Checklist J, K, L

Davina stared peacefully into middle distance, moving when he told her to, breathing deeply, if a bit unsteadily. She knew what this feeling of peace and clarity was—this is what she strived for, yet feared. Some called it subspace, but she had a private name for it. Serenity.

This was her serenity.

Grif had helped her find serenity many times—usually while she was in suspension bondage or during impact play. As much as she liked—no, longed for—this feeling, she couldn’t bring herself to give in to it without strong BDSM play.

The woman she was now had trouble letting go enough to find this kind of peace for the same reasons she didn’t like to cry.

One of her best friends loved to cry. She would purposefully watch sad shows or movies, and happily sniffle and sob. At the end she’d wipe her tears and say “that was amazing.”

Davina thought that was insane. Crying was for the shower, where no one could hear you and where the tears could mingle with the water, being washed away immediately.

And yet, here she was, in her serenity, with no rope or flogger in sight.

A small voice was insisting that should bother her. That she was now the one sobbing and sniffling while watching a Lifetime movie.

She ignored that voice, the same voice that had freaked out when she’d called Grif “Master.”

“Last one,” he murmured.

She’d lost track of how many chains he placed on and around her. He’d attached so many clasps to the nipple cages that the filigree was all but obscured. The chains leading from her breasts hung loosely around her torso, crossed her back, and draped over her shoulders. More chains were anchored in the ring of the plug. Those wound between and over her thighs, or snaked up to wrap around her waist.

It was as if she was swathed in a loose weave of jewelry. Only the collar and the center chain that crossed over her clit were pulled tight.

Grif walked around her, his gaze so intense it was almost a physical touch.

“You look…” He made a sound that was both possessive and proud, almost a growl. “My beautiful minx, bound with jewelry.”

He reached up and untied the twine connecting the cuffs on her upper arms to the lattice above.

“We’re done, Master?”

“No, but you can’t stay like this anymore.” He was efficient, and in no time had the leather cuffs off. “Flex your arms. Good. How do you feel?”

“Stiff. My shoulders hurt a little.”

Grif massaged her arms and shoulders with firm squeezes. “Thank you for telling me.” He pulled over the other chair, stood on it—hunched so he wouldn’t hit his head—and then unfastened the chain suspending the jewelry wrist cuffs to the lattice.

He took her hands in his as he got down, lacing their fingers together and lowering her arms to her sides. As stiff as she was, his controlling her movement helped.

He lifted their interlaced hands, kissing each of her wrists in turn. “You look lovely,” he murmured against her skin.

He lowered her arms to her sides, then without pause grabbed the chains dangling from the cuffs and connected the ends to the web that draped her body.

Again he took a step back, looking at her. There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before, an expression she didn’t know how to read.

wondered what he

“One more piece.”

Master.” Finding her serenity didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little

that’s not…okay, well,

hard cock taking up all the space in his pants she didn’t know—but he pulled out

now, with her arms at her sides she

“Face forward,” he commanded.

smile she obeyed,

ever been this

felt like several hours had probably been no more than a half hour. Any longer and her shoulders and back would hurt, rather than

achingly aroused it was like a

the arousal made

sexual component to their play. It was one of the many benefits of a private club, that penetrative sex

bondage or impact play scenes—those most likely to allow her to find her serenity—weren’t exactly arousing. It was one of the things many people didn’t understand about BDSM. It wasn’t always sexual. That was why friends could be scene partners. Flogging—giving or

having some sort of sex serve as the climax of the scene. As a result, things that were not necessarily arousing were arousing for her, because she was with Grif. On the occasions she’d been flogged by someone else—as an experienced switch she was a good bottom for beginners or those learning

shake it off, smile, and then thank her

sexually stimulating enough to justify how wet she was, how her body flushed hot and cold on alternating breaths. Her nipples, which were a major erogenous zone for her, were bereft of stimulation, trapped as

Maybe this was just her normal sex-is-coming-soon arousal, but it didn’t feel like

your Master, and that

was a fleeting thing,

her head, sliding it into place. It was cool metal, and sat on her head like a circlet, or a Rambo-style headband. “This matches the cuffs,” he explained. “It’s made out of the

at her wrists, where the relief embossed vignettes on their small panels caught the

to it.

was placed over her closed eyes. Cool

it?”

a bunch of chains are covering your eyes. Kind of like upside down

crown. A

her shoulder. “For my minx.” There was a

hands cupped

moment, but without her saying or doing anything, he knew. Her Master

an odd sensation, and she blinked

of the “blindfold.” She could see a few things clearly—the door to one of the stalls across from where they were and a light fixture. The rest was blurred colors. She could see enough to tell where she was,

bit,” Grif said as he

that several

mean it each time.” Grif thumbed the underside of

“To…say?”

going to gag

Davina’s breath caught.

“Exhale,” he commanded.

love