BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

“Oh thank you, Jesus.”
Jensen barked out a laugh. He cupped her hips and in the next moment she felt his breath on her wet pussy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this wet.” He pinched her labia and pulled them open, exposing her aching core.
“I can’t remember the last time I was this aroused, Master.”
“You’re enjoying trying new things—abrasion, arm binding, anal.”
“Oh yes, Master.”
“Good, because we’ve got more to do. Come when you’re ready.”
His lips closed over her clit. Anna screamed. The direct contact with the throbbing bundle of nerves was so intense that her toes
curled. Jensen held her upper thighs as he lapped at her clit. Broad strokes of his tongue fanned the already wild fire of her
desire. He pulled back and blew on her wet flesh, then circled her clit with the tip of his tongue.
“Master!”
Knowing she had his permission—and she was so aroused that even if she hadn’t she would have come—Anna gave in to the
orgasm building in her belly. She sobbed as the pleasure washed over her in heavy, thick waves. Her nipples were diamond
hard, her ass throbbing, her channel clenching.
He pulled her deeper under the waves of pleasure, using the flat of his tongue to gently massage her throbbing clit. Anything
more direct would have been uncomfortable in her pleasure-sensitive body, but he knew her, knew that he could prolong her
orgasm.
Anna sucked in great sobbing breaths as her legs trembled and her pussy throbbed. The last wave crashed over her and she
went limp, her head hanging down, her hair nearly brushing the floor.
* * *
Some people craved the sweet pleasure of submission. Some wanted the heady sting of pain. Some had no choice. For some,
the darkness inside could only be eased with the dangerous games played here.

Xavier tossed his bag into one of the elegant mahogany lockers in a small dressing room, anticipation making his movements
hard and sharp. He needed this. For months he’d been wanting it, lying awake at night dreaming of having a woman bound at his
mercy. A week ago it had gone from “want” to “need” when the darkness inside him reached critical levels. He rubbed his bare
face, grimacing, then tucked a handful of leather into the front pocket of his black jeans.
He headed for the well-stocked bar in the next room. The Dom’s Lounge, affectionately called the den, was an elegant room with
wood paneling, floor to ceiling bookshelves, and robust leather furniture. It had an air of wealth and power, both of which the
people who used this room possessed. One wall was all windows, taking in the view of golden hills and palm trees, rather than
the verdant English countryside one might expect.
Las Palmas was a sprawling Spanish-style estate north of Los Angeles. Its size and architectural history meant it was mentioned
in various guides, but very few people could claim to have ever been inside. Las Palmas was the home of Las Palmas Oscuras
—a BDSM club for the wealthy, powerful, and kinky denizens of the City of Angels.
“Welcome back, Xavier.”
Glass in hand, Xavier half-turned to see an elegant woman in her fifties rising from one of the leather wing-back chairs. Mistress
Faith was one of the overseers of Las Palmas, and a woman he was lucky to call a friend.
“Mistress.” Xavier used the title both as a sign of respect and affection.
When she offered her hand, he took it and bowed stiffly over it. There were lines around her eyes that Xavier hadn’t seen last
time he was here, though she looked elegant and powerful in a tailored black skirt suit. Outside the Doms’ section of the estate
she wore a porcelain half-mask, both to protect her identity and hide her age. That was something Xavier understood, though at
thirty-nine it was not his age he was hiding.
“I didn’t think you’d make it for our meeting.” She patted his arm just above the leather bracers he wore on each wrist.
“Meeting?” Apparently he’d missed something. Not a surprise, given his life outside of here.
Mistress Faith sighed. “I suppose you haven’t read your email?”
“I’ve only been back for—” Xavier started to reach for his phone to check the time, then remembered he didn’t carry it while here.
It was a way to separate who he was to the outside world from who he was at Las Palmas. “—less than a day.”
“Then your timing is simply excellent. We have an hour before everyone is expected in the Conclave.”

“You mean the barn?”
“If it has air conditioning, it’s not a barn. If it’s elegant, it’s not a barn.” Faith had helped develop Las Palmas, and had overseen
the renovations.
Xavier snorted. “It’s nicer than 99% of the world’s housing, but it has horse stalls. It’s a barn.”
She sniffed. “You weren’t always so obstinate.”
Xavier was tired of small talk. “What’s going on? Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all. Have a seat; I’ll have someone bring us food.”
“I’m fine.” He tossed back his drink and poured another, though this one was simply mineral water. It was time to go find a
submissive, one of the women who would gladly accept and submit to his aggressive desires.
“You need to eat.” She motioned to the chairs.
“I need a sub and an empty room. Food can wait.”
“Let’s feed your body, then we’ll feed your soul.” Faith slipped her arm through his. For a moment Xavier resisted, but when Faith
tapped his arm he gave in and let her guide him to a chair. He chose his seat, mindful of his positioning and how much of his
face she could see.
Xavier set down his drink and tugged the heavy leather mask from his pocket, laying it on the side table. It seemed he wouldn’t
be getting to put it on for another few minutes. If anyone else had tried to detain him, he would have shut him or her down. But
Faith was one of the few people he respected enough to put aside his needs—as long as it was a short delay.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re bossy?” Xavier forced himself to relax into the chair, though his blood was humming and
he was mentally preparing to enter the Las Palmas general rooms, where members mingled and those who were not bonded or
owned found partners and negotiated scenes.
“All the time, darling. All the time.”
Mistress Faith used a phone that waited on a desk facing the windows to place an order. When she returned, she picked up a
glass of champagne from the side table and raised it in a toast. “To new adventures.”

Xavier swirled the liquid in his glass. “I’m not in the mood for an adventure.”
“No. I suppose you’re not.”
There was a wealth of understanding in her words, and Xavier kept his gaze on the windows, not wanting to see the pity in her
eyes.
“I’ll rephrase. We’re going to play a game.”
Xavier took a long drink, now wishing it was more than water, before replying. “You and I are?”
Mistress Faith laughed. “No, regrettably. All the members of Las Palmas Oscuras.”
“What game?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”