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ISBN: 9781780801063Author: Sarah FisherWord Count: 131,398Format: eBook
Originally published individually, Dr Casswell's Collection is two Sarah Fisher damsel in distress stories collected together in one erotic volume!
Dr Casswell's Student
When Sarah Morgan is invited to help her employer, Doctor Casswell, translate an antique journal at his isolated country mansion, she finds herself drawn into the dark and sensual world of medieval slave girl, Beatrice de Fleur.
As past and present meet, Sarah is caught in an intense web of passion and pain. Stripped and bound for Casswell's pleasure, Sarah soon discovers what it is like to be a student of desire...
Dr Casswell's Plaything
On the trail of medieval slave girl, Beatrice de Fleur, Sarah Morgan and her enigmatic master, Dr Casswell, find themselves caught up in the exotic surroundings of a Turkish port.
And when their hosts trade Sarah's body as payment for access to Beatrice's diaries, past and present mingle once again as they uncover more of the slave's sensual secrets. Bound and naked and in the control of a salacious museum curator, Sarah knows very well how Casswell's passion and pain conflict.
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. Four... Five... The whip cracked out again and again. By now Sarah had surrendered entirely to the compulsive beat of the explosive pain. Casswell shivered as he imagined the raw kiss of the leather cutting into her back. Six... Seven... Sarah pressed forward, straining and desperate; desperate to avoid the hateful whip, and desperate to feel its delicious cut. Eight... Nine... Casswell wondered how much longer Sarah's beating could continue. The atmosphere in the garden room was strung as tight as a piano wire. Ten—! It was a final and decisive blow that cracked out around the crowded room and reverberated through Sarah's sweating body like a pistol shot. As if she knew it was the last stroke, she fell forward, sobbing, struggling to fill her burning lungs with rasping breaths...Dr Casswell's Plaything
The gates where locked with lengths of chain and padlocks - there was no access through them. So she had no choice but to backtrack and try to find another way. She turned - and lifted a hand to her mouth to suppress the shriek of alarm as she saw her only way back was blocked by the bulk of Mustafa Aziz, Abdullah, and the waiter from the restaurant. The fat Turk was breathing hard, his shirt stained with sweat, dabbing at his face with his usual grimy handkerchief. 'So, there you are,' he wheezed, and before Sarah could defend herself, the waiter sprung forward and grabbed her around the waist. 'Let me go!' she shrieked, wriggling and struggling against him, but he held her tighter still and pulled her close into his body, and despite her alarm she instantly noticed a lump pressing against her hip. It seemed he was deeply excited by the thrill of the chase and the capture, and his hands crawled over her body in the struggle as he tried to restrain and quieten her, fumbling against her breasts or her thighs or her bottom. He grunted and laughed, his hold tightening, and she knew that any further movement, any spirited fight, would excite him even further. Once she was eventually still, trapped in the man's arms, panting heavily from the exertions, Mustafa sniggered at her obvious discomfort and distress. 'Cry out all you want, Miss Morgan,' he jeered. 'It will not do you any good here. No one will come to help you.' Sarah shrieked again, and this time the waiter clamped a hand tightly over her mouth. Mustafa smiled with lurid satisfaction, and as he dabbed at his lips with the handkerchief, Abdullah moved closer. She had noted the way he watched her during lunch. He clearly saw this as his big chance to get some pleasure out of life for once, and with the slightest of nods from Mustafa, he reached forward, albeit a little warily, as though she might squirm free and bite him at any moment, and began to unbutton her blouse, his fingers trembling against her breasts as he did. Once it was completely undone he licked his lips, eyeing the way the material hung open and the promising shadows within. Sarah, held fast by the strong arms of the waiter, his hot breath panting in her ear, watched Abdullah anxiously, her breasts rising and falling in time with her nervous breathing, causing her blouse to open a little wider each time she inhaled, offering the obnoxious little man a tantalising glimpse of her toned tummy and her shadowy cleavage. His hands slowly slid inside the gap to seek out the warm contours of her ribcage, cupping her soft breasts. Then, losing all reason he frantically pushed the fabric out of his way and, uttering unintelligible ramblings, clamped his hot wet mouth to her flesh, as if he wanted to eat her alive, pressing oily kisses to her shoulders, her neck, her throat, her breasts, and her nipples. He was babbling away in his native tongue and trembling with lust, and so was his companion, the waiter. Abdullah slid his hands up under her skirt, his fumbling fingers seeking entry between her thighs, and as he did he cruelly bit on her nipple, make her writhe with pain and squeal into the hand still clamped over her mouth. Sarah renewed her fight, pulling back from Abdullah, but in doing so pressing herself even harder into the embrace of the waiter. She managed to work one hand free and lashed out at her weasel of a tormentor, but Abdullah merely laughed and, catching her wrist, licked her fingers. 'You know Herr Weissman has such plans for you,' said Mustafa. 'And I understand why, because you are wasted on that arrogant Englishman. I will suggest that he finds a place for you in one of the local stables - there is nothing so attractive as a slave with a spirit.' His chilling words brought an abrupt halt to Sarah's struggles. Mustafa laughed when he saw her alarm, and the slime-ball waiter took advantage of the situation to maul her breasts while Abdullah slobbered over their fresh, firm ripeness. And for that moment Sarah was too shocked by Mustafa's words to care what the two slugs were doing. 'Did you not know?' continued the Turk, with a despicable grin of mock innocence on his face. 'Weissman is going to buy you from your precious doctor - or maybe he will barter you for more manuscripts.' Sarah felt her heart sink. Was there any possibility that what he said was true? If it came to it, she had no idea whether Casswell would choose her over the books and manuscripts he loved so dearly. Seeing on her lovely face the distress his words had caused, Mustafa's expression returned to one of beaming triumph. He said something to the waiter, who was enjoying himself restraining and molesting her at the same time, his erection grinding against her bottom through her skirt, which made both he and Abdullah laugh. It was all too much, the three despicable men were all too much, and Sarah began to fight again in earnest. If Casswell could not or would not save her then she had to save herself. Her newfound ferocity took the men by surprise, and the waiter had to quickly tighten his grip to keep hold of her. Sarah knew that unless she was rescued or escaped their vile clutches, all three of them planned to have her. Abdullah grabbed her legs and, pushing a hand up between her thighs, rucking her skirt up at the same time, tried hard to prise them apart. But Sarah fought like a wildcat, her legs clamped together until Mustafa shouted something and the men, cursing and panting heavily, held off. But then, responding to a nod from Mustafa, the waiter ushered her to one side and pressed her tight up against one of the iron gates, and with Mustafa's help they strapped her wrists together with a leather belt and then hung her from one of the ornate curls high up in the wrought iron design. Her cheek and breasts pressed uncomfortably against the vertical bars. It was a difficult irony for Sarah to take; bound to something that just minutes earlier she had hoped would be her route of escape. Now the three men were behind her, just visible over her shoulder, and she could not resist as Abdullah slid his sweating hands up the outside of her skirt, lewdly savouring the feel of her bottom as he did, and then unfastened it and tugged it down over her hips, down her shapely legs to the dusty ground, then roughly spreading her legs apart, the tendons standing out in her thighs and calves as she strained on tiptoe. Then, with no more ado, he crouched behind her and his tongue and fingers licked and explored and took every advantage of her vulnerability, making her cringe. Meanwhile the waiter ripped off her blouse, the fabric cutting into her delicate flesh as it tore away. Exposed and naked, there was nothing Sarah could do to resist the three of them, and she just knew that Mustafa intended to punish her for running away and for struggling so fiercely. 'You really ought to learn to co-operate, little one,' he said, his voice thick. 'And you should also learn it is in your best interests not to upset me; I am very good friends with Uri Weissman. Very good friends indeed.' He signalled for the two men to move back, which they did with much reluctance and grumbling, and then he felt between her legs, cupping her sex from behind, making her stiffen and gasp as he slid his thumb up into her. Sarah flinched at the crude violation, and would have spat at the arrogant oaf if she could. She knew Weissman saw Mustafa as little more than a minion, a man to be used and manipulated when it suited him, but the sweaty Turk clearly had gross delusions of grandeur.'You have to understand who is in control here, Miss Morgan,' he growled in her ear, his breath laden with garlic. 'And trust me, I will teach you. I really will.' He moved away, his intrusive hand leaving her, and Sarah strained to pick up some clue as to what would happen next, although she had a pretty good idea, and then she tensed as she heard an unmistakable sound, and strained to catch a glimpse from the corner of her eye of the waiter pulling his leather belt from his trouser loops and handing it to Mustafa. Her fat tormentor folded it double in his fist, and then moved out of her sight. There was a terrible silence, a few seconds deep and dark and full of a cruel promise. Sarah swallowed hard, every sense and nerve braced for the fierce kiss of supple leather...
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