Divine Cruelty

by Lee Ash

  'Are you being punished again?' he demanded. His shrewish voice made her skin crawl. 'Is that why Bernie's sent you down here? Am I the albergo's punishment goblin? Is that what I've become?'

  Rachel forced her features to remain impassive and not show her disgust. 'I haven't been sent here as a punishment,' she explained honestly. 'Master Bernard thinks you might be able to help me.' Speaking quickly, hoping he couldn't see her revulsion, she said, 'A slave trader has inveigled her way into my master's affections. Master Bernard says you might hold the key to my getting rid of her. He thinks you might have something important to tell me.'

  Osbourne stepped out of the doorway and ushered her into the room. 'You want to learn something from me,' he giggled. His laughter was high-pitched and shrill and made her think of sewer rats scavenging. 'Oh! That's marvellous that is. I knew this day would come.' Rushing over to the room's battered old wardrobe he threw the doors open and began to rummage through the thinly stocked rails.

  Rachel glanced at the TV screen surprised to see it was only showing a black and white scroll of static. She didn't know whether she had expected him to be watching news, music, films or sport, but simply having the station tuned to an irritating crackle seemed somehow disquieting.

  'Is the reception broken?' she asked innocently.

  He snatched his head away from the wardrobe and glared at her. When he saw she was pointing at the TV screen his brow knitted briefly and he made a wordless exclamation of disgust. 'I pulled the aerial lead out,' he explained, turning away. 'I got sick of watching those afternoon chat shows filled with simpering whores and empty-headed cunts.'

  She thought of suggesting that he could have simply turned the set off, or maybe changed channels, but she had already decided that Osbourne wouldn't take too kindly to hearing her advice. Struggling to think of some other conversational gambit, anxious to progress things towards him supplying the information she needed, Rachel valiantly scoured the untidy room for inspiration. The place was such a tribute to decay and neglect she found herself unable to say anything.

  'Here it is,' he cried cheerfully. 'I knew I'd find the fucking thing.'

  Her stomach folded uneasily when she saw what he was holding. Pulling the coat hanger out of the wardrobe, holding his find high as if it were a treasured possession, he returned to her side and presented her with the clothes. From the light of the TV screen she could see he held a white blouse, a pleated grey skirt and the tie, socks and panties of an old-fashioned schoolgirl uniform.

  'You'll wear this if you want to learn something from me. You'll put it on now.'

  She held herself rigid, knowing that her head wanted to shake with adamant refusal. Trying to think of a diplomatic excuse, anxious to deny him without causing offence, she pulled the cord on her robe and allowed it to fall open. Slipping one shoulder from beneath the silk, exposing a bare breast with its pierced nipple pointing directly at him, she lowered her voice to a seductive whisper. 'You don't really want me to dress up, do you? You don't really believe we need something as crass as a uniform to help us get to know each other?'

  He pushed the clothes into her arms and glowered with vicious menace. 'If you want to learn something from me you'll dress like a schoolgirl.' Throwing his shoulders back, attempting to invest authority into his stance, he said, 'I only give the strap and my cock to naked whores. I give lessons to schoolgirls.'

  'But...'

  Osbourne slapped his hand against her cheek and the sharpness of his gesture made her realise the topic was not open to negotiation. Seeing she had no option, knowing it would be futile to try and argue her way out of this obligation, Rachel took the clothes.

  Like everything else in Osbourne's room, the fabric felt as though it was filmed with dirt and grubbiness. The blouse might once have been white but now it was a dingy magnolia, trimmed beige with nicotine stains. The skirt was spotted with greasy stains and Rachel couldn't bring herself to look at the panties and socks.

  'Put them on,' Osbourne demanded. 'Then we can begin your lesson.'

  She thought of protesting again, then realised there would be no advantage. Unconsciously curling her nose, she stepped into the skirt and pulled it over her hips. Turning her back on Osbourne, she removed her robe and then put on the once-white blouse he had brought. The cotton rubbed lightly against her nipples and each caress was an exercise in embarrassment and disgust. She didn't want to think of all the women he had forced to wear the blouse before, or the obvious fact that none of the clothes had been washed in the intervening periods, but she couldn't turn her mind away from that downward spiral. She knew she was having to dress in a soiled and dirty uniform and the thought made her feel ill with disgust and self-loathing. Tying the tie loosely, she turned to present herself to Osbourne and hoped she met with his approval.

  He nodded and said, 'Now the socks and panties.'

  She glanced at his face, wondering if there was any way to avoid having to wear the stained underwear, but she could see no hope of leniency in his staunch expression. Disgusted by the depths she was having to sink to, Rachel daintily stepped into the panties and pulled them against herself. She was uncomfortably aware of the stiff crotch pressing against her sex lips and tried to recall if she had ever done anything as unsettling as dressing for Osbourne. The tarocco was her most despised chore at the estate, and she loathed the pain that was inherent in her preparation for those readings, but she would have happily undergone that torment every night for a month rather than subject herself to this unwholesome humiliation.

  'The socks,' Osbourne demanded. Rushing back to the wardrobe he asked, 'What shoe size are you? You'll need shoes if you're going to be a proper schoolgirl.'

  'I'm a five,' she said numbly.

  He threw a pair of black pumps to her and Rachel caught them before they could strike the TV set. 'These are threes,' he said. 'But you'll squeeze into them.'

  Knowing better than to refuse, Rachel completed the outfit, tucking the blouse into the odious waist of the skirt and forcing her feet into the punishingly tight footwear.

  'Don't you look a picture,' Osbourne cackled.

  Gritting her teeth, determined to say the words without any inflection of her true feelings, Rachel said, 'Thank you master.' The uniform smelled like something from a jumble sale, wearing it was an exercise in the cruellest humiliation, and the shoes were unbearably tight. Standing beneath Osbourne's vile gaze she felt soiled by the whole experience.

  He grinned and escorted her to the settee, urging her to sit close by his side. The stench of his sweat and the rasp of each wheezing breath was enough to make her feel physically ill. When he placed a callused hand against her thigh she shivered.

  'What lesson do you want me to teach you, schoolgirl?' He squeezed her leg as he asked the question and his fingers inched beneath the hem of her skirt. 'What do you want to learn from me?'

  'I need to know about a slave trader, master,' she began.

  His dirty fingers moved up and reached the crotch of her soiled panties. When he stroked the gusset she didn't know if she was inwardly cringing from his touch or the feel of the stained underwear against her labia. The distraction was enough to make her forget what she had been saying.

  'Go on,' Osbourne encouraged. His fingers tickled back and forth. 'How can I teach you if you don't tell me what you want to learn?'

  Swallowing thickly, uncomfortable with the crusty caress against her soft flesh, she said, 'My master is besotted with this woman. He's allowing her to control his affairs and...'

  'Your cunt feels very warm,' Osbourne interrupted. 'I'm not sure if a schoolgirl should have such a warm cunt. Should I examine you?'

  She stopped speaking, sure he wasn't listening and no longer certain he would be able to help. Osbourne pressed the tip of one finger against the centre of her sex. Her labia crinkled around the hard crotch of the panties and she trembled with distaste.

  'Why is your cunt so warm?' he breathed. 'Do I excite you?'

&nbs
p; She clenched her teeth together to reply. Closing her eyes, knowing she wouldn't be able to say the words if she was looking at him, Rachel said, 'Yes, master. You excite me.'

  He drew a rasping breath of arousal and took hold of her hand. 'Isn't that a marvellous coincidence? You excite me as well, you filthy little bitch.' Placing her palm over his lap he said, 'Can you feel how much you excite me?'

  The urge to run from Osbourne's room had never been stronger but she forced herself to remain sitting by his side. Master Bernard would be angry if she left the basement without his permission and there was always the chance - a very slim chance, she thought despondently - that Osbourne might be able to tell her something of value. Working her hand inside the grimy folds of his dressing gown she found the flaccid length of his penis. If he was excited, Rachel didn't think the arousal had yet reached his groin. His flesh was malleable and soft, slightly sticky to the touch and wholly unpleasant. Knowing what was expected of her, and trying to sound enthusiastic, she exclaimed, 'Master! You are excited, aren't you?'

  He cackled and pressed his finger hard against her sex. 'I'm excited, and you're wearing filthy knickers,' he told her. 'Let me see them. Let me see how filthy they are.'

  Rachel forced herself not to sigh with despair. It was a role-playing game, she realised - Osbourne's schoolgirl fantasy - and she knew she would have to play along if she wanted to retain any hope of gleaning information from him. Trying to appear coy, hoping her blushes looked convincing, she placed her free hand over her mouth as if to conceal a demure cry of protest. Her other hand remained in his lap, urgently trying to coax some stiffness into his limp length. The more furiously she worked, the more Rachel realised she was attempting the impossible.

  'Bend over and show me how filthy they are,' he demanded suddenly.

  Rachel flinched from his sharp tone.

  'I won't ask so nicely next time,' he warned.

  'Yes, master,' she whispered. Taking her hand from his groin she stood up and bent over for him. She knew he would be seeing the rear panel of the panties and she tried to think of that image rather than the feel of the dirty cotton sticking to her delicate flesh.

  'You filthy little bitch,' he growled.

  His hand slapped at her thighs, surprising her with a sudden spike of pain. When she turned to glance over her shoulder he was already trying to pull the underwear down and she watched the tainted smile illuminate his haggard face. His age-yellowed eyes shone with obvious eagerness and his trembling fingers stroked her bare sex.

  Rachel heard herself sigh and wondered where the sound had come from. She was trying to win his favour and hoping he would be pleased with how she played the role within his fantasy, but she hadn't realised she was actually excited by the vulgar game. Yet, when his gnarled fingers trailed against the velvet soft lips of her sex, she was touched by a genuine thrill of excitement.

  'You have a warm, wet cunt.'

  Because of his shrewish tone it was impossible to tell if she was hearing approval or disgust but Rachel felt sure there was a lecherous grin in his voice. When his warm breath caressed her backside, then the tentative touch of his tongue brushed her thighs, she knew that he was desperate to have her. One claw-like hand clutched her left buttock, the other fell against her right, and then her cheeks were being spread open. The tight muscle of her sphincter was stung by a sudden rush of pain and he told her to bend further forward.

  Rachel obeyed and his tongue slipped against her sex. The touch was electric, exciting lightning bolts of arousal through the febrile lips of her sex. Rachel was amazed that the shrivelled old man could inspire such excitement but the single dark kiss fuelled a hungry, urgent need. When he buried his face closer, lapping deep into her pussy, she put her hands on her knees and sighed contentedly.

  Osbourne's hands moved away from her backside before he slapped one palm smartly across her rear. He spat wetly and shrieked with distaste. 'Your cunt tastes of spunk,' he exclaimed. 'You really are a dirty little whore and you should have warned me that you'd just been servicing one of your punters.'

  The words hurt more severely than the blow and she turned to stare at him, ready to defend herself and her reputation. He slapped his hand against her rear again and its echo fell flatly through the grimy squalor of the room. She watched him dive back into the wardrobe and re-emerge stroking the lashes of a whip through the fingers of one hand, spittle was still dribbling from his lips as he surveyed her backside and began to take aim. Rachel sighed and braced herself to take the puny slapping which was probably all he was capable of delivering.

  But her head jerked up in shock as the first lash landed, sending a lance of hot pain across her buttocks. From somewhere he had found reserves of sinewy strength within his emaciated frame. A second and a third lash cracked across her rear making her gasp at the eruptions of stinging pain. It must have been a long time since he had a bottom as delicious as hers to whip because the pace of the lashes became almost a blur as he recklessly squandered his reserves of strength in his anxiety to watch her buttocks tremble and redden under the whip. But the speed of the beating didn't allow her to climax before the inevitable happened and she heard the whip flung away behind her. Arousal was coursing through her but she was to be denied the pleasures of the whip instead she heard his voice, panting from his exertions with the whip.

  'Take your punishment, dirty whore,' he barked, driving another slap against her backside. 'Take your punishment and then take this.'

  She could hear the whining fury in his voice and watched him with mounting concern. Osbourne had unfastened his robe and his pasty, malnourished body was illuminated by the light from the TV screen. His scrawny chest was covered with sallow skin that looked tightly stretched and liver-spotted. Between his legs his flaccid length remained limp and useless but he tried to brandish it as though it was a powerful, formidable weapon.

  'Turn around,' he cried, slapping her rear for a third time. 'You'll take your punishment, and then you'll take this,' he repeated.

  She braced herself for his hips banging against her bottom. The sticky, limp length of his penis touched against her pussy and she thought its contact was more nauseating than the panties he had made her wear. Wilfully not thinking about her disgust, determined to do whatever was needed to get information from him, Rachel reached between her legs and tried to catch his penis between her fingertips.

  He gasped. 'You want it bad don't you, you little whore?'

  Rachel didn't want to suffer a moment more of his company than was necessary but she couldn't tell him that much. Something about the atmosphere had charged her with desire and she couldn't imagine Osbourne complaining if she tried to satisfy that need. His limp shaft felt pathetic and small but, knowing she couldn't expect anything else in this situation, Rachel pressed it against her pussy lips.

  'That's it, you bitch,' he called. 'Take my cock and then some more.'

  Rubbing herself against her fingers and his sticky penis, Rachel bit her lip for fear of laughing. Arousal raged deep within her, and the need to learn from Osbourne remained at the forefront of her thoughts, but his exclamation was ridiculously entertaining. It alluded to a self-image that was so removed from the reality of what he was that she wanted to guffaw at the absurdity.

  'Go on, you whore,' he bawled. 'Take all of my glorious cock.'

  His hands clutched her buttocks and he pushed himself forward with a bony thrust of his pelvis. Rachel hadn't managed to slide the ineffectual length inside her sex and still held it between two fingers and her pussy lips. She wondered if it would be possible to cajole the limp length into her wetness if she slid a finger alongside it, but Osbourne's frantic thrusts were making that awkward.

  'Go on,' he grunted. 'That's it.'

  His shaft seemed momentarily thicker - he gasped as though a breath had caught in his throat - and then she felt a splash of his warm spend trickle into her palm.

  Unable to stop herself, Rachel groaned with frustration.

&nbs
p; Osbourne pushed her away, his foul mood returning with renewed ferocity. 'Fuck off, whore,' he called shrilly. 'And I don't want you coming back here again.'

  Rachel stumbled to face him, confused and bewildered. Her unsated arousal was forgotten as she stared at him incredulously. 'I thought you were going to help me,' she gasped. 'You had me dress like a schoolgirl because you were going to teach me a lesson.'

  'I remember why I asked you to dress like a schoolgirl,' he assured her. 'And I remember telling you to fuck off. Go on, whore. Get out of my sight.'

  She held her ground, needing whatever information he could give her. 'Master Bernard said you'd be able to help me,' she explained. 'Master Bernard said you were probably the only one who could help.'