Dr Casswell's Student (23 page)

Part of her wished for nothing more than to go to find the doctor, just like Beatrice had gone with Father Orme to comfort her master. She looked at Chang, wondering if he could read her thoughts and if not, if she could muster the courage to ask him to take her to the doctor. Chang looked away and she knew the moment was lost.

Minutes later Sarah was in the shower. The water coursed down over her body, the warmth easing into the aching muscles almost as effectively as Chang’s knowing fingers. But for all the relief the water gave her, it was difficult to think about anything other than his words regarding Beatrice’s diary.

As she stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, Chang stood in the bathroom doorway, watching her. In one hand he was holding a mask, set with diamanté, and curling black feathers.

‘Part of your costume for tonight,’ he said without emotion. ‘Quickly now, they’ll be waiting for you.’

Downstairs in the garden room, Oliver Turner refilled Rigel Casswell’s champagne flute. Both men glanced around the shadowy interior. Turner had wanted to make sure everything was ready for the arrival of his guests. He had already settled on a medieval theme, to echo the history of the diaries, before they had heard the delegates’ findings. Perhaps it might have been wiser to have chosen something else – but it was too late now.

The elongated room was divided by a row of ornate columns that supported the glass roof, and from these had been hung great garlands of ivy and lanterns. Set with a row of trestle-tables and benches the whole room resembled a medieval banqueting hall. Rigel Casswell sipped his champagne. Already a couple of the other delegates were busy at the bar. He wondered if they had decided to drown their sorrows. All afternoon the atmosphere had been more than a little subdued, and Egon Howard had still not arrived from Florence with his very important news – damn the man.

Turner lifted a hand in greeting to two of his guests. Crouched beside the two delegates were their body slaves, both naked chained and masked. One – a thin boy with a shock of blond hair – sported a flurry of strange ritual tattoos over his arms and legs that gave him an almost serpentine quality. The second was a girl of mixed race whose skin had been oiled so it looked as though she was carved from an exotic golden wood.

As Casswell looked at her she glanced up at him and smiled, revealing a row of pearly-white teeth. Her eyes were dark and leonine, as black and untamed as a forest night. As she stretched and eased the heavy chain that joined her to her master, Casswell could see that her body was scarified; her face, arms and breasts were covered in complex swirling spirals of scars that were at once both fascinating and deeply disturbing.

The band began to play, and Casswell and Turner turned their attention to the buffet that lined one wall.

‘Lonely?’ whispered a familiar voice from behind them. Both men turned to look into the masked eyes of a slim blonde creature dressed in an exquisite peacock-blue silk corset. It was laced tightly, emphasising her slim waist and full hips and breasts. Delicate wisps of lace barely covered her nipples, and she wore black silk stockings that were held up with lace garters, and high heeled lace-up ankle boots. Intricate ringlets twisted into a tumble of blonde hair framed a matching peacock mask.

Oliver Turner smiled, and leaning forward, pressed a kiss to Amelia’s cheek, while at the same time he slid his fingers up over her thighs. Amelia smiled and then wriggled closer, her long slim legs opening a little to give the elderly gentleman easier access.

‘I missed you too,’ she purred, licking her lips like some sleek, well-fed feline. She began to rub herself against him, her sinuous body moving sexily in time to the music.

Amused by her delicious performance, Casswell shook his head and looked away, leaving the two of them to their well-rehearsed erotic game. He glanced at his watch. Chang should be upstairs preparing Sarah Morgan for the party. All he had to do was wait and watch the comings and goings of his fellow guests. And there was much to observe.

Around him the garden room was rapidly filling up. Although the air amongst the guests was still subdued, the arrival of the delegates’ slaves was gradually, subtly altering the atmosphere. Each slave represented some part of their master’s fantasies, and they certainly reflected a stunning array of tastes. They were exotic, outrageous, bizarre, and utterly, utterly compelling.

The music drew a handful of dancers out onto the floor. Some were naked and some were dressed, and there was every shade in between.

At the bar stood Doctor Ford, who had brought twins back from his last trip to the Far East. The two delicate Oriental sisters, naked except for their masks, collars, and silver patent high heeled pumps, waited like puppy’s at the end of their leash for their master to command them. Across the room, Leonra Stevenson, one of the few female delegates, was dancing to the strains of the band, accompanied by her boy, who was dressed as a medieval minstrel, complete with bulging codpiece.

Casswell glanced at his watch again, and when he looked up, saw Sarah Morgan framed in the open doorway. Led by Chang, who was dressed in a simple black silk Mao jacket, the girl looked stunning. On the end of a fine silver chain that was attached to her collar, she was wearing a close-fitting bodysuit that was covered in sleek black feathers. Combined with the mask, it made her look like some wonderful exotic bird.

The bodice had long sleeves, and the fabric thinned over her exquisite breasts so that her nipples peaked through the finer, silken fabric. She wore black stockings, and the pale swell of her sex was framed in a tumble of black silk and curling feathers that reflected inky shades of green and blue in amongst the coal-black fronds. The whole outfit offered a heady invitation to linger and explore further.

Rigel Casswell smiled.

From behind her mask Sarah stared around the room. It was as though she had been washed up on the darkest shores of passion.

Doctor Casswell extended a hand and took the fine silver lead from Chang. ‘Good evening, my dear. You look very beautiful.’

Sarah nodded, feeling unable to speak. Her silent acknowledgement of his compliment appeared to please him. Oliver Turner looked at her also. She could sense his delight with what he saw as too.

Sarah glanced uncertainly around the party again. The other slaves were all stunning and exuded an intimidating sexuality, dressed in fantasy costumes, all beautifully made-up and coiffeured. They were as exotic and enticing as the sumptuous buffet arranged behind Casswell and Turner.

Other delegates had looked up upon her arrival. They must have known she was new, and although their glances were covert, it didn’t quite disguise the fact that many appraised her body with the eyes of potential purchasers.

Outside, beyond the huge glass windows, the night sky was a cloudless band of stars, while inside a
frisson
of electric desire was slowly bubbling to the surface. It was not overtly seductive as yet, but possessed an intense erotic promise of things to come. Sarah shivered, trying hard to control the wild fluttering in her stomach.

Amelia uncurled herself from Turner and ran a teasing finger up Sarah’s arm. ‘You and I have a little assignation,’ she purred. ‘Come with me.’

Sarah stiffened and glanced up at Doctor Casswell for some kind of confirmation. He inclined his head towards her, eyes bright and hawkish.

‘Do as Amelia says.’

Sarah’s senses were reeling, but without a word she followed Amelia across the now crowded room. She noticed Chang, a shadowy figure hovering in the background, slip away. She wondered if his leaving signified anything. But before she could ponder any further Amelia gripped her hand and guided her towards a slightly raised platform.

Sarah gasped. ‘What are you going to do?’

Amelia laughed. ‘Not me, darling… us. Just trust me, you’ll love it. You and I are the cabaret tonight, my precious. Just relax and let yourself go.’

As soon as the light went on above the stage the conversation faded to a low hum and Casswell settled himself against one of the pillars that overlooked the circular dais. A spotlight picked out Amelia, who was standing in front of the stage, looking gorgeous in her blue silk corset.

The volume of the music rose a little, picking out a seductive Middle Eastern rhythm, and Amelia thrust her pelvis forward dramatically, while with one finger she teased at the plump lips of her naked pussy. With the other hand she stretched out and picked up a whip from the stage, and as her finger found the tight bud of her clitoris she cracked it like a thunderbolt, threw back her head, and howled like a wolf.

Casswell allowed himself a wry smile; Amelia really was a natural exhibitionist. The lithe blonde leapt up onto the stage and prowled back and forth. Sarah was watching the performance, completely stunned, open-mouthed with shock, as the beauty stalked around cracking the whip. There was a chair, over which hung a pair of handcuffs.

As the spellbound audience watched, Amelia suddenly leapt down and grabbed the unsuspecting Sarah. The girl protested and squirmed instinctively, fighting to free herself as she was relentlessly dragged onto the stage. As they struggled their way into the spotlight, Amelia seized the top of Sarah’s feather-trimmed bodice and with a single violent tug she ripped it down, revealing the milky white curves of Sarah’s breasts to the appreciative gathering.

There was a murmur of approval from all sides as Sarah’s tormentor cupped one firm breast in her gloved fingers and squeezed it lovingly, tweaking the ripe pink nipple. Sarah sobbed and writhed miserably, but Amelia had no intention of letting up. She guided the weakening girl to the chair, her clever fingers continually working on her body and ripping away the remainder of her exquisite costume. Sarah still struggled, but less vehemently, naked now except for her shoes and stockings, and the feather mask.

Casswell sipped his champagne, impressed by their performance. He could sense the growing excitement, not just from Amelia, but Sarah too. The slim blonde threw her new slave onto the floor and then thrust her hips forward, a gloved finger teasing at her quim, holding the lips open.

Sarah cried out her revulsion, whimpering in protest while Casswell stared with pleasure, feeling the heat and excitement rising from deep within.

‘No, no, please,’ Sarah sobbed, her voice echoing around the enrapt audience in the garden room, but Amelia was without mercy. She caught hold of Sarah’s hair and pulled her flushed face into her groin.

Sarah emitted a stifled sob of angst, trying to push herself away, and then she knew it was hopeless and surrendered, like a broken animal.

From his vantage point Rigel Casswell could not see exactly what Sarah Morgan was doing to her new mistress. But he could hear the wet mesmeric sounds of her tongue lapping at the blonde’s body, and he could see the way Amelia’s breasts swelled and her fingers curled in her slave’s hair as she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

He could almost feel the tendrils of pleasure creeping up through the two lovely females. Amelia threw back her head and began to move in earnest, rhythmically, grinding her hips forward in time with the increasingly competent caresses of the tongue and lips between her legs. Amelia whimpered, pulled Sarah even closer, and trailed the tip of the whip across Sarah’s back as she moved.

Casswell could see Amelia’s orgasm approaching. But at the very final moment she tore herself away from Sarah’s tongue and lips and dragged her to her feet. With a single smooth movement she turned Sarah around, encouraged her to straddle the chair, and instantly snapped the handcuffs on, securing her tightly to the frame.

To Casswell’s delight Sarah could no longer sustain the pretence of real fear; her eyes sparkled with anticipation and her flesh glowed with an inner fire. Behind her the corset clad Amelia flexed the whip speculatively and let the end cut through the air. Although only a practice swing, it made Sarah jump and stiffen.

Sarah remained motionless and waited, her eyes wide. The second swing was closer, slicing with an irresistible hiss through the cigar smoke that hung and swirled heavily around them. Casswell glanced around and smiled; every pair of eyes in the room was transfixed on the spotlit stage.

He saw Sarah tense a split second before the next stroke hit her squarely across the shoulders. And then she screamed. It was a scream that came from the pit; a desperate animal cry of pain. Her body jerked, those deliciously ripe breasts thrusting forward, her nipples stiffening visibly.

Casswell could see, framed by the wooden arc of the chair’s curved back, the open lips of Sarah’s sex. They glistened succulently under the spotlight’s single penetrating eye.

Amelia twisted and applied the next cruel stroke.

The blow was lower this time, making Sarah’s legs and pelvis surge forward wildly, pressing fiercely against the chair. Her face was contorted into an ecstatic grimace, while her hips thrust forward again, offering her sex to the audience like a ripe fruit. Mesmerised by the spectacle, Casswell’s mouth was watering from the sheer erotic charge of the image the two women created.

Sarah was breathing hard, trying to retain some shred of control. And then the whip swept down again and her head jerked back. Amelia smiled from under the silken mask – her teeth pearly-white and feline – and then she planted a kiss on her victim’s gasping lips.

Around him, Casswell could feel the erotic temperatures rising, the guests and their slaves willing their way towards release as a single body. He counted the blows in his head.