BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

“And you, are you wet, Beth?”

“Yes, Master James.”

Beth was in an almost dreamlike state—the warmth of his body was seeping into her bare skin, the pressure of his hands on her skin had a strangely calming effect and she was able to answer his questions with absolute truth without feeling awkward.

She was so lost in the feelings that she gasped when Master James grabbed her hips and spun her around so her back was against his chest. Firm hands grabbed her thighs and forced her legs along the outside of his, opening and exposing her sex.

“Raise your hands, put them on my head.” His voice was rough.

Beth obeyed, but the peace of a moment ago was gone, every muscle tense with dread. She’d forgotten where she was, what she was, and now she’d be punished. Flogging and whipping of her pussy were on her list of hard limits, but experience had taught her that there were plenty of other ways her sex could bear the brunt of a punishment, and each was painful.

“I apologize for my disobedience, Master James.” The words were the appropriate response to bad behavior. She waited for him to say something like “You won’t make that mistake again” or “You need some correction.”

Instead Master James brushed his lips against her ear and whispered, “I don’t ever want to hear those words from you again.”

One hand slid up to her breast, cupping the mound as he flicked the nipple with his thumb. The other settled between her legs, two fingers exploring her labia before slipping inside her pussy.

* * *

James pressed his fingers along either side of her clit, rubbing gently. Beth’s body arched, her fingers tightening in his hair as she gasped in startled pleasure.

his gut, focusing on her. Rolling one nipple with his

than two minutes, but it seemed like she was going to come. Not surprising considering that she’d been denied

her nipple hard, and rubbed her

and then started to shake, her limbs

heel of his hand against her clit, spreading the lips of her sex with all four fingers so he could feel

him, breath shuddering in what was almost sobs. Part of him wanted to curl her up into a ball and hold her, but he kept her spread and open before him, hoping the physical openness would help

hand over her torso, thighs, and arms, taking possession of her bare flesh with his touch. When her breath returned to normal, he took his hand from her pussy, wiping it against her belly so the smell of her orgasm

from a place of pleasure to awareness. She relaxed her hold on his hair, lifting her hands away from his scalp so her palms were only a light pressure on his head, still

her into a sitting positing,

on his face. He could cheerfully horsewhip

most emotional and physical protective reflexes people, especially women, had developed by the time they were adults. Usually what happened was a submissive managed to keep some of those walls in place, resulting in a sort of half-submission that was usually fine, especially among casual partners. The trouble came when neither Doms, nor the submissive themselves, could tell that they weren’t

his own demons to wrestle with and hadn’t realized how deep Mae’s need went. James had seen what neither of them

was the opposite problem—the perfect, obedient submissive who followed every rule, obeyed every command, and yet no one had touched the real

in how intense a scene or relationship could become. But it was much more common that good chemistry allowed

sexual needs while still making them sexual objects. Some “slaves” were used in that way, as were men who enjoyed long-term chastity or cuckolding. James was a firm believer in live and let live, though he had no interest in those styles of kink, nor

because that was the last thing he wanted. Reminding himself once again that she didn’t need to be rescued—she needed to be made to come until she couldn’t remember the word

he intended to figure it out before he let her go Sunday night. He intended to make her

the

of amusement at that thought helped him put