BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

He always forgot how beautiful this place was. Las Palmas was housed in a gorgeous Spanish-style Malibu estate—not the cliff-hugging ocean-view Malibu most people knew. The sprawling estate was tucked into one of the canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains. The landscaping had been redone since he was last here—the green lawns were gone, replaced by drought-tolerant desert grasses and shrubs.

The main structure was actually a series of smaller buildings, connected by covered walkways. Each building was a hollow square around a roofless courtyard. The sprawling estate also housed a variety of other structures. Off to one side was a massive barn. Near it were some more utilitarian buildings that functioned almost as a hotel, with members who planned to spend the whole weekend able to book sleeping quarters.

Grabbing a duffle bag from the trunk, Hadrian headed for the doors. It was Friday night, and as he crossed the gravel parking area, another car pulled in. Weekends were party time for the rich, famous, and kinkily-inclined.

Once inside, he headed for the Doms’ lounge. The den, as they commonly referred to it, was modeled after a traditional European style men’s study or library.

Wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and robust leather furniture were out of sync with the whitewashed walls and red adobe tile roofs, but no less comfortable and elegant for the stylistic dissonance. A wall of tall windows bathed the room in sunset light, and beyond the glass golden hills sprawled.

Mikel stood by the well-stocked bar. The overseer had a slim, strong face. His eyes were heavily lidded, and seemed to regard the world with a sort of lazy pleasure.

“Just give me a minute.” Hadrian held up his duffle.

“Take your time. Your sub isn’t here yet.”

His sub.

Something rumbled through Hadrian. It was like far off thunder, thunder that heralded a great storm.

Hadrian slipped into the elegant changing room—there were lockers, but calling it a locker room implied it was something crude and inelegant, when it was anything but. Cherry wood lockers each bore a small plaque with a Master, Mistress, or Owner’s name on it. Back when he’d first joined, he’d kept clothes and toys in his locker at all times.

surprised to find there was a shirt hung neatly on a

for the drive down. An occupational hazard of being both a fitness and computer geek was a major aversion to real clothing.

and a white button-down shirt, he returned to the den. Mikel was seated in one of a pair of armchairs positioned by the empty fireplace. Hadrian joined him, nodding his thanks for

glad you came,”

I would. Wouldn’t want to

but not comedic enough to warrant a grin. Why was

starting to have a

you’re ready to do something

like you haven’t

raised his glass, only partially hiding his grin. “You’re a smart man, Master Hadrian.” He took a sip. “We have time. Why don’t I show you what you

the table and passed

richer than it

slim stack, maybe five sheets

flipped through the pages. “I…remember filling

you? Tell

letter D. “It

“Not so long.”

Young, successful, drunk on power and