C is for…

by L. DuBois

  “I grabbed it out of some closet as a prop. Pretend to dust.”

  “Pretending to dust isn’t ‘chores’.”

  He thunked his head against the back of the chair. “No. But it means I get to watch you bend over in the corset and then punish you for being a naughty maid.”

  Beth’s eyes widened in horror. “This is…this is role play?”

  Chapter Eight

  “Why are you saying it the way people normally say ‘dead baby seals’?”

  “I hate role play. I’m terrible at role play.” Beth’s most traumatic high school experience had been when her best friend had cajoled her into being part of the school musical. She had a hard enough time figuring out what she was feeling, let alone pretending to be someone else and then trying to show others what the pretend person was feeling.

  “Okay, Miss Literal. It’s not role play.” The corner of his lips twitched in a smile.

  Beth had a white-knuckle grip on the bottle of glass cleaner. James frowned, realizing that she was not teasing, as funny as her fear might sound to others.

  “Beth.” Now his voice was sharp with command. “Put all the spray bottles in the bucket. Take out the feather duster.”

  Beth grabbed the feather duster, which was made of actual black and white feathers and had a short, thick wooden handle.

  “Go dust the front of the wardrobe.”

  Feeling better at having simple, direct orders to follow, Beth went to the tall dark-wood piece and ran the duster over the doors.

  “I don’t think this is very effective.” There wasn’t any dust on the furniture—Las Palmas had a discreet cleaning service come in during the week, and two full-time people who lived on site and maintained the playrooms daily—but if there had been dust she was fairly certain the feathers would just move it around.

  “Dust the top.”

  Beth rose on tiptoe, one hand on the doors, the other stretched up. For a large man, he was surprisingly silent as he came up behind her. When Master James grabbed her bare ass, Beth nearly lost her balance.

  “I didn’t say you could stop.” He growled the words when she lowered her outstretched arm.

  Beth went back up on her toes, struggling to maintain the position as he massaged her ass. When his lips brushed her ear, Beth shivered. The corset not only restricted her movement, but made her intensely aware of how naked her lower half was.

  “The table over there needs to be cleaned.”

  He turned her by the hips, pointing her to the small side table positioned near the chair he’d been sitting in. The corset caused her hips to sway more than normal, but this time she played it up, sure from the weight of his gaze that he was watching her ass as she walked away.

  It was an incredibly powerful feeling. She was the one in the binding corset, obeying his orders—yet she felt strong and in control.

  She flicked the feather duster along the top of the perfectly clean table, heart thumping in her chest as she waited for him to make his next move. Master James resumed his seat.

  “You missed a spot.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, stand right in front of me and you’ll see it.”

  Beth’s blood was humming with desire and anticipation as she positioned herself in front of him, her legs only a few inches from his knees. Again she flicked the duster, barely moving as she focused all her attention on the man at her back.

  “There’s dust on the shelf. Clean it.”

  There was a shelf near the bottom of the table, set with a lovely impressionist ceramic sculpture of a naked man and woman. Beth started to bend, then realized the corset made that problematic.

  Bracing one hand on the tabletop she bent from the hips, not the waist, thrusting her ass back as she leaned forward.

  A heavy hand on her back slammed her down the last few inches, so her chest was flat on the table. Master James grabbed the duster from her.

  “I have a confession.” He ran the soft feathers up her arm to her shoulder, then used them to push her hair off her face, the tickling feeling causing her to scrunch up her nose.

  “This isn’t really meant for dusting.” He held it where she could see it. “Look at the handle.”

  The handle was about as long as her hand, from wrist to the tip of her fingers, and as wide around as a tube of toothpaste. Rather than straight it was curved, like the silhouette of a woman’s body, with a rounded, tapered end.

  “Can you guess where this is going?”

  She could guess, but between the position, the corset, and the arousal that made it hard to think let alone talk, Beth didn’t answer.

  “I’m going to fuck your pussy with it, then going to shove it inside your tight ass.”

  With one hand on her upper back holding her down, he brushed her butt and legs with the feathers.

  “Then I’m going to make you keep it in your ass, like a feather tail.”

  The smooth wood of the handle rubbed her inner thighs, then tapped against her mound.

  “You’re going to do some more chores, like get me lunch and a drink, all with a cute little feather tail.”

  Beth was panting with desire, the picture painted by his words driving her mad with desire.

  The smooth, cool wood slid between the lips of her sex, the tip rubbing her clit.

  “Then I’m going to take it out of your ass, so that I can fuck you. Or maybe you need to go over my knee for a spanking first.”

  The handle pressed into her, her desire-tightened body greedily clenching around the wood as it entered her inch by inch.

  “I could say it’s to punish you for this morning, but really it would just be because I want to spank you.”

  He started fucking her with the feather duster in earnest. Beth clung to the table, wanting to thrust back, but he was holding her in place, giving her no opportunity to move. She could only stand there and take it.

  Leaving the handle buried in her, Master James rubbed two fingers between her pussy lips, gathering her body’s own moisture and spreading it on her anus. He repeated the motion several times, pausing to fuck her on occasion, before pulling the duster handle out of her pussy and pressing it against her rear entrance.

  The tip slid in smoothly, but the taper was not as gradual as last night’s plug, and as he kept pushing, Beth squirmed.

  “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

  “You’re not, Master,” she whispered. There were twinges of pain but they were the good kind, the kind that let her know she was being used.

  “Good.”

  When it was seated inside her to his satisfaction, Master James let her stand up.

  “Time for the rest of your chores.” He took a seat, the bulge of his erection apparent, his gaze hot with desire. “Get me a bottle of water and a glass of champagne.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Oh, and Beth…”

  She paused.

  “If you let it fall out, I won’t fuck you for the rest of the weekend.”

  Now that was real punishment. Butt clenched, Beth slipped out of the playroom to complete her chores.

  *****

  Beth sprawled on the bed beside Master James, eyes closed. One of her arms was dangling off the edge in an awkward manner that was making it impossible to fall completely asleep, but she was dozing in a post-orgasm state of bliss.

  “Beth, it’s almost time to go.”

  “Hmm?”

  Strong arms pulled her against a warm chest and Beth relaxed into the embrace.

  “It’s nearly six.”

  That woke her up. “PM? Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  Her stomach clenched. Their weekend was over. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of kinky sex, the feather duster giving way to a good long fuck with her bent over the table, followed by dinner in the dining room, while she wore cuffs and nipple clamps, a one-foot-long chain connecting each cuff to the corresponding clamp, which made eating an adventure and ensured that by the time they were done, her wel
l-stimulated nipples had her so desperate for release that she’d literally jumped on James the instant they entered their room.

  But it wasn’t their room, it was a playroom—and one they’d be leaving shortly.

  Today they’d taken it easy—the focus on getting Beth to express what she wanted in a way that fit with her rule-based view of BDSM. Master James had convinced her that she could still use the rules as a guide, but that wiggling her hips while standing in an appropriate posture was not “breaking the rules” but rather letting a Dom know that she was feeling sexy or playful.

  Lunch had been memorable—she’d spent it cuffed wrist and ankle to a straight-backed chair on the stage in the courtyard. A straight-backed chair with the head of a wand vibrator mounted in the seat. James had used heavy chain in an X pattern to bind her upper body to the chair, the weight and pressure of the chains reminiscent of the feelings she’d gotten from the corset.

  The restraints gave her enough space that she could move her hips, increasing and decreasing the vibration against her clit by sliding forward and back. After greedily coming three times in the first half hour, Beth had backed off, but found the audience that had gathered to watch her while they ate kept her aroused. Soon she was wiggling her hips forward, grinding her clit against the vibrator.

  It was far from the first time she’d been put on display, but it was the first time she’d been putting on a show.

  She’d spent nearly two hours strapped to the chair, and towards the end she begged Master James for more. He’d added heavy clover clamps on her nipples, then placed the short connecting chain in her mouth, allowing her to tilt her chin and increase the pinch on her sensitive buds.

  Master James had finally called a halt, though Beth had been half-mad from all the orgasms by that point and protested. She’d sucked his cock before he finally tumbled her onto the bed for a long fuck that was both intimate and rough. Her pussy felt vaguely bruised from all the time she’d spent smashing it against a vibrator.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Battered.” It was the truth, but when he rolled her over and frowned down at her, Beth smiled. “It’s a nice kind of battered.”

  He nodded once, but didn’t smile back. “Good.” He rolled off the bed and stretched. “Would you prefer to shower here or in the Subs’ Garden?”

  Beth sat up, struggling to figure out the sudden shift in his mood. Had she said something wrong? What was going on, and what did that nauseous sensation in her stomach signify?

  “I don’t have a preference.”

  “Then I’m going to jump under the shower here.” He walked towards the bathroom door.

  “James, wait.”

  He turned, both eyebrows raised in surprise. It was the first time she’d failed to address him as Master.

  “Is this…are we done?”

  His gaze searched her face. “What are you asking?”

  The past forty-eight hours had been the most sexually satisfying of her life, and more than that, she was comfortable with him in a way she’d never been with anyone—in the scene or in vanilla life. The feeling that was making her stomach churn was fear. Fear of losing him.

  “You said I was yours until Sunday.”

  “Yes.”

  Why was he being so distant, why was he making this hard on her?

  Well, the one thing she wouldn’t forget, wouldn’t go back to, was staying quiet about what she wanted.

  She pulled the sheet up over her chest, needing the courage that came with not being exposed. “We’re not done with our checklist.”

  Finally, he smiled. “We’re not?”

  “No.”

  “And what do you think we missed?”

  “Several things, actually, but there’s one I want.” It felt good to state her desires so simply.

  “And what do you want?”

  “A collar.” Beth smiled. Collar was on their list, and if he collared her they would play together every time they were at the club. She’d hadn’t been the kind of sub he favored on Friday afternoon, but he’d showed her that she actually enjoyed submitting to someone like him far more than she enjoyed submitting to a stricter Master. They made a good pair, and she was sure that he was as aware of it as she was.

  James’s smile disappeared.

  Beth knew how inappropriate it was for a sub to ask to be collared, knew that even beyond that it was crazy of her to ask this after only a weekend together, but she knew what she wanted. She wasn’t going to risk spending any more time dissatisfied because she didn’t break this one rule and ask for what she wanted.

  When James said nothing Beth tried to explain, to make him understand why she was asking this. “Submitting to you is unlike anything of my other experiences. I came to BDSM for the rules, but you showed me that they’re not the important part. That I can be a good sub, that I can be comfortable and not worry if I’m acting the right way even without them. I trust you. I know it’s only been one weekend, but I know what I want.”

  It was her first ever heartfelt speech, and Beth was rather proud of it. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of thing that would ever end up in a Hollywood movie, but she’d been honest and said exactly what she wanted to say. The fear that had made her feel sick was gone, replaced by a lightness she identified as hope.

  “No.”

  And just like that the sick feeling was back, but now it wasn’t fear. It was a slimy ball of emotions she couldn’t fully name.

  Beth looked down at the white sheet, tears making everything blurry. She touched her face. She never cried.

  “You asked about my hard limits. Well, that’s one of them.”

  Without another word he went into the bathroom and closed the door. Beth slipped from the bed, pulled on the long white robe, and left.

  An hour later Beth stepped out of the showers in the Subs’ Garden. The locker room was precisely that—with large wooden lockers the subs could store their things in, but the room was plush, with fresh flowers on the marble counters and delicate padded dressing chairs eliminating any possibility of a gym feel.

  Dropping the towel in the bin by the door, she made her way through the smattering of other subs to her assigned locker. There was an envelope taped to the front.

  Ripping it off, she pulled out the single sheet of paper. It was a copy of her checklist, the page that included the letter C items. Retreating to one of the chairs, Beth dropped down and looked at the list. Cages, chains, chastity belts, chores, clothespins, clamps, cock worship, corset, and cuffs all had checkmarks beside them. Lines were drawn through cattle prod, cells, collars, and cock rings—they must be James’s hard limits. The only items that were neither crossed off nor checked were choking and caning.

  Beth stared at the two unmarked items. This must have come from him, but there were no directions, no indication of what he was trying to say.

  Folding the list, she got dressed, then tucked the paper into her purse. There was only one logical conclusion. James was telling her that they weren’t done, that there were two items on their list they’d have to address.

  Funny, but right now that didn’t arouse her. It pissed her off.

  Chapter Nine

  He should have hacked into the Las Palmas records, looked up her number, called, and apologized. James paced, hoping to hell Beth showed up this weekend, that she’d seen the list he’d impulsively left her and her rule-following tendencies would push her to come back so they could finish. He hadn’t originally planned to deal with caning or choking. Though they weren’t on his hard limits list, they weren’t things that particularly interested him, and unlike Beth¸ he had no problem ignoring rules when it suited him.

  He’d been a Grade A asshole the last time she’d seen him. How nice of him to spend all that time convincing her she should be more forthcoming with what she wanted only to shut her down when she asked for something. It was hardly her fault that she’d managed to hit on his one major trigger.

  Not an hour had gone by this
past week that he hadn’t thought about her, and more than once his fingers had been poised over his keyboard, ready to break some rules, and laws, to get her personal phone number. Since his firm had been part of the team to develop Las Palmas’s digital security, it wasn’t really hacking in so much as using the back door he’d left for himself in case of emergencies.

  It had felt like an emergency.

  But then again, he’d already made one dick move and decided not to compound the problem with another equally dick move. An unholy amount of time playing Grand Theft Auto and some senseless murdering of digital characters had helped keep his mind off everything. Now that he was here, he had nothing but time to think about it as he waited to see if she’d show up.

  There was an intercom system, and James had asked that an announcement be made every hour asking her to join him in the Orion Room, a well-outfitted playroom off the larger Constellation Court. Unlike their room from last weekend there was no bed—this room would never be mistaken for anything other than a BDSM playroom.

  He’d been here since three o’clock, and it was now 6:45. So far, no Beth. But he wouldn’t give up, not yet. There’d be another announcement in fifteen minutes.

  James checked the setup, then went back to pacing.

  *****

  She hadn’t brought any lingerie. It was hardly a surprise—lingerie packing had never been part of her normal routine for coming here.

  Arriving at 5:50, Beth had heard the six o’clock announcements, including a request for her to go to the Orion Room. Rather than rushing to obey, she took her time, even going so far as to ask the other ladies getting ready in the Subs’ Garden if anyone had something she could borrow. It was the first time she’d ever really interacted with anyone in that space, and she was surprised by how readily people pulled out garments for her—and by the volume of brand-new lingerie everyone else owned and kept in their lockers. As someone said, “you never know what you’ll need.” She gravitated towards a frilly white corset, but after putting it on was gently told that it didn’t really go with her “look.”

  Unaware she had a “look,” Beth instead accepted the suggestion of a classic black bustier that stopped two inches above her belly button, boy-short style lace panties and thin satin slippers that were slightly too big. Then someone insisted on helping her with her makeup, the result heavy black cat-eye style liner, matte bronze eye shadow, and glossy lips.