Go: A Surrender (13 page)

We paused in a well-lit nook next to a gleaming bronze nude.

“I was thinking here,” said our hostess. Her name was Anne. “The
lights shouldn’t be too hot—they’re LED, archival-use approved.”

“Perfect,” said Jack.

“Wonderful, I’ll have my man move this and install the
hook.”

She moved on, and I pulled Jack aside. “I don’t think I can
hang for a whole party,” I said, remembering the strain from the traction.

“Oh no, you won’t be,” said Jack. “Your feet will be on the
ground. The hook is just to help hold up your arms.”

A moment later a handyman rolled a dolly in and took the
statue away. Anne reappeared, carrying a box. “This is what I bought,” she
said, offering it to Jack. “It’s cotton blended with silk. Very soft.”

Jack reached into the box, to verify her claim. “It’s
lovely,” he agreed, “thank you.”

We still had a little time before I would get into position.
“Would you like a nap?” offered Anne. “Or I could have Valerie make you a
drink, or a snack?”

“I think I’m alright,” I said.

“How about champagne,” pressed Anne, and I laughed. “Is that
funny?” she asked, puzzled.

“Champagne sounds great,” answered Jack.

“Actually, what I’d really like, if it’s alright, is a
martini,” I said, glancing at Jack. He shook his head disappointedly, but
didn’t protest.

“Of course,” said Anne, and she left to deliver my order.

A moment later the tattooed Valerie was delivering me a
martini, a bemused expression on her face. She was compact and dark-eyed, a
little jewel stud in her nose. Her sleeve tattoos extended all the way onto the
backs of her hands.

As she smirked up at me I realized I’d been staring. “Thank
you,” I said quickly.

“Enjoy,” she replied, and as she walked away I took a
nervous, too-big sip. I glanced over to where Jack stood, but he and Anne were
busy with the rigging in the corner.

Then it was time to begin. I removed my clothes and stood on
my mark as Anne and Jack slipped soft loops of thick silk rope over my wrists.
These they attached to the ceiling, so my arms could be extended up and
outwards without strain.

“Comfortable?” asked Anne. I nodded. “Good. Now spread your
legs to shoulder width.”

They proceeded to carefully wind the rope around my right
ankle, then up and around my right wrist, then across, over my head, to my left
wrist, then down to the left ankle. Then they repeated it in backwards order.
It was slow going, but steadily the coils of rope began to cover my forearms
and my calves.

They were deep in concentration when Valerie wandered past,
paused, cocked her head to look me up and down. Again she gave me a smirk. I
wondered what she thought of this. But Jack had ensured that everyone involved
tonight had given consent, so I knew she’d at least known there would be
something out of the ordinary taking place.

She moved on.

Finally they finished. “Try leaning forward?” suggested
Anne, and I did so, raising my heels to stand on the balls of my feet and
arching my back with my arms up behind me. The cables took a fair amount of my
weight. My breasts stuck out ahead of me like the tits on a mermaid at the prow
of a ship.

“Beautiful,” said Anne. “Sylvie, may I take your picture?”

“I don’t know,” I said, hesitant. “Would people see it?”

“What if—could she wear a mask?” offered Jack. And, to me:
“Then would it be alright?”

“Sure,” I said. The idea of a mask, and a camera—it aroused
me.

“I think I have one,” said Anne, and went off to look for
it.

Jack stepped in close, kissed me. “How do you feel?” he
asked.

“A little like a dream catcher,” I said.

He leaned his forehead into mine. “That seems somehow apt,”
he said softly.

He stepped back, reached up to touch my lips, then ran his
fingers down my chin, down my neck. Traced my collarbone, then skimmed down my
breast. Drew a little circle around my navel, then crept downwards, between my
legs. I was straddled enough that my labia was visible, open. And wet.

“This turns you on,” said Jack.

“Yes,” I breathed. No use denying it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “I want you to enjoy it.” And with
that, he kissed me again, longer, harder.

“Jack,” I whispered, as he began to pull away. “I want you.
Tonight. After this. I’ve waited long enough.”

“We’ll see,” he said thoughtfully, as Anne rejoined us, mask
in hand. As she tied it across my head I once again caught Valerie watching. The
doorbell chimed, as the first of the evening’s guests arrived.

It was a small party, as it turned out—just the artsy,
trusted few, and mostly couples. This was the first scenario to include even a
single woman, and in fact the women this evening just slightly outnumbered the
men.

The energy felt different, too. True, I was still an
object—a literal sculpture—but having wives and girlfriends there seemed to
make the men act differently. They hung back as Anne urged her guests to touch
me. “Come then,” she said, “I want to take photos, and someone needs to put coconut
oil on her first. Nobody wants to, really?”

The first volunteer was somebody’s wife, a lean, tall woman
of maybe 50. Like all of this crowd, she was confident, understatedly stylish.
She took the bowl of coconut oil from Anne and scooped a little into her hand.
In the bowl it was solid and white, but instantly it softened between her
fingers. Without hesitation, she reached out and began rubbing it into my
breasts. I closed my eyes and let the suspension take more of my weight,
arching each of my breasts into her hands.

She was truly massaging them, thumbing the nipples while she
cupped and squeezed them with her open palms. Then, scooping up more of the
oil, she proceeded down my belly, sliding across my hip bones, then down into
the crease where my pelvis connected to my thighs. “Harold,” she called out to
her husband, “I know you want to lube up this ass.”

So Harold stepped forward, and she passed him the bowl. He
circled behind me and, setting the bowl on the floor, with both hands began to
enthusiastically rub and squeeze my buttocks. I cried out a little as his
finger grazed my wet, open labia, and the guests tittered politely. I tensed
and squirmed as he slipped his hand into the crack of my ass and he pressed his
oil-slick thumb against my asshole.

Valerie eyed me again as she once again walked past, handing
around drinks.

“Bring another drink for Sylvie, would you, darling?” Anne
murmured to her.

Now Howard gave up his spot to a younger man who oiled the
rest of my back, reaching around periodically to rub and pinch my nipples for
good measure. I cried out a little as he did so, and Anne said, “Wait, don’t
move,” and he kept his hands cupped over my shining breasts as she began to
take pictures.

She had him step away for a moment, out of frame, as she got
down on the floor and shot me from below. Knowing the eye of that camera could
see my spread, wet pussy only made me wetter. Yet I couldn’t touch myself,
couldn’t do anything except strain and squirm like a fish on a line.

Now Valerie arrived with my drink in a tall, cool glass with
a straw. Anne nodded for her to bring it to me and she stepped closer, then,
with a wicked grin, she touched the glass to my straining nipple. I yelped at
the cold, wet touch, and she chuckled.

“Valerie,” said Anne, “be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” said Valerie, lifting the straw to my
lips so I could drink. Her face was very close to mine, her eyes searching mine
out in the shadow of the mask.

“I can smell your pussy,” she whispered, very quietly.

An involuntary gasp made me lose my grip on the straw. She put
it back, letting her index finger rest for a split second on the tip of my
tongue. Taking the straw between my teeth I sucked at it urgently, my breath
coming in gasps. The noise of the party had increased slightly, as people
talked among themselves during our little intermission. I couldn’t see Jack, as
I couldn’t turn my head, but I felt certain he was just out of my view,
watching.

I sucked the last of my drink from the glass and Valerie
carefully lowered it from my mouth. “Shhh,” she said, and before I knew what
she was doing she’d pressed it against my clit and was slipping it over me, wet
and smooth and freezing. I cried out.

“Valerie,” said Anne.

With a quiet
tsk-tsk
, Valerie withdrew the glass and cockily
sauntered away.

“Darling,” Anne called to me, “are you comfortable?”

I nodded. Comfortable was a stretch—my fingertips were a
little numb, and I was vaguely concerned that I might need to go to the
bathroom—but overall it was tolerable, and besides, I was curious how far this
little party might go. All the other arrangements had felt relatively
straightforward, particularly since, thanks to Jack’s supervision, I hadn’t
feared any violence. I didn’t think this group would get rough, per se, but I felt
things could take a turn for the unexpected.

“May,” said Anne then, “won’t you take a turn? If you’re
comfortable taking your own clothes off I’d love to shoot you both.”

A slender Asian woman with long, stick-straight hair giggled
shyly and approached me. She bent her arms awkwardly behind her back as she
tried to work down the zipper of her simple black sheath dress. I wondered why
nobody was helping her, but then I realized I could hear the shutter of Anne’s
camera.

The woman managed to get the zipper down and with a shrug,
the dress slid off her and landed on the floor. She wore simple white panties
underneath, and nothing else. Her hipbones stuck out sharply, as did her ribs.
Her breasts were small, with tiny brown nipples.

She stepped toward me. “Where should I touch her?” she said
to Anne. There was something business-like in her tone. Instantly I sensed
that, while she was complying with her hostess’s request, I was not of
particular interest to her.

One of the guests called out, “Boo!” and at first I thought
it was over her lack of enthusiasm.

She ignored it. “Anne?”

“Take off your panties!” yelled the same voice.

“I’m ignoring you, William,” replied May, matter-of-factly.

“Her breasts,” said Anne, “tease her breasts.”

May had cool, slender fingers and I flinched as she began to
touch me. Anne moved in closer with her camera, capturing the indentation of
those fingers as they massaged and squeezed my breasts.

“Good,” said Anne, “great.” Then she paused. “Would you mind
sucking them?”

May took a tentative mouthful of my nipple and began to
suck. Instantly I didn’t care any longer that she was indifferent to me—the
pleasure radiated outward from her mouth in waves.

“Lovely,” praised Anne, and after another moment May
released my breast and stepped back from me.

“Please,” said Anne, “could we try one more thing? Could you
embrace her? Just do the same thing—suck her nipples—but with your arms wrapped
around her back, so that you’re pressed against her?”

May appeared to hesitate, and I realized it was because she
didn’t want to get coconut oil on her pristine underwear.

“If you don’t mind taking them off,” confirmed Anne.

And so May hooked her thumbs into her underwear and stepped
out of them, too. Her pubic hair was black and thick, which I was glad of,
since it made her look a little less like a child.

She stepped toward me again, slipped both hands across my
back, then brought her cheek to the center of my chest. “Like this?” she said.

“Yes, but—”

And once again she took my nipple in her mouth. I felt the
breath from her nostrils down the side of my breast, and again the rings of
pleasure began to ripple outward from her mouth. Whatever her lack of interest,
she was still teasing the tip of my nipple with her tongue as she drew more and
more of my breast into her mouth. There was something about the coldness of her
touch, combined with its skill, that made it perplexingly erotic.

“Fantastic,” said Anne, “just hold it a few moments longer,
I want to get the other side.”

Then came another voice. “Come on. You want to shoot a woman
fucking her, I’d do a much better job.”

It was Valerie.

“Valerie, nobody asked for your opinion. Why don’t you be a
pet and fetch Sylvie another drink?”

“News flash, everyone, my girlfriend has an Asian fetish,” Valerie
teased as she walked away. It hadn’t dawned on me, somehow, that Anne was gay
or that she and Valerie were a couple. But it did seem to explain a lot.

“May, that’s fine, you can stop,” said Anne, ignoring Valerie’s
provocations. May stopped. “I think those are going to look great.”

May returned to the spot where she’d dropped them and
slipped her clothes back on with all the imperturbability of a runway model.
She hadn’t said so much as a word to me the entire time. It was strange to feel
so aroused and yet have all this distance around me.