Plaything: Volume One (4 page)

Solid fingers squeezed mine. “No, of course it doesn’t.”

“You think I could be trained?”

He paused for a long moment. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a possibility.”

I was out of options and I knew it. There was only one lifeline to normality in this place, and he was threatening to leave, jump on a plane and never look back. I searched his eyes. “What are they going to do to you if you don’t train me?”

He sighed. “Everything they can. Destroy me. Destroy my businesses. Destroy everything I’ve worked for. It doesn’t matter, don’t worry, I said I’m not going to force myself on you, and I won’t.”

I dried my eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m going to be given to that man, whether I like it or not. Maybe, just maybe, there’s the slightest possibility the training will work, and I’ll enjoy it. Do you think that could happen?”

He didn’t look convinced, but he certainly didn’t laugh it off as a bad joke. “It’s a possibility.”

“I know it’s slim, but if I don’t learn to enjoy my fate I may as well be dead. Who knows what the future brings, right? Maybe the Arab will eventually set me free? That could happen, couldn’t it?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Who knows, Amy? Stranger things have happened at sea.”

“I don’t want to die, and I don’t want your asshole brother to break my spirit. You’re my only option, Robert. Please say you’ll try.”

He stood and began to pace the room, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “You actually want me to train you? That’s what you want?”

“I want you to
try
. I don’t know whether it will work, but at least you can give me that.”

“Amy, this isn’t like a college class, I’m talking about sexual instruction. You’ll be expected to give yourself to me sexually, completely.”

I choked back a sob. “I understand.”

“And you still want to proceed?”

“What choice do I have?” I rasped.

It was the wrong answer. He was at the door in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry, Amy, I won’t be a part of this.”

I leapt after him, my hands on his before he could turn the handle. “WAIT!” I said. “Please! Don’t leave. I can do it, just don’t walk away and leave me here with these monsters!” I dropped the jacket to the floor, standing before him in nothing but the collar they’d forced me into. “I can do this!”

Tears streamed down my face but I stood still, unflinching as he brushed a thumb across my cheek. “Let’s both sleep on it. I’ll return in the morning and we’ll discuss it further.”

I nodded, grateful. “Thank you.”

His eyes roved over my naked body, no longer preserving my decency, but his gaze didn’t feel seedy, not like Alistair or his disgusting father’s. I knew he was making note of every bruise, taking in every lingering slash of pain the sonofabitch had etched onto my skin. He didn’t comment, and I was glad.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Amy.”

I gathered up the jacket from the floor, redressed myself while he waited. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Robert.”

I was still crying when that bastard Albert came back for me, and I still fought him every step of the way.

If there was any way out of this place it would be through the man they’d brought here to break me. I just prayed he’d be back in the morning.

He was my only fucked-up hope.

***

Sleep didn’t come easy in this place. I lay awake for hours staring into the darkness, brain churning over and over my conversation with the elusive son. I tossed and turned, unable to find a position where sleep would find me.

For the first few days of my imprisonment, Alistair had tried to preserve some illusion of comfort in this place. I’d been confined to one of the bedrooms on the top floor, a plush affair packed full of antiques and pretty little trinkets. They’d moved me when I’d torn the place apart, and delivered me a pretty decent hiding in the process; the first of many. They hadn’t realised I was used to that shit. That kind of pain didn’t bother me. I’d been in a couple of hardcore BDSM flings before Alistair ever crossed my path. I wouldn’t break easy, and certainly not for an evil sack of crap like him.

My new quarters were bare and uncomfortable, a scratchy blanket the only real attempt at bedding. I’d thrown every scrap of food right back at them the first week, only to rethink that strategy in week two. When the Arab had come for me I’d been sleepy and disoriented, drugged on some crazy shit, certainly. I’d come back to full consciousness in an unfamiliar bedroom, screamed blue murder and given the guy a bloody nose before he’d got a handle on me. Lord fucking knows what had transpired from that point onwards, but I’d been delivered back here in a flash, with a whole fresh load of bruises for my trouble. Alistair still came for me every night, and every night I’d fight him until there was no fight left. He’d been growing frustrated of late, his bravado waning, fists clenched from the second he walked through the door. He’d had the flogger on me, the paddle and cane and single tail too, hissing out commands and demanding I get the fuck on my knees before he really got angry. Lately he’d taken to bellowing, threatening to lock me up in that room and leave me to die a miserable death. Yet still I wouldn’t kneel. Not willingly. Not for him.

He could go to fucking hell.

Tears came every night, but they came a whole lot worse for the candid discussion with Robert. He wasn’t joking, and I knew it. There was no way out from this place, nobody coming for me, and nowhere to run.

Even the seedy guy who’d paid to own me was looking a superior option to being stuck in this hellhole. The idea of a life of sexual servitude turned my stomach in hoops, but maybe there was a way through this. If Robert could deliver on his task, then maybe, just maybe I could stomach the unthinkable, just long enough to make my escape.

It had to be worth a shot.

It might be the only one I had left.

Chapter Three

Robert

I went back into the library, thrust out my jaw and balled my fists deep into the pockets of my trousers. The old man had the young blonde girl backed up against one of the bookcases. The girl was naked, standing in a pool of silky fabric that was her slip. The girl’s eyes were screwed tightly shut. The old man was grunting against her, biting her neck while his fingers roughly plucked at the dark little buds of her nipples. The girl’s legs were splayed wide apart and I could hear the rasp of her breathing. There was a look of desolation on her face – an expression of utter revulsion worn like a mask beneath her skin. Alistair was standing nonchalantly in the far corner of the room watching, his ankles crossed, hands busy in his pockets. There was a cruel and dangerous look in his eye – glinting like the wicked cast of a stiletto. And at that moment I realized I had misjudged him. Alistair had always been a brute, but also a coward. Over the years he had changed. Now I saw something darker and more menacing in his eyes. Something to be wary of…

I cleared my throat and the old man spun around, startled. His lips hung slack and there was a flicker of annoyance in his gaze. His hands fell limp to his side and he stepped away from the girl as if he suddenly wanted to distance himself from her. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and I saw he was trembling.

“I’ll do it,” I said, putting a decisive tone of resolve into my voice. “I’ll train Amy to submit. But I have some conditions.”

The old man flicked a sly, reptilian glance past my shoulder to where Alistair stood in the shadows and his expression became smug. He shook his head slowly. “No conditions,” he croaked.

“Two,” I countered.

The old man sighed. His face became pinched into a scowl.

“I will train her within seven days,” I said, “but I won’t do it here.”

The old man laughed and the sound of it rattled through his diseased lungs. “You will,” he insisted. He was about to say more when suddenly the granite façade of his features lost their sharp edges as if eroded by an age of desert sands. His face seemed to blur so that for a moment I barely recognized him. He clutched at his chest and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He gasped once, seemed to sway on his feet – and then the withered parchment of his skin turned to dust.

Alistair lunged across the room, clasped at his father’s arm. The old man pushed him brusquely away. “I’m alright, dammit!” he rasped. He teetered on his feet then forced himself to straighten. I went on as though nothing at all had happened, my tone and expression scoured of any trace of concern or care.

“The guest house,” I countered. “I’ll train her there. It’s still on the grounds, still secure. But private enough for me to work.”

The old man arched his eyebrows. “What else?” he asked warily without conceding the first condition.

I turned and stabbed a finger at Alistair. “This piece of shit stays away from her. Completely away from her. I don’t want to see him for the next seven days… and I don’t want Amy to see him either.”

Alistair puffed out his chest and the smile froze dead on his lips. I took a step towards him and saw the flicker of fear there.

“Enough!” the old man barked. His hand went back to his chest as though the pain that had doubled him over still lingered. He held up the palm of his other hand like a wrinkled white flag.

“One week,” he said in punctuated breaths, each one a separate agony. “Guest house. No interference.”

I nodded. It was done. And in the morning I knew the real war would begin.

* * *

She came through the door of the bungalow with her hands cuffed, her attitude servile, almost timid. Albert handed me the end of the leash with a curious frown on his wizened old face. He stood in the threshold of the doorway for a long moment, his eyes shifting from my face to the figure of Amy as she shuffled past me and stood waiting silently in the middle of the living room floor.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Albert asked me from the corner of his mouth, concern etching the lines around his eyes into deep crevices.

I grunted at the irony. “I know exactly what I’m doing. That’s why they asked me to do it.”

The old man bobbed his head and pulled the front door shut behind him. I heard his steps fade as he meandered his way back along the cobblestoned pathway towards the main house. I cracked the curtains open with the crook of my finger and cast a quick glance around. I could see no one. The manicured lawns that surrounded the estate were washed in warm spring sunshine. The gardens that lined the pathways were a riot of flowering color; it seemed a stark contrast to the shadowed gloom of the bungalow’s interior and for a moment I considered flinging open all the drapes and letting the daylight spill in.

But only for a moment…

I needed Amy’s attention, and I needed to work undisturbed. There could be no distractions – nothing other than the sound of my voice, the reason of my words, the force of my will, and her compliance. She needed to feel like I was her only hope, and that my demands were her only course of action. She needed to feel like nothing else in her world existed, other than me.

Amy was naked, her dark hair a tousled mess that cascaded down across the alabaster of her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall of velvet. I took a moment to admire her figure; she was a beautiful woman with classical features – high cheekbones, pouting ruby-red lips and eyes that seemed naturally slanted with sexuality. Her breasts were not large, her figure petite. She had a narrow waist and long shapely legs: the legs of an athlete, maybe… or perhaps a dancer. She was slim and very attractive. She was young enough to be desirable and yet old enough to have experienced some of what the world had to offer. I understood clearly why she had been targeted. Physically she was the sum of everything an intelligent man would desire.

“The key to the handcuffs is on the side table,” I said as I circled Amy, inspecting her critically. I noted the hardness of her nipples and the hint of a scent on her skin that was like the vapour of musky womanhood. My eyes drifted down her body curiously and lingered on the pouting lips of her shaved sex. I arched an eyebrow and looked her a question. Amy seemed to flinch as though caught by surprise.

“You’re wet?”

She huffed, turned her face and I saw her eyes hunting urgently across the furnishings for the handcuff key. I caught a hint of crimson on her cheeks, but by the time she turned back, it was gone.

“I can’t see a side table,” she said, ignoring my question. There was the spark of a challenge in her eyes and I noted it.

“That’s because the side table is in the bedroom,” I said calmly.

She pressed her lips into a pout and shifted her body so that her weight was on one leg and her hips and breasts were thrust forward. Her eyes became weary as though I held nothing to intrigue her. “And that’s where you want me, right?” there was an insolence in her voice that irritated me. “You want me on my back so you can fuck me.”

I paused for a moment and in the few seconds I delayed I saw the tiny cracks in her defiance turn her expression into one of uncertainty. I made her wait. And wait…

“Yes,” I said at last,” I am going to fuck you, Amy. I am going to teach you to worship my cock so that each moment you go without its press against your lips, or the thrust of it deep inside your pussy, will feel like an emptiness that leaves you utterly bereft. I am going to fuck you from one orgasm to the next until your screams become sobs, your groans become gasps, and your body trembles.” I held up a finger like I was a lecturer making an important point. “But first we need to set some ground rules, and come to an understanding.”

Amy’s expression had become unfathomable. It was as if my words were still echoing and reverberating behind her eyes. She parted her lips and I heard a sound like a whimpered sigh.

“You are here with me for seven days, and our relationship is one of perception” I began to circle her again, the sounds of my footsteps on the polished wooden floorboards making crisp and clipped noises that seemed to punctuate my every word. “You can see yourself as my submissive. You can see yourself as a slave. You can see me as a cruel master,” I shrugged. “I really don’t care.”

“Submissive?” Amy spat the word like it was the thrust of a challenge. “This is sex slavery. Pure and simple. I’ve been kidnapped. I’ve been sold. I will be used for sex. That’s not submission!”

I shook my head like she was a child who had disappointed me. “Perception,” I said again. “Your role depends on how you perceive yourself. A submissive is someone who is
willing to accommodate the needs and desires of their master
.” I emphasised the words and left the sentence hanging in the air for a long moment. “You can see yourself as a slave… or you can see yourself as a submissive. But I assure you that your attitude will go a long way in determining how far you progress this week – and whether that journey is tolerable, or excruciating.”

Amy hunched her shoulders and some of the stiffness went out of her posture. A moment before her stance had been womanly provocative. Now she seemed more like a confused little girl.

“I have the same decision to make,” I said. I stopped pacing and stood before the woman, so that our faces were just inches apart. I could smell the apple-blossom scent of her breath as it mingled with mine. Her lips were red as ripe fruit, made glossy by the tip of her tongue. Her eyes were wide and dark and vulnerable. I could sense her body quivering.

“And what did you decide?” Amy whispered softly.

“That I am not your master,” I said. “I will be your coach. I will guide you and help you. I will train you and I will berate you when you do not perform to my satisfaction. But I will not beat you, Amy. I will not harm you physically in any way.”

I left her standing in the living room and disappeared through a door. When I came back, the key to the handcuffs was dangling from the tip of my finger. I dropped it into Amy’s upturned palm and took a step back. “The same key will unfasten the lock on your collar,” I explained. I peeled off my jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt like a businessman about to start a hard day at the office. I watched Amy free herself from her shackles. The cuffs and chain of her leash made a harsh clattering sound as they fell to the floor.

She rubbed her wrists, then massaged the soft delicate skin of her throat, her fingers kneading the flesh like those of a tender lover.

“Go into the bedroom,” I said simply. “There is a shower. You can wash, and work out whether you want to do this the easy way… or the hard way. When you come out of the shower you will get onto the bed and wait for me.”

***

Amy

This place was better than the main house, so much better. I closed the bedroom door behind me, scoping out my new surroundings. The bed was huge and plush, crisp white sheets and massive pillows. Two bedside cabinets in carved oak, and a matching chest of drawers. Aside from a couple of table lamps and a painting of poppies on the wall, that was the sum total. Instinctively I rushed to the window, but it was locked. No escape route.

Like I’d have ever stood a chance. The grounds were walled high. I’d never make it out of there. The beautiful day outside failed to raise my spirits. In the heart of me I already knew. Robert was my only lifeline, the only living person between me and complete destruction.

Could I really submit to the man? Did I even want to?

Was I so genuinely so sexually corrupt that he’d already found me wet for him?

I slid my fingers between my thighs and it wasn’t just the wetness that answered my question. My clit fluttered, betraying every scrap of my better senses.
Shit
.

One day, if I ever got out of this place, I’d book myself in for some serious therapy.
If
I ever got out of this place.

I could hear Robert pacing the floor next door; his footsteps hard and purposeful. He was a dominant man. Naturally dominant. He didn’t seem cruel, though, and he’d said he wouldn’t attempt to break me with pain. In other circumstances, in other walks of life, if I’d have seen him in the street, maybe I’d have even wanted him. I pushed the thought aside and made my way through to the en-suite.

My joy at a clean bathroom was so real. I locked the door behind me on instinct, turning the shower to full and stepping under a blissfully warm cascade. It felt so good against my neglected skin. The products hanging up for me smelled divine. I soaped my skin and shampooed my hair, teasing out as many of the pugs as I could manage with my fingers, before lathering on the conditioner.

For the first time in weeks I felt like me again.

The reflection in the mirror over the sink was kinder than I expected. I toweled myself dry, then rummaged for more supplies. Whoever had stocked the cabinet was thoughtful. A boar-bristled hairbrush that glided right through my tangles, fresh toothbrush and toothpaste and even moisturiser.

If I was going to be taken by Robert, at least I’d feel like myself.

I took a long breath before letting myself back into the bedroom.

He wasn’t waiting for me, but I was certain he could hear my movements.