BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

“Why are you saying it the way people normally say ‘dead baby seals’?”
“I hate role play. I’m terrible at role play.” Beth’s most traumatic high school experience had been when her best friend had
cajoled her into being part of the school musical. She had a hard enough time figuring out what she was feeling, let alone
pretending to be someone else and then trying to show others what the pretend person was feeling.
“Okay, Miss Literal. It’s not role play.” The corner of his lips twitched in a smile.
Beth had a white-knuckle grip on the bottle of glass cleaner. James frowned, realizing that she was not teasing, as funny as her
fear might sound to others.
“Beth.” Now his voice was sharp with command. “Put all the spray bottles in the bucket. Take out the feather duster.”
Beth grabbed the feather duster, which was made of actual black and white feathers and had a short, thick wooden handle.
“Go dust the front of the wardrobe.”
Feeling better at having simple, direct orders to follow, Beth went to the tall dark-wood piece and ran the duster over the doors.
“I don’t think this is very effective.” There wasn’t any dust on the furniture—Las Palmas had a discreet cleaning service come in
during the week, and two full-time people who lived on site and maintained the playrooms daily—but if there had been dust she
was fairly certain the feathers would just move it around.
“Dust the top.”
Beth rose on tiptoe, one hand on the doors, the other stretched up. For a large man, he was surprisingly silent as he came up
behind her. When Master James grabbed her bare ass, Beth nearly lost her balance.
“I didn’t say you could stop.” He growled the words when she lowered her outstretched arm.
Beth went back up on her toes, struggling to maintain the position as he massaged her ass. When his lips brushed her ear, Beth
shivered. The corset not only restricted her movement, but made her intensely aware of how naked her lower half was.
“The table over there needs to be cleaned.”
He turned her by the hips, pointing her to the small side table positioned near the chair he’d been sitting in. The corset caused
her hips to sway more than normal, but this time she played it up, sure from the weight of his gaze that he was watching her ass

as she walked away.
It was an incredibly powerful feeling. She was the one in the binding corset, obeying his orders—yet she felt strong and in
control.
She flicked the feather duster along the top of the perfectly clean table, heart thumping in her chest as she waited for him to
make his next move. Master James resumed his seat.
“You missed a spot.”
“I did?”
“Yes, stand right in front of me and you’ll see it.”
Beth’s blood was humming with desire and anticipation as she positioned herself in front of him, her legs only a few inches from
his knees. Again she flicked the duster, barely moving as she focused all her attention on the man at her back.
“There’s dust on the shelf. Clean it.”
There was a shelf near the bottom of the table, set with a lovely impressionist ceramic sculpture of a naked man and woman.
Beth started to bend, then realized the corset made that problematic.
Bracing one hand on the tabletop she bent from the hips, not the waist, thrusting her ass back as she leaned forward.
A heavy hand on her back slammed her down the last few inches, so her chest was flat on the table. Master James grabbed the
duster from her.
“I have a confession.” He ran the soft feathers up her arm to her shoulder, then used them to push her hair off her face, the
tickling feeling causing her to scrunch up her nose.
“This isn’t really meant for dusting.” He held it where she could see it. “Look at the handle.”
The handle was about as long as her hand, from wrist to the tip of her fingers, and as wide around as a tube of toothpaste.
Rather than straight it was curved, like the silhouette of a woman’s body, with a rounded, tapered end.
“Can you guess where this is going?”

She could guess, but between the position, the corset, and the arousal that made it hard to think let alone talk, Beth didn’t
answer.
“I’m going to fuck your pussy with it, then going to shove it inside your tight ass.”
With one hand on her upper back holding her down, he brushed her butt and legs with the feathers.
“Then I’m going to make you keep it in your ass, like a feather tail.”
The smooth wood of the handle rubbed her inner thighs, then tapped against her mound.
“You’re going to do some more chores, like get me lunch and a drink, all with a cute little feather tail.”
Beth was panting with desire, the picture painted by his words driving her mad with desire.
The smooth, cool wood slid between the lips of her sex, the tip rubbing her clit.
“Then I’m going to take it out of your ass, so that I can fuck you. Or maybe you need to go over my knee for a spanking first.”
The handle pressed into her, her desire-tightened body greedily clenching around the wood as it entered her inch by inch.
“I could say it’s to punish you for this morning, but really it would just be because I want to spank you.”
He started fucking her with the feather duster in earnest. Beth clung to the table, wanting to thrust back, but he was holding her
in place, giving her no opportunity to move. She could only stand there and take it.
Leaving the handle buried in her, Master James rubbed two fingers between her pussy lips, gathering her body’s own moisture
and spreading it on her anus. He repeated the motion several times, pausing to fuck her on occasion, before pulling the duster
handle out of her pussy and pressing it against her rear entrance.
The tip slid in smoothly, but the taper was not as gradual as last night’s plug, and as he kept pushing, Beth squirmed.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“You’re not, Master,” she whispered. There were twinges of pain but they were the good kind, the kind that let her know she was
being used.
“Good.”

When it was seated inside her to his satisfaction, Master James let her stand up.
“Time for the rest of your chores.” He took a seat, the bulge of his erection apparent, his gaze hot with desire. “Get me a bottle of
water and a glass of champagne.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Oh, and Beth...”
She paused.
“If you let it fall out, I won’t fuck you for the rest of the weekend.”
Now that was real punishment. Butt clenched, Beth slipped out of the playroom to complete her chores.
* * *
It was an invitation, a reminder, and a threat, all bundled into one short message.
Master Hadrian,
We were distressed you were unable to join us for the mandatory meeting of all Las Palmas Oscuras members. Your presence
was missed. If you’re interested in continuing your membership, please call—at your earliest convenience—to discuss the
activity that was announced at the gathering.
The Overseers
Hadrian quickly copied the number at the bottom of the message, knowing that any second now it would disappear from his
inbox. Self-destructing email, cryptic messages, and vague threats—he’d learned to expect nothing less from a secret sex club.
He rolled his exercise ball into position and took a seat at the quartz-topped desk, stretching out his left leg. His knee protested
and he winced. Turning forty had apparently been a signal to his body to begin malfunctioning.
He had a vague memory of another email about an all-club meeting. He hadn’t been to Las Palmas—L.A.’s most exclusive
BDSM club—in years, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the original message. He wasn’t exactly avoiding the club, but driving
down to the gorgeous Malibu estate wasn’t as straightforward as it used to be.

Plus, his new assistant ruled his schedule with an iron fist, and he wasn’t about to ask the enthusiastic and ruthless—possibly
even ruthlessly enthusiastic—twenty-two-year-old to coordinate his weekends at a sex club.
He checked his calendar. Nothing for an hour. Well, technically his schedule said “brainstorm new technology.” Samuel must
have added that. Hadrian had never scheduled time to brainstorm. All his good ideas came to him while he was doing something
else. Like a program running in the background.
Slipping a beta version of a hands-free device the size of a raisin into his ear, Hadrian checked on the progress of the code
checker program he was running, then rose from the ball-turned-desk-chair, stretched, and went to the wall of windows. His
office had one of the best views in the house.
The Pacific Ocean raged against the cliffs below, water pounding against dark rock, the elements both diametrically opposed to
one another yet forever linked at the shoreline.
Phone in hand, Hadrian typed in the number, even as he turned to look at the massive picture hanging on the wall behind his
desk.