BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

He always forgot how beautiful this place was. Las Palmas was housed in a gorgeous Spanish-style Malibu estate—not the cliff-
hugging ocean-view Malibu most people knew. The sprawling estate was tucked into one of the canyons of the Santa Monica
Mountains. The landscaping had been redone since he was last here—the green lawns were gone, replaced by drought-tolerant
desert grasses and shrubs.
The main structure was actually a series of smaller buildings, connected by covered walkways. Each building was a hollow
square around a roofless courtyard. The sprawling estate also housed a variety of other structures. Off to one side was a
massive barn. Near it were some more utilitarian buildings that functioned almost as a hotel, with members who planned to
spend the whole weekend able to book sleeping quarters.
Grabbing a duffle bag from the trunk, Hadrian headed for the doors. It was Friday night, and as he crossed the gravel parking
area, another car pulled in. Weekends were party time for the rich, famous, and kinkily-inclined.
Once inside, he headed for the Doms’ lounge. The den, as they commonly referred to it, was modeled after a traditional
European style men’s study or library.
Wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and robust leather furniture were out of sync with the whitewashed walls and red
adobe tile roofs, but no less comfortable and elegant for the stylistic dissonance. A wall of tall windows bathed the room in
sunset light, and beyond the glass golden hills sprawled.
Mikel stood by the well-stocked bar. The overseer had a slim, strong face. His eyes were heavily lidded, and seemed to regard
the world with a sort of lazy pleasure.
“Just give me a minute.” Hadrian held up his duffle.
“Take your time. Your sub isn’t here yet.”
His sub.
Something rumbled through Hadrian. It was like far off thunder, thunder that heralded a great storm.
Hadrian slipped into the elegant changing room—there were lockers, but calling it a locker room implied it was something crude
and inelegant, when it was anything but. Cherry wood lockers each bore a small plaque with a Master, Mistress, or Owner’s
name on it. Back when he’d first joined, he’d kept clothes and toys in his locker at all times.

Hadrian opened his locker, surprised to find there was a shirt hung neatly on a hanger. “Huh. I wondered what happened to that
shirt.”
Moving quickly, he unpacked his duffle, then changed out of the workout shorts he’d worn for the drive down. An occupational
hazard of being both a fitness and computer geek was a major aversion to real clothing. But for an occasion like this, gym shorts
wouldn’t do.
Dressed in a tailored black suit and a white button-down shirt, he returned to the den. Mikel was seated in one of a pair of
armchairs positioned by the empty fireplace. Hadrian joined him, nodding his thanks for the drink that waited.
“I’m glad you came,” Mikel said.
“I told you I would. Wouldn’t want to let down the letter D.”
Mikel grinned. Hadrian’s comment had been mildly amusing, but not comedic enough to warrant a grin. Why was the overseer
smiling like that?
“Mikel, I’m starting to have a bad feeling.”
“A bad feeling. Bad like you’re ready to do something interesting? Bad like you need a submissive on her knees?”
“Bad like you haven’t told me everything.”
Mikel raised his glass, only partially hiding his grin. “You’re a smart man, Master Hadrian.” He took a sip. “We have time. Why
don’t I show you what you have to work with?”
Mikel plucked an envelope off the table and passed it over.
Anticipation rumbled through Hadrian, and when he took a sip of scotch, it tasted warmer and richer than it had moments ago.
Taking the envelope, he opened the flap, shaking out the papers inside.
It was a slim stack, maybe five sheets in all.
“The checklist.” Hadrian flipped through the pages. “I...remember filling this out.”
“Do you? Tell me about it.”
Hadrian focused on the letter D. “It was a long time ago.”

“Not so long.”
“I was a different person.” Young, successful, drunk on power and love.
“Were you? That’s disappointing.”
“Master Mikel.” Hadrian kept his gaze on the paper while anger tightened his shoulders. “I find it best not to think too hard about
the past.”
Mikel said nothing.
Hadrian had a vivid flash of memory—a memory that was more feelings than a specific event.
If the word everything were an emotion, that was the feeling dominating his memories of that time. He’d had everything he
wanted and more. He’d known, with such certainty that it was practically faith, that everything he wanted was his. That
everything the world had to offer was his for the taking. And that everything, anything, was possible as long as he had the
woman he loved by his side.
It had been a long time since he’d experienced that “everything” feeling.
Hadrian looked at the envelope, cleared his throat. “You said I’d get the checklist for my sub. This is blank.”
Mikel checked his watch. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
“I’m not going to say yes when I’m sure that you’ve got something up your sleeve.”
“You sub is waiting for you in the Constellation Court. The Cassiopeia Room.”
Hadrian opened the envelope, pulled out the list and ripped off the section of the page that included everything starting with D.
Tucking that in his pocket, he rose.
Right now “D” stood for “damned,” because that’s how he was starting to feel.