DASHIELL
"A... Alexander please… I'm tired," I sobbed, voice breaking as he pounded into me mercilessly.
My body shook uncontrollably. I had lost count of how many times I'd cum. My cock was soft and spent, twitching weakly against the sheets with every brutal thrust. The blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat. My wrists were bound tightly to the headboard, forcing me to stay on my hands and knees while Alexander fucked me from behind like a man possessed.
"I can't… I really can't anymore…" I cried, legs trembling violently beneath me. "It's too much… my brain… everything feels like it's breaking…"
Alexander let out a low, filthy groan and gripped my hips harder, nails digging into my skin as he drove even deeper.
"You can take it," he rasped, voice thick with lust. "You're still clenching around my cock so fucking perfectly. Look at you, blindfolded, tied up, dripping with my cum and still begging so sweetly."
He reached under me and wrapped his fingers around my oversensitive cock, stroking it slowly even though I was soft. I jerked forward with a sharp cry.
"No, no more, please… I'm empty…"
Alexander leaned over my back, chest pressing flush against me, lips brushing my ear as he continued fucking me with deep, punishing strokes.
"You don't need to cum anymore," he whispered darkly. "I just want to use this tight little hole until I'm satisfied. You're going to lie here and take every inch like the good boy you are."
I whimpered helplessly as another dry orgasm tore through me, my hole spasming wildly around his thick cock. The pleasure had crossed over into pain, every nerve screaming.
Alexander laughed softly against my ear, the sound low and cruel. He suddenly fisted my hair and yanked my head back, slamming into my prostate with savage force.
"Call me Daddy," he demanded.
I gasped, shocked. "No…"
He spanked my ass hard, the sharp smack echoing as he kept pounding into that devastating spot without mercy.
"I'm waiting, baby." His voice was cold, amused, and dripping with dominance. "Say it and I'll let you rest."
"N-Not fair!" I sobbed, tears streaming down my face. "You're not my… ahh!"
He drove into me harder, relentless.
"I own you. I fuck you. I take care of you. Say it."
The brutal rhythm finally broke me.
"D-Daddy…!" I cried out, voice shattered. "Daddy please, I can't, I'm coming…!"
My body convulsed violently as another painful dry orgasm ripped through me. Alexander snarled in satisfaction and buried himself deep, flooding me with another hot load.
"Good boy," he growled, grinding against me. "Such a good fucking boy for Daddy."
I collapsed onto the sheets, sobbing and trembling. Alexander finally untied my wrists and removed the blindfold, pulling me into his arms.
I buried my face in his chest, still shaking, fingers tapping weakly against his skin.
"You're… mean," I whispered hoarsely.
Alexander chuckled softly, stroking my back with possessive tenderness.
"You liked it," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "You called me Daddy so prettily."
I hid my burning face deeper into his neck, too exhausted to argue.
"…Just let me sleep now," I mumbled.
He held me tighter, one hand firmly on the back of my neck.
"Sleep, baby. You earned it."
*****
It was Wednesday.
Sophia's surgery day.
I stood outside the operating room doors, adjusting the strap of my tablet case until it sat perfectly level against my hip. My white coat felt too stiff today. The lights in the hallway were too bright, even though I had asked them to dim the ones near the OR entrance. My left foot rubbed against my right ankle in fast, repetitive circles, and my fingers tapped a rapid rhythm against the side of my tablet.
I couldn't stop thinking about Elias Grant.
Even though the official report said the lead failure was a mechanical issue, the guilt still sat heavy in my chest. What if I had missed something? What if I wasn't focused enough? What if the same thing happened today with Sophia?
My brain kept replaying the waveforms, the ten-second gap, the moment everything went wrong.
I was rocking slightly on the balls of my toes when I remembered Alexander's words from this morning.
We had been in bed, me curled against his chest, confessing my fears in a shaky whisper. He had tilted my chin up, looked me straight in the eyes with that cold, certain intensity only he had, and said:
"You are the most careful, methodical neurologist I have ever worked with. You do not make careless mistakes. If something goes wrong today, it will not be because of you. I trust you in the OR. Now breathe, and remember that you are mine. I will not let anything happen to you or to your patient."
I closed my eyes for a second, repeating his words in my head. A small, shaky smile touched my lips.
He believed in me.
I took a slow breath, adjusted my cap one last time, and stepped into the operating room.
The OR was already humming with activity. Dr. Patel, the lead neurosurgeon, stood at the head of the table, preparing for the craniotomy. Two assisting neurosurgeons were present, along with the anesthesiologist and a full nursing team. Alexander wasn't operating, but he had insisted on being in the room as observer, standing tall and imposing near the back wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on me the moment I entered.
I felt calmer just seeing him.
I moved to my station, the intraoperative neuromonitoring setup. My fingers quickly arranged the cables and screens exactly how I liked them, checking every connection twice. I reported my readiness clearly and professionally.
"Neuromonitoring ready. All baselines established."
Dr. Patel nodded.
"Let's begin."
The surgery started.
I stayed completely focused, eyes glued to the real-time brain wave monitors. I called out every change immediately, amplitude drops, any signs of seizure activity, warnings when the resection got close to eloquent areas. My voice was steady, my reports precise. My foot rubbed against my ankle under the gown in a hidden, soothing rhythm, but my mind was sharp.
"Left temporal lobe activity stable," I announced. "No epileptiform discharges. You're clear to proceed another two millimeters."
Dr. Patel worked carefully, removing the lesion piece by piece while I monitored. Alexander never moved from his spot, watching everything but mostly watching me.
Hours passed.
When Dr. Patel finally stepped back and announced the lesion was fully resected, I let out a slow breath. I had caught two minor amplitude drops early, allowing the team to adjust and protect critical areas.
The surgery was successful.
As they began closing, I felt a wave of relief mixed with exhaustion. My fingers were still tapping lightly against the equipment. My brain felt loud again, but in a different way, the good kind of loud after hyperfocus.
Alexander's eyes met mine across the room. He gave me the smallest nod, proud and reassuring.
I smiled behind my mask.
I hadn't failed today.