H is for...: BDSM Checklist

by L. DuBois

  H is for...

  BDSM Checklist

  L. DuBois

  Copyright

  Published by:

  Farm Boy Press,

  Sacramento, California, United States of America.

  First electronic edition: July 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Lila Dubois, all rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lila Dubois

  Book formatted by Farm Boy Press

  ISBN: 978-1-941641-32-3

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s note:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  For my incredible ARC team readers. This book, especially the ending, would not have been what it is without you.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  H is for…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Undone Rebel

  Also by L. DuBois

  About the Author

  Synopsis

  H is for…

  Rosa hoped becoming a submissive would fix her relationship with Liam. It hasn’t.

  Liam has loved Rosa nearly half his life, but he knows he doesn’t make her happy. The one thing he wants more than anything is to keep her safe. He would never hurt her--she's been hurt enough.

  When Rosa and Liam are assigned to the letter H as part of their BDSM club’s new checklist game, a chance to come together instead becomes a reason to drift further apart. With so many items on the list for H, they aren't the only people assigned to the letter. Thinking it will make her happy, Liam allows Rosa to join another Dom’s harem. Pushed to his breaking point by what he see's his lover doing, Liam will decide if their past will stop him from becoming the Master she needs, or if he'll accept the darkness of his own desires.

  H is for…

  One

  Liam Blando leaned over the railing of what should have been a hayloft, but felt more like a kinky observation post. Half- to fully-naked women, and a few men, knelt on the floor of the barn below, though the building, which the club had dubbed “the conclave”, resembled a barn only in size and the fact that there were horse stalls and a tack room.

  The horse stalls had twin beds and the tack room was filled with bridles, bits, and harnesses meant for people, not animals. The building was clean, the wood accents glossy, the paint fresh, and the chair he sat on expensive and comfortable.

  “We’ve become complacent.” Master Leo, one of the three club overseers, projected his voice though the building. He was tall and slim and wore a half mask that would have made Liam feel ridiculous, but on Master Leo it looked right.

  Liam flinched at the words. Complacent. That sounded a lot like boring. Bland. Words that made Liam’s stomach hurt.

  Rosalicia was down there, kneeling with the other subs. Her honey-gold hair was easy to spot. Her skin was a beautiful sun-kissed bronze, and she wore a smooth black corset and a matching black G-string.

  She was the most beautiful woman in the club. His heart beat faster every time he looked at her. He wanted her, needed her.

  It was too bad she made him miserable.

  And despite his best efforts, he made her miserable too.

  They’d been members of this overindulgent sex club for nearly six months, and nothing seemed to be getting better. He’d thought the club would fix what was wrong with their relationship. It hadn’t. And now they had to play some ridiculous game?

  Liam had been so focused on Rosalicia he’d lost a bit of what was being said. Master Mikel, who was the only one of the three overseers not wearing a mask, was speaking.

  “We do not push ourselves. Comfort and safety is for the mortals out there. We are gods, gods who are growing lazy and stupid in our complacency.”

  Well that was a bit extreme, in Liam’s opinion. He snorted and looked around. A few of the Doms in the loft with him raised brows at the statement, but no one seemed to find it utterly ridiculous. Liam cleared his throat and went back to listening.

  “If you want to play the same games, if you want the safety of the known, then we invite you to leave. The contract you signed when you joined will remain in effect. Any discussion of who we are or what we do will be met with swift, harsh retribution.”

  Where were they going with this? The same games? Maybe he hadn’t been a member long enough to understand.

  They rolled out a large board, like one of those moveable whiteboards they had at the co-working space he used for his after-hours consulting work in Pasadena. It was draped in fabric. Master Mikel pulled the cloth off with a flourish, revealing…

  The alphabet. Four neat rows of silver letters, A to Z.

  This time Liam couldn’t stop the snort. A few other people let out small chuckles.

  The laughter stopped with Master Mikel’s next words. “When you joined us you completed a sex, kink, and fetish checklist. Some of you have updated it as your tastes evolved, others have only the one on file.” Master Mikel dropped the fabric he still held.

  “Of all the hundreds of delicious sexual things on that list, many of you have only tried a few.” Mistress Faith sounded stern and disappointed. “We will no longer allow that.”

  “Each of you has been assigned to a letter, and with it every kink and fetish in that part of the alphabet. You have one month to try your letter’s items.”

  They were giving them a list of kinky to-dos? Liam leaned further over the rail and raised his voice. “Wait a minute, you can’t expect us—”

  Master Leo help up a hand, cutting off his protest.

  “We’ve also become complacent in our playmates. Those subs who are bound to a Master will be assigned to their Master’s letter. Those of you who indicate that you are willing to share or be shared may be partnered with someone new. Possibly more than one someone.”

  Liam sank back, slumping into his chair. They were being assigned partners. Despite their relationship status, he and ’Licia weren’t “bonded” which was the club’s term for a permanent “together” status. She was about to be assigned to some other Dom. Someone who could give her what she wanted.

  Someone who hadn’t broken her heart.

  Someone who knew what the hell a Dom was supposed to do.

  His stomach knotted so hard he felt physically ill. He was going to lose her. They’d gone to an open relationship even before joining the club, so it wasn’t that she might be with someone else that worried him—though he’
d lied when he’d told her he was okay with her being with other people. He fucking hated the thought of anyone else touching her.

  What worried him is that she’d find someone who could give her what she wanted. God knows he’d tried. He’d tried to be what she wanted, but he had no idea what that was. He’d tried. He’d read about BDSM, researched, even trained with other Doms, but there were as many ways to be a Master as there were ways to make a cup of coffee. When he’d tried to start scenes and then asked what she wanted next she’d said more than once that she didn’t want to have to tell him what to do. She wanted him to decide. But what he wanted, more than anything, was for her to smile more. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.

  Liam would have done anything to keep her. He hated what they’d become to one another.

  He’d hurt her, he knew that, and god knew he carried a few scars courtesy of their life together, though not all those were her fault. Sometimes it felt like life had it out for them. That there’d never been a chance for them, and because of that the loss of intimacy—despite signing up for a BDSM club together—was understandable. Joining Las Palmas was just another in a long line of his attempts to win back the woman who had become more of a roommate than a girlfriend after the heartbreaks they’d suffered the past few years.

  At first he’d thought he’d finally found a way to fix them—she’d been delighted when he brought her to the membership interview with the overseers. The first time they’d come to the club for the weekend she looked at and touched him in a way she hadn’t in years.

  But by the end of the weekend that horrible disappointment had shown in her eyes. Every time he paused to ask her what she wanted, she’d grew more distant. He’d tried to do what she asked, but it had felt so mechanical. And the well-stocked playrooms at Las Palmas were overwhelming in the possibilities they offered. By the end, when he checked in on her to ask if she was happy, enjoying what they were doing, she only shook her head.

  And now she was going to be assigned to some other Dom. Maybe someone who could figure out what she wanted. Someone who wouldn’t disappoint her. She didn’t deserve anymore disappointment or sadness.

  “Masters! Come pick up your envelopes.”

  All around him Masters, Doms, and Owners were rising and heading for the spiral staircase that led down to the bottom floor. Liam was the last one to leave the loft. By the time he reached the bottom, most of the subs—who’d been dismissed—were gone. He scanned the few remaining people, but there was no one with the distinct golden-blond hair of the woman he loved.

  He joined the end of the line of Doms waiting to get their letter assignments, the knot in his stomach tightening with each step he took towards the overseers.

  “You have ‘H,’ my dear. It will be fun. Don’t look so worried.” Mistress Faith handed him a folder. “We know what we’re doing.”

  Liam looked at the folder. It was thicker than he thought it would be.

  Opening it he pulled out several stapled packets. The first was for a submissive named Luscious.

  He blinked. He’d been so focused on Rosalicia being with someone else that he hadn’t thought about the fact that he was going to be assigned someone to dominate.

  The second packet was for another Dom—Master Khan.

  “Uh, I don’t think this is supposed to be in here.” He held up the other Dom’s packet.

  “If you’d been listening you’d know that some letters have so many items that there are multiple couples assigned to them.”

  He ignored the rebuke, focusing on the end of her statement. “Couples?”

  Mistress Faith gestured at the last packet he held. On the front was a picture of Rosalicia—the packet said her name was Rosa, the nickname she’d decided to use only at the club. The photo had been taken on their first day as members. In it, her hair was loose, her hazel eyes stared right at the camera, and she was wearing a black off-the-shoulder top that bared the tops of her beautiful breasts.

  Relief loosened the knot in his stomach. “Thank you.”

  “This is an opportunity, my dear. Don’t fuck it up. I’d suggest you have a meeting with Master Khan, let him make some suggestions for how to proceed.”

  Liam hesitated, some stupid, stubborn part of him wanting to say that he would handle this himself. Except he hadn’t done a very good job of handling it. Handling her. “I’ll do that.”

  Liam turned away from the overseers. Tucking the packet for Luscious—surely not her real name—and Master Khan back into the envelope, he focused on ’Licia’s. He touched her photo, then flipped through the checklist until he reached the page with the letter H.

  Hair brush spankings.

  Hair pulling.

  Hand jobs—giving.

  Hand jobs—receiving.

  Harems…

  Liam blinked and flipped the page. The list kept going. His cock twitched, as his imagination painted a few all-too-vivid pictures of Rosalicia getting a hairbrush spanking. Maybe while giving him a hand job.

  Maybe he could use this game as a way to reconnect with her. Maybe there was still hope.

  He tucked ’Licia’s list into the folder and went to find Master Khan.

  The mood in the Subs’ Garden was a mixture of excited and anxious. Even those who were bonded to their Master or Dom were left wondering what letter they had and trying to remember what was listed on the BDSM checklist.

  Rosalicia sat at a vanity, pretending to touch up her makeup as a way to avoid conversation. Normally she preferred to be a part of the group—she loved people and parties, talking and laughing. But right now she needed time and space to sort through her own emotions.

  She finally found a word to describe the ache inside her—bittersweet. She knew pain and heartbreak. They were old, often visited friends, and this feeling wasn’t that.

  This felt bittersweet because she was sure that this was it, this would be the thing that severed what little connection remained between her and Liam.

  He’d been a part of her life for so long—they’d been a part of each other’s lives for so long—that the idea of being without him was foreign.

  And yet, how many times over the past few years had she considered walking away? Not because she didn’t love him, but because seeing him hurt too much. He reminded her of what she’d lost.

  It was usually about when she considered walking away that he finally started paying attention to her. They’d talk, he’d promise in his sweet, quiet way to change, then make some grand gesture, and in a few months everything would be back to the way it was before.

  They’d tried an open relationship—his grand gesture from a year ago. That had broken her heart, but she’d gone out and had a one-night stand, thinking maybe that would help. It hadn’t. Six months ago the grand gesture had been to join Las Palmas.

  She’d been ecstatic, thinking that if he was her Dom he would have to pay attention to her, have to plan and think about what she wanted and needed.

  She’d gotten her hopes up. That had been a mistake. She’d hoped for too much. Wanted too much. Wanted him too much.

  Joining Las Palmas didn’t change him. Or her. All it did was add a few sex toys to their existing fucked-up dynamic.

  When he hadn’t done what she’d hoped he would—to take control, to enjoy this, want this, as much as she did—she hadn’t been able to hide her hurt and disappointment. She’d tried to guide him into it, posing possibilities for what could happen next in each scene, but when he only nodded solemnly after each suggestion, she’d felt sick with embarrassment. She’d proposed he spank her, and instead of looking aroused or excited he’d been stone-faced as he studiously positioned her over his lap, taking so long to do it that she just felt weird by the time the first tentative slap landed on her ass.

  He’d been able to tell she wasn’t enjoying it, and he’d retreated emotionally, and now, though they’d come back to the club a few times, had sex a few times, they were further apart than ever.

  This ga
me would be the end of it. Of them.

  One by one subs left the garden, summoned via an intercom system to various locations and playrooms where their assigned partners were waiting to tell them what letter they had.

  An hour passed and Rosalicia loosened her corset and flopped down onto one of the chaises in the small courtyard garden outside the combination lounge and locker room that was the only part of the sprawling Las Palmas complex where Doms weren’t allowed.

  Another hour passed, and she was starting to wonder if her partner had forgotten her. She rose and went to look in a full-length mirror. She looked good—she’d worked hard to look good.

  Her coloring and bone structure were courtesy of her Brazilian father—a model who’d met and married her documentarian mother when she was making a movie about Carnival.

  She’d wondered more than once if her sexuality—her abnormally high sex drive and attraction to both men and women—came from her father too. By contrast her mother’s family were very prudish middle-class Midwestern American, who considered her mother a wild hippy, her father a too-handsome foreigner who’d probably married their daughter for a green card, and Rosalicia an odd mutt.

  Their opinion had shaped her self-worth growing up, which wasn’t surprising since she lived with her maternal grandparents in Port Austin, Michigan, during the school year, traveling with her parents during the summers. She’d lived for those summers, and would spend every moment not in school either trying to learn the languages of the places she would be traveling or escaping her real life by playing video games. She’d turned to food for comfort, and developed weight issues that she hadn’t gotten under control until her mid-twenties when she got her first job and good enough health insurance to see a therapist. Liam had fallen in love with her when she’d been pudgy, and she’d always love him because of that.