Dr Casswell's Plaything (16 page)

Once I was tied the hunchback picked me up and threw me over his shoulder as if I was no more than a sack of feathers. By the time we reached the merchant’s chamber I was sick with fear, and with the jolting and banging of my body against the boy’s twisted frame. It seemed to take an eternity, as we slowly climbed dark and cold steps, and then ahead of us a door opened and I guessed we had arrived. The boy set me down, thankfully on my feet.

In the chilly darkness and the silence my mind reached out to try and piece together such clues as there were about where I was and whom I was with.

‘Well,’ said a male voice that I recognised instantly as belonging to Bay. ‘What think you of her, my pretty? Here, would you like to touch her, or would you prefer that I set her to work on you now? Or shall I make sure she understands that here I am the master and that what I say is the law. What say you?’

I heard not a word in answer, but instead he pushed me onto my knees. Unable to save myself from the aggressive thrust my head hit the floor and I cried out in pain and shock, but to no avail. He ran a hand over my shoulders and back, locking his fingers in my hair and lifting my face towards his unseen companion.

‘What do you think, my dear? Pretty enough?’ Still I heard no reply, and then he continued his exploration, his coarse and heavy hands working up over my buttocks, sliding down between the cheeks, exploring the secret places that lay between. ‘Young, tight, and willing,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I shall leave you here in her place and take her with me. What do you think, precious? Would that please you, to live a slave’s life?’

For an instant there was stillness. I felt the glow of the log fire warming my flank, and then over the crackle and the hiss a more unpleasant sound, something that sparked a memory that for a moment I could not quite place, but an instant later I knew exactly what it was. A broad belt or strap hit me hard across my back, making me cry out with pain. All thoughts were lost as the sensation roared through me, making me scream and instinctively try to crawl away.

Before the second blow struck Bay hauled me to my feet, and grabbing hold of my wrists, jerked them high above my head. He was a man of immense strength, and I could not resist him or fight him. With an arm around my waist he lifted me bodily and hung me from something, so that my feet just rested on the floor. As I twisted to find a sort of balance my face brushed against heavy fabric, and I realised he had hung me from the bed frame.

And I paid the price for my fear and that attempt to crawl away. The next blow caught me high across the back, curling around me like a lick of fire, and before I could recover there was another blow, a loud crack, and another and another, each as hot as a flame. I cried out as the pain gripped me, and then realised I was not alone. Another voice begged for mercy in the darkness beside me – another female voice.

‘Stop, my lord, please stop,’ she wept. ‘Do not beat her any more. I will do exactly as you ask… I will, I will!’

Bay sniggered, again without humour. ‘What, lady, you want me to stop? Then will you take her place, my dear? Would you like to feel the kiss of the strap across that delicate flesh of yours?’

There was silence, and the belt found its mark again. I pulled and twisted against my restraints.

‘I will do as you bid me,’ she said. ‘Stop, please, I am yours, sire, to do with as you will.’ The voice was firmer now, and it made me wonder if this was a game they played.

Another excruciating stroke, and my body contorted under the belt’s cruel kiss.

‘Oh, you will do as I bid, pretty one, even if I have to tie you myself. In fact, perhaps I will. ’Twill be a pretty picture, my sweet young wife bound to the bed, legs open, so that she might be serviced by the tongue of a slave girl. What say you, my sweet?’

I heard a whimper, and then the same gentle voice said, ‘As you will, my lord, as you will.’

‘Then that is what I will,’ Bay chuckled. ‘Take off your petticoats, lady, lay down and defy me not.’

As I hung there, sore and bruised, I heard his woman as he worked, sobbing. And then minutes later he cut me down and freed my hands, and I already knew full well what he expected of me.

Still blindfolded, he guided me down onto the bed and there I found her, this wife of his, her skin as smooth as alabaster, and she trembled as I gripped her calf to steady myself. He pressed me onto my knees.

‘Come on, girl, do not pretend that you don’t know what I want from you,’ he snarled. ‘I want you to give this debauched lady of mine those unnatural pleasures and caresses that she shared with the good sisters at the convent, that taught her to value them above my cock. Or would you prefer the kiss of my belt to the kiss of my wife’s lascivious body?’

Slave or no slave, the lash is a cruel mistress, and so it was I began a steady progress of pleasuring his wife’s body, and did all that I was ordered, my hands seeking the curve of her breasts and the soft narrowing of her waist.

Although she was slim her breasts were heavy and firm, the nipples small and tight like the bud of a flower, making me think she was young too.

But it seemed that this tenderness was not what Bay wanted, or at least not this alone. I drew one of her nipples deep into my mouth, and the girl groaned and writhed as I began to play and suck at those peaks – for we knew this oral work, this delicate tracery and teasing was the forerunner and pattern of my lapping and sucking and fingering of her sex. In the darkness behind my blindfold all was reduced to pure touch, my fingers becoming my eyes.

While I held one breast to my lips my other hand traced a pattern down over her flat belly to the gentle rise of her sex mound. Her hair there was like a glossy pelt, smooth and silky under my fingertips. I wondered as they bade entry what tenderness this girl had ever known as wife to so cruel a man.

But it was no business of mine, and Bay had other things on his mind.

‘Get your face there, girl,’ he ordered, ‘I want you to make this frigid bitch cry out with desire, make her weep and wail for me to fill her sweet little cunt with my seed. Let me tell you, girl, you are the tease for the stallion.’

I did as he demanded; I kissed a path down where my fingers had been just an instant earlier and pressed my lips to her quim. She was as soft and fragrant as new mown hay and eagerly lifted up for me to have use of her. As I slipped a finger inside she was wet and hot with excitement, and I wondered again if perhaps it was his cruelty that made her ready for the fray. Bay gripped my head and pushed me closer still. My tongue lapped and pressed home at those places that make a woman writhe with joy.

As she began to twist and buck under my ministrations I felt a hand sliding between my legs. It seems that the stallion wanted not just his own filly but the tease as well. Then he mounted me from behind, driving into me, sinking his fierce cock well home. My back was raw from his strap, my mouth full of the flavours and excitement of his wife, and my sex full of his cock.

He groaned as my body closed around him, and he bucked and drove into me all the harder, making me cry out with pain and pleasure. His fingers agitated my pleasure-bud, and then grabbing my hand he pressed it up between my legs so that I might pleasure myself as well.

It was a potent mix, him driving deeper and deeper into me, his wife lifting herself that I could lick her all the more avidly, her juices so plentiful that they trickled down my chin.

And then, just at the moment when I felt she and I and Bay could hold back no more, he dragged me bodily from his wife and drove full tilt into her. She screamed out in a mixture of shock and delight, and as I rolled away and pulled off my blindfold I saw him riding her like a cock stallion, fingers pressed tight up against her quim to bring her to the end of that long ride.

She was young indeed, and as pretty as a picture. It stuck me, looking into her face, flushed and tight in the throes of passion, that we could easily have been sisters.

‘Here wench,’ Bay grunted, when the tremors of passion had left them both. I crawled up onto the bed alongside them. The girl, heavy-eyed, tired and sweating from her exertions, rolled me onto my back amongst the tangle of bedclothes and took the place I had so recently abandoned. It seemed Bay was right; she had certainly learnt well from someone how best to pleasure a female, and with her tongue and knowing fingers she brought me to a lovely climax. And it was enough to rekindle the fire in Bay’s great belly, and he fucked me soundly.

And so it was all night long that one lust would lead to another, until at last, in the wee small hours, we curled up in each others’ arms and slept that way until morning…

In the shadowy gloom of the museum vault Sarah looked up from the pages she had been reading and putting onto disk. Next to her Casswell was still hard at work, his expression focused, eyes and hands working in perfect harmony as he scanned down the page of the book, translating as he went, recording the words in his distinctive handwriting.

He had already begun another page, another entry, and Sarah wished with all her heart that she could read the script for herself so she could find out what would become of the girl she saw almost as a reflection of herself. Their fates seemed somehow inexplicably interwoven through the mists of time.

Later that evening, Casswell waited at the handrail watching Sarah climb the gangway of the yacht that was to take them out for the short cruise. The day, which had been oppressively hot, was thankfully cooling. Work had gone well, and despite his niggling anxieties about Uri Weissman’s motives, Casswell felt in need of relaxation, although he was still far from certain about the company they were in.

Weissman and his sister were standing by the stern rail with their host, and were watching Sarah’s progress too. Casswell had instructed Chang to accompany them; he was feeling it was becoming increasingly important to have more than one pair of eyes with him, and certainly Chang’s loyalty and commitment to Casswell were never in doubt. The oriental followed Sarah up onto the yacht, his face as impassive and unreadable as always.

Across the bay the sun was slowly setting in the cloudless sky. A refreshing wind whipped across the tiny harbour, stirring the sails and rigging of the boats moored alongside the quay, lifting the sea into tiny white peaks, while gulls and other seabirds hung in the thermals, spiralling lazily in the early evening sky.

Casswell looked back towards the town. White houses in a mixture of Moorish, Ottoman, and Turkish styles clung to the steep hillside, glowing unnaturally in the fading light. The trip to Turkey was not going as he had anticipated. Whilst the translation was proceeding well, he knew with increasing certainty that he could not trust Weissman. It still surprised him, for Uri had been in his circle of associates – part of an elite group – for many years, and Casswell had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. Although he and Weissman were not close, he had most certainly never considered being betrayed by him. But then, jealously and envy were a volatile and dangerous combination.

Sarah’s expression softened as she looked at him, and then she paused at the top of the gangway to take in the view from the deck, the sea breeze teasing anyone lucky enough to look at her, by moulding her delicate dress to her delicious breasts and her shapely thighs.

The little cove wrapped its rocky arms tightly around a shallow saucer of dark blue sea, giving shelter to a mix of pleasure craft and fishing boats. It was a beautifully clear evening, golden light rippling across the water, fractured by the swell. Casswell and Chang were no more than a few steps away, and she was glad they were there; with them both onboard she felt much safer.

It seemed they were the last to board, for she and Chang were barely up the gangway before some crew began to make ready to sail.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ said Weissman impatiently, heading towards them. ‘Let me introduce you to our host. Casswell, you remember Fredo, you met him at the club last night.’

Anna Weissman, sipping champagne, smiled enigmatically in Casswell’s direction. ‘Don’t let him bully you,’ she laughed, lifting her glass in welcome.

Sarah looked down, a part of her not wanting to meet Anna’s eye, for the last time she had seen the blonde was in Casswell’s room, tied down and in the throes of an explosive orgasm. Beside her, Casswell politely extended his hand to their host. She remembered seeing the man at the club, although she had not known his name or been introduced. Fredo was an elderly, balding man of indeterminate race, whose eyes where little more than dark slits in an oddly reptilian face.

Sarah glanced around while Fredo explained to Casswell and Weissman the finer points of his yacht. The main deck was covered with an awning that created a pool of shade and a windbreak, and it was here that several of the other passengers were being served cocktails and hors-d’oeuvres by uniformed stewards. Sarah recognised several of the faces from the dinner of the museum trustees, and others from the club.

She was delighted to see that Mustafa Aziz did not appear to have been included on the guest list. Fredo’s conversation was dull, and Sarah’s attention continued to wander. A uniformed steward handed her a glass of champagne while she casually watched the other guests amble about and mingle.

‘Don’t tell me you’re bored already, darling,’ said Anna Weissman with a sensuous smile, gaining a fresh glass of bubbly as another steward-born tray passed by. ‘Our little pleasure trip has hardly begun.’