Slow Surrender (9 page)

I took the subway uptown in plenty of time to scope out the place. I didn’t want to chance being late. At one point the train got stuck, and I started rehearsing in my mind what I was going to say if I was late. As I ran the words through my mind, it felt lame. It wasn’t a lie but it would sound like an excuse. My nerves bubbled during the wait and I wondered again what kind of punishment awaited me. He had given no hints. Thankfully, the train didn’t sit long and got moving again. As it was, I was only about ten minutes early instead of the half hour I’d expected to be.

The building was two blocks over from the park and didn’t look like anything special. It was on the corner, but the entrance was from the side street, not the avenue, and looked to be ten or twelve stories tall. The facade was a bluish gray stone like marble or granite, and the vestibule was tiled in the same stuff, highly polished. In the vestibule sat a security guard at a high desk, his viciously precise cornrows taking the place of a hat.

I spent a few minutes working up the nerve to approach him, checking the address a few times, and then finally going in. Beside the desk was one of those old-fashioned directories made of black rows of foam, with white letters pushed into it to spell out the names of companies and people on each floor.

The only thing listed on the third floor, where I presumed I was going from the suite number, was a place called Viva Associates.

“You have an appointment?” the guard asked me.

“Um, yeah. Third floor.”

He nodded and waved his hand toward the elevators behind him. I gave him a smile and a nod as I went by and then pressed the button between the two sets of doors.

Upstairs, the elevator let me out into a small hallway. A windowless door at one end said
VIVA
in small silver letters. There was a doorbell. I pressed it.

A moment later the door buzzed and I pushed it open to find myself in a large, brightly lit waiting room. There were only five or six chairs, but it was spacious, with potted plants and magazines sprinkled liberally throughout. The carpet was white and lush under my sneakers and all the lighting seemed to be coming from hidden sources near the ceiling and behind frosted glass. I approached the sleek Lucite curve of the reception desk, but there was no one there. I had the feeling I was in a dentist’s office, but a dentist for incredibly rich people.

After a moment a woman came from the back. She was dressed like a fashion model and was as tall as one, too, her brown skin and high cheekbones reminding me of Whitney Houston. It struck me then that this might be some kind of a beauty clinic, or maybe an office for plastic surgery?

I was even more surprised when the woman took the seat behind the reception desk. I’d assumed she was a client. “Karina?” she asked, eyeing me up and down.

“Yes. I guess that means I found the right place.”

“Yes, dear.” She gave me a nod and a pleasant look that didn’t quite become a smile. “Your appointment is for eight, so you still have a few minutes, but if you don’t mind, I can show you to a room right away.”

“Actually, could I visit the restroom quickly?”

“Of course. Right through there.” She pointed at what I had assumed was a wall decorated with frosted glass, but once I took a better look I realized the chrome thing on one side was a door handle.

The bathroom was just as high-tech-looking as the rest. The sink was a white slab of porcelain like a miniature, edgeless swimming pool. I didn’t linger, even though I wanted to, and went back to the waiting room. I was obviously in the right place, and surprising me with what was going on was clearly part of the test. This was all about whether I could follow directions, wasn’t it? Like with that first marble.

She ushered me into some kind of exam room. At least the medical exam table, complete with stirrups, was unmistakable, even if the room was much more posh than what I was used to seeing. “You can undress completely,” she said as she laid what looked like a white terry-cloth robe on the counter. “Here’s a robe for now.”

“All right.”

She closed the door behind me and I stripped quickly, putting my clothes onto a chair and slipping my arms into the soft bathrobe. Having the robe made this seem like a spa. I looked around, trying to gauge my surroundings, when I spotted a pamphlet on the counter. I couldn’t see specifics but I could tell it was advertising some kind of skin treatment.

A knock at the door made me jump. “Come in.”

A woman in a white lab coat entered. “Karina, I’m Doctor Powers.” Her hand was warm and smooth as she shook mine. “I realize we are meeting under somewhat unusual circumstances, but my employer would like to be sure that you are getting the best medical care. You can refuse my services if you want to—that is entirely your choice. I am prepared to give you a full gynecological and STD exam if you need one. At the very least, I would like to give a thorough dermatological check to your skin.”

I swallowed. “Is this part of the deal?” I asked, trying to figure out what I was allowed to say.

She thought for a moment, perhaps trying to determine the same dance around privacy in her own head. “As I said, I know these are unusual circumstances. What transpires between you and him after I am done is your own business. My job is merely to offer you medical services.”

“Oh. Okay.” So she wasn’t part of the punishment. “I actually had a gynecological exam at university health services recently, so I’d rather not do it again, you know?”

She gave me a knowing smile. “That’s fine. And I know modern intimacy can create awkward situations. If you do need anything, now or in the future, you can call me, completely confidentially.”

“Completely?”

“Completely,” she repeated as she took a card out of her jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Someone just wants to be sure you’re in the best of health.”

I placed the card on top of my folded clothes. “Well, tell someone I’ve had all the tests. I don’t mind if you get a copy of my record from my school.”

She nodded. “You can tell him yourself, later. I have a release form you can sign so we can get your records. Now, what do you think about giving your skin a full check?”

“You mean like for skin cancer and stuff?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

What followed was nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that I hadn’t exactly been expecting a medical exam tonight. She looked me over, every inch of me, but it was strictly professional except for maybe one thing. At the very end, she laid the robe over a chair instead of handing it back to me, so I was sitting there on the exam table completely naked. “Everything looks good,” she pronounced, and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

I sat in the silence that followed, wondering what I was supposed to do next. During the exam, the doctor’s pleasant manner had put me completely at ease, but now the thought that I was there to make up for my lapse and collect my punishment suddenly surged back in. What was he going to do?

And then came a soft knock on the door and I was glad I hadn’t put the robe back on.

“Yes?”

The door opened and there he was, shutting the door quickly behind him. His smile was warm and he seemed genuinely happy to see me. As usual, he was dressed in a suit jacket and trousers, but no tie this time. In the bright glow of the exam room, he looked gorgeous, his skin and hair flawless, and I caught a whiff of his scent over the sterile background. Being in the room with him made me feel warm all over and I craved his touch. “Hello, Karina. I hope that Doctor Powers wasn’t too rough on you.”

I chuckled nervously. “Well, she wasn’t rough at all.”

“I know. I just wanted to be sure your skin was in healthy shape before I consider doing anything to it.” He stepped closer while I pondered the meaning of the word
anything
.

“What are you considering?” I heard myself ask. I could already feel my insides melting, even though what we were discussing right now was my punishment, not my pleasure.

His hand traced the edge of my collarbone and my shoulder caringly, an indulgent look on his face, and it surely seemed more like we were discussing pleasure than pain. Even though his words could have been scary-sounding, his tone was anything but.

“I don’t intend to leave permanent marks,” he said. “But accidents can happen. Bruises, burns, scratches—”

“Burns?” I burst out, scenes of prisoners being tortured with hot pokers in old movies leaping into my head.

He ran a gentle hand up my thigh, soothing me. “As I was saying, only by accident. Lie back.”

I settled back against the exam table, which was tilted so that I could keep looking at him. He pulled the stirrups from the corners of the table and asked me to settle my heels into them. He stood between my legs and rubbed his hands lightly up and down my inner thighs, making my clit throb in the open air, yearning for touch.

“Tell me, Karina. Do you experience pain as pleasure?”

“I don’t know. I mean, what pain I’ve experienced during sex has been the unintentional kind.”

“Unintentional?”

“You know, like B—my ex-boyfriend knocking my head into the headboard accidentally.”

“So no spanking, no tickling to the point of collapse, no love bites?”

“He bit me once,” I said with a bit of an eye roll. “You know, I haven’t found guys to be that creative. I’m willing to try anything once, though.”

“Your adventurousness is one of the things I enjoy most about you,” he said with a toothy grin. “There are plenty of things we can try—just not all at once. Tonight I need to pick something suitable to punish you with. How do you feel about hot wax?”

“I’ve always heard wax jobs were excruciating,” I said.

That made him laugh, and at first I wasn’t sure why. “I wasn’t thinking of it as a depilatory, but you have given me an idea.”

His touch on my legs was making me want more. Being naked in front of him like this was, too. I tried to stay focused on what we were talking about. “What kind of hot wax did you mean, then?”

“Sweet girl. I’m trying to figure out a punishment for you. Something more sophisticated than just pinching your nipples. Next question: Are you afraid of razors?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then I won’t need to tie you down, will I? You’ll lie still like a good girl?”

“I’ll at least try.”

“Good. If you decide you’d rather be tied down, just tell me.”

“Okay.” The thrill in my blood was rising. This wasn’t anything like what I’d done before.

He turned away, opening a cabinet and setting out numerous things I couldn’t see. He then removed his jacket and hung it on a hook on the wall.

When he faced me again, he had a pair of barber scissors in his hand. “Hold still. I don’t wish to cut you accidentally.”

I took a deep breath while he put on a pair of exam gloves and then began to pet my pubic hair. Well, not really pet it, but get it all going the same direction so he could trim it. He was trimming for a while, and I could feel the occasional cold touch of the scissors as they made contact with my skin. When he was done with that, he blew on my crotch and I involuntarily thrust my hips upward.

“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.