Plaything: Volume Two Read Online Free PDF Page B

wedding ring. I felt it against my lip and I went suddenly cold. In that instant everything changed. I told him, ‘no!’. I told him I didn’t want to go any further.”
    I felt a sudden sad melancholy of compassion. The expression in Amy’s face changed, but still – underlying the mask of distress – I sensed a deeper current of the same guilt that had run like a subterranean river through the course of our conversation. There was something more here. Something she wasn’t telling me.
    “The man raped you?”
    “Yes. He was fumbling with the front of his pants, his body blocking my escape. Then I felt his hands at my hips and suddenly the huge hardness of him began to fill me, pinning me against the wall as he took me.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said softly.
    Amy shook her head dismissively. “I was sorry too,” she said. “I told him to stop but he didn’t listen. He was driving himself into me, his cock full and swollen, and I had no choice but to give myself up to every thrust. I was pinned against the wall by the weight and the strength of him. I was sobbing – not crying – sobbing… because I suddenly realized something in the midst of being raped. Despite everything I was more aroused than I have ever been in my life . I felt desired, I felt as though I was irresistible. Despite everything, the raw sexual woman in me wanted him to keep on going, wanted him to use me again and again until we collapsed.”
    I said nothing. Amy sat forlorn and bewildered on the bed, somehow shrunken and smaller now that she had told her story. She shook her head at last and then lifted her eyes to mine in a silent plea for help, or maybe just understanding. “I am fucked up,” she whispered. “I told the man to stop, but deep down I wanted him, and he knew it, too. I loved every touch and every thrust of him.”
    “And now you fantasize about being raped again?”
    “Yes. Every night.”
    I rubbed the stubble of my chin with the palm of my hand. “Why do you think you are having this recurring dream?”
    Amy shrugged. “It arouses me,” she said as if the answer was obvious. “I love being taken, used… that’s how I ended up getting into pain…” her voice lowered, “and everything else you saw in those photographs.”
    I nodded, and then raised a pointed finger to the ceiling like a school teacher about to press home a salient point to a student. “You have been trying to reproduce the arousal you felt that night in the art gallery,” I said. “But you have been trying to provoke men to desire, goading them with defiance and rebellion because what you want – what you really want – is for them to lust after you. You want them to be so overcome with the need to have you, the reckless urge to fuck you, that they lose all control. What you’ve gotten instead is violence, punishment and abuse. And in return you have reacted . What you want, more than anything else, is to respond . You want a man who must have you because it will allow you to surrender – to give in to his raging passion and you will then feel complete – lusted after, wanted, desired.”
    Amy crinkled her nose and her brow rippled into deep furrows of thought and confusion. She seemed to be replaying my words in her head, holding them up for analysis – looking for any truths within my claim.
    She stood up slowly but came no closer. Her head was bowed so that her hair fell over her face like a veil, hiding her expression. I waited in silence, watched her take a few tentative steps around the edge of the bed and then stop in mid-stride. She lifted her head slowly and cuffed at a stray strand of hair that hung across her eyes.
    “You think I want to be lusted after? You think this is all about me needing to feel I am irresistible to men so that they simply must give in to their urges and take me?”
    I said nothing.
    She stared fixedly at me. “You think that’s what these fantasies are really about?”
    Again, I said nothing. Amy