Forbidden Reading (3 page)

‘I wasn’t treating you like a sex toy,’ Mrs Weiss corrected. ‘I was simply testing your suitability. I have a little job that needs doing and I had thought you might be the ideal candidate.’

Justine shook her head as she retrieved the last of her clothes from the floor. ‘I don’t do little jobs for sadistic perverts,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t even work for your library any more. I shall forward a letter of resignation through my solicitor.’

‘There’s a manuscript that’s long been missing from my collection.’ Mrs Weiss spoke as though Justine hadn’t said anything. ‘I’ve heard this precious document is finally being made available. I want you to acquire it for me.’

Still seething, Justine wouldn’t allow herself to be won over by the pull of intrigue. ‘There are others in your library better suited for acquisitions. Employ one of them. I’ve just told you: I shall be tendering my resignation.’

‘I’ll double your salary.’

Justine stiffened her back and sniffed indignantly. ‘Do you think I’m a whore? Do you think you can buy me with a measly increase in wages?’

‘I think we’re all whores,’ Mrs Weiss said solemnly. ‘We may not all share the same price but I’ve yet to meet the woman, or man, who puts virtue above personal gain or the realisation of their own ambitions. Such perverse morality goes against the grain of human nature.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ Justine said with quiet dignity. ‘I do put virtue above personal gain and I’ll be telling that to a competent lawyer for the industrial tribunal.’

Mrs Weiss laughed. ‘Surely, you won’t leave today?’ she purred. ‘You won’t throw away your career on the same day you’ve been given a chance to single-handedly acquire
La Coste
.’

The final two words were delivered like a killing blow.

Justine heard them and reeled as though she had been struck. She stopped walking toward the vault door and turned to see the earnest expression on the older woman’s face. A hundred questions rushed to the front of her mind, each more important than the last. If she had found the breath to speak she knew she would have stammered in excitement. But the one thing she would not have done would have been to repeat her intention to leave. The idea of declining Mrs Weiss’s offer was no longer an option. Justine wanted to get her hands on
La Coste
.

For one brief moment Justine found herself wondering what she was doing.

She sat at the back of the church, innocently admiring the grandiose frescos and architecture, marvelling at the beauty of the stained glass and smiling approval at the ornate carvings on the pulpit and chancel. With the onset of twilight, candles had been lit around the chancel and within recesses in the broad stone pillars, and she was bathed in the warm glow of their guttering light. A memory of incense perfumed the air with a sultry cinnamon tang. The excess of detail around her was more than Justine was used to observing and, as she gazed with awe on a vividly sculpted crucifix above the altar, she tried to understand why she was troubling herself with Mrs Weiss’s acquisition. The library’s patron had bullied and abused her, subjected her to the most disquieting ordeal in the vault, and only stopped Justine from tendering her resignation by giving her the chance to acquire a mere manuscript.

Yet, going against her better judgement and flying in the face of common sense, instead of telling the library’s patron to hand the job to someone else, Justine had eagerly returned home, packed an overnight case with her passport and a few essentials, then set off to attend the rendezvous that Mrs Weiss had organised. There had been a taxi ride, a train journey, the purchase of a pocket-sized phrase book to help surmount the language barrier she anticipated facing, then a short flight out of the country. That had been followed by another train journey, a second taxi ride and a short walk to one of the lesser-known churches in rural Provence. Everything happened so quickly she supposed it was only within the tranquillity of the church that she had found the chance to contemplate her actions. But it still struck her as bizarre that she was willing to do so much after suffering Mrs Weiss’s sadistic abuse.

‘I’m doing this to get
La Coste
,’ Justine told herself. Her whispered voice was like a prayer in the stillness of the church. The reverential tone was replete with pious righteousness. ‘That’s why I’m doing it. I’m doing it for
La Coste
.’ Strangely, she thought, the answer sounded right. Content that she knew her motivations, even if she didn’t fully understand them, Justine settled back in her pew and continued to reflect on the church’s majestic interior. She told herself it was better to think about anything other than the pleasure she had received beneath Mrs Weiss’s cruel tutelage. Memories of the diabolical excitement continued to plague her with a guilty charge that she didn’t want to revisit. The black arousal of exposing herself, being touched and then being striped, had left a mark that lingered longer than any of those weals that had been sliced across her backside. Justine shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat of the pew, trying not to acknowledge the discomfort that still lingered in her behind and reminding herself that it was unseemly to be recalling such a licentious episode in the hallowed sanctuary of a church. The internal censure was enough to make her turn her thoughts back to the splendour of the church’s decor but not quite enough to stop her nipples from aching with an unfulfilled need.

‘You must be Justine.’

She blinked in surprise when the man spoke to her. There was the inflection of a strong French accent in his flawless English but, other than that, he was nothing like what she had expected. Mrs Weiss had said she would be contacted in the church but she had given neither name nor description. Justine hadn’t known if she would be approached by someone older or younger, black or white, or even male or female: but she had never expected her contact to be a priest.

Too startled to respond, she simply gaped at him.

‘Am I correct? Are you Justine?’

He stood before her wearing brilliant white vestments over his long black cassock. The addition of chasuble, stole and pectoral cross made it look as though he had just finished preparing for the early evening mass and Justine searched his face to be sure he was really her contact. Mature and darkly handsome, he would have, she supposed, the air of a dependable, trustworthy cleric to his congregation. Yet she detected something less attractive in his thin-lipped smile. His black eyes shone with a wicked glint and, if she had been of a paranoid nature, Justine could have believed he was glowering at her with concealed distaste.

‘Is Justine your real name?’ he began. ‘Or just a germane identity to hide behind for the purposes of this transaction?’

She started to reply but he was already shaking his head and taking hold of her wrist. His hands were large, the knuckles brushed with hairs as dark and wiry as those on his head. ‘No matter,’ he decided. ‘I have only one question for you and, as you are in my church, I expect an honest answer.’

Justine nodded. His fingers were warm and strong around her wrist. Despite the comfort that came from seeing a man in ceremonial robes she got the impression of cruel power from his grip. Stifling her nerves, trying hard to disguise her apprehension, she said, ‘Ask what you will, Father. I shall answer as honestly as I am able.’

‘Are you worthy of acquiring
La Coste
?’

She swallowed.

Mrs Weiss had warned that the manuscript’s seller would want to make sure it went to a worthy recipient, sneering her contempt as she complained about this clause in the sale. ‘Marais is selling because he needs the money,’ she had explained. Unconsciously her tone slipped into a monologue of vitriol. ‘So Marais plays these petty games – as though he’s giving up a first-born child – yet I could be outbid by a recycling plant if the offer was more lucrative to him. I’m only glad I was the first one to get the money in an escrow account this time, although I had to filter it through half a dozen agents to keep my identity from him. But it’s still insulting. If I didn’t want this manuscript so badly I wouldn’t even demand that you submit to the bastard.’

‘I believe I’m worthy of acquiring
La Coste
,’ Justine told the priest. ‘But you’ll want more than that admission from me, won’t you?’ Remembering the instruction Mrs Weiss had given her, reciting the words as accurately as she could recall, Justine said, ‘I believe you’ll want me to prove my worthiness.’

The priest sneered. ‘You’re quite the eager little bitch, aren’t you?’

The words stunned her, almost as much as the shock she received when he pulled her out of her pew. Justine had been brought up with a strong faith in religion and an ingrained respect for the clergy. To be called a bitch by a priest was the most cutting condemnation she could imagine. She stumbled after him as he walked down the aisle, her heart pounding as she tried to guess what test he had in mind.

‘
La Coste
was written by a great man,’ the priest grumbled. ‘It’s almost unthinkable that it should ever end up in the hands of
an English girl
.’

The disdain in his voice made Justine feel nauseous. If she hadn’t been out of breath from trying to maintain her balance and keep up with him she would have protested that his insults were more severe than she deserved.

‘You have a lot to prove if you think you’ll get my consent for this purchase,’ the priest growled. ‘And I should warn you before we begin, you’re not going to win me over so easily.’

‘I’m worthy of acquiring
La Coste
,’ Justine said indignantly.

‘Then you’ll prove that to me,’ he snapped.

To the left of the chancel, facing the pulpit, stood a life-size statue of the virgin and child. Their beatific smiles watched blindly as Justine was dragged to the altar. Above her the gaze from the crucified Christ figure stared down as she was forced to her knees. Justine could only feel her shame intensify when the priest pulled his erection from the folds of his vestments. The long length of flesh was hard and obscenely pink. It struck her as being a disgusting and unholy sight in the sanctuary of the church. Unable to contain her response, she sneered with revulsion and tried to back away from him.

He caught her by the shoulder and dragged her closer to his hardness. ‘Touch my cock,’ he demanded. ‘Stroke it. Wank me. Bring me off. Make me come.’

Each word was like a slap across the face and Justine recoiled from the shock of hearing a priest utter such ungodly instructions. She tried silently to implore him for leniency but the hard set of his jaw told her he would show no mercy. His gaze was devoid of compassion and he looked unable to do anything except repeat the more offensive of his instructions.

‘Touch my cock. Wank me. Make me come.’

As she noticed the pearl of pre-come that glistened over the eye of his glans, then caught the salty scent of his arousal, Justine realised she wanted to obey his instructions. Although they were in a church, and even though she knew her thoughts were deeply sacrilegious, she was desperate to do as the priest demanded. Tentatively at first, then with growing eagerness, she reached for his erection and circled him with her hand.

‘Praise be to Jesus,’ he muttered. ‘That’s what I need.’

His shaft thickened as her cool fingers pressed against his boiling flesh. The bead of pre-come grew distinctly larger and the strong pulse of his arousal beat steadily in her palm. When she stroked her hand along him, pulling the rubbery flesh of his foreskin over his purple glans, the priest sighed. His exclamation of approval turned into a groan when she tugged the skin back and tautly exposed his swollen dome. Holding him firmly, she could feel the desire for climax shivering through his length.

‘Go on,’ he spluttered. ‘In the name of the Father, use both hands and toss me off now.’

She flinched from the way he called on God to watch down, but that didn’t stop her from eagerly obeying. Wrapping both fists around his erection she stroked her hands back and forth in unison. He was more than long enough to be contained within her grip. The bulbous end of his shaft poked out from between the curled finger and thumb of her right hand. Her left hand pressed into the dark thatch of curls that poked through the opening in his cassock. The scent of his arousal grew more noticeable and the quickening pulse of his excitement pounded beneath her fingertips.

‘Praise be to all the saints,’ he growled.

She dared to glance up at his face and saw the manic glint that shone in his eyes. His eyebrows were knitted together with concentration and his jaw looked peculiarly square and manly. It was unnerving to accept that she was doing something so base in the sanctity of a church, but Justine thought the priest’s expression was even more disquieting. The idea of refusing him had long since passed and all that was left was her need to submit.

As she snatched a faltering breath, Justine realised that her desire to obey wasn’t her only motivation: there was also the quandary of her own swelling excitement. Kneeling before him, squeezing her thighs together as she dryly tried to address her own arousal, Justine came close to sobbing with frustration.

‘Praise be to all that is holy,’ he glowered.

She could feel him growing inexorably harder. Twisting her wrists lightly, she dared to increase her pace as she pulled his foreskin back and forth. Above her head she saw his pectoral cross keeping tempo as it bounced against his chest. The tassels decorating the ends of his stole swayed to and fro with the same rhythmic motion.

‘
Salope
!’ he exclaimed. His hands had tightened into fists by his sides and his jaw was clenched with a fury that could have splintered the enamel from his teeth. In a guttural whisper he declared, ‘
Putain cochonne
.’

Justine didn’t know what the words meant but she suspected they wouldn’t be included in the pages of the phrase book she had purchased. She didn’t doubt he was insulting her and, given the circumstances, believed she was probably worthy of his vilest slurs. But those considerations didn’t stop her as she worked diligently toward wringing the climax from his length. The ordeal was proving more exciting than she had anticipated and Justine was overcome by her own need for satisfaction. As her hands worked on him – her biceps aching from the exertion and her palms glistening with a meld of her own sweat and the priest’s arousal – she couldn’t shake the demands of her pulsing libido. The inner muscles of her sex quivered with greedy need and the urgent pulse of her clitoris throbbed insistently. The folds of her pussy lips were indecently hot and fluid and she could have sobbed with the injustice of trying to satisfy the priest without being allowed to sate her own appetite.