Plaything: Volume Two Read Online Free Page A

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