Plaything: Volume Two
Read Plaything: Volume Two Online
Authors: Jade West,Jason Luke
Plaything
Volume Two
Jason Luke & Jade West
Plaything Volume 2 copyright © 2016 Jade West & Jason Luke
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
Cover design by Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs http://designs.romanticbookaffairs.com/
All enquiries to [email protected]
First published 2015
I pulled on my t-shirt and panties and went through to the other room as he led the way. I was beginning to relax a little, my body growing accustomed to his. I was about to comment, but his stance caught me off guard. He was hunched in the doorway, shoulders rigid as he turned over a document in his hands. A big brown envelope had caught his attention, pushed under the door while we were at play. I shuddered at the thought of being watched by the old freak, or even worse, by Alistair.
Even thinking of his name gave me the shivers.
Robert flicked through the contents and his expression darkened. The corner of his mouth began to twitch and his brows furrowed sternly. I felt uneasy, certain I’d done something wrong. His silent disapproval affected me more than Alistair’s fists. I felt awkward, embarrassed. Ashamed, even.
“What is it?” I asked, finally.
“You tell me,” he said. “Because if your new Saudi owner has seen even half of this then we are in serious trouble.”
He threw the papers down onto the coffee table and my breath caught in my throat as the recognition sank in. I’d been drunk, stupid, totally and utterly naïve. Still, there was no excuse. I hardly recognised myself.
Oh fuck.
Oh fucking fuck.
The pictures looked so much worse than I’d remembered. So, so much worse.
“I can explain,” I said.
Amy
Horror. Shame. Embarrassment.
My face burned, stomach churning with the realization of what I was staring at. That sonofabitch Alistair and his underhanded, devious fucking ways.
“I can explain,” I repeated. “This isn’t how it looks.”
“It’s exactly how it looks!” Robert’s voice was more strained than I’d come to know.
“I am here to train you, to coach you, to help you submit to another man in a way befitting of a natural, comfortable and skilled submissive woman. I’m not here to deliver the woman on those photographs. I won’t deliver
that.
I
cannot
deliver
that
.”
“I don’t want you to.” My voice was nothing but a whisper. “That isn’t me. Not anymore.”
“But that’s what they will be expecting!” he snapped. “That’s the product they’ve paid good money for! Jesus, Amy, what did you do to yourself? Why the hell would you let a sack of shit like Alistair take pictures of you like that?” He paced back and forth, staring into the distance as he calmed his breathing. “This changes everything. The goalposts aren’t even close to what we’ve been aiming for.”
The pictures didn’t lie. I flicked through them in all of their enlarged, high-gloss glory, disgusted at the alcohol-blurred memories rising in my mind. I looked like a slut, a
pain
slut, a wanton, seedy whore greedy for cock and brutality. I looked like a woman who’d take a roomful of men and beg for more, who’d get on her knees and offer herself to anyone who wanted a piece. Maybe I had been that woman.
Yes. I’d been that woman; naive and stupid, without a single iota of concern for my own safety. And now here I was, sold as a performing circus animal, a slave, a whore.
I felt my cheeks burn at the knowledge of Robert seeing me like that; grinning as I stretched my ass wide open for the camera, eyes wide as Alistair snapped away, capturing the vicious welts on my back, on my thighs… over the tender flesh of my breasts. So much pain, and I’d begged him for more. And there were other images… dirty images… Alistair’s chubby fist working its way inside me, the creamy smear of his excitement glossy across my hungry lips. My eager tongue lapping at his asshole. Me, laughing as I pissed on the floor. I dropped the collection on the table in disgust.
“That isn’t me,” I said again. “I don’t want to be that woman. Not for them.”
“Not for
them
?”
I shrugged. “I don’t even know myself anymore, Robert. I don’t know who I am or what I want. I just know I don’t want to be like that, submissive or not.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the woman they’ve paid money for,” he sighed. I watched him rake his hands through his hair, shoulders tense. “We’re fucked.”
“No,” I hissed. “
I’m
fucked! That’s
me
on those pictures,
my
body. It’s
me
they want to beat, and rape, and make a filthy slave out of.
You’re
just here because your dad is a sadistic asshole who’s threatening your cash reserves.
You’re
going to walk away free when this is over and never look back. Job done.”
His eyes were like fire. “That’s not fair! I’m not just going to waltz out of here with a smile on my face, Amy. If you think that’s the kind of man I am, then I’m better off just walking out of here right now.”
I’d hurt him, his face said it all. His shoulders were heavy, jaw gritted as he retreated to the far end of the room to pace some more. I felt strangely ashamed of my outburst, and it piled up so high with the rest of the self-disgust that tears pricked at my eyes. I took a seat on the sofa with a long sigh, blinking the tears away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get out of this.”
“That makes two of us,” he said.
Silence reigned heavily in the air as we disappeared into our own thoughts. Demons chased me through mine, reaching out to drag my broken spirit into the darkness. It took me awhile to notice Robert had ventured back close enough to take a seat opposite. The tension had left him, and his restored calmness coaxed me back to the present. I took slow, deep breaths, pulling my legs up underneath me and sinking down into the soft cushions. He picked up the picture from the top of the pile, one of the more innocent ones — albeit stretching the definition of innocence to its limits. I was dressed in a tight back cami and stockings, a blindfold covering half of my face. My pose was provocative, on all fours with high heels angled high. In my hand was a riding crop, and I licked it greedily, my mouth wide open for the camera. The picture screamed dirty, it screamed sex, and wanton, and a filthy slut who was game for anything.
It summed up the woman who’d jumped so easily into Alistair’s car pretty well, in fact.
“You must have liked him,” he surmised.
“He was just a guy, and I’d had too much to drink.” I watched him stare at the photo, but his expression shared nothing about his thoughts. “I guess I thought I was invincible. Stupid, hey?”
“Reckless.” He met my eyes. “But it happens. You didn’t ask for this, Amy. It doesn’t matter how many strangers you rode off into the night with, or how many pictures you posed for. This isn’t your fault. It’s theirs.”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I said. “I’m stuck here. Destined for a life of sexual slavery at the hands of some psycho, or worse.” Robert didn’t try and rose tint the situation, and I was grateful for his honesty. He dropped the photo back on the table and watched me with weary eyes. His gaze made me self-conscious. I twisted a fall of hair around my fingers, round and round again, lost in the rhythm as I weighed up our predicament,
my
predicament. “So, what happens now?”
“We sleep,” he said simply. “I’m tired and you must be exhausted. It’s been a long day, let’s leave it here. Sleep on it.”
I forced a smile. “You like sleeping on things, don’t you?”
“I like to consider things carefully. Night time is a good opportunity to clear your thoughts, gain some perspective. I often take advantage of that.”
“I hope it gives you some answers,” I said. “Because I’m beat. Totally.”
He gestured to the bedroom door, gracing me with a smile. “Get some rest, Amy. You’re safe here.”
I got to my feet, but kept my eyes on him. “You’re staying, though, right? You won’t leave me here? Where will you sleep?”
“I’ll be around. I’m not going anywhere.”
Relief flooded over me, the pull of a warm bed too strong to ignore. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
I really meant it.
***
Falling into the guestroom bed was like falling into Heaven itself. The sheets were crisp and clean, the pillows perfectly soft under my spinning head. I wrapped the covers tight around me, grateful for the warmth, and lay still awhile before daring to flick off the lights. My breath hitched almost instantly, heart speeding up as my eyes strained to adjust to the gloom. I fixed my gaze on the faint sliver of orange light creeping under the doorway, focussing my attention on the thud of Robert’s footfalls in the room next door. They were steady and strong, growing loud, before fading away as he paced the length of the room. His presence was a comfort that made the darkness bearable. I’d become afraid of the dark, bitterly afraid. But not here. Not with him.
The thought soothed me as I drifted into the arms of unconsciousness, but there was no Robert waiting for me in that place, and no soft bed to hold me tight. There was only Alistair.
The nightmares came thick and fast, Alistair’s shadowy fists clenched before my face, his lips contorted by spite and rage. In my dreams I was crying, screaming, begging for mercy in a way I’d never done while awake. And then I ran. He chased me down dark corridors, his breath acrid on the back of my neck, and all the while I heard the swish of the singletail, wailing as it cut into my back with every stroke. I ran and I ran, gaining just a sliver of distance before I crashed headlong into a solid wooden door. It was locked. I hammered with desperate fists, adrenaline pumping while my breath wheezed ragged. The air was filled with nothing but Alistair’s laughter as his fingers wrapped around my throat. And then the door gave way, jittery feet launching me through the gap.
And into another man’s arms.
I made to bolt, instincts as sharp as a spooked horse, but I was held tight, solid hands on my arms pulling me closer, until my face pressed against his muscular form. His smell was familiar, musky and rich, like sandalwood. My struggle waned.
“It’s me,” he said. “Shh, Amy, stop. It’s just me. It’s Robert.”
I stilled, succumbing to the strength of his grip, and his arms folded around me, his breath in my hair.
“It’s ok. There’s nobody here, just us,” he said. “I’m not them. I’m nothing like them.”
My senses gathered themselves into some kind of order, and I caught my breath slowly.
“A nightmare,” I managed. “I was dreaming. I don’t like the dark…”
I moved with him, letting him guide me across the room until he lowered me gently onto the couch, squeezing my hand before disappearing just long enough to gather the duvet from the other room. I pulled it around me, staring at him without reservation as he sat down beside me, close enough for comfort, but not close enough to overwhelm. He was still dressed, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow as though he was hard at work in the office. His eyes were tired but bright, his expression calm and unmoved. Steady.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll keep the lamp on. You’re perfectly safe here, Amy. I promise you that.”
I ran my fingers through my bed-tangled hair. “I don’t want to sleep,” I said. “Not yet.”
He reached for the jug of water on the coffee table. Poured me a glass. “You need sleep. We have a big week ahead.”
“Please,” I said. “Just talk awhile.”
His eyes were kind, but he didn’t smile. “I’m not much of a talker, Amy. What did you want to talk about?”
I shrugged. “Anything. Nothing. I don’t care.”
I could feel him examining me, every inch of me on show above the duvet. The flush of my cheeks, my rapid breathing, my tangled hair. His gaze stopped on my fingers, and I realized I was twisting my hands together, palms clammy. “How about you talk, and I listen?”
“That’ll do,” I sighed. “What do you want to know?”
He rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers hovering just inches from my shoulder. “Tell me of happier times. Tell me about you, what makes you happy, who you are.”
“Who I
was
,” I corrected, but his expression turned stern.
“Who you
are
. You’re still you. Don’t let go of that, Amy, not for anyone or anything.”
My mind skitted through old memories, searching for a happy place, but they landed on something else altogether. “My mother was a bitch,” I said. “And my father was a useless weakling. A spineless squib who never did anything for himself, let alone any of us.”
Robert looked at me with interest, but didn’t speak a word, leaving me free to continue.
“We could never do anything right for Mother, any of us. She was spiteful and cruel, but that wasn’t the worst of it, the worst was the disapproval, the running commentary on how terrible we all were at every opportunity.” I paused as the image of her in our old family kitchen flashed into view. “She was quite a woman. I’m sure she scared half the neighborhood as much as she did us. You should have seen her, almost six foot in her stocking feet and built like a brick shithouse. I take after my father, much more willowy,” I explained. “Mother was a tyrant, running the household like some kind of totalitarian regime. She’d beat us into next week with that battered old wooden spoon of hers, and the others would squeal their heads off, all tears and flailing limbs and promises that they’d be better next time.”
“But not you?”
“Not me,” I smiled. “I’d get it ten times worse for my defiance, and even then, when she’d tanned my backside red, I’d pull a face and tell her it didn’t hurt at all. Of course, I’d get another few for my cheek, but that never bothered me. What bothered me was being stronger than her. I promised myself she’d never break me. Not ever. I guess it became a bit of a game.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I guess you could look at it that way.”
“I’ve never really looked at it
any
way, truth be told,” I said. “Weirdly, it didn’t seem all that personal. It was just something she did, something we were all kind of lumped with. She’d hit my father as well. Sometimes he’d squeal worse than us kids, I swear. He deserved it more than we did, lazy, useless piece of crap. All he did was watch TV and drink himself senseless. Bad back, he said. Bad fucking work ethic, more like it. I used to wonder why Mother didn’t force him to sort his shit out, it’s not as though she was shy about giving an opinion.”
“Why do you think she didn’t?” Robert asked. His eyes were attentive, interested.
“I think it suited her that way, to rule the roost. Gave her an excuse to scream blue murder and beat the living crap out of him when she got the rage. Like I said, he was willowy, like a little twig. I think she liked the arrangement, deep down. I can’t imagine it was ever all that different, not even when they met. I guess he must have liked it well enough, because he never did shit about it. Just took it, and wailed like a little boy, then sat back on that couch like nothing had ever happened. My sisters accepted their lot, squabbled and bickered and tried to drop each other in the shit to save their own asses, but not me. I was out as soon as I turned sixteen, off like a bullet without looking back.”