Exile to Unity

by Tara Finnegan

  “Oh! Christ, no I didn’t. Is she okay?” Jim’s heart sank to his stomach, was this the moment of reckoning, the day that could make or break his family’s future? With trepidation, he held out his hand to Hank.

  “She’s very well. She had mild concussion and whiplash, but seems to be recovering quickly. I owe you a debt of gratitude, Carla is my only child. I don’t know how I or my wife would have managed if anything had happened to her.”

  Jim backtracked towards the house, inviting the men to join him, heading now toward the kitchen and wife he had been avoiding. Before Ange got a chance to make a snide remark he quickly alerted her to the visitors.

  “This is my wife, Ange,” Jim introduced. “You remember Carla, love? We met her on our first day here. This is Hank, her father. It was Carla in that accident I was telling you about,” he added, addressing his wife and praying she would play cool. Damn, they had barely discussed the accident. Ange might unwittingly let him down a bagful.

  “Good God, you said she looked familiar, all right. How is she?” Ange bluffed.

  “She’s doing just fine, thanks to Jim here. I called to show my appreciation. Carla insisted I should. She’s back home now. My wife, Betty is waiting on her hand and foot and Carla loves it.”

  “I’m so glad she’s able to insist on anything. Can I get you gentlemen some coffee? You’re more than welcome to have it here or if you want some privacy, I can bring it to Jim’s study. It’s not easy to talk in a room with children, they make so much noise.”

  Jim mentally congratulated his wife on her quick thinking which allowed any animosity between them remain hidden. It was obvious this was more than a five minute call as the two readily accepted coffees. Jim was a little nervous again. There was no need for them to stay and he wondered if there was a problem. He led them up to his office, where Angela followed with a tray of coffee and hot, fresh fruit scones within moments. Once she was gone, Hank got down to business.

  “Mr. O’Brien, when I heard you were a resident of Corbin’s Bend, I immediately made up my mind to talk to Brent to see how I could repay you for what you did for my family. Brent tells me that you are in construction and in need of work. And I happen to be in need of an experienced man. I wondered if we might be able to help each other. I was the contractor responsible for building this development, and there is still much to be done, both here and in other locations around Denver.”

  “It’s Jim, please. And yes, Brent is right. I’m having difficulty getting started. I have no formal qualifications, just plenty of experience.”

  By the time coffee was through, they had hacked out a deal, and Jim was set to start on Monday week. The offices were based in Denver, but his main place of work, after an initial induction period would actually be Corbin’s Bend and the remuneration was much better than he had been expecting, given his recent experiences. Granted, it was a trial basis, but Jim had now doubt that once on the job his experience would speak for itself. The beauty of self-employment was that you had to become the in-house expert in all aspects of your trade and that wasn’t always easily matched by employees who had a narrower field of experience. Things were on the up.

  After an hour Hank left but Brent remained, asking to speak with Ange and Jim together. They joined Ange in the kitchen where she poured two fresh coffees and cut two generous slices of fruit gateau.

  “This is delicious, but it’s also why I want to speak to you…” Brent started.

  “Oh, is there a problem?” Ange asked.

  “Yes and no. All premises in which food is prepared should be licensed with the FDA and there are certain rules and regulations, such as the need for a proper industrial kitchen.”

  “So, I need to stop selling my cakes?” Ange asked.

  “We are willing to turn a blind eye for a short time, while you see if it would be worth your while occupying one of the units here, but you cannot let this get outside Corbin’s Bend. We take a dim view of anyone bringing the authorities here for any negative reasons. As a community we’re already frowned upon, and it’s important we’re seen to uphold our civic duties. Do I make myself clear?”

  “That’s very fair, thank you. To be honest, it would be the same in Ireland, I’d get away with it for a while, but sooner or later I’d have to upgrade my kitchen.”

  “You have to make it clear to everyone that they can’t give your name to anyone outside here. We will invoke the discipline charter if you bring disrepute to the community. As long as you understand that, we can work with it. Then if you want a more permanent arrangement, do bear in mind we often subsidize what we consider community services.”

  “Thanks, Brent. I’ll do up some accounts and see if it would pay, and talk to you then.”

  Brent nodded his agreement and rose to leave. Jim also took it as his cue to leave, before the house started filling up again and to escape the frosty atmosphere. Instead of going to hide out in the gym as usual, Jim called to Carla’s house. She was looking shaken but well. She attempted to rise as Carla’s mother led him in to her living-room and he could see she was obviously stiff and sore and had a collar on her neck.

  “Don’t get up, how are you?”

  “I have to get up to hug the man that saved my life.” She grimaced as she used the arm of the sofa to hoist herself up. Jim went over to her instead.

  “Sit down, now!” he ordered as soon as he accepted her kiss. “I was just in the right place at the right time, thank God. You must be very sore.”

  “I’ve felt better. The collar is deceptive, it’s only very slight whiplash, but I’ve a mighty headache,” she said with a wry smile.

  “What happened?”

  “A car came out of nowhere, and cut me off. I lost control. They must have seen me crash, but didn’t stop. Bastards.”

  Carla’s mother came in with a tray of coffee and cakes.

  “Carla, mind your mouth. You know if your father heard you at that, he’d take you to task. It’s no way for a young lady to speak. I apologize for my daughter, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “Don’t worry about it, my wife swears plenty,” Jim laughed.

  “She does? And you allow it? Oh my, lucky lady.”

  “I don’t think anyone could stop Ange from being Ange,” Jim laughed again. It seemed so strange to him to be having this conversation. In Ireland, the shock would be if he dared to try to prevent Ange swearing, not for permitting it. It was a strange little community, but still kind of refreshing in its openness.

  “You don’t live in Corbin’s Bend, Mrs. Mentha?” Jim asked.

  “Betty, honey, please. We were too established in our own home by the time this place was developed. But we are so glad Carla does. We hope she’ll meet a nice young man who knows how to take care of his wife here. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Jim saw the flush rise up Carla’s face. Her angular features became scrunched up with vexation and embarrassment. He stifled a laugh. It seemed that some old-fashioned ideas were taboo to talk about. Spanking and chastisement of women were par for the course, but openly acknowledging she was husband hunting was stepping across a line. Carla quickly changed the subject to Ange’s baking and Jim’s adorable children, followed closely by his heroics. By the time he was allowed to escape the clutches of the two women, it was lunch time and Jim was glad to get away from their grateful effusiveness. If Carla had made as much as one more allusion to his manly strength in carrying her to his car, he’d have been hard pushed not to discipline her himself.

  From one extreme to another, it was still pretty much vision with no sound at home. Even when he told her the details of his job offer Ange was almost cool in her congratulations. He had expected that she would be more appreciative of the increase in income at the very least. Although he did have to acknowledge that he was mostly responsible for this particular big freeze. The contrast with the warmth and appreciation he had left was staggering. He knew marriage almost always led to a certain amount of taking one another for granted, but th
is really was ridiculous, something would have to give.

  *****

  It staggered him just how long she could keep it up. Even by the end of the week, Ange still wasn’t talking to him, not properly. He contemplated work on Monday week with the briefest of enthusiasm. Jim was almost convinced that Ange would mainly be relieved to get the house to herself so she wouldn’t be nagged about her shop hours. But if she thought he was going to let that slide, she had another thing coming to her. If anything it was more important that she was disciplined now as he wouldn’t be there to pick up the slack with the kids, and he had no intention of having his children raised in front of the television.

  Of course he knew the answer, he had known it since first settling into Corbin’s Bend but he hadn’t had the confidence to enforce it. To some, he knew it might seem like weakness, but he and Ange had married under different circumstances and to force it upon her seemed somehow like dishonoring his marriage vows, the vows that they wrote together, about loving and honoring and respecting until death do them part. What worried him was that divorce might get there before death. On Saturday evening, communications were coming back to some sort of a normal level. He did his damnedest to break the ice through the children, laughing at funny things they said or did, telling Ange about them, making a conversation out of nothing wherever he could. He decided it was time to tackle the issue head on.

  “Why don’t you settle the kids and get ready for bed, I’ll clean up,” Jim offered after their evening meal.

  “Okay, what are you up to? You never volunteer to clean up alone?” Ange asked.

  “Can a man not offer to give his wife a break once in a while with no ulterior motive?”

  “Erm, no, not usually. Now what are you after?”

  “An early night and a chat in bed.”

  “It’s the chat bit that worries me. You spent the early part of the week keeping away from me, refusing to talk. Then this weekend, you’ve been killing yourself trying to get the conversation going. Are you still thinking about going back to Ireland?” Ange’s face was tense and pale. He approached her and put his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry, Ange. I should never have said that. I really didn’t mean it. It’s been a long three years, and I think they finally caught up with me.”

  He sailed through the dishes with his head full of how he was going to approach this. He wanted to tackle two things, one was domestic discipline and the other was curtailing the open house hours a bit. He could handle it some of the time, but it drove him insane if callers landed at mealtime or after four p.m. Surely a man was entitled to some bit of peace in his own home. And now that he would only have the evenings at home, he was going to ensure he could enjoy them without a harem of babbling women. Converting Jack’s bedroom had helped, but there were times it felt like a prison cell. Jim knew Ange would get all defensive saying he was trying to hold her back. But for once she was just going to have to listen to reason. Ange was reading in bed when he joined her. He watched her eyes follow him as he undressed.

  “You’re looking great. All that time in the gym is paying off. I haven’t seen you so trim since your football days,” she said appreciatively.

  Great, she’s in that mood, he thought, which was most unexpected given the tension between them. He shifted his plan. If he started with a spanking she’d be more receptive to his discussion points.

  “Do you want to play?” he asked. The pink flush that rose to her cheeks amused him. Why she still got embarrassed about it amazed him. Ange simply nodded her consent.

  “Nightie off, lie face down and hold onto the headboard. Don’t let go.”

  He watched as she complied; then went to the wardrobe to fetch a bamboo cane he had for times it was necessary to be quiet. Her buttocks were clenching as he returned. He brought the cane down pretty sharply and ordered her to relax, which she did, momentarily, but by the time he had brought the cane down again, she was taut again.

  “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll just have to plug you.”

  “No, sorry I’ll stay relaxed.”

  Ange held her legs apart and cheeks relaxed for three strokes but then she was all tight again. Jim retrieved an anal plug from the wardrobe, and a bottle of ginger oil which he had been planning to use for quite a while, although he had initially purchased it with fun in mind, rather than this. He smeared the plug in the oil and pushed it inside, ignoring her whimpers. Her wet cunt made it obvious she liked it even as she protested. In spite of her protests she assisted the insertion by widening her legs further and gyrated her hips… until she felt the burn.

  “Fuck, Jim. That stings. Take it out. Please.”

  “No, I warned you to stay open, and watch your mouth.” He brought the cane down again and instinctively she clenched; then moaned.

  “That was for swearing, I meant it when I said I’d punish you for it.”

  Ange didn’t dare clamp her buttocks again as she realized it spread the burn. But she begged and pleaded, releasing her grip on the headboard, earning further strokes. Unless she called the safe word he was going to show no mercy. Even as she writhed, as if trying to escape the plug, he could see she was coming very close to orgasm. Her pussy had pools of creamy moisture, he had full view of her labia and could see they were rich red and her clit was swollen and erect. He continued spanking more slowly, but with more force. Her anus drew the plug in deep with the impact trying to coax it deep enough to sate her need. Her breathing was ragged; her moans were of pleasure even through the pain. As she hovered on the brink of her climax, he stopped spanking, and instead concentrated on pushing the plug in deeper, and releasing it, fucking her ass with the silicone toy and working her hooded bead with his other hand until Ange’s entire body tensed, shuddered and exploded. His own cock ached with need from the high of watching her pleasure but Jim knew now was his best moment. His release would come later.

  “Can you sit up, love? I really want to talk to you.”

  “What? Now? Can I at least take this thing out?”

  “No, leave it there. I like how it quietens you, and I really want you to hear me out.”

  Ange rose gingerly and tried to find a comfortable seating position which was difficult wearing a ginger coated plug and on an ass that had just been caned mercilessly. Once she was sitting, he sat in behind her, and enveloped her in his arms.

  “First of all, I’m delighted to see you selling your cakes and stuff, and how well you’re fitting in, but this place is my home, too. So can we have a more structured “shop hours” time – say ten 'til eleven thirty, and then maybe two thirty 'til four? That gives you three hours for open house and still lets us have a normal family life.”

  “I can try, but it’s hard to kick people out in the middle of their coffee,” Ange argued.

  “It’s like this, you can nicely explain the new rules to them, or else I’m going to run them. Which would you prefer?”

  “You can’t. That’s not fair.”

  “It’s not fair that the kids and I have nowhere to call home, and muck about in privacy either, is it? I’m not saying stop it, I’m offering a compromise. But you need to meet me half way.”

  Ange was silent for a few minutes. Jim didn’t rush her. He knew she was a reasonable woman, but found it hard to accept criticism. She’d come round. Especially in the submissive state she was in. He just continued cuddling her, waiting for her brain to register the reasonableness of his request.

  “Give me two hours in the morning and one and a half in the afternoon and we’ll call it a deal. I’ll find a way around collections for the working customers,” she finally agreed. “Now, you said first of all, so what’s next?”

  “I really would like to try DD, even for a few weeks, and see how it works for us. Look at you now: You’re all relaxed and content. And we talk much better working out our problems, instead of snapping at one another.”

  “Jim, you know how I feel about that. I like it this way because I can still
refuse it. I don’t want you to start pushing me and making me feel bullied. And if you start punishing me, I’ll probably start hiding things from you and resenting you. That’s not healthy.”

  “But why would you? You like it, even if a part of you is scared of why you like it. All I’m asking is for a little while, and we can tweak it as things show up as issues.”

  “No, it’s really not for me. I could handle a bit more sexual submissiveness and we can do this more often, but I really don’t want you telling me what I can and can’t do.”

  “Just think about it, will you? Don’t knock it without giving it some serious thought because I think we’ve already wasted too many years not talking and blaming one another. Maybe discuss it with Maeve. Please.”

  “If anyone wasn’t talking lately, it was you. And anything you had to say, wasn’t very helpful,” Ange said.

  “I know. It was a just an overreaction to the accident, the move and the last three years. The last thing I want to do is leave. I’m sorry.” Jim knew he was beaten for now, to force the issue would have been exactly the bullying she feared, especially as he knew he had been the source of the problem this time. He hoped he’d win her round in time. He kissed the top of her head as an indication the topic was closed and sent her off to remove the plug and clean up. When she returned they made love at an easy pace, the fervor dampened by the elephant in the room. While he was feeling a little deflated, he had by no means given up. He intended to carry this motion sooner or later.

  Chapter Seven

  Ange did try to keep the visiting down to the agreed hours. It wasn’t always easy though, sometimes people were inclined to linger a little too long, or sometimes they couldn’t make their collections in the appointed hours. She tried to get around this by making deliveries or by giving the orders to a willing neighbor, but occasionally someone would still call, and Ange felt obliged to offer them a coffee and they were there when Jim got home. He let it go the first couple of times so Ange became a little more complacent. On the Saturday evening before Jim was due work, he had taken the children out to an indoor play center to free Ange up to bake some batches of his favorite Boxty loaf. It was nearing Halloween and she always made it around then. Some of the neighbors had arrived in and were watching her make the traditional Irish potato bread. As they had watched the progress and even participated in the peeling of the mountains of potatoes needed, Ange had insisted they stay and try some. While they were waiting, one of the ladies had fetched a bottle of wine from their house and they were all sipping away. The craic was good, and the women were all talking about their various relationship dynamics.