E is for… (BDSM Checklist Book 5)

by L. DuBois

  Charlie didn’t respond, but her nipples tightened. She suddenly wanted the enemas. She really was looking forward to this—to him. He sounded so strict and Dom-y.

  “Next is enforced chastity. You left this blank, which I take as ‘no comment’, meaning we default to my list. I am very interested in enforcing some chastity.”

  “But if I didn’t answer, shouldn’t that mean ‘no’?”

  “If you meant no, you should have indicated that. As I said, since we have my list as a backup, we are able to make a clear determination.”

  Charlie peered at him. “You sound like a lawyer.”

  “I am a lawyer.”

  “Figures.”

  His dark eyebrows rose. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Nope.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, nope, Master Green.”

  He let the silence stretch, but Charlie didn’t fall into the trap of quiet.

  “Next is examinations, physical. A yes from both of us. Followed by edging, another yes.”

  Examination could either be sexy or it could be horrible, depending on how he did it. The last thing she wanted was to be laid out in such a way that all she could think about was how fat she was or every patch of blotchy skin or cellulite on her body.

  Trust. BDSM was about trust, and the assurance that those who dominated knew how to care for those who submitted.

  “Then we have exhibitionism, both with friends and with strangers. Here is where things get interesting. Your answers aren’t clear. You marked both ‘no’ and ‘willing to try.’”

  Charlie remembered this. “Oh, no, Master Green. I put ‘willing to try’ originally but then changed my mind.”

  “And how I am to know that? I could interpret the markings here as you having first put ‘no’ and then having reconsidered.”

  “I don’t want to be put on display.”

  “And is a BDSM scene about what you want?”

  “Master Green, I’m telling you what happened.” The sugary sweet anticipation was morphing to sour dread.

  “Had you wanted to make it clear, you should have placed your initials next to your selection. As it is, this is ambiguous, so we default to my list, and I have indicated yes.”

  “Wait, wait, Master Green, I really don’t want to be naked in front of strangers.” She dropped her arms.

  “Maintain your posture,” he barked.

  Charlie’s hands curled into fists. “Listen, please.”

  He stood. Charlie took a step back. He was half a head taller than her, and no longer looked just elegant and controlled, but dangerous.

  “I find your behavior unacceptable. Put your hands on the ottoman and spread your legs.”

  Chapter Two

  Charlie froze, unsure if she should keep arguing about the exhibitionism or get the spanking. The spanking was way more fun, but she had to make him understand.

  With quick, sure movements he grabbed her, one hand at her elbow, forcing her arm up and back so that she instinctively bent forward to relieve the pressure on her shoulder. His other hand grabbed her hip, directing her to turn until her back was to the fire, the ottoman in front of her.

  Charlie gasped and reached out with her free hand, bracing herself on the ottoman. Aram jerked her elbow up another half inch, forcing her to keep bending until her ass was high in the air, her forehead resting on the ottoman.

  “Spread your legs, Charlotte.” His hand on her hip steadied her as she heel-toe walked her feet apart.

  Smack.

  The first smack of his hand against the lower part of her ass made her first jump, then moan. That hurt in all the right ways.

  His hand cracked against her ass. Each blow started out as a sting of pain that faded to a deeper heat. The spanking was hard and unapologetic.

  It hurt.

  She cried out a few times, legs twitching when blows landed on particularly sensitive bits of flesh. The heat of the spanking seared into her skin, then deeper into the muscles and bones.

  Charlie focused on breathing. Inhaling after the blow, letting the spank prompt her exhale.

  He released her arm. “Both hands on the ottoman.”

  She braced her forearms on the smooth leather on either side of her head. He lightened the blows until they were a rhythmic soft spanking, which served more to remind her that she was a submissive a Dom could spank whenever he wanted. It was about the submission more than the pain of a few moments ago.

  “You fear exhibitionism more than my displeasure or a punishment. Why is that? Do you enjoy punishments?”

  Spank.

  “Yes, Sir.” She wanted to say more. The explanation was right there on her tongue waiting, but she knew he’d given her an opportunity to behave. If she disobeyed, he would return to a pain-focused spanking, or do something more severe to pull her in line. She held her tongue, but there was a little ball of anxiety rolling in the pit of her stomach.

  Spank.

  “Were you arguing in order to provoke a punishment?”

  “No, Sir.”

  Spank.

  The heat traveled up her back and down her legs, but where she felt it most was in her pussy. Her traitorous sex was as hot as her throbbing ass, and she was wet. Wet to the point that when she rocked forward with each swat, her labia rubbed against the satin of her panties.

  “That’s good, because I don’t take well to topping from the bottom.”

  “Yes, Sir.” That icy ball of anxiety in her stomach melted under the heat of his domination.

  Spank.

  “Why do you object to exhibitionism?”

  Charlie winced and didn’t answer. That question was complex, and the answer wasn’t something she owed him.

  “Answer me.”

  “I’d rather not, Sir.”

  “Oh?” He tugged on her panties, wedging them up into the crease of her ass, exposing more of her skin. “In order to truly Master you, I need to understand you. You will not keep secrets from me, not when those secrets pertain to what I will do with and to you.”

  Aram walked across the room, opened the wardrobe, and returned. She’d been able to track him by sound but didn’t dare look up to see what he’d grabbed.

  “Charlie, I have a bamboo switch. You will use the stoplight safe word method.”

  Charlie’s whole body went cold. He had a switch. Holy crap, this was going to hurt.

  He continued in a measured tone. “I expect you to use the stoplight method responsibly, not as an excuse to get out of a punishment you’ve earned.”

  Charlie started to shake.

  “You’re frightened?”

  “Yes, Master Green,” she whispered.

  “Will you answer my questions honestly?”

  Not like this, not with her huge ass sticking up and her stomach fat hanging. He was probably disgusted.

  Whistle. Crack.

  A line of fire slashed across her ass, right at the tender sit-spot. She stood with a cry, hands going back to grab her burning ass. The pain was instantaneous and so intense she moved on instinct, with no conscious thought.

  Master Green pulled her back against him, her back to his front. One arm came across her waist, the other across her upper chest. The position trapped her arms between their bodies. She let out a sob of pain, her lips trembling with each breath.

  His face rubbed against her hair. “Shh, Charlie. Now tell me. Why are you scared?”

  “Embarrassed. I’m embarrassed. I don’t…I don’t like being naked in front of people.” The words tumbled out. It was so much more complicated than that. Her relationship with her body was a lifelong love-hate, with a storied history.

  But her full truth wasn’t something she owed him.

  The pain of the cane strike was fading, but her trembling remained.

  “Breathe, Charlie.”

  She took a breath and released it.

  “Relax into this moment. Accept my control.”

  Charlie whimpered, but not in pain. In relief. She bowed her hea
d, chin coming to rest on his forearm.

  “Good. Good, Charlie.”

  He held her, soothed her, until the pain had faded, leaving behind only the sweet heat of submission. “You’re embarrassed.”

  A sound halfway between a groan and a whimper escaped her. She nodded, chin bumping his arm.

  “Yet you presented yourself to me in nothing more than your underwear. Everyone in Las Palmas looked at you as you came to submit to me.”

  “But in BDSM, it’s about more than how you look.” She blurted the words out, remembered shame curling through her. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d only started with BDSM because she was too fat for any normal men to want to date or fuck. “You don’t have to be pretty or skinny to be a good sub,” she choked out. “The outside world isn’t like that.”

  “You’re embarrassed…no, you’re ashamed by your physical appearance?” This time it was a question.

  “I’m fat. I know that. I’m…I’m not ashamed. I just don’t like to be naked.”

  Charlie’s ass was throbbing, but now the pain had morphed into that sweet heat that spread from her ass to her pussy. Instead of drying her up, the switching had made her even wetter. She couldn’t stop herself from pressing her ass back against his crotch, or wishing he’d lower his hand and play with her breasts.

  “First of all, you are not fat.”

  “Please don’t. You can’t order me not to feel this way. Trust me, people have tried.”

  “I was stating the apparent facts, nothing more.”

  Charlie relaxed a little. He was a stranger; he had no reason to lie. The game gave him rights to top her, so it wasn’t like he was trying to woo her into a scene. It was a lie, but a polite one she was more than happy to embrace.

  “Oh. Well, thank you, Sir. But I need to lose thirty pounds.”

  “I find it distressing what the media is doing to young women. I find your body lovely, and will thoroughly enjoy you in every way I can before we’re done.” The arm across her chest loosened and his fingers played across her collarbones. “However, I will push you—I will push both of us. That is the purpose of the game. Yet, as I said, I will take your feelings into consideration before ordering you to bare your breasts for strangers.”

  Charlie shook with a wave of arousal. Her treacherous body loved the hard command, the promise of unrelenting domination. “Sir, please…”

  “Please what?”

  “I don’t actually know.”

  He chuckled against her ear. “I appreciate your honesty.”

  When he released her she felt cold and alone. Charlie grabbed the edge of her hoodie in each hand and crossed her arms, hugging herself and letting the fabric give her a sense of security. Her bottom still hurt with a dull throb.

  Aram resumed his seat, bamboo switch in one hand, list in the other. “Step close and spread your legs.”

  Charlie came within a few feet of him and spread her legs, lacing her fingers on top of her head once again.

  He peered at her pussy. “You’re quite wet, as evidenced by the large wet mark on your panties.” He raised the cane and rubbed the tip against her satin-covered mound. It bumped over her clit and Charlie gasped, thigh muscles trembling.

  “Sir!”

  Aram frowned at her. “Yes?”

  “I’m close.”

  He looked surprised. “You’re close to coming?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You may not come.”

  The cane returned to her pussy. He forced the wet fabric between her labia and then went to work on her clit. The touches were rough and jerky, the tip of the switch sometimes almost stabbing her clit. Charlie clenched her teeth and tried to tilt her hips so he wouldn’t hit her clit, but he seemed wise to her play.

  “Master,” she gasped, using the more meaningful “Master” instead of “Master Green” or “Sir” without thinking about it. “Please may I come?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  Charlie sighed in happiness, waiting for the next touch against her clit to take her over.

  None came.

  She opened her eyes to see he’d laid the crop across the arms of the chair. His fingers were steepled and pressed to his chin as he watched her.

  Charlie gritted her teeth. “Okay, that’s just rude. And you look like a Bond villain. Sir.”

  He blinked twice then laughed a low, sensual chuckle. “We haven’t finished discussing our checklist items.”

  “There’s more?” There was already an awful lot they had to do.

  “Indeed. The final item is eye contact restrictions. I wonder how you would handle being told to keep your eyes lowered at all times. Or being blindfolded so you would never know what was coming.”

  In response she lowered her gaze, staring at his knees.

  “Good. Now, it’s time for me to acquaint myself with your body. Remove your sweater. You will not wear it again. You will, from now on, wear only what I tell you.”

  After her admission of her body insecurities, the hoodie made more sense to Aram—it was a wearable security blanket. He was not surprised when she hesitated a bit before shrugging it off. But she obeyed.

  After she tossed the offending garment over a chair, she crossed her arms and spread her fingers over her upper arms. Though it raised and compressed her breasts in an attractive manner, Aram cleared his throat.

  She hesitantly lowered her arms. Her lips were twisted. It was refreshingly easy to read her. She was different than he’d thought she’d be. He—unfairly—had assumed she’d be a bit ditsy, or perhaps the sort of stereotypical pouty sub that was ever present in BDSM pornography but rare at Las Palmas.

  Instead she was complex—unapologetically enthusiastic, open, expressive, yet vulnerable and flawed.

  The coed sub had layers and depth. How shallow of him to have assumed otherwise.

  “You’re uncomfortable once again.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Because you now lack the security of an article of clothing.”

  “Um, well, no, Sir.”

  “No?”

  She let out a little huff of breath. “I have ugly upper arms.”

  “Ugly…upper arms?” Was she serious?

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is this truly something you worry about? The attractiveness level of your upper arms.” Surely she could hear how ludicrous that was.

  “Well, yeah. Of course. They’re really red. See?”

  She twisted her shoulders to show him her arm. She looked faintly sunburned.

  “You were attempting to tan in Paris?”

  Good Lord. Was he actually teasing the coed sub?

  Charlie giggled, and Aram smiled ruefully. He had teased her, and lo and behold it had worked.

  “No sunbathing in Engin le Bain for me. But I did when I was younger, trying to get and stay tan. I damaged my skin. My arms are always this color. They’re weird. I feel better with them covered.”

  “Rest assured that I do not find your arms to be weird. They’re part of a very engaging whole.” He picked up the cane, swishing it through the air idly. “Are there any other insecurities I should be aware of?”

  She watched the cane with trepidation. He thought she wouldn’t answer.

  “Yes, Sir.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a whole bundle of insecurities.”

  That startled a laugh out of him. “Charlie, you are rather delightful. But I find myself impatient to inspect what is mine. Remove your bra.”

  Charlie reached behind herself to unfasten the band, then slid down the straps of her bra. The cups clung to her breasts, as if reluctant to be parted from them.

  “Stop,” he said.

  She froze, the bra straps dangling but the cups in place. He reached out with the cane, sliding it through one of the straps. With a flick of his wrist he yanked the bra off.

  Her breasts were large and beautiful. They were nearly perfectly symmetrical, which he knew was a rarity. They sat higher on her chest than he would have
thought given their size. A point in favor of her youth. The smooth, round curves of the bottom of each breast begged for his touch. Her nipples were positioned high on the breast, so they pointed up slightly. They were made to be fondled. Those tipped-up nipples needed clamps adorning them.

  Aram was practically salivating. He was assaulted with the need to abuse and worship those breasts. Letting the switch drop to the floor, he rose. He was an ass and leg man, not a breast man.

  The exception to that rule was clearly these breasts.

  “Magnificent.” He cupped her breasts, testing their weight in his palms. “Heavy and lush.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Are your nipples pierced?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “No Master has seen fit to pierce you?” His thumbs bumped over her nipples, which beaded up nicely under his attention.

  “I don’t want piercings.”

  “And it is your choice.” He studied the tips of her breasts. “Traditional piercings would be too industrial. You need thin, delicate gold rings or bars. Nothing so thick that they could be used to dangle weights from—for your lovely breasts, the piercings would be adornment only, and to keep you hyper aware of your breasts. Piercings and no bra.”

  She moaned in response to his words, her head falling back. He released her breasts only to grasp each pink nipple. The touch was delicate at first. The pads of his fingers caressed the tightened nubs, learning each wrinkle. Then he twisted them in sync, wringing another moan from her.

  Bit by bit he increased the intensity, carefully noting what made her respond. She enjoyed pinching combined with twisting more than pinching alone. When he plucked her nipples, pulling on them until they slid from between his fingers, she yelped yet thrust her breasts out, begging without words for him to do it again.

  And when he slapped the undersides of her breasts lightly before laying two hard slaps on each nipple, she clenched her teeth.

  “Master.” The word was ripped from her.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m close.”

  “From nipple play alone?”

  She nodded jerkily.

  “Lovely.” He once more cupped each breast and bent his head. “You may not come.” He took one pink nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard on her, drawing blood into the nipple to make it more sensitive. Then he scraped it with his teeth before biting just the tip, applying enough pressure to make her whimper.