Slow Surrender Read online

  “We’ll be meeting him,” Stefan said. “He said he didn’t want you to get off schedule, whatever that means, and that you’d know what to do. He told me to point out that there is a cell phone holder attached to the back of the seat. I am to drive around until you tell me you’re prepared for…ahem…prepared for him.”

  “All right.” I closed the partition between us, figuring I knew what that meant. Then I set the phone to video and waved at the camera before pulling the next of the pieces from the case, the one shaped like a series of spheres connected together. I waved it in front of the camera and kissed the round tip of it before I began working on trying to get it inside me.

  I aroused myself first, sliding two fingers down each side of my lips. I wanted to get good and wet. At first I was turned on, but I wasn’t really lubricating a lot. Then I started pinching my nipples and the juices started to flow. Had he trained my body to react that way? I wondered. Or was that always something I would have responded to and he had been the one to discover it? There was no way to know. I dipped my fingers in and coated the toy, then slowly worked it in, one sphere at a time.

  When I had it all the way in, I held my thighs shut and turned off the video, sending it to him through the phone. I was about to knock on the window to ask Stefan if there was anything else, thinking James might have sent more of the heavy-duty briefs, when I noticed there was another bag there.

  The first thing I pulled out of the cloth bag was a pair of leggings. They were like tights, only thicker and had no feet. Under that was another pair of briefs and then…a cheerleader skirt? And under that…mittens? What kind of kinky scene was this going to be?

  I opened the partition again. “Where are we going?” I asked Stefan.

  “I believe I’m dropping you off at the skating rink at Rockefeller Center,” he said with an amused tone.

  “Oh! God, that makes so much sense.” Getting the leggings on was a bit of a trick. I remembered Becky’s technique for putting on stockings and that helped. The glass stayed inside me, just as I knew it would.

  He was waiting there for me, and I gave him my shoe size so he could rent us skates. At that time of night, it wasn’t crowded and we were soon on the ice.

  I stepped out gingerly at first, not sure how much I’d remember of my childhood skating lessons. As it turned out, it came back to me quickly and I pushed forward, then stopped myself by pivoting on one toe. He followed me, gliding confidently on one foot.

  “You can skate?” I asked. “Where did you learn that?”

  “My mother had an affair with an Olympic medalist,” he said rather matter-of-factly, “so I spent a year or two hanging around skating rinks. How about you?”

  “There was one year all the girls in my town wanted to be Michelle Kwan, and my mother signed me up for lessons.” I took his hand and we continued on so as not to block traffic for the dozen or so other skaters going around the small rink. “Was your mother…um…” I tried to think of how to ask without sounding judgmental.

  He rescued me by answering the question for which I couldn’t come up with words. “My mother always aimed quite high in her partners,” he said. “Though she still hasn’t found one good enough to keep for more than a few years.”

  He said this without bitterness. I wondered about that. “She didn’t stay long with your father, then, I guess?”

  “I never knew him at all,” he said, sliding his hand across my back so that we were skating together, matching his stride to mine. “She claimed not to know who he was, in fact. For the first several years of my life she raised me by herself. Before you get any ideas about that, I’ll just say she had plenty of help, between a nanny, a driver, and a cook.”

  “You grew up wealthy?”

  “For the most part. When we moved back to the States, she got rid of all the servants except the driver. I didn’t need a nanny anymore since I was in school. She started dating again around that time.”

  “It’s funny. My mother has dated a lot, too, but I don’t think she’s ever dated someone like an Olympic medalist.” I skated ahead of him, turned around, and skated backward so that I kept going in the same direction but facing him. “She tried to remarry once, but it didn’t last.”

  “Did you have any contact with your father growing up?” James asked, skating past me and falling back as he let himself glide. His coat was open and it flapped as he sped up again and then fell back.

  “Not after he left, no. There was no custody battle, none of that. My mother wouldn’t talk about it, and I was too young to know about things like child support. By the time I was old enough to ask, that was about the last thing I could imagine bringing up to my mother. She let it slip to my aunt—who told my sister, who then told me—that he left behind a large pile of money when he went away. Not large enough for us to live off for the rest of our lives, though. From the way things went around our family, my guess was the money lasted about five years, by which point she had gotten fed up trying to get a second husband and got a job instead.”

  He took my mittened hands and swung me into a turn, then pulled me along behind him with powerful strokes of his skates. “It’s funny. The more I find out about you, the more we have in common.”

  “I could say the same thing!” I sped up and went past him, daring a skippy little jump I remembered how to do. He chased after me and we raced around the rink, slaloming around other couples until he caught up to me and we slowed, his arms around me from behind. I tightened around the glass inside me, which I’d forgotten until then, until I could feel the hardness of him through his trousers, pressing against me. “The real thing,” I murmured.

  “Soon,” he assured me.

  Although it had been a pretty warm spring day, at night it had cooled off a lot, and of course we were on ice, so sharing a pot of hot chocolate and fondue afterward was heavenly.

  So was the way he tugged on the glass inside me as we rode back downtown. He kept to his rules, though, and did not let me come, though it would have taken very little effort to push me over the edge by the time we reached my apartment.

  “Is this really going to make me ready for you?” I asked with a frustrated whine as he pulled the glass free and wrapped it up. “Or is it just a kinky game?”

  “Now, now, sweetness,” he said, pulling me close and nuzzling me. “What did I say about either/or? So often it’s both. And this time, it’s definitely both.”

  Tuesday he was in the car when I hopped in. He kissed me deeply as soon as he pulled me close, as if he hadn’t seen me in a long time, though it had been less than a day. “I can’t stay,” he murmured in my ear. “But I have time for this.”

  He slid his hand into my panties and jiggled his hand at my mound until when he slid one finger between my lips it met copious cream. “Lie back and take your pants off,” he whispered in my ear.

  I did, spreading my legs as I had done so many times before.

  “Spread your lips, too, sweetness. Let me look at what’s mine to claim.”

  “Mmm, James!” My cheeks flushed at his bold words.

  His eyes lit up, and he answered, “Karina…” He used two fingers, working deep inside me, in and out, until my hips were rocking into each stroke. Then he switched to the phallic-looking dildo, running it up and down my clit and teasing me with it, swirling it at my opening but not putting it in.

  “Ah, fuck! Please, James, please!”

  “Just because I put it in doesn’t mean you can come,” he reminded me.

  “I…I won’t, I promise!” I didn’t think I could come from that by itself, though he’d made me very aroused with the teasing and the smooth strokes and circles on my clit.

  “All right.” He pushed an inch of it in, then pulled it out, making me wail. Then he was fucking me with just the tip.

  “Think about how good it’ll feel when it’s my cock doing this,” he said. “Is one inch going to be enough for you?”

  “No!”

  “Two inches?�
� He pushed more of it into me and pulled it out.

  “No!”

  “Three inches?” More of it went in, this time the bulbous head rubbing my G-spot and making me see stars.

  “More, more, please!”

  He slid the entire thing inside me then, until it bumped my cervix, which made me jump but didn’t actually hurt. He fucked me with long, slow strokes of the dildo, in and out in a steady rhythm until I lost track of time passing.

  The alarm on his phone pulled me back into real time.

  “I’m so sorry I have to run,” he said. “But I’ll see you tomorrow for the next one. All right?”

  I could only whimper while I got dressed again.

  “Do you feel all right? No pain?”

  “Only the pain of deprivation,” I moaned. “Is it the end of the week yet?”

  “Not yet, sweetness. Soon.” He kissed me again, leaving me breathless and swollen-lipped on the curb outside my apartment.

  Wednesday we met in the morning, on the steps of the New York Public Library. He snuck me into the men’s room at the back of the microfilm department and had me bend over in the wheelchair-equipped stall, holding the railing. The next toy was more phallic in shape than the previous, with a bulbous head and ridges along one edge. As he fingered me and teased me, he stroked himself and lay his hard length against one of my buttocks. While I held the toy, he teased at my holes with the head of his cock, smearing my juices around with it and thrusting across the openings without going in. Then he put the toy inside, easing the large head past the point of resistance in my vagina. I tensed for a moment, expecting it to hurt, but his other hand never stopped moving, one index finger circling my clit ceaselessly while he worked it in.

  In the stall next to us, some guy was having a coughing fit.

  I tried to keep quiet as he worked the glass all the way out and then all the way in again several times. He had found the spot that would make me groan and squeal, and it was difficult to keep quiet. He bade me put my back against the wall and lift up one leg onto the rail. I touched myself while he pushed and pulled at the toy sticking out of me.

  I couldn’t keep quiet though as I got closer and closer and finally had to pull my own hands away with a wail or I’d go over the edge. I had spasms deep in my pussy then, but nothing that spilled out into full-blown orgasm.

  “Good girl. That’s enough,” he whispered, and kissed me on the hair. “I’ll see you late tomorrow night. Now, do you want to take the piece home or shall I hold on to it for you for now?”

  “Oh, could I take it? Please?” I asked.

  He chuckled and caressed my cheek. “Can you tell me why you want to when you’re not allowed to come?”

  I had to think for a moment. My reaction had been entirely emotional. I just wanted to. I tried to articulate a reason. “Um, because I miss you when we’re apart and it’ll make me feel like I have a piece of you with me?”

  He nodded and kissed me, sweetly and deeply. “All right.”

  He pulled a strappy thing from his trench coat pocket and handed it to me.

  “Wear this tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll hold the glass in place inside you. I’ll meet you at your library, about twenty minutes before closing.”

  That meant that on Thursday I went to the library with the straps and the glass hidden in my backpack. Becky had given me the idea that we should write a paper together on feminist interpretations of the various versions of the King Cophetua paintings, and I was curious to find what previous scholars had written on the subject. Some of it was so horribly wrong-headed, but I supposed that was true of any scholarly pursuit. Two hours before closing time, I went into the women’s room and put the glass in, then fastened the straps on to hold it inside me, just like he’d said. Under my jeans you couldn’t see a thing.

  At twenty till eleven, he waltzed in, showed a guest pass to the guard at the door, and came to plant an almost chaste kiss on my cheek where I was waiting at the reading room. He led me immediately into the stacks and then from behind, put one hand over my mouth and the other into my underwear. He aroused me relentlessly for the next ten minutes, muffling my helpless cries, then letting me go.

  “They’ll be looking for us soon,” I said, panting and breathless. “They’re closing up and know how many came in and went out.”

  “Then we’d better be quick. Bend over, pants down.”

  He loosened the straps and then cut right through my panties with a knife and slid the glass free. The next thing I felt was the head of his cock against my opening. I tensed, wondering if all we’d done so far that week had been enough, wondering what put him in such a hurry. Maybe he was succumbing to all the need built up through the teasing. I wondered if he had been denying himself orgasm as well.

  “Just the tip, sweetness,” he said.

  He pushed in then, and I stifled a moan. He felt so good! I was eager for more, especially when he fucked me like that, pulling out and pushing in, that small amount of him, at the sensitive edge of my opening.

  He moved quickly, pulling back and replacing himself with something hard and rigid. Another of the glass pieces, I assumed. He slid it in and I gasped in intense lust.

  “Buckle up,” he whispered.

  I adjusted the straps and zipped up my jeans as quickly as I could while he sauntered to the end of the shelves.

  “Ah, yes, found everything we needed,” I heard him saying. “Thank you.”

  I hurried to join him but the guard had already moved on to look for someone else. We slipped out with one minute to spare before closing time.

  Stefan was waiting at the curb, standing beside the door, ready to open it.

  I moved toward the car, but James spun me back to look at him. “Alas, my sweet, I have something to take care of. Will you be all right walking the few blocks to your home?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

  “I do have some instructions for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you feel about sleeping with this one inside you tonight? Call me when you wake up in the morning and I’ll come and remove it.”

  I felt my insides twist pleasantly at the idea. I’m not even sure why that made me gush with lust. “I would love to. What time?”

  “Whenever you wake.”

  “What about my roommate?” I had a sudden panic that he was going to push things too far, that she was going to freak out and so was I.

  “You’ll come down to the car, dearest,” he said, caressing my hair the way he knew I liked. “No need to bother your roommate.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  He laughed. “Don’t thank me for keeping our best interests in mind.”

  “Oh, like almost getting us caught by security was in our best interests?”

  He grinned. “Almost caught was part of the plan. We each have the things that thrill us.”

  “No kidding.” I put my arms around his neck to kiss him good-bye. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Of course that morning was Friday. I woke up, brushed my teeth, and ate half a muffin, then brushed my teeth again because of the blueberries. Still in my pajamas and bathrobe, I called him.

  “I’m outside,” he said, sounding already quite amused. “You have sixty seconds to get down here.”

  Thank goodness I’d brushed my teeth! I ran down and into the car, which was not quite in front of the building but parked at a hydrant with lights flashing. Stefan shut the door behind me and then went around to the driver’s seat to get the car moving.

  James was fully dressed in a business suit and tie. Although his first order of business was for me to strip down to nothing but the straps, he seemed to want to talk, not touch me sexually, at first.

  “You were telling me you had a job interview a while back, didn’t you?” he said.

  “Yes.” I sighed. “But the guy I interviewed with…he was there with my advisor that night you and I met in the bar. I’m pretty sure he threw my résum
é out after that.”

  “What sort of a job was it?”

  “Graphic design. I took some computer design courses when I first started grad school. It pays better than making lattes and cappuccinos.”

  “And ostensibly it would be some kind of art?” he asked, though he was giving me the skeptical eyebrow again.

  “I guess. Renault introduced me to him, so it seemed like it would be an easy job to get.”

  He pursed his lips unhappily. “If he’d offered you a job, you would have taken it?”

  “Well, I suppose. At least until I figure out what I want to do with my life.”

  “Like when you went into grad school five years ago, thinking you’d figure out what you wanted to do while you were there?”

  “Basically.” I felt a little defensive. “You know, I have a parent who is already critical of my life. I don’t need you acting like one, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be critical. Is your mother very judgmental? I’m curious what she’s said.”

  “Well, to hear my mother tell it, grad school is a waste of time, and the only way I’m ever going to have the love of any man is if I pretty myself up and pretend I’m stupid.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It can be difficult to ignore the things we hear over and over all our lives,” he said.

  “True. My mother found a formula that worked for her. You’d think I’d get off a little easier since my older sister’s a lesbian. But no, that just made her all the more desperate to turn me into a girly girl.” Something clicked for me then. I knew my mother measured her worth by what the men in her life thought of her. It hadn’t been quite clear to me until now that she measured my worth by what the men in my life thought of me. And she measured those men’s worth by what they thought of her. Brad had bowed and scraped for her and, at least when we were with her, had treated me like a princess. Yet he was no Prince Charming. My mother thought he was solid gold, and when I was with him, she treated me like I was, too. I was back to being spun dross now that he was gone.