Obsessive Surrender
Page 15
From behind closed eyes, the mental picture of Gary’s pale face materialized in Alan’s mind. He heard his voice, barely above a whisper, pleading, “After I’m gone, Alan, I want you to promise me that you’ll reconnect with your brother. Promise me! I don’t want to die thinking you’ll be alone.”
Now here I am, stuck in that damnable “after”, with Gary gone! But instead of heading straight for Vegas, I’m detouring until my courage kicks in. Sorry, Gary, but at least I’m working my way there. I will see Ivan again and I will keep that promise. I just have to do it my way; in my own time.
As Alan watched the miles roll off, separating him from the life that he had cherished with Gary, he felt a deep sense of loss and a gnawing emptiness.
He gave all that regret a mental shove to the back of his mind, replacing it with thoughts of his brother. He’d kept track of Ivan through all the tabloid stories he’d read.
It seems Ivan has become a man of influence and authority in Vegas. Wonder if all that fame has tempered his tolerance? But hell, even if it hasn't, I still want to see him. I wonder if he wants to see me though.
Lulled by the hum of the tires and the soft murmur of his fellow passengers, Alan gave himself up to the release of an exhausted sleep, and the moment he did, the dark dreams of inadequacy came at him again, dragging old pictures like a ghost’s clanking chains.
He saw them—himself at four and Ivan at fourteen. He was playing on the monkey bars at the park. He heard Ivan urging him to hold on. He saw himself falling time and again, and Ivan picking him up; telling him to try again; that it would make a man out of him.
He saw himself embarrassed as a pre-teen, unsure and awkward, trying to emulate his older brother’s swagger with the opposite sex and knowing he was a failure in that as he was in everything else.
He saw himself outside the living room, listening to his mother say she had washed her hands of him and he felt the ripping pain again.
Frowning in his sleep, Alan whirled from one disaster in his youth to another, the disturbing journey ending at the most hurtful memory of all, that New Year’s Eve night when he’d gotten drunk and acted on the crush he’d had on Ivan’s friend for years.
Alan flinched as the force of his brother’s disgust, delivered in a fiery verbal attack, struck him like physical blows before the dream abruptly shattered as the bus jolted over a bad stretch of highway.
Jostled from his mental lethargy, Alan was brought nervously back to the present. He sat up straight, breathing hard, fighting back a flood of emotion.
After all these years, even after proving himself in the military, knowing Ivan saw him as nothing but a ‘flaming embarrassment and a fucking queer’, as he had put it, hurt like hell.
Okay, he silently reassured himself, I can do this. I’ll stay at Michael’s and play in his club until I get my head on straight before going to see Ivan. However long it takes, I will just have to take the time.
Chapter 12
The Ménage à Trios
To celebrate their forthcoming three-week-old marriage, Ivan debated on how to please Andrea. Wanting the surprise to be unique, a treat she would never forget, he decided to bring Cynthia into the equation. After all, Andrea had once expressed the desire to be pleased by his tongue and cock at the same time.
He knew Andrea was expecting to see him come striding in alone and he saw the shock on her face when she found herself looking into the mocking eyes of tall, curvaceous, skimpily clad Cynthia.
Andrea quickly reached for the bedspread to cover her nakedness.
Ivan set the tray he’d carried with the bottle of single malt, 30-year aged Springbank Scotch and three glasses down on the bedside table as he said nonchalantly, “Andrea, I want you to meet Cynthia. I’ve known her since I first started The Royale Flush. She is one of my most trusted ‘employees’ and to her credit, she’s one of those rare females who knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
Seeing Andrea’s look of stunned disbelief, he added the reassurance, “Cynthia is the only one I would dare bring to my home, not to mention this room.”
He sat down on the bed and pulled Andrea close, kissing her, whispering into her ear, “You may speak freely while Cynthia is here. She is my gift to you, my pet. Do and say whatever you wish.”
Cynthia smiled, moving seductively toward Andrea as Ivan rose and stepped back, watching.
“Hi, honey. Well, you’re as lovely as Ivan said you were, and as young. You look like a kid. Ivan, shame on you for robbing the cradle.”
“Believe me, Andrea is not a kid, Cynthia. My wife is a grown woman now, I assure you,” Ivan said laughing.
Incensed, Andrea gasped, “You two have talked about me?”
“We have a little,” Cynthia admitted.
Ivan watched the interaction between the two of them through veiled gray eyes, amused by what he perceived to be jealousy on Andrea’s part. Liking the idea that Andrea was feeling wifely possessiveness, Ivan felt internally vindicated with his decision as he thought, Andrea will be pleased once she gets over the shock and I am back in complete control of the situation.
As Cynthia looked around the room, she shook her head, commenting, “My, my, what a layout, Ivan.”
Then, turning her attention to Andrea, she said, “Can’t tell you the women that would kill to be in your shoes, hon, lying here with nothing to do but please and be pleasured by the most handsome, virile man in Vegas.”
Ignoring the remark, Ivan suggested, “Tell you what, ladies, let’s all have a drink.”
He poured each of them a hefty portion of scotch.
“You know I don’t drink, Ivan,” Andrea said frowning.
“Tonight you will, my dear. It’s time you developed a taste for good scotch. It will loosen you up.”
She asked hesitantly, “Loosen me up for what?”
Cynthia accepted the drink Ivan handed her readily but Andrea didn’t take hers until he demanded brusquely, “Take it, Andrea. Drink it.”
Knowing it was useless to argue, Andrea complied. She coughed as the fiery 80 proof liquid slid down her throat.
Cynthia laughed.
“She really is a babe in the woods, ain’t she? And you, you scoundrel you,” she said, playfully punching Ivan on the arm, “are the big bad wolf.”
Seething as she watched their interactive familiarity, Andrea asked anxiously, “What’s going on, Ivan?”
“Tonight you learn of another way to please me, and of course, please yourself, as well.”
“Ivan, don’t. Not in front of a—a guest,” Andrea turned beet red, stumbling over the words, feeling ridiculous speaking them, for she certainly did not consider Cynthia a guest but a crass intruder.
Echoing her sentiments, Ivan said, “Cynthia is not a guest, Andrea. She’s a teacher.”
Biting her lip, Andrea asked fearfully, “A—a teacher of what?”
“Alternative sexual gratification.”
She blanched. “What do you mean, Ivan?”
“I’m saying it’s time you experienced a ménage à trios. And Cynthia is the best teacher I know in that particular art. All you have to do is relax and enjoy.”
“Ivan, no!”
Cynthia stepped closer. She pushed Andrea’s hair back from her face, smiling, “Say, little girl, if you’re worried your man is about to ball me, forget it. I should be so lucky. All the sexual energy in this room will be focused entirely on you.”
“This is another phase in your worldly education, my dear,” Ivan said, ignoring Andrea’s horrified expression but beginning to feel guilty and sorry he had brought Cynthia home.
“Now finish your drink and have another.”
The second glass of scotch settled like a bomb in Andrea’s stomach and almost immediately scattered her senses. She suddenly felt like she was floating through the center of a warm, slightly distorted dream. She was, in fact, so disoriented that she didn’t even protest as Ivan took the bedspread from her and pulled her to her feet.
Cynthia’s hands moved seductively over Andrea’s curves as the three of them began an undulating, sensual dance sans music.
To Andrea, it matched the pulsating throb in her mind. She felt a rising heat surge through her loins as they moved together and she experienced a yearning she neither understood nor wanted to deny as she stood sandwiched between them, their inquisitive hands moving over every inch of her, caressing lightly, probing.
Feeling Ivan’s lips on her neck and Cynthia’s on her breasts, Andrea was aflame with desire. She quivered as Ivan’s fingers delved into her anus at the same time that Cynthia’s seeking hand moved into the sensual moist valley between her legs, her fingers seeking and caressing her clit as she suckled at her breasts.
Their erotic ministrations transported Andrea to a lustful fever. From the depths of her befuddled state, Andrea heard Ivan say, “Let’s relax on the bed and play, ladies.”
She lay limply where Ivan placed her, disjointed and not protesting as they settled one to each side of her, stroking, probing, kissing gently and raising a line of goose bumps along her arms and legs. Ivan concentrated on sucking one of her breasts while Cynthia slid down to delve into her navel.
Ivan splayed her legs wider then rolled to a sitting position, nodding his go-ahead at Cynthia who moved between them, her seeking mouth settling on Andrea’s clit, kissing, rolling it with her tongue, and then covering it with her lips, sucking gently as Andrea clawed the bed and moaned.
Suddenly feeling a spurt of jealousy at their intimacy; not liking the feeling of being the third party instead of the primary one, Ivan pulled Cynthia up, indicating she was to kiss Andrea’s breast while he tended to his wife’s clit.
Cynthia obliged willingly, suckling first one breast and then the other. When she suddenly kissed Andrea’s open mouth, she was surprised when Andrea returned the kiss avidly, with a slight, acquiescent moan as their tongues collided.
When she lifted her head, Cynthia glanced up at Ivan who had risen from his pleasuring and was watching them.
“Our girl is way beyond ready, boss,” Cynthia said.
She rolled off. Ivan positioned Andrea on her hands and knees over Cynthia, steadying her when she would have toppled over, then stuffed a pillow beneath Cynthia’s head to give her educated tongue ample reach in order to titillate Andrea’s swollen pleasure point while he quickly lubricated himself and slowly, carefully claimed her anus.
Moaning, Andrea stiffened and he whispered down to her, “Relax, my pet. I will be gentle.”
Andrea exhaled a long breath, relaxing as he bid her to do and then immediately giving herself up to the erotic linking, in sync with Ivan’s anal entry coinciding with Cynthia’s eager, sucking mouth on her throbbing clit.
Shaken to the core of her being, Andrea cried out loudly as wave upon wave of climatic shock rolled through her. Yet they continued invading her by tongue and cock, taking her sensitized nerves on a relentless pursuit of another climax.
Andrea heard their mingled sounds of erotic pleasuring from a great roaring distance as they brought her back to the edge of another mind-shattering orgasm, her mounting excitement urging them across their own finish lines.
When the raging feelings subsided, they all collapsed to the bed, breathing heavily.
Cynthia blew out a breath with the exclamation, “Whew, Ivan, you have yourself one hell of a hot little mama here. Hope you realize that.”
“I do, indeed.”
Their words of erotic praise pricked the fog in Andrea’s mind as she began to slowly drift back from the brink of hedonism to a modicum of sanity. She rolled her head, feeling her disjointed brain coming back together.
She looked from one to the other, her eyes wide in self-deprecating horror.
How could I have enjoyed this so much? What’s wrong with me?
Not knowing whom she detested more at that moment, herself, Cynthia or Ivan, Andrea rose and stumbled into the bathroom. She heard them talking and laughing in a natural way as she tended to her toilet.
They’re so casual. As though what we did was natural and right, not degrading and perverse! I let her kiss me and I—I liked it.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing her pale face and startled green eyes.
A phrase she remembered having heard floated through her mind. It described the person staring back at her to a T.
A deer caught in the headlights, waiting for the final shot. That’s what I look like.
Chapter 13
The Misconception
With the morning light came a blinding headache. Andrea groaned at the shard of pain when she opened her eyes. Ivan was gone. Cynthia was gone.
Rolling over, she wondered, was that all a dream? Did the three of us really do that?
Confused, she sat up, holding her aching head. It was then that she saw the note pinned to the pillow next to her. It read—“I am well pleased, my little sexpot. And I do believe Cynthia is madly in love with you.”
So, it wasn’t a dream.
Andrea fell back to the bed groaning. Not only was her head aching, but her entire body felt out of sorts. Her breasts were extremely tender where Cynthia had sucked them so hardily, as was her clit, and her anus was tender from Ivan’s invasive thrusts, yet thinking back on the experience, Andrea felt an undeniable flash of desire race through her senses, which made her question her sanity.
What is happening to me? I am becoming depraved.
She pushed up from the bed, tended to her toilet, showered, soaping herself vigorously in an effort to wash away what she considered the filth of her own unleashed depravity, and after she had toweled dry, went to sit at the vanity and objectively surveyed her disheveled image.
Is the real me fading away? How can I possibly survive in this manner? How can I continue to satisfy not only Ivan’s insatiable sexual cravings, but my own that seem to be out of control, and still keep any semblance of my own identity? Or my sanity?
All those whispered rumors she had once so summarily dismissed concerning Ivan’s strange sexual habits resurfaced as she admitted something she had only allowed herself to mentally touch upon until that moment.
The worst part is, now I want to embrace all his bizarre cravings because he’s managed to make them my own. I crave the pain and pleasure he administers so expertly and the madness of whatever sexual fantasy he cares to engage with me, as much, perhaps more, than Ivan does himself because Ivan is mesmerizing and addictive. And he’s my husband. If only I knew he loved me and wanted to be with just me. But he doesn’t and he probably never will.
All those self doubts resurfaced, bringing tears to her eyes. She couldn’t help but believe it was just a matter of time before Ivan grew tired of her; that once the initial thrill of conquest wore off, he would discard her in preference to his more beautiful and experienced conquests, like Cynthia.
Dear God, what would become of her?
Andrea was immersed in depression; certain she knew the answer to that haunting question. She would quickly be relegated to an experience of Ivan’s past as he shifted his attention and affections to someone new and she would be left lost forever.
In that moment of critical revelation, Andrea realized how irrevocably bound to Ivan her heart had become. She suddenly realized she needed him, truly lived only for him with every fiber of her being because he fed something dark and ravenous inside of her; because he had awakened a masochistic yearning and an insatiable craving that had become the dominant force in her every waking moment.
Heaven help me, it’s just like he said it would be. But I need Ivan and the pleasure he gives me more than he needs me. Any woman could fill his needs, could lie beneath him and offer up
her body as sacrifice to those needs, but Ivan is the only man who knows how to fulfill mine because I love him so much.
With a rush of tears, Andrea admitted how much she wanted Ivan to love her. Her face whitened as she visualized how empty her life would be without him, should he cast her away. Tormented by the thought that Ivan would never love her as she loved him, Andrea contemplated what she should do.
I’ll have to run away the moment I’m released from this room. I’ll leave Ivan before he sends me away. I’ll leave my heart, of course, but at least I’ll keep some bit of pride. But where could I go that he couldn’t find me? I could go to Dad, but I have no idea where he is and he wouldn’t want to be saddled with me again. But there’s no one else.
Her heart wrenched as she wondered if Ivan would even bother to look for her. She decided that he would because he considered her his property and she shuddered to think how enraged he would be then.
“Do I dare risk running away if I get the chance?” she asked her wavering image.
She leaned her head on the vanity and cried, unaware that Ivan had quietly entered the bedroom and stood watching and listening to her, stunned by the knowledge she wished to run away from him. Shaken beyond what he believed he could be at the thought of losing her, Ivan silently raged.
Damn! I misjudged you, my pet. Here I was thinking you were settling into the role of my wife while all this time you’ve been contemplating how to run away. Never, Andrea! You are mine and always will be. Have I not satisfied you, witch? Have I not tried to give you every ultimate pleasure?
Struggling to contain his emotions, haunted by old memories of his mother screaming at his father he was not enough man to satisfy her, Ivan strode to the vanity and jerked Andrea upright, startling her with the question, “Why are you crying?”
“I—I have a horrible headache. I don’t feel well. I guess it’s because it’s time for my period and maybe that scotch I drank.”