The Price of Mason

Part One

The Price of Mason

Teresa

Ellamore, Illinois

Teresa Nolan clutched a plain manila folder to her chest as if it were some kind of life preserver. In a way, she guessed it was. The contents consisted of a petition for a name change, an order to show cause for the change, her social security card, birth certificate, and driver’s license. All things to help her become someone new.

Someone safe.

Next to her, her mom shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair just outside the county clerk’s office. How long have we been waiting?

Teresa consulted her phone as a new text popped up. Seven minutes, she answered, checking the time before opening the message.

E: Is it done yet?

Sighing over the persistent nagging from her cousin, she wrote back.

Teresa: Soon. We’re at the courthouse now. Waiting.

To which she received an immediate response.

E: So there’s still time to change your mind?

Teresa turned the phone off and stuffed it back into her purse. She wasn’t going to change her mind, no matter how much E insisted this was a bad idea. Rubbing the back of her neck, she trailed her fingers over the scar where Jeremy had cut her. If she hadn’t turned at the last second, that scar would’ve ended up on the front of her throat, and she probably wouldn’t be alive right now.

Staying alive seemed more important than keeping her name. Even her parents agreed. So, no, her mind was not going to change. She was doing the right thing.

She hoped.

Okay, maybe she had no idea what the right thing really was. But she was still doing this. She had to do something to protect herself. And every few seconds when the doubts rose, she just swallowed them determinedly back down.

Her mother leaned toward her. You saw the packet in the mail this morning from that college, right?

That college.

Teresa nodded, her indecision bubbling up her throat again, tasting bitterly like panic. The package hadn’t been from the university she’d always planned on going to in her hometown but from some no-name community college halfway across the country, near her aunt. After she and her mom were done here at the courthouse, Teresa planned to head home and start packing so she could move hundreds of miles away and into the loft above her aunt’s garage, where she would attend classes at that college, using her new identity to remain far-far away from her psycho ex-boyfriend, Jeremy, who’d tried to kill her.

Her knee began to bounce as she remembered the look in Jeremy's eyes when he’d told her no one would ever love her the way he did. She’d never forget the light that had glinted off his knife or how terrified she’d been when he’d slashed his blade toward her.

Her mom set a reassuring hand on Teresa’s thigh, making her jump and then stop bouncing her knee. It’s okay, sweetie. We’re doing the right thing.

Teresa nodded again, the action more certain than her resolve.

We’re going to send you somewhere he won’t find you. And then, as soon as the trial’s over and he’s locked away for good, we’ll change all this back and you can come home again. Okay?

Teresa gave a third nod, this one less enthusiastic. She didn’t have quite as much faith in the temporary part of the plan as her parents did. Jeremy’s father was a powerful attorney. The odds of putting him away forever didn’t feel as if they were in her favor.

And what if Jeremy did go free? What if this moving away, hiding, and changing her identity business ended up not being temporary? What if he just found her, and she had to run again, or he actually succeeded in killing her the next time? What if she was never Teresa Nolan again?

That was what scared her most: losing her identity forever. That bastard had already taken her security, now he was stealing her name too? It wasn’t fair.

She rubbed the prickled skin rising on her arms. Maybe her cousin had been right; this plan was stupid. Life could be dangerous, no matter where she went or what she called herself. Why was she running anyway? She wasn’t the running type; she didn’t own a single pair of jogging shoes. And if she did die, at least she’d have her own name on her headstone.

Before she could stress further and back out of this crazy idea completely, the door to the clerk’s office opened and a middle-aged man peered into the hall. Miss Nolan?

Teresa’s heart leaped. That could’ve very well been the last time anyone ever addressed her as Miss Nolan again.

Her mom took her hand and stood, urging Teresa along. Teresa gulped. This was really happening. Her life was changing irrevocably. She wasn’t even going to be Teresa anymore. A month from now, she’d be…she’d be…

Well, who knew what she’d be?

Mason

Waterford, Florida

One Month Later

Typically, I didn’t mind dogs. They were cool little creatures who just wanted to be loved and fed. No beef with that.

But I couldn’t say I was extremely fond of the miniature brown fluff ball with a pink bow in its fur as it pranced around my knees and yipped at me with an incessantly high-pitched bark. Then it snapped at the leash that hung from my neck, gagging me.

To be fair, the leash probably belonged to the mongrel, as I’m sure did the bejeweled collar that at present hugged my own throat.

Honestly, I guess I couldn’t blame the mutt at all. It would confuse me too if some strange dude in nothing but a red Speedo was wearing my things as he knelt between the open thighs of my naked owner and licked her pussy. I got you, pooch. I really, truly understood; this was some weird shit. There was no denying that. But, gah, give a guy a break. I was trying to get a job done.

The owner finally—thank God—grew tired of her pet’s commotion, and called, Here, Gidget! Up here, girl.

Complying, Gidget hopped onto the deck chair and danced in a circle on the woman’s bare thigh until she found the perfect spot to plant her butt. Tongue lolling in exhausted contentment, Gidget continued watching me go down on her owner from an entirely new angle, which was eyeball to eyeball with me. I blinked, unable to tear my gaze from the dog’s, and wondered if I was stuck in the twilight zone.

Around us, the sun blazed against my naked back from a bright azure sky as the water from the in-ground pool three feet away lapped lazily against its sidewalls. Grit from the stone patio under us bit into my knees while my tongue started to cramp and my jaw began to lock.

If my client could just come sometime this century, that’d be great.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up, especially when Gidget leaned forward and tried to imitate me by licking the side of my face and right into my ear, giving me a wet willy.

Oh, God. Really, dog, really?

It was a good thing I was only here for oral and not penetration; I’m pretty damn certain I wouldn’t have been able to get it up at this point if I tried.

When a nearby phone rang—the client’s, not mine—I lifted my head, beyond ready for a break, and wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

But my client pursed her lips with disapproval and lifted her eyebrows over the top of her sunglasses. I didn’t say you could stop. She gave a tug on the leash, jerking my face back between her legs.

Jesus.

I caught my hand on the ground, scraping my palm against the abrasive stone to brace myself and keep from impaling her clit with my nose.

Okay, then. I guess I was supposed to keep going while she talked on the phone. Message received.

She answered her call, and I went back to licking, slipping my tongue between fleshy folds and massaging the little muscle inside. Her musky scent clogged my nostrils while her flavor filled my mouth. She was definitely turned on, even though that confounded me. I couldn’t find anything erotic about any of this.

It must’ve been a friend on the other end of the line. They talked about setting up a lunch date to go shopping together. My client mentioned her husband wouldn’t be home until Tuesday, and then she let out a throaty laugh as she ran her fingers through Gidget’s fur before bumping her hips sharply against my mouth, nearly cutting the inside of my lip open with my teeth, as she reminded me not to stop my services.

I have no idea how, but I think talking on the phone while I ate her out turned her on more. Maybe she had some kind of voyeuristic fetish and this felt like her friend was somehow watching her get off. I don’t know. But she grew wetter and her body began to strain against me, the muscles in her thighs squeezing around my face while her grip on my leash pulled the collar tighter around my throat.

Strangely enough, the inflection in her voice remained the same. I’m sure her friend on the other end of the line had no idea what was happening to her.

This was definitely one controlled woman.

Then again, that shouldn’t surprise me. Most of my clients were controlled, or rather, maybe I should say controlling. Controlling, cold, calculating, and powerful ice queens.

This particular client didn’t like things in her vagina—toys, fingers, tongues, dicks. She was all about the clitoris. But she was close, so freaking close, and I was desperate here, beyond ready to be done with this session. Very aware of just how many nerve-endings lined the entrance of the vagina, I swiped my knuckle around the rim, toying with her but not entering. And in response, her bent legs shot out straight on either side of me.

Oh! she gasped. I, uh, I gotta call you back, Deb. I gotta…gotta message coming in on the other line. Then, tossing the phone down, she grabbed my hair roughly. Oh, shit, she muttered, slamming my face against her hard. The collar tightened even more as she panted. "God…dammit. Fucking Christ. Get it, boy. Right there. Right…there!"

I kept licking, swirling my tongue and teasing her vagina with my finger, even as my air supply ran thin and my head went woozy. Black spots danced in my vision, and my jaw muscles burned like a bastard.

We were on the home stretch now. No stopping until we crossed the finish line.

Push through the pain, Lowe. Almost there, I chanted in my head. Just a little more.

When a gasp and a grunt signaled her release, I licked her through the lack of oxygen, urging her on, probably with more gusto than I normally would’ve in the hopes she’d finish quicker and finally let up some slack on the collar.

And finally, thank God, she settled. I pulled away, gulping in huge drags of wonderful, life-giving August air.

Holy shit, breathing was awesome. My chest heaved from the relief.

On the woman’s lap, Gidget grew confused and started to dance around, yapping again.

Meanwhile, I ripped the collar from my throat and ran my hand over the base of my neck, trying to rub away the impression of being strangled.

Oblivious to my distress, my client gave a satisfied moan from where she lay slumped, limp and boneless, in her deck chair. "Well, hell, child. I heard you were good, but that… That was fucking fantastic."

It better well have been; it’d almost killed me.

I dropped my hand so she wouldn’t notice how much I’d hated the collar, and I flashed her a megawatt smile when she lifted her face my way. Couldn’t let her see any discomfort; had to keep up good PR if I wanted to land myself another gig with her or maybe even induce referrals.

You’re the one who made it good, I lied.

She laughed huskily as if she realized I was feeding her a line but enjoyed the flattery anyway. Now I know why they call you the best.

Damn straight.

When she ran her bare foot up my knee and along my thigh until her toes were tickling my abs, the muscles in my stomach tightened against the touch. It was overly familiar as if she owned me, which for the next five minutes, I guess she did. But I wasn’t a fan of the reminder.

Is there anything else I can do for you? I asked, rising up a little higher onto my knees so I could shift my face closer to hers, and in the process, gently dislodge her foot from me. Because I’m here to please.

Yes, you certainly are. She reached out and cupped my jaw. "Jesus, you really are a pretty thing, aren’t you? And young. So young." She nearly drooled and licked her lips over the young part.

I didn’t answer, just let her look her fill. She was paying me enough to stare at anything she liked, so I remained patient as the tilt of her head let me know she was examining my face, then down my chest. When her chin lowered as if she’d paused her attention on the Speedo, I held my breath, hoping she didn’t realize it wasn’t as full as it probably should’ve been. I mean, what was the possibility she wouldn’t get offended over the fact that I had most definitely not become aroused after licking her out? And would it bother her if she did realize how limp I was?

A bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. Desperate to divert her attention, I set my hand on her knee.

She jumped, surprised by the contact I’d initiated without her instruction.

Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you? My fingers slowly coasted up her thigh, teasing. Like reapply your lotion? I’d hate for all this perfect skin to burn.

No. No, that’s not necessary. She caught my hand, stopping me to let me know playtime was over. She didn’t approve of me making a move she hadn’t orchestrated. I wasn’t sure if she’d noticed my deflated package or not, but she didn’t mention it, so I guessed it didn’t matter, especially when she patted my cheek and turned all business. I have another engagement to get to, precious. But you definitely earned this. Producing a roll of bills from who knew where, she tucked the cash behind my ear as someone might hold a pencil there. I look forward to our next rendezvous.

Definitely. I rose to my feet because payment always meant dismissal. Lifting the cash to show my gratitude, I added, Thank you.

"No. Thank you. She remained sprawled in the Adirondack chair, naked with her legs draped open and her shaved pussy still gleaming wet from my tongue. Just leave the Speedo on the sink when you change, darling. It’s my husband’s."

I nodded, feeling sympathy for the cuckolded man. I bet he would just love to learn a male prostitute had been wearing his swimming suit, which is probably exactly why my client had instructed me to put it on in the first place. It hadn’t taken long to learn that the women who employed me tended to have quite a malicious streak. Yet another reason why I made sure never to piss any of them off.

Yes, ma’am. Saluting her, I turned toward the pool house to retrieve my own clothes. Gidget scampered after me, following me inside.

Hey, pooch, I murmured as soon as we were alone. I knelt and scratched her behind the ears because suddenly she seemed like a fellow war survivor and maybe even my new best friend. You as traumatized by all that as I am? I asked quietly.

Gidget yapped. I took it as a yes.

Yeah. I huffed out a breath and straightened to tug my clothes back on as fast as I could. I don’t blame you. I wanted to run as soon as I saw that leash. No wonder why you guys struggle so much when humans put collars on you.

Once dressed in my own clothes, I flung the used Speedo onto the lip of the sink and toed on my flip-flops, only to give the dog one last scratch goodbye. I have a feeling we’ll meet again, but if we don’t, I blew out a breath and whispered, then thank God.

I never purposely sabotaged myself. I gave every client a hundred and ten percent and I was always careful to execute my services exactly how they specified. Call it having a little pride in my work or whatever you like, but I busted my ass to be good at what I did. I had repeat clientele going on ninety-five percent (one had died and three had moved out of the area). And I got paid well for it. So living up to my own reputation was important to me.

But that didn’t mean I loved my duties. I didn’t like being treated like a possession, like something that could be put on a leash and fondled whenever and wherever they liked as if they had every right. I didn’t like being the toy they played with while their husbands were away, the puppet they commanded to perform, the object they tossed aside when they were done with me. I didn’t like being the dirty little secret they kept from spouses and children. I didn’t like not being able to be my own damn person.

The lack of freedom bothered me the most, and that collar had felt like a great big bitch slap, reminding me I was nothing. A filthy, worthless man-whore, bound by the cash of the rich and depraved.

I wanted out. I wanted out of this life so bad.

And trust me, I knew what kind of fucked-up, ironic mess that made me. I strove to do my best at something I hated and craved to stop. It made no sense. I could easily end all this by messing up one session with one client badly enough that none of the others would even want to call for me again. But whenever the idea tempted me, the next thought I had of losing all that extra income would send me into a panic, and I found myself continuing to be the best I could so they’d keep asking for me.

This was my life in a nutshell. I constantly felt pulled in two directions—feeling the need to do it and do it well in order to protect the ones I loved most, all the while, just wanting to escape so I could save my own soul—always wondering when the entire situation would just tear me in half, leaving me broken beyond repair.

I drove myself crazy with never being able to commit to a single decision and just stick with it, needing this and yet needing that too. But I was always so torn between what I wanted, what I thought was right, and what I felt was best for my loved ones. The three lines would cross and tangle so much that I got confused about which one was which until I grew petrified and believed that no matter what I did it would be the wrong choice. It seemed like I could only get everyone important to me hurt.

What was worse, the back-and-forth indecision in me was draining and frustrating and it usually led me into messing everything up anyway. That’s why this isn’t just my story about what happened.

These are my confessions.

Confession #1: I was a sucky son.

Once I pulled into my own driveway, I killed the engine of my Jeep and sat in silence, scrutinizing my house. Home sweet home. It was only a rental but this place was the longest I’d ever lived anywhere, plus it was my escape from reality.

I should probably think about painting it. And I needed to mow the lawn again. More importantly, I needed to water the lawn. It looked brown and pathetic sandwiched between the other immaculate green yards in the neighborhood. Plus the cracks in the concrete front walk were horrendous.

I knew I couldn’t count on my landlady to take care of anything. She’d ignored all requests for repairs since I’d told her I wasn’t going to have sex with her again.

Like I’d said, my clients tended to be cold, calculating ice queens: piss them off, and they made sure you felt the repercussions. On top of refusing repairs, Patricia had raised the rent twice in the past year. Not enough to entice us to move—not that we could with my mom’s dismal credit rating—or for me to fuck her again, but enough to make me hate her more with each passing breath.

Nausea rose as I barely glanced toward the right, at her mansion. The things I’d done in her house… The things she’d made me do…

Shuddering over the memories, I opened the door of my Jeep and lugged myself out into the warm afternoon. I entered through the kitchen and immediately veered toward the back bathroom. The door never latched properly, so I didn’t even bother trying to shut it.

One more repair I needed to add to my ever-growing to-do list.

Emptying half a tube of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, I jammed the goopy bristles into my mouth and scrubbed with a vengeance, paying particular attention to my tongue. Yet even as my mouth filled with minty freshness, I couldn’t remove everything I’d just done. There was no paste strong enough to eradicate shame and self-disgust.

I spit, then scrubbed some more. After rinsing with a cup of water and gargling with mouthwash, I layered more toothpaste onto my brush and started the process all over again. I could no longer taste her, but I swear I could still feel her in my mouth, flooding my veins and invading my soul, infiltrating everything I was and defiling me.

Mason? a voice asked from the opening of the bathroom.

Startled, I spun around and straightened, lifting my eyebrows questionably at my mother who stood in the doorway. Mmm?

When our eyes met, her cheeks went pink as if she knew exactly why I was so vigorously brushing my teeth. She shifted her gaze away and self-consciously played with a piece of dark hair at the back of her neck that had come loose from her ponytail.

I was going to go get some groceries. Do you… Do you happen to have some extra cash?

Turning back to the sink, I spat out the last of the toothpaste and remained hovered over the vanity a second longer, closing my eyes until I straightened again. Yeah, just a second.