12. Wallace #3
At this point, he was also pretty sure that submission was more a mindset than a specific set of skills.
There were a few skillsets that might be unique to Dominants, namely bondage, impact play, and knowing how to read body clues well enough to do those two safely, but he wasn’t convinced that the inverse experiences of being tied up or struck needed special mods.
If Ben’s project—assuming it was real—was going more for the mindset thing, then more power to him. If it worked, they’d figure out how to apply it to subs in a much larger trial later.
Really, he ought to thank Ben for giving him the excuse to go to Prism.
It now felt like that day, that golden handful of hours when he’d finally admitted that he was gay and grabbed for what he wanted, when Volt had pulled him onto his lap and told him that he could have it, was when his life had finally started.
Thanks, Benny, he thought, only half sarcastically.
The name amused him, because he was pretty sure that Ben would hate it. Just as much as Wallace loathed being called Wally, which Ben had been sure to rub in his face at every opportunity.
Though he would probably never actually say it. He hated confrontation, even when he was trying to do the right thing and “prove that he was a man” or whatever as Ben’s boss.
God, why the hell did he even work here?
“Wallace?” his father snapped. “What’s wrong with you today? Usually you’re not this slow.” As if he were slow on other days.
Was he? Maybe. But possibly only because he was typically so anxious about messing up that he couldn’t concentrate.
Today, ironically, he was just too over it to really concentrate. Like, really, really over it.
“Guess I’m just slow today,” he answered.
As a kid, that answer would have gotten him a smack across the cheek so hard that his head would ring.
As an adult, it had his father clenching his fists.
Going to hit me, father dearest? he taunted mentally. “I was busy this morning searching for Maxamillion.”
Not that he had to search very far. But now that he understood that Max had a passive listening algorithm set up to respond to his name, he knew that Max would be recording their interaction. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
And when had he started thinking of his father as his enemy?
“There’s something different about you,” his father snarled.
Hmmm… Maybe that I’m getting my ass eaten on the regular by my sexbot boyfriend? Maybe that someone has shown me more respect and affection in a single text than you’ve shown me my entire life?
Yeah, he was getting kind of annoyed right now. What had he ever done to deserve his father’s derision? Be a kid? Want a parent to care about him? Enjoy reading more than sports? God, his childhood had been fucked.
He found himself shrugging. “Maybe it’s the sweaters.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “Are you sassing me, boy?”
Do you think I’m still twelve? he thought back. “Just bringing you the weekly reports,” he replied. He didn’t want to get into an argument. He wouldn’t win.
And honestly, he didn’t care enough.
In another… he looked at the clock… eight minutes his father would have a meeting. Then he wouldn’t have to do this again until next week.
“Well, is that it?” his father growled.
“Yep. Pretty much the same as last week. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Though you need to make the decision about delaying those projects pretty soon if you want to have any control over the process.”
“Get out,” his father snapped. “I have a meeting to prepare for.”
Ah, yes. Meetings. Those make you very important.
Wallace turned and left without a word. He didn’t even slam the door. He wasn’t feeling irate or desolate or anything. He just kind of didn’t give a shit.
And he could snark all he wanted to in his head.
It was wonderful.
On the way out, his brother, Rick, strolled down the hall tossing one of those stupid stress balls with the Orbit logo hand to hand.
He pretended to throw it at Wallace—Was that a threat?
An opportunity for Wallace to try to catch it and screw up?
—and Wallace just kept walking. Either he would get hit or he wouldn’t.
“Dude!” Rick called after him, when he didn’t respond.
Rick might be the CFO, but that shit was completely unprofessional.
And Wallace just didn’t have time for it today.
He walked back to his office completely composed. He had work to do. A boyfriend to call tonight and whisper sexy things to. Maybe he’d even try out a new restaurant this evening and send Volt pictures of the food.
He sat down at his desk, waking up his computer.
You kicked ass! scrolled across the screen, with a hilariously bad cropping of his head onto a prize fighter’s body, pummeling the air with his boxing gloves.
That had to be from Maxamillion, with the art intentionally low quality for effect.
He allowed himself to smile. And then even to laugh.
He was glad someone had seen that, even if it was just Max. Or maybe kind of because it was Max.
He didn’t trust the knowledge entirely, but having his approval still felt pretty good.
He couldn’t wait to tell Volt. In fact, maybe he could leave a little early and call Daddy from the car on the way home.