BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Her breath hitched in her chest and her blood pounded as the scarf pressed in. As soon as she realized the pressure was there, it was gone again. She faltered for a moment, but Master Jensen squeezed her ass, eliciting a yelp.

“Focus, Anna,” he admonished her.

“Yes, Master.”

She went back to fucking herself on him, using the slow, grinding rhythm she knew would drive him wild.

Again the scarf tightened, restricting her breath for just a moment longer than the first time. She looked at her master, her lips parted to take the breath he held captive. Their gazes locked as he tightened the pressure for the third time, this time holding it long enough that her chest heaved.

A spike of pleasure shot through her. Anna’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What?” he asked, seeing her reaction.

“That felt…that felt good.”

He nodded once. “It’s restricting the oxygen flow to your brain. Carbon dioxide is accumulating and that’s what’s making it feel good’. It’s like being at a high altitude.”

She listened vaguely, glad he knew the physiology, but not wanting to think about it too much, in case it distracted her from the pleasure.

She could feel his fists on her back, knew he held the ends of the scarf there. It both thrilled and terrified her that he controlled her so completely.

“Faster,” he growled, and Anna increased the speed of her hips.

He stole another breath from her, holding it long enough that her body spasmed, reacting to the denial with an illogical pleasure. Giddiness swept through her.

“Faster,” he demanded again.

back and fucked him hard and fast. Her ass slapped his

pulled the scarf tight around her

“Come, Anna,” he demanded.

She trusted him completely. He mastered her, body and soul, and she owned him in returned. The scarf went

against his chest, the scarf still snug around her

***

the wood creaked. His palms tingled

Her skin was pale and creamy, making her red hair gleam, but the photo must have been a few years old. In person she was more mature in her face, placing her in her late rather than early twenties. Or perhaps it was the way she was dressed in the photo that made her seem younger. Tonight she wore a short Asian-style robe. It had fallen on one side, leaving

her and cane her ass and breasts

reined in his impulses. This was exactly why he couldn’t be paired with Mae. Hours of arguing with Mistress Faith and he hadn’t gotten anywhere. He’d been tempted to walk away, forfeiting his membership, but Faith had convinced him to at least meet with the sub, and trust that the rules of the game, and the rules of BDSM, would protect both

held all the power, because the sub decided whether the Dom merited the trust needed to proceed. Mae would refuse and he would be free to find another sub to play with for the limited amount of time he had here. Though technically if Mae walked away, she’d be in violation

knew he needed his time here to fight back the darkness inside him. Forcing him to waste a night like

doubted she had any idea how truly torturous this was, because though he and Mae were as different as silk and steel, there was something about her that

she entered, but the longer she stood there in silence the more the expression faded. Good. He wanted her scared enough to walk away. When she shifted her weight and clasped her hands together, Xavier decided it

* * *

last bits of tension she held in her body. He freed her from the cuffs and clamps, then laid them down and curled around her, holding and protecting her. When she rolled over to face him, she could see the power and impact of what they’d done in the tense lines of his face. She kissed and stroked him, her touches not meant to arouse but to calm. He laid his head on her breast, the tension

not sexy scars,” he said

it a million times before. She doubted he knew how much it revealed about his

survived,” she

taking her into the hospital, where she’d gotten her first look at the boy she loved. But it hadn’t been a boy who lay there, it had been a man, his body wrapped in gauze, forty percent

date—but it hadn’t worked. She found the men she met at the firm or at posh cocktail parties weak and insipid. She’d longed for her former boyfriend’s strong hands—and she’d hated herself for choosing a career over a future. Though only in her mid-twenties, she’d started to feel like her life was

by a senior partner in her firm, Ramon Leo. He’d noticed her disdain for the men in their circle of acquaintances. He’d invited her out for drinks, plied her with expensive champagne, and asked her about her love life. Too tired and drunk to care, she’d told him how much

to Master Leo. He’d tutored and guided her as she explored her submissive side. When she’d received the call from Camp Pendleton, Ramon Leo had been one of the

craved such strong men, and that it was killing her to see him so badly