F is for…: BDSM Checklist, Book Six

by L. DuBois

  Dante stared at her. Of course it was a game. There were serious moments of course, but this was all a game. No submissive, even if they were called slave, was really owned. Every player had an out. The things that took place here would be horrifying torture and human rights violations without the understanding that this was all consensual, and at the end of a scene everyone could walk away, and even bonded couples could dissolve their relationship.

  She seemed to wilt as he remained silent.

  Dante was trying to understand. “It wasn’t supposed to be a game?”

  Her head jerked up and down. “It was who I was. I gave up…I gave up pieces of myself to become his submissive. I thought I would always be his, always kneeling before him.”

  “What happened?”

  She looked up, and he could tell she was considering not answering. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy watching her squirm from the figging, but he really wanted to know what made her tick.

  “I got pregnant.” She bit off the words.

  Dante sat back. She hadn’t said “I had a baby”, she’d said “I got pregnant.”

  For a moment he wondered if she’d gotten pregnant by another man and the infidelity had destroyed her marriage. But he couldn’t imagine obedient, serious Katrina cheating on her husband and Master. Maybe her Master had shared her and there was an accident? If Katrina was his, he would never share her. Except for some girl on girl.

  And maybe he’d let someone fuck her with a dildo while she sucked his cock.

  Now that he thought about it, the possibilities for sharing seemed endless.

  “How old is your child?” he asked, trying to get his mind back on track.

  “Two, Sir.”

  “You said you’ve been divorced two years?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You got divorced while you had a newborn?” He kept the question smooth, instead of dripping with horror, which was how he’d wanted to ask it.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Dante couldn’t imagine what that must have been like.

  “Son or daughter?”

  “I’d rather not talk about her, Sir.”

  “Of course.”

  Katrina straightened her shoulders. “I thought we were supposed to be taking turns asking questions?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “I think you did, Sir.” The anxious tension was leaving her. Dante wanted to stick with the current thread of the conversation, to uncover her secrets, but…

  But she wasn’t his sub. She was a play partner. He didn’t have the right to ask her to expose herself any more than he already had. That didn’t stop him from wanting to know, but it stopped him from continuing the line of questioning.

  “How did you become a Dom?” she asked.

  “You’ll be startled to learn that I have some control issues.”

  Katrina nodded gravely. “I would never have guessed, Sir.”

  “My father worked all the time, and I’m the oldest of seven kids. My mother’s health was up and down, and so I ran the house, while she took care of the kids.” One of his earliest memories of his mother was her dropping to her knees, hugging her pregnant belly as the agony of a contraction rippled through her as she went into labor. He’d called the doctor, then his father. Then he’d gotten his sister out of the crib and dressed and taken her to the neighbor. He’d been four.

  “Control issues don’t automatically mean you end up as a Dom.”

  “Porn,” he replied.

  “Porn?”

  “Yep. I saw some BDSM porn, and thought ‘there’s a way I can be bossy in the bedroom without seeming like an asshole? Fantastic’.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Exactly what kind of porn are we talking about?”

  “Spanking porn. The best kind of porn.”

  The suspicious expression didn’t fade. “Spanking followed by a blow job?”

  “I think I read somewhere it’s illegal to not demand a blow job after you spank someone.”

  She laughed, and Dante chuckled along with her. Her breasts bounced nicely as she laughed, and his cock let him know it wasn’t a fan of abuse by neglect.

  He deepened his voice. “Any more questions, Katrina?”

  Her gaze shot to his, then fell to the floor. “Only if it pleases you for me to ask them, Sir.”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t. I want to know more about you. I want to lie in bed with you and tease and torment you until you tell me all your secrets. But right now…” Dante rose to his feet. “Right now I want to fuck you.”

  * * *

  Katrina didn’t wait for him to give the order. She slid off the chair onto her knees. The blanket he’d given her—such a caring tender gesture—made a nice pad for her knees.

  “Your pussy, Katrina, I want to fuck your pussy.”

  “And I want you to fuck my pussy, Sir.”

  “Hands and knees, on that mat.”

  Katrina crawled with speed, rather than grace, over to the mat he’d indicated. It was a heavy gym-style mat in a small alcove that had probably been meant to hold yet more wine racks. She crawled into position, bracing her knees and the heels of her hands on the padding.

  She turned her head to look for him, and that’s when she noticed the mirror. A large mirror in a rustic wood frame was mounted on the wall near the floor. It was angled slightly, and she had a perfect view of her kneeling form, the mat, and then, when he stepped into view, Master Dante’s legs. He still wore pants, but he was shoeless.

  He knelt on the edge of the matt, knee-walked into position behind her. Katrina sucked in a surprised breath when she caught sight of his bare chest. He was gorgeous—his waist trim, with the hint of a six pack. His pecs were a nice size, but it was his shoulders and arms that made her mouth water. His forearms were just the appetizer. His upper arms and shoulders were tight with defined, rock-hard muscle, all covered by lovely dark skin.

  “Are you all right, Katrina?”

  “Yes, Sir. Your arms are…”

  His gaze met hers in the mirror and he looked puzzled.

  “…Really fucking sexy,” she finished.

  He twisted and flexed. He was probably teasing, but Katrina moaned in appreciation.

  His gaze darkened, and she could see, bit by bit as the teasing lover drained away to reveal the raw dominance.

  He fished a condom out of his pocket, then opened his pants. From this angle her body blocked her view of his cock, and that was a crime.

  She was naked, spread and ready for him. He still wore his pants, and loomed over her. She dropped her shoulders slightly, and could see the pale pink patches on her back and the darker marks on the visible part of her ass in the mirror. The glint of the plug made her smile. She’d forgotten she had it in. No, not forgotten—the sweet, aching stretch that flirted with the line between pain and pleasure wasn’t something she could forget. The plug felt so right, so appropriate, that she’d stopped thinking about it, simply accepting that her body should ache for him, because of him.

  He must have been admiring too, because he laid both of his big hands on her upper back, dragging them down to her ass in a firm caress. The tender skin of her ass and thighs ached and heated under his touch. She dropped her head, closing her eyes to focus on his touch, on the scratchy skin of his calloused fingers. He grasped the base of the plug and tugged. Her anus clenched in reaction, fighting to keep the plug in.

  “Relax,” he ordered.

  She did, and he pulled the plug out. Her ass clenched closed, and she felt empty. He wiped her clean with a baby wipe—she could tell by the scent. Then he laid his hands on her once more, bringing her back to the moment. As he stroked her ass, the pain from the flogging, which had faded, came back, but this time as a deep, hot ache that made her push her hips back towards him.

  “I’m going to fuck you—it’s going to be rough and hard.”

  Yes, yes, yes.

  “I’m going to pound against your ass as I fuck your pussy. It will hurt.”
<
br />   Her whole body flushed hot then cold at his words. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You have my permission to come while I fuck you.”

  “Please, Sir.”

  “Please what?”

  “Fuck me, Sir.”

  “Beg.” A sharp smack landed on her already abused ass cheek and she yelped.

  “Did that hurt?” He squeezed her ass, hard.

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Do you want me to do it again?” he growled.

  Dark, dangerous need slid through her. “I need it, Sir. Spank me, please. Harder.”

  He landed a swat to her other cheek, and Katrina yelped, then thrust her ass back against him.

  “More, more, more please. Spank me and hurt me and fuck me.” The words were a mumbled mess. Her nipples were tight, her ass burning, and her pussy ached.

  This was the dangerous place subs sank into. Where their sense of self-preservation was gone. Where endorphins and arousal made it hard to know when their body had suffered too much. Where using a safe word wasn’t even considered.

  Hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging in to hold her still. The head of Master Dante’s cock bumped against the back of her thigh, then her ass, bobbing as it sought her pussy. He rubbed against her labia, cock sliding between the lips and down enough that it caressed her clit.

  Katrina threw her head back, eyes closed as she panted. Her arm, back, and thigh muscles were clenched tight as she fought the urge to move, to shift her hips and coax him into her.

  The head of his cock slid up, finding the entrance to her body.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Katrina blinked, and looked in the mirror.

  He seemed to tower over her submissively kneeling body. His cheekbones caught the light, and his eyes were hooded. The visual was almost enough to push her over the edge. She’d waited so long for this moment. One hand released her hip, to reach up and grab her hair, pulling. Just the right amount of pain prickled her scalp.

  In the mirror their gazes were locked. His cock pressed in, so thick that Katrina gasped. It had been so long. This felt so good.

  She was stretched open, near the point of pain, but that sense of fullness, of being complete, was so delicious that an orgasm started to tremble within her. She closed her eyes, wanting to concentrate on the sensation, but he yanked on her hair.

  Katrina’s eyes flew open, and she saw his arm tense as he tightened his hold on her hip and then surged into her.

  She came.

  His cock filled her, hot steel inside her, giving her clenching pussy something to clamp down on. Katrina let out a sob of relief and joy.

  He withdrew and surged in again, fucking her with a slow, deliberate savagery that made her lips tremble and scalp tingle. Her arms were shaking. She locked her elbows, but his next thrust put her off balance and she started to fall. He let go of her hair and grabbed her other hip. Each movement was quick and sure, his mastery over her body never in doubt.

  His hand cupped the back of her head and pressed it down. “Shoulders on the mat, arms out,” he growled in that dark Dom voice.

  She obeyed, her aching nipples hitting the cool vinyl.

  He fucked her until she came again, her palms drumming against the mat, her toes curling against surface that was now slick with sweat. He fucked her until his movements lost their smooth control and he jerked her body back onto his cock as if they were a piston.

  Katrina felt his control slipping and raised her head just enough to watch as he came, his body first bowing back, then hunching forward, a grimace lifting his lip and baring his teeth.

  Then he relaxed. Rather than pull out, he hugged her to him, keeping his cock inside her, and carefully rolled her onto her side as he lay down.

  The mat was slick and slightly sticky with sweat, her breath labored in a way that reminded her she needed to up her cardio, but his body curled protectively around hers, and that made the rest of it not matter.

  Katrina lay her cheek on her biceps, her arm stretched out under her head. He reached up, casually curling his fingers around her wrist, holding her in place with his hand on her arm and his cock in her pussy.

  Katrina closed her eyes and smiled.

  Chapter 8

  “LOOK AT MY NAKED SUBMISSIVE.” Dante gestured extravagantly to where Katrina sat across from him at the heavy wood table in the dining room. A few people looked over, most looking at him like he’d lost it.

  Katrina snorted. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I think you might have to give up.”

  “I’m not giving up. We have forced nudity. I’m forcing you to be nude in front of others.”

  “And here I am, quite nude.” Katrina selected a slice of red bell pepper off the plate he’d prepared for her and took a bite.

  “This is not having the kind of impact I’d hoped for.”

  She pursed her lips. “Would it help if I pretended to be embarrassed?”

  He heaved out an exaggerated sigh. “No. It’s fine. I’ll just have to live with disappointment.”

  Their gazes met and they burst out laughing.

  Now the looks other members slanted their way were a mix of disapproving, confused, and curious.

  “Shh, Sir. BDSM is very serious.” She didn’t even manage to finish the sentence before she started laughing again. That made him laugh harder.

  He bit back a chuckle. “Did you just give me an order, sub?”

  Her eyes widened in alarm…alarm that quickly morphed to anticipation. “My humblest apologies, Sir. You should beat me.”

  Damn it, that started him laughing again.

  When they finally fell quiet, Katrina was dabbing her cheeks and the spot just below each eye with her napkin. “You know this is my first weekend. Now everyone will think I’m that crazy laughing sub who doesn’t take it seriously.”

  Dante winced internally, then said, “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to keep you for a while, and make sure we put on some scenes that show just how obedient you can be.”

  Katrina froze, her hand half way to her mouth with a carrot.

  Dante clenched his teeth as he realized that he’d boxed her in—you didn’t join a club like Las Palmas to play with the same person week after week.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There were plenty of people at Las Palmas who came here with their spouse or significant other. But Katrina’s last BDSM experience was a serious D/s relationship, and it seemed like her marriage had been her first and only D/s partnership. She would want to experience play with many different Doms.

  They spoke at the same time.

  “I didn’t mean you had to—”

  “I’d really like—”

  They both stopped, and Dante no longer felt like a Dom having a late lunch with a lovely sub. He felt like he was on an awkward first date.

  He would never admit, except in the privacy of his own thoughts, that one of the main reasons he liked BDSM was that there was less chance of rejection. Expectations were pre-set, the rules clear and defined.

  And here he was, screwing up a relationship with a sub with the same awkwardness that made dating out there in the vanilla world a special kind of hell.

  Luckily, Katrina was, like most subs, an emotionally fearless warrior. “If you’re interested in playing once we’re done with the checklist game, I’d like that, Sir.”

  Dante relaxed. “So would I, but I know you just joined. You may want to play the field.”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir. Maybe it’s naive of me…” She frowned. “Or maybe I’m romanticizing it, but I think what we have is special.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I sound like an idiot. I swear I know this is just play time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I worry that since my only other D/s relationship was tied up with a romantic one, I don’t know how to separate them.”

  Dante had no idea how to respond to that, so he reached across the table, tapped the back of her hand with two fingers, and when she looked up, he crooked his fingers at h
er. Her face relaxed into a relieved expression. She slid out of her seat. He pushed back his chair and opened his arms. She settled into his lap, tucking her head into his neck.

  She was trembling lightly, and he stroked her back. “Breathe, Katrina.”

  Dante held her with one hand, and forked up bites of five-star grilled veggies and crab-stuffed avocado with the other. Katrina relaxed against him bit by bit.

  He liked that he could do this for her—calm her, hold her, help her find her center.

  She sat up just enough to reach for his fork. Her fingers paused in question. He handed her the fork, curious what she’d do.

  Sitting on his lap, she took his fork and started to feed him delicate bites. He leaned back, accepting each bite, and when she brought a glass of wine to his lips, he took a sip.

  Her gaze lingered on his lips, the hand not holding the fork stroking his bare shoulder. He moved his arm just enough to make his muscles flex and her eyes darted to where her hand lay and she let out a nearly inaudible moan.

  Moving fast, he pressed his free hand between her legs. Her little gasp was exactly what he wanted—he wanted to remind her that he had the right to do this. That he could and would touch her when and how he wanted.

  She obediently spread her legs to make room for his fingers, the fork clattering on the tabletop as he stroked her wet, hot pussy.

  “I’m done with forced nudity.” He flicked his tongue against her neck. “Time to move on.”

  “What…what are we moving on to, Sir?”

  Instead of answering, he eased her off his lap, holding onto her as she got her feet under her.

  “Up on the table. Kneel and spread your legs.”

  Katrina didn’t hesitate. This wasn’t exactly going to be forced masturbation.

  Unless…

  Dante grinned.

  * * *

  Touch me, touch me, touch me.

  Katrina kept her lips pressed together so the words wouldn’t escape. Because they weren’t a plea, they were a demand.

  The table was heavy and sturdy, with thick dark wood legs. The top wasn’t sanded smooth, but rough, though smooth, as if the wood had been hand hewn, and smoothed by years and years of use.