Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  That was true. But how much could Cut say without giving too much away?

  “Let’s say, academically, that I was more interested in the dominant and submissive part, and I wanted more information?”

  Mikaela’s eyes lit from under their shaggy ashen bangs. “You could come to the club again.”

  “Pass.” That was too much, especially when he was just starting out. Cut had gotten inside the door before he’d done an about face and went right back out.

  Mikaela huffed. “Well, then, how about this: which do you see yourself leaning more towards? The ‘D’ or the ‘s?’”

  “Definitely the ‘D.’”

  Cut had never seen himself as submissive in any sense. He’d lived a life out of his control for far too long to find pleasure in suddenly relinquishing that hard won freedom to someone else. He didn’t understand wanting that, but that seemed where Samson’s mindset might be. He wanted to be armed to deal with that, if nothing else.

  “Huh…”

  “What?” Cut raised a brow.

  “Nothing. I never saw it that way myself.” Mikaela hopped off the stool and went straight for the closest bookshelf hidden in a nest of leaves. They ran their finger along the spines of paper books and limited data files alike. They stopped at several titles, pulling the selections in both mediums and laying them on the counter.

  “These are a good place to start. I suggest you read all of them, especially this one before you do anything adventurous.” They tapped the red cover of a book titled The Inner Submissive. “A lot of folks find clarity on what role better suits them by trying both. But if you’re set on being a dominant…” Cut rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to repeat himself. “Then this will help you better understand what subspace is like and what people get out of it. It’ll help you figure out how to give a potential submissive what they need. But you need to talk with them about all this, too. See what they really want to get out of this. This book has the experiences of a handful of people. There’s plenty of overlap, but everyone’s experiences and needs are different.

  “Don’t mistake cruelty or violence for dominance. I can’t stress that enough. Physical punishments are a big part of the experience for some people, but that isn’t true of everyone. If your sub doesn’t want it, you don’t do it.”

  Cut already knew that much, but he thanked Mikaela anyway. Mikaela had more opinions on the subject, and Cut started to take notes on his pod. He’d get through as many of the books as his schedule allowed, but it would be good to keep the basics—if they could be called that—in mind.

  Be empathetic.

  Be open minded.

  Communicate.

  Be honest

  Pay attention to your partner.

  Be patient.

  All of that seemed like common sense. Cut wasn’t sure why it needed outlining, but he took notes anyway.

  He started on The Inner Submissive as soon as he got home, so committed to doing the best job he could. It was an enlightening experience to say the least.

  Chapter 5

  O

  ne of the lessons Cut picked up from The Inner Submissive was that though many people treated the roles of submission and dominance as kink, for a fair number of people, this was a lifestyle choice and the act of submission extended outside of the bedroom. They enjoyed performing acts of service, and following a set of rules that were nonsexual as well as sexual in nature. Though they’d only interacted for a little while, it seemed like Samson fell into the latter category.

  At lunch the other day, he’d been so attentive and helpful, almost to the point of being servile. He kept looking to Cut for cues, as well as his approval and glowing when he received it. It sounded the same as what Cut had read, but he would ask to be sure. A few days later, after one of his shifts, Cut reached out to investigate. Better to apologize for overstepping than to miss the chance to do this right.

  Hey

  Cut’s pod was quite for a handful of minutes before Samson sent something back.

  Good evening.

  This was more awkward than he’d anticipated. They were barely acquaintances. They were a patron who was way too trusting and in need and a bartender who might be making a huge mistake.

  How are you tonight? Samson sent. It’s been a few days.

  It has. I thought I’d check in and make sure you’re behaving yourself.

  When no response came, Cut feared that in searching for the line, he might have leapt over it.

  In the middle of typing an apology, a response came through.

  I’m not sure what you mean...

  The difference between honest confusion and coyness was three little dots.

  They’d had one brief exchange before this. After they parted on the day they’d signed the NDA, Cut requested that Samson get himself tested. He’d been screened after his last tryst five months ago and his own status was readily available for Samson’s perusal. He’d undergone his last screening after his last tryst which had been nearly two months ago. But he was willing to get tested again if it gave Samson peace of mind.

  In addition to that, he laid out one non-negotiable rule: They had to be exclusive.

  While they felt their way through this, they would see each other exclusively. If Samson found someone else he wanted to explore with, he was free to do so, as long as their partnership came to an end. This whole situation was tricky. Cut thought it best to keep things as clear as possible between them.

  Of course you do. No lurking in alleys hunting for dick? That was a part of our arrangement, if you remember.

  Another pause.

  No… I haven’t gone to any alleys.

  What about bathrooms? Sex shops? Finding a loophole in their agreement would be easy, if Samson was so inclined.

  No. You said it wasn’t allowed, so I won’t. I’m being good.

  Cut stared at the line, repeated it over in his head. He wasn’t sure what the proper reply was to that or how he was supposed to feel upon reading it. His body was more honest. Low in his belly, he felt warm, his cock starting to stir, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  Good.

  Can I see you?

  It was almost 0230. Cut was surprised Samson was awake, to be honest.

  Kind of late to be taking a ride anywhere, isn’t it?

  Not in person. We have another week until we meet. Samson seemed devoted to sticking to these rules.

  I meant a pic, if it’s not too inconvenient?

  Well, since he asked so nicely…

  Cut held his pod aloft. A quick flash and he sent off whatever was taken. He’d showered, and laid down for the night, so it was too late to make himself daytime presentable. The dark circles under his eyes looked back at him in the view finder, glaring without concealer to mask them. His hair was a mess and he needed to commit to shaving his jaw clean or growing out his scruff. Samson was getting what he asked for.

  The message was read quickly and the reply was just as fast.

  Can you send another one? A lower one?

  Cut smirked. Now you’re asking a lot. What do I get?

  Anything. Just ask.

  Remember you said that.

  Cut raised his pod again and panned down, getting everything from his lower lip to right below his navel. He knew there were places that lacked in muscle, but he wasn’t too bad. He was always wiry, and adding muscle had been difficult until his stint on the ice haulers years ago. He’d packed some muscle on then, but he hadn’t kept it up. He was acutely aware of how round his belly had gotten, how pronounced his collarbones were, but if Samson wanted to see all this, Cut would let him.

  One more?

  Who was supposed to be in charge here? Granted, Samson was asking him the right way, but Cut was the one following orders.

  Send me a couple first.

  Two beeps, and in came two images of Samson mirroring the poses Cut had sent over, except ten times better.
In the first, his hair was a soft black cloud around his head. The way those gray eyes looked at the camera, like they longed to dart away, made Cut’s heart skip a beat.

  The second had his pearl pajama top open and splayed at his sides. Samson’s body was Cut’s favorite type. There was muscle, defining and creating strong lines, but it was covered in a comfortable layer of chub. He’d been so distracted by their meeting in the alley, he hadn’t taken it all in. Now, all he could think of was how badly he wanted those nipples in his mouth.

  There was likely one more thing Samson wanted to see. Cut tried to make it good.

  He gripped his cock through his sleep shorts. He was rock hard and it showed without too much effort. Had to leave him wanting more, right? He sent it off.

  Another beep.

  Samson wasn’t going for subtle.

  His cock, slick, thick, and dark took up the screen. Cut could feel the heat of it, could feel it throb from here. Had he been jerking off all this time?

  Cut was second guessing that whole waiting a week thing, but only because he was suddenly desperate. If he didn’t stop this now, he’d be sending Samson his address and talking him into coming over.

  Take care of that and then go to sleep.

  There was no reply, not that Cut would have seen it, too busy getting himself off.

  Chapter 6

  C

  ut devoted every spare moment to the study of the dynamics of power play relationships. If he wasn’t moving, he was reading, soaking up as much information as he could handle. His brain was so packed that information started to leak out. He found himself mumbling rules and definitions to himself without realizing.

  One night while he was on shift, Jade held a receipt in front of him, and it took him several seconds to focus on what she was showing him.

  “What the fuck’s a strawberry chastity? I don’t know how to charge for that.”

  He meant to scribble down daiquiri but his mind had been elsewhere. A big group had ordered several and tried to get freebies out of him. He was going to add every single one to their check plus a small haggling fine. “They’re 15 ICD a piece.”

  “But what is it?”

  He was too invested to admit his mistake now. “One of my signature drinks. Can’t go giving away my secrets.”

  She huffed and returned to cashing them out. He’d be sure to give her a cut of the tip for not asking too many questions.

  Cut turned back to his portion of the bar in time to see someone’s nimble hand reach over and grab his latest read from behind it. Cut seized the thief by the wrist before it returned to the correct side of the bar. The hand dropped the book unceremoniously on the counter, teetering precariously on the edge. He’d know the hairy mitt anywhere.

  “Stay on your side of the wood, Herschel.”

  The man pulled out of his grasp, rubbing his wrist. Cut hadn’t used much force. The man wasn’t hurt, but cut was certain Priya would take his side in any dispute. “I just wanted to see what you’ve got back there. You’ve been looking at it all night.”

  Herschel was a regular who dropped in a few times a month. Stooped, small, with greasy hair, he would have been totally ignorable, if not for the conflicts he caused nearly every time he visited. Things going missing, someone’s ass getting grabbed without permission. But it was always someone else’s fault. He’d been allowed to keep coming back at Priya’s mercy, but, for the life of him, Cut couldn’t figure out why. Unless he had some serious leverage on her, he should have been banned ages ago.

  “Then you ask. You know, make conversation? You don’t reach over.” Cut dimmed the data pad.

  “Fine. I’ll remember. But if you don’t mind my asking, what’s Nyotaimori?”

  Cut hadn’t gotten far enough to know the answer to that himself, not that he would have told Herschel if he knew. “What do I look like? A search engine? Look it up yourself. Away from here.” Whether that was to one of the small tables or out of the establishment all together was up to him.

  Herschel got the message, but that didn’t stop him from leering for the rest of the evening. Or the next one, or the one after that. If he’d actually researched that word, then he was associating all sorts of intense things with Cut. As long as he kept them to himself, he was free to do what he wanted.

  On the day that Cut was to meet Samson in person again, he called out of work so he’d have the whole day free. He showered and groomed and dressed in his most comfortable, yet still presentable clothes, but it did little to stop the butterflies in his stomach. This should have been the least amount of stress he had in meeting up with someone. He already knew that he was wanted, and that was half the battle. But he was so afraid of screwing this up. He’d take things slow, over each step with Samson as they went along, and hope for the best.

  The meeting place was the neutral ground of a midrange hotel in the Ether District, not too far from Hole, on Samson’s tab, of course. If they decided not to continue, not knowing each other’s home info was good for both of them. The McCoy was an older hotel, one of the first set up when the colony opened to visitors years ago. It was fading, in need of new paint, new carpets, but it was clean, and free of the musty smell some places had. It would do for their purposes.

  He went to the front desk, and the concierge there turned to face him. She stared into space, her expression blank until he waved a hand in front of her. She inclined her head towards him now, a manic smile plastered to her mouth.

  He hated droids. Especially older ones who‘d never had good cognitive functions to begin with. This one looked as old as the hotel, and they’d only gotten creepier with age. “How may I help you?” Its voice hissed and cracked like a deprecated record.

  “There should be a card for Jovan.” His middle name. Something easy to remember, but less associated with him than Cut or his legal first name, Kotaro.

  The droid typed away at the keyboard in front of it, more for Cut’s benefit than its own. “I see the reservation right here. Let’s get that card set up for you.” The droid wheeled around, chair and all. It likely didn’t have a lower half, but when it could be grafted right onto the chair, why bother making one? The visual made Cut hold back a shiver.

  It was that very creep factor that kept droids from taking his job. Newer droids mimicked human speech and behavior well, but they often fell flat. You were never completely fooled into thinking you were talking to a real human being. You pretended to and ignored the odd staring and the feeling you were talking to yourself the same way you did when you complained aloud about how your toaster kept burning the bread in the morning.

  He didn’t fault the owners for trying to cut back on their overhead. But there were some tasks you shouldn’t delegate to your toaster. Public facing jobs were one of them. It might have gotten by when there weren’t many human hands to spare in the colony, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

  The droid came back over and laid a small key fob in front of Cut. “The other member of your party has already checked into room 413. I hope you enjoy your stay. Use the comm in the room to call the front desk if you need anything, and we’ll do our best to accommodate you.” It gave one more pasted on smile before it wheeled itself back to its starting position.

  Cut passed through the hallway behind the front desk and boarded the elevator. The hotel was nicely furnished, though far from the ritzy places found higher in the blocks. He’d never been inside one of those fancy hotels, teasing passersby with a clear view of what they’d never be able to afford. This place wasn’t anywhere close to that, but it was more than Cut would have ever spent on his own. And it was likely far less than the type of comfort Samson could buy. No one would think to look for either of them here.

  Cut let himself into room 413. It was as well-appointed and illuminated as the rest of the place. Nothing too seedy for his charge. Samson sat on the edge of the bed, his leg jumping with nervousness. He sprang up as Cut entered. Faint circles ringed hi
s eyes.

  Samson looked like he’d come directly from work. He was stunning, as always, in a navy blazer and a simple button down underneath.

  “Am I late?” They’d said 1230. Cut hadn’t paid much attention since he left the house.

  “I was early,” Samson said. “I’ve been here about an hour. Thinking.”

  “Good things?” Was he backing out? Cut would honor that if he chose to stop before they started, but he would be a little disappointed after all the time he’d spent psyching himself up.

  “Mostly about what I’d do if you didn’t show up. But you’re here.” He fidgeted with his buttons on his shirt cuffs. His eyes brighter now, he turned to Cut. They had a few more things to discuss before they did anything more, but Samson seemed eager for some sort of action.

  Cut licked his lips. “How long do you have?”

  “All day. I’ve cleared my schedule.”

  “Then take off your jacket. Stay awhile.”

  Samson looked down at his jacket as if he’d forgotten he was wearing it. He eased it off his shoulders, and then stood there. Waiting.

  “Hang it up.” Cut passed him to sit in the plush armchair. He took off his own jacket and tossed it on the desk. Samson moved to do what he was told. His steps were purposeful, but his hands trembled as he pulled out a hanger. When he was done, he came to stand in front of Cut without being given another order.

  “Have you done anything like this before?

  Samson wrung his hands. “Not in person. It’s complicated.”

  “We need to lay down a couple of ground rules. You OK with that?” Samson nodded. Cut had been working this out in his head for days what he wanted to say next. “First, if I do anything that feels like I’ve overstepped, you tell me. No suffering through it. If something is too painful or feels wrong, you tell me. If, in the middle of a scene, you want to stop, you let me know. We’ll pick a safe word for that purpose.”

  All of this came to the front of Cut’s thoughts as if he were back in school, reciting facts for an oral report, except there was much more riding on this than a grade.