Dr Casswell's Plaything (18 page)

Rupert bent her forward, and from behind he eased his fingers up inside her, making her gasp again with shock and shame. Between them, the two men were rapidly reducing her to a sexual commodity, but despite her chagrin she instinctively began to move against the invading fingers, and the warm lump she felt rising against her bottom, strangely excited by his impersonal attentions.

‘Bring her here, closer,’ Granger demanded, his voice low and expressionless. ‘I want her closer.’

Rupert moved, one arm around her waist, his other hand still wedged between her thighs from behind, his fingers still inside her increasing wetness as he shuffled her over to where Granger sat, and with his toe he nudged her feet apart so that the old man could see every succulent detail and what his fingers were doing inside her.

Granger placed his brandy glass on the occasional table beside his chair, craned forward and ran a hand down over her hip, and then pressed a single finger up inside her, alongside Rupert’s. His touch was as cold as ice, and made Sarah close her eyes against the humiliation and visibly cringe. He chuckled huskily, clearly relishing her shame, then slowly withdrew his finger, closely studied the glistening juices that coated it, turning his finger this way and that with a deliberation that utterly humiliated her, and then fed it between his dry lips and imbibed of her essence. After a moment or two, as if he were the connoisseur of some priceless and exotic vintage wine, he nodded.

‘She’s certainly a prize specimen,’ he concluded, and nodded at Rupert, indicating that his young associate should proceed.

Up on deck Uri Weissman drew deeply on his cigar and then looked at Rigel Casswell. ‘You want to come and watch your girl in action?’ he goaded. ‘What about you, Anna; you want to join us, or are you going to seek out a little fun of your own?’

The majority of the passengers had already drifted below, including Fredo, their host. The yacht had caught the edge of a stiff breeze that was eagerly driving them hard along the rugged coastline, and behind them the port had already vanished from sight.

Casswell nodded; he wanted to keep an eye on his girl, even though he had the security of knowing that Chang was looking out for both of them.

Once below, Weissman directed Casswell through the lounge and along the narrow passageway. Quietly he unlocked and opened one of the cabin doors, and silently indicated that Casswell should sit on one of two chairs, strangely positioned side by side facing the beautiful wood panelling of an inner bulkhead. Having closed and locked the door from the inside, Weissman then settled on the chair beside him.

Beyond the small unblinking eyeholes Sarah was already naked, stretched out on the double bed, while Rupert crouched between her parted legs. As Casswell’s eyes adjusted to the vision he realised the man was rubbing oil all over her body; over her breasts, her arms, her shoulders and up the arc of her neck, and down over her belly. His palms and fingers were working back and forth, lingering for a few seconds on her sex mound, between her limp thighs.

And Granger observed, apparently unmoved by Sarah’s preparations. Rupert reached for a small bottle and poured a little more oil into the palms of his hands, and began to rub her again. Sarah was visibly relaxing. His strong hands swept up over her slim body, leaving a gleaming trail in their wake. It was a compelling image, although Casswell sensed her apprehension along with her growing excitement. She looked stunning lying submissively under the man’s touch, her sleek body supple and toned and shimmering in the seductive lighting. Her nipples had hardened into dark nubs. With her eyes closed, her mouth opened slightly and perfect white teeth nibbled her lower lip, and she frowned as her confused emotions caused her inner turmoil. She moaned softly, allowing her body to flow with the soothing strokes, lifting her hips fractionally to meet him as he leant forward. He traced a finger down between the lips of her sex, making her stiffen and gasp softly, the oil making her flesh glisten like wet silk He added a little more lubricant, and then bent forward, very slowly and deliberately, to lick her. Sarah shivered, almost flinching, as his clever tongue found her secret spot.

‘Open yourself up for me…’ he ordered, his voice almost hypnotic. ‘Hold yourself open for me…’

There was the slightest hesitation, and then Sarah’s fingers moved downwards and held her moist pussy lips apart as commanded. Her whole body stiffened as Rupert licked and sucked, his tongue flicking around the engorged ridge of her clitoris, concentrating on its sensitive hood. He pushed his hands under Sarah’s buttocks and lifted her up towards his mouth, so that no part of her was concealed or beyond his reach.

Casswell guessed what would follow; he had seen Chang work often enough. The man’s fingers gently worked the oil down over the sensitive bridge of flesh that lay between her sex and the tight little closure between the cheeks of her bottom. It was Chang’s favourite place, and apparently one of these men’s too.

Casswell wondered if Sarah would protest as the fingers traced the contours of the deep valley between her buttocks, seeking her tight rear opening, but his tongue was keeping her occupied, working diligently across and around the bud that lay between the open lips of her sex.

Rupert moved away fractionally and Sarah moaned, lifting herself so as not to miss one single stroke, one single pass of his clever, clever tongue – and as Sarah lifted clear of his open palms Rupert slid a single finger up into the snug dark depths of her bottom with admirable precision.

For an instant Casswell saw her stiffen, her body resisting, eyes flickering open. But Sarah knew better than to protest, and Rupert renewed his attentions to her clitoris, this time moving lower so that as her hips sank to chase his tongue she lowered herself further and further onto his rigid, waiting finger, accepting it deep inside her most secret channel.

From the darkened cabin beyond the panelled bulkhead, Casswell silently acknowledged that it was a skilled and cunning strategy.

Rupert’s thumb slid into her vagina, impaling her again and again, both finger and thumb working in tandem now to bring the supine girl to the very edge of orgasm. Sarah bucked and writhed. The muscles in her neck and jaw tightened – and then, as the man’s tongue executed another scintillating pass over her labia, she began to move with him, oblivious now, lost to everything but the compelling ride out towards release… but just at the split second when her orgasm seemed inevitable, Rupert pulled away.

Sarah moaned, her hands blindly searching him out, but she was to be denied; Granger was on his feet and unzipping his trousers.

His younger associate climbed off the bed and out of the way. Granger, his cock jutting and bobbing out in front of him like a gnarled trunk, crouched between Sarah’s open thighs and, as if manoeuvring a doll, hoisted her hips up towards him. Her body tensed, still instinctively seeking Rupert’s continued caresses, and at that moment Granger took her weight on his hands and drove his cock fully home with one aggressive penetration.

Sarah screamed and then convulsed with pleasure as he breached her, her body straining and arching to draw him in. She was so close to the edge that Casswell wondered if she had noticed the change of partner.

Desperately she began to thrust onto the rampant cock of the older man, fighting for her prize. The fingers of one hand gripped like talons into the white sheet, while the fingers of the other, still holding those slick lips open and so close to the seat of her pleasure, sought her clitoris and began to caress it frantically in an attempt to keep the flame burning. And then Casswell saw the first wave of pleasure hit her, sweeping away all reason as she was engulfed in the ecstasy of orgasm.

Above her, Granger strained forward, his face reddening, gaunt features contorted with pleasure as Sarah’s tight, wet pussy sucked his desiccated penis deep, deep inside her.

But there was more. As the elderly man pulled out of her, his tight chest wheezing, his seed spilling onto her thighs and pooling in the dip of her quivering belly, Rupert, now naked, clambered back onto the bed and held the limp form of Sarah around the waist. Her body was so enmeshed in the aftershocks of her orgasm that she seemed almost liquid, and unable to resist she gave herself over to the younger man to do with as he pleased.

So with little effort he turned her over onto her front and pulled her up on all fours, her face pressed down into the mattress. With one hand he renewed his attention to the tight little entrance between her buttocks, smearing it with the mingled juices of their mutual desire and the remains of the slick oil, while his other hand strayed back between her legs, stirring the fading fire back into a bright flame.

Even through the bulkhead Casswell could just hear Sarah’s muted moans, the intense sensations igniting a mixture of protest and pleasure.

‘No, no, please… oh, please…’ she gasped, trying without conviction to wriggle away from Rupert’s invasive touch. He moved over her, and as he pressed his finger home, Sarah’s body opened.

Granger seemed equally eager to see Rupert’s needs answered, to see his associate fuck Sarah’s bottom, and in an apparently spontaneous and bizarre gesture of encouragement he massaged some of the oil into the length of the younger man’s throbbing erection. It was an incredible action, and Casswell saw Rupert gritting his teeth, and knew that he too was close to the edge and that the old man’s touch was taking him perilously closer.

Clearly Rupert’s touch had found the magic spot for Sarah, for she, oblivious to what was going on behind her between the two men, was straining back, and as she pressed onto him he slipped his finger out of her prepared anus and Granger aimed the pulsing erection in his skeletal fist and pressed the spongy, purple helmet against that same tight opening.

Sarah’s body resisted for a few seconds, and then Rupert renewed his attentions to her clitoris, lunged with his hips, and she was lost.

Casswell could not suppress a feeling of pride as he watched his delightful girl bravely accept the man into her rear and heard a moan – part protest, part passion – sigh from Sarah’s open mouth. Rupert ran his hands over her slick flanks, his touch meant to still her for a moment, to allow her time to acquaint herself with the feel of his length and girth stretching her rear passage, and then very slowly, gradually getting faster as his climax approached again, he began to piston in and out of her, his groin slapping noisily and rhythmically against her raised buttocks.

Sarah, exhausted and weak, rocked on her forearms and knees in the middle of the bed as he rutted against her, until he came deep inside her, his face red and his jaws locked in a grimace of undiluted passion.

It was the early hours of the morning when the yacht finally docked again at the port. Sarah leant against the handrail and watched the lights of the harbour drifting closer and closer in the darkness. Casswell stood beside her, and she was glad of his presence. She felt far from home and longed to be back in England, realising that she now thought of Casswell Hall as her home.

Around them couples talked and dozed on the seats and recliners, while below decks an occasional sound of passion still carried up through the fresh night air.

‘So how is it going with the diary, Dr Casswell?’ asked Mustafa Aziz the following morning. The last time Sarah had seen the fat Turk was at the dinner party for the trustees, which seemed like an age ago. She looked up from the computer screen into his unshaven face. He was standing so close that she could smell his aftershave and his bodily odour. Casswell looked up too, his expression impassive.

‘Very well, thank you,’ he said, setting aside the magnifying glass he was holding.

The curator smiled, and Sarah sensed that something else was playing on the man’s mind. Mustafa moved a little closer, his tone conspiratorial. ‘You know, doctor, I have heard – no – I know, that there are other works. I know there are other books that were brought by the monks to the area. They are quite close by.’ He grinned, and it was obvious the existence of these other books was something that excited him. He leaned a little closer and spoke shiftily. ‘Maybe with my help you might be able uncover the mother lode?’

Sarah glanced across at Casswell, and saw instantly that Mustafa had his full attention.

‘You know where there are more of these diaries?’ Casswell asked. ‘Are they here in the museum?’

The fat man shook his head. ‘If only it were that easy. No, unfortunately not, and there are no more of the girl’s diaries – at least, I do not think so. I have not had the opportunity to catalogue or examine the books I am telling you about fully. But I truly think that they would be of interest to you, doctor. As I said, I believe they come from the original collection brought here by the abbot who brought that to this area…’ he indicated the bound book lying on the desk before Casswell.

‘The current abbot,’ he went on, ‘has in his possession the remains of a collection of books, manuscripts, even some scrolls and papyrus in the original box, which is held at the little abbey in the mountains. It is perhaps half a day’s drive from here. I have tried my hardest to get the old man to part with them and let us take care of them for him, but unfortunately he is reluctant in case somehow the story of his predecessors’ taste in erotic writings gets out. This new man is very devout, very pious. But…’ Mustafa paused, his dark eyes alight with excitement.

‘But what?’ Casswell urged impatiently.

‘But I spoke to him this morning, and he is eager to meet you. Since your arrival here it seems that word of your mission has spread far. He rang me on the pretext of some other matter regarding an obscure relic, but the main thrust of his conversation was you, Dr Casswell. It seems that after all these years he would finally like to know what it is that he has hidden away in the box, and would be happy for you to take a look at them.’

Casswell nodded. ‘It sounds very interesting,’ he said. ‘We would be foolish not to go.’

Mustafa shook his head, glancing at Sarah as he did. ‘No, unfortunately it cannot be “we” – just you, Dr Casswell. It is a closed religious order, therefore no women are permitted within the abbey precincts.’

Casswell hesitated for a few seconds, and then said, ‘Very well, I understand. Have you any idea when the abbot can see me?’

‘I can phone him back now, if you would like me to.’

Casswell nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said, and then turned his attention back to the page he was working on.

The brief exchange over, Sarah looked back at the screen, wondering what the books might be; Casswell’s well-disguised interest had whetted her own curiosity.

Only a few minutes later the heavy silence of concentration was broken by the sound of the curator’s shoes hurrying across the stone floor, and Mustafa looked triumphant.

‘He says he can see you today,’ he announced animatedly. ‘In fact, if you leave now he has said you may join him for a late lunch. This is a tremendous honour, Dr Casswell. This current abbot knows a great deal about the man who founded the original community and brought the diary with him. But unfortunately if you cannot go today it will be another two weeks before he can see you; some strange edict that means that after today they take a vow of silence as part of a cycle of prayer and abstinence.’ Mustafa paused while Casswell deliberated, and then after a few seconds the Turk added, ‘I can arrange a car for you, if you like.’

‘Yes, okay, fine,’ Casswell decided, and turned to Sarah. ‘I’ll ring Uri Weissman and arrange for Chang to come over and pick you up at lunchtime. Maybe you can get to do a little sightseeing while I’m gone.’

Sarah nodded; she knew it was too good an opportunity for Casswell to miss, but before she could say anything Mustafa interrupted them. ‘No need for you to phone Herr Weissman, doctor,’ he said. ‘I will arrange for a car to take your assistant home, have no fear. She only has to give me the word when she is ready to leave.’

As he spoke, Sarah was overcome by a sense of foreboding, and even Casswell hesitated for a moment. ‘You won’t be coming up to the abbey with me, then?’ He sounded surprised.

Mustafa held up his hands in a gesture of apology and regret. ‘Unfortunately not, I am much too busy today to spare the time, but my assistant will be happy to accompany you. He is a good man and will help to translate for you. The abbot speaks some English, but it would be an opportunity wasted not to take a translator with you.’

Casswell nodded his agreement, and began to gather his things together as the niggling uncertainty in the pit of Sarah’s tummy was growing, and although she carried on working, the idea of Mustafa offering to look after her was ridiculous and unsettling; it was like a lamb being minded by a starving wolf.

She tried to concentrate her attention back to the work on the desk before her. As far as Sarah was concerned, she had honoured any bargain with the Turk that the Weissmans had arranged. She did not particularly want to go back to their house, either; at least here in the museum vaults it was cool and relatively safe.

Careful not to catch Mustafa’s eye, Sarah made a show of continuing to type, and was relieved when after she and Casswell had said their goodbyes, Mustafa accompanied him up and out of the vaults to a waiting car.

The work that morning had gone really well, and there were pages and pages of Casswell’s distinctive script to continue putting into the computer, so Sarah turned her attention to those.

…Days at the abbey have passed slow and heavy, knowing that somewhere out in the country beyond the mountains my master is preparing for his marriage to the Lady Cassandra. Whereas before I have managed to keep my spirits up with thoughts to freedom and returning to the castle and to my life with him, it seemed in truth that all was lost. Until, that is, until this very morning, when my salvation came in an unexpected form, and all that I have known over the past few months appears to have been turned on its head.

It is the custom of the abbey to open its doors to travellers after morning prayers, to those true pilgrims who want a place to water their animals. ’Tis only later in the day that those who know the true nature of the abbey come looking for more sport than simple prayer and water from our well. So when in the noon daylight I saw a party making its way slowly up the track to the abbey, I was unsure as to the nature of their stopping. Did they want water? Or perhaps alms? Or was it the debauchery that began when the shadows lengthened that this fine party sought?

Sister Judith had set me to work in the laundry this morning, and so the first I saw of them was hanging out the linen, and then a while later when I went out with another basket I heard a familiar voice in the main courtyard. It stopped me in my tracks.

It was a voice from my past – a voice that was both a joy and a curse. When first my master made me his own he had staying with him a distant cousin, Lord Usher, a rich man whose tastes in pleasure and pain where similar to those of my master. Listening now to his cultured voice on the breeze, I remembered in an instant the day we had first met.

I had been minding my master’s children when my lord sent for me. He was waiting a little distance from the castle, in the old walled garden down beside the river. My heart quickened with desire as I saw my master standing there amongst the trees, although I blushed as our eyes met, ashamed to feel so brazen, so wanton, but even so I hurried across the rough grass towards him.

I sensed a brooding hunger in the way he stood, the way his gaze settled on me. It excited me beyond all measure that my lord’s eyes were dark with desire. I knew that I wanted nothing more at that moment than to do as he bade me, whatever it might be – my body was his alone to command. My sex moistened at the thought of his touch, his lips, his kisses, the cruel bite of his whip on my pale flesh as I writhed, bound and helpless, waiting for his pleasure.

By all the saints, such demons, such devilry, such desire has filled my thoughts and my dreams since he took me that day in his apartments, I cannot tell you. Even my humiliation had done nothing to stem the flow of fire that bubbled in my veins.

‘You are late, girl,’ my lord snapped. ‘What kept you?’

I began to protest, and only then did I realise that he was not alone. Until that moment I had not seen that deep in the shadows stood both the old priest who attended my master, Father Orme, and another; an unknown nobleman, who watched my approach with equal interest. T’was Lord Usher, the man who even now was dismounting in the courtyard of the abbey.

‘Lift your dress, wench,’ he had ordered me in that distant garden. I slowed my step and hesitated for an instant.

‘Do as the Lord Usher says,’ said my master, and, seeing the look of approval and encouragement on my master’s face, I did exactly as I was told. But even as I lifted my heavy skirts Lord Usher’s expression hardened.

‘What folly is this?’ he growled furiously, indicating my undergarments to my master.

My lord turned to me. ‘Take them off, Beatrice. I would have you naked under your robe from now on. No more of these foolish pantaloons and petticoats. Take them off; have I not explained to you, you are mine? Mine as and when I command, not held at bay by linen and wool. Now take them off, at once!’

I blushed, eyes downcast, and nodded. I understood that he meant for me to be always at his beck and call, always ready be touched by him and others if he so chose. I slipped off my petticoats. He nodded his approval and then indicated that I should hold my robes all the higher so that his compatriots might examine my nakedness.

The stranger stepped a little closer and ran a hand over my belly, and then down through the soft dark curls that framed my sex.

‘Would you have me undo her bodice for you, cousin?’ asked my lord. ‘A finer pair of sweet breasts you’ll have trouble to find this side of the city.’

The man snorted and shook his head. ‘Nay, here in my hand I have the only thing that truly interests me.’ His fingers tightened on my quim. ‘I would wish that our maker had had the good sense to strike the whole of the female sex deaf and dumb so that I could fuck them all without having to worry about talking to them or wooing them or other such pointless posturing.’ He grinned lecherously. ‘And there’d be no risk of them telling tales to their men folk or their fathers.’ He nodded towards Father Orme. ‘What say you?’

Orme shrugged, apparently not offended by the man’s blasphemy.

Lord Usher’s fingers had already found their way between the lips of my quim, into that most intimate of places. I looked frantically at my master, praying he might rescue me from this brutal stranger, but he cruelly ignored my shame and humiliation and coolly watched the nobleman explore me.

Usher crudely plunged his fingers home, making me wince at his roughness. He smiled at my discomfort, his thumb lifting to trace the rise of my pleasure-bud. In spite of myself, my body responded to his rough caress and I shivered with shameful delight.

The man laughed triumphantly. ‘See, there you have it, my lord,’ he chuckled. ‘Deprived of the right to answer back all women are the same. The little vixen wants nothing more than to feel my cock buried to the hilt inside her. Can you not see it in her eyes and the way she moves against me? Away with all this courtly love and poetry, give me the honest lust of a tight cunt and a fine wet mouth any day. Unless, of course, you are too old or too tired to care, don’t waste conversation on harlots such as this. It is here and only here that the real pleasure lies.’ As he spoke he spread the juices from my sex out onto my thighs and belly.

He addressed only my master and Orme, without a word for me or a thought for the shame and distress that I might feel at his words or his invasion of my body.

Lifting his fingers, he drew one of them into his mouth and smacked his lips as if the traces of juice it bore were the finest of delicacies. Then pulling me closer he unfastened his robe, and without prelude prodded my legs wide apart and guided his cock into me, pulling one leg up around his waist to give him better purchase. The moment of coupling was so quick, so unexpected, that I cried out in horror and surprise.

He leered as he stabbed his engorged member up into me, making me gasp with each upward thrust of his hips.

‘I like it when, ah…’ he grunted between clenched teeth and each shove of his groin, ‘a woman calls out, ah… as you enter her, ah… ’tis an honest animal cry of desire, ah… and need… ah!’

I shivered as he forced himself deeper still, closing his eyes with the sheer pleasure of my body closing around him.

‘Just as you said, dear cousin, she is good and tight,’ he murmured thickly to my master when he could penetrate me no further, and then to my surprise, after no more than a dozen strokes pulled his cock out. Its livid purple crown brushed across my thighs like a wet quarterstaff.