by Sarah Fisher
Sarah closed her eyes, a single tear soaking into the tumble of sheets which cocooned her flushed face. Her whole body was taut, and between her legs still glowed the unfulfilled ache for pleasure that Chang had ignited, but not extinguished.
From behind the unblinking eye of the mirror Doctor Casswell peered into the gloom with a growing sense of delight; Chang had completed the next stage of Sarah’s preparation.
Chapter 5
…Today, when the afternoon shadows had begun to lengthen and I and the children’s nurse were sitting together in the long gallery, my lord sent for me. To my great relief he did not send that blaggard, Arturo, but a new pageboy called Michael, who serves at my lady’s table. The boy begged that I hurry and follow him, and I did as I was bidden.
My master waited a little distance from the castle, in the old walled garden down beside the river. My heart quickened with desire as I saw him standing there amongst the trees, although I blushed as our eyes met, ashamed to feel so brazen, so wanton, but even so I hurried across the grass towards him…
It was nine o’clock the following morning and Chang had just cleared away Sarah’s breakfast things. And it seemed as if she was expected to carry on with her work as if nothing at all had happened.
If only that were possible.
She had been woken early by the little Oriental man, who had removed the anal stretcher and then untied her as if such behaviour was an everyday occurrence. He had then announced that breakfast would be served in the study at eight and left as if nothing had happened between them. He behaved as if the events of the night were normal.
Although she had showered Sarah still felt unclean, and deep inside she could still feel the ghost of the stretcher. Memories of the night filled her mind; the passion and pain and humiliation. She tried to focus her attention on the neat lines of handwritten text. She knew that if only she could concentrate for a line or two she would be drawn into Beatrice’s compelling narrative. She switched on the computer and turned her attentions back to Doctor Casswell’s transcript of Beatrice’s manuscript:
…I could sense a brooding hunger that excited me beyond all measure, and see that my lord’s eyes were dark with desire. And I knew I wanted nothing more at that moment than to do as he bade me, whatever it might be; my body was his alone to command. My sex moistened at the thought of his touch, his lips, his kisses, the cruel bite of his whip on my flesh as I writhed, bound and helpless, waiting for his pleasure.
By all the saints, such demons, such devilry, such desire has filled my thoughts and my dreams since he took me that day in his apartments, I cannot tell you. Even my humiliation at the hands of Arturo and the priest Orme has done nothing to stem the flow of fire that bubbles in my veins. I cannot help but wonder if I will ever be safe from these thoughts.
‘You are late, girl. What kept you?’ he snapped.
I began to protest and only then realised that he was not alone. Until that moment I had not seen that deep in the shadows stood both Father Orme and another, unknown, noble man who watched my approach with equal interest.
‘Lift you dress, wench,’ the noble man ordered. I slowed my step and hesitated for an instant.
‘Do as the Lord Usher says,’ says my master and, seeing the look of approval and encouragement on my master’s face, I did exactly as I was told. But even as I lifted my heavy skirts Lord Usher’s expression hardened.
‘What folly is this?’ he growled furiously, indicating my undergarments.
My lord turned to me. ‘Take them off, Beatrice. I would have you naked under your robes, girl, from now on. No more of these pantaloons and petticoats. Take them off. Have I not explained to you, you are mine? Mine as and when I command, not held at bay by linen and wool. Take them off!’
I blushed, eyes downcast, and nodded. I understood that he meant for me to be always at his beck and call, always ready to be touched by him and others if he so chose. I slipped off my petticoats. He nodded his approval and then indicated that I should hold my robes all the higher so that his compatriots might examine my nakedness.
The stranger stepped a little closer and ran a hand over my belly, and then down through the dark curls that frame my sex.
‘Would you have me undo her bodice for you, Cousin?’ asked my lord. ‘A finer a pair of sweet tits you’ll have trouble to find this side of the city.’
The man snorted and shook his head. ‘Nay, here in my hand I have the only thing that truly interests me.’ His fingers tightened on my quim. ‘I would wish that our maker had had the good sense to strike the whole of the female sex deaf and dumb so that I could fuck them all without having to worry about talking to them or wooing them or other such pointless posturing.’ He grinned. ‘And there’d be no risk of them telling tales to their men folk or their fathers.’ He nodded towards Father Orme. ‘What say you?’
Orme shrugged, apparently unoffended by the man’s blasphemy.
Lord Usher’s fingers had already found their way between the lips of my quim into that most intimate of places. I looked frantically at my master, praying he might rescue me from this brutal stranger, but he ignored my shame and humiliation and coolly watched the nobleman explore me.
Usher plunged his finger home now, making me wince at his roughness. He grinned at my discomfort, his thumb lifting to trace the rise of my pleasure bud. In spite of myself, my body responded to his rough caress, and I shivered.
The man laughed triumphantly. ‘See, there you have it, my lord, deprived of the right to answer back all women are the same. The little vixen wants nothing more than to feel my cock buried to the hilt inside her. Can you not see it in her eyes and the way she moves against me? Away with all this courtly love and poetry, give me the honest lust of a tight cunt and a fine wet mouth any day. Unless of course you are too old or too tired to care, don’t waste conversation on harlots such as this. It is here and only here that the real pleasure lies.’ As he spoke he spread the traitorous juices from my sex out onto my thighs and belly.
He addressed only my master and Orme, without a word for me or a thought for the shame and distress I might feel at his words or his cruel invasion of my body. I understand now that he saw me not as a person but as a being below contempt, a thing to be used, reduced to nothing more than the essence of my sex.
Lifting his fingers, he drew one of them into his mouth and smacked his lips as if the traces of juice it bore were the finest of delicacies. Pulling me closer he unfastened his robe, and without prelude pushed my legs wide apart and guided his cock into me, pulling one leg up around his waist to give him better purchase. The moment of coupling was so quick, so unexpected, that I cried out in horror and surprise.
He grinned as he plunged his engorged member home.
‘I like it when a woman calls out as you enter her. ’Tis an honest animal cry of desire and need.’
I shivered as he forced himself deeper, closing his eyes with the sheer pleasure of my body closing around him.
‘Just as you said, dear Cousin, she is good and tight,’ he murmured thickly to my master and then, to my surprise, after no more than a dozen strokes, pulled his cock out. Its livid purple crown brushed across my thighs like a wet quarterstaff.
He grinned as I looked up at him, and then he forced me roughly down onto my hands and knees. I knew what he expected. Without even looking at me he guided his shaft between my lips and into my mouth.
I shuddered as the taste of my own excitement invaded my senses. My sex fluttered like a bird’s wing, and without thinking where I was or what I was doing, I slid a hand down over my belly, scrabbling up the hem of my gown to find to the soft wet places that dwelt beneath. To my horror the stranger laughed, even as my tongue and free hand worked furiously along his great shaft.
‘By all the saints, it is true what they say about country wenches. Come and mount up, Orme. Or perhaps you, good Cousin. Come, make some us
e of this girl and share the pleasures her untutored passions offer. By God, she is hot!’
Glancing to one side, I saw the lecherous expression on Orme’s face. ‘Unfasten your bodice, wench,’ he said, in a throaty tone that betrayed his excitement. ‘I would play a little with those shapely dugs that the good Lord Usher dismisses as the province of babes. If you have no objection, my lord?’ He glanced in my master’s direction.
My master waved them on, and by doing so commanded me to do as I was told. I could see the desire in his eyes, and tell from his expression that when his friends were done with me he had a plan of his own.
While I loosened the fastenings of my bodice Orme knelt behind me and his cold talons clawed up my skirts. He raked his nails across my flesh as he guided his shaft into my quim.
Leaning forward, he jerked down the shoulders of my petticoats, and those same talons caught hold of my freed breasts. Cupping their delicate flesh he began to nip and twist at their swollen buds. His stale, rasping breath quickened as I cried out in pain. But my pain delighted him, and I felt a dark mixture of shame and heat rising from deep inside me. Upon my lips I could taste the growing pleasure of Lord Usher. I knew it wouldn’t be long before his seed filled my mouth, and I prayed, as my own body began to respond to their growing excitement, that God might save me from this divine torment…
Sarah shivered, responding instinctively to the account of Beatrice’s intense emotions. Her own feelings simmered. She took a deep breath, unable to comprehend what was happening to her; as she transferred Beatrice’s story onto the computer screen it felt as if every nuance, every sensation, was echoed in her own body.
Was this what Casswell had hoped for, so her initiation into this world of pain and pleasure might be all the smoother? Sarah closed her eyes, and at once her mind was awash with a heady mix of images from the night before and from Beatrice’s diary.
Out beyond the windows of the study, Sarah could see a crumbling terrace and the gentle rise and fall of the overgrown gardens as they tumbled down over a low incline towards dense woodland. She tried to concentrate on their rich greenery; fighting to calm her mind. Once, the gardens must have been magnificent.
She picked up the file and turned to the next page. It seemed that the boundaries between the past and the present had already begun to blur.
Chapter 6
…Finally, when Lord Usher and Father Orme had done with me, my master approached. I was crouched on the rough grass on all fours, breasts and backside bare, with the taste of Usher’s seed still on my lips and tongue, and the old priest’s pleasure trickling down the insides of my thighs.
I could feel the colour rushing to my cheeks, imagining the picture I presented to my lord, huddled there under the canopy of trees like some wild forest spirit, a creature of passion, reduced to the very essence of being.
My lord’s eyes were dark with unspent desire. He circled me while Lord Usher adjusted his clothing.
‘’Tis a fine prize you have there,’ Usher said to my master. ‘When you are weary of her, perhaps you will consider a trade.’
But his voice seemed no more than a bird call on the wind, as distant as the sound of the tide upon a foreign shore, for as our eyes met there seemed to be just the two of us; only I and my lord caught together by this dark alchemy. Nothing Orme or the Lord Usher can ever do to me will match the passion I feel for my master.
He caught hold of my hair and jerked me up. As our lips met I felt my heart soar and my stomach flutter. It makes no sense; what spell is this, what unholy magic is it that binds me so tight to him, this man who humiliates me and having stole my virtue brings me into such debauchery?
He kissed me hard, his tongue driving deep into my mouth as if to seek out the seed of his compatriot, and then he dropped me back onto the grass, and slipped off his belt. My pulse raced as I watched him wind the buckled end around his fist, leaving the other hanging like a livid tongue. And as he did he asked who I considered to be my master. Is this some game, some ritual to entrap me?
I answered him as before. ‘Why you, sir. You know I am pledged to serve you and your family.’
And then he laughed, momentarily easing the tension between us. ‘I had thought, Beatrice, that your powers would be diluted once you were broken, but it seems I have underestimated you. What a prize you are, sweet little Beatrice. I am to be your master in all things. Your body, your very soul belongs to me now. Do you understand?’
I nodded. How well I understood.
His voice lowered a little and the humour left his eyes; desire returning like the moon’s rise. ‘I will teach you how a maid should truly serve her master.’
I knew I had heard these words before. These were the things he had said in his chamber. But before I could reply the broad leather belt exploded across my rump. I screamed out in pain and surprise as the raw fire spread out like a molten veil across my flesh.
‘Trust me, Beatrice, trust me and give yourself to me completely,’ he murmured breathlessly as the next stroke found its mark. ‘So brazen – so ripe. I already know you are mine to command. Give yourself to me and I will not betray your trust. I will show you paradise. You are mine now, do you understand?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I sobbed, as the belt cracked out again. What did he want me to say? Through the haze of pain I wondered whether Usher and Orme had stayed to watch this final act – or once their own passions were spent had their interest waned?
The belt found its mark again and again, and with each stroke I screamed. Even now my body glows white-hot with the memory of that cruel unspeakable hunger, which the kiss of the leather both fed and created.
By all the saints I craved to feel him against me then, buried to the hilt in my quim, which craved the sweet release of a climax. And as my body reached out for that pinnacle my master dropped the belt and threw me to the ground.
Gathering up my ragged skirt, he lifted my hips and drove his cock deep inside me. The ferocity of his entry took my breath away. He gripped my shoulders and pulled me up, so that I knelt astride him, and while his fingers clawed at my raw back he drove deeper still.
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. Not Orme. Not Usher. It was another, and my heart leapt with terror as I recognised the spy…
‘Miss Morgan?’
Sarah jumped as if she’d been shot. In the doorway Doctor Casswell was watching her with interest. She blushed, wondering how long he had been standing there. Hastily she closed Beatrice’s journal, but before she could speak, he said, ‘I thought perhaps you would care to join me for lunch today?’
Sarah struggled to find her voice. ‘That… that would be lovely.’
Casswell nodded and extended a hand in invitation. As she got to her feet he waved the hand a little higher. ‘Lift your skirt, Miss Morgan.’
Sarah stared at him in astonishment. Between her legs she could still feel the flurries of pleasure that Beatrice’s words had already ignited; she knew her body was hungry for satisfaction. She looked up at Casswell almost defiantly. Who did he think he was? Did he think she wouldn’t dare behave so brazenly? She held the hem of her skirt and lifted it to her waist, her eyes meeting his in an unspoken challenge.
Casswell sighed and shook his head. ‘It seems that, like Beatrice, you do not understand what is expected of you, Sarah. While you are here at Casswell Hall you will be available as and when I require it. Take those off,’ he indicated her
knickers and tights. ‘From now on you will be naked under your outer garments at all times, though I have no objection to stockings and a suspender belt. I will have Chang arrange it for you. Come closer.’
Sarah was still struggling to take off her tights and panties, but she did as he said. Standing in front of him, her body pale and exposed in the bright sunlight from the window, she shivered as he stared down at her. His examination was perfunctory; no more than a glance at her naked sex and the gentle swell of her belly. She dropped the hem of her skirt and waited.
She knew this was some kind of test. He was making her wait for whatever was to follow; making her understand that he was in charge – not her.
The seconds ticked by.
All she could hear clearly was the excited beat of her heart pulsing in her ears. She looked up, and for an instant she saw her need reflected in Casswell’s dark pupils.
He indicated that she should lift her skirt again, and she did so without a second thought, trembling as he slipped a hand between her legs and cupped her shaven quim. A single finger traced the moist outer lips. His eyes darkened and he nodded his approval.
‘Good. I want you to understand that this is how you will remain during your stay here. Now, remove your bra.’
Sarah stepped away from him, wondering what on earth she was doing as her trembling fingers fumbled clumsily with each button of her blouse. The white cotton was so sheer that she knew once her bra was removed her nipples, as dark and hard as cherries, would peek through for anyone to see.
She slowed her pace; perhaps there was a way she could soften Casswell’s demeanour. She turned a little, and flirtatiously slipped the blouse back off her shoulders, posing so that Casswell would get a good view of her full ripe breasts.
To her horror Casswell snorted derisively. ‘Oh please, do not flirt with me, Miss Morgan. I already have what I want from you, there really is no need to try and ensnare me. Now hurry and do as I say.’