Dr Casswell's Plaything (24 page)

‘Come,’ Usher said, and held a hand towards me. I stepped out from the shadows in a lamp lit circle.

‘What nonsense is this, sir?’ the farmer snorted. ‘I came to see a horse.’

Usher laughed. ‘I told you, sir, I had a fine mount with me, a ride that would put any other to shame, did I not?’

For an instant the farmer looked puzzled, and then his face split into a wide grin. ‘Aye, indeed you did, but I’m wary of so fine a beast as this. I need a workish creature that will bear a heavy load.’ As he spoke he rudely cupped the front of his breeches.

Usher’s expression did not falter. ‘Do not be deceived by these fine bones,’ he said. ‘This creature comes from working stock. Let me show you it unrugged.’

There was a pause, and Usher looked at the farmer’s sons, whose mouths were hanging open at the very prospect of what might follow, clearly already erect at the very notion of seeing a girl uncovered.

‘I presume they would like a little ride too,’ said Usher, watching their eager, oafish faces. ‘To get the feel of a good mount.’

The old man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Aye, but after me, not afore. Tis the right of age before youth to try a new ride out.’

‘Indeed,’ Usher nodded, every ounce the horse dealer. He stood behind me, and gripped the cloak that covered me. He waited until he had their full attention and then slowly, with a sleight of hand that would have served a magician proud, he unveiled me. There was a mumbled murmur of approval.

‘Yours?’ said the farmer, indicating the collar.

Usher laughed. ‘Indeed, have you never had a bitch that strays?’

The farmer laughed and looked me over again. I could see the lust in his dark eyes. ‘She’s still a little too fine for my tastes,’ he declared. ‘Little bones, easy broken, easily bruised. No staying power.’

Usher pulled a face and made as if to cover me up with the robe. ‘Ah well, if she’s not to your tastes then we’ll away to our beds,’ he said. ‘Come, Beatrice.’

But before he could wrap me up again the farmer caught hold of his wrist. ‘Not so fast,’ he said hastily. ‘Perhaps we could manage her.’

There was a lusty murmur of agreement from the farmer’s sons.

The farmer looked me up and down again, and circled me like I was prize stock, and as he did Usher backed away into the shadows.

‘Will she bite or bolt?’ the farmer asked, reaching out to touch my face. ‘Will she run away if I ride her a little rough?’

‘Who knows,’ Usher shrugged. ‘Would you like her better bound? You can tie her if you prefer it.’

The farmer’s eyes narrowed with intent, and from one of the stalls he pulled a length of rope. This man was better suited to tying sheep or cattle than women, but even so he bound my wrists and hung me from a rafter, all the while his desires mounting as he worked, his labours watched wide-eyed by his boys.

The air around us was alive like a storm in that barn. When I was well and truly bound the farmer took a rag from his pocket and gagged me, for fear I do believe that I might cry out and rouse his wife. Strange though, I was not afraid with Usher there to protect me.

Ready now, the farmer took in the details of his handiwork. I could feel the boys eager to take their turn, eager to touch and have me. But what was it the old man wanted from me? As he circled me once more he fell to his knees at my feet, and with his great hands cupping the orbs of my backside, he pulled me forward onto his tongue, and moaned in delight as he sniffed and lapped and sucked eagerly at all those most secret and scented places.

I moaned in pleasure as his leathery tongue found my pleasure-bud and drew it like a little teat between his thick lips, sucking at it, nibbling and caressing it with the very tip of his tongue, making me shiver with pure animal pleasure.

Lifting me in those large hands of his he pressed my little body to his lips, like a poultice, parted my legs wider still, and taking my weight, let his tongue move back, sliding deep in and out of my sex, and then back further over that little area of flesh between one ripe pleasure and one even darker. I held my breath, as now his tongue brushed even that secret entrance, back and force, sucking and lapping at that most forbidden and unnatural of places. The sensation lit a strange ache in my belly and I moaned and writhed with the most terrible mixture of deepest shame and wildest pleasure.

The man was truly wise to have gagged me, for I cried as his tongue teased and tickled and he sought entry there. As I looked across into the stall I could see the look of desire on the faces of the boys, and wondered what would happen to me once their father was done, for the excitement rumbled and roared like a gathering storm, but such thoughts did not last, for the farmer’s tongue was working a dark and compelling magic so mesmerising I could scarcely believe it.

With one great paw he pulled me closer still, a thickset thumb brushed my pleasure-bud, and a rough and unwieldy finger slipped deep into my sex. All this while his tongue worked back and forth until I knew my quim was as wet and as hungry as those boys who watched us. I trembled with sheer need, and he knew it too, this old man who made his living from the land, who understood animals and knew me to be one. As I began to ride his face, pushing my wet quim eagerly onto him, he looked up at my rapt expression and knew he had me. I was as eager as any filly for the coming of the stallion.

Slowly the man got to his feet and unfastened his breeches, and my eyes barely believed what stood proud of the nest of thick curly hair in his groin. The man was a giant, his cock no less.

I gasped behind my gag. Without his tongue and fingers exciting me beyond measure and getting me so very wet, he would have split me wide, but as it was my body opened as tame and willing as a newly broken filly under the relentless press of his manhood.

As I sighed through the gag at the feel of him finding his way home, he lifted me up onto to him with those large hands and moved deeper still. He lifted my breasts to his mouth, and his lips closed first on one nipple and then the other, sucking hard and biting at my teats. And now despite the glow in my belly and the wetness that seeped between my legs I was afraid, for it was the biggest cock I had ever seen, and even with his ministrations I couldn’t help but be fearful as he began to move deeper into me.

The old man looked me in the eye, and spitting into his palm, began to rub around that place where our bodies where joined, at the same time his thumb finding my nub. The sensations were almost more than I could bear. Holding me to him he began to move in and out, slowly at first as if allowing my body to settle, to lose its apprehension, and indeed it did, and as I felt my pleasure rekindle he began to move faster, all the while his eyes locked on mine as if he were looking into my very soul.

And now he began to ease me along the length of his shaft, holding me so that with each stroke his great cock grazed and brushed the seat of my pleasure.

T’was more than I could bear, my body began to close around him, and he began to thrust in earnest, his whole frame seemed locked into the thrust, pushing me and pulling me as if I weighed no more than a feather. And feather I felt, for my mind was reeling and floating with the pleasure that this great brute of a man was gifting me with. And then I knew that I could bear no more; I was within a whisper of that madness, that instant when all reason is lost and all we are left with is pleasure, and I knew he was there too.

Deep inside I felt the roaring pulse of his cock as his seed exploded inside me. It was like a tidal bore making me gasp, making me writhe, and then he was spent and sliding from me.

In those moments when I had expected him to leave me to the mercy of his boys, who bayed like hounds at the leash, he fell to his knees and buried his face in the wet pit of my sex and lapped at me again, his tongue exploring the dregs of his own passion.

His touch made me gasp, for I was so close to that moment of release that every part of my body shivered and quivered, and what an instant before had been pleasure was now pain, and was now again a roaring fire that made me cry out despite the gag. He looked up at me, his face wet with his pleasure and my own, and began to slowly circle the seat of my desire.

So calculating was his touch. I could not fight the sensation; only submit to the flow of it. In the stall the boys bayed for more. My cries were muffled, my body crying out for a moment’s respite, but all to no avail. Waves of ecstasy began to roll through me again; hot and angry like water boiling. Against all odds I began to writhe and shudder and tremble, my whole body alive and glowing.

At some signal unseen by me in my reverie, he moved away, and like a hunting pack the farmer’s sons fell on me to take their fill. Strong hands held me while others cut me down. As I opened my eyes the first, a thickset boy who so favoured his father that they could almost be twin, was unfastening his breeches. It seemed he was as blessed as the one that sired him. Setting me down on the dusty floor like a dog, he slid into my cunt, so wet and yet still so accommodatingly tight, and drove home. He had not his father’s touch, though, yet despite the gag I screamed and cried as he filled me to the very brim.

One of the younger brothers, who could bear it no more, pulled away my gag and knelt before me cradling his manhood in his hands, and I took him into my mouth, the scent and salty taste of him flooding my already overwhelmed senses.

The third knelt down alongside me and began to touch and stroke me, fingers straying to the pit of my sex, brushing the place were cock and quim met, cupping my breasts, sniffing at my hair, touching and kissing me, while his hand worked back and forth along his own shaft, although I thought this was only to sustain the pleasure until his own chance came.

And then the one impaling me began to gasp and my sex flooded with his seed, and within a heartbeat his brother filled my mouth equally. The third splashed his seed onto my throat and breasts, his hands working it into my skin like the most precious unguent.

Awash with their pleasure, I cried. Slumped there on the floor between them, I was reduced to the very essence of my sex, not a person, not even a girl, but just an available creature meant purely as a vessel for their pleasure.

As I looked up through weary eyes, Usher was still there, watching me from the shadows, his face as hungry as any of the others, and I knew, without any doubt, that when the boys were done he too would want his fill…

At the desk in the vault Casswell looked across at Sarah, the air electric between them.

Sarah set the pencil she had been using down on top of the desk, and moved closer to him.

In an instant Casswell was on his feet and locked his fingers in her hair, dragging her too him. She sobbed with delight and misgivings, and at the very edges of pain he kissed her feverishly, and then turned her facedown amongst the books and notepads and glass cases. Spreading her legs he pressed his hand between her thighs and opened her.

She gasped as his thumb prodded into her sex, knowing fingers teasing her clitoris. She was already wet, and a moment later she felt his cock battering at her. It took her breath away as he sank deep, deep inside. With one hand he continued to caress her, and his other was still locked in her hair, pulling her up and back, pulling her closer. Sarah cried out, helpless as he aggressively fucked her. She felt he was reclaiming her, from Mustafa Aziz, from Uri Weissman, and from Turkey. As his stabbing hips found some sort of a rhythm, she slid her fingers down between her thighs, joining with his to bring them both to a shattering climax.

Sarah turned on the computer to type up the final entry in Beatrice’s diary.

As she settled down Casswell looked at her. ‘You know, as soon as this is finished we can go,’ he said. He sounded tired, his eyes heavy from hours of concentration.

They had both worked for the remainder of the day, eating lunch in situ, ignoring the call of siesta, both united in their desire to get the work done and put the events of the trip far behind them.

Sarah nodded, expecting him to collect his things together and go back to the house. After all, all she had to do was put the day’s work onto a disk. Casswell got to his feet and looked at the chest sent down to the museum by the abbot and, crouching over it, opened the lid. For an instant he paused.

‘Weissman has already got copies of the translation we’ve done so far,’ he said. ‘I caught Anna in my room last night. She’s copied the disks, and Mustafa may well be taking a copy of this machine when we leave, to ensure that between them they’re getting everything. If it weren’t for the fact that I caught her reading my notes, I’d never have known. And he certainly had no plans of handing them over to the committee that’s paid for the trip. Oh no, our dear friend Uri Weissman has his own distributors in mind.’

‘But we’ve got a copy too,’ Sarah pointed out.

Casswell nodded. ‘We have, that’s true, except that Weissman has probably already got the work we’ve done so far to the printer. Add in today’s work and his job is done. Print it off, bind it up, it could be in the hands of his readers within hours.’

He turned his attention back to the chest of documents, while Sarah looked down at the notebook she had been working in all day.

‘And if we don’t transcribe it?’ she said. ‘If I don’t put it on the computer?’

Casswell stared at her. ‘What?’