Sartine’s grin was seductive. ‘That’s a very perceptive question,’ he acknowledged. ‘The Society have asked me to test you, and I’ve put my hotel staff at your disposal. I’m sure you’re aware that the Marquis was renowned for his indulgence in sacrilege and sadism but people forget the strongest of his motives. That’s what we’ll be testing.’
Justine could feel her heartbeat racing as she finally noticed the army of maids that lined the walls. A pair of them had helped Marie and Pierre out of the room but those that remained were now staring at her with avaricious interest. Each one was as beautiful as Marie and, dressed in their skimpy costumes of black skirts, white blouses and dark stockings, each looked exciting and inviting. Certain that her mind and body needed some time to recover from the excesses she had so far endured, she quickly racked her brains to find a way to distance herself from the giddy indulgences that were apparent all around. Forcing her voice to remain steady, and dragging her gaze back to meet Sartine’s, she asked, ‘What do you define as the Marquis’s strongest motive?’
‘Pleasure. Nothing but endless hedonistic pleasure.’
She opened her mouth, not sure if she was going to argue or ask him how he intended to test her. Taking the moment to think and finish the remainder of a croissant, she finally saw a way to give herself the necessary break from Sartine and the demands of The Society’s tests. She met his gaze and said, ‘I won’t be submitting to any further tests until I’ve seen proof that the manuscript exists.’
He shook his head and laughed. ‘I really don’t think you are in a position –’
‘No,’ Justine said firmly. ‘I am happy to undergo any relevant tests that the seller deems necessary. I think I proved myself in that regard last night. But there will be no more tests until I’ve seen proof that your Society really does possess La Coste.’ She rose from the table, intending to storm majestically back to her bedroom: but Sartine was fast.
His hand fell to her shoulder and, when she turned, she was overwhelmed by his broad bulk. His mouth continued to smile at her but his eyes remained perversely unreadable. She saw he was holding three pages of plain copier paper in one hand, almost as though he had expected this particular demand. A cursory glance at the quality of the print and the distinctive lettering at the bottom of each page told her she was looking at documents that had been faxed to his hotel.
‘Here,’ he said, pushing the pages against her chest.
Justine took the three sheets of paper and tried not to show her confusion. She had been hoping merely to allow herself a day to recover from the ordeal at the church and prepare herself for whatever it was that Sartine demanded from her. Staring at the clumsy scrawl of foreign writing, struggling to make sense of a language she didn’t understand in a handwriting she couldn’t properly cipher, she heard herself thank him.
‘Take them to your room,’ Sartine encouraged her. ‘Study them for the next hour.’ He glanced at his wristwatch and added, ‘At twelve o’clock I’ll have two of my staff collect you once you’ve ascertained the authenticity of those pages.’
His words echoed through her mind like the sound of an escape door clanging shut. She was now in possession of papers that were virtually worthless. And, not sure how she had managed to do it, Justine realised she had committed herself to submitting to the man in exactly one hour. The thought made her feel ill with a blend of dread and arousal.
Seven
Marie and a maid collected Justine from her room as soon as the clock struck twelve. Leading her toward their destination the two women plucked fussily at Justine’s clothes and hair. The band was removed from Justine’s ponytail, forcing her chestnut tresses to spill down her back and over her shoulders. A single button was first released from her throat; then one at the side of her pencil skirt; and then another at the front of her blouse. The modifications to her outfit were only subtle – nothing so grand that Justine thought she ought to protest – but they had the cumulative effect of making her feel as though she was being prepared for something bold, outrageous and decadent. She glanced from one pretty feminine face to the other and asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Captain Sartine would like you to enjoy the facilities in the penthouse.’
‘What does he have planned for me?’
‘Nothing you won’t enjoy.’ Marie whispered this declaration as she opened a door and ushered Justine inside. The room was vast and made light by picture windows on every wall. As in the dining room, Justine was able to see majestic views that would have kept her entertained for hour after hour under other circumstances. But it was the suggestion of hedonism within the room that caught her attention. The opulence of the furnishings – a four-poster bed draped with swags of voile; an array of cushioned couches and padded chairs – suggested a boudoir elegance that made Justine think of perfumes, passion and pleasure. She could see the semi-naked figures she had expected to encounter – a maid with her dark skirt hitched up to show the lacy tops of her black stockings and the white triangle of her panties; Pierre lounging in an open robe that revealed his lean athletic body – but she wouldn’t let herself dwell on any one of those figures. She kept her gaze fixed on Sartine as he walked over to greet her. His arms were extended to deliver a welcoming embrace and Justine remained stiff as he caught her with a hug. She struggled not to show any of the natural reservations that made her want to distance herself from the comparative stranger and his intrusive clinch.
‘It is a pleasure to have you here,’ Sartine mumbled.
‘I’m sure it will be a pleasure to be here,’ she replied carefully.
She could feel the weight of his erection through his pants. Its forceful length nuzzled against the flat of her stomach with a lurid intimacy that made her think ‘too much and too soon’. Behind Sartine, Pierre lounged on the four-poster while the exposed maid languished idly on a nearby chaise longue. It was unnerving to realise that every eye was fixed on her and Justine could feel her stomach tightening as she tried to work out what they would be expecting from her. She didn’t doubt they would want sex but she also understood this would be a different experience to the one she had endured in the church. Her heart began to race from the combined effects of panic, trepidation and eagerness.
‘Have a seat,’ Sartine suggested, encouraging her toward a chair beside one window. He snapped his fingers with a brisk click. His two maids came rushing to his side as Justine made herself comfortable in the chair. They regarded their employer with expressions of expectant servility that were both exciting and demeaning. Still not sure what would be expected from her, Justine paid careful attention to everything the man said. ‘This lady is our special guest,’ Sartine told the maids. ‘Make sure she is treated with appropriate reverence. It is your duty to make today memorable for her.’
Justine didn’t know what to make of the phrase ‘appropriate reverence’ but she tried to contain her surprise when the pair of women threw themselves at her feet. One of them immediately began to place subtle kisses against her left foot while the other stroked her fingers lovingly against Justine’s right thigh. The stimulation was disturbingly intimate but she vowed that she wouldn’t give in to the animal thrill that stirred in her loins. Nevertheless, her chest was tightening and each breath was arduous with exertion.
‘Marie,’ Sartine called, ‘I’m sure our guest would appreciate a glass of wine. Pierre! Stop idling on the bed, you lazy fuck, and come and introduce yourself to Justine.’
Suddenly the centre of attention, Justine could only squirm in her chair and try not to be crushed by embarrassment. The pliant maids continued to stroke her legs and place kisses against her feet, calves and thighs. While Marie handed her a glass of claret, Pierre knelt by her side and pressed his nose against Justine’s ear. She had been interested in him before because of his good looks. Now that he was so close to her, she could feel herself swelling from the arousal he generated.
‘You have a very delicate hand,’ Pierre murmured.
The comment made her blush as she remembered how she had touched him in the dining room. Hearing his words tickle against the nape of her neck was almost like revisiting the exact moment when she had cupped his sac in one hand and lightly caressed his erection. If she had closed her eyes, she knew she would have been able to revisit the sensation of having his thick length pulsing against her palm.
Hurriedly, Justine sipped at her claret.
When she glanced up she discovered Marie was naked before her.
Sartine held the woman in a loose embrace: one hand on her bare breast, his leg between her coltish thighs. The pair regarded each other with passion and Justine guessed they were frequent lovers. Considering the way their gazes sparkled with unconcealed desire she found it easy to imagine Sartine and Marie entangled together in a dissolute and torrid relationship.
Sartine turned to face Justine and asked, ‘Is this all to your liking?’
She blinked herself from the mental image of Sartine and Marie intertwined together and asked him to repeat what he had said. The maids at her feet were inspiring magical thrills that left her breathless and unsure of her responses. Pierre was telling her why he had found her touch to be so stimulating and his every word made her neck exquisitely sensitive. Now, watching Sartine as he fondled Marie, Justine wondered why she had ever had any reservations about surrendering to the man or his entourage. The atmosphere of the room was uncommonly liberating and, rather than resist the temptations they presented, Justine found herself wanting to indulge her lewdest appetites.
‘Is this all to your liking?’ Sartine repeated dutifully.
She didn’t know if the claret was working with exceptional speed, or if there was something about the ambience of his penthouse that had allowed her inhibitions to melt away. Whatever the reason, Justine could feel her inner muscles growing fluid as her excitement built. ‘You’ve made me very welcome,’ she assured him. ‘This is a greater hospitality than I ever expected. Thank you.’
He shrugged away her gratitude. ‘Were those pages sufficient to prove that we are in possession of La Coste?’
‘They seem authentic,’ she conceded warily.
It was a guarded answer because, in truth, she wasn’t sure if the pages were authentic or not and the matter was a source of bitter personal frustration.
The three pages that Sartine had given her looked like genuine copies of an eighteenth-century manuscript: but Justine had no way of verifying the content. Her ignorance of the French language had never been more galling and she cursed herself for never having made the extra effort to learn. It was particularly annoying in these circumstances because she thought she could see something in the handwriting that reminded her of de Sade’s penmanship. She wasn’t sure if it was the slope of the microscopic handwriting, or something characteristic in the meticulous shaping of the tiny accents above the vowels. But there was some detail in the faxed pages that made her want to believe they were genuine copies of pages from La Coste.
If she had simply been able to speak French to ask her, Justine knew the penitent could have translated the pages for her. It was horribly easy to imagine them locked in a conversation where she could have learnt whether or not the writing was in de Sade’s familiar style. But, because they didn’t share a way to communicate, other than kissing, Justine knew that particular avenue was closed to her.
She had briefly considered phoning Mrs Weiss, and possibly reading the text aloud so her employer could translate. But she was repulsed by the idea of exposing her clumsy French pronunciation to the woman and suffering inevitable ridicule. Also, she knew that Mrs Weiss was currently away from the library and, as had been proved that morning by her call from a line with a withheld number, Justine’s employer was doing her best to remain incommunicado.
‘I’m pleased we managed to satisfy your curiosity,’ Sartine smiled. He eased himself from Marie’s embrace and stepped closer. Idly plucking open two buttons from Justine’s blouse, exposing the lacy fabric of her bra and the swell of her breasts, he added, ‘Perhaps you can now satisfy something for me?’
She glanced from his winning smile to the thrust of the erection at the front of his pants. It had been so easy to be lulled into a lascivious mood that she was willing to throw herself into whatever Sartine wanted. The sensation of the maids’ lips and fingers against her legs was inspiring a vicious thrill. The pair were constantly growing bolder, stealing their caresses higher up her legs and creating a deep and penetrating arousal. Each time Justine glanced at them she was rewarded by a seductive pout or a glimpse of smouldering eye contact.
Pierre eased the blouse away from her neck, murmuring that she was an exciting and beautiful woman. He drew his lips millimetres above the surface of her skin and she could feel his threatened kisses as they brushed over the microscopic hairs on her shoulders. It was a caress that came without the pressure of being touched and left her giddy from growing need.
She raised her gaze to meet Sartine’s. Daringly, she asked, ‘How would you like me to satisfy you?’
He chuckled softly and stroked his fingers against her cheek. ‘I have one or two questions to ask before we continue,’ he explained. ‘That won’t trouble you, will it?’
‘You’ve made this morning so comfortable I can’t imagine anything troubling me,’ she returned. Despite her words, Justine could feel a spike of unease pierce her stomach. Mrs Weiss had warned her that Sartine was a slippery bastard. She felt comfortable and relaxed in the penthouse; the prospect of an enjoyable afternoon lay before her; the thrill of arousal was building in her loins; and she was suddenly worried that she might let some secret detail slip that would spoil her chances of acquiring La Coste. Nevertheless, knowing she had to present a façade of honesty and openness, Justine held his gaze and said, ‘Ask whatever questions you will of me.’
He made a gesture to the two maids and Justine was disturbed to feel the women’s fingers slip beneath the hem of her skirt. They went from casually caressing her thighs to easing under her skirt and beneath the sides of her panties. Every inquisitive caress they had made before was invested with a wealth of delicious excitement. But this new intimacy created a heat Justine hadn’t expected. She could feel the feminine fingertips stroking the flesh at the tops of her thighs. Her pubic curls were lightly tugged and teased as the two women made their exploration more daring.
Justine snatched a faltering breath and then raised her gaze back to meet Sartine’s. From the corner of her eye she watched Marie replenish her half-drained glass of claret. After thanking the woman, she took a hefty swig of the drink and savoured its tart sweetness. An expectant hush had fallen over the room as everyone waited for Sartine to speak.
‘Why do you want to possess La Coste?’
‘Why? Because it’s La Coste. It was written by the Marquis. What other reason could I need?’
He grinned as though he understood that motive. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘And are you making this purchase for yourself or for another?’
‘For myself. I want La Coste to take pride of place in my private library.’
‘Do you intend publishing it?’
She snorted with disdain. ‘Of course not!’
They were questions and answers she had rehearsed with Mrs Weiss. Her employer had refused to say why so many questions would be asked, or why it was necessary to conceal the purchase in a veil of secrecy, but she had made sure Justine understood exactly how to respond to every possible variation. Justine was almost thankful for the training she had endured except, with the constant teasing of Sartine’s staff, it wasn’t quite the interrogation she had expected.
The maids were now toying boldly with her cleft, their fingers slipping against the wet lips of her labia and occasionally teasing inside. A fingernail grazed against the delicate surface of Justine’s clitoris and she snatched deep breaths in an effort to contain her response. Her heartbeat hammered and her forehead grew slick with perspiration. Inside her bra – clearly visible to Sar
tine, Marie and Pierre she guessed – her nipples stood hard and proud. She glanced briefly down at herself and realised the rigid nubs of flesh were silently begging to be touched.
‘Are any of these names familiar to you?’ Sartine began. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Marais?’
‘Marais is the seller, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. But do you know him?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Dupont?’
‘No.’
‘Weiss?’
‘Wait,’ she said suddenly. ‘Wasn’t Dupont the name on one of the headstones I had to hide behind last night outside the church? The name seems vaguely familiar.’
Sartine considered this and then shrugged. ‘It might have been,’ he allowed. ‘It’s the family name of the parish priest you met there: the gentleman who was in charge of last night’s assessment.’
Justine considered this and thought it was fitting for the depraved priest to take advantage of the opportunity to violate the sanctity of his family’s burial plot. Father Dupont had made a deep impression and she knew she would be marvelling at his depravity for years to come. The prospect of ever visiting another church was something she could no longer entertain and, she supposed, each time she saw anything religious in future, it would be an unsettling reminder of her night with the priest.
‘I thought the name was familiar,’ she murmured. She wondered if Sartine would notice that she hadn’t answered his question about the name of Weiss. She didn’t know if he would be able to detect the untruth from her tone of voice, or the flicker of some telltale facial expression, but she didn’t want to meet his questions with a direct lie unless there was no other option.
‘It seems we have been able to satisfy each other,’ he confided. Taking the half-drained glass from her hand he stepped back to place it on a dressing table and said, ‘I only have one more thing to ask you.’
Forbidden Reading Page 9