Forbidden Reading

by Lisette Ashton

  She also knew that the genuine adoration she found in the penitent’s embrace added a greater dimension to the passion than all the skills of those gifted lovers from Sartine’s penthouse. Quietly, she hoped the naked hunger in her expression conveyed as much.

  ‘If you are sure,’ the penitent conceded. She released the words in a throaty drawl. ‘If you are not too tired.’

  Justine chuckled and said she could never be too tired. They were the last words she spoke before burying her face between the blonde’s legs. The sultry flavour of musk and sweat was a powerful aphrodisiac. As Justine traced her tongue against the velvet pussy lips, her own arousal grew against a background of the penitent’s escalating sighs. The blonde bucked her hips up to meet Justine’s tongue and, together, they each begged the other to continue.

  The blonde shifted position on the bed, never snatching her sex away from Justine’s kisses but sliding around so that she was able to return the favour. Their bare bodies slipped together with a friction that was maddeningly exciting. In the moment that the penitent began to lap at her pussy, Justine caught her breath and wasn’t sure if she wanted to sigh or scream. The gentle kisses being brushed against her labia were soft, sweet and powerfully exciting. Climbing quickly to a higher plateau of satisfaction, she nuzzled the throbbing nub of the blonde’s clitoris and slipped her tongue between the pouting labia.

  Simultaneously overwhelmed, they clutched each other and trembled through an explosion of shared bliss. Justine was reminded of every glorious ache in her body but it only served to show her that the penitent had given something more than she could ever have enjoyed in the penthouse. Shivering from the pleasure, and not sure her body could endure any more, she wrenched herself away and retrieved the fallen pages from the floor. The room around her seemed to swim as though she had been drinking. Her hand trembled enough to make the sheets of paper flutter as she pushed them toward the penitent’s chest and whispered, ‘Please, read me some more. I want to hear the rest of it.’

  Nodding, clearly happy to do anything that was asked of her, the blonde pulled herself from the bed and sat up. After scouring the pages, one elegant finger trailing lightly over the scribbled lines of text, she quickly picked up from where she had last read.

  ‘My Renée welcomed me with a long and intimate embrace. I took her in the doorway, while the carriage porter waited for his tip. The insolent bastard watched as we rutted like dogs in heat. Her hot pussy engulfed my cock and she climaxed as soon as I pumped myself into her. I could tell from her stench that she had been waiting for this since my incarceration and the thought of her fidelity made me feel both honoured and unworthy. The smell was ripe with unperfumed need but free from the pungent odour of any other man. If our positions had been reversed, and she had been the one forced to spend time in a gaol, I know I would have been fucking the second of our maids before they locked Renée’s cell. Her chaste nobility made me marvel at the treasure that I had in her.

  ‘Renée was flustered, but clearly glad to see me away from that hellhole. After we had finished rutting, and dismissed the carriage porter with his tip, she asked: “What will you want to do now that you are home?” I didn’t hesitate to give my response because it had been all I could think about through the journey back to her arms.

  “I shall have a massive orgy,” I declared. “La Coste will play host to an indulgence that should shame the Roman Empire.” ’

  A tremor tickled down Justine’s spine as she listened.

  She knew part of her response was due to being near the blonde: she inspired a constant thrill of excitement that Justine found impossible to resist. And she accepted that a part of her arousal was due to the vulgar and exciting detail of the story. Hearing fresh words from de Sade, and anticipating where the story would go, filled her with a sense of excitement and wonder.

  But she believed a greater part of her excitement came from the enormity of finally discovering La Coste. So many things had been written about de Sade, volumes that dissected his personality and categorised his perversions, that the truth of who he was seemed to blend with the fiction he had created. Most biographers chose to emphasise his failings and dwelt on the fact that he did have excessive and somewhat nefarious sexual interests. Justine had read some dry materials that acknowledged de Sade was nothing more than a man of his time, and pointed out that many of his years behind bars were attributable to the vagaries of the revolution. But she had never found anything that properly balanced the man, the myth and his writing. It was her most fervent hope that this diary – and she wanted to believe it was a genuine diary – might reveal an aspect of his character that had been previously overlooked. From what the penitent had already translated, Justine was forming a picture of a man who admired and adored his wife. That attitude alone seemed to run contrary to the image of a womanising villain that was usually associated with the Marquis.

  ‘Preparations were easy to make. Renée had employed a host of obliging servants and knew enough peasants from the village who would sink to the blackest depths for a single denier. She was as enthused as I at the prospect of organising such debauchery and we set about making our plans while her thighs were still dripping from our welcome home fuck. I wanted to indulge myself in every possible vice and I catalogued them all to my beloved. She surprised me with her imagination adding some suggestions that made my tastes seem almost puritanical in comparison. The collection of whips and scourges she had assembled in readiness for my return home was sufficient to make my erection stand instantly hard again. Needing further gratification, I had one of the maids swallow my cock while Renée and I continued to add to our list. Freedom has never felt so good.’

  Justine couldn’t resist the urge to touch the penitent as the woman read. She sucked briefly against her breast and then toyed with the slick wet lips of her pussy. Listening to the woman’s accent she wanted to ask a thousand questions and knew that every one of them would break the spell of the moment. The woman’s real name, the cause of her obedience to Father Dupont, and the reasons why she hadn’t revealed that she was bilingual earlier were details that Justine needed to know. But, instead of asking anything, she simply listened to her read from the page and idly fingered the silken folds of her pussy lips.

  ‘The grounds of La Coste provided enough bounty for the feast I wanted and I gave the cooks direct instructions on what to prepare. I was pleased to see that Renée had employed comely wenches in the kitchen and I took one of them over the table where she was peeling potatoes. Her backside was large and soft and inviting. She welcomed me with a hot hole that was slippery with excitement. Renée stood watching and wielded a crop while I enjoyed the cook. I don’t know if her unspoken threat was intended to make the cook obedient or to excite me at the prospect of what we might do once our celebration had been organised. Regardless of her reasons, the effect was enough to make the cook and I come quickly and noisily with our climaxes. I repeatedly slapped her backside to make the wench grip my cock tighter. It hadn’t been my intention to hit quite so hard and I was surprised to see the crimson imprint of my hand blossom against the huge cheek of her backside.’

  Justine urged the penitent to part her legs. Holding her thighs apart, pushing her tongue close to the centre of the woman’s hole, she inhaled the perfume of the blonde’s sex and grew dizzy from its intoxicating bouquet. The silky lips were an invitation to kiss. The subtle pout of her clitoris, peeping guardedly from beneath its fleshy hood, made Justine insane with the need to suckle. She pursed her lips against the tiny nub and then rolled her tongue over the quickening pulse. The blonde drew a faltering breath and, when she continued to read, her words stumbled clumsily along.

  ‘The second cook had watched with conflicting expressions of horror and excitement on her face. When I pulled my wet length from the first cook’s hole she glared at it as though facing an abomination. “I won’t have that in my cunny!” she exclaimed. “You’ll have it wherever the Marquis decides,” Renée said ster
nly. She bore down on the second cook, brandishing her crop: but I intervened. “There is no need to beat her into submission. I don’t want to use her cunny, yet. I want to watch this one grovel at your lap.” The second cook shook her head and looked set to refuse, until I stole the crop from my wife’s hand. “You’ll lick my wife’s cunny while I whip your backside,” I said sternly. To my wife I said: “I want to watch you come.” ’

  ‘I want to watch you come,’ Justine murmured.

  The penitent stared down at her. She put the pages aside and spread her legs deliberately wide. ‘You have to make me come,’ she agreed. ‘I have nothing more to read for you. That was the last line of those pages.’

  The air between them had been thick before but now it positively bristled with anticipation. Justine rubbed her thighs together and held the penitent’s gaze for a moment longer before lowering her head. She darted a gentle tongue against the lips of the blonde’s pussy, teased the inner labia lightly apart, and then suckled against the nub of her clitoris. Her fingers had moved to the woman’s thighs, holding her open and savouring the contact of bare skin beneath her mouth. She alternated her kisses from languid teasing at her clitoris to penetrative tonguing inside her hole.

  The blonde gasped and clutched a fistful of bed linen. Leaning back she tried to squirm away but Justine held her in place. ‘I should be doing this for you,’ the penitent protested. ‘At the church…the priest said…I am to do whatever you tell me.’

  Breathing heavily, drawing her mouth away from the dripping sex and savouring the wetness that now coated her lips, Justine grinned. ‘You’re doing whatever I tell you,’ she observed. ‘I wanted to watch you come, and that’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to come while I watch.’

  She could see the penitent was uncomfortable with the instruction but she also knew she would not receive any more protests. Lowering her head back to the bed and relaxing, the blonde spread her thighs further apart as Justine devoured her sex. The flesh was glossy and smooth against her mouth. Justine drew her tongue against the folds of the lips, delighting in the strange textures and flavours of licking another woman. She had not expected her own response to be as powerful but, each time she heard the woman sigh with mounting arousal, Justine could feel her pleasure escalating to the same sultry pinnacle of delight.

  She had expected her thoughts to be reeling from the discovery of hearing the opening lines to La Coste but, instead, her concentration was fixed on wringing the pleasure from the penitent’s sex. Her breathy sighs were a delight to hear. The flavour of her sex – its warmth and viscous wetness – were a positive joy to endure. Teasing her fingers close to the lips, tugging them lightly, spreading them apart so she had easier access to the blonde’s clitoris, Justine was enthralled by the whole experience of pleasuring the woman.

  ‘Justine,’ the penitent murmured. ‘Please. This is not how it should be.’

  Justine wasn’t listening.

  She eased the pussy lips open, stroking her tongue along the lightly stretched flesh, and empathised with every shiver that trembled through her new lover. When she heard the woman above her groan, and felt the afterecho of tremors that bristled through her hole, she knew she had almost taken her to the point of climax. The thought inspired her to lick more urgently until the blonde’s cry of release sounded around the room.

  Panting heavily, Justine pulled herself away from the penitent’s sex and studied her blissful smile. The flush of orgasm had left her cheeks beautifully rouged. The corners of her eyes were wet with grateful tears.

  ‘I want to spend the night with you,’ Justine whispered. Suddenly aware of what she needed, she said, ‘I want to spend tonight and every night with you: while you read de Sade to me. That’s what I want.’

  The penitent’s smile shone bright with adoration. ‘I want that also. I too want every night with you.’

  They were on the verge of sealing the arrangement with a kiss when Marie and two maids burst uninvited into the room. Neither Justine nor the penitent responded with embarrassment at the intrusion and the visitors accepted their naked bodies and intimate embrace as though the sight was commonplace.

  ‘Did you want something?’ Justine asked stiffly.

  ‘We want you,’ Marie smiled.

  ‘And we’re going to have you,’ one of the maids giggled.

  The other joined her in her laughter until Marie silenced them both with a stern frown. Turning back to Justine, extending a hand, she said, ‘Your presence is needed downstairs. Now. You must come with us.’

  Justine considered refusing and then thought better of the idea. The expressions of Marie and her maids were bright with determination and none of them looked ready to accept a refusal. Marie’s smile was stiff with authority when she said, ‘Come along, Justine. You will follow us to the ballroom. We’re here to take you to Captain Sartine’s party.’

  Nine

  For the rest of the evening Justine found her thoughts remained with the penitent. Even though the party promised to be a spectacular affair, and she expected she would be offered every physical pleasure she could want, her thoughts constantly returned to the nameless blonde in her hotel room with whom she believed she was falling in love.

  Marie and her maids were naked save for the eye-masks they wore. It was a theatrical nod toward anonymity that didn’t deceive anyone. Leading a nude Justine through the corridors of the hotel, nodding polite greetings to those similarly masked and undressed guests they encountered, Marie clutched Justine’s arm and babbled incessantly about the fun they were going to have. ‘Since the Captain discovered he would be assessing your suitability he has been carefully planning this party,’ she gushed. ‘We have invited our most gifted and talented friends. Several of them travelled for many miles to come here. We also found the most exciting toys and devices that anyone could want to enhance their sexual experience. The Captain and I spent hours calling suitable beautiful partners and trying to organise a party that would rival those of…’ Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find a suitable comparative. ‘A party to rival those of…’ she began again.

  ‘…of the Roman Empire,’ Justine suggested.

  Marie glanced sharply at her; and then smiled enigmatically. It was difficult to read her expression because of the mask. With her thoughts on the penitent, Justine didn’t trouble herself worrying about whether or not she had offended her host’s wife and continued to walk calmly by her side. A single doubt began to nag at the back of her thoughts but she couldn’t immediately place the reason for her unease. There was some small detail that marked her different to Marie, her staff and the others they met. And, while Justine sensed it was important to notice the nature of the dissimilarity, she could only pinpoint a vague feeling of disparity.

  She had to concede that Sartine and Marie had invited a guest list of truly beautiful people. The bare flesh she saw on her way to the ballroom was flawless and exciting. Tanned bodies, all bereft of blemishes or bikini lines, glided by the sides of their muscular well-toned partners. Justine caught glimpses of cleanly shaved clefts, neatly trimmed pubic bushes and an array of breasts that ranged from pert to buxom. She wilfully tried to remain cool and composed: as though attending an orgy was something she did every day of the week. Yet, even after a morning with the penitent and the illuminating day she had spent in the penthouse, Justine found herself torn between extreme responses of dread and daring. The trepidation grew worse as they reached the hotel’s ground floor. She could hear the babble of crowded conversation that poured from the ballroom and its drone was almost as loud as the elegant chamber music that accompanied the chatter. Marie squeezed her arm, gently encouraging Justine to step forward and enter the ballroom.

  And then she realised the difference between herself and the other guests.

  ‘I don’t have a mask!’

  It was impossible to make the declaration without feeling absurd by the sound of her own panic. She glanced from her host’s wife to the att
endant servants and a couple who brushed past them to enter the dining room. Everyone else was nude save for the tiny eye-masks that covered nothing and disguised no one’s identity.

  ‘I don’t have a mask,’ Justine hissed nervously.

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ Marie agreed. ‘But that’s because you’re here as our guest of honour.’ Laughing easily, she didn’t allow the conversation to continue and wouldn’t hear any further protests or excuses. With the help of her maids they led Justine into the ballroom and were greeted by a rapturous round of welcoming applause.

  Too much was happening too quickly and Justine struggled not to be overwhelmed by the experience. The string quartet playing for the party – an elegant trio of dapper men in tuxedos and one beautiful lady in formal wear – brought their piece to a halt. They moved instantly into Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz and, as though everyone expected the development, the crowd moved away from the dance floor. A flutter of flashbulbs captured the moment for posterity, Justine briefly cringed at the idea that her nudity had been caught on camera, and then that minor worry was pushed to the back of her mind as she found herself alone in the centre of the room with a hundred or more naked strangers admiring her. While she had thought the masks were a lame excuse for a disguise she suddenly realised their presence added a disconcerting edge to the experience. She could no longer recognise Marie or her maids: those people who had nodded courteous greetings to her on her way to the ballroom were now as unfamiliar as those absolute strangers whom she was seeing for the first time.

  Since sitting in Dupont’s church and being humbled by the frescoes and tranquillity, Justine didn’t think she had felt so alone and vulnerable. The memory of the life she had left behind – gloomy libraries and an array of visceral pleasures lived through the pages of dry dusty books – seemed as though it had belonged to someone else. She couldn’t equate that existence with the naked pleasure-seeker she had since become and she struggled to understand when the change had occurred. Was it something that had come about when she kissed the penitent that morning? Had it happened during the sacrilege she had enjoyed with the priest? Or did it go back to Mrs Weiss in the private library and her bullying domination? The questions confused Justine and she knew she wasn’t going to find answers this evening.