BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Chapter 71

He should have hacked into the Las Palmas records, looked up her number, called, and apologized. James paced, hoping to hell Beth showed up this weekend, that she’d seen the list he’d impulsively left her and her rule-following tendencies would push her to come back so they could finish. He hadn’t originally planned to deal with caning or choking. Though they weren’t on his hard limits list, they weren’t things that particularly interested him, and unlike Beth, he had no problem ignoring rules when it suited him.

He’d been a Grade A asshole the last time she’d seen him. How nice of him to spend all that time convincing her she should be more forthcoming with what she wanted only to shut her down when she asked for something. It was hardly her fault that she’d managed to hit on his one major trigger. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Not an hour had gone by this past week that he hadn’t thought about her, and more than once his fingers had been poised over his keyboard, ready to break some rules, and laws, to get her personal phone number. Since his firm had been part of the team to develop Las Palmas’s digital security, it wasn’t really hacking in so much as using the back door he’d left for himself in case of emergencies.

It had felt like an emergency.

But then again, he’d already made one dick move and decided not to compound the problem with another equally dick move. An unholy amount of time playing Grand Theft Auto and some senseless murdering of digital characters had helped keep his mind off everything. Now that he was here, he had nothing but time to think about it as he waited to see if she’d show up.

There was an intercom system, and James had asked that an announcement be made every hour asking her to join him in the Orion Room, a well-outfitted playroom off the larger Constellation Court. Unlike their room from last weekend there was no bed—this room would never be mistaken for anything other than a BDSM playroom.

He’d been here since three o’clock, and it was now 6:45. So far, no Beth. But he wouldn’t give up, not yet. There’d be another announcement in fifteen minutes.

James checked the setup, then went back to pacing.

* * *

She hadn’t brought any lingerie. It was hardly a surprise—lingerie packing had never been part of her normal routine for coming here.

Arriving at 5:50, Beth had heard the six o’clock announcements, including a request for her to go to the Orion Room. Rather than rushing to obey, she took her time, even going so far as to ask the other ladies getting ready in the Subs’ Garden if anyone had something she could borrow. It was the first time she’d ever really interacted with anyone in that space, and she was surprised by how readily people pulled out garments for her—and by the volume of brand-new lingerie everyone else owned and kept in their lockers. As someone said, “you never know what you’ll need.” She gravitated towards a frilly white corset, but after putting it on was gently told that it didn’t really go with her “look.”

Unaware she had a “look,” Beth instead accepted the suggestion of a classic black bustier that stopped two inches above her belly button, boy-short style lace panties and thin satin slippers that were slightly too big. Then someone insisted on helping her with her makeup, the result heavy black cat-eye style liner, matte bronze eye shadow, and glossy lips.

When she stepped back to check her reflection, the blonde sub who’d helped her with her makeup smiled. “It’s like Black Widow meets Playboy Bunny. Gorgeous.”

Beth stared at her reflection. Her hair hung in a perfect straight line around her neck, the eye makeup drawing attention to her face. The lace panties kept the outfit from veering into leather-fetish costume territory. She looked strong and powerful.

“I don’t look very submissive.”

“So?” The blonde who’d done her makeup capped a small pot of liquid eyeliner and wiped the brush off on a tissue. “You want a Dom who’s strong enough to handle you, in your complete bad-ass package.”

Complete bad-ass package. She liked that. Beth smiled at her reflection.

With profuse thanks and promises to replace all the pieces, Beth left the Subs’ Garden and headed for the Orion Room.

When she reached the door, she knocked once and opened it—she didn’t hesitate or second-guess how he’d want her to show up. If he wanted her to crawl into the room then it was his job to tell her that. She had every right to expect a Dom to be clear with her…and for him to respect her desires, needs, and wishes.

The room was lit by cool blue recessed light, the high ceiling studded with small LEDs that mimicked the real night sky, the three stars of Orion’s Belt slightly brighter than the others.

Master James stood in the center of the room, looking strong and dapper in black slacks and a gray dress shirt open at the collar.

“You got the list I left you.”

“Yes…Master James.” There was no denying the little blip of panic she felt because she’d purposefully paused before adding “Master James” to her sentence. Maybe this new bad-ass persona and worldview on how she was going to submit—and what it meant to be submissive—would take a bit longer to get used to than she thought, if such mild disobedience caused discomfort.

“There, under the chains.”

Beth paused for a second to see if he’d include any orders on how he wanted her to get there, but he didn’t, so she walked over to stand under the structure he’d indicated. The large metal frame looked like a piece of gym equipment—the kind used for pull-ups and cable exercises. One of the overhead cross pieces had chains dangling from it, giving the otherwise calm room a hint of dungeon atmosphere.

She took her position facing him, waiting with her hands relaxed at her sides. There were flutters of arousal dancing over her skin, but she wasn’t lost in the feeling.

“Raise your arms.” Master James stood in a shadowy area of the room, his face hidden from her.

Beth lifted her arms, helpfully positioning her wrists near the heavy padded cuffs attached to two lengths of chain.

The heels of his dress shoes clicked on the floor, and Beth dropped her gaze—not only out of submission, but because some stubborn part of her didn’t want to look at him, afraid that if she did she’d lose the anger that was a cold ball of white light just behind her breastbone.

The cuff slid easily around her left wrist, buckling into place. The fabric of his shirt brushed against her hip as he leaned across to cuff her right wrist.

Beth licked her lips, trying to hold on to the anger, to use it as a shield against the feelings his nearness caused. Her body didn’t care that he’d shut her down when she’d asked for more. Her body remembered what it felt like to be touched, to be mastered by him.

When she was in place, her wrists at shoulder height, Master James walked away. Spotlights came on, bathing the area where she stood in bright light, and effectively blinding her to anything outside the circle of light.

“You look different.” His voice and footsteps told her he was coming back, but she couldn’t see him.

“Yes, Master James.”

“It suits you.”

“Thank you, Master James.”

The tip of a bamboo cane appeared in the spotlight, inching towards her as if it were a sentient thing. The slim cane was long enough—nearly four feet—that by the time the pointed end came to rest on her breasts, only Master James’s hand was visible.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come today.”

“We aren’t done with our letter, Master.” And I wouldn’t turn down the chance to play with you again, even if you hurt me.

“Remind me, what do we have left?”

* * *

Hadrian looked at the picture behind his desk.

In it, a young, fit man lay on the beach, his legs in the air. An equally young, fit woman was balanced above him, her hips braced on his upraised feet. Their hands were clasped, the man’s elbows locked, his lack of shirt displaying well-defined triceps, bulging pecs, and rippling abdominal muscles. The woman’s upper body was bowed in a cobra pose, all while suspended above the man. Her slimly muscled arms were a match for his, and her legs, stretched out behind her, were also corded with muscle. The pose looked effortless, yet it was a display of strength, her core muscles drawn tight to keep her legs extended, her arms flexed to hold her upper body in the elegant backward arch.

The man was smiling up at the woman, whose face turned away from the camera as she looked out at the water. Her dark hair lay across her bare shoulders, and the bikini-style workout wear, similar to a

beach volleyball uniform, showed miles of tanned, toned skin.

“Hello, Hadrian.” He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the ringing had stopped.

“Master Mikel.” Hadrian jerked his gaze back to the ocean. “I got your message.”

“Good. Good. I was sorry we didn’t see you.”

“Should I make an excuse or just admit I didn’t pay attention to the first message?”

Mikel laughed, as Hadrian had hoped. “Truth, Hadrian. Always truth.”

“Of course.” It was one of the sacred rules of BDSM play: truth—and its partner, trust—were necessary, not optional.

“Truth is actually why we called the meeting.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve been lying to ourselves, all of us.”

That certainly wasn’t what Hadrian had expected to hear. “What do you mean?”

“Every member of Las Palmas has become complacent, hiding from our real needs, our real desires. We no longer tell ourselves the truth.”

“Right.” Hadrian had no idea where this was going, but his spidey senses were tingling.

“Master Leo, Mistress Faith, and I came up with a game.”

“That sounds…alarming.”

Mikel laughed again. “Oh yes, oh yes.” His chuckle faded, and Hadrian waited for him to offer some reassurance, but he didn’t. “You remember the checklist, of course.”

“Not at all,” Hadrian said frankly.

Mikel sighed. “The list of things you could do to, with, and for a sub?”

Hadrian didn’t bother to search his memory. He didn’t want to think back to when he’d joined. “Go on.”

“Each member completed a checklist, and we kept a copy. Over the past year we’ve noticed that everyone has become…uninspired.”

“Content?” Hadrian’s tone was dry.

“Yes, that. And boring.”

“Boring?”

“Sadly, it is true.” Mikel breathed out a long-suffering sigh. “Las Palmas is not a country club, not a weekend resort. It’s a place where our darkness can, and must, run free.”

“There’s plenty of dark stuff that happens, at least there was…the last time I was there.” Hadrian had seen some crazy things at the club, especially in the Iron Court.

“It’s not enough.” Mikel’s tone made it clear it was not up for discussion. “We have the game. The checklist game.”

“You still haven’t given me any specifics.”

“Each member has been assigned a letter of the alphabet.”

“And what do they do with that letter?” Hadrian tried to ignore the picture his brain had thrown up of a 3D puppet-style letter K in rope bondage. X-rated Sesame Street.

“You will take your checklist, and that of the submissive we assign you, and explore every kink, toy, and fetish listed for your letter.”

If Hadrian had been a computer, his screen would have frozen. “Uh.”

Mikel laughed. “I knew you’d enjoy it.”

“Wait, did you say you assigned the submissives?”

“Yes. Everyone has been assigned a partner, or partners. Unless they’re bonded.”

Hadrian dropped onto a low white couch facing the windows, ignoring the protest in his knee. “You’ve assigned everyone a partner, and they have to work through one letter of the alphabet with that partner.”

“Yes.”

“And everyone agreed to this?” The members of Las Palmas were all wealthy and successful. They were hardly the type of people to meekly toe the line when someone told them what to do.

“If they wish to remain members, yes.”

That explained the threat in the email. “I see.”

There was a beat of silence before Mikel spoke. “Do not use this as an excuse to leave.”

“Maybe it’s time.” Hadrian had been a member for ten years, but they’d been a long, difficult ten years. The Hadrian who’d joined Las Palmas was very different from the man staring out at the ocean.

“Or maybe it’s time for you to give in to the beast. Stop playing, ah, Clark Kens.”

“Kent. Clark Kent.”

“Yes, Clark Kent. It’s time to be Superman.”

“Rope-carrying, crop-wielding Superman?”

Mikel laughed.

Hadrian stuck out his left leg, rubbed his knee. The most exciting thing that had happened to him recently was hiring Samuel and the subsequent takeover of his schedule. Maybe it was time to remember that he hadn’t always been a tech geek—or at least he hadn’t always been just a tech geek. “What’s my letter?”

“Ahh.” Mikel’s voice was thick with pleasure. “I’m so glad you’re going to play. The letter D needs you.”