Plaything: Volume Two (2 page)

“And then what? Where did life take you, Amy?”

I smiled. “And then I drifted, coasted, flew wild wherever the wind took me. I’m lucky, I was a smart kid, good at school without effort, I could turn my hand to most things that crossed my path, and the rest of the time I’d party like a crazy thing. Hedonistic, and reckless, and… free. It made me feel free. I liked it that way, answering to nobody, making my own way through life. No home, no ties, no real friends, nobody to miss, nobody to disappoint.”

“Nobody to notice you were gone,” he said pointedly.

“Quite.” I took a sip of water. “Those pictures… they don’t make me proud, but sex was my thing. I liked the thrill, I liked strong men, tough men, dominant men… men who’d take me, and use me, and give me what I craved. I’d never break, never. It was always just a game. I was always the winner. I guess that was the point, in a perverse way.”

His eyes narrowed. “Strong, tough, dominant men with their
fists
and not much else, Amy.” He tapped his head. “Certainly not with their brains, and that’s where a man is truly a dominant. They aren’t men, in my opinion, and sure as hell aren’t dominants.”

“I wanted a real man…” I blurted. “A man who could take me, and consume me, and match me… Those pricks were the only ones I ever found…”

He had the most beautiful frown. “People find what they expect to find, Amy.”

“And I found Alistair.” My lip trembled at the thought.

“You found men who wanted to abuse you, fight you, put you down. You found men who wanted to fuck you, and hurt you. And then you found, Alistair, yes. That’s the unfortunate truth of it.” He sighed. “Still, as I said, you were reckless, but this isn’t your fault.”

I cast my eyes around the room, at this beautiful haven in the middle of Hell. It felt like we were in a bubble, floating in space, but there were monsters out there. Monsters just a short way away, waiting for us. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How it’s only in the dark times that you come face to face with who you really are, all your weaknesses, all your crazy choices. I thought I’d run away from my childhood, thought I’d outsmarted it, overpowered it, beaten it. But I was wrong, it’s been with me the whole way.”

“Better late than never,” Robert said. “We all have the same battles. We’re all trying to outsmart our past, our limitations. We’re all trying to overpower our dark times. If you are naive then so am I. I thought I’d beaten my past, too. Yet here I am. Here we are.”

My attention was firmly back on him, on his face, on the sadness in his eyes. “You’ve done well, though. I heard them talking about you, they’re
always
talking about you, Robert. I knew who you were the very moment I set eyes on you. You’re the brilliant son who got away. You did it. You got out. You turned your back on this horrible place and made a real success of yourself. You must have, or they wouldn’t have such leverage over you.”

He let out a small laugh. “I thought I’d done well. I thought I’d done well enough to set me free. I thought I’d escaped their clutches for good. I was wrong. It doesn’t matter how high I climbed, they were always one foot above me, high enough to shoot me down. I underestimated my father. That was my big mistake. He outsmarted me. I should have known better than to come running back here at the snap of his fingers. I really should have; you know? I should have told him stick his threats where the sun doesn’t shine and stayed away from his seedy life.”

“You’re not giving up, are you? Don’t give up on this, Robert, please. Don’t give up on me. I know those pictures look bad, but I can handle this. Please, don’t give up.” My voice was quaky, panicked.

He reached for my wrist, and I was grateful for the contact. “I’m not giving up. I don’t quit, Amy, that isn’t who I am. We’ll see this through.”

My stomach lurched, emotions tumbling at the strength in his eyes, the raw nobility. The man was really something. No wonder his asshole of a father wanted to see him fall, he was a thousand times better than this place. A thousand times better than them.

“I’m not a quitter, either,” I said.

“That’s good,” he smiled. “But you really need to get some sleep. This little talk changes nothing, Amy. In the morning I will be your coach and you will be my submissive; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

He shuffled about on the couch, clearly trying to make himself comfortable at my side, but I interrupted his efforts by making my way to the bedroom doorway, trailing the duvet behind me. I felt nervous, butterflies fluttering inside me as I fought the request on my tongue. I voiced it anyway.

“Sleep in here, with me,” I said. “Please… I mean, you’ll be more comfortable, and I’ll sleep… I think I’ll sleep…”

He seemed to weigh it up, backwards and forwards in his mind before he answered. “You’ll sleep better if I’m with you? You’re sure about that?”

“Yes… I’m sure I’ll sleep better…”
I just don’t want to be alone.

He followed me without another word.

***

Amy

Distant sounds of spring, of chirping birds, and a hedge strimmer, and the gentle glow of sunlight through curtains. I opened my eyes to the morning, starting at the warmth of a human body next to mine. I uncurled my arms from Robert’s waist, retreating far enough to stare up at him. He was already wide awake. I surveyed my position, the tangle of sheets around my legs, the pillow cast onto the floor at the side of the bed.

“Good morning,” he said. “You managed a few hours uninterrupted. That’s good.”

“I did?” I asked, before embarrassment burned as the haze of night terrors and screams piled back in. “The nightmares… were they bad? They were bad, weren’t they?”

“You were fine,” he said. “You just needed an anchor in the darkness, that’s all.” He smiled to reassure me. “You were fine, Amy, really.”

I studied the shadows under his eyes. He couldn’t have slept a wink, despite his sunny disposition. “You must be exhausted.”

“I’ll survive,” he said. “You needed the sleep a lot more than I did.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I feel better. I feel much better.”

“Good.” He raised himself from the bed, and I soaked in the glorious sight of his toned body, clothed in just a pair of black boxers as he took a look through the curtains. I’d have loved him to fling them wide and let the morning light in, but the ominous loom of the main house would have been more than I could bear. He didn’t open the curtains, just turned to face me. “I had a chance to think last night,” he said. “I have a plan. It’s not perfect, but given the circumstances, I think it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Relief flooded through me. “What is it? What’s your plan?”

He gestured to the doorway, and the living area beyond. “First breakfast,” he said. “Then we talk.”

He must have risen before me, as a basket of fresh pastries and fruit was waiting on the coffee table. He plated me a croissant and passed me the butter dish. The smell was divine, and I was more than happy to eat in silence, wolfing down another straight after and chasing it down with a sweet, crisp apple and a cold glass of juice. Robert finished up and cleared the things away, then excused himself to the bathroom with a small suitcase I hadn’t noticed before. I enjoyed the stillness, banishing the terrors that lurked at the edges of consciousness and living for the moment. It felt good here.

When Robert returned he was dressed impeccably. A fresh, crisp shirt, sculpted perfectly to his form, dark tailored pants, and towel-dried hair perfectly tousled. He smelled of pine leaves, and the sea, mingling with that gorgeous musk I was already becoming accustomed to.

“So,” he said, taking a seat opposite. “My thoughts.”

“Please share,” I prompted, daring to hope for some crazy rescue mission or other.

“The man who purchased you must have paid a considerable sum, Amy, even by my father’s standards. You are a perfect candidate for a high class
companion
.” His words were careful, considered. “You are beautiful, spirited and intelligent. If you couple that with the pictures so kindly given to us yesterday, then it points to a very high price tag, indeed.”

“Great,” I said. “So, I’m an expensive whore. Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“Hear me out,” he said firmly. I bit my tongue, remembering my place here. “After paying such a sum, you’d have to imagine the disappointment at your
defiance
would have been quite dramatic. There is no way my father wouldn’t have offered a replacement to save face, another woman more
compliant
to the client’s needs. That’s standard practice.”

“So, why am I still here? Why am I being retrained?” I asked. “Surely they could have just sent him someone else?” The thought twisted my insides. How many other poor women, just like me, were trapped in this place? How many lost souls trapped in Alistair’s wrath? I fought back a shudder to concentrate on Robert’s words.

“There’s the thing,” he said. “You
are
being retrained, which can only mean the client insisted on you and nobody else. The client must be very particular in his requirements, and he wants you. He wants you enough to wait, and to risk another incident. In short, he must be invested in you, Amy. This may go in our favor.
Your
favor.”

“How so?” I said, uncomfortable at the thought.

“You are a beautiful woman, Amy. An endearing, vivacious, spirited woman. If you listen, and learn, and manage to apply the lessons I teach you this week, then you may just have a shot of turning the situation to your advantage.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But how?”

“He wants you,” he explained. “We know that much. If he wants you enough to insist on you and you alone, then there is every chance you can grow quickly to mean something to him. Amy, you could transfix him, inspire him, you could steal his very soul given half an opportunity.”

I was flattered at his suggestion, but hardly convinced. My face must have spoken volumes.

My reservations didn’t fluster Robert in the slightest, he remained perfectly calm. “Think back to yesterday, Amy. When you were kneeling at my feet, lost in the music in your head. You were beautiful, and you were hypnotic, perfectly submissive and perfectly open. If you can fully realize that part of yourself — the vulnerable, sensuous, hidden part of yourself which I got just a glimpse of yesterday — you stand every chance of gaining his favor. In short, Amy, you could secure a very pleasant existence for yourself, without pain, or abuse, or fear. Where that leads, who knows? Like I said previously, stranger things have happened at sea.”

“You’re talking about beguiling him,” I said. “Like some kind of mystical siren luring him into my clutches. I’m no temptress, Robert,” I scoffed. “I’m a fighter.”

“
Sir,
” he said. “This is a brand new day, Amy, right here, right now, I am
sir.
”

“Yes, sir, whatever,” I said, then checked myself. “Sorry. I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

“Listen to me.” His tone was low and serious. Serious enough that it caught my breath. “If you keep fighting them they’ll keep fighting back, and they’ll win, Amy, sooner or later they will win. Not because you’re weak, but because they are vile, twisted, sick sons of bitches, and they will not stop until they either get what they want, or cast you aside as a bad job. I don’t want to see that happen to you, I’ll do everything I can to stop that happening to you, and the best I can do, right here, right now, is help you discover the part of yourself that can let go of the fight and be the beautiful, open soul underneath. The beautiful woman who lost herself in my pleasure yesterday. You can reach that place, I’ve seen it in you. Trust me, Amy, this is our best shot. It’s
still
our best shot.”

His words were so real, so genuine. His eyes searched mine, digging deep enough to find tears. They blurred my vision, and I swatted them away, nodding agreement.

“You agree?” he said. “That this is your best option?”

I nodded again. “Yes, I agree. I agree, sir. Just help me, please. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know how to be that woman.”

Robert smiled, and his smile was warm, and bright, and slightly amused, despite the horror of the situation. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, just like he’d done the day before, and got to his feet.

He held out his hand, and I placed mine in his palm. My fingers were so small against his, so fragile.

“We’re in luck,” he said, calmly. “Because I know exactly what I’m doing.”

***

Robert

I led Amy back into the bedroom. Now I had her agreement on a course of action, I desperately needed the two commodities I prized most as a Master: more insight into what triggered Amy’s urges and arousal... and her absolute trust.

And the clock was ticking...

“Undress,” I said, “and lay on the bed. Now.”

Instinctively she obeyed my command, but I caught the flicker of doubt in her eyes at the harsh grain of my voice. It was a look that silently questioned the growing bond of intimacy we were forging. Good. There was no time now for affection.

Amy slipped out of her clothes and lay on her back, making herself comfortable, and I took a deliberate and lingering moment to gaze at the flowing form of her body – the long lithe legs, that led to the flare of her hips and then the nip of her waist. The honey-brown shade of her skin could not mask the faded marks of punishment that bloomed beneath the flesh. She wore the soft bruises like battle scars.

“Put your hands by your side,” I said. “And then close your eyes and relax.”

Amy took a deep breath. The movement of her arms made the swelling rounded flesh of her breasts change shape, and drew her nipples into hard little buds. She sensed I was watching her; devouring her with my eyes – and she squirmed a little as though the simmer of my gaze was a warmth she could feel on her flesh.

“I’m ready,” Amy said, then exhaled a long deep breath that seemed to soften the rigid tension of her limbs.

“Spread your legs,” I said. “You look like you’re ready to be dropped into a coffin. I don’t want you arranged... I want you relaxed.”

She unclenched her hands, wiggled her fingers, and then her legs fell apart until I could see the slice of her pussy, like a ripe piece of succulent fruit. The faintest hint of healthy feminine arousal drifted on the air; the heady scent of musk. I smiled to myself wryly and drew a chair close to the edge of the bed.

I took a long moment to clear my mind, and then I leaned forward on the chair so that my elbows were resting on my knees, hunched close so that I need only whisper for her to hear my every word.

“Tell me your deepest fantasy,” I urged.

For a second Amy hesitated, and then her flesh seemed to ripple as though she were overcome by a tingling shudder. I heard her breathing catch in the back of her throat and I watched her eyelids as they fluttered. “I don’t have a fantasy,” she muttered.

“You’re lying,” I said, with no sign of annoyance or irritation. “Every woman has a fantasy. I want you to tell me yours.”

The awkward silence lasted a long time and I watched Amy begin to fidget on the bed while I remained perfectly still, utterly silent. She pursed her lips, turned her head a little to the side so that her face was turned away from me, her features almost in profile. At last she choked on a breath and said so softly that I barely heard the words:

“I fantasise about being raped.”

As she spoke, her eyes came instantly open, her face swinging back to mine as if she was desperate to read my reaction in my expression. Her eyes were wide and worried, huge dark pools filled with dread and despair.

I said nothing.

Amy licked her lips. “Did you hear me?” she asked like she was afraid to hear the answer.

“Yes.”

“And...?”

I shrugged. “Every woman has a fantasy,” I repeated, “and rape fantasies are surprisingly common.” Amy looked a little surprised. Her eyebrows arched, then became a thoughtful frown. “Really?”

I nodded. “Really.”

She lapsed back into momentary silence and closed her eyes again, but the agitation was still upon her – it was in the pinching tension of her fingers and the strain of the finely drawn muscles along her thighs. “My fantasies are always about the same man,” she went on.

I sensed that Amy was willing to go into more detail. It required merely for me to ask the right questions and encourage her. I carefully modulated my voice for I sensed I was on the brink of discovering the insight I was seeking. I gave her the opportunity to talk. “Tell me,” I prompted.

“He comes to me in my dreams.”

“Every night?”

“Every single night.”

“The same man?”

“I think so…”

“You don’t know?”

“I never see him… but it’s the same scene. The same sensations. The same incredible sex.”

“Every night?”

“Yes!”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Aroused,” Amy said in an explosive breath that was almost an exclamation of pain. “Incredibly aroused.”

“Even though you’re being raped in these dreams?” I asked. I leaned back in the chair and crossed my legs, watching Amy’s face and reading the subtle nuances as her expression changed.

“
Because
I’m being raped,” Amy said soft as a whisper. “That’s what makes those dreams so arousing – it’s the mystery, the intensity. It’s something that haunts me.”

I lapsed into a long contemplative silence before I spoke again. “Do you ever have arousing dreams that are based on consensual sex?”

“No,” Amy shook her head and the soft shimmering mane of her hair brushed across her shoulders. Her expression became thoughtful. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and slowly opened her eyes again.

There was something in the silence that lingered like the static charge of a lightning strike. For long seconds I held Amy’s gaze so that it became a struggle of wills. Eventually Amy flicked her eyes away, a burning flush of color on her cheeks. “It troubles me,” she confessed softly.

“The rape fantasy?”

“No,” she shook her head again abruptly. “That’s not what frightens me.”

“Then what?” I deliberately let a little edge creep into my voice.

Amy fluttered her hand in a plaintive little gesture of frustration and sat upright on the bed suddenly so that the swell of her breasts swayed free and elastic.
“It’s that I love it,”
she whispered, flinching with the guilt of her admission. Her eyes became alive and glittered with a perverse kind of shame. “I fucking love it. I crave it. I yearn to be raped,” her words began to run together as the surge of emotions rose up and the passion of what she was feeling threatened to overwhelm her. “I
want
to be raped,” the flush of color on her cheeks became hectic. “That’s what bothers me.”

“You
want
to be raped? You
want
the reality of that situation?”

“Yes!” she breathed. “Because that’s how all this started,” she flung her arms wide in a gesture that seemed to encompass her life and her circumstance. “I was raped, and ever since then I’ve been trying to recapture that same thrill – that exact same sense of...” The air went out of her suddenly like a burst balloon and she floundered, looking for the words that might express the cocktail of arousal and emotion that had set her life on a collision course… “that same sense of… 
wanton abandon.”

* * *

My instinct was to lean forward – to close the space between us, but instead I got out of the chair and went to the window. I thrust my hands deep into the pockets of my trousers and stared out into the mist through a chink in the drawn curtains. A thick blanket of fog was draped across the manicured grounds that surrounded the bungalow. Behind me I could hear Amy moving on the bed. I could see her in the reflection of the glass. She was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her long slender legs on the floor, as if she were poised to spring to her feet. The only sound in the room was the sound of her breathing, hoarse and ragged in her throat as if she had run a long way.

“Tell me about that incident,” I said, my voice seeming to come from very far away. “Tell me about the time you were raped.”

I watched her reflection carefully. She licked her lips and then pushed hesitantly at her hair. Then she seemed to subside with a long slow sigh of breath, and the tension melted from her body. She lay back until she was stretched out on the bed once more.

I turned quietly then, and patiently let the silence draw out for tense long seconds. At last Amy’s breathing slowed to a deep resonate rhythm and I became mesmerized by the tantalizing gentle rise and fall of her breasts.

“It was a long time ago,” her voice had lost the sharp points of inflection and emotion, and now the words came from her as though she were in a deep hypnotic trance.

“Was it your first serious sexual encounter?” I already suspected the answer to my question.

“Yes,” she said softly. I drifted back across the room, my footfalls silent, my movements almost ghostly. I went to the chair again, but did not sit. I was standing over her naked body, watching her carefully, reading the secret signals as her expression changed until suddenly I heard a choked sob in Amy’s voice.

“God, that night haunts me,” the words were wrenched from her in a strangled voice. “It was the most erotic moment of my life. I know it’s fucked up. I know
I’m
fucked up. Hell, don’t I know how fucked up I am. Just look at
where
I am.”

“Tell me everything,” I kept my voice level. “Go back to the very start and tell me how you felt, what you thought.”

I saw Amy frown and her eyes came open, her gaze soft and almost dream-like.

“Do you really want to hear this?” she asked.

I nodded my head and there was a flicker of a humourless smile on my lips. It stayed there for just a second. “You need to tell me what happened,” I prompted. “You have to tell me how you felt. I want to know about your emotions, the sensations, the senses. That’s what I want from you. I don’t want a report. I want you to peel back the layers, Amy. Tell me everything. It’s critical.”

Her expression became solemn and enigmatic. A shadow of something secret moved behind her eyes. She stared hard at me.

“Is this really necessary?” she baulked. “It’s not something I’m proud of – the way that man made me feel… the way he treated me… the depths of my own depravity…”

“Trust me,” I urged in a whisper.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again.

“Okay,” she said in a long sigh of breath that sounded like surrender. She kept her eyes tightly closed. “I’ll tell you everything – every sordid detail.”

* * *

“It started at an art gallery,” Amy began quietly and there was a tremulous shudder in the tone of her voice. “I was at an exhibition for a friend of mine. She painted abstracts and nudes. It was her first showing in a commercial gallery. I went along to support her.”

“Do you like art?” I asked, matching the softness of my voice to that of Amy’s.

She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “But there was a nude painting on display – it was just a girl – no one I knew, no one I recognized. But the work was remarkable. It was an oil painting of a girl sitting on a chair. She was leaning forward, looking longingly out of a window. The colors in her face and on the curve of her breasts were incredible. It was the major piece of the show, hung on a wall at the back of the gallery. The lighting was all on the canvases so the room was dark.”

“You mean pitch black?”

“No. Just darkened. I could see the people around me, but the light spilled in pools on the floor and on the works. We were gathered in the shadows.”

“Was there many people?”

“Yes,” she said. “Maybe a hundred. People I didn’t know, drinking wine and chatting in animated little groups.”

“And yet with all those people around, you were raped?”

“No,” she said. “But that’s where it began. The gallery was where it all started.”

“How?”

She sighed again and seemed to hold her breath for a very long time. The silence felt like a tangible weight that seemed to press down on her so that each breath became an effort. A warm wash of color rose from the pit of her stomach, up across her breasts to bloom hot on her neck and cheeks.

“I heard a voice behind me,” Amy faltered.

“A man’s voice.”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“He brushed up against me and stood very close.”

“You mean he groped you?”

“No,” her breath hissed softly in her throat. “It was like a caress, a touch that made me tingle. I felt his breath against my neck, his face close to my ear and the heat from his body against my own. It was like a kiss of skin that was so intimate and so shocking that I felt my legs tremble.”

I said nothing. I was watching Amy’s face closely, drawn towards her until I was perched on the edge of the bed studying the beautiful play of her features as she spoke.

Amy filled the silence.

“I didn’t turn around. I stood frozen with a glass of wine in my hand. I was in a room full of people but suddenly it was as if this stranger and I were the only ones who existed. I could smell his aftershave, and I could feel the fine fabric of his suit. My senses swooned. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I didn’t know what to do.”