L is for… (BDSM Checklist Book 12)

by L. DuBois

  “Cain, damn it, just… Just…”

  She heard the tawse hit the floor, an odd, light sound. It should have thudded to the floor and made the earth shake. That would have been more in line with the impact it had on her.

  One hand slid up her body. His palm was firm as it passed over bare skin, the satin and leather of her clothing, her hard nipple under the damp fabric, and then to her neck.

  He cupped her chin, fingers tucked behind her ear as his thumb swiped across her lower lip.

  “Open your mouth, Vic.”

  After what he’d done before, she didn’t want to. She wanted to clench her teeth in defiance, or to retreat into herself, into that peaceful place she found when in suspension bondage.

  “Open. Your. Mouth.” His voice offered no quarter, quashed any defiance.

  With a soft sob she obeyed, opened her mouth.

  Cain slipped three fingers between her lips and teeth. It was a crude intrusion that very efficiently drove home the point that her body was his to control, explore, and abuse.

  She stared up at the pinprick lights of the constellation Aquarius as Cain’s fingers danced down the seam of her legs, carefully not touching the marks the tawse had left.

  Then he gently slid one finger between the lips of her pussy, down to her entrance. She was wet and her vulva felt swollen and ripe. Ready for him, her body making itself soft, when she should be hard to protect herself from him.

  She didn’t want to protect herself from him. She wanted him to use her. Hurt her. Touch her and leave her aching with either pleasure or pain.

  The finger dancing through the wetness of her labia finally slid low enough to enter her. Victoria tipped her head back, panting desperately around his fingers as he fucked her with a single finger. Her body clenched around that small penetration. She had never been this wet, never felt the intrusion of a simple finger so acutely.

  She swallowed, her tongue thrusting against his fingers. When his thumb pressed between her labia, finding her clit as it had last night, she couldn’t help but bite down gently on his fingers.

  The thumb of the hand at her face dug into the soft skin under her chin. A gentle reprimand. Pressure from his thumb made the muscles in her cheeks tense even as she struggled against the pressure to open her mouth and stop biting him.

  At her pussy, his fingers went to work, the movements tiny compared to the rough invasion he’d perpetrated yesterday. She could make it go faster, make herself come faster, if she moved.

  Victoria held perfectly still.

  The tension from what had come before—his rough invasion of her mouth, the beating…those had already tightened her muscles. Now the gentleness of his touch increased that tension built on pain.

  This tension was constructed from pleasure. The tip of his thumb just barely brushed the tip of her clit, his middle finger still inside her, the other fingers firm against her sex and ass. She was so aroused that even with the small movements of his hand she could hear how wet she was.

  Stroke, stroke, stroke.

  The precision of his touch had tears leaking from her eyes, her arm muscles aching from her tight hold.

  Her heart was pounding, even as her breathing slowed. The restriction of the corset was a kind of pleasure, bondage that in this moment she needed.

  His fingers in her mouth weren’t sexy. It was awkward and invasive, and exactly what she needed.

  The backs of her thighs burned from the tawse, and as his thumb gently toyed with her clit she wanted him to take it up again, to add more fire to the pain.

  She was silently desperate for him to toy with her breasts, which had yet to know the touch of his bare hands.

  Her already tense muscles tightened painfully in response to the patient, ceaseless touch of his thumb on her clit. Her sex felt full, swollen, even as she knew his finger felt far too small inside her. She needed more.

  When it came, the orgasm was both anticipated and a shocking surprise. All that tension—the pain and pleasure—crested and, like a rubber band pulled too taut, she broke.

  Victoria sobbed, the sound muffled by his fingers. She arched her back, her hips rising so she was braced on her upper spine, her body suspended over the horse. Her legs shook both from the orgasm and from the effort of bracing her weight against the bondage around her ankles.

  Pleasure washed not only through her, but over her. Around her. It was a release not just of physical need but of the shame she felt. The orgasm peaked and her toes curled so hard that her calf muscles twinged, perilously close to a muscle cramp.

  Then the physical pleasure subsided, and as her back and hips lowered he slid his hand from her still throbbing pussy, wrapping it around her ribs to help steady her.

  She was crying, nearly soundlessly. Her body was trembling and it wasn’t because of the beating or the orgasm.

  In a matter of moments Cain had unhooked her legs and released the chain connecting her arms. He helped her stand and she hung her head, staring down at her body, as if she’d never seen the blue dress or black leather corset before.

  Then a heavy, soft blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, and she was staring at the top of Cain’s head while he knelt to undo the strap around her ankles.

  She stood, silent and shivering though she wasn’t cold, as he switched his attention from her ankles to the corset, unlacing it. She didn’t bother to tell him about the closures down the side. Those didn’t matter. The corset tumbled to the floor.

  He left her dress on, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But when he wrapped the blanket more securely around her, and then pulled her against his chest, her forehead fitted into the hollow of his throat, she realized it didn’t matter what she was wearing.

  Because for the first time in her life, Victoria thought she knew what it meant to be truly submissive.

  Chapter 8

  Cain took her to the observation chamber between the Aquarius and Ophiuchus rooms. Out of curiosity he’d looked up “Ophiuchus” one time, since it wasn’t the best known constellation.

  It translated from Latin as “holder of serpents.” There was a large collection of dildos suction cupped to the wall in that particular room. Serpents just ready to be “held.”

  His serpent was rock hard inside his leathers.

  The narrow observation room was empty. The elevated floor lifted two long, firm couches high enough that they were looking down into the playrooms. Back-to-back, each couch faced one of the two one-way mirrors that were windows from this side. He took her to the couch facing their empty playroom. There was a scene going on in the Ophiuchus room, and at another time it might have been fun to watch with her.

  But this was aftercare.

  Vic started to sit on the couch, but he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her hard against his side.

  “That would hurt, sugar.”

  “Oh,” was all she said.

  He released her, taking the heavy blanket for a moment. He spread it on the couch so that she could lay on it, with enough draped over the back that he could pull it over her, once she was in place.

  He’d rather she be naked and the warm weight around her be his body, but that would have been about comforting himself as much as her.

  When he was done situating the blanket, he patted it. To his surprise, she hesitated, then turned around, her back to him and removed the silky blue dress.

  He held himself very, very still while she stripped. She turned to face him, fully naked before him for the first time. He tried to keep his gaze on her face. He failed.

  Her breasts were heavy and gorgeous, with dark nipples. Her pussy was bare, which he’d known from touch, but seeing it now as a part of the whole was different and so fucking sexy.

  Her waist nipped in above her wide, round hips. How the fuck did she hide those curves in a courtroom? The skin on her arms and legs was a little darker than the warm golden brown of her torso, though the colors were muted by the dim, soffitted lighting in the observation
room.

  She lay down on her belly on the blanket, and crossed her arms under her cheek, her head turned to the back of the couch.

  Cain’s hands flexed, and he fought the urge to force her to face him. This was aftercare, and while that didn’t mean it was entirely about her—Doms needed aftercare too—he had to respect her choice, and her apparently need for privacy.

  He pulled the other half of the blanket over her, enveloping her in the heavy chenille. Kneeling beside the couch, he found her feet under the blanket and started working her muscles. This wasn’t a massage so much as it was like a trainer working an athlete after a particularly hard workout.

  He’d deliberately prolonged the orgasm, and watched as tension gripped her, one muscle at a time. When she’d finally peaked, her body arched up, shoulders braced and legs taut as she forced her weight into the straps around her ankles, it had been beautiful but not without cost. That much tension had a physical toll.

  He dug his thumbs into the balls of her feet, then slid them up to her arch, the soft blanket making it easy for him to move his hands over her, even as it muted and blurred the feel of her.

  She moaned, and it was a sound of relief, which changed to pleasure when he grabbed her heels and squeezed them.

  She hissed when he worked her calves, which were tight, even though she was lying down. The hiss turned into a moan as he kept working the muscles. She raised her head, rolled her neck, and then set it back down again, this time face out.

  He was tempted to slide up to her face, skipping the rest of the massage, but she deserved more.

  He didn’t touch her thighs—later he’d have to take care of the marks the tawse left—and dug his fingers into her butt.

  “Ouch,” she propped herself up on her elbows and turned to glare at him. “Be nice to my butt.”

  “I hold your butt in the highest regard,” Cain said solemnly. Inside, he was elated that she was speaking to him. Not that he thought she was giving him the silent treatment, but there were subs who needed quiet.

  If that’s what she needed, he would, of course, provide and encourage that. However, talking to Vic was nearly as delicious as sliding his fingers into her wet pussy.

  He gave her butt one last squeeze, then slide his hands out to her hips.

  Still propped up on her elbows, she dropped her head and hummed in pleasure.

  “Stop making that noise,” Cain growled.

  Her head tipped, as if she were thinking about turning to look at him, but had stopped herself. “Or what?”

  “Or…” There was nothing he could threaten her with, not even a fake pleasure-as-punishment threat. This was aftercare. He snarled, hating that he’d been thwarted, and slid his hands to the small of her back.

  “Poor Cain, no threats?”

  Now she did twist to look back over her shoulder at him. Her lips looked full and soft, glistening just a little. She must have licked them recently. He wanted to be the one to lick them.

  “Aftercare,” he grumbled, a reminder to both of them, his hands moving up her back.

  She lay down fully, one wrist under her cheek, the other arm dangling off the side of the couch.

  For a few minutes he worked in silence, her breathing slow, with an occasional sigh when he kneaded a particularly stubborn knot of muscle in her back.

  The blanket stopped just below her shoulders, and before he touched them he tugged it up to cover her, putting the barrier of fabric between them. It rankled. He liked the feel of her bare skin under his hands. It’s why tonight there’d been no gloves.

  If he hadn’t been positioned so close to her face, he wouldn’t have heard her next words. “You did it.”

  He dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. “Did what, pretty girl?”

  “Pretty girl? That’s a new one.”

  “Well, you are a very pretty girl.”

  “I hate diminutives,” she grumped.

  “No disrespect. Is it girl or pretty you object to?”

  “Girl.”

  “I could call you ‘pretty lady’ but that always makes me think of that Lo-Key song.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Cain put a hand on his chest, and leaned back in mock pain. “Your lack of knowledge of 90s R&B hurts me.”

  She snorted. “Clearly you suffer.”

  “Quiet, woman, I’m in pain.”

  “‘Woman’ is not an improvement.”

  He abandoned his faux suffering. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  She smirked at him, and when it was clear she wasn’t going to keep the banter going, he slid his hands over her shoulders once more, digging his fingers into her trapezius.

  “I kind of liked ‘sugar’,” she murmured, then moaned in response to his fingers.

  Her eyes closed, and for several long minutes they said nothing. Cain focused on working the muscles of her shoulders until they were soft under his fingers. Vic let out the occasional moan as he worked a knot, or sigh when he softened his hands to a firm rub.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said softly, hoping not to break the spell.

  “What question?”

  “You said that I’d ‘done it’. Done what?”

  Her shoulders tried to tense under his hands, but he kneaded her muscles, forcing them to relax, to yield.

  “You made me be submissive.”

  Cain’s hands stilled as her words hit him like a 2x4 upside the head. Cain sank down to sit on the floor, his side against the front of the couch, one arm laid across the seat. He had an odd overhead profile view of her face.

  “I didn’t make you be anything, Vic.”

  “Yes, you did. I said I was ashamed of being submissive, and when we talked it was clear that maybe I wasn’t even all that submissive. I thought I was…better than that. You proved me wrong.”

  “That’s not what that was about.” He didn’t bother to hide his anger.

  He saw her brows move as she frowned, and then she propped herself up on her elbows. The lovely cleavage on display in this position was briefly distracting, but when she raised a brow he jerked his attention back to her face.

  “What we did in there wasn’t about me proving you wrong.” He pointed at the glass, through which the playroom was visible, the black leather horse still spotlighted. The evidence of their session lay discarded on the floor—the straps he’d used on her ankles, the chain and cuffs, rope dangling limply from the ceiling…and of course, the tawse itself.

  “Fine, it was about proving your dominance.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “Saying it like that makes you sound like a werewolf.”

  “No, it’s not about my dominance either. If you think I would do that after what you told me…” He fought down the anger that gnawed at him.

  “Are you angry?” She blinked several times, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

  “You’re damn right I am.” He took a deep breath. “Any man, any Dom, who would use you, use any woman, as a tool to try and prove the size of their own dick should have that dick removed.”

  She looked away, shaking her head. “You pushed me, did things to me…”

  “You’re damn right I did. But it wasn’t about trying to make you feel submissive.” Cain reached out and touched her finger with one cheek. “Sugar, if you felt submissive, that was about you, not me.”

  “No, it wasn’t. What you did, when you put your fingers in my mouth like that, when you used the tawse…” She stumbled a little over the word.

  “I treated you like a sub,” he agreed. “We said no high protocol. I went physical instead of giving commands, scolding, shit like that.”

  “But at the end, I…I would have let you do anything to me,” she said softly. “I knew I could have moved enough to fuck myself on your fingers. I could have turned my head and gotten your other fingers out of my mouth. I didn’t because a good submissive doesn’t move. She stays quiet, even without a finger gag. I just…lay there. Waiting. Accept
ing.” She swallowed hard and looked away from him.

  “Sugar, look at me.” He paused. “Please.”

  That got a little laugh out of her and she looked over, tears on her lashes. “How do you keep making me cry?”

  “Listen to me for a sec, okay? You stayed still, not because I ordered you to…because I didn’t.” He’d been very careful not to do that.

  She stilled, then shook her head. “It was implied.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think that’s why you did what you did.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think you held still and were quiet, because you wanted the slow, frustrating orgasm.” He couldn’t help himself, he needed to touch her. Slowly, he reached out, and when she didn’t object he skimmed his fingers down her face.

  “You wanted to see what I could do to you.” He touched her bottom lip, pulled it down for a moment before letting it slide out from under his thumb. “Maybe you were scared of what I would, or wouldn’t, do, if you did move.”

  “Isn’t that submission?”

  “It is, but you only submitted because you wanted to.”

  Cain had never claimed to have particularly good emotional intelligence, but right now he was sure he was right. He was also sure that he couldn’t let her out of this room until he was sure she understood what had happened in the playroom.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me that the reason you were still and quiet was because you felt so deeply submissive that all you were thinking about was pleasing me.”

  “Pleasing you? Uh, no.” Her lips twitched.

  Cain hid his smile of relief.

  “You…” He leaned in so close that he could see the flecks of gold and paler brown in the iris of her eyes. “…were curious.”

  “Huh.” Her grunt of surprised acknowledgement was as appealing to him as another woman’s breathy sigh would have been.

  “And, sugar…you’re pretty damn masochistic.”

  Now she rolled her eyes.