Mask of Fire: A Red Hot Treats Story

Mask of Fire

A Red Hot Treat Story

By Michel Prince

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Cover Artist: Royal Touch Photography

First Edition

Editor Kyle Lewis

© 2014, Michel Prince Books

Smashwords Edition

Chapter One

Why must you be so difficult, Abigail? Her mother scoffed through the vid-link.

Because I’m not going to let you send the man you feel I should marry after me tonight.

How could I do that? her mother asked innocently with her hand placed over her heart as if she were despairing. The women choose who they wish to copulate with, not the men.

That is why last year a green masked man seemed to be available and standing next to me all night until I finally gave in. Really mother, he was horrible in bed and wasted a whole five minutes of my life. Four of which I used to find us an open station.

So I failed last year, but this year—

This year, I’ll go it alone.

Hidden from her mother’s view, Abigail Stone stroked the mask she planned to wear tonight. It was exquisite. Exactly what she wanted to be wearing the night she met her mate. The last two years were fun, but she had no intention of being one of those women that attend The Harvesters Gala every year only to have ungodly amounts of sex. True, it was their tradition, but eventually a woman needs to choose a man to marry.

The Harvesters Gala was the one time of the year when mates were chosen based on the only thing that truly mattered in a relationship—how well they performed in bed. Having not seen a man since she was sent to the Southern half of the planet Lextra at age ten, Abby had enjoyed the past two years of unfettered sex. The first year was a bit painful, but as one who was only there to taste a man for the first time, her beautiful, white plastic mask with silver spirals coming off the eyes had been perfect.

Last year she decided she wanted the men’s lips to be on other parts of her body, because the intimacy of kissing had been too much for her to bear. With a gold mask covering her face entirely she felt uninhibited with the seven men she chose through out the night. Maybe they knew she wasn’t serious—she’d never know—but with only one night of sex a year, she hadn’t wasted a minute!

Well, there was the one minute with the green masked man.

Abigail Jane, you know how happy your brother has been since he was chosen. They are expecting their second child in the spring. Has he told you yet? And I sent him word of the woman to seek out at that Harvester’s Gala. Trust in your mother when it comes to these things.

Her brother Kevin, thankfully, had been chosen the year before her first Gala.

I will tell you this mother, I’ve chosen a thin porcelain mask.

Oh thank the Gods, it’s about time my little girl settled down.

Most girls now days wait until their seventh or even twelfth Gala to choose a mate, you know, Mom. I’m only twenty-eight and this is only my third Gala.

Right before they stop their cycles they choose. What do those women do in the South with you? Are they productive? Or do they just fritter away their days pining for the next Gala?

Abby gave a light lick to her lip as she turned away from the vid-link. The first year just made her want more sex, not less. And sure, marriage would be with just one man, but if he could create the rush the Prefects spoke of…

I do not know, but I’m done with my medical studies and I’m ready to come back to the central cities.

What if the man you choose is not from our city? Or worse yet, from our landmass? Abigail, you need to think long-term. Let your poor mother have this little solace.

Mother, no, I shall choose a man like you chose Father, with my heart. He shall please me in ways no other man could and I’ll know in my heart he shall be the one for me.

You will put me in an early grave, I promise you that.

Then you must pray for me to find a man to marry or I will miss your passing ceremony.

Abby cut the vid-link to her mother and went to prepare for, what she hoped in her heart, would be her last Harvester’s Gala. Having been waxed, preened, and otherwise outwardly prepared by some of the best in the trade, she began to dress. The thin-layered silk dress flowed to accentuate her curves. The gold dress clung to every curve, but she hoped her lack of undergarments would only be discoverable by her lover. Hopefully she’ll choose wisely to begin with.

Her mask was constructed of thin porcelain, because she’d always wanted a high quality mask to adorn her bridal wall. As a more traditional eye mask, it was crimson with cut flames dipped in the purest gold on the planet. She stood in front of her full length mirror as she placed her four-inch heeled strapped sandals on her feet, then reached for her mask. Wistfully she wondered if this would be the last time she’d see her crystal blue eyes as a single woman, because the eyes are to be covered for they tell too much of the person under the mask. She could hear the lectures as though she prepared for her first ball.

Ever since the speech on falling into a man’s eyes and the dangers involved she’d been mesmerized by her own. Covering the eyes had been implemented over a hundred years ago when the Prefects had discovered a way to cover the wearer’s eyes without distorting the views. Now no one was allowed to see through the masks. With a sigh Abby placed the mask over her eyes and tied the ribbon tightly.

Reaching for her shawl she steeled herself. It was time.

****

In his periphery Barton caught snippets of the news in between crunches.

Fighting continues to ravage along the borders where males from the North are protesting the Rules of Selection. The male Central City reporter stated as he turned to a woman in a suit with a high collar and long pants. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ball on the top of her head. Do these men have a point when it comes to the Rules?

No. the woman looked down, then back up. It is true when the rules were first implemented the women usually chose a mate within two Galas where now the average is seven, but the women of today have evolved.

Is all evolution good?

Luckily for you it was. Her voice had a growl to it as she arched her eyebrow. The women are finding love. If men can not provide that to them in one meeting how could they for their entire life?

Some women say they aren’t going to the Harvester’s Gala to find a mate, they are there for copulation and pleasures only afforded them once a year.

You don’t see fighting in the South, only the North. Proving the need to limit the amount of sex had by the males. If they were allowed to intermix with women can you imagine the state of education, the family and the work force? If you remember two hundred years ago we attempted to bring society back to one integrated system and it was a disaster. Within five years those in school were turning in assignments late and half finished. Domestic abuse was at record highs—

There were twelve reported cases planet wide, the reporter interjected. Two of which were by males. Can you really say this is the best way to mate?

Are you unhappy with your partner? She snarled.

My wife has nothing to do with this interview.

She has everything to do with it. How is it she allowed you to pursue such a line of questions? I’m an academic. I’ve studied the effects of the Rule of Selection exclusively. My text on the rule changes have been implemented by those in the South and the North. How dare you question—

We’re not on Harvester Island, Courtney. I’d ask you to refrain for assuming I have no brain or want of my own. Men are forced to have sex with women they may or may not be interested in sexually. They are forced by Prefects to learn to submit and come back after only a few minutes of reprieve.

Oh, Courtney let out a condescending pout. "Did you foolishly feel for a woman, but were