Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  “Got fizz up your nose, did ya? Ya should drink more slowly if ya can’t handle the sparkly. I never have a problem. My whole system’s plumbed with synthsteel.”

  Was this slip of a girl offering him advice as though he were some— “My delicate feckin’ nose thanks ya for the interest in its well-bein’.”

  With blue eyes aglow, she leaned toward him. “Think nothin’ of it. An féidir leat labhairt le haon Gealic chun dul leis sin blas na hÉireann?”

  Sarcasm was lost on Patsy O’Shaughnessy. “It’s not an Irish accent. I’m from Tallav, which was infected with a fanatic love of all things from the Emerald Isle when the planet was founded. I never had the time to learn Gaelic, but many Tallavans do.”

  “Standard it is then. We have somethin’ in common. I’m proper Irish. Erin go Bragh. ‘Tis a pity ya don’t speak Gaelic. I don't get to speak it this far from home. Oh, goodness. We need to head over to the gate. Our shuttle will be boardin’ soon.”

  On the way out of the lounge, Trey dumped his fizzie in the trash receptacle. Patsy was ahead of him by a couple of strides, so he had a full view of the subtle twitch her ass made while she walked. Nice. From her employment records he had gleaned that she was thirty years old, although she looked younger. That fell within his range, five years either side of his own age, for women he would date. But Patsy O’Shaughnessy was off-limits despite her engaging effervescence. This was a business relationship. For the next two-and-a-half weeks, they’d be working together. Besides, whether she’d kissed the Blarney Stone or not, the woman could talk. By the end of a day spent with her, he’d need to escape to his own room. Plus he didn’t do vanilla. Patsy wasn’t bland, but neither did she scream kinky despite her association with Cosmic Cabaret and now Randolph and the Whip Hand.

  Still, he could look. He’d never been drawn to big-busted women, but a tight bottom was a delight to behold. And touch. Squeeze. Slap. He heaved a sigh. Too bad. He’d already plastered a don’t-touch sign across her miniskirted bum.

  Trey Johansson was every bit as good-looking and well-built as Patsy expected. But she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer size of the man. He towered over her. And muscles! Her fingers wouldn’t reach around his biceps.

  She’d researched Randolph Meryon’s home planet, Tallav, to prepare for her job interview. It was a surprise to learn that Trey, or Master Trey as he was called at the Whip Hand, was also from Tallav. He was a BDSM master. A tingle flittered the length of her spine. He’d been sent to gain firsthand knowledge of the Cosmic Cabaret to help her with reinterpreting it for a BDSM venue.

  The name hadn’t been chosen yet. Her preference was to include cabaret. Beyond that she hadn't come up with anything catchy if Rand asked for her advice. Trey’s other task ought to assist with that. He was to teach her about BDSM. How he would approach that was the big question. Would he want to initiate her into the BDSM lifestyle or only explain the different aspects of kink and fetish? How far should she let him go if he wanted to make his lessons more real?

  A quick glance over her shoulder assured her every inch of the giant with piercing deep brown eyes was following her to the shuttle gate. Oh my gosh, he’s checking out my ass. Her cheeks heated. Why oh why did she have to have pale skin that showed even the slightest blush? Why couldn’t she have been born with dark amber skin like the delectable man behind her? Pull it together, girl. It’s a guy thing. Their eyes are naturally drawn to tits and ass.

  An announcement stated boarding for their shuttle flight would commence in five minutes. Inside the gate seating area, Patsy turned to face Trey. “We have a few more minutes. Shall we sit, and ya can double-check that your bags have been loaded.”

  Trey pulled a hand-comm from his pants pocket, held it to his ear, and made the call to the automated baggage handling system. After assuring the comm was off, he put it away.

  “Ya use a hand-comm? Ya don’t see many people that do. I’d probably lose one, so my internal comm is a true blessin’. I don’t know how people lived in the past without an EBC. All my data is there at the tip of my thoughts. I was told everyone received nanite injections to build their internal server when they were infants.”

  “I’m not a fan of tech. I like to keep things simple.”

  Trey Johansson was even more intriguing than she’d imagined. “So, ya don’t have an EBC. Where do ya store information? How do ya know when someone is tryin’ to contact ya? Goodness. How do ya exist without bein’ able to connect with governmental systems? Bankin’ systems? Will there be a problem boardin’?” Why hadn’t he or Mr. Meryon told her this?

  “Stop.” Trey narrowed his eyes and raised his hand. “Stop. Let me answer one question at a time.” In the pause that followed, Trey raised an eyebrow.

  Oh, he wants me to acknowledge him. “Yes. Understood.”

  A flush of pleasure went through her when he smiled. “Good girl. I have an EBC. Every child on Tallav receives one. I use it when necessary. My work-related data is kept on servers like most of yours is. You access it through your EBC. I use a vidscreen.” He patted his pocket. “My hand-comm signals me when I have a message. It tracks callers, just like your internal comm. I don’t like cluttering my mind. It destroys inner peace.”

  He dropped his chin and looked at her as though he were expecting her to say something. But for a change she kept quiet. Her thoughts were bustling with everything she had learned about this man. That good girl was patronizing but so very BDSM master–like, especially coming from a hunk of handsome with a voice like smooth dark chocolate. She’d liked it. File that away for future reference on female reactions to Doms.

  Into the lapse in conversation Trey said, “My luggage is loaded.”

  “Oh, good. We’re all set then.”

  Silence dropped between them again. Patsy was relieved when the gate announcer gave them the go-ahead to board. Behind her, Trey placed his palm on her lower back, guiding her through the other passengers who were standing and collecting their carry-on bags. The instant his hand spanned her back, its warmth and size made the hairs on her arms rise. Please let the feckin’ man offer me hands-on BDSM lessons. She’d kill to see him naked, but it had to be his idea, his suggestion. This job was the break she’d been waiting on, and she wouldn’t botch it by coming on to a fellow employee.

  On board, they found their seats and were settling in when a group of ladies, one with neon-pink hair, passed them. Each one stared at Trey and then Patsy as they hugged the far side of the aisle as closely as possible and scooted by. The woman in back nudged her companion to hurry when Patsy smiled at them.

  Trey grunted. Patsy turned to look at him. He had a smirk on his face.

  “Do ya know them? They looked like they’d seen a ghost and were runnin’ for water.”

  “No.”

  He continued to grin, but Patsy didn't see what was funny. His next statement didn't clear things up.

  “They must not favor green.”

  “Afraid of green. That’s not after bein’ a real phobia.”

  “It is. Prasinophobia. Fear of the color green.”

  “That’s a funny thing to know. You’re not afraid of green, are ya?”

  “Would I be sitting here if I were?” He pointedly trailed his gaze over her. “One of the classes at the Opio Institute where I worked covered the use of fear by sadists. You can make someone fear any color if you condition them to it.”

  The Opio Institute. That was the sex school where he’d trained dominants and submissives. “Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

  Trey chuckled. “I didn’t figure you for a sadist.”

  “Er.” The man had a way of throwing her off stride.

  “It wouldn’t be fun for me either. But fear of color can be used by a sexual sadist to get a satisfying response from his play partner.”

  “Remind me to stay away from sexual sadists.”

  Another chuckle. “It’s going to be difficult avoiding your new boss.”

  Patsy blushed and
furrowed her brow. “I forgot he’s one of those.”

  Trey’s expression became enigmatic. “Don’t worry. You’d have to play with him to experience that side of his personality.”

  Sweet mother Mary. I’ll not head that direction. “I’ll be dead and my ashes scattered before that happens.”

  Heated intensity bloomed in Trey’s gaze. “Good.”

  Oh Lord, I’m in for it now.

  Two

  The first impression Trey received when peering at LS Quantum from the shuttle’s window was its massive size. No wonder it didn’t dock at space stations. What station would want that behemoth blocking half of its slips?

  Once their shuttle docked at the Blue Star Line terminal, Trey stood in the queue with Patsy waiting to present their idents. Vidscreens hung overhead, advertising Quantum’s top attractions. A bright swirl of fire introduced the Cosmic Cabaret to newly arrived visitors. Poi dancers. The vid flowed from one act to another, touting trapeze artists, slapstick comedy, juggling waiters, a scantily clad female singer, and musicians on stilts.

  Why did Rand send me here? Some cracked notion that I’m the perfect candidate to explain BDSM to Ms. O’Shaughnessy and work with her on the trip back. This is Sylvia’s specialty, not mine. Accuracy in the BDSM presented at the new cabaret? How the hell do you make burlesque accurate?

  His own venue, the Whip Hand’s private club, was the only space Rand owned where true BDSM was practiced. The public club, that Sylvia ran, had started as a place to learn about and watch experienced tops and bottoms play. With the latest renovation, it had been transformed into a theater. Tickets were required for all performances.

  A BDSM cabaret fell into the show category. In the private club no one was paid to appear. Rand had given Trey encouragement to make the play space as authentic as possible. Not an easy task considering the constant turnover in participants. The first thing Trey had done was tighten security. Real play meant real risk. He’d also expanded the training required before someone was accepted into membership in the club. Dilettantes could damage the atmosphere of a play space. That should be his focus. Not this new cabaret.

  “Don’t say you’re already tired. Or is the waitin’ in line puttin’ that surly look on your face?”

  Trey shifted his attention to Patsy, who was using her hands to add flourishes to her words.

  “I’ve a full day planned tomorrow. Are ya hungry? If ya are, we can stop and get a bite before headin’ to my room. But we don’t have to. I can order delivery. Pizza. Noodle bowls. Sushi. Whatever ya like. Or ya can go straight to bed.”

  “You’re up.” With a gesture Trey motioned for her to turn and face the security person scanning visitor’s idents. When Patsy was passed through, Trey stooped and placed his face into the scanner and his finger on the ident pad. A beep signaled the equipment had completed its task. Trey straightened.

  “Trey Johansson. Resident of Beta Tau. How long will you be staying?”

  “Five nights.”

  “Thank you. Please hold out your hand.” When Trey did, the man secured an ident bracelet to his wrist. “This is your pass for entry into all complimentary and purchased events and meals. Do not remove it until after you leave LS Quantum. You may proceed.”

  Patsy waited a few steps ahead. Before she could recount his options, he held up a hand. “I’ll grab a bite in my room. Pizza is fine. Mr. Meryon booked a suite for me on the Nebula deck, 43131.”

  “Er.” Patsy bit the nail on her little finger. “About that.”

  Trey didn’t need his years of training submissives to apprehend that the king-size bed in suite 43131 no longer awaited him. Patsy O’Shaughnessy’s face was as easy to read as a five-year-old’s.

  “Where am I sleeping?”

  “I figured to save Mr. Meryon money by havin’ ya sleep at my place. The office in my staff quarters had a pull-down bed, so ya see, it was perfect. And workin’ together would be easier. So I canceled the suite. Your spaceflight had already left Beta Tau, so I had no way of lettin’ ya know—”

  “Where am I sleeping?”

  “I thought they’d allow me to stay in my quarters. Callendra said it wouldn’t be a problem. But they booted me and turned my cabin over to the new CC stage manager. She booked me into a tiny cabin, which was a blessin’. It’s impossible to get a room on short notice. But I’d already cancelled your suite. And last minute all that was available were single and double sleep tubes with shared lounges.”

  “We’re sharing a cabin?”

  Patsy averted her gaze. “Yes.”

  “Look at me.”

  When she did, her eyebrows were gathered in a pained expression, her arms dangling limply at her sides.

  As he would with a contrite novice submissive, Trey gentled his voice. “A leanbh, tell me your plans. I’m sure you’ve found a solution to the problem.”

  She lifted her hands so they could rejoin the conversation. “I have. The cabin I was given has enough room for both of us. Bedroom. Bathroom. And a lounge with a kitchenette and table for eatin’ and workin’. The sofa is plenty big enough for me to sleep on, so ya can take the bed. Queen-size, not king, so it’s goin’ to be a bit small”—she looked him over and grinned—“but I expect findin’ things to fit ya is a challenge.”

  “It is.”

  Patsy tugged his hand. “Let’s go. I’ll order the pizza while we’re walkin’. Plain cheese okay?”

  “Sure.” With a sigh Trey followed her, listening to the lovely burr of her voice as she answered the auto-comm’s questions concerning size, toppings, and delivery location. Despite what she’d said, he’d be sleeping on the sofa. More likely the floor. Early training on Tallav to put women first remained an ingrained habit. That meant she’d be in the bed. It probably wouldn’t hurt him to be reminded what it felt like to bed down on the floor, since it was a punishment he often meted out when necessary to club submissives.

  Her comm completed, Patsy slowed and looked over her shoulder. “My cabin’s on the far side of Q, seven decks higher. I’ll take ya up the central lifts. A mini-tram entrance is just over there.” She took his hand and pulled him in the direction she pointed.

  They waited in a short queue, climbing into a car after it stopped before them.

  “Welcome aboard. What exciting LS Quantum location do you wish to visit?”

  Patsy responded to the car’s interface with clear enunciation. “Central lifts. This deck.”

  “Central lifts. Shuttle deck. Enjoy the trip.”

  Trey chuckled. Beta Tau’s tram system didn’t allow for individualized destinations. And no pleasant voice offered polite greetings.

  The tram had four seats, but no matter which spot Trey occupied, his size meant he’d be touching Patsy. If she sat across from him, their knees would touch, or beside him, their shoulders would brush. When she took the seat opposite his, it was worse than he’d expected. He’d have to spread his legs. Between his knees, Patsy tried to cross her legs, causing her already short skirt to inch higher and show more of her thighs. She settled for scooting as far back in the seat as possible and pressing her knees tightly together. When she noticed her skirt had ridden up, she tugged the hem down, her face blooming with color.

  That was the second blush he’d caught gracing her cheeks. He pretended not to notice to give her time to recover. “Besides the Cosmic Cabaret, what’s special on Quantum?”

  A sparkle appeared in her eyes, and she leaned forward. “You’re goin’ to love the central lifts. Completely transparent.” Her voice went dreamy. “It’s like floatin’ on a current of air. Risin’ up like a golden eagle.”

  “Is that right?”

  Brought back to the tram and Trey, she grinned and tapped his shoulder. “No teasin’. You’ll see.”

  On exiting, Trey looked toward the lifts and drew in a sharp breath. People were floating unsupported by anything he could see.

  Patsy giggled. “I told ya. Come on.” She pulled him to the line at the standard-lo
oking lift doors. While they waited for their turn to enter, Trey watched as the people who had gone into the lift became visible, floating up the shaft. Finally the doors opened for them. They walked the solid, brick-red path into what seemed like an ordinary lift. A family of four joined them.

  “Please take hold now. Once the lift is in operation, handholds will not be visible. What deck?”

  “Asteroid, please,” Patsy said.

  “Corona,” said the adult male of the other group. The boys were brothers, made apparent by their looks. The younger one clapped his hands rapidly. “Hold on, boys.”

  “This is marv, Dad,” the older one said. Both complied, grabbing on to the railing that circled the lift.

  “Sorry. They’re excited.”

  “Of course they are. I’m excited, and I’ve been up the lifts before. Goin’ down takes a stout heart though.” Patsy winked at the boys.

  “We are lifting.”

  Around them the walls, floor, everything faded to nothing, and they rose. Trey’s instant reaction was to brace himself and to put an arm around Patsy’s waist. But the floor was as solid as it had been before it disappeared, and the railing was sturdy under his hand.

  Patsy tipped her head back to look at him. “Takes gettin’ used to.”

  “It does. But I see what you mean about feeling like a bird.”

  The boys were stomping their feet and chortling. They at least hadn’t had a problem adjusting to the lack of visual support. But their mother was turning green and clutching her husband.

  Their upward journey stopped, and the lift reappeared around them.

  “Asteroid deck.”

  The path from the opening lift doors was navy blue this time. Tension eased from Trey’s body as they stepped out. His hand was still anchored to Patsy’s waist. He pulled it away, feigning casual ease, and stuck both hands into his pockets.

  Patsy grinned broadly. “That was fun.”

  She meant the lift ride, but holding on to her had been enjoyable in a different way. One he wanted to pursue. Maybe when they were back on Beta Tau when he was no longer responsible for her. What were Randolph’s exact words? Something about taking care of her as only you can. What had the man meant?