Page 27 of Black Light: Cured

your arms and legs.”

“And I don’t see what business it is of yours what I’m wearing as long as I get the job done. Now,

I’ll ask you again. Is there something in my performance that’s lacking? Do you require firmer

pressure? Less pressure? Something that doesn’t involve your snotty outlook on my appearance?”

He falls silent and looks me up and down once more, and I can’t help the feeling of inadequacy

that floods my system. Never has a man critiqued my clothes like that before. And never in my life has

someone ever suggested to wear something so scandelous. I mean, what does he expect? I’m still

going to keep my appearance professional even if I’m in Black Light.

“If you’re going to work my back, I suppose you could use more pressure.”

What is his problem?

Deep down, I wish I could just cut him off, excise him in a Hail Mary move to keep my sanity. But

I know it won’t work. Something in him calls to something in me. It’s that overbearing personality that

makes me want to bow down and ask what else I can do to make him happy. It’s not healthy. I know

it’s not.

There’s a fine line between arrogance and assholery, and he’s crossing that line with every word

that comes out of his mouth. For once, I need to stand up for myself, to tell him just how I feel. It takes

every ounce of willpower within me to do it, but I have no other choice.

“Look, if humiliation is your thing, then that’s fine. But what you’re not going to do is bring it here

into my space. I’m not your submissive that you can humiliate. Just tell me what you want me to do,

and I’ll do it. If not, I’ll kindly ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself and let me finish my job.”

Once more, he turns his head towards me and pins me with a curious stare. “Is this how a

‘ miracle worker’ talks to their clients?”

“Yes,” I seethe, staring him down. “When they act like pompous assholes, that’s exactly how I talk

to them. You’re not at my place of business. I don’t have to play nice while you’re on my table. So, if

you want me to give you the service you signed up for, then I’d suggest you shut your mouth.”

“That’s my problem with this entire situation. When exactly are you going to get to the service I

signed up for?”

I stare down at him, confusion swirling in my brain. I’ve been massaging him. Does he expect me

to use some of my tools? I don’t pull those out unless it’s a clinical massage, and he never once stated

anything was bothering him.