Kismet of Submission: Episode 4

Tamara still is hesitant. Sleeping with a man has always meant having sex, whether wanted or not. Drunk or sober never seemed to make a difference, she was expected to put out and the few times she didn’t—rape is an ugly word. She’s never met a woman who hasn’t been raped. The anger at self is the most common theme. What did you expect? Boys will be boys. So much for female solidarity: her mother’s contempt still rings in her ears.

The fact that the man of the house was quick with a cold beer, and even quicker with his feet and fists, seems to have been okay with most adults growing up. Tamara was the bad girl, the slut; the whore who got knocked up on purpose by the town’s Golden Son who could do no wrong. He was the first of several who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The daughter they had together three months after the wedding, only made things worse. He always blamed them for having to give up his dreams. Ten years later, he was in his grave, the police finally doing what no one else could. Justice delayed, was justice ice cold in hate.

That hate drove them from her hometown, constantly on the move, always searching for the mythical safe harbor. Tamara poured all her efforts into keeping her daughter stable.

‘You’re safe with me, Tamara.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’

‘I understand. But it’s the truth. Now, how about that lunch?’

‘Fine. I’ll decide after we eat.’

‘No pressure.’

She collects her purse and snorts.

‘Something funny?’

‘No, sir, it’s that men don’t have to worry about “The Walk of Shame.”’

‘I see.’

‘I doubt it. I expected to stay the day, not the night, so I have no clothes or toiletries.’

‘I could buy you some.’

At this naïve pronouncement, Tamara sags against the wall and bursts out laughing. ‘That makes it even worse! Don’t you know anything about women?’

‘I know that I respect them and fall in love with their uniquenesses.’

‘You’re a strange man.’

‘It’s been said before. Doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s kinda my trademark.’

Body language is fascinating. As they walk down the hallway to the elevator, they are clearly not a couple, yet we wonder at their apparent ease with which they converse. He’s the one who presses the down arrow. He holds the door motioning her in first. He pushes the L button. His head bops to the music. They don’t talk in the car—elevator etiquette, and he waves her out second. ‘Such a polite young man’, says the granny as she hobbles out first, ‘You should hang onto him, good men are hard to find.’ We readers can picture this scene quite well because it’s happened to all of us at one time. Mistaken identity and intent. Most of the time, a pro forma protest is lodged.

‘Thank you, ma’am, I find he’s growing on me.’

Out into the bright sunshine of a hot summer’s day, the glare off the windshields is blinding. Heat rises through their soles. The inevitable panic flares.

‘You do like Mexican? Is that okay? I mean we can go someplace else if you like.’

‘I’m supposed to be the nervous one here! Mexican is fine.’

The cold air hits them with a sharp slap when he opens the front entrance for her. He always holds the door for ladies and the elderly. Not once has he ever been chastised for being old-fashioned. In his worldview, being polite has never gone out of style.

‘Table for two, please, booth if you have it.’

He looks around the restaurant; moderately busy, blue-collar guys on break nudge each other and check out Tamara. He rests his hand on her lower back, guiding her past harried families. The married couples are building matching forts out of sugar substitutes and hot sauce. The guys he ignores, he knows the type, worked with them for decades; crude, crass, foul-mouthed, misogynistic; but not in a threatening predatory manner, more of a bonding pack mentality before going home and kissing their wives and daughters.

‘Ah! Fresh tortilla chips. All you need to know about how good a Mexican restaurant will be, is if the chips and salsa are homemade.’

‘Interesting concept. Of course, having worked in restaurants, I’m pretty jaded to the whole process. The stories I could tell you.’

‘My mama always said, “Eat a peck of dirt before you die.”’

‘This is a lot worse than dirt, sir.’

‘You don’t have to keep calling me sir, Tamara. My real name is M—’

‘No! No, don’t tell me, your pen name is fine. Besides, sir is more impersonal. I’ve always hated it when customers call me Tamara as if I’m their best friend. I’m slinging slop and you’re paying, I don’t need your life story and I certainly won’t fuck you for a lousy tip.’

‘I totally agree. People see a nametag, and automatically think you’re their bitch. I ain’t in service, honey, this is a trade. I give you something and you pay. That’s it. Have a nice day and take your attitude somewhere else.’

By the time they order, the tension Tamara feels has dissipated, much like any lingering soreness in her bottom. In fact, despite wiggling on the padded bench, she can’t sense anything to indicate the recent spanking. She can’t help but giggle inside, imagining herself bending over the table, guacamole and fajitas shoved aside, while Sir whales away on her ass. She’s surprised at the ease with which he’s captured her attention. No leers, no come-ons, no innuendoes; just a clothed spanking, an invitation to spend the night sleeping and now a friendly and delicious lunch.

Before she’s even aware, she’s talking about her daughter, and how proud she is of her academic achievements. When she reveals a little bit about her past Tamara is startled by the warm hand reaching across and touching her wrist.

‘I don’t need to know, if it’s too painful.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Some scars always seem like they happened yesterday.’

Their palms meet in silent solidarity.

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

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 7 (Part 22)

The sparkle caught my eye. Green stone, gold hoop, the unfamiliar presence of my engagement ring snagged in the rags. I held my left hand out straight and admired the token of his affection. Tiny rainbows danced in the gaslight. My romantic heart was at war with my practical nature. I wanted to know why Mr. Jones-Smyth, Chester, had dashed off as if seeking the retiring room. Surely I was not that repulsive. Perhaps he was also a virgin and shamed of his quick release. I gazed into the gem like a carnival fortuneteller; the unblinking eye had no answer.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Summer of Love

It seems that ’69 never really left the Bay Area. Besides snatching up all available housing and snarling local traffic, the explosion of high-tech industry is apparently sucking up all the available sexual partners as well. According to this article called, Silicon Valley’s Sexual Revolution, in the April 4th, 2017 edition of Wired magazine; what was once called ‘free love’ or ‘swinging’ is now officially morphed into Polyamory 2.0.

By Julian Sancton: In Silicon Valley, love’s many splendors often take the form of, well, many lovers. For certain millennials in tech—as well as, rumor has it, a few middle-aged CEOs—polyamory holds especial appeal. Perhaps that’s because making it work is as much an engineering challenge as an emotional one, requiring partners to navigate a complex web of negotiated arrangements. (There’s an app to keep track of that, obvs: The Poly Life.) Some enthusiasts even claim it’s the way of the future. “If life extension is possible, we might have to think about relationships differently,” says one Valley-based polyamorist. “It’s pretty hard to have an exclusive relationship with someone for 300 years.” True that—but balancing multiple LTRs takes just as much dedication and discipline (if not more).

The article goes on to list six bullet points including this little nugget: 4. Don’t be a letch: You shouldn’t go to a get-together hoping to hook up. These are not orgies. (Though tech-nerd orgies do get pret-ty wild, what with the color-coded bracelets signaling what you’re cool with doing/having done unto you.) And stick to your age bracket—restrictions are enforced to keep things comfortable.

I have nothing against polyamory, I was involved with my wife and another woman who lived with us for two years and we parted amicably, but I have some serious questions with the way the article *nudge-nudge, wink-wink* casts shade on the entire scene with more than a hint of California crunchy granola vibe. I mean, hasn’t Silicon Valley been rocked with sexual harassment claims from female engineers? And don’t all the major tech companies have a distinct lack of gender balance, in fact, steeply tilted towards males in both status, numbers and pay? Not to mention, a whitewash of upper management with the occasional token person of color or Asian.

One of the arguments against gay marriage is that once it was legally established, and same-sex marriage turned out not to be the end of the world, polyamorists would be pushing for legal bigamy next. We all know how that has worked out for the Mormons, although there are plenty of current cultures who practice bigamy for the elites. On the other hand, it was fifty years ago that the United States Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that biracial marriage was in fact legal. Society changes all the time, for better or for worse. Not too long ago, BDSM was firmly in the closet.

If the show Mad Men, unveiled the sordid ’60s chain-smoking sexual predators that stalked the secretarial pool in pressed white cotton button-downs, then today’s online hostility towards women in tech has been enabled and abetted by the same companies that seek to control every single aspect of our lives. I for one, don’t want apps watching in my bedroom or stalking me through targeted ads. The Internet of Things markets bold promises of inter-connectivity yet lags far behind in sensible security. Our entire online existence is at the mercy of hostile hackers who are constantly stealing identities and money from companies too cheap to protect their customers.

There is a serious and pervasive lack of respect for women in all areas and strata of society. The tech industry, along with the online juggernaut players are just that: players who give lip service to the rights of their employees and consumers while generating nothing physical that betters society. The profits are stashed away for a rainy day all the while politicians of all stripes scream at each other and let the country fall apart by doing nothing constructive. All the cute articles about polyamory aren’t going to change that equation into a positive app.

The SoulMate app

For Time Magazine, May 29th, 2017, Ada Calhoun wrote an essay called Searching for a soul mate is futile. The ideal partner is the one you create. Based upon her book, Wedding Toasts I’ll Never Give, in her essay she uses quotes and commentary to advance the idea that even if soulmates exist, they do not happen in a blaze of light but rather by hard work over decades. [All italics in blockquotes mine]

The concept [of soulmates] dates back at least to Plato’s Symposium. Zeus, seeking to humble humans, split us in half, forcing us to wander in search of our other half: “So ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.” While romantic, this has done an awful lot of damage — creating impossible-to-meet expectations, making people think that a happy, healthy relationship isn’t good enough, tricking people into holding out for “the one.”

[J.R.R. Tolkien] acknowledged that soul mates are pretty good in theory: “In such great inevitable love, often love at first sight, we catch a vision, I suppose, of marriage as it should have been in an unfallen world.” “Only a very wise man at the end of his life could make a sound judgment concerning whom, amongst the total possible chances, he ought most profitably to have married. Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might have found more suitable mates.” Tolkien blamed our “soul mates” obsession on the Romantic chivalric tradition: “Its weakness is, of course, that it began as an artificial courtly game, a way of enjoying love for its own sake. . . It takes, or at any rate has in the past taken, the young man’s eye off women as they are” — that is, “companions in shipwreck not guiding stars.”

[Ada Calhoun] I love that: companions in shipwreck. True soul mates are made, not born. This tracks with what I see in long marriages. It took time for many of even the most loving couples to feel like kindred spirits. It wasn’t something that happened in the first hour, or even in the first year. It took time, and patience, and commitment.

Our old notion of soul mates is not helpful. “The ‘real soul-mate,’” Tolkien wrote, “is the one you are actually married to.”

As a writer of spanking fiction, the soulmate meme is a quite handy one to utilize. The valiant and virile knight storming the citadel and capturing rescuing the dainty and virginal princess from the clutches of the wicked fill-in-blank villain. The hardened and stoic loner melted by the bratty runaway. The overworked executive swept away by the dangerous and mysterious sugar daddy. The list is infinite.

Ada’s point however, is that waiting for your soulmate to arrive on a white horse; or show up on time for a first date, is not a strategy likely to succeed for a lifetime. No matter how many points of compatibility the online dating site promises, or how many ‘perfect’ matches align with your stars, receiving a rose means nothing in the long term. You have to create love out of lust and household chores.

The flip side of course, is that if it were that simple to create a soulmate, then there wouldn’t be so many divorces. Sometimes marriage can’t be salvaged. Sometimes the reasons for getting married created a situation where soulmates were never even possible. Sometimes, out of the millions of possible soulmates, the partner chosen wasn’t the right one and moving on is the best thing to do. Staying married to someone who is not a partner in any sense should not preclude starting over and searching again.

What about D/s then? Was kink part of the initial lust that attracted you to your current partner? When did you feel that they were the “one”? What I find so fascinating about D/s is how often it comes on later in life, either with the first soulmate, or after ending sometimes multiple marriages and/or relationships. It seems to me that those people who are inclined to D/s and spanking, are much more determined to seek out compatible partners than those who drift along in a vanilla haze.

If you are not currently in a D/s marriage, but wish to be, then all the time in the world will not be enough if your partner is not interested. Believe it or not, there are those that aren’t attracted to spanking. I know, seems inconceivable that if asked, someone would turn down the opportunity to spank their spouse; but in that case, a little judicious research and show-and-tell, may tip the scales in favor of a trial run. If you have a stable marriage/relationship with your partner(s), then an open and honest dialogue about your desire to spank or submit to a spanking, may be the start of something special. If the answer is still no, then is the rest of the package worth keeping? That is a decision only you can make.

So, as Ada states, can you create a soulmate in D/s through ‘time, and patience, and commitment’? Duh! Of course you can! Just shake the stardust from your eyes, unfurl the mainsail and steer clear of the rocks.

Verily I say to thou, pluck thy mote from thine eyes

Taylor lay on her back, Madison’s cheek resting on her dewy breast, fingers entwined on her pubis; galloping pulses from their first loving gradually slowing as quick breathes eased beneath the five-bladed ceiling fan rattling endlessly through the deepening twilight.
“Can I ask you something, Taylor?”
“Sure, love.”
Tentatively tracing of the scar marring the otherwise satin skin of Taylor’s right thigh. “How did this happen?”

‘Are you so blinded by your piety that you’d cast off your only child?’
‘She is not my daughter! Filthy deviant sodomite! Begone from my sight and my house!’

“Sounds like a preacher man.”
“He was. All hellfire and brimstone: Eternal damnation to those that strayed from the path of righteousness. Ruthless to sinners.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Taylor. It’s okay.”
“I don’t mind, Madison. The irony of it all, or God’s will if you’re a believer, the month after my father kicked me out for fornicating with a girl—while my mother stood by wringing her hands—he was caught with a man from church in a convenience store bathroom.”
“No. Way!”
“Yes way, Madison. Cock sucker and all that.”
“So what happened? Was there a whole family reunion and redemption bit?”

‘Are you Taylor Watson?’
‘Yes, officer.’
‘I’m sorry, miss. Your parents are both dead.’

“Oh, Taylor!”
“I was sixteen and now an orphan. I’d been staying with friends, non-church members; the congregation had collectively turned their backs on me. And then, after his arrest for public indecency… the neighbors said they heard a loud argument, then two gunshots. After that, not even my lover would take me in.”
“What about relatives? Or foster care? Didn’t the state step in?”
“They did at first, but the entire town—“
“—Blamed you.”
“Exactly.”
“Fuckers.”
“It’s alright, Madison. Being a runaway wasn’t great, but I found a family on the streets that kept me safe. All for a price of course.”

‘Leave me alone! You got what you wanted!’
‘I’m sorry. A girl’s never thrown up afterwards before.’
‘Go. Tell Mark you did the deed and we’re square.’

“Did you… were you—”
“—Raped?”
“I’m so sorry I asked about the scar.”
Taylor slid out from underneath Madison, propped her back up against the shams lining the headboard, and patted her thighs. “Over my lap. You know the rules.”
“Never use the word sorry when it’s unnecessary,” Madison chanted as she draped her lithe body over Taylor’s thighs.
Running her hand over Madison’s pert bottom, she grinned in the now dark bedroom. “That’s okay, sweetie, you meant well. I’ll not punish you… this time, just give you a nice, long gentle spanking and see if I can coax an orgasm out of you.” Hearing the moan, she teased, “Would you like that, little girl?”
“Yes, please! It’s been too long since you spanked me.”
“It was this morning, wench!”
“Exactly!” Madison said, lifting her rear in supplication to her mistress.
As Taylor began spanking her submissive—finally lover—she had one last thing to say before getting down to the serious business at hand. “I admit I was blinded by rage and hate for far too long. Until I found you in fact, and that fortuitous meeting is something I will never be sorry for. You’ve given me back something I’d thought lost forever. The power to forgive.”

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Bring me a unicorn!

This post was triggered by something I read in the June, 2017 edition of Cosmopolitan Magazine. Dated May 9th, the letter to the editor written by Channing Tatum, stated his desire that when his daughter is older: “I don’t want her looking to the outside world for answers.” Two paragraphs stood out to me in particular.

Channing Tatum: “We all know that every one of us is different and has a unique road map to our heart. We learn how to navigate it by leaping into love with both feet and giving our full selves without expecting anything in return. So I guess if there’s one thing that I think men wish women knew, it’s just that they alone are enough. When more women start to truly feel this power in themselves, the world will become so magical, it makes my head hurt.”

Channing Tatum: “We live in a society that has trained men and women to play certain kinds of roles for a long time, and the beauty of this amazing moment we’re living in is that we’re finally starting to break free from those roles. Women, especially, are realizing that they no longer have to conform to certain standards of social and sexual behavior, and this changes what they need from men and the role of men in general.”

Now, I’m not a regular reader of Cosmo, although back in the day—before internet—it was one of the few mainstream sources of sexual information. I find Cosmo’s coy euphemisms for genitalia and sexual acts to be annoying, and although the magazine embraced non-vanilla long before the general public did, the support as always struck me as ‘kink-lite’: low caloric and leaving you hungry for more.

Like some publications aimed at women, the double standard of positive articles empowering women to be independent, successful, strong willed and sexually [but not in a skanky way] free, are then submerged by an advertising tidal wave of rail thin girls modeling un-affordable fashions in size zero made by impoverished females in dangerous sweat shops.

The specific observation I thought of to this letter, was would he be so supporting of his daughter’s choice if she decides to be submissive to another? The gap between spanking as a means of injecting kink into a vanilla relationship, and the conscious choice to be spanked by a Dominant partner still seems a step too far for many. In some ways this mirrors and echoes the disdain that many feel for women who choose to be a housewife and stay-at-home mother. Or even worse, a working mother with kids in daycare.

You’re doing what to yourself?

There are so many more perceived roles for women and men in the post-industrial world, yet a lot of people aren’t comfortable with gender-neutral jobs. What if someone doesn’t want to break free from tradition? What if a man wants to be a plumber? What a woman wants to be a nurse? What if they got married? What if the nurse wanted to be spanked by her plumber? What if she decided that he was the Head-Of-Household and had the final say in all matters? What if she chose punishment as a means to allow him control of her actions? What if she freely gave up all rights to her body and allowed her Dom to use her without restrictions?

Is that the kind of freedom Channing Tatum was talking about? To voluntarily submit into a role that millions of women around the world have forced upon them by tradition? How is that good thing?

Doesn’t it follow though, that if men and women are free to choose roles that are non-traditional for themselves, then choosing to be traditional is also okay? If a modern, educated, self-aware, confident woman has the right to look to herself instead of the outside world for what turns her on and brings her happiness, why is submission even an issue? If being a spanked submissive is the role she chooses to play, then why keep searching for that unicorn?

A Unicorn can refer to a man or a woman and is often used to describe the perfect catch or perfect partner. A Unicorn is a mythical creature, someone amazing who is hard to catch or simply a very rare find.

Unicorn: A bisexual person, usually though not always female, who is willing to join an existing couple, often with the presumption that this person will date and become sexually involved with both members of that couple, and not demand anything or do anything which might cause problems or inconvenience to that couple.

In the venture capital industry, a unicorn refers to any tech startup company that reaches a $1 billion dollar market value as determined by private or public investment. The term was originally coined by Aileen Lee, founder of Cowboy Ventures. A unicorn [also] refers to a phenomenon that occurs in human resources when those who are responsible for hiring candidates have impossible expectations. This stems from a mismatch between the expectations of the employers and who is available for hire. In other words, human resources is looking for a mythical candidate (i.e. a unicorn), rather than facing reality.

Break a Little

“Cause every time I see your face
I break a little”
And every single night you stay
you take a little”

These lyrics are to the song, “Break a Little” by Kirstin Maldonado who is a member of Pentatonix. This song is from her debut solo EP.

In missy’s recent post Being Nothing, she talks about being broken into nothingness.

So I suppose that I don’t actually want to be nothing. I just want to be none of the conscious me and I want to become something that is the other me – the unknown, the undeveloped, the restricted, the reserved and the held-back. I want to let go completely and go even further than I have gone with that before.

I do realise what it will take of course. It will take for me to be completely broken. I don’t think that for me this will come through pain, or for that fact through pleasure, although we have come close. I believe that for me the answer will lie in humiliation. I think that to break me, Sir will have to reduce me to even less than he has before.

For nora however, in her post about resolving conflict, she carries forward her theme that what she wants from her Daddy is to be broken of her bad habits.

Prior to D/s, we typically did not handle conflict well. My approach to conflict was to just “solve” everything myself. If I couldn’t solve it, then I would blame my husband for whatever it was, because surely it was his fault (please sense my sarcasm here). My husband’s approach to conflict, and to my style in approaching conflict, was to avoid it. He used humor a lot to try to lighten the situation, which drove me nuts and produced even more conflict between us. There were periods in our marriage where we fought, and engaged in conflict, a lot and we were both very dissatisfied with the results.

I am happy to report that in five months we’ve had one fight. That fight was one of those stupid fights, over something inconsequential. I was so wound up and was refusing to submit to my husband in the moment. Believe me, my bottom paid the price the next day. But, if my husband needs to soundly spank me in order for me to behave like a rational adult, then so be it. It works for us and we are so much happier.

Breaking a mirror equals seven years of bad luck, breaking bone is painful, breaking up—as the song above says—takes a little bit every time. Breaking a promise or vow leads to disappointment and regret. But breaking is not all bad. After all, to get an omelette you have to whip up some broken eggs.

There are lots of broken people in the world: I doubt anyone is free of pain, I’m certainly not. Some people need discipline in order to thrive. For those in D/s relationships, spanking sits front and center as the means to break through old hurts, to change patterns and behaviors that are harmful to self and others and break down the barriers we learn to erect as broken children.

“Cause every time I see your face
I break a little”
And every single night you stay
you take a little”

To someone in a stable, loving, respectful D/s relationship, those lyrics are empowering, not fragile glass that shatters at a glance. For a submissive they mean that every time they see their Dom’s face, a little piece of self-hatred breaks away. Every single night the Dom stays focused and determined to rise above the past shame and pain of broken souls, a little bit more self-doubt is taken away.

For women like missy and nora, breaking a little more each day has lead them to peace and happiness and joy.

If you would like to read my spanking newsletters at my other blog, Byron Cane Spanking and Erotic Fiction, the June, 2017 newsletter #2 is now posted at this link.