Go: A Surrender (2 page)

I reached for the glass and took a sip, my delicious
apprehension renewed.

“So, one way we
could
do this is for you to have veto
power,” he said. “But frankly I think that’s not in the spirit of the game.”

“Okay,” I said, half-guessing what he intended.

“Okay, you relinquish veto power?”

“Just for this,” I hastened, “provisionally. I need to know
I can have it back if I need it.”

“Once this is underway I hope you aren’t going to embarrass
everyone by backing out,” he admonished. “Remember, these are people we’re
talking about. They have feelings. And you’re going to have them in a very
intimate situation. So don’t be insulting, okay? Don’t be hurtful.”

I’d guessed right. I paused for a moment, just taking this
in.

“I understand,” I said.

“I thought you would,” he said approvingly, and I felt a
little surge of delight, like a spelling bee champion who’d managed not to
botch a hard one.

“People aren’t always up for this, you know,” he said, and I
felt an unexpected jealous fury at the idea that he’d done anything like it
before. “Don’t take it personally. They worry it’s some sort of scam, or that
we’re crazy—”

“Aren’t we?”

“Benignly,” he shrugged, then continued, “—or they worry
it’s some bait-and-switch and your services will come at a price. I’m sure
we’ll find a candidate, but I’m just warning you. I might have to approach
several people first. Just try to stay cool.”

I nodded. I was determined to stay cool.

“And don’t drink too fast. If you’re drunk it’ll be
pointless and I’ll look like I’m taking advantage.”

I nodded again, aware now of how quickly I’d been sucking down
my champagne. I set it on the bar, commenced to clutching my hands in my lap.

He sighed disappointedly, drew a slim volume from his pocket
and handed it to me. “Stop fidgeting and read this,” he said.

I looked at the title and laughed. “The
I Ching
? Are
you serious?”

“No, but it beats nail biting,” he said. “Okay,” he added.
“Now, don’t watch me.”

And with that he left me at the bar. The bartender pointedly
didn’t look at me, and I thought how he must see shenanigans like this all the
time. But how could I not watch? I hadn’t even had a chance to see who was in
here, who he’d be choosing from. I started to swivel my stool, which was when
the bartender shot me a sharp look. He was in on it?

I flushed. Took a thrifty sip of my champagne, and opened the
I Ching
. Couldn’t read a goddamn word.

Behind the bar were shelves and shelves of bottles, and
behind them a sort of copper-colored, degraded mirror. I peered into it, trying
to make out….

….his
name
, I suddenly realized. What was his name?

Had he said it at the beginning? Had he ever said it? I spun
back through the last hour or so, like rewinding a tape, and located
nothing—just laughter, the wicked twinkle in his eyes. I couldn’t recall an
introduction.

“Excuse me?” the bartender looked startled that I was able
to speak. With one eye on
him
he sidled over.

“My drink, is it on a tab?”

He shook his head. “Charged to the room.”

“What’s the room?”

“I can’t give that information out.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, ma’am.”

I emptied my drink, suddenly thrilled to exercise this small
defiance. “May I please have a martini?”

Again the bartender glanced beyond me. “I can give you
champagne.”

“I’ll pay,” I said, digging my wallet out of my purse,
pawing through it for cash.

The bartender didn’t move, but instead focused completely on
something just behind me. A moment later I knew why.

“Another champagne for the lady,” said a voice. It was a
stranger’s. The bartender was quick to obey.

I looked over. The man standing beside me was the kind of
man one saw in hotels like this. Short and ruddy; thinning blonde hair. An
expensive suit designed to make his shoulders look bigger, and too long in the
sleeves. Gold rings, banker’s shirt but he’d taken his tie off and unbuttoned
the top. I could see the gold chain at his throat, his graying chest hair.

There was sweat at his temples. He was nervous.

The bartender handed me more champagne. The man wiped his
face with the back of his hand, stared at me. His lips were parted; I could see
his tongue.

“So I get to fuck you,” he said, not quite incredulous.

My stomach sank and my cheeks flushed. The thought of this
man’s hands on me repulsed me. And yet, between my legs, the message was
entirely opposite. I was not attracted to him. But I was getting my wish. The
sort of fantasy I’d always felt too conflicted about to try to exercise. How
had
he
known this about me, about what I wanted? That, too, made me wet.
Wet and frightened.

“Is that supposed to be small-talk?” I asked, shakily,
trying to come off as breezy.

“I’m not much of a talker,” he said. “I know women like you.
You want a talker. You think if a guy can drop a couple SAT words it means
he’ll know how to make you cum.”

I was just breathing now—I had no reply.

“Well don’t worry, I’ll make you cum,” he said. “I promised
that guy of yours I would.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Kind of a creep, by the way, you ask me.”

“But you’re playing,” I pointed out. My voice didn’t come
out confident. It came out small.

“Sure I am; look at you,” he said. “I don’t get to plow a
snooty bitch like you very often. You know,
carpe diem
and all.”

I swallowed.

“Come on,” he said, “you don’t need that drink. Let’s go
somewhere I can spread you open and dispense with the vocabulary.”

Spellbound, I climbed down from the stool. I looked around
for
him
… but he had vanished. I wanted reassurance.
From another
stranger!
some last rational part of me exclaimed, shrilly protesting. But
as this man put his hand at the small of my back, I felt there was nothing I
could do—nothing I wanted to do—but obey.

It was like surrendering to a movie, except I was the movie.

We walked like this to the elevators. He pulled a key from
his pocket, pressed the button. I stood beside him, clutching my purse, trying
not to tremble visibly. The elevator stopped and we climbed in.

The doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

“Try not to look so scared,” he said. “You’ll make me feel
like a monster.”

“Sorry,” I managed, and tried to muster a smile. Just as
quickly as it had started, our ascent stopped, and the door slid open. We
stepped out into a hallway. He walked ahead of me now. I followed, my mind
oddly clear of second thoughts.

I looked at my feet, placed each toe at the center of the
red diamond patterns on the carpet. Step, step, step. Suddenly I became aware
that he’d stopped, was standing beside an opened door. He looked at me, eyes
narrowed, and ran his tongue over his lower lip like he was about to tuck a
napkin in and start a meal.

“After you,” he said. So I went in.

He stepped in after me and as the heavy hotel door clunked
shut I had the sudden thought that this might be how I would die. I was so
stupid. I had walked right into this, and this man would fuck me, and maybe
he
would fuck me, or maybe neither of them would fuck me at all, they would just
cut me into little pieces and hide my body in garbage cans all over downtown. I
actually teared up, this image came to me so vividly, so completely, so that
when this man stepped to me and pressed his erection against my ass and then
reached around to lift my skirt and plunge his ugly hand into my underwear, I
gasped, as the tears rolled down my cheek.

He groaned as his fingers made contact with the slick wet
hair at the entrance to my vagina. He buried his other hand in the back of my
hair, spreading his fingers apart to cup the curve at the back of my skull.

“You’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you,” he said, his
voice hoarse, his own breath shortened. “It turns you on to have your boyfriend
make you screw a dumb fat fuck like me.”

With that he crooked his fingers to part the lips of my
pussy and then slipped his middle and ring fingers back and forth across my
clit.

“Fuck, I haven’t felt a pussy this wet in a goddamned
decade,” he said. There was genuine appreciation in his voice. He drew a deep
breath, then plunged those two fingers into me, pressing the meaty heel of his
palm against my clit as he moved them in and out slowly.

I whimpered.

He moved his left hand from the back of my head to my
breast, pinched my nipple through my dress. More sounds came from my throat.

“That’s right, you little slut. That’s what I can do for you
and you can’t fucking help yourself, you’re hungry for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, barely, on an exhale.

He withdrew his hand and my pussy felt empty, soaking and
starving both.

“Louder.”

“Yes,” I whined.

“Good,” he said, and now he brought both hands to the work
of unzipping the back of my dress. I heard the sound of the zipper opening
down, down, and felt the fabric parting to expose the skin of my back. Then he
tugged the dress down from the hem so that it dropped to the floor and I stood
in front of him in my underwear. Still facing away from him. My panties so wet
that the tops of my thighs were wet where they’d been pressed together.

He unfastened my bra and slipped it forward, down my arms,
and it, too, fell to the ground. My nipples stiffened in the silent, cold air
conditioning of the room.

Then the panties. He took hold of the waistband and tugged
them down.

I waited to see what would happen next. I was glad I was
facing away from him. I could just feel things, let my body respond and not
have to think about him—who he was, what the hell I was doing.

He placed his hand at the back of my neck now. “Walk,” he
said, and I walked ahead of him to the bed. We stopped at the edge.

“Kneel on the bed,” he said, “all fours.”

I knelt. He stroked my ass a few times appreciatively, then
got to his own knees behind me, on the floor. He brought his face very close to
my throbbing pussy. I felt his hot breath on me and held my own, anticipating
the feel of his tongue against the swollen wet entrance to my body.

But then he stood again, and I heard him unbuckling his
belt.

So quickly it seemed we had arrived at this point! I was
desperately aroused, though. I did, I wanted his cock inside me, I didn’t give
a damn that he was fat and ugly and hairy and wore too many rings.

He wasn’t even touching me, and I whimpered again. Wiggled
my ass a little in the air, spreading myself wider for him.

“Nah,” he said, “not so fast. Turn around.”

I did, still on my knees. His cock was out. Neither large
nor small, but shiny and hard, with a big head on it, leaking pre-cum. I knew
what was next. I reached for it.

“No,” he said. “Kiss me.”

This, it turned out, was what I really didn’t want to do.
But I’d been warned not to make him feel bad. Unhappily, I rose up on my knees,
so that we were face to face. I looked into his eyes. They were hungry,
desperately so—and yet also distant, almost sad. I placed a hand on each of his
shoulders, and then—

“Stop.”

He
was in the room—I hadn’t even seen him. In a
chair, in the shadowy corner. I felt too many things then. Relieved at the
intervention. Humiliated, that he’d seen me so eager to fuck this disgusting
man.

“No kissing, remember?” He spoke to the man. “We have
rules.”

The man nodded without looking over, and I saw that being
checked embarrassed him, made him lose his erection a little. I felt sorry for
him.

Again I dropped to all fours and I found the head of his
cock with my tongue and I softly lapped at it. The organ leapt a little,
regained some of its hardness.

I moved my lips over it, took just the head in my mouth,
softly. In an instant he was back to rigid. I took him deeper in my mouth,
heard him moan.

For a long moment, there wasn’t a sound in the room except
the sticky slurping noises of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. He kept
a hand lightly on my shoulder as I pumped his slippery organ between my lips. I
felt my breasts swinging beneath me, bare and untouched. Then, quickly, his
breathing changed, and I felt he was getting close. I was gratified to know
that I wasn’t the only one strangely turned on by this whole little game.

I cupped his balls in my hand, and a moment later, with a
groan, he came in my mouth. I held him there on my tongue as he whimpered, his
orgasm subsiding.

Then I slowly backed off his cock and swallowed and looked
up at him. His face was upturned, eyes squeezed shut.