Dr Casswell's Plaything (9 page)

Then Cassandra gripped my wrist and bade me cease my touching. Freeing herself of my caress she ordered me bring the candelabra closer. I thought this was perhaps to see more clearly the path of her passion, but instead, as soon as it was within striking distance she got to her feet and grabbed one of the candles in a meaty fist. Still standing, Cassandra guided the candle deep inside her gaping sex, moaning with pleasure as she did so, the heavy lips clinging to the tallow shaft as she began to move it in and out of her quivering body.

I was kneeling still beside the bath and she caught hold of my hair and pulled me back towards her. Still working the candle in and out of her throbbing quim with one hand, she splayed the lips of her sex with the other, revealing the great bud of her pleasure nestled like a dark pearl in amongst the folds.

‘Here, girl, suck me,’ she roared on an outward breath and pulled my face up against her belly. I gasped at the odour of her body; even bathed she smelt rich and musky, and ripe of the ocean.

My lips closed around the swollen hooded peak and as bidden I sucked and lapped and kissed and circled that most magical spot, until I knew she was so close to the very edge that I was amazed she could hold back.

The candle slipped in and out, dripping wet now with her juices. The smell of her body was almost overpowering. Above me Cassandra writhed and twisted, and now that I was holding her quim open, her other hand cupped and squeezed her breasts until finally with a guttural yell she drove the candle fully in and thrust her hips towards me so I almost drowned in the rolling depths of her flesh.

‘Yes, yes,’ she hissed in delight, head thrown back, eyes closed, the great mare sweating now, glittering beads dripping off her chin and running down in the mountain valley between her heavy breasts.

I shook from exhaustion and shock as the woman finally plunged down into the water to refresh herself. After a moment or two she handed me a cloth.

‘Now finish washing me,’ she said, settling her bulk back amongst the rapidly cooling water. She closed her eyes as I completed the job, then a tapping at the chamber door was heard and gradually grew more insistent.

Finally Cassandra opened her eyes and looked at the abbot. ‘Go and see who that is,’ she said. ‘Tell them I do not wish to be disturbed.’

The abbot returned a few seconds later and looked down at me. ‘It is a message from the lord of the house, your ladyship, asking if Beatrice might go to help make ready for tonight’s festivities. He is anxious that all goes well for the feast in your honour.’

Cassandra looked triumphant. ‘Tell him to come in and see me. Perhaps like Beatrice here, his lordship needs to understand who is lady of this estate and who the slave.’

As she spoke, Cassandra glanced at me and I tried hard to suppress a shudder of revulsion…

Sarah nipped the bridge of her nose, and although she was looking at the computer screen her heart and her mind were deep in the castle with Beatrice. She was about to proceed to the next page when a movement caught her eye. By a run of shelving Mustafa Aziz was eyeing her work, and what had broken her concentration was him mopping his brow with the grubby handkerchief. Knowing he had been seen, the Turk smiled, and Sarah shivered under his undisguised and repulsive lechery.

‘Good day, Miss Morgan,’ he drawled, as their eyes met. ‘Come along, my pretty, Miss Weissman is already waiting for you.’

Sarah looked across at Casswell. His expression was closed and totally unreadable. With a shudder Sarah got slowly to her feet, and in complete silence followed Mustafa Aziz through the shelves and maze of corridors towards the fetid little cell she had been taken to the day before.

‘Well, fancy seeing you here,’ Anna Weissman said sarcastically, as Sarah drew level with her; the statuesque blonde was framed in the open doorway of the cell. She raised perfectly plucked eyebrows and looked Sarah up and down. Dressed in a crisp white blouse and tailored blue skirt that emphasised her shapely hips, Anna seemed totally out of place in the grubby little room She was wearing thick gold bangles like manacles around each wrist and high-heeled court shoes. To complete the look, she was beautifully made-up, her long fingernails painted scarlet to match her full lips. She looked as if she would have been more at home in an uptown department store than in a cellar at Mustafa Aziz’s beck and call.

Sarah shivered at the thought. The tiny windowless cell was no more inviting than when she was last there, although somebody – presumably Mustafa – had thrown a white sheet over the cot bed to hide the stained and filthy mattress.

‘Don’t talk,’ Mustafa snapped from behind them. ‘I am in charge here and you will do as I say. That was the bargain. You understand me?’

Sarah understood only too well the kind of obedience the fat Turk demanded, but wondered if Anna Weissman had any idea what she was letting herself in for. Mustafa directed them to the centre of the room and settled down on the battered armchair. For a few seconds he looked the two females over as if he’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his head.

Finally he said, ‘I want you to undress each other.’ As he spoke he lit up a cheroot. ‘But be gentle and slow – you know, like real lovers, kisses and touching and everything. I want you to touch but it is very important that you kiss. Here, put this on.’ He handed Sarah – who was wearing the barest minimum of make-up – a hand mirror and a tube of scarlet lipstick. ‘So you look like real whores.’

Sarah glanced at her reflection in the fly-blown glass. Her skin was flushed from the heat and her hand was shaking. After a second or two Anna took the tube from her. ‘Here,’ she said gently, ‘let me,’ and drew a dark slick oval around her lips. Surprised by the other woman’s compassion, Sarah looked in the mirror. The effect was startling – from secretary to siren in seconds.

Anna looked Sarah in the eye, a flicker of mischief played around her mouth and she threaded her fingers into Sarah’s dark hair and pulled her closer. Sarah was too surprised to resist, as Anna kissed her and she could taste the strange rose-flavoured lipstick on her tongue.

The touch of the blonde’s lips was a revelation. Anna Weissman’s tongue was a delicately invading pressure, encouraging her to open and then delving deeper. Sarah was still astonished at her tenderness, and even more surprised to feel her body responding to Anna’s delicate caresses, a little flicker of desire and expectation igniting low in her belly. This was not what Sarah had expected at all.

Anna embraced Sarah, pulling her closer still, fingers locked in her hair, Anna’s lips working enthusiastically on her own. Against all the odds Sarah felt her apprehension beginning to recede, replaced instead by a real desire for the Austrian woman. Her resistance may have begun to fade, but she had not forgotten that it was Mustafa Aziz, not Anna Weissman, who was in charge of what went on. Opening her eyes for an instant, she caught sight of the fat Turk watching them, his dark eyes glinting maliciously.

Anna began to unbutton Sarah’s blouse, her strong hands pulling the thin fabric aside, cupping Sarah’s pert breasts, teasing the nipples into peaks with her carmine painted fingernails. Sarah groaned in spite of herself as the woman nipped them between her nails, making Sarah shiver with pleasure. Her kisses were becoming more and more animated, lips working harder, tongue working deeper and deeper. Sarah instinctively returned the woman’s kisses, her hands moving as if they had a will of their own to undo the blonde’s elegant blouse.

Underneath Anna was wearing a white silk bra. Trimmed with delicate lace, the fabric was so fine that her nipples jutted through. Anna let out a throaty chuckle as Sarah’s fingers found the hardened peaks and began to stroke and tease them. Pulling away for an instant, Anna unfastened it so Sarah could take her bra and blouse off.

Returning almost at once to compelling kisses, Anna guided Sarah’s hands, encouraging them to explore her body. The blonde’s creamy white skin was as warm and smooth as silk, the strange almost liquid weight of her exquisite breasts cradled in Sarah’s palms increasing her desire with every passing second.

‘Oh yes,’ Anna murmured as Sarah began to circle her nipples with her thumbs. They stiffened instantly. Shifting position, Anna bent to draw one of Sarah’s nipples deep into her mouth, her pearly-white teeth nibbling and nipping at the delicate bud.

Sarah closed her eyes, every cell absorbing exquisite feelings. It felt amazing. Her whole body began to glow with a soft but undeniable hunger. Caught up in the sensations, she had to remind herself again and again that Mustafa was watching them. If she listened beyond the sounds of her own rapid pulse, beyond Anna Weissman’s soft suckling and moans of desire, Sarah could hear the Turk’s heavy breathing and smell the rancid scent of the cheap cheroot polluting the stifling air.

Even so, against all odds she could not hold the thought for long, as Anna’s palm slid down over her thighs and cupped the front of her skirt, instantly igniting a flare of need, rubbing her quim through the thin fabric, her fingers brushing and seeking out the seat of Sarah’s desire. Sarah knew she was already wet, her sex glowing with expectation. As Anna’s fingers brushed against her clitoris Sarah gasped in delight and thrust forward to chase the sensation. Anna Weissman smiled knowingly, and Sarah was stunned at just how good the Austrian was making her feel.

With deft fingers, Anna unfastened Sarah’s skirt and eased it down over her hips, while her tongue and lips were still working their magic on Sarah’s throbbing breasts. Beneath her clothes, in line with Casswell’s express orders, Sarah was always naked. Shaved and oiled, her sex was as tempting and vulnerable as a ripe peach.

As her skirt slithered to the floor it seemed the Austrian had finally found exactly what she wanted. Moaning with delight she slid a finger between the folds of Sarah’s naked quim and eagerly returned her lips to Sarah’s mouth, her artful tongue in tandem with artful fingers, working up a medley of pure bliss.

Through misty vision Sarah could see Mustafa’s eyes widening as Anna’s fingers pressed deep inside her. Sarah’s body opened like a flower and Anna commenced a slow but compelling rhythm, in and out. The woman knew exactly what she wanted and exactly what she was doing. Sarah began to move in time, impaling herself more eagerly on the woman’s fingers, but it seemed that for the Turk the seduction was not happening fast enough.

‘You have to undress her too,’ he snapped at Sarah. ‘Now, come on, I have not got all day. Get her clothes off. I want to see her too, see you both – skin to skin. Now.’ He rubbed his hands together, mimicking two bodies touching.

Reluctantly Anna Weissman pulled away, and despite her anxiety, Sarah was stunned to find she was trembling with excitement and expectation.

The little room was oppressively hot, and Mustafa was still watching them from the chair, his cock pressing up like a tent pole through his stained cream chinos. He mopped his head and face with the filthy handkerchief, eyes firmly fixed on the two of them. Anna looked at him with disgust and undid her own zip, dropping her skirt to the floor.

Underneath she was wearing a white G-string, her lean legs and pale skin a stark contrast to the bleak little cell. Sarah was suddenly nervous of the statuesque blonde, but as Anna turned in response to a gesture from Mustafa, she was stunned to see that her back was marked with a row of fresh weals.

Sarah had no doubt now that it had been Anna in the bedroom next to her own on the previous evening. Strangely it made her heart tighten with tenderness and empathy; it seemed that Anna Weissman truly understood now what it was to be a slave.

Mustafa inspected Anna and nodded his approval. ‘Come here and let me feel that body of yours. You think you are so very special, so very important. I want to smell you on my fingers.’

Sarah saw a flash of anger on Anna’s beautiful face, and then without hesitation the blonde stepped closer to him, almost defiantly. Hands on hips, legs apart, her eyes alight with hatred, she tipped her pelvis towards him. Sarah wondered how on earth it was that the blonde had agreed to the deal with the Turk, and wondered how much her brother had to do with arranging it.

Mustafa grunted as he wrapped his fingers under the wisp of fabric that covered Anna’s quim, his fist tightened, and he tore it away. Anna flinched as the ripping fabric bit into her flesh, but he merely sniggered at her discomfort, and his nicotine-stained fingers parted her sex lips. Leaning forward he ran his tongue over the wet folds, snuffling and grunting inside her like a pig rooting for truffles. As he lapped at her pleasure-bud, his fingers drove into the depths of her body.

Sarah could see the revulsion on Anna’s face and was relieved when Mustafa finally pulled away, and licking his lips, he waved them both towards the camp bed.

‘You taste very good today, Miss Weissman,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Lay down on the cot… and you,’ he waved towards Sarah. ‘I want you to straddle her, sit on her face and I will watch her lick you. And then when she is done with you, you stick your pretty little tongue deep inside her here, like this…’ and he drove his fingers through his clenched fist, the gesture incredibly obscene. ‘I want you to make her cry out for mercy, and then trust me, I will fuck you both. Here…’ from his pocket he pulled the thick white dildo that Sarah had used the day before, and handed it to Anna. ‘Use this on yourself while you lick her.’

Sarah shivered as the man ran a slug-like tongue over his lips again.