Forbidden Reading (7 page)

‘Dirty bastard,’ the priest mumbled.

He was glancing toward the grille and Justine realised he was talking about the parishioner. Curiosity made her want to ask what the man’s confession had been but she didn’t dare voice that question. There were already sounds coming from behind the grille. The shuffling of feet, and movement of the small grille, alerted them both to the presence of the next penitent.

‘
Père, pardonnez-moi car j’ai péché
.’

It was a woman’s voice. Justine strained to see the shape of her silhouette but the booth was too dark. Before she could fix her efforts on gleaning something discernible from the woman, the priest had encouraged his parishioner to speak. As she began to babble fluently in a sensuous French dialect, he started to lower his face down Justine’s body.

She held herself motionless.

Her breasts ached to be touched but he seemed deliberately to ignore their demands. His tongue traced a snail-trail down her chest, over her stomach, and toward her cleft. The two fingers he had pushed into her pussy remained deep inside and, when his tongue connected with the outer lips of her sex, he wriggled them gently.

Justine opened her eyes wide. She almost choked in her urgency not to make any sound as he lapped daintily at her labia and fired her sex with fresh blisters of bliss. Placing gentle kisses against her pussy, fuelling her with an insatiable need to feel his fingers tickle deep against the neck of her womb, he occasionally interrupted the penitent while rubbing his nose against Justine’s clitoris.

‘
Le mari de ma soeur
,’ the woman mumbled.

Justine thought she understood the words but her attention was more directed toward the delicious havoc being wrought in her sex. The threat of another orgasm blossomed quickly and she writhed subtly along the fingers embedded in her cleft. The priest’s tongue remained a warm wet balm against the split of her labia and his penetrative kisses inspired flurries of wicked and wanton responses. Justine struggled to remain silent beneath his tongue and bit back every gratified sob that rose to the back of her throat.

The priest raised his head from between her legs and glared at the grille. Momentarily his fingers stopped squirming in Justine’s sex as he lifted his face to hers. He was panting with arousal and, when he placed his mouth against her ear, Justine could feel that the wetness of her sex had dampened his lips, chin and cheek. The intimacy of that sensation made her excitement grow more profound.

‘This worthless
putain
is fucking her sister’s husband,’ he explained.

Justine nodded, realising she had understood that small part of the penitent’s confession. Her concern for the woman’s sin was barely negligible. In her heightened state of arousal Justine thought the penitent could have fucked her way through the entire village and she would have cared less. She was more focused on having the priest satisfy those needs that lingered in the fetid warmth of her loins. Nevertheless she forced herself to listen to him when he pushed his mouth closer to her ear.

‘I do not want to absolve her of her sins,’ he breathed. ‘There are not enough penances to atone for such deviance. I want to punish this
putain
the way I would punish you. What do you suggest?’

She hesitated before trying to think of a response. It was clear that the priest genuinely did want her input and she surmised this was another aspect of the test she was undergoing. Racking her brains for the right way to reply, trying to think of an answer that would show him she was worthy of acquiring
La Coste
, Justine was delighted when inspiration finally struck.

Pushing her mouth over the priest’s ear, cupping a hand against the side of his head so there was no danger of her voice escaping, she whispered, ‘Tell her to show you her bare backside.’

The priest pulled away from her for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow.

Justine pushed her mouth over his ear and urgently whispered the remainder of her plan. All the time she was talking she was painfully aware of the priest’s body pressing against hers. He still wore his vestments, the pectoral cross continued to stick painfully into one of her breasts, but his nearness was as sexually stimulating as the two fingers he continued to wriggle inside her pussy. His chest was broad and manly and it crushed heavily against her breasts. Stiffness had returned to his length and she could feel the pulse of his eager shaft through the coarse fabric of his cassock. Their half of the confessional booth was sultry with the heat from their passion and the scents of her arousal tinged every breath. Equally exciting was the daring of her plan to punish and subjugate the woman on the other side of the confessional’s grille. She didn’t know if the priest would follow her suggestions but she couldn’t deny that there was a thrill in dictating a penitent’s fate.

The priest pulled himself away from Justine’s mouth. His dark smile glinted in the confessional’s gloom. Turning to the grille, he barked a series of gruff instructions through the small window. Justine could hear shock and incredulity in the woman’s responses but she had heard the note of acquiescence in her tone long before she saw the buttocks being pressed against the open grille.

The penitent’s backside was bare. The split of her sex was pushed up against the small opening and, when the priest slid the grille aside, Justine was shocked to find herself staring at a stranger’s pussy. Although her idea for punishment had been exciting, and seemed appropriate at the time, she hadn’t expected the priest to really use one of his parishioners in such a perverted manner. But the thoughts of her own depravity were quickly brushed aside. She inhaled the heady perfume of the woman’s musk and peered at the delicate wet labia surrounding her soft undulating hole.

The priest glanced at Justine. He waited until she had nodded approval before stroking a finger against the woman’s pussy. In the thickening silence of the confessional booth they both heard the parishioner moan when he touched her. The delicate flesh of her sex flushed to a darker hue and Justine watched the lips grow shinier in the darkness as they were freshly polished with a new lacquer of arousal.

Silently, the priest encouraged Justine to do as he had done. Before she realised she was obeying him, Justine watched her own hand stroke the curly tendrils of hair covering the woman’s cleft. Enthralled by the daring of her actions, she slid the tip of her finger along the split of the penitent’s pussy lips. When she heard the woman sigh with fresh enthusiasm, Justine dared to push a finger into her cleft.

The arousal inside her was almost too powerful to contain.

The priest’s fingers remained inside Justine’s pussy and his thumb occasionally rubbed back and forth over her clitoris. She already knew that the stimulation was more than enough to satisfy her burgeoning appetite for depravity, but touching the stranger provided more excitement than she had ever conceived she would enjoy. The perversity of being abused by a priest; the sacrilege of hearing someone else’s confession; and the enchanting sensation of warm wet pussy muscles engulfing her finger; all blended to make her feel sick with an overload of arousal. Nevertheless, although she couldn’t recall ever experiencing such furious excitement, she fought to contain her response and merely teased the gaping cleft that had been pushed at the confessional’s grille.

‘
Retournez à votre soeur
,’ the priest growled.

Justine quivered when she heard him speaking. She didn’t know what he was saying but the music of his gruff voice trembled through the fingers in her sex. The prospect of another climax loomed closer and she slid a second finger alongside the one she already held in the penitent’s pussy. The parishioner sobbed with delight and Justine briefly envied the woman her freedom to voice her responses. She quietly yearned to cry out in gratitude for the ecstasy she was enjoying and could have screamed from the combination of injustice and frustration.

The priest traced his tongue against the labia at the grille, then barked another instruction to the penitent. Justine heard him use the word
putain
, and she guessed he was following the exact plan she had suggested. A fresh flutter of arousal churned through her sex. Her pleasure was exacerbated by the priest’s fingers tickling deeper. In the tense silence of the confessional she could hear her labia slurping wetly around his hand.

The penitent moaned, her cries coming from somewhere between arousal and mortification. Justine had suggested she should be made to go home and confess her sins to her sister. She had then said the woman should beg her sister to stripe her backside as punishment for her infidelity. It had seemed like a cruel punishment, and she thought the priest would appreciate her innovation. But, because he had now been speaking for so long, Justine guessed he was saying something more and she wondered if he was elaborating on her idea.

‘
Alors, reviens ici si je peux voir qu’il a été fait
.’

He pushed his mouth over Justine’s ear and whispered, ‘I have told her to come back here once her backside has been striped, so I can see that the punishment has been meted.’

The image was too much for Justine. She could easily picture red weals emblazoned across the woman’s buttocks and that thought pushed her excitement beyond being bearable. She squeezed her sex hungrily around the priest’s fingers, pushed her hand deeper into the penitent’s pussy and allowed the thrill of another release to quiver through her body.

She snatched her hand away and forced herself to remain still while the priest repeated his instructions, and listened as the penitent mumbled mortified agreement. The last thing she heard, before the grille was snapped closed, was the woman whispering, ‘
Oui, mon Père. Merci, mon Père
.’

‘That was nicely vindictive,’ the priest chuckled.

Once again, his mouth was over Justine’s ear and his breath heated each word. She trembled against him, not sure why he triggered such a lecherous response and not wanting to rationalise her feelings. It was more satisfying simply to press into his embrace and relish the myriad delights he tormented from her body.

‘I think I might abuse her fully when the
putain
returns to show me her punished arse,’ the priest confided. ‘You really are a deviant.’

Justine wouldn’t let herself dwell on the picture of the priest forcing the penitent to submit to his will. It was heady enough surrendering herself to the man. The idea of him tormenting another innocent victim was too arousing for her to entertain without suffering another thrill of satisfaction. She wanted to deny the priest’s accusation that she was a deviant, but there was already the sound of someone else entering the confessional and she bit her lower lip in an attempt to stay silent.

‘
Père, pardonnez-moi car j’ai péché
.’

The priest pushed his mouth close to Justine’s ear. She could detect the musk of her pussy on his breath when he spoke and the scent was maddeningly intoxicating. ‘What do you suggest I do with this one?’ he asked.

‘You don’t know what’s he’s done yet,’ she returned.

‘Does it matter?’

She caught her breath, enthralled by the idea of punishment without motive. Glancing toward the grille, intending to turn her thoughts to something truly twisted, she gasped when she saw the small window had been opened and a face was leering in at her.

The priest above her grinned and Justine instantly understood that he had been expecting this particular man. She glanced again at the newcomer’s porcine features and shrank from the lechery in his expression. He drew a dark pink tongue across thick over-ripe lips while appraising her heavily shadowed nudity. Without glancing in the direction of the priest he asked, ‘When can I use her?’

Justine shook her head and thought about protesting but she knew it would do no good. Squirming at the thought of what she might be expected to endure, she glanced helplessly at the priest and silently implored him to show mercy.

‘If you clear the church for me, Bishop, I shall bring the little slut out.’

Justine glanced from one to the other.

‘Consider it done,’ the bishop mumbled.

He broadened his grin as he appraised her body for a final time, and then drew his face away from the window. And, still cramped in the confines of the confessional, and growing more frightened than ever, Justine wondered what the pair would plan to do with her once they had her alone.

The bishop opened the door to the confessional and pulled Justine into the church. He wasn’t dressed as she had expected: instead of wearing full ceremonial attire he simply wore a white collar, slacks and a sports jacket. His face was fat and piggish with beady eyes and a snout-like nose. The jacket was open to reveal a potbelly straining against the waist of his burgundy shirt. The lechery in his smile was disquieting.

‘Very good, Father.’ He flashed his grin at the priest behind Justine. ‘What do you want to do with her?’

The priest stepped out of the confessional and, dwarfed between the pair of them, Justine found herself growing more and more uneasy. They made a foreboding team and, because she was naked and standing in their church, she realised they had her at a definite disadvantage. Her hands began to tremble with fresh disquiet.

‘She wants to acquire
La Coste
,’ the priest explained to his colleague. ‘Shall we see what she is prepared to sacrifice to make that acquisition?’

Before Justine could think of trying to escape they had each grabbed a wrist. She struggled to pull herself free but they seemed united in their goal of leading her toward the front of the church. Her bare feet had no hope of gaining any traction on the cold stone floor and, as they dragged her past the rows of empty pews, she realised she was at their mercy. Genuine terror began to chill the heat of her arousal and she stared from one unsympathetic face to the other.