Forbidden Reading (17 page)

The crowd pulled her back into their embrace and stretched out her limbs.

Whereas before there had been nothing but delicacy to the caresses, Justine could now feel a hard edge to each kiss and nibble. The lights above her provided a glorious halo to every woman who loomed over her and Justine eagerly used her mouth to tongue pussies, breasts and backsides as they were pushed into her face. The stench of sexual excitement was now on every breath and, each time she swallowed, she realised the taste was tainted by the flavour of arousal. Mists of dewy musk erupted over her brow, cheeks and jaw, dousing her with a perfume of raw sex and making her splutter with the need for release. Each time a gifted pair of lips or fingers pushed her past the brink of climax, she wanted to weep with a gratitude so strong it hurt.

It was something of a change to feel masculine hands take her into an embrace. Justine was delighted to have a champagne flute placed in her grasp and she greedily sipped the proffered drink as someone steadied her balance. So much had happened with such intensity that she hadn’t realised the thirst that now parched her throat. When she had drained the glass she raised her gaze to see who had been chivalrous enough to hand her the champagne.

Sartine smiled at her from behind his mask. ‘Are you working for Dupont or Weiss?’

‘You already know who I’m working for,’ she sighed. ‘Why do you try and tease me with these bothersome questions? Do you think I’ve been misleading you? Do you suspect me of being duplicitous?’

‘Who are you working for?’ Sartine pressed. ‘I know you’re in the employ of one of the senior members. Give me a name so I can know for certain. It won’t effect my decision on your suitability. You’ve already proved yourself to be a hedonist after my own heart.’

She took a deep breath, met his mesmerising brown eyes and said, ‘I’m working for
La Coste
. I have no other master except the Marquis’s words.’

He smiled.

Justine didn’t know where the insight came from but she felt sure she had finally convinced him that her motives met the standard he required. She allowed him to place a tentative kiss on her lips, and then melted against him as his tongue plundered her mouth. She could feel them both becoming swept up by the rising passion and was stunned when he stepped away from her and snapped his fingers.

A dozen men appeared behind him and leered at her with hungry passion. The women who came to their sides wore the same expressions of avarice, lust and determination. With her heartbeat hammering frantically, Justine realised that every pleasure she had so far enjoyed would pale compared to whatever it was she was about to receive.

‘You had a strange telephone call last night.’

Justine brightened when the penitent spoke and she turned quickly to smile. The sudden movement reminded her of all the muscular aches that still pained her following the excesses she had enjoyed at Sartine’s party. It was impossible not to grimace. The stone seat and the gloom of their surroundings didn’t help to make the discomfort any more bearable. They were sitting in a bleak cellar and the only light came from a barred window high above. The air around them was dank with scents of dirt, dampness and disuse. But those seedier distractions were all forgotten when she heard the cheery lilt of the penitent’s voice.

‘A telephone call? Who was it?’

‘I do not know,’ the penitent murmured. ‘It was a strange conversation. She was a rather stiff lady. She asked for you. But she would not leave a name. Only a message. And that was rather strange.’

Justine frowned and tried to work her tired thoughts around the puzzle of who could have been calling and why. She could only imagine one potential caller who wouldn’t leave her name and might be described as ‘a rather stiff lady’. Grimly, she readied herself for the message the penitent had taken from Mrs Weiss. ‘Was she rude to you?’

‘No ruder than many other English I have met.’

‘What was the message?’

‘That is the peculiar thing. She did not leave her name. She
would not
leave her name. But she said to remind you that you do not know her.’ The penitent shrugged. Smiling uncertainly she asked, ‘That is a strange message, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Justine agreed glumly. ‘I guess that’s as strange as they come.’

She closed her eyes, annoyed that Mrs Weiss was still pressing on that same point as though it was something she was likely to forget. Justine knew that she wasn’t to reveal her knowledge of the woman’s identity. She had made a point of pretending she didn’t know the name Weiss on each occasion when Sartine had brought it into the conversation. And she didn’t understand why her employer was making such a big deal about the issue. The repeated instruction made Justine feel as though Mrs Weiss lacked faith in her abilities to obey a simple instruction.

‘Does the message make sense to you?’

Justine nodded. She grinned when the penitent placed a hand on her knee and felt the weight of her dour mood begin to lift. Fingers on bare flesh were always exciting and a prickle of lewd arousal began to shiver through her loins. Justine studied the woman’s face to see if they were thinking along the same lascivious line and she was delighted to see the blonde’s smile shone with the promise of sultry mischief.

The previous night had ended too soon; exhaustion had left Justine in a state of limp elation; and she had been carried back to her bedroom. The penitent had bathed her, taken her to bed and allowed her to sleep. She had been awake before Justine when the alarm sounded and had carefully helped her dress for the journey to Vincennes Castle. From her studies of de Sade’s life Justine knew this was the first place where the Marquis was imprisoned.

Ordinarily she would have been thrilled to enter such an historic building. It was under the control of the French Ministry of Defence, with access limited to those holding appropriate authority. Normally she would have been delighted at having access to such a restricted area and knew her enthusiasm would have bordered on being manic.

But, because she felt weak and tired from the excess of Sartine’s party, she hadn’t found the enthusiasm to show any interest in her surroundings. Hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses, she had allowed their limousine to drive through the castle’s ornate gates and not noticed any detail as the penitent led her down a series of stone steps into the dungeons of the main keep.

It was only now, when she saw the teasing glint of the penitent’s smile, that Justine found her thoughts returning to the arousal that had plagued her since arriving in France. Sartine’s driver had given them instructions for where to wait and, now they were alone, Justine wondered if there might be a chance for her to enjoy the penitent’s intoxicating charms. The swell of the woman’s breast pushed at the front of a tight blouse. Justine could see the shape of a frilly bra: but she could also see the fabric was so flimsy it couldn’t contain the stiff nipples swelling inside its confines. The thrust of both buds jutted toward Justine, reminding her of the easy relationship she had formed with the delightful woman by her side. Excited by the prospect of what might develop as they waited, Justine returned the penitent’s smile and leaned forward to grace her lips with a delicate kiss.

‘NO!’

The whistle of a crop descending followed the exclamation. Justine and the penitent instantly pulled apart and the crop snapped against the stone seat between them. Justine glanced up, ready to splutter with outrage. When she saw the foreboding figure that towered over them the words died in her throat. Beside her the penitent gasped with obvious horror. Justine saw a flurry of movement as the woman put a hand over her mouth to contain a scream.

Tall and broad, the man was swathed in a jet-black robe. A hood concealed his face in a dark grey swirl of shifting shadows. Justine could see he wore black pants and boots beneath the robe, and his bare hands were clean and neatly manicured suggesting a reasonable person was concealed under the disguise. But, because he had crept up on them with a stealth that was almost preternatural, because he wielded a crop and stood in a position of absolute dominion, she didn’t dare challenge his authority.

‘You will not touch each other in this donjon,’ he growled. ‘Your movements here will be strictly limited.’

The penitent stared at him with such obvious terror Justine ached to hold the woman in a comforting embrace. She glared at the hooded figure, trying to summon the courage to ask him who he was and on what authority he acted, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The crop he held looked like a vicious weapon and she didn’t doubt he would have no qualms about using it however best suited his needs. The idea made a finger of unease squirm inside her stomach.

‘Sit on opposite sides of the room,’ he demanded. Using his crop, he pointed at a second stone seat facing the one they shared. ‘It will be easier for you both if the temptation to touch is removed.’

‘Who are you?’ Justine managed.

‘I’m the man who is giving you instructions.’

She drew a deep breath, intending to point out that he wasn’t giving her instructions because she wasn’t going to obey them. Before she could voice her defiance the penitent had scurried to the opposite side of the donjon and placed herself primly on the stone seat. She continued to regard the hooded figure with wide-eyed horror and Justine was pained by the woman’s obvious discomfort.

A brilliant white smile gleamed from the shadows of the hooded figure’s cowl. She saw a malicious twinkle where she imagined his eyes to be and was unsettled by the thought that she was being lewdly appraised. It was almost as though her fear was being confirmed when he breathed the word: ‘Undress.’

Justine stood motionless, determined not to obey.

It was impossible to argue that the idea excited her. She was standing in the donjon of Vincennes – possibly close to the room where de Sade himself had been imprisoned – and a menacing figure was demanding that she undress. It was a sexual fantasy that had played through her thoughts a hundred times before but she was reluctant to surrender so easily. Adamant that she wouldn’t prove to be such easy prey, she shook her head from side to side.

‘Undress,’ the hooded figure demanded. He turned from Justine and glared at the penitent so that she knew his order was meant for both of them. ‘Strip. Take your clothes off. I want to see you naked. Both of you naked. Now!’

Clenching her jaw, finally finding a command she could disobey, Justine stood up from her seat and glared at him. ‘I’m not following one more instruction until you tell me who you are.’ She placed her hands on her hips, determined that she would look like a formidable adversary. Her hopes of defying him began to sink when she saw the penitent was already stepping out of her clothes.

The blonde’s skirt and blouse were quickly cast aside. She stepped out of her shoes and then stripped off her bra and pants. The chill of the donjon was enough to make her flesh prickle with goosebumps and Justine found herself torn between the pleasure of admiring the penitent’s body and the disappointment of knowing she would now have to follow her friend’s lead and strip as they had been commanded. Hesitantly, still trying to think of a way of avoiding the embarrassment if it was possible, she reached for the buttons on her blouse.

‘Are you going to strip now?’ he enquired. ‘Or do you want me to help you?’

Angry, and uncomfortable with the man’s anonymity, Justine defiantly pulled her blouse open. After spending an evening being teased by a party of more than a hundred masked strangers she had thought there would be no shame in stripping for anyone. But, as she exposed more and more flesh, and heard the approving rasp that came from within his cowl, Justine was stung by a furious humiliation. Her cheeks flushed crimson, her pulse beat at a faster tempo, and she was appalled to feel a slick heat invade her cleft.

He brushed the tip of his crop against her backside. The curved leather end slipped over the small of her back, across her panties, and then down to her bare thigh. The touch was nothing more than the lightest caress but she flinched as though he had flicked it hard against her rear.

‘Remove everything,’ he insisted. He briefly turned to glance at the penitent, his hood shifted as though he was nodding approval, and then he was rounding on Justine again. ‘You’ve been told to strip and, if you don’t do it faster, I’ll stripe your backside and then tear the clothes away myself. Is that what you want?’

Instead of answering, she hurriedly pulled her underwear away. The quick movements reminded her of all the aches and pains she was trying to forget but she didn’t allow the discomfort to show on her face. Standing naked before him, holding herself proud and erect she tried not to tremble when he raised the crop. Her bare breasts looked paler this morning, a harsh contrast against the cherry swell of her stiff nipples. She didn’t want to accept that the hooded figure’s bullying had aroused her and preferred to believe she was still sore from the torment of the previous evening. That explanation didn’t cover the bristling hairs at the back of her neck, or the fluid warmth that trembled through the muscles of her sex. But it was preferable to thinking she could be excited by the gruff and menacing figure that threatened her with a crop.

‘Is this to your satisfaction?’ she asked curtly.

‘You’ve stripped,’ he allowed. ‘Now turn around and bend over.’ Justine was about to voice an indignant refusal when he turned to glance at the penitent and delivered the same instruction to her. ‘Turn around and bend over. I’m going to stripe both your backsides in preparation.’

‘Who are you?’ Justine hissed. ‘And on whose authority are you making these demands?’

‘Do you want to acquire
La Coste
?’

‘Yes. But –’

‘Then bend over.’

It was an argument she knew she couldn’t win. The penitent was already bent double, her perfect backside exposed, the split down the centre glistening with the same dark arousal that tormented Justine. She held her breath, hoping that the threat of punishment was not serious, and then that idea was banished as the sting of a crop bit across her backside.