The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 3
The closing of the heavy door at the top of the steps had a
discouragingly final sound. The captives were silent for several
minutes, as each suffered the individual effects of his
imagination. Not knowing what was in store for them, their fears
multiplied all that their imaginations could envision. To add to
their mental misery, their physical discomforts were acute.
The chains to which they were shackled permitted just enough
freedom to allow them a choice of standing or sitting. And the
cuffs at their ankles and wrists were snug enough to prevent
escape, yet moved freely in place, guaranteeing them the
additional joy offered by increasing rawness, as the friction
chafed their skin. Darla's whereabouts had been a
mystery to her family, but they had known that she was a captive.
But the appearance of her family here was a great shock to her,
and her lack of comprehension moved her to speak while the others
were still lost in their own miserable thoughts and imaginings.
"What happened? How did they get their hands on all of you,
anyhow?" She was even more frightened when only silence greeted
her questions. "Talk For God's sake! Someone say something!"
She almost started to break down and cry anew, when her father
broke the thick, almost-tangible silence of the dark dungeon with
his reply.
"Late last night, someone left an envelope at the door to our
suite, rang the buzzer, and left. When I opened it, there was a
note inside, and ... and ... those pictures of you ... I guess you
didn't have any choice ... you were tied up in all of them except
one ... and maybe they had you drugged, too ..." She could sense
the questioning tone as he referred to the final picture Yvette
had taken. She'd barely been aware of the final click of that
spying shutter, because she'd been occupied with the two men
invading her body.
Oh, God! He's thinking about the picture where my arms and
legs are free. What was I doing? Oh, no! My legs were wound
around Le Boeuf, and I was working on Gerault's cock with my mouth
and both hands! It's better if he thinks l was drugged when that
picture was taken.
"The note said that this was the last chance to pay, unless I
wanted even more horrible things to happen." Chuck Fleming's tone
made his daughter feel as if she had let him down by not answering
his unspoken question, but she knew it was better to ignore the
issue now. There were enough problems here without breaking his
heart. And she sensed that he'd never get over it if he
discovered that she had enjoyed any part of that degrading
assault.
"I guess you know, Darla, that I just couldn't cooperate with
kidnappers, no matter how worried we were about you." The
question was back in his voice, and this time she knew that she
had to answer, to set his mind at ease. He was miserable enough
without having to doubt whether Darla forgave him for not
ransoming her.
"I know, Daddy Chuck. I tried to tell them, but I couldn't
get them to listen to me. I know how you feel about kidnapping,
and I knew from the first they wouldn't collect, so I didn't have
any false hopes shattered. I may not agree with your opinions on
the subject one-hundred percent, but I'm proud that you stuck to
your guns and left them hanging high and dry without the money.
But that doesn't explain how they grabbed all of you."
"I'm not so proud of myself, right now. If I'd sacrificed my
personal convictions, even if you might not have been freed, at
least your mother and brother wouldn't have had to go through
whatever it is they've got planned for us. But it's too late to
cry over it, now.
"I delivered a package as they requested, but instead of the
ransom, I wrapped a note in heavy cardboard. The note told them
that I had not and would not change my mind. And that if any harm
came to you, I'd spend several million dollars and the rest of my
natural life in hunting them down and killing them." He heaved a
hoarse sigh which sounded even more rasping than the dry-throated
voice he spoke to her with. Darla wondered when he'd last had a
drink of water.
"It might have worked with a professional of normal
mentality, Daddy, but this Gerault is psycho. And the others will
do anything he tells them to do. Lord knows what he's cooking up
for us in that evil mind. If only ..." She stopped speaking
suddenly, as she had an idea. "If only what, honey?" Fleming
asked.
"Daddy, do you have any idea whether we're bugged or not?"
She felt overly melodramatic as she asked the question, but their
future might depend on it.
"I'd thought of that, too. But I don't know if ..." Now it
was Darla's turn to wonder about an unfinished "if" statement.
But she waited to see what he had in mind. Suddenly she knew, as
she heard him speak again, and she had all she could do to keep
from laughing her delight at his quick wit.
"I want you all to know that I have a plan in mind," Fleming
announced, raising the volume of his cracked voice, as though
trying to be sure all of the family could hear him. "When they
searched me, they overlooked the knife I have strapped to my leg.
The first time one of them gives me the least chance, I'll sink it
in as deep as I can!"
"That's great, Daddy Chuck!" said Darla, faking it along
with him smoothly. "They don't know they're up against an ex-OSS
man."
"Good for you, Dad!" chimed in Tommy, as he sized up the
idea his father had begun to put into use. "Chuck, I've asked you
a hundred times not to carry any kind of weapon. It only leads to
trouble." Even Ann Fleming had seized on her husband's brilliant
strategy to smell out any spying microphones.
They all fell silent for a while, as if waiting to see
whether the bait would be taken Then Fleming realized the silence
itself would betray them.
"I hope it's that damned Gerault who gets near me," he
continued. "I'd love to feel a knife slipping into his sadistic
gut!"
"And I'd love to see his insides spread out on the floor,
too" replied Darla, not having to fake the hatred she felt for
the sadist.
"Me, too," Tommy added. "But make sure he's got a key to
these cuffs before you do it!"
"You shouldn't talk like that!" said Ann. "It puts you in
the same class with ..."
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a dim light was
reflected down against the opposite wall of the cellar. As the
sound of someone descending the steps fell on their ears, all of
them felt that their plan had born fruit, and that indeed the
cellar was bugged.
The light at the foot of the stairs flashed on, and their
eyes blinked as they adjusted to the sudden illumination. Then
they saw Gerault moving across the basement floor toward them. He
was carrying a plastic pitcher and some paper cups. He stopped
beside Darla.
"We want our guests to be in good enough condition to provide
us with satisfactory entertain ment. Here, mademoiselle. Pour
vous.
He poured a stream into one of the cups, then handed it to
her. As she sipped, cautiously, she discovered that it was
anisette and water.
Gerault moved down the line, stopping next to give Fleming
one of the cups, then pouring it full of the aperitif. His casual
behavior as he stood close to the tycoon convinced everyone that
he had not heard the phony boast about the knife.
As Fleming sipped at the drink, letting it flow around his
dry mouth and throat, Gerault moved to the wall where Ann and
Tommy were licking their lips in anticipation. When he had given
each of them a drink, he moved toward the center of the basement
as if heading back toward the stairs, then turned to face them.
He looked with deliberation at the captives chained to the two
walls, from his vantage point almost directly out from the corner.
He's standing on the hypotenuse of our family triangle, Darla
thought, realizing her silliness even as she thought it. This
drink must be drugged! What are they planning to do?
"In a few minutes, we will bring you something to eat. When
the food has had a chance to digest, then we will begin our little
circus. Will that not be nice? The Circus Gerault, it may not
get to become famous on the continent, but here in ... here among
our exclusive company, we shall have much amusement.
"Perhaps you may feel a little strange from your drink. It
is not the Pernod of your American bar stock. It is genuine
absinthe, and has somewhat more strength from the wormwood. Is it
not so?"
Gerault laughed to himself, as he turned away and went back
up the stairs, leaving the light on, this time. When the door
closed, Darla looked at her father, and his gaze met hers with a
quiet recognition of their victory in the bugging-test operation.
"Did you notice that he still doesn't want us to know where
we are??' asked Fleming. "That can only be due to the fact that
he expects us to live to tell about it. He doesn't intend to kill
us, then. At least we learned that much." His eyes glinted with
the realization that they had won a small beetle.
"Brace yourself, Daddy Chuck," said Darla. "I know where we
are. At least, I think I can help you figure it out pretty
closely."
"What do you mean, honey? Weren't you blindfolded on the way
here, like we were?" He watched the elfin grin creep across his
daughter's mouth and cheek.
"Yes, but it was pretty coarse material, and in one spot a
very convenient spot-it was only a single thickness, and I could
see through it. We're just a little way from the center of Salon,
Daddy. Remember the Hall of States in that photograph?"
"Yes, yes, honey. But, don't tell me that's still there like
it was."
"No, Daddy. The signs aren't there, but it's the same
building; the very same place. And as we came into town from
Marseilles, we turned left there in front of the place, and I
recognized it."
"Thank God! What a stroke of luck. Let's see. If only I
can remember after all these years. What was it out that
direction?" Fleming closed his eyes as he strained to recall the
topography out of his past. Darla watched his knuckles turn white
as his hands clenched in desperate tension to match his mental
pressures.
"Okay. I think I've got it! Now, did you make any other
turns?"
"No. I don't think so. We kept going until we came to the
lane that leads up to this house."
"How far are we from the Hall of States. That's very
important."
"I think it must be about four or five miles. One thing I'm
sure of: Right out front, as you turn into the lane, there is a
hedgerow on either side of the lane. And to the left of the lane,
there is a cabbage patch. Right down through the center of the
cabbage patch, three rows have been harvested. There are heads of
cabbage in all the other rows or there were when I saw it."
"Good show, Darla, honey! We mustn't let them know that we
have the least idea where we are. It could mean our deaths, all
of us."
"I've been thinking about something else," Darla said,
wondering how to describe what she had in mind while the whole
family was listening, hanging on her every word. Then she
shrugged, and jumped right into it.
"Every little thing we can arrange to throw them off stride,
even the smallest bit, will work in our favor. Isn't that what
you used to tell us about your Intelligence training, Daddy
Chuck?"
"That's right, honey. Hard to tell how much good it will do
us in this case, but you never know. What do you have in mind?"
"They let me keep my purse, after they took out my nail file
and a few other things. I see that Mother has her purse, too.
The thought just came to me that there is no identification on the
pill containers that Doctor Vaughn uses, except for dosage
instructions. I could pretend that the pills in my purse are to
prevent some kind of fatal attack, or something, so they'll let me
take them. And I could slip one to Mother, each time, too."
"What pills are those, honey?" Fleming's brow wrinkled as he
tried to imagine what his daughter was taking that he knew nothing
about.
"Jussincases," Darla mumbled. She felt the flush move upward
from her neck, and her face grew warm. Ann came to her rescue.
"It's something I thought Darla should use, just in case she
got carried away by her female emotions on a heavy date, dear. We
girls sometimes refer to them as 'just-in-cases' when we really
don't expect to require the immunity they provide."
"Kee-rist! What's our younger generation going to come to?
If parents provide them with The Pill, they can live like the
latter Greeks." Fleming turned to his daughter. "Have you been
taking those things so you could give yourself to some guy
whenever you got hot pants?" Darla sensed the protective jealousy
emanating from her father. His face was almost livid.
"Of course not! It's just as Mother told you. Taking them
is the same as getting all those shots when you leave the States.
You don't really plan to expose yourself to typhus and plague, and
all that, Father. Now, do you? But if something happens ...
unexpectedly, beyond your control, you have some protection."
Fleming didn't need the disgust in Darla's tone to tell him
he'd goofed with his outburst. She never called him 'Father'
unless she was really miffed with him. He turned and looked at
his wife, as if she could help him take his foot out of his mouth.
"Don't look to me for moral support," Ann told him. "You
ought to know your daughter's character better than that. Make
your own explanations and apologies."
Fleming's face was pink as he turned back to Darla. He
sputtered a little, but he managed to apologize satisfactorily, as
Darla's relaxing features told him. But at her next words, he
paled.
"If I have any free guesses, it might just be a good idea for
us to take those things. Gerault has a one-track mind when it
comes to entertainment "
"You did mention giving your mother the pills, too. Do you
think that they ... I mean, you don't really believe that they
intend to ... for the love of God, child, you don't think that ...
Yes, I can see that you do." Fleming's brow was beginning to
exude the moisture he'd acquired from his absinthe. Beads of
perspiration were starting to roll down into his eyes. He looked
at Ann, then at his daughter, then back at Tommy, who had remained
silent during the sex-oriented discussion.
Fleming's eyes looked haunted, and Darla thought that he
seemed to age several years in a few seconds. She felt a surge of
maternal protectiveness for this father whose selective naivete
could render him into a small boy in his unsophisticated moments.
She attempted to detour his train of thought.
"I still haven't heard how they captured you." Fleming's
eyes responded, and he appeared to straighten slightly as he
changed his leaning position against the stone wall.
"After I'd sent them that note, we stayed in the hotel suite
for several hours. Then it seemed a good idea to check in at the
Consulate, again. So we all went over there, and talked to the
same attache I'd given the original report to. He'd been in
constant touch with the Surete, and they had just turned in a
negative report for the dozenth time, explaining that none of
their informers seemed to have any knowledge of the kidnapping.
"We spent almost two hours there, hoping that the Consulate
General would get back from Paris, and be able to trigger more
action. Finally, we started walking back to the hotel. I was too
nervous to ride in one of those taxis.
"Several blocks from the hotel, a car pulled up, and Gerault
got out and walked up to me. He said that he had been asked to
take us to pick you up. We all crowded around the cab, and he
grabbed your mother and pulled her inside, where he held a gun on
her to force Tommy and me to cooperate. He kept the gun on Ann
until we pulled up in an alley, where he and Le Boeuf blindfolded
us. All the time, he kept insisting that he was bringing us to
meet you, but couldn't let us know where the meeting place was.
"We thought it was perhaps some more pressure; that they
would let us see you in some sort of miserable condition, thinking
that I would give in and pay them. But their note obviously meant
what it said they'd already given me the last chance to pay."
Fleming's voice almost broke as he implied his failure to handle
the situation properly. "Like you said, Daddy they seem to intend
for us to leave here alive. Whatever else happens, we'll just
have to bear up under it."
Fleming had no chance to reply to this. The door at the top
of the stairs opened, and all three of their captors descended,
carrying trays of food. Yvette was her same, seemingly
unemotional self, and Le Boeuf appeared only to be concerned with
his duties as waiter. But Gerault was smiling evilly, and Darla
knew he was anticipating the "entertainment" he'd mentioned. She
shuddered as she tried to eat the first bites of the dish before
her.
Trays balanced on their knees as they squatted, all four of
the captives started their meal slowly, but hunger hastened their
moves. The pieces of lamb and vegetables were actually quite
palatable, although at this point, none of them really enjoyed it.
When the trays were gathered up, Gerault withdrew with his
companions, but as he reached the middle of the stairway, he
turned his head and addressed the miserable family over his
shoulder.
"The fun starts in two hours. I'll leave you to think about
it as your meal settles. A bientot!"
It seemed much less than two hours between Gerault's mocking
departure and his return. But Fleming knew that the Frenchman's
timing was precise; because their captors had permitted the family
to keep their timepieces, Fleming had been able to check the big
pocket watch he always carried partly as an affectation, and
partly because it was an heirloom.
During that compressed two-hour interlude, considerable
conversation had accomplished only one thing for the prisoners.
Discussing their predicament had lessened its effects. The
feeling of togetherness, the sharing of the burden, made it
easier. Darla felt this more strongly, since she had suffered the
only solitary confinement. Now, there was hope that, combining
their capabilities, they might be able to figure ways to escape.
But before any specific ideas came to light, they were
interrupted by Gerault's appearance. Le Boeuf was with him. The
pair descended the stairs and approached the wall occupied by
Fleming and Darla
"We shall establish some basic facts before we go any
further," Gerault told them. He was gazing into Fleming's eyes,
but both he and his audience of four knew it concerned them all.
"Any and all attempts to escape will result in punishment.
You have my guarantee that no matter what you imagine, your
punishment will more than compensate me for any trouble you cause.
You will be wise to believe this and guide your behavior
accordingly.
"Non-cooperation also will be punished. Certain things will
be asked no, demanded of each of you. You will comply with every
request; obey every command; accomplish everything you are told to
do. Each and every failure will result in punishment.
Hesitation, if it is enough to provoke me, will merit the same
punishment as a refusal Now, are there any doubts that I mean what
I say?" He looked at each of the captives in turn, and as their
eyes met the sadistic evil which glinted in his dark orbs, they
accepted his statements without quest;ion. "Take Mr. Fleming
upstairs, Le Boeuf." Gerault's words were barely uttered when the
Moroccan inserted a key in Fleming's ankle cuffs. When these
shackles were released, he unlocked the cuffs on the prisoner's
wrists. Then he walked to the stairs and began to ascend. Le
Boeuf followed him at a safe distance. When he reached the top of
the steps, he found himself in a large old kitchen. Yvette was
standing by the opposite wall, and the efficient-looking pistol
she held was aimed at his stomach. It was equipped with a
silencer, he noted. That, in itself, told him two things:
Only a professional, with good underworld connections, could
acquire a silencer. And its use implied a continued desire for
silence and secrecy. Obviously, their captors did not want anyone
dropping in to investigate the sound of a gunshot.
He was herded through the kitchen and a connecting room,
which probably was a dining room, but which was unfurnished, now.
Then he was guided through a hall and into a large, ground-floor
bedroom. It was furnished only with a large double bed and two
chairs.
"Remove all your clothes," said Yvette, who had followed him
as far as the doorway, and continued to level the gun in his
direction. He looked at her sharply, but decided against
argument. He undressed down to his undershirt and shorts.
"I said 'all your clothes' and that means everything!" Her
tone advised him against hesitation. He finished, and stood there
naked, glumly eying the neat pile of clothes he'd made on one of
the two occasional chairs. His shoes and socks were on the floor
beside the chair. A casual observer arriving now would give him
credit for his neatness. Yvette grinned at this orderly display.
Such arrangements were not part of her habitual characteristics.
"Inside!" Gerault's voice came from the hall. Fleming turned
to see his daughter being shoved into the bedroom. She had seen
her father's nudity, and was keeping her eyes averted. He grabbed
his shorts from the chair and held them in front of his groin.
"Forget the modesty, Mr. Fleming. In a few minutes, you will
be more familiar with your daughter than you have been since she
was an infant and she with you. Off with your clothes, Darla!"
The girl heaved a sigh of resignation, then slowly began to
remove her blouse. In a few minutes, she had used the other chair
to arrange a pile of clothing as neat as her fathers
"Bien! Now, on the bed both of you!" Gerault's voice was
like a whip. Fleming looked at him unbelievingly, and couldn't
contain his anger and shock.
"You must be mad! What in the none of God are you thinking
of?"
"You do not believe that, Mr. Fleming. Surely you are
intelligent enough to know that you must humor a madman in his
every whim. But I am a fanatic about being obeyed. You will
cause no further delay, or you will see your daughter suffer for
your folly! Now, get in bed with her. Immediately!"
Fleming sat on the bed, noting that Darla already had
complied.
"Lie down, and embrace each other as lovers. Quickly!"
Fleming's shocked mind couldn't convince him that this was
actually happening. Certainly Gerault was bluffing. No one could
expect him to comply with such a monstrous command! He looked up
at the Frenchman in disbelief, and the expression on Gerault's
face told him what he dared not accept.
"Mr. Fleming, perhaps we can speed things up if I explain one
more thing to you. I intend to turn you loose to permit you to
gather up the ransom money, which now, by the way, has doubled,
because of the additional trouble you've caused us.
"Naturally, I will expect you not to return here with the
authorities. First, you do not know where we are; you will be
released at a safe place in Marseilles, and you will return there
with the money. Second, I am going to have some photographs of
your entire family photographs which I am sure you will not want
to see fall into the wrong hands; in fact, you will very much want
to destroy these pictures.
"Now, if you do as you are told, we will take the pictures,
and you will go to get the money. When you return, and we wait a
while to be sure that you have not been followed, we will take the
money, let you burn the pictures, then release all of you. Do you
not see the beauty and simplicity of my plan?"
"But ... but ... there must be some other kind of blackmail
you can work. This ... this ... incestuous thing you imply is too
... too grotesque to be rational. I beg of you ..."
"No. There will be no changes in my plans. This type of
photo I know you will be anxious to recover. Therefore, I am
confident in the value of the plan. Now, do not waste any more
time, or your lovely daughter will suffer for your hardness of
head. Move!"
Fleming, shaken terribly, turned to his daughter. As he lay
beside her, he whispered his misery and hopeless helplessness to
her As he put his arms around her, he hoped that she could keep
her young mind from being affected by this horrible circumstance.
"Darla, baby. Forgive me for having gotten you into such a
terrible situation. I don't think we have any choice, if he means
what he says." He felt her tender young body tremble under his
embrace.
"You couldn't help it, Daddy Chuck. Don't blame yourself.
And he does mean everything he says. I know it! We'll have to do
just what we're told, and try not to let it get us down."
"You're a great sport, honey. I've always known that, I
guess. But I never would have believed that you'd be forced to
prove it like this!"
"Enough of the tenderness! Let us now have some real poses.
Yvette! Over here with the camera!" The sleazy Yvette moved
around the bed until she had a good view of the models.
"Okay. Mr. Fleming, place your left hand on Darla's right
hip, and take her breast in your mouth."
Fleming's eyes were full of pain as he slowly started to
respond. Darla flashed him a look of compassion, then closed her
eyes as she spoke.
"Go ahead, Daddy Chuck. The better we cooperates the sooner
it will be over."
He felt the warm, young flesh under his fingers, and it
stirred him, in spite of his horror at the immorality of the
thing. And as his lips touched her firm, virginal breasts, he
knew again the thrill that had run through him the first time he'd
kissed Ann's tender globes. The springy nipple which blossomed
under his oral caress popped between his lips, and he squeezed it
in passionate reflex before he realized what he was doing.
"Take his tool in your hand, Darla. Quickly!" ordered
Gerault.
She gingerly reached down between them and found his semisoft
member. As her fingers moved through his wiry thatch and
encountered their target, Darla felt a tingling tremor course
through her. The forbidden nature of the act they were forced
into made it even more exciting than she would have believed. In
spite of her initial inner decision to remain aloof as she
complied with Gerault's commands, she couldn't prevent the
triggering of her libido.
It called back to her in vivid imagery the scene by the pool
at home. The lusty member she had envied her mother's possessing
was now in her grasp. She squeezed it gently, reveling in the
erotic feel of his hardening length. A tiny moan escaped her
lips.
"Now, Fleming, you repay her kindness by caressing her little
pussy." His tone revealed his enjoyment with the scene, and his
command of their actions.
Fleming tried. He honestly strained to force his hand into
the forbidden forest of his daughter's genital area. But the
knowledge of what he was about to do was too much for his years of
prescribed morality, and his hand jerked back the moment it
touched her golden feathers.
"I can't do it! I just can't!" he groaned, hating himself
for his helplessness, caught between the inevitable hammer of the
physical torture threaten ing Darla, and the immovable anvil of
his innate psychic block.
Gerault had lit a cigarette as Fleming's hand reneged. Now,
the Frenchman blew on the glowing tip, and swiftly pressed it
against the girl's buttock. She screamed her pain and outrage as
the tender flesh blistered.
"From this point on," promised Gerault, "it will be the face
which is burned. Perhaps much plastic surgery will be required."
The tortured look in Fleming's eyes underwent a change. The
indecision was gone, and in its place was beaten resignation.
His hand moved into the golden curls of his daughter's most
private area, and he felt the dampness surrounding the nether lips
Her thighs separated to receive his attentions, and his fingertips
fell on her surprisingly swollen little bud. Her hips moved to
help him get started, and soon he was providing the massage
motions, with only an occasional thrust of her agile young hips.
"Take my breast in your mouth, again," Darla whispered.
Fleming, taking it for a warning against not being cooperative
enough, hastened to comply. His lips found the firm mound, and
trailed up its satin slope to the pink-capped peak, and seized the
spongy blossom. His tongue automatically toyed with the delicious
morsel, and Darla's humming sound was a familiar melody, so much
like Ann's responses.
The performers were dimly aware of snapping-shutter sounds,
and the subsequential tearing of exposed film packs. But they
began to be carried away by their treacherous sexualities.
Darla's hand was moving, slowly, gently milking the fleshy
lance in her grasp, and Fleming's heavy breathing started to be
interspersed with mild groans, as his passion increased.
The girl's lubricious flow was creaming Fleming's hand, and
he used it expertly to provide continuous protection for her erect
little thorn, as he continued to caress its tender surface. Her
legs opened wider to him, and she maneuvered her hips to capture a
finger in the swelling softness of her melting passage. As it
entered her, the thumb took over the massage duties of the upper
area, and her excitement became boundless.
She turned toward him more, and with her free hand moved his
head to place the delightful suction on the neglected breast.
As his finger probed her flowing depths, the tender morsel of
her nipple quivered under his tasting tongue, Fleming lost himself
completely in the remembered lusts of his youth. It was the young
Ann whose body he now possessed, so firmly but softly yielding to
his assault. And the girl's nymph-like responses to his every
action led him further into the trap.
Darla's mind also tricked her as her inner lusts were
triggered by the circumstances, and she cried out her needs.
"Drink me! Oh, I'm so full I'm bursting! Drink me up!"
The lustful words triggered Fleming's own reflexes, and he
let his hand slide from its slippery refuge as his mouth moved
downward from the wetly-nippled breast, across the sleek belly and
into the blonde forest below.
Darla's leg moved under his chest as she withdrew it from
beneath him to lay it across his bask. Then his lips sought the
swollen rim of the flowing fountain, and his tongue caressed the
fleshy petals as they opened still further to him. His hands
reached upward to grasp the twin fullnesses of her aching breasts,
and she moaned constantly as her hips moved beneath his head.
Then a gigantic tremor shook her, and a rippling quiver
traveled over her body as she found release.
But she could see under his chest and belly, and the extended
rod of her sire magnetized her.
Oh! I've got to have that! It's so swollen and loaded, and
it was my body that made it that way! She twisted herself around
and pulled her flooding fountain from Fleming's lips, as she used
elbows and hands and feet to reach under his arched body.
Her hand seized the fleshy shaft and brought it down to her
questing lips. As she ringed the purple-red tip with her mouth,
her hand slipped back to caress the sac behind it, then her other
hand grasped the weapon at its base. She searched the entire
circumference of the tip with her tongue, then thrust tenderly
into the small orifice and wiggled gently. The throbbing of his
pulse was communicated to her as it swelled in reflex.
Oh, cream for me, Daddy Chuck! Give me yourself! She felt
his fingers as they searched out her brimming pool and buried
themselves in her hot flesh. Her hand squeezed caressingly at the
hairy luggage it held, and she let the huge wand slide deeper into
her, until the tip touched the rear of her palate. Her lust-
filled mind was screaming her animal passions as she possessed the
forbidden fruit of these male loins. Oh, Daddy Cheek, I creamed
so for you! My love flowered faster than you could drink it!
Please love one! Pour your love into me!
Her thoughts seemed so loud to her, that she wondered why he
couldn't hear them, too. They almost exploded her head. Then
something did explode in her head.
She felt the quivering tremor start to travel from where he
was probing her wet nest, upward throughout her body. As her
entire being quivered, the hot, spurting streams in her mouth
poured down to meet the other warmth. She swallowed and
swallowed, and then everything went black.
When she came to her senses, she could hear the mocking sound
of Gerault's laughter ringing in her ears. There were two suite
strong odors in the atmosphere. One she recognized as the acetic-
acid smell of the photo-fixative. It took her a moment to
identify the other. Then she brought up a tentative hand and
moved it across her mouth. As she withdrew it, she opened her
eyes, and watched as a sticky string of semen trailed from her
chin to her finger.
Her eyes lifted to look past her impregnated hand, and she
met her father's gaze. With the return of his conscious mind to
the sane control of his faculties, his eyes betrayed his sickness
and misery with what they had done under the control of their
subconscious lusts. She couldn't know just how much of his horror
was due to her display of depravity, but at the thought of losing
his love and respect, she was as heartsick as he possibly could
be. The tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, Daddy Chuck! I'm so
ashamed!"
She thought that a little of the horror faded from his eyes,
as his hand reached out to pat her consolingly. But when it
touched the warm satin of her bare thigh, his hand jerked away
Quickly, and he blushed with the memory of their closer body
contacts.
"Tres bien," said Gerault. "This set of pictures will do
very nicely. But we make sure of our bargaining position, non?
We now start the next act of our circus. You may use the
bathroom. Yvette!"
The frowzy girl took Darla's arm and led her out of the room
and down the hall. In a few minutes, they returned, and Yvette
took Fleming to the bathroom. While they waited, Darla was
turning over some frightening thoughts in her mind. Then she
spoke.
"I am feeling very dizzy." She had put her hand to her head,
and pretended to sway on her feet as if disoriented. Le Boeuf
reached out and took her arm to steady her.
"I have forgotten, because of all that's happened," she told
them. "I'm supposed to take a special tablet my doctor gave me.
If I take one every day, I should be all right."
"Ah, yes. The medicine in your purse. You may take one when
we return below."
The initial victory almost made Darla smile, but she
continued her slight swaying, as she headed for "second base" on
her hit.
I think my mother has forgotten, too. You see, she has the
same problem, and the same treatment, but I don't know if she had
her tablets with her when you picked her up."
"Of this I am not sure. Yvette checked her belongings. In
any case, perhaps you have enough to share yours? You should not
be here many more days. I would not wish to visit your hotel
suite to get her medication; the gendarmes may how do you say it
may have staked out the scene?" Gerault seethed to enjoy
displaying his knowledge of American slang.
"Yes, I think I have enough for both of us for a few days,"
Darla replied. But her joy over the victory she had won was
diluted by the uncomfortable knowledge that it might be too late
for her to resume her pill schedule. She knew that the two days
she'd been without it were dangerous cays, due to the tremendously
increased fertility which resulted from using the pill, then
stopping at the wrong time.
She tried to drive from her mind the picture of the offspring
Le Boeuf might have given her. She shuddered, and the Moroccan's
grip on her arm tightened, and he led her to the bed, where she
sat down.
Fleming returned, and Yvette remained in the hall. Gerault
studied Darla for a few seconds, then looked at Fleming.
"I think we will give you a rest, now, and bring our other
performers up here. Yvette, see to it that the girl has water
with which to take her medicine." He nodded at Fleming. "Get
your clothes on, and we will take you back below."
When they were dressed, they were escorted back downstairs to
their shackles and Yvette brought Darla a glass of water. The
worried girl took the container from her purse and removed two of
the tiny pills. She swallowed one, using two sips of water from
the tumbler Yvette provided.
"Merci bien," she told Yvette as she returned the glass.
Then she handed over the other pill. "Pour ma mere, s=B9il vous
plait." The French girl merely nodded, then walked over to Ann
and handed her the pill and the glass. When she was finished,
Yvette let her continue holding the tumbler while her shackles
were being unlocked.
Le Boeuf had been releasing Tommy, and now the two of them
were led upstairs. It was very silent in the cellar for several
minutes, and then Fleming spoke to his daughter.
"God knows what this will do to your mother. Sometimes I
think she's stronger, mentally, than I am. But what they're going
to do to her now may be more than she can take. God have mercy on
me for getting us into this!"
Darla, whose mind was busy imagining the scenes which were
about to take place upstairs, did not answer.
The silence returned to the dungeon like atmosphere. The
light was off, now, and to Fleming, it was as if he were a
prisoner in the Chateau d'If. His ears strained to pick up any
sounds from the rooms above them, but all he could hear was an
occasional deep sigh from Darla, and the rasping sound of his own
breathing.
