BDSM Checklist: A, B, C Chapter 50

They were only a few feet apart, but it felt farther. They hadn’t explicitly acknowledged that they wanted
this relationship to continue. That was the issue they were skirting as they talked about all the reasons
it couldn’t work.

“Why?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Mae’s hand itched to slap him again. Each word was like the jab of a knife telling her that she wanted
him more than he wanted her.

“No, you don’t, Master Xavier.” She made sure her tone was completely neutral, the words flat.

“Don’t do that, Red. Don’t hide from me.” There was pain in his voice.

She wanted to comfort him, she wanted to scream at him for making her feel this way only to turn
around and tell her that he wouldn’t be her Master in the truest sense of the word.

“I can’t be the only one who’s vulnerable.”

At that he looked up, eyes stark behind the mask. He held her gaze just long enough for her to detect a
hint of resignation.

Pushing away from the wall, Xavier turned his back to her. In the candlelight he was all smooth gold
muscles that she longed to touch, to mark with her nails the way he’d marked her with a whip.

He reached up, and Mae sucked in a breath as he began to undo the hidden zipper along the back of
the mask. Inch by inch the leather parted, until he’d opened it all the way to the crown of his head. With
his back still to her, Master Xavier pulled the mask off.



His hair was plastered to his head, but a few combs with his fingers loosened it. At first she thought it
was blond, but he shifted slightly and she realized it was more silver than gold. For a moment she
wondered if he was far older than she realized, and he’d gone gray.

Xavier turned to the left, just enough so she could see his profile and Mae sucked in a breath. He was
gorgeous with a classically handsome profile—arched nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw. There
was a faint line along his cheek where the edge of the mask had pressed against him.

“You’re the only one I would break that rule for.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“Why do you wear the mask?” He was being so deliberate about not facing her, not letting her see him,
that Mae began to wonder.

“I wear it because I prefer it. I am a better Master with it on.”

She examined his handsome face. “Are you famous?”

He sputtered out a laugh, in his surprise almost turning toward her before he caught himself. “Why
would you ask that?”

“You’re ridiculously good looking. You hide your identity. That makes me think movie star. Or rock star.”

He didn’t smile or laugh. “You think I’m handsome?”

She examined his profile again, wondering why he was behaving so oddly. “Yes, I do.”

Xavier turned to face her.

The first thing she noticed was that he looked like a Disney prince with his classic features. He was
younger than his graying hair led her to believe. There were faint lines around his eyes and brackets
around his mouth, and at a guess she’d say he was in his early forties.



In the second it took her brain to process that information, she also picked out what was wrong with the
picture. Mae scrambled off the bed, her stomach in knots.

Jaw set, Xavier turned so that the right side of his face and head was clearly visible. A massive scar
marred his face from his right temple all the way down the side of his cheek to his neck. His ear was
mangled, the lobe missing. He pushed his hair up, showing that the scar tissue continued back from his
temple and cheekbone, eating up a portion of his scalp.

“Xavier.” She raised trembling fingers, but didn’t touch. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore. It’s been a long time.”

She had questions, there were things she wanted to say, but they could wait. Mae gingerly placed a
palm on each of his cheeks, pulling him down so she could kiss him.

He was stiff, almost awkward, but when she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue he came alive.
Between one heartbeat and the next they went from standing to lying on the bed with Xavier’s big body
over hers. Mae spread her legs, cradling his hips. He covered her jaw and neck with hot open mouthed
kisses as she reached between them to fumble with his pants. Together they got them off, shoving
them down to his knees. His cock was long and hard, and when he slid into her, Mae clung to him.
Xavier turned his head, presenting the unmarred side of his face. She kissed his jaw, wanting him to
know that it didn’t matter, she didn’t care.

Then he was thrusting into her, and it was familiar. She looked into his eyes.

“I had a dream you fucked me,” she whispered.

“It wasn’t a dream.”



“You, ah—” She had to stop as one particularly strong thrust hit her G spot, distracting her. “—fucked
me while I was asleep?”

Xavier nipped her lower lip. “No one comes that hard while they’re really asleep, but nice try.”

Then there was no more time for words, no space to be Master and submissive. It was just two people,
looking for something, someone, to help them make sense of the world.

For one shining moment they found that peace with one another.

* * *

The Day of the Announcement

James examined the single sheet of paper he’d pulled from the envelope labeled “C.” When the
overseers of Las Palmas Oscuras, LA’s most exclusive BDSM club, called all members together, a
club-wide sex game was the last thing he’d imagined they’d announce. Each Dom, Master, Owner,
submissive, and slave was assigned a letter of the alphabet and everything that went with it. They had
to work though each kink, toy, and fetish on the BDSM checklist, which all members filled out when
they joined. It was a rather intriguing idea, made all the more interesting because the Doms didn’t get
to choose subs—the overseers had assigned everyone partners.

Over the past year, James had played with many of the uncollared subs in the club. He liked his BDSM
play pleasure-focused and never engaged in scenes that lasted too long, or took either player too deep
into that dark place of truth that was so dangerous.

Beside him, Xavier, a Master with a reputation for brutal play, opened his envelope. “Fuck.”

James looked over. “Problem?”



Xavier held up a glossy photo of a woman James knew—in the biblical sense. “Mae is a lovely sub,”
James told Xavier. “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s also very smart and has a quick wit. She’s a
pleasure to talk to.”

“I’m not looking for a fucking therapist.”

James shrugged. “I didn’t say she was one.” He didn’t add that a resident therapist wouldn’t be a bad
idea at Las Palmas, whose members were wealthy, powerful, and more often than not, wrestling with
some demons.

And he was no exception.

“Isn’t she the one who did that ribbon bondage presentation?” The other Dom’s voice dripped with
derision as he flicked through the stack of papers in his envelope—the submissive’s BDSM checklist,
and his own.

Frowning slightly, James folded his own nearly empty envelope in half. “Just…try not to break her.”
BDSM play was dangerous, and that danger wasn’t just physical. The emotional and spiritual damage
that could be inflicted inside the delicate world of the D/s relationship was far more lasting than bruises
and welts.

The subs filed out of the large converted barn, one of many buildings on the expansive adobe-style
estate and the only one big enough to hold all members at once. Shortly after, the Doms started filing
out too.

Once outside, James circled the building until he was out of sight, staring out at the immaculate
grounds, privacy fence, and beyond that, the gold and green hills of Malibu. Leaning against the wall,
he once more opened his envelope. Xavier’s had been thick, containing two checklists and a photo. He
had only a single sheet of paper bearing a single typed sentence.



Return next week to meet your partners.

Partners?

The overseers had said that anyone who wasn’t already bonded could be partnered with someone, or
someones, new. It seemed that he was in for a ménage, which was never a bad idea. But the lack of a
checklist meant he couldn’t peruse the inventory of items and kinks that began with the letter C.

The only one he could think of was collar.

Closing his eyes, James leaned his head back against the smooth plaster of the barn wall.

Collars had a million uses in BDSM play—from simple non-weight bearing restraint to posture
correction and animal play.

But the most dangerous, in James’s opinion, was symbolic collaring—using a collar the same way you
used a wedding ring. Collars showed more than just commitment, but ownership. At Las Palmas,
members in Owner/slave or permanent Master/submissive relationships were recognized as being in
an exclusive committed relationship by being “bound” together, rather than collaring. He, more than
anyone, knew why Las Palmas used the distinction, though plenty of couples were both formally bound
by the club’s rules and used the elegant simplicity of a collar.

He tapped the envelope against his palm. He had a bad feeling about the letter “C.”


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