Plaything: Volume Two Read online

  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.

  ***

  Chapter Two

  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 y
ou 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.”

  ***

  Chapter Three

  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.”