F is for…: BDSM Checklist, Book Six

by L. DuBois

  She was entirely at his mercy, which was terrifying and exciting. She was putting all her trust in him, which was arousing and wonderful.

  Katrina breathed and waited. Waited and breathed. With each moment that passed she relaxed a tiny bit more—her muscles lengthening and relaxing.

  She heard the flogger moving through the air, and then it struck the upper right side of her back. It fell with a nice thump, the staccato strikes of the flogger tails a lovely sound. She’d missed that sound.

  A second strike, now to the left side. Katrina sighed.

  With measured precision, Master Dante worked his way down her back, avoiding her kidneys, only striking places where slabs of muscle protected bone and organ.

  Katrina rested her forehead on one of the shelves. There was a pleasant ache of pain spreading across her back. Her nipples were tight, her shoulders relaxed. That was the great contradiction—a good flogging could flood the body with both adrenaline and calm. It made for a confusing, but delicious, mix of heightened awareness and relaxation.

  He was working his way down, and she waited, breath held, until he struck her ass for the first time. The blow was harder than the ones on her back had been.

  Thud, thud, thud. He picked up the pace in addition to increasing the intensity. Katrina drew in a shivery breath and arched her back, pushing her ass out towards him. She heard his hum of approval, and then she was rewarded with a blow to the sit spot on her left leg that made her come up on her toes. Her ass clenched tight around the plug, a sweet burning pain rippling through her along with the ache from the flogger.

  He moved down the back of each thigh, then landed a few blows that allowed the tails to wrap, stinging her inner thighs. Katrina moaned and her legs started to tremble.

  “Talk to me, Katrina.”

  “I…I…,” she stuttered.

  He laid his large, scratchy palm flat against her lower back, just above her ass. “Breathe, bring yourself back. Check in with your body, and tell me how you feel.”

  Katrina’s eyes prickled. That tenderness—the knowing care—that was what she’d missed most of all. That had been missing from her play for more than two years.

  “My ass is burning, my back aches. It feels so good. I’ve missed this.”

  Master Dante skimmed his fingers down her ass and pressed against the base of the plug. Katrina shuddered in surrender.

  “Are you crying, Katrina?”

  “I don’t mean to. It’s just…I really needed this.”

  “That isn’t the first time you’ve said that this evening.”

  “I don’t mean to be bratty or needy, Sir.”

  “It wasn’t a criticism, only an observation. And the need to be needed is a defining characteristic of a Dom.”

  Katrina smiled even as a tear spilled down her cheek. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m not done with you, Katrina. Would you like to count the remainder?”

  “No, Sir.”

  That must have surprised him, because he asked, “Why not?”

  “Then I’d know when it would end, and I would dread it ending, Sir.”

  “Ah, but the end of a flogging is the beginning of something better.”

  Katrina hummed in agreement, and her pussy throbbed.

  Impact play, such as floggings, didn’t automatically end in sex. For many people, that was the entirety of the scene. It was how “edgy” clubs and bars got away with BDSM performances. A sub wearing bike shorts and black tape on her nipples would get a nice flogging. At the end the Dom would wrap her up in a towel or oversized hoody and she would bliss out, curled up on a couch or bench.

  Las Palmas rarely had scenes like that—not because the subs here weren’t the sort who would or could bliss out from a flogging, but because the exclusivity and privacy allowed them to engage in more elaborate, intense, and overtly sexual scenes.

  That had, after all, been one of the big selling points of joining Las Palmas. Katrina had spent years as a 24/7 sub, yet, just like the performers in the clubs, every flogging or spanking hadn’t been guaranteed to end in an orgasm or two. She wanted to change that, wanted the intimacy of sex.

  Thwack, thwack. The tails of the flogger thumped against her ass. One tail landed solidly against the base of the plug, making it shift inside her. Making her want him to rip it out and fuck her from behind, his cock sliding into her throbbing rear entrance.

  Then he changed it up. She knew from the sound the flogger made as it sliced through the air that he was moving faster. Now the falls stung her skin, causing small sharp bites of pain.

  Katrina twisted her wrists, grabbing onto the ropes, needing something to hold on to. Her pussy throbbed with each beat of her heart, but Katrina’s breath was slow and even, each exhale a little moan of pleasure.

  “Last one.”

  Katrina pressed her ass back, locking her knees. He struck the dead center of her ass, with enough force that she rocked forward onto her toes.

  Pleasure and pain raced through her—but it wasn’t the physical sensations that made her press her forehead hard into the shelves and let the tears flow. Emotionally, she was a tangled mess. Every feeling that had briefly flared within her over the course of the scene was now ratcheted up to level ten.

  Relief that she was finally bound and submitting after so long doing without.

  Loneliness, because it had been a long time since someone touched her this way.

  Fear, because…

  …Because she wanted to curl up into Master Dante’s arms and have him kiss and hold her, then promise her he’d never let her go and he’d always love her.

  That’s what she’d lost in the divorce, and this was what she’d always feared. That for her, love and submission were too closely intertwined, that she no longer knew how to play casually.

  Velcro ripped and her left arm was freed. Master Dante cradled her elbow, lowering her arm to her side. His tender care made her cry harder. He freed her right arm, then her ankles. Katrina tried to stifle her ridiculous sobs. What must he think of her?

  She needed to explain that she’d missed this, been needing this for so long. Katrina clenched her teeth, trying to bring herself under control. Fingers tapped her jaw.

  “Don’t hold it in. Let it out.”

  Master Dante wrapped a soft blanket around her, then bent to hook an arm around her knees and picked her up.

  “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. You took it so well. You did such a good job.”

  Katrina kept her eyes closed, because some ridiculous part of her was convinced that if she looked at him, and found him looking down at her with kind eyes, she’d fall for him.

  The most dangerous part of BDSM was never the physical danger—it was the emotional vulnerability.

  Master Dante sat with her on his lap. He held her, stroking her through the blanket. He kept up the praise. Her thighs and ass ached as she sat on his lap, the pain-turned-to-heat making her cry harder.

  Katrina’s emotions started to even out, and bit by bit she rebuilt her walls, bringing herself under control and protecting her too-vulnerable mind and heart.

  * * *

  Dante held her until she was limp and quiet on his lap. The blanket he’d used to wrap her up covered her from chin to ankle, and the only visible part of her was her pretty feet. He looked at those feet, and understood why some people loved foot worship. He still didn’t plan on it—despite it starting with the letter “F”—but if he were ever going to submit and worship a woman’s feet he’d want them to look like Katrina’s.

  He thought she’d fallen asleep—the arm he had wrapped around her back was certainly asleep—but when he shifted to look at her face, which was tucked against his neck, her lashes fluttered open.

  There was something heartbreakingly vulnerable about the look in Katrina’s eyes. He’d finally figured out the word that best described her.

  Intense.

  She was intensely well trained, and that came out in the elegant way she submitted
. She was intensely sexual—she’d nearly come from relatively minor stimulation. And she was intensely submissive. She didn’t just enjoy a flogging. BDSM was how she accessed her emotions.

  Dante wouldn’t flatter himself by pretending that he was so wildly skilled with a flogger that his skill alone had made her react so intensely. No, there was much more to it. Those sobs had deep roots.

  “How are you doing?” He wanted to shift her, free his numb arm, but she looked so fragile he didn’t dare.

  “Very well, Sir.” She swallowed and sat up.

  He grimaced.

  “Sir?” Her eyes were soft with worry.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. My arm’s asleep.”

  Without hesitation, she shrugged the blanket down so her arms were free. Naked to the waist she twisted and placed her slender, strong fingers on his biceps, massaging the muscle.

  Dante grunted his approval, and lay his head back.

  Katrina shifted, sliding off his lap to kneel between his legs. She kept her massage going, moving down his arm to his hands. She finished by lacing her fingers with his, holding his forearm and rotating his wrist.

  Dante tipped his head to the side. “That’s a professional move. Are you a massage therapist?”

  “No, Sir. But I did take a few classes. How is your arm?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I caused you pain, Sir.”

  Dante chuckled. “Don’t be. I’m not sorry I caused you some. How do your back and ass feel?”

  Katrina smiled up at him. “They ache, Sir.”

  “Good ache, bad ache?”

  She widened her eyes in mock astonishment. “Bad ache? I’ve never heard of this…”

  Dante laughed. He watched with half-hooded eyes as her gaze roamed his face, pausing on his lips, before she dropped her attention to his cock.

  He’d been rock hard, gone semi-soft during the flogging, then gone rock hard again when she’d first been on his lap. The extended aftercare had given him time to settle down, but all it took was a brief glance at his crotch and he was thickening once more.

  Katrina leaned forward, hands reaching for his pants. He grabbed her wrists.

  Her gaze flew up to his, before dropping submissively. “Sir, may I please suck your cock?”

  “Yes, but not right now. I want you to sit in the chair.”

  Katrina hesitated half a second, but climbed to her feet. “Let me see,” he said.

  Katrina turned, presenting her back to him. Her shoulders were a lovely pink, with one or two slightly darker lines. Her ass and thighs looked like she had a sunburn, and there were a few stripes across the back of each thigh. He examined the lash marks carefully to make sure he hadn’t broken the skin.

  Once he was sure he hadn’t cut her or raised welts, he grabbed her hips, leaned forward, and kissed the dimples above each ass cheek. Then he gave her bottom a nice pat.

  “Go sit down. We’re going to talk.”

  Chapter 7

  She moved slowly, and he watched her, making sure she wasn’t in more pain than she should be.

  Katrina gingerly took her seat, and Dante felt a thrill knowing that her butt would be smarting as he made her sit there. She wouldn’t be able to forget that he’d beat that pretty bottom.

  “Talk, Sir?”

  He offered her the blanket, and she tentatively accepted it. “This is in case you’re cold. Also, you may feel more comfortable and secure covering yourself while we talk.”

  Katrina’s head snapped up. “What are we going to talk about?”

  Interesting, there was that defiance.

  “About you, Katrina.”

  Her fingers curled into the soft blanket, and then she pulled it against herself, tucking it over her breasts and holding it in place with her arms. The drape of fabric hid her lap, legs, and those lovely feet, but her arms and shoulders were still bare.

  If he needed to assure his dominance, he would be able to easily reach out and yank the blanket away.

  He sat back, pinched his lower lip, and considered her.

  Katrina raised her chin and met his gaze straight on.

  “What’s your astrological sign?” he asked.

  She blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “I’m thinking a Libra.”

  “I’m a Cancer.”

  He nodded, keeping his face straight. “That makes sense.”

  She raised a brow. “It does?”

  It didn’t escape him that she’d left off ‘Sir’. He was sure it was a purposeful defiance, but he’d allow it. He wouldn’t let her derail this conversation by provoking a punishment—because if she did, it would be a way for her to hide from him. He didn’t allow subs to hide.

  He joked and laughed with them, because the emotional intensity he demanded needed to be balanced with lighter feelings.

  And if he was being truly honest, humor could be disarming, and a disarmed sub would lay her soul bare. But putting it in that light made him seem far more Machiavellian than he was comfortable admitting.

  “Actually,” he said, “I don’t know anything about astrological signs, but it seems like a good question.”

  She chuckled. “So what sign are you?”

  “No idea.”

  Another laugh, and her shoulders softened.

  That’s it. Let me in.

  “What about your shoe size?”

  “Eight, Sir. Are you reconsidering foot worship?” Her eyes sparkled.

  “If there was ever a woman whose feet I’d be willing to worship, I assure you it’d be you.”

  She laughed, assuming it was a joke.

  “Any other questions?” she asked.

  “How about we play a game?”

  She raised one brow. “It’s usually safer to be wary of Doms bearing games.”

  “I’m shocked I say, shocked by your suspicious nature.”

  “Every good sub knows that Doms are devious.”

  “Oh really?” He waggled his brows. “How about we make this more interesting?”

  She waved one hand. “No need, it was interesting enough.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Being strangled by my sense of self preservation.”

  “Here are the rules. You can refuse to answer a question, but every question you refuse to answer means an additional minute of figging.”

  Katrina grimaced. “How many minutes am I starting with?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “So I may turn one minute into two, or I may end up turning five minutes into six.”

  “Feeling brave?”

  “My ass is not feeling particularly brave.”

  “Maybe this will make you feel better. You can ask me questions too. For every question I don’t answer, you get…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  “A minute less with the ginger up my ass?”

  “No, because I’m really looking forward to watching you suffer.”

  Her eyes widened a little in what he knew was arousal. Ahh, masochists.

  “No, what you get is one minute of oral sex for every question I don’t answer.”

  “A minute of oral sex during the figging?” she countered.

  “If that’s when you want it.”

  She tilted her head to the side, that lovely dark hair sliding silkily against her shoulders. “Okay, I’ll play your game.”

  “Good. I get to go first.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I like Sassy Katrina.”

  Her eyebrows knitted. “I don’t normally…I’m not a brat.”

  “There’s a difference between sassy and bratty. And that’s my first question. Why don’t you act bratty? Bratty is a well-known and common species of submissive.”

  She chuckled. “That’s not how I was taught to submit.”

  If she thought that was answer enough, she was mistaken. She stayed silent for a moment, but when he waved his hand in a “keep it coming” gesture, she
sighed and expounded on her first statement.

  “My ex and I took our D/s relationship very seriously. We were in a 24/7 relationship. He liked showing off his perfect sub. I was the woman all the other Doms wanted to play with. I coached and taught other subs. I never did anything wrong. ‘Why can’t you be like Kat?’ was a common thing to hear before a sub got pulled across her Dom’s knee.”

  “And did you enjoy it?”

  “I did. I was…I was proud of myself.” Her lip curled in disgust.

  “Why are you making that face?”

  “Because looking back, I feel like an idiot.”

  “Why?”

  Katrina jumped to her feet, shoving the blanket to the floor. Her hands were trembling, but he didn’t think it was from cold. She wrapped her arms around her waist, holding herself. When she started pacing, bare feet slapping the floor, he knew it wasn’t cold that made her tremble.

  It was anger.

  “It was all…it wasn’t submissive, but it was.”

  He held his silence, giving her the space to explain.

  “I was better than all the rest of the subs, and some of the Doms. I was a sub, but I knew I was better than some of those fool Doms who didn’t know what they were doing.”

  “Why was that a problem?”

  “Because he didn’t see it. He thought I was the perfect sub, and never figured out that I was getting off on being the best sub. I wasn’t blindly submissive because he was, was…” She waved her hands in a frustrated gesture. “He thought he was god’s gift to submissive training. I was his masterpiece. But I was just doing what I knew would make him proud of me, and would make me better than the rest of them.”

  She dropped into the chair. A grimace crossed her face and she shifted a little on her reddened ass.

  He pinched his lip as he processed what she’d said. She really was fascinating.

  He cleared his throat and she looked up. “I have to say, you’re the most elegantly obedient sub I’ve ever had the privilege to be with.”

  “But I’m just playing. It’s a game.”