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So I keep the mask on, usually along with a beanie that covers my earrings but is currently sitting in my dryer at home after I washed it, and long sleeves to cover my tattoos. Gloves disguise my hands from anyone who might identify them from being on their body—whether at my day job, where they work tirelessly to heal people, or from my occasional nighttime activities, where they either inflict requested pain or dole out immeasurable pleasure. Either way, it would be easy for someone with my own level of observation skills to distinguish who I am if we’ve had close contact before.
I’m not exactly the type of guy who blends in with the crowd.
Not unless I’m doing it on purpose, like here at my little part-time job.
“I like to be prepared for anything,” I tell her, pulling my glasses case out of my apron. I replace my penlight I had tucked between my ear and my cap with the black frames and shove the case back in my pocket, clicking on the little light that doesn’t leave my body unless I’m fully naked—which is only to shower or sleep. I don’t even fuck naked—an impossibility when I have to keep my true self hidden.
I clamp the penlight between my teeth and set to work using the tweezers from the kit to pluck the cactus needles out of her soft, warm flesh. They’re hard to spot, and not just because it’s after one in the morning in a mostly dark parking lot. No, it’s not an easy task, because the needle tips actually broke off in her skin, and I’m only able to tell I’ve found another, and then another, when I gently run my fingertip over her palm and digits and cause her to flinch and suck in a breath when it snags.
And my body’s response to those little winces and hisses is unlike anything I’ve felt before. I’m not an actual sadist—I don’t derive sexual pleasure from providing a submissive her desired pain—but I always find it, at the very least, entertaining. Mostly, I find it just a pleasant experience, since I’m giving the sub what she needs from me. And it makes me feel good that she’s getting it from me specifically, because I’m highly trained and experienced, and I know what the fuck I’m doing, as opposed to her seeking it out from a true sadist who doesn’t. I’ve seen too many girls—and guys—not only physically hurt but psychologically damaged by trusting someone who told them they’re an experienced Dominant, when that person doesn’t know the first thing about what that really means in the lifestyle.
I once had a little fuckstick in my ER who brought in the sub he met online. Not only had her limbs turned purple from the way he tied her up from neck to ankles, but she had lost consciousness, from not only the ropes but the gag and hood he wrapped around her head. It scared the shit out of him—enough that he rushed her to the hospital. He was at least willing to do that, so I had to give it to him. When she gained her composure hours later, the poser sticking around—showing another bit of humanity I had to give him credit for—instead of ghosting her, I asked him in front of her what the three fundamental principles of BDSM are.
His confused “Uhhh… whips, chains, and handcuffs?” made my fist clench so hard my knuckles popped, echoing around the silent exam room.
She had obviously done at least some research, because she let out a disappointed sigh, although the look on her face wasn’t one of surprise.
“No. The three principles, the three fundamental—meaning first and foremost, the most important—rules of the lifestyle you’re fucking around with—” I lowered my chin but stared deep into his eyes, unblinking, my voice staying eerily calm. “—are Safe, Sane, and Consensual.”
The asshole I had given the modicum of credit lost all my respect as he just shrugged. Although the gesture was likely out of intimidated nervousness, it didn’t negate the fact that he was trying to blow off what I was attempting to teach him.
“So therefore, you broke the very first rule of BDSM. Which was what again?” I prompted, leaning closer and getting in his face.
This time, he didn’t shrug. He sat up a little straighter, smartly paying attention this time. “Uh… sa-safe. Sir. You said safe as the first one.”
I lifted one corner of my mouth, but the half smile didn’t reach my eyes, as I continued to stare at him, knowing it made pricks like him sweat. “Good boy.”
The recovering sub in the hospital bed let out quick giggle before slapping a hand over her mouth, an apology in her eyes directed only at me even though both men in the room looked at her.
