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SURRENDER
By
Kimberly Zant
© copyright by Kimberly Zant
Cover Art by Jenny Dixon
ISBN 1-58608-
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
I suppose I should have found the wording of the contract reassuring, because it certainly indicated that everything was completely above board and the dark fears circling the back of my mind like a flock of black crows were groundless. Instead, a sense of unreality swept through me as I read back over the long list of terms I was agreeing to, tying my nervous stomach into a harder knot.
Desperation, I thought, looking up at the man seated across from me, was a hard task master-and destitution the equivalent of hell on earth because the fear of it was enough to make an ordinarily rational person, like myself, consider making a deal with the devil.
He didn't look like the devil. He looked like a completely ordinary mortal.
"Is there a problem?"
I cleared my throat, which felt as if it had closed together. "It says if I fail to … uh … fail to perform according to expectations, I can be terminated immediately without compensation."
He gave me an impatient look. "I explained that to you when you applied for the position. Would you like to go over everything again?"
He had. I'd just been too addled to really take it in, because from the moment I'd realized exactly what I was being hired to do my mind had gone perfectly blank.
I felt my face redden. "It's just … does that mean if he isn't satisfied with my performance? Or, by fail, does it mean if I refused to do anything I'd agreed to do? I did mention that I hadn't actually done much of this before? A lot of these things, I mean. The things on the list aren't … aren't really familiar to me, experience wise, so I couldn't really claim to be good at this."
He looked a little uncomfortable. "That clause goes to willingness to perform the various … acts that have been described. A refusal to do so upon demand would be a breach of contract, which would make all terms null and void. The client is aware of your relative inexperience."
I nodded at the clarification, though I didn't feel terribly reassured. I felt like kicking myself. The money being offered was staggering considering it was only for a six week stint. I wasn't stupid. I had known going in to the first interview that it had to be something really radical for them to be offering so much. Lying to myself wasn't going to change a thing. I'd suspected, just from the wording of the ad, in spite of how carefully it had been composed, that this was, in effect, sex for hire. As shocked and horrified as I'd been once everything had been baldly laid out for me, though, I hadn't gotten up and walked out. I'd stayed and listened to the entire spiel, and I'd allowed them to interview me. The list of 'requirements' was part of the initial interview.
They'd been very cool and professionally impersonal about it, but I'd cringed inside and stumbled over every answer.
I suppose I'd never really believed that they would actually offer the position to me. I was hardly sex goddess material, and I was certain my prudishness must be glaringly obvious, which would also make it evident that my knowledge and experience of the subject under discussion was practically nil.
I'd known before I'd even arrived for the interview, though, that I couldn't afford to turn it down, whatever it entailed-short of murder. I needed the money way too badly to worry about silly old things like pride or morals or even doing things I might not especially like. People who weren't facing disaster and starvation could afford to have principles. I couldn't.
'Whatever sexual acts requested' though-why, I wondered, would they have any interest in me? I'd seen the competition. Most of the other women had been younger than me-college age young, pretty, well built. A lot of them had had that 'road weary' look that proclaimed a vast deal of sexual experience, and I'd been sure one of them would be chosen. Why would they choose a 'ripe' tomato like me, who was not the least bit girlish in any way? I'd had two children, and I had the 'womanly' body to prove it. Sure I'd tried really hard to battle nature, because my husband--ex husband--had brow beat me about 'letting myself go' until I was terrified gaining five pounds would earn me the boot, but no amount of dieting or exercise could undo what carrying a baby for nine months could do to a body, let alone going through it twice.
Maybe it was the 'submissive' thing?
I was certainly used to being submissive, and I supposed that showed. I hadn't been terribly assertive before my marriage and, having been a total idiot and bound myself to a tyrant with serious control issues, the little assertiveness I'd had before had been crushed under his heavy hand.
Regardless, I still wasn't certain I could carry this off.
My ex was going to get my children, though, if I didn't come up with a lot of money fast, I reminded myself.
For them, I could be a tigress. I would be-a submissive one, granted, but the will to take this on, that was mine.
Smiling weakly, I took up the pen.
"If you decide to terminate the agreement at any time, you have that option, but the full payment will not be due to you. It will be prorated according to time put in."
I looked at him blankly.
"For instance, half if you only stay three weeks instead of the full six."
I nodded, dragging in a shaky breath. I could do this. I needed all the money.
When I'd signed it, he notarized the contract and got up to run off a copy for me. He handed me a card with an address on it after he'd handed me a copy. "You're to report to this address tomorrow morning."
I stared at the card, feeling faint that everything seemed to be moving so fast. "He didn't want to meet me first?"
"They," he corrected. "It was a group that selected this fantasy holiday. They were present at the interview, observing from the room adjoining, and selected you from among the other applicants."
"Group?" I asked weakly, feeling more faint. I wasn't certain what startled me more, the discovery that they'd been watching me while I was interviewed or the 'group' part. Actually, I was certain. It hadn't occurred to me, at all, that it would be a group. And that unnerved me a lot more than the fact that I'd been watched without my knowledge.
He gave me an irritated look. "Is that a problem?"
I swallowed with an effort. Safety was assured. I'd had a thorough health exam before I was even allowed to interview and the same was required of 'guests'. No one, least of all the company, wanted to have to face the unpleasant repercussions of a lawsuit. Moreover, I would be allowed to call it off at any point and a company representative would be checking in every other day to make certain none of the rules had been violated. It had to be voluntary. That was part of his-their-fantasy. "No," I said weakly, realizing that it had probably taken a group to fork out the money the company was asking for this arrangement plus the money I was getting.
"The money has already been deposited in a holding account. You'll be given the access number once you've completed the job. And, of course, if you decide to terminate early, the amount unearned will be removed from the account before you're given the number."
Dismissed, I had nothing to do but leave, but it took a supreme effort to push myself up from the chair. Wobbly kneed, completely addled by the thoughts rattling my brain, I stuffed the card and my copy of the contract into my purse and let myself out.
I sat staring into space for a while once I'd gotten into my car.
I'd just signed away six weeks of my life to play submissive sex toy to a 'group' of men I'd never even set eyes on.
Think positive, I told myself. Six weeks wasn't a lot when it meant at the end of it my troubles with my ex would be over.
I can do this, I told myself.
My mother was never going to know. All she knew at this point was that she was babysitting for six weeks so I could take a job that would guarantee I had the money to win my case and get custody of my children.
If I didn't freak and do anything stupid, nobody was ever going to know.
* * * *
I ran out of steam before I got to the door of the mansion. Breathless with fear and weak all over, it took all I could do to manage the last few steps and ring the doorbell … and to fight the urge to whirl around and flee, though, in all honesty, I wasn't sure I had the strength to flee.
Partly, it was the mansion itself that intimidated me. I was certain, at first, that I must have the address wrong, but after studying the card and the house number for ten minutes, I decided I wasn't hallucinating. The mansion, I decided, must belong to the company, the 'game group' that arranged these entertaining little fantasies for the truly wealthy and jaded, or in my case, the well-to-do and jaded and/or kinky. I wasn't certain where that put my little group, but I had already decided that it was a group because they couldn't afford an individual 'game', which still put them in a staggering income bracket if they could afford to pay me thousands and take off for a six week 'vacation'.
Facing the unknown was rather akin to facing a firing squad, though, and that was the biggest part of my anxiety. True, I had a dim idea of what I was facing, but it was just enough to scare me shitless.
The man that answered the doorbell didn't look like a butler, despite my expectations to the contrary. In point of fact, and despite my anxieties, the moment we made eye contact a stunning force of attraction rolled over me that demolished the last of my wits.
He was tall and dark-thirtyish I thought, maybe late twenties. His face was unquestionably attractive in a very manly-male way, though not precisely handsome, his build, at least from what I could tell considering the expensive suit he was wearing, was just as appealing as the face.
He looked me up and down with a slow thoroughness that made me feel naked which should have insulted me, or intimidated me even more, but instead had the effect of making my heart rev and warmth flutter in my belly. "Anna," he said finally. "Prompt. I like that."
He didn't sound like a butler either. His voice was deep and fired synapses in my brain as if he'd reached out and run a caressing hand over my breasts.
He didn't look at me like a servant … or at least the way I thought a servant would look at a guest.
"Come in," he said after a moment. "I'll show you to your room and then we can get down to business."
I blinked, undecided now whether he was in fact the butler, or one of the 'group' I was to meet. Nodding jerkily, I followed him across the expansive marble tiled foyer and up a wide, winding stairway to the second floor. Carpet, so thick I felt as if I was wading through water, covered the upper hallway. He led me down it to a bedroom on the back side of the house and opened the door, indicating that I was to go in.
My heart was in my throat as I preceded him and set my small bag on the floor by the huge four poster bed that held center stage in the room. I got a fleeting impression of opulence everywhere, in the massive, ornately carved furniture, the heavy drapes, thick carpet and expensive knickknacks here and there, but I was too nervous to gawk. As soon as I'd set my battered little suitcase down, I turned to face him uneasily.
He closed the door. Folding his arms, he leaned back against the panel, studying me. It made me uneasy that I couldn't tell anything about his expression.
"You were acquainted with the rules and the list of what we expect of you?"
The question was unexpected. I blinked at him and finally nodded speechlessly, unable even to find my voice for a polite 'yes'.
His dark brows inched up his forehead. "Just the same, I think I'll go over them," he said. Pushing away from the door, he approached me, and I realized abruptly that he was a good bit taller and broader than I'd first thought.
"You are a submissive and as such will be expected to obey without question anything I, or the others, ask of you. We are familiar with the list. We compiled it, and nothing will be asked of you that you have not willingly agreed to, in writing. Therefore no, is no longer a part of your vocabulary. You have been given a safety word, but I will not expect to hear it unless you are ready to throw in the towel."
My mouth felt like the Mohave desert. I swallowed with an effort and managed to nod again that I understood.
"Take off your clothes and let me have a look at you."
I felt my eyes widen, but as his dark brows descended, I looked down and began to fumble nervously with the buttons of my blouse. He watched me keenly while I stripped, unnerving me more. By the time I'd stripped down to my bra and panties my face was flashing like a neon sign and the red went all the way down to my breasts. I looked up at him a little hopefully when I'd gotten to that point-hopeful that was as far as I would be expected to go.
No such luck.
"The rest," he said implacably.
Dragging in a shuddering breath, I complied, resisting the urge to try to cover myself with my hands and completely unable to figure out what to do with them when it dawned on me that I shouldn't try to cover myself. I flinched in spite of all I could do when he reached for my breasts but gritted my teeth and held perfectly still while he examined them, letting out a shaky breath when he released them after a moment and walked around me, looking me over with a slow attention to detail that I felt sure missed no flaw.
His eyes were dark and smoldering with heat when he faced me again. Reaching down, he dragged his fingers through the curls at the apex of my thighs, making me jump. "Au natural," he said speculatively. "Appealing, and yet I like to be able to see my pretty thing."
I felt my face heat again as he withdrew his gaze from my mound and met mine. As if that settled something in his mind, he moved away, striding toward a door I hadn't noticed before. Opening it, he turned to look at me expectantly. "Come along, Anna. First a bath and then I'll trim that."
Trim that? My hair there?
Submissive! I reminded myself and moved toward him jerkily, standing dumbstruck while he adjusted the water in the huge tub that looked as if it could easily accommodate a half a dozen people at one time-three or four anyway.
Indicating with a nod that I was to get in, I did so, settling almost with a sense of relief because me legs had felt as if they would give way and dump me in the floor at any moment.
Taking up a position near the door, he watched me bathe. I wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to make certain I was thorough, or if he merely wanted to watch, but I reminded myself, again, that I had, to all intents and purposes, contracted to be his sex slave for the duration and that meant he did whatever he pleased and I submitted to whatever he pleased-as long as it didn't violate the rules I'd agreed to.
And it occurred to me rather forcefully as I mentally reviewed those rules that I'd agreed to pretty much anything so long as it didn't entail injury to me.
Either the hot water or just plain old weariness began to dissipate the tension as I bathed, slowly, not because I was trying to give him a show but because I felt awkward at being watched. I wasn't even almost relaxed, but the edge wore off.
It felt strange to be watched, made me conscious of every moment of my hands in a way I never had been before. On the other hand, despite my nervousness, there was no doubt in my mind that his gaze was appreciative, and it warmed me in a purely sensual way.
I would've been willing to sit in the tub until my skin pruned since being watched wasn't nearly as unnerving as some of the thoughts rambling through my chaotic brain, but he moved away from the door after a few minutes and picked up a thick towel. Instead of handing it to me, he settled it on the top step of the two that led up to the tub and indicated that I was to get out of the tub and sit on it. My belly instantly knotted up, but I complied, sitting on the towel uneasily and placing my feet on the step below me.
Crouching in front of me, he grasped first one ankle and then the other, moving them wide apart, and then pushing my thighs wide when I kept my knees together. The instinct to snap them back together the moment he let go was strong, but one look at his face was enough to convince me not to try.
He combed his fingers through the hair on my mound and then placed his thumbs on my nether lips, pushing them apart and studying me. My color fluctuated two or three times during the process. My belly clenched and unclenched frantically, but warmth flooded my sex in spite of that, and I wondered uncomfortably if he would be able to see he made me wet just looking at me.
After studying my pussy for a handful of seconds, he grasped my hips and slid me forward until my buttocks were resting on the edge of the step and I had to put my arms behind me to keep my balance. I watched him as he got up and collected a razor and shaving cream. When he returned, kneeling between my thighs, he grasped my knees and spread my legs as wide as they would go.
The shaving cream was cold, but it was the stroke of his fingers as he applied it that made me jump, that sent shockwaves of anticipation through me and stole my breath. He flicked a glance at me as he smoothed the shaving cream between my thighs, all the way back to my rectum.
I hadn't even realized I had any hair back there. It embarrassed me to learn that I did. I tried to focus my gaze elsewhere as he began to shave me, but I couldn't help it. My gaze kept wandering back to his face.
His expression was one of concentration. It accentuated the almost harsh plains and angles of his face. His hair, somewhat longer than was currently fashionable, was very dark but not ethnic black. Rather, it was a deep, almost black, brown with just a hint of russet highlights. His brows were thick and virtually straight. His eyes would have made any woman envious. His lashes were thick, black, long, and curling, shielding eyes that were somewhere between gray and green, a pale combination of the two colors.
His nose was exceptional, too, a hawkish sort of blade but far more appealing for the sharp definition of bridge and nostrils than a fleshy blob, even though the cut of his nostrils was perilously close to a perpetual sneer. I thought it made him look extraordinarily aristocratic.
Next to his eyes, his mouth was his best feature. Wide, but not overly so, his lips were as well defined as his nose, neither too thin nor too full, and looked firm and hard like the rest of him. My belly fluttered as I stared at that mouth, and images flooded my mind of what it would feel like.
He was clean shaven, but dark hair shadowed his lean cheeks, strong jaw, and forceful chin. High testosterone, I mused, realizing that was probably a good part of my nervousness. I'd read somewhere that it actually oozed from their pores and women, even though they weren't aware they could smell it, in fact could, and it effected their libido.
As he shaved me, his brows slowly inched together in a frown of concentration and a thick lock of hair fell across his brow. He used the fingers of his free hand to stretch the fleshy outer lips of my sex taut while he shaved. It seemed impersonal, and yet I noticed after a few moments that his hand wasn't quite as steady as it had been when he'd begun.
When he flicked a glance at my face again, the green irises had virtually disappeared for the darkness of his dilated pupils.
Rising, he rinsed the razor and returned, stroking his fingers along the area he'd shaved to test his thoroughness. Apparently satisfied, he studied the wedge of hair on my belly above my cleft and trimmed it down to a small wedge that made me wonder why he'd left anything at all. I'd been denuded of hair from the beginning of my cleft all the way back and the hair on my mound trimmed until it hid nothing at all.
Leaning back slightly, he studied the effect and finally nodded. "Rinse and dry off."
He left the room while I was drying.
Wondering if we were done for now, or if he was waiting in the bedroom for my first sexual performance, I followed him uneasily after several moments and discovered that he was selecting-something from the armoire. My suitcase had disappeared. I felt my stomach take a freefall as I studied the garments I was, apparently, expected to wear.
Dropping them onto the bed, he summoned me to stand before a full length mirror. "This is the way I expect you to groom yourself for the duration," he said in a deep voice that sounded more than a little husky as he stood behind me and stroked a hand over my denuded pussy.
A jolt went through me at his first touch for I discovered the skin that had been covered with my pubic hair was far more sensitive than I'd ever noticed before-as if it wasn't shocking enough to see so clearly what had been veiled by hair before!
As I'd suspected, the little 'moustache' he left didn't cover anything. It was almost more like an exclamation point to draw attention to my pussy than anything else. The outer lips that hid my sex looked plumper than I'd thought they were and actually pretty obscene to me, but I was still relieved because my nether lips felt swollen and pouty from his focus on them, and I was glad that that part wasn't visible.
"The correct response is 'yes, sir'."
I struggled to find my voice and dutifully repeated the words.
"Wait here."
I watched his reflection in the mirror as he moved briskly toward the garments he'd selected. He picked up a bustier and returned. When he'd fitted the black leather piece around my waist and told me to hold it while he fastened the back, I saw that the piece only covered me from just beneath the breasts to a little more than mid-way down my hips, stopping just above my new exclamation point patch of hair. When he'd fastened it, he moved around in front of me and adjusted my breasts which were half in and half out of the thing. Scooping them from the restricting garment, he almost seemed to be 'fluffing' them. After staring at them a moment, he caught a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and plucked at them until my nipples were standing at attention and the rest of me was quivering weakly.
I saw when he moved away at last that the top of the bustier formed more of a shelf for a display than a cup, lifting my breasts as if in offering but covering nothing.
He stood behind me for several moments, studying my reflection and finally summoned me to follow him back to the bed.
He caught my chin in one hand when we stopped there, tipping my face up so that I had to meet him eye to eye. "Have you ever engaged in anal sex?"
My eyes widened. I'd been asked that as part of the interview, but I'd, conveniently, closed my mind to that. I shook my head.
He studied my face for several moments, as if he could read my mind, and finally nodded as if it was the answer he'd expected. "Turn around and lean over the bed."
I gulped, my stomach clenching harder, but oddly enough I discovered my sex was damper than before, when, by rights, the comment and all it entailed should have been enough to dry up all my juices with anxiety. Dragging in a shaky breath, I turned and did as I was told, spreading my legs wide for him and turning my head to watch as he moved to the small cabinet beside the bed, taking something from a drawer.
I'd never seen anything like the thing he pulled out. It looked strikingly similar to a dildo except that it was tapered to a narrow tip at one end and it looked as if it was made of a far softer material than dildos generally were. He squeezed lubricant out of a tube and spread it over the thing thickly. I caught my breath as he moved behind me again and pushed the cheeks of my ass wide with the fingers of one hand.
"Relax. As I insert this, you need to bear down with your stomach muscles to open the rectum."
My heart was in my throat, but as I felt him begin to push, I did as I'd been told, panting as I felt the thing penetrating me. Discomfort went through me as it penetrated, a sense of fullness followed as he pushed it slowly inside until it could go no further, but, thankfully, it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I'd expected.
"Now clench and hold for me and stand upright."
Disconcerted that he obviously meant to leave it, more embarrassed than uncomfortable, I pushed myself up from the bed as he returned to the nightstand. The sense of fullness increased as I straightened. It wasn't comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but I was relieved that it wasn't painful.
I was still focused on that strange sensation of having something up my ass when he moved up behind me again. I felt a tug along the back edge of the bustier, as if he was attaching something. Catching my shoulders, he turned me to face him and knelt down. I merely stared at him when he pushed one hand between my legs. He looked up at me, his dark brows rising and nudged at my legs with his hand until I shifted them apart. Reaching between my thighs, he caught hold of whatever it was he'd attached to the back of the bustier and pulled it between my legs-into the cleft of my ass. I frowned, thinking it was just something that would be adjusted. I discovered otherwise.
It tightened as he pulled on it, pressing against my rectum and pushing the thing he'd inserted deeper. Trying not to wiggle, I stared down at the top of his dark head and his hands, unable to see what he was doing. I felt the thing cinched upward, though, felt it compress one side of the outer lips of my sex. He drew it up and fastened it to the front of the bustier, cinching it uncomfortably tight. I reached down instinctively to adjust myself, but he slapped my hand-not hard, but in rebuke.
I snatched my hand back, feeling mildly embarrassed and rather like a child that had been chastised. He delved between my legs again and pulled up another strap catching the other lip my sex as he had the first and making it obvious that it had been no accident. As he fastened the strap to the other edge of the front, cinching it as he had the first, I felt his hot breath waft over the very delicate and sensitive inner lips of my sex. My clit swelled instantly to a hard, throbbing knot and felt about twice its normal size.
He flicked a glance up at my face when he'd finished fastening the 'binding' then returned his attention to his handiwork, making minor adjustments with his fingers that made my knees feel like jelly.
"You will keep the plug in at all times unless it is necessary to remove it for your needs, then you will replace it and reattach the restraints between your legs just as I've adjusted them. In a few days, once you've grown accustomed to this one, we'll move up to a slightly larger size plug."
I stared down at his dark head, abruptly feeling mulish. I didn't want anything bigger in my ass! I already felt uncomfortable, and it boggled my mind to think I was supposed to walk around, sit, stand, whatever-trying to carry on as if I didn't have something shoved up my ass that was impossible to ignore or get used to.
Although the first moments of sheer terror had long since worn off, though, it had left me vulnerable to my desperate needs, allowed me the calm to realize that however reluctant I might feel, I had better keep it to myself. I hadn't expected this, but I realized I probably should have-would have if I'd had any clue about this business.
It didn't hurt. I couldn't complain to the referee, not honestly, that it did, and I knew my acceptance, and my money, depended on complete submission, which meant compliance to anything they wanted of me.
No, as he'd said, was no longer a part of my vocabulary. If I uttered my safety word, we were done and I went home as bad off as before.
He told me to sit down on the bed. When I did so, he lifted one of my legs and slipped a sheer hose over it, adjusting the elasticized upper edge on my thigh. Bending that knee, he settled my foot on the bed and lifted the other leg, repeating the process.
He sent me to stand before the mirror and study what he'd done so that I'd know how I was expected to dress hereafter.
Despite my suspicions about his adjustments, I was horrified to discover that the 'restraints' which I'd thought were primarily there to make sure the plug stayed put, pulled the outer lips of my sex back so that the darker pink inner petals were fully, obscenely exposed. It had felt 'airish'. I'd felt the brush of my thighs against sensitive flesh with every step I took, but I'd still thought I couldn't possibly be as exposed as I'd felt like I was.
He came to stand behind me again, this time slipping my arms into a filmy robe that was the next thing to completely transparent. He tapped my chin to make me look up at him as he tied the thin ribbon at the neck of the thing. "One final thing-You aren't allowed to cum unless you're given permission. At any time that you feel that you are about to cum, you must announce it and request permission. If, and only if, it is granted, you may cum. Otherwise, you'll be punished for disobedience. And if you make a habit of disobeying, you've failed to live up to your part of the agreement, which means it will be terminated at my discretion."
My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest at that. I stared at him owl eyed, wondering what sort of punishment they had in mind.
Nothing to do with pain or that could cause injury! That was absolutely forbidden.
I hoped he realized that.
Not that I thought I had anything to worry about. According to my ex, I was frigid. I didn't agree with him, but I had certainly never been oversexed, and I couldn't imagine having a problem containing myself.
It wasn't until a good bit later that I realized that there were ways to be punished that didn't fall under either category that were nevertheless excruciating. And not being allowed to cum, no matter what they did, was the worst of all-until I discovered the other!
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