L is for… (BDSM Checklist Book 12)

by L. DuBois

  The cruelty of what he was doing was delicious, and somehow more taboo than the paddling had been. Perhaps it was because spankings of any kind, no matter what implement was used, were boiler-plate in BDSM scenes.

  Usually after a spanking the top would rub lotion or some other topical agent into any skin that had been struck, not test to see how tender it was by forcing the sub to kneel back.

  Maybe he would massage her ass as he had her shoulders in after care.

  She wanted that tenderness…in the same way she wanted more of this deliberate pain.

  He released her hips and stepped back, pulling a pair of leather gloves out of his hip pocket. She watched as he tugged them on—they were sporty looking, though at the moment she couldn’t place what kind of sport used them, with a half moon cutout on the back of his hands and Velcro at the wrists.

  Golf gloves, perhaps. Did they make golf gloves out of black leather?

  Once he had them on, Cain smiled at her—that smile that was halfway to smirk—and his eyes were crinkled at the corners.

  “You’re looking forward to this.”

  Victoria raised one brow, then pointedly lowered her chin and made her voice breathy. It was her best imitation of a dutiful submissive. “I am here to please you, Sir.”

  “Ha! The one time you use ‘please’ and ‘Sir’ without adding my name it’s because you’re fucking with me.”

  Another woman, another submissive, might have been hurt by his words, but she smirked at him.

  “Can’t take the heat?” She made a mocking sad face. “Poor Cain.”

  “Heat? You’re playing with fire, sugar, and you know it.”

  “I can handle a little burn.” Just to prove her point, she wiggled her hips, grinding her ass against her heels, which in turn made her yelp in pain.

  “Didn’t think you were masochistic like that.”

  “I’m not, but I don’t back down.” Her voice was strained from the pain, and that was more revealing than she would have liked.

  Cain stepped up to the table, and without further warning, reached between her spread legs. He shifted her thong to the side with his gloved thumb, and then two fingers were against her naked vulva, spreading her labia open. The cool air hit the heat of her pussy, and she shivered in response to the temperature differential.

  “Look at me, Vic.”

  Her eyes had closed, but she opened them, focusing on the spot between his eyebrows rather than meeting his gaze.

  “I want to see your face when I touch your clit for the first time,” he murmured.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to remember this for a long time.”

  Fingers together, he slid into the valley of her pussy, and then he stroked up, rubbing his fingers along either side of her clit. Her back arched, and she grabbed his forearm with both hands. Not to stop him, but because she needed something to hold on to.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, voice hard.

  This time, her gaze snapped to his. They stared into one another’s eyes as he started to circle her clit with his middle finger.

  She knew, could feel, that in that moment she had all of his attention. Every bit of him was focused on her. He wasn’t thinking about how to best tie the ropes, wasn’t calculating weight distribution. His focus was her.

  Victoria’s eyes slid closed, and she felt a single tear fall down her cheek. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying.

  “Please, Sir,” she whispered…begged.

  “Of course, sugar, of course.” His voice was deep but even. He was totally in control.

  Which was good, because right now she felt… not precisely out of control, but off balance.

  His fingers slid down her pussy to her entrance, and the addition of the layers of leather from the gloves made those two fingers thick enough to stretch her pussy open as he thrust them into her.

  She clung to his forearm as he started to finger fuck her. Cain rubbed the heel of his hand against the top of her pussy, working her slick labia against the leather, even as his fingers continued to thrust up into her.

  Her labia parted under the pressure, and he kept up light pressure and small movements until the heel of his hand was pressed against her clit.

  “Yesss,” Vic hissed, and she raised her hips, grinding against him.

  Cain reached out with his free hand, grabbed the back of her neck, and forced her down at the same time that he thrust his fingers up into her. They went deeper than ever before—though not as deep as she would have liked. His fingers inside her were a spike of pleasure lancing though the waves of pain as her abused ass and thighs made painful contact with her shoes and lower legs.

  She cried out, wiggling and raking her nails down his forearms. Cain growled something, then shifted his hold to her hair, forcing her to arch back. He stepped to the side and kept pulling her hair, all while his fingers buried between her legs. Cain bent her back until she released his forearm and instead reached back to grab the wrist of the hand fisted in her hair.

  His fingers were merciless as he fucked her, and when he curled them, hitting her g-spot, Victoria no longer cared about anything but the pleasure he offered.

  “Please, Sir, please.” She would have said anything to get more—more fingers in her pussy, more friction against her clit.

  “Please what?”

  “Please fuck me. Please hurt me. Please play with me. Touch me.”

  “Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he commanded.

  Her position gave her no leverage, but she did her best, awkwardly humping her hips against him. She had to trust her upper body weight to him, leaning hard against his hand.

  Fucking herself on his fingers wasn’t enough.

  His hand withdrew and she knew it was a punishment, though she didn’t know what crime she’d committed.

  She wanted to stop him. To protest.

  She didn’t.

  When he raised his leather-covered hand and spanked her pussy with it, she didn’t close her legs, though her thigh muscles trembled.

  Smack, smack, smack.

  The spanks sounded wet, and the sting was only enough to make her crave more.

  “Want me to finger-fuck your pussy some more?”

  She moaned her affirmative.

  “Spread your legs wider. As wide as you can.” His words were a low rumble, and a sane woman would have clamped her knees together rather than further expose her sex to a man who was unafraid of inflicting pain.

  Like a good submissive, she obeyed.

  But he wasn’t done. That wasn’t enough.

  “Reach down. Keep the thong out of my way and spread your pussy so I can spank your clit.”

  With one hand, she spread her labia open, her fingers sliding against her own slick flesh.

  He brought three fingers down on her clit in a hard, sharp spank.

  Victoria screamed, and even as she did, she wasn’t sure if it was a sound of pleasure, or pain. She wasn’t sure if the sensations that rolled through her counted as an orgasm. It was pleasure, but it was also pain. A releasing of some tension, even as other parts of her clenched.

  She didn’t have time to decide, to sort out what she was feeling, before Cain’s fingers—the three that had spanked her clit—thrust up into her. She was spread and abused, and now her pussy was full, his fingers buried deep and stretching her open.

  Victoria’s body jackknifed forward. He released her hair in time to stop her from scalping herself, but there were a few pinpricks of pain where random strands, caught on the Velcro closure of his glove or the folds of the leather, yanked free.

  Victoria’s whole body shook and she grabbed a hold of him, clinging as if he were a rock she’d found in the middle of a storm-tossed sea.

  Her nails dug in to leather and flesh, her head braced against his shoulder. He smelled like Old Spice and leather and maybe something else, something new and delicious. She shuddered and shivered with the aftershocks. That…orgasm?…had been so in
tense that she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to experience it again.

  “That’s right, sugar. That’s good. That’s what I wanted.” His words were soothing, his free hand stroking her hair.

  When he finally withdrew his fingers from her sex she whimpered, not from the loss but because her pussy started to throb in time with the pain in her ass.

  He stepped back and took off the gloves.

  She didn’t wait for permission, or an order. She swung her legs around so she was sitting on the side of the table—ouch—then jerked the buckles of her shoes, undoing the ankle straps. The sound of the shoes hitting the concrete floor was offensively loud.

  Victoria was still shaking when she slid down onto the stool. She more fell than stepped down onto the floor.

  Cain reached for her but she backed away, one hand up.

  “Come here,” Cain ordered. “We’re not done, and you need to—”

  “I need some space, Cain,” she snapped.

  “No, you need to come here.”

  “I just…I need some…”

  She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Didn’t know why panic was making her sick to her stomach or why shame made her shoulders hunch.

  Victoria turned for the door.

  “Going to run again?”

  The shock of the cool night air slapped her the same time his words did. Fresh air helped, and she hesitated.

  “Come here, sugar.” His voice was gentle, and she wanted to turn around and close the door.

  Wanted to obey.

  Instead she exited the playroom. Wearing only a very wet thong and the leather bralette she made a hasty retreat to the Subs’ Garden.

  She’d never run away from anything in her life…until now.

  Until Cain.

  It would have been more dramatic if she’d had the emotional epiphany in the middle of a scene, rather than in the middle of her Pilates routine the next morning.

  Victoria flopped to the ground halfway through her kneeling side plank. Rolling over took her from yoga mat to cool hardwood floor, and she lay staring at the ceiling of her spare bedroom. Her butt hurt, but not from exercise. From the paddling that had left a few pink spots that might have turned into bruises on a paler person. The exercise video droned on in the background, but she was no longer paying attention.

  She took a minute, going over the realization, studying it with a lawyer’s detachment until she was sure it was fully formed…and true.

  Only after that did remorse and self-directed disgust tighten her stomach muscles.

  Eventually she got up, showered, and went through the motions of her usual Saturday morning. Despite the weekly housekeeping service that took care of most chores including laundry and grocery shopping, there were always a few things for her to do on the weekends.

  Victoria occupied herself until early afternoon when she showered once more—this time focused on grooming and prep rather than washing—and pulled on a pair of loose pants and a tank top.

  Her bag was already packed and waiting by the door. She’d prepared for both nights yesterday morning, tucking the leather outfits she planned to wear, along with comfy clothes for post-scene, and other odds and ends into two small zippered totes. Only one bag was left by the door, and since arriving home late last night she’d been ignoring that Saturday bag.

  Ignoring it because she hadn’t known whether or not she was going back to Las Palmas tonight.

  It wasn’t just the scene, which had been more physical than any BDSM play she’d done in a long time. It was the unease, that unnamed feeling that he’d elicited.

  Except now she knew exactly what that feeling was—though it was more than just a feeling. And that was why she had to go back. Cain deserved to hear why it was she’d “run away” last night.

  She arrived at Las Palmas early, her car one of the first in the lot, and when she went in, the place still smelled slightly of cleaning solution, and a few of the very highly paid and discreet housekeeping staff were packing up their carts, the door to the playrooms they’d sanitized open.

  Curious—she’d never been here this early before—she peeked into the open doors around both the Sub Rosa and Constellation Courts. There weren’t any doors open off the Iron Court.

  When the cleaning crew finished closing up, with a few odd looks her way, she retreated to the Subs’ Garden.

  Looking around hadn’t just been about satisfying her curiosity. It had helped trigger memories about scenes she’d watched. Picturing other submissives—on their knees for their partners, in cages, bent or spread in bondage against one of the many and varied pieces of equipment—helped her clarify exactly what it was she was going to say to Cain.

  Cain.

  Since her realization this morning she’d done her best to avoid thinking about him.

  She changed out of her simple sweats and a tank top. There were a few other subs in the club now, some of whom had arrived early so they could shower or soak in the small roman tub before the night’s activities. Victoria glanced guiltily at them, hurrying to dress.

  Without the game, without Cain, she would never have had this realization.

  A realization she wasn’t proud of.

  A realization that made it hard to look at the other subs.

  She would have sworn in court that she was fully sexually aware and accepting of her own sexuality, as well as others’ sexual preferences and differences. What went on between two or more consenting adults was their business.

  But now she knew that for the lie it was, because acceptance required respect. Had she given testimony about her own open-mindedness in court she would have perjured herself.

  She’d always described herself as being less submissive, or only mildly submissive. She was at least a little submissive, because she had to be, to enjoy rope bondage.

  At least, that’s what she’d told herself.

  What she’d realized this morning was that she didn’t want Cain to see her as a submissive…because she was worried he wouldn’t respect her. She enjoyed the adversarial friendship they’d developed, and didn’t want to lose that.

  If she submitted to him, he’d never see her as his equal again. He’d deride her, think less of her. He wouldn’t say anything. He was, after all, a Dom, but he would feel it.

  And that was all bullshit. It wasn’t Cain who would lose respect for her if she were submissive. She wouldn’t respect herself. Would hate herself a little bit.

  Until this morning, she hadn’t put voice to one very damning fact.

  Victoria was terribly, bitterly humiliated by her submissive needs.

  And now that she could name those unidentified emotions from yesterday—a wicked combination of fear and shame—she knew that the first thing she had to do was to confess to Cain.

  Chapter 6

  Cain’s surety that Victoria wasn’t a coward was taking a beating. She’d run away again last night, leaving him more than a little irked.

  He just wished he knew why she’d run. In a lot of ways it didn’t make sense. Their scene had been a battle, in the best sense.

  A battle of wills—Dom versus sub.

  A battle of wits—no one did one-liners like Vic.

  A battle for control.

  Control not just of her body and of the scene, but of her mood, and, for lack of a better word, her energy.

  A battle in which they’d been evenly matched. No victor, just two satisfied combatants. Admittedly, he’d have been more satisfied if he’d been able to finish out the scene he’d planned, ending with some simple tit flogging before a solid hour of aftercare.

  Instead, he’d spent an hour last night masturbating. First round he’d used the memory of the way she’d looked bent over for the paddling. His second, longer session was all about the way she’d ridden his hand until she came, her vagina a vise around his fingers.

  He had a fantasy of Vic, on her knees, flushed from half a dozen orgasms, utterly content, and yes, submissive. Something ab
out pleasing and taking care of a strong woman so that she would finally let her guard down, finally let go, because she knew she was safe…that was the core of his desires.

  Oh sure, taking a whip to a pretty ass was sexy and kinky, but if that was all he needed, he could have watched some low-budget porn. He needed the connection that came with the power exchange of BDSM. Needed his partner to give in to his control, his will, because they knew he would care for them.

  A strong woman, like Vic, was the ultimate rush. Getting a strong woman to give in was far more satisfying to him than having a woman who was a very ready and willing submissive kneel for him.

  The fact that he liked subs who were less “submissive” had given him a few bad moments in the past. There had been a few times he wondered if, without the structured outlet of BDSM, he would have been an abuser. Forcing a woman to become dependent on him because it made him feel good, even if it was to her detriment, would be abuse.

  He didn’t think he would have gone down that road. Hoped he was a better man than that.

  He never had to find out, because the structure of the lifestyle, the fact he always played at the club, kept him in line. The rules of being a Dom—though Las Palmas had far fewer than many other clubs—protected the subs from him.

  Except…except that he’d sort of broken that rule when he manipulated the game to make sure he got Victoria.

  Cain stepped out of the Den, wearing his leathers, and, for now, just a plain white t-shirt. Later he’d lose the shirt, closer to the time he and Victoria had agreed to meet per the contract.

  He’d ridden his bike up today, and preferred to do the canyon roads in the daylight, so it was just coming on dusk when he made his way to the library.

  His focus was on what he was going to have to drink, and wondering if there was food set up in the dining room yet, when Victoria stepped into his path.

  “Cain.”

  His head jerked up, and he, just barely, managed to avoid jumping and shrieking like a little bitch. That would teach him to look at his feet while he walked.