BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

“Oh thank you, Jesus.”

Jensen barked out a laugh. He cupped her hips and in the next moment she felt his breath on her wet pussy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wet.” He pinched her labia and pulled them open, exposing her aching core.

“I can’t remember the last time I was this aroused, Master.”

“You’re enjoying trying new things—abrasion, arm binding, anal.”

“Oh yes, Master.”

“Good, because we’ve got more to do. Come when you’re ready.”

His lips closed over her clit. Anna screamed. The direct contact with the throbbing bundle of nerves was so intense that her toes curled. Jensen held her upper thighs as he lapped at her clit. Broad strokes of his tongue fanned the already wild fire of her desire. He pulled back and blew on her wet flesh, then circled her clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Master!”

Knowing she had his permission—and she was so aroused that even if she hadn’t she would have come—Anna gave in to the orgasm building in her belly. She sobbed as the pleasure washed over her in heavy, thick waves. Her nipples were diamond hard, her ass throbbing, her channel clenching.

He pulled her deeper under the waves of pleasure, using the flat of his tongue to gently massage her throbbing clit. Anything more direct would have been uncomfortable in her pleasure-sensitive body, but he knew her, knew that he could prolong her orgasm.

Anna sucked in great sobbing breaths as her legs trembled and her pussy throbbed. The last wave crashed over her and she went limp, her head hanging down, her hair nearly brushing the floor.

* * *

sweet pleasure of submission. Some wanted the heady sting of pain. Some had no choice.

room, anticipation making his movements hard and sharp. He needed this. For months he’d been wanting it, lying awake at night dreaming of having a woman bound at his mercy. A week ago it had gone from “want” to “need” when the darkness inside him reached critical levels. He rubbed his

ceiling bookshelves, and robust leather furniture. It had an air of

was mentioned in various guides, but very few people could claim to have ever been inside. Las Palmas was the home of Las Palmas Oscuras—a BDSM club for the

“Welcome back, Xavier.”

half-turned to see an elegant woman in her fifties rising from one of the leather wing-back chairs. Mistress Faith was one of the overseers of Las Palmas, and a woman he was lucky to call

the title both as a sign

he was here, though she looked elegant and powerful in a tailored black skirt suit. Outside the Doms’ section of the estate she wore a porcelain half-mask, both to protect her identity

She patted his arm just above the leather

Apparently he’d missed something. Not a

sighed. “I suppose you

the time, then remembered he didn’t carry it while here. It was a way to separate who he was to the

an

“You mean the barn?”

it’s not a barn. If it’s elegant, it’s not a barn.” Faith

of the world’s housing, but

“You weren’t always so

tired of small talk. “What’s going on?

Have a seat;

tossed back his drink and poured another, though this one was simply mineral water. It was time to go find a submissive, one

She motioned to