Good Conduct Well-Chastised

It was nearly 4 o'clock in the afternoon when Justine entered the Black Forest with her travelling companion, the charming young man from Lyon who went by the name of Simonet de Saint-Florent. The sun was hanging near the horizon lazily, a ripe fruit dangling from unseen branches in the honeyed sky, infusing everything and everyone with warmth and laziness. Justine felt almost dreamy as they strolled casually down well-trodden paths, through fields and meadows, approaching the forest. She had practically forgotten her unfortunate exploits with Dubois and her thieves, what for the thought of the new home and the fresh start that awaited her in Bondy. She had even managed to let slip from her mind the awkward incident that had occurred yesterday in Luzarches, when Saint-Florent had fallen to his knees and asked for her hand in marriage - and she had refused. But as far as this naive girl could see her comrade had forgotten the incident as much as she had, and he seemed to want nothing more than to repay her as best he could for delivering him from the murderous thieves who had previously held both of them captive.

But it was not long after they'd entered the forest before the paths they were following began to grow more narrow, more remote. Justine, however, remained oblivious to this; still drunk on the sweet sunshine and the warmth of the idyllic afternoon, she continued to plunge headlong into the depths of the forest, running ahead of Saint-Florent, her girlish laughter floating back to him like the sound of distant sleigh bells on the wind.

Simonet smiled roguishly as the blonde girl dashed ahead of him on the obscure, overgrown path. Through the folds of her skirt he studied the firm supple shape of her exquisite ass, moving back and forth beneath her clothes as she ran. Now and then she twirled around whimsically, unknowingly giving him a glimpse of her breasts as well, which looked as if they might explode out of her corset at any moment. She was completely trusting of our young libertine, quite unaware of the horrors that awaited her deep in the shadowed recesses of the untamed taiga.

For much of their stroll, Justine appeared to be quite enjoying herself, stopping every now and then to smell some wild flowers or marvel at a butterfly that had lit upon a leaf. But now as nightfall began to descend upon the forest, the darkness sinking in fast and shrouding every tree, squelching the romanticism of the old woods and filling her heart with sinister foreboding, Justine began to grow uneasy. Simonet was not unaware of this religious fear that caused Justine's soul to tremble; he pursued quietly behind her, his heart all a-flutter, almost giddy with anticipation of consummating his vile plans. They had proceeded perhaps another ten yards in this manner when Justine, finally noticing how the path they were following had become overgrown to the point that it was nearly invisible, stopped and turned back to her companion.

"Sir," said she, in all innocence, "are you certain that these are the paths we ought to be following? Perhaps you have lost your way - do you suppose we shall arrive soon?"

Saint-Florent laughed sadistically and approached the girl, his eyes ablaze with lust. "We have arrived, whore," he smirked cynically, and before the expression of shock could leave Justine's face he smashed the heavy ball of his cane down upon her skull.

The blonde dropped like a rock immediately from the force of the blow and Simonet felt his prick give a jerk heavenward. A wicked smile adorned his lips as he saw a stream of blood, looking nearly black in the twilight, flowing past Justine's parted pink lips and pooling in the dirt. Seizing her by the shoulders of her blouse, he dragged the unconscious wretch away from the path, deeper into the night-shrouded wilderness. Finally finding himself at a spot well out of the way of anything resembling a path or road, Saint-Florent deposited her limp body at the base of a thick tree, and without any semblance of gentleness or respect, stripped her bare. Taking a coil of rope from his leather bag, he wasted no time, binding Justine's wrists together before flinging the trailing cord over a sturdy branch above her head, and in moments Saint-Florent had his victim strung up like a side of meat.

Despite the weight wrenching her shoulders - for she was now forced onto her feet - the unlucky girl still did not awaken. Simonet smirked as he tore a thin supple branch from a nearby sapling and stripped away the small green leaves. He knew just what to do to bring the little wench back to the world of the living.

Taking up a stance behind Justine's prostrate body, Saint-Florent twined his long white fingers around the thicker end of the switch. Drawing a deep breath, he swung the branch back and over his head, then brought the weapon whistling through the air down upon the tender flesh of Justine's buttocks.

This sensation brought the girl instantly back to reality. She snapped awake with pain exploding through her nervous system, tearing a shrill scream from her throat before she could even really comprehend what was happening to her. And before she could recover from this first lashing, before she could even come to terms with the fact that this was real, and not some hideous nightmare brought on by the effects of the concussion, Saint-Florent had already dealt her another vicious stroke, this time across her lower back, leaving behind a white-hot welt that was already beading up with blood.

"Well," Simonet spoke up after the echoes of Justine's second shriek had died out. "Welcome back, slut. I was afraid you might miss this little lesson. I think perhaps you'll think twice about refusing a gentleman's kindness next time... and about following a libertine into the woods after dark." Laughing haughtily, he slashed the switch down again across his victim’s bare shoulders.

Justine screamed again, her whole body twisting and contorting in agony. She wanted to beg for mercy, but the cries tearing from her throat had robbed her of her breath; she choked in a strained gasp of air, sobbing, tears already rushing from her eyes and down her flushed cheeks. And all the while Saint-Florent went on laughing. "That's it, little bitch," he mocked, "squeal like the pig I know you to be."

So saying, the libertine applied the switch with renewed severity; each slice of the branch brought another scream from Justine's throat, and likewise opened a new stripe upon her alabaster flesh; in moments the smooth and faultless skin of her back and ass and thighs was nothing but a latticework of bloody welts. The furious attack continued for what seemed like ages, until Saint-Florent had delivered no less than twenty vicious lashings from Justine's shoulders to her knees; only then did he pause to catch his breath, his shoulder aching from the effort he'd employed in the beating. His cock was aching, too, straining towards his belly, but he was not quite ready to move on to that stage just yet; he had more tortures in mind for his unfortunate captive before he finished with her.

Kneeling behind his sobbing victim, Simonet gazed upon the lacerated orbs of the girl's beautiful ass, rendered all the more so by the multitude of welts and gashes that now adorned it. Taking the objects of his desire in hand, Saint-Florent fell to licking and sucking these gashes hungrily, lapping up every drop of blood that poured from Justine's mutilated flesh. The crimson liquid stained his teeth and ran past his lips, soaked his hands as they mauled and clawed at Justine's sumptuous behind.

Justine had stopped screaming purely out of exhaustion, but she could not restrain herself from crying out as the butcher squeezed and nipped and tortured her already burning ass. Just when she thought the libertine had finally finished his assault on her hindquarters, she discovered that he had abandoned this idol only to concentrate his efforts on her mouth. "No, please stop, I beg you...!" Justine gasped as Simonet neared her, but he sized a fistful of her blonde locks and held her still, forcing his tongue into her mouth in a violent, bruising kiss.

Instantly Justine's mouth was filled with the salty taste of her own blood, pressed into it by the very creature who had shed it and then lapped it up like a hungry wolf. Disgusted, she recoiled from Saint-Florent, struggling to free herself from the impure kiss, but to no avail - the debauched libertine clamped his teeth down on her lower lip, biting into it with such cruelty that the blood sprang forth in an instant.

Justine screamed again and Saint-Florent released her, laughing as he licked her blood from his mouth. "My, my," he said sardonically, "she's sensitive, this one. 'Tis a pity, dear girl," he sneered, fetching her a sharp slap across the face, "you'll only suffer all the more."

Smirking, he sauntered around behind the bound girl once again and spread apart the firm round buttocks he had previously lashed to shreds, laying eyes upon the untouched alter he was preparing to deflower. Justine, realizing what was in store for her, set to weeping even more emphatically, begging her captor to spare her. But Simonet only laughed at her, and with no lubrication save for a smattering of saliva and the blood that continued to seep from her wounds, he drove his stiff member deep into the girl's entrails.

Justine's screams were redoubled upon the penetration; agonized cries wrested free from her hoarse and weary throat at each violent thrust of Saint-Florent's hips, which plunged his prick again and again into her belly, ever deeper and with increasing viciousness. As he fucked her, he knotted his fingers in her flaxen locks, pulling her head cruelly back so as to snarl invectives in her ear, all the while pawing and molesting her flayed ass. Justine, despite the incessant bleeding of her multitude of lacerations, remained vividly lucid of everything that was happening, unable to escape into the sweet bliss of oblivion.

"Ah, by fuck, never was there an ass so velvety, so tight, so delicious! Scream, whore," Simonet panted, half-delirious with lust, "scream so I might spill my fuck and be done with you..!"

And Justine, far from wishing to oblige her butcher, screamed instead because the agony ripping through her backside left her no other choice. At the same moment, Saint-Florent, gasping, "By Jesus, yes, that's the way, bitch!" squirted his burning semen deep inside her tortured and broken body.

Having fallen to heaving sobs by the time Simonet had separated himself from her, Justine shuddered as she felt the hot sticky streams of fuck sluicing down her legs and mingling with the blood there. She was on the verge of losing consciousness again when she felt Saint-Florent's hand exploring between her thighs on the side he had left unmolested.

"Ah, still half a virgin," Simonet said wickedly as Justine's blue eyes snapped open, staring at him in a mixture of horror and pleading.

"Oh, please, Monsieur, I beg you," she cried, her eyes flooding with a fresh rush of tears. "Do not ravish my honour in addition to sullying me with this crime that so offends Nature."

"Save your breath, wench," Saint-Florent snapped, fetching up the already-bloodied switch he'd employed earlier. "You'll be needing it for what I've got in store for you now. As you can see I'm not stiff - I'll go on whipping until I am once again." And saying thus he slashed the willowy switch down across Justine's face.

A shriek flung itself into the air, followed by a spurt of blood gushing from the long cut Saint-Florent had opened on Justine's cheek. Before the white-hot pain could fade Simonet brought the implement whistling down over the girl's firm tits, laying them open wantonly, slicing at the pinkish nipples. Her screams were so piercing now, so extravagantly pitched, that one would have thought Hell itself had been unleashed in the forest of Bondy, but her terrible wailing only set fire to the libertine's already-inflamed senses, and his prick was up again in no time. The vexations continued until he had laid Justine open on this side with nearly as much ferocity as he had employed on the other; nothing between her shoulders and knees was neglected, her breasts, nipples, belly, thighs, even her mound, all was sliced and torn to ribbons. When at last this task was complete, when he had lacerated his captive to a singular degree, when his arm was exhausted and not a single place on the girl's body was not covered in blood, only then did Saint-Florent cast the switch aside and continue to accomplish his final perfidious goal. Seizing Justine's mutilated thighs and prying them apart, he unceremoniously thrust his rigid cock into her velvet cavity, obliterating the second maidenhead of the evening.

Justine, by now too horrified even to scream, could only sob helplessly as Simonet plundered her silky quim and brutally squeezed her torn and bloodied breasts. His dark eyes, filled with sadistic lust, burned into hers mockingly as he spat profanities in her face. "Filthy little harlot," he growled, slapping the girl harshly, "Dog-fucking little whore... Don't pretend you don't enjoy it, my little slut, you know as well as I do you're as wet as a seasoned tramp from that whipping I gave you..." And seizing her again by the hair, he twisted her head back and sank his teeth into her smooth white throat, at the same moment loosing his fuck inside her for the second time.

A violent shudder went through Justine's body at the feeling of her cunt being flooded by the brute's libertine seed; more than ever she thought she would swoon, but something kept her painfully aware of every sensation. As the effects of Simonet's second discharge ebbed off, he retreated and moved to button up his trousers again as he regained his breath, looking her over. "Stupid whore," he muttered as Justine continued to weep. "You ought to have known better than to have believed that such virtue could be anything other than a facade." And stooping to fetch his cane, he snatched up Justine's skirts, which were now covered in twigs and dirt, lying in a pile at the base of the tree, and took from the pocket the purse containing the money she had yesterday been so generous to offer to him.

At the sight of this, a new wound seemed to tear itself open in Justine's heart. "Why, Monsieur," she whimpered as Saint-Florent started to leave, "why have you treated me with such cruelty - I, who saved your life, who even offered you my only worldly possessions, which you have now robbed me of along with my honour - tell me, Sir, what have I done to merit such treatment?"

Saint-Florent smirked at the pathetic wretch whom his passions had left in such a ragged and deplorable state. "That, my little slut," he replied scornfully, "is what they call good conduct well-chastised."