Plaything: Volume Two Read Online Free PDF Page A

people but suddenly it was as if this stranger and I were the only ones who existed. I could smell his aftershave, and I could feel the fine fabric of his suit. My senses swooned. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I didn’t know what to do.”
    “And then what happened?”
    “He spoke to me,” Amy said.
    “Do you remember what he said?”
    “Every word.”
    “Tell me.”
    “He said, ‘very beautiful’.”
    “The painting?”
    “No,” Amy was suddenly fierce. “He was talking to me. He said I was very beautiful, but the way he did it – the deep husky tone of his voice was an erotic whisper filled with lust and desire. There was an ache in his voice – something primal and sexual and raw.”
    “And it turned you on?”
    “He made me come,” Amy said in a soft rush, the words laced with her bewilderment. “I had an orgasm.”
    “Just from his voice?”
    “And from his touch, and smell, and the sense of presence this man had. It was like an aura. It was undeniable. It’s like he drew the orgasm from me.”
    Amy opened her eyes reluctantly and saw me staring at her. Suddenly the air in the room seemed overwhelmed with the musky moist scent of her femininity.
    “Do you want me to go on?” she asked. The words were just a dry croak in the back of her throat.
    I nodded and Amy closed her eyes again. Suddenly I was sure she was back there – back in the gallery with the stranger, her body remembering every moment, every scent and subtle intonation of his voice.
    “I swayed against him,” Amy said and swallowed hard. “I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel him. I arched my back and moved my hips so that we brushed against each other and he was like iron. It was like a slow sexy dance – a gentle secret gyration so that we were moving against each other and every inch of me was tingling and trembling.”
    “Did he do anything?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Did he touch you?”
    “Yes!”
    “Where?”
    “I felt his hand on my hip and the skin beneath the fabric of my skirt seemed to catch alight. I swear his hand branded me. The heat was incredible. Then he slid it around until his arm was wrapped around me, pulling me back against him, pinning me to him.”
    “And you resisted?”
    “No,” Amy shook her head. “I moved with him. I moved for him. I swayed my hips and moved my feet apart. I felt his mouth on my neck, the ragged rasp of his breath that sent shivers down my spine.”
    “So you encouraged him?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you feel guilty about that? You regret it?”
    “No,” she said flatly. “I wanted it. I wanted his touch all over me. I wanted him to slide his hand inside the waistband of my skirt and feel his fingers inside my panties. I wanted his kisses on my throat. I wanted to lose myself. I wanted... I wanted him to fuck me. ”
    “What happened next?”
    “He moved his hand.”
    “Lower?”
    “Higher,” she whispered, “until he was cupping my breast.”
    “In public like that? In a public place like an art gallery, surrounded by so many people?”
    The memories of that night seemed to make Amy swoon with a giddy vertigo of arousal. I saw it in her gaze – the shadow of erotic memories passing behind her eyes like clouds across a clear mountain lake. “Yes,” she said, like she was reveling in the recalled brazen decadence. “And I was helpless to resist, even if I wanted to. I was overcome. I was lost. I felt like I was clinging to driftwood in a storm-tossed ocean. It was beyond my ability to resist his will… and my own desperate desire.”
    She turned to stare into my eyes, our faces just inches apart and I could see the turmoil, the confusion and the desperation in her gaze. It would take just an instant for the moment to turn into raw unrestrained passion – and all the progress I had achieved would have been lost, extinguished like a flame, doused by the high winds of her desire.
    I sprang to my feet and put space between us. When I