Checklist J, K, L Chapter 3

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.


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