Dr Casswell's Plaything

by Sarah Fisher

  ‘I need you to know, Beatrice de Fleur, that I am mistress of this castle now, and I will have you know and understand it, you little whore.’ It was a harsh and unnecessary thing to say to me.

  I curtsied low to show respect, although I fooled no one. ‘Yes, m’lady,’ I said.

  ‘You are a viper in the nest, wench,’ she continued. ‘You are little more than a slave in this household. I can see the way you have ensnared my betrothed and have heard stories of your part in the downfall of the previous mistress here. Trust me, girl, I will not tolerate such behaviour under my roof. The king warned me that you were a dark influence on an otherwise godly household.’

  My cheeks flared red with indignation, for I am obedient to all who command me and am regular to church. Had I not warned my master against a plot by his first wife that would have killed him? Had it not been me who warmed and readied this very room this woman was in now? Had I not spread the floor with fresh rushes, making preparations for a feast in her honour? She looked me up and down with contempt.

  ‘You were from a good family?’

  I nodded, anxious not to antagonise her further.

  ‘And now you are a bonds woman here?’

  Again I nodded.

  ‘So truly little more than a slave, then?’

  I refused to be provoked. ‘My services were gifted to the household from the abbey and I serve as his lordship commands me,’ I said as humbly as I could manage, though the words stuck in my throat.

  Cassandra snorted. ‘I have heard how he commands you from the father abbot here. I have ways of teaching creatures like you to obey and what is expected of a decent god-fearing woman.’

  I looked up straight into the eyes of the tall man dressed in the garb of a priest. I realised with a start that this was the man who had beaten and taken me so fiercely when the king had last visited us, and who not more than a month before I believed to be the king’s son. Now, hiding behind the grey habit of a holy man, he leered at me. With a growing sense of horror, I realised this was not the king’s legitimate son at all, but his bastard, born the wrong side of the blanket, found a sinecure in the church, who had abused me.

  ‘Indeed I have seen, good lady,’ he said with mock piety, eyes crawling shamelessly over my body. ‘She is a truly devilish creature who would be best kept on a very short leash if she was ever to serve you well.’

  I was about to protest when Cassandra smiled. ‘I shall take your counsel, Brother Jacob, and take note of your cure.’ She turned back to me and said, ‘The gown you’re wearing, where did you get it from, girl?’

  I blushed, for it had been a gift from my master from the dowry of his former wife, and was indeed a fine robe now that it had been cut to fit me. I explained as best I could, but with an icy expression she bade me take it off lest it was spoilt.

  ‘Spoilt?’ I said with surprise.

  She nodded and continued. ‘I will stand for no division of loyalties in my house. You will serve me alone and serve me true, as my maid in waiting, here in my chamber. Once I am settled in the house I shall appoint my own servants to the positions of housekeeper and steward.’

  ‘But I serve my master,’ I began, the words out before I realised what a mistake I was making. Cassandra’s cruel eyes darkened, but I saw that they were tinged with a look of triumph; my words had condemned me.

  ‘Of course, if you do not like the arrangements you may leave now. So tell me, girl, will you serve me in whatever way I see fit?’

  I was caught in a trap. If I did not agree to her terms I would be put out in little more than I wore, and where would I go to then? To whom would I turn? I have no family, nothing save those people in the castle. Since Father Orme went on a pilgrimage in the spring I have no one but my master to protect me. At least if I agreed to serve Cassandra I might remain in the household, and I prayed that my master would not forget or abandon me.

  ‘Well, what say you, child?’ snapped the woman.

  I lowered my gaze. ‘Yes,’ I said unsteadily.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she snapped back. ‘Father Abbot, perhaps you can teach this little creature some manners. I believe she has gotten above herself, sleeping with my betrothed, running the household, commanding the staff, giving herself airs and graces as if she was mistress.’ Cassandra spoke with an icy derision that made my flesh crawl.

  ‘Indeed, ma’am,’ he said, and with a grim sense of foreboding, I realised I was in for more of the treatment he meted out when the king visited us at the castle.

  The abbot picked up a short crop from the table and flexed it into an arc. I shivered and began to protest, but I understood what was asked of me. I had no need of a beating to show me obedience. I had put on no airs – there was no need for this – but before I could say anything, the abbot caught tight hold of me. Without giving me a chance to remove the beautiful laced gown, he ripped the front open from neck to waist, the fabric biting into my flesh. I cried out in fear and tried to cover myself but he didn’t listen, instead he forced me down over a side table.

  I knew what would follow, and an instant later I heard the crop cut through the air and explode across my back like a thunderbolt. I screamed, knowing there was no mercy to be found. My body contorted with the pain, thrust forward, my flesh glowing white-hot as another blow found its mark. Tears filled my eyes and I screamed as he hit me again and again. This time there was no king to prescribe how many blows should be struck, just him and his strong right arm.

  Lady Cassandra watched with a strange glazed expression on her face, her dark eyes fixed on mine.

  The head of the whip bit again, surging through my body like a forest fire. After a stroke or two more my mind was almost lost, the pain a distant shadow on my thoughts as I tried mentally to hide from the vicious cut of the whip.

  As I stood trembling and weeping, the odious abbot dragged the rags of my fine dress to the floor and hit me again, making me cry out in pain and humiliation.

  Finally, when he was breathing heavily, he stepped closer and pushed my legs wide open and forced me lower down over the table, fingers cramming into the wet confines of my sex. Lifting the hem of his priestly robes, breathing hard, he stabbed his loathsome cock into me. I wailed in pain as he breached me and the rough cloth of his robe rubbed at my back and buttocks. Dragging me back onto him, hands clawing hungrily at my breasts, twisting and pinching my nipples, I thought he might tear me apart with the animal vigour of his desperate coupling.

  His mistress looked on in amusement as her precious abbot came closer and closer to his discharge. On and on he pressed, finally I felt him shudder, his thrusts grew more ragged and then I felt his cock twitch and he gasped and roared and thrust deeper still, filling me to the very brim, filling me with his seed, and at last he was done, wheezing hard, leaning heavily on my poor battered body.

  It was a few minutes before the abbot composed himself, and then the Lady Cassandra, who had been staring at me throughout, said, ‘I intend to rest before the feast your master has prepared in my honour. Come here, girl, and help to undress me.’

  I looked across at her in amazement. I was naked, sweating, beaten red, and already I could feel the trickle of the despicable abbot’s spent lust running down the inside of my thighs, and yet she wanted me to wait on her? What manner of woman was this? Had she no mercy or shame? I looked around for the rag of my gown to cover my nakedness, and began to speak, but Cassandra would have none of it and growled furiously at me.

  ‘Come, wench! Have you not learned what happens to those who disobey me?’

  Unable to speak, I crept to her as naked as the day I was born, my whole body crying out in discomfort.

  Standing before me she indicated the fastenings on her bodice, and with shaking fingers I slowly began to undo them. She watched me, those dark eyes darting back and forth across my body, and did not resist as I pushed the rich fabric back off her broad shoulders. As I stepped back she stroked my breast, her finger lingering on the engorged nipple. As
our eyes met I understood everything; Cassandra wanted me as much for pleasure as for pain.

  After a second or two my nipple hardened under her attentions and she bent forward to lap at it, drawing it deep into her mouth. ‘You poor broken little bird,’ she murmured. ‘Serve me well and I will treat you well… cross me and I will break you.’

  I was stunned.

  Moving away, she turned her attention back to the grovelling abbot, who stood watching his mistress in awe. ‘Make yourself useful, man; see if the water I asked for is ready. I will have my new maid bathe me and help make me ready for the great feast tonight.’

  She had not even called me by name, and yet I knew that before the day was out I would know this terrible woman in the most intimate of ways. She caught hold of my hand and guided it up to her heavy breasts, and without any more encouragement, for now I understood the nature of this bargain, I began to stroke her distended nipples, rubbing them and tugging them gently until they rose into hardened peaks. I did not resist as she drew me close so that I might suck on them. The Lady Cassandra moaned with pleasure as my lips closed first around one and then the other, cupping them as I lifted them to my lips.

  In an adjoining room her house staff busied themselves preparing a bath in front of a great log fire, and it was there Cassandra ordered me to complete her disrobing. I saw no choice but to comply. First the remains of her blouse and then the heavy brocade of her skirts and soft embroidered folds of her petticoats, last of all I took off her pantaloons, open at the crotch so that she could make water easily into a chamber slipper brought by one of her maids.

  Finally naked in the soft glow of the candlelight, Cassandra stood straight to show herself off, though I was unsure whether this was for me or for the abbot’s benefit. Although she is a person of great power, she is truly no beauty, a great lumbering ox of a woman she has thighs like tree trunks, her sex a great bulging mound topped with a thatch of coarse dark hair, and no waist at all, her breasts huge and pendulous, her belly hanging down in folds. But even so, eyes averted I helped her into the wooden tub full of steaming water, perfumed with rich oils and unguents, and kneeling alongside, soaped her heavy frame. She moaned as I touched her white flesh, obviously relishing my touch as I worked over her and then, after a while she pulled me close, and grabbing hold of my wrist guided my hand deep between the fold of her thighs.

  As I brushed the mat of hair that trimmed her quim she opened her legs and pressed my fingers into her. I closed my eyes and shivered. Her sex was wet, warm and hungry; folded back and forth like a complex chamois leather bag.

  Under her guidance I found her pleasure-bud nestled like a great gooseberry between the heavy outer lips of her quim. It was already large with passion, and as I ran my finger back I could see I had discovered what the Lady Cassandra truly wanted from me. Not to pleasure the master, but to service the mistress.

  With one hand working between her legs I soaped her breasts, still teasing and circling her nipples, and she began to writhe under my touch and shiver under my ministrations to her quim. I let my fingers slide in and out of her, feeling the depths of her body tightening around me like a hungry mouth as she got closer and closer to coming.

  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.

  Chapter 6

  ‘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 We
issman 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.