Kismet of Submission: Episode 18

Despite the hot steam billowing the shower curtain, and water cascading down her back, Tamara’s body flashes with cold chills at the words “cavity search”. Her face must show her distress, because Sir pulls her into a comforting embrace.

‘I’m guessing I found a trigger.’ He feels her trembles. ‘We can try something else. There’s no rush.’

‘Ibecameaddicted,’ the words gush in a seamless confessional torrent, ‘toopioidsafterIwasinacaraccidentandhadbacksurgery.’

‘It’s an epidemic and unfortunately, there aren’t enough—or any—treatment facilities or political willingness to treat instead of incarcerate. Is that what happened to you?’

‘I spent ten months in jail. You never get over the dehumanization you’re subjected to by the system through strip and cavity searches. There’s a constant threat of violence from other inmates and exploitive guards offering preferential treatment for sex. I never hurt anybody, Sir. I wasn’t a threat. I was sick and in chronic pain, but once the insurance settlement money ran out, I started buying pills on the street.’

‘How old was your daughter?’

‘She was twelve. Luckily my brother and his wife agreed to take her in otherwise the state would have put her in foster care. I’ve been clean for six years, Sir.’

‘I understand the craving, Tamara. The only difference between us is that my drug of choice was marijuana, and I never got caught driving under the influence.’

‘Pretty ironic, Sir, that pot is now legal in some states and is prescribed for pain.’ Tamara’s sighs and looks up at his face. ‘Now that the mood is completely killed—and before the hot water runs out—do want to scrub me down?’

He squeezes her butt cheeks in response. ‘Actually… if you’re willing… I’d still like to… probe you—in a non-dehumanizing manner.’

A brief interruption: In case you haven’t noticed, Sir is very, very kinky and likes to role-play. Tamara is a creation of a lifetime of trauma and has never initiated a sexual encounter: until now.

‘Sir? Is that a choice? I mean, a real choice?’

‘Is that a no?’

‘Is it my choice?’

The steady splashing of water gurgling down the drain is the only sound for what seems an interminable moment. Neither looks away.

‘Yes.’

Tamara trades places and sets her palms flat against the slick plastic surface opposite the showerhead. In the cramped tub, there is insufficient room to “assume the position”, but she juts her bottom up to meet Sir’s questing hands.

‘That’s an interesting tattoo.’

‘You mean my tramp stamp?’

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Sir beats out a rapid tattoo on Tamara’s glistening bottom. ‘You’re not a tramp.’

‘But that’s what everyone calls it!’

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Tamara lifts on tiptoes as his fingers trace the outline of her colorful tattoo sliding down into her soapy crack and pressing lightly against her tight anus. ‘I assume there is a backstory ‘behind’ the eagle and rose?’

She squirms when the end of his thumb rubs harder against her virgin puckered rose. ‘Yes, Sir! I was young and dumb and hopelessly in love.’

Sir feels the rubbery orifice clamp hard around his thumb’s knuckle as it slides inward. ‘And the rest of your artistic decorations?’

She squeaks before answering. ‘Tattoos are like potato chips, Sir, you can’t stop at just one!’

‘You’re very tight back here.’

‘Thank you?’ she winces when he wiggles his thumb inside her rectum.

He chuckles. ‘No…thank you, it feels good.’

‘Glad you find my ass amusing.’ She hisses loudly. ‘OH! MY! I don’t have any contraband, Sir. I promise.’

‘Just making sure you’re paying attention.’

‘I am! I am!’

‘Good. Let me scrub my hands and I’ll spread the search a little wider.’

‘Not my pussy! I’ve been a model inmate, sir. You don’t need to search me.’

‘I’m only following procedures. Don’t make me spank you for disobeying orders. The more you cooperate with the guards, the quicker this will take. I don’t enjoy this anymore than you do, inmate.’

Tamara giggles at his obvious lie. Peeking at his erection tells the real story. She continues a pro-forma protest but offers no resistance. In fact, she expedites the procedure by raising her left leg and pushing the curtain back with her foot until her toes grasp the outer lip of the tub. ‘Is this okay, sir? Am I being helpful and docile?’

‘Yes, prisoner, you are being very obedient. Now hold still while I probe.’

The duality of abuse is that it runs on an endless loop of action and reaction without conscious input. Tamara can no more stop the onset of memory than halt the rising sun. But this time, the fingers are not gloved; this time, the motions are not impersonal and brusque: this time, it’s languid fondling as his fingers flutter firmly on her folds. This time, she feels not shame, but arousal. A glimmer of comprehension flashes across synapses before the message is overwhelmed by the sensation of slow, sensual penetration.

Her forehead thunks the wall and her arms drop to the side for balance. The third eye vision is gradually being overwritten with new information. Her invitation is non-verbal. Her hips open in desire instead of clenching with fear.

Sir’s “good girl” is less heard than felt through his steady thrusting of hand. It’s been a long, strange day; and Tamara has teetered on the edge of meltdown more than once. To be taken: To be forced. To be forcibly given an orgasm…

‘Oooooooh.’

‘Feels good?’

‘No—’

‘No?’

‘No! I mean yes… ooooooooh, don’t stop!’

‘Like this?’

‘Oh. My. God!’

Right before Tamara let the pulsing pleasure crash over her, she managed to stammer out what she meant to say. ‘This is what yo-you meant… by su-submission.’

Whatever Sir said was lost in the pounding surf as his four fingered fucking caused the most cataclysmic climax of her life.

We heard what he said though. “And I didn’t even touch your clit.”

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