Kismet of Submission: Episode 12

She looks towards him with an indecipherable expression while the word ‘spanking’ ricochets around her aching head. Tamara wants to deny his statement in the strongest terms, but when she opens her mouth, this comes out instead. ‘Do you really think it will help?’

‘Honestly?’ At her tiny head-bob, he firmly states, ‘Yes. It will.’

‘Okay.’

Standing up, he picks her bottle up off the carpet and hands it back. She downs the rest of contents in one long swallowing motion. ‘I’m ready. Lets do this.’

‘Lay over the bed, I want to check something.’

She obeys, but scrambles off when she feels his hands touching the backs of her legs.

‘I need to lift your skirt.’

‘What?’

‘That wasn’t a request.’

She backs away, bumping into the wall.

He frowns at her antics. ‘If I don’t lift your skirt, then you, don’t get a spanking.’

Tamara blinks with confusion. ‘You won’t spank me unless I lift my skirt?’

‘No. I’ll only spank you if I lift your skirt.’

‘I’m utterly lost here, Sir.’

‘It’s very simple, Tamara. I don’t need to spank you. You need to be spanked. As in, you want to be spanked. It’s my gift to you as thanks for a wonderful and surprising day together.’

Tamara’s not the only one lost in a logic maze. We haven’t a clue as to what Sir is up to. Well, maybe some of you can follow the bouncing ball. One thing is clear though studying their postures; Tamara isn’t frightened. Confused—as she admitted—but much more curious than scared. As for Sir, his face is inscrutable and his pose relaxed. He makes no effort to drag her back, but merely leans against the wall beneath the set still blaring overhyped sports highlights. It’s another one of those crossroads that seem to be popping up with disconcerting regularity for Tamara. Choices. She’s been in charge of her life for so long now that the most terrifying aspect is being willing to let go and allow someone else to take care of her needs. She doesn’t trust Sir; at least not yet, not because he’s unworthy of trust, but rather, he’s cracked open her shell without even seeming to try.

‘Don’t try to tell me you get nothing out of spanking, Sir. I know better than that!’

‘I will agree with your supposition and not deny I find spanking to be arousing, however, this is not about my needs. I am completely serious when stating that my offer to spank you, over your panties, is a gift and not punishment. I’m asking for your trust. You need this, more than you can possible know.’

Tamara mutters, ‘I can’t believe I’m even considering this!’

Sir gives her a short bow, pushes off the wall, walks over and rearranges the three pillows across the foot of the bed. Authoritatively thumping the stack, he motions as if her table is ready.

She grimaces at his visual commands. Her feet shuffle reluctantly but resignedly to her waiting throne. Bending over, her waist compresses the synthetic filled pillows to half the height. She doesn’t know what to do with her arms; flails a bit, until settling for folding them under turned chin.

‘Good girl.’

His quiet praise warms her soul.

‘Relax. Let me take care of you.’

Tamara tries. Closing her eyes, cheek resting on the smooth sheet, bottom up a foot, she steadies her breathing when cold air tingles across now exposed thighs. She senses her knee length skirt being folded over; a tug, she tips her hips allowing her pink cotton knickers to be totally revealed.

Footsteps. A long rasp of a zipper opening: Faint rustles. Her eyebrows rise over sealed lids.

She flinches when a solid object—not his hand—taps her bottom.

‘What’s that?’ squealed an octave higher than normal.

‘A paddle,’ said nonchalantly.

‘You travel with a paddle?’ this time even louder.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘Don’t worry. Just getting the range.’

‘Who’s worried?’ Tamara squeaks. ‘It’s definitely not you. It’s my butt in the line of fire. If I was worried; I’d be outta here.’

The smack of leather paddle bouncing off her bottom is sharp but soft. Sir pops the other cheek, then back to the first. ‘Relax. If you keep tensing up, I’ll have to stop. That’s not what you want.’

‘You… you… are soooo—’

‘—Right?’

‘I was going to say… aggravating.’

Smack.

‘Fine.’

Smack.

‘I’ll relax.’

Smack.

‘Relaxing now.’

Sir’s dark, delicious chuckle, pools deep inside. The spanking continues, about as fast as the hand spanking before lunch, but more intense. No, she thinks, not intense—edgy. The blows don’t even hurt, not really; sting, yes, even bite a little, but the kind of sensation that feels really, really good when bodies are slick and words are garbled with lust. She can feel the warmth now, like a spring day when the winter coats have been packed away, and lying by the pool soaking up rays makes up for all the snow days.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The sound is soothing. The impacts ripple up her spine and down into her vagina. She shakes her arms out, trying to cool the sheen glazing her skin.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

As the spanks mount up, and the heat spreads until it covers the entire surface of her bottom, something, with jerks and lurches, starts uncoiling in her muscles. Tensions she’s be clinging to for so long she’s forgotten how and when they arrived, ease with flashes of buried pain.

She wiggles.

He stops.

Without conscious thought, she bows her back and presses upwards in a silent plea.

A faint whisper tickles her ear. ‘Good girl.’

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Tamara sighs out with a pleased smile and drops her shoulders with relief.

Don’t stop spanking me, Sir.

In her mind, she hears his reply to her unspoken desire.

‘I won’t.’

To read all the Kismet of Submission episodes in order, please go to this page for individual links.

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