by L. DuBois
G is for...
BDSM Checklist, Book 7
L. DuBois
Published by:
Farm Boy Press,
Sacramento, California, United States of America.
First electronic edition: April, 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Lila Dubois, all rights reserved.
Cover design by Lila Dubois
Book formatted by Farm Boy Press
ISBN: 978-1-941641-29-3
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.
This book is dedicated to Fedora and her straps.
* * *
I’d also like to dedicate this book to my amazing ARC reading team, including Melanie M., Laura F. Gabriela W. and, as always, Tamara Y.
Thank You!
Contents
Synopsis
G 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
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Read the Rest of the Alphabet
About the Author
Other books by Lila Dubois
G is for…
Given away to another Dom.
Of all the things Sejal expected from the letter G, having her Master give her away was never one of them.
As a member of LA’s most exclusive BDSM club, Sejal has to play the club overseer’s new game. A game where everyone is assigned a letter and with their partners has to explore every item that begins with that letter on the BDSM checklist. Collared and bonded to Master Sato, Sejal assumes he’ll be her partner, but one of the first items on the checklist is “given away to another Dom.” Sejal’s Master gives her to Master Cortland Dowell, a ridiculously sexy Dom who looks at her in a way her own Master hasn’t in far too long.
Cortland is a good Dom. It’s one of the few things he’s good at. And being a good Dom means when Master Sato passes over Sejal’s leash his first thought is making sure the beautiful submissive is okay with what’s happening.
Though they seem like very different people, Sejal and Cortland soon realize they’re a perfect fit as Dominant and submissive. The problem is she’s only his for the weekend, unless, of course, Cortland decides that instead of giving her away temporarily, Master Soto meant the other item on the checklist—giving away his sub…permanently.
G is for…
1
A good submissive would be waiting patiently, but Sejal had never claimed to be a particularly obedient submissive, and waiting made her itchy—time spent waiting was time wasted. When she wasn’t at Las Palmas, the exclusive and expensive BDSM club in the canyons of Malibu, she had every minute of her day carefully planned and plotted.
As her career had progressed over the past few years, she did less and less of the plotting and planning. Her nurses and the hospital admins handled that.
She shook back her hair, as if doing that would help her shed thoughts of work.
Coming to Las Palmas was her break. A chance for her to not be in charge. A chance to practice giving up control.
A chance to see Hachiro, better known at Las Palmas as Master Sato.
Is he really your master?
Sejal placed her fingers on her bare throat. Last year, Hach had collared her, and more importantly they'd been declared bonded. Normally that didn't particularly matter, but earlier today the overseers of the club had dropped a bombshell, announcing a new "game." Every member was assigned a partner and a letter of the alphabet. With their partner they had to work through every kink and toy listed on the club’s extensive BDSM checklist.
Sejal had been a member for two years, and had only the vaguest memory of the checklist. She'd paid more attention to the membership contract, and grilled the overseers about the privacy policy, the NDA everyone filled out, and a variety of other things. At the time she'd been reluctant to join. It had taken Hach’s gentle encouragement, and a few reminders about what they'd learned about managing stress, to get her to agree. Once she'd signed, and committed to being a submissive, she'd strived to be the best submissive she could be.
Then, a few months ago, when Hach demanded she top him, she'd strived to be the best switch possible.
Sejal paced the dressing room the submissives used. The club was housed in an expansive mission-style estate, comprising a series of buildings with rooms that faced into small courtyards. The subs' dressing room was in the Subs' Garden. After the announcement of the game, which had taken place in an all-member meeting in the Conclave—a rather pretentious name for the equally pretentious horse-less stable building, most of the subs had come back here. One by one they were called over the loudspeaker system as their Doms summoned them to the various areas and playrooms.
Sejal watched as the lovely dark-skinned woman whose corset she had just tightened walked out. It was the poor thing’s first day, which meant she was about to have a very dramatic, intense introduction to at least one if not more of the Doms of Las Palmas. On the plus side, since she was new, she’d only recently filled out the checklist, and probably remembered what was on it, unlike Sejal.
Unfortunately, the corseted woman, Katrina, was called away before she could recount more than a few of the things she remembered from the checklist.
What letter did they have? She’d tried to watch to see what letter Hach had been handed, but two other Doms had blocked her view. Sejal resumed pacing.
“Nervous?” Sarah was blond, and wearing high-waisted leather panties.
“Not particularly,” Sejal said. It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t really nervous. Her time here, her scenes with Hach, they were…predictable. She’d been thrown for a loop when he’d demanded she top him, but within a matter of weeks she was comfortable with that.
Disappointed, but comfortable.
She pushed that thought aside.
“Oh wait, you’re bonded, right?” Sarah asked.
The overseers had arranged the pairings for the games, and based on their explanation, their accusations that the members had become too comfortable and weren’t pushing themselves, she was sure they were deliberately creating new or mismatched pairings.
That idea excited her. Something, someone new. That thought made her wince. She and Hach had been through so much together that her stomach clenched at the disloyal thought.
It didn’t matter if she liked the idea of being with someone new, because the one exception
to the rule was members who were bonded. The overseers would not split them up.
Still, she would get to try new things. Surely there would be items beginning with their letter that they hadn’t tried before. Maybe for the sake of the game Hach would go back to being the top, and she could actually give up control for a little while.
The feminine voice came over the loudspeaker, calling her name, and Sejal stopped pacing. Time to start. Good. She dashed to the mirror, checked her appearance, and then walked out the door.
* * *
“She has to be okay with this,” Cortland said for the third time.
Master Sato and Master Khan both looked at him. Khan looked patient and a bit enigmatic. Hachiro Sato looked excited. He thrust a small packet of papers at Cort. “Here is her list. She agreed to this particular item.”
“She said she was willing to try,” Cortland countered.
Master Sato kept holding out the checklist. Cortland had already looked at it, but he took it again, deciding to hold onto it. He’d need it.
He'd been late to arrive to the mandatory meeting, and stood in the back of the Conclave, blinking in surprise as he heard the tail end of the overseers’ explanation about the game. He'd been excited once he got over his shock, and when he'd retrieved his assignment—in the form of a large envelope with the letter G on it—he'd taken a moment to savor the anticipation.
That had morphed into confusion when he'd pulled out not one but two checklists, one of them belonging to a fellow Dom.
It had take awhile, but he'd found Master Sato, and they'd gone to the library to discuss. That had led to possibly one of the strangest conversations he'd ever had, made even stranger when Master Khan, at Master Sato's request, joined them. Master Khan wasn't assigned to G, but had agreed to help Master Sato complete one of the items on the checklist.
"I'll call them." Master Sato rose and walked out of the library to request that the submissives they needed be called to them.
Cortland shook his head. This was not how he'd thought this was going to go.
“You’re going to top him?” Cort asked Master Khan.
“I am. He’s evolving, as we all do.”
“So do you and Luscious have G, too?” Luscious was the name of Master Khan’s regular sub.
“No. Actually I was assigned the letter H. As were several others. I’ll be meeting with them after we’re done with this.”
“H? All I can think of is hand jobs and hair pulling.”
“The letter H is rather extensive, hence there being so many people assigned to it. One item is ‘harem.’ Hachiro—formerly Master Sato—will be serving in my harem for the next few weeks.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“It does.” Master Khan took a sip of his drink. “Tell me, have you met Master Bland?”
“Bland? The guy’s name is Bland?”
“That is what it says. He and his sub have been members for only a few months.”
“And they’re assigned to H with you?”
“Yes. That’s who I’m waiting for. I’m guessing that I will also be getting a sub. Another addition to my Harem.”
Cort pursed his lips, but didn’t actually whistle. This game was going to make major waves in the club. Subs were being traded like baseball cards.
He didn't care what Master Sato—no, Hachiro—or the checklist said. The woman, Sejal, had to agree to this. It was the only way he was going through with it.
Hachiro returned, relaxing into a chair. Master Khan smiled possessively at him. If Hach was back, that meant the sub whose file he held—Sejal—was on her way. Cort leaned forward. “If we’re going to do this, we do it my way.”
Hachiro looked over. “What do you mean?”
“Get her collar.”
Hachiro, face inscrutable, nodded and left the library.
2
The Library, beside the dining room, had a distinct lack of books. There were plenty of bookshelves, but no books. Instead the shelves were filled with BDSM toys and equipment. Some antique pieces were in glass cases, the built-in lighting glinting off timeworn metal and leather. The one she liked best was an early model manual vibrator, used in Victorian times to allow doctors to treat "hysterical" women. What they'd actually been doing was bringing the women to orgasm. The story went that the doctors who offered the treatment got so tired they invented the vibrators to save their hand and arm muscles from strain.
In the scope of human history, that hadn't been long ago, but medicine had changed. Drastically.
Don't think about work.
Sejal looked around the library. It had been a while since she'd been in here. Hach—no, Master Sato, she'd finally get to once again call him Master Sato—preferred playing out in public, in the open air courtyards, and they'd continued to play there, even when she was topping.
In addition to the bookcases there was an L-shaped bar, where subs and Doms alike took a hand at playing bartender. There were cocktail tables set up near it, the tables made out of old wine and whiskey barrels.
A massive fireplace, surrounded by tile that fit the mission style of the architecture, drew the eye. Rugs were laid out in front of it, and there were baskets of pillows waiting, to be used to ensure the comfort of subs who needed to kneel for long periods.
The library was fuller than she’d ever seen it, which made sense since almost the entire membership was at Las Palmas tonight. Couples sat at the cocktail tables with plates of food they’d brought in from the dining room next door.
Seeing it like this she was struck first by how many people were members. She'd never really thought about it before, but usually when they came to play there were no more than a dozen other people, spread out throughout the many rooms. The second thing she observed was the diversity of the members. Not only in their race or ethnicity, but also in how they played. An elegant Black Domme used her submissive as a footstool. One of the subs behind the bar wore a latex body suit that covered everything but her hands, and the other wore a rope dress that left her breasts exposed. A dark-skinned woman at the bar laughed, drawing Sejal’s attention. The woman shook out her braids, her breasts bouncing as she did—she was naked except for two sparkly pasties on her nipples.
Both women were submissives, but placed beside each other it served as a reminder that there were many different ways of submitting.
For her, submission mostly meant doing exactly what Hach said—pegging him, tying him up, sucking his cock for hours on end.
And most of the time she wasn’t even aroused. She certainly didn't orgasm. That was an uncharitable thought she pushed aside. She'd dedicated herself to learning to top Hach the way she'd dedicated herself to submitting to him at the beginning.
She scanned the room again, looking for him. Her gaze landed briefly on one of the other Indian members—Master Khan. They exchanged a few words in Hindi when their paths crossed in the dining room or when they were both watching a demonstration or scene in one of the courtyards.
Sitting beside Master Khan was another man, one she hadn't seen before.
He looked like her imaginary boyfriend. She blinked in surprise. She hadn't thought about John Washington, her imaginary American love interest, in twenty years, yet as soon as she saw the stranger, a vivid image of the magazine cutout she'd had taped inside the back of a book rose in her mind.
The picture had been from a cologne ad in an English magazine. The man in the photo had a lean face, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. She'd liked that picture in particular because it had seemed like the man had been looking out of the paper, right at her. While her friends gushed over the latest Bollywood star, she'd been imagining John Washington. In part that was because, ever since she was a young girl, her parents had made clear their expectation that she do well in school, go to an American university, and make a better life for herself in America. That expectation had colored the way she’d grown up, and she'd always felt distant from her peers, as if knowing her future wasn't in Delhi,
that her parents planned to break with tradition and not arrange a marriage for her, that she would, when she was seventeen or eighteen, have to go off on her own, find her own way in the world, put a thin sheet of glass between her and her childhood companions.
John Washington looked up, his gaze meeting hers. Sejal held his gaze for a moment, and then remembered that this weekend she was probably going to be submitting, and jerked her gaze away.
She looked around again. Where was Hach?
She was frowning, wondering if she'd heard the announcement correctly when Luscious, the other sub who'd been called at the same time as her, walked past her and directly to Master Khan. That drew her attention back to the couch. John Washington was gone.
No. John Washington was standing up. He was walking. Towards her.
For the first time in what felt like a very long time, she got butterflies in her stomach. Sejal pressed a hand to her abdomen willing the sensation away. He wasn't coming towards her, and even if he was, it didn't matter. She couldn't do anything with him.
"Sejal." A familiar hand slid against the bare skin of her back.
She turned, smiling up at her old friend and lover. Hach was smiling.
She blinked. He rarely smiled. On the surface, Hachiro was classically Japanese in his facial mannerisms, including a usually inscrutable expression. It was a little alarming to see him smiling.
