Dr Casswell's Plaything (17 page)

Before Sarah could reply Weissman turned to join them. ‘So, are you enjoying your time in Turkey?’ he asked Sarah, and his arrogant smile did not falter as his voice dropped to a purr. ‘You know I will have you, Sarah, by hook or by crook. Your beloved master is only human, everything has its price, and I am a very determined individual.’

He stared at her, quite obviously enjoying her discomfort, and then catching hold of her arm he said, ‘Come along, let me introduce you to some of my friends.’ And then in a quieter voice he added, ‘And Anna, why don’t you go and rescue the good doctor? I’m sure he would appreciate being saved from Fredo’s clutches.’ Sarah was about to protest, but Weissman’s fingers tightened around her upper-arm and he guided her towards a group of men gathered by the starboard rail.

The crew were making ready to leave the shelter of the port. The engine, that had been barely idling since they came aboard, the sound no more than a backdrop to the gentle music and light chatter and laughter, began to work more earnestly as the captain slowly manoeuvred the boat out of the little bay into open water.

As Sarah obediently exchanged social pleasantries with the other guests, Weissman at her side, she was aware of the way he looked at her – and he was not alone. Her exhibition at the club had obviously stayed in the minds of the audience and whetted a few appetites.

Although at first glance the other guests appeared totally at ease, eating and drinking and chatting as the yacht glided through the waves towards the open sea, there was a real and very tangible hint of expectation in the air. It was something Sarah was beginning to recognise; that thrill, like the smell of smoke gathering in the air that held the promise of the fire to come.

Not that she and Anna were the only female guests. Several girls wandered around the deck, barefoot and wearing skimpy dresses or little crop-tops and shorts, showing cheeky glimpses of toned, sun-kissed flesh.

Sarah tried very hard not to be intimidated by the undisguised interest of the men she was introduced to. Their gaze lingered a little too long on her breasts, and then crept down over her shapely frame as if she was a luxury item on display. She had no idea where Chang had vanished to, and Anna was deep in conversation with Casswell and Fredo. With Weissman at her side, she felt far from safe or at ease.

Beside them, leaning against the guardrail, was a middle-aged man, talking to one of the girls. He was dressed in casual but obviously expensive clothes. At first glance the couple just seemed to be chatting – but there was something indefinable simmering just below the surface that suggested an awful lot more was going on.

Sarah found it impossible to look way from them, and watched furtively from the corner of her eye. The man leant a little closer, and the girl did not move away. Sarah could feel the unspoken sexual promise building between the two of them. As she watched the man very slowly stretched out his hand and stroked the girl’s face. She had large brown eyes and long plaited hair. She looked down demurely as he stroked her again, ever the perfect slave, and then, as if defining his mastery over her, he began unfastening her blouse. She did not resist him, allowing herself to be undressed and fondled and used, as he desired. He eased a hand inside her blouse, pushing the fabric back to reveal first one and then the second small but perfect breast.

Sarah glanced anxiously at Weissman, who appeared oblivious to what was going on so close by, while her attention was drawn instinctively to the girl and her older companion. The rest of the passengers and crew, and even Casswell, seemed to have faded into insignificance.

The girl’s creamy skin was as pale as a new moon, in contrast to the man’s suntanned and rugged hand. In his grasp her breasts were hardly more than delicate upturned peaks, tipped with tight scarlet flowers. The man smiled, his eyes bright and predatory, as he rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, as one might an expensive cigar.

The girl’s expression glittered with suppressed pleasure. She was awaiting instructions from her master. His other hand moved to join the first and pushed her top back off her shoulders. Her petit body could have been sculpted from creamy white marble, and as his hands reached her shoulders she leant back against the handrail, readying herself for whatever it was he wanted.

The man’s eyes narrowed with pleasure as he ran his hands over his prize, the girl not resisting. Her compliance was total, her expectancy as tangible as the sea breeze. Sarah held her breath, and thought she heard him moan with delight as he moved even closer and bent over the delightful creature, sucking one of the peaks deep into his mouth.

The girl shivered and closed her eyes. Sarah finally tore her gaze away, feeling the sensation of the electric touch echo through her own breasts and belly. She had been unaware that Uri Weissman was watching her watching them, but as she looked away she felt his hand slide up over her hip.

‘This is exactly what they mean when they say a pleasure cruise, don’t you think?’ he whispered, pulling her closer, his hand creeping down to surreptitiously cup one of her buttocks. ‘Fredo’s stable is legendary. He picks most of his girls from the Far East, and some from Eastern Europe.’ As he spoke he swooped, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck, just below her ear. He inhaled her delicate perfume and then lifted his face again, looking down at her, his nostrils flared. ‘But after last night’s performance at the club, I’m sure you will be just as popular as anything else he’s got on offer,’ he murmured.

Sarah stared up at him and saw herself reflected in his hungry eyes. ‘I…’ As popular? The words dried in her throat as she realised what Weissman was saying, and she knew there was no way she could escape him or whatever the cruise might hold in store for her.

Around them the crew were busy raising the sails, and Weissman’s gaze fixed on her, dark and feral. ‘And before you cry off or head back to your precious master, Casswell knows the score here as well as anyone else,’ he said, taking the unfinished glass of champagne from her lifeless hand.

Around the deck, couples, two’s and threes and foursomes were already shaping up. From beneath the awning an elderly grey-haired man smiled at her, and at some level Sarah knew that she had been promised to him. Standing with him was a much taller, extremely attractive young man, dressed casually in cream chinos and blue cotton shirt, his laidback manner in sharp contrast to his companion’s upright and very military bearing.

‘Uri, my dear chap, I’m so pleased to see you again,’ the elderly gentleman called, looking pointedly at Sarah, who felt her colour rising. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us for a drink.’

Weissman smiled. ‘I’d be delighted, Granger, but let’s be frank,’ he called back, guiding Sarah over to them. ‘I’m not who you really want to be with, am I? May I introduce Dr Casswell’s delightful assistant and companion.’

The man’s expression sharpened as he laughed at Weissman’s candour, and the expression gave him a sly, fox-like quality. ‘The name’s Granger – Granger Hall,’ he introduced himself to her, extending a rather bony and limp hand. ‘And this is my friend, Rupert Carlisle.’ He indicated his tall companion with an equally effete gesture.

Sarah glanced over towards Casswell. He looked at her, and she guessed he had been watching her progress around the deck. He indicated his consent with a barely perceivable nod of the head, so she turned back to the elderly man and his companion, and smiled nervously.

‘Well trained indeed,’ Uri Weissman snorted derisively, spying the signal. ‘Like one of those silent whistles.’

Without the courtesy of asking whether she’d had enough champagne, the elderly man took Sarah’s glass, and then said in an authoritative tone that alarmed her, ‘You will join us below deck. There we can relax, and get to know each other a little more… intimately…’

His demeanour chilled Sarah, and she could see from the expression on his face, thin lips and cold narrow eyes, that this man was ruthless and used to being obeyed without question.

‘It’s less windy below decks,’ his companion, Rupert, continued before she could respond, somewhat stating the obvious, ‘and as we leave the harbour’s protection it is going to be quite cold once the sun is fully down.’ His accent was pure English public school.

Granger smiled and squeezed her hand possessively with skeletal fingers. ‘What did you say your name was again, my dear?’

Uri Weissman chuckled. ‘She did not, and you don’t have to worry about her name, Granger,’ he said. ‘As agreed, she’s all yours – eager and very, very talented. And believe me, that is a commendation born of personal experience.’

‘Oh, I do hope so,’ the elderly man ruminated, with a calculating glint in his eye. ‘Now, Rupert, be a good chap and take the young lady below, would you? We’ll follow you down in a short while.’

Rupert nodded and took Sarah by the elbow, and she threw Casswell one final nervous glance, but he merely lifted his glass in a silent acknowledgement of what was happening as she was guided down the steep steps into the yacht.

‘Granger doesn’t like to waste his time with what he perceives to be unnecessary preliminaries,’ the younger man candidly informed her as he led her through the plush lounge area, Sarah cringing with embarrassment and hoping the few guests socialising there could not hear what he was saying, but suspecting they could. ‘He no longer has the stamina or the inclination to indulge in such things. It will be my duty to get you prepared for him… if you understand my meaning.’ The conversation was so frank that Sarah’s cheeks reddened furiously.

He took her along a short and narrow passageway, opened a door and politely showed her into a small cabin. It was stunning and elegant, a luxurious combination of maple and red-veined marble with gold fixtures and fittings. And there was a double bed, covered with a crisp white sheet.

Then, with no further formalities, he faced her, held her close, and trailed a fingertip along her jaw-line, toyed with her earring for a moment, and then traced down the elegant sweep of her throat, along her shoulder, then down to the curve of her breast. There his fingers lingered again, savouring the feel of her, barely touching her softness, and then he continued and circled her nipple, which hardened instantly under his knowing touch.

‘Granger likes to watch,’ Rupert crooned. ‘He likes me to be a little rough, and then he’ll want to fuck you.’ He smiled as Sarah looked anxiously back at the beautiful polished wood of the closed cabin door. ‘Actually,’ Rupert went on, gently placing his fingers against her chin to make her face him again, ‘we both will, but he always likes to go first. Not that I’m complaining, of course. Who could complain about having to perform such pleasurable duties?

‘He won’t speak to you…’ Sarah barely heard his words any more, ‘…he likes his girls obedient, submissive, and above all, totally silent.’

The polished cabin door opened and Sarah glanced around anxiously. There was definitely no going back now, for Granger had followed them down.

‘Have her undress,’ he ordered curtly, his manner brusque and at odds with his urbane demeanour above deck. ‘You know I don’t like to be kept waiting. Let me see what she has to offer.’

Rupert positioned a chair for the elderly man, who sat and looked expectantly at the uncertain girl. ‘Take your clothes off…’ Rupert instructed her.

Facing Granger in the slightly cramped surroundings, knowing she had no alternative but to do as they told her, Sarah began to undo her dress. Lifting her hands behind her back to lower the zip, she saw and felt Granger’s eyes absorbing the sight of her dress stretched tightly across her breasts, caused by her innocently sensual movement. His rapacious expression made her shudder inside. Very slowly she slipped the dress off her shoulders, and wriggling very slightly, allowed it to slide down, the material whispering promises to the two men as it peeled off her hips and fell in a shimmering pile at her dainty feet. Underneath, due to Casswell’s instructions and the heat of the country they were in, she was completely naked. Her skin had just begun to tan, offering a lightly golden hue to her smooth flesh.

Sarah stood meekly, her arms impotently by her sides, wondering what exactly would happen next.

Rupert had poured Granger a brandy, and the elderly man sipped it as he sat back with apparent satisfaction and studied her beauty. Then he nodded, his alert eyes never leaving her, and Rupert moved close, pressing himself to her back.

Sarah held her breath and waited, watching for any reactions from the sitting man, but there was little evidence of any. Apart from the expectant sparkle in his eyes, he appeared cold and detached.

Then she trembled slightly as Rupert’s hands rested on her hips for a few seconds, and then rose, over her taut tummy, and up to her breasts. He cupped their ripe firmness, and his thumbs teased her nipples, which instantly and treacherously stiffened in front of the old man’s eyes. She could feel the warmth of Rupert’s body enveloping her back, radiating through his clothing. His nose and lips nuzzled into her hair, and he audibly breathed her scent.

Then he slowly lowered his face and kissed her ear, then down to her neck, muttering graphic descriptions of what he was going to do to her, and what she was going to do for the both of them. With more urgency his hands cupped and possessed her breasts, which filled his hungry palms as her slow breathing deepened.

Then one hand moved again, down over her tummy, barely touching her flesh, making her tense and her senses tighten, and he cupped her sex mound. Sarah gasped involuntarily, and his fingers worked between her pussy lips, peeling her open, exposing her shamelessly for the man sitting nursing his brandy, contemplating her with little emotion.