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I turned my head back toward the young man, dialing back my harsh stare just a couple clicks so he’d be more likely to absorb the information I was about to give him.
“It was incredibly decent of you to bring her here as quickly as you did. A lot of boys in your position would’ve panicked and ran, leaving her alone wherever you two were,” I told him, feeding him a compliment to open him up to what I have to say. “And more so, you stayed with her here. Again, a lot of boys would’ve ditched her if they had the humanity to at least get her to the hospital.”
He nodded, even though he winced slightly each time I said the word boy, his face eventually relaxing. Now I knew he’d remember the next words out of my mouth.
“It’s called a lifestyle for a reason. If you want kinky sex, say that. But to convince a submissive that you are an experienced Dominant, when you are clearly so uneducated in the alternative lifestyle that you don’t even know the first rule? It’s as dangerous as someone posing as a cop… or a doctor.” His brow furrowed, confused once again, so I spelled it out for him.
“How would you have felt if you brought her here, putting both your lives in my hands—because if she had gotten brain damage or died, you would’ve landed in jail—since you’re supposed to be able to trust a doctor, right?” My brows lift to let him know the question isn’t rhetorical, and at his frantic nod, I continue, “But then I was like, oh, sorry. I don’t know how to help her. This is just a pair of scrubs I picked up next to the pajama section at Walmart and somehow got a job here.” I shrug like he had earlier to really drive it home, and his face goes pale. “She wouldn’t have gotten the immediate medical attention she needed, huh?”
He shakes his head. “N-No, sir.”
“Good boy,” I repeat, and his eyes look like they damn near tear up. “Seems to me you make a better submissive than Dominant, my guy. So if this lifestyle is something you’re truly interested in and not just your schtick for picking up women who are so desperate to give up control that they ignore all the red flags I’m sure are all over your profile, then I suggest putting a little bit more effort into researching what a Dom truly is.”
Now that I’d taken away his man card, I knew I should circle back to end the conversation on a brighter note so he wouldn’t go on the defense after he left here. “But you have potential, son. You’re a decent human being who cared enough about the girl to get her here, even when you knew you might get in deep shit. That’s not only what defines a man but also a Dominant. So you’ve got that in you, at least.” I glanced at the sub—who was staring at me like she’d drop to her knees and suck my cock right here in the exam room, forgetting all about her poser, if all I did was snap my fingers—before turning back to the guy for his answer.
He nods again, lowering his eyes to his clasped hands in his lap. “Thanks, sir.”
The sub’s look that night hadn’t even made my dick twitch, because I see it so often. After decades of it aimed at me—even before I realized who and what I was—the sultry invitation in the eyes of both women and men rarely has any effect on me anymore. And in addition to the looks and verbal solicitations, I’ve also become desensitized to noises of pain and complaint after gaining the ability to easily distinguish between groans and screams that mean “it hurts so good; keep going” and “Jesus Christ and all the saints, stop, or I’m going to pass out” when it comes to sex. Just like I can between hisses of discomfort and “I should probably take the time to numb this up with some lidocaine.”
No matter the case or situation, nor if I’m in or out of bed with the person making the noises, they don’t set off the feeling I have inside my chest in this moment, plucking cactus needles out of this tiny plant vigilante’s hand, who I literally pulled out of the dumpster. It actually pains me that I’m causing her even the slightest discomfort she didn’t whole-heartedly beg for.
I must be going soft in my old age.
To her credit, she doesn’t even try to pull away. She doesn’t try to stop me and say she’ll take care of it herself later. Like an obedient little thing, she attempts to relax into the pain, allowing me to help her as if I spoke the command aloud to a well-trained sub.
