by L. DuBois
For Dante, the control being a Dom afforded him was what allowed him to be comfortable enough to let go and enjoy a woman.
He let the submissive manning the intercom know that he was ready for his sub, and asked for a five minute head start before she was called. He’d booked the Cellar for the weekend. It was one of the lesser used playrooms, but a favorite of Dante’s. It would afford him the privacy to get to know this submissive, though for some of the items on the checklist he’d have to bring her upstairs, perhaps into one of the courtyards, where everyone would be able to watch as he dominated her.
Most rooms in Las Palmas opened onto one of the many courtyards. Each courtyard had a name, and the rooms around it were themed. The Constellation Court had rooms named for various constellations, and the Sub Rosa court rooms were named after rose breeds.
The Cellar was a bit different.
Dante exited the Den, walking down the open-air hallways that rimmed the courtyards, until he was in the Iron Court, which was at the back of the main complex. This courtyard had the most severe of the playrooms. Ones that featured cages, whips, and decor that resembled dungeons or concrete cells. But it was also where the entrance to the Cellar lay.
Dante tapped his code into the small keypad on the door. Since he’d reserved the room, the door opened, revealing a small room and a spiral staircase. He descended, flipping the lights on. Eager to prep, he took the stairs at a rapid pace that would have been dangerous if he didn’t know them so well.
As the name suggested, the Cellar was an underground room. It had been built as a wine cellar. There were still racks and rows of wine, but there was also a lovely Saint Andrew’s cross, a padded ottoman, and a small seating area. Additionally, there was an empty wine rack against one wall, and the sturdy wooden rack provided a multitude of restraint points and ways for Doms to get creative with bondage.
He set the envelope down on a chair. He positioned the second chair so it was facing his chair but off to one side, then took a thick square floor cushion out of a trunk and set it beside the chair. It was a test, a way for him to get to know his sub. Would she sit in the chair so they could talk? There arguably was nothing wrong with that since they were negotiating the scene right now.
Or would she kneel on the cushion, and begin submitting from the first time they met?
Dante settled into the chair and pulled out first his own list and then hers. For each item on the checklist there were options to select yes, no, or willing to try. The no items were hard limits, for both the Dom and sub. Anything on the no list would be off the table. There was always the possibility that they wouldn’t have any items where both had marked either “yes” or “willing to try.”
He flipped to the letter “F”, one list in each hand, and compared them. He was smiling to himself, mind whirling with possibilities, when he heard the door above open.
Dante schooled his face into a neutral mask and waited.
He saw her legs first—long pale legs, feet in black heels with a wide ankle strap. She moved carefully, but not tentatively—a woman who was sure footed enough to be both cautious and confident on the wrought iron spiral staircase.
He saw plenty of creamy bare leg before her ass came into view. She wore a black mini skirt. The fabric must be slightly stretchy because it hugged her ass in all the right ways.
Her torso was encased in a black corset, and as she turned, he caught sight of the firm mounds of her breasts, swelling above the top of her corset. His cock, already semi hard from anticipation, started to stiffen. Those were lovely breasts, raised and offered to him by the tightly laced corset.
She neared the bottom. Her head was bent, either submissively or watching her steps. Dante pinched his bottom lip between thumb and forefinger, taking his time looking her over.
Katrina Carmichael was striking—her skin was pale, her hair dark. With her head bent she was for a moment, almost like a painting created using only black, white, and the palest hint of pink. Then she raise her head and her lips were red like summer berries.
Dante’s cock twitched. Lips that color were begging to be used—kissed and fucked. He imagined her red lips around his cock, the lipstick she’d leave on his skin.
“Sir.” She lowered her eyes, head held high. Her face was striking—hers was not a soft beauty. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high and pronounced, her jawline regal. Put her in a ballgown, she’d look like a haughty princess—perhaps the daughter of a Tzar. Put her in spandex and she’d be a superhero, or in an improbably small leather and chain mail bikini and she’d be the heroine on the cover of one of the fantasy novels he liked to read as stress relief during breaks at work.
Put her in a black skirt and corset and she’d look like the kind of submissive a Dom would move hell and earth to have on her knees.
“Katrina. Please.” He gestured vaguely to the seating options.
Katrina’s eyes darted from the chair to the pad. Her shoulders drew back a bit when she realized the predicament he’d placed her in.
“Sir, where would you like me to sit?” She glanced up briefly before dropping her gaze.
“Wherever you’re more comfortable.”
Still, she hesitated. “I will be most comfortable if I know I’m pleasing you, Sir.”
Smart and well trained. “As you may have guessed, I’m interested in knowing where you’d prefer to sit. Either choice is fine. We’re just going to talk for a bit.”
Katrina kept her eyes lowered as she came forward. To his surprise, she sat in the armchair. Given her behavior to this point he’d expected her to kneel.
She sat ramrod straight, chin bowed so it nearly touched her breasts.
“My name is Dante Jones. I prefer Master Dante.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Dante.”
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Katrina. I haven’t seen you around the club before.”
“It’s my first weekend.”
Dante’s whole body flushed. “This is your first time submitting.” He was not ready to train a submissive, to be the first Dom. He’d joined Las Palmas in part specifically because everyone here was an experienced player.
She shook her head. “No, Sir. I’ve been a submissive, but this is my first time since coming back.” She made a little noise of frustration. “I’m not explaining it well.”
“We have time.”
She took a deep breath. “I was in a very serious D/s relationship for several years. I was both collared by, and married to, a Dom.”
Dante noticed she didn’t say “my master” or even use “master” at all. He found that telling.
“The relationship ended, and I thought I was done with BDSM.” She licked her lower lip, and again Dante had visions of her lipstick rubbed off on the skin of his cock. “But I…I need this.” Her fingers curled into fists for a moment, before she forced her hands to flatten out on her thighs.
“Palms up,” he ordered.
She flipped her hands over so her palms faced the ceiling. “Thank you, Sir.”
Dante’s arousal spiked. She didn’t just want to submit. She needed to submit.
“So you joined Las Palmas?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why not seek out a Dom to play with in private?”
She flinched slightly.
“What is it, Katrina?”
“I…I would rather not say because I worry if I do, it will make you think differently of me.”
“I need to know everything about you, if I’m going to serve as your Dom for the duration of the game.”
Katrina’s lips thinned into what seemed to be a stubborn line.
“Katrina,” he deepened his already low voice and put steel into the words.
She shivered slightly, then blurted out the words in a garbled rush, unlike her previous measured tones. “I’m not sure if I can submit. I want it, but I don’t know if I can any more. I love kneeling…and I hate it. I don’t know if I can do it, so I wanted to join
a club so even if I couldn’t do it anymore, at least I could watch.”
Dante let the silence fill the space. He was a curious man by nature—a fixer, a problem solver. He wanted to know what had happened to make her think she could no longer submit. The way she’d turned her hands palm up at his order and sighed with relief when she did so told him that she was deeply submissive. Something, or more likely someone, had told her, or made her think, that she couldn’t submit.
He would show her that she still could. He would piece together the puzzle of Katrina Carmichael.
“Thank you for speaking with me.”
“Thank you for listening, Sir.”
Each response was polite, deferential. He enjoyed a bit of brattiness from his subs. He wasn’t one of those Masters who thought laughter and smiling had no place in BDSM. He enjoyed it when a sub wiggled her butt to beg for a spanking, or let her lips pout while her eyes were bright with desire.
“Shall we go over our checklists?”
“Whatever you’d like, Sir.”
“You will probably remember your checklist better than I remember mine.”
“I do, Sir.” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “But it’s quite long, so I don’t remember everything on the letter F.”
“F is a very nice letter. Not as long as some the others, but with enough variety that we have quite a bit of overlap.”
Her breasts rose and fell in a long breath.
Dante cocked his head to the side. “Before I read it, I would like to ask you something.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Again he could tell her answer was careful. She didn’t promise to tell him anything.
“Why did you choose to sit in the chair instead of kneeling on the pad?”
“I don’t know what kneeling posture you prefer, and…” She met his gaze briefly, her lips twisted in a wry expression. “It’s been a long time since I wore a tightly laced corset. I’m out of practice kneeling in one.”
Dante let out a small chuckle. “Well, you look lovely in it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
It was a joke, the sort of thing his regular subs would happily respond to with a bit of teasing of their own.
Katrina’s eyes widened, then she lowered her gaze and dropped her chin further. “No, Sir. My attire is meant to be pleasing to you. I would not try to manipulate you.”
Dante sighed. “I was only joking, Katrina. I’m sorry.”
She darted another glance at his face. “Oh, thank you for explaining, Sir. I’m not used to…”
“Humor in BDSM? If you want a very serious, strict partner you may be disappointed in how I play. I will demand things from you, challenge you, but I dislike the practice of ‘check your personality at the door’.”
Katrina’s shoulders sagged.
“Katrina?” He leaned forward in his own seat. “Eyes on me. What are you feeling?”
There were tears on her lashes. “Relieved, Sir. That is…that is very nice to hear.”
“Come.”
He held out a hand. Katrina slipped off the chair without hesitation. She placed her hand in his and started to kneel.
“No, on my lap.”
Katrina sat primly on his knee. He pulled her back against his chest. She was stiff, though whether that was because of the corset or because she was uncomfortable he couldn’t tell. He stroked her leg, then tugged on the laces of her corset, pulling the knot out from under the edge of the fabric where it had been tucked. It was a double-knotted bow—he could tell just by touch—and it was an easy matter to undo the knot. The corset strings loosened slightly, but it had been well laced, so didn’t come totally undone.
“Relax,” he ordered. “Lean into me.”
Katrina took a deep breath and let her back soften until she curled into his body. Dante stroked her thigh. His palms were scratchy—his hands were always dry—but she didn’t object. Worried that he’d hurt her, he flipped his hand over, instead caressing her with his knuckles.
He did nothing more than stroke her thigh. He didn’t venture too high on her leg. When he tired of that, he lifted both legs, letting them rest over the arm of the chair. He reached out with one arm, the other curled around her. He unfastened the ankle strap of her shoe, letting it fall to the floor.
She made a small noise.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Katrina.”
“That’s very impressive, Sir. You can untie a corset and remove shoes with a single hand.”
He chuckled. “Very good.” He wanted to reinforce that she could talk to him. With Katrina, talking would be key. Any sort of restriction on speaking would hobble his ability to dominate her. “And I’m proud to say that I’m very good with my hands.”
“I’m sure you are, Sir.” Now there was a teasing note in her voice.
Dante checked his urge to mock growl, or give her a quick spanking. His normal subs would have understood, but he didn’t trust Katrina to.
“You’ll be the one to benefit from that this weekend.”
“Yes. Yes, Sir.”
“Are you aroused?”
“I’m getting there, Sir.”
“What arouses you? I want you to talk to me, Katrina.”
“Being on your lap. It feels intimate and safe. Relaxing made it easier to focus on what could go right this weekend instead of what could go wrong.”
“Did you assume things could go wrong?”
A bitterness entered her voice. “I always assume things could go wrong.”
“And why is that?”
“Because a lot of things have gone wrong for me.”
“That’s out there. In the vanilla world. Here you are a submissive—a treasure, a plaything, something to be both worshiped and punished.”
She shivered. “Yes, Sir.”
“I want to slide my fingers between your legs and touch your pussy to see if you’re wet.”
She hesitated only a moment, and then she spread her legs, dropping one foot to the floor. She kept her knees wide. The fabric of her very small skirt slid up, until he could see hints of pale pink flesh in the shadows.
He held his hand between her legs, palm hovering over her pussy. He could feel the heat of her body.
“You’re hot, and I can see you’re wet.”
She laid her head back, breathing slowly and deeply. “Yes, Sir.”
“I said I wanted to touch your pussy, but I won’t. We haven’t established the parameters for our play this weekend.”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you disappointed I’m not going to touch you?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Then don’t be afraid to tell me.” He turned to face her, meeting her gaze for their first long, shared look. “It’s no fun to tease you if I don’t know I’m getting to you.”
She blinked a few times and a surprised smile curled her lips. “Thank you, Sir.” She let the smile fade from her lips, but it was still there in her eyes. She pouted prettily. “Please touch my pussy, Sir? I want you to feel how hot and wet and ready I am for you.”
Dante swallowed. Damn it, that was hot. Maybe letting her know she could tease him was a bad idea because she was not joking around with her dirty talk.
“I will be touching your pussy, Katrina. And soon. But first I need to know exactly what I’ll be doing to you.” He slid her hair off her neck and blew gently over her skin. “Are you curious, honeypot?”
She shivered. “Yes, Sir.”
“On your knees.”
She slid gracefully off his lap, and onto the cold tile. She didn’t scoot back onto the pad, she stayed close, so close that he could reach out and stroke her head. Dante trailed a knuckle down her cheek.
“The floor is cold and hard. I have plans that involve you being on your knees, and don’t want you aching and bruised. I expect you to treat your body with care and respect.”
“My body,” she whispered.
“What was that, Katrina?”
“You said it was my body.”
Dante tipped her chin up. “If you’re a robot being piloted by aliens so this isn’t actually your body, now would be a good time to tell me.”
Katrina blinked then laughed. It was a true laugh—open mouth, head thrown back. Dante grinned and trailed his fingers from her collarbone up the exposed line of her neck.
Her laughter faded and she met his gaze. She nuzzled her cheek into his hand. “Thank you, Sir.”
He returned her smile and nodded towards the pad.
She dropped her eyes. “Sir, may I bring the cushion over here?”
“Tell me why?”
“I feel…I like kneeling near you, Sir.”
Dante didn’t like that answer, because it was incomplete. He considered demanding a better explanation, but at this rate they’d never review their checklist items.
“Thank you for telling me, Katrina. I want to know everything about you.”
He offered her a hand, and she placed hers in his, pulling against his fingers as she rose to her feet. She grabbed the floor cushion, squatting rather than bending over because of the corset. She carefully placed it at his feet, then picked up her shoes and set them by the wall, where they were neatly lined up and out of the way. Only then did she move into place at the back edge of the cushion. She dropped slowly and gracefully to her knees. It was a physical feat, showing off both her strength and her training. Her upper body remained perfectly straight as her knees sank gently into the cushion. She kept her toes braced on the floor and sank back so her ass was on her heels, then spread her knees.
“Can you maintain that position comfortably?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.” She frowned. “I used to be able to.”
“Come forward on the cushion. I don’t want you balanced on your toes.”
She scooted herself forward on the cushion until her knees were at the front edge and the tops of her feet rested on the cushion, her toes pointed.