N is for... (Checklist Book 14)

by L. DuBois

  The soft tails smacked against her hanging breasts, and one crossed directly over her tight left nipple.

  The strike didn’t hurt, nor did it feel good. It was simply pure sensation. A firm caress that covered both breasts.

  “Breathe,” Daniel commanded.

  The flogger struck her breasts again, and again. He shifted position, so that each part of her breasts was able to experience a strike from a different position. There was pleasure where the massed center of the tails struck. A slight pinch where the tip landed.

  She’d had her breasts flogged before, even cropped once, but both those times she’d been standing. This was different, because she was so deliciously vulnerable. Her nipples defenseless, the soft underside of her breasts getting as much attention as the tops.

  Her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples hard not just with the cold, but from need. Her areolae were no longer contracted, but warm enough from the flogging to have relaxed.

  Dimly, she was aware that she was whimpering, the sound soft and animalistic.

  “You’re doing beautifully,” Daniel praised, moving again.

  The flogger found virgin skin and she dropped her head as she moaned in response to the sweet caress. Her skin was now sensitive enough that even these soft blows from a gentle flogger were starting to hurt.

  “No, no, head up.”

  She heard him, but it was dim and distant. Her world had shrunk to the feeling of the flogger on her breasts, of cool air hitting the wet fabric of her panties. Of her ass high in the air, her breasts dangling and vulnerable.

  “Head. Up.”

  He punctuated the words with rapid, hard blows from the flogger. Now it was undeniably pain, and the tip of one lash had landed directly on her right nipple. Her pussy pulsed in reaction, even as she cried out.

  She raised her head, neck and back straining.

  Once more Daniel sank to a crouch in front of her. Eyes on her face, he reached up to cup and fondle each breast.

  “Your tits are nicely pink. And warm. Nipples…” He tweaked one and she sucked in air between her teeth. “…very sensitive.”

  He pushed up. “You can relax now.”

  She let her head drop, her whole body slumping, as she took heavy breaths.

  His fingers worked the rope, untying the knot and then helping her ease up until she was kneeling on the chair. Daniel cupped her cheek, tipping her face up.

  “Now it’s time to talk about your nipples…and what name I’m going to call you.”

  Chapter 10

  Daniel nudged Autumn off the chair, steadying her as she stood. He kept her there only long enough for him to take a seat, then tugged her down so she was once more kneeling, but now straddling his lap.

  He had a very nice view of her slightly pink breasts.

  The lighting outdoors wasn’t ideal for differentiating colors of flesh, but even if they’d been in a pitch black room he would have been able to feel the effects of the flogging thanks to the warmth in her skin.

  Cupping her breasts, he thumbed her nipples, indulging himself for a moment by simply playing with her pretty tits, before raising his gaze to her face.

  “Arms up, behind your head,” he murmured.

  She obeyed instantly.

  “One of our items is name change. I’d planned to ignore it, but now I have a better idea.”

  She looked down at him, soft and open. Her lips were slightly parted and he could see the tip of her pink tongue. Her lower lip was damp—she must have bit or licked it while he was playing with her nipples.

  “You’re probably not going to like it,” he warned her. “But this isn’t about what you like, is it?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “It’s about what you need.”

  He was walking a very thin line with what he was about to do. He wouldn’t have risked it with anyone else. But Autumn needed this, and he needed to make her feel whole, see herself for the amazing, beautiful woman that she was.

  Autumn feared her own needs. In a way he thought she probably hated herself, though she hadn’t come out and said it as baldly as that. But that was the heart of her fear.

  He knew something about hating oneself, and a whole lot about fear. He needed to help her with this the same way he needed to give her pleasure. He knew that one person couldn’t fix another, but he could, and would, help her.

  “For the rest of the weekend I will not be using your name.” He made his words hard and cold. “I will be referring to you as what you are.”

  Autumn went still.

  “Pet. Slut. Whore.” The words were cold, cruel, and she flinched away from him.

  He gave her a minute, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe I’ll be kind and let you pick what I call you.” He pinched one nipple, twisting until she hunched her shoulders, instinctively trying to break his hold.

  “No,” he snapped, releasing the nipple only to slap her breast.

  She flinched and whimpered, and the dark place inside him that needed this—needed to cause pain—crowed in delight.

  He was a monster in an elegant suit. But he was a monster who was also very self-aware, and totally in control.

  “I hate those words, Daniel.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she’d turned her face away.

  “Are they hard limits?” He didn’t remember seeing them on her checklist.

  “No. I just…If I hear a Dom using any of those words, I put him in the ‘never scene with him list.’”

  “You avoided the issue, rather than formally put them on your hard limit list, or discuss them in scene negotiation.”

  “Yes.”

  When he touched her cheek, she looked at him. Tears gathered on her lashes.

  This was the critical moment, where he had to show her that nothing would change how he saw her. Would make her any less.

  Maybe he needed her to understand that, believe that, because he needed a reassurance that he wasn’t really a monster. In his case it would be false comfort.

  She looked at him with such vulnerability that he knew the next thing he said would be critical. That if he misspoke he could trigger an emotional landmine.

  Daniel winked. It wasn’t a sensual wink, but a comedic, overblown thing where he scrunched up half of his face.

  Autumn sputtered out a surprised laugh.

  “You know what they say, sticks and stones may break your bones.” He cupped her waist, squeezing gently. “But words will cause deep psychological trauma and create weird sexual kinks.”

  Autumn dissolved into laughter, whooping with amusement. He laced his hands together behind her back to brace her and stop her from tumbling off the chair.

  And through it all, she kept her hands behind her head, arms raised with her elbows out.

  That was telling.

  More specifically it was telling him that the laughter hadn’t drawn her all the way out of the scene. Hopefully it had been a brief emotional release, enough of one that she would be able to handle what he had planned.

  And if she wasn’t ready, they’d keep circling around it. He could be patient when needed, and Autumn deserved that.

  He waited for her laughter to fade down to a smile before he spoke again.

  “You might not like those words, at least in the abstract,” he said lightly. “But you’ll like them when I use them.”

  She swallowed, but didn’t look away.

  “I didn’t like it when you called me a slut before,” she whispered.

  “Was it my words or my tone?”

  “Both. Mostly your tone.”

  “Then I see no reason not to refer to you as my pretty little pet.”

  He used the cultured, formal voice that had, through a lot of hard work, become his normal speaking voice. She didn’t react, so he kept going.

  Daniel stroked her side several times. “Or perhaps I’ll call you my needy little slut.” He slid his hand down her belly, and let his thumb briefly rest on her thong, over her
pussy, just touching, no caress or stimulation.

  “Or my submissive whore.” He could see the way her stomach muscle clenched in response to even that small stimulus.

  “Damn it,” she whispered.

  “Talk to me.”

  “It’s…It’s hot when you say it, but…”

  “But it still makes you nervous. That’s fine.” With a nudge he directed her off his lap. “Spread your legs.”

  She stepped wide, now in a standard and undeniably submissive posture—arms up and out of the way, feet wide apart.

  “On second thought, I’m going to use all three words, depending on my mood. Sometimes I’ll be kind, and you’ll be my pet. When you’re writhing and desperate for me to fuck you, you’ll be my needy little slut.”

  He added the faintest hint of a sneer to the words, and carefully watched her expression. It didn’t change. She didn’t flinch or jerk.

  “And when you’re so submissive that you’ll do anything I ask, let me do anything I want to your body…then I’ll call you ‘whore’.”

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hips rocking.

  “Talk to me. What are you thinking, pet?”

  “I’m thinking I shouldn’t be turned on by this.”

  “But you are.”

  She nodded, though he hadn’t actually asked a question.

  “It should freak me out even more to hear you say those words, use them, after we talked.” Her gaze, which had been focused on his chest, rose to meet his. “But I’m not. I even…I want it.”

  “Want to be my pet? My slut?” He drew designs on her inner thighs with the tip of one finger and watched her leg muscles clench in reaction.

  “I don’t have a degradation kink.” Her voice was almost pleading.

  “No, I don’t think you do. But I think you have let fear limit your play, because you didn’t feel safe.”

  “I trust and respect the men I’ve scened wi—”

  Her words cut off on a gasp as he cupped her pussy. Using his middle finger he pressed the satin between her labia. The wet fabric molded to the inside of her sweet cleft. He stroked that same finger over the bump of her clit and her whole body jerked in response.

  He ran his nail over her clit, as if he were scratching it, knowing that the fabric would protect her enough to keep the sensation from veering too far into the pain section of that particular gauge.

  “Holy fuckidy shit,” she whimpered, thighs twitching.

  His lips quirked with amusement and pleasure. Pleasure that in this moment she was still the woman who’d boldly referred to the checklist game as “bat-shit” crazy. He wanted it all from her. Wanted the sass coupled with submission.

  He scratched her clit again, and her whole body jerked. She dropped her hands, grabbing his shoulders to keep herself up.

  When he did it a third time she whimpered and started to close her legs.

  “No, slut.” He punctuated the reprimand with a vicious pinch to her nipple.

  She sucked in air between her teeth, then let it out as a low, aroused moan.

  “Arms up. Show off your tits.”

  Eyes half closed, she obeyed. He ran his thumbs over the pale flesh on the underside of each breast.

  “I like your arms up, elbows bent, because it lifts your breasts.” His own patience was nearing a breaking point, so he leaned in and licked each nipple, wetting the skin. “Right now you’re presenting your tits to me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You’re my needy slut, aren’t you?”

  She whimpered, her eyes opening enough that she could look down at him.

  “You like showing off your lovely breasts. Like making it easy for me to pinch and hurt them.”

  She took a deep, bracing breath. “Yes, Sir.”

  “And why do you like that?”

  “Don’t make me say it…”

  He slapped her tits, spanking them right on the nipple. Four strikes on each breast, alternating. She cried out and hunched her shoulders a little, but her hips rolled forward and back in a needy undulation.

  “Why do you like it when I pinch your nipples and slap your breasts?”

  There was no right answer, only her answer. What her answer was would tell him where he needed to take the scene next.

  “I like it because I’m your slut.”

  There was a slight stress on the word ‘your’. He gave himself a minute to process that, quickly running through potential next moves, before cupping her tits and massaging them.

  “That’s right. You’re my slut.”

  It was that possessive phrasing, coupled with a cool, accepting tone, that had turned a word she’d run from before into one that visibly aroused her.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit down so hard that her skin turned pale. She was looking for more stimulus.

  He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her forward. She shuffled her feet, managing to maintain her balance. His knees were now between her thighs, her tight nipples inches from his face. His cock was diamond-hard in his pants.

  She wasn’t the only one affected by the possessive phrase. Every dominant urge in his body roared in triumph. She was his. This complex, complicated woman who was scared but courageous, hated her own needs but indulged in them with gusto.

  Daniel buried his face between her breasts, taking a deep breath. Her skin smelled like lotion, talcum powder, and her own unique scent.

  Turning his head to the side, he nipped her breast, pinching skin between his teeth. That felt good, satisfied a primal need to both give her pain and mark her.

  He leaned back, cupped her left breast, and then bit the upper curve. Holding the flesh between his teeth he sucked, drawing blood into the trapped skin. It had been a long time since he’d deliberately given someone a hickey. An irritating little voice inside his head was pointing out how juvenile this was, but he didn’t care.

  He wanted her marked, but he had no right to leave her with bruises or welts from impact play. So instead he would leave his mark on her breasts. Declare them his personal property.

  “You’re mine,” he murmured, kissing the splotchy wet spot he’d just left on her tit.

  Pinching the apex of one breast—compressing nipple, areola, and more between his fingers and thumb—he lifted her breast and fastened his teeth to the soft underside.

  It was harder to get a good bite here, because her skin was taut, but his attempts—which resulted in a few pinching bites before he managed to get a mouthful—wrung cries of pleasure and pain from Autumn.

  Satisfied, he sat back while still holding the tit up. She was standing tall, no doubt to alleviate the pull. Her eyes were half closed, lips parted and damp.

  Satisfied with his handiwork, he released her breast, giving it a reward pat, before turning his attention to its twin.

  This time, he wasn’t so gentle.

  Autumn yelped when his teeth bit down. Whimpered when he lifted this breast so he could bite and mark the underside. Whimpered because this time he lifted by the nipple only.

  When he was done using his teeth he once more leaned back. He began to roll her nipple against the side of his index finger with his thumb. All while still lifting, the weight of her breast adding pressure to her nipple.

  “Sir, please,” Autumn cried out.

  “What do you need, pet?” He watched her carefully when he used the word. He’d chosen it because she’d mentioned Master Carter’s 24/7 partner Pet in her confession. The word would have connotations for her, but at the same time, it was also almost an endearment. A—haha—pet name.

  “It hurts, Sir.”

  “And does my slut like it when it hurts?”

  She blinked, then looked down, seeking his gaze. “Do you like hurting me?”

  Yes, because I’m a monster.

  “It’s my right, my privilege, to give you what you need.” He surprised himself with the intensity of his words. “And you need pain. You need to be pleasured and punished. Not
punished for your desires. Punished for the way you treat yourself.” He hadn’t meant to get that deep.

  Autumn was looking down at him with a soft hope that made his heart hurt. Made him burn with a need that wasn’t physical.

  “You need to be my pet. My slut. My whore.” He enunciated the words, making them hard, but not derogatory.

  “Just for you,” she whispered.

  Their gazes met and held for a long moment. She looked away first, and he was both disappointed and relieved.

  “Arms down,” he commanded.

  She shook out her hands as she relaxed her upper body. Her legs stayed spread—not that she had much choice given that she was straddling his knees. She’d wiggled around just enough while he was biting and sucking her tits that the fabric of her thong had worked its way further between her labia. The puffy, slick lips were protruding lewdly on either side of the dark fabric.

  He wanted to strip it off her and bury his face between her legs the way he’d done with her breasts. Maybe even bite and suck her pussy, leave her marked down there.

  But he couldn’t put his mouth on her vulva, or use his bare fingers to fuck her vagina. That was a level of intimacy outside the scope of this scene.

  There were plenty of other things he could, and would, do to her.

  He reached between her legs and once more ran his nail over her clit. Her hands fisted at her sides as she threw her head back, thrusting her hips forward.

  “Very good, slut.” He patted her pussy affectionately, watching to see how she reacted to the word slut without “my” in front of it.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she murmured in the smooth, even tones of a submissive who was deep in their subspace.

  “On your knees, legs spread. Sit back on your heels.” He waited for her to drop into the position, her legs splayed on either side of his feet. He carefully raised the toe of one shoe and rubbed it against her pussy.

  When he pulled back the leather was damp.

  “What a good whore to polish my shoes with your cunt.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, pairing crude words with a tender gesture.

  She turned her face into his hand, rubbing her parted lips against his palm. There was no cringing withdrawal or teary eyes.