Various Persuasions

by AE Lister

  Vincent moaned and pushed his ass against my hand. “Yes, Doctor.”

  “You may be wondering why I asked my assistant to truss you up in this manner. It’s de rigeur in my practice to have my patients silent and obedient during their examinations. My examinations get quite personal, and some patients have trouble staying still and being sensible.”

  As I said these words, I moved my finger back and forth over his hole—a light, tickling pressure that was already driving him crazy.

  “Now, Mr. Blake, please don’t hesitate to be vocal during the examination. I like to hear my patients have a healthy set of lungs and that they are responding properly to what I’m doing.”

  Vincent emitted a loud groan as I pushed my finger into him.

  “Mm-hmm, yes, I see,” I murmured, trying to sound cold and professional as I prodded Vincent’s ass. He swayed and moaned and whimpered. I placed a hand on his hip to steady him as I pushed my finger as deep as I could get it, twisting my hand and applying pressure at various angles. It was a very thorough exam.

  Vincent turned his head, even though he couldn’t see. He held his lip in his teeth and moaned.

  “I’m afraid I will need to use two fingers to check you properly, Mr. Blake.”

  “O-okay,” he stuttered. “I mean, yes, Doctor.”

  As I inserted two gloved fingers and palpated the walls of his rectum, brushing them over his prostate, my other hand went underneath to check his penis.

  Vincent made a soft “Ohh-h” sound.

  “Mr. Blake, I seem to have located the cause of your distress. You seem to have an amplified response to anal stimulation.”

  “I know. I do.” Vincent moaned.

  I rubbed his passage more virulently and stroked his dick. “Please refrain from ejaculating, Mr. Blake. I’m trying to conduct a professional medical exam.”

  “I’ll try…not to,” he said tremulously.

  I let go of his cock and pumped my fingers before relinquishing him and snapping off my gloves.

  “We’ll take a little break. I need a glass of water,” I said, patting him on the rump as he trembled with the effort of obeying my order not to climax. “Don’t go anywhere, Mr. Blake. My time is valuable and I’d like you to be ready for further examination when I return.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  With that, I left him to go into the kitchen. It was around the corner from where Vincent lay draped over his sofa in a state of desperation. It must have been quite something to be dominated like this in your own space. He seemed to like it.

  While I found my way around Vincent’s small but neatly decorated kitchen space, finding a glass and turning on the tap, my eyes caught on a black-and-white photo in a small frame on a corner unit with open shelves.

  Strangely, it wasn’t Vincent I recognized first.

  A strange out-of-body sensation passed through me, along with a sharp shock as I leaned closer to see the photo more clearly.

  As the recognition of Zane’s familiar, laughing profile solidified itself in my brain, I looked at the other two men in the photo. One of them was unknown to me, but the other was definitely Vincent, although his hair looked longer and he was sporting more stubble than I was used to.

  It was a good thing the glass I had hold of was plastic, because if it hadn’t been, I’d probably have shattered it with my grip.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out slowly while I tried to process my thoughts. I had so many questions.

  Why does Vincent have a photo with Zane in it?

  What is their relationship?

  Does Daphne know that Vincent knows Zane?

  Does Vincent know that Zane is my ex?

  What has Zane got to do with the fact that Daphne recommended Vincent to me?

  My brain spun around and around. I was in shock. I rested my elbows on the counter and closed my eyes, to force myself not to stand and stare at the photo. I had to go back to Vincent, and I couldn’t let him see how angry and upset I was.

  I had to put an immediate end to this scene, but I could not confront him at that moment. I needed to leave. I needed to leave now.

  I opened my eyes and stood up straight. Taking a couple of steadying breaths, I summoned my ‘in control Dom’ mode and strode back into the living room. I walked over and began to unbind Vincent’s wrists. As I removed the blindfold, I tried to smile.

  “We have to end this scene, Vincent. I’m really sorry but I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

  It was a terrible excuse, but I needed something realistic that would get me out of here before I caved and let him see my anger.

  He blinked at me but pushed up from the sofa and sat down, his dick still astonishingly hard. I mean, he had been ready to come a few minutes before.

  “Oh. Okay,” he said. “You can lie down in my room for a bit if you want? Do we really have to stop?”

  “Yeah, I’m so sorry. It’s just that I’m having stomach cramps and I feel like I might throw up.” This, at least, was the truth. “I’d rather be at home and I don’t want you to get sick.”

  He stared at me. I think he knew I was lying. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t challenge me.

  He searched my face for the truth. “Okay.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, gathering my stuff, throwing it into my satchel. “I’ll text you later to check on you.”

  “Okay.”

  I looked up, feeling terrible about the lie but not about leaving, because it was a necessity at this point. So, I said, “You can come if you want. I don’t care.”

  Which was, of course, the very worst thing to say. I realized it as I watched his face fall. He looked away. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

  He hadn’t done anything wrong except to not tell me he knew Zane. And I didn’t know if I could forgive that.

  I didn’t say anything else because it would just make the situation worse. I walked out of Vincent’s apartment, with his model sailboats and IKEA furniture, and got into my car.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I blinked back angry tears as I drove. I had to pull over to the side of the road because I couldn’t fucking see. I was so, so mad. I was fucking crying over this.

  Honestly, I felt so betrayed—like the literal rug had been pulled from under me and I was falling, falling to the dark ground. Soon I’d smash into it and nothing would be the same.

  I thought we had something, Vincent and I. Over four measly weeks he’d gotten under all my defenses, the ones I had put up so carefully after the whole Zane-thing had ended. I’d been ready, despite my better judgment, to try again.

  Now it turned out I should have kept those fucking walls up, should have built them even higher so maybe no-one could’ve gotten in, not even Daphne.

  I needed to call her but I didn’t even want to think about her. Had she known? Had she realized Vincent knew Zane when she’d offered him to me? I would fucking kill her if she had. Or just never talk to her again.

  I gripped the steering wheel in tight fists, my forehead pressed against it, while these thoughts raced through me. But I needed to pull myself together and get myself home.

  With much concentration and an iron will, I did.

  I stripped off all my clothes and stumbled into the shower, letting the hot water calm and soothe me. I tried not to think about anything but images of Vincent kept taunting me. I didn’t want to ever see him again but I knew I had to check on him later. It was my duty as a Dom.

  I shouldn’t have left him so abruptly in the middle of a scene but I couldn’t see any alternative. If I hadn’t left right away I might have, I don’t know, broken down in tears—the horror—or given in to the urge to punch him. I didn’t feel out of control like that very often and I hadn’t trusted myself in the room with him.

  But I already fucking missed him.

  After I got into a T-shirt and a comfortable pair of pj pants, I sat on the sofa staring at the wall for a very lo
ng time. Then I messaged Vincent, but not before changing his contact name to something more impersonal. VB for Vincent Blake, now that I knew his last name.

  Me: Hi. Sorry about rushing off.

  VB: Hi. Are you okay?

  Me: Still feeling off. How about you? You don’t have sub drop or anything?

  VB: I don’t know.

  ME: What do you mean?

  VB: I feel like you’re lying to me right now.

  ME: I’m sorry. I just need some time. I’ll text you tomorrow.

  VB: What’s wrong, Nic? Why did you leave? Did I do something?

  I ignored his last text and clicked out of my message app. I wasn’t getting into an argument. I couldn’t do this right now. Besides, I needed to call Daphne.

  But I was scared to call her, because I felt in my gut that she knew all about Zane being friends with Vincent—or related to him or something. It was just too big of a coincidence.

  I texted her instead.

  Hi. I need to talk to you. Are you available for a phone call right now?

  Instead of a text back, my ringtone for Daphne went off after a minute or two—The Rolling Stones’ Sympathy for the Devil had never seemed so accurate. Except I had no sympathy for her right now.

  I hit the Answer button.

  “Hi.” My tone was curt, cold.

  “Hey,” Daphne said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

  I didn’t beat about the bush. I wasn’t that kind of guy. “How do Zane and Vincent know each other?”

  She hesitated. And that was when I knew for sure that she was aware they did.

  “Daphne, what the fuck? Tell me how they know each other.”

  “They’re barely friends, Nic,” she said, her voice regretful.

  I put my hand to my closed eyes. “I just saw a photo of them together with another guy.”

  “Then Zane must have been friends with the other guy. Zane told me Vincent was an acquaintance.”

  “You…you sent me Vincent, knowing he had ties to Zane? What is wrong with you?”

  “Nic, calm down. Shit, I told Vincent not to mention Zane. I knew you’d be mad.” She sounded pissed off now.

  I tried to keep my breathing calm. “Mad, Daphne? Mad doesn’t even begin to touch what I’m feeling right now.”

  Vincent, always the good, polite, obedient sub, hadn’t mentioned Zane. But he must have forgotten about the photo in his kitchen.

  “Nic, look. Zane sent Vincent to me because he wasn’t responding to him the way they thought he should. He was into the dominance thing, but either not the Zane thing or not the cis-male-Dom thing. He likes women, but not stereotypical women. He likes women like you.”

  There was silence while I processed this and maybe Daphne realized her mistake. “Vincent’s been Dommed by Zane? Jeez, this just gets better and better.”

  “Briefly. It didn’t work for him. So, Zane brought him to me. And it didn’t really work with me either.”

  Then I asked the question that was picking at my brain. “Whose idea was it to send him to me? Yours? Or Zane’s?”

  She hesitated and I really, really wanted to scream.

  “Zane’s. He thought it might make up for the way things ended between you two. It was kind of an apology, Nic.”

  I was starting to get a headache from all this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you would never have agreed to even meet Vincent if I’d told you.”

  That was true. But it still didn’t excuse her—their—behavior. I was silent, because if I had opened my mouth, I would have cursed her forever.

  “Is it working between you and Vincent?” she asked carefully.

  I hit End Call and threw my phone across the room.

  * * * *

  Two hours later I picked it up off the floor and examined it for damage. There was none. However, there were multiple messages from Vincent and Daphne. I had blocked Zane’s number a long time ago or there would have been some from him, too, I was sure.

  Vincent was losing his shit. He’d tried to call me too, but I’d had my phone on silent mode for our scene and hadn’t changed it.

  Daphne must have spoken to him.

  Nine-o-five p.m.

  VB: Nic, I’m so sorry. Daphne told me not to mention Zane but I didn’t really know why. I wish I’d told you.

  Nine-ten p.m.

  VB: I don’t even know why I framed that photo. I hardly know Zane at all.

  VB: Please text me back. I’m so sorry. It doesn’t mean anything. But you mean everything.

  It means you lied to me.

  My heart felt like it had been flattened under someone’s foot—Zane’s foot actually. He was the one I was really mad at. The other two were just stupid, but I couldn’t deal with it.

  I left my phone on silent and didn’t listen to any of Vincent’s voicemails because I couldn’t handle it. After placing it face-down on the kitchen counter, I went to bed.

  I slept like shit, tossing and turning, dreaming of knives and brutal attacks. I wasn’t sure if they represented what I felt Vincent and Daphne had done to me or if that was what I wanted to do to them. But the nightmares left me with a bitter taste in my mouth when I woke.

  I wasn’t hungry and could barely eat. I got ready and went to work like an automaton, but my entire staff knew something was wrong. I fielded probing questions with vague answers and attempts to comfort me with a cold look. I just couldn’t deal with people right now.

  I missed Vincent so much but only because I’d gotten so used to him over the course of four weeks. These feelings would go away and we were better off apart. I didn’t think I could ever trust him again. I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone again.

  I’d had to use my phone for general things like banking and looking up the weather, but I wasn’t even opening my message app and I hadn’t listened to any of my voicemails.

  They could all just fuck right off.

  * * * *

  At nine o’clock on Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. I was sitting on the sofa in a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt that had seen better days, listening to the pounding of rain on my roof. I hadn’t showered for forty-six hours. I probably stank but I couldn’t care less.

  I knew it was him. It had to be him because this was when he usually came over on the weekend. It was pouring rain outside but I didn’t even get up.

  Five minutes passed and the doorbell rang again.

  Ten minutes later, I heard knocking and another ring.

  Then, nothing. He’d finally given up and left. I waited another ten minutes until curiosity got the better of me. When I peeked out of the front window, I was startled to see Vincent sitting on my doorstep in the rain, huddled against the bricks of my uncovered front porch, staring at his wet Chucks.

  Something in me started to break but I locked it down, turned away and went upstairs. He’d always been an idiot about the rain. It wasn’t my fault he hadn’t worn a proper jacket or brought an umbrella.

  Fuck him.

  I forced my thoughts away from the image of him, soaking wet and shivering, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment that wasn’t coming.

  I’m done.

  I got undressed and stepped into the shower, savoring the warmth of the water as a form of revenge on the man outside my door.

  See? I know how to take care of myself. You’re so pathetic that you can’t even function without someone telling you what to do.

  Then I started to cry—enormous, racking bursts that threatened to break me apart—as I recalled our time together.

  Our shopping trips. Vincent practicing his scales at the piano. Taking him apart on the spanking bench. His soft butterfly kisses on my feet.

  I fell to my knees and sobbed on the tiled floor of my shower, because I knew he’d gone. I was utterly convinced that the best thing in my life was over.

  When I couldn’t cry anymore, I climbed to my feet and perfunctorily cleaned myself up. I dried off and dressed in different clothes then w
ent downstairs. I paused on the last step, wondering if, by some miracle, Vincent was still on my doorstep.

  But there was no way. It had been over an hour since the last knock. I walked to the front door and peeked out.

  And my fucking lunatic of a submissive was still there, shivering wet, clothes absolutely soaked, water sliding down his face over his closed eyes and sweet lips and dripping from his chin.

  For fuck’s sake!

  Furious, relieved anger filled me like a sudden storm. I flung open the door and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “I fucking told you to dress for the weather, Vincent!”

  He snapped up his head as his eyes flew open. He scrambled to stand but he was shivering so hard and he’d probably been in his hunched position for too long.

  Part of me wanted to help him but I kept my hands to myself. He was lucky I was even talking to him right now.

  He shook the water off his head and he looked so fucking miserable. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

  “God, you can’t even take care of yourself, can you?” It was cruel and inaccurate but my anger needed someplace to go.

  He bobbed his head up and down as he whispered, looking contrite. “I know. I know. I just needed to see you.”

  “And you’re a fucking liar.” I was so, so angry. And he was the one brave enough to face it.

  He peered at the ground and muttered something.

  “Pardon?”

  “I never lied,” he said, slightly louder, raising those sad blue eyes to mine. “I never lied, Nic.”

  He was right, but I wasn’t ready to forgive him.

  “Get in here,” I said, shoving the door wide and stepping back. “Get your ass in here and close the door.”

  He stepped inside, his runners squelching on the mat, and gently closed the door behind him. While he toed them off and stood there in his sock feet, I ran my gaze over his familiar form and tried not to faint with relief. Instead, I backed away and stood by the entrance to the kitchen, still hugging my chest.