Forbidden Reading (24 page)

Marais groaned as he pushed himself deeper. His length was long and thick, sliding forcefully along the narrow channel of her rear.

Lost in the darkness that surrounded them, able to concentrate on every physical sensation rather than being distracted by anything, Justine was able to revel in every glorious sensation. She could feel each millimetre of Marais’s erection as it surged deeper into her hole. Her body was so attuned to him that she could follow the rounded shape of his swollen glans as it thrust along her forbidden passage.

Justine curled one hand into a fist while the other clawed helplessly at the table beneath her. Having his shaft fill her bowel was both disquieting and exhilarating. The knowledge that they were little more than casual acquaintances added to her excitement. The freedom of giving herself to this man whom she didn’t know was an unexpected enticement to her arousal. As he began to glide back and forth, she wondered when she had turned from being a mere librarian to becoming a woman in touch with her body’s needs and responses.

Marais’s brutal treatment didn’t allow her much scope for reflection. As he battered exquisite sensations through her rear, Justine cried out for him with a mixture of anguish and satisfaction. His pace quickened, the splendid intrusion became even more delightful, and she forgot all about the certainty that strangers were watching from the shadows. Even when unseen fingers brushed against the back of her hand, and hidden voices murmured approval about Marais’s technique, she was easily able to think of those voices as belonging to her imagination.

‘Go on, you bitch,’ he panted. ‘Take it all. Take every fucking inch.’

As he hammered each thrust into her anus, he called her a whore, a bitch and a filthy slut. His tone was vulgar and, after beginning in English, he slipped into a guttural French that was clearly more familiar to him. He cursed her with a string of invectives that Justine didn’t understand but knew she deserved.

Quietly thrilled by his low opinion, and urging herself ever closer to the climax her body needed, she groaned when he cupped her breasts. His hands were strong, chilled by the night, and they pawed viciously at her flesh. But none of those handicaps stopped the sensations from being delicious. Catching her nipples between his knuckles, squeezing until the pain was nearly unbearable, Marais allowed his fingernails to scourge a litany of anguish against the swollen orbs. With a groan of satisfaction, Marais rode her more vigorously, pounding each thrust forcefully into her backside.

It was a gratuitous experience – devised only for his pleasure – but Justine was elated to be a part of the moment. The inner muscles of her anus were bombarded by the sensations his length inflicted and it did not take long before she shrieked with the joy of release. Her sphincter clenched hungrily around the thick intruder and a spasm of pure delight shook through her frame. Through the all-encompassing darkness she could see explosions of glorious light as the orgasm shivered through her body. Someone groaned with obvious ecstasy and it was only when she felt the cry trembling over her lips that Justine realised she had been listening to her own sigh of contentment. Breathless and elated, she wondered how Marais was managing to resist his own climax.

Behind her, she heard him gasp. There was something in the exclamation that made her realise the cry had come from between clenched teeth and she understood he had been using every effort to stave off his ejaculation. Smiling tightly to herself, eager to show him she was a worthy recipient of
La Coste
, Justine squeezed the muscles of her anus tight. His penetration became harder and more forced. His final thrust was less controlled than his previous movements and, before his groan became a sigh, Marais had exploded inside her.

She had known his orgasm was close but she hadn’t expected it to come with such surprising speed or force. He buried himself deep into her rear, exclaiming in a torrent of French expletives that she hoped never to understand. His erection thickened as his shaft released a jet of scalding semen. The douche was enough to inspire a scorching climax inside Justine and, startled by the intensity of her reaction, she cried out into the night. Fresh waves of pleasure washed over her as Marais continued to pulse his seed into her bowel.

The darkness around her took on a mist-like quality and she realised she was on the verge of losing consciousness. Forcing herself to breathe deeply – determined she wouldn’t pass out so early on in the evening – Justine lay breathless over the table as Marais dragged his spent length from her backside. Tremors continued to shiver through her body, a testament to the intense delights she had enjoyed. But she wouldn’t let herself concentrate on her personal pleasure.

She could hear Marais’s breathing was slightly laboured and his words were tinged by a smirk of satisfaction when he finally spoke. ‘That was a good beginning to the evening,’ he grunted.

Turning round to face him, finally able to discern his features from the darkness, she asked, ‘Have I proved my worthiness?’

Marais laughed. She had thought he was too much of a gentleman to appear cruel or unkind but now she could see that idea had been severely misplaced. The malicious undercurrent of his tone evoked a prickle of dread.

‘Have you proved your worthiness?’ he repeated. ‘That was nothing more than foreplay, Justine.’ Snatching hold of the candle, raising it high so it fully illuminated his face, he gave a distinct nod.

Justine understood he was passing a signal to someone but she had no idea who it might be. It wasn’t until a second candle fluttered into life, and she saw a mature and familiar face, that she realised how the night was going to progress.

A thin-lipped smile beneath hard black eyes appraised her with barely concealed distaste. ‘Bonsoir Justine,’ he murmured. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

Her cheeks flushed crimson and Justine swallowed thickly as she mumbled her own greeting to the priest.

‘Marais is correct,’ the priest mumbled. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone got this far. You’ve done better than any of us expected.’

She thought the remark was meant as a compliment but she couldn’t bring herself to take it that way. Something about the priest’s stiff manner immediately made her feel defensive. Justine subconsciously realised that Marais had stripped her when he used her and she cringed from the idea of being caught in such an embarrassing way in front of the priest. It crossed her mind that this man hadn’t simply seen her unclothed before – he had treated her to a humiliating ordeal that left her feeling ill when she recalled the sacrilege she endured – but none of those thoughts stopped her from fretting that she was standing naked and used in front of a minister of God.

‘Father,’ she said softly. Inadvertently her hands stole to cover her breasts and her exposed sex. The modesty of her actions struck her as being senseless but she couldn’t control the impulse to hide her body.

The priest ignored Justine and glanced into the shadows behind her.

Justine briefly marvelled over his ability to see those things in the dark that she couldn’t discern. But she got the impression that this was a ritual with which he and the other members of
The Society
were familiar. Two figures loomed close to her and she guessed they were acting on the priest’s instruction. They were asexual, and both cloaked in hooded robes that reminded her of Mrs Weiss’s assistant from the previous day. Neither had the commanding bulk that had been possessed by that man but the similarity in their clothes made Justine wonder if this was a dress code for subordinates of
The Society
and another facet that united the members as a group.

Each of the priest’s assistants took one of Justine’s hands and raised it to shoulder level. She was led backwards until her buttocks touched something solid. Her wrists were swiftly bound to a horizontal plank behind her and she allowed her captors to tie her without protest. It was only when she realised there was no give in the bondage that Justine fully understood she was at the mercy of the priest. Surrounded by unseen strangers – naked, helpless and vulnerable – she was dismayed to think how easily the priest could now abuse her trust. The thought inspired a rush of fresh wetness between her legs and, with that response, she realised her appetites had sunk to a level that was truly depraved.

From the shadows, the assistants lit candles and placed them at her feet.

Justine was able to see that her ankles were touching the base of a stout wooden cross and she shrank from the blasphemy of the pose that the priest had forced her to assume. Struggling against the restraints, suddenly scared that she might be taking the concept of sacrilege too far, she tried to find the strength to pull free. Her stomach folded as she contemplated the irreverence of mocking the crucifixion. A part of her wanted to close her eyes and shrink from the wickedness of what they were doing but she knew Marais would see that as a sign of weakness. She also suspected the priest would be livid if he thought she was not proving herself worthy. But, more important, she found that a part of her longed to be involved in the sacrilege. Breaking so many taboos was a powerful and intoxicating thrill, and Justine found her body now needed that additional excitement that came from doing something so forbidden.

‘You’ve done well to get this far,’ the priest assured her. His voice was smooth and controlled: a stark contrast to her mounting panic and unease. ‘You’ve done
very
well to get this far,’ he corrected. ‘But I want a little extra from you this evening. Do you understand?’

Too frightened to say or do anything, Justine could only nod. She remained uneasy with the thought of suffering this perverse punishment, fearful she was running the risk of damning her soul for all eternity, but the idea of disobeying the priest was equally unappealing. Not only was the fate of
La Coste
at stake but, if there was any chance of getting back her beloved penitent, Justine knew it would come from pleasing the priest. Anxious to do everything he asked as she pursued that particular goal, and telling herself she had no choice because the bondage made her an unwilling participant, Justine watched the priest remove a cat o’ nine tails from the folds of his vestment.

The coils of leather unfurled like a nest of snakes. In the stillness of the night, Justine imagined she could hear them hissing as they fell to the floor. Shards of candlelight glistened from their restless bodies as they twitched and writhed ready to make their mark on her. A tremor of wet excitement bristled through the inner muscles of her sex.

‘Very nice.’

Marais’s approving voice made Justine feel ill. She tried glancing through the shadows to see his face but could only make out a vague silhouette. It was impossible to decide if that made his appeal seem more sinister or more arousing.

The threat of being whipped didn’t trouble her. After all she had endured at the hand of Mrs Weiss, Justine felt sure she could tolerate another scourging. Recalling the previous day, she remembered that it had not been without some pleasure, although she couldn’t understand how her body could take arousal and satisfaction from such callous torment.

But she still felt queasy about the priest’s profane use of sacred imagery and her own involvement in that blasphemy. Drawing a nervous breath, and wishing her body were no longer riddled with the delightful eddies that remained from Marais’s heavy-handed use of her, she steeled herself in readiness for the assault.

‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,’ the priest began. As his voice intoned the words, he slashed the cat hard against Justine’s naked frame. The multi-thonged whip cut heavily through the air, tearing the night into shreds. The cruel tips landed against her with shocking force and, unable to stop herself, she screamed.

Each lash was powerful and scratched her with the full and vicious weight she had expected. A part of her had wanted to remain silent through the punishment but the stinging agony was more than her body could tolerate. Stunned by the pain, and disgusted by the excitement her suffering inspired, Justine released a second wail as the priest lashed her again.

The wicked tips of the thongs bit at her breasts and abdomen.

She didn’t dare glance down at herself, fearful of putting her face in danger and uneasy at the thought of seeing how severely her body might have been marked. When he struck again it felt as though he was aiming purposefully for her nipples. Both buds of flesh had been grazed by the cat and they stood hard, hot and proud. The stimulation was enormous, thrilling her with an urgent need for satisfaction. Equally powerful was the ache that also held her and Justine squeezed her eyes closed to keep back further tears. Breathing heavily, she tried to prepare herself for the next blow of the cat.

But it didn’t land.

When she dared to open her eyes and glance at him, she saw the priest was fixing her with a menacing glower. ‘I want to hear your confession.’

She stiffened at the words, as she would have recoiled from another bite of the whip. Shaking her head, not sure who else was there listening from the shadows but appalled at the idea of confessing her sins to them, Justine thought of begging him to reconsider his punishment.

The whip twitched in his hand, as though he was preparing to administer more stinging encouragement. His inscrutable features studied her with the gravest solemnity. ‘Your confession, Justine,’ he prompted. ‘Let me hear it now.’

‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned.’ She blurted the exclamation before he could hurl the whip at her again. Trembling from a combination of cold, terror and mounting excitement, she fixed him with a steely gaze and said, ‘It has been three days since I was last in a confessional box.’

The priest’s smile was bitter. He genuflected quickly, the sharp movements of his hand making it look as though he was swatting at flies from the night around him. ‘Carry on,’ he encouraged her. ‘Tell me your sins.’