Kismet of Submission: Episode 14

‘It’s not punishment for being abused, Tamara. That wasn’t your fault. It’s discipline that allows you to overcome and replace those memories and conditioned responses, with reactions that are more beneficial and realistic. Submitting to me, willingly and without pretense, will result in daily spankings, plus extra spankings when I decide you are not being either truthful, or causing harm to yourself.’

Tamara carefully disengages from his grasp and sits upright against the padded headboard. Rubbing her goose-pimpled arms and studiously ignoring his gaze, she stares out at the bright parking lot lights. ‘Looks like it’s letting up, are you hungry?’

He notes her diversionary segue is a pretty good transition. ‘I could eat.’

‘Do you want to go back out?’

‘We could get delivery.’ He points to the desk. ‘There’s a navy binder with local restaurants.’

She bounces off the bed as if catapulted, the sudden movement refocusing her attention down below and round back. Hooking her fingers together, she manages to keep from giving her sore butt a good rubdown. Nonchalantly flipping the pages of the guide as she stands, she tosses out suggestions. ‘We did Mexican, so there’s a couple of pizza places, Chinese, Indian and the assorted American style chains.’ Finally looking at him, she asks, ‘What are you in the mood for?’ ending in a breathless squeak when she reads his desire.

‘I’ll eat… just about anything that’s offered. How about a nice, hot slice of pie… Italian style.’

With a wide-eyed gasp, she nods, ‘Okay.’

It’s a fallacy of fiction that characters spring fully actualized from the imagination of the author. Stories don’t write themselves, even with elaborate plots and flowcharts. We know some of Tamara’s past because we were allowed a peek inside at the beginning of the novel. We know nothing of Sir’s past, not because the narrator is withholding information as an artistic device, but rather that Sir is simply very reticent to share. Why, we don’t know. Is it shyness? Unlikely, but then again, as readers we are at the mercy of the characters. No matter how the author attempts to chivy them along, each person in a story has their own agenda, biases and sometimes; what seems logical and pre-ordained, turns out to be a rotting red herring washed up on the beach. What I’m trying to say is; I have no idea where the narrative is going, but I plan to have lots of fun getting there.

‘We can get a toothbrush in the lobby. I have everything else you might need here, except tampons.’

See what I mean?

Tamara’s mouth drops open. ‘What?’

‘Funny, I don’t recall you being hard of hearing before.’

‘Stop doing that!’

‘Doing what?’

‘Playing with my emotions!’

With restrained strength, he uncoils from his lounging posture on the bed and swings his socked feet onto the carpet. Pushing upright, he prowls towards her, his expression one of exasperated amusement.

Tamara trembles with a feeling of helpless anticipation she’s never experienced before with any man. When she retreats and bumps against the unyielding wall, she lets out a hiss with a slight wince as her bottom flares with delicious soreness.

THUD

The impact of his palms as they slap either side of her head against the painted surface makes her jump. Trapped by his taller and broader stance, she instinctively presses her hands to his firm chest to ward him off.

She can’t quite meet his eyes. Underneath her fingertips, his pulse beats a steady rhythm, while hers is racing towards a distant unseen finish line.

He moves no closer, so they are frozen in wanting, each waiting for the other to crack first.

Easing her hands down, Tamara ducks and sidles sideways under his raised right arm until she’s free of his cage. Her gaze skitters around the room, lighting upon the few objects, but never coming to rest until she closes her eyes and cups her face.

‘I’m sorry, Tamara, I didn’t mean to trigger your fear.’

Snapping her head back and staring at the ceiling, she blows out in a lip vibrating flutter of sound. ‘I can’t keep up with you, Sir.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’

Tamara squares her shoulders and huffs again. ‘I’m sorry for overreacting. It’s instinctive when I’m uncomfortable with what I’m feeling, so I lash out or change the subject. I don’t need tampons at this time, but a toothbrush would be welcome.’

She walks closer and gently sets her palms on crossed forearms. Tipping her face, she rises up on her toes and gives him a brief kiss on his lips. ‘Thanks for the wonderful spanking. You were correct, it was just what I needed.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘And, it wasn’t fear you triggered, but arousal, and that is even scarier for me.’

‘I understand.’

She squeezes his shoulders and nods thoughtfully. ‘You know, I actually believe that you do understand.’ Letting go and stepping back, she continues, ‘Not that it makes me more comfortable. In fact, your compassion and empathy makes fleeing all the more likely.’

It’s like watching a tennis match. Back and forth the words are lobbed, neither going for the point, but instead wanting the rally to continue without choosing a winner. Tamara doesn’t see it yet, but Sir is not as equanimous as he appears. What started as a random choice a little more than twenty-fours ago, has reached the point of realization that sleeping together in chaste embrace is going to be extremely difficult. She reminds him of someone very special who slipped away when her demons took control for the last time. He thought his grief was spent, but Tamara’s responses and extremely evident scars are shredding his control with every passing moment. A little too late, he now understands that a weekend is simultaneously not enough and far too much for comfort.

‘Thanks for explaining, Tamara. How about we both flee for some pizza. Suddenly, this room doesn’t feel cozy anymore.’

 

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

3 Comments

  1. I don’t know about Tamara’s Sir — yet — but your narrator has ways of simultaneously being not enough and too much for comfort! These narrative interjections are superb.
    How long will Sir remain an enigma, I wonder?

    Like


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