Slow Surrender Read online

  “I thought you said you’d lie still.” he chided.

  “S-sorry! Just…mmm, very aroused now.”

  He gave another one of those indulgent smiles and then turned away and began sharpening the straight razor.

  Oh, so that’s what he meant by razor.

  He rolled the stool into place so he could sit between my splayed legs. The moment he placed his hand on my thigh, he knew something was up.

  “You’ve gotten very tense, my sweet.” His face was framed by my thighs and stomach like the sun rising between mountains. In this light, his short blond hair looked very shiny and I wanted to run my hands over it.

  “I might be about to change my mind about razors.”

  His grin was mischievous. “This isn’t the punishment, Karina. It’s just a luxury. I’m going to shave you.”

  “You rat!” I wanted to throw something at him. “You’ve been winding me up all this time!”

  “Winding you up is my job,” he said, settling a warm, gloved hand on my hip. “Isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I suppose!” The butterflies in my stomach had settled in my groin. I was so turned on. He was so gorgeous and the feeling of being entirely in his hands was intoxicating.

  “I promise I’ll tell you when it’s time for the punishment. There shouldn’t be any doubt in your mind,” he said more seriously. “Shaving should feel nice, at least given what some women tell me. I’ve had a barber shave my face. The first time might be a little nerve-wracking, but…do you trust me?”

  “I trust you,” I said.

  I tried to relax while he shaved me bare. At first the sensation was unfamiliar, a sort of tug and then a scrape, but his hands were warm, and he kept dipping the razor into what must have been a bowl of warm water. Now I understood why he’d said I had to keep still. His hands tickled sometimes, and there were other times when I was sure he brushed my clit on purpose, even though his face was serious and intent on his work. When he was done, he applied a warm washcloth and gently cleaned every inch between my legs, then dried me with a towel.

  When he ran his hands over the area he had bared, I could feel how nude it was. I hadn’t expected the skin would be tingling with sensation there, but it was, and as his palm grazed my protruding clit, it sparked another wave of arousal in my belly.

  “When you come,” he said, “you’ll know you’re forgiven. Before we begin, I should ask if there are any other infractions I should add to your tally. Any lies?”

  “Any other…? Oh.” I had to stop and think whether I’d kept to his instructions about honesty all week. “Does not telling my mother about my advisor being a pervert count as lying?”

  “Only if she asked specifically about it,” he said.

  “Then, no. I think we’ve only got the previous stuff. I didn’t follow your directions about buying the skirt and shoes.”

  “We should begin, then.” He went to the cabinet and I heard a snapping sound. When he turned back to me, I could see he had lit a candle in a small glass jar, like a votive only it was purple.

  “Aha. This is what you meant by hot wax,” I said.

  “Yes. It’s a special candle, safe for this.”

  “Not something they have in most doctor’s offices, is it?” I joked nervously.

  “No.” He ran a hand over my stomach and leaned down to plant a gentle kiss below my belly button. “But I’ve had days to get ready for your visit.”

  Knowing that he’d been thinking about it as much as I had sent a thrill through me. “Is it going to hurt?”

  “Would it be a punishment if it didn’t?”

  “Good point.” I bit my lip as he stood between my knees again and held the jar above me with one gloved hand. With the other he reached out and massaged my clit and the shaved area. That didn’t hurt at all, and I wriggled into his touch.

  The first drop fell right where he had kissed my stomach, and I gasped, expecting excruciating pain, but it wasn’t like that at all. The burn seemed to spread across my skin much more like the burn of desire than pain.

  The next drop fell next to that one, and the sensation intensified, making me gasp again. On the third drop, I pressed my head back against the table and my heels shook in the stirrups. Oh, that wasn’t like anything I’d felt before.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “Not exactly?” I couldn’t describe it.

  “Hmm, it’s possible you’re so aroused that you really feel no pain,” he said. “Let’s see.” And with that he let a drop fall onto my inner thigh near my knee.

  I screamed. I didn’t care that we were in some hoity-toity doctor’s office. I didn’t care that the fashion-model-like receptionist might still be sitting out there. That burned! But as before, it slacked off quickly as the wax cooled, transforming to pleasure, and the sensation of his fingers circling loosely near my clit became the center of my attention. I wriggled my hips. Just like the time he’d pinched my nipple, as the pain ebbed away, it left arousal in its wake.

  “Remember to hold still,” he said in a quiet voice. “Jostle me too much and I might pour more than I intend.…Let’s see if your nipple is more or less sensitive than your thigh,” he said, as if he didn’t already know.

  He increased the pressure on my clit before letting the drop fall to my left nipple, so what began as a scream became more of a gasp. Before I recovered from that one, he poured another drop onto my leg, beside the first. And then another as I bucked my hips into his touch, soothing the pain with more pleasure.

  “Your clit is so engorged,” he said, a hungry look on his face.

  I looked down but I couldn’t see it without sitting up on my elbows a bit. “I guess it is.”

  “Have you not looked at yourself before?”

  “Not much. I’ve been more into what it feels like than what it looks like.”

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. All pussies are kind of funny-looking, don’t you think? I mean, you probably have more points of comparison than I do.”

  “Perhaps. Yours is quite lovely, though. Some women are convinced theirs is ugly—women who probably don’t have much point of comparison, by the way, unless they count the shaved and docked beauties in the porn magazines.”

  “Docked?”

  He slid a finger up and down my seam, spreading the slippery liquid. “It’s one of the procedures they perform at this practice. Trimming the folds of the labia so they’re neater.” He switched to using two fingers and surrounding my clit as they skated past. “I do not find neatness to be a priority when it comes to a woman’s parts,” he said. “Their sensitivity, the way they respond to touch, is much more important.”

  I could only moan in answer to that. He let more wax fall and it made me writhe. He started letting more of it drip at a time, which meant it took longer to cool, but I was too aroused to feel pain anymore. My screams sometimes turned to long, helpless wails. He moved to the other leg, again starting near the knee and working inward.

  His fingers seemed to find further ways to stroke me, to keep pushing me higher, until I was close.

  “Now, tell me what you’re going to do to improve in the future,” he said, the jar again held high, like some kinky Statue of Liberty.

  “Um…I’m going to pay closer attention to your actual instructions, not just what I think you might want.”

  “That was a highly coherent statement, Karina. I think maybe you still haven’t had enough.” And with that, he pinched one of my thighs where the wax had built up. I didn’t scream. Instead I clamped down on the discomfort of the pinch. Then he did the other side.

  But when he stopped, oh goodness I felt good. “I’m so close!” I warned him.

  “Very well. Remember, when you come, the punishment is done.” He settled his thumb against my clit, then flicked it back and forth and I tightened up, anticipating an orgasm.

  He began to drip the wax directly onto my newly shaved areas, and even hot droplets onto my clit, one
side, then the other, as he moved his thumb. My scream turned to a wail that turned to the sound I had made that first time I’d come in the back seat of his limo, a kind of full-body groan that I doubted I could ever fake. I was coming, the pleasure blooming like an explosion. Suddenly all other sensations faded, and the orgasm was still going. He had two fingers inside me again, and each time he pushed them, a new wave of pleasure burst through me.

  He backed off slowly, my body shuddering less and less with each softer thrust, until he pulled out of me completely. I made a disappointed, almost petulant sound, then put my hand over my mouth. Was that me?

  “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a sound like a kicked puppy before.”

  He laughed. “You make the most beautiful sounds, Karina. I like hearing how needy you are. I love that I can make you like this.” He ran his hands up and down my sides and I fantasized about his full weight on top of me. Any other guy would have fucked me already. Then again, he wasn’t like any other guy. “Please tell me you don’t want to get into puppy play?”

  I let my head fall back. “No. But doggy wants a bone,” I said, then put my hand over my mouth again. “Apparently I can’t stop myself from making horrible puns either. So sorry!”

  “It’s all right. Endorphins can really send you for a loop.” He patted me on the stomach. “Lie still while I clean you up.”

  I lay there in a haze while he cleaned me. I’m not even sure how he got the wax off—hot towels, I think? It was a good thing that I had no hair down there now, which of course was the point, so the wax peeled off of my sensitive parts easily.

  When it was all done, he pressed my knees together and rolled me onto my side. Then he leaned over and kissed me.

  I seized his head with both hands and pulled him in, my tongue trying to draw his out, wanting him, wanting to feel his desire flaring.

  He pulled back suddenly and blinked like a man who has taken too deep a drink from the moonshine jug, exactly like he had after I’d kissed him in the car. He seemed stunned speechless. I spoke and filled the gap. I sat up. “What do I have to do to earn your cock?”

  He shook his head slowly, a bit glassy-eyed. “Not yet,” he said, then shook himself again.

  “Seriously. I…I do love the attention, but”—Fuck, I want you!—“I won’t feel complete until you at least come, too.” I don’t know where I found the chutzpah to say that, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew I meant them.

  He cleared his throat and spoke a bit louder. “Next time, if you’re good, I might let you touch it.”

  “I’d like that,” I heard myself say. I didn’t even feel particularly dirty saying it. It just felt honest. And I could see his erection tenting his trousers. I didn’t want it next time. I wanted it now, and he had to, too, didn’t he? The bulge twitched when I said, “Please tell me what a good girl has to do to earn that.”

  To my surprise, he put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up. His willpower was stronger than mine, I guess. “I’ll let you know,” he said.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he said with a nod, and then cleared his throat.

  He wasn’t fine, but I wouldn’t push him. I felt like the little cracks that had begun to show on our date were beginning to widen. I still couldn’t see what he was holding so tight inside him, or why, but I remembered the driver’s warning. Maybe he had a reason to take things so slowly. “Well, then, any instructions before I see you next?”

  That seemed to bring him back to the moment. He put a finger to his chin. “As a matter of fact, yes. Are you free Saturday afternoon and evening?”

  “Certainly!”

  He paused for a moment, thinking further. “You’ll receive a package. On Saturday at four o’clock, take the package, unopened, with you when you leave the apartment. Call me from the street and I’ll give you further instructions. Are we clear you’re not to open or look in the package? It’s meant to be a surprise, of course.”

  “Of course. Yes.”

  “Good. Now. If you really desire this”—he hefted his own package in his slacks—“get down on your knees and kiss it.”

  I grinned. “Like you do the queen’s ring?”

  “Any sovereign’s ring,” he agreed, much more solemnly than I expected. I climbed down from the table, got to my knees, and leaned forward until I could press my mouth against the obvious hardness behind his fly. I swear I felt it throb.

  He brushed his hand over my hair and stepped away from me hastily. “I must go. Four o’clock Saturday. I must go.” And with that, he practically ran from the room.

  Normally when a guy ran out of the room after fooling around with me, it was a bad sign. It usually left me feeling like I was worthless and a horrible lay. But that definitely was not the feeling I had this time. This time I was fairly sure if I pushed hard enough, I might get him to give in, to break his own rules and fuck my brains out. That was a powerful feeling. A good feeling.

  What I didn’t know was if doing so would actually be a good thing. Would it mean I won the game or that the game was over? I didn’t want this to end so soon, not when every time I saw him I found out more about myself I had missed, experienced more than I ever had before.

  “Saturday,” I said aloud to the empty room, and then got up to get dressed.

  Out in the reception area, the woman who had met me was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, reading a magazine.

  “Excuse me, can I use the restroom one more time?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said, though she looked like she couldn’t wait to leave.

  I made it quick and then scooted out the door toward the elevator. Too quick, apparently. As the office door shut behind me, I realized I had toilet paper still stuck to my newly shaved parts, a bit of it showing over the top of my waistband.

  I ducked into the stairwell beside the elevator to dislodge it. That’s where I heard their voices. His and hers.

  “Seriously, Byron, was that necessary?”

  “Careful, Chandra. You’re coming dangerously close to what’s not your business.”

  “When you’re endangering yourself, it’s my business. At least you had the good sense to meet her here and not at home, but honestly—”

  His laugh was forced. “She’s not dangerous. I enjoy her. She enjoys me. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”

  “That’s what you said about Lucinda.”

  “Lucinda is many years in the past.”

  “You’re sure she has no idea who you are?”

  “Yes. Now if you’re done mother-henning me…”

  And that was the last I heard as they stepped into the elevator. My heart was hammering in my ears. I’d eavesdropped on what was clearly meant to be a private, maybe even secret, conversation. Now how could I be sure they were gone? They thought I had left already, obviously.

  I counted to sixty and then pushed the elevator button. I had a fifty-fifty chance to get a different one from them. I did: the elevator was empty. I got in and pushed the button for the ground floor. What if they were lingering in the lobby? If they asked me what took so long, I could claim someone was moving something from floor to floor and it had taken time…

  Except that would be a lie, and I wasn’t supposed to do that.

  Before I had time to think about that much more, the doors were opening. No one was in the lobby except the same security guard as before. He didn’t even look up as I went out of the building. There was no sign of them on the sidewalk, either. They were gone.

  There was a familiar face waiting for me, though. The driver. He was leaning against the car, which was parked at a hydrant near the corner with its blinkers on. His shoulders were hunched and he was scanning up and down the street.

  He straightened the moment he saw me and gestured to the car, pulling open the back door.

  “Are you here for me?” I asked, a little surprised.

  “To take yo
u wherever you would like to go,” he said with a bow. “Well, within reason.”

  “Home’s fine,” I said, laughing a little.

  “Very good, madam,” he said, like a butler from a movie, and then closed the door after I got in.

  In the backseat it was dark and quiet with the glass separating me from the driver. I knocked on it. There was no response, so I knocked again.

  This time the glass slid slowly down. “Do you need something, miss?” he asked. I couldn’t quite place his accent. Russian, maybe.

  “How about your name?” I asked. “It seems like I’m going to be running into you a lot.”

  He squinted at me in the rearview mirror but said, “Stefan.” He pronounced it with a long last syllable and almost a lisp: shte-FAHN.

  “Pleased to meet you, Stefan,” I said. “I’m Ka—”

  “Karina Casper. I know,” he said with a curt nod, his eyes on the traffic now and not on my reflection.

  I was thinking about his warning to me and realized Stefan was probably more than just a driver. He was probably a bodyguard, too. “Did you have to check me out to make sure I was okay for your boss to see?” I asked him.

  He glanced back at me, looking a little surprised. “Yes,” he said curtly.

  “Does he always do that? Or only when he meets random waitresses?”

  Stefan rolled his eyes a little. “He has to be very careful. Women are sometimes after his money. Don’t think you’ve been singled out unfairly.”

  “Have there been a lot of women after his money?”

  Stefan snorted. “Women, men, long-lost relatives—fake, of course—you name it.”

  “So he’s careful.”

  “Very careful.”

  “I’m not the slightest bit interested in his money,” I said.

  “Which is one reason he’s still interested in you,” Stefan replied.

  Then I heard the sound of a phone ringing.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” he said. “I must pick that up.” He closed the window between us. I could make out the murmur of his voice, but I couldn’t tell who he was talking to. After a few minutes, it didn’t seem like he was going to open the window again, so I settled back against the seat in the dark. That gave me some time to think. Byron. His name was Byron? Was I sure she said Byron and not Brian? Not completely. Was James a last name? For that matter Byron could be a last name, too. But the way she had said it sounded intimate and familiar. I thought about his lesson in reading people and I wondered what her body language had been like when she said the name.