G is for...: BDSM Checklist, Book 7 Read online

  “Hach?” she asked quietly.

  “Come,” he said in that easy tone of command that had made it so easy for her to submit to him in the beginning.

  With his hand on her bare lower back, Hach lead her deeper into the room. She looked ahead, and realized they were on a collision course with John Washington.

  She really had to stop thinking of him by that name, or she might accidentally use that name aloud.

  Sejal expected Hach to steer them around the man, or for him to move, but instead they met in the center of the room. Both Hach and real-person-who-wasn’t-her-imaginary-boyfriend stopped.

  “You have it?” Not-John-Washington asked.

  “I do.”

  “We should go someplace more private.”

  Hach shook his head. “Here would be fine. Then we can retire to the playroom. You can have the one I reserved for the evening.”

  The dark-haired man nodded, but didn’t look pleased.

  They turned and walked back towards the couch, a mystified Sejal trying to catch Hach’s eye, but failing to do so. Or maybe he was purposefully ignoring the glances she was giving him.

  The other man sat down beside Master Khan. Luscious was sitting on a pillow at his feet, leaning against his lower legs. Hach took his hand off her, leaving her standing awkwardly by the end of the couch, close to the dark-haired Dom.

  He grabbed two pillows, tossing them on the floor in front of the couch.

  “Kneel,” he said to her.

  Sejal sank onto the pillow closest to her, which put her directly in front of not-John, though she wasn’t facing him; rather her side was to him. After several years in the BDSM community she rarely felt exposed wearing a bra and underwear set like she was now. After all, people wore less on the beach. But kneeling there side-on to not-John, she was highly aware of the way the panties left the lower curves of her ass exposed. She thought about sucking in her stomach, but she was a healthy weight, and it was perfectly natural to have a little "pooch" on her lower abdomen. Still, the urge took her by surprise.

  She was a mature, successful adult, yet seeing a man who looked like someone from her past, even if that someone had been nothing more than a picture in a magazine, brought back old insecurities.

  Hach reached into his pocket and pulled out a collar. Her collar. It had been nearly a year since she seen it, let alone worn it. Her breath released on a long, happy sigh. She was going to get to submit today. Good.

  The collar was pink faux-leather—not something she would have chosen for herself, but Hach had picked it out, and seemed pleased with it. He’d first chosen real cow leather, and she had to remind him she would prefer it be made of something else. He’d quickly replaced it with this one.

  "Hold your hair," Hach—no, Master Sato—said.

  Sejal gathered up her hair, which she left unbound only here. Normally she wore it in a simple, no-nonsense bun. Only here did she allow it to fall down her back in its natural waves. Master Sato slid the collar around her neck, buckling it. It felt cool and foreign. Then he took a leash from his pocket. It was a woven nylon leash. A dog leash. Sejal released her hair, forcing her hands down to her sides, forcing herself not to move or object as he clipped the dog leash to her collar. He'd never used a leash with her before, and she didn't like it.

  This was probably part of the game. She relaxed. Leash—maybe they had the letter L. Or the letter P and this was puppy play. Ugh. Surely she hadn't agreed to that?

  "We have the letter G," Master Sato said. For a moment she was relieved. At least it wasn't P.

  "And that is why," he continued. "I'm giving you away."

  * * *

  "Pardon me?" Sejal asked. Her voice had slipped from the soft, calm tones she tried to use here to the hard, slightly accusatory tone she used at work. If she'd been at work and said "pardon me”—which was her polite I-learned-English-from-a-British-person way of saying "What the fuck?”—people would have gone scrambling.

  Here those words, and the tone, had no effect. Hach stared down at her, that unreadable expression on his face. She too rarely showed emotions, so she was comfortable with his inscrutable nature. Usually.

  Right now he seemed like a stranger.

  You are strangers. You have been for nearly a year.

  "One of the items that begins with the letter G is 'given away to another Dom.'"

  "I agreed to this?" Sejal asked, still in that hard tone of voice.

  "You marked it as willing to try."

  She had no idea what she'd been thinking when she filled that out. Then again, that had been before they were bonded. Before she'd really understood. That thought lead to another.

  "We're bonded," she pointed out. "Which means—”

  "Which means you do not have the option of disobeying me."

  Perverse creature that she was, Hach's tone of command, the disapproval she sensed coming off him in waves, made her want to submit.

  "I am your Dom." There was a pause before he added, "I have not served you well in that regard. I am giving you away for your own good."

  Her parents had sent her away, for her own good.

  Sejal closed her eyes. "You're giving me away, as part of the game."

  There was a tug on the collar and she looked up to see Hach stepping up to the couch, reaching out, and offering the leash to...

  ...to not-John.

  Of course it was him. Sejal blinked to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

  "This is Master Dowell. He was also assigned to the letter G, and has agreed to take you for the duration of the game."

  Sejal turned on the pillow so she was facing Master Dowell. For the second time their gazes met. He leaned forward, and she was struck by the intensity of his regard. He was looking at her as if he could look into her. With Hach, there had always been a barrier, one that she was comfortable with, that she knew they both were comfortable with.

  "No," Master Dowell said, “I’m lucky to dominate such a lovely woman."

  The hurt Hach's words had caused—“agreed to take you" as if she were an unwanted pet—melted away when Master Dowell spoke.

  Without planning to, Sejal lowered her eyes, staring at his feet. He wore expensive, but slightly scuffed boots.

  While the default Dom uniform at Las Palmas was slacks and a dress shirt, Master Dowell wore leathers—leather pants with lacings instead of a zipper at the crotch, and leather boots. He looked like the Doms she saw photos of in erotic movies. His impressively muscled chest and arms were bare.

  Fingers touched her chin, raising her face. That slight contact, only two fingertips on the underside of her jaw, should not have made her nipples hard, her breath catch. But it did.

  He was touching her with his left hand; with his right, he reached out and took the leash from Hach.

  * * *

  When Master Dowell rose, Sejal moved her head to keep her eyes on him. He held her leash—her leash—loosely, but he held it.

  "Let's go someplace more private."

  She couldn't stop herself from looking at Hach. To her confusion, he'd taken the second pillow, placed it on the floor in front of Master Khan, and was kneeling.

  "Sejal?" Master Dowell asked softly.

  She jerked her attention back to Master Dowell. "I'm sorry, Sir." She crawled off the pillow, hair falling alongside her head, effectively creating blinders that made sure she couldn't see much beyond the floor directly in front of her.

  "Stand, please. I have no desire to make you crawl all that way."

  It was with some relief that she climbed to her feet. She ignored the strange little voice inside that was howling with disappointment. That was the voice of her most submissive desires. The voice that took over when she was at her most vulnerable and sexually submissive. That voice—that part of her—wanted to crawl behind him as he led her by a leash.

  He walked out of the library, his pace reasonable, but his long legs meant she had to hurry to keep up, as his stride was longer than hers
.

  Once out of the library, he led her away from the public rooms, through the Sub Rosa court with its beautiful flowers, and the Constellation Court, which had the most versatile playground, to the Iron Court.

  The Iron Court was Spartan, without the lush flowers and comfort-centric seating. Instead there was a statuary garden, with metal and stone figures of naked men and women, each shown in some sort of bondage—a naked stone woman wrapped in bands of steel, a bronze male figure with chain wrapped both around and through his arms and legs. These playrooms were focused on the more base and brutal aesthetics of BDSM. Some were outfitted to look like dungeons, other had cages, tanks for water play, and more severe restraint systems.

  Sejal's hesitated, pausing long enough that the leash pulled taut. Master Dowell stopped and looked at her over his shoulder, face expressionless. "Is there a problem?"

  "No, Sir."

  She'd played here before. Several of the rooms had very nice spanking benches, which Hach had liked to be strapped to when she pegged him. But coming to the Iron Court and knowing she'd be topping, and coming here when she'd be subbing, were two very different things.

  They went to one of the six doors that opened onto the covered hall that ringed the courtyard and its occupants of beautiful, unsettling statues. Master Dowell entered the code. The door clicked open.

  He entered, and again she hesitated long enough for the leash to pull taut. This time he didn't turn, didn't ask if she was okay. He gave one gentle but firm tug.

  Sejal considered leaving. Just turning and walking away. This wasn't what she'd signed up for. Wasn't what she'd agreed to, no matter what it said on her checklist.

  If she went in, she'd have to submit to this stranger. This large, strong man with the handsome face and piercing eyes.

  Sejal stepped into the room.

  3

  Cortland smiled when, after a brief hesitation, she followed him into the room. He reached over her head—she was tiny—and pushed the door closed. For a moment they were engulfed in intimate darkness. He could hear her breathing. She was standing close enough he could feel the heat of her body. This whole night had been a bit bizarre, from the announcement about the game to Hachiro's strange plan. Yet the moment he'd seen Sejal those feelings of discomfort and unease were pushing aside, supplanted by one simple yet powerful emotion.

  Desire. He wanted her.

  Her picture had been included in the file along with her checklist, but the headshot-style photo of an unsmiling woman hadn't done her justice. She was regal, elegant, yet something in her gaze had made him add fragile to that mental description. She was petite and sweetly curved. A purple bra cupped her breasts, and he wanted his hands in place of the fabric. He wanted to feel the heat and weight of her.

  Now she was alone with him, in the warm darkness. She wasn't wearing perfume, but smelled good—like mint and that faintly chemical smell of unscented lotion. He listened to her breathing.

  First a sharp inhale. She held that breath for too long, then air escaped in a whoosh. Then she sucked in another breath, but this time she let it out sooner, a controlled exhalation.

  Cortland reached for the wall, having to pat it a few times before he found the bank of switches. He flipped the first one he touched.

  A spotlight popped to life, illuminating an iron-maiden style cage.

  Sejal cursed—at least he was fairly certain that was a curse. The tone was right for it to be an invective, but she hadn't spoke English.

  She took a step back, and he heard her thunk into the door.

  Shit. He was terrifying her. That hadn't been his intention.

  Cortland started flipping all the switches. A variety of spotlights clicked on, highlighting a variety of imposing and dangerous looking equipment. The final switch turned on some recessed lights around the edges of the room.

  "That's better," he said, turning his attention to Sejal.

  She was looking around, assessing. She was no longer backed up against the door, and seemed calm and collected. If he hadn't heard her unsure, unsteady breath he might have assumed she was unaffected. He made a mental note that she was good at hiding her feelings. That same regal bearing he'd first noticed was in evidence again.

  Cortland held out his hand, palm up, the end of her leash lying across it.

  She looked at it, brows knitting together. "Sir?"

  "I want to talk to you. Just talk. If I'm holding this, then we won't be on equal footing for the conversation."

  She raised her gaze to his face. Her eyes were a brown so dark they looked black. Only up close could he see the distinction between pupil and iris, and a few flecks of gold in the depths of the chocolate brown. She took the leash from his palm, and then folded it, tucking the placket she'd made into the center of her bra.

  "Would you rather I remove the leash?" he asked.

  Her shoulders sagged a little. Was that disappointment or relief?

  "Yes, please."

  Relief then.

  He reached out and undid the clasp from the loop at the front of her pink collar. The baby-pink thing didn't seem appropriate for her. She didn't seem like a "pink" person—the purple satin bra and panties set was more fitting.

  He reached for the end of the leash, his fingers brushing the soft skin over her breastbone as he tugged it free. He didn't miss the way her inhale as his fingers touched her caused her breasts to rise, swelling against the molded cups of her bra.

  He stepped back, needing to put space between them, or he wouldn't be able to stick to his plan and just talk to her. It would be easy, far too easy, to accept that she'd been "given" to him, and just play with her. Use her. Some base, lesser part of him wanted to do that. Wanted to pretend it was acceptable and right for Hachiro to give her to him, and that he could, in turn, accept her, and expect her to submit to him the way she had to her bonded master.

  Remembering that she was bonded helped him turned away, assessing the room.

  Unlike playrooms in the Constellation Court, there wasn't a bed or a large chaise that could easily be used as a bed. There also wasn't a comfortable seating area. He assessed the options. There was a straight-backed wooden chair, a bi-level spanking bench that could be used as seating in a pinch, and a stack of folded floor mats in the corner. He opted for the folded mats. Instead of unfolding them, he moved them away from the wall, separating them into two stacks.

  "It's not the most appealing place to sit, but please, have a seat," he said.

  Sejal had been watching him—he could feel her attention on his bare back.

  She walked up behind him, then slid past him, gracefully sinking onto one stack and crossing her legs. He took the other stack. He was pretty flexible, but his leathers didn't allow enough stretch for him to match her pose. Instead he kept his feet on the floor, toes of his boots pressed against the front of her stack, knees bent. He leaned forward and stuck out a hand.

  "I'm Cortland."

  She tipped her head to one side, her gaze sliding from his hand up his arm, over his shoulder, to his face. She was studying him, trying to figure him out. Assessing him.

  Finally, she placed her hand in his. "I'm Sejal."

  "It's nice to meet you, Sejal."

  "And it is nice to meet you, Cortland."

  She pulled her hand back, her fingertips stroking his palm.

  Once more, Cortland had to remind himself that he couldn't take this situation at face value. He couldn't just take her as his sub for the weekend, work through the checklist items, and then hand her back. He wanted to. He wanted to strip her naked and explore every inch of her. Wanted to crack that outer shell of regal reserve, and see what she looked like when she was aching from arousal and desperate to come. But he wouldn't do that. Shouldn't do that. Not until he made sure she was okay with it.

  "You've been given to me, because it's one of the items on the checklist."

  At that her gaze lowered, dropping to the floor between them. "Yes, Sir."

  "Hey, hey
. Hold on. We have to talk about this."

  She looked up. "We do?"

  "Are you okay with this?"

  She frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Your Dom, who you're bonded with, just gave you away to me. That's...that's a lot." A thought occurred to him. "Unless this is something you usually do?"

  "No, Hachiro has never given me away before."

  She'd called him by his first name. Interesting. "Then you have to be feeling...um, maybe hurt? Worried?"

  "And if I am?"

  "I won't touch you," he promised her. "And it can be our secret. I'll tell the overseers we did everything on the list. I'll find us a deck of cards or something and we can just hang out."

  "Just hang out," she repeated. It wasn’t quite a question.

  Cortland was usually a bit more suave than this, but not much. Usually he used humor to put people at ease and to express himself, but that wouldn’t work here. At Las Palmas he was better—more sure of himself—when he was in "Dom-mode."

  "Maybe I'm explaining this wrong."

  She leaned forward, laying a hand on his knee. "You're explaining it perfectly. I just...didn't expect this."

  Cort shrugged, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. "If you want big bad Dom, I can do that, but I have to have clear consent first. I'm sorry if that ruins the fantasy, but that's how it has to be."

  She kept her hand on him, a little spot of added warmth, even through his leathers. "It doesn't ruin the fantasy. I have no fantasy about this."

  "On your checklist you indicated willing to try 'given to another Dom.’”

  Sejal snatched her hand back. “Willing to try? Being given away.”

  He really was terrible at this. Cortland held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry. That's just what it said on the list. This is just temporary. Just for the game."

  She'd curled in on herself, but now straightened her spine, chin rising. Regal was a fitting description for her. "I'm simply surprised that I would have put that."

  "Do you think someone, uh, changed your list? Altered it?"

  She sighed. "No. I was at an…odd place in my life when we joined."