The House of Lesslie Part 2

It was some kind of Persian monstrosity, likely to have been in the family for generations and worth more on the open market than most slaves I had ever bought or sold through my underground network of clubs that I had established in the past five years, catering to the filthy and decadent.

It had been one of mother's favorites, and just like James, it would soon find out what place it had in the new order of things.

My lips, stained from sweet Caroline's filth, brown and purple, lipstick and shit, curled up to a cruel sneer.

Three minutes now, maybe four, and the cramps started to happen. The muscle burn had grown throughout her entire body, had set it alight, was burning it down to fiery ashes as the calves and thighs began to cramp out, releasing more pain into my sweet new whore's nervous system.

Caroline grunted. I reveled in that sound.

I opened my palm to James, not looking at him, demanding in silence. The ebony cock, made from wood and leather and other fine, fine things slid into the open palm, my fingers slowly closing around it as I felt my hand's power, its might, only moments away from my demonstration.

"Will that be all, Mistress?" James asked beside me.

"No, James," I said. "I wish for you to witness this."

The weight of the whip's handle was confirmation of my own position in this room, an affirmation of my violence, threatened and soon to be realized.

With merely a flick of my wrist, the cat lashed out, whooshed through the air, its leather strings picking up speed to find their target, sweet Caroline's breasts, already shaking from the strain I had put her under.

The leather connected with a harsh sound, a violent caress that created a blinding ball of fire spreading outwards from those points on Caroline's body it had touched, leaving behind reddening flesh.

"Owwww!" Caroline screamed.

The leather returned to me, cutting once again through the air as I listened to the symphony of pain I had caused.