L is for… (BDSM Checklist Book 12)

by L. DuBois

  Cain was waiting for her in the library. She paused at the door, as she had last weekend, but this time it was to appreciate him.

  The man looked very, very good in leather. He wore the classic black leather pants and vest, the pants with laces rather than a zip or button closure.

  She indulged in a brief fantasy of being on her knees before him, watching him undo those laces to free his cock. Or being made to loosen the laces with tongue and teeth in preparation for taking his cock in her mouth.

  That was the sort of traditional D/s that was fun to fantasize about but she did not want to actually do.

  Cain spotted her and rose from his chair, his mouth curving into a knowing, challenging smile. She felt her own lips curve and she walked forward, even as she mentally boxed up the kneeling-and-serving-her-master fantasy.

  In that particular fantasy, once the leathers were unlaced he’d fist her hair and force his cock into his mouth.

  That not only wouldn’t, but couldn’t happen, because of their contract.

  One thing that they hadn’t included in their planned scenes was sexual intimacy.

  Most BDSM scenes were physically, and often emotionally, intimate, but not necessarily sexual. Her shibari sessions always involved physical intimacy as rope bondage required the tie-er to have their hands all over the tie-ee. Depending on the top, there could be some light sexual touching—her nipples tweaked while the breast bondage was being wrapped. A few spanks or some over-the-panties pussy rubbing, especially if there was rope going between her legs.

  Her scenes rarely involved penetration of her mouth, vagina, or ass, except for the occasional use of an anal hook as part of the bondage, though it was, of course, never used to take any of her body weight. And she’d never had one of her rope tops’ cocks in her mouth.

  The same would hold true for her scene with Cain. His cock wouldn’t penetrate her, but they hadn’t placed other limits on sexual touching, except the common safety protocols of gloves for anal, and the like.

  “I knew you’d look good in leather.” Cain reached out and ran a possessive hand down her hip when she reached him.

  It was incredible how much she felt that one simple touch.

  “Thank you…Sir.”

  The word was awkward and she cringed internally. She didn’t have to call him Sir, but she’d planned to at least try.

  It was harder to say than it should have been, given that, per their negotiations, their scene started the moment they made contact.

  She was his sub, he was her top for the night—actually he was her top for four nights, two this weekend and two next—but still, this was Cain.

  The man whom she liked to talk to, trade witty comebacks with.

  “An obedient, submissive Vic…” he mused.

  That comment only increased the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. She didn’t want to be quiet and speak only when spoken to. Not with him.

  You don’t have to do that. He didn’t ask that.

  “You’re just now figuring out I’m a submissive? It’s a good thing you’re pretty, as you apparently aren’t all that bright.” The sassy comeback was out before she could stop it.

  “Me no know big words. Me want woman.” Cain’s grunting caveman impression made her snicker. The fact that he hadn’t minded her sharp retort made her feel a bit better.

  “Do you want a drink before I take you to the playroom?” Cain asked when the laughter died down.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink before scenes.”

  Cain arched a brow. “I wasn’t going to get you alcohol. I mean a glass of water, or soda.”

  “Oh, um…still, no thank you.”

  The slight censure in his tone reminded her that she was, should be, submissive. And maybe she shouldn’t have said that thing about drinking before scenes as if she were rebuking or instructing him on how a scene should go.

  Victoria rolled her shoulders, trying to get rid of this prickling feeling of unease, though that term didn’t seem quite right.

  Cain put his hand on her back and led her out of the library.

  She opened her mouth to ask where they were going, where, exactly the scene would be taking place, but then stopped herself. She would have asked that if he were one of her regular partners, but he wasn’t. Would that be questioning his authority? If she ended the sentence with a polite “Sir” and made sure her tone was…

  Ugh.

  She’d known this would be hard, so far outside her own preferred style of play, but she hadn’t realized exactly how uncomfortable she would feel trying to submit to him.

  Cain led her to one of the rooms off the Constellation Court. There were three main courts, each with eight to ten rooms surrounding a central courtyard. The doors to the playrooms opened onto the covered hallways that circled the open-air courtyard, and for the most part the courtyards themselves could double as scene spaces or lounge areas, weather permitting.

  Suspension play, however, was rarely a playroom activity, for several reasons. While there were half a dozen different playrooms that had either freestanding frames or eye-hooks in the ceilings that would allow for suspension play, the problem was that the ceilings, at nine feet, weren’t really tall enough for the kind of suspension she liked.

  She wanted to be half upside down and ten feet off the ground. She wanted to fly.

  Because of that, most of her scenes took place in one of two places, neither of them courtyard playrooms.

  The Conclave still had horse stalls down one side of the building with a lounge area/viewing platform above. The other half of the Conclave had twenty-five foot ceilings and a winch system that controlled large metal grids designed especially for suspension play.

  She’d start off standing, then usually sitting or lying on a table while her top finished looping and tying rope. Then the grid would be lowered to just above her body and the ropes secured to it. Then the grid would rise up, lifting her body off the table, and keep rising until she was floating, flying.

  Cain opened the door to their playroom and she stepped inside. It had been at least a year since she’d been in one of the Constellation Court rooms, and she’d forgotten how impressive they were—dramatic lighting, dark painted walls, and a navy ceiling set with pin-prick lights placed to replicate whichever star constellation the room was named after.

  It was a far cry from either the wide-open space of the Conclave, or her second favorite play area—the arena on the far side of the grounds which had once been for covered horseback riding practice and now was used for the occasional pony play scene but more importantly had a nice open steel structure that supported the roof which could be used for suspension play.

  This room, large as it was, felt small and intimate compared to her usual scene spaces.

  Her heels clicked loudly as she walked a few feet into the room. She resisted the urge to hug herself, and instead put her hands on her hips.

  Behind her, Cain flipped a switch. Instead of just the faint blue and white light coming from the night-sky ceiling, a spotlight clicked on. She blinked to adjust her vision then took in the setup he’d prepared for them…for her.

  A freestanding section of what looked like porch railing was centered under the light. Bright white with a wide, flat top, the wooden structure was taller than an actual porch rail and mounted on a large, flat platform.

  “How very white picket fence,” she murmured as he came to stand beside her.

  “You were expecting chain and metal to go with the leather? Maybe a whipping post or stocks?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  Cain chuckled and guided her further into the room.

  Maybe a whipping post…

  A whipping post implied there would also be a whip. Certainly a whip would fall under the category of leather implements, which was what they’d agreed they would be working on tonight.

  The broadness of the category “leather implements” had irked her when she filled out the checklist. During last weekend
’s negotiations she’d had a chance to look at her own list, on which she’d marked that item as “willing to try.” However, she’d also added a footnote—footnote two on that particular page—which said “please see relevant specific items as term is too broad to be enforceable.”

  While that comment was accurate, it didn’t matter. The checklist wasn’t the legal membership contract. It was supplementary, and served more as a springboard for conversation. At least it had until the game.

  “That shirt isn’t leather,” Cain said softly.

  “Would you like me to remove it—” She cleared her throat. “—Sir?”

  “Calling me ‘Sir’…” Cain quirked a brow. “It feels…”

  She nearly sagged in relief. “It feels weird, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that,” she murmured.

  “Why?” Cain spun on one heel so he was facing her, looming over her.

  Victoria’s gaze skimmed along his broad, heavily muscled shoulders. If, at some point during the weekend, he didn’t pick her up and satisfy some deeply buried damsel-in-distress fantasy, she was going to be pissed.

  “How much can you bench?” she asked.

  “Deflecting, Vic?” Cain tsked.

  “I’m genuinely curious.”

  His gaze skimmed down her. “At a glance, roughly twice what you weigh. But that’s not what we’re going to talk about.”

  “And what are we going to talk about?”

  “Two things.” Cain reached out and tugged at the front of her shirt. “First, whether you’re taking the top off or I’m ripping it off—”

  “Rip it off me,” she breathed.

  Cain’s lips twitched. “Second, we’re going to talk about the fact that between us, you and me, all the sirs, and pleases, and thank yous just don’t feel right.”

  “I’m glad you feel the same,” she murmured. “I have to admit…”

  “Admit what, Vic?”

  Admit to this feeling she couldn’t name. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t totally comfortable submitting to him, because even that wasn’t quite accurate.

  If she couldn’t name this feeling, she wasn’t going to express it.

  “I thought you valued honesty,” Cain said softly.

  “I do. My silence isn’t dishon—”

  Cain grabbed the front of her shirt. His arms flexed and the fabric-backed mesh tore down the middle, a few small circles of metal flying free and pinging off the concrete floor.

  Victoria’s breath caught and a warm, throbbing feeling took root deep in her gut. Arousal.

  Cain eased the spaghetti straps of the top off her shoulders. It slithered to the floor, leaving her in her shoes, skirt, and bralette, all leather.

  “Up on the platform, and then bend over,” Cain ordered softly.

  “And if I don’t?” She wasn’t even sure why she said it, especially the way she said it. It wasn’t teasing or bratty, but a mild inquiry, as if the answer scarcely mattered.

  “Oh, Vic…” Instead of seeming pissed, Cain grinned. “We’re going to have a good time.”

  Victoria stepped up onto the platform to which the piece of pseudo-fencing was mounted. She planted her feet as far apart as the leather pencil skirt would allow, then hinged forward at the hips, planting her hands on the wide, white railing, her arms straight, elbows locked.

  Rather than feeling like a submissive getting into position for a scene, this felt more like she was prepping for an exercise class. All she needed was a dumbbell and she could do some bent over rows and work her shoulder muscles.

  You have got to get your head in the game. You have got to figure out what this weird feeling is, and then get over it.

  “Take a deep breath,” Cain commanded.

  She did, and the odd feeling that this was about to become an exercise class intensified. That was, until she glanced up and saw where Cain was looking.

  He was watching her breasts rise and fall above the tight confines of the leather bralette which laced closed at the front, almost like a little corset.

  A warm sense of arousal slipped through her, followed by a tight, uneasy feeling. She hung her head, but not submissively. She did it so he wouldn’t see her close her eyes, wouldn’t see the confusion that she knew was twisting her features.

  The platform creaked a little as he stepped up onto it, and she froze, slitting her eyes open and watching him in her peripheral vision as he stood beside her, his gaze skimming the lines of her body.

  “Are you stable on those heels?”

  “It depends on what you plan to do to me.”

  “We discussed it in negotiations,” Cain countered. “Did you forget?”

  “No,” she twisted to look at him, arching a brow. “But there’s a difference between a leather flogger and a leather-covered paddle, and therefore a difference in how steady I’d be in these shoes. The answer to your question depends on the implement.”

  “And you don’t think I know that, counselor?” He smirked a little on the last word.

  “Well, you did ask…”

  Cain seemed to consider her, then he very deliberately ran his hand over the curve of her ass.

  Victoria let her eyes slide closed and leaned in to the arousal his presence, his touch, raised in her. That feeling, at least, she could identify.

  “Put your forearms on the rail. Hands stacked, or arms crossed.” Cain’s already deep voice took on a hard undertone—all Dom.

  She obeyed, relieved that it was easy to do what he’d ordered. She stepped forward and folded her arms atop the rail, resting her forehead on her top wrist.

  The railing was about waist high on her, but thanks to the heels her ass was slightly higher than her head. That made her feel submissive, and she took a breath, trying to hold on to that feeling.

  The platform shifted and a moment later he slid leather straps around her forearms, securing them to the railing.

  She raised her head, watching as each binding was placed. The first of the short belts went over the midpoint of her right forearm, also trapping the fingers of her left hand, which lay flat atop that forearm. He buckled that strap, then checked the tightness by sliding two fingers under the leather before moving on.

  By the time he was done, there were five straps securing her forearms, wrists, and hands in place.

  The sense of being held tight was familiar and she released a relieved breath as the submissive feeling intensified.

  “Okay there, Vic?”

  “Yes. The bondage is making it easier.”

  “Making what easier?”

  “Submitting to you.”

  A second after the words were out of her mouth she realized how that sounded. She winced, then blanked her expression before raising her head to look at him. Cain stood on the opposite side of the fence—and she was very aware of the symbolism—looking down at her. His massive arms were folded across his chest and his expression was closed and dark.

  “Cain, listen, I’m sorry for how that sounded.” She took a tiny step forward so she could prop herself up on her elbows, raise her face higher, though with her arms bound there was no way for her to be eye level with him.

  “You don’t want to submit to me, or don’t think I’m a Dom?”

  “It’s not…You’re not what I’m used to. That’s all. This isn’t what I’m used to, and I feel…” She sighed, shook her head. “I don’t have a word for what I’m feeling right now.”

  “But you don’t feel submissive.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “I think you made that pretty clear with the whole ‘submitting to you’ comment.”

  “This isn’t how I scene.” Her words were clipped and precise to hide the defensive anger. “You’re not the type of top I scene with. And being aroused isn’t the same as feeling submissive so you will have to accept that my feelings are complex and I’m not yet ready to fully express them.”

  Cain stared at her,
and then a slow smile worked its way across his face. “Aroused?”

  “With everything I said, that’s what you’re focusing on?” Some of her tension eased and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Your Doms don’t fuck you as part of the suspension, do they?”

  “No. Just as you aren’t going to fuck me as part of the checklist game,” she shot back smoothly.

  “True. But I’m going to have my hands all over you, Vic. And in you. There isn’t going to be an inch of your sweet body I don’t touch.”

  Arousal made her nipples tight, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her hips rocking.

  “We’re going to come back to what you said, but for now, I need to make sure you aren’t going to fall off those shoes and break an ankle.”

  “And how are you going to ensure that?”

  “A few test strikes.”

  “You mean spanks?”

  He stepped off the platform and walked into the darkness beyond the cone of light. When he returned, he held a leather-covered paddle.

  Chapter 4

  Cain stepped up onto the platform behind her, once more admiring the curves of her ass in the leather skirt. It was tight enough that when she’d spread her feet to hip width the fabric went taut and the light painted a white stripe across the upper curve of her ass.

  Cain spun his wrist, whipping the paddle through the air enough that it made a whoosh. He saw her tense, then relax.

  There was something unsettled about her. He’d sensed it even before she said something. He’d known, hoped, she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t run from something she wasn’t used to, and he’d been right.

  And it seemed he’d also been right about this being a challenge.

  A challenge for both of them.

  Cain raised the paddle and brought it down on the side of his own thigh. The loud “slap”—a much sharper sound than the paddle would have made if both it and his thigh hadn’t been covered in leather—made her jump. Still, she didn’t seem in danger of rolling an ankle.

  She twisted to look over her shoulder at him, and he tapped the paddle against his leg to let her know what it was he’d done.