BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Pain or pleasure. In the end it didn’t matter. She craved both.

Anna kept her breaths slow and even, trying to make as little noise as possible. Drawing attention to herself right now would be like a mouse squeaking in a room full of hungry jungle cats.

The submissive kneeling beside her shifted, wincing a little. Anna’s legs hurt too—they’d been waiting here for over half an hour, and the concrete was hard against her knees and toes. She wanted to raise her head and look around, but she didn’t dare.

Slaves and submissives knelt in various states of undress in the center of the large open space. Some sat back on their heels, others were kneeling up, their bodies straight from head to knee. Still others sat cross-legged with their hands laced together behind their backs.

The Masters and Doms lounged on couches or in chairs along two of the walls. More were in the seating area in the converted hay loft, leaning forward to look down at the bounty of flesh on the ground floor. Some prowled the edges of kneeling men and women like predators circling a heard of prey.

They were assembled in the barn, the only space in Las Palmas large enough to house everyone. To outsiders it might seem like nothing more than an upscale adobe-style barn, built to match the massive, sprawling mansion a hundred yards away. Las Palmas was a beautiful property north of Los Angeles, named for the twin rows of palm trees that lined the drive and circled the mansion. The barn was only one of the many outbuildings and, despite its name, was nicer than most people’s homes, with brushed concrete floors, air conditioning and teak doors on the ten large stalls. It had been built to house finicky purebred horses, but both the barn and the mansion served a darker purpose.

Wood groaned as the heavy double doors opened. Anna caught her breath and dropped her chin to her chest. She stared at the top of her own breasts, exposed to just above the nipple by the black corset she wore. Matching stockings, panties and a garter belt completed her ensemble. Outside Las Palmas the lingerie would have been exciting and racy. Here it was the equivalent of a t-shirt and jeans.

Footsteps clicked on the concrete—two pairs of boots and a pair of high heels. She’d been a serious submissive for several years now, and after spending that much time with her head down, she’d become very good at identifying the sound of footsteps.

joining us. Subs, focus

subs and slaves shifted to obey, rearranging themselves

and Master Mikel drew the eye and commanded attention. Each was tall and slim. Master Leo and Mistress Faith wore half masks. Master Mikel did not.

name they’d given to the exclusive and secretive BDSM club housed on the estate. Referred to simply as Las Palmas, anyone who overheard a member talking about it and went snooping would find a website detailing the architectural and

said, her voice cool and clear. She was in her early fifties and favored trim, tailored

us has found pleasure and pain,

long arm, his dress shirt pulling back to expose his strong brown wrist. For a moment Anna thought she could see bruises, like those left by a cuff, but

heartbeat raced. Though the subs and slaves remained still, she saw the Masters and Doms straightening,

you want to play the same games, if you want the safety of the known, then we invite you to leave. The contract you signed when you joined will remain in effect. Any discussion of who we are or what we do will be

moved. Membership at Las Palmas was limited to a very select few—wealth, beauty and depravity were all required to even be considered. Anna suspected that many of the people in the room were like her—they didn’t just enjoy this place, they needed it. It soaked up and

consent to the…activity.” The syllables of the word “activity” rolled from the Mistress’s mouth, as if she’d

a few chuckles, some muttering from the Doms and Masters, but again, no