Dr Casswell's Student

by Sarah Fisher

  The old priest let go of me and I dropped to my knees, overcome by shame and the dizzy echoes of my passion.

  ‘Stay exactly as you are,’ snapped Orme, as I began to tidy my clothes. I reddened, only too aware of the creamy swell of my naked breasts, my nipples still flushed and hard from their rough caresses. Even now between my legs I could feel the serving man’s seed trickling slowly onto my thighs.

  ‘I thought I could trust you Beatrice to use your learning to good effect. This is how you repay my faith, is it?’ said Father Orme in an icy tone. ‘Using your wiles to seduce your master and his servants, and flaunting your nakedness before a respectable man of the cloth?’

  I blushed furiously, and pulling away the cloth gag began to protest my innocence, but Orme held up his hand to silence me. ‘Don’t try and defend yourself you little slut. I know exactly how to punish you kind for your brazen and unseemly behaviour, Beatrice. I will take it upon myself to take on your correction before you lose your very soul to this madness. Lift your petticoats. I will beat this lewdness from you.’

  Crouched on all fours, I braced myself as he ran a hand over my backside. He pushed my thin petticoats aside so I was completely exposed for his explorations. I blushed furiously, imagining the picture I presented. My flesh still bore the marks of my lord’s horsewhip, and Orme grunted his approval. ‘I see the master has already begun to train you… good… good.’

  To my surprise his fingers worked down over my reddened buttocks to explore the sopping folds of my quim. He dipped inside me, grunting his appreciation, and then he slid a hand up over my belly and cupped my breasts so that the juices of my sex were smeared on my skin and nipples. The air seemed to be suffused with the heady scent of my excitement and Arturo’s seed and, as Orme nipped at my flesh, without thinking I moaned with a mixture of delight and embarrassment.

  The old priest growled furiously. ‘I fear you are lost already, Beatrice. You are truly a whore. You need to be punished for such forwardness.’

  Glancing back over my shoulder I realised he had removed the belt from his robe, and before I could move or compose myself, the broad leather strap exploded across my bare buttocks, making me shriek out in horror.

  The heat and pain roared through my body like a storm wind. Still so close to the moments of pleasure, my skin seemed more sensitive and more delicate than normal, and I wept and screamed at the intensity of the pain from Orme’s beating. And yet… and yet… amongst it all was a tendril of desire, so dark, so unholy that it unnerved me.

  When the beating had finished I instinctively moved closer to my tormentor, cowering at his feet, silently begging his forgiveness and his absolution.

  As I rested my head against his thigh I was aware of his manhood pressing forward, seeking attention between the folds of his coarse robes. He looked down at me, eyes as bright as ice, and without a word I parted his robes and pressed my lips to his gnarled cock, my hands lifting to cradle the distended bulk of his balls and stroke at his engorged shaft. He shivered and closed his eyes. With one hand he brushed the hair back from my face and then thrust forward, cursing himself for his own weakness and desires as he did so.

  It was a matter of moments, no more, before I tasted his excitement and an instant later a great fountain of warm frothing seed filled my mouth – so copious a quantity that it coursed out onto my chin and dripped down over my breasts. Orme sighed as if I had relieved him of a great burden.

  He ran a finger down through the trail of his pleasure where it clung to my flesh. ‘Go back to your work,’ he whispered in a thick unnatural voice. ‘I need to be alone for a while.’…

  In the darkened room that stood behind the two-way mirror looking into Sarah’s bedroom, Doctor Rigel Casswell poured another brandy and settled back in his armchair. By moving a little it was possible to see almost all the interior of Sarah Morgan’s room.

  He watched her now, though she was totally unaware of his presence. Seated by the fire she drained her wine glass, closed the folder containing his notes and very slowly got to her feet. Her eyes were glassy, her breath shallow and excited. She moved with a nervous grace as if she was uncertain what was expected of her even when she was alone. There was a rather unworldly look about Sarah Morgan; an air of innocence and naïvety he’d noticed on the very first day she had commenced working at the museum. They were qualities that both excited and delighted him.

  Rigel Casswell was a patient man. Like a hunter he knew the importance of understanding his prey, to observe and understand its habits, all the better to trap it – to tame it. It had taken him months to plan Sarah Morgan’s seduction and find a way to persuade her to join him at Casswell Hall – but he already knew it would be well worth the effort.

  In the bedroom Sarah picked up her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and padded barefoot towards the bathroom. At the door she hesitated and turned to glance into the mirror.

  He could see the flame of desire burning in her eyes. He knew she was excited by what she had read, and frustrated that the passion could not be fulfilled. As if hypnotised by her own reflection Sarah stepped closer to the glass, hands moving almost subconsciously over her body.

  Who, Casswell wondered, did she imagine was caressing her? Was it the dissolute Father Orme? Or the Lord of the Castle? Or perhaps the rough hands of his manservant, Arturo? Casswell wished he could be privy to her secret thoughts; could tap into the well-spring of her desire.

  Slowly the girl began to undress. Like a moth drawn to a candle flame she was caught helplessly by the mirror’s unblinking eye. First she unfastened her jacket, dropping it onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and then one by one undid the buttons of her crisp white cotton blouse. Shamelessly now she stared into the mirror, eyes dark with desire, caught up by the power of her own image.

  How vain, how brazen Sarah Morgan could be when alone, thought Casswell. She would soon learn to be humble in his presence; a slave, a handmaiden to his desire, just like the beautiful Beatrice de Fleur.

  Casswell leant forward, watching as the thin blouse fell silently to the floor. Sarah’s breasts were exquisitely shaped and generously full, cradled in a delicate white lace bra that barely covered her large pink nipples. Gently, almost lovingly, she cupped one in her palm, thumb and finger caressing the rapidly hardening peak.

  Casswell held his breath, amazed at Sarah’s behaviour. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be so bold or so ripe with desire. He smiled thinly, sensing a delightful thread of self-consciousness still present, mingling with her obvious need for satisfaction. Cheeks tinged with pink, eyes bright with excitement, Sarah Morgan’s exquisite body was more than he could possibly have hoped for.

  Slowly now she unfastened her bra and posed for a second or two, absorbing the erotic potential of her reflection before undoing the zip of her skirt and pushing it to the carpet. Her waist was narrow, her hips full and womanly, her belly softly rounded with an almost peach-like blush to it. Her skirt and underwear seemed to have been discarded in one sweeping movement. She turned to admire herself in profile, while her fingertips eagerly outlined a trail down over her breasts and belly. Her nipples were hard as cherry pits, her whole body suffused with a bloom of desire.

  Casswell drained his glass, imagining Sarah bound and tied for his pleasure. He could easily visualise her struggling against her restraints, those pert breasts thrust forward, perspiration trickling between them in crystal droplets. He could hear her cry out as the whip bit into that lush, ripe flesh, her mouth open, eyes wide with fear and desire.

  Through the looking-glass he watched as Sarah flexed her hips, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her sex; a pink, moist exotic flower that begged for his attention. It was trimmed by a corona of dark shiny curls, and as he watched Sarah artfully slid a finger between the heavy outer lips.

  Casswell closed his eyes for an instant, imagining the sensation of her sweet body moving agai
nst and around his. Her seduction and education would be pure joy – she was so ready. Leaning closer it was almost as if he could smell her through the cool glass. Like Beatrice, Sarah would have to learn and understand who was master and who slave. As yet unaware of her power and her raw sexuality, she would be better once he had broken her in; taught her what he expected and needed from her.

  Through the mirror Casswell could see that Sarah’s busy fingers had found the pleasure bud that nestled deep within those fragrant lips. He sensed it was time to act. He got to his feet and moved towards the door with Chang, who was no more than a step or two behind him.

  When he stepped into Sarah’s room he saw the strange mixture of shock and excitement on her face. She stepped away from the mirror, frantically reaching for her clothes, stunned and deeply embarrassed at being caught in so vulnerable and so seductive a state.

  ‘Stand still,’ he ordered in a voice that brooked no contradiction. She froze, her hands outstretched.

  ‘What do you want?’ she whispered.

  Casswell smiled thinly. ‘Oh come, come, you’re not unintelligent, Miss Morgan, surely you already know the answer to that? You must have guessed why I invited you here. You are my Beatrice.’

  She stepped away from him, eyes bright with fear and excitement.

  ‘No,’ she murmured, although they both knew it was a lie. Her tone was uneven and yet her fear had made her less conscious of her nakedness. There was a definite air of defiance about her stance. How delightful, thought Casswell. What a pleasure it would be to train such a beautiful, strong-willed creature. ‘You’re mistaken,’ she continued.

  ‘I am?’ he said and turned away, feigning indifference. ‘What a terrible shame. In that case I won’t waste any more of your time. You may leave now, my dear. Tonight. I really have no desire to keep you here against your will. Chang will pack for you.’

  He saw something flash across Sarah’s eyes and then he extended a hand in invitation. ‘Or perhaps you might like to reconsider? Tell me honestly that you weren’t excited by Beatrice’s seduction? Tell me that some part of you did not tremble with delight as you imagined the kiss of the whip or the cut of the belt on her ripe and eager flesh. Tell me, Sarah… tell me. Tell me why you are naked in front of the mirror seeking solitary satisfaction?’

  To his delight Sarah Morgan flushed scarlet and looked down.

  Rigel Casswell knew then that Sarah was his. It would take time for her to understand what he truly wanted from her, but she had taken that first step towards embracing her true nature.

  He nodded to Chang, who caught hold of Sarah’s arm. Her instinctive reaction was to pull away.

  Casswell shook his head. ‘Don’t fight the need that courses through your veins, Miss Morgan. I can see it in your eyes. Chang will prepare you for me.’

  Sarah stared at him, and then without protest let Chang lead her into the bathroom.

  Chapter 3

  Hardly able to believe what was happening to her, Sarah felt as if she had stepped into some sort of dark compelling dream. There was a sense of unreality; lust and fear were a heady mixture. She could feel her pulse racing while she waited for the Oriental man to reveal what was to follow.

  His face was an impassive mask as he moved around the room, silent and apparently unmoved by either her nakedness or her vulnerability. Sarah felt a ripple of apprehension. Chang opened the door to the shower cubicle and then turned towards her. From his pocket he produced a pair of soft leather manacles linked by several inches of fine chain. He held out his hand towards her – the gesture was an invitation not a command – although everything about his demeanour suggested this was not an invitation she could easily refuse.

  Without thinking she stepped closer. It seemed that since Doctor Casswell had stepped into her bedroom her body was moving with a will of its own, as if Beatrice de Fleur’s desire was fuelling her compliance. She wondered where this side of her nature had been hidden until now. Was Beatrice’s diary the key that had unlocked this secret part of her?

  Chang touched her and broke the chain of thought. Quickly, as if afraid she might change her mind, he slipped a leather strap over each wrist, jerking them tight before buckling them closed. She gasped with surprise as the leather bit into her flesh.

  ‘Turn around and lift your arms above your head,’ he ordered. Glancing up, she saw that set into the tiles above the shower head was a hook on an adjustable stem. It struck her then that she was not the first houseguest to have succumbed to Doctor Casswell’s erotic invitation, but did as she was told. The servant’s cool hands settled on her slim hips and lifted a little so the chain between the manacles caught over the hook and secured her for whatever might follow.

  Sarah closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She had never felt or been so vulnerable in her life, and the sensation sent adrenaline surging through her veins like a burning fuse.

  The white marble tiles were icy cool as they brushed against her spine. As Chang let go, the muscles in her arms screamed out in protest at being asked to take the weight of her body. She flinched while, very gently, Chang lowered the hook a little so the balls of her feet rested on the floor… and then he pulled her closer. For the first time she had a chance to look deep into the glacial darkness of his eyes.

  ‘You will learn now what it really feels like to be tied like an animal waiting for your master’s pleasure,’ he said without emotion. ‘You will soon understand that you are a slave, like Beatrice, a creature created purely for pleasure. It will be better if you accept your fate and learn the lessons now. It will be much easier.’

  Sarah shivered. From his jacket Chang drew a broad strip of what looked liked chamois leather. When Sarah realised that he intended to blindfold her with it, she pulled away and started to protest.

  The small man shook his head; it was pointless to resist. What could she do or say to make him stop? She had a feeling her begging would only excite him. He would blindfold her with or without her co-operation, and the results would be the same.

  For an instant Sarah felt a bright plume of fear rising from deep in her belly; she was totally helpless to resist either Chang or his master. The implications of the game she had agreed to play hit home as the Oriental reached up and knotted the leather firmly around her eyes. It clung tight like a second skin, moulding itself across the contours of her face, plunging her into complete darkness.

  Sarah’s reaction was to pull away from Chang, but it was pointless. She could do nothing other than await whatever was in store. For a few seconds all she could hear was the frantic beat of her pulse, and then there was a hiss and a deluge of water; icy cold and as sharp as needles, and then gradually getting warmer. As the torrent exploded across her skin she cried out, feeling faint as the water poured down over her, the sheer force of it making her gasp for breath.

  She strained against her restraints, every nerve ending alight, her mind trying to reach beyond the darkness of the mask into the bathroom to guess what it was the two men had planned for her. After a moment or two the water slowed to a trickle and two hands began to work over her flesh; competent hands that coolly explored every inch as they soaped her.

  ‘Open you legs,’ Chang ordered.

  Sarah did as she was told, only too aware of her vulnerability. The next thing she felt was a hand lathering the soft mount of her sex, followed by an odd sweeping motion, and a rasping sound. She held her breath, waiting for another stroke to confirm her fears. It came after a second or two and was followed by the terrifying but inescapable knowledge that the cool bite was a razor shaving away the corona of hair around her sex. She froze, too terrified to move and almost too terrified to breathe.

  Chang was skilled in his work, and Rigel Casswell always enjoyed watching his girls being made ready. Sarah Morgan’s preparations were of particular interest to him; he had every reason to believe she was still a virgin – and the idea both de
lighted and excited him. Certainly her lithe body had an exquisitely unsullied quality that was a joy to behold. He almost regretted that it was Chang who had the pleasure of touching her first.

  The Oriental had stripped to the waist to attend to Sarah, his compact and sleekly muscled body, honed from marshal arts training, was a stunning contrast to Sarah’s pale curves.

  From beneath the blindfold a few tendrils of dark hair had formed into ringlets that framed her pretty face. A stray curl clung to her cheek, emphasising her open mouth and its full pink lips. Her tongue was visible as she struggled to control her breathing. Her breasts were covered in water droplets that glittered like crystals as she moved, her nipples as hard and dark as summer fruits.

  Casswell imagined the heat of Sarah’s skin, wet and slick beneath Chang’s knowing fingertips, and shivered with pure pleasure. As he watched, the little Oriental parted Sarah’s long legs, trimming away the last traces of pubic hair.

  Casswell nodded his approval; enhanced by the line of her hip bones and the soft rise of her belly, Sarah’s naked sex looked as pink and ripe as a fresh peach. Chang’s fingers retraced the path of the razor, gently outlining the sensitive contours of the outer lips. Sarah’s instinctive response was to move with his touch and moan softly.

  Casswell smiled; like Beatrice de Fleur, beneath the innocent unsullied exterior the girl was wanton. And, like Beatrice, Sarah would be all the better when she was broken. Chang glanced in Casswell’s direction. The Oriental’s expression was totally devoid of emotion. Casswell often wondered at the exact nature of the thoughts behind those jet-black eyes. He knew it was a mistake to believe that Chang was untouched by the passion, the pleasure, and the pain, his fingertips unleashed.

  Chang lifted the shower head down and rinsed away the last of the remaining foam from Sarah’s body. The water pressure was strong enough to part the lips of the girl’s sex and course down over her pleasure bud. The Oriental played the water back and forth making the girl shiver with pure delight; it was sweet torture.