Forbidden Reading (25 page)

She could sense an air of expectation around her and wondered briefly where she should begin. The sins she had committed over the past three days had been numerous and embarrassing. To reveal them to the priest in the privacy of a confessional booth would have been mortifying: to expose them to a crowd of peers that she couldn’t see was more intimidating than Justine would have believed. There was no question in her mind that she had to keep her association with Mrs Weiss a secret. But she supposed everything else needed to be confessed to the priest for fear of suffering further consequences.

‘I eavesdropped on the confessions of members of your parish,’ she began.

The whip slashed through the night, its multitude of thongs biting harshly at her thigh. Justine squealed – incensed by the pain – and stung by the arousal that the punishment generated.

‘Shocking,’ the priest mumbled. ‘Have you no respect for the sanctity of the confessional booth?’

She glared at him and knew there was no opportunity for her to remind him she had only been there at his instruction. Gritting her teeth in anticipation of the next blow, Justine said, ‘I submitted to the depraved demands of a priest in that confessional.’

This time the whip flicked at her breasts. Her chest was a shriek of raw anguish that came close to blinding her with tears. Both orbs throbbed from the brutal treatment the priest was making her suffer and she began to realise the pounding pulse in her nipples matched the rhythm of her arousal. A wail of despair crossed her lips as she realised her body was enjoying the humiliating torment of being abused.

‘Go on,’ the priest urged. ‘Tell me all of your sins.’

She snatched a breath before continuing. ‘I committed sacrilege on the altar of your church. I gave my body to you and your bishop.’

‘Despicable sins,’ the priest muttered. He slashed the whip back and forth. The first blow caught her across the breasts: the second scoured at the tops of her thighs. A stray thong – agonising and cruel – sliced at the pulse of her clitoris. The extreme pain was more severe than she expected and Justine almost choked on her cry of surprise. She stared at him through a veil of tears and braced herself when he urged her to continue.

‘I took an innocent woman from your church,’ Justine breathed. ‘And I used her as my sexual plaything.’

The whip fell again. It cut viciously through the night before landing against her bare breasts. The pain was phenomenal and, this time, she did risk glancing down at herself. Blinking through the tears she was amazed to see that her nipples were still attached to her body. The punishment had been so severe she would not have been surprised to find the beads of skin had been torn away with the last bite of the cat.

‘I allowed myself to be used at Sartine’s party,’ she gasped.

‘Whore!’

She locked her throat, desperate not to let another cry escape into the night. When he snapped the whip this time it branded fiery anguish in the centre of her sex.

‘And I enjoyed every second of it,’ Justine declared.

‘Filthy, unrepentant whore!’

She turned her face away from him, unable to watch the cat leaping out of the dark and then feeling its scratch against her tormented flesh. The night’s cool breeze continued to caress her bare body but she was sweating freely from the ordeal.

‘There were scores of men and women,’ she gasped.

She clenched her jaw so as not to squeal when the next blow struck.

‘And I was used by them all.’

‘You’ve got a lot of repenting to do,’ the priest growled.

She stared at him through the dark, half-expecting to hear another crack of the whip and not daring to hope that that part of the punishment was ended. Watching him toss the cat aside, then seeing him extend a hand into the darkness, she was puzzled to see someone hand him a rosary.

‘I want to hear the paternoster from you and ten Hail Marys.’

She cringed from the idea of reciting more prayers while suffering his sadistic abuse, but didn’t dare make her reluctance known. Despite the blasphemy of mimicking the crucifixion, she told herself that the act of penance was to be expected following her confession. And, because the priest was walking toward her with the rosary, she believed he might actually release her from her bondage on the cross. Daring to hope that her ordeal might soon be over, she shivered with relief as he bore down on her.

‘The paternoster and ten Hail Marys,’ he reminded her.

She nodded.

And then, with sudden horror, she watched the priest fall to his knees. He still held the rosary in one hand and used his other to swat her legs so she spread them further apart. On an intuitive level she understood what he was going to do it before he had pushed the beads against her. The act was depraved and obscene, but she realised that those factors no longer stopped her from indulging in any act if it seemed likely it would satisfy her needs.

He slipped the first bead against the tight ring of her anus.

She bit back a squeal.

Working quickly, slipping them easily inside her bowel, the priest mumbled something in Latin as his fingers gently pushed bead after bead through her sphincter. The weight of the first one made her feel full, its alien presence sitting heavily in her rear. By the time he had completed the first decade Justine thought she had never endured anything more profane or embarrassing.

‘You will begin when I tell you,’ the priest mumbled.

She stammered in her haste to agree, and parted her legs wider to allow him slowly to ease a second decade inside her rear. The muscle of her rectum felt overfull and bloated. Heightened sensitivity made her acutely aware of each bead inside her bowel. As the priest’s large fingers forced another and then another through her sphincter, she recoiled from the blend of discomfort, shame and humiliation. His face was unbearably close to her exposed cleft and she wondered if he could detect the scent of fresh musk that seemed to be flowing from her. Despite the embarrassment of this ordeal Justine could feel the fresh waves of sexual excitement charging through her, and she dreaded the idea that the priest might notice her response and disapprove.

Without warning, he flicked his tongue against the lips of her sex.

After all the attention he had invested in pushing the rosary into her rear, she hadn’t realised her pussy was so excited and swollen. The sensation of his mouth against her sex was unexpected and allowed her body to shift to a plateau of unwonted pleasure. As the eddies of delight began to subside she realised he had stopped thrusting the rosary beads into her backside and understood it was time to begin her penance.

‘A paternoster,’ the priest reminded her. ‘And ten Hail Marys.’

She hadn’t forgotten the instruction. Even with his breath warming the tops of her thighs, and the sacramental beads filling her bowel, Justine didn’t think it would be possible to have forgotten what was expected of her. The crucifix she had seen dangling from the rosary tickled at her buttocks. In her mind’s eye she could picture it swinging between the cheeks of her backside and that image alone was enough to make her believe she was committing the ultimate profanity. She shivered from the idea of saying the prayers, and then told herself the alternative wasn’t worth considering. Nervously, she took a deep breath and steeled herself to do as he had asked.

‘Our father, who art in heaven,’ she began.

As she spoke, the priest tugged on the crucifix.

Justine had expected this humiliation, and yet it was still a shock to feel the nauseating pleasure being torn from her anus. Her sphincter clenched tight around the first bead, fighting him for possession, and she fervently wished her body would relent and allow him simply to tear the beads away. Wishing there was time to think about all that was going on, trying to concentrate on the words of the prayer rather than the sordid pleasure she was enjoying from this terrible sacrilege, Justine mumbled her way through the paternoster as the first decade was torn from her.

Her anus reluctantly opened to allow each bead to be pulled free, and then closed tight as though trying to hold on to the remainder of the rosary. The sensation was horribly reminiscent of visiting the lavatory, and she knew those associations were colouring her shame and arousal. The priest applied an unhurried pressure on the crucifix: constantly pulling downward and perpetually making her sphincter feel as though it were fighting him in a tug o’ war.

Occasionally, almost as a random treat, he flicked his tongue against the swell of her clitoris. The sudden rush of pleasure, usually coming while she was trying to recover from another burst of shame, invariably made her stumble through the words of her prayer. The priest’s growls of displeasure, and her own torment as she was torn between arousal, frustration and embarrassment, threatened to overwhelm her with confusion.

As she mumbled the first ‘amen,’ he pulled a full decade from her rear.

She groaned.

‘Now the Hail Marys,’ he demanded.

Sobbing back tears of frustration, she mumbled, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace.’

He tore another bead from her backside. His tongue rubbed easily against her clitoris and Justine moaned. If not for the ropes at her wrists, holding her against the cross and forcing her to accept this twisted ritual, she would have doubled over and hidden herself from him. Because he was continuing to pull at the rosary, perpetually threatening to wrench another bead from her anus, she knew she had to continue.

‘The lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women…’

She remembered the words with frightening ease and was appalled that they could come back to her at this particular time. The priest was merciless in demanding that she repeat the prayer again and again, constantly easing one bead and then another from her rear. The discomfort was only minor but the blasphemy of what she was doing struck her with the same force she had suffered when he had been striking her with the cat.

By the time he had wrenched the final bead from her backside, Justine realised she had gone beyond shame. His tongue brushed her clitoris again, inspiring the climax she had known was coming, and she continued to babble the words of the prayer as the unholy orgasm coursed through her body. Sobbing with relief and satisfaction, she barely noticed that the priest had pulled himself from the floor and gone back to the shadows where he conspired with Marais. It was only as the haze of pleasure began to subside that Justine heard their lowered voices.

‘I told you she was more than worthy,’ the priest grumbled. ‘The twisted little bitch has appetites that even I consider depraved.’

Justine flinched on hearing the words, not sure if they should be considered as praise or condemnation. She saw the priest turn his back and wished there had been some chance to shout after him and ask him about her beloved penitent. If there was ever any opportunity of reacquainting herself with the woman, she knew it would only be through the priest. But, before she could call him back, or make her interest in the woman known, he was already disappearing into the shadows. And, as the blackness shrouded him, she saw a host of others bearing down on her, each striking life to their own candles. The number of them surprised her: a dozen at first, and then twice or three times that amount. It wasn’t until she recalled Sartine’s penchant for group pleasure that she understood what was going to happen.

Unable to stop herself, Justine groaned.

Sartine’s women surrounded her.

Sensuous fingers fell against her bare body: stroking, smoothing and exciting. The ravages that had been inflicted by the priest’s cruel blows were lovingly caressed. Each vicious mark was kissed, licked and teased until Justine couldn’t decide whether she was being tormented through pain or pleasure. The humiliation of the confession and her penance was quickly forgotten as those beautiful people she had first met at Sartine’s reacquainted themselves with her body.

‘You’re so daring, Justine.’

As the woman’s lips moved away, Justine realised she had been kissed by Marie. The brunette, so seductive and sultry, allowed her fingertips to trail against Justine’s bare breast. She was as naked as the rest of the women who descended on her, the comparative warmth of her body making Justine think the woman had recently shrugged a cowl from her shoulders. Candlelight complemented her skin tones, softening her swarthy complexion and making her look like the embodiment of a living shadow.

‘You took that punishment so bravely,’ Marie enthused. ‘I didn’t know whether to envy you, help you, or save my sympathy and come over here to kiss you better.’

Not sure what to say, not sure there was anything she could say, Justine merely smiled and allowed the woman to kiss her again. A tongue slipped between her lips and explored inside her mouth. A cool hand brushed the burning flesh of her breast. And the agony and shame that had epitomised the priest’s control of her body were instantaneously banished.

Fingers worked on the ropes at her wrists.

Justine glanced to her sides, vaguely recognising the women who were kindly releasing her from her bondage. There had been so many new people at Sartine’s that she had thought their faces would become a forgettable blur. But, remembering the shape of so many smiles, and the mischievous glints that shone in so many eyes, she understood that she knew nearly all of these women.

As one hand came free she found herself embracing a slender brunette. The woman grinned and squirmed until she was able to place a mouth over Justine’s nipple. The stiff flesh was suckled, nipped and then gently teased to a state of full and wanton excitement. The memories of being scratched by the priest’s cat were pushed from her thoughts and, unable to resist the simple pleasure of being aroused, Justine pushed herself against the brunette.

Her other arm was released and a crowd of bodies helped her away from the obscene cross she had been bound against.

‘I want you,’ Marie whispered.

The warmth of her words tickled against Justine’s earlobe. As she was laid down on the floor of the ruins, she was aware of hands continuing to touch and stroke her. Dewy blades of grass touched her back, buttocks and bare legs, reminding her she was out in the open. She glimpsed the canopy of stars that festooned the night sky above, realised her eyes were becoming used to the candlelit night around her, and then saw a pair of perfect feminine buttocks looming over her face. The shaved split of the women’s sex revealed her pussy lips were dewy with excitement and aching to be kissed. As she lowered herself toward Justine’s face, the scent of her arousal grew stronger and more appetising. Justine extended her tongue and raised her face to meet the slippery labia.