Forbidden Reading

by Lisette Ashton

  She was still shivering through the throes of the orgasm as she tumbled from the bed and rushed to the door to try and prevent the caller from bursting into the room. Her body wanted to languish against the sheets and savour the pleasure but modesty wouldn’t allow her to be caught in such an undignified and embarrassing position. After all the humiliation and embarrassment she had suffered the previous evening, Justine didn’t think she could endure any more shame and she surprised herself by finding the resolve to rush to the door.

  Too late, she saw a maid stood in the open doorway.

  Her impassive features revealed nothing. The maid returned a bunch of keys to the pocket of her tabard and studied Justine with measured indifference. ‘I am sorry to disturb you,’ she began.

  Her tone was so bereft of emotion that Justine doubted there was any sincerity in the remark. Not sure she could convincingly pretend to have not heard the maid, and unwilling to offer any other explanation for not answering her call, Justine asked, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Captain Sartine has requested you join him in the dining room. He’s expecting you in fifteen minutes.’ She cast a cool glance at Justine’s naked body and added, ‘Clothes have been provided for you in the wardrobe.’

  ‘Who is Captain Sartine?’

  ‘You do not know?’

  ‘No.’

  The maid’s smile was almost vindictive. ‘Captain Sartine is the man you will be seeing in the dining room in fifteen minutes.’ Without saying anything further, she left Justine and the penitent alone.

  Six

  Captain Sartine sat at the head of a long table. Justine could see he was an imposing figure and she guessed he would normally have commanded the attention of the entire room. His neatly styled hair was jet black and cropped so it bristled with military efficiency. Wearing an ice-white shirt that clung to his muscular shoulders and chest, he held himself with a regimented stiffness that made him look like an off-duty soldier. It was easy to picture him in charge of a regiment or a platoon, barking orders and revelling in his authority. Everything about him demanded that he should be considered the centre of attention.

  But Justine barely glanced at him.

  The room was spacious and brightly lit.

  Dominated by a massive dining table beneath a glittering chandelier, the design and decor struck her as typical of contemporary French elegance. The pastel walls were broken by uncurtained windows each framing a majestic view of the Provence valley outside. An azure sky hovered above verdant fields, picturesque copses and a twisting faraway stream. If not for her assignment, Justine knew she would have spent a day admiring every nuance of the view as she sipped endless cafés au lait.

  But, this morning, Justine barely blinked in that direction.

  She didn’t notice the pretty and attentive maids in their black skirts, white blouses and seamed stockings; or the enthralling selection of framed Impressionists that adorned the walls.

  Her attention was fixed on the couple fucking in the centre of the table.

  Both of them were naked.

  He was a huge man, attractive from what Justine could glimpse, although his face and upper body were hidden beneath the woman straddling him. The definition of each muscle was distinct with tension. Blessed with an athletic build, his flesh was sunbronzed and the fine blond hairs that covered him had been bleached to gold. His large hands stroked and caressed his lover with unhurried urgency.

  Justine drew a slow hesitant breath and turned her attention to the slender woman straddling him. Impaled on his length, easing her hips up and down as she rode him, her sighs rose and fell with obvious enjoyment. Her waist looked spectacularly narrow – an optical illusion, Justine guessed, caused by the woman’s hips being made large through her ungainly position. Kneeling over her lover, the delicate soles of her small feet were visible beneath her buttocks. Justine could see the woman’s toes were curled tight, as though she was held by the same sensation of extreme pleasure that tormented the man she was riding.

  Mesmerised by the obscene amount of pink flesh, not sure if she should be shocked, repulsed or delighted, Justine could only gawp as the pair writhed together.

  ‘Good morning, Justine,’ Sartine, exclaimed cheerfully. ‘Welcome to my hotel.’

  She couldn’t snatch her gaze away from the couple. The man’s erection, glistening with wetness, continued to slide in and out of the woman’s sex. She could see the skin was stretched tight from the base of his shaft to the tautly wrinkled sac of his scrotum. The rest of his length was buried deep inside the split of the woman’s hole. Her pussy was a lush velvet pink. Glimpses of cerise labia peeped from the dark damp forest of dense pubic curls. Her flushed and glossy lips travelled easily up and down his erection and she moaned with languid enthusiasm.

  ‘The cafetière is still warm,’ Sartine said, gesturing to a small table by his side. Justine could see that aside from drinks and crockery there was also a modest selection of croissants. After all that had happened the previous day she knew she should have been hungry but, absorbed by the unexpected intimacy on display, she couldn’t bring herself to think about food or drink. She watched the couple on the table as they increased the pace of their lovemaking by a fraction of a beat.

  ‘Don’t they make a splendid coupling?’

  Sartine could have been speaking the same words that echoed through her mind. After the sordid and unsettling events in the church Justine could only marvel over the beauty of the naked pair on the centre of the table. There was none of the disquiet she had felt as she came to terms with obeying the priest’s sacrilegious commands and the participants were perfect specimens of healthy and desirable normality. Admittedly, she could have argued that there was little normality in the pair riding each other on a dining table in the centre of a public room, while staff and guests stood around watching. But, after being used by a priest and bishop beneath statues of Mary and Jesus, Justine couldn’t bring herself to condemn the pair for their choice of location.

  ‘They look absolutely splendid,’ Justine whispered.

  The woman turned to grace her with a warm and welcoming smile. ‘Merci,’ she murmured, before turning back to the man beneath her. Her hips didn’t once lose their perfect rhythm. As she turned and spoke she continued to glide up and down her lover’s long fat erection with perfect practised precision.

  ‘I enjoy watching all my staff,’ Sartine explained easily.

  He climbed from his chair and chivalrously guided Justine into a seat. With a snap of his fingers he had summoned a maid who set about the chore of organising coffee and a couple of croissants for Justine. She was placed at the foot of the table and had the perfect view of the erection sliding in and out of the beautiful French woman. The sight was so absorbing Justine couldn’t drag her gaze away. The food and drink remained forgotten in front of her. The scents of freshly baked bread and delightfully bitter coffee were ignored as she inhaled the perfume of sweat, sex and nudity.

  ‘I don’t consider myself a voyeur per se,’ Sartine explained as he resumed his seat at the head of the table. He spoke as though they were involved in a hearty discussion, rather than an exchange where Justine had barely managed four coherent words. ‘But there’s something aesthetically stimulating about the human form during sex. I love to watch the rise and fall of Marie’s breasts; the tension in Pierre’s body; the beautiful union where their bodies meet; and, of course, the beauty of orgasm. I could watch them for hours, especially when the specimens involved are as stunning as this pair.’

  Justine was finally able to drag her gaze away from Pierre and Marie. Even when she wasn’t looking she could still catch the scents of their warm bodies and hear the grunts and moans of their pleasure. Although she didn’t consider herself to be an expert, she thought it sounded like they were using each other with a forced slowness. The urgency of each gasp, and the wetness easing from Marie’s cleft and along Pierre’s shaft, made it clear that the couple were close to their inevitable release.
Taking a deep breath, and hoping her voice sounded steady, Justine asked, ‘Do you have the manuscript, Captain Sartine?’

  He laughed. ‘That’s a very direct question.’

  ‘I’m here to acquire a manuscript.’ She finally remembered the coffee and croissants in front of her and busied herself with them. Now that she had finally been able to snatch her gaze from Pierre and Marie she was determined not to be drawn back to the hypnotic pleasure of watching their gorgeous bodies sliding gracefully together. She swallowed a small mouthful of croissant, sipped the coffee and asked, ‘Do you have the manuscript that I’m here to acquire?’

  ‘No.’ Sartine smiled.

  Justine pursed her lips in frustration. ‘Then, why am I here?’

  ‘You might be trying to acquire La Coste. But that’s not why you’re in my hotel.’

  She raised an eyebrow and studied him guardedly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Do you think we make a pretty sight?’

  The question came from Marie.

  Justine was forced to look away from Sartine and glance up at the woman to meet her gentle gaze. She was a truly beautiful example of femininity. Naked, her bare breasts were visible and the stiff tips of her nipples swayed ever so slightly as she raised and then lowered herself on the erection between her thighs. Her flesh was a swarthy olive tone that complemented her enticing dark hair. The colour of her nipples and areolae was as dark and tempting as the café au lait in Justine’s cup.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Justine gasped. She had been caught by Marie’s hypnotic gaze and discovered it was almost impossible not to be enthralled by the woman’s charm. She had to blink and shake her head to distance herself from the excitement and interest the woman inspired.

  ‘Do you think we make a pretty sight?’

  Her voice was heavily accented and she concentrated on each word as though it took an effort to consider and pronounce. There was a husky undercurrent in her tone and Justine didn’t think she had ever heard any voice sound so inherently sexy. She squirmed against her seat as she realised an answer was expected of her. Lowering her head, blushing as she nodded, Justine said, ‘Yes. I think you make a very pretty sight.’

  ‘Would you like to touch?’

  Beyond Marie, lounging idly at the head of his table, Sartine graced Justine with a benevolent smile. His attention seemed relaxed and casual but there was something in the furtive glint of his eyes that made Justine think he was studying her with bright interest. She didn’t know if her paranoia came from all that had happened in the church the previous evening, or if some sixth sense was warning that her response to Marie’s question would govern her success in acquiring La Coste.

  Slowly, she extended her hand to Marie.

  The French woman grinned and took her fingers. Her touch was warm and moist with a film of perspiration. Holding her hand, Justine was struck by an electric tingle: as though she could feel echoes of Marie’s excitement. It was thrilling enough to watch Marie and Pierre as they boldly enjoyed each other in the centre of the table. But the knowledge that she was close to becoming involved in their intimacy made Justine dizzy with arousal.

  ‘I think you would do this much better than me,’ Marie confided.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Justine said honestly. Bashfully raising her gaze to meet Marie’s she added, ‘I certainly wouldn’t look as attractive.’

  Marie’s slender fingers encircled Justine’s wrist and she guided her to touch the centre of her back. ‘Pierre has been ignoring my spine,’ she pouted. ‘And I adore the sensation of fingers trailing down my back. You can do that for me, no?’

  Obligingly, Justine allowed her fingers to glide gently down the centre of Marie’s back. The skin beneath her fingers was silky-soft and she shared an echo of the woman’s obvious pleasure when Marie shivered and whispered a breathless, ‘Merci.’ Delighting in the sensation of touching the woman’s bare body, Justine couldn’t resist the temptation of stroking her again. Her fingers slipped easily against the curve of her back but, this time, she allowed them to trail lower until they reached the split between Marie’s perfect rounded buttocks.

  ‘You want to touch more than my back?’ Marie enquired. She was glancing over her shoulder. Her large dark eyes were darkened by the shadows from her fringe.

  Before Justine could think how to answer, Marie’s fingers had encircled her wrist again. Her hold was firm but not punishing and Justine watched with detached awe as her hand was coaxed toward the union of Pierre and Marie’s bodies. Before her fingers connected with the wet flesh she could feel the heat radiating from the pair. Her senses seemed peculiarly attuned to every detail and she sensed herself being won over by the excitement that the couple were obviously enjoying.

  And then her fingers were caught up between them.

  She found herself stroking the tight sac of Pierre’s scrotum. Her touch lingered over the wrinkled flesh, lightly caressing him before moving up to the thick and quivering length of his erection. Justine heard him moan beneath Marie and she was elated to feel his pulse quicken as though he was particularly excited by her caress. Sliding her hand upwards, relishing the wetness that had coated him and now slipped against her palm, she touched the dewy haven of Marie’s pussy.

  The lips were tight around the thickness invading them. Justine could see the skin was stretched and sensitive. She supposed that was why Marie moaned with such enthusiasm when Justine stole a caress between the inner and outer labia.

  The French woman muttered a string of breathy thanks, working herself more quickly against Pierre and clearly approaching her own peak of delight. Beneath her, Pierre’s well-defined muscle tone became more rigid and Justine guessed they were both hastening toward their climaxes. Marie’s toes were curled impossibly tight and the swarthy complexion of her face had darkened with a rush of heady arousal.

  Not sure if she was meant to carry on touching them, or if she had now fulfilled her usefulness to the pair, Justine allowed her hand to trail away. Her fingers were sticky with their wetness and, while the temptation was to inhale their perfume and maybe savour its taste, she wouldn’t let herself rise to that impulse while Sartine was watching.

  Not that there was a great danger of Sartine noticing her, she thought dourly. His attention was riveted on Marie and Pierre as they rode each other with greater ferocity. The table trembled as they moved against each other with increasing force. Justine watched concentric circles shiver through the surface of her coffee and she was struck by the notion that each one represented a quiver of delicious pleasure.

  Struck by a sudden impulse to be involved in the climax, she reached out to touch between Pierre’s legs. Her fingers discovered his sac and she found his flesh was virtually pulsing with the tension of an unreleased climax. Circling her hand back around the base of his shaft and squeezing lightly she felt Marie’s sex repeatedly kiss her fingers. She knew the orgasm was almost on the pair and when Pierre groaned and Marie sighed she realised she had chosen to touch them at exactly the right moment.

  Pierre’s shaft pulsed beneath her fingers. The muscle of his erection grew thick and then repeatedly shivered as he shuddered through his climax. Justine had intended to remove her hand but Marie chose that moment to squirm down hard against Pierre’s throbbing release.

  When Sartine had mentioned the pleasure he got from watching Marie’s orgasm, Justine had dismissed the comment. But now, hearing the woman’s dramatic sighs and feeling her wet flesh tremble, she understood exactly what he had meant. Marie stiffened as the climax gripped her body; her face flushed; her muscles strained; and she gave herself over to the moment with blatant abandon.

  Justine’s fingers were trapped between Marie and Pierre and she could only savour the tremors that shook through both bodies. He grunted and writhed against the table while she threw her head back and babbled her gratitude. When Justine was able to draw her hand away the fingers were greasy with the combination of the couple’s spent juices. The ends throbbed as though they
had experienced their own miniature version of Pierre and Marie’s orgasm.

  ‘Didn’t I say they were a pleasure to watch?’ Sartine murmured.

  She glanced up and saw his gaze was now fixed on her. Justine remembered that Mrs Weiss had described Sartine as a ‘slippery bastard’ and she considered her response with appropriate caution. Waiting until Marie and Pierre had climbed from the table, catching her first glimpse of Pierre’s face and surprised by his handsome good looks, she regarded Sartine carefully before giving her reply. ‘Why have I been brought here? If you don’t possess the manuscript I wish to acquire, what reason is there for me being here?’

  He sipped his drink before replying, reminding Justine that she was also thirsty. When she raised the cup to her lips she could detect the scent of Marie and Pierre from where it lingered on her fingers. The musky fragrance was intrusive and threatened to lead her thoughts back to the decadent display she had just enjoyed. Annoyed by her own inability to concentrate, Justine wiped the back of her hand against her skirt and glared at Sartine.

  ‘You aren’t here to acquire the manuscript,’ he explained patiently. ‘The Society asked me to consider whether or not you are suitable material for acquiring La Coste. That is why you are here.’

  She frowned. ‘I thought that the priest was considering my suitability.’

  ‘He was,’ Sartine agreed. ‘The priest you met with yesterday assures me you were able to meet his standards on the subject of sacrilege. But you have to pass through two more tests before you can be deemed worthy.’

  Justine was amazed to hear the events of yesterday evening being summarised in one clinical sentence. The inner turmoil she had suffered, and all of the loathsome pleasures, had seemed like a lot more than simply meeting someone’s standards on the subject of sacrilege. ‘If the priest was testing my aptitude for sacrilege,’ she began warily, ‘what will you be testing?’