BDSM Checklist: A, B, C

Chapter 7

Jensen picked up the brush and looked at the beautiful woman bound and waiting before him. Anna was his. He wanted and needed her on a base level. Out there, in the vanilla world, he did his best to act normal, but he wasn’t. Life had stripped him bare, leaving him feeling more animal than human sometimes. BDSM gave him a way to express his base needs without hurting himself or his partner.

In another few months he’d be bonded to Anna, the formal ties between Master and sub cemented in the eyes of their BDSM community. After that neither of them would touch another person sexually without the consent of the other. In a world where monogamy was considered passé, they would be the exception. Maybe someday he wouldn’t feel so raw, and he’d be able to include others in their sexual exploration, but for now it was all he could do to keep from tearing away the expensive suit pants another Dom had loaned him as a disguise and fucking her until neither of them could think. This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

Picking up the brush, he stroked the fronts of her thighs with the smooth wooden back. He’d gotten a quick and dirty lesson on abrasion play in the Masters’ lounge, and there were Doms on the other side of the glass who could help if he needed it, but for now he’d make do with what he knew, and let Anna’s reactions guide him the rest of the way.

Flipping the brush over, he stroked her thigh with the stiff bristles. She jerked a little.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, Master, it surprised me.”

“The purpose of abrasion is to make your skin sensitive, so that even the lightest touch is both pleasure and pain.”

He carefully undid her garters and pushed her stockings to her knees. He stroked the front of each thigh ten times. Her skin grew pink, and faint lines appeared where some of the stiffer bristles had passed.

He did the same to the insides of her forearms, just below the wrist strap, but when he moved down to the softer skin on the inside of her upper arms she hissed and flinched away.

“Did that hurt?”

“N-no, Master.”

He knew his sub. She was lying, thinking that saying yes would displease him. Jensen went to the bag of toys and slipped the brush in, returning with a strange pink mitt, which he’d been told was a loofa. He fitted it over his hand, feeling the abrasive material against his palm. He started with her upper arms, stroking until the skin was pink. This time she frowned a little, but it was an expression of confusion rather than pain.

Moving down, he rubbed his hand in a circle over her belly, then along the crease at the top of each thigh where it met her torso. She wiggled a little when he did that. Finally he went to her breasts, cupping the upper swell with his free hand to hold the firm mounds in place as he stroked the underside.

When he was done, her eyes were half closed, and she was breathing softly. There were faint pink patches on her pale skin, and he had a moment of remorse. She was so beautiful it should be a crime to mark her. The only thing that had him going to the bag and pulling out the next item was the fact that he could see her sinking into the place she could only reach when he used and abused her far beyond the bounds of what society found acceptable.

She found peace in that place, and that peace passed through her to him.

Jensen took the piece of tweed fabric and wrapped it around his fingers.

* * *

Anna gasped as the rough cloth touched her thigh—it felt like burlap or cheap wool. Master Jensen raised his hand, showing her the fabric he held. It wasn’t burlap, but simple tweed—rough, but not nearly as rough as it felt.

“It feels…” She shook her head, feeling silly.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“It feels like something much rougher.”

He switched to the other thigh. The muscles in her leg twitched in response.

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s not arousing, I don’t think.” Anna laid her head back. It wasn’t a sexual touch, and yet it was sexual. After a moment of contemplation she realized why. “I like that you’re doing this to me. I like that you can make me feel things that don’t even make sense.”

He stroked her stomach and she tightened her core muscles in response. He worked his way around her, finishing with her breasts. The undersides were sensitive to begin with, and after only a few passes of the cloth she cried out.

“It’s too much, Master.”

Master Jensen dipped his fingers into her sex. Anna moaned in relief. This was a touch she knew and understood.

“You’re wet.”

“Yes, Master.”

He wiped his fingers on the fabric square and went to the bag. When he came back he was holding a simple white cotton ball. Anna signed in relief. Jensen traced a swirling pattern down her thigh.

“Master!” Anna felt it in every fiber of her body, her nerves lighting up as if he’d struck her with the crop.

He smiled, hazel eyes sparkling. “That good?”

“Yes, Master.”

Jensen worked over every inch of exposed skin. The difference in sensation when he moved between un-abraded and abraded skin made her gasp and shiver. The anticipation of the pleasure-pain and the inability to control or stop it had her dancing on the edge of a dark, delicious precipice.

When he reached her breasts, he bent and took a nipple into his mouth. Sucking hard, he lifted her breast, while tracing his fingers over the extra sensitive skin. Anna pulled against her restraints, leather creaking.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Fighting but enjoying.”

“Fuck me, Master. Fuck me, please.”

“Another night I might have, but we have work to do.”

Stepping back, he brought the cross upright, then undid her straps. He caught her as she stepped off and let her rest against his chest as she regained control of her arms and legs. He cupped her sex, lifting until his palm dug into her soft, wet flesh. She ground herself against him even as she kept her head burrowed against his shoulder.

He pushed her head up with a thumb under her chin. “Strip.”

Anna undid the garter belt, then rolled the stockings down and off, twisting her body as she did so to show off her ass and breasts. Hooking her thumbs in the garter belt, she worked it down her hips.

“Face down this time,” he demanded.

Anna bit her lip, then turned and obeyed, climbing back up onto St. Andrew’s cross.

Master Jensen strapped her upper body and arms in place, then tilted the table so she was flat with her belly and arms supported while her head and breasts dangled in the open space between the upper pieces. He adjusted the lower pieces of the table, bringing them together to form a “Y” rather than “X” shape.

“Pull your knees up. I want your ass in the air.”

When he was satisfied, he attached a strap over her calves and another over her ankles. The tops of her feet were pressed flat against the leather. He put a square bolster under her belly, which helped support her. The bolster rubbed against the sensitive patch of skin and she shivered.

“Tell me if your neck gets tired.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I want to be thorough, so I’m going to do some abrasion on your back, but since I have you like this, I think I should also start in on that pretty ass.”

“If it pleases you, Master.”

“It does, Anna.” He slid one finger into her pussy. “And it’s going to please you too.”

He applied the boar bristle brush in long strokes from her shoulders, down her back, over her ass and along the backs of her thighs. Now that she knew what the result was, she enjoyed the process much

more, arching into the increasingly intense feelings of the strokes. He moved on to the loofa mitt, going over the skin he’d already abused.

When he reached her ass, he pulled the cheeks apart and stroked her anus with the loofa. Anna yelped.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, still rubbing her.

“Yes.”

“I won’t give you the full treatment here, but I want you to be fully aware and feeling when I put the plug in you.”

Rather than a scrap of tweed, this time he went over her with his discarded tie, the silk seemingly as rough as denim.

“How do you feel?”

“My skin is sore.”

“How is your neck?”

“Fine.”

He grumbled then came around and crouched to look in her face. “I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Even when you don’t know you’re lying, I know you’re lying.”

Jensen fiddled with the underside of one of the cross pieces, then pulled a head rest into place. It was like the ones attached to massage tables. Anna rested her face in it, and the strain on her neck disappeared.

“Thank you, Master.”

He reached out and pinched a nipple. “I need you to tell me if something feels wrong, Anna.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some wooden clothespins.

“No! Master, I promise I will. I didn’t realize my neck was hurting.”

“Then this will remind you to check in with your body.”

“Master, please.”

“Open your mouth, Anna.”

Anna lifted her head just enough to open her mouth. Master Jensen pinched her tongue in two fingers and pulled it down, snapping two clothespins onto it. Anna cried out.

She hated clothespins on her tongue. For another sub it might have been odd or even stimulating, but for Anna it was a true corrective action. It had been an accidental discovery, and ever since then her Master had used it as punishment—real punishment, not the kind that was actually a sex act in itself. Anna didn’t like the way it pinched her tongue, didn’t like that it made her drool and kept her from talking.

“You’ll keep them on for five minutes.”