Plaything: Volume Two (5 page)

I cried out as I came. One long, ragged moan of release that seemed to please him. He kissed my forehead again, and I felt the smile on his lips.

“That’s good, Amy,” he said. “Perfect, in fact.”

Perfect
. It felt so nice to be perfect.

I kept my legs wide open as he withdrew his fingers. “More,” I whispered. “Please, sir. More.”

If he was surprised he didn’t show it. “You want more, Amy?”

I nodded. “Please, sir.”

He wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. I could take this, all of it. The lines of reality blurred and warped, and I lost track of what was real and what was an obedient facade. It no longer even mattered. I wanted him, and my body did, too.

His fingers thrust deep, and I was so sensitive it burned, my stomach aching with the exertion of climax, yet still the bloom of lust remained. His touch coaxed me back to life, until I was begging him for more. I moved against him, lowering my weight onto his hand until I began to crest all over again.

“Yes,” he growled. “Good girl, Amy. You may come.” He took his hand from my throat and tilted my face to his. “Kiss me, and make it real. I want to feel how much you want me.”

His lips were warm and wet, and it was so easy to mean it. He possessed my mouth like he’d possessed the rest of me, but it was me who invited him in, me who twisted my fingers in his hair and moaned in bliss as the third crazy orgasm ripped through my senses. I kissed him like he was the only man on Earth. Like he meant something. Like he meant
everything
.

And I wasn’t pretending.

He broke away and let me catch my breath. My heartbeat was thumping in my ears, skin sheened with the fine mist of exertion. I closed my legs, flinching at the ache.

“Wow,” I said. “That was intense.”

“That was progress,” he replied.

He got to his feet, and I smiled up at him. “You’re a great teacher. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that lesson anytime soon.”

His brows seemed heavy, his eyes serious. “That really isn’t my usual style, Amy. It’s a needs must situation.”

The idea that he hadn’t enjoyed it stung like a slap to the face. It twisted in my gut, provoking a teenage urge to give him the middle finger and storm the fuck out of there. “Fine,” I muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Fine? That’s really all you have to say? You’re more eloquent than that, Amy. If you have an issue at least be open about it. Fine is for fishwives and nags; women who don’t know how to express themselves openly, or have men too ignorant to listen if they tried. That isn’t us.”

I got to my feet, reaching for my t-shirt and panties and dressing quickly. “I’m sorry this is such a chore for you,” I said. “I happened to quite enjoy it actually, all considering. Don’t worry, only a few more days and you can piss off back to your regular life.”

His hand clasped around my wrist, jaw gritted. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t speak to me in that way, and don’t put words into my mouth. I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it, I just stated it isn’t my usual practice.” His eyes were fierce. “The pleasure largely came from you, Amy, and that is excellent. What I did was crude and rudimentary, there was no skill or care in the way I was using my fingers, the intensity of the pleasure came from your own pre-heightened state and the experience of losing yourself in genuine submission.” He let go of my wrist. “Any man could have played my part.”

I stared up at him. “No,” I said. “Not any man. You’re wrong.”

He sighed. “I hope I’m not wrong, considering that’s the whole point of this exercise.
You
can achieve that state, Amy. It came from
your
mind, from
your
own fantasies. Through that knowledge you can create your own pleasure, regardless of how inadequate a man is in his knowledge of the female form.”

He had a point, which I begrudgingly accepted. “It’s a good thing, then. Let’s move on.”

“You’re angry,” he said. “You still have your fire. Keep it buried deep, but don’t ever let it go. It suits you.”

“I’m not intending on letting it go,” I snapped. “I smile, I play the nice submissive, and with your help I’m sure it will get me off, but that’s not the end game. The end game is freedom. This is my best shot, and I’m taking it.” I shrugged in exasperation. “I stink, I’m clammy, and I’m really fed up. Can I have a shower, please?”

He gestured to the bathroom door. “Be my guest.”

I slammed the door behind me, and I didn’t even know why.

I should’ve locked the door, but I was too busy chasing the perfect water temperature. Robert didn’t say a word when he entered the room, just rested casually against the wall, as though I wasn’t behaving like an impudent brat.

“What?” I said. “Did you want something?”

“It seems
you
want something,” he replied. “A pink backside for your cheek, or a few swift lessons in obedience. I explained my word choice, and my motivations for what happened earlier. Why is there still a problem?”

“I just…” I spluttered. “I’m just… I don’t know! I’m just… angry. I’m allowed to be angry, aren’t I’? I’m allowed to be pissed off with this whole fucking situation.”

“Yes,” he said. “But you channel it, you don’t lash out like a spoiled little brat, and you certainly don’t direct it at me.” His expression was so stern. “You’re better than this, Amy. If I do something to offend you, you are always free to tell me so, but an explanation from my part should suffice, along with an apology if it’s warranted. I’m not playing passive-aggressive games with you.”

I pulled my t-shirt off over my head. “I don’t know how else to be, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Just understand that I don’t communicate in that way. Do you want to talk about what happened? Do you still have things to say?”

I dropped my panties and stepped under the water. It soothed my frazzled skin, and took my angst down the drain with it. I let out a sigh. “I wanted it to be real.”

“And you feel it wasn’t?”

“Not for you,” I said. “Clearly.”

“Clearly?”

“You’re just doing what needs to be done, aren’t you? It means nothing to you.”

“And you took this from one simple statement where I shared it wasn’t my usual method of operation?”

“That’s what you meant.”

“Actually, it wasn’t. It was a simple statement. You’re feeling insecure, and although it’s unnecessary it’s not entirely a bad thing. It shows you wish to please me. It shows you are learning to receive your pleasure through mine.”

“Except I’m not receiving my pleasure through yours,” I snapped. “Because yours is fake.”

“You really think that?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” I shrugged. “Yes.”

He beckoned me with his hand. “Come here,” he said. “Now.”

His tone was low and demanding, and my impudence vanished in a heartbeat. I stepped out from the shower, dripping rivers onto the tiles without care. He waited until I was standing before him, then grabbed for my hand and pressed it to his crotch. “Does that feel fake to you, Amy?”

I gripped him through the fabric, and there was nothing fake about his arousal. My eyes grew wide, and the butterflies inside me took flight. “No,” I whispered. “That doesn’t feel fake.”

“Take down my pants,” he said.

My fingers were nervous and shaky as they fumbled with his belt. He kicked off his shoes as I freed him, and his pants dropped to a heap on the floor. I slid his boxers down his legs to join them, and his cock sprung up, thick and swollen. It grazed my cheek as I rose, and I paused, waiting for instruction.

“My shirt,” he said.

I started at his collar, admiring the tone of his chest as I worked my way down the buttons. He shrugged his shoulders and the fabric slipped to the floor, and the man was naked before me. Naked and fucking magnificent.

“I need a shower,” he stated, walking me backwards until we were both under the cascade and his skin was slick to mine. He pressed me into the tiles, and his hands were at my breasts. “There is nothing fake about this,” he said. “Nothing fake about the effect a beautiful, spirited, submissive woman has on a man like me.”

“And there’s nothing fake about this,” I whispered. I landed my lips on his without warning, parting mine wide and seeking out his tongue. His hands came up to my face, holding me in position as he responded, and mine snaked down to wrap around his cock, gripping him tight as he thrust against me.

The water rained down on us like liquid gold, and his skin felt delicious in the torrent. He broke the kiss and wrapped the long, wet tail of my hair around his fingers, pulling my head back enough to kiss down the length of my throat. I groaned in bliss, and increased the urgency of my hands around his cock, stopping only when he prised my fingers away.

“Enough,” he said. “Not yet.”

Still tender from my earlier exertions, I smiled in joy as he reached for the shower lotion. His fingers worked the knots in my shoulders, soaping me down with absolute concentration.

“As a full-time submissive you will have no real privacy,” he said. “Your body is to be their possession. You must always be aware of that. Showering alone, for example, may become a distant memory.”

I smiled. “If it’s anything like this experience, I can live with that.”

“I think you may be in luck,” he said. “If you achieve even half of the potential you’ve shown me this morning, I think you will have a very happy master indeed. I can’t imagine he will be able to keep his hands away from you.”

The compliment went down like icing sugar laced with razorblades.

“I can hope,” I sighed. “Here, let me wash you.”

I lathered his skin, unashamedly exploring the muscular plains of his body. His eyes closed, relaxed, and the knowledge I was pleasing him set my world alight. His pleasure felt even greater to me than my own. It was working. Whatever the hell he was doing to me was working.

I’d never had a man wash my hair before, but Robert was perfect. His fingers felt like the touch of God against my scalp, and I made sure he knew it. He turned off the water when he was done, and wrapped my hair in a towel. Then he dried me off, slowly, as though he was checking out a fine filly. “You are a beautiful woman, Amy,” he said.

My heart fluttered.

“And you are quite a man.” My words sounded raspy and breathless, and I averted my eyes, embarrassed at how much I’d meant them. I returned the favor and toweled him off, but my shutters were already coming down.

If he noticed he didn’t acknowledge it.

We dressed in silence, and I followed him through to the living area. He made us coffee as I curled up on the couch, and I watched his every move, weighing up the man who was spinning my whole universe around his fingers.

I leapt a mile as a thud sounded at the door, springing to my feet and shielding myself behind the couch. Robert approached me with his hands outstretched. “Steady,” he said. “It’s alright. It won’t be either of them, I promise you.”

Panic grasped at my throat. “Who then?!”

“Answer the door and we’ll find out,” he said, calmly.

“I can’t!” I gasped. “I just can’t.”

“You can,” he stated. “And you will be welcoming, gracious and thoroughly befitting of a well-trained submissive. You will do that for me, won’t you, Amy?”

I danced from foot to foot. “Please, Robert, I’m scared.”

“And I’ll be right beside you.”

I stood defeated and I knew it. I took a breath. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

My steps were nervous, but I forced myself across the room. The door was thick wood, with just a small frosted glass panel to let the light through. I could make out the gray of ageing hair, and I knew it well.

The brute with the chain.

I began to tremble, my blood freezing to ice. “I can’t,” I whispered. “I just can’t.”

“You can,” Robert ordered. “Now, open that door and remember your training. You can call this field test number one.”

I stared into his eyes for one long moment, seeking out all the strength I needed, and then I opened the door.

***

It was a pleasure to see the flash of concern in the old man’s eyes as I opened the door. It appeared that I wasn’t the only one who was wary of our paths crossing. He stepped away from the doorstep, clanking the laden baskets he was carrying on either arm.

I fought back the urge to claw at his face, all too aware of Robert’s steady gaze. My first field test, and I was determined to pass with flying colors. I lowered my eyes to the old bastard’s feet, standing meekly before him.

“Your lunch,” he said. “And other requested items.”

“We’re grateful, aren’t we, Amy?” Robert’s voice was pleasant. He liked the old asshole. The thought almost forced the bile up from my stomach.

“Yes, very grateful. Thank you, sir.” I could have choked on the words, but I kept my cool, reaching out my hands to receive the baskets as he handed them over.

A glorious rush of victory as the asshole flinched. He was scared of me.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

I smiled like a fucking professional. I smiled like I meant it, like he was my long-lost granddad come to deliver the puppy I wanted when I was eight years old.

“Thank you, Albert,” Robert said. “That will be all.”

Albert was a slack-jawed fool, looking from me to Robert and back again. His eyes hovered at my neck, or more specifically to my lack of collar or restraints.
Suck it up, asshole.

“Thank you, sir,” I reiterated, bowing my head just to confuse the sonofabitch all the more.

I waited for Robert’s lead before retreating from the door. He closed and locked it behind him, taking the baskets from me and leading us through to the living room. He placed one of them on the coffee table and grabbed us some plates.

“Help yourself,” he said. “We should have fresh breads, cheeses, meats, fruit…”

I was ravenous, eyes greedy for the goodies before me. I bit into a peach before I realised Robert wasn’t eating.

“Are you not joining me?”

He raised the second basket. “Soon,” he said. “I have some things to attend to for this afternoon’s training. Eat up.”

I raised my eyebrows in question, but he didn’t elaborate. My eyes followed him as he walked away, admiring the strong line of his shoulders, and the sculpted definition of his back under his shirt as he disappeared into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and I heard a series of bangs and clatters. They intrigued me, and in that moment I realized I was genuinely comfortable around Robert. He’d gained my respect without fear; trust earned in the most unlikely of places.

He joined me in just a few minutes, sitting down opposite and laying out the selection. His expression was curious, eyes sparkling.

“You said you want to be a singer.”

“
Wanted
,” I corrected. “There seems little point in continuing to dream.”

“Quite the opposite,” he said. “Now is the perfect time to dream. Dreams will keep your spirits high and keep you fighting, no matter what the odds. Without dreams life becomes nothing more than a meaningless shell.”

I smiled. “What do you dream of, Robert?”

He plucked grapes from the stalk, chewed them as he pondered. “I dream of escaping all of this. The family and their disgusting ways, this putrid old tomb of a manor. I dream of a life without their shadow, where I’m a free man living solely for me. I dream of a sailboat on the ocean, just me and the waves, without a pile of paperwork hanging over my head. I dream of a simple life, Amy.”

I buttered my bread. “And what of a woman? Have you found love, Robert? Is there a Mrs. Robert out there somewhere, waiting for you to walk back through the doorway when this is all over?”

The ghost of a faraway time danced across his features, some distant memory or sorrow springing to life in the room. He looked at my plate. “How is your lunch?”

“Nice,” I said, accepting the change of subject. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Make sure you eat your fill. It’s going to be quite some time before dinner.”

My pulse sped up in anticipation, just like it had done a million times over these past few weeks. Only this time it wasn’t fear curling around my spine.