Dr Casswell's Student (11 page)

Sarah looked up into his eyes. To her delight he smiled at her and lifted his glass in salute, while across the table Oliver Turner began to wax lyrical about the acquisition of some important artefacts by a small gallery both men knew well. She felt the desire arcing between them; a spark of electricity, unseen by Turner. She shivered and looked way, afraid of the intensity of emotion that Rigel Casswell lit in her.

The meal itself was delightful and the two men and their friends appeared to live a fascinating life. Sarah was happy to listen to their tales of expeditions and explorations, of finds and obscure facts. Finally, after coffee and liqueurs, Casswell suggested that Turner join him for cigars and brandy in the billiard room, and as the two men got to their feet, Sarah realised she was being dismissed for the evening. The abrupt end to their soiree took her by surprised, and she wondered, given the secrecy surrounding the translation of Beatrice’s dairy, whether there were things they wanted to discuss alone.

Oliver Turner bade her goodnight by kissing her on the forehead, re-enforcing the impression that he was a benign old godfather. Casswell stood over her and lifted her fingers to his lips, then nodded towards Chang, who stood at her shoulder like a bodyguard.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his eyes dark and unfathomable. Sarah wondered whether he was thanking her or his inscrutable housekeeper.

When Doctor Casswell had left the dining room with his guest, Chang caught hold of her arm. ‘You did very well tonight,’ he purred. ‘He is proud of you.’

Something about the little man’s tone made Sarah shiver.

He continued, ‘But now they’ve done with you, left like a discarded toy, abandoned until they are ready to play again. I should warn you that the doctor and his friends are easily bored. But it is a shame to have to go back to your room alone. It isn’t late…’

Sarah stared at him. It was the most he had said to her since she arrived at the hall. His tone was almost conciliatory. She wondered what he was suggesting and then gasped with shock as he caught hold of the chain on her collar and jerked it sharply so that their faces were no more than a fraction of an inch apart.

She could smell the sweet burr of alcohol on his breath, and looking into the dark bottomless pools of his eyes she wondered if he was jealous of her involvement with Casswell. The chain tightened a little and she realised that, once again, she was at the mercy of the little man.

‘What had you in mind?’ she asked, struggling to retain some semblance of composure.

Chang laughed without humour. ‘I can see why the good doctor was and is attracted to you. What happened to the rule of silence, Miss Morgan? Have you learnt nothing while you’ve been here? I have been having supper downstairs with a close friend of mine, perhaps you would care to join us for a little after dinner drink?’

Sarah found it impossible to suppress a shudder. She guessed he was drunk, and although the Oriental’s words constituted a polite invitation, the tone did not.

‘What is it you want from me, Chang?’ she said, trying to sound firm, but the apprehension reflecting in her voice.

‘Total obedience, and total silence unless given permission otherwise; much the same as the doctor.’ He smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. ‘I have a very similar outlook to Doctor Casswell when it comes to women.’ He wrapped the chain purposefully around his fist. ‘Come with me, my friend is eager to meet you.’

The journey down through the old house, with Chang holding the chain tightly and tugging her along, was almost more than Sarah could bear. It felt as though she was being dragged down into the bowels of hell. The house was dark, with dim pools of lamplight punctuating the gloom. Away from the fire’s warm glow it was bitterly cold and the neglect and decay more obvious. Sarah shivered, though not just from the icy chill.

Finally, at the end of a gloomy passageway, Chang opened a door and pushed Sarah into a large dingy kitchen, warmed by an old-fashioned range. A large scrubbed table dominated the centre of the room. Sitting in a Windsor chair, between the black-leaded stove and the kitchen table, was a big Nordic-looking man dressed in a grey uniform. A bottle of brandy and two glasses stood alongside a peaked cap on the table. Sarah guessed Chang’s visitor must be Oliver Turner’s chauffeur, and perhaps his bodyguard. Whatever, the man was a giant in comparison to the diminutive Oriental.

As Sarah was tugged into the warm room the muscular blonde lifted a brandy balloon in greeting and got to his feet. ‘Good evening,’ he said, extending a hand, ‘you must be Miss Morgan. My name is Oscar. I have heard a great deal about you.’

Sarah swallowed hard, horribly aware of her nakedness under the sheer black gown as his powerful hand closed around her dainty one. He looked her up and down, and then moved a little closer, as if to inspect what was on offer. He stood head and shoulders above her, and although heavily muscular, he moved with an effortless grace.

‘Very nice,’ he said to Chang, who was busy refilling the glasses with brandy. Sarah blushed as he circled her, looking but not touching. His eyes moved down over her body meticulously, as if he was afraid he might miss some tiny vital detail. In some ways Oscar’s coolly analytical appraisal of her body was far more invasive than any caress. She shivered, her discomfort intensifying as he prowled behind her. He was so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

Eventually, the inspection over, the blond pulled a cigar from an inside jacket pocket and lit it, before nodding his approval. He sat down in the chair and grinned across at Chang.

‘The quality of your table scraps is really quite astonishing, my friend,’ Oscar said, his English excellent but his accent heavily Germanic. He raised the cigar and drew upon it over-elaborately as if to prove his point. ‘A fine Havana, a very decent brandy, and a good woman. I am extremely impressed.’

He smiled broadly, showing two rows of neat white teeth, and beckoned Sarah closer. She felt powerless to resist him, and stepped hesitantly towards the chair. Oscar reached up and ran his fingertips over her throat, and then gripping her chin very gently, he pulled her flushed face down to his. He brushed her lips with his lips, his touch so delicate that Sarah gasped with surprise.

The man’s deep blue eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘Not all men just take what they want, little one,’ he whispered seductively, his tone lower now and more intimate. ‘There are other ways that are equally as effective. Chang tells me you are being trained to serve your master, Doctor Casswell.’

His hands gently cupped her face and he kissed her again, this time his tongue insinuating itself between her lips. His touch was rekindling her desire, and she was stunned to realise she was trembling with anticipation. This was a lover’s caress – a seduction – completely at odds with almost everything else she had experienced at Casswell Hall.

‘Well,’ Oscar asked as he pulled away and stood up, ‘is it true? Are you learning to be a slave? Are you learning to be totally obedient, to submit to whatever is demanded of you?’

Sarah struggled to find her voice.

The tall blond smiled again, his expression encouraging a response. As Sarah watched he slowly unbuttoned his uniform jacket, slipped it off, and carefully hung it over the back of his chair. He then removed his white shirt, and as Sarah gazed at his impressively muscled torso she wondered into what honeyed trap she had unexpectedly strayed.

Her eyes were drawn magnetically to his slab-like pectoral muscles, and she gasped at the sight of each nipple, pierced with an ornate silver ring. The very idea made her shiver.

‘Well,’ Oscar prompted again, stroking a stray curl from her brow, ‘are you Casswell’s slave girl?’

She nodded, mesmerised by his beautiful body. The quietly watching Chang was forgotten. ‘Yes… I suppose I am,’ she whispered, and then looked up into Oscar’s eyes. To her surprise she saw not derision, but understanding, and knew then that in his way he too was a slave of his master’s passion.

‘I came here to work as a secretary,’ she continued, ‘but I know now that’s not why Doctor Casswell invited me here.’

Oscar motioned her away. ‘Good. Why don’t you take off your dress. It would be a shame to spoil something so pretty.’

Sarah stiffened at his assumptive bearing. It seemed any respite was to be short-lived.

Oscar pulled a face. ‘Come along, Sarah, I won’t hurt you. I will give you only pleasure – I promise. Trust me. Here, let me show you.’

Before she could protest or prevent him he began to undress her, with Chang hovering in the shadows and clearly enjoying the role of voyeur. The chauffeur’s touch was as light as a feather as he unfastened the tiny buttons at the back of the gown. She seemed to be naked in an instant; the exquisite black voile dress sliding down into a pool around her ankles. Gently, Oscar lifted her up onto the table. She was powerless to resist him; she actually craved his considerate ministrations, so alien did they now seem.

He stood between her parted legs, looking down at her. ‘Trust me,’ he said again, and then kissed her gently on the mouth. She shivered and closed her eyes, surrendering herself entirely to the tall chauffeur’s caresses. The heat of his body moving against hers made her ache, while his tongue and lips worked down over her throat and shoulders. As she strained to accept his caresses, his knowing fingers began to stroke the naked lips of her sex.

Sarah gasped at his subtlety and his gentleness. His lips and tongue sucked and caressed each nipple in turn, her ribs, her navel, and when his tongue finally found her clitoris she cried out her pent-up joy.

Urging her pelvis up to meet Oscar’s tongue, her fingers entwined in his thick blond hair, she wondered if it was possible to die from sheer pleasure. Oscar aroused her with an expertise she never dreamed anyone capable of. He took her again and again to the very brink of orgasm and then, just as she was about to tumble headfirst into oblivion, he was skilled enough to snatch her back, until she was writhing deliriously from a heady mix of frustration and ecstasy.

‘Please… take me there… please…’ she moaned, in her delirium unable to find the words to describe the release she craved so desperately. ‘Set me free… make me come… please…!’

Sarah and Oscar were being watched. Not just by Chang, but also by Doctor Rigel Casswell and Oliver Turner, who had taken up two comfortable chairs amongst the faded splendour of Casswell’s billiard room.

Strategically placed around the large old house, and undetectable to the casual observer, were a number of hidden cameras, part of a state-of-the-art security system that had been installed. Not only did the system offer an excellent way to keep a constant vigil on the hall’s very unusual collection of treasures, it was also the perfect toy for the dedicated voyeur. Behind a sliding panel, one wall of the billiard room was lined with a bank of television screens.

Casswell poured his guest another drink. ‘Your man was a good find,’ he said conversationally.

Turner nodded. ‘Indeed, my intuition has seldom let me down. I found him in a brothel in Hamburg, you know, working as doorman-cum-handyman. Gentle as a lamb, and a wonderful seducer of the reluctant, whether they be male or female. It seems it’s all the same to Oscar. And the boy is always such a pleasure to watch at work, although to be frank, perhaps a little too pedestrian for my tastes these days.

‘And what about your chap, Chang? He’s been with you for some years now, hasn’t he?’

‘Indeed he has,’ Casswell confirmed. ‘I found him in Hong Kong when I was a delegate on a cultural conference, back in the eighties.’

Casswell directed Oliver Turner’s attention back towards the viewing screen. Sarah, legs spread wide, was writhing on the table with the blond chauffeur’s head buried deep between her thighs. She thrust up towards him again and again with her fingers tugging at his hair, clearly chasing the moment of release. Her breasts rose and fell majestically as she breathed deeply, her mouth open, her eyes tightly clamped as the waves of pleasure washed through her. Her growing excitement was so all engulfing that Casswell could almost feel it himself. But what had really attracted his attention was that behind the blond giant the naked Chang was moving closer.

At some unseen signal Oscar pulled away, his face glistening with the girl’s copious juices. She moaned her frustration, but his skilful lips and tongue were quickly replaced by his equally skilful fingers, and she writhed and moaned anew.

As if choreographed, Oscar slipped off his trousers and climbed up onto the table beside her. She reached for him, and as she did he adeptly rolled her up and on top him.

To the watching Casswell’s delight she threw back her head and shrieked with utter delight as she found the chauffeur’s rigid penis. In the half-light it boasted generous dimensions, the foreskin pierced by a heavy silver ring that matched those in his nipples. Despite the ornament, Sarah did not hesitate. She gripped the column of flesh as though fearful of losing it, manoeuvred herself over his groin, and sank onto him with a long sigh of relief and joy.

Casswell smiled. Sarah’s graceful body had a compelling fluidity. She was at her most compliant. Her sex was so moist that the area where their bodies coupled glistened through the gloom.

It was a real delight to see the young man’s penis pumping up and down between the naked lips of her quim. And then quietly, on silent feet, Chang climbed onto the table behind the lovers and took his place between their thighs.