Free Dr Casswell's Plaything by Sarah Fisher

determination and inspiration. The man is a genius and completely obsessed. I’ve already told you, you’ll have the book as soon as it’s done. I promise.’
    Sarah was puzzled. It did not add up. As far as she knew Casswell’s brief was to take the translation back to Oliver Turner in England, the man who was funding their trip.
    Perhaps the newcomer was part of the committee that Oliver headed. She wondered if she ought to talk to Casswell about it, but just as she turned to creep back upstairs the mystery female cried out again, much louder than before, the tortured sob echoing through the house, and to her horror she lost her footing and stumbled forward. Reaching desperately for the banister but unable to regain her balance, she tripped out of her seclusion in the shadows into the light on the landing.
    Uri Weissman looked up… and then smiled. ‘Ah, Miss Morgan, good evening,’ he drawled. ‘How are you?’
    Sarah struggled to regain her composure. ‘I – I couldn’t sleep,’ she stuttered feebly. ‘And the noise…’ as she spoke there was another shriek, ‘that noise…’
    Weissman smiled, although it did nothing to warm his expression. ‘Ah yes, your master has such a talent, and my sister has always been such a wayward creature.’
    Sarah looked down at him in amazement, totally stunned. ‘Anna?’ she gasped, looking back up the stairs.
    Weissman laughed again. ‘Oh yes, she was so very curious about what it was that Casswell had to offer. Seems to me that she is finding out first hand.’
    He waved her down to join them, and aware of her nakedness beneath the robe, Sarah reluctantly descended the stairs; she could see no easy way to refuse.
    ‘Would you like a drink, Miss Morgan?’ Weissman gushed. ‘Have you met Mr Heinman, by the way?’
    Sarah shook her head to both questions, and then took the hand that Weissman’s guest offered, although as their eyes met she realised he was far more interested in the way the contours of her body showed through the thin cotton wrap than any pretence at social pleasantries.
    Weissman handed her a glass of champagne. ‘We were busy celebrating your master’s arrival.’ His eyes held hers. ‘He is your master, isn’t he?’
    Sarah reddened furiously. ‘Yes… yes he is, amongst other things. I work for Dr Casswell as his PA.’
    Piers Heinman drained his glass and chuckled. ‘Oh, I am sure you do, and I am sure you are very, very diligent in your duties.’
    Uri Weissman smiled, his eyes glinting as he very gently traced the curve of her breasts through the fabric with a single finger. ‘I think Mr Heinman would like to see exactly what it is that Casswell and I have enjoyed,’ he said. ‘Undo the robe.’
    Sarah stiffened. ‘I’m sorry?’ she blurted.
    Uri Weissman’s expression hardened. ‘Oh please, don’t be coy. You heard me, my dear. Or would you prefer me to call Casswell down and tell him you disobeyed me?’
    Sarah shook her head, hesitantly placed the champagne flute on a nearby side table, and slowly untied the wrap.
    ‘Off,’ snapped Weissman, as if there was some doubt that Sarah would do as she was told.
    Sarah let the wrap fall to the floor, and now she was naked, Piers nodded and to her surprise pulled her close to him. She shivered as his hands crawled over her body, but her treacherous nipples hardened under the touch of his enquiring fingers.
    ‘Turn around,’ he ordered. ‘Bend over, I want to see the rest.’
    Blushing, Sarah obeyed and leaned forward in front of him, over the coffee table, giving Heinman an even greater view. He grunted as he slipped his hand between her thighs, seeking her sex, thumb sliding in and out of her quim while his fingers stroked at the tight puckering of her rear passage. Sarah felt a great rush of humiliation rising from low in her belly.
    ‘Hmm… good and tight,’ Heinman grunted appreciatively. ‘Have you any oil there, Uri?’
    The Austrian nodded, and from a cabinet produced a