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Summary
Jackson Morrow had thought his life would be over when he had gotten his first diagnosis.
He dreaded all the usual worsts. He already knew in his gut he was a sub--jerking off to audios of deep-voiced studs telling him how pathetic he was wasn’t the best indicator of Dom tendencies--and Jackson had made peace with that a long time ago.
The other, more involved diagnoses made his stomach twist into knots.
Any version of rubber or latex sub would be difficult, not to mention Jackson would sweat himself into a puddle with the hot California weather. He didn’t think he would qualify for any pet designation or animal screening--but the prospect of it still made him nervous.
The outcome of a formal evaluation could result in anything.
Being medically labeled as a brat was . . . not expected.
Series
- Part 2 of diagnosis universe