Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  Her face grew wary. “Okay. But I don’t promise anythin’.”

  “Why are your things so important to you? I mean, I understand mementos and keepsakes, but tools are tools.”

  Lips pressed together, Patsy didn’t respond immediately, then after a quick nod of her head, she said, “I didn’t leave Ireland because I wanted to. It was that or remain a stage gofer for two decades before I was gifted—and I do mean gifted—with a rise in position to assistant to the head gofer. Prop master was a lofty job beyond my pull. And I didn’t want to be prop master. I wanted to be, at minimum, a stage manager.”

  “Why couldn’t you become a stage manager?”

  After a long sigh she said, “Let me explain Earth to you. It’s not like any other planet in the universe. Everyone wants to visit their historic homeland. It’s become a giant tourist attraction. Everythin’ revolves around keepin’ guests happy and satisfyin’ their expectations of an authentic Earth experience. The guilds rigidly control who is allowed into the different professions. Even with an advanced degree in specialty entertainment, I was slotted into the prop position because I was reachin’ outside my family’s tradition. I was lucky to be able to switch guilds at all.”

  “So you applied for jobs off planet?”

  “I did, but no one cared about my education credentials. They wanted experience workin’ in a big show. Movin’ props around for a medieval reenactment dinner show in an old castle didn’t count for much. I hired on as housekeepin’ on a space liner. That’s where I met Harry the Magnificent. He was an entertainer on board. His helper left him for a wealthy billionaire. When we arrived in the Alpha Centauri system, he hired someone better suited, and I joined an Irish dance troupe.

  “It all worked out. But I’ve never had more than what I can take with me. And I’ve never known when a job will end and I’ll be scramblin’ to make ends meet again. So I keep my stuff. My reputation has been built on bein’ able to fix any problem that arises durin’ a show. Sets. Costumes. Props. I’ve even stepped in to perform a minor part for a clown troupe. I can do it all. But not without my bits and pieces.”

  “You became a stage manager, and now you’ll be creative director of Randolph’s cabaret. Looks like you’ve made it. Fulfilled your dreams. Maybe you can let go a little.”

  “I didn’t get this far by bein’ optimistic. Prepare for the worst is my motto.”

  “That’s a depressing way to live.”

  “No, it isn’t. I cover my ass, but I don’t worry. Livin’ foolish will result in a far more depressin’ mess.”

  “The show must go on.”

  “Yep.” She twirled her fork in the air. “I need to catch up on my eatin’. You’ve nearly finished your first helpin’. It’s your turn. How does someone become a professional Dom?”

  Trey grunted. “I stumbled into it really. Like you, there was nothing for me on my home planet. My parents were in service on Tallav to one of the first families. That didn’t appeal to me, so I saved and took transport to another planet in the sector. I was young, worked at manual labor, and partied on my off time. An acquaintance invited me to visit his club. Turned out to be a BDSM club. Things clicked. An older Dom mentored me. Eventually I made it to Beta Tau and the Opio Institute, where I trained professional dominants and submissives. Last year Randolph asked me to take over managing the private area of the Whip Hand.”

  “So you’re good at makin’ women do what you say.”

  “No.” He waved a finger in the air. “It’s not about one person bossing the other person around.”

  “No?”

  “No. It’s a dynamic between two people, one who is dominant and the other submissive.” There was no way he could explain this without demonstrating what he meant. BDSM was often subtle. The nuances could take a lifetime to learn. Yet he had to instill some kind of understanding in her before they arrived at Beta Tau.

  “It’s clear I have a lot to teach you, but right now I’m getting more breakfast.”

  Patsy bit her lip as she watched Trey walk away. The man was so damn sexy. He’d said teach, not train. But if training landed her in his bed, she could handle a little submission. He was built like a love machine, broad back sloping down to narrow hips and an ass that would fill a woman’s hands while he was thrusting inside her. If he demanded she fall to her knees and suck his cock, she’d hit the ground in an instant. If he made the first move, she was all in. But that didn’t mean she was submissive. Just hungry to indulge in playing the flute of a man who made women do triple takes. She enjoyed giving pleasure to a man, but she liked receiving it too, a give-and-take of equals.

  Sauntering back over, munching on a pastry, Trey was oblivious to the people scampering out of his way. It wasn’t so much that he was menacing but that he had a presence that others deferred to, like an ancient warrior king. He’d look damn fine in a loincloth with an enormous sword sheathed in a scabbard strapped to his back. A dagger at his hip and a blood ruby hanging from a wire pierced through his earlobe. Long shaggy hair…no, keep his head shaved as it was.

  “Did I spill something on myself?” Trey examined the front of his shirt before placing his plate on the table and thrusting the last bit of the pastry into his mouth.

  “Er. No. You’re fine.” Great. Now he’s goin’ to think I’m lustin’ after him again.

  “I wondered. You were staring at me.”

  “Was I? I didn’t realize. I was considerin’ my plans for today.”

  “Which are?”

  “First, we’re goin’ to visit the venue itself, go backstage, and maybe up on the catwalk. I thought it might be helpful to see how the magic”—she lifted her fingers and made air quotes—“happens.”

  Trey licked his lip to catch a drop of syrup. “Sure.”

  Patsy sat mesmerized for a moment.

  “Anything else?”

  “Huh? Er. Yeah. I want to introduce ya to the CC’s creative director. And I invited some of the cast to lunch with us. This afternoon the cratin’ company is comin’ to pack my things. Ya can explore Q while I deal with that.”

  “Sounds good.” He swabbed the syrup from his plate with his last bite of French toast. “I’m done.”

  They bussed their dishes, and Patsy led Trey out the door and toward a mini-tram station. “It’s faster to take the mini-tram on this level rather than the Cabaret’s. Helps avoid the tourists and long lines.”

  Once again Patsy found her legs trapped between Trey’s in the mini-tram. She’d looked forward to it. “Tell me about Beta Tau. What’s it like?”

  “Quite a bit like LS Quantum.”

  “But it’s a planet. That’s a big difference.”

  “Yeah. But it’s all under climate-controlled domes, and because it’s a pleasure planet, there are tourists everywhere.”

  “So are there water restrictions like on Q?”

  “No rationing. It is all desert, but they have water production facilities on planet. There’s plenty of room for the containment fields needed, plus the facilities are all well removed from populated areas.”

  “We’re here. The closest lift is to the right.”

  Patsy took his hand, tugging him. When he pulled away, she turned to look at him. He stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “I’m not a little boy that needs to hold your hand and be dragged along.”

  “Er. Sorry. I usually walk fast, and I didn’t want to leave ya behind.”

  “There’s another solution.”

  He watched her. When she didn’t respond, he frowned at her. “Slow down!”

  “Ya don’t have to growl at me. If ya can’t keep up to my pace, ya should have said so before. O’ course I’ll slow down.” Feckin’ bossy man!

  In the lift they stood side by side, both with their arms crossed over their chests. Trey stopped and looked around when they reached the Xventure Entertaiment deck where the cabaret was located. “Very nice.”

  Patsy bounced on her heels and smiled. “It is, isn’t
it? Q is a classy ship. None of that rococo frilliness, gold leaf, and giant plasti statues of ancient gods.”

  “Ah. The Vegas dome on Beta Tau. That’s the perfect description of it. I like this though. It’s almost like you’re outside taking a stroll through the theater district of a metropolitan city.”

  “But clean and without rain or snow,” she agreed. “Come on.” She reached for his hand but snapped it back before touching him. Instead she pointed. “This way.”

  Trey had no problem keeping pace with her. His strides were longer than hers. There really had been no need for her to haul him around like she had. “Ya were right. Ya have no trouble keepin’ up with me.”

  “Thank you.” He looked down at her, no smile, just the same intent expression that seemed to be his default.

  “Now if I take your hand”—she slipped her fingers against his palm—“it’ll be me bein’ friendly.”

  He tightened his grip and grinned. “I like that better.”

  For a moment Patsy became light-headed. When they reached the unobtrusive door that opened onto the corridor that led backstage, she used the action of keying in the pass code to refocus her mind. The hallway sloped to a junction of three doors. Patsy opened the one on the left.

  “This is the side entrance to the theater. There’s a matchin’ door on the other side that the food service uses.” She made a broad sweep with her hand. “The layout is typical. Let’s go up onstage; ya can see better from there.” Sets of three steps were spaced evenly around the circular stage. Patsy took the closest set. When they reached the middle, she flung her arms wide. “Here it is. The Cosmic Cabaret.”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s meant to mimic an old-Earth spiegeltent. They were wooden tents that could be moved from place to place. The CC is as authentic as possible. The wood is real mahogany. The beveled mirrors, leaded stained glass, and the velvet and brocade fabrics replicate the originals built in the early twentieth century on Earth.”

  She pointed to the ceiling, which was covered in a cluster of objects. “When the show’s live, a hologram of radiatin’ stripes made to look like the peak of a circus tent covers all that up. Real canvas would interfere with set changes.”

  Hands on her hips, she skimmed her gaze over the venue. “Do ya have any questions?”

  Trey pursed his lips, shook his head, and said, “No.”

  “Most of the apparatus the cirque uses is brought down from the ceilin’. Sound and lights are controlled from the booth at the back. The set master’s controls are up there, too. A good set master can change backdrops and major set pieces very quickly usin’ gravity fields. The small stuff is handled by stagehands. The stage itself is retractable, sinks into the floor and slides into its bay, and another stage moves out and up to take its place.” She turned and strode to the center and pointed to the set pieces dangling above. “All the big props are in the fly. There’s also a catwalk we use sometimes. Glamourine always opened her act by comin’ down reclinin’ on a chaise lounge. What do ya think?”

  “Nice.”

  Nice. Is that all he has to say? Patsy sighed. “Would ya like to see the shops or the dressin’ rooms?”

  “I expect they’re standard.”

  “They are.” She put her hands on her hips. “This didn’t take as much time as I expected. Are ya sure ya don’t have any questions?”

  “No. It’s pretty much what I imagined.”

  “Okay. Well, we might as well see if Jason is in his office.” She moved toward the center steps but halted, jumping and trying to snatch a dangling bright red streamer. “The cleanin’ crew missed this.” She jumped again, but the ribbon was well beyond her reach, caught on one foot of a hat rack used in the clown act.

  “Let me get it.” Even jumping, Trey couldn’t reach it.

  “I’ll boost you.”

  Before Patsy could agree, he’d wrapped his massive hands around her waist and lifted her high. Sweet Lord! The man’s face is in my crotch. Warmth flooded through her.

  “Can you catch hold of it?”

  “Er. I think so.” She stretched and yanked. The streamer fell to the ground. “Okay. I got it.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. Ya can put me down.”

  He let her slide gradually until they were face-to-face, her feet still off the floor, and her hands atop his shoulders. Her nipples peaked into hard buds, an ache building between her legs. She glanced from his eyes to his lips. Was he going to kiss her? Her heart thudded in her chest. He inched closer. She returned her gaze to his.

  “Thank you for the tour.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Then he let her slide until the soles of her shoes thumped against the floor, and he released her. When she wobbled, he steadied her, but he didn’t wrap his hands around her again, something her whole body screamed for him to do. She wanted to plaster herself to him and grind against the hard length she’d felt in his pants. Feckin’ man is too damn hot.

  “Er. Thanks.” She gestured to the streamer and stooped to pick it up. Did he groan? Wadding it, she plastered a smile on her face and in a purposefully bright voice said, “Let’s go find Jason. He said he wanted to meet you.”

  Trey cleared his throat. “He’s the cabaret’s creative director?”

  “Yes. Follow me.”

  Trey took another swallow of the frothy fruit shake he’d chosen at one of the snack shops that could be found around every corner of Quantum. He was relaxing on a bench in a quiet oasis of a shopping area where he could watch passersby. An elderly gentleman was napping, chin to chest, on another. Behind some large potted plants a middle-aged couple were doing what he was, resting from an hour or more of walking. They’d spent theirs shopping, as the bags clustered at their feet attested to. He’d used LS Quantum’s guide, accessible via his EBC—he wasn’t a dinosaur, after all—to check out several of the ship’s amenities.

  The crating company was scheduled this afternoon to pack Patsy’s things, so he’d left her to oversee them and set out to explore and think. Lunch earlier had turned out to be a good-bye celebration for Patsy. She’d planned on eating with a few friends, but the staff and performers of the Cosmic Cabaret surprised her with a huge going-away. From the number of people that offered Patsy gratitude for specific moments when she had done them a kindness, it was obvious these people regarded her highly. She’d covered for them, stitched a split seam, found a missing prop…made them look good. Randolph was lucky to get her.

  The behind-the-scenes tour hadn’t changed his opinion of a BDSM cabaret. He should wait until after this evening’s dinner show, but what he’d gleaned from Quantum’s guide lined up with what he’d expected. Patsy could recreate the CC on Beta Tau, but slanting it to reflect everything that BDSM encompassed? It didn’t seem possible. Bondage, discipline, dominance, submission, sadism, and masochism were the major elements. He hadn’t a clue how Patsy might maintain a modicum of the truth of what was often a ritualized, rule-laden lifestyle. That there were rules baffled a subsection of the tourists that visited the Whip Hand to view what to them amounted to an exotic animal show. Randolph recognized the problem with perpetuating misunderstandings about BDSM. But a BDSM cabaret wasn't the ideal place to promulgate facts. Even though Patsy filled her head with details, they wouldn’t help her determine with a gut sense of rightness when an idea or act was a corruption of the lifestyle.

  His comm vibrated in his pocket. The screen showed a message from Randolph.

  Trey, I trust your judgment. I believed introducing Ms. O’Shaughnessy to a D/s relationship would be useful, but I couldn’t determine if it was feasible or whether Ms. O’Shaughnessy would be open to the possibility. That’s why I sent you. I didn’t give you a heads-up, because I wanted you to come to your own conclusions. Your work at the Opio is ample proof you can work with all types of people, and that you’ll use proper precautions. Be careful. I don’t want to lose her.

  With a scowl Trey pocketed the comm. That settl
ed that. He would initiate Patsy O’Shaughnessy into a D/s relationship. Ideas about where to start filled his mind. Patsy wasn’t his personal sub. The situation resembled the mentor/student bond he’d employed at the Opio with one difference: he’d never been as attracted to one of his students as he was to Patsy.

  It was baffling. He liked women who were small and firm, physically pert. That was Patsy. Pert bottom. Pert breasts. But he’d always avoided talkative, sassy women, which was the other definition of pert. She was lively, full of energy instead of the quiet, self-effacing submissives he’d typically claimed as his own. Not that he’d had many. His work kept him too busy to take care of a sub properly.

  Patsy was a short-term project. He had the next four days on Quantum and the two weeks of the trip back to Beta Tau to instill in her a solid foundation in true BDSM. To do so would require a unique approach. One that would help him control his desire to strap her to a bed and leisurely plunder every inch of her body while helping her distinguish the lines of power running between a Dom and sub.

  He rose to his feet and stretched. Time to head back and dress for the Cosmic Cabaret dinner show. After letting himself inside, he scanned the cabin. Without Patsy’s bins and piles it seemed spacious, which would make the plan unfolding in his mind easier to implement.

  “You’re back.” Patsy’s voice sounded from the bedroom. When she stepped through the door, Trey froze in place. She was stunning, dressed in a dark blue frothy gown that made her breasts appear ready to burst free. A long slit revealed close to the full length of one shapely leg. His fingers itched to slide up her thigh and discover what lay hidden beneath. He scowled. There was no relief in sight for the chub he was sporting.

  Patsy widened her stance and placed her hands on her waist, elbows extended. “Ya need to get dressed. I don’t want to miss even a second of tonight.”

  Pretending to tip his hat to her, Trey said, “Yes, ma’am. At your service.” It would be fun to teach this woman to guard her tongue. He strode to the bedroom, pulled out the dinner suit he’d brought with him, washed, and changed.