Forbidden Reading

by Lisette Ashton

  Mrs Weiss pulled her head back sharply.

  Justine almost screamed with frustration and pain. She was dragged from the stone seat and pushed unceremoniously away.

  Ignoring her, calmly studying her assistant, Mrs Weiss said, ‘Bind her hands and hang her in the corner. She’s more fun when she’s suffering.’

  Biting back the shocked exclamation she wanted to make, Justine made no move to stop the assistant as he wrapped cord around her wrists in a loose figure eight. She thought of telling him that the bondage was nowhere near tight enough to hold her properly, then realised neither he nor Mrs Weiss wanted to hear her opinions. Tugging her as though she was merely a piece of meat, the assistant led Justine to a corner of the donjon beneath a low hanging hook. He slipped her bound wrists over the aged metal and then turned to Mrs Weiss as though waiting for her approval.

  Justine found she had to stand on tiptoe to stop the torment from being a suspended bondage. It was difficult to forget her vulnerability and she despised the realisation that apprehension was adding to her arousal. Having her arms above her head made her feel exposed. The assistant stood in front of her but, with Mrs Weiss lingering behind, Justine didn’t know what to expect. A finger of unease tickled down her spine and heightened her sensitivity. She quietly dreaded the woman’s reason for having her suspended from the donjon’s hook and she wouldn’t let her mind speculate about what was going to happen next.

  The sting of the flail across her back gave Justine an idea of what the woman was planning. When it was followed by three more lashes – each more punishing than its predecessor – she understood she was going to be thoroughly whipped. The prospect of being flogged was a double-edged barb: one side making her stomach churn with despair, the other heightening her arousal.

  ‘Are you going to help me with this?’ Mrs Weiss asked her assistant.

  Justine glared at the burly figure, hoping he would say no and knowing there was no chance of that happening. She saw the shaded glint of his smile in the shadows of his cowl, and then watched as he reached for a spare flail that hung from the wall. His large fist encircled the handle; he tested its weight with a short, sharp snap; and then he was slicing the knotted tips against her breasts.

  Justine howled with surprise.

  Almost as though she was administering the punishment to enforce silence, Mrs Weiss swept her flail sharp against Justine’s buttocks. The hiss of leather biting through the air became a constant in the donjon’s claustrophobic atmosphere. Interspersed with Justine’s pained exclamations, the sound was like something from a medieval torture chamber.

  Her breasts were quickly turned raw.

  The assistant’s punishing blows left a million weals standing stark against her wan flesh. Before any of them had the opportunity to fade, he drove fresh pinpricks of agony against her. Justine was appalled to see her nipples standing hard as the punishment continued and she tried not to think of how that response reflected her appetites.

  The flail at her back struck more viciously. Mrs Weiss was clearly trying to scourge every inch of bare skin and alternated her blows from the centre point between Justine’s shoulder blades down to the tops of her thighs. Her buttocks were in agony each time the knotted tongs lapped at her punished cheeks. But the pain was no less intolerable when Mrs Weiss inflicted it anywhere else. On those occasions when she struck a hip – causing the lengths of leather to curl around Justine’s side and bite at her lower stomach – she could barely contain a cry of protest.

  And, acting as though they were ignorant of her suffering, Mrs Weiss and the assistant chatted blithely above her sighs and moans. Because they spoke in French, Justine easily shut out the sounds of their conversation and concentrated on the misery she was enduring. She wondered if it was too early to use Mrs Weiss’s suggested ploy to end the punishment early. The prospect of concluding this ordeal before it proved too humiliating was very tempting and she opened her mouth, ready to beg for more. A part of her knew it would be a struggle to say the words – every inch of her body screamed that she should simply beg for it to stop – but she couldn’t imagine Mrs Weiss heeding those words.

  Drawing a deep breath, telling herself that she could play the role of the submissive for just a little longer, Justine suddenly realised the pair had started to speak in English. More importantly, she thought she had heard some mention of her beloved penitent.

  ‘Say that again,’ the assistant demanded.

  ‘I asked: what did you do with the blonde?’ Mrs Weiss repeated.

  Justine raised her head, anxious to hear the answer. All thoughts of getting the pair to end the punishment were gone from her mind. Her interest in their conversation was immediate and all consuming. Even though they continued to lash her bare flesh with their flails, the multi-thonged tips scouring her back, sides, buttocks and breasts, she was oblivious to the pain and only aware that they were discussing her blonde lover.

  ‘She’ll be on her way back to Dupont in the next half hour,’ the assistant told Mrs Weiss. ‘Maybe sooner if the car gets back here faster.’

  ‘She’s still upstairs?’ Mrs Weiss asked.

  Justine flicked her gaze between Weiss and the assistant. She wished she could see his face, rather than just the shadows cast by his cowl, and she wondered what Mrs Weiss was considering. A part of her believed it was probably best if she didn’t let her thoughts chase too far ahead or try to outguess Mrs Weiss. But, with the prospect of renewing her acquaintance with the penitent, Justine found it impossible to heed her own good advice. She twisted on her suspended bondage and tried silently to implore the woman. The lashes that Mrs Weiss landed now struck her left side. The side of her left breast was repeatedly caught by the woman’s flail and, if not for the rising pain, Justine would have marvelled at the woman’s accuracy when she repeatedly slashed raw agony through the tip of her nipple.

  ‘Would you want me to bring her back?’ Mrs Weiss asked.

  There was something in her tone that made Justine think, whatever she wanted, Mrs Weiss would do the opposite. Aware that her spirits were sinking, but unable to give up hope of seeing the penitent again, she said honestly, ‘You know that’s what I’d want.’

  ‘Is there still time to retrieve her?’ Mrs Weiss asked the assistant.

  Unable to stop herself, Justine could feel her hopes rising as she waited for the man’s answer. Ignoring the discomfort that came from her bondage, putting aside all thoughts of the agony they were whipping from her bare flesh, she turned herself slowly back to face him.

  ‘She’s waiting for the car to return. I can’t imagine she will have gone yet.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Mrs Weiss whispered. She pressed herself close against Justine’s naked body. Standing behind her, the woman was able to cup Justine’s breasts, squeeze and fondle. The forced intimacy was intrusive and unwanted but, because she was being offered the chance of getting the penitent back, Justine allowed it to continue without a word of complaint. The coarse weave of Mrs Weiss’s robe was abrasive against Justine’s sensitive buttocks. Her fingernails were long and sharp and delivered scratching caresses.

  ‘Would you want her back?’ Mrs Weiss sighed.

  ‘You know I would.’

  ‘Would you be prepared to make a sacrifice to get her back?’

  ‘I’d do anything.’

  ‘Anything?’

  Justine could hear the animal hunger in the woman’s question but that didn’t trouble her. Sure she was on the verge of recapturing the penitent, she nodded eagerly and said, ‘Of course. I’ll do whatever you ask.’

  Her hands were lifted from the hook. The release made her realise her legs were weak and she almost stumbled to her knees. Mrs Weiss helped her to fall completely to the floor and then towered over her.

  Frightened, and suddenly uneasy about the blind commitment she had just made, Justine stared up as the woman tore open the front of her robe. Her naked body was exposed in all its magnificent glory as Mrs Weiss stepped c
loser and pushed her sex in Justine’s face.

  ‘If you want her back, then you’ll drink my pipi,’ she growled.

  Justine remembered the penitent using the same word at Sartine’s and tried to recall the circumstances when it had been used. Horror threatened to overwhelm her when she remembered it was the same word the penitent had used before disappearing to the hotel’s en suite. A sickening wave of understanding made her want to shake her head in refusal. But, because she was being offered a chance of recapturing the penitent, Justine wouldn’t let herself refuse.

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed.

  The words almost choked her. She wasn’t wholly sure what she was agreeing to, or how bad the ordeal would be, but she pushed her face close to the woman’s sex and tilted her head back. Extending her tongue, she lapped tentatively at Mrs Weiss’s labia.

  ‘Oh! You good little girl,’ Mrs Weiss declared.

  Encouraged, but remaining wary, Justine pushed her tongue more firmly against the woman’s sex. She slipped the tip between the dewy folds of Mrs Weiss’s labia and daringly tasted her wetness. An odour of rich musk and perspiration assaulted her nostrils. A shiver of raw arousal trembled through her bare body.

  ‘That’s it,’ Mrs Weiss agreed. ‘That’s just what I wanted.’ She grabbed a fistful of Justine’s hair and held her head in place. As Justine spluttered for air, she heard Mrs Weiss bark, ‘Use her, you fool. Let’s both of us use this bitch properly.’

  The assistant needed no further encouragement.

  Justine sensed movement behind her. She caught the pungent stench of the man’s erection and then felt it pressing between her buttocks. His smooth entry into her sex was so easy she felt ashamed. But, all the time, she continued to lap, lick and suck at Mrs Weiss’s hole. Even when the assistant began to hammer himself forcefully into her hole, his enormous shaft burrowing perpetually deeper with each thrust, she didn’t stop squirming her mouth against the split of the woman’s sex. She tried listening for a sigh of pleasure or some other sound that would indicate she was properly satisfying her employer, but Mrs Weiss remained frustratingly silent.

  The assistant’s hands gripped tight against those punishing weals that had been scratched into her flesh. Justine bit back cries of discomfort as his hold tightened against her aching skin. Each forceful thrust battered raw excitement through her inner muscles but the delight was tempered by the discomfort of his fingers dragging over the sore marks.

  The donjon was painfully silent. Justine could hear the vague sounds of the world beyond their closed room; occasional footsteps clipped overhead; a car horn beeped twice; and the faraway strains of birdsong reminded her she was not so far away from the real world. But she suspected there would be a lot more to endure before she got a chance to escape and enjoy any of those banal pleasures.

  ‘Drink me,’ Mrs Weiss demanded. The urgency of her voice snatched Justine’s thoughts away from her contemplation of the world outside the donjon. ‘Drink my pipi,’ Mrs Weiss hissed.

  Her tone was higher than normal: the first indication that she had been affected by Justine’s tongue. Although the moment was a blur of confusion as the assistant pounded into her and her body continued to hurt, Justine could sense something was about to happen.

  And then Mrs Weiss released a scalding jet of urine.

  Justine wanted to gag and rear back but she knew that wasn’t what the woman wanted. Reminding herself she was enduring this ordeal for the sake of the penitent, she pushed her face close to the source of the golden shower and allowed the spray to wash her face, nose and lips.

  ‘That’s it,’ Mrs Weiss exclaimed.

  The assistant rode more vigorously.

  Justine didn’t know if the man was excited by the sight or scent of what was happening, or if he was simply close to his own point of ejaculation. She realised she was suffering from her own blackly excited responses to the ordeal but she couldn’t equate those with the despicable pleasures she was enjoying.

  Mrs Weiss’s pipi was a pastel scented douche that burnt on contact and then chilled in an instant. Justine went from suffering the shock of the heat to the shivers of the cold within seconds. Her face streamed with yellow tears, her throat scalded against the shameful taste of Mrs Weiss’s release and she felt as though she had reached a new depth of degradation. Her resultant orgasm was strong enough to wrench the climax from the assistant’s shaft.

  The waves of pleasure were still trembling through her pussy even when she was dragged from her knees and returned to the suspended bondage in a corner of the donjon. There was no opportunity to clean her face or even wipe her hair dry from the wetness that plastered it to her scalp. And, before she had a chance to understand properly what had happened, Mrs Weiss had resumed her cloak and the assistant had begun to slash the flail at her bare and battered body.

  ‘My friend,’ she moaned. She twisted on the bondage and glared desperately at Mrs Weiss. ‘The blonde girl,’ she prompted. As best as she was able, Justine flashed her gaze from her employer to the assistant. ‘Are you going to get her back for me?’ she gasped.

  ‘It’s too late,’ the assistant explained. Justine thought she could detect a smirk in his voice. If his face hadn’t been concealed by shadows she would have had a better chance of working out if he was laughing at her. ‘Didn’t you hear the car horn while you were drinking from Mrs Weiss?’

  Justine recalled the sound with chilling clarity.

  Mrs Weiss landed her flail sharply against one buttock. ‘The sound of the car horn was the signal from the driver to say he was leaving,’ she explained. Her laughter was short, sharp and callous. ‘You should have been faster about pleasuring us,’ she snapped. ‘Perhaps then you might have been able to save your precious friend.’

  It was more than Justine could tolerate. She released a howl as the next flail landed while the following one evoked a sob of despair. Within half an hour she was groaning as each hatefully exciting stroke stung her bare body. Outrage, anger and frustration all vied for control of her responses, but each barb of pain prevented any reaction from winning. It was only when she realised Mrs Weiss had defeated her – and that she had no option except to suffer the cruelty of the woman’s discipline – that Justine decided to call an end to the torment.

  The assistant used the flail with enough force to make her scream each time his whip descended. Mrs Weiss did not put as much energy into each shot but her accuracy more than made up for that. Every stroke either landed against a breast, a buttock or the tops of Justine’s thighs. She rekindled discomfort in every aching red line and evoked a scream with each stroke. The pain was exciting – it inspired a fluid heat between her thighs that was strong and undeniable – but Justine wanted no more of the anguish. Hurting, miserable, and tired of her quest, she thought it was time to end this aspect of the ordeal. Drawing a deep breath, spitting out the air as another stroke of the flail bit cruelly against her left breast, she remembered the instructions she had been given to end the torment and tried to follow them to the letter.

  ‘More,’ Justine whimpered.

  The pain that held her body was enormous. She didn’t know if she was suffering from an excess of ecstasy or anguish but she knew it could not go on any longer. Shivering from the extremes of orgasm, crying from relief, agony and delight, she said, ‘I want more. Give me more.’

  ‘More?’ Mrs Weiss repeated.

  Justine began to relax, thankful that this phase of her ordeal was about to end.

  ‘Did she say she wants more?’ Mrs Weiss asked her assistant.

  ‘That’s what it sounded like to me.’

  A finger of doubt tickled at the back of Justine’s thoughts. She could suddenly see the foolishness in trusting Mrs Weiss and she cursed herself for not thinking further ahead.

  ‘If she’s asking for more, then we’ll give her some more,’ Mrs Weiss declared. ‘Get yourself hard again,’ she told her assistant. ‘Let’s see if we can satisfy her filthy appetites if we both wo
rk together.’

  Fourteen

  ‘You’re a dirty little bitch, aren’t you?’

  Justine held herself still when she heard the man’s voice. The ruins were pitch black save for a sliver of moon that rent the night sky above. She had never deceived herself that she was alone; the sounds of muted breaths and shuffling feet were all around; there had been several moments, as she staggered through the overgrown ruins of the castle, when Justine could sense a presence so close it was almost as though she was being caressed. But still, coming so abruptly from the darkness, the unexpected voice shocked her. More than that, it reminded her of the words Mrs Weiss had so recently spat from the impenetrable darkness of her private library and she began to wonder if this was some stylised introduction that The Society had made their own.

  ‘You’re a dirty little bitch, aren’t you? You’re a dirty little bitch who needs a damned good thrashing. Is that why you’ve come here? Have you come here to have your backside thrashed?’

  ‘I’ve come here for La Coste,’ Justine returned coolly.

  Behind her an unseen woman sighed.

  She wanted to turn, and try to find out who else shared the darkness with her, but she suspected she was still being judged. Maintaining a defiant pose, not sure she could be seen but unwilling to risk a momentary lapse, Justine stared expectantly into the gloom and waited for him to speak again. Her heartbeat lurched fast within her chest and she struggled not to tremble and show her apprehension.

  A metallic click broke the silence. The sound was familiar and Justine experienced no surprise when she heard the ring of a flint wheel striking inside a petrol-lighter. After a flurry of sparks, she saw a broad blue flame dancing before her. The suggestion of a face was illuminated; the flame was applied to a candle; and as the wick flourished to bright yellow life she finally saw the man who was addressing her.