When she reappeared, wearing baby-blue, faux-silk pajamas, she gave him no chance to initiate the conversation, breezing into the room with an air of nonchalance, avoiding direct eye contact. “So, what did ya think?”
“I loved the trapeze act with the monkey on his own rig imitating everything the artists did, but it was a little weird that they were all wearing monkey masks.” He kept his gaze riveted on her. Why the hell couldn’t she wear flannel again tonight?
Opening the cooler and sticking her head in, she said, “Every show has at least a bit of the three main themes of the cabaret: burlesque, musicale, and cirque. Tonight was mostly burlesque, so the cirque act fit into that. Would you like somethin' to drink?”
“No. What themes do you imagine for the cabaret on Beta Tau?”
She closed the cooler without removing anything and looked at him, eyebrows pinched in a pensive expression. “Somethin' similar, but quite a bit more risque. The CC is a time-travel experience. Customers are meant to immerse themselves in the 1920s and ’30s of old Earth.”
The Patsy Trey had met yesterday would have spilled her plans in his lap. She’d grown cautious, which was his fault. He hadn’t been circumspect about his doubts. The bins of stuff she couldn’t leave behind attested to her fear that she was always one step away from disaster stealing her security. His intention had been to help her, but it probably didn’t feel like that to her. What he had to say now would make things worse.
“Randolph will expect a lot more nudity, not just a striptease and sequined and feathered showgirls.”
Her voice hardened. “O' course. We’ve talked extensively. I know what he requires.”
“Do you?”
She squared her shoulders and glared at him. “I believe I do.”
“I disagree.”
“Can ya be more explicit?”
“Anyone with a ticket to a BDSM cabaret isn’t expecting trapeze artists and monkeys.”
She pinched her lips together, attempting to control her anger. “The actual acts would be refined. Rather than a scantily clad woman singin' bawdy songs, it would be a Dominatrix singin' about what she likes to do to her subs. She’d be dressed in black leather and carry a flogger that she slaps against her leg or uses interactively with audience members. Or a spankin' act could use a monkey to do the thwackin'.”
“That right there is an example of what you don’t get about BDSM. Monkeys spanking girls.”
Trey could almost see the steam rising when she fisted her hands and said, “Burlesque is a parody, an exaggeration of real life and sometimes grotesque. That’s its nature.”
Now he was getting ticked. “Nature! You have monkeys spanking girls, and you’ve just associated BDSM with bestiality. That’s a connotation Randolph wants to avoid. These are tourists you’re planning to entertain. Most know little about BDSM, and what they do believe is often wrong.”
“Aren’t ya the one who’s supposed to be teachin' me what BDSM means? So instruct me. Reveal these deep dark secrets that I’m unable to plumb without the assistance of a master practitioner.”
His lips twitched. She’d taunted him to do what he’d already planned. The tension in his body eased. “I can teach you many things, but I can’t make you submissive.”
Cheeks pink, she responded, “I don’t have to be a true submissive, just assume the role.”
“You think playacting will help you discern the truth about BDSM?”
A glint of fire snapped in her eyes. “It’s a start.”
Warmth spread through Trey’s body. He’d have less than three weeks to show her aspects of herself she’d never guess were hidden inside her. He was certain he could put her into a more submissive mind-set in the bedroom, but even with a limited amount of time he had to do this the right way. Tonight, he would hold off on sex. He wanted her mind clear to think about the lesson he intended to teach her. But tomorrow…who knew where he might take things.
“Patsy O’Shaughnessy, from this moment until we reach Beta Tau, you will be my submissive 24-7. You will do as I instruct. You will not speak unless I give you permission or ask you a question.”
She stiffened. Trey pursed his lips. That was too strict a rule for her to keep, but tonight he wanted her thinking, not talking.
“We’ll both be feeling each other out as we go along, so if you have a question, you will first say, ‘May I ask a question?’ If something is happening that puts you in distress, you may say the word ‘red,’ and I will stop and evaluate the situation. You may use the word ‘yellow’ if you wish me to slow down what I’m doing or need a break. I will determine if that is necessary, unlike with the safe word ‘red,’ for which I will immediately halt. Do you understand?”
Her eyes had widened, pupils dilated. She pinched the fabric of her pajama pants between her fingers. “Yes. What do ya intend to do to me? Why can’t I talk? You’re not going to hurt me, are ya?”
“I will do anything I deem necessary to help your understanding of BDSM grow. You chatter entirely too much, rattling off questions as they flit through your head.”
She fisted her hands again. “I do not chatter. Or rattle.”
Trey mentally sighed. “By remaining silent you will have the opportunity to discover the answers yourself. Don’t overuse the right to ask questions. I don’t promise to answer them, and I will take the privilege away if you abuse it.”
“Fine.”
“As to hurting you. It’s not my intention to cause you harm or pain of any kind, unless I’m forced to discipline you. Punishment can take many forms and does not have to be physical, but you won’t like it.”
The angry expression left her face. “Okay.”
Without taking his gaze off her, Trey settled onto the sofa. “Sit at my feet.”
“What?”
Trey raised an eyebrow at her. “Sit at my feet. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll be there for a while.”
Patsy moved toward him cautiously, settled on the floor, facing away from him, her shoulder near but not touching his thigh, and sat cross-legged, folding her arms over her chest.
“Hands in your lap.” He’d work on teaching her the proper way to kneel and present herself to him later.
He allowed five minutes to pass during which Patsy twisted and released the fabric of her pajama bottoms. She startled when he spoke. His voice sounded gruff even to his own ears. “When a Dom introduces a novice to the lifestyle, both he and his potential submissive spend a good amount of time discussing expectations and boundaries. I won’t be doing that with you, but I want you to grasp how important it is for BDSM partners to communicate before they play with one another. Ours will be a brief eighteen-day tutorial that will end once we arrive on Beta Tau.
“Whether you acquire anything useful from this attempt will be up to you. At the Opio Institute, where I worked, the men and women who trained in BDSM skills had already determined their preferences. They weren’t complete novices as you are. I realize you’ve done some reading on BDSM, but I’m going to start fresh, as though you know nothing.”
Patsy cocked her head to the side.
“It’s important that you have your facts straight. There’s a lot of variation in how people approach BDSM, but Randolph will expect you to maintain an atmosphere that is transparent about the risks involved and that kink, as with all types of sexuality, must be consensual.
“You’ll be dealing with audience members with varying levels of familiarity with BDSM. Those who are well versed in the lifestyle will call the cabaret out for anything that rings false. But most will be those who prefer vanilla sexual practices. They find sugar kink with its light bondage, spanking, and mild domination titillating. Beyond that the terms ‘abnormal’ and ‘depraved’ filter into mainstream descriptions of fetish and kink. My job is to give you the tools to reflect the truth of BDSM in the cabaret’s performances, but I honestly can't anticipate if the result will entertain the average sex tourist.”
It amazed Trey that Pats
y had remained, mostly, quiet and still throughout the longest stretch of words he’d spoken to her since they’d met. Even now, after reiterating his doubt, she’d squirmed and huffed out a breath but hadn’t requested permission to ask a question. “A leanbh, I will not let that deter me from doing everything possible to help you succeed.”
Her spine curved, and her shoulders slumped forward. Trey winced. With the barest of nods she acknowledged his promise. He bent toward her and rubbed her back. When she straightened, he stroked her head. Earlier she’d done something with hairpins that made her look exotic with the green tips sticking out in little tufts. When she’d changed, she’d taken it down. He preferred it this way, soft with nothing in it to interfere with touching it. In an instant he slid his hand up her nape, threaded his fingers through her hair, palmed her skull, and turned her so he could see her eyes.
The smoldering intensity that met his gaze came close to crushing his resolve to keep from turning things sexual. His impulse had been to pull her onto his lap. With the way his cock had just responded, he couldn’t do that. But gods, he wanted her there, wrapped in his arms where he could touch and taste. She smelled absolutely delicious and girlie. Rather than femme fatale musky spice, she was refreshing, delicate, floral purity. Not that she was innocent. No one running a burlesque show could claim to be an ingenue.
For now she’d have to remain on the floor. “Turn to face me.”
When she settled, he assumed the persona of an instructor, speaking in a didactic tone. “There are different types of submissives. Sexual submissives are probably what you and the public think of when they hear the term. Another type is the service submissive. Sex doesn’t have to be a part of that kind of D/s relationship and often isn’t.”
The heat had gone out of Patsy’s gaze. Good. He relaxed. “A service sub has a strong desire to care for her master. That can include cooking, cleaning, managing his finances…anything he asks her to do for him. She may be a powerful businesswoman, but when she is with him, she allows him to tell her what to do. Her satisfaction comes from his appreciation of all she does for him.
“There’s an important point here I don’t want you to miss. Those in the lifestyle talk about power exchange. And it is an exchange. It’s not one-sided, one person giving up his rights to another without getting something in return. Ceding power over your choices to another can always be withdrawn if the dominant doesn’t meet his end of the agreement. It’s not legally binding, but the contract between a Dom and sub spells out what each party initially wants from the other. As the relationship grows, that can change.
“I want to start by giving you a taste of how a Dom might treat a service submissive. Tonight there will be nothing physical between us except to encourage or discipline.”
Patsy’s face had scrunched in the adorable expression she made when confused. “May I ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“I thought BDSM was all about different kinds of kink. Aren’t ya goin' to show me what it feels like to be flogged or suspended in rope? How am I to know what is realistic if ya don’t?”
Trey grinned at her wickedly. “I’d enjoy tying you up and dangling you high enough that I could tickle your feet. But two-and-a-half weeks doesn’t allow time to demonstrate every fetish or kink to you. I’m sure there are some I’ve never heard of. Humans are an imaginative species. The private area of the Whip Hand offers a full menu of BDSM practices. You can continue your research there. My goal for the trip to Beta Tau is to provide you with an understanding of the dynamics.”
The thought of showing her all the Whip Hand offered and then demonstrating it made his groin ache. He glanced away before returning his gaze to her. “The truth is, I see nothing of the service submissive in you. Whether you are sexually submissive, I have yet to determine, but it’s not unusual for sexual submissives to be dominant outside the bedroom.”
“I’m deeply attracted to you. You’re very much my type, and I would enjoy making you my submissive, but it’s important that you understand that a D/s relationship, sexual or otherwise, can be very intense. Sex creates emotional bonds. Our responses to each other can muddy the waters, and might interfere with your grasp of what I’ll be teaching you about BDSM. This is something as your Dom, I will be evaluating. Safewords apply to more than just the physical acts we engage in. If you are emotionally or mentally distressed by our interactions, I expect you to use them. Understand?
Her expression was thoughtful. “Yes.”
“I meditate regularly. While I do, I want you to face the other way and thoroughly consider everything I’ve told you.”
She nodded.
“When I tell you to do something, your response is ‘yes, Sir.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Trey watched as Patsy returned to her original position. He placed his palms on his thighs, closed his eyes, and began the breathing routine he used to start meditation.
During the hour he spent internally focused, her head fell against his leg. She’d fallen asleep. He eased forward and lifted her in his arms. With a mutter she burrowed into his shoulder. Unable to resist, he nuzzled her hair. So damn sweet.
In the bedroom he gently placed her atop the covers. The urge to lie beside her and pull her against him, to experience her body pressed against the erection straining inside his slacks, was powerful. Too powerful. He wouldn’t stop with holding her. Once he was in that bed with her, she would be his. He’d tie her hands over her head with his belt and feast on every perky bit of her. That wasn’t fair to her. She needed to be awake and alert before they engaged in anything physical. He shook off the desire pulsing through him, taking hold of the comforter on the other side of the bed and dragging it over her.
Tonight he was back on the floor. He’d sleep in her room because he ought to keep track of her. That’s what he told himself, but it was a lie. He wanted to look at her as he fell asleep. The air was close and warm, so he stripped, pulled his pillow and blanket from the closet shelf, and settled himself on his side between the bed and the closet on the dense carpet. One more night on the unforgiving surface.
Patsy’s hand, no longer punctuating her speech, lay on the edge of the mattress, palm up, fingertips poised in the air as though she were reaching out to him. He supposed she was. She needed Master Trey to help her make a success of her new job. But the physical attraction that was simmering between them was something else. Patsy O’Shaughnessy was special. He’d only met one or two women that had attracted him the way she did.
Her personality offset his own stolid nature. He was turning stodgy. Randolph had told him to have fun on this trip. His two weeks aboard the space liner to get to LS Quantum had been pleasant, but he wouldn’t characterize them as fun. Not until her exuberant rush into the space station lounge had his trip sparked to life. Hell, he enjoyed Patsy even when they were arguing. Was he screwing up an opportunity for happiness if he limited their relationship to the time needed to travel to Beta Tau? Or by turning it into something longer, would he destroy his orderly, peaceful lifestyle? Maybe vacation’s the perfect time to try something new.
Her hand begged to be touched, clasped tightly while he fucked her hard and long. Gods. He swiped his palm down his face. What if she wasn’t sexually submissive? Vanilla sex hadn’t been a part of his life for years. If that’s what she liked, to be gently seduced and coddled in bed, he wasn’t the right man. Exceptional though she was, attempting to make her something she wasn’t would be a mistake. No other conclusion was possible.
The attempt to train her as a sexual submissive could be over by tomorrow. If she wasn’t submissive, training her as one was wrong. Dominants were always made to experience the submissive side of the equation, to give them hands-on knowledge of what it felt like to be tied, spanked, or flogged. But that’s all it was. They weren’t expected to get into the head space of a true submissive.
He shifted to his back. I’ll have to figure out another way to help her.
Six
Patsy woke feeling rested and stretched, arching her back and luxuriating in the sensual glide of her pajamas. It wasn’t until she rolled to her side that she remembered Trey and that she was supposed to be his service sub. He lay on the floor, one arm over his head. His blanket had been pushed low so that it angled across his hips. Every bit of his muscular chest and torso was on full display. The man exemplified the word built. If he had his way, she’d never get to explore the tantalizing buffet spread before her.
Such a pity. He said he was attracted to her but had the half-assed notion that becoming sexually involved would muddle her understanding of BDSM. Feckin’ man. If that were true, why was BDSM defined as kinky sex? He had some other reason for holding her at arm’s length. He’d said she was his type, which she took to mean he liked his women slender with small breasts. Or he was a legs man. She wore her skirts short for a reason—distraction from her lack of voluptuous curves. The erection she’d detected sliding down his body on the CC stage hadn’t been her imagination. He wanted her, but he was restraining himself.
She’d put real effort into considering what he’d told her about BDSM and service submissives last night, trying to internalize it. The facts were straightforward. Service subs liked to serve. Not hyperspace science. But it wasn’t her. Sure. She liked to help people, and certainly as stage manager at the CC she’d taken care of problems the players encountered. That wasn’t the same thing. It was her job. Outside the CC, she didn’t have a burning need to tend to anyone but herself.
The crucial question in her mind was, what next? Trey hadn’t given her any directions to follow this morning. She was probably supposed to be preparing his breakfast, readying to serve it to him on her knees with a look of meek contentment on her face. Like she would ever want to do that. Which was why he didn’t strip her naked and have his way with her. She really wasn’t his type. He was a Dom, a Master. The women he took to his bed would be completely submissive. Not a chance in hell she’d fit that description.
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