Slow Surrender (19 page)

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.

“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.”

T
he 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. “Goodness, 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.

“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?”