Just Ducky Page 2

  "I almost wish there was someone watching me,” she confided in wistful tones.

  The spirit wished he could speak to her thoughts, but his words stayed his own, lest he frighten her.

  There is, and he hopes that you will accept him. He stopped himself, horrified. When had he started talking about himself that way, as if he were someone else? He had been in the box far too long.

  The spirit's mouth would have watered at the sight of the girl's sensual explorations, if he had one. He missed those sensations. He feared that he would go mad without them. Soon. It must be soon, he told himself. Remembering Martha's words two centuries ago when she'd put him here, he suddenly understood what she had been saying.

  All things cling to the wheel of time...

  Wonder filled him. Could this be his Beryl, come again? He remembered that Martha had told him she must accept his heart and body in order to free his soul and spirit when they met again. He dared not hope, and yet ... He kept his eyes fastened upon the girl, watching, hoping.

  He had felt his vessel warm as she stroked its feathers as it had once before. He remembered the royal attendant's wide blue eyes as she picked it up and stroked its head. The poor girl had been caught by the queen and thrown out into the streets, and he had never found out what the warmth meant. He sighed. The queen had accepted his presence, but he could not give his heart to such a cold creature.

  He turned his full attention back to the snow white beauty beside him.

  Amy set the toy on the edge of the tub and stepped into the water, letting out a long sigh as the water slipped sensuously over her body till she was sitting chest-high in its embrace. She loved the way her breasts floated and bobbed on its gentle surface. She closed her eyes and slid her hands in a long soft caress over her taut nipples and down beneath the water's surface, pressing spread fingers down over her soft belly.

  She is sweet, almost innocent ... and so sad. His gaze never left her as her hands wandered her body.

  Imagining unseen eyes watching her, Amy caught her breath at the sharp heat the thought ignited between her thighs. She moaned, the sound fraught with growing need, and stroked softly from her opening to her clit; a touch so light that her fingertips barely contacted the sensitive pink flesh.

  She gasped as she felt her labia open to the gentle coaxing of her tiny fingertips.

  He extended his senses to see more clearly the reason for the heavenly sounds the beauty released. He knew the cause—he had been in many baths—but still his heart leapt at the bright, burning timbre of her moan. Perhaps, if I do not push her too fast...

  He extended his mind to hers.

  "Yesss, Amy.” A deep voice hissed in her mind as she laid her head back, immersed in her fantasy. She moaned in response, playing into her vision.

  "Who are you?” She increased the pressure slightly, letting her fingertips slide between the slick little lips of her sex.

  Her response delighted him so, that he forgot himself and laughed aloud.

  This time Amy thought it sounded like its owner stood beside the tub. Her eyes flew open as her arms drew up to hide her breasts. She scanned the tiny room with the eyes of prey, but saw no predator there. Only her new feathered companion watched her panic.

  Her mood shattered, Amy stepped from the tub onto the luxurious bath mat.

  She curled her toes into its pile as she dried herself thoroughly, remarking to the duck, “I think I've been away from home too long. I'm going batty!"

  No, he thought ruefully as he watched her breasts jiggle, just ducky.

  He severed the connection to her fluttering mind and watched her, inhaling her damp, perfumed skin as she rose from the water. His wistful thoughts were laced with lust. I wish I was a drop of water right now.

  She hung the towel on the rack and gathered up her robe and the toy. She stroked the feathers as she carried it into the bedroom. Was it her imagination or did it seem to grow warmer?

  "What a wonder it is,” she thought as she laid it on the pillow beside her own. It had been awkward to accept the gift, but now she had to admit that she was oddly attached to the little bath toy. Turning back the sheets, she slipped into their cool comfort and lay gazing at her mute companion.

  Amy yawned deeply and brought the duck to nestle on her chest, soft feathers in the valley between tender silken mounds.

  "Tomorrow we'll go home,” she promised, fingers playing through the warm feathers. “You'll like it there.” Resting a hand on it, she sank into sleep.

  Her hand upon him felt divine. If he used just the right touch, perhaps he could feel a little bit more of her...

  * * * *

  Amy felt the soft warmth of long hair enveloping her before the hot mouth closed over her nipple. Her brow furrowed at the unfamiliar sensation, but then the pleasure took over and she offered her breasts up to her lover with the arching of her back.

  She gazed with sleep-blurred eyes at the source of her pleasure. His long ebon hair flowed over her chest and arms. It caressed her in warm silken strokes as his mouth took first one nipple and then the other. She felt unseen hands cupping the sides of her breasts. The weight of him ... the weight ... something didn't feel right. Fear rose and pushed through the heavy curtain of bliss as she realized that no weight pushed on her quivering body.

  "Wait!” Her mind cried in alarm. “You don't have a lover!” Her screaming psyche woke her completely, heart pounding—whether from passion or fear she wasn't certain. She looked down, but though her nipples still tingled and her breasts glowed rosy, only her feathered friend rested between them.

  Amy inhaled deeply and let out a shaky sigh, feeling the wetness the vision had caused. She told the duck with a nervous laugh, “I'm definitely cracking up. I think I need a beau, little friend.” The duck seemed to smile sympathetically. Amy wrapped her arms around it in an enthusiastic embrace.

  "You'll have to do. I should name you though.” What did one name a thing so exquisite? She regarded it in earnest, admiring the pearlescent green head.

  "You're definitely male. I could name you Dudley, like the Queen's lover ... No. That doesn't fit.” She thought a long while, all the male names she could recall running through her mind. Alex ... Benjamin ... Adam ... Charles ... David ... Mike ... Ken ... Tom ... Antoine. None of them seemed to fit. She was about to give up when the perfect name came to her in a whisper.

  "I have it!” She held the duck up and spoke to it nose to bill. “Your name is Drake, of course!"

  The toy seemed to smile in the half light.

  It is so good to hear my name again.

  * * * *

  Amy woke the next day with Drake nestled under her chin. She set him on the pillow and sat up, yawning and arching her back in a stretch. Drake's lifelike eyes seemed to take in every movement as she massaged body lotion into her lovely, fair skin. She bent over and kissed his head affectionately.

  "Well, my dear Drake, today we head home.” She pulled on jeans and a dark blue sweater, then brushed her hair till it shone. Amy loved the silky feeling of it as it fell to her waist. She often fantasized about caressing her lover with it. At last, sighing pensively, she swept it into a bun with deft fingers. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I know. It's prettier down."

  She gathered her toiletries and packed them neatly before folding her robe and the items from the bathroom into a bag. She packed all but one book into a steamer trunk and turning back to Drake, carrying him to his box, setting him in it gently. His eyes gazed at her with intelligent sadness.

  "Now,” Amy placated him, “I hate packing you away, but I can't stand the thought of you being destroyed. We'll be snug in our compartment soon, I promise.” With that assurance, she shut the lid and placed the little chest in the center of her clothing where she knew it would be safe.

  * * * *

  As soon as her suitcase was brought to her compartment, Amy rescued Drake from his box and placed him on her pillow. “See? I keep my promises."

  She
picked up her book, kicked off her shoes, and curled up on the little bed, taking the duck onto her lap. “The Thousand and One Nights,” she read aloud. “This should be interesting."

  "Indeed,” replied a quiet voice.

  Amy's head jerked up and she looked around the compartment nervously. Seeing no one, she relaxed.

  "Probably the noise of the train,” she rationalized. After all, much as she wished it were otherwise, she knew she was alone with only Drake for company.

  She finished the first three tales and laid the book beside her, settling back into the pillows. “I wish I could be like those women,” she sighed as she sank rapidly into slumber. “So beautiful ... so ... desired..."

  What? Drake could hardly believe what he'd just heard.

  In her humility, this captivating maiden did not realize her beauty. His heart wept for that lack. Has no one ever praised her loveliness? Has no man ever made her feel desired? His passion rose and he resolved to show her how wrong she was about herself, whether or not she was his.

  Her longing mind had created a setting that made it easy to enter, and he glided into her dream. The spell holding him weakened a little bit more.

  Amy dreamt she lay surrounded by cushions in a luxurious suite. Her lover leaned over to her. “You are beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. His tongue traced the curve of her neck, gentle breath playing with her wisps of hair. She caught her breath and giggled as he tickled and tantalized this hot spot. His fingers pulled gently at her bound hair.

  "Take it down, my love,” he entreated in a throaty rumble.

  Drake felt his desire for her rise as her breasts pushed up at him. He groaned. That's not what you're here for, he chided himself. Yes, it is, his lust argued. Look. Even through the wool, her nipples call to you.

  Amy pulled the pins from her heavy locks, back arching as his teeth closed over her nipple in a gentle bite, his hand slipping behind her to span her back and press her to him. She surrendered as he pulled her sweater over her head. Her hair fell from the garment over both of them, an intimate curtain under which he now held and suckled her breast as the other hand unfastened her jeans.

  She writhed under him, lifting up to allow him to tug the denim down from her hips. He made ardent claim on her mouth with his own as she worked her pants down over her legs and feet. She gasped as a long finger slid under her panties.

  "Take them off,” she begged.

  Drake was losing control. He grasped the garment. Amy yelped as his strong hands tore the sides and tossed the flimsy garment to the floor. He slipped his hand over her heat. He groaned. She was so wet. He couldn't help himself. He had to taste her.

  Amy's hips flexed instinctively as his finger pushed into her, and she mewed in pleasure. She watched as his finger, glistening with her, disappeared between his soft lips. His body covered her as he whispered in her ear.

  "Exquisite,” he breathed. He grasped one of her hands and placed it between her legs. “Taste yourself, Amy; your desire so sweet."

  The train jolted, causing Amy's head to smack against the wall. “Ouch!” Torn from her dream, she nonetheless regained awareness slowly. She winced as she rubbed her head. “That wasn't a very fun way to be woken up,” she mumbled to Drake, who still sat in her lap. She placed him on the bed, made her way to the basin, and splashed water on her face. Her hair flowed unrestrained. Her breath quickened and her heart skipped a beat at the further realization that she had not a stitch of clothing on.

  Bewildered, she sank onto the bed. “What's going on?” She dropped her head into hands, trying to remember stripping down. “I know I was dressed when I dozed off. “She turned to her silent companion. “Wasn't I?"

  Memories of her dream brought crimson to her cheeks. It had felt so real. Her eyes widened as she noticed a scrap of cloth that could only be the panties she'd been wearing. Legs shaking, she picked them up. Finding them torn, she gave a little cry of fright and dropped them.

  She looked around the compartment, her wildly searching eyes finding no one. The lock on her door held securely when she tested it. Disturbed to say the least, she lowered herself to her bed.

  "What the hell is going on?” She stared at her reflection, naked and glistening with sweat. “I didn't do this ... did I?” Her brow furrowed as she considered the possibility.

  "No.” A deep voice stroked her tortured mind.

  Still troubled, Amy methodically sorted through the strange events of the past thirty-six hours. At last she concluded that she was losing her sanity. It was the only explanation. The corners of her mouth curled into a wry smile. What a way to go, though.

  She gathered Drake to her chest, one finger petting his head. “I have to admit, being naked does feel good,” she conceded. “Maybe I should try it more."

  "Yesss,” the voice celebrated in sibilant tones.

  Amy listened this time instead of merely hearing, amazed at the heat pulsing through her body at the sound. If she was cracking up, at least the voice she heard was a sexy one—one she would gladly submit to, were its owner real. She wished he was as she settled on the cot again with her book. She reveled in the luxurious feeling of her raven tresses mantling her, and as she read the tales of Scheherazade, she wished again for a lover to caress with her silken hair.

  It felt odd to sit there nude, but she couldn't deny a certain thrill. What if someone were to look into her compartment window? Her breath came faster at the thought, fingertips caressing her silky belly as she lost herself in the sensual, visceral tales for the next couple of hours.

  Only as the train neared her stop did she pull herself reluctantly from the languorous fog and dress herself.

  * * * *

  Amy drew a deep breath as she walked through the heavy paneled doors. “Ahhh,” she exhaled. “I love the smell of home!” She set her suitcase on the marble floor and brought Drake to the light once more. Feeling not the least bit foolish, she held him up and twirled slowly around the great foyer. “See? I told you you'd love it."

  She placed Drake on a love seat, kissed his emerald crown, and went about the business of opening the casements. She stood for a moment at each one and let the cool sunlight fall over her as she breathed the crisp autumn air. Drake looked on in placid interest.

  Amy finished with her task and turned back to the duck. “I know, you want to take a bath. So do I, my friend. So do I.” She scooped him up and headed upstairs, pausing to consider whether she should take the suitcase as well. In the end, she decided it wasn't needed at the moment and continued on her way with Drake clutched to her chest as she stroked his velvet silk head.

  Amy's touch melted the fibers of his magical web further, and he pushed against them, exerting his will over her. He wanted to feel—truly feel—her touch on his skin. His need took over her mind and body.

  As she ascended the staircase, her clothing became increasingly oppressive. By the time she reached her bedroom suite, she could hardly bear the stricture. She set the toy on the bed and tugged at her boots in desperation to be free of them. Once she'd pulled them off, she hurriedly unfastened her jeans and slid them over her hips. She felt she could not remove her top fast enough. Panting, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and paused.

  "What has come over me?” The question, meant to be rhetorical, was instead answered.

  "Does it matter?"

  Amy jumped. “I ... don't know.” She answered hesitantly. “I don't like not knowing what's going on with me.” To herself, she muttered, “I can't believe I'm responding to a disembodied voice!” Even as she said these words, she felt compelled to remove what was left of her clothing. She resisted, and reached for a robe.

  The voice came sharply to her senses.

  "Stop!"

  So real was it that she whirled around looking for its source, certain someone was in her bedroom with her. As before, she saw no one. Her heartbeat increased and she choked back a cry of frustration. Again, the voice came, this time silken to the core of her.

>   "Look at yourself, Amy.” She slowly turned to the mirror and gazed into it. “See how lovely you are. Why hide that?” Amy watched her fingertips touch her face and slide down her throat. She watched, unable to stop herself, though she knew they were her hands. Her palms came into play as they moved down over her breasts to cup them, and she gasped as she watched herself knead the flesh and pinch her nipple.

  "Yesss,” the voice hissed. “Feel how soft, how desirable they are."

  Leaving her erect nipples, Amy pushed her hands down over her silken belly, moaning. “Ohhh ... what good will it do me to feel?"

  The presence laughed softly.

  Infuriated, Amy regained control over the lust threatening to consume her. “Stop it!” She stormed into the bathroom. “Just leave me alone! You don't exist. You're not real.” She didn't add the thought that sprang unbidden from her lonely heart. I wish you were.

  She started the water, slipped her thong over her hips, and stepped out of it. Drake sat on the bed, almost expectant as he waited for her to finish drawing the bath. With a tender smile, she picked him up and pressed his softness to her chest.

  "You probably think I'm crazy, don't you, Drake?"

  The duck only gazed at her from between Amy's breasts. She fancied she saw a contented smile on his bill. She turned off the water and set him on the edge of the tub as she stepped into its comfort and sank down.

  Amy washed in silence except for sighs of relief as she enjoyed the touch of the water on travel-worn muscles. She closed her eyes and lightly played her fingertips over the contours of her body.

  He pushed at his fetter harder, encouraging Amy's desire with his will.

  A splash announced Drake's arrival. Serene, Amy continued with her self-exploration.

  Her slender fingers slid down over her most private flesh. She drew in a deep breath, and her groan prayed for sex, but her eyes remained closed. “Please,” she heard her voice whisper in an all-too-familiar routine. “Come to me."