Release Me

Part 1

7 Years prior to Mask Me

I flopped down on my bed and unzipped the black thigh-high boots, and breathed a sigh.

"Is that... mud?" Samantha asked in her thick Long Island accent from across the room, pointing at a long dry brown streak that bloomed in various splatters. "Please tell me it's mud."

With a chuckle, I tossed the boot on the floor beside the bed and removed the other in the same fashion. Then I pulled off the long wavy wig, before stripping out of the corset and tutu. It was a ridiculous outfit, but the client paid well, so who was I to argue about the role he wanted me to play?

"Yes, it's mud. I was out in Middleburg doing some... pony play." I smiled and wrapped a long silk robe around my body, cinching it at the waist before sliding to the floor. "That odd internship Dr. Dawes set me up with a couple of years ago on the Hill is really paying off. You wouldn't believe the stress relief those prim and proper politicians need to make it through their day."

Samantha shook her head, popping her gum and pulling her laptop towards her. Fingers clicked across the keyboard and I close my eyes, letting the rhythmic sound settle me after a long day.

"You don't fuck them, do you? I mean, it'd be okay if you did, but..." I lifted my head and glanced over at Samantha as she looked at me with a pinched expression.

"Are you asking if their cock goes in one of my orifices or if my strap on goes into theirs?" I let the question hang between us as my head dropped back against the mattress and once again closed my eyes. "Then the answer is no, unless you want to count their mouth, then the answer is sometimes because they like shift of power, the feel when the length of my firm cock is shoved deep into their throat until they gag on it. Or at least I enjoy it, and that's all that really counts." I smirked but didn't open my eyes to gage her reaction.

No matter how many times we'd gone over my work as a professional dominant, and its mostly unglamorous parts, she still couldn't wrap her head around it. If it wasn't for the fact I'd lived in a society where power was the base form of communication, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wrap my head around it, either.

"And they pay you to do that to them?"

"Yes, Samantha. It's obvious they do, since my book sales are nearly non-existent, and my rent is paid on time."

"I wish you didn't do it."

I let out a long-suffering sigh, but didn't lift my head. Hours of wielding a lung whip while watching a grown man run around in circles at the end of a set of reins was oddly tiring.

"Well, I do. Besides, it makes the stories more realistic," I laughed.

"Speaking of books, I was thinking about practicing on them. You know, doing some social media work. Pushing them in forums, and the like. Then when you get famous, I can go out on tour, and you can write more books." She beamed like she'd found the recipe for her perfect life, and I groaned.

For the last year she'd periodically brought up doing the public relations for my books, but each time I turned her down. While I wanted sales, I knew it was safer to keep a lower profile and be as anonymous as possible, especially in my former life.

"I mean, imagine it. Fans in long lines while I sign your pen name. It would be a hoot, and with the internet developing the way it is right now, and with e-reader, books are going to go gangbusters in the digital world. Can you talk to your agent and see if you have the rights to release them that way?"

"Samantha." I cringed when my tone reminded me of Dominick and let out another even sigh to prevent the exasperation I felt from bleeding through my tone. "Email my agent. I know you've already hacked my account. Ask him yourself."

"And if they say you can release them?"

"Then do whatever you want with them. I've got too much on my plate. Besides, I only write them to relieve stress. The fact a couple of them got picked up by a traditional publisher, because you wrote letters behind my back, doesn't mean I'm any good at it."

The doorbell rang, and I glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

"Saved by the bell. That'll be Kade, here to give me a massage," I said, as I pushed off the floor and started for the door.

"Tell your boyfriend, 'hi', and if he ever gets tired of you, he can put his hands all over me."

I laughed and shook my head.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Sure, he's not. Atlas and Kade, sitting in a tree...," she sang.

"Ah, grow up."

"Why? It looks like no fun at all," she called after me as I headed to the front door.