Plaything: Volume Two Read Online Free

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