‘Good evening, Justine,’ he began cordially. ‘Welcome to La Coste.’
Without any need for an introduction, she knew this was Marais: the book’s owner. He extended a gracious smile, gallantly greeting her as she adjusted her eyes to the searing glow of the candle. Rather than looking at him, Justine wanted to admire the crumbling relics of the castle in which they stood.
Being inside La Coste – having arrived at her journey’s end – was almost more than she could accept. She continued to stare around, noticing for the first time how the ancient stones stood stark against the night sky. Poorly illuminated silhouettes in the night – their uneven edges suggesting forgotten magnificence and encroaching decay – the crumbling ruins added a sense of doom to the night. The atmosphere made Justine believe she was on the verge of meeting her destiny and she caught her breath before it could turn into a sigh of expectant wonder. Her pulse quickened and she was touched by a thrill of adrenaline that inspired a painfully familiar response.
Her stomach folded with dread and arousal.
The sensitive split of her cleft felt suddenly moist and far too warm.
‘It’s been a long time since anyone got this far,’ Marais explained pleasantly.
Justine maintained a polite smile, not sure what the comment meant or how she was expected to respond. The temptation to press her thighs together was almost irresistible but she defied the urge and continued to regard him with forced detachment.
‘I’ve been told you’re more than worthy of acquiring La Coste,’ Marais continued. ‘Tonight, before you take this book away, you will have proved that worthiness to me.’
Her eyes shone with anticipation when she realised he was holding the manuscript. The fallen magnificence of the building around them was forgotten as her gaze fixed on the unpublished work. The pages were yellow-brown with age, their contents black, scribbled and smudged to an indecipherable scrawl. Justine realised it was a book written in a language she couldn’t understand and she knew she had prostituted herself to obtain it for a woman she didn’t particularly like. The incongruities of the situation struck her every time she let her mind consider what she had done or reflect on why she was doing it. But she pushed all those thoughts aside as she reminded herself that she needed to have it. ‘La Coste is mine?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘I can take it away with me this evening? Tonight? Now?’
Like a skilled magician, Marais made the manuscript disappear from the reach of the candle’s glow. He held out an empty hand for her and said, ‘You’ve proved your worthiness to The Society. A successful bank transfer has put the necessary funds into an escrow account. I only want to see the evidence of your suitability for myself and then it’s yours.’ He cocked an eyebrow, tilted his head, and asked, ‘Do you think you can prove that worthiness to me?’
She stepped through the overgrown weeds that separated them and, taking the hand he had offered, pressed herself into his embrace. He was the debonair hero she had expected. With his hair swept back from an open and honest face, he looked stylish and attractive. There weren’t many verified images of the Marquis de Sade in the pages of any of the history texts she had consumed at university but, if Justine had ever harboured an idea of what he might look like, she suspected he would bear a striking resemblance to the man she now held. His clothes had an antiquated appearance that befitted the splendid decay of the building in which they were meeting. Around him was a subtle cologne that conveyed a sense of clean masculinity but didn’t quite conceal an aura of perpetual arousal. He was everything she had hoped he might be and, when he began to kiss her, his passion made the inner muscles of her sex tremble.
While he continued to hold the candle in one hand his other held her tight against his body. A powerful leg pressed between her thighs; her breasts were squashed against his broad chest; his fingers kneaded against her buttocks; and she knew he was going to use her with a cruel and demanding force. The thought filled her with a smouldering excitement.
His fingers crept beneath the hem of her short skirt. Because Mrs Weiss and her assistant had scourged her so severely the previous day, Justine hadn’t been able to tolerate the idea of wearing panties for this final part of her journey. Sitting in the back of the limousine had been an arduous chore and she had shifted restlessly throughout the drive as she tried to make her buttocks comfortable against the pressure of the leather seats.
And, although those pains weren’t forgotten as Marais’s hand smoothed over her bare flesh, they were put aside in favour of more important considerations. She wasn’t wearing panties and his fingers were now mere millimetres from touching her uncovered sex. The prospect sent a shiver of anticipation bristling through her pussy. Fired by an urgent need for satisfaction, she pushed hard against him.
Marais laughed. He continued to hold her but seemed to hesitate rather than push his fingers close to the spot where she needed them. Regardless of how much Justine squirmed or wriggled against him, he refused to touch the sensitive lips of her sex. ‘You’re quite the eager little bitch, aren’t you?’ he chuckled.
The words shocked her, reminding Justine of the priest she had seen on her first night in France. The temptation to pull away from his embrace came suddenly and she almost acted without thinking about what she was doing. It was only because Marais slipped his fingers against her at that moment, his cool caress sliding over the velvety warmth of her sex, that she was able to stay in his arms. A flutter of electric responses tingled through her hole. She was suddenly swathed in perspiration that defied the cool air of the night. Her heartbeat raced, her mouth turned dry and she responded to him with an eagerness that was almost embarrassing. As he touched more intimately, insinuating the tips of his fingers deeper between her wet and pulsing muscles, she rubbed furiously against him.
‘What do you want from me?’ she begged.
‘Nothing you aren’t prepared to give.’
In contrast to his calming words, his fingers pushed further into her cleft. The wetness of her sex easily accommodated his rough entry. The slippery muscles parted eagerly to allow his penetration. And Justine squirmed happily on him. The low-grade fever of excitement that had held her in its thrall for the past three days was now a burning desire. The simple satisfaction of having something inside her was almost enough to inspire a climax. She gripped him tightly, making her embrace inescapable, and then squeezed her inner muscles around his fingers. The ripple of responses that flowed through her body was glorious and intense. Shocked by her easy acceptance of Marais, Justine tried to rationalise her need for him.
It pained her that the penitent was no longer by her side. In the few short days they had been together, the blonde had offered reassurance and perpetually promised a passionate reward. But Justine supposed she had begun this journey alone and it was only right that she finished it in the same solitary state. The thought offered little consolation against the prospect of never seeing her lover again, but she wouldn’t allow her mood to be spoilt by brooding on those things she had no hope of changing.
And it was easy to push immaterial thoughts from her mind as Marais slipped the jacket from her shoulders. His fingers were drawn slowly from her cleft, leaving her aching for him and dizzied by her body’s responses. In the stilted silence that lingered between them she could hear her pussy lips kissing his fingers farewell as they were snatched away from her sex. She barely had the chance to realise the night was clement when he tugged her blouse away and then changed his embrace.
Rather than holding her with his chest pressed against hers, he was suddenly grabbing her from behind. His candle had been placed on a table and its dim glow showed enough of the polished surface to let Justine know the furniture was not part of the established ruins. But, rather than worrying about such extraneous detail, she found herself concentrating on the way he now pressed against her. The bulge of his erection strained against her and she understood he wanted her with a need that matched her own. Her skirt was hitched up to her waist, no l
onger a barrier between them, and she could feel the coarse fabric of his pants dragging against her punished buttocks.
Determined to prove that she was worthy, Justine wriggled against him. The movement was uncomfortable because Mrs Weiss and her assistant had left Justine’s rear raw and aching. The flesh of her backside felt bruised from the repeated blows of the whip but she was determined the ache wouldn’t stop her from pleasing Marais or enjoying what he had to offer. The bulge that rubbed against her felt large and solid and she was surprised by how easily her mind’s eye pictured the enticing length of flesh he had to offer. Excited by the thought of squeezing herself around him, Justine reached one hand behind herself and stroked him through the fabric of his pants.
He pushed her hand away, tore her skirt from her hips, and then forced her to bend forward. Now firmly under his control, Justine found herself sprawled across the same table where Marais had rested his candle. The polished surface of the top pressed cold against her breasts. The edge of the table cut into her stomach and, as Marais spread her bare buttocks apart, he slipped a hand firmly against her wetness.
Her heart hammered more quickly when she realised he was going to take her.
Unable to conceal her excitement, Justine released a soft moan.
She remained aware that they weren’t alone. From the darkness she could hear murmured breaths, whispered comments and the sounds of muted restlessness. Not for the first time she marvelled that so many people could be involved with The Society and she wondered how they had found each other. It sounded as though a hundred or more voices were lurking in the shadows that held La Coste and she knew they all shared the same beliefs. Remembering her own private thrill on first discovering de Sade’s work, she envied them the confidence that had allowed The Society’s members to share their thoughts with fellow libertines.
But, because her audience clearly wanted to remain unseen and anonymous for the moment, she told herself there was no problem fretting about who the voyeurs were or how they had come to form this twisted community. Additionally, with Marais sliding his fingers between the cheeks of her buttocks, teasing her sex lips and then caressing the puckered ring of her anus, she had no urge to think about anything other than the divine sensations his touch inspired.
‘Let’s start the night with an apéritif,’ Marias suggested.
Behind her she heard the familiar sound of a zip being released. The stiff cotton of his shirt rustled as he freed the erection from his pants. And then the warm weight of his shaft was pushing against her. The centre of her sex was touched by the slippery heat of his length. Wet with arousal, either leaking pre-come or lubricated by her own excitement, Marais slipped easily over the split of her pussy lips.
Justine caught the scent of his sweating arousal, felt the pressure of a swollen dome squeezing between the cheeks of her backside, and then he was pressing himself inside. It wasn’t until she felt the resistance of her anus, straining in protest at the penetration, that she realised how he intended to use her. By the time that thought had registered properly the first inches of his erection were already ploughing into her rectum.
She shivered and clenched her muscles tight around him. A stiff sigh – not quite a shriek, but close – faltered from her lips.
The sphincter protested at the abuse and she came close to begging him to stop. Then, as the pleasure quickly outweighed the discomfort, she was caught in the thrill of being used. Her body mellowed from its stiffness and her natural response to the pleasure took hold. Won over by her host’s brutal introduction, Justine allowed fresh eddies of joy to shiver through her rear.
Marais groaned as he pushed himself deeper. His length was long and thick, sliding forcefully along the narrow channel of her rear.
Lost in the darkness that surrounded them, able to concentrate on every physical sensation rather than being distracted by anything, Justine was able to revel in every glorious sensation. She could feel each millimetre of Marais’s erection as it surged deeper into her hole. Her body was so attuned to him that she could follow the rounded shape of his swollen glans as it thrust along her forbidden passage.
Justine curled one hand into a fist while the other clawed helplessly at the table beneath her. Having his shaft fill her bowel was both disquieting and exhilarating. The knowledge that they were little more than casual acquaintances added to her excitement. The freedom of giving herself to this man whom she didn’t know was an unexpected enticement to her arousal. As he began to glide back and forth, she wondered when she had turned from being a mere librarian to becoming a woman in touch with her body’s needs and responses.
Marais’s brutal treatment didn’t allow her much scope for reflection. As he battered exquisite sensations through her rear, Justine cried out for him with a mixture of anguish and satisfaction. His pace quickened, the splendid intrusion became even more delightful, and she forgot all about the certainty that strangers were watching from the shadows. Even when unseen fingers brushed against the back of her hand, and hidden voices murmured approval about Marais’s technique, she was easily able to think of those voices as belonging to her imagination.
‘Go on, you bitch,’ he panted. ‘Take it all. Take every fucking inch.’
As he hammered each thrust into her anus, he called her a whore, a bitch and a filthy slut. His tone was vulgar and, after beginning in English, he slipped into a guttural French that was clearly more familiar to him. He cursed her with a string of invectives that Justine didn’t understand but knew she deserved.
Quietly thrilled by his low opinion, and urging herself ever closer to the climax her body needed, she groaned when he cupped her breasts. His hands were strong, chilled by the night, and they pawed viciously at her flesh. But none of those handicaps stopped the sensations from being delicious. Catching her nipples between his knuckles, squeezing until the pain was nearly unbearable, Marais allowed his fingernails to scourge a litany of anguish against the swollen orbs. With a groan of satisfaction, Marais rode her more vigorously, pounding each thrust forcefully into her backside.
It was a gratuitous experience – devised only for his pleasure – but Justine was elated to be a part of the moment. The inner muscles of her anus were bombarded by the sensations his length inflicted and it did not take long before she shrieked with the joy of release. Her sphincter clenched hungrily around the thick intruder and a spasm of pure delight shook through her frame. Through the all-encompassing darkness she could see explosions of glorious light as the orgasm shivered through her body. Someone groaned with obvious ecstasy and it was only when she felt the cry trembling over her lips that Justine realised she had been listening to her own sigh of contentment. Breathless and elated, she wondered how Marais was managing to resist his own climax.
Behind her, she heard him gasp. There was something in the exclamation that made her realise the cry had come from between clenched teeth and she understood he had been using every effort to stave off his ejaculation. Smiling tightly to herself, eager to show him she was a worthy recipient of La Coste, Justine squeezed the muscles of her anus tight. His penetration became harder and more forced. His final thrust was less controlled than his previous movements and, before his groan became a sigh, Marais had exploded inside her.
She had known his orgasm was close but she hadn’t expected it to come with such surprising speed or force. He buried himself deep into her rear, exclaiming in a torrent of French expletives that she hoped never to understand. His erection thickened as his shaft released a jet of scalding semen. The douche was enough to inspire a scorching climax inside Justine and, startled by the intensity of her reaction, she cried out into the night. Fresh waves of pleasure washed over her as Marais continued to pulse his seed into her bowel.
The darkness around her took on a mist-like quality and she realised she was on the verge of losing consciousness. Forcing herself to breathe deeply – determined she wouldn’t pass out so early on in the evening – Justine lay breathless over the table as M
arais dragged his spent length from her backside. Tremors continued to shiver through her body, a testament to the intense delights she had enjoyed. But she wouldn’t let herself concentrate on her personal pleasure.
She could hear Marais’s breathing was slightly laboured and his words were tinged by a smirk of satisfaction when he finally spoke. ‘That was a good beginning to the evening,’ he grunted.
Turning round to face him, finally able to discern his features from the darkness, she asked, ‘Have I proved my worthiness?’
Marais laughed. She had thought he was too much of a gentleman to appear cruel or unkind but now she could see that idea had been severely misplaced. The malicious undercurrent of his tone evoked a prickle of dread.
‘Have you proved your worthiness?’ he repeated. ‘That was nothing more than foreplay, Justine.’ Snatching hold of the candle, raising it high so it fully illuminated his face, he gave a distinct nod.
Justine understood he was passing a signal to someone but she had no idea who it might be. It wasn’t until a second candle fluttered into life, and she saw a mature and familiar face, that she realised how the night was going to progress.
A thin-lipped smile beneath hard black eyes appraised her with barely concealed distaste. ‘Bonsoir Justine,’ he murmured. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
Her cheeks flushed crimson and Justine swallowed thickly as she mumbled her own greeting to the priest.
Fifteen
‘Marais is correct,’ the priest mumbled. ‘It’s been a long time since anyone got this far. You’ve done better than any of us expected.’
She thought the remark was meant as a compliment but she couldn’t bring herself to take it that way. Something about the priest’s stiff manner immediately made her feel defensive. Justine subconsciously realised that Marais had stripped her when he used her and she cringed from the idea of being caught in such an embarrassing way in front of the priest. It crossed her mind that this man hadn’t simply seen her unclothed before – he had treated her to a humiliating ordeal that left her feeling ill when she recalled the sacrilege she endured – but none of those thoughts stopped her from fretting that she was standing naked and used in front of a minister of God.
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