Forbidden Reading

by Lisette Ashton

  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.’

  Twelve

  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?’

  ‘I passed his inspection, didn’t I?’

  Mrs Weiss tapped ash from her cigarette onto the floor. She regarded Justine with an expression of narrow disapproval. Her smile twisted into a nasty leer as she asked, ‘How long are you going to carry on sulking about your girlfriend?’

  The comment hurt and Justine raised her gaze to glare at the woman. Determined to play as cool a hand as Mrs Weiss, she asked, ‘What would happen if I told someone you were my employer?’

  Mrs Weiss tossed her half-smoked cigarette aside and stood up. Grabbing hold of Justine’s hair she pulled her from the stone seat and forced her to kneel on the floor.

  Staring down, fearful of the repercussions she had set in motion, Justine found herself swathed in the ominous darkness of the woman’s shadow. If there had been any way to retract her question she would have babbled it swiftly but she knew it was too late to recant. All she could do was tremble and try to brace herself for the brunt of Mrs Weiss’s wrath.

  ‘That’s a fucking good question.’ Mrs Weiss’s voice was bereft of humour. Her fingernails gouged at the vicious welts that had been tattooed on Justine’s rear and it was apparent she was putting every effort into soliciting discomfort. The cheeks of Justine’s backside were splayed apart; a palm rasped over the burning flesh of her labia; bony knuckles kneaded the most severe bruises and marks. Struggling to maintain her composure, Justine tolerated the abuse without daring to complain. She repeatedly snatched breaths as she tried to remain immune to the punishment.

  ‘Quite a few things would happen if you revealed that I am your employer,’ Mrs Weiss conceded. She pushed one finger against the wetness of Justine’s sex. When the easy penetration provoked no response she moved her hand away and then tested the resistance of Justine’s anus.

  The temptation to shriek and wrench herself free was almost irresistible. But Justine held still as the manicured nail slipped through the muscle of her sphincter. She tried to relax as Mrs Weiss forced the penetration deeper but nerves and apprehension made her rigid. So many things had entered her rear over the past few days that Justine was surprised the muscle continued to put up any show of defiance. At Sartine’s party she knew she had been repeatedly used by a dozen or more men, all blessed with erections that had much wider girths than Mrs Weiss’s finger. But there was something shameful about the way the woman made the penetration – especially as it was clearly the precursor to a greater punishment – and it caused this entry to seem perverted and wrong.

  ‘If you tell anyone I’m your employer you’ll never see another page of La Coste,’ Mrs Weiss promised.

  Justine didn’t want to let the woman know that the threat unnerved her. After all she had been through, after all she had endured in her attempt to acquire the legendary manuscript, the prospect of losing that opportunity caused a genuine pain. Those few lines that the penitent had read for her were enough to whet Justine’s appetite for much more and she knew her curiosity wouldn’t be sated until she knew the contents of every page.

  She chugged breath as a second finger slipped alongside the first.

  Her sphincter felt full and awkwardly overstretched and the penetration was an obscene joy that she refused to acknowledge. She shrivelled from the sick impulse of taking pleasure from Mrs Weiss’s abuse knowing it was wrong: but a part of her craved to bask in the hateful sensations. Her anus was slippery with arousal. Both digits slid easily into her and the sensation of being full inspired a divine warmth.

  Mrs Weiss pushed the fingers deep. When she spoke her tone had become brittle with barely concealed anger. ‘Tell anyone I’m your employer and you’ll lose that bonus I promised you. Your pay rise, promotion, and the cash incentive, will all disappear.’

  That much, Justine had expected. She held her breath for a moment longer, trying to concentrate on Mrs Weiss’s words rather than her actions. The woman had begun to ease her fingers slowly in and out and Justine could feel her loins wanting to respond with a spasm of pure delight. After going from extremes of pain and humiliation to the ordeal of being blissfully fingerfucked by her employer she wasn’t surprised that her treacherous body found the ordeal arousing. But she was loath to let Mrs Weiss know she possessed such an effective control.

  ‘I’ll see that your name is publicly blackened,’ Mrs Weiss continued. ‘I’ll start the gossip and the rumours myself if I have to so that everyone knows what a lascivious little tart you are, and I’ll have Sartine provide me with photographs if necessary just so I can convince the last of the doubters.’

  Justine remembered the flashbulbs exploding at Sartine’s party and knew Mrs Weiss could make good on her threat. She remembered being quietly proud of the idea that she was being photographed. For some reason that she could no longer rationalise, she had thought that the prospect of pictures added a lilt of pleasure to the experience she was enjoying then. Now she could only think it had been an act of utter foolishness to let herself get caught on film.

  ‘But the main thing you should keep in mind,’ Mrs Weiss growled, ‘the point you really should consider before opening your stupid mouth is: you’d earn my displeasure. For every second that I have authority over you – whether it’s here in the donjon, tomorrow at La Coste, or back home at the library – I’ll go out of my way to make your life a constant torment of physical pain and sexual humiliation.’

  She said other things but Justine’s thoughts focused on one phrase: tomorrow at La Coste. The knowledge that she was so close to achieving her goal was enough to let her accept the torment and abuse. The idea gave her such a thrill that, despite her best intentions to appear indifferent, the muscles of her pussy convulsed with a minor shiver.

  Mrs Weiss laughed and, with the sound of the woman’s nasty cackle, Justine realised she hadn’t been concentrating on her words. She drew a deep breath and suppressed a moan as her employer slid a third finger alongside the first two. The stretching at her rear had gone from being delightful to unbearable yet a part of her still savoured the twisted ple
asure of being used in such a cruel way. Chugging breath in staggered gasps, Justine tensed her inner muscles for fear they would inadvertently convulse and show Mrs Weiss how much she was really enjoying the humiliation.

  ‘Have you dismissed the idea of exposing me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Am I assured of your loyalty and obedience?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to prove your loyalty now?’

  Each time Mrs Weiss asked a question she pushed all three fingers deeper. Justine struggled not to cry out but the stretching was so immense she couldn’t contain every impulse to protest. Shivering from the embarrassment, and mortified by her own black enjoyment of the punishment, she gritted her teeth around an exclamation. ‘Yes,’ she whimpered. ‘Yes. Whatever you want. Whatever it takes for us to get La Coste. I’ll do it.’

  The fingers were torn from her rear. Justine was left to feel empty and hollow as her inner muscles continued to tingle with the aftermath of a frustrated arousal. Hearing Mrs Weiss’s footsteps, and understanding the woman was now standing in front of her, she slowly raised her tear-stained gaze. ‘Whatever it takes,’ she promised.

  Mrs Weiss pulled her robe open. Justine was not surprised to see the woman was naked beneath. She had a lean and slender body that was painfully exciting to look at. Her breasts were ample and inviting, tipped with magenta areolae and thick stiff nipples. With a narrow waist and flat stomach she held herself in a pose that emphasised her silent authority. Lowering her gaze, Justine could see a forest of lush dark curls concealed the woman’s cleft. Because her face was on eye-level with Mrs Weiss’s pussy, Justine could also see that wetness had darkened the hairs at the centre of her sex. The pink flesh of Mrs Weiss’s labia glistened invitingly.

  ‘Prove your loyalty,’ Mrs Weiss demanded. ‘Prove your loyalty by eating my pussy.’