Dr Casswell's Plaything by Sarah Fisher

benefactor, Oliver Turner, would be delighted. The material not only commanded a good price in the hands of those connoisseurs who appreciated such things, but would improve his already worthy reputation as a patron of historical research within their select and well connected membership.
    Having transcribed the page that Anna had teased him with, Casswell continued to translate from the end of the section the blonde had photocopied. It was slow work even with good magnification; the handwriting was tiny and tucked and twisted around itself. Even so, he was pleased with what he had achieved. Pushing himself back from the desk Casswell began to re-read the notes
    …It was no game. This man, with his strong right arm, truly thought to beat the devil out of me. Although from the look on his brother’s eager face I suspected that when the beating was done they had other plans on how best to redeem me.
    I thought I should lose my mind from the pain. The second brother, a tall blond boy with cruel eyes and even crueller touch, laid on his ten strokes with such terrible vengeance that it seemed the two of them were in some contest to see who might strike the hardest. Ten strokes each sounds so little when spoken, yet between them they took me to the shores of madness.
    Oh, doubt me not, I begged and sobbed and pleaded to be set free, beseeching mercy they so cruelly promised, fighting against my restraints, but despite their talk of salvation they seemed deaf to my cries as I twisted, bucked and strained under the kiss of the leather.
    Finally, when it seemed I could take no more, they cut me down and as I tumbled to the floor, the two of them set about me like hungry wolves. Those two young men, their eyes bright with lust, lapped and sucked at my poor body; exploring my sex, pawing at my breasts, sucking and biting and forcing their way into me with fingers and tongues and cocks; into my mouth, into my quim, and into that secret place where no man should venture, fucking and touching and impaling me again until I thought I would go insane from their attentions. If this is the Christian virtue and mercy of their king then I fear we are all truly undone.
    It struck me that we were not alone in our debauchery – all around us in the great hall my nakedness and beating and the actions of the king’s lusty sons had aroused such desires as could not be contained.
    Around and over the tables, knights and their ladies, squires and dames, serving maids and lads, all coupled and entwined and fornicated without thought for the consequences of their actions, in twos and threes and fours their bodies pale and sweating in the rush lights, rolling around in the dust. Where one brushed against the other they joined and mixed and changed partners until the night air was thick with the cries of passion and scented with the perfume of bodies. Lord Usher was no doubt enjoying the sport along with the rest, but did my lord look out for me amongst the throes of wild passion?
    Lying on the floor of the great hall, my sex was coated with the silky cream seed of the kings’ sons, my back raw, my breasts, face and belly splashed with the remnants of their passion. From his throne the king looked down upon my nakedness, taking in the details of my disgrace and the heavy mass of bodies around the hall.
    ‘Is the devil that haunted this brazen creature gone?’ he whispered to them, his voice low and tight. ‘Seems we have beaten it out of her and unleashed her wicked ways on the rest of the assembled crowd.’
    Half naked and sweating, the two of them agreed that whatever temptation or dangers I previously offered had now been beaten from me. The old man nodded and held out his hand. One of the young men bowed and held the whip in his gnarled fist before he beckoned them to bring me closer.
    I could barely walk and could not guess what was to follow. To my consternation the two boys picked me up and bore me to the old man’s throne. While one