Dr Casswell's Plaything (7 page)

‘Remove her trousers, Chang,’ Casswell said casually, pouring himself another brandy. ‘I believe this gentleman also has need of Miss Weissman.’

Without a word Chang stepped up behind her and ripped away the thin voile of the harem pants. Expertly he unfastened the side ties of her knickers and pulled them away. Although she stiffened for an instant, Anna Weissman offered no resistance as her other servant knelt between her legs and ran his hands appreciatively over the plump wet contours of her quim, that gaped between the curves of her raw and reddened buttocks.

She moaned as he found those tingling, throbbing places that pleasured her, and as her body opened for him, Casswell settled into an armchair to watch the performance.

Behind him Chang stood by, completely impassive and unmoving as Anna Weissman brought the two men closer to what promised to be a breathtaking climax. Casswell allowed himself the narrowest of smiles. Their hostess was a far better pupil than he could have possibly imagined; her progress and submission, even if they were short-lived, were truly magnificent.

In the adjoining bedroom Sarah had woken from her sleep with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed trying to get her bearings, and realised that the sound of a woman’s voice had woken her – a woman crying out in torment and excitement. Sarah clambered out of the bed, grateful that since they had arrived in Turkey Chang had dispensed with the wrist chains that normally secured her to the bed frame at Casswell Hall.

As she pulled on a thin cotton robe there was another cry of anguish – and then another.

Sarah could not work out where it was coming from. As quietly as she could, she tiptoed across to the door that connected her room to Casswell’s. Turning the handle she realised it was locked, so pressed her ear to the wood and then, on her hands and knees, peered through the keyhole. She could see very little but believed the cries were coming from within.

It then occurred to her that perhaps the noise was not coming from Casswell’s room at all. What if some woman was in genuine trouble? Sarah picked up a robe and hurried out onto the landing, trying to find someone to help. The house was dark; the only light came from the stairwell that led down into the sitting room.

As Sarah got halfway down the stairs she heard male voices from somewhere below, and was about to call out when intuition made her stop. She peered down, and stretched out on one of the sofas, Uri Weissman and another distinguished grey-haired man were sitting in the open doorway to the terrace. They both looked and sounded slightly drunk.

A couple more careful steps and Sarah could now overhear their conversation.

‘So we can speak freely?’ said the older man, sipping from a brandy balloon. ‘How is the translation coming along, have you any idea?’

Weissman waved away whatever anxieties dogged him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, sniggering softly, ‘I’ve made sure Casswell is well occupied this evening. And as for the transcript, you’ll just have to be patient, Piers. He has only just begun. You know what Rigel Casswell is like, that mix of dogged determination and inspiration. The man is a genius and completely obsessed. I’ve already told you, you’ll have the book as soon as it’s done. I promise.’

Sarah was puzzled. It did not add up. As far as she knew Casswell’s brief was to take the translation back to Oliver Turner in England, the man who was funding their trip.

Perhaps the newcomer was part of the committee that Oliver headed. She wondered if she ought to talk to Casswell about it, but just as she turned to creep back upstairs the mystery female cried out again, much louder than before, the tortured sob echoing through the house, and to her horror she lost her footing and stumbled forward. Reaching desperately for the banister but unable to regain her balance, she tripped out of her seclusion in the shadows into the light on the landing.

Uri Weissman looked up… and then smiled. ‘Ah, Miss Morgan, good evening,’ he drawled. ‘How are you?’

Sarah struggled to regain her composure. ‘I – I couldn’t sleep,’ she stuttered feebly. ‘And the noise…’ as she spoke there was another shriek, ‘that noise…’

Weissman smiled, although it did nothing to warm his expression. ‘Ah yes, your master has such a talent, and my sister has always been such a wayward creature.’

Sarah looked down at him in amazement, totally stunned. ‘Anna?’ she gasped, looking back up the stairs.

Weissman laughed again. ‘Oh yes, she was so very curious about what it was that Casswell had to offer. Seems to me that she is finding out first hand.’

He waved her down to join them, and aware of her nakedness beneath the robe, Sarah reluctantly descended the stairs; she could see no easy way to refuse.

‘Would you like a drink, Miss Morgan?’ Weissman gushed. ‘Have you met Mr Heinman, by the way?’

Sarah shook her head to both questions, and then took the hand that Weissman’s guest offered, although as their eyes met she realised he was far more interested in the way the contours of her body showed through the thin cotton wrap than any pretence at social pleasantries.

Weissman handed her a glass of champagne. ‘We were busy celebrating your master’s arrival.’ His eyes held hers. ‘He is your master, isn’t he?’

Sarah reddened furiously. ‘Yes… yes he is, amongst other things. I work for Dr Casswell as his PA.’

Piers Heinman drained his glass and chuckled. ‘Oh, I am sure you do, and I am sure you are very, very diligent in your duties.’

Uri Weissman smiled, his eyes glinting as he very gently traced the curve of her breasts through the fabric with a single finger. ‘I think Mr Heinman would like to see exactly what it is that Casswell and I have enjoyed,’ he said. ‘Undo the robe.’

Sarah stiffened. ‘I’m sorry?’ she blurted.

Uri Weissman’s expression hardened. ‘Oh please, don’t be coy. You heard me, my dear. Or would you prefer me to call Casswell down and tell him you disobeyed me?’

Sarah shook her head, hesitantly placed the champagne flute on a nearby side table, and slowly untied the wrap.

‘Off,’ snapped Weissman, as if there was some doubt that Sarah would do as she was told.

Sarah let the wrap fall to the floor, and now she was naked, Piers nodded and to her surprise pulled her close to him. She shivered as his hands crawled over her body, but her treacherous nipples hardened under the touch of his enquiring fingers.

‘Turn around,’ he ordered. ‘Bend over, I want to see the rest.’

Blushing, Sarah obeyed and leaned forward in front of him, over the coffee table, giving Heinman an even greater view. He grunted as he slipped his hand between her thighs, seeking her sex, thumb sliding in and out of her quim while his fingers stroked at the tight puckering of her rear passage. Sarah felt a great rush of humiliation rising from low in her belly.

‘Hmm… good and tight,’ Heinman grunted appreciatively. ‘Have you any oil there, Uri?’

The Austrian nodded, and from a cabinet produced a small bottle. Heinman poured a few drops into his palm, and Sarah closed her eyes, guessing what was to follow as the old man very slowly eased his finger past the tight closure of her bottom. The sensation took her breath away as her body surrendered to him.

Again Heinman grunted and then pulled out. Smiling at Weissman he poured more oil into his palms and worked it back and forth over Sarah’s flesh. ‘Would you like to share her with me, Uri? How about it? It’s been a long, long time since we had such a lovely creature between us.’

Weissman smiled, chuckled, and drained his glass.

Upstairs, under the watchful eyes of Casswell and Chang, Anna Weissman rolled exhausted onto the floor between her two house servants, although before she could have time to recover, the taller of the two crouched between her legs and parted her trembling thighs. She made no attempt to resist his advances. Lifting her body up to him, the man began to lick at her sex, lapping his own seed from the depths of her quim. Under his eager ministrations Anna began to writhe, gasp and cry out as he brought her closer and closer to orgasm. The blonde was lost in the intense medley of sensations; perhaps it was the ultimate humiliation to feel such intense pleasure at the hands of the two lowly ruffians.

Casswell smiled, beckoning Chang closer, asking him to go next door and wake Sarah. Once Anna had left he wanted her brought to him so he could enjoy her.

Chang reappeared a few seconds later, looking concerned. ‘She’s not there, doctor,’ he announced.

‘Not there?’ Casswell stared at him in surprise.

‘Uri Weissman has her downstairs,’ Chang informed him.

Casswell’s expression hardened. Weissman was a bully, and although Casswell had known him for years, he still did not consider him a friend or close associate.

Meanwhile Anna Weissman, utterly exhausted, what was left of her costume torn to shreds, finally got back onto her hands and knees. She looked up at Casswell, her icy-blue eyes bright with knowledge. There was nothing left for the woman to say; she had finally experienced and understood the things that had whet her appetite and excited her curiosity for so long.

Casswell smiled and waved her away. ‘Go back to your room, Anna,’ he ordered, and without another word the slim blonde did exactly as she was told. Casswell waited until she had left and then dismissed the house servants, immaculate again in their long robes, standing to attention either side of the double doors as if nothing had happened. All that remained to mark the events of the last hour was the rich Turkish carpet on the tiled floor.

As soon as the two men had gone Casswell hurried from his room. From the landing where Sarah had hidden he looked down into the sitting room below.

Sarah was crouched on the floor between the two men, her eyes closed tight. On her knees, she was straddling Uri Weissman, his cock driving in and out of her tight wet sex, while Piers Heinman was pressed hard into the tight confines of her bottom. It was a heady image.

Sarah’s body worked back and forth between the two men. There was no escape from them, nor relief from the intensity of the sensations. Beads of perspiration clung precariously in the valley between her pert breasts. She was breathing hard. All three of them moved in fluid unison, the two men quite obviously relishing the moment.

Sarah gasped at the feeling of fullness as Weissman and Heinman pressed home. Her body eager and hungry to reach the place of no return, dipped and twisted so her throbbing clit ground against Weissman’s root, each stroke taking her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Covering her, Heinman was snorting like a stallion sliding deeper and deeper into that dark tight place, while beneath her Weissman strained to fill her to the very brim.

As the intense pleasure built, spiralling up through her tummy, Sarah struggled to remember that she needed to talk to Casswell about what Heinman and Weissman had been saying.

Heinman’s hand then slipped from her hip, his fingers moving down to the throbbing rise of her clitoris. Uri Weissman roared and then bucked like a wild animal, forcing himself deeper still, his cock throbbing as orgasm washed over him, and as if his ejaculation was like lighting a fuse, the sensation flared and then exploded through each of them.

Casswell went back to his suite. Sarah never disappointed him. He smiled; once she returned to her room he would have Chang bring her too him.

The next morning in the vaults of the museum, Sarah sat alongside Casswell, working in silence as they so often did. Sarah’s body and mind ached, but it felt good to be back into their usual routine. She replayed the conversation she heard in the sitting room the night before. Maybe she had misunderstood what Weissman said; after all, she only caught a brief moment of the conversation.

It was almost lunchtime and the morning’s work had gone well. Glancing up at the clock, Sarah wondered whether by some miracle Mustafa Aziz, the museum curator, had forgotten about the second part of the bargain struck by Anna Weissman. It seemed unlikely, even though he had not appeared all morning, although neither had Anna Weissman. Sarah wondered fleetingly what Anna had made of her initiation.

But now, for the first time since arriving in Turkey, Sarah felt cool and relaxed, and it was a real sense of relief that her concentration could return to the computer screen. Reading Beatrice’s account of daily life at the castle was a delight, like catching up at long last with an old friend – a friend whose life was also not running as smoothly as she would have liked.

…I do not know what to do. I fear that our lives here are about to change forever. This morning my master told me he has been greatly honoured by the king. His visit was to judge if he was worthy of the honour. At first I thought my master meant by gift of land, or perhaps a title to add to those already held by him, for he is indeed a true and loyal subject. He said no. It seems that the king’s cousin, the Lady Cassandra of Villon, so very recently widowed by a man twice her age, feels in need of a new husband and that husband it seems is to be my master. Although this is a political alliance, gossip in the castle yard already has it that the Lady Cassandra has a reputation as a woman of great passion and plans to be a wife in every sense. None of these things bode well for me. I sense my master is torn by this strange turn of events.

His majesty has gone so far as to grant my lord a divorce from his first wife so he can fulfil his part of this obligation, although I suspect from my lord’s demeanour that however great the honour, he is not delighted by the news. I suspect he knows this is yet another marriage meant to secure his position within the court and assure the king of his loyalty, as if his actions and oath of allegiance were not enough already.