Dr Casswell's Plaything (14 page)

Sarah Morgan was a real find, and the Austrian was annoyed that Casswell would not part with her, but as he watched her slip elegantly into the back of his car, casting a nervous look back in his direction as the driver closed the door for her, he smiled thinly.

A few hours later, back at Weissman’s house, Casswell stretched, slipped off his evening jacket and then poured himself a brandy over ice from the tray beside his bed. He thought about calling for Chang to give him a massage, and then decided against it; it was very late.

The doors to the balcony were open and the drapes fluttered in the warm night breeze, which carried the smell of the sea and the sound of distant music. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to relaxing with the latest transcripts of Beatrice’s diary before going to sleep.

The meeting of the museum trustees and then their sojourn to the club had proved interesting. And not just because of Sarah’s performance on stage, although it had been quite stunning. He was delighted with his pupil’s progress; she never ceased to enchant and surprise him. Sarah Morgan had come a long way since those first tentative steps back at Casswell Hall.

During her performance the bar had filled with more patrons, amongst them several of the guests from the museum party and, once everyone had partaken of some drink, Casswell had learned more about how it was that Beatrice’s diaries ended up secreted away in an isolated little Turkish port town.

He glanced at his watch, wondering whether Sarah was asleep. She would be intrigued to hear how the books were brought to the port by an uneducated monk who believed he was taking sacred documents away for safekeeping, and the friar who rode with him, who knew exactly what it was the books contained and hoped to use them to secure himself a fortune once he settled in the port. It was the friar who had first started the secret society that flourished just beneath the thin veneer of normal port life. A cadre of educated, well connected men who understood the pleasure of the whip; men who kept slaves and harems of their own. Casswell received several interesting invitations during the few hours he spent at the club. The men he had spoken to were all fellow connoisseurs who were waiting for the completion of his translation with bated breath.

Weissman’s mood had improved, too, over the course of the evening. Casswell had been concerned that his refusal to part with Sarah might jeopardise not just their relationship, but also his mission in Turkey. Uri Weissman was most certainly not a man to be crossed.

A soft knock at the door broke Casswell’s chain of thought. It opened, and Anna Weissman stood there, dressed in a fine cotton chemise that did very little to disguise the curves of her exquisite body.

‘I thought you might like a little company,’ she said, not waiting to be invited in. ‘I can’t see why I could not have gone to your stuffy dinner party.’

Casswell smiled. ‘You would have been bored senseless. Do you want a brandy?’ he offered.

Anna nodded.

‘No servants to deliver you tonight?’ he mused, adding ice to her glass. ‘No games? No magic carpet?’

Anna took the drink her offered her and laughed. ‘No, not tonight, Rigel. Just me and my curiosity. I want to have more… a lot more.’

It was Casswell’s turn to laugh. ‘Now you see, there is the rub, Anna. The true submissive would never dream of asking for more. You just want to experiment and explore a little. This is lust, not submission.’

She took an elegant sip of the brandy and moved closer, seductively. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ she purred. ‘Rigel, I need a guide. I need someone who knows. I can hardly ask my brother, now can I?’

Casswell eyed her thoughtfully and indicated the ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘You know lesson one; total obedience, and total trust.’

‘Haven’t we already done that?’ she said, pouting. ‘The other night?’

Casswell’s expression hardened. ‘And total silence.’

Without another word, Anna sat on the blanket box, drained her glass and set it aside, held the hem of her chemise and pulled it over her head. There was no getting away from the fact that she had a quite magnificent body.

Casswell picked up the expensive little sliver of fabric from the floor and ripped a strip off the hem. Anna’s eyes widened in shock, but if she was planning to protest she wisely thought better off it.

Casswell blindfolded her. He could see that she was apprehensive, her breath fast and shallow, little beads of perspiration dampening her brow. He smiled; it was time Miss Weissman experienced a little fear.

He settled her back on the ottoman, and ripping more of her chemise he tied her wrists to the legs of the chest and then, having slipped a cushion under her hips to make her body more accessible, secured both her ankles. She whimpered as he tightened the ties.

She looked quite exquisite – a luscious feast. Casswell stroked her pensively, and then taking an ice-cube from her brandy glass, slid it around the dip of her toned belly. Anna gasped and shivered. Very slowly he circled each nipple in turn, and watched them hardened and rise like rosebuds. Her whole body trembled in anticipation of what might follow. With deliberation Casswell poured the last of his brandy over her quim, and then began to lap at it while his fingers pressed into those silken sex lips – lips that were getting wetter and wetter with every passing moment.

Just as Anna began to relax and move with him, Casswell palmed the remains of the ice-cubes into his mouth and then pressed hard against her tight pussy.

Ice and fire. Anna Weissman’s body flexed, and she mewled in shock and delight as he returned his attentions to the swollen ridge of her clitoris.

‘You… you bastard,’ she gasped, trying to wriggle away from his tormenting caresses, but Casswell merely used his tongue to push the ice deeper still.

Writhing beneath him, Anna Weissman cried out in a heady mixture of pain and pleasure as he brought her to the point of orgasm again and again, but skilfully denying her the final prize. He applied a pair of silver nipple clamps to the exquisite peaks that tipped her full breasts, making her mewl and gasp all the more earnestly, brushing them, making her cry out as the pleasure and pain coursed through her veins. As she lifted herself to try and ensnare him, to try and drive him over the edge, he took another little something from his box of toys, and slid an anal plug into that tight dark space that as she writhed against him just begged to be filled.

Anna gasped as it popped home, and relentlessly, Casswell teased her supine and bound body, expertly brushing her clitoris with his thumb so that shards of pleasure spasmed through her. It was such a shame that she was Uri Weissman’s sister, for the more he saw of her the more potential she showed. It crossed his mind, as she moved against his knowing touch, to take her back to England. He had enough contacts to have her placed with someone who could deal with her wilfulness and bring out her full potential.

Beneath him Anna was deliriously begging for satisfaction.

‘Please, please,’ she sobbed, almost in tears, trying desperately to lift her hips to his touch, to take her to that all-consuming place, completing the sensual arc he had begun.

Then Casswell slipped his hands under her taut thighs, lifted her towards him as much as the bonds would allow, and drove his cock deep inside her, making her scream in delight, and at the same time his educated fingers renewed their attention, circling the throbbing scarlet bud that lay between those succulent lips.

This time there was no going back. Anna Weissman began to buck and twist, pushing herself hard onto his cock, crying out again and again as the waves of orgasm crashed over her. As her climax finally engulfed them both her quim closed tight around his cock like a hungry mouth and pulled him with her down onto the shores of oblivion.

At the door of Casswell’s room, Sarah hesitated for a moment. She wanted to go in and tell him that she had increasing suspicions about Weissman’s motives. She also longed to feel the comfort of his arms, the reassurance that only a master could give a slave.

She stood by the door for a moment composing herself and her thoughts, agonising over how to broach the subject of his associate – it certainly was not going to be the easiest conversation she’d ever had.

There was no reply to her tentative knock, so she tried again – still no reply, but some part of her knew it was important that she told Casswell about her concerns regarding Weissman. So against her better judgement, she opened the door and pushed it open.

And what Sarah saw was not Casswell alone or a sleep, but hunched over the tied body of a woman – a woman she instantly recognised only too well as Anna Weissman, who was even now in the throes of a very animated orgasm. Casswell’s expression was taut with pleasure, his cock buried to the hilt in the female as he rode her bucking form.

Sarah tried to suppress her squeal of dismay, and took a step back. The lurid tableau hit her like a body blow. She felt lost, both betrayed and alone in a world that had no place for her.

As she was about to turn and flee to the temporary sanctuary of her room, Casswell looked up at her. ‘Sarah?’ he grunted, his teeth clenched with the effort of fucking the woman.

She did not wait to hear what else he had to say, if anything. Instead she ran from the room as fast as she could, along the landing to her room and slammed the door shut, leaning back against it and panting heavily. With a racing heart she was not altogether surprised to see Chang waiting by the bed.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

It was all too much for Sarah. She burst into tears and through the sobs told him, and then unable to hold back, described her intense feelings at discovering Anna Weissman in the arms of her master.

Behind her blindfold, still bound tight on the ottoman, Anna Weissman struggled to catch her breath, gasping as the tremors of passion slowly ebbed away. It felt amazing to let go, to let another take control completely; unable to object or to resist the advances of her lover, she’d had no option but to submit and drown in a sea of ecstasy. Her whole body ached with it; her mind was awash with the intense bliss that had roared through her at the approach to and point of orgasm.

And Casswell was so good. She needed to find a way to have more. It made her every previous sexual experience fade into insignificance – his knowing mastery of her mind and body almost driving her to the very shores of madness.

As he began to untie her she wondered about Sarah. She thought back to her overwhelming moment of climax, and how he had called out his slave girl’s name. She was not offended; it seemed even when he had been making love to her, his mind was on his darling girl.

How very touching.

‘What on earth did you mean, bursting in on me like that?’ Casswell’s tone was icy cold.

Sarah looked up at him tentatively. She knew that this was not the way she was supposed to behave, however much she was provoked. Surely her time at Casswell Hall had taught her that, if nothing else? Total obedience was expected. Wasn’t that the very first thing Dr Casswell had taught her?

She did not know whether to apologise or stay silent, and a single tear meandered down her cheek.

Casswell saw it, and despite his annoyance, his expression softened. ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ he said, ‘I know you don’t like it here, and I no longer trust Uri Weissman, so as soon as we’ve finished with the diary we’ll leave. We’ll go home. Will that cheer you up a little?’

Sarah sniffed, nodded, and gave him a weak smile, the tears sparkling in her wide, hopeful eyes. He stroked her cheek, smudging away the tear with his thumb, and although the touch was tender, nothing could quite disguise the fact that he was comforting a possession.

‘How very touching,’ said Weissman, wandering into the breakfast room. ‘So what is this – a little heart to heart?’ He was dressed in a long robe, with nothing on his feet. ‘Hardly what I’d expect to see between master and slave, Rigel,’ he added, somewhat derisively. ‘Anyway, how did you enjoy the club last night?’

Casswell smiled and settled at the table. ‘Fine, thank you, Uri.’

‘And how was my sister?’

Casswell’s expression remained unchanged. ‘Also fine, thank you.’

Sarah glanced warily across at the Austrian, detecting an edge in his voice. As their eyes met he attempted a smile, but fooled nobody. Sarah knew without a doubt that he was jealous of Casswell, both professionally and socially, and that made him dangerous, and she sensed they had to be careful.

Weissman waved the waiting houseboy over and had him pour the coffee. ‘Good, I’m so pleased,’ he went on. ‘But all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Isn’t that what you English say? So,’ he continued without pausing for a response, ‘I have arranged for us to go out on a boat. A little sightseeing, a little bay hopping, and then a barbecue on a beach in a cove a few miles up the coast. One of the museum trustees, who is particularly keen to ingratiate himself to you, has offered us his yacht for the day.’

Casswell sipped his coffee. ‘That’s very kind, Uri,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid that Sarah and I have to work today – I’m sorry.’

Weissman smiled without mirth. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I am aware of your schedule, Rigel, and it has not been overlooked. The plan is to leave early this evening.’

Casswell nodded graciously – what else could he do? ‘In that case, we’ll accept,’ he said. ‘And now if you will excuse us, we must prepare to leave for the museum.’