The penitent released a soft moan.
Justine started to turn, ready to tell the hooded figure that he had no excuse for punishing her companion. He landed a vicious slash against her left buttock and its force was enough to staunch every syllable of complaint she had been about to make. Clutching at herself, trying not to whimper with discomfort, she glared over her shoulder at him as he drove another blow against the penitent’s backside. When Justine heard her friend shriek, she could almost feel the woman’s pain.
‘Six each,’ the hooded figure said solemnly. ‘More if you insist on moving.’
It was a cruel instruction and Justine toyed with the options of defying him, or allowing the punishment to continue. Common sense told her that she should relent and suffer the torment of the crop but she didn’t want to simply submit to four more blows of such brutal force. Some of her reluctance came from a natural sense of self-preservation but a greater part was caused by her knowledge of what would happen once she did give in. As long as she was challenging the hooded figure, Justine knew that she didn’t have to acknowledge the arousal that his punishment inspired. As soon as she stopped questioning his authority, she feared that her body would have no reason not to respond to the hateful torment.
The swish of another blow striking the penitent made Justine want to wail at the injustice. She stifled her own sob as the blonde cried out and then braced herself for the slash that she knew was about to strike her own backside.
The hooded figure did not disappoint.
He landed the crop sharply against her buttocks igniting a line of liquid fire across her cheeks. As Justine gasped for air, struggling not to be won over by the surge of white heat that seared the tops of her thighs, she felt the warmth radiate into the moistened lips of her sex. The pain was infuriating and exciting and she quietly cursed her body for taking so much pleasure from the stinging punishment.
The penitent moaned as another lash struck her bottom.
Justine thought it difficult to work out whether she was hurt more from the sting of each blow, or if the cries of the penitent caused more suffering. Listening to the blonde’s pitiful sighs – knowing that she was suffering solely because she had accompanied Justine to Vincennes – made for an unbearable sound. When the crop bit against her own backside Justine reasoned that she had the advantage of feeling some pleasure. Hearing the penitent’s miserable sobs only made her feel guilty and unhappy.
Another sharp bite from the crop stopped her thoughts from progressing down that avenue. Her tormentor slashed a further blow to the penitent and another across Justine. The force of each shot was despicable and she gasped for air as she tried to make her body accept the pain.
At the back of her mind she could picture her rear striped with crimson lines. The image was as hateful as the pain itself because it fuelled a fresh unwanted arousal. Deliberately, she stared at the timeworn stone seat. She didn’t dare to close her eyes for fear of seeing that mental image again and being overwhelmed by its power. From the discomfort she could feel Justine knew her pale cheeks were marked by weals that all but glowed with their heat. She concentrated on the stone seat, scared to look over her shoulder because she knew the sight of the penitent’s punished rear would prove as exciting as the mental image of her own behind. Breathing deeply, telling herself the ordeal was almost over, she winced sympathetically when the penitent cried out. A tear trailed down her cheek but Justine couldn’t decide if she was crying because of her own discomfort or the suffering that her friend was having to endure.
The crop hissed and spat against her backside.
Justine stiffened and then heard the penitent cry out again.
Her backside was numb from the abuse and she didn’t want to believe that she felt the final blow when it struck the tops of her thighs. There was no point in denying the furious arousal that now smouldered in her cleft. When she was allowed to stand up and face the hooded figure she knew the symptoms of her excitement would be as obvious as neon signs. Her nipples were standing stiff and erect, the flush of heat in her loins had made her labia feel sticky with wetness and she knew her colour would be high and obvious.
But she still managed to glare at him when she was told she no longer needed to bend over. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Justine gasped. ‘Everyone else I’ve met throughout this acquisition has had the courtesy to introduce themselves. You are just some coward who hides inside a cowl and bullies my companion and me. Who are you? Why were you punishing me and my friend like that?’
‘I am the introduction,’ he grinned.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m not the person who will be punishing you. I’m merely an introduction to what you can expect for the next couple of days. I was simply told to come down here and have you both naked and striped in preparation.’
‘In preparation for what?’ Justine asked warily.
‘In preparation for me,’ a voice boomed from the stairwell above them.
They all turned to stare at the ominous figure descending upon them. Hooded and cowled, dragging a whip in one hand and a length of chain in the other, the figure was menacing and formidable. ‘You’ve been tested in your responses to sacrilege and found acceptable. You’ve been treated to an orgy of excessive pleasure at Sartine’s hotel and he informs me that you have the nature of a true hedonist. Now comes the true test of your abilities.’
Justine glared at the newcomer, sure she knew what would come next and dreading the words she was about to hear. The second hooded figure stepped close to her, tossing the cowl back to expose a familiar face that was twisted with raw rage and anger. Justine’s sudden understanding of the situation struck her like a vicious slap across the jaw.
‘My name is Mrs Weiss,’ the woman thundered. ‘And I’m here to see how you respond to pain and punishment.’
Eleven
‘You were making things awkward for my assistant,’ Mrs Weiss growled. ‘Do you have an explanation for your behaviour?’
‘I was –’ Justine began.
Common sense told her that she should simply state that the assistant had refused to say who he was or explain his authority. She hadn’t been trying to make things awkward for anyone: she had only been looking out for her own interests and those of the penitent. It seemed like a reasonable argument to make but the words refused to come and she could only stammer nonsensical replies.
‘I’d just…I mean…he wouldn’t say…’
‘It’s a good thing we’re not going to be troubled by a language barrier,’ Mrs Weiss sneered. Her dismissive sigh indicated that the social niceties of the exchange were ended. ‘Shut your mouth,’ she snapped. ‘Bend over and show me your arse. Let me see if my assistant truly marked you as you deserve.’
Justine paused for the briefest moment.
Mrs Weiss slapped her hard across the jaw.
The blow was not powerful but it was sudden and unexpected. Her head reeled from the force of the palm striking her cheek and she gasped with surprise. Too startled to know how to respond she glared silently at her employer and tried to splutter words that would express her outrage.
‘You…You hit me!’
‘I’ll hit you again if you don’t do as I tell you.’ Mrs Weiss spoke in a bored matter-of-fact tone. ‘I won’t repeat many of my instructions. I expect you to obey me immediately and I’ll treat any hesitation as insurrection. Now shut your mouth and bend over or, truly, I shall slap you again.’
Justine acted with unseemly haste. She turned her back on the woman and assumed the same humiliating position she had been forced to adopt for the assistant. The vulnerability of her situation made her want to cringe but she wilfully pushed that idea from her thoughts. It was bad enough having to submit to Mrs Weiss without dwelling on the depths of shame to which she had now sunk. It would be worse if she was to let the woman know how much upset her domination was causing. Aware of Mrs Weiss’s cruel streak, Justine could imagine the woman’s delight if sh
e understood the hurt she had inspired.
Cool hands stroked the burning cheeks of her buttocks. Justine could hear her employer draw a deep breath and wondered if the sound was meant to convey excitement, shock or disappointment. She tried not to let her body acknowledge any of the flares of discomfort that came when the woman’s nails raked against her punished backside. It was obvious that Mrs Weiss was deliberately touching the marks that had been branded into her rear. She traced each weal with a forceful finger that rekindled every agonising memory of when it had been first inflicted. Cupping a buttock in each hand, pulling the cheeks apart until the flesh of Justine’s pussy felt stretched, she sighed again.
‘Isn’t this fucking typical?’ Mrs Weiss growled truculently. ‘If you want a job doing properly you have to do it your-fucking-self.’
Justine’s buttocks were released from the woman’s cold and punitive grip but she suspected that her ordeal was far from over. Breathing deeply, not allowing herself to think about the picture she presented by being naked and bent over, Justine tried to relax in the hope that she would be able to tolerate whatever punishment and abuse Mrs Weiss forced upon her.
‘I want a flail.’ Without turning, Justine knew the words were being barked at the assistant. The iron in Mrs Weiss’s voice was as cold and uncompromising as ever.
‘I told you a crop was no fucking good. I said a flail, a cat or some nettles would work best for this job but would you fucking listen, you halfwit?’
Her question was followed by a mumbled apology and the sound of footsteps clattering hurriedly up the stone steps. Staring meekly at the floor, not daring to shift position in case it incurred Mrs Weiss’s wrath or punishment, Justine put every effort into remaining still while she fought the tremors that wanted to shake through her body. It was a difficult position to maintain and she came close to spoiling her composure with a shriek when Mrs Weiss pushed a finger inside her pussy.
‘I thought as much,’ the woman grunted.
Shivering, Justine didn’t respond. She stayed absolutely rigid as the slender finger slipped deeper between the lips of her sex. In the stillness she could feel the smoothness of the manicured and polished nail contrasting with the creases on Mrs Weiss’s knuckle. The inner walls of her sex felt so acutely sensitive she even believed she could feel the whorls of the woman’s fingerprint as they touched her most intimate depths.
‘The crop might not have been as punishing as I’d wanted, but it’s got you truly fucking horny, hasn’t it?’
Justine felt her blush turn deeper.
The finger was snatched from her pussy and a hand slapped sharply across her backside. The pain was unexpected and more severe than she would have imagined. Justine didn’t know if Mrs Weiss had flicked her wrist in a specific way, or if she had simply managed to catch a previously punished part of the buttock with chilling accuracy. Whatever the reason, Justine closed her eyes and tried to come to terms with the flare of blistering pain that shrieked from her backside.
‘I asked you a question,’ Mrs Weiss hissed. She had lowered her voice so she could spit the words into Justine’s ear. ‘I asked you a question and, whenever I ask you a question, you’ll give me an immediate answer. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Justine gasped. ‘Yes. I understand.’
‘The crop got you truly fucking horny, didn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Justine spluttered. The shame of the admission was forgotten as she hurriedly tried to appease the woman behind her. ‘Yes, the crop got me horny.’
Two fingers were pushed into her sex this time.
Justine didn’t know whether or not she should be appalled by her willingness to surrender to the woman, or if she should be sickened by the ease with which the fingers had slipped into her pussy. The realisation that she had become so intensely aroused by punishment and humiliation left her ill with self-loathing but that only enhanced the fetid heat between her legs. Her shame grew stronger as Mrs Weiss slowly pushed her fingers deep and then began to slide them back out.
‘Which aroused you most? Was it the pain or the humiliation?’
‘I…’
As she hesitated the fingers in her sex stiffened. Justine knew she was a breath away from having the hand snatched from her sex so she could be slapped briskly across her rear. Anxious to avoid that punishment – anxious to avoid any unnecessary punishment – she said quickly, ‘I don’t know.’
The hand relaxed and resumed the path it had been working before. Mrs Weiss slipped her fingers slowly in and out, exciting a flurry of dark arousal through the muscles of Justine’s sex. Although she seemed capable of inflicting a vicious amount of pain when the mood took her, it was apparent that she could also caress with unnerving skill. Justine held her breath, wishing her body wasn’t so easily excited, while a stronger tingle of arousal churned through her cleft.
Her nipples hardened. The pulse of her clitoris beat with renewed force. And she knew there was nothing she could do to stop Mrs Weiss from mercilessly dominating her.
‘You must have some idea,’ Mrs Weiss cajoled. Her tone was deceptively light-hearted and Justine warned herself not to be taken in by the suggestion of playful banter. ‘Did you get wet when my assistant told you to undress? Did the humiliation of that instruction make you squirm? Were you excited by the prospect of having to strip for a hooded stranger? Or did you only start to get truly horny when he slapped the crop across your arse? Was it the pain that made you so hot and wet?’
Justine quickly weighed her options before replying. She couldn’t recall which part of this torrid episode had inspired her excitement. She wasn’t even sure if her arousal had been caused by the assistant’s punishment and humiliation, or if she had already been excited from kissing the penitent. The latter option seemed more likely but there was also the possibility that the atmosphere of Vincennes had exerted an effect.
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 c
hanging 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!’
Forbidden Reading Page 14
