Divine Cruelty (26 page)

Rachel wouldn't have credited the maid with so much imagination 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 can 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.

'You need a lesson in respect,' Pearl sneered. Her crisp footsteps punctuated every syllable and resounded dryly from the corridor's walls. 'You're unruly and pompous and you're too bloody full of yourself.'

Choking back an exclamation of pain, and still stumbling to keep up, Rachel said nothing.

'You also need to learn your place on this estate,' Pearl barked. 'I talk to you and I forget which of us is the slave and which of us is in control.' Shaking her head, clearly unhappy with that detail, she said, 'That's not an endearing quality in servants. It adds nothing to their market value.'

Rachel blinked away tears and glared at her back. She remembered the long-ago tarocco reading when she uncovered Pearl in the personae of the devil card. Although that had happened nearly a month earlier it was still easy to see the svelte, attractive slave trader as a diabolical harbinger of chaos and destruction.

Oblivious to Rachel's thoughts, Pearl pulled more forcefully on the chain. The sudden jerk inspired a fresh flare of agony to rip through Rachel's breasts and pussy. 'Can you hear what I'm saying?' Pearl demanded. 'You need to learn respect; you need to learn your place; and I don't think a lesson in gratitude would be out of place.'

Unwilling to have the woman dominate her, and spout such blatant rubbish, Rachel finally snorted with defiance. 'Gratitude?' she exploded. 'Why would I have to show gratitude to you? You've just allowed the sneakiest maid on the estate to punish me. Do you think I should be thanking you for that?'

She placed her hand over Pearl's wrist and deliberately stopped following. For an instant the anguish in her breasts and sex was so intense she feared she had just suffered permanent damage. Her nipples screamed and her clitoris felt as though it had been wrenched from her body. It was only when the throbbing had subsided to a dull, excited pulse, that she realised her body had suffered yet another unbearable torment and proved itself infuriatingly resilient. The trembling in her pussy was the familiar greedy urge that always demanded satisfaction but she refused to acknowledge its presence. 'Why should I show you any gratitude?' she demanded. 'What have you ever done for me?'

They stood outside the door to the basement and Pearl glared ferociously. 'You should be showing me some gratitude because I've put an end to the tarocco readings,' she hissed. 'You should be showing me some gratitude because I realised how much you hated that foolish little ritual and I asked your master to stop wasting his time with the torment.'

Rachel stared at her, incredulous, and wondered if it could possibly be true. She did hate reading the cards and the thought she would never have to be subjected to that ordeal again was almost enough to make her feel indebted to Pearl. Wilfully, she suppressed her appreciation and shook her head. Humbled by uncertainty she said softly, 'I didn't know. I've only just arrived back at the estate and no one told me that you'd called an end to the tarocco readings.'

'Of course you didn't know,' Pearl agreed. 'And, even if you did know, you'd be arrogant enough to think it's a change that was brought about by your own doing.'

Rachel opened her mouth to protest but she didn't get the opportunity to say anything. Pearl slapped her across the face and then grabbed the chains again. Ushering her through the basement doorway, almost pulling her down the stairs, Pearl said, 'You're an arrogant little bitch with an inflated self-opinion, Rachel. One way or another we're going to have to change that and, as a first step, you're going to undergo some modifications.'

O'Mara stood by the side of the fourth bed, smiling excitedly. 'Everything is ready for her, Mistress Pearl.'

Ignoring the maid, taking a pair of cable-cutters from the top of one of the studio's cabinets, Pearl advanced on Rachel. 'Lie down, stay quiet, and get ready to learn which of us is in control.'

For a moment Rachel thought of defying the instruction and considered pushing past the slave trader and hurrying back to her bedroom to retrieve the photograph. Waiting for the right moment and evaluating the consequences were suddenly immaterial. She believed, if she showed the picture to Master Vince, he would finally see Pearl for the liar that she was and expel her from the estate. But the worry that he might side with his betrothed - the gnawing fear that he might overlook her slight falsehood - was enough to make her hesitate. And, as Pearl stepped closer, forcing Rachel to retreat toward the bed, she inwardly conceded that she couldn't use the photograph until the timing was just right. With ill grace, she climbed onto the bed.