Slow Surrender Page 19

  “Do you really feel that way?”

  “I’m half kidding, but only half. When can I have you for real?”

  “Define for real, sweetness. I thought we just decided it was real?” he teased as his finger crooked inside me and made me see stars.

  I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You know what I mean. Your cock in my pussy.” My cheeks blazed with heat, but so did everywhere his fingers touched. “You said I had to earn it. What do I have to do to earn it?”

  “There is a way you can win it, if you’re game.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “You’ll have to fight for it.”

  “Who will I fight?”

  “Me.” He grinned.

  “Oh.” This was a very intriguing twist to the game. “What kind of a fight would it be?”

  “We would both be naked, with our wrists bound to each other, my right to your left and my left to your right. Your goal will be quite simply to get me inside you or to make me come. My goal will be to avoid letting you. Bound that way, I’ll be unable to turn away from you, of course.” He wiggled his finger inside me.

  I thought about it. He was already aroused, between the entire scene in the gallery and now toying with me up here. “All right. I’m game. What happens if I lose?”

  “You’ll forfeit orgasm for a week.”

  “I can go a week without sex.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say it would be a week without sex, my sweet.” He pumped his finger in and out. “Only that you won’t be allowed release.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to win, then, won’t I?”

  “Let’s move the futon to the floor,” he murmured into my ear. “For a wrestling mat.” He pulled his finger free abruptly and it was true: I could think again.

  We flattened out the futon and dragged it onto the Persian rug that looked like it was where a dining table would go if anyone actually lived here. He went into the bathroom and came out with ACE bandages.

  I, meanwhile, had set up my phone camera on the coffee table, aimed at our wrestling mat.

  “What’s this?” he asked. “So we’ll have an instant replay if you think I cheat?”

  “No,” I said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. “It’s that I think you’ll be more turned on if you think someone might see it. I’m definitely not the only exhibitionist here.”

  “Ha-ha.” He twirled me in a circle like we were waltzing. “You do know me.”

  I figured I had best start pressing my advantage early, so I helped him get out of his pants and into a condom, taking every opportunity I had to caress his balls and run my fingers down his shaft as I rolled the slick condom into place. He didn’t protest and seemed quite confident that my ministrations weren’t going to help.

  Wrapping the bandages was a bit of a trick, but he inverted one of his hands in relation to mine and then after wrapping around both wrists, turned it right side up so that now the wrapping was in a figure eight. He repeated it on the left, though that meant my hand was a bit dragged along, too, while he wrapped the other.

  “I didn’t make the wrapping too tight,” he said, “so let it be a rule that pulling free of the bindings is a forfeit.”

  “All right.”

  “Then let’s go!”

  We were standing on the flat futon and I pulled on him to see if I could get him to move. As I stepped back, he took a step forward like we were in some kind of ballroom dance.

  I reached for his cock, but his arm tightened and kept me clear of him. We fought that way for a while, with me trying to get my hands inward and him trying to keep them stretched out. We circled a little as we did this. What I wanted was to get him on the ground. If I could get on top of him, I thought, I could get him inside me, and once that happened, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist fucking me. I had to get him down somehow.

  Then the idea hit me of how to get him to the floor. I bent my knees and fell slowly back, too quickly for him to completely compensate, but I was not sneaky enough that he lost control of himself. Instead he went to his knees.

  Almost as good. I wrapped my legs around his thighs and twisted, and it worked. I had flipped us over so I was on top, my breasts in his face.

  He took a nipple in his mouth immediately and suckled it. Distracting and pleasurable, but I needed to get my legs untangled and move my hips back to reach my goal. I tried to move and his teeth took hold, trapping me in place.

  I was still on top. I mashed my breasts into his face so that he couldn’t breathe out of his nose or mouth, and when he pushed at me and gasped, I was free. I wriggled back and felt his cock nestle between my legs. He tried to flip me off, but tied as we were, my weight stayed centered on top of him. What he hadn’t counted on was all the wrestling me, Jill, and Troy had done as kids. I had quickly learned that the easiest way to win was not to pin them with an actual wrestling type of move but to spread myself out on top and make myself heavy so they couldn’t do anything to me. This, they told me at the time, was no fun.

  Now it was a lot of fun. He squirmed in frustration. “You’re much smaller than I am. How are you so heavy?” he said.

  “Lucky, I guess,” I said, now rubbing my wet labia against his shaft. Having no pubic hair this time was a great advantage—nothing in the way and everything slick.

  The wrestling began in earnest when I tried to maneuver him inside. He couldn’t get free of me or out from under me, but I couldn’t get the angle right to trap him. We fought that way for a while, both of us getting moist from the sweat of effort and his erection never flagging. This was definitely exciting him.

  How could I up the ante even more? What else might arouse him?

  “At the next art installation,” I murmured into his ear as we struggled, “maybe my whole backside should be exposed or my whole lower half. I know! I can be in a cocktail dress, with strappy heels on my feet and maybe even a diamond anklet. The dress up around my waist and pantyhose torn down the crotch leaving my pussy completely exposed.”

  “And riding crops?” he asked.

  “No. Perhaps dildos, though, artful glass ones, each representing something like hope or love or freedom.”

  “And what will you call this masterpiece?” His voice sounded breathless.

  “How about Fuck the Rich?”

  I’d got him again, and he couldn’t help laughing, which distracted him enough for me to waggle myself into place and impale myself on him.

  Oh my God, he was big. I wasn’t prepared for it at all.

  “Karina!” He held perfectly still, and so did I.

  I hadn’t realized, because of his length, that his girth was so wide. When I’d washed him that time at the hotel, he had seemed slender, but he was tall, and I didn’t have a lot of experience gauging these things.

  I tried to press myself down farther but it hurt too much. Even as aroused as I was, even after his finger had been inside, I wasn’t prepared for something that big.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I’m…I’m…” I was trying to say I was okay, but apparently I wasn’t.

  He was making shushing sounds, soothing sounds, squeezing my fingers with his. “Touch yourself, or let me,” he said in a quiet, serious voice. “It’ll feel better.”

  I let him move his hand toward where our bodies met. My fingers were pressed against my stomach as his thumb sought out my very exposed, very naked clit. I jumped as he brushed over it—too sensitive. He switched to massaging what flesh he could reach around my opening, and that felt good. That made me want more. But the pain had made me tighten up and I couldn’t let go.

  In my mind’s eye, I still had one goal: riding him like a cowgirl on a bull, my hips snapping until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

  There was no way. I couldn’t even imagine sitting up straight right now.

  “Slowly ease yourself off, okay?” he whispered. “Gently.”

  I nodded and whimpered in answer.r />
  “Lean forward. I’ve got you.” He arched his back at the same time and pulled free.

  I sighed with relief. I was still nearly trembling with desire, but I knew I shouldn’t push things and make it worse.

  He twisted his wrist and the figure eight opened. I slid one hand out; then we did the other. “Good girl. Lie here a moment.” He held me on top of him, chest to chest, his hand rubbing my back soothingly. “Good girl,” he repeated.

  “But I lost.”

  “A very valiant attempt, though,” he said. “Had I known it would hurt you like that, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

  “I didn’t know either,” I said. I felt stupid. How could I not have known my own body? “You must think I was trying to dupe you or something.”

  “Not at all.” He switched to the other hand, making circles between my shoulder blades. “Knowing one’s own limits is a very good thing.”

  “I clearly didn’t.”

  “Hush, that’s not what I meant. I mean when finding one’s limits, respecting them and backing off, instead of forcing yourself into a worse situation.”

  That made me think. I lifted my head a little so I could look at him. “How long did it take you to learn to respect your own limits?”

  “Too long,” he said very seriously, and then ran his thumb along my bottom lip. “Kiss me.”

  I did, tender toward him but still angry at myself. As we kissed, he rolled us over so that I was on my back.

  Then he kissed his way down my front, all the way to the bareness below. His tongue snaked out gently to massage my clit.

  “Ohh, that feels good.”

  He chuckled against my skin and settled down farther. His tongue continued its gentle undulations, supple and spongy and warm. Then he began tracing my opening with his fingers, teasing at the edges while his tongue continued to work.

  He ran his hands and arms under my thighs and drove his tongue deep into me. There was no pain at all, no soreness, unless you counted the spots on my butt where I could still feel the welts from the riding crop. He wiggled his tongue inside me and then withdrew, only to dive in again. And again. Soon he was fucking me rhythmically with his tongue and I began to moan. It didn’t go deep enough, unlike the glass dildo, which had fit so perfectly. His tongue felt amazing, so wonderful, but it ignited a deep ache for more.

  I wondered if he could read that need on my face or in the line of my body. What he did next was settle his cock between my lips and rub the length along my clit. God, he felt huge, inches and inches of him rubbing up and down where I was so sensitive. Then he shifted again, and I looked down to see him holding his cock in his hand, the head protruding like a plum.

  He rubbed the head up and down my wetness and groaned and shuddered as if it were painful to hold back. He teased at my opening with the fat head, and I wondered if he was going to take it slow, eventually working his way inside me. It felt so good I moaned aloud, my voice mixing with his groan. I wanted him, and he clearly wanted me every bit as much.

  My groan only got louder as he pulled back, panting. He wiped his forehead on the ACE bandages and said, “I better not tempt myself any further.”

  I opened my mouth to beg, but he stopped me with a stern look. “That’s enough for now. The week without orgasm has begun, after all.”

  “Oh, can’t we start tomorrow?” I pleaded. “I know I lost, but—”

  “Sweetness, you had a perfectly wonderful release in the gallery already,” he said, swatting me on the thigh. “Don’t be greedy.”

  “It’s hard not to be when it comes to you!” I protested, but acquiesced. “All right. A week, then?”

  “We should meet every day, at least once,” he said, sitting up now and stretching.

  “Afternoon? Evening?”

  He went over to the phone and turned off the camera. “Send me all the times you’re free throughout the week. I will give you notice of when and where, but a surprise visit is not out of the question.”

  “All right.”

  He pulled me to my feet and kissed me, and that kiss felt like it righted everything in the world.

  “There’s something else I should tell you,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I got an invitation to a formal ball for this coming Saturday.”

  “A ball, you say?” I tried to sound teasingly aloof but it came out too excited.

  “Yes. A highly formal affair among the ridiculously rich and influential.” He nuzzled my hair. “I believe you have something appropriate to wear?”

  I couldn’t help it. I nearly squealed.

  “Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “Good,” he said with a grin. “Your presence will enliven things considerably.”

  Twelve: Who Could Ask for More

  The next day was Saturday and we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On the way there in the back of the car, he pulled me tight against him, my back to his front, and wormed his hand into my panties to arouse me the whole way. I barely remember what we saw. He seemed to enjoy listening to me opine about the art, but my attention was on him. He would put a hand lightly on my shoulder and trace a zigzag with his finger, imitating the motion he’d used on my clit, and my toes would curl as if it were my clit he was touching. The museum was crowded, and he brushed against me whenever he got the chance.

  We had a lovely meal at a Japanese restaurant near the museum. Then Stefan picked us up and headed downtown again. This time he made me strip below the waist and went at me with his mouth, artfully alternating the sensuous slide of his tongue with the nip of his teeth. When he kissed me good-bye, his upper lip was salty with my sweat and my head was spinning from unfulfilled need.

  On Sunday our destination was the Museum of Modern Art.

  In the car on the way there, James pulled out what looked like a small briefcase, except the leather was blue. Was it a jewelry box? He had that grin he got when he was giving me a gift, and he set it in my lap so I could open it.

  I lifted the lid to find several gorgeous glass objects sitting in blue velvet niches. The first was a globe a little larger than the Ben Wa ball I had worn once before. It had a cord through the middle of it. Next to it was what could only be a dildo, but not as large or phallic-shaped as usual. This one was spiral and tapered like a unicorn horn, only rounded at the end. The next was like a series of spheres connected together into a rod. The one after that was more traditionally penis-shaped, with thin ripples down the sides. The final one was the longest in the case, widest not at the head, but in its bulbous middle. Each was a work of art by itself, while the whole set together was dazzling.

  “Did you make them?” I asked.

  “I did. Ideally they will help prepare you for me, sweetness.”

  I felt gushy between my legs thinking about that. Already the memory of how much the attempt had hurt was beginning to fade, and I was eager to try again. I felt like a wimp for not forging ahead with it. But he’d insisted. “So tell me how this is going to work.”

  “Each one is bigger. By the time you work up to the last one, it’s nearly the size that I am. Now, strip. I want to put the ball inside of you before we go into the museum.”

  I slid my bottoms off and lay back against the seat. He paused to tease my clit from its hood and tickle it with maddeningly light touches. Then he coated the ball in my juices before pressing it against my opening. There was a moment when it felt too large, but then he brushed my clit again and in it went.

  “Very good, my sweet,” he breathed, and leaned down to lick my clit with deliberate slowness. It was delicious torture, knowing that he wasn’t going to let me come, but it felt so good anyway.

  He tugged on the cord and I put my hands on his shoulders in warning. “Don’t!”

  He looked alarmed for a moment, before I went on.

  “I almost came,” I explained.

  “Ah. Good girl.” His smile was warm and approving. “Goodn
ess, you’re gorgeous.”

  I wiggled my bottom. “I get the feeling you’re suffering as much from deprivation as I am.”

  “I am,” he affirmed, shifting back from me and straightening his clothes. “It’ll make it that much sweeter when I can finally take you the way I want to. For now, I’ll have to settle for fucking you by proxy. In public, just the way you like it.” He grinned wickedly.

  I got dressed again and we walked around the museum with the Ben Wa ball inside me. The last time there hadn’t been so much walking, and the ball hadn’t been as big. This time every step made it feel a bit like he was fucking me, and his loving touches and whispers as we went through the place only enhanced that feeling.

  In the car on the way downtown, he pulled the globe free, using the cord and being careful not to touch my clit while he was teasing me with it.

  “How do you feel?” he asked as he dangled the glass from its string.

  “Like I want you,” I said. “Like I really, really want you.”

  “Then it sounds like the training is working so far,” he said with a grin. He wrapped it in a handkerchief and then pulled the piece shaped like the blunt unicorn horn out of the box.

  It slid in easily, and instead of merely leaving it there, he held on to its base and fucked me with it, slowly at first, then faster, sometimes jiggling it up and down until I wailed with how close to orgasm I was. He never let me go over the edge. He fucked me with it all the way downtown.

  When we got to the apartment, I was soaked in sweat and shaking from the need to come. He licked my clit again, slow and soft. “You are one of the most beautiful beings imaginable,” he said as he sat up. “Your willingness and your sensuality make you even more amazing.”

  I could tell he was tempted again. But we were both going to be good and it was going to be worth it.

  Monday I had to work, so Stefan picked me up at eight o’clock when I was done. When he pulled up in front of the alumni office, I saw he was alone and tried to get in the front, but he gestured to the backseat. In the back I found the case but no James.

  I looked at Stefan in the rearview mirror to see if there were any other instructions.