Page 6 of Releasing Reenie

When I looked in the mirror, I could hear my mom’s voice.

Stand up straight. Push your hair out of your eyes. You’re going to get wrinkles if you don’t stop smiling for no reason. No man will ever like you if you dress like that.

Do this. Do that. Wear your hair this way. Dress that way. Don’t take that class. That extracurricular activity is a waste of time. Don’t be friends with this girl. Don’t talk to that girl. Don’t dye your hair. Don’t wear red lipstick. Don’t pluck your brows. You can’t do anything right. You are who you are because of me. And without me, you’d be useless.

The list went on, and on, and on, and on. Every aspect of my existence had been controlled my entire life. Right up until I got my college degree and no longer needed her help in any way.

Not that the controlling abuse had stopped then; I’d just stopped listening to it.

And when I put my life on hold to care for her during her battle with cancer, it only got worse. In fact, her last words to me were a criticism and a demand on what to wear for her funeral.

“So help me, Maureen, if you wear that black pantsuit to my funeral, I’ll find a way to come back and haunt you.”

And when I stood at the cemetery in the rain, tears tracking down my face as they lowered her into the ground, I was overcome with relief. So much relief.

I’d gone home that night and dyed my hair the color I’d always wanted, donned bright red lipstick and plucked my brows. I doused myself in the perfume she always pretended to be allergic to, ordered an entire wardrobe full of clothes I knew she’d hate, and swore I’d never be controlled again. By anyone, ever.

Looking back, it was probably why I had so much trouble dating, and why I wouldn’t allow myself to finally experiment with BDSM and go to a club, despite a lifelong interest.

And here was the hottest guy I’d ever laid eyes on. Mr. Perfect, really. Great job, similar interests, easy to talk to, an actual honest-to-goodness Daddy Dom, wantingme, me!

Of course there was a condition. And of course, it had to be the one I couldn’t give in to. What had he seen in me that madehim think I’d be open to it? Was I, despite all my hard work to take back my own life, giving off a vibe that said, “I’m a doormat, control me”?

I took one more steadying breath and looked at myself in the mirror, really looked. And for the most part, I liked the person I saw staring back at me. I trusted her. I knew she was strong enough to control her own life and be in control in other aspects as well.

Someday, I thought, as I realized what I had to do, I would see Trent Holland again, and I would thank him. I would thank him for being the catalyst that made me realize who I was meant to be: Maureen Stahlbaum, independent woman, professor, and kick-ass Domme. That was who I was, it was what I wanted, it was who I needed to be.

So, with that realization in my head, I did the very least “woman in control of her own life” thing I could do, for the last time. I climbed out the bathroom window, and never looked back.

CHAPTER 4

Maureen – 3 years later

Mira avoided my gaze as she passed my desk, following the other students filing out of my class. I’d glanced up just in time to notice her and cleared my throat to get her attention. She looked back, her brown eyes widening.

She’d emailed me her assignment not five minutes before the end of class. An assignment that was due two days ago.

“Mira, can I see you for a moment, please?”

She looked longingly at her friends leaving before she drew in a deep breath, her shoulders rising with it, and replied with a slow nod.

I waited patiently for everyone to clear out of the room, ignoring Mira for the time being while I pulled up her file on my laptop. Checking her consent forms and limits, I waited for the final stragglers to exit my classroom.

Discipline was part of my job as a professor at Rawhide University, and I took it seriously. If this was what it took to keep my students on track and reaching their full potential, I was all for it. Ignoring her third late assignment would be a disserviceto her. And even though this was technically a new semester, this class, an in-depth one, was broken into two semesters even though it was just one class. Thus, I was counting the first assignment this semester as her third late in the course.

And strike three meant she needed to be disciplined.

Mira, and her success in my course, was as much my responsibility as it was hers. I cared. Most professors at my old job would hate the kind of responsibility Rawhide took with their students. Not that they wouldn’t like to take a paddle to some of them though. Just for all the wrong reasons.

Yes, the students here were into the lifestyle, and could get off on the punishments, but that wasn’t for me to speculate. I didn’t get off on it. That was what the Dungeon was for. Mira was a nice young woman, smart and capable. I liked her. And her engagement during my lectures and lessons was high. I was rooting for her to make Master Derek’s list of high-achieving students.

As I perused the first page of Mira’s assignment on my laptop, the shuffle of her Mary Janes pulled my attention.

“I’m sorry I was late, Professor Stahlbaum.”

“Late again, you mean?” My right brow arched, and Mira visibly straightened at the firm tone of my voice.

Mira’s essays were always well-written and thoughtful. She was someone I expected to succeed, but she wasn’t going to if she couldn’t learn proper time management.

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