Losers Forfeit Ch 02

Vadim Startsev's room was just like mine, one of the unpretentious yet luxurious offerings in the hotel's South Tower. As soon as he opened the door with his card key, I felt a cozy wave of heat envelop me. "Welcome home, Remy," he quipped with a gentle smile. "Make yourself comfortable." I did, sitting down quickly on an unoccupied—and thus still-made—double bed.

"Thank you for inviting me up here," I said.

He stood hesitantly in front of me and paused. "I'm...trying to figure out what to do with you."

This made me guffaw so hard that I let out an unceremonious snort! "Uh, I can think of a few suggestions," I finally said when my brain finally regained control of my laughing reflex.

Ugh!

I thought.

You must think I'm a total idiot. Chess players aren't supposed to act like THIS at all!

Before I could mope any more, however, I caught an odd scent in the air: "What's that smell?"

Vadim gave a slight start. "I'd hoped—I hadn't wanted—

bah!"

Trailing off, he turned toward his own bed and began to fumble inside of a gargantuan black duffel bag on top of it. "I sweat a lot at these tournaments, unfortunately," he admitted at last. "I'm soaked straight through."

"You mean your armpits?" I asked and sniffed the air again. "Oh. I won't look if you take your shirt off and put on more deodorant. I might want to do the same before the next round."

"No. Not there." I saw what he now had in his hands: a new pair of black nylon boxer shorts!

"Uh..."

Stupid, stupid me!

Why couldn't I stop

saying

that? "In that case I definitely won't look."

"Even if you want to?"

I flopped back on the bed, letting myself stare up at the ceiling. "Blah.

Touche

."

Vadim stepped toward me. "Remy?" he said teasingly. "For your forfeit, the task you must perform is to watch me in the bathroom as I wash up. I like it when women admire my body."

"Any women?"

"Of course, but especially cute beginner-to-intermediate players who try the Scheveningen on me." He offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me back up to a sitting position. "Come."

I did. The bathroom was like all other hotel-room bathrooms: sterile, white and unappealing. However, the vast selection of plush towels and washcloths did hold several possibilities...

"Hang on a minute," Vadim said. "I need to get some more supplies—namely, the body wash."

The area between my legs began to swell and ache just a little, in an exquisite way. While no one was looking, I gave it a rub through my pants. Hopefully, Vadim wouldn't notice just how much I yearned for him—and how wet

I'd

inevitably get while

he

was getting all wet and soapy. That was my distinct advantage: no guy can ever really tell if a girl is horny or not!

Guys acquire an embarrassing bulge in their pants if they think nasty thoughts and aren't careful. We women can imagine all the deliciously dirty things we want and won't have any errant parts of our bodies betray us! Of course, we have to keep eyes and feelings in check...

Vadim returned, wearing only his tight and sweaty boxer shorts. "Remy? Are you all right?"

Only now did I realize I was staring open-mouthed. "Yeah. Yeah. It's just—you're hot!"

The look in his cunning dark eyes said

Thank you,

but also

I know, darling. (Men...ha!)

He crooked his right index finger, beckoning me to follow him as he carried a rather large bottle of body wash into the bathroom and laid it on the white porcelain sink. I did and sat down on the toilet. I wasn't going to the bathroom—didn't need to. I gently perched myself on top of the lid.

The scent of him was now almost overpowering me. Not that I was complaining, aside from the fact that it was a combination of copious amounts of sweat and male musk. What he needed was a thorough lathering with plenty of soapsuds, not just a quick "freshening up"! I suspect Vadim himself knew it, as I was trying hard not to wrinkle my nose (and failing.)

"I'm so sorry!" I said miserably. "It's just—"

"Yes?" He turned on the sink faucet so hot water started gushing into it full-blast.

"You

need to be scrubbed until you look like you have a Speedo® on, made out of soapsuds!"

Vadim said nothing, taking two clean washcloths from the rack nearest the sink on the wall. I could tell he was looking askance at me, even though he was trying to pretend he wasn't. I was trying not to stare into his eyes, those black pools that were two vortices of fatal bliss...

Luckily, I had something else at which to stare once he had removed his boxer shorts! "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked me. "I don't want to make you at all uncomfortable."

I smiled. "Trust me, I've seen men's—bishops—before. Just not one as beautiful as yours."

There!

It was out. No shame, no guilt, no screaming voices of my parents in my head. I'd just told a man that his manhood was a work of art, and what on Earth was the matter with that?

Vadim chuckled. "I see." The sink was full, and so he slowly dipped one of the washcloths into its steaming depths. "I am also sorry," he said.

My heart leapt into my throat. "Why?" Was he going to tell me to get out?

"You've told me exactly what I need," he announced, "and I fully agree. However, Remy, the words 'be scrubbed' have betrayed you. Thus, for your loser's forfeit...you shall do so."

My cheeks flushed desert-hot. So did another part of my body. "Is that an order,

monsieur?"

"Oui."

He took the wet washcloth out of the sink and gave it to me, pressing it into my hand with a gentle but commanding squeeze. Since it was dripping so much and getting

me

wet as well as him, I decided to begin. I pressed the washcloth to the area right below Vadim's navel.

"Mmm.

That's it. Spread it out. Good."

I unfurled the dripping white terry rag, and instantly felt Vadim stretch beneath me.

Wow,

I thought.

A man gets an instant hard-on from my touching him, or at least a semi. That has NEVER happened to me before, and with my rotten luck, it never will! I'll make this count...

The washcloth was so saturated with hot water that Vadim began to drip. I quickly took the hand towel that he offered me so that the tiny rivulets wouldn't trickle too far down his legs. Slowly, I kneaded his firm, warm skin, desperate to have sweat and oil washed away. Vadim was, I found, unlike any man I'd ever felt before. Their—bishops, if you will—were hesitant, quivering, and unsure of themselves. Not Vadim's. He stood stalwart and still with desire.

Between low and ragged breaths, he asked me, "So...why'd you try it?"

"Try what?"

"The Scheveningen. Players at your level usually don't know it—no offense." He moaned...

"I wanted to play my best defense. Something that would impress you, or at least try to." It was amazing how honest I was becoming as I wet him down. What is it about hot water and slippery skin that were even more effective than a polygraph when it comes to getting the truth out of me? "I was trying not to play something too simple. That stuff's boring, anyway."

He gazed at me strangely. "Remy?"

"Yeah?" Vadim wouldn't take his eyes off me.

"The next time you're on Black, play 1. ...e5."

I scoffed playfully.

"Phfft! Yawn!

That's exactly what I'm talking about when I say 'too simple'. I mean, any time any of my opponents say something like that, what they really mean is 'you're mentally deficient, and can't play'. That's what they

sounded

like, and so that's probably what they meant." I sighed. "Mmm. I'd rather concentrate on your other chess piece right now."

My present opponent suddenly shivered with pleasure. "Please do..." He panted heavily.

I caressed him with long, slow strokes, enjoying the way fragments of terry cloth seemed to slide into all of the creases on his skin and cleanse deeply. When the rag got dry, I handed it back to Vadim and he re-soaked it. From the base of his shaft right on up to the head, I made him glisten with drops of crystal, trickling down to what waited beneath. Then..."Uh-oh—!"

"What?"

"You're...intact." Indeed he was, and

that

was a quandary. "I don't know how to wash you."

"Ne pas peur."

He winked at me, and the space between my legs twitched in anticipation! I clenched up my muscles down there, like I was going to start peeing, except I wasn't. I held myself tightly that way as Vadim dipped his hands into the water and retracted his foreskin. Exposed, he seemed even more beautiful. Vulnerable. Powerful.

Human.

It was so odd:

Here was Vadim Startsev, chess rating 1885, being tended by me—rating as yet unknown. Was it apropos? Most likely. I thought so. However, why wasn't a

better

girl doing this? A far prettier one, and one who was more skilled at chess? Did Vadim know he could have any girl he wanted, and he was choosing

me? Why?

This was absolutely

not

happening. He was out of my league, and I suspect that both of us knew it. However, I pinched myself.

Still awake!

"Remy!" Vadim nudged himself forward with a wet thrust.

"Don't

stall, and lose a tempo..."

I knew precisely what he meant. However, before I could continue bathing him, he clutched the rag, plunged it into the water again, and then grabbed the bottle of body wash. Suddenly overcome with a wicked idea, I closed my eyes and pretended I didn't know what Vadim was doing. In three seconds, I would get off of the toilet, bolt out of the room, and return to mine! Sitting up tall, I whispered,

"Un."

Vadim didn't seem like he was paying any attention at all. He was far too busy lathering the washcloth with an intense near-ferocity to notice little old me...

"Deux."

That was me again, still saying these French numbers in a near-hush. I started to stand up, holding onto the accessibility grab bars for balance. One more, and I was free!

All of a sudden, Vadim grabbed my right hand and pressed it into his, and then held both the soapy cloth and my hand against him.

"Trois!"

he said. "You're staying there until I'm clean."

"No, I'm not!" I laughed and shook my head, trying to pull my hand away and tease him more.

He hushed me with his passion and full-bore, piercing eyes.

"Mauvaise perdante!

Play fair."

All I could say at this moment, despite myself, was "Yes, sir..."