‘Enough!’
Marais’s clipped voice wasn’t raised but it broke through the grunts and groans that now filled the ruins of La Coste. Justine released both of the lengths she held, using the back of her hand to wipe a film of semen from her brow, and flitted her gaze through the darkness as she tried to locate him. The shafts that were buried in her bowel and in her sex held themselves perfectly still. She could feel the faint throb of their separate pulses, pounding subtly inside her body, and the intimacy of that sensation inspired another thrill of black desire.
‘You’ve proved your point, Sartine,’ Marais said.
Justine saw the pair of them as the two men before her stepped away. Sartine was naked, his erection already coming back to hardness, and she guessed she had either felt or tasted his cock in the previous minutes. His shoulders were thrown back and he stood with quiet confidence before the smartly dressed figure of Marais.
‘You were right to say she was worthy.’
‘I never doubted that.’ Sartine grinned arrogantly.
He turned to his guests, clapping his hands and ushering them back to the shadows. Justine was treated to a handful of kisses and grateful smiles before Sartine and Marie came to help her from the floor. She hadn’t realised her body had suffered such tremendous exertion until she tried to stand up. Then, the ground seemed to give way beneath her feet and she knew she would have tumbled gracelessly over if they hadn’t been there to provide assistance. Her sphincter felt loose and overused. The lips of her sex were raw from enduring too much.
‘You’ve done very well, Justine,’ Marie confided. ‘I’ve never seen anyone throw themselves into that as wholeheartedly as you did.’
Justine thanked her, and privately wished people would stop telling her that she had done very well. She kept hearing those words, and other similar sentiments, but still the torment refused to come to an end. Stumbling toward the table with Marie at one side and Sartine at the other, she briefly entertained the idea that she might now be allowed something to eat and drink before being told she had finally proved her worthiness.
For the first time she was able to see that most of the seats around the candlelit table were empty. The priest and his bishop sat on either side of the foot; Marais had his place at the head; and she guessed the two empty seats belonged to Captain Sartine and his beautiful Marie. But, rather than concentrating on any of those details, Justine could only think about one thing: Mrs Weiss stood by the side of the table as though it was now her turn to take another shot at abusing Justine’s body.
Seventeen
‘You’re a dirty little bitch, aren’t you?’ Mrs Weiss growled.
Justine groaned when she heard the words. She immediately understood what was coming and closed her eyes as though that would ward off the dreaded punishment. In the darkness it was like being back in the private library vault where Mrs Weiss had first approached her for this acquisition. She remembered the nervousness, terror and the black arousal and she tried to find the strength within herself to face those emotions again.
‘You’re a dirty little bitch, aren’t you?’ Mrs Weiss continued. ‘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?’
Justine opened her eyes to discover the woman was wielding a stout leather paddle. It was not the most intimidating weapon she had seen over the past three days. Compared to the cat she had suffered this evening, or any of the crops Mrs Weiss had used on her at Vincennes Castle, it looked positively benign. And, in truth, the sight of the paddle stirred a blend of curiosity into her arousal. But she still didn’t want to submit to the punishment and she took an involuntary step back.
Mrs Weiss was on her in an instant. Her cowl flapped about her shoulders, she hurled herself at Justine, and then she had driven her to her knees. One hand grabbed a fistful of hair and, tugging back, she made Justine glare up at her. The paddle was raised and the threat of retaliation was obvious and intimidating. ‘You’re here to prove a point,’ she hissed. ‘You’re here to show Marais that, as I told him, you are more than worthy of acquiring La Coste. Do you think you’re going to prove that point by cowering away from me? Do you think Marais will see that sort of behaviour as a sign of your worthiness?’
Justine glared at the woman and realised Mrs Weiss no longer scared her. The woman had been an intimidating presence in the library – she had been particularly frightening on the day Justine had encountered her alone and in the dark of the private vault – but that was all in the past. Even her memory of suffering the woman’s abuse at Vincennes Castle seemed to validate her sudden belief that Mrs Weiss was not a woman to be feared.
‘You can strike me a dozen times,’ Justine told her. ‘But no more than that. A dozen times should be enough to prove the point you’re trying to make.’
‘No more than that?’ Mrs Weiss growled. ‘Are you threatening me?’ She pulled hard on Justine’s hair until she had forced a squeal of pain. ‘I can strike you as many times as I like. You seem to forget which of us is wielding the paddle and which of is trying to prove their worthiness.’
Justine forced herself to remain strong. Glaring firmly at Mrs Weiss, not allowing the woman to see the pain she was inflicting, she said, ‘One dozen times.’ Lowering her voice, anxious that the others wouldn’t hear what she had to say, Justine added, ‘If you strike me any more than that, I’ll tell Marais that I’m working for you.’
The hand clutching her hair loosened.
Mrs Weiss regarded Justine with a range of expressions that swept from shock to fury and then to outrage. ‘He wouldn’t believe you,’ she hissed.
‘Considering all the guileless questions you’ve besieged him with this evening, I imagine he already suspects we’re in collusion,’ Justine returned. ‘Make my suffering last more than twelve strikes from that paddle and I’ll confirm his suspicions.’ She considered adding more, and asking Mrs Weiss how such a revelation would affect her position within The Society, and then decided there was no reason to press her advantage.
‘You vindictive little bitch. Are you trying to blackmail me?’
Justine shook her head and remembered a line from La Coste that the penitent had read for her. It felt strange to be using de Sade’s words against Mrs Weiss but Justine didn’t think there was anything more appropriate that she could say. ‘Don’t think of it as blackmail,’ she encouraged. ‘Think of it as my doing you a personal favour that you don’t really deserve.’
Mrs Weiss tightened her grip on Justine’s hair and yanked hard. Her neck was stretched back and her body was pulled into a fresh and uncomfortable position. The jolt of pain that shook her was swift and harsh and hatefully exciting.
Maintaining her composure, Justine simply glowered. ‘Make it ten strikes from the paddle now,’ she decided. ‘And remember: the number will continue to fall each time you do something I don’t like.’
An eternity of silence lingered between them. As she studied the woman’s furious features Justine understood that Mrs Weiss was struggling to find a way of imposing her will on the situation and failing with each idea that came to her. ‘Very well,’ she gasped eventually. ‘We’ll do this your way.’ Her smile turned suddenly bright as she added, ‘But we’re still doing it on my terms.’
Justine had only a moment to reflect what this might mean before Mrs Weiss had dragged her from the floor. The woman’s hand was still in her hair, pulling and tugging so that Justine was forced to follow. She stumbled in the woman’s wake, trying not to think of the course of action she had put in progress, and didn’t stop walking until Mrs Weiss threw her against the priest’s wooden cross.
‘Stand against that. Spread your legs, stick your backside out and don’t even think about moving.’
Justine did as she was told, her apprehension mounting. She could feel the weight of every gaze was fixed on her. The night had taken on a stillness that could only come from being surroun
ded by a crowd of unseen strangers who were all holding their breath in anticipation. Justine didn’t know if anyone had heard the whispered conversation she had managed with Mrs Weiss and, as the moment of her punishment drew closer, Justine realised she was now beyond caring. She stiffened against the cross, stopped herself from thinking about the vulnerability of her exposed backside, and tried to prepare her body for the harsh impact she knew she was about to suffer.
Mrs Weiss slammed the paddle against her rear.
Justine had quietly vowed that she wouldn’t scream, but she came close to breaking that personal promise with the first slap of the paddle. The reverberation shook through her backside, igniting a hateful thrill of arousal and a low gnawing heat in her loins. The sting of agonising pain was accompanied by a slap that sounded like a gunshot in the night. As she chugged each breath in low guttural moans, Justine marvelled that her body could be so resilient as to withstand such torture.
‘Count them,’ Mrs Weiss insisted. ‘I wouldn’t want accidentally to do more than ten.’
Justine waited for a moment before replying, not trusting her voice to be steady when she answered. ‘One,’ she muttered.
She had intended to say more but Mrs Weiss didn’t allow her to get any further.
Striking with a brutal force, and landing the paddle hard against Justine’s cheeks, she delivered the second blow with more violence than the first.
‘Two,’ Justine murmured.
Her buttocks were ablaze with agony. The sound of the clap continued to ring in her ears and the warmth from the slap quickly spread through her cheeks to the split of her sex. Her inner muscles relished the warmth, responding with their own tickle of enjoyment. Amazed that her treacherous body could glean pleasure from such brutal abuse, Justine didn’t try fighting the enjoyment. Instead, she quietly savoured the effect and pushed her backside further out in readiness for Mrs Weiss’s third shot.
The flat blade of the paddle sighed as it broke through the air.
Justine braced herself for the impact and then allowed the pain and ensuing heat to flood through her body. If it had not been for the cross she held, the force would have been enough to push her over. She could feel her knees wanting to buckle and understood that a part of her would be happy to fall down, admit defeat and allow Mrs Weiss the satisfaction of knowing she had broken another helpless victim.
But there was another part of her that wouldn’t let the woman win. And she was also desperate to find out if the repeated blows would give her the satisfaction her body now craved. Drawing a deep breath, no longer caring whether she sounded defiant or defeated, Justine called, ‘Three.’
‘You really do enjoy suffering, don’t you?’ Mrs Weiss sneered.
The excitement in Justine’s voice was obvious when she replied. Overwhelmed by the experience, she felt sure she could taste the arousal on her tongue when she spoke. ‘This isn’t suffering,’ she whispered. Stifling a laugh, sure that would be bound to infuriate her employer, she added, ‘Another three blows from that and I think I’ll be screaming for a reason that has nothing to do with pain.’
Mrs Weiss slapped the paddle hard against her.
‘Four,’ Justine groaned. She could feel the woman was increasing the force of her blows with each shot but that was only adding to her enjoyment. Her rear was an inferno of seared flesh and the chill of the night did little to help soothe the burning sensation.
But Justine knew it would soon transport her beyond the pinnacle of orgasm. Her inner muscles throbbed with their own urgent heat, erratically clenching and convulsing as though the first throes of orgasm were already working their way through her body.
She counted off the numbers belonging to each blow, her breathlessness growing more profound each time. After three more she was responding automatically and not sure if the numbers she was saying had any bearing on the torment Mrs Weiss inflicted. Her thoughts were fixed solely on the glorious heat that now smouldered inside her sex and she knew the orgasm was about to tear its way through her.
As she called out the number eight, Mrs Weiss delivered her penultimate blow and Justine screamed with gratitude. The blend of pleasure and pain, heat and excitement, became an absolute arousal. The rush of satisfaction streaked through her and she clutched the arms of the cross for fear of falling to the ground.
Her heartbeat raced furiously and it was only as an afterthought that she realised Mrs Weiss had delivered her final blow while the climax was searing through her body. The woman stepped close, breathing heavily, with a cruel smile tainting her voice. The coarse fabric of her cowl brushed against Justine’s bare body as she lowered her voice to a discreet whisper.
‘How were those ten?’ Mrs Weiss asked.
‘They were unbearable,’ Justine panted. She raised her head and dared to glance at the woman’s menacing scowl. ‘But you knew that before you asked, didn’t you?’
‘Do you still feel in a mood for giving me orders?’ Mrs Weiss taunted. She raised the paddle, using its presence as a sly reminder of the power she held. ‘Do you still want to tell me how many times I can hit you? I’m always happy to give insubordinates a lesson about which of us is in charge.’
‘I’m not giving orders,’ Justine said quietly. She glanced at the paddle and then glanced back to the stern-faced woman holding it. The intimidation was no longer there and she felt as though she was speaking to an equal rather than a cruel dominatrix. ‘I’m simply stating facts. If you allow me to suffer any more, I’m telling Marais all about our relationship.’
Justine considered repeating the line from La Coste, and then stopped herself from pushing Mrs Weiss too far. She could see the impotent venom in the woman’s gaze and knew she now had the upper hand. Even when Mrs Weiss backed away, and started barking instructions to anyone close enough to fall under her command, Justine realised the dynamics in their relationship had changed forever.
‘Lay her there,’ Mrs Weiss instructed. She pointed to the centre of the table and Justine dimly realised she knew the two people who were helping her away from the cross.
Marie delivered short kisses and words of praise and admiration. Sartine had an arm around her waist and took the brunt of her weight. Justine glanced gratefully from one to the other, murmuring her thanks and hoping this was the last time she would find herself between the pair. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed her time with either of the couple but it seemed, after each encounter with either of them, Justine found herself suffering an unnecessary amount of pain.
‘You’ve been a triumph,’ Marie told her.
‘I’ve never seen better,’ Sartine agreed.
Justine thanked them for the kind words, and then sighed with relief as they laid her on the table. It hurt to have her buttocks against any surface but the top of the table was cool enough to be a balm against the blazing flesh of her rear. Once the initial discomfort of the contact was over, she discovered the sensation was almost soothing.
Around her, she heard the shuffle of chairs as the senior members of The Society resumed their seats. A murmur of conversation, most of it in French, was bantered above and around her. Although she didn’t usually give herself over to paranoia, Justine thought that, on this occasion, it sounded as though the foreign language was being used to keep her from understanding the conversation.
Deciding there was no sense trying to interpret the words, confident she would soon find out what they were saying if it had any bearing on her situation, Justine rested her head back against the table and stared directly up.
From her perspective, Justine could see the canopy of the night stars above her and the faces of her tormentors looming from the periphery of her vision. Mrs Weiss’s features were austere but Justine could see that Marais appeared equally stern and resolute.
‘She’s proved herself worthy,’ Mrs Weiss growled. ‘Just give her the damned manuscript and let the poor bitch go home.’
‘Aren’t you going to give me a final show of her abilities?�
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Justine could hear the jeer of contempt in his voice as he made the suggestion. She glanced nervously at her employer, wondering if the woman was going to do as Marais asked, or deny him and run the risk of exposing their ruse. Having already suffered under Mrs Weiss’s brutal treatment, Justine didn’t know how she wanted the woman to respond but she couldn’t bear the thought of her efforts of the past three days being for nothing.
‘Put your fingers inside her.’ This command came from someone standing beyond her range of vision. Justine recognised the voice but couldn’t immediately identify it with a face or a name. ‘Put your fingers inside her and I’ll prove her worthiness for you.’
She remembered the burly cowled figured as soon he stepped into her view. Having spent the previous day suffering beneath him as he and Mrs Weiss administered their cruel punishments, Justine was surprised she hadn’t immediately recognised the woman’s assistant from her time in the donjon at Vincennes Castle.
Icy fingers touched the lips of her sex.
After being used by so many of Sartine’s men she wasn’t surprised that her sex was wet and slippery. The digits slid easily inside and their chilliness made her want to shiver. She steeled herself against the unpleasant cold feeling and tried to grip tightly around the three fingers Marais had plunged into her pussy.
‘Is she wet?’
‘Yes.’
‘And warm?’
The fingers wriggled inside her. Justine could feel them exciting a tremor of unwanted pleasure as they touched firmly against those sensitive spots that had been almost neglected so far. She didn’t know whether it was coincidence, or some skill on Marais’s part, but he caressed the lining of her sex in a way that had her weak and wanting him.
‘She’s warm,’ Marais admitted. He sounded bored and indifferent. ‘Is there a point to this demonstration?’
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