15 Dane #2
I hear the creak of her mattress as she shifts on her bed. “I know, I’m sorry. That was a bad attempt at me being playful.”
My chest aches for a new reason now, and my frown turns into a smirk. “I see. I’m sorry I took it the wrong way. In that case, you’re being smart with me.”
She laughs softly. “Maybe I am.”
I lick my lips. There’s so much I could say, but being playful back would lead down a rabbit hole that I don’t need to fall into. I also know when a submissive is attempting to cover an uncomfortable emotion. Lindsey is doing that now.
“There’s a time and place for cheek,” I say with a deeper, more commanding tone to my voice. “But may I be very honest with you?”
“Obviously. That’s why we’re here, right?” she says with a saucy lilt to her voice.
The sass again. “Lindsey,” I say in warning. “A time and place, remember?”
She exhales, and I visualize her sitting up straighter against her headboard. “Yes, Sir. You can be honest.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
“Yes, I’m telling the truth.”
“Good, I’m happy to hear it. It’s important to know that while I’ll always be honest, I’m going to continually ask for your consent. Not only for enforcing your routines but also during our conversations. It’s important to know that while I may push you, I do not cross your boundaries.”
“I understand, Sir. I appreciate that.”
“Being playful, teasing, sassing—it all has a time and a place. But you’re using it now to cover up what you’re feeling. Does that resonate with you?”
There’s a pause on the other end before she says, “It does.”
“Why is it hard for you to take time for yourself?”
“You cut right to the chase.” She chuckles.
“Lindsey,” I reprimand.
She sighs. “Sorry, Sir. I—” I hear her mattress creak again.
“It’s alright. Take your time.”
Her soft breathing comes through the phone for several seconds before she answers. “Things in my life these last few years have not been easy. I have someone who depends on me.”
“Besides your patients?” I ask curiously. Her questionnaire said she’s single, so if not a partner, then who?
“Yes.” She exhales. “Every time I do something for me, I feel like I’m taking away from them.”
“I see. And do they feel that way?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. But I work a lot, and when I’m not working, I’m catching up on things around the house. So I don’t see them as often as I’d like.”
I won’t deny an emotion that feels a lot like jealousy sparks.
I want to know who this person is, why they take so much of her time, and why she cares so much for them, even if it’s none of my business.
My submissives aren’t required to tell me about every little thing in their lives.
The more I know, the easier it is for me to help them, but with the kind of D/s relationship we form, it’s not required.
I run my tongue over my teeth and check myself. These aren’t things I should be feeling right now.
“Have they expressed anger at you for taking time for yourself?” I ask.
“Not directly, no.”
“Yet you assume they’d be mad if you took only an hour for yourself?”
“I guess it sounds silly when you say it like that.”
“It’s not silly if that’s how you feel. It is obviously something that bothers you, that is true for you.”
“It’s in my nature to care for others. It feels wrong when I do things for myself.”
My impulse to take care of her as her Dom wells in my chest. She’s not ready for a firmer hand, so I intentionally keep my tone soft and gentle.
“What if I told you that when you do something for yourself, you’re not taking away from others?
You’re making sure you have something to give in the first place. ”
She laughs softly, and the sound relaxes the muscles in my shoulders. “I would say that sounds logical.”
“If you give and you give and you give, eventually, you will have nothing left.”
“Do you take time for yourself, Sir?”
Her question stuns me for a second. I’ve gotten so used to my submissives never asking about me. Some tried when we first started working together, but I always reiterated I was there for them. They only knew what they needed to know to build a foundation for our relationship, and that was that.
“Are you asking to avoid what you’re feeling or because you want to know?” I ask.
Her soft laugh floats through the phone again, but this time, it sounds a little nervous. “Both, I think. You seem like a busy man. How do you take care of yourself when you’re caring for your submissives and”—I hear her lick her lips—“filming all your online content?”
I decide to answer her, justifying it by telling myself the information will help her see it’s okay to take care of herself. “I make myself a priority. I have a schedule, and I follow it.”
“But what do you do?” I clear my throat, and she corrects herself. “But what do you do, Sir?”
“Do I get a please with that?” I retort.
Her intake of breath tells me that playfulness was out of line. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she has thrown me off my game—a game I’ve become an expert at playing. Until now.
“Will you please tell me what you do to take care of yourself, Sir? I’d love to know.”
I shift in my chair, her obedience not helping to keep me on track. I pull myself together as much as I can and answer, “I give myself time to work out every day. It’s not always at the same time, but I run. I chop wood. Sometimes, I paint.”
“You paint, Sir?”
Fuck. Why did I tell her that? I’ve never told anyone that before, not even Fox and Morgan. I rub my hand over my jaw and know I need to get this conversation back on track.
“I do. I may be busy, Lindsey, and I may have people depending on me, but I’ll reiterate: When you do something for yourself, you’re not taking away from others.
You’re making sure you have something to give.
If giving is important to you, you must make time to give to yourself.
Taking a bit of time in the morning and evening is not something to feel guilty for. ”
“Easier said than done, Sir.”
“But you did it tonight, did you not? Even though it was hard?”
She exhales. “I did.”
“If you take away the guilt, how did it feel?”
“I suppose it felt good.”
“You suppose?”
“It felt good, Sir. Especially when you said it made you happy.”
“It did make me happy. You know what else would make me happy?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“If you learn to put yourself first.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible. It feels wrong to do that, at least in my life.”
“It doesn’t feel wrong because it is wrong. It feels wrong because you’ve been taught to put yourself last. But let me be clear: In this dynamic, I won’t allow that.”
“Sir—”
“I was not done speaking yet. May I finish?”
“I’m sorry. Please finish, Sir.”
I hum a warm sound and hear her smile over the phone. “When you’re with me, you put yourself first. Is that understood?”
“I can try, Sir.”
“No, Lindsey. You will.”
“And if I can’t?”
“You will because you want to. You will because I ask you to do it and you want to please not only yourself but also me, don’t you?”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and I have no doubt she’s crying. If she were here, I’d pull her into my lap and play with her hair until her tears dried, but that will never be possible.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice reaches my ears, thick with emotion.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t want to cry.”
“You can cry, Lindsey. Feeling your emotions is important. I don’t think you’ve let yourself feel them in a long time.”
“No, I haven’t,” she admits through a gasp.
“Cry, then. I’m here for you. Let me take care of you.”
I hear sniffles and what sounds like a muffled sob. “That’s it, such a good girl. Lean on me.”
Lindsey lets her emotions flow, and I visualize sitting on the bed next to her, wiping away her tears. I don’t know how long we sit on the phone, but by the time her sobs end, I know she’s exhausted herself to near sleep.
“You did good today. You took care of yourself, put yourself first. Now get some rest.”
“Is that an order, Sir?”
The huskiness of her voice makes my cheek twitch. “Rest,” I say in a harder tone. “That is an order.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“No, thank you for trusting me. I’ll be looking for your check-in tomorrow morning.”
“It will be there.”
“Good. Now rest.”
“You, too, Sir.”
She hangs up before I can say anything back, and I stare at my phone for a long while after the call ends. There’s something different about Lindsey, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to fuck things up between us.
She obviously needs me. But as of this moment, right now, I can’t find it in myself to question anything I’m feeling further. Helping her feels right, and my fingers itch to do something I haven’t done in a while.
I get up from my chair and head to where I keep my paint supplies, pulling out a blank canvas.