Diary of a Submissive
a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4
Kailee Reese Samuels
DIARY OF A SUBMISSIVE
a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4
Copyright © 2020 by Kailee Reese Samuels
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.
All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
E-Book Edition: March 10, 2020
ISBN 978-1-947362-78-9
All Bible verses are quoted from King James Version (KJV).
The Holy Bible, King James Version.
Cambridge Edition: 1769; King James Bible Online 2017
http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/
Editing by The Red Pen Queen
TAT4 Music
Listen to the music that inspired Diary of a Submissive on Spotify
104 songs for 104 chapters.
I am intentionally not including the list.
If you only listen to one, make it the second to last, “Where the Time Went” by Ex:Re
For the girls who trust me.
And read to the end.
No matter how much it hurts.
You are my heroes.
And you’re really fucking special.
Everyone should equally love & fear you.
Cause you are badass, baby.
Godspeed.
Slowly savor and swirl.
This one is rough.
And to my little researcher,
who spends countless hours
answering questions and pushing dynamics,
none of this would be the same
without you.
You make me so much cooler than reality.
~ k xx
save me from the blasted ruler
“Just write the fucking book.
Stop worrying about the damn word count.
Tell a motherfucking story.”
“Practice, hussy!”
~ Woooosaaa Girl, 2016
fetching her Masters in words
Thank YOU.
Much respect.
I will never forget.
Contents
I. Prelude to Parallel
December 27, 2018
1. The Rising Devil
2. The Fallen Angel
3. Standing on the Brink
4. Death of an Irish Priest
II. No Breath in the Box
5. All We Are
6. Stains of Love
7. Intoxicating Maeve
8. In It Until Peru
9. The Potter’s Field
10. Anointing the Seed
11. Cufflinks
12. Kisses in Clouds
13. Stains of Love, Part II
III. Circles Back Again
14. A Pound of Flesh
15. Don’t Water the Crops
16. Let’s Just Get In The Truck & Go
17. Dangerously Fucking Cute
18. Foolish Candy-Dipped Hobgoblins
19. Cute Fucking Dangerously
20. Who We Are
21. Peachy Not Keen
22. The Unsuspecting
23. Darkness Overload
24. The Inequity of Bliss
IV. The Prayers of Hunting Pack Wolves
25. Killing Tadpoles
26. All That A$$
27. Here, Fishy Fishy
28. My Insides Are Burning
29. Slaughter the Pig, Guzzle The Blood
30. The Church of the Bayou
31. Holy Christening
32. Rose Water at 1 AM
33. splat
34. The Measure of Love
35. Slidin' in the Swamp
V. The Diamonds of a Sinner
36. Cupid's Cravings
37. skimming
38. we did it all for this
39. Ten-Percent Fucked
40. The Forest
41. fell out of a tree
42. split*ting UP
43. Blood Trails
44. The Water Lily
45. Alone
VI. The End of Our Prolegomenon
46. Resurrection of a Master
47. Call Me Sir
48. I Bought It, Fucker. It's Mine.
49. G37 U¶
50. Wicked Voodoo Queen
51. Understanding Strigiformes
52. Ma and the Tennessee Twelve
53. Unlocked
54. Carry Me
55. Just Crazy
56. A Bird in Hand, A Bush on Me
57. when the HONEY dries
58. heart DRIZZLE
59. i like my CRUSTELLA iced
60. COME to me
61. The Devil’s Grip
VII. When Winter Comes In Spring
62. The Means
63. FiX Me
64. Scars in the Sea
65. Imperfect Contrition
66. Beautiful
67. the candles and the snow and the water and the girl
68. Pwned A$$
69. Sanctioned S L U T
70. Try for Me
71. Penance of Depravity
72. A Saint's Confession
73. Devil's Rope
74. Prodigal Son
75. Excommunicated
76. Deliverance
77. All the Wrongs We Right
78. Woo Me
79. In the Garden of Eden
80. B3
81. In the Pitch
VIII. Kamikaze Crows
82. tea in tokyo
83. Swim, girl. Swim.
84. shuffle
85. No One Loves You Like I Do
86. The Sadist's Masochist II
87. baptize me
88. Lip Kissed with Berry Bliss
89. Reconciliation, Darlin'
IX. Call. Me. Gone.
90. the quagmire of this love
91. show me your tits
92. The Consumption of Raw Wolf Meat
93. ∆ m4£ƒun¢†!Øn
94. Ivory Powder in the Lotus Goodbye
95. Feed Me, Mama
96. ABS (Alpha Bromance Shakedown)
97. Empty Handed
98. Thank you for your order, Sir. Drive-thru, please.
99. Young Gods Drowning
100. Ride the Waves of Red
101. snowm i l k
102. c l o a k e d
103. off the rails
104. ciao, amore
Ms. Samuels Notes #28
Need More TAT?
Need More SAL?
I
Prelude to Parallel
“In revenge and in love
woman is more barbaric than man is.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
The heart is deceitful above all things,
and desperately wicked:
who can know it?
Jeremiah 17:9
December 27, 2018
1
The Rising Devil
Pennerock Correctional Facility
Gunther, Mississippi
Deep in the dreary backwoods of Mississippi,
past the pine trees, tangled vines of kudzu, and dense rain-induced fog balancing against thick, ominous gray clouds, the high chain-link fence, and razor wire provided a moat around the concrete building.
The black SUV pulled to a stop outside of the main gate. “Don’t take too long,” the guard warned, permitting their entrance. “They’re waiting for you.”
The medium-security facility housed several thousand inmates behind the wall of silver webbing. The well-weathered structure fit to accommodate time.
Criminals couldn’t forget…and yet…
They were forgotten.
It would be so easy to ignore the misguided paths they chose, earning the privilege of being behind her hallowed gates. Prison was never easy.
It was never a choice—after the fact.
No one wanted to be behind bars, but most of the inmates didn’t want to be anywhere.
“Jacob Allen Murphy, you got a visitor,” the robust guard barked as the gruff man with a confused expression glanced from the yard. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, but in thirty-one years, he’d learned life threw curveballs.
Four years ago, those sideswipes landed him behind bars for a brutal murder. He maintained he was innocent; the jury thought differently.
His eyes coursed over the guard. “Who is it, Raymond?”
“Someone is waiting for you,” he said in a lazy Southern drawl.
Jacob snapped his pearly white teeth on his bottom lip and followed the officer into the bowels of the prison. He was a quiet sort. The kind that liked to stay forgotten because it was easier.
He was upper-ranked in the unit, known for his ability to move stock with wickedly good ease. He played fair, as fair as any felon would because he understood the balance of social dynamics in prison life, where tit for tat earned a spot in the hierarchy and being a redneck added enough bonus points to keep you in favor.
Visitors were a rare thing in Pennerock. Families showed for holidays once a year if the prisoner was lucky, but Jacob Murphy didn’t have any family he claimed. The love of his life was long gone and nothing more than a bad memory, only worth repeating if he needed to jack off in the night.
The pretty grunts were only good for lip service if they were fresh shaven and quiet, and the prison pockets were something he’d just soon forget all about. He’d managed to avoid getting ass raped this long. He chalked it up to karma and vowed not to add rapist to his list of human infractions.
He already had a reservation in hell.
He didn’t need a date too.
Cracking open the door to the private interrogation room, Deputy Raymond muttered, “If you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”
Jacob slowly closed the door and assessed the stranger. Being his first visitor said something about the truth of the matter and forced him to give a shit though he’d prefer running slop over meeting and conversing.
One question remained—what in the hell did this asshole want?
Behind the table, the man proudly snarled and clasped his fat fingers together. They were rotund things with wrinkles like sausages overcooked on the grill where the casings bunched up.
“You’re a mighty hard one to find, Jacob,” he murmured with an arrogant tone. “Or do you prefer to go by your initials, JAM?”
The bare metal feet of the chair made a godawful scraping noise against the cement floor as Jacob scooted the chair. Slightly anxious, he chuckled, “Who the hell are you?”
Taking a box of smokes and a lighter from his swanky suit coat, he slid them across the table. Jacob noticed the wide diamond band and thought it obscene, reminding him of a pimp he once knew back when—way back when.
“Does it matter who I am?”
Jacob shook his head as his lips twitched with uncertainty. No one gave anything away for free, particularly in the recesses of Pennerock. Putting on his best roughshod, he inquired, “How much is this gonna cost me?”
His crow’s feet framed eyes blinked making his head appear like a blob. “It’s just a sample, Mr. Murphy.”
“Says every good dealer,” Jacob laughed, snaking his fingers around the pack. He opened the box and brought it to his nose. His penetrating cobalt eyes scoured over the man as he declared, “You’re trouble.”
“And you’re an expert at not being found. Even your old lady doesn’t know where you are.” The man knowledgeably tilted his head. “VP of the Catalyst MC convicted on a murder charge. What was your name then?”
“There isn’t an old lady anymore,” Jacob gruffly proclaimed. He didn’t like games, and he didn’t like strangers. “So, don’t go looking. And as for my club, it ain’t none of your damn business, old man.”
“Actually,” the portly fellow said, rubbing his belly. “It’s all of my business. My associates have been supplying your neck of the woods for years.” Jacob blinked up, discouraged, knowing this guy knew way too much to be a casual acquaintance. He lit the smoke, but didn’t break his steely gaze. “What if I told you I could get you out of here in less than an hour?”
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply on the cigarette. The nicotine cloud billowed out of his lungs as he said, “I’d ask how many body parts it would cost me.”
“How did you do it?” The man eased, trying to entice the information along. “Tell me all about it.”
Onto the man’s tricks, Jacob snidely answered, “Does it matter? I didn’t murder him.”
“No,” he said smirking. “How did you hide for thirty-one years?”
“That’s a secret.” Jacob winked and gave a crooked grin. “Who the fuck are you?”
The tension stretched taut, a rubber band tearing from the fibers, as each man fought to maintain their resolve. Neither was accustomed to conforming, but one would snap eventually. “I can get you back to your girl.”
Again, he repeated, “Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Cesario Raniero.” The name meant little to Jacob. He’d been south of the Mason-Dixon since he was waist high and never bothered messing much with the big boys. They were too risky, representing filth and corruption wrapped in an expensive package, and to Jacob, that equaled a chance of being caught. Better to lay low in the cesspools and remain an outlaw biker because that was where he belonged. That was where he was born. That was where he was safe. “And I can make your life very easy if you’ll let me.”
“What do you want?”
“Something straightforward for a man of your expertise,” Cesario assured, resting his arms on the table. With the rise of his suit coat, Jacob noted the pricey timepiece. The geezer had money and means which equaled to position of influence, power, and control. “I want you to eliminate Deacon Vincent Cruz.”
Jacob considered the trade, quickly weighing the balances of pros and cons. “Give me one good reason.”
Upping his bid, the older man fought through the words of his honesty. “He is half of the reason for my son’s outlandish behavior.”
Drawing on the cigarette, Jacob quizzed, “And who is the other half?”
“A young woman.”
Jacob snarled, “Why, can’t I take care of her too?”
“Oh,” he eagerly replied. “You will be. But there must be an order to things. And you’re the only one in the world who can do it.”
Jacob snubbed out the smoke in the tin ashtray, bouncing the bent metal against the tabletop with a clinking noise. “But, why would I want to?”
“Freedom,” Cesario emphatically answered. “You can walk out of here today with one substantial transfer of funds.”
“They know I didn’t do it,” Jacob argued, believing in his innocence. He was guilty of many things, but the murder on which he was convicted was not one of them. He was framed to be the fall guy, and four years or forty in the cage wasn’t ever going to change that.
Innocent was innocent.
Cesario nodded. “But they,” he said, circling his fingers in the air, “aren’t giving up Jacob Allen Murphy on his version of a pipe dream. Or is that
Ash? Your names are endless, punk.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 1
