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.

simple latches that held the door

sigh.

“Thank you, Master James.”

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

he held out his hands. “Give me your hands. I’ll help

head tipped up, and for a moment her eyes met his. What he saw in her gaze was a bright and powerful mixture of emotions—pain, anticipation, and lust. The force

straight. When the pressure of her fingers in his

lower legs from knee to ankle were marked with deeply embedded red lines, the crosshatch a perfect replica of

as a wave of protectiveness washed over him. He held it back—subs were not princesses in

was to be cared for, not to

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 she jerked back from the

brace yourself while I rub

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

but then she did it again, skimming her fingers through his hair. James raised his face, and his gaze

and her irises dilated with desire. Her hand clenched in his hair, not pulling, but possessive. A flush rose from her chest

dropped her chin, eyelids now submissively lowered. She folded her arms

completely fascinated. If anything, Master Mikael had undersold exactly

Las Palmas this afternoon, James smiled. It was going to be a very

* * *

happened well enough for her normal process to work. On the surface it was simple: he’d rubbed her

eyes as the real source of her turmoil,

couldn’t dismiss was the way her fingers still tingled from the contact with him—or the memory of how firm his chest was under the soft fabric of his dress shirt. She wanted to rip the shirt off him, wanted to feel

how severe an infraction he would consider her behavior. Madame Cat would have reacted with immediate disappointment and correction. Remembering the items on the C list, Beth knew she was more than likely due for a caning, which she was not

of those unidentified emotions Master James had raised in

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

“Beth, come here.”

keeping her gaze a discreet three feet in front of her. As soon as