BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

James stilled the swinging cage, which was suspended at shoulder level in one of the Iron Court playrooms. The sub kneeling awkwardly inside barely reacted, except for a slight relaxation of the tense muscles in her face.

He’d carefully watched her interaction with Madame Cat, warned by Master Mikael’s words. Beth was either one of the quietest, most obedient subs he’d ever seen, was so deep in subspace that all her reactions were muted under a thick layer of knee-jerk obedience, or she was just going through the motions of submission with no real emotional connection to what was happening.

He hoped, almost desperately, that it was one of the first two.

James put his hand over hers, realizing that she was white-knuckling the bars, not merely holding on. He hadn’t been able to tell exactly how tense she was in her body language.

She didn’t look up, didn’t open her eyes, leaving him staring at her glossy dark hair, which was parted in a perfectly straight line. She was naked, though in her contorted position he could see relatively little of her body. Tilting his head he caught sight of her reddened left nipple, the lingering mark of Madame Cat’s fingers a testament to how tight the grip had been, and how much self control it had taken for Beth not to cry out at something that was surely painful.

James had never enjoyed subs who were either naturally secretive with their responses or who had been trained to stifle their reactions. Not that demanding quiet couldn’t be a fun aspect of a scene, especially when it was a rule that couldn’t possibly be followed, but he wanted to interact with a woman, to know what she was feeling. That was much harder to do if she just lay or sat there stiff and mute.

He wondered if Beth had been trained to be this way, or if it was part of her personality.

“Hello, Beth.”

She shivered slightly when he spoke, and it was the first totally uncontrolled reaction he’d seen from her.

“Hello, Master James.”

She knew his name. He was shocked, though perhaps he shouldn’t be. There weren’t so many members of Las Palmas that it would be extraordinary for someone to know everyone’s name. But she’d identified him by voice alone.

“Let’s get you out of that cage so we can talk.”

“As it pleases you, Master James.”

He was listening closely, watching her intently, so he caught the signs of relief—lowering of her shoulders, loosening of her grip on the bars.

It took him several minutes to find the control panel cleverly hidden in the stone wall. He turned off the spotlights, turned up the other room lights, and then lowered the cage, which was suspended from a mechanically controlled pulley.

down, he went back to the cage, unfastening the simple latches that held the door closed. Once it was open, Beth made no move

a sigh. “You

“Thank you, Master James.”

planted her hands on the floor then slowly moved her legs. At first he thought she was scared to exit the cage, perhaps scared of a scene with him after having only a moment ago lost the security of a collar, but after a moment of watching her, he realized what he was seeing was not fear,

catcher’s pose he held out his hands. “Give

tipped up, and for a moment her eyes met his. What he saw in her gaze was a bright and powerful mixture

James rose slowly, drawing her up until she was kneeling with her back straight. When the pressure of her fingers in his increased, James closed

marked with deeply embedded red lines, the crosshatch a perfect

over him. He held it back—subs were not princesses in need of rescuing. They were grown women who made informed

she needed was to be cared

and knelt, rubbing her lower legs with firm, hard strokes. She made a small noise and swayed. For a moment her hands brushed his body as she instinctively reached out to steady herself. When

rub the marks

was on her hands, on what she’d do. With rueful amusement he realized he was holding his breath

his hair, the touch so light he almost didn’t feel it, but then she did it again, skimming her fingers through his hair. James

hand clenched in his hair, not pulling, but possessive. A flush rose

rose to his feet, still holding her gaze as her hands slid down his body, the pressure of her fingers molding his shirt to his chest. Beth blinked, and with a jerk that shook her whole body, dropped her chin, eyelids now submissively lowered. She folded her arms behind her back, cupping the opposite elbow in each hand in a position that was physically demanding to maintain due to the pressure

just stared at her, utterly and completely fascinated. If anything, Master

afternoon, James smiled. It was going to

* * *

rolling through her. She tried to name them, but she was having trouble describing what had just happened well enough for her normal process to work. On the surface it was simple: he’d rubbed her legs, she’d touched his shoulder with one hand and

the moment they’d looked in one another’s eyes as the real

the contact with him—or the memory of how firm his chest was under the soft fabric of his dress shirt.

consider her behavior. Madame Cat would have reacted with immediate disappointment and correction. Remembering the items on

made it easy to force out the last of those unidentified

dimmed slightly, and there were more footsteps before Master James called out

“Beth, come here.”

gaze a discreet three feet in front of