Dr Casswell's Plaything (19 page)

He smiled slyly as I looked up at him, and then he forced me roughly down onto my knees. I knew then what he expected, and looking down at me with arrogant triumph etched in his eyes, he guided his shaft – that great livid horn, wet now with my own shameful juices – between my lips and into my defenceless mouth.

I gasped as the taste of my own excitement flooded my mouth. My sex fluttered like a bird’s wings, and without thinking where I was or what I was doing, I slid a hand down over my belly, scrabbling up the hem of my gown to find the soft wet places that dwelt beneath. To my horror the stranger laughed loudly, even as my tongue and free hand worked furiously along his throbbing shaft.

‘By all the saints, it is true what they say about country wenches, cousin!’ he bellowed.

Surely it was his voice I could hear now? Although it seemed impossible that of all the places Lord Usher, the favoured and beloved friend of my master, could have come was here to the Abbey of St Joseph. Could this be the miracle I had prayed for? My heart sang. Recklessly I abandoned the linen and ran out through the kitchens, eager to follow the sound of the voices on the morning breeze.

I stood for a few seconds and looked from face to face of the fine caravan of travellers, trying to pick out Lord Usher’s distinctive features from those gathered around the tie rail, all the while wondering if I had been mistaken. But even the dust from the road could not disguise the wealth and bearing of so noble a man. There, astride a fine Arab stallion, sat Lord Usher.

Heedless of the circumstance I ran over to him. He looked once, and then twice. ‘By all the saints,’ he bellowed as he dismounted, ‘is that you, girl?’

I nodded, and he grinned so broadly that my heart truly sang.

‘By the devil’s tail, fancy your being here!’ he exclaimed. ‘A sight for sore eyes indeed. A welcome bed mate for the weary.’ And then he looked at me more closely, taking in the rags and bruises and how pale and undernourished my body was. ‘What have they done to you, girl?’ he asked, his expression turning to one of anger. ‘Does your master know what has become of his favourite bed mate?’

It was at that moment he found out the true nature of my fall, for from the laundry Sister Judith appeared, her face thunderous. Grabbing me by the arm she dragged me back towards the door, her cold eyes for once ablaze, her temper white-hot.

‘Forgive her, sir, she is but a foundling, none too bright, not versed in the ways or manners of court.’ It would have been pointless to protest, but I did pull away from her. I thought she was going to hit me there and then, such was her face contorted with rage. ‘Have I not told you to keep away from the main courtyard,’ she hissed vehemently, ‘to keep to the servants’ quarters?’

Usher laughed derisively. ‘Servant? I am astonished, sister. Why, this girl is a scholar, well bred, well taught. Indeed, she was charge of her master’s house in his wife’s absence.’

Of all the words he could have spoken there could have been none worse than these.

‘Indeed, sir, I know exactly what this creature is and what she did!’ snarled Sister Judith. ‘She is a liar and a whore, nothing more, and for her pains her new mistress sent her here to be taught humility and above all obedience.’

Snatching up a crop from one of Usher’s men she swept it down across my shoulder. The blow was so vicious it cut the thin blouse I was wearing and drew blood. She was about to strike me again, eyes alight with fury, when Usher caught her wrist.

‘Whatever her crime,’ he said with remarkable restraint, ‘she does not deserve so public a humiliation, sister.’

Judith looked at him with total disdain. ‘And what would you know of her crimes, sir?’ she sneered. ‘Unhand me.’

Instinctively Usher drew back and she hit me again. This time the blow caught my face, and as I cowered blow after blow cracked across my defenceless body. I shrieked out in pure terror.

This time Usher was not so coy or so kind, and he wrestled the crop from her. ‘I think you forget your position, sister,’ he said, his tone full of warning.

Judith turned on him, her eyes bright and fiery. ‘My position?’ she shrieked. ‘You mock my calling? Have you come here to feast on piety or willing flesh? Flesh I’d wager, by the look of you!’

Lord Usher’s face darkened, and I realised with a sense of fear that in her fury Sister Judith had fallen into the abyss, her anger and her jealousy sparking some dark and ungodly madness. Even as I thought it two of the other sisters from the order came scurrying out from the abbey to catch hold of her and drag her back into the hall, almost having to carry her, while behind them, hurrying and looking anxious, was the abbot and his entourage.

‘You have my most humble apologies, my good sir,’ he babbled obsequiously, trying to make good the damage already done. ‘Know you this wench, sir?’

Usher nodded. ‘Aye, indeed I am en route to the marriage feast of the man who was once her master. He and I are both kin and good friends.’

The abbot looked me up and down and then shook his head. ‘When Sister Judith recovers, the girl will be in mortal danger if she stays here,’ he said.

Usher nodded in agreement, having seemingly drawn the same conclusion. ‘Then with your permission, I will take her with me. Though she may not be welcome in the castle where we are bound, there is always a place for a willing and comely wench such as she.’

And so it seems, in the twinkling of an eye, I am rescued from the clutches of the foul hag Judith and the equally repugnant abbot.

We left as soon as the horses were watered and tended to, I wrapped in a borrowed cloak over my rags with only a tiny basket of my most precious possessions to keep me company.

We rode all day, leaving the fortified walls of the abbey far behind. As the daylight faded Usher’s men set up camp under a stand of trees, and I soon discovered the price for my salvation.

‘Come wench,’ said one of the serving boys, calling me from the fireside. It was dark, and the night air cold with the promise of snow on its raw biting edge. ‘My master bids you come to his tent. He has need of you.’

I understood his need of old and followed the boy, my heart aflutter. I guessed at what it was that Usher might require of me. But here at least the rules of pain and passion and pleasure are mingled, not peppered with spite and cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

With his valet standing by, Usher bade me stand under the light of a lamp. ‘Seems to me that you have been ill served, girl,’ he said, pouring a goblet of wine and handing it to me. The table set up in one corner of the tent was heavy with food. He caught me looking, and laughed. ‘Starving too?’

I did not know whether to speak.

He grunted. ‘Don’t worry, you will eat in good time,’ he promised. ‘Now, while we travel you will serve me in my bed and in all other ways I see fit. Do you understand?’

I nodded, and as he lifted his goblet in a toast I did the same, and took a swig of the heady wine, which instantly coursed through my veins like molten lead.

‘Take off those rags,’ he ordered. ‘Let me see the stray that I have rescued from the fire.’

I did as I was commanded, and stood before him naked and still as he examined me, hands and eyes taking in every welt and mark of Judith’s unfeeling brutality. His gaze was icy and made me shiver. Though he had saved me there was no hint of compassion in either his touch or his look. He slid a hand between my thighs, fingers seeking out that hidden place. Behind him, from the corner of my eye, I could see the way his young valet watched me, his eyes hungrily drinking in my body like a parched man.

Usher, meanwhile, murmured approvingly as my body opened to him. ‘I see you’re still warm and wet and tight, girl. Perhaps I should take you back to your master as a wedding gift. How think you the Lady Cassandra would take such a gesture?’ He pushed his finger deeper and I gasped. ‘Still like it rough, do you wench?’ He laughed.

I cast my gaze to the floor as he pulled his fingers from me, took off his broad leather belt and folded it in two. It seems that a slave must be taught her place wherever she finds herself. Usher settled himself back on his chair and bade me come closer. I drained the wine and moved slowly to do his bidding. His expression hardened; this was his game. I lowered my gaze again respectfully; he was the master here and now it seemed my new lord. I settled across his lap, tummy on his stout thighs, legs open. He ran his hands over my body, seeking out the curves of my buttocks, and then between them, his fingers thrusting again and again into me.

I moved against his touch, feeling my body again open to him. He paused, using his fingertips to draw my juices out onto my thighs, and I sensed what would follow. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, could feel his breath on my naked flesh, and then his belt exploded across my tensed bottom. The blow made me shriek and I bent like a newly strung bow. The belt hit me again and I cried out again as the leather bit into my tender flesh, but before the pain had ebbed he hit me again and again and I cried with every blow until I knew I could cry no more.

At last it seemed Usher was done, and without a word he rolled me onto the floor like a dog, and parted his legs.

I knew what it was he wanted; the same thing he had taken in the castle gardens. His dark cruel eyes were alight with desire and need, so I crawled back to him on my hands and knees, lifted the hem of his ornate tunic, and unfastened his breeches. His thick cock was purple and ferocious, and ready for the attention of my trembling lips.

Kneeling between his sturdy thighs, bending close, I guided him into my mouth and ran my tongue around the sensitive head, working at the solitary eye, sucking and licking, my hands working up and down the shaft, grateful beyond all measure to be back in safe, even if cruel, hands – hands that I trusted.

Usher eased back in his chair, and then looking up at the young man who waited upon him, said in a throaty voice, ‘Come, Sebastian, take what you will, for this sweet little creature is well versed in the arts of pleasure and will bring me as much joy as I shall have need of tonight.’

His valet, a thickset young man, settled himself behind me as I knelt between the feet and legs of Lord Usher. A moment or two later I felt him slip his hand flat between my thighs, cupping my sex, fingers working to find that place, so dishonourably wet and so desperate to be filled.

A finger pressed its way home, and it felt very good. Clearly encouraged by the evidence of my wetness, he prodded my legs wider apart without ceremony and I felt the heat of him as he crouched over me, and then I gasped as he drove his cock fully home with one thrust that nearly had me choking on the rigid flesh stretching my lips and filling my mouth.

It was all too much, and without thinking I slipped a hand down over my belly to feel the place where our bodies joined, and brushed the little nub of delight that nestles there amongst its nest of damp curls.

It seems my naughty caress was enough for Usher’s serving man, and Usher groaned and gasped too, his strong fingers entangled in my hair, clamped to my head, moving it up and down at whatever pace he required to give him the maximum pleasure. I felt the tightening in his groan and then he pulled away, gasping, splashing my face and breasts with an arcing wave of his seed, while buried between my legs Sebastian snorted and bucked like a stallion, his manhood filling me to the brim with his pleasure…

In the museum vault Sarah looked up from the computer and blinked, trying to regain some sense of where she was. As always Beatrice’s account of her life had carried her far away, both in time and place. Sarah already knew that she was wet, and only just resisted the temptation to follow Beatrice’s lead and slide a hand down between her thighs. It was hard to disentangle her own feelings and desires from those of the slave girl.

Something made Sarah glance up, and she was stunned to find Mustafa Aziz no more than a few feet away, watching her, and it was obvious that he had been there for some time.

‘W-why are you watching me?’ she stammered uncomfortably, not liking the way he was looking at her, or anything about his menacing presence.

‘Why?’ he sneered. ‘Because you are a very beautiful girl,’ he said. ‘But also, I think, a very rude girl to the man who arranged for you to be driven home, the man who arranged for you to have the use of this equipment and access to these manuscripts.’ Although Sarah knew it was not for her to feel indebted to the man, it was true that she and Dr Casswell were only allowed access to the vaults and the diaries because of Aziz’s co-operation.

‘I-I’m sorry, but you startled me,’ she protested, with as much contrition as she could manage. Whatever she felt about the sleazy curator on a personal level, it clearly would not be a good idea to antagonise him.

He nodded, apparently appeased – for the moment. ‘I am about to have lunch, you will join me.’

His tone implied a statement rather than an invitation, and she could see no way to decline that would not have been interpreted as rude also. ‘Thank you,’ she blurted, her mind spinning, ‘but I need to tidy away my things.’

‘I can wait,’ he said, and licked his fat lips, his eyes crawling down to her cleavage.

Sarah shivered, but not from the chill in the vaults.

In the back room of the grotty restaurant Mustafa Aziz poured more wine into Sarah’s glass. She realised after the second that he wasn’t drinking, and when she pointed it out he waved her protest away with a shake of his head.