Dr Casswell's Student (8 page)

Casswell smiled at her discomfort. He could see a hint perspiration dampening her brow and fringe, while the male youths’ lust was as raw and undisguised as if they were in rut. He nodded toward Sarah. ‘My young friend here is new to this area. Perhaps you boys might like to take her for a little walk and show her some of the sights? I’m sure she would like to take in a little local colour.’

The more brazen of the two was a thickset lout with stubble on his chin. He grinned cautiously at Casswell’s suggestion, and then pulled up his sleeves as if to bring a certain business-like quality to the proceedings. His forearms were a mass of swirling multi-coloured tattoos that promised everything from constant fidelity to sudden death.

‘And why would we want to do that?’ he asked carefully.

‘Why not?’

The youth visibly relaxed a little, and Casswell knew the simplicity of his answer had done the trick.

‘Yeah… why not,’ he grinned widely and licked his lips with a fat tongue. ‘After all, it’s a nice day for a walk. Maybe you might like to come along and keep her company – you know, keep an eye on us? You know… watch…?’ he said, imbuing the words with all the erotic possibilities he could muster. ‘Is that what you’re into?’ His gaze flitted from Sarah’s thighs to Casswell, and quickly back again.

Casswell nodded.

What a perceptive youth. His eyes told of something that Casswell instinctively recognised as animal cunning. In fact, his whole demeanour gave the impression that he was something barely tame; a feral creature that might turn at any second. It added a certain frisson to the encounter that appealed to Casswell.

‘Perhaps that might be a good idea,’ he said, and as he spoke he pulled a twenty-pound note from his wallet, and leaning across Sarah he handed it to the wild youth. ‘And here’s something for your trouble.’

The youth acknowledged its receipt with the slightest nod of his head.

‘And when we’ve had our little walk,’ Casswell continued, ‘we’ll give you both a lift down to the village. We just need to get off the main road now.’

The two stepped away from the car, and Casswell smiled at the ashen Sarah as he pulled the purring vehicle into a nearby lay-by cut into the verge.

Sarah’s seduction was a joy to watch. The two youths led her into a ramshackle barn a few hundred yards away from the lane, and there they took her with such vigour and faultless timing that Casswell wondered with amusement if they spent their young lives sharing women.

Perhaps they did. Perhaps the more brash of the two, the tattooed negotiator, brought the prey down in the chase, and then carried them back to their lair where the younger could share the spoils of the hunt.

Perhaps the most erotic episode of the encounter was when the quieter of the two tied Sarah to a rusting ring set in one wall. She didn’t fight him. Although she whimpered pitifully as the rope tightened, he had no trouble in securing an old length of rope around her wrists and then through the ring.

She was a picture of submissive beauty; the repressed little secretary totally undone by such an outlandish encounter. She looked superb with her clothing and hair dishevelled, and her arms stretched and secured above her head.

Casswell could see a rivulet of perspiration trickling down between her breasts. She was intensely excited! Oh, that much was so obvious! And she trembled like a timid kitten as the unlikely pair moved in to bring the game to its heady conclusion.

Sarah had not spoken throughout the episode. There was a glazed expression in her eyes as if she was caught up in a dream, and Casswell knew, despite her revulsion, that the dark desire within was being fed by the two unschooled ruffians.

To Casswell’s delight, as soon as she was secured against the wall, the quieter one dropped to his knees amongst the straw and began to nuzzle feverishly between her quivering thighs. Finding the riches that dripped like honey from her gaping sex, he lapped at her hungrily.

Sarah slumped on the end of the old rope and whimpered her delight and shame as the youth found the bud that throbbed there. He held her open with nicotine-stained fingers, and Casswell could hear his active tongue slurping against her as she shuddered wearily towards the orgasm she so clearly craved.

Her lashes fluttered, and she peered down with glazed eyes at her final and total humiliation; the older of the two knelt and slipped his own revived erection between his mate’s buttocks, and he buggered him most soundly.

With her jacket clutched tightly around her shoulders, Sarah hurried into the ladies’ room at the Boar’s Head Hotel and slammed the door behind her. The elegant little powder room, tucked away under the main staircase, was quietly luxurious; decorated in pastel pinks and creams with a row of gold, harp-backed chairs neatly arranged under the grey marble vanity unit. It was a world away from the wild events in the barn.

An elderly attendant was arranging thick cream towels over a rail. She looked up at Sarah’s arrival and nodded to acknowledge her presence, but she didn’t speak.

Casswell had dropped the two youths just outside the village, with more than enough money to pay for a taxi to their destination. Sarah wondered if the louts might have been tempted to follow the car; would they not want to find out more about her and Casswell; eager for a little more carnal pleasure? When she closed her eyes she could still see their eyes, as dark and beady as rats’ in the fetid gloom.

She could hardly believe what she’d done, and struggled to regain some semblance of composure, forcing herself to breathe more slowly. How quiet the unruffled, perfumed surroundings of the powder room were; a stunning contrast to the shadowy intimacy of the barn where she had been just minutes earlier.

Sarah leant heavily against the vanity unit and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the basins. Was there some chance she was dreaming after all? Would she close her eyes again and wake up back at home at her aunt’s house, or even in her room at Casswell Hall? The erotic images from Beatrice’s diary seemed to have effected every part of her life, why not her dreams?

But Sarah knew this was no dream. A tiny flame of knowledge burned deep in her pupils, a little flare that she doubted anyone else would ever notice. Rigel Casswell had helped unleash a part of her nature she had never even suspected existed; a part that was set to change her life forever.

She opened her handbag and, as she took out her hairbrush, noticed her hands were trembling. Although her hair was still in need of a groom and her cheeks had a healthy glow about them, there was very little other outward evidence to suggest the encounter with the two anonymous young men had ever occurred.

She filled a basin with warm water and washed her face, wondering if there was any way she could wash the rest of her body. Doctor Casswell was expecting her to join him for lunch, and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting too long, but she longed to rid herself of the raw animal scent of the barn.

Sarah realised the elderly attendant was staring at her. She reddened under the old woman’s unfaltering gaze, and reapplied her make up and tidied her hair.

‘Is there something you want, dearie?’ the woman asked when Sarah had done, looking her up and down. ‘Something you need?’

‘No, not really,’ said Sarah, adding a final touch of lipstick, her eyes fixed on the other woman’s in the mirror. ‘I was just wondering if there was somewhere I could have a shower, or even just have a proper wash.’

The woman grinned, revealing a mismatch of teeth. ‘I could find you somewhere nice and private if you want. You’ve been up to it, ain’t ya?’ she said with an obscene leer. ‘Have you finished for today, or are you getting yourself ready to turn another trick?’

Sarah blushed furiously. ‘I
beg
your pardon?’ she protested indignantly. ‘I’m here having lunch with someone.’

The woman grinned. ‘No need to play so prim and proper with me, dearie. I know a whore when I see one. Did your client send you in here to clean yourself up?’

Utterly speechless, Sarah stared at the woman with growing incredulity.

‘Or is that how he likes you best?’ the hag continued, moving closer. ‘Sitting beside him in full view of everyone out there, and then when you’re eating maybe he’ll slip a finger up you – when he thinks no one’s looking.’ She cackled to herself. ‘Or maybe he prefers it when they are looking—’

Sarah hastily sidestepped her and started backing towards the washroom door. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said weakly.

‘Oh really?’ the old woman sneered. ‘There’s no need to run away from me, my lamb. I’ve been there. I used to be a working girl myself. I certainly don’t mean you any harm. I’ve worked the hotels all my life. Seen it all, me. If you like I could lock the door so you can get yourself cleaned up.’ She pulled a key out of her overall pocket. ‘And if you’re short of a pound or two there’s a couple of guests staying at the moment who’d pay real well to watch you tidy yourself up. Maybe I could soap you down—’ She mimed the action of cradling a heavy breast with one claw-like hand.

Sarah had to get away from the insane woman. Her fingers were on the door handle, and as the hag shuffled closer Sarah pulled it open and hastily slipped out into the busy foyer, her heart pounding in her chest.

She began to tremble, and tried to relax now that there were other people around. Had stepping into Casswell’s debauched world launched her into a way of life from which there was no escape? What was it that the old woman had seen in her face that had told her so much? Sarah swallowed hard, tears forming in her eyes. She wondered if there was any way she could tell Doctor Casswell about her bizarre encounter.

The hotel was busy. The doctor was waiting for her in the bar and looked up at her arrival, a smile of approval on his face. His expression remained consistent as Sarah approached, and she felt a strange flurry of affection and desire that puzzled her. He handed her a glass of wine and indicated the stool beside him.

‘You look wonderful,’ he complimented as she positioned herself elegantly beside him. He lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘And you performed exceptionally well with our young friends earlier.’ Sarah blushed yet again and glanced anxiously around to see if anybody was within hearing distance. Leaning a little closer, he slid a hand onto her stockinged thigh and eased her legs a little apart, his eyes firmly fixed on hers.

She understood his mute command and relaxed her legs, opening for him, submitting to the path of his exploration. The confident smile of approval widened. The brazen hand inched higher. One long finger grazed the plump lips of her sex.

He kissed her cheek lightly and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t worry, no one can see what I’m doing.’ As he opened her wider still, Sarah struggled to retain some shred of composure, but found it almost impossible. She sipped the glass of wine while he casually ordered lunch, the barman clearly unaware that the suave customer whose order he was taking at that moment had his fingertip lodged just inside the gorgeous girl beside him.

Sarah averted her eyes from the barman to hide her secret shame, and was mortified to spy an elderly gentleman studying them intently. His attention was on her legs, and where Casswell’s arm disappeared between their two bodies. She groaned quietly with despair.

‘We’re being watched,’ she whispered, reddening furiously.

Casswell’s expression did not falter. ‘I’ve already told you, Sarah, you may speak only when spoken to.’

Sarah tensed as his fingers idly stroked the contours of her sex. ‘But…’ her voice faded as she caught his eye and quickly looked down, hoping he would take it as a gesture of apology.

Casswell checked the gentleman for himself, and then moved closer still. ‘Why don’t we show our friend what it is he’s so desperate to see?’ he whispered, and before Sarah could protest he lifted her skirt. The exposure, though lasting no more than a split second, was total, and emblazoned upon Sarah’s mind; an image of her sex being displayed for the old lecher by Casswell’s fingers.

The gentleman smiled and lifted his glass in silent salute. Casswell acknowledged him with a nod, and then turned his attention back to his wine and his flustered companion.

Sarah could feel the old man’s eyes upon her. She could almost taste his expectation, and longed for the waiter to come and tell them their table was ready. She could hardly believe what was happening to her, and wondered again if it was all one bizarre dream.

The waiter appeared at Casswell’s shoulder, giving her some relief from her spinning thoughts. ‘Excuse me sir; table for two?’

Casswell nodded and took Sarah’s hand.

The meal was undeniably superb, and Sarah gradually felt the tension easing. They ate in the elegant dining room at a secluded table, and Doctor Rigel Casswell was the perfect companion.

He completely enchanted her. He made her laugh, telling her stories about life in the dusty by-ways of the museums where he had worked. But despite his immense charm, Sarah found herself expecting something unexpected to occur at any moment, which added an extra frisson to the relationship.

When the waiter finally cleared the table and brought dessert, Casswell refilled their glasses and lifted his in a toast. ‘To
my
Beatrice,’ he said, his eyes glittering with a subtle mixture of mischief and desire. Sarah found it impossible to hold his searching look, and lowered her eyes demurely.

Casswell leant closer and lifted her dainty chin with one finger. ‘Modesty becomes you, Sarah. But it is important that you understand your role at Casswell Hall completely. I expect you to be my companion and slave while you are there.’

Sarah’s colour deepened as Casswell continued. ‘You must understand the need for you to fulfil both roles. It is essential that you are not just attractive and compliant, but also intelligent, articulate, and well presented. I travel a great deal with my work. My colleagues and I are part of an eclectic but influential circle. Of course I will ensure you have the appropriate clothes, jewellery…’ His voice faded and Sarah looked up into his eyes.

He was completely focused on her, to the exclusion of everyone else in the busy restaurant. As he lifted his glass again she realised with a start that Casswell was assuming she would stay with him until he decided otherwise. It seemed he understood only too well the potency of the spell he had woven over her.

He lightly touched his glass to hers. ‘Here is to a long and
very
fruitful association,’ he said.

Sarah’s pulse quickened. She was only too aware that some dark part of her wanted nothing more than to remain under Casswell’s debauched tutelage.

After they had eaten they drove back to Casswell Hall in companionable silence. It seemed to Sarah that they now understood each other perfectly.

The daylight had already begun to fade, and in the glow of the late afternoon sun the old house showed its gothic heritage all the more clearly. Sarah shivered as the car drew up under its shadow. The desolate country building suddenly seemed a long way from the noisy bustle of the Boar’s Head restaurant.

As they crossed the unkempt driveway Casswell said, ‘I have invited one of my associates over for dinner tonight. I expect you to attend. Chang will help you get ready.’ His tone was clipped and formal. ‘You may continue with your work until then. I have matters to attend to on the estate.’

Sarah nodded and Casswell waved her inside. She hurried across the dilapidated hallway, glad to get back to the relative comfort and isolation of the study.

The transcript of Beatrice’s diary lay open on the desk beside the computer where she had left it. She picked it up without thinking and began to read, feeling instinctively that the past might offer her some kind of sanctuary.

Beatrice de Fleur was still out amongst the trees by the river, taking her master to the very edges of paradise:

…My naked breasts pressed tight against the cold leather of his waistcoat, my nipples brushing against the studded metal emblems of his house.

It seems no more than an instant before we both reached that ancient ground where all reason is lost and all that remains is pure pleasure. I cried out with delight as the first waves shuddered through me; waves of fire, waves of ice – while deep inside I could feel my lord’s erupting pleasure echoing my own.

And then, just as my lord pulled away, I saw someone hiding amongst the trees. It was not Orme. It was not Usher. It was another, and my heart leapt with terror as I recognised the spy…

Sarah turned the page, already drawn back into Beatrice’s intricate life and fears, and keen to know more.

…It was Michael, my mistress’s serving boy and the one who had been sent to bring me to my lordship. I think of him as a boy, but I suppose he is older than me, though small for his age, with a mass of white-blonde hair.

His face peering out from between the branches of the woodland was as unmoving as the trees themselves, but I could see the lust in his eyes, and those dark pupils that coolly drank in my unquestioning obedience and my master’s adultery. When he knew I had seen him, his face split into a devilish grin. I could see the triumph in his expression, and knew then that I was lost, and perhaps my master along with me.

I hesitated, unsure which course to take; should I tell my lord that we were found out? Before I could speak the decision was snatched away from me. Lord Usher called to my master through the trees, and as I looked towards the sound of his voice Michael disappeared from view, and I began to doubt that I had seen the boy at all. Perhaps it was not a human form I had seen spying on us, but a wood sprite? A satyr, or perhaps worse still, a wrath conjured up by my bad conscience?

My master set off across the grass and then smiled back over his shoulder towards me. ‘Go back to the castle, lady,’ he said. ‘I will see you later.’