Authors: Lisette Ashton
Since her days at university, when she had first discovered her affection for de Sade’s prose, Justine had considered Vincennes, the Bastille and La Coste to be spiritual homes. The craving to visit them had never once left her and she didn’t think it unreasonable to believe that any of those hallowed locations might have had some influence on her responses. She had certainly entertained countless fantasies about being used and abused in all of those places and she didn’t think it unreasonable to suppose that her arousal could have come from the realisation of such a long-held ambition.
‘Are you going to answer me, Justine?’ Mrs Weiss enquired with deceptive sweetness. ‘Or do I have to remind you of the rules under which we’re operating?’
The fingers in her pussy stiffened and Justine knew she was half a breath away from having them snatched out of her hole so Mrs Weiss could slap a hand across her rear again. The prospect of suffering that humiliation was unthinkable and she rushed to provide a response.
‘I think…’ she began.
The fingers relaxed and stroked in and out.
Justine wanted to heave a sigh of relief. If she had listened intently Justine knew she would have been able to hear the gentle slurp of her labia kissing the fingers as they slid back and forth.
‘I think it was…’
If she said the humiliation had excited her more, Justine wondered if that would encourage Mrs Weiss to treat her to more physical punishment. Similarly, if she said the pain had made her wet, Justine thought the woman might decide to concentrate her torment on the psychological ordeals of shame and embarrassment. From the little she already knew about Mrs Weiss, Justine was aware that the woman took a lot of pleasure from making people unhappy and uncomfortable. Trying to decide which response was likely to make her own life easier was a frantic game of trying to outthink her tormentor.
The effort made her shiver and sweat with the threat of mounting panic.
‘I think…’
‘You’re doing a lot of thinking and no fucking talking,’ Mrs Weiss growled. Her hand moved back and forth with unnecessary briskness. The prospect of her mood changing was moments away. ‘Answer the damned question, bitch. Which got you wet? Was it the pain or the humiliation? I want the truth and I want it now.’
Knowing that the truth wasn’t an option – not sure she knew what the truth really was – Justine drew a shuddering breath and said, ‘I think it was the pain.’ She could feel the muscles of her sex trembling around Mrs Weiss as she made the declaration. ‘I’m sure it was the pain,’ she decided. ‘That’s what got me wet.’
Footsteps sounded against the stone steps and the assistant called out an earnest apology as he stumbled to Mrs Weiss’s side. Justine was amazed that the man had so easily gone from being a foreboding figure to becoming a mere aide whose presence was so simply forgotten. She marvelled that her employer was so able in her ability to manipulate subordinates.
‘Will this suit your purpose, Madame?’ he asked.
Justine didn’t glance up from her position to watch his approach. She only heard his mumbled apology as he handed something to Mrs Weiss that rustled ominously. The fingers were pulled from her sex leaving Justine to feel wet, empty and frustrated. She tried to take deep breaths – to steady herself and prepare her mood for what was going to come – but she had a mounting suspicion that no amount of preparation would prepare her for whatever it was Mrs Weiss wanted to dole out.
‘The pain excited you most?’ She sounded almost thoughtful.
Justine dared to glance over her shoulder and saw the woman was idly examining the flail that her assistant had found. It was a horrible-looking instrument, innocent enough with its soft thongs dripping downwards, but Justine suspected it would inflict a lot of pain when it was used against her.
‘I’m so glad to hear it was the pain that excited you the most. That means you’ll consider me to be very generous when I start to hurt you.’ Her pleasant tone of voice vanished and was replaced by the crisp authority with which she had barked instructions before. ‘Reach behind yourself bitch. Pull your arse cheeks apart. Now!’
Justine almost hesitated. The instruction came so quickly, and was so appalling and gratuitous, that she almost balked with indignation. Realising that such defiance would only make her suffering worse, Justine reached behind herself, placed a hand on each cheek, and pulled her buttocks apart.
For an instant she didn’t think there could be anything worse in the world. The embarrassment of exposing herself in such a position was crippling. The discomfort and humiliation of having to stretch her anus and sex lips for the entertainment of her employer was so intense she couldn’t find thoughts to encompass properly the injustice. And then Mrs Weiss struck her and Justine discovered there were far worse things than mere embarrassment.
The flail was an agony.
It crackled through the air – a rush of leather thongs that bristled stiffly together – and then it burnt against her backside like a branding iron. Justine couldn’t contain her shriek of protest as the knotted tips of the flail scratched at her cheeks. They stung against the ring of her anus and scourged her pussy lips. The flare of pain was sudden, sharp and excruciating. Her body was instantly drenched with sweat.
Made slippery by the rush of perspiration, her fingers slid from her backside.
‘I told you how to hold your-fucking-self,’ Mrs Weiss bellowed.
The flail struck twice: once for each cheek.
There wasn’t the exquisite agony of being struck on her exposed cleft but the pain was still severe. Justine didn’t know if she was experiencing the agony of having her previous crop marks made freshly uncomfortable or if the flail was more punishing an instrument than she had expected. Whatever the reason, she released another grunt of dismay and quickly tried to get her hands onto her backside so she could do Mrs Weiss’s bidding and hold herself properly open and exposed. The tips of her nails scratched against the punished flesh and, although she wanted to flinch, she forced herself to stay still in readiness for the woman’s abuse.
‘That’s better. Lose your grip again and I’ll whip you like this for the rest of the day.’ As though making good with her threat, she lashed the flail hard against Justine’s rear.
Justine’s scream echoed from the donjon’s stone walls. The bitter and panicked cry resounded pitifully but, because Mrs Weiss continued to strike at her as she shrieked, Justine realised that no one was going to come to her assistance. The understanding that all her yelling would prove ultimately useless made the pain of the torture seem even more unbearable and her cries trailed off to sobs.
‘Keep on screaming if you like,’ Mrs Weiss encouraged. ‘It’s satisfying to know I’m doing my job properly.’
Justine didn’t bother acknowledging the remark. The raging heat at her sex burnt like lava. As the waves of agony rippled through her body the pulse of a black excitement snaked through her stomach. The inner muscles of her pussy trembled with mounting desire and she braced herself for another volley of blows.
‘Is this enough punishment for you?’ Mrs Weiss demanded.
She thrashed the flail down repeatedly, scourging Justine’s flesh and exciting an intolerable heat in the lips of her labia. Her aim was galling and Justine shook her head in a silent refusal of the anguish.
‘If you liked suffering punishment so much, is this enough to satisfy you?’
The series of harsh blows followed a pattern that first grazed her right cheek, then her left. A third, downward stroke scoured her exposed cleft wreaking agony against her anus and labia. Shards of raw pleasure were wrung from the hypersensitive skin around her sex. Mrs Weiss repeated the pattern with brisk determination, putting extra emphasis on the final stroke. Panting heavily she asked again, ‘Is it enough to satisfy you?’
‘More than enough,’ Justine gasped.
Each time the multi-thonged whip hissed through the air, Justine thought she was ready to endure the torment. Each time it slapped against her flesh she flinched and released a groan of despair. Admittedly the pain was exciting – a welter of dark responses blossomed in her loins and she could feel herself hurtling toward an unwanted climax – but when she accidentally stretched her fingers as the pleasure took hold, she heard Mrs Weiss grunt with obvious disapproval as Justine lost her grip on the cheeks.
The flail lashed sharply against her buttocks while Mrs Weiss snapped, ‘Follow my fucking instructions. Hold your arse cheeks apart until I tell you otherwise.’
Each scratching blow made Justine want to weep from the torment of humiliating pain. The force with which she now administered each slap had gone from cutting to unbearable. Scrabbling to hold herself open again Justine tried to think if there were any words she could use that might get her employer to show some degree of mercy.
‘You must stop. You are hurting her.’
The flailing came to an end and Justine realised the penitent had spoken up on her behalf. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the naked blonde stepping out of the shadows and bravely facing Mrs Weiss. Beyond the thundering pulse that beat in her temples she could feel her emotions swing from gratitude to terror. A part of her wanted to warn the penitent to get back in the shadows and remain hidden but a bigger part of her was grateful for the distraction that had brought her torment to an end.
‘You are using unnecessary force and you are hurting her,’ the penitent said earnestly. ‘Can’t you hear her cries? Don’t you understand that she wants you to stop?’
Mrs Weiss ignored the penitent and turned to her assistant. ‘Who the fuck is this?’
Still hiding within the cowls of his robe, he shrugged. ‘She was here when I arrived. I don’t know who she is. I assumed she was part of the package.’
‘That’s not an answer.’ Mrs Weiss turned to glare at Justine. Using her flail to point at the penitent, she asked, ‘Who the fuck is she? What the fuck is she doing here?’
Justin swallowed and tried to think of a way to explain her companion. ‘Father Dupont commanded her to come with me.’
‘Does she have a name?’
‘Possibly. I mean: of course. But I never got round to – I mean I haven’t –’
Mrs Weiss raised one eyebrow and her smile lilted with obvious approval. The brief shift in her mood was quickly replaced by her thunderous frown as she said, ‘It doesn’t matter who she is or what her name might be.’ Turning to her assistant she said, ‘The bitch has no place here. Get rid of her. I don’t want her cluttering up my donjon.’
‘No!’ Justine cried. She could see her exclamation did not please her employer but she was beyond caring about Mrs Weiss. Standing upright, knowing she was courting the woman’s disapproval and almost certainly earning further punishment, she said, ‘I want her to stay with me. I’ve fallen…’ she faltered before she could say the words she had started and then picked up quickly. ‘I’ve fallen into the habit of having her around.’
‘How touching,’ Mrs Weiss sneered. ‘And how little I fucking care. She has no place here, therefore she goes.’ Turning her attention back to her assistant she snapped, ‘Send the bitch back to her village. Send her to Sartine or Dupont. Send her wherever the fuck you can, I don’t care what you do with her, but just get her out of my sight.’
‘I don’t want her to go,’ Justine said defiantly.
The assistant hesitated.
The penitent glanced at Justine with a smile of warming gratitude.
Mrs Weiss stepped between them and glared at Justine. ‘Which do you want?’ she hissed. ‘Do you want
La Coste?
Or do you want this bitch? The choice is yours but, I’ll tell you now, you can only have one.’
Justine glared at her. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Fucking right I am. Which is it to be? The bitch? Or
La Coste?
’
Shocked by the enormity of the decision she was being forced to make, Justine glanced from the helpless face of the penitent to Mrs Weiss’s cruel leer. The idea of choosing one over the other was unthinkable and she shook her head as though refusing to make a decision.
‘Which is it to be?’ Mrs Weiss pressed. ‘I can make the decision for you, but I’d like to hear you say the words. The bitch? Or
La Coste?
Choose wisely or your quest for the damned book might just end here and now.’
Justine lowered her gaze and stared at the gloom of the floor. Unable to look at the penitent, not wanting to see the expression of hurt or reproach that would be in the woman’s eyes, she released a heavy sigh and whispered, ‘I choose
La Coste
.’
As soon as the assistant had taken the penitent from the donjon, Mrs Weiss relaxed. She motioned for Justine to sit on the stone bench and then removed a pack of cigarettes from inside her robe. Justine declined the cigarette and would like to have refused the instruction to sit on the stone seat. But Mrs Weiss was adamant and, reluctantly, Justine relented. The gritty surface was harsh against her punished backside and the coldness of the stone only served to remind her that her rear was ablaze with uncomfortable marks. Shifting from one position to another did nothing except exacerbate the discomfort and she eventually sat still and accepted the nuisance of not being at ease.
Mrs Weiss took the seat facing Justine and sat back as she demurely crossed her ankles. ‘You’ve done well to get this far,’ she said as she lit up. She took a couple of draws from the cigarette and added, ‘I was worried you might expose me.’
Still thinking of the penitent, Justine said nothing. The realisation that she would never see the blonde again was enough to make her spirits sink to a new low. The humiliation of being naked, and forced to keep her bare bottom pressed against an abrasive seat, was almost forgotten as she brooded on the loss of her lover. If she hadn’t thought it might give Mrs Weiss a degree of pleasure, Justine believed she would have cried.
‘I’m surprised you convinced Dupont. He can’t stand English women but I guess that sort of bigotry is typical for Froggy left-footers like him.’ She snorted a chuckle of dark laughter and added, ‘I was worried he might prove to be a stumbling block. Did Sartine make things difficult for you?’