Various Distractions

By AE Lister

FROM EXCITING AUTHOR OF LGBTQIA ROMANCE FICTION AE LISTER

Book two in the Persuasions series

When life is perfect, you know it's gonna throw you a curveball...or four.

Nic and Vincent have been riding the high of a new romantic relationship that works so well they are on the verge of officially moving in together—but then the distractions begin. Their friend Daphne needs a temporary dungeon space, and Nic's basement seems the perfect solution. Vincent's gay seventeen-year-old cousin, Taylor, needs a safe refuge from his uber-religious parents. When Vincent suffers an unexpected injury, Nic asks Daphne to suggest someone to help with domestic duties around the house.

These combined circumstances lead to a less-than-ideal home life for Vincent and Nic, who struggle to find alone time. But life has a way of giving people what they need, and the arrival of Matteo to help with chores around the house sets into motion an opportunity the three must decide to follow to its logical conclusion or abandon in order to maintain the emotional safety of all the participants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Dec 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839431661

AE Lister

Alison Lister is a Canadian non-binary author. They write graphic erotic romance (contemporary/historical/paranormal) as AE Lister, and sweet Young Adult LGBTQ+ romance as Alison Lister. She/he/they

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Pride Publishing books by AE Lister

Persuasions

Various Persuasions

Collections

Dark and Deadly: Skeletal Equation

We Three Kings: A Spoonful of Sugar

Persuasions

VARIOUS DISTRACTIONS

AE LISTER

AE Lister

ISBN # 978-1-83943-166-1

©Copyright AE Lister 2021

Cover Art by Kelly Martin ©Copyright December 2021

Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2021 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

Book two in the Persuasions series

When life is perfect, you know it’s gonna throw you a curveball…or four.

Nic and Vincent have been riding the high of a new romantic relationship that works so well they are on the verge of officially moving in together—but then the distractions begin. Their friend Daphne needs a temporary dungeon space, and Nic’s basement seems the perfect solution. Vincent’s gay seventeen-year-old cousin, Taylor, needs a safe refuge from his uber-religious parents. When Vincent suffers an unexpected injury, Nic asks Daphne to suggest someone to help with domestic duties around the house.

These combined circumstances lead to a less-than-ideal home life for Vincent and Nic, who struggle to find alone time. But life has a way of giving people what they need, and the arrival of Matteo to help with chores around the house sets into motion an opportunity the three must decide to follow to its logical conclusion or abandon in order to maintain the emotional safety of all the participants.

Dedication

To my devoted readers, whose consistent engagement with me through The Braided Crop Ranch Facebook group keeps me motivated and inspired! (https://www.facebook.com/groups/thebraidedcropranch)

Trademark Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Google Chrome: Google Inc.

Google: Google Inc.

Lip Sync Battle: Paramount Network

Doc Martens: Dr. Martens International Trading GmbH Corporation

Coke: Coca-Cola Company

Scotiabank: Scotiabank

Sympathy for the Devil:

YouTube: Google Inc.

IKEA: Ikea Svenska Aktiebolag Corporation

GQ: Conde Naste

Lycra: Invista North America S.A.R.L. Corporation

VISA: Ibanco Ltd.

The Umbrella Academy: Netflix, NBCUniversal Television Distribution

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel: Amazon Studios

Amazon Prime: Amazon Technologies Inc.

Super Smash Bros: Nintendo

Polo: PRL USA Holdings Inc.

PlayStation: Sony Computer Entertainment

Tower of Song: Leonard Cohen

Parasite: CJ Entertainment

Sex and Candy: John Wozniak

Dune: Frank Herbert

Sex Pistols: Glitterbest Limited

Red Dead Redemption: Take-Two Interactive Software, Inc.

MacBook Air: Apple Inc.

Tim Hortons: Tim Hortons USA Inc.

Timberland: TBL Licensing LLC

While My Guitar Gently Weeps: George Harrison

Macallan: The Macallan

Bladerunner: Warner Brothers

Prologue

I don’t know how I’d ever lived without Vincent in my life, to be honest. He spent more and more time at my place, and I began to contemplate asking him to move in with me.

The fact that he enjoyed being of service to me in ways beyond the sexual was eye-opening. Vincent found peace when he cleaned and cooked, or played the piano—now that his skills were improving. When I wasn’t teasing him and using his piano practice as the lead-up to a session, he could concentrate and enjoy making music for its own sake. It delighted me to watch him there, whether it was deliberate foreplay or a simple rehearsal.

I never grew tired of his beauty.

I’d thought him cute when we’d met, with an ass just right for putting in lace panties. But he’d blossomed into something more stunning and ethereal under my care. He seemed more confident with himself in public, even as he submitted willingly to the most humiliating ordeals in private—as if the more debased I made him there, the more he felt fulfilled and able to function in the real world. His submission, specifically at the hands of my domination, seemed to satisfy something so basic and primal in his psyche that it seemed the key to Vincent as a person.

I felt more confident in my dominance now. Observing the way Vincent responded to me and my whims, watching him unfold over a couple of hours on the spanking bench until he was wide open and ready to explode with satisfaction, fulfilled a part of me I’d ignored for too long.

But at times we made mistakes.

Sometimes Vincent wasn’t completely honest about whether he enjoyed a particular game or tool. Usually, I figured it out. But I wanted him to let me know if something didn’t work for him. We were in this together, and I couldn’t enjoy doing something to him that made him less than happy. Not telling me that he didn’t like something felt like a betrayal, and I had finally made him see that.

Because the last thing I wanted was to cause him distress. I was after his pleasure, his need, his desire. I wanted to break him out of the societal prison we lived in so he could fly free in the world of his submission.

I felt comfortable being naked with Vincent more of the time. The dysphoria my female body posed to my masculinity didn’t affect me as much, at least around him. He knew who I was as much as I did, and my physical parts didn’t present an issue to either of us.

Having him in bed with me almost every night made me happier than I’d expected. I had become addicted to his long legs and arms that seemed to want to enfold me, his softly curved belly and perfect ass, his sweet neck and rough cheeks. He was like a limpet in bed, always finding ways to embrace me, even though I was happy just to be near him. Soon I found it difficult to sleep without him touching me in a way that reassured me of his presence in my life.

My stubborn idea that Vincent had betrayed me by misguidedly searching for domination from Zane before we’d been introduced and the fact that it had almost caused me to lose him, made me sick to my stomach. Vincent had only been obedient to Daphne’s request to keep quiet about Zane, for reasons she’d failed to tell him. And when I’d discovered the photo with Vincent and Zane in it, I’d flipped out and almost lost the one thing that meant anything anymore.

Vincent.

I was lucky he’d been so persistent, lucky he’d sat on my front step in the pouring rain for over an hour, waiting for me to come to my senses and let him in, lucky he’d insisted I give us another chance.

We’d taken that second chance and run with it.

Vincent was upstairs folding laundry when I got a text that the package had arrived. I collected it from the mailbox and called him down.

I smoothed my hand over the small box holding the anklet I’d selected for him. We had discussed the idea of him wearing something to represent my collar but hadn’t settled on a specific timeline. I hoped he would be pleased with the surprise and that he’d like what I’d chosen.

The anklet was constructed of stainless steel in a simple chain-link style, and I’d made sure it would be large enough to fit. It wouldn’t be locked, but he could wear it as a symbol of his submission to me whenever he liked.

He came slowly down the stairs, carrying a basket of clean kitchen towels and dish cloths that he set down on the sofa before padding over to me in bare feet with curious eyes and a puzzled smile. He was wearing a soft pair of gray sweats and a purple T.

What’s that, Sir?

I grinned at him. A gift.

His delicate eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. For me?

For you, I said softly. Kneel.

He stared at me for a few seconds, then went gracefully to his knees on the carpet, his eyes on the floor, hands behind his neck—ever the obedient servant. I took a moment to admire his beauty before speaking.

I picked something out for you, I said, taking the delicate jewelry from the box and dangling it from my fingers. Look.

He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the anklet. A bracelet?

I shook my head. It’s for your ankle…if that works for you.

He smiled as his blue eyes twinkled with interest. Like a collar? For my ankle?

I grinned. Exactly. I thought it would be less obvious than a bracelet or a collar. If I want you to wear one as part of a scene, it will be the usual. But this is something you can wear day-to-day if you want.

I want to. It’s beautiful, he said, reaching out to touch the cold metal.

May I put it on you? I asked.

Yes, Sir. Please.

Stand.

He stood in one fluid motion, keeping his hands behind his neck.

Stay still.

Yes, Sir.

I dropped to my knees, maintaining eye contact with Vincent. It seemed significant that I put it on him this way. Because even though he was my boyfriend and my submissive, I was just as much in service to him. Kneeling at his feet didn’t diminish our connection or demean my power over him. I only had what power he granted me. Every time we had a session, I had to ask for that power and he had to give it to me. He was free to take it back at any time.

I smiled and bent to affix the chain around his left ankle. His feet were beautiful—strong, agile and delicate, all at the same time. When I was done, I bent to place a kiss on the top of each bare arch, before standing and meeting Vincent’s gaze.

May I see it? he asked.

Of course.

He sat down on the sofa and pulled up the leg of his sweatpants to peer at the shiny metal circling his ankle. He flexed his foot and craned his neck to see.

What do you think? I asked. It looked perfect to me, but I wanted Vincent to be comfortable with it.

It’s sexy. It makes me feel like a palace slave, he breathed, pointing his toes and flexing his arch. The steel glistened and sparkled in the sunlight coming in the windows.

I laughed. A palace slave, huh? I can work with that.

He looked up at me. Thank you. I’m proud to wear your collar, Sir.

Ah, Vincent. You make me very happy.

He nodded and stood. Shall I go finish the laundry?

Of course. And thank you. It makes me feel all kinds of proud that you’re wearing my collar—on your pretty ankle…while you fold the laundry.

He flushed and nodded. Yes, Sir.

I quirked an eyebrow. Did you just get hard, Vincent?

He laughed softly and sidelined a glance as he turned to leave. I got hard when you fastened it around my ankle, Sir.

I laughed and waved him off. Of course, you did.

I watched as he climbed the stairs and peeked at me with an impish grin before disappearing at the top.

Chapter One

Taking afternoon tea at Daphne’s on Sundays had become a regular event.

Vincent wore a pretty pair of panties beneath his clothes, either at my direction or of his own choosing, and Daphne had him strip when we arrived. We had agreed Daphne could take charge of Vincent while we were in her home. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed watching him respond to her. He’d told me it was much more exciting for him, now that I was involved.

The first few weeks, she’d made Vincent perform some relevant service in his lacy underthings, like setting up the finger sandwiches and cakes on her tiered stand or making the tea or coffee.

Now that this visit had become a weekly ritual, his duties had expanded into other, more delectable, areas.

We took turns feeding Vincent small bites of cake or bread, giving him sips of tea from our cups and otherwise treating him as our amusing and beloved pet. He grew more and more aroused, and I caught him eyeing Daphne’s magnificent tits more than once. He said he didn’t like the clichés of femininity but, honestly, who didn’t appreciate a great pair of boobs?

As if on cue, a piece of the cake Daphne was eating fell into her cleavage, and she giggled. Oh dear!

I raised my eyebrows. Vincent, did you see that?

Daphne refrained from digging the morsel out of her blouse as her cheeks heated. The woman could set off a fake blush on cue. She winked at me with a grin.

Yes, Sir, Vincent said, gazing at me with wide eyes.

Would you like a taste of that delicious cake? I asked devilishly.

Vincent made a small sound and nodded, licking his lips.

I thought so. Why don’t you snuffle that crumb out from between Daphne’s tits? If you can find it, you can have it.

Daphne giggled, pulling her blouse down and leaning toward Vincent. Vincent blushed and looked at me to make sure I knew what I was asking.

I nodded. Go ahead. It’s all right. I gestured at Daphne’s generous offering. I’ve been there too, y’know, I whispered, as if it were a secret between me and him.

Something flashed in his eyes, and he smiled, then turned to Daphne.

Mistress? he asked.

His utter politeness sent a jolt of desire through me. He was so well-behaved, as if I had trained him to this, when, really, it came so very naturally.

Go ahead, Vincent. Hands behind your back, please. You’ll probably need to use your tongue.

My eyes widened as I watched my sexy twenty-four-year-old boyfriend lean forward slowly, hands behind him as requested, and gently push his face into the tantalizing crease between Daphne’s breasts.

She made a small noise and looked at me over Vincent’s head as his velvet tongue darted and licked to find the morsel of cake.

Oh, goodness. She stroked Vincent’s cropped ash-brown hair while he cleaned her up. What a soft tongue you have, Vincent. She gasped. I’d forgotten, my dear, how adorable you are.

Vincent made whimpering noises as he chased the crumbs and no doubt inhaled Daphne’s particular scent of jasmine and roses.

I glanced at the black lace boy-shorts he was wearing today and noticed he was hard, which was par for the course with Vincent. The boy was a priapic miracle. A savant perhaps? He got hard at the drop of a hat and came on command. What more could a Dom ask for?

Lots more, it turns out.

When Vincent finally located the piece of cake and swallowed it, pulling reluctantly away from Daphne’s warmth, I smiled at him, pleased.

Good boy. I’m sure Daphne is very relieved that her little accident has been rectified.

Daphne looked anything but relieved. She looked like she’d like to tie Vincent to a chair and ride him for a couple of hours. But she’d had her chance with Vincent, and now the boy was mine.

I watched him stand and start to tidy the dishes, while flashes of memory came through of using the single-tail the previous evening. I’d strapped Vincent to the spanking bench and lashed his buttocks and thighs lightly, just enough to push his arousal to the brink of tipping over. Then I’d released him and sucked his cock until he’d come, howling, down my throat. He’d wanted to touch me, but I’d forbidden it, and I wouldn’t forget the sight of his fingers clenching and unclenching while I worked him furiously to orgasm.

Are you finished, Sir? he asked, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking about the cake and not asking if I was done reliving our encounter.

I cleared my throat. Yes, thank you, Vincent.

He took my plate and I leaned back in my chair, checking the time on my phone. It was only four-thirty, but we needed to get home and have a light supper. We had a gallery show to attend this evening. My friend Juno was exhibiting their artwork for the first time, and I’d promised them Vincent and I would drop by.

* * * *

Seriously? Full dress?

"Yes, Vincent. It’s a gallery exhibition. It’s de rigeur. I gestured down the hall. I laid out your things in the guest room."

Oh, good, because I don’t really have anything appropriate for something like that.

I smiled. It’s taken care of.

Thanks, Nic.

You’re very welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing you dressed in what I selected.

I grinned to myself as he walked down the hall and into the guest room. I’d arranged some things on the bed that weren’t exactly regular dress items for a man-about-town.

As I’d expected, he was back at the bedroom door after a few moments.

It’s not a suit. I was expecting a suit, he said, wringing his hands.

You can wear a suit if you want, I said.

Vincent frowned. But I don’t own a very nice one.

That navy blue one in the closet looks good on you.

His forehead creased. I don’t know.

I raised my eyebrows. You don’t want to wear what I laid out?

He regarded me like I was ever-so-slightly insane. But it’s— I’ve never worn stuff like that…in public…before.

I know…which is why I wanted to challenge you this evening. I moved in close and put my hands on his shoulders. It’s entirely your choice. Look… I’ll help you pick out a shirt that will go with the blue suit. And I can dress you in those other things another time—just for us.

He seemed conflicted. He glanced down the hallway, then looked back at me. They’re very nice, he said, lifting a finger to his mouth and chewing on the nail.

Yes. Do you know what inspired those purchases, Vincent? I asked.

He shook his head, eyebrows raised.

I moved to the dresser and picked up my laptop. I flipped the top, opened Chrome and googled ‘Tom Holland Lip Sync Battle’, then angled it toward Vincent and hit play.

"Oh God. Really? You got me that outfit?" he said, turning toward the hall.

Tom Holland dancing in his gender-bending ensemble in the notorious episode of Lip Sync Battle that featured prominently in my fantasies. Even more prominently in those fantasies, however, was the idea of Vincent wearing something similar.

Not the exact outfit, but pretty close, I said, smiling. I cupped his throat with my hand and drew it down his chest until it rested flat there. I’d love to see you in it.

He stared at me, then looked back at the video and sighed. Fine. I’ll try it out. But I’m not promising to wear it to the gallery.

I nodded graciously and waved him down the hall. I’ll wait here. I’d like to see you all kitted up because, if I have to help you put those things on, we’ll never leave this house.

Promises, promises. He disappeared down the hall.

I concentrated on getting myself dressed. I had a tuxedo I saved for these occasions, in midnight blue, that showed off my trim masculinity to its best advantage. With a crisp white shirt underneath and a midnight blue bowtie, I fancied myself a classic movie star. I’d blown my hair dry and slicked it back with mousse. I contemplated putting on eyeliner but decided against it. I wanted to present as male as possible tonight, not anything in between. That was Juno’s gig, and they did it better than I ever could.

When Vincent called to me from the guest room, I made sure my hair was in place and my bowtie was straight before making my way to him.

We stopped in our tracks when we saw each other.

Oh, Nic. My God. That suit is so hot on you, Vincent said, gaping at me as I tried to make some kind of comment on a vision that would have brought me to my knees if I wasn’t worried about wrinkling my dress pants.

"Me? You’re the one who looks entirely edible. Jesus, Vincent. I looked him up and down. Have you seen yourself?"

He blushed. No. I didn’t want to look before I got your opinion. And there isn’t a full-length mirror in there. He smoothed his hands down the shiny PVC short-shorts with the hot-pink ruffles at the edges. The material feels amazing, though.

I stepped into the room and took his hand, then led him down the hall to our bedroom, guiding him to the mirror.

Look at yourself, sweetheart. And try not to get hard. It’s too fucking late for me, though, I said, grinning and waggling my