4. It’s Mr. King if you’re nasty

"Just give us the medication, man. If she doesn't get it, my girlfriend will die!" the whiny guy pleads. He's a short cry from getting on his hands and knees, but it's not enough.

"You heard my stipulation."

I'm not a good doctor. Fuck, I'm not even a good person.

I'm not one to grant a cure for people's problems out of the kindness of my heart. For example, I've just told this couple the woman is dying of uterine cancer. Now, they are pleading for my help, but I'm putting a price on it. This new opportunity to manipulate people creates a flame of satisfaction that licks at the interior walls of my ribcage.

"I can report you, you know?" The man's bravado turns hostile, but his eyes are desperate and helpless. They can't hide his urgent need to find the cure to save her.

Involuntarily, the corner of my lip quirks up. He's playing with fire, and he knows it. Regardless, no one else will help them. These people before me are poor, broke, and inferior.

Me, on the other hand? I'm a mother fucking doctor. I'm a respectable member of society and money talks. People like me can get away with doing whatever they want.

"And your so-called girlfriend will die. I don't give a fuck."

The man's brows knit together, and his jaw muscles flex as he grinds his teeth. He knows he has no other choice than to give in to what I want. No matter how much he argued with the insurance company, he couldn't get the cost of the needed chemo pills to an affordable amount. Time is precious, but it also kills.

My smile grows as the dignity in this man dies.

He turns to his beautiful girlfriend, who is small and petite but voluptuous in all the right places. His lips press to her ear as he whispers my offer, the price she will have to pay. Her big, beautiful eyes widen at the realization. Her innocence is like gasoline on my libido, fueling my deviance at the proposal. I can't contain my excitement as I take in her angelic face. She seems to do the same with me, assessing whether this is a joke or not. This is definitely not a laughing matter. Well, not for them, it's not. For me, though, this is a game of power, and I always come out the victor.

"Come on. My dick is throbbing in my pants, just waiting on your tight throat to wrap around it," I admit, leaning back in my office chair and pushing the tails of my white lab coat aside for dramatic effect.

I'm a King. If the elegant font scrolling across my breast pocket isn't a good enough indication of the name I bear, then my arrogance is sure to do the rest. I'm the one to decide your fate. Whether you give me all your money or your soul. Whether I want you to suck my dick or suffer a long, painful demise. My deals are sure to have you begging on your knees or whimpering at my feet.

She tentatively glances at her boyfriend again. He gives her a nod of encouragement as he resigns himself to the subservient man he is, conceding to the alpha in the room. She puffs out a breath, coerced into submitting to my demands.

That's it. Come to your devil.

She pushes her shoulders back before cautiously treading lightly to me.

"Your kind of innocence is quite tempting, my dear, but it will be even more tantalizing when I soil you and toss you away like a used tissue from my nightstand." I admire the way her eyes widen as she gasps, but she doesn't take a step back. However, her bottom lip trembles at the mere thought of having to get on her knees, adding more ammunition to my already loaded gun.

My chest swells with the unique high of having someone's fate in the palm of my hand. I get to my feet and look down at her.

"I can't wait to get you filthy," I growl, then point at the white tiled floor. "On your knees, little dove, and get to begging with your mouth on my dick."

As she eases to the ground, I unbutton my pants and pull out my cock, which is already thickening. I run my hand up and down my shaft, snickering when this puppet sees what's in store for her. My view is great from up here. The tops of her tits jiggle from her racing heart. It only makes me want to antagonize her more.

"I bet your boyfriend's cock isn't as big as mine." From the way her cheeks flush a deep red, I can tell I'm right. "Now, show your boyfriend how you handle a mouthful."

She swallows hard and whimpers.

"Hey, stop taunting her," her boyfriend grumbles, lifting from his seat ever so slightly, but it's enough to make me teach him a lesson.

With agility and swiftness, I bend, grab the hem of her shirt, and peel it up, forcing her arms over her head. The silky fabric is light and delicate in my hands. And like the monster I am, I crush it into a ball and throw it at his face. He's so shocked he doesn't even try to stop it from hitting him square on the nose.

"Make another peep, and I'll have her remove the bra," the woman moves her hands to cover up the black lace, cupping her nice rack. "Do it again after that, and I'll have your girl get on all fours with me jackhammering into her from behind. While using you as my drip pan. Then every time I plunge into her sweet pussy, you'll get my balls slapping your chin and her shit in your mouth."

That seems to put him in his place, which is under me. He immediately takes his seat. The pretty girl at my feet, whose name I haven't taken the time to remember, whimpers again.

"Now, open," I sneer.

She does as I ask, and I waste no time in taking my pleasure. I shove my cock in till the hilt. Her teeth scrape along my shaft, and on reflex, I fist her hair, pulling her head back.

"Less teeth or I'll shove this dick so far down your throat you won't be able to breathe." The threat seems to sink in, and she lets up on her jaw, relaxing in my hold. "Good girl," I praise. That's more for the benefit of her boyfriend than her. The look of violence on his face makes me even harder. He's on the edge of his seat, suppressing his emotions. Good, I hope he chokes on them just like his girl is choking on my cock. His reaction feeds the flames within me. His forfeiture of dominance is why I do this. The power. The rush of taking control in uncommon, unethical situations. Some people call it taking advantage, and I call those people pussies. There's a type of thrill in it I can't seem to deny myself. The rush of it is too tempting to quit. Almost as addictive as narcotics.

It's a behavior I learned from my father. He was a police officer, and the things I saw him do with his power created a monster. I'm not so delusional to think I am anything but this. From my penchant for abusing my position to an absolute lack of giving any fucks, I was born. The path I take is the one of least resistance yet yields the most bounty. The push he gave me and my brother to become doctors only aided in my endeavors. That absolute control our positions grant me is the intoxication I covet.

I pound into the petit woman's mouth, thrusting and hitting the back of her throat as it clenches around my cock. She gags. Her tears run in rivulets down her reddened cheeks, and I. Fucking. Love. It.

The pressure starts low in my spine and slowly grows to absolute perfection as drool and precum seep from the corners of her mouth. The sight is magnificent. What's even better is how her boyfriend's fists clench at his sides as if he's going to do something. Part of me wishes he would. It would be fun to teabag him. That thought alone has me grunting as I blow my load down her throat. She sputters slightly before taking massive gulps of my cum.

"Okay, that's enough," her boyfriend grits out as he stands.

Oh, now this is what I want. I lick my lips in contemplation. How can I push him even further? Then it hits me.

"I'm done when I say I'm done." I pull my still-hard, spit-covered cock from her mouth, then slap it across her face, wiping myself off on her. If this dude's face gets any redder, I think he'd have a stroke. "One last thing…" I look him in the eye. "Now kiss her."

His anger falls away to shock at my order, and time freezes. He's contemplative, measuring his pride against the life of his girlfriend. She's standing beside me with tears welling in her eyes because she's thinking she'll lose that battle. Is his vanity really worth more than her life? My chest fills like a hot air balloon, and I'm trying not to flat-out laugh at his internal struggle. Ok. Maybe try is a bit strong of a word. I can't contain it.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" the peon demands, fisting his hands.

"It's just a kiss. What's the matter?" I want him to admit it, to say it out loud. Confess to his potential future partner that this is the line he's not willing to cross for her.

My cum glistens on her bottom lip, gathering into a juicy drop that seems to cling on and won't let go. It's waiting for him.

"Nothing's the matter," he seethes, stomping toward his girlfriend like a petulant child. Then he grabs her by the nap of her neck, forcing her lips on his. It's painfully quick. He pulls away with semen, connecting them like a string of spit, like a perverted version of the noodle scene in Lady and the Tramp. When he notices the connection, he vigorously swipes at his mouth. She surprises me by running her tongue over her lips before pressing them together. I wonder if this situation will cause them to break up or forge a stronger bond.

My chest shakes at my quiet laughter. Forge a stronger bond? They'll have nothing as strong as my cum between them. I'm one hilarious son of a bitch.

I hastily jot down the prescription they need. I'm done playing with these two. The high from my cock's deep diving and the sixty mg of Adderall is fading, and I need another bump. I tear the prescription from the pad and hand it to the man. The piece of paper crumples in his fist. Now that he has what he needs, I can practically see the limping hamster barely making the wheel spin behind his eyes. He's going to try his little hand at a Jerry McQuire exit. Sweeping everything off my desk, he grins at me with glee. I shove my hands in my pockets and smirk. How this dumbass thinks he's getting the upper hand with my DNA still shining on his chin is quite amusing. Gotta love the theatrics of it all. It's evident when the rodent supplying him with all his brain power takes a massive shit on the spinning contraption and throws deuces on his way out. The man huffs upset he didn't get the reaction he wanted from me.

His girlfriend is at his back, whispering, "Come on, baby. Let's go. Please."

"You should listen to your girl," I say nonchalantly. The stank of mediocrity is strong in this pretentious office.

I'm not sure if his face can get any redder. He's embarrassed I challenged his masculinity and is masking it with anger. The vein in his forehead protrudes as he turns to leave with his girlfriend wrapped around his abdomen like a koala. When the door finally slams shut, I refocus on the discarded items on the floor.

"Weak, asshat," I murmur as I survey the wasteland of pens, papers, and knick-knacks on the floor. I'll get one of the useless office staff to pick this shit up. But when my eye catches on the frame containing a photo of my father and brother, I crouch. When I first took over this office, I faced it the other way. I didn't want to look at them, especially since I didn't know where or when they took it. A father/son trip sans a son. Now that the drugs are wearing off, the neurons in my brain fire on all cylinders.

"I betyou can't climb that tree," Sampson teases as Jeremy snickers beside him.

"You wanna bet?" I yell, marching to the base of the tree. "Watch me!"

I begin the arduous task, taking one limb at a time. My small arms don't even come close to wrapping around the trunk, but I'm determined and hot-headed. If my mom wasn't dead, I wouldn't have to try so hard to fit in. I need someone on my side. Dad is mean with his punishments, but at least the rats I tamed would keep me company in the dark. Mom used to fight for me even when he hit her. It was even scarier what I would hear through their bedroom door. After she would be sad, I would bring her the little yellow flowers I found in the yard. That would make her smile, and then she would hold me. I miss her, but right now, I need friends. Mom could never stop him, but at least she had been there and alive.

I'm thinking of her as I take on each limb that comes my way until I'm five feet off the ground. My head grows dizzy, and it's as if the ground is moving up and down.

"Hey, kids." My dad comes from the backyard. I didn't hear the lawnmower stop. Oh no. No. No. Dad whips his head around and puts his hands on his hips. "Where's Jax?"

I cling close to the tree in a silent prayer. ‘Please. Don't look up.'

"I think he went to the bathroom." Sampson saves the day. I breathe a sigh of relief. I knew I could Impress him. Sampson holds up his new Polaroid camera hanging around his neck. "Mr. King! Can I take your picture in front of the tree?"

"Ah, man. Your first camera." Dad sighs appreciatively. "Sure. What the hell."

He grabs Jeremy around the shoulder, standing just below where I'm hiding. There's a click from the camera and a whir right before a white and black square shoots out. He shakes it a few times before handing it over.

"Here, you keep it, bud," he states, ruffling Jeremy's hair.

"Thanks, Dad!" Jeremy holds the photo close to his chest. And somehow, I know he's smiling real big. Dad gives Jeremy anything he wants, but he's never given him a picture of just the two of them.

"Anything for the best kid ever. Keep up the good work, son," Dad compliments him before walking off. Always the best this, the best that. Ugh! He's so annoying.

Dad goes into the house, and I let out a large sigh of relief.

Sampson laughs, pointing at me. "He pissed himself."

My inner thighs are wet and warm. I was so scared I didn't even realize I did that. My brother joins in with Sampson, bending over and holding his stomach. My face feels hot because I peed myself in front of them. I need to get down from this tree and change. Maybe hide out in my room the rest of the day.

"Hey! Isn't that your mom's car?" Sampson stops pointing and shifts to directing my attention at the road behind me.

My mom's car? Why would my mom's car be on the road? Last I saw it, Dad had it on cement blocks in the garage and was using it for parts. I turn super fast so I can see what they're talking about, but it's too quick. The world tilts around me, rushing in a blur of colors. My hair gets in my eyes as the wind blows past. I'm flying, weightless, until a bolt of pain smacks me in the back, stealing my breath. I'm lying on the ground, looking up at the sky, when Sampson and Jeremy's faces come into view. They're standing over me, looking at me like they do to ants under their magnifying glass. They love to watch the little bugs burn.

"Shit!" Sampson coughs in his fit of laughter but doesn't stop to help me.

"Oh my god, he really believed you!" My brother howls between fits of laughter

This isn't funny to me. Tears burn in my eyes, but I'm not going to cry. The last time I cried, Dad caught me and made me pick a whip off the hanging tree in the back to use on me. The back of my head hurts pretty bad, and I'm sure I have another goose egg. That's when the front door opens, and the laughing stops.

"What"s going on here?" My dad screams.

"I told him not to. I told him! But… but… I didn't want him to get in trouble," Jeremy's talking fast and stupid Sampson just stands next to him, bobbing his head up and down, backing up Jeremy's story. They're both a bunch of liars. Dad marches to the tree, right at me. He's angry. He's squinting so much I can barely see his eyes. I don't know what to do. I'm so scared I can't move. Before I can think of anything to say back, he's got me. My arm stings like a dog bite when he grabs me and drags me into the house. I already know where I'm headed, and I can't stop crying. Everything hurts. Then he opens the door to my prison—the closet—and I'm thrown to the floor in a heap of clothes that have long since fallen. I've used them as blankets and pillows. Stuff like the rats to make me feel less like I'm trapped and alone.

"Crying is for the weak! One day, you'll learn to obey me!" That's the thing. I was never supposed to climb that tree. He'd told me multiple times, but I thought if I did, my brother and Sampson would be my friends. Then he slams the door, leaving me in the dark.

I gripthe frame tightly and slam it face down on the desk. There's a sharp crack, letting me know I've broken the glass. I don't fucking care. Pulling open the top drawer, I remove the small bagging filled with my drug of choice and pour a line on the desk. I'll refill my poison ring later. Right now, I need a large hit to drown out the memories.