Kismet of Submission: Episode 11

Tamara receives another hug from Susan, this time in farewell, and Sir nods; then follows back out into the real world of endless possibilities. Her stride is quick and choppy, shoulders hunched as if fighting against a stiff headwind and flaying hail. She senses Sir closing in and panics. ‘Air. I need air.’

Fixated on the glowing green EXIT sign, she plows through the meandering crowds, adrenaline dumping to facilitate her mindless flight goaded by a single word.

Run.

The late afternoon heat slams into chilled body as she bolts through the glass doors out onto the curved concrete concourse. She pivots right and trots past the line of vehicles picking up passengers. A wide pillar beckons. Tamara abruptly stops. Knuckles scrape the rough surface when she covers her face and leans forward.

Over the sound of her thumping pulse, she becomes aware of music: Bollywood dances forth from taxis to her left. She peers over; men in bright shirts, baggy trousers and rubber sandals chain-smoke and passionately converse in rapid Hindi, briefly subsiding whenever a fare arrives.

The urge to get in and flee is so strong; she takes a step toward the first cab at the stand. She hears him, nearby, but not crowding her.

Sir coughs and clears his throat. ‘Would you like your purchases before you leave?’

Tamara grips her elbows and shivers despite the heat. ‘I’m scared.’

‘I know.’

‘I can’t think. I’m… hopeless.’

‘You know what I think, Tamara?’

‘No. What?’

‘I think, you and I, should go back to the hotel bar, get a refreshing ice cold adult beverage, and chill out with a cuddle.’

Tamara lets out a helpless giggle. ‘Oh, Sir.’

Sir holds out his right hand, palm up, and, after a deep sigh and shrug, she allows him to tug her back from the edge of panic. The contact of their entwined fingers is searing.

Drone-like, we fly above his car returning as a homing pigeon to the hotel. Our pulses too, slow, as the sedan idles at red lights and turns into the parking lot. Dusk is fast approaching from the east, while off to the south, dark clouds sail close to the cool wind promising rain later in the evening. We skip past their entry, and slip inside his—their—room to lurk in the corner. We’d like to see some action soon, maybe another spanking or even sex. This emotional stuff is hard to read. The metallic ‘snick’ of the swiped cardkey and they enter.

Sir sets her bags on the quasi-desk/table while Tamara juggles her purse and two bottles of local craft beer.

‘You know, Sir, that this so-called craft beer is actually brewed by one of the conglomerates.’

‘Really?’

‘It used to be a small operation, but the owners sold when a rainmaker made an offer,’ she lowers her voice to gravelly growl and sneers, ‘youz can’t refuze.’

Sir laughs. ‘You do that pretty well.’

‘Thanks. Insomnia and late-night cable.’ She twists the caps off, and hands over his beer.’ Tilting the beverages, they cross brown bottles with a clink and toast. ‘Cheers.’

He slugs down half the malt, and wipes the foam from his lips. Kicking his shoes off, he retrieves the remote, and clicks on the wall-mounted television. The screen pops up to the default setting of hotel advertising and a local business scrawl. He glances at the plastic channel guide.

‘I’m going to freshen up.’

He grunts and drinks, eyes never leaving the rapidly scrolling pictures flashing by as the numbers climb into the double digits.

Tamara rolls her eyes. ‘Men.’

As she opens the bathroom door and heads towards the bed, the familiar theme and the announcement, ‘This is Sportscenter’, causes yet another sigh and slump of the shoulders. She tugs down the corner of the king-size bedspread and fluffs the pillow behind her head. Sipping, as he sets his empty down, she pretends to be engrossed in the afternoon baseball highlights. She sighs again.

‘Bored?’

‘Nope.’

He harrumphs. ‘We could watch something else.’

‘This is fine.’ She rubs the back of her neck and spins the pillow ninety-degrees, then folds it in half. ‘You did say the remote is yours… and… you’re the Dom… sooooo… I’ll just sit here… being quiet… and submissive… don’t mind me… yup… I do love me some double play action… ooooh… a homerun! A dinger! A bleacher burner blast! A round tripper! A base clearer! A—ack!’ She squawks as Sir pounces on her. ‘Don’t spill my beer!’

Sir nips the bottle away, and crouches over her. He notes her breath is fast and her pupils dilated. His hands rest on the fuzzy blanket, close to, but not touching her ribs. ‘Somebody is being bratty.’

‘No, Sir. Everything is fine. I’ll be quiet now.’ With a clenched teeth grin, Tamara looks up at him and nods emphatically.

He reaches down and gently strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘Are you sure? That you’re fine?’

Tamara nods again and blinks rapidly as her eyes swell with moisture. As she breaks into halting sobs, Sir scoops her up, cradling her tight against his chest with her hands curled at his pecs. He strokes her back in long sweeps with one hand, rocking ever so slightly with his chin pressed to her temple. He can still smell her shampoo.

The talking heads natter on.

His shirt is wet.

She apologizes, dabbing at the dampness.

He pops up, opens the travel size tissue box and plucks out half the contents with one pull.

‘You don’t know your own strength,’ she says with shaky humor.

‘It’s my superpower. Don’t tell anyone. Next thing you know, I’ll be in bathrooms across America hanging toilet paper, roll’s end facing up.’

‘Everyone knows the end hangs down, Sir!’

Tamara wipes her face and blows her nose. He holds out a palm, she drops the used tissues and he pivots, shooting them towards the wastebasket. It bounces off the rim… and drops in.

‘Nice shot!’

‘Top Ten list for sure.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You know, I was thinking…’

‘Yes…’

‘Well, considering the stress you’re feeling, Tamara, I think—I know—you could benefit right about now from a good spanking.’

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 10

Such a simple word—confidence—something Tamara has never had: A word no one has ever spoken in the context of her. How can Sir casually lob a verbal grenade and not be aware of how she feels? When she looks at him, his expression is relaxed. He nods towards Susan, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘go on, she won’t bite.’ Tamara nervously wipes damp palms on new skirt and approaches with a sense of dread. Susan smiles with a knowing mien and enfolds Tamara into a comforting embrace.

Sir is discretely out of earshot, but we unabashedly eavesdrop on the ensuing conversation. It raises a salient query however, how much honesty is required or even desired in a relationship as short term as this one? Where is the tipping point of safety that allows the social masks to be set aside and the true—or at least truer—feelings to be trotted out for examination? Some of we readers undoubtedly will state unequivocally and emphatically: Never! Trust is extremely hard to gain, and so easily lost, that most of us hold our secrets forever locked inside fragile psyches.

‘How did you know you were submissive?’

‘May I ask your name?’

‘It’s Tamara.’

‘Thank you. Well, Tamara, I only allowed my submissiveness to manifest when I found my Mistress. I wasn’t looking, at all; but there She was, and every hardship and mistake I’d ever made, melted away under Her gaze. Everything before, every relationship, my two marriages, friends and family: none of that mattered any longer. It was as if I shrugged off my past like a discarded skin and stepped out as a butterfly with wet wings and an overriding need to fly. It felt right. It felt perfect. I fell, I crashed into love with Her, and the rest has been unlearning my rote responses to stimuli.’

‘I don’t feel anything. Well, that’s not true. I feel lust, but mostly fear and self-loathing at the pitiful person I’ve become.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Because I’ve spent my entire life, starting as a small child, knowing that men, mostly men, are both stronger and abusive to those they claim as their own. To me, being meek and quiet hasn’t saved me from violence. If anything, I equate submissiveness with goading abusers into escalating acts of cruelty trying to get a reaction and break the will of their prey. I’m terrified of being a victim again. I can’t trust my judgment. When Sir tells me I’m beautiful or smart or confident, I want to curl up into a little ball and hide from the beating I know is coming. I can’t be a submissive. I can’t let someone control me again. I can’t.’

Sir rises to his feet and pads silently towards them. He senses Tamara’s rising agitation in her posture and wild gesturing on the edge of hysteria.

‘Has he asked?’

‘Not in so many words, but I kn—’

Her tirade is cut off when she feels his hand on the back of her neck. She instinctively hunches forward.

‘Relax,’ he whispers, and slowly, with firm pressure, glides his palm down her spine until he cups her right buttock and gently squeezes. ‘I’m going to sit back down, Tamara. I haven’t heard anything you’ve said. You’re safe with me.’ He pats her left butt cheek and kisses the back of her head.

He leaves as quietly as he came.

‘Tamara. I will not deny that there are predators, of both sexes, who stalk and sometimes kill those whom they perceive as weaker. I also completely understand the fear you feel when in the presence of such a strong Dom. Sir reminds me a bit of Mistress. Self-contained, poised, empathetic, and most importantly, radiating a powerful aura of protection and compassion. If you decide to stay with him, Tamara, I am confident, that he will not demand your submission, but offer you his dominance as a gift. We submissives are not helpless waifs in the clutches of demonic humans. No, when the right Dom comes along, you will fall to your knees not in fear, but in joy that you have been chosen to receive the wondrous pleasure and pain they bestow.’

‘I only met him yesterday, Susan, and he scares the crap out of me.’

‘Then why do you wish to stay?’

‘Because he’s holding out a hand of friendship to me and I don’t want to let go.’

Susan grips Tamara’s hands and gives them a slight shake. She raises her voice and calls out, ‘Sir, what are your intentions towards this lady?’

‘My intentions are to show Tamara that there is another way, a better way to live in respectful harmony without fear. With her permission, I will slowly reveal the positive aspects of D/s and explain why so many people practice a style of obedience that, on the surface, may seem to victims and survivors, more of the same BS. I vow to you both, that my intentions are to bring you, Tamara, joy and love through submission.’

Is that a wistful sigh I hear from the readers? Or: riiiiiight. I suppose it depends on your personal experiences. But then again: Isn’t that true of everything? Our little bubbles we live in don’t allow for possibilities outside our awareness. D/s raises the hackles in a primal fashion and like the proverbial snake in the grass, we automatically assume it’s poisonous.

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 9

We set the book down—or ereader to one side—and scramble to find the pad of sticky notes we know was last seen in the vicinity of the desk. Feeling silly, we even call out as we search, ‘Don’t start without me!’ Finding a pen that works is even more of a challenge… somebody is getting a spanking for not organizing and restocking.

‘Well done, everyone. My name is Susan and I am a submissive squared. To me, what that means is simple. I am submissive in inclination, and submissive to my partner. I have never considered myself a doormat. Granted, I have loving binary heterosexual professional parents who raised their sons and daughters to respect and empathize with all types of people, and taught us that men and women were equal in all areas of life. It took me many years, and many relationships before I realized that submission—my submission—was not only allowed, but reflected my feminist upbringing. When I kneel at Mistress’ feet, or lay over her lap for a paddling, it is my choice, my gift to her as a submissive to give all that I am into her keeping. The words you’ve chosen to reflect your own personal understanding of submission, are neither right or wrong, merely letters to represent a current state of mind.’

Susan walks to the whiteboard and surveys the hundreds of curling squares in all shades of the rainbow. Her slender fingers ripple and dance as she traces the letters, nodding frequently. She spins gracefully, skirt belling at her feet revealing a gold chain and dainty lock adorning the right ankle. Stroking her neck, she speaks. ‘This collar matches the chain on my ankle. The lock represents Her ownership of my body from head to toe. I am collared 24/7 as a reminder that my private and public behavior is dictated by Her expectations and love. Everything I do shows respect for Her desires.

‘I noticed that many of you wrote ‘love’ on your notes. I saw ‘protection’, ‘being honest’, lots of ‘spanking’, a few ‘never’ or ‘not for me’ as well as ‘fear’ and ‘misunderstood’. So for the rest of the time we have together, I want to show from my life, and my fear, why submission can be both empowering and liberating for both men and women.’

Tamara is listening intently. Susan is so calm and confident as she speaks. Her shoulders are back, her gestures are sure and welcoming; her entire posture soothes the rough edges off the topic. Tamara’s three notes were ‘afraid’, ‘violence’ and ‘rape’. She’s glad Susan didn’t signal out her contributions, but at the same time the questions are burning holes in her brain. It’s one thing when Sir teases her and acts dominantly in some fashion, he’s a guy after all, his dick does most the thinking, but here is a woman who seems so poised and polished, and yet claiming to be a proponent of submission. It is very confusing.

Sir puts his arm around Tamara’s shoulders. She automatically stiffens, but relaxes slowly and leans over just a bit. He squeezes once in acknowledgment as they continue to listen.

What about you? The reader I mean. You picked up this novel in a bookshop or at the online behemoth. I’m sure you weren’t expecting homework, but what were your three words or phrases? Do any of them match what the audience wrote? What do you think about submission? We are bombarded with so many contrary opinions all day long that we have forgotten how to think for ourselves: To research, to experiment, to analysis data and reach a truthful conclusion. The truth of submission is that it is not for everyone. It takes more strength and honesty to submit than to dominate. We look at Sir and Tamara and wonder what will become of them. We want them to succeed because they look like us. Normal, everyday people getting through life the best they can. D/s offers a safe way to communicate desires that, left unresolved, can corrode the strongest of relationships and tear apart families.

‘My desire for submission, or shall I say, my lack of honesty towards my sexual orientation and inclination to submit, cost me two husbands. My children, grown now, accept my Mistress as normal. I came out to them when we married in a BDSM ceremony. The invitations were explicit and, to my surprise and shock, all four of them chose to attend. I almost backed out, but they explained they always suspected I was a lesbian if not a submissive. It got very emotional. It felt like a boulder had suddenly been rolled away and I could fly for the first time in my life.’

Susan wipes her eyes, many in the audience dab with fingers as well. Her smile is radiant as she flings her arms exuberantly. ‘Submission makes me happy.’ She clenches her fists, gently tapping her heart. ‘The very essence of Susan, the woman, the mother, the lover, is submission. When I submit from my core, all my actions, all my words are genuine and focused on giving my Mistress every part of me. I ache when we are apart, but I know She will always support my dreams, encourage my voice and accept my submission with love and grace knowing it is the deepest gift of my soul. Thank you for listening to me, and I will be here to answer any specific questions you might have.’

After the applause dies away, about a third of the audience lingers and gathers in a vaguely half-circular shape at the front of the room. Sir gathers the bags and stands to leave, only to have Tamara place her hand on his arm.

‘I’d like to stay a bit, if that’s okay. I have some questions for Susan.’

‘That’s cool. I’ll sit back down and wait. I have complete confidence in you.’

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

 



Seeing as today is August, 1st, there is a brand new monthly spanking newsletter over at my second blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction. Spanking Newsletter #4, contains an unpublished erotic spanking story, as well as a publishing update.

This is as good a time as any, to welcome all my new followers in the month of July. It you read my About page, you will note that I do not comment or like posts on non-erotic/spanking/Ds blogs, unless you as the author make clear to me that you would like my feedback. This is because the majority of my 314 followers, fall into the categories of non-sex based blogs. My personal policy is that all are welcome to read my blogs and comment if desired, however, I have no desire to out someone by commenting and/or liking a post elsewhere where spanking, etc, is not discussed or hidden. Please let me know if you wish my feedback and interactions on your non-spanking blogs.

Kismet of Submission: Episode 8

As she stumbles out of the room, we can see Tamara appears to be dazed. The graphic and clinical lecture about safe anal, glossed over the emotional aspects of an act that for many is taboo. Informative—yes—but neither of the panelists offered an explanation as to why someone would want to be fucked up the ass in the first place. If we could read Tamara’s mind—which as omnipresent narrators we can—her thoughts are circling this very central thought. Mechanics and preparation aside, very little about anal sex is titillating to her. In her fantasy, Sir has spanked her again, and is mounting her from behind in her wet pussy. The metal process is tricky: we can’t experience pain in dreams, but the emotions lash us all the same. Tamara’s primary emotion is confusion. She’s certainly intelligent enough to realize that under the right circumstances, she might find herself acquiescing to his cock in her rectum; but the reasons why remain elusive. Being taken passively versus participating in your own ravishment would make her complicit in her own debauchment. That; is a terrifying realization and she quickly shunts the observation into a strongbox labeled, anal; and shoves it in the overflowing closet of ‘things to resolve later’.

He waits for her in the hall after taking a quick pit stop, and they purchase drinks at a nearby kiosk. He refuses to give back her bags, and instead offers his free elbow for her to hold. She gives him an up-and-under glance with the slightest of headshakes and hooks her left forearm through the gap.

As they walk—his stride shortened—she continues to ponder about anal. ‘If I said yes, and that’s a big if, what would you do first?’

‘To anal?’ At her jerky nod, he frowns. ‘Well, it depends on the situation. Is it after a spanking, during vaginal sex, or a standalone experiment? If the latter, then a hot shower, likely a drink to relax the nerves, lots of touching and kissing, followed by prep and slow and cautious penetration.’

‘And the first two scenarios?’

He gives her a dominant smile. ‘Part of spanking is punishing the anus. A few sharp slaps that sting, and thumb and fingers rotating and spreading you open. As with intercourse, the next thing you’d feel would be my tongue licking and twirling across your wet pucker. Being turned on makes the thought of kissing your ass that much hotter.’

‘So… you… wouldn’t clean first?’

He leans closer and whispers in her ear. ‘No, Tamara, in the middle of sex, my mouth waters at the thought of suckling your tight, bitterly sweet earthy tangy butthole. I only wish my tongue was six inches long so that I fuck inside your ass with my mouth and lick you clean.’

Tamara shudders and her panties dampen at the raw erotic vision of her ass up with Sir’s face burrowing between her red-hot cheeks. If that’s being submissive, it’s a whole ‘nother level of kink she’s never considered. She clenches deep inside when she flips the script and realizes the distance between a blowjob and servicing her Dom’s ass is razor thin. Oh my God! What have I gotten myself into!

Squeezing her arm against his side, he chuckles quietly. ‘Long, slow, wet sweeps burrowing inside you. Just think, I’m very curious to find out how your pussy tastes too.’ He holds her up as she misses a step. ‘Oh look. Here we are. “Submission: not just for doormats anymore.”’

Tamara breaths out, the wetness and tingling between her thighs growing with every sordid image his words create. She can’t even focus on the woman standing at the door welcoming her guests.

‘By the way, you may not be a submissive—yet—but you are, and never were a doormat. No woman is.’

‘Welcome, my friends!’ the woman calls out. ‘Are you here for my little performance?’

We do a classic double take. So tuned into the lures cast upon the waters by Sir, only now do we take in the full impact of the woman. Hippy-chic is our first visceral reaction. A shade under six feet, gray hair tied back in a long ponytail falling to mid-back, she’s wearing a peasant blouse in turquoise and an ankle length pleated dress in rich canary yellow; cinched at the waist with a wide cinnamon braided sash. Her smile… it lights up the hall: We—and they—feel as if she’s a friend known for our entire lives. She radiates peace and goodwill with outstretched hands.

Her touch sends sparks through Tamara’s palms. ‘Yes,’ she stammers. ‘We are here for your lecture. Sir wanted to attend.’

‘Wonderful. It is always lovely to have audience input from established couples.’

He raises her knuckles to his lips, placing a light kiss. ‘Thank you, for the gracious welcome, Susan. This beautiful woman is Tamara. We are… negotiating, at present, and are not yet a couple. I am a Dom, whether she is a submissive, never mind my submissive, is in progress. I hope your lecture will be informative for her.’

‘My, my, aren’t you a polished one.’

‘I do my best.’

‘I am sure you do. Please, enter and pick out a seat. I will explain the gift box when all have arrived.’

More people are here than at the previous lecture, and the few pairs of seats left, are all in the front row. He leads Tamara by her wrist, his raised eyebrow at her quizzical expression the only other overt representation of his dominance. Picking up the beribboned four inch square silver and gold wrapped boxes on the seats, he waits until she sits before handing over one. They can’t resist shaking them and exchange silly grins.

‘Thank you all for attending, “Submission: not just for doormats anymore.” You may have noticed the gift boxes.’ Susan laughs along with her audience. ‘The reason is very simple. Please remove the tops and take out the contents.’

There is a sustained soft rustle, followed by low confused murmurs.

Submission… is a gift. Given and received freely. On each of the three sticky notes, please write a word or phrase representing what submission means to you. When you are done, please come forward and place them on this whiteboard.’

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 7

There are chuckles and elbow nudges as the audience reacts to his last words. Cathy smiles and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Look, if you polled people as to why they’re not interested in anal, pain would likely be first, followed closely by the messy ick factor. But—to quote the revered sage Forrest Gump—shit happens.’

Louder laughter this time with knowing smiles.

‘That was my first choice for a company name. No, not really. So, can and is anal painful? Of course it is. If it’s done without prep and lube, and like drilling for oil, anal can be a very traumatic experience. Keep in mind though, some people get off on pain, and anal sex that isn’t hard, fast and deep, is likely to be just as unsatisfactory as crappy technique.’

‘Thanks, Cathy. From a medical standpoint, the anus, rectum and sphincters are not designed to allow ingress of large objects. If you take nothing else away from this course, remember: lubricant, lubricant, lubricant. Saliva and vaginal secretions are not lubricants. Again though, if it’s pain sensations you are after, and the recipient is willing during consensual anal intercourse, then the type and amount of lubricant can be as little as none. The anus will yield to pressure, but not easily nor without discomfort.’

‘What Heathcliff is saying, is that communication and experimentation is necessary to have an enjoyable or even an orgasmic anal session. Talk first, in detail, and take it slow and easy until you’re comfortable. Ramming it in the first time—or any other time—without permission is rape.’

It’s quite possible some of you reading have decided to walk out at this point. Sodomy has been, and still is, a crime punishable by death in many places. Laws designed to incarcerate and punish homosexual men, are still on the books in jurisdictions around the world. Sodomy itself can be either anal or oral penetration of the penis into a male; however, the law does not always discriminate between the sexes. Married heterosexual sodomy is illegal, based not only on precedent going back thousands of years: but by most religions’ teachings and texts. The slang term for anal sex, Greek, is derived from the Ancient Greek culture’s practice of nude exercise, [the term gymnasium itself means ‘exercise naked’] and the practice of pederasty—an adult man mentoring a boy between ages twelve and seventeen or until the boy grew hair. These relationships were supposed to be mainly about preparing the boy for citizenship and taking an active role in society, rather than just sex. Adult homosexual actions were considered unacceptable.

Tamara is a bit uncomfortable with the graphic nature of the lecture thus far. That discomfort rises higher when Cathy and Heathcliff wrap dildos in condoms, and lube up the latex butt molds. She glances sidelong to see him returning her wince with a wink.

He leans over. ‘So, what do you think do far?’

‘If this is supposed to make me want to have anal, they’re not doing a good job so far.’

‘Never?’

‘No, thankfully I avoided that at least, Sir. I can’t ever see myself submitting to that.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘Sir…?’

‘Oh, no force, ever, but all I’m saying is, never say never. You may find yourself craving a good anal fuck one of these days.’

‘Humph. You’re awful cocky, Sir.’

‘Not really, just confident I could please you and give you an orgasm or two.’

She turns back to the front, his hand slips into her grasp as if made to fit. She’s never enjoyed sex, only endured and the thought of Sir’s cock entering her makes her squirm on the thinly padded chair. If—and it’s a big if—he’s not bullshitting her, then maybe… someday… if she sticks around long enough, she can actually have one of those romance style encounters with the bodice busting cover. Her smile, this time, is that secret expression of feminine satisfaction knowing she’s hooked his attention.

Her fingers are so slender as he gently squeezes her palm. There’s not much new in the information being dished out, but it’s an upbeat and professional presentation nonetheless. His smile is satisfied too. If Tamara sticks around, and after they negotiate some more, he’s going to have fun training her. There’s a lot to unlearn, and pitfalls to avoid, but she has potential. Take it slow, don’t push, and find out what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

‘Just to make everyone more comfortable, Heathcliff will penetrate the female bottom, and I the male. Most people, incidentally, call anal sex with an object ‘pegging’ or being ‘pegged’. Normally found in Femdom relationships of any gender. Many dildos these days can be utilized in a harness, typically called a ‘strap-on’. Do you want to go first, Heathcliff?’

‘Sure. Folks, don’t hold a dildo or a vibrator like a stabbing knife. And men, don’t use your penis like a weapon. The first thing you need to do, is insert at least one lubed finger through the anus into the rectum as far as you can go. Use a glove if you’re squeamish, or want to be sanitary. Twirl your fingers so that you get a good coating on the interior walls. No amount of lube is too much. In fact, many people use this.’ The crowd gasps as he holds up what appears to be a caulk gun. ‘This is an enema syringe which can also be used to inject large quantities of lube. Next, when your partner is ready, gently press the tip of the dildo like this. You’ll feel resistance—it always helps if your partner presses out as if having a bowel movement—and push forward slowly until the anus gives way enough to enter slightly. Wait a moment and check with you partner to make sure they want to proceed. The rectum is very tight at this point, and the person on the receiving end will feel a pinching and likely painful sensation as the penis/dildo moves deeper. Once past this point, the rectum widens allowing for easier penetration. Bottoming out depends on the size of the object, both length and girth. Once seated as deep as is comfortable, solicit feedback before any pullback and reinsertion. This is not a zero-to-sixty race for a gusher.’

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 6

They reseat themselves, her shopping bags no longer a barrier, and slide hip-to-hip. Now that the permission has been tacitly given, the sexual attraction they both feel—to varying degrees—sends the pheromones spurting like fungi spores. He folds the brochure into neat quarters, and hands it over to her, pointing out the two workshops he’s interested in attending.

We—and all those in the vicinity—are jolted by the loud unrestrained bark of laughter from Tamara. Even from our casual observation, backs against the far wall, we can see the sparkle in her eyes and the proprietary manner in which she strokes his forearm. Her fingers linger on his bare skin as her mirth gradually subsides. His expression is far harder to read. A quirk of the mouth, a pat on the back of her hand: his raised eyebrow clearly requesting a clarification. There are few things in life more entertaining than watching a mating dance; all that’s left to do is work out the timing. Smitten would vastly overstate the attraction, but every relationship has to start somewhere; with someone lowering the drawbridge.

‘Really? They’re having a workshop called “Good anal is not like drilling for oil.”’

‘You wanted to know what else turned me on. Anal does.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘Maybe it’s connected to spanking, I don’t know. I just know that of the two choices—three actually—I prefer anal. When a woman is on all fours, reaches back and spreads her cheeks, that tight little pucker makes my cock painfully hard.’

‘Hmmmm: Let me read the rest of the choices out loud. “Dirty Grrls and Naughty Boys: double standards at work.” That one I could definitely be on the panel. Sexual harassment is endemic in the hospitality industry. “Impact Play and Ropes: Evil Twins?” What’s impact play mean?’

‘It’s when a Dom uses implements all over the body, to impart sensations. Usually with a flogger or a whip that reddens the skin but doesn’t leave lasting marks. The cane on the buttocks is more often used for punishment than impact.’

‘Then I assume that the victim is usually tied up, thus the ropes?’

‘Not a victim, Tamara, a willing—nay, eager—participant.’

‘Oooookay. Moving on then. “If you can’t deal with the blood, run back to mommy.” That sounds rather nasty. I presume it’s about periods and earth women. Not that I’m judging. “Feminism: the real ‘F’ word.” Okay. Didn’t we just have that lecture this morning? Why do women always seem to tear at each other with claws over what makes a feminist?’

‘Can’t answer that one, I’m afraid. I think it has more to do with lack of progress and the male-dominated political arena than housewives versus roller bladers. Divide and conquer has splintered more than one constituency to the benefit of the powerful.’

‘Well, I can tell you that “Finding the Erotic in the Mundane”, sounds rather boring, and “A Little more understanding: the DDlg dynamic” seems creepy.’

‘It’s not. I know several DDlg couples online, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with pedophilia, but with feeling safe and cared for by a tender, loving Dom who provides strict boundaries and stern discipline. Ultimately, it’s about trust, and opening up to those things that make you the happiest. If being a little girl to your Daddy helps you get through all the day-to-day crap, then go for it.’

‘Then I guess anal it is, along with your second choice, “Submission: not just for doormats anymore.” I don’t think I’m submissive either, Sir, it’s too scary.’

‘But that’s what makes a submissive fly. The knowledge that they’ve given their Dom permission to use them however they want. Sex and discipline without a net is mindboggling.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

Satiated by our earlier purchases, we decide to follow them into the room for the anal presentation. There is a brief tug-of-war: Tamara prefers the back, he the front. They compromise on the middle row, on the center aisle. The demonstrators are a couple, male and female, and are busy setting up the final displays. There are about fifty chairs, and promptly at two in the afternoon, the moderators welcome the thirty odd folks who have decided to take a load off and sit for an hour.

‘Welcome to, “Good anal is not like drilling for oil”, and thank you so much for your attendance. My name is Cathy and this is Heathcliff. A little background, Heathcliff here is a Registered Nurse and I run my own company called “Happy Sex is Great Sex”. We decided to host this workshop in hopes that we can dispel some of the myths and perhaps provide some new information to those that have never tried anal before. Heathcliff, would you like to start?’

‘Thanks, Cathy. Welcome everyone. First of all, I would like to say that anal sex is not unnatural, is not a perversion and when done safely, can be pleasurable to both males and females, giving and receiving. I have here latex molds of both sexes; in medical terms, the major difference between male and female rectums, is that males of course have a prostrate gland. However, from a sensation aspect, the clitoral nervous system can also be stimulated in females through anal sex. For the most part, the anal nerve endings are clustered around the anus, and inside the rectum is primarily flexible flesh. Which is why finger play and anallingus—application of the tongue to the anus—is so pleasurable. It is highly recommended that before engaging in any anal play, at a minimum, the anus is cleansed with soap and water, and/or an enema is performed. Just to be clear, ingestion of fecal matter either through anallingus or ass-to-mouth of the penis or of a toy, is something that should be avoided, but is not likely to cause any significant discomfort. Needless to say, a condom should be used every time, including a toy. I realize that anal plugs are not designed for condoms, but I’m simply covering my ass here.’

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

Kismet of Submission: Episode 5

This time the spark Tamara feels is all sexual, so she pulls back as the food arrives. The snack they consumed at the convention center wasn’t very good, and the spanking definitely whetted her appetite for something more substantial.

The problem though, has gotten worse with that slightest of touches. She doesn’t trust kindness or empathy. Whatever lies beyond the griffon in the cryptozoology compendium, his gesture is even more rare and disbelieving.

‘Looks good,’ he tells her, leaning down and breathing in the aroma of refried beans and seared steak.

It does look good. Will there ever come a day when books are VR complete with scents and tastes? There are plenty of detractors out there for Mexican food. Too greasy, fatty: laden with carcinogens and calories. Not to mention—like several other types of cuisine—the pressing need for the WC shortly after. Still, proof positive of humans’ craving for complex carbohydrates and protein, is clearly illustrated by the speed with which the colorful glazed surfaces of the shallow bowls emerge like an archeological dig. Their brains fizz with energy.

The drive back to the conference is quiet and comfortable. Tamara decides to postpone her final answer until later. She has three hours after all before the bus leaves. Even if she does go back tonight it will only be long enough to pack, contact the landlord, and roll away like a tumbleweed. Her lower GI rumbles. A quick jerk of the head, then off to the ladies.

He finds the closest bench and studies the afternoon schedule. The pointer in his mind keeps flickering percentages. The interest he feels in Tamara is genuine, but… so much baggage. He sighs out loud and slumps his shoulders. I wonder if anyone has ever studied the ratio of restroom visits by gender?

At the diner, the pointer said one percent. In the morning workshop it rose to five percent. Peaking at twenty percent during the spanking, it was now hovering around ten percent. Being brutally honest, it would be better if Tamara snuck out the loo window a la James Bond—sorry, Lara Croft—and never saw him again.

‘Earth to sir!’

‘Sorry.’ A swift shake resets the neurotransmitters. ‘Having an argument.’

‘About me?’

He meets her wary gaze; it’s the least he can do. ‘Actually, Tamara, I don’t know if we should go any further.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Tamara speaks rapidly. ‘It’s okay. I had the same argument in the stall.’ She sits down on the far end of the bench and stares sightlessly through the purposeful swirl in the lobby. ‘Why don’t we meet back here in three hours and decide then. No hard feelings either way. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Go Your Own Way, by Fleetwood Mac, plays over the intercom as we watch them walk away in opposite directions. We pull back; rising like a helium sphere until we bump into the girders holding up the vast flat roof; our perspective too low to track them amidst the warren of aisles and temporary tents. Before we can decide whom to follow, we’re distracted by the lavish assortment of kinky toys. Vibrators, dildos, paddles, collars, scented lubes and stacks upon stacks of erotica all curated by panting purveyors. Time to whip out the plastic. Personal drama can wait, bling can’t.

He’s early for the rendezvous. Fittingly, Come Together, by The Beatles, snarls overhead. The lyrics have never been clear to him, but then again, perhaps it takes dropping acid to appreciate the genius. He laughs.

‘What’s so funny?’

He stares at the worn carpet. ‘Just thinking. If you’d had predicted back in the ‘60s that many of the bands would still be on tour fifty years later, the assumption would have been a really bad trip. It’s probably for the best they broke up back th—’

Tamara can’t help the flutter low in her abdomen at the wide-eyed look he gives her. She swishes her skirt with both hands and tilts her head playfully. ‘You like it?’

‘It looks great! I mean, you were great looking before, it’s just…’

‘Well. Since I had to get a change of clothing anyway…’ She sits down and tucks the shopping bags between her feet. ‘I don’t know if I can do this, Sir, but I want to at least try. I mean—my life is going nowhere. There isn’t anybody else, and quite frankly, if I run again, I might not stop until I go out with the tide. You said yesterday that it was a choice. So, it that choice is still available, I’m willing to go along. For awhile at least.’

‘Alright. I agree. For now, tonight and tomorrow back here at the show. We’ll decide then what comes next.’

They shake hands. Tamara dives into her loot and shows off her purchases. Free samples of lotions and potions, several more skirts of varying lengths and the official Expo T-shirt that says, in bold pink font:
Leather & Lace, Always in Good Taste. She hands a folded garment to him; he shakes it out, laughs and holds it up to his chest. A stylistic bottom is outlined in red, with the copperplate words that read:
Doms do it upside down. This time, the hug isn’t perfunctory. Tamara tucks her chin into his clavicle while he massages her waist.

Her words are muffled, but distinct. ‘Is there another lecture you want to attend?’

‘Yes… or we could go back to the hotel. I’ll still stuffed from lunch. We can have dinner later.’

‘I think I’d like to attend the lecture, Sir. I’m curious as to what things turn you on—besides spanking of course.’

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