painfully tight, but she was sure she could get the towel keeping her hogtied at least, and from there she could stand and get a knife off the counter to deal with the belt. But then what? Call the police? Jack would make sure she went to jail too. There were no statutes of limitations on some of the crimes she’d committed while they were together. Or worse, his dad would come after her.

No, calling the cops was out of the question. She could run, but how. Jack had confiscated her purse and phone when he’d first showed up. She didn’t have her keys, her money, anything. She had a little cash hidden away, but she still wasn’t going anywhere without her car, or Chelsea for that matter. Could she convince Chelsea that they had to run, that they’d have to disappear and start over from nothing fast enough? Could she even do it at all?

Running wasn’t an option either. If she got untied, Jack would just come home to find that she’d disobeyed him, and the punishment would be worse.

So she laid there and waited, trying to remain still. Intent of escape or not, struggling would make it worse. He knew her too well; being tied up made her horny. No matter how much her mind fretted about her and her daughter’s safety, her body had other priorities. That feeling of helplessness ignited something in her core. The tight denim rubbing against her kitty was exciting, and the embarrassment of not wearing underwear, not being allowed to wear underwear, just put fuel on the fire. And then there was the butt plug. He’d brought it and the ballgag he’d used on her earlier with him. Their use had been premeditated. She just prayed he didn’t find her own, carefully hidden, private collection of toys.

She just laid there, until she heard the sound of truck pulling into the driveway. She chewed on her gag while she waited for him to come back in her house.

“I got your favorite!” She noted the clink of heavy glass on her countertops. He stepped over her while he rummaged around in her cabinets, barely acknowledging the bound and gagged woman on the floor. “No shot glasses. Here, these’ll do. They’re a little big, but what the hell, we’re celebrating!”

More glass hitting the counter, followed by the pop of a cork. She could smell the agave before she even heard him pour the first glass. She did not make good decisions after drinking tequila. It had also been her main coping mechanism when he got abusive. It also, like the bondage, served to make her incredibly horny.

He slammed a glass filled with the Amber colored liquid on the floor next to her face, tequila sloshing over the sides. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Nnnmgg,” she grunted, turning her head to face the other way, but he grabbed her by the hair.

“Was that a ‘no, I don’t want a drink,’ or a ‘no, I’m not sure’?” he asked, sitting down on the floor next to her, swirling his own glass in his hand.

This was an old game of his. Forcing her to try and talk and communicate while gagged. It was even more infuriating than she remembered. “Nnnggh aaakiiyaa,” she tried to enunciate around the drool-soaked towel.

“You sure? Maybe just a taste.” He poured his drink onto her gag. The aroma assaulted her nostrils first, the spice underlaid with notes of vanilla. And then it hit her taste buds as her gag soaked it up.

“How is it?”

Quitting drinking had been honestly one of the easiest elements of her new life. She’d never really been an alcoholic, and she’d stopped cold turkey without a second thought. But in that moment, she realized she missed tequila. Even just sucking it through a dirty dish towel, it was better than the juice and almond milk she forced herself to drink because it was good for her. She looked up at him, her lips wrapping tighter around the gag as she sucked the flavor out of it.

“It’s good, right? And this ain’t the cheap shit, either. Nothing but the best.” He drizzled a little more over her mouth, re-soaking her gag. “That’s right, you better suck down every last drop if you want something even better between those cocksucking lips of yours.”

Part of her wanted to stop, to maintain some measure of her dignity. But her tolerance after nearly 20 years sober was nonexistent, and she was already feeling it, that heat in her belly that radiated down to her core. Her eyes flicked from his face to his crotch while she sucked hungrily on her gag.

“There’s the dirty slut I remember. You want to wrap your desperate, whore mouth around daddy’s cock, don’t you.”

The word daddy sent her crashing back down to reality. How easily she had allowed herself to slip back into that role in spite of everything. She was disgusted with herself.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, noting the change in her expression. “You think you’re too good all of the sudden?”

She screamed into her gag as he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her across the tiled floor to him.

“Let me remind you who you are, bitch!” He pulled the towel out of her mouth. He slammed back the rest of his glass, and then held her mouth open while he spit it in her face.

“Auuckkk!” Some of it got in her eyes and nose, but most of it got in her mouth, and she swallowed, immediately coughing it back up. Choking and spluttering, her lungs felt like they were on fire and her eyes stung. Blinking through the tears streaming down her face, she saw he already had his dick out, standing at attention.

“You thought you could change. You ran away and pretended to be someone else, but let me tell you something.” He released her from her hogtie and dragged her up onto her knees by her hair as he stood up. “Cunts like you don’t change.”

He forced himself into her mouth, driving all the way into the back of her throat. Savage, primal thrusts threatened to choke her as she was forced to take him. “I’m back, Mish. Chelsea needs her father in her life. I’m not going anywhere. And this time, neither are you.”