Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I’m hard a lot,” I quip with a grin and offer her my hand. “Trust me. Besides, I need to blow out a candle or some shit.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my birthday,” I confess, trying not to get emotional. “I’m twenty-nine today.”

  “We’re officially ten years apart!”

  “Yes,” I cackle. “A whole decade of difference.”

  She crawls across the bed over to me. Her hand rubs my cock over the fabric. “Shall we give them something to talk about?”

  Pulling my gray sweats down, she swiftly lays on her side and takes my dick between her lips. I gasp at the unexpected turn of events. “Holy fuck, Hannah…”

  I peer down, running my fingers through her dirty blonde hair, and catch her blue eyes staring back at me. “Stop thinking you are going to break me and do what we both know you want to do, Salvatore.”

  Her mouth slithers around my shaft, working her lips and tongue with the perfect amount of gentle pressure and seductive tease.

  “Jesus fuck…what are you doing?” My jaw tightens as I breathe steadily and close my eyes. Easing my hand into her hair, I grip a fistful of the gorgeous locks and pull hard.

  She moans, vibrating along the length and against my sack. It does nothing to deter me.

  I buck my hips into her warm, welcoming mouth, and lean back, taking in the pleasure until I tug her hair back. “Not yet…I don’t want it yet…”

  With a pant, she licks over her glossy lips. “I can give it again…and again.” She sizzles, “I’m spunky.”

  I never imagined I would be involved with another younger woman after Emily. But Hannah isn’t Emily. And she damn sure isn’t Iris.

  She is Hannah…my Skeet.

  And she is good.

  I’ll give her props and an endorsement.

  With fingers twisted in her light wave, I grip the base of my cock and rub the tip on her soft lips. “Suck my dick, baby…suck it so good…suck Papi and make him come in your throat…”

  She is fiercely driven, giving all her energy to me. And like a vampire, I drain her as she does the same to me.

  I hold her against me—prohibiting her abandonment. She doesn’t get to make me come and run. I don’t play that fucking game. Her eyes water as slobber and cum bubble from the corners of her mouth, and I declare this one shelter of hers as mine.

  Claiming the other two will be so much fun.

  From the very Americanized hotel, our dinner order is massive—Kobe beef burger and fries, eggplant parmigiana, Caprese salad, and a platter of random seafood. I order two bottles of champagne and a slice of coconut cream cake.

  She’s wearing my favorite blue plaid pajama bottoms and the RR sweatshirt with the neck cut out. I did it for her.

  The blow job was fucking phenomenal.

  And my cutting the neck out with the blade made her giddy.

  We eat the same way, which is bizarre. We graze a little here, chat some, and switch dishes. Her feet are tucked under my ass. “We’re never going to eat all this.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” I say. “You pointed.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “We’re having a damn good time.”

  “Are we?” she grins wide and leans forward to kiss my lips. “Cause I am!”

  “Come to Kyoto with me,” I blurt out.

  Her expression shifts from happiness to the excitement. “For how long?”

  I shrug. “However long…”

  “I have a job, and I had to beg to get a week off.”

  “You won’t be my Sugar Baby?” I ask with a straight face as she laughs. “Let me take care of you.”

  “What are you asking me?”

  “To spend some fucking time away from the States with just me and you,” I confide. “I’m going to Italy in July for six months, and I’d like a test run of this…whatever this is…if you want or need a more direct answer.”

  She curls away, blinking at me like I’ve done fallen off the crazy train. Her head tilts, and her mouth opens. “You are serious.”

  “As a fucking heart attack,” I say. “Five days in Kyoto…six months in Italy, actually in all of Europe but based primarily in Italy. I’ll have a place.”

  “We’re just going to do this, we thing…”

  “I was between your thighs for four hours.”

  “You want to move in together?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I want way more than that. Far more than cohabitation. I can be a demanding asshole.”

  “I am aware,” she says. “But what about…”

  “Say it…don’t hold it in…you’ll ruin your dinner.”

  She smiles. “What about Deacon and the ex?”

  “They’re off doing their thing.”

  “And how are they doing?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know nor do I care, I’m not waiting around with my thumb up my ass. I have a relationship with Cruz, but we don’t talk about her. We talk shit about business and baseball and boy crap.”

  “Boy crap…”

  “Truck mods and plans for our houses,” I enlighten. “I’m not asking you to sign your life away, Skeet. I’m asking if you would like to go to Kyoto and see how we do for five days, and then we reassess and decide on a six-months. Whether that is you coming over once a month or whatever…”

  “Me?” she seriously asks. “Coming over to Europe? Once a month? For a booty call?”

  “No!”

  “Damn!” she snaps and grins. “Here, I thought I was going be all up on that D!” She does a little dance, lifting her arms and thrusting her hips.

  And I die—instantly.

  “God, I hate it when you do that,” I snicker, breathing a sigh of relief as she fucking gloats. I push the table away with my feet and grab her legs. She eagerly slides under me. “I’m going to start spanking your ass red every time you do that.”

  “Just call me Red Bottom Skeet then because I will do anything to keep that smile on your face.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Every word,” she whispers. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too.”

  “I’m mostly scared I’m going to hurt you.”

  “I’m resilient as fuck,” she fiercely contends. “And you cannot break me. I can let you in, and you can hurt me, but you don’t have it in you to break me like she broke you.”

  I relax on my forearms, wedged between her thighs, as I question, “What do you mean?”

  She smiles. “I don’t want things to be misconstrued. You are young. I am young. Everything doesn’t have to get wrapped up with a neat little relationship package with a bow. Sometimes it can be complicated and multi-dimensional, yet dynamic and still fulfilling for both parties. I went on four dates since you left.”

  I raise a brow. “Did you have sex with them?”

  “Not that this is any of your business, but no,” she says. “Mostly because I didn’t feel the connection like I do with you.”

  “… You want to have sex with me?”

  “I have wanted to have intercourse with you since we went running in the park, Sal,” she confesses. “We aren’t exclusive or in a monogamous relationship, and that is okay. I want to make sure we’re clear about where we are and where we are going. If you detect a reluctance on my part, that is why.”

  “You don’t know where we stand.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “We’re having a good time, and I don’t want that to change.”

  “What if I want more?”

  She hesitates with an anxious smile. “I don’t know that I am ready for more. I’m having fun being your full-time date, your best friend, and your part-time slut.”

  I breathe. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

  “I was born in Mexico.”

  I chuckle. “What if I put a collar on you?”

  She bites her lip. “That changes everything.”

  “In a good way or a bad way?”

  “Really good.”


  “You speak fluent BDSM.”

  “I am one of Lady June’s pupils,” she proudly brags. “I was thirteen years old and looking at leatherwear and drooling like other girls did over prom dresses. I wore this black dress with a corset and buckles for my prom, and I went alone because none of the boys in my tiny town knew what to do with that.”

  “I know what to do with that.”

  “That’s not the question,” she says. “The question is, will you? Do you even want to? Have you ever topped a girl my age?”

  “Not really,” I readily admit. “Not like what you are wanting.”

  “The collar is more important than the wedding band,” she confides with a delicate whisper. “And that is why I don’t understand how come she ripped hers off with such a careless disregard for the sacred vow between Dominant and submissive. She broke the bond.”

  “Holy shit…”

  “What?”

  “You get it.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I told you not to be gentle with me. I can take your blows. I’m not expecting you to be some sort of faithful mafioso. What I covet is far different from the Victorian house and children. I’m looking for permanent enslavement to one, and if it comes with the house and children, I am okay with that, but that’s not going to sell it to me. It’s going to take more than that.”

  “Why Cody Cameron?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Cody and I were at a party, and we got a little drunk and had sex…to be blunt, head down/ass up, he was popping me pretty hard, and I thought he had it in him. All he was, though, was an abusive male with the guise of being a Dom. He didn’t know a goddamned thing about controlling or disciplining himself.”

  “I could listen to you for hours,” I randomly mutter.

  “That’s why seeing you all…” Her eyes expand as she glows. “In the throes of your self-discipline…man, that shit gets me wet.”

  “… Really?”

  “I was soaking when you went to the shower. I even thought about touching myself, but I was worried you would walk in on me. I drenched that goatee under a masterful tongue. And I am throbbing even thinking about it.”

  “You want to throw a lateral with me?”

  Any direction other than forward.

  She grins. “I’m not looking for the normal progression of a storybook fairytale, Salvatore. I don’t want a husband; I need a Master.”

  “Call me your Dark Deliverance.”

  Her fingers trickle over my neck. “Call me yours.”

  77

  All the Wrongs We Right

  The Master

  In a strange irony, I rediscovered a part of myself in Kyoto that I had forgotten. Before everything went to shit, I was a gentleman.

  Hannah Cruz brought out the best in me.

  With her hand in mine, we wandered through museums, parks, and temples. She was the perfect medicine to heal my recovering broken heart.

  We were in a young, sweet lust of messing around without having copulation. It was a weird place, though, because since I could remember, my dick led the way. There was freedom in not fucking—a rigorous, practiced discipline—and it wasn’t easy.

  On the beach in her tiny emerald bikini, I wanted to bang that babe from here to the stratosphere, but it would’ve ruined the kinky romance we had going on. It would have destroyed the balance of the tender growth we nurtured together.

  I realize it sounds hokey, but hitting rock bottom burned down everything. I had to start over from square one because I couldn’t live my life praying to score another hit off Cruz or Iris. They weren’t coming back.

  She was gone.

  And he was going with her.

  I had to accept it…

  But I’m a tenacious motherfucker, so I tried one more time.

  Because…what did I have to lose?

  But I had yet to hear anything back, so…

  I was making a valiant attempt at moving forward, one step at a time. The love of the trinity was cancer, bound to spread and consume our spirit. It did.

  I can’t say I wasn’t warned.

  I can’t say I heeded the advice.

  I can’t say I listened.

  I ignored everyone and steamrollered over them.

  Until I was…displaced.

  While Skeet was her charming, playful self, I was still battling demons. But she was patient. She was kind.

  She was pure fucking love.

  I missed Cruz a lot, and I wondered if Iris was finally happy. But no matter what, Skeet couldn’t erase my hard drive…

  Her coral lips kissing mine…

  His hips against my ass…

  Her dainty hand wrapped around my cock…

  His mouth savoring my sack…

  Skeet and I had a damn good thing going on, and I was trying. It was the most I could hope for and the best I could do. I stand by the decisions I made.

  Iris walked.

  I reacted.

  Amber, Rowan, and Hannah nailed it, and I finally took the blinders off. I buckled under the stress. I fell apart. But those two—Iris and Deacon—they did plenty of things wrong too.

  It took three to fall in love.

  And three to fuck it all up.

  Iris wanted an excuse to have an affair. Deacon wanted to avoid confrontation. I needed copious amounts of pain therapy after Emily’s funeral.

  Smart Sal would’ve run directly to Daddy Dom.

  “Hurt me, Daddy. Hurt me,”—as fucked up as that was; it would’ve been a lot easier than the pain I endured. If I’ve learned anything, emotional pain versus physical pain are so far apart; they may as well be separate galaxies.

  Physical pain hurt, but emotional pain harmed. It was a long-term, debilitating illness, and I didn’t know if I would ever fully recover.

  Kaci and Emily’s deaths were harsh, but nothing compared to knowing the two people I loved most in the entire world were making snow angels and fucking by roaring fires.

  Kaci and Emily were gone.

  Deacon and Iris just didn’t want to be with me.

  Rejection fucking hurt.

  And their rejection brought fear into my world as I had never known because I had been with them for years. I was no longer invincible Sal. I could be harmed and destroyed. It was a lesson I needed, but fuck it stung.

  The fate of the trinity pushed my love from the highest pinnacle as the snow whirled around my feet with no safety net, no skis, no slopes. I collided with boulders and trees as I bounced my way back down to the ground.

  And ground zero starts with those red painted toenails wiggling on the tiles before me. “What are you doing?”

  I glance over the top rim of my glasses. “Journaling.”

  Kneeling at my feet, she asks, “About?”

  “Life and love and Kyoto and swimsuits…”

  She grins. “And what does Master think of this piece?”

  I lick my lips at the black corset with red thread. Her breasts are on full display and have been because I have a thing for breasts…and ass…and legs…and eyes…and lips…maybe not in that order.

  “Crawl over there and bring me the crop. Make sure you wiggle your ass.”

  “But of course,” she says, humoring me. With the thick two-inch leather collar around her neck and her hair tangled up in a mess, Skeet is a dream-worthy submissive. She winks and gracefully falls to her hands as she works those hips. She glances back as I drop my glasses and the leather-bound journal on the end table.

  “Stop there,” I command, feeling the pulse in my dick again. I stare at the taut black fabric framing her glorious porcelain ass cheeks. She has no ink—anywhere—her one thing is the belly button piercing. It is incredible to be awake and aroused. “Roll those hips, baby.”

  She does as her wet lips part, and my erection pounds. “Do you have any idea how much I want to stick my cock in you?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she purrs. “My pussy would swallow you.”

  “You’re such a good bitch.” She gri
ns. “Go slow. Let me build.”

  “Master, your habits are so wickedly delicious.”

  Stroking my chin, I snicker, “That’s you, Angel baby.”

  She flicks out her tongue to grab the cane but pauses. “Shall I return in reverse?”

  “No,” I mutter. “I want to see your tits bounce back to me.”

  Her wide grin shows contentment in a slave as I have never seen, and that little tidbit boosts my Dominance to a new height.

  Maybe I’ve been playing with the wrong sub.

  And the best part—Skeet is all mine.

  On the night of my birthday, we drew up an informal contract of expectations and goals. We signed it and sealed it with an amazing round of her draped over my lap as I spanked and finger fucked her senseless.

  And she brought her boobs to snuggle around my dick. Her first collar was the pearls I provided.

  She is leaving tomorrow.

  And damn, I am going to miss her.

  On the coffee table, she waits on all fours for the next stroke of my cane. I know—I’m becoming Dom.

  My evolution was inevitable, only a matter of time.

  A Master raised me.

  And a Master I would become.

  I needed to be broken—completely shattered—to find this dark place where sadism leads the way. I fuel off her surrender and release in her submission. We ebb and flow with fluidity in an effortless continuum.

  I’m oddly turned on by the ideas of a high protocol with Skeet because she could do it. Not many can and do it well. I can be a demanding son of a bitch when I want to be. When the girl is right, when I know, she will perform.

  I have symmetric red lines angling up either ass cheek and pointing to that beautifully wrapped V. Her skin shimmers with a light sheen from the build-up as I run my finger over her damp slit.

  Flicking open the blade, I run the cold metal over her skin, and she shivers with a jolt. Her fear manifests when I near the edge, but she welcomes it nonetheless. We’re working on trust, but it takes time, patience, and dedication.

  I lift the pretty fabric and sever it with ease. I’ll add it to the pile I plan on jerking off with while she is gone. I’ll have a pair on my face and rub another pair on my dick. I have over a dozen now.