Divine Cruelty

by Lee Ash

  'Rachel. You're back.'

  She had taken the time to undress first, knowing Master Vince preferred to see her in her robe rather than in the clothes she wore for travelling, and had only just secreted the photograph alongside the rest of her contraband. O'Mara's sudden appearance in the doorway made her realise she should have hidden the photograph first. Concealing her surprise she tried not to sound too startled when she said, 'I must be back. The absence of courtesy, or doors being knocked, is proof in itself.'

  O'Mara sneered. 'You're wanted in Mistress Pearl's studio. You're wanted there now.'

  'Piss off,' Rachel said pleasantly.

  O'Mara clasped a hand over her mouth and feigned a look of shock. 'That was a direct instruction from the master's betrothed,' she hissed. 'You can't tell me to piss off. That's like saying the words to Mistress Pearl herself.'

  If Rachel had taken a moment to think she might have realised that O'Mara was deliberately trying to provoke a response. The maid seemed too offended by the dismissal even though she must have heard the words a thousand times or more. But, because Rachel didn't like her, and because there was always a sadistic pleasure to be had from insulting the maid, she continued without caution. 'I can tell you to piss off,' Rachel assured O'Mara. 'I just did. I can tell you to fuck off, I can tell you to go screw yourself and I can tell you to go and shove broken glass up your arsehole.' Warming to her theme, enjoying the maid's upset and impotent fury she continued, 'And, as for telling the master's betrothed to piss off, I'd say the words to her now if she was here.'

  From behind O'Mara, Pearl stepped into the doorway and stared coolly at Rachel. It was easy to overlook O'Mara's obvious triumph because Rachel could only see the slave trader's foreboding frown as the woman glared at her.

  'You'd tell me to piss off?' Pearl asked softly. 'Is that what you just said?'

  Rachel's heart thudded and she thanked whatever good fortune had stopped her from referring to Pearl as the "master's whore." She could see she was already facing severe punishment but a lapse like that would have been unretractable. 'I'm sorry,' she said quickly. 'I didn't know you were there.'

  'That much is obvious,' Pearl agreed. 'But I still don't think it can be forgiven.' Half of her nubile body had been hidden behind O'Mara and, as she stepped into the room, Rachel saw the slave trader was holding a riding crop. Even though the woman wore jodhpurs and a polo shirt, and looked as if she had just come from the stables, Rachel thought it was no coincidence that she should arrive at her room armed with such a punishing implement. She suspected that Pearl had expected this confrontation and simply come prepared.

  'I'm sorry you had to hear that,' Rachel began.

  Pearl nodded and readjusted her grip on the riding crop. She held an end in each hand and bent the length into a quivering arch. The exertion made the slender muscles in her forearms bulge. 'I expect you are sorry,' she agreed. 'And I expect you'll be a damned sight sorrier by the time I'm finished with you.'

  Rachel thought about the photograph she had just hidden and wondered if the slave trader would sound so smug if she knew of its existence. Not letting herself dwell on that idea, knowing the time to use it wasn't quite right, she held herself defiantly and prepared to suffer whatever torment Pearl intended administering.

  'You have a high opinion of yourself,' Pearl said, stroking the tip of the crop against Rachel's chest. 'I don't mind that,' she allowed. 'I encourage confidence whenever I see it, but I won't tolerate it in slaves.'

  Her voice had risen as she concluded the sentence and, with a vicious swipe, she thrashed the crop against Rachel's bare breasts. The pain was sudden and stinging, a rush of agony soared through the tips of her breasts, and Rachel almost squealed in protest. Instinctively, she staggered back and then had to wilfully stop herself from trying to escape the torment.

  Pearl raised the crop again and glared. 'Do you know what you need, Rachel?'

  Rachel thought about the hidden photograph and decided she knew exactly what she needed. She needed an opportunity to get the photograph to Master Vince so he could see the picture of his virginal bride-to-be getting fucked while she sucked on a cock. Even if the time for that revelation wasn't right, she strongly suspected it would be enough to help her escape Pearl's immediate punishment. But she also knew there was no hope of retrieving the photograph and getting it to Master Vince until Pearl had finished with her.

  'Answer me, bitch,' Pearl insisted. The pitch of her voice had become a demanding shriek. 'Answer me or I'll make this a damned sight worse. Do you know what you need?'

  'No,' Rachel grunted. She thought it might lessen the woman's anger if she addressed her as Mistress Pearl but she couldn't bring herself to use that title. Lowering her gaze to the floor, trying not to let the slave trader see her heartfelt loathing, she said, 'What do you think I need?'

  Pearl placed the tip of the crop under Rachel's jaw and tilted her head until their eyes met. 'I think you need a lesson in humility,' Pearl told her. 'I think you need a lesson that will teach you your place.'

  The arrogance was galling and the woman's superior attitude made Rachel feel rebellious. Glaring defiantly, unable to keep the scorn from her tone, she asked, 'Are you going to try and give me that lesson in humility? Are you going to teach me my place?'

  Pearl laughed and shook her head. 'I'll give you one of today's lessons,' she promised. 'But I think your lesson in humility should come from a different source.' Turning back to the doorway, tossing the riding crop to Master Vince's personal maid, she said, 'Your first punishment today is going to come from O'Mara.'

  Rachel tried to protest, not wanting to be punished by an inferior, but she could see any argument she raised would be futile. Glaring furiously at Pearl she bit her lip to stop herself from making the situation worse.

  'Do exactly as O'Mara tells you,' Pearl instructed, 'show me that you know how to accept discipline, and perhaps I might be lenient on you when it's my turn to wield the crop.'

  Rachel said nothing and glared at O'Mara.

  The maid held the crop with the reverence she would have given to a religious artefact. She grinned malevolently as she advanced on Rachel and it was clear that the chance to exact some form of discipline was a long-cherished ambition. Glancing warily at Pearl, she asked, 'Can I really punish her, Mistress Pearl?'

  Pearl studied Rachel as she replied. 'Punish her as much as you think she deserves. The only advice I would give is: make sure she suffers.'

  It was all the instruction O'Mara needed. She raised the crop and slashed it hard against Rachel's breast. Pearl had sliced an efficient blow but this was a hundred times more powerful. Rachel felt her nipples being squashed by the thin crop and the agony in her breasts was interminable. She struggled not to scream, not knowing if her cries would earn her more punishment but unwilling to take the risk, and glared vehemently at the maid.

  Relishing her task, O'Mara drew the crop back and sliced another punishing shot across Rachel's breasts.

  The pain was infuriating. Deep stripes of heat excited her breasts and the anguish inspired turmoil in the sultry heat of her sex. Her heart was racing furiously and she cursed the libidinous impulse that always made her associate punishment with pleasure. When O'Mara sliced a third blow against her bared breasts, Rachel released an animal grunt that was somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

  'Are you just going to crop her tits?' Pearl asked calmly.

  Rachel glared at her but the slave trader's attention was now fixed on O'Mara.

  'Just because you have the crop doesn't mean you have to use it. And just because she's showing her tits, it doesn't mean you have to punish them.'

  O'Mara considered the words for a moment before nodding agreement. A sly smile lit on her face as she contemplated Rachel then came to a sudden decision. Stepping nearer, pushing her face close, she roared, 'Get down on your knees, bitch. Get down on your knees and kiss my feet.'

  Rachel wouldn't have credited the maid with so much imagina
tion and she inwardly blamed Pearl for suggesting that O'Mara should try and do more than deliver a brisk caning. The physical punishment of having her breasts striped was proving harsh but tolerable. But the psychological punishment of having to act like she was subservient to O'Mara promised to be far more severe. She silently pleaded with Pearl, wondering if the woman might show a glimmer of humanity or leniency, but the slaver trader only returned her gaze with a flat, unblinking scowl.

  'Do as O'Mara tells you,' Pearl instructed. 'She wants you to kiss her feet. Get down on your knees and obey her, Rachel.'

  Glaring venomously at both women, Rachel lowered herself to her knees. She pushed her face down to the floor and, quashing all her reservations, placed a gentle kiss against the tip of O'Mara's shoe. As soon as her lips had touched the patent leather she started to lift her head but O'Mara placed the tip of the crop between her shoulder blades.

  'Kiss them both,' she demanded.

  Quaking with pent up fury, physically trembling with the need to rebel, Rachel placed her lips against the other foot and delivered a second, hateful kiss. The humiliation was a crushing weight, made more unbearable when she heard O'Mara's satisfied laughter. She stopped herself from looking up knowing her scathing glare would earn her more punishment.

  'That's it, bitch,' O'Mara cackled. 'I always knew I'd have you at my feet one day.' Still chuckling, almost absently, she said, 'And, while you're down there, why don't you lick my pussy?'

  Unable to stop herself, Rachel glared up at O'Mara. The view was disappointing because she could see the maid wasn't going to retract the command and Pearl was only grinning smugly. O'Mara had raised the hem of her skirt and Rachel was appalled to see her face was on eye-level with the woman's pussy. During the week while she had been away the maid had clearly been subjected to Pearl's modifications because her sex lips were now an explosion of glossy pink. The labia were enormously overblown and looked both disgusting and exciting in the same instant. A silver sheen of arousal sparkled at the centre of her sex.

  'Lick my pussy,' O'Mara demanded. 'I want your tongue up there, you little bitch, and I want it there now.'

  There was no way to escape the obligation and all that Rachel could do was push her face over O'Mara's hole. The taste of musk and glossy juices filled her mouth and nostrils and, as she nuzzled against the wetness she heard O'Mara sigh contentedly. The maid released her hold on the hem of the skirt and Rachel was momentarily swathed in fetid darkness. She pushed her tongue briefly between the lips, trying not to enjoy the sensation of the labia enveloping her mouth, and then she pulled her head away. She had done as O'Mara demanded, she had licked the maid's pussy and she had pushed her tongue into her hole. Sure that the woman couldn't expect anything more from her, Rachel started to step away.

  O'Mara grabbed hold of her hair and pushed Rachel's face back. 'Carry on until I tell you to stop,' she snarled. 'I want you to lick my pussy until I come.'

  Rachel heard Pearl comment approvingly but the words were only a murmur beneath the pounding shame that throbbed through her temples. She didn't want to make O'Mara come because the maid was renowned for spraying copious juices when she climaxed. The idea of submitting herself to that indignity was almost more than she could bear but she knew there was no way to refuse. Hating the chore, she moved her face closer to O'Mara's sex and, again, chased her tongue along the wet lips. She was loath to acknowledge the pleasure that came from tasting the glistening flesh but, on a subconscious level, she knew the excitement was as strong for her as it was for the maid.

  'Yes,' O'Mara cried enthusiastically. 'That's it you bitch. Now put your tongue all the way inside.'

  Rachel silently cursed her, even while she was obeying the command. She dared to glance sideways, looking at the loose floorboard that concealed the hidden photograph, then immediately tore her gaze away. It was too tempting to think the picture could be the answer to her problems and she didn't want to force the photograph's discovery by staring at its hiding place. With tears of shame and frustration spilling down her face, she squirmed her tongue deep inside O'Mara's sopping sex and allowed the woman's juices to dribble against her cheeks.

  'Jesus,' O'Mara cried.

  Rachel realised her upper lip had brushed against the swollen nub of the maid's clitoris. She could see the bead of flesh was hypersensitive and, although it was almost instinctive to place her teeth around the clitoris and bite hard in retaliation, she restrained herself. Sliding her tongue from O'Mara's dewy depths, she brushed the tip of her nose against the pulsing bud and then used her tongue. It took little more than the slightest pressure, a light kiss that would have gone unnoticed on any other part of the maid's skin, and O'Mara was screaming with orgasm.

  Rachel felt her head being gripped by a steely hand, her face was pushed closer against the sweaty heat of the maid's wetness, and her cheeks and chin were soaked by an explosion of musk from between O'Mara's legs. For an instant she thought she was going to suffocate as the rush spattered over her face and she wondered how so much pussy juice could come from such a little woman.

  'That's it,' O'Mara cheered. 'That's what I wanted.'

  'Did she do it properly?' Pearl asked.

  O'Mara sounded breathless when she replied. 'I want to cane her again,' she decided. 'I want to use the crop on her again, but this time I want to punish her arse.'

  Pearl's laughter sounded indulgent.

  Remaining on her knees, Rachel wanted to sob. No longer caring about the indignity of this punishment, already resigned to suffering beneath the maid, she obeyed when she was told to turn around and braced herself for the ordeal of having her backside caned.

  'This is for every time you've been rude to me,' O'Mara snarled.

  Rachel closed her eyes, sure the pain was going to be enormous.

  'This is for every time you've insulted me, told me to piss off, or landed me in trouble. This is my payback to you, you sanctimonious bitch.' Without another word, she thrashed the crop hard against Rachel's rear.

  The pain was sudden, swift and stinging. Rachel felt both cheeks being marked by bright red weals and knew that O'Mara had invested every ounce of strength into delivering the blow. Her buttocks burned with sweltering heat and she chugged breath in an effort to stop herself from screaming. As far as torments went, Rachel despised the kiss of the cane almost as severely as she hated the tarot readings. The slash from each blow was a double-edged sword of pleasure and pain and every slice was a delicious agony that bit deeper the heavier it landed. Her pussy grew warm with each slap and Rachel knew, by the time O'Mara had inflicted six, wicked stripes, her sex would be soaked with need. Unable to contain the sound any longer, she grunted to show her discomfort.

  'I think that's enough,' Pearl said quietly.

  From the corner of her eye Rachel could see that O'Mara would have been happier to continue using the crop for the remainder of the day, but the maid also seemed anxious to obey the slave trader. Rachel was relieved to see the crop being handed back to its rightful owner and she felt a wave of nauseating gratitude for the woman who had ended the torment. With her thoughts raging through a turmoil of excitement and discomfort, she found it easy enough to brush the gratitude aside.

  Pearl's concentration remained fixed on O'Mara. 'You can go to my studio,' she decided. 'I want you to prepare the fourth bed.'

  Still smirking, unable to resist sticking her tongue out for Rachel's benefit, O'Mara turned and hurried down the corridor toward the former basement.

  The insolence was too much for Rachel to tolerate and she found herself glaring at Pearl with fresh fury. 'Was that it?' she demanded. She knew it wasn't wise to antagonise the slave trader but, after suffering so much anguish beneath O'Mara she felt the need to vent some of her frustration. Her cleft broiled with an urgent need and the knowledge that her arousal was likely to remain unsatisfied was more galling than the pain and humiliation. 'Was that the severe punishment you were going to make me suffer? Have I endured the worst you ca
n give me now?'

  Pearl shook her head and reached down to the floor. Rather than touching Rachel's body she grabbed the chain that connected her piercings and dragged her to her feet. 'O'Mara's torment was just an appetiser,' she said sweetly. 'Your punishment hasn't begun yet, but it's about to.'

  Rachel glared at her. 'What do you plan on doing with me?'

  'Don't you know?' Pearl asked. 'Don't you remember that O'Mara told you that I'd summoned you to my studio?' Her grin was chilling. 'We're going to spend the afternoon in there,' she confided. 'And, maybe by the end of the day, we might have taught you a few new habits.' Her grin flared brightly as she added, 'One way or another, I'm sure we'll see an improvement before you leave the studio.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Holding tight on Rachel's chains Pearl dragged her out of the room. The slave trader knew how to control the links for maximum effect and Rachel's nipples and clitoris were punished with equal ferocity. The robe flew out behind her as she was hauled along the corridor and, trying not to think of the pleasure that came from the anguish, Rachel struggled to keep up with Pearl's brisk pace.