C is for…

by L. DuBois

  He hoped, almost desperately, that it was one of the first two.

  James put his hand over hers, realizing that she was white-knuckling the bars, not merely holding on. He hadn’t been able to tell exactly how tense she was in her body language.

  She didn’t look up, didn’t open her eyes, leaving him staring at her glossy dark hair, which was parted in a perfectly straight line. She was naked, though in her contorted position he could see relatively little of her body. Tilting his head he caught sight of her reddened left nipple, the lingering mark of Madame Cat’s fingers a testament to how tight the grip had been, and how much self control it had taken for Beth not to cry out at something that was surely painful.

  James had never enjoyed subs who were either naturally secretive with their responses or who had been trained to stifle their reactions. Not that demanding quiet couldn’t be a fun aspect of a scene, especially when it was a rule that couldn’t possibly be followed, but he wanted to interact with a woman, to know what she was feeling. That was much harder to do if she just lay or sat there stiff and mute.

  He wondered if Beth had been trained to be this way, or if it was part of her personality.

  “Hello, Beth.”

  She shivered slightly when he spoke, and it was the first totally uncontrolled reaction he’d seen from her.

  “Hello, Master James.”

  She knew his name. He was shocked, though perhaps he shouldn’t be. There weren’t so many members of Las Palmas that it would be extraordinary for someone to know everyone’s name. But she’d identified him by voice alone.

  “Let’s get you out of that cage so we can talk.”

  “As it pleases you, Master James.”

  He was listening closely, watching her intently, so he caught the signs of relief—lowering of her shoulders, loosening of her grip on the bars.

  It took him several minutes to find the control panel cleverly hidden in the stone wall. He turned off the spotlights, turned up the other room lights, and then lowered the cage, which was suspended from a mechanically controlled pulley.

  Once it was down, he went back to the cage, unfastening the simple latches that held the door closed. Once it was open, Beth made no move to exit.

  James stifled a sigh. “You can come out.”

  “Thank you, Master James.”

  She leaned her upper body out, planted her hands on the floor then slowly moved her legs. At first he thought she was scared to exit the cage, perhaps scared of a scene with him after having only a moment ago lost the security of a collar, but after a moment of watching her, he realized what he was seeing was not fear, but pain.

  Crouching in a catcher’s pose he held out his hands. “Give me your hands. I’ll help you stand up.”

  Beth’s head tipped up, and for a moment her eyes met his. What he saw in her gaze was a bright and powerful mixture of emotions—pain, anticipation, and lust. The force of her personality and desire was nearly enough to knock him back onto his ass.

  Slowly she laid her fingers in his palms. Forcing himself to focus, James rose slowly, drawing her up until she was kneeling with her back straight. When the pressure of her fingers in his increased, James closed his hands around hers, giving her something to brace against as she rose to her feet.

  Her lower legs from knee to ankle were marked with deeply embedded red lines, the crosshatch a perfect replica of the bottom of the cage.

  James clenched his jaw as a wave of protectiveness washed over him. He held it back—subs were not princesses in need of rescuing. They were grown women who made informed decisions about their sexuality.

  What she needed was to be cared for, not to be rescued.

  James released her hands and knelt, rubbing her lower legs with firm, hard strokes. She made a small noise and swayed. For a moment her hands brushed his body as she instinctively reached out to steady herself. When she jerked back from the contact, she almost lost her balance. James grabbed her hip, fingertips against the flexed muscle of her ass.

  “Don’t fall; brace yourself while I rub the marks out of your legs.”

  He returned to working on her lower legs, but his attention was on her hands, on what she’d do. With rueful amusement he realized he was holding his breath waiting to see if she’d touch him. One hand settled on his shoulder. Her fingers were cold from clutching the metal bars.

  The other hand brushed over his hair, the touch so light he almost didn’t feel it, but then she did it again, skimming her fingers through his hair. James raised his face, and his gaze met hers.

  Beth’s breath caught, and her irises dilated with desire. Her hand clenched in his hair, not pulling, but possessive. A flush rose from her chest to her cheeks, darkening her skin to a dusky pink.

  James rose to his feet, still holding her gaze as her hands slid down his body, the pressure of her fingers molding his shirt to his chest. Beth blinked, and with a jerk that shook her whole body, dropped her chin, eyelids now submissively lowered. She folded her arms behind her back, cupping the opposite elbow in each hand in a position that was physically demanding to maintain due to the pressure it put on the shoulders—it was a formal, stiff pose.

  James just stared at her, utterly and completely fascinated. If anything, Master Mikael had undersold exactly what was going on with this incredible submissive.

  For the first time since he’d gotten to Las Palmas this afternoon, James smiled. It was going to be a very good weekend.

  Chapter Three

  Beth kept her gaze down, emotions rolling through her. She tried to name them, but she was having trouble describing what had just happened well enough for her normal process to work. On the surface it was simple: he’d rubbed her legs, she’d touched his shoulder with one hand and with the other she’d petted his hair. That was inappropriate for a submissive, but surely one incorrect behavior was not enough to cause this chaotic mix of feelings.

  Finally she pinpointed the moment they’d looked in one another’s eyes as the real source of her turmoil, but in the next breath dismissed that thought as fanciful.

  What she couldn’t dismiss was the way her fingers still tingled from the contact with him—or the memory of how firm his chest was under the soft fabric of his dress shirt. She wanted to rip the shirt off him, wanted to feel those muscles against her own naked body.

  James walked away, and Beth brought herself under control, taking measured breaths. What she knew about him didn’t provide a clue as to how severe an infraction he would consider her behavior. Madame Cat would have reacted with immediate disappointment and correction. Remembering the items on the C list, Beth knew she was more than likely due for a caning, which she was not looking forward to.

  Resignation made it easy to force out the last of those unidentified emotions Master James had raised in her.

  The lights dimmed slightly, and there were more footsteps before Master James called out to her.

  “Beth, come here.”

  Dropping to her knees she crawled towards his voice, keeping her gaze a discreet three feet in front of her. As soon as she saw his shiny black shoes she stopped, waiting for additional direction.

  “Come all the way.”

  Beth continued until her head was only a foot from his knee—Master James was seated on a padded bench, his back against the wall. The muted light in the room gave it an almost cozy, twilight feeling.

  “Stand up, please.”

  He said “please” the way all Doms did. It did not lessen the command, did not turn it into a request—merely added a note of formality.

  Beth rolled gracefully to her feet, though she was still sore from the time in the cage. Her neck felt light and naked without the collar.

  Once she was standing, Master James reached out and tugged her onto his knee. Beth froze.

  Master James’s warm hand settled on her back, the pressure firm but not intimidating.

  “I understand you prefer a more formal style of D/s play. I merely want to talk, and this is norma
lly how I talk to my subs, but if this position is uncomfortable, you can kneel.”

  Beth’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak. She was seated on Master James’s right knee, her body angled slightly away from him by the position of her lower legs. He wanted to talk, not cane her. After a moment of silence, Master James nodded then started to push her off his lap and onto the floor.

  Beth braced her feet against the floor and resisted, stuttering out an awkward, “N-no.”

  Master James stopped pushing, his hands resting on her back and thigh. “No?”

  “No, Master James.” What was wrong with her? Forgetting to use a proper title was the mark of a novice.

  “I mean what are you saying ‘no’ to?”

  “Oh. I meant no, I would not rather kneel.” Beth frowned, her words not fully expressing what she wanted to say.

  Master James seemed to sense that, because he said, “Beth, for the remainder of this conversation I want you to speak freely, as long as you tell me the truth.”

  “Yes, Master James.”

  “Let’s start over.” He tugged her towards him, then slipped her legs over his left knee so she was entirely on his lap. Beth put her hands on her legs, then dropped them to her sides, but that caused her to brush her fingers against his crotch. She jerked her hands up, folding them under her breasts, but that was a closed, defensive posture—inappropriate for a submissive.

  Feeling frantic, she unfolded her arms, running out of ideas, when James caught her hands in his, forcing them against her legs.

  “Beth, it’s clear you’re uncomfortable sitting on my lap. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t know the position.”

  “What position?”

  “The appropriate position for lap sitting.”

  “There’s isn’t one.”

  Beth frowned. She knew that wasn’t right. “There’s a rule for every situation, an appropriate pose, response, or action for every possibility.”

  “That is…the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Beth jerked her head around to face Master James’s bemused face.

  “That’s—but that’s… BDSM is all about rules.” Beth was practically stuttering.

  “No, BDSM is about power, control, and kinky sex. The rules are part of the game, not the foundation of it.”

  Beth shook her head, so caught up in what he’d just said that she didn’t consider how disrespectful it was. “Training and knowing the rules are what make a good submissive.”

  “The desire to submit and willingness to give up control make a good submissive.”

  “No. I don’t like that.” The words were out before she could stop them. Saying what she thought, and telling the truth, were her greatest weaknesses when it came to dealing with other people, and her greatest strengths when it came to her career.

  “Why not?” Master James didn’t seem angered by her response, which was unexpected, despite the fact that he’d invited her to speak freely. Usually “speak freely” was code for “I want to trap you so I can punish you.”

  “The rules are why I’m here.”

  He leaned his head back and the hand on her back started rubbing in small circles. “You want there to be rules—a set of rules that, as long as you follow, you know you’re being a good sub?”

  “Yes. BDSM is subculture that values hierarchy and defined roles, which presuppose a set of rules which all culture members have agreed to abide by.”

  His eyebrows rose and his lips twitched. “Well, that’s one way of putting it.”

  Beth looked down, her stomach churning. She’d said the wrong thing, said something awkward, and now he was laughing at her. This was why she hated conversations.

  Silence, which normally she was fine with, stretched between them, each second making her more aware of what a mess she’d made of the conversation the minute she forgot to behave like a sub. Embarrassment prickled along her skin like an itchy shirt. Yet his hand was still rubbing small circles on her back

  “I should not have used the word stupid. That wasn’t right. We don’t know much about each other, though I’ve seen you participate in scenes. Clearly your training, and your preferred style of submitting, is more formal.”

  She relaxed a little, the tension that held her still easing with his words. “I need the rules,” she said quietly.

  “You need them?”

  Beth nodded, gaze on her hands, which were held in place against her legs by his big hand. Though she was naked and he was fully clothed, she did not feel as if the nakedness was as important as it usually was. It was as if everything was secondary to their words, her nakedness a footnote to the conversation.

  “To know what to do.”

  “But it’s the Dom’s job, and privilege, to guide a submissive, to make sure she knows what she needs to do or not do to bring them both the greatest pleasure.”

  “Pleasure…” Beth savored the word.

  The hand on hers lifted, touching her chin. The pressure of his fingers guided her to look at him. She focused on his chest.

  “Look at me, Beth.”

  “I am, Master James,” she pointed out.

  He huffed out a laugh. “Good point. I mean I want you to look me in the eye.”

  Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, Beth met his gaze. Master James’s eyes were hazel—green and brown and gold, all mixed together. Between one breath and the next her nakedness became much more important. Her nipples tightened and she felt herself growing wet. Embarrassment almost made her look away, but she couldn’t—she didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d commanded her to look at him, or if deep down she simply didn’t want to.

  “Beth, would you be more comfortable kneeling?”

  “No, Master James.”

  “You want to sit on my lap.”

  “Yes, Master James. I’ve watched you, with other subs. You touch them and kiss them.”

  “Are those things you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do them with other Doms?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…I’m not that kind of submissive.”

  “You don’t want to be.”

  Beth shook her head.

  “You do want to be?”

  Beth nodded. The tightness was back in her chest—she couldn’t tell what Master James was thinking, what this conversation meant to him, and it made her nervous. Were her answers disobedient or rude? Was he going to throw her down and cane her any minute now?

  “The last time I saw you, Madame Cat was using you as a footstool.”

  At that Beth dropped her eyes, blinking hard. “Yes, Master James.

  “Do you find that kind of service particularly arousing?”

  Beth had to take a second to compose herself before answering. “Being furniture is not meant to be directly arousing or pleasurable.” She was proud that her tone was neutral, her answer both truthful and appropriate.

  He was silent for a moment. “Were you being punished?”

  “No, Master James.”

  “Is that kind of service the only way you can reach subspace?”

  Beth didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t want to admit that she didn’t really understand subspace, which seemed to be an emotional state that she had yet to figure out how to reach. She shrugged helplessly, knowing she needed to answer with words, but unable to do so. Bracing for correction at her failure to answer, she was taken by surprise with his next question.

  “Then why were you there?”

  “Because Madame Cat enjoys having a sub serve her in that way.”

  “All right. I think I understand.”

  Beth was glad someone did, because this whole conversation was confusing her.

  “You said you’ve watched me with other subs.”

  “Yes, Master James.”

  “And you like the way you see me behave with them.”

  “Yes.” The word came out as a
sigh of longing.

  “What if I told you that my subs don’t follow rules, at least not many?”

  “But how do they know what to do?”

  “I tell them what I want, and—” he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, his breath against her neck making her shiver “—sometimes I change the rules, just because I want to, or because I think changing the rules will bring us more pleasure, make the submission sweeter.”

  “Pleasure…” Beth swayed towards Master James, raising her gaze to his.

  His hand on her back curled around her waist in a possessive hold, while his other hand slid into her hair, holding her head still.

  “Beth, when was the last time you had an orgasm?”

  “Tuesday night.”

  “You were here Tuesday night?”

  “No. I was at home.”

  “When was the last time you came for Madame Cat?”

  “Never.”

  “You never had an orgasm for her?”

  “I was supposed to come when I serviced her, but I never did. It was not technically disobedient because she never ordered me to come, only told me I could.”

  “You weren’t able to come when you touched yourself?”

  “No, I wasn’t allowed to touch myself.”

  “Your last Domme assumed you were so deep in subspace that servicing her would be enough to allow you to orgasm with no physical stimulation?”

  “I don’t know, Master James. Madame Cat didn’t talk to me much.”

  The fingers in her hair massaged her scalp and Beth’s eyes closed in pleasure.

  “Did it make you wet, watching me with other subs?”

  “It made me jealous.” The confession was quiet.

  “Do you think that those other women were wet, when they sat on my lap while I played with them?”

  Beth could only nod.

  “And you, are you wet, Beth?”

  “Yes, Master James.”

  Beth was in an almost dreamlike state—the warmth of his body was seeping into her bare skin, the pressure of his hands on her skin had a strangely calming effect and she was able to answer his questions with absolute truth without feeling awkward.