Checklist J, K, L

Grif hoped she hadn’t been able to see how frustrated and disappointed he’d been when it seemed they’d have to stop the
scene. He didn’t think she had, but, oddly, he was having a hard time reading her. Normally he knew what she wanted, what she
could take, based on her non-verbals.
Right now he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t read her the way he should be able to.
It was probably more accurate to say he was mis-reading her, because her non-verbals were distinctly not Davina-ish.
When he’d finished tethering her collar to the chair, she’d closed her eyes, lowered her chin, and turned her hands palms out. It
was the most submissive posture he’d ever seen her take without a direct order to do so. He could have dismissed the lowered
eyes and down-tilted chin as her doing some of her yoga breathing to center herself, but the hands...
That had been something new, something different.
Seeing her like that, so quietly submissive, had given him a raging hard on so fast that it physically hurt.
His strong, guarded minx had gone soft and quiet and that triggered some primal Dom urges deep in his brain.
It wasn’t just the posture that had gotten his dick diamond hard, so fast. It was that she was the one doing it. He’d been with
high-protocol or more classically submissive subs before her. They would have done more than simply turn their hands palms
out to show him how submissive and willing they were.
Such a small thing, easily overlooked, to turn the hands, exposing the soft skin of her palms and thin, pale skin of her wrists.
When Davina did it...
The impact of that small gesture was profound.
Then she’d snapped back, said she would take care of herself—watch out for her own comfort as far as the jewelry cuffs went. It
had been like a splash of cold water. It cooled this conflagration within, and he’d realized the things he was thinking and planning
were too much. He’d had to rein himself in, fight the urge to push.
Then everything had changed again.
I don’t want you to stop.

Something about the way she’d said it—each syllable laced with raw need—told him as much as her words did that she wanted
to keep going. He hadn’t been reading her wrong.
She was reacting, submitting, in a way she hadn’t ever before.
Two years together, and it seemed he still had a lot to learn about his sub.
His sub.
He normally didn’t think of her like that. The verbiage they normally used was “partner.” She was the “submissive partner” not the
sub. His sub.
She’s mine.
Grif was still painfully aroused, and holding on to his control with a metaphorical chain as delicate as the ones he was using on
her.
The jewelry was forcing them to adapt to a totally different kind of play than they’d ever engaged in before. Back in the Den,
perusing the selection of delicate jewelry, he thought he’d understood why the overseers had referred to it as a “challenge.”
Jewelry was a symbol, not a functioning BDSM toy.
Delicate chain wasn’t a viable option to physically restrain someone. What he was using had the tensile strength to support the
weight of her slender arms when she was at rest and relatively still, but one good yank and it would snap.
That meant that they were both going to have to exercise the kind of restraint they normally didn’t employ.
The collar, cuffs, and basic restraints were only the first, and simplest, pieces of jewelry. He wouldn’t be happy until she was
dripping with delicate chains, her body desperate with need, her mind fully and firmly in subspace.
Subspace. Davina, his minx, soft and open. Not worrying or thinking, but letting go in that most vulnerable way.
He’d never been able to get her into subspace without inversion bondage, impact play, or some combination of both. They’d
talked about it, and neither one of them had been particularly worried. She wasn’t really looking for peace the way some people
in the lifestyle did.
For Davina, BDSM was an outlet for her emotions. When they were together, she let loose her rage, worry, and pain. He could
handle it, handle her when she needed to let go. Tie her down, bind her so she was still and had something to fight against.

Only rarely did her emotional well run dry enough—or the physical sensations become strong enough—for her to sink into
subspace.
But here she was, seeming to move and react on instinct, her motions and body soft.
A challenge. This game was all about the challenge.
He would set a second, secret challenge for himself. Use nothing but the jewelry, his hands, and his words, to get her into
subspace.
Given the historical record of how they worked, that idea was absurd. Doomed to failure. But some part of him had suspected—
no, more than that, was sure—he could do it.
Instinct born of familiarity?
There would be time later to explore that idea—that he knew her so well that he’d be able to predict her reaction to unknown
stimuli both physical and mental. Now was the time to act. To touch.
He needed to get her out of those clothes.
He’d considered taking them off before doing anything else, but he had to admit he liked cutting or ripping her clothing off her.
She’d gotten in the habit of pointing out when he was about to bind or position her in such a way that the clothes would have to
be cut. Sometimes she just stripped on her own.
He knew how to take a hint—she didn’t want him wrecking any more of her clothes. He wished he could just buy her a bunch of
cheap lingerie and then destroy it to his heart’s content, but choosing clothing was a power exchange activity, and not really
something they did.
But tonight...tonight he was going to cut those clothes off her one inch at a time.
“I’m going to remove your clothing now.” He stroked the delicate line of her neck, fingering the collar. He liked how tight it was,
how close to her skin it fit.
Taking the safety scissors he’d grabbed from the tack room, he slid the blunt tip under the neckline of the mesh tank top. The
metal must have been cold because she shivered.

He cut through the band of fabric that edged the neckline. The quiet snick of fabric was only barely audible over the sound of her
slightly ragged breathing.
“I’ll buy you another one,” he murmured. It was what he always said if he destroyed something—a private joke.
Her normal response was, “This old thing?” said with that sexy smile he sometimes dreamed about.
Once again, today was different.
“Just get it off,” she begged. “I need...”
He waited, leaning forward, mindful of the scissors he held pressed against her sternum.
The maddening woman didn’t finish that thought.
“What do you need?”
Davina looked at him under her lashes and shook her head.
“Minx.”
He withdrew the scissors.
Her eyes widened with outrage.
Following that newly discovered instinct, he tugged gently on the chain tethering her collar to the chair. “When I ask you a
question, you answer.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know... I don’t know the answer.”
Grif traced the exposed underside of her raised arm from elbow to her smooth armpit. She shivered.
He slid a finger under the strap of the tank top, lifted it from her skin, and then snipped through it.
Davina’s eyes slid closed.
He snipped the other strap. The stubborn fabric clung to her. Her nipple bars glinted in the light. Once he had the shirt off, he
would take those out.

Or...
Grif hooked his pinky in one of the diamond-shaped openings just below her left nipple. For one delicious moment he was
touching the smooth, sweet skin of her breast. Pulling the fabric away, he snipped.
When he released her mangled shirt, there was a nice-size opening that exposed her whole right nipple and areola.
Davina made an approving noise.
He did the same to the other side of the shirt before tucking the scissors into his back pocket.
“I’m going to take out the nipple bars.”
She hummed in approval, then her chin came up. She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to take off the only jewelry I
was wearing when we started?”
There was his Davina—that smile. He would do terrible, wonderful things to make this woman smile.
He grinned in response to her tone as much as the question itself. “Oh, don’t worry, there will be jewelry on these sweet things.”
He reached out with both hands, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples.
Sometimes nipple play made her smile or moan. If she was really turned on, she’d grimace or grit her teeth, a somewhat
counterintuitive reaction he’d had to get used to.
This time she made a small sweet sound, almost like a whimper of need, and shivered, seeming to melt back into her quiet
submission.
“I’m going to take these out.” His voice was rough, lower than he’d meant it to be. “Because when I finish cutting off this shirt and
strip you, I want you totally naked. Nothing on you, or in you, that I didn’t put there.”
“Yes, yes, I want that,” she breathed. “You. I want you. Please.”
“Are you wet?”
“Yes.”
“If I fucked you right now—”

“Please do. Please.”
“No.” He snapped the denial and she shivered once more. “Not yet,” he amended.
Bending, he kissed her right nipple, then grasped the ball on one end of the bar and started twisting the other. There was no way
to do this without tugging and tweaking her nipple. He was as gentle as he could be, but by the time he’d unscrewed the second
bar her breathing had changed—shallow pants that kept her breasts still, and betrayed how much she was enjoying this.
He tucked her nipple jewelry into his pocket and examined her breasts.
There was something crude and almost savage about the way she looked right now—shirt torn up, breasts poking lewdly
through the holes.
Lifting the safety scissors once again, he slid it under the shirt.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
With each cut, the stretchy mesh parted a bit more. The holes he’d cut meant that even when he’d snipped it open down to her
abdomen, the fabric clung to her, caught on the tips of her breasts the way it had been caught on her nipple bars.
Lifting the hem with his free hand, he cut through the final bit of fabric. For a moment the shirt stayed on, held up by her breasts.
He could have waited for it to slide off—her breathing wasn’t shallow, but deep, and he could see the fabric sliding with each
inhale—but he didn’t want to wait.
Grasping the fabric, he peeled it away.
She responded with a little gasp that made her tits bounce. His cock twitched in reaction to the sound.
She looked naked, soft, and vulnerable. He wasn’t used to seeing her breasts without the nipple bars. Not that he hadn’t ever
taken them out before—they’d played with clamps, and for safety always took out her nipple jewelry before doing anything with
clamps.
Her arms were relaxed, elbows slightly forward, but she was shifting her weight from knee to knee, her hips rocking side to side.
He knew that motion, recognized it for what it was. A sign that she was aroused. Very aroused.

Cupping her waist, he ran his palms up her sides, following the unhindered line of flesh from waist to ribcage, ribcage to armpit,
then along her arms. He checked the cuffs at her wrists, sliding the tip of his thumb between skin and metal.
“How do your wrists feel?”
“Fine.”
“Are you paying attention? Are you adjusting to keep yourself comfortable?”
“I...” Davina blinked several times, then looked up at him, eyes round with shock. “I’m not. I’m not at all.”
“Then I will take care of you.” Grif wrapped his hands around her wrists, over the cuffs, so their arm positions were mirrored, then
leaned in and kissed her.
She tipped her head back, her mouth soft and open. He kissed her gently, then nipped her bottom lip. He rested his forehead
against hers, their breath mingling.
“I want to do things to you—”
“Yes, yes.”
“Don’t interrupt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was going to say that I want to do things to you that should scare you.”
“Why? I trust you.”
“Because what I want to do is different.”
“I...know.”
There was more he wanted to say, to ask. Do you realize you’re behaving differently? Are you doing it on purpose? Or are you,
like me, reacting on instinct?
Instead he rubbed the base of each hand with his thumbs before stepping back.
“I don’t want you thinking about the cuffs, or adjusting your position.”

“I can do it, I just—”
“I said I don’t want that.” He kept his voice mild as he interrupted her protest. “That’s not what this scene is about.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “You’re right.”
Grif checked his jewelry supplies, but couldn’t find anything that would work. A quick trip to the tack room and he had what he
needed—two padded leather cuffs with buckles and D rings.
Rather than attaching them to her wrists, he placed the cuffs around her upper arms, at the elbow. Using the thinnest rope they
had—more like twine than rope—he added to her delicate bondage.
For this set of bindings, he went straight up from each cuff to the lattice with a double length of rope. He adjusted the twine so it
was tight enough that the cuffs were taking most of the weight of her arms, but not so tight that her shoulders were stretched.
Her wrists might still end up bearing the imprint of the delicate cuffs, but now there wasn’t risk of real injury due to loss of
circulation.
He stepped back when he was done and examined her. Her elbows were only an inch higher than they had been, but they were
pulled back, level with her ears rather than pointing forward. It elevated her naked breasts.
He picked up the scissors once more, opening and closing it a few times, watching her watch the blades slide against one
another.
Twisting his wrist, he lay the flat of the scissors against her right nipple. She gasped and then smiled. It was almost an
expression of relief.
The metal wasn’t all that cold—he’d been keeping it tucked in his back pocket when not in use—but it must have been cool
enough. The nipple he’d touched ruched up tight.
He slid the scissors down her stomach, watching goosebumps appear on her skin. When he reached the waistband of her skirt,
he stopped.
He’d thought it was fabric, but upon closer examination—and running his hand over her hip—it was actually latex or something
similar.
He put the scissors away.

Circling around behind her, Grif stroked and massaged his way down her back from her shoulders to her ass. The material was
stretched tight over her butt. He slid the fingers of both hands under the waistband at the back.
Then he tightened his hands into fists and yanked his hands apart.
Davina yelped as her hips were yanked back. His biceps bunched, and for a moment the rubbery fabric held.
With a pop, a one-inch tear appeared in the top. Another yank and the back of the skirt ripped down the center. With a satisfied
grunt, he tossed the ruined garment to the side.
“Whoa,” Davina breathed.
Grif palmed her naked ass. Her skin was slightly powdery from the talc she’d used to get the skirt on.
He squeezed those sweet butt cheeks together, then separated them, letting air wash over her anus.
Reaching to the other chair with one hand, he grabbed a glove and a small tear-open package of medical grade lube.
“I bet you expect me to put a nice jeweled plug in your ass.” He pulled on the glove, letting it snap against his wrist.
“You aren’t?”
“No, I have something better planned.”
* * *
Grif waited, dick painfully hard in his pants, to see how she’d react to his cryptic statement that he had something better than a
plug planned for her ass.
His patience was rewarded.
Davina made an approving noise low in her throat. She walked her knees back a few inches, towards the front edge of the chair,
and lowered her chest as much as she could with her arms up.
He watched her ass as she positioned herself, offering her sweet bottom and tight anus to him.
Damn, he loved this woman.

No. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t love her. He loved spending time with her. Topping her. He loved that he had a stable BDSM
partner whose kinks lined up with his own.
He didn’t even know her last name, so he didn’t love her.
Couldn’t love her, because that would just be too damned pathetic.
Grif ripped the packet of lube open and squeezed some onto the index and middle fingers of his gloved hand. He set the packet,
still half full, on the chair between her knees.
Placing his bare hand on the small of her back, he pressed down, forcing her into a deeper arch. The muscles in her shoulders
and thighs tensed as she tried to hold the position.
Keeping his hand firm on her back, he slid his lubed fingers between the cheeks of her ass. Fingers together, he rubbed up and
down, bumping the rosette of her anus with each pass.
Davina sighed—a happy, almost relaxed sound—though her body was still tense and straining to hold the position.
“Press back against me,” he murmured.
They had done this plenty of times before, though for them an anal hook was more common than a plug.
Davina shifted her weight, and Grif slid the tip of his index finger into her ass. She was tight and soft, the outer ring of muscle
giving more easily than the inner. He pressed in, folding his ring finger into his palm as he did. When he had the first knuckle
buried inside her he took his hand off the small of her back.
She shifted a little, stretching out her back, before arching once more.
“Get comfortable,” he murmured. “I’m going to play with you a bit.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
He waited for the sassy rest of that sentence, but she didn’t say anything more. She meant it. She was thanking him for playing
with her ass. He knew that she both enjoyed and needed it, but to actually thank him for it was honest and real, with no artifice or
teasing.

“You’re welcome.” Grif pulled his finger halfway out. With his free hand, he reached down and around, finding the hanging weight
of her breast. He cupped and squeezed, kneading her soft flesh. It was odd to feel nothing but her—the supple, almost downy
skin of her breast, the ruched areola and tight nipple. There were no hard points of the nipple bar, no ropes crossing above or
below to mold and constrain.
He lifted her breast, pressing it against her chest, then released it, letting gravity pull on her flesh.
Davina began to rock forward and back, fucking her ass on his finger.
When she rocked forward, Grif pulled his hand back, withdrawing his finger completely.
“Wait, please,” she whimpered. “I can stay still.”
“I don’t want you to stay still.” Grif released her breast and used the two fingers and thumb of that hand to part her ass cheeks so
he could see what he was doing. “I like that you want my finger in your ass.”
“Not just your finger.”
“I’ll give you two fingers.” Grif laid his index finger on top of his middle finger to make a tapered shape, then positioned his hand,
tip of the longer middle finger centered on her asshole. “And you’ll thank me for it.”
He did a quick little thrust, enough to shove the tips of both fingers into her. It was a deliberately sharp, sudden penetration.
She yelped, then shivered. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Grif looked down at where his fingers entered her body. He could both see and feel her asshole tightening
around his fingers. “Now relax,” he commanded. “I want to stretch you open.”
Another shiver and she made a little noise, part exasperated, part moan of need. “You know it makes me crazy when you talk
dirty like that.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Diabolical man.”
“Sexy minx.” He put his hand on the small of her back, letting her sweet ass cheeks close. “Relax.”

She exhaled slowly, and as she did he worked his fingers deeper into her. They went smoothly to the first knuckle. He twisted his
hand, pumped, but couldn’t work his fingers in past that first knuckle.
It was a bit awkward, but he managed to grab the packet of lube. He dribbled it in the crack of her ass, and when it slid down to
her rear entrance, over and around his fingers, he started to work them into her once more.
He twisted as he thrust in each time, working her ass with shallow, steady thrusts, until the bulge of his knuckles entered her.
Davina yelped. “Why does it feel so big?” Her words came out in little huffs of air. “You’ve had three fingers in my ass before and
it didn’t feel like this.”
Pointing out that he’d also used plugs that were thicker wouldn’t help. “Why do you think?” he asked instead.
“I don’t know.”
“Breathe. Think about it. Then tell me.”
He kept the pressure on the small of her back, and gently rocked his fingers inside her—not enough to withdraw past the
knuckle, but enough to keep her aware of the penetration.
“It’s so...precise.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected. “Tell me more.”
“Usually by the time you start playing with my ass, there’s ropes and maybe a spanking and the ass play is just one more thing.”
She sighed, then shifted her hips back. His well-lubed fingers slid all the way in. His thumb lay in the valley of her ass cheeks, his
ring and pinky fingers grazing her pussy.
“Oh yes, that’s it. It hurts just the right amount,” she panted.
“Do you like it when I hurt you?” He winced after the words were out, realizing he sounded like a damn serial killer.
“You know I do.” Davina rocked forward and he let her do it, glad she hadn’t thought his question—which was more dirty talk than
inquiry—too creepy.
“Fuck your ass on my fingers.”

Davina’s shoulders and back muscles flexed under her pretty tanned skin, and he realized she was using the restraints at her
elbows as leverage points—tightening her upper body so she could pull against the ropes to help shift her hips.
He needed to end this. Needed to help her change position before she got a cramp or exhausted herself. She was in good
physical shape, and normally he wouldn’t have worried about it, given how relatively unrestricted she was right now. Davina was
good about shifting, stretching, and flexing early in a scene to make sure she would have the physical stamina to go into the
intense bondage they normally used.
Normally. But this wasn’t normal. This was different.
“Fuck your ass on my fingers,” he commanded again.
She leaned forward. The tight ring of her ass clung to him for a moment, as if reluctant to be relieved of the invading digits. He
twisted his wrist and his fingers slid out, until only the tip of his middle finger was inside.
Grif worked his index finger in, then stilled, leaving it to her to do the rest.
Davina’s hips pressed back, her body deliciously tight around him. She wiggled her hips side to side, grunted—a sexy little
sound—and then started to thrust back and forth. The motion started small, then grew in both speed and range.
Grif took his free hand off her back, not because he didn’t want to touch her, but because if he didn’t do something about his
jeans, he was worried there would be a permanent imprint of his zipper on the underside of his cock. He fumbled to unbutton the
waistband, his face contorted into a grimace of arousal and pain.
He paused, hand on the zipper. He would unzip his pants, shove them down, and then forget his plan, the jewelry, this damned
checklist game. He would pull his fingers from her ass, grab her hips, and fuck that sweet asshole. He’d had his fingers buried in
her long enough to stretch her. He wouldn’t hurt her—at least not more than they both wanted—if he fucked her ass right now.
The need was right there, a prickle at the back of his neck and in his balls, demanding that he sink into her. That he claim her,
pleasure her, in this most primal way possible.
Davina pulled slowly off his fingers, making a happy little sound as she did it.
With a groan and inward curse, Grif dropped his hand from the zipper, leaving his pants on.
“Are you okay?” She paused and turned her head, peeking at him, her chin pressed to her shoulder.

“My cock is hard enough to cut glass.”
She raised one brow and touched her lip with her tongue, her gaze focused on his crotch. “Maybe you should take off your
pants.”
“Maybe.” He grabbed her hip. That was the only warning she got before he thrust his fingers deep into her ass once more. “And
maybe I’ll keep using you.”
Her eyes closed. “I want your cock inside me. I noticed...noticed how fast your cock got hard. How hard you are now. That
means...”
“Means what?” He fucked her ass almost casually, as they conversed.
“Means you like this.”
“Using you. Playing with you.” He punctuated each sentence with a thrust of his fingers. “Watching you submit... That makes me
hard.”
“And will you fuck me now? Please.”
“Fuck you where?”
“Anywhere.”
Grif’s trapezius and jaw muscles tightened to the point of pain as he fought to master the raging fire of his own arousal.
He thrust his fingers into her ass one last time, then withdrew, watching as her body gaped open for a moment. He took a long
step back and stripped off the glove.
He could say fuck the plan and then fuck her, but he wouldn’t.
He wanted more from this scene, and from her.
Turning to the second chair, he picked up the next piece of jewelry.