BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Beth’s body was still humming from the intense orgasms, there were butterflies of anticipation in her stomach, and she could feel the heat of a blush on her cheeks. Together those feelings helped her hush the internal monologue that was frantically pointing out everything she’d done wrong with Master James. From uninvited eye contact and not using his name and title when responding to direct questions to teasing him in a woefully disrespectful manner, she hadn’t followed the rules.

Yet, he didn’t seem to care, and the way he’d effortlessly taken command of her body, touching her both intimately and skillfully, made her feel far more submissive than the cage had. She was actually eager for him to command her, something she hadn’t felt since her first few disappointing sessions.

Beth walked beside Master James, his hand on her back guiding her. It was a distinctly possessive posture, but nothing compared to being made to crawl, or being leashed.

He guided her to the lovely garden of the “Sub Rosa” court, so named because a massive pergola covered the courtyard in the center of the single-story adobe tile roofed buildings. Climbing roses in shades of white and pale yellow wove over and around the wood, shading the court from the late afternoon sun. There were four bedroom-like playrooms off this garden, and it was the “gentlest” of the play spaces. The sprawling complex that housed Las Palmas boasted a series of courtyards, each with its own themes that carried into the playrooms that opened off each outdoor space.

There was a small circular platform in the center of the court with two pretty wood lounge chairs positioned on it. Surrounding the stage were pieces of lushly padded outdoor furniture. Occasionally someone would take their play onto the small stage and put on a show, but most of the time this courtyard was used for lounging. Baskets set against the base of the pergola posts held flat pillows that could be thrown down over the tile to allow subs to kneel and woven blankets for use when the nights were chilly.

The sun was just starting to set, and rays of light cut through small breaks in the canopy of roses, angling golden sunbeams onto the smattering of people already there. At the sound of their approach, heads turned, and a few people called out a greeting to Master James, their curious gazes taking in his newest companion.

Beth’s stomach knotted and her steps faltered when she caught sight of the other people. Their attention made her nervous—she wasn’t the kind of sub who hung out and laughed and chatted in this casual space. Crumpling the cuffs of his shirt in nervous fingers, Beth wished desperately that he’d had her crawl here, or put her in some kind of bondage.

Last weekend she’d been disappointed to be part of the scenery—a piece of furniture or a human prop—but in that moment she would have cheerfully offered to serve as a footstool rather than have everyone looking at her with questions in their eyes.

She felt…vulnerable. It was insane, but she was more exposed at this moment than she was when naked and chained to a wall in the dining room for display.

“Beth, look at me.”

Turning her head, she kept her gaze on the ground.

“Beth.” Now there was a warning in his voice, and that calmed her.

Raising her chin she met his gaze. His face was stern with command, but his gaze examined her, touching each feature.

only person you should be worried about, or

Master James,

don’t want you to feel those things, so when you do it means there’s

the club who cheerfully admitted that they liked or tried topping from the bottom, but their stories usually ended with sexy retellings of the “punishments” they earned

punishments those women described were not the kind Beth had

angry, but then his expression smoothed out. “I’m not always going to need you to talk to me. I’m

whole body flushed

“Beth?”

beautiful lips. Would

is it that no one has been treating you

responding—was orgasm slut a bad thing?—when Master James bent, put his shoulder against

hand across her calves held her in place as he carried her over to a large chair. The bottom and back cushions were heavy cream fabric, the frame and arms

on her feet only long enough for him to take a seat. A

should kneel, bow her head, put her arms behind

and you want to sit on my lap. That is

just said in her mind. He was her Master; he wanted her

he cared if she wanted

ankles together,

slipped under the back of the shirt, fingers tracing patterns on her lower back. She slid back a few inches, wanting more. His hand flattened, now rubbing

and his hand, still under the shirt, moved

voice was both teasing and

way back, until her hip was pressed against his belly, her feet no longer on