Page 2 of Trust in Me
I addedDaddy Domto the checked items, then scrolled down before I could change my mind.Submit.
My breath caught in my throat as I wondered if I’d have the guts to go through with it. The pager screeched again.
We need you at bed 23 please.
I sighed and tucked my phone in my pocket as I exited the call room to oversee whatever shitshow was going on in the unit.
Just for a while...I didn’t want the control to be all mine.
2
Brax
Anothercarspedpastme, clocking nearly sixty miles an hour.
Seriously? Why did people think that a backup on I-70 was a reason to speed down Colfax?
I flipped on the siren and pulled out after the speeder. My day was only half over and I’d already given out 6 speeding tickets. It seemed like some people thought that wherever they were going was more important than everyone else’s safety.
The blue sedan pulled over, and I parked the cruiser behind it, leaving the flashing lights on. I exited the vehicle, stretching. At 6‘4, I needed to get out and stretch my legs every so often, even though the police cruiser was comfortable. It helped that the Denver police department had upgraded from sedans to Ford Explorers, a change for which my hamstrings were eternally grateful. I pulled my Oakleys off as I walked to the driver’s side of the sedan.
The woman in the car had the classic Karen haircut. Overdone highlights, a sharp angle to her bob. I’d never understood why the hairstyle still seemed so popular, given the stereotypes.
The bottle-blonde fed me a sob story— she was late for work; the coffee shop was busy. First world problems, in my mind. She kept listing off the reasons the world owed her, oblivious to my growing annoyance.
It took nearly five minutes before she ran out of steam and I was able to get a word in. I held my hand out to her. “License and registration, please, ma’am.”
She scowled. I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d ignored her excuses or because I’d called her ma’am and made her feel older than whatever age she was trying to pass herself off as. Yeah, that was intentional, lady.
Documents in hand, I returned to the cruiser to run the license. As expected, it showed a brown-haired woman—not whatever shade that fake blonde was—whose date of birth put her well over 45.
I sat in the SUV while the computer ran the info. My uniform pocket vibrated, and I pulled out my phone. There was one new text message.
Drew:Hey, man. You coming to the singles night thing next Friday?
I considered for a minute. The computer was still running the license and plates. I tapped out a reply.
Brax:I’ll be there tonight. Not sure about the singles thing next week though.
Brax:Why?
Drew McCord was the lead trainer and de facto manager at Blackstone, the BDSM club that I’d joined upon moving to Denver a couple years ago. He only rarely played with subs at the club, spending more time organizing events like the singles mixers and training new subs. He didn’t usually ask for favors, though. If Drew was asking, he needed something.
Or, maybe more likely, he was attempting to play matchmaker again. I rolled my eyes. Drew had been trying to find me a permanent submissive ever since I’d joined the club. For a man who himself didn’t do relationships that lasted longer than one night, he was certainly persistent in trying to get his members matched up.
I was more than happy to play with a sub once or twice. Longer term relationships weren’t in the books for me. Not anymore.
Drew:Need a few more Doms. That’s all.
Brax:What about Logan? He’s always good for it, the subs like him.
Drew:He’s already in, need a few more. I’ll sign you up.
Persistent asshole.
The computer finished running the license and showed a clean record for Susan Waters. There wasn’t a law against being a general nuisance. If there was, I was sure her rap sheet would be a mile long. I tucked my phone back in my pocket without responding to Drew.
I steeled myself, then climbed out of the cruiser to return the license and registration to Ms. Waters. I added the bonus of a speeding ticket to the small pile. It earned me a withering stare.
