‘You told this girl to come back when she’d been punished,’ the priest reminded Justine. ‘What do you want to do with her?’
Justine glanced from the priest to the bishop, then to the penitent village girl.
She suspected that the priest wanted her to issue another punishment, possibly as a further test to prove herself worthy of acquiring La Coste. But after all that she had endured so far this evening, Justine couldn’t bring herself to inflict any more suffering on the young woman. She was tired and drained and beyond caring about any of those things that had seemed so vital earlier. Not bothered if it affected her chances of attaining the damned manuscript, too weary to think of anything beyond her need for sleep and a shower, she said, ‘Absolve her. She’s suffered enough abuse for our entertainment.’
The priest and the bishop exchanged a glance that Justine couldn’t read.
Too weary to trouble herself with what they might be thinking, Justine levered herself away from the floor and started to stagger past the trio. The priest grabbed her by one arm and stopped her. In a stiff tone, he said, ‘Wait here.’
With her shoulders slumped, Justine did as he instructed.
The priest turned to the bishop. ‘Do as she says,’ he decided. ‘Absolve the putain. Then tell her, as penance, she will accompany Justine on the next leg of her journey.’
‘You’re going to recommend her as a worthy recipient of La Coste?’
Justine listened attentively, desperate to hear the answer to that question, but the priest turned his back on the bishop without giving a reply. His grin was menacing as he forced her down to her knees. Stepping over her, brandishing his erection in her face, he pushed the sodden end against her mouth. The tip was slick with saliva, semen and the spent musk of bowel. But, even though he had only just climaxed inside her anus, Justine could see he was already growing hard. The length of wet flesh glistened in the church’s candlelight.
‘You’ve been obedient so far this evening,’ he growled. ‘Suck this again and I shall deem you worthy of having met with my approval.’
Her momentary weariness was banished by the instruction. The knowledge that she was on the verge of achieving her goal made Justine eager to do anything he asked. Unable to resist that instruction, she forced her mouth around his erection and sucked. She was delighted to feel him thicken and knew it would not take long to coax the climax from him. And, with her optimism rising, she knew that as soon as she started to swallow the priest’s seed, she would be one step closer to acquiring La Coste.
Five
Justine awoke to the sound of her mobile phone ringing.
It would have been the perfect morning to be disoriented; she didn’t recognise the bedroom; couldn’t recall the name of the woman lying by her side; and would have been hard pushed to remember how she had travelled from the church to wherever it was she now resided. The name Sartine nagged at her memory but she couldn’t recall why or whether it was in a good context or a bad one. The insistent trill of the phone wouldn’t allow her the luxury of lazily recollecting any of those details. She hastily snatched the mobile from her purse and glanced at the display.
Private Number
She frowned, contemplated not accepting the call, and then decided there would be no harm in pressing the green key.
‘Hello?’
‘Justine?’
She recognised Mrs Weiss’s austere tone and breathed a sigh of relief. Since arriving in France the previous day her employer’s was the first familiar voice she had heard. Even though she cared little for the woman, and felt sure her antipathy was reciprocated, Justine surrendered to a wave of gratitude for the call. ‘Yes?’ She lowered her voice to a whisper and hunched her shoulders conspiratorially. ‘It’s me,’ she hissed. ‘I’ve already seen the first contact and now I’m –’
‘You haven’t told anyone you’re working for me, have you?’
Justine frowned and racked her brains, trying to think if she had let that small detail escape at any point. From what she remembered of the previous evening neither the priest nor the bishop had troubled her with too many questions and Justine felt sure it wasn’t a piece of information she would have volunteered without prompting. She felt confident she was telling the truth when she carefully replied, ‘No. You told me not to, didn’t you?’
‘Keep it that way,’ Mrs Weiss growled. ‘No matter what happens: you don’t admit to knowing me. My involvement in this acquisition cannot be made public under any circumstances.’
She spoke with a characteristic brusqueness that reminded Justine why she had wanted to leave the woman’s employment. ‘Of course,’ she began. ‘I had no intentions of telling anyone that I’m –’
‘And be on your guard when you meet Sartine,’ Mrs Weiss broke in. ‘The slippery French bastard has a truly sly way about him.’
Justine wanted to ask who Sartine was, and what he might want from her, but her employer was clearly in no mood for elaborating. In a crisp and businesslike voice, she snapped, ‘Don’t let me down on this. Present a plausible front to Sartine, go on and satisfy the third representative from The Society, and you’ll receive the bonus I promised.’
‘Who are The Society?’ she broke in.
Mrs Weiss snorted with disgust. ‘You’ll get a different answer to that question depending on who you ask. The priest will tell you The Society are a bunch of perverted heathens all damned to hell. Sartine will say The Society are a collective of hedonists and libertines. Marais would undoubtedly come up with some bullshit about them being the living embodiment of de Sade’s legacy. Pick the answer you prefer. They’ve all got their own ring of truth.’
‘What would you tell me?’ Justine pressed.
Again, Mrs Weiss snorted with disgust. It was frustrating to find herself involved in a conversation over hundreds of miles where she didn’t understand much except for the exclamations of contempt. It was also depressing to find the first friendly voice she had encountered since arriving in France was treating her with obvious and upsetting disdain. ‘If you asked me,’ Mrs Weiss growled, ‘I’d say The Society was nothing more than a lending library. And if you kept asking me, I’d want to know why you’re interrogating me when I’m the one who called you.’ Her voice had risen and was suddenly near to screeching with anger. ‘I phoned you to make a point, Justine. If anyone asks you, if anyone tries to prise the information from you: you don’t know me. Do you understand?’
‘Of course I understand,’ Justine agreed. ‘That was our arrangement.’
Mrs Weiss continued as though she hadn’t heard Justine’s side of the conversation. ‘No matter what else happens, that’s the most important thing you must remember: you do not know me.’
Justine was about to assure the woman that she had remembered – and say the incessant repetition of the instruction was making her feel stupid and inadequate – but the mobile was already dead in her hand. She continued to frown as she slipped the phone back into her purse, puzzling over all that had been said and trying to make sense of those parts she had understood. It was more than she wanted to think about and, rather than taxing herself with problems she had no hope of solving, Justine took a moment to glance at the room where she had awoken.
It looked like a hotel room – a little plusher than she was used to – but a hotel room all the same. A mini-bar lurked in one corner; identical robust doorways stood on adjacent walls; and a laminated sheet by the dressing mirror showed instructions for what to do in the event of a fire. The furnishings, fixtures and fittings had the tired look she had seen in many hotels previously with everything washed and cleaned to a lacklustre beige. Sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains added a pall of mystical charm to the scene. The light was hazy enough for Justine to imagine that she might still be asleep and dreaming. In that context she could better understand her baffling conversation with Mrs Weiss.
A whispered sigh snatched her attention back to the bed.
The curiosity of the hotel
room and the mystery of how she had arrived there were instantly forgotten. Her heart started to race and a warm arousal spread through her loins. She was distantly aware of her nipples growing rigid, the skin stretching as it pulled itself taut. The cleft between her legs was suddenly slick with fetid perspiration.
A naked blonde lay in the same bed that Justine had vacated. She looked pretty, her corn-coloured hair tousled and her pale blue eyes beginning to flutter open as she started to wake. While climbing out of the bed Justine realised she had inadvertently pulled the sheet from the blonde’s body and exposed a flat stomach and a pair of deliciously pert breasts. The woman’s nipples stood hard, as though she had been revelling in an exciting dream, and Justine shivered sympathetically. Surreptitiously, she stole a hand against her own chest and trembled as her flesh responded to the caress.
Foggy recollection told her this was the penitent she had met at the church. She remembered the priest had said the woman would be instructed to accompany her but Justine hadn’t expected to find the blonde sleeping naked by her side. Unaware she was doing it, Justine traced her tongue across her lips. Salacious thoughts began to wend their way through her mind and she was unnerved to find each one slightly more appealing.
For the first time she noticed her own nudity.
Her body bore distinctive marks from the abuse she had suffered in the church. Reddened skin on her breasts – a parting gift from the bishop, she recalled – blazed obviously against her wan flesh. The dry residue of the priest’s semen – pungent and sickening – lingered between her breasts and at the tops of her thighs. She couldn’t honestly say she was proud of the reminders but she was in no mood for hiding herself from the penitent either. Rather than trying to conceal or cover herself Justine thought it felt more natural to go and sit by the woman’s side.
The light weave of the bed’s top sheet was cool against her bare buttocks. Her awareness seemed suddenly heightened and she could feel the weft of the fabric grazing against her pussy lips. The caress was invigorating and thrilled her with a sense of dull anticipation. Amazed by her own daring, and excited by the ideas that twisted and formed in the back of her mind, Justine stroked the back of her hand against the penitent’s soft cheek.
The woman’s eyes fluttered open.
A soft smile stole across her lips.
And she made no objection as Justine’s hand trailed lower. The only change in her expression came as her smile grew wide with unspoken encouragement.
Justine watched herself as though viewing the scene through someone else’s eyes. Her hand inched downwards: along the length of the penitent’s neck and brushing the blonde tresses aside. Her fingertips tingled as though they were charged with electricity. Justine hesitated and drew a short breath before finding the courage to touch the woman’s bare breast. The skin was exquisitely soft and, as she drew her fingers over the thrust of the blonde’s nipple, Justine was amazed to feel the taut bud of flesh grow fat with arousal.
Together, they both drew eager breaths.
Justine considered saying something and then decided it would be counterproductive and likely to spoil the mood. She didn’t speak the penitent’s language – it had always been a source of her bitterest frustration that she could never grasp the nuances of French – and Justine suspected that any conversation they could manage would be stilted and inconclusive. Having to go through the rigmarole of establishing a communication system seemed particularly facile when it was clear they had no need for words.
Allowing her confidence to soar in the silence, she lowered her head until her lips hovered over the blonde’s nipple.
They maintained eye contact with the penitent’s expression spurring Justine’s excitement to fresh heights. Even without a common language she readily understood so many things that the blonde wanted to say. There was encouragement in her gaze. The eagerness was muted by wariness and doubt but her desire was clear and obvious. The woman’s smile broadened when Justine touched the tip of her tongue against the fat bud of her nipple.
‘Merci,’ she began.
Justine placed her finger over the woman’s lips to silence her.
Rather than merely accepting the instruction, the penitent took Justine’s finger into her mouth. She encircled the flesh with her ripe lips and sucked lightly on the end. The tip of her tongue trilled against Justine’s finger, inspiring a liquid thrill of arousal. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks dimpled as she sucked with sultry vigour.
Startled by the woman’s response, Justine pulled her hand away.
She and the penitent regarded each other in a stilted silence while Justine wondered if she should make some attempt to try and find a way for them to communicate. The prospect of rummaging through her case to find the phrase book held little appeal. Even if she found it, Justine didn’t think there would be any use in them exchanging bonjours, au revoirs, or even a comment allez-vous. Although the book she had purchased was advertised as comprehensive, she suspected it wouldn’t contain translations for the questions she most wanted answering.
‘Has your parish priest always been a perverted bastard?’ and ‘How much control do I have over your body?’ or ‘Do you truly want all those pleasures I can see in your eyes?’ were seldom included in phrase books.
It was while the thoughts were tumbling through her mind, and as she tried to grasp the relationship she was supposed to have with the penitent, that their lips met.
Afterward Justine couldn’t recall which of them had instigated the kiss. She didn’t know if the blonde had leaned up or if she had pushed herself on top of the woman. The only thing she did know was that their bodies fitted snugly together in a passionate embrace. The flimsy sheet was pushed aside as they struggled to touch bare flesh against bare flesh. The pert breasts crushed against Justine’s chest and she was delighted to feel the scrub of pubic hairs scratching at her thigh. As their arms and legs intertwined she grew delirious with a rush of arousal that tortured her responses.
But it was the kiss that stayed with her as being the most memorable aspect of that morning in the hotel room. Even though they were hugging and touching each other with animalistic ferocity; even though they were scratching thighs, breasts and legs with their nails, squeezing, cupping and clawing with their fervency to experience each other, it was the softness of the penitent’s kiss that fixed itself in Justine’s memory. Their tongues touched, explored and tasted. The penitent’s lips slipped easily against Justine’s mouth. The only time their kiss broke was when each moved her head slightly back to gasp with satisfaction. But those moments were quickly ended as they hungrily returned to tasting each other.
It was an exchange that left Justine crippled with anticipation.
She didn’t know why that aspect of the intimacy struck her as being the most rewarding. The penitent had already introduced two fingers into the slippery folds of Justine’s pussy and was idly sliding them in and out of the dank confines. The pulse of Justine’s clitoris throbbed with an unsatisfied ache and that pace quickened each time the blonde stroked her thumb across the trembling nub of flesh.
The prospect of orgasm loomed ever closer.
Anxious to experience the woman, Justine fondled the blonde’s breasts, savouring their size and firmness. The sensation of stroking another woman was something she hadn’t enjoyed before. Admittedly, it was a fantasy she had entertained in the seclusion of her own bed but she had never taken it any further than a thrilling image designed to add to her personal pleasure. The subsequent joy of touching the blonde was more gratifying than she had ever expected.
But still, it was the kiss that struck her as being the most erotic aspect of the encounter.
The blonde squeezed a third finger into the wetness of Justine’s hole.
She worked her wrist back and forth, never using force, but all the time urging Justine to a higher plane of pleasure. The slurping squelch of her sex lips reverberated through the stillness of the room and the sound made itself heard above t
he pounding of adrenaline in Justine’s temples. Escalating waves promised to drown her in a sea of swelling euphoria and she couldn’t decide whether to surrender to the climax or steel herself against its tempestuous strength.
A knock on the door threatened to disturb her mood.
Like startled conspirators, she and the penitent immediately turned to stare at the door. Justine had the time to realise they both looked shocked and guilty and then she was closing her eyes against the rush of ecstasy being wrung from her sex. Continuing to enjoy each other, unmindful of whoever was trying to intrude, they carried on basking in each other’s embrace as their climaxes stole closer.
The blonde gasped beneath Justine, her pleasure evident in the depth of each breath and the sultry pout of her kiss. From the familiar tingling in the pit of her womb Justine knew her own orgasm was building to its peak. She squeezed her inner muscles around the fingers, pushed herself hard against the penitent’s hand, and waited for the surge of elation to sweep through her body.
Another knock resounded on the door.
‘Madame Justine? Are you awake? May I enter?’
The voice was heavily accented, female and young. Although it came from the other side of a closed door, Justine could picture that it belonged to a dark-haired beauty dressed in a servant’s uniform of some description. She didn’t know where the mental image came from and, before it could settle in her thoughts, she had dismissed it as she concentrated on the woman in her arms.
The penitent pressed her naked body closer. One arm was wrapped around Justine’s waist, the hand clutching Justine’s backside. Her other was between their writhing bodies with the fingers briskly plundering Justine’s cleft. Employing a delicious skill, the penitent stroked in and out of Justine’s wetness. Their kiss continued to excite with tongues touching and gliding easily against each other. Tremors began to wrack through them both, and Justine sighed as their bodies shuddered violently together.
‘Madame Justine?’
This time, rather than hearing the caller knock, Justine was aware of the distinctive sound of a key rattling inside a lock. The panic she had experienced before returned with the same brutal force but she couldn’t bring herself to end her exchange with the penitent. Thrusting herself urgently on the hand in her pussy, willing her body to broach the precipice of orgasm that she now needed to enjoy, Justine growled with satisfaction as the first rush of pleasure soared through her frame.
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