aregrettablehullabaloo replied to your post “This week’s episode of Prodigal Son was quite interesting, though I...”
Martin's contributions to a discussion about BDSM would have been EPIC! ANd sexy as hell
@aregrettablehullabaloo Oh, yes. Perhaps something like this...
Malcolm had come to Martin Whitly’s cell yet again, unanswered questions about the NYPD’s latest case nagging at the back of his mind.
Neither sex clubs nor BDSM were new concepts to Malcolm, yet he was, by his own admission and a smattering of personal experiences in said clubs, a submissive. As skilled a profiler as he was, Malcolm felt inadequate in his attempts to fully understand the perspective of a Dominant, and sought out the advice of the one person he knew who would.
“I really don’t want to hear about you and Mom--”
“You have no idea what your mother is capable of, my boy,” Martin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling disquietingly. “Ah, but this was before her.”
“What is a doctor, but someone in whose hands people place their lives?” Martin chuckled softly, glancing down at his own bound wrists and back to Malcolm, who clearly did not appreciate the irony.
“I saved so many of them as a doctor. Saved their bodies. As a practicing Dominant, I saved their minds.”
“And you expect me to believe these women--”
“A few men, too.” A surprised look came over Malcolm’s face, which Martin enjoyed. “I know, I know. Not my usual persuasion. But there were so many willing supplicants. How could I refuse?”
Malcolm flattened himself against the wall, grateful for the feel of the cool concrete against his back as he took mental notes.
“--Fine, women and men, willingly submitted to you?”
“Oh, my boy. Do you know what it’s like to surrender control of your body and mind to another person? To believe they, and they alone, are author of your happiness, your pleasure? I was that for them, and they gave themselves to me completely.”
Martin leaned back slightly in his desk chair, his gaze shifting to the right, as if plucking a specific memory from his mind’s card catalog.
“There was this one sub. She wanted me to--well, I assume you’re familiar with the concept of ‘edging’?”
He looked to Malcolm for confirmation, and the younger man nodded, ignoring the dangerous glint in Martin’s eye.
“It went on for hours, Malcolm. I brought her to the brink of orgasm again and again, and each time I would ask if she wanted to climax, she’d say, ‘Not yet, Doctor. I can wait a little longer.’ Being so good for me, aching in my arms as I teased and tasted and fingered her into one raw, alight nerve, until she could do nothing more than beg for me to give her release.”
Malcolm let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, hands at his sides clenching into fists, then slowly opening.
“I’m guessing you enjoyed that, and still do.”
He could see the physical effect the memory was having on Martin--dilated pupils, one finger sliding deliberately over the cuffs encircling his other hand. The bastard was getting aroused, Malcolm was disgusted to realize.
“She was only one of many. The music was different for each one, but the song stayed the same. That’s the key to being a good Dominant, you see. To be able to make someone submit without even needing to touch them. I’ve made people come just with the sound of my voice, and it had nothing to do with what I said to them. It was because I listened.”
That was enough, Malcolm decided, ignoring the humming of tangled nerves in his stomach as he turned toward the cell door.
“Thank you, Dr. Whitly. I think that will help with the case, and I’ll be going now.”
“Oh, so soon? I hoped you’d stay longer. You know I do enjoy these visits.”
Malcolm swallowed his anger, knuckles rapping on the window to alert the guard that he was ready to leave.
“We all want someone to listen, son. To know we’re being heard, and to feel our needs--sexual and otherwise--are being properly met. If your killer felt that slipping away, I can just imagine how he or she might react.”
Malcolm glanced back, insides twisting at the smile on Martin’s face. The door clicked then and Malcolm sighed, relieved, as it opened, rushing out into the cool mid-afternoon air.
Inside the cell, Martin palmed a hand over his crotch and the swelling bulge of his cock underneath, sliding back into the memory of that sub and countless others, remembering fondly the days when he had the world on its knees.
