Various Persuasions

by AE Lister

  He showed up about fifteen minutes after the agreed-upon time, which ticked me off. I hated waiting, and I’d arrived early so I could get a table and watch him walk in. I’d been there awhile.

  He was cute, I couldn’t deny that—more attractive than I’d expected, which also pissed me off. I’d seen enough cute white boys who thought they were the shit, even if they started off with a humble act. Then again, Daphne would have flogged that out of him pretty quickly.

  He looked around at the other patrons then he found me. His eyes widened, flitted down to the floor then back up. He started toward me.

  I sat up straighter, feeling a visceral reaction from a place deep inside me as he approached. I’d seen him before, somewhere. I was sure of it.

  “Hi,” he said when he got close. “Nic?”

  I gestured to the chair opposite. “Sit.”

  He did, without question. The denim jacket looked big on him, his jeans a little loose. His runners were scuffed and dirty. He was supposed to be twenty-four—he’d better be twenty-four—but he seemed younger. Dangerously younger. I felt like asking for ID but I was sure Daphne had done that already. She knew what she was about, that girl.

  “You’re late,” I said to Vincent while sipping my black coffee and appraising him. He was slight but he had some lean muscles and a decent build. His brown hair peeked out from under a black beanie.

  I was wearing a dark green beanie. That didn’t signify anything except that we liked to keep our heads warm.

  He smiled, as if to disarm me, but I kept my expression neutral. This seemed to unsettle him and he shifted in his chair, dissembling. “I’m sorry. I misjudged the time.”

  “Strike one.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s strike one against you already. I hate waiting.”

  He stared at me. I held his gaze until he looked down, blushing, and uttered an apology. “Sorry. I’m sorry I made you wait.”

  “Good. That’s better.” I tried to relax but his looks and his appeal made me nervous. I didn’t want to be attracted to Vincent but I was.

  He shifted in his chair again, clearing his throat. “Daphne said you didn’t want to meet me at first.”

  “What?” Why would she tell him that?

  “She said you didn’t really want to meet anyone right now but that you did her a favor by agreeing to meet with me.”

  I looked him up and down, seeing exactly what Daphne had described to me—a shy, handsome young guy who seemed lost and unsure. That was not without its appeal, if I were honest.

  “What else did she tell you?”

  He smiled again, and I had to admit that he was cute—really cute, with a dimple in his cheek and those brown locks sweeping his forehead. Blue eyes…my weakness. Fuck it.

  “That your name is Nic. That you two have been friends since you were teenagers. That you might be more what I’m looking for.”

  “What are you looking for, Vincent?”

  He swallowed. “I mean…well, you know…someone to—”

  I fixed him with a stare. “Dominate you.”

  His blushed deepened. “Yeah.”

  “Sexually?”

  He looked around to see if anyone had heard me. “Pardon?”

  “You want to be dominated sexually? Or just dominated? There’s a difference.” I was making him uncomfortable. I knew that and I liked it.

  “Okay, sure. Yeah. I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t really know.”

  Okay, I’d make this simple. “Has Daphne made you come?”

  He looked around again. I honestly didn’t give a fuck if anyone heard me. The place was filled with people having their own conversations.

  “Yes,” he said very quietly.

  “So, yes, then. But also, maybe, just dominated?”

  He nodded.

  I liked the way he looked and the way he seemed to defer to me, even though I was almost a complete stranger. It surprised me, really, because I hadn’t expected him to be anything much. I hadn’t expected to be tempted.

  “What do you want in a Dominant, Vincent?” I asked because I wanted to hear it from him. Rules, punishment, praise? I could give him all those things. Or was it something more specific?

  He stared at me, his eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe we were having this conversation in a coffee shop. But if he wanted to do this, he needed to know I didn’t play games. I was straightforward and demanding. I was also fair, and yeah, this was kind of a test. If he couldn’t handle talking about this in public, he wouldn’t be able to handle what I’d want to do to him in private…if we even got that far. I was tempted. I hadn’t thought I would be.

  “I think I want you,” he said softly, his eyes downcast.

  “Sorry?”

  His blue eyes flitted to mine and they were blown full of desire and trepidation and a blunt, brutal honesty.

  “I think I want you as my Dominant.”

  I blinked. I didn’t say anything. I held his gaze and sipped my coffee, focusing on the bitter, strong brew and chocolate undertones. His answer seemed at once the height of presumption and incredibly daring. So, he did have a backbone. Hmm-m.

  He frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it seemed like he wanted to get up and leave. I’d made him uncomfortable again. Good.

  “Why? You answered my question…in a way.” I gave him the benefit of a small smile. A quirk of my lip really, to settle him.

  He responded with a bigger smile, and it lit him up. Jeez. He was gorgeous. And I was truly fucked.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Why don’t you get something to drink, and we’ll talk.”

  “Oh, I’m not really—” he began but saw my eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Yes…um…” And I could see him running over forms of address in his head. He didn’t have a handle on my gender yet. And I liked that he didn’t presume.

  “You can call me ‘Sir’,” I said, not giving him an answer to the question but letting him know what to call me.

  “Yes, Sir.” He whispered it, so no one else would hear. Then he got up slowly from the chair.

  “Vincent,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  I pulled a fiver out of my pocket and passed it to him. “I would like a chocolate chip muffin, please.”

  He took the money with a smile, his eyes downcast. That made me happier than it should have.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I could barely hear him, but he’d said it. I watched him walk to the counter. He was tallish, probably around six foot or so, with long arms and legs. Rangy. I could work with that.

  What the fuck am I thinking?

  Honestly? I was thinking that he was incredibly cute and responsive, and maybe I could work with him.

  I couldn’t believe I was going to give him a chance.

  Chapter Two

  As he placed his order, I caught him surreptitiously glancing my way a couple of times. I watched him closely but kept my expression neutral when he looked over. I knew I made him uncomfortable but I liked it. I thought he did too.

  I also noticed he had a spectacular ass, which I would make plenty use of if we ended up doing this…thing. Even if we only got as far as domestic discipline with no sexual play, I would spank that thing into next week.

  Unless, of course, he wasn’t into it. I desperately hoped he was, and I was pissed at myself for thinking that far ahead. But I had my weaknesses, and spectacular asses were one of them.

  I was determined to start slowly. We needed to get to know each other before we did anything remotely hardcore, and I didn’t know if I wanted any of this to be sexual. In fact, I was thinking at this point I didn’t. Even though I did find him attractive, it would be so much simpler if it was just about Dominance and service, at least for the moment. That would be a safer place to start, anyway.

  He returned to the table and placed the muffin in front of me before putting down his vanilla latté. Then he sat and wrapped his long fingers around the cup.

  “Drink,” I said
as I began to slowly peel the wrapper from the muffin. I mean, he was probably planning to drink, right? But now I’d made it into something he had to do for me. I was devious that way. Might as well let him know how this would go.

  He blinked at me and I suspected I’d made him hard just by telling him what to do. There was a tell-tale flush to his cheeks and a shift in his posture. His pupils had darkened. I knew the signs. They were pretty much the same in both genders. Clits got hard, too.

  All that meant I was doomed. He was fucking perfect. I told myself it didn’t matter, that I would not fall for him. I’d do this favor, maybe, for Daphne…for Vincent. There would be a defined time limit—maybe a month, maybe two—and that would be it. He’d have to find someone else.

  He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a small sip. It was probably too hot to take a bigger one.

  “If we are going to consider this,” I began, “I need some answers.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Barely above a whisper again. I allowed it, since we were in public.

  “How old are you, Vincent? Daphne told me but I want to hear it from you.”

  “Twenty-four. Sir.”

  “I won’t ask you for ID, but if I were to ask to see some, I assume it would validate your answer?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m thirty-four. That’s a ten-year age difference. Does that bother you?”

  He shook his head. “No, Sir.” His eyes flitted from the table to the floor, to the lineup at the cashier, then back to the table.

  On a hunch, I said, “Does it turn you on?”

  A tiny smile, then he schooled himself. “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

  “I know Daphne didn’t really tell you anything about me. I want you to know that I don’t conform to gender stereotypes, but I was born female and I haven’t transitioned, nor do I feel the need to do so.”

  He glanced at me with those blue eyes and I forced him to hold my gaze.

  “I am the way I am. I enjoy being called ‘Sir’ and many other things that might not be typical of a person of my sex. I prefer ‘he’ and ‘him’ from people who know me well. It’s too exhausting to correct everyone else. I would say that eighty percent of the time, the general public uses ‘he’ and ‘him’ for me anyway, because of how I appear.”

  He observed me calmly, as if none of that information was a surprise.

  “Problems with any of that?” I asked, waiting for something to be wrong with him or wrong with us.

  He shook his head. “God no. I mean, no, Sir.”

  “And your pronouns are?”

  “He and him,” he replied, taking another sip of his latté. “But I don’t necessarily conform to gender stereotypes either,” he offered.

  This information intrigued me. For all intents and purposes he looked and acted like a man. Of course, he wanted to be submissive to me, which already took him out of the gender norm. If there were more hidden layers to him, all the better—except now I wanted to find out what they were.

  “Meaning? Be specific.”

  He blushed even more. “I, uh, like wearing lingerie. Skirts. Not heels really but other…ahem, feminine garments.”

  I liked the way he said ‘garments’, like a nineteenth-century dandy.

  “I can work with that.”

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sir.”

  His polite gratitude surprised and pleased me, but I needed to proceed cautiously—more so because I could feel my natural defenses weakening in the face of it.

  “How do you make a living, Vincent?”

  “I’m a financial advisor at Scotiabank,” he said quietly, “for now.”

  “Long-term goals?”

  He shrugged. “Not really sure at this point.”

  “Fair enough. You’re very young.”

  He glanced at me and frowned. “Too young?” It seemed like his every hope hung on my answer.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Okay, Sir.”

  “If we go ahead with this…arrangement…for lack of a better word, we need to start slowly. I need to get to know you a little and you need to get to know me a lot. We need to see if this even has the potential of working out.”

  I already knew it did. But it was a big leap from potential to certainty, and we needed to tread carefully.

  “I’m fine with that, Sir. It…makes sense.”

  “How are you with an Allen key?”

  He blinked. “What? I mean, I beg your pardon, Sir?” His natural politeness disarmed me, but I was glad to see a small chink in the protocol.

  I tried not to smile. “I have some IKEA furniture that needs putting together. I hate that crap. I don’t really have the patience for it.” I shrugged.

  “Oh!” he said, smiling. “I’m good with tools. And I have lots of experience with IKEA furniture.”

  I nodded, giving him a look-over, deciding that, whatever the outcome, I should give Vincent a chance. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my business card. “Are you free this weekend?”

  He smiled. “Yes, Sir…all weekend.”

  He was eager, and I liked that too.

  “I don’t need you all weekend, but I want you at my place Saturday morning, nine o’clock sharp.”

  He smiled again. “Okay. Thank you for giving me a chance, Sir.”

  “I don’t do this very often…ever, these days. If I weren’t so close to Daphne, I’d have told her to find someone else for you.”

  He looked forlorn all of a sudden. “I like Daphne a lot.”

  “So do I. We have that in common.” I smiled, for real this time, and he brightened. “Look… I need to go. I have some work I have to do.” I stood.

  He pushed his chair out and stood also. So polite.

  “I want you to stay and finish your latté. I want you to think about what it might mean to serve me. I’ll ask you to do many things and I’ll expect you to perform those tasks with eagerness and competence…and without complaint.”

  I could see how hard he was, just from this conversation, and I couldn’t help feeling aroused myself, but I pushed that down. We weren’t going to jump into a sexual relationship right off the bat, if ever, necessarily. I was having fun dominating him but I enjoyed dominating anyone who would stand for it. The fact that he was an eager, attractive and very polite young man just made it more interesting. The fact that he found me and my manner a turn-on was promising.

  I let my gaze drift from the bulge in his jeans to his face, where he was blushing adorably and trying not to meet my gaze as he nodded.

  “Glad to meet you, Vincent.” I held out my hand.

  He hesitated, then took it. His touch was soft and firm at once. The backbone I wanted was there, thank goodness.

  “Glad to meet you, Nic. Thank you for taking a chance on me. Daphne said you were amazing and I feel like she undersold you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Flattery will get you just about anywhere. See you Saturday.” I started to turn then looked back. “Don’t be late.”

  “No, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” he said and sat down like I’d told him to.

  I forced myself to turn and stride away, even though I would have liked nothing better than to have spent the next hour chatting with him. That, more than anything else, was the warning I should have heeded.

  * * * *

  The rest of my week passed normally, as far as normal went. I had several projects to work on at the office, none of them due anytime soon, so I was able to take my time and be thorough. Basically, to enjoy the process, which was good because I needed the work to take my mind off Vincent.

  The more I tried not to think about him, the more I couldn’t help it. I didn’t even have a vivid recollection of his looks—just impressions. Soft brown hair, sleek form, shy smile…the light of intelligence shining in blue eyes.

  And deference. I was thankful he knew what he was getting into with me, because I wouldn’t have been able to dampen my Dominant side if I’d met him casually. And God knows how he
’d have reacted to that.

  Instead, he’d come looking for what I could give him, actively seeking submission and service and an introduction to domestic discipline. Well, he was in luck because I could certainly dish it out. I’d keep it as non-sexual as I could to make sure he liked it, then go where it led. Maybe. I had no problem with him getting something sexual out of it. I couldn’t really avoid it if that was how he was wired. And since he had gotten a boner from just talking to me, I expected it was.

  But I was not going to get sexually involved with him, at least not right away—maybe not at all. That wasn’t what this was about. If everything went well, it would be about guiding him to discover his kinks and fetishes, leading him through exercises to pinpoint what he liked, what he responded to, what he required to make himself feel whole and alive.

  * * * *

  Saturday, from the moment I got out of bed, I felt jittery and nervous and it pissed me off—mostly because I didn’t understand why. I hadn’t even wanted this, and now I was worried he wouldn’t show up? Maybe because I knew it would be better for me if he didn’t. I wasn’t sure I was ready to do this and that was basically what I’d told Daphne. Only now that I’d met him, I was tempted and the ball was already rolling.

  I showered and washed my hair, tousling the short strands with gel and letting them air dry, then dressed in soft, faded jeans that hung low on my hips and a Twenty One Pilots tee I’d had for years. I needed to feel like myself and that I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He could take me or leave me.

  I wanted to stand by the living room window and watch for him, but I didn’t, even though I was curious to see if he came by car or bus or Uber. Forms of transportation could say a lot about a person.

  Instead, I busied myself in the kitchen, preparing a pot of coffee—I knew he liked lattés—and setting out two nondescript mugs. I’d use the fancy ones next time if he was a good boy today. Why was I already thinking about the next time? Odds were he’d decide I was too much and leave early.