Bondage Town by Reese Gabriel
Reese Gabriel's first erotic novel....
The backwoods town of Charred River, Florida has its share of dirty secrets, not the least of which are the wicked sex games played by the members of its first family, the Traces. Brothers Caleb and Sheppard have been tying and tormenting their lovers for years. Most folks blame the curvaceous and free-spirited Cynthia “Sin” Marshall for corrupting the boys the summer after high school graduation.
Nineteen years ago, Cynthia was forced to flee in disgrace. Now she’s come home, this time with her full-grown daughter, the equally luscious and sexually curious, Reyna. Cynthia wants them to settle down in the family home, but the Traces have other ideas. Cal wants Cynthia for his love slave again, and Shep wants her very soul.
Meanwhile, Reyna discovers that Cal’s adult son Jason has inherited his father’s penchant for whips and chains. Not to be outdone, Cal’s wife, former cheerleader and dominatrix, Meredith Trace, decides to teach both mother and daughter a lesson they won’t soon forget.
‘Sin’ Marshall was her nickname. Undeserved, really. She’d cut loose a little, but a lot less than most of the rich kids. It was her attitude, probably, her northern brashness, not to mention her unwillingness to cow tow to rural Bible belt ideals that got her in trouble. She’d kept her skirts short and her comments slicing. Worst of all, she thought for herself, and most Sundays she passed notes over the pews of her aunt’s one room church instead of pretending to enjoy the forty-minute sermons.
‘Sin’ was an unfair designation, for sure. She hadn’t even gone all the way until the night of her eighteenth birthday party. The worst night of her life. The night she lost her one true love, sandy haired, blue-eyed Shep Trace after being humiliated and sexually terrorized by her rival, head cheerleader Meredith Frisk and her evil friends.
It was Shep’s dark haired and dark hearted fraternal twin brother Caleb who caught her on the rebound, ensnaring her in a relationship of progressive degradation and bondage that eventually left her self esteem shattered and her reputation ruined for good.
In so many ways that one night had changed everything. After Shep had run off in disgust after seeing Cynthia naked and leashed and apparently enjoying it, Meredith had made a play for him, but was promptly rebuffed. Shortly thereafter, Shep left town, supposedly joining some kind of cult in Asia, one involving immoral sex acts. No one had heard from him since.
Not surprisingly, gold bricking Meredith had ended up in Cal’s bed, turning up pregnant in short order. Since the Trace family owned half of Charred River, there was a quick and quiet wedding. Although they stayed married, there were no more children for the couple after they had their son, Jason. Ironically, their boy would be exactly Reyna’s age. Which meant at nearly the same time she was finding solace for herself in the arms of Zeke Tralor, a roughneck transient on his way north to Atlanta, Meredith was bellying up to the last available Trace scion.
Cynthia couldn’t believe what she was seeing out the window. Good grief, but the place had gotten built up. Miles out of town the landscape was littered with strip malls, housing developments and mini marts. The few remaining acres of the once green paradise, which had boasted some of the largest orange groves and cattle ranches in the nation, all had for sale signs on them. Old Man Rossiter’s Farm, where kids used to go parking with their dates, was gone entirely, replaced with a discount auto part store.
Even downtown looked different. Once sedate Main Street had only a few of its old storefronts. The rest were converted to convenience stores or gas stations. At least the courthouse was still there. She noted it was white this year, which meant by town tradition it would be beige next year. That was only one of many strange customs in Charred River. Another was decorating the palm tree that sat in the middle of the town square for Christmas.
Needless to say, leaving here had been an easy decision for young Cynthia. Except now she understood what she’d missed. Stability. Security. Something she was determined to give to her own daughter. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw sleepy Grant Street looking just as she remembered it the first day, when Mr. O. as she called him then, had driven her here after her mother’s death from cancer. She’d been sixteen then, insecure, budding physically, terrified mentally.
Aunt Marianne had been a saint. A widow for ten years and childless, she took Cynthia in as her own, giving her all the nurturing she could stand. A pang of guilt hit as she turned into the driveway of the brick ranch house. It looked so overgrown. There were weeds in the once proud flowerbeds, foot high grass nearly covering the mailbox. Auntie must have been weaker than she let on. Cynthia had pleaded with her to come to Atlanta, but she was a Florida girl. Her whole life she’d never even left Citrus County. Cynthia should have come down to get her. But she couldn’t work up the courage.
Not after the way the whole town had laughed at her following Meredith’s so-called ‘birthday initiation’, in which she’d lured Cynthia into a trap that would cost her her virginity and her pride both. And that was only the beginning. The laughter and sneers had followed her as Cal became her paramour, slipping in her window at night, using her callously after dropping off his legitimate dates. Like a patsy, she’d wait, naked or scantily dressed, however he’d told her to be. He’d even provided her handcuffs, so she could bind herself to the bed and lie waiting for him.
Half the time he never even showed. Of course, she was called a slut, not him. A Trace could never be anything but a gentlemen. Girls like her, loud, lower class, were just playthings to boys like him. As for Meredith’s kind, a cut below the Trace’s on the social ladder, they had to take every opportunity to step on the little people to prove themselves.