The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 8
It had been so early when Gerault unshackled Fleming and
escorted him up the stairs, that the rest of the family were
hardly aware of the procedure until the door at the top of the
stairwell closed loudly.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as each of them felt
the finality of the way the morning had begun. All night long,
everyone had slept fitfully. The small mattresses which were
tossed at their feet at night padded the hardness of the floor,
but it could not be said to be plush accommodations for the
Flemings, who were used to the best of everything.
Now, the three of them were shifting their positions
miserably, as they sensed the separateness of their plight and
that of the man who had gone to get their ransom. In addition to
their apprehension about the outcome of today's events, they were
all suffering with the pressure of full bladders.
Just as both Ann and Darla doubted their ability to hold out
a moment longer, Le Boeuf came down and unshackled the two women.
He preceded them up the stairs, then herded them to the bathroom,
where he stood in the doorway, watching, as they relieved
themselves.
Darla had deferred to her mother's seniority, and stood with
her legs crossed, waiting to get her turn. After Ann finished,
the younger girl hopped onto the commode, just in time. Le Boeuf
laughed, and both of them looked up at him in puzzlement.
He told them, in French, how amusing it was that Americans
could not get used to the bidet. There it had stood, all the
time, while Darla was bursting, waiting to use the more familiar
accommodation her mother had monopolized.
Soon, they were laughing with him, and Darla was reminded
again that she felt less than anger toward the Moroccan. In fact,
she thought that she rather liked him. She recalled with
gratitude his attempts to lessen her pain when he'd been ordered
to break her hymen.
As long as it had to be a rapist that got my cherry, I'm glad
that it was someone with a little feeling for others. Even if
that was about the biggest cock any human is likely to have! She
gave a shudder as she recalled the way the monstrous tool had
probed into her.
Then she saw that Le Boeuf was leading her mother back down
the hall, not waiting for Darla to finish. In a few minutes, he
came back, just as she was flushing the commode and starting to
wash up at the lavatory. He stood in the doorway as she washed,
using the small, new cake of soap that obviously had been filched
from some hotel.
When she had finished, the Moroccan held out a small towel to
her. As she dried, she wondered why he had brought it now, after
they had been forced to squeegee their faces with their hands,
then shake off the drops from their hands, each time they had been
allowed to wash. Even her mother had just now had to do that.
As she finished, her eyes caught the legend on the towel, and
she knew that even that had been stolen. Le Boeuf spoke to her in
French.
"I stole it last night. A young lady of refinement, such as
yourself, should not be denied so many things she is used to
having." He smiled at her, and she realized that in spite of his
hugeness, and the blackness of his skin, he was very handsome by
many standards.
"Thank y ou, Monsieur Le Boeuf. I wish that my mother had
been allowed to use it, however." He blinked at her.
"I saved it for you, because I felt that I owed you something
I can never repay. Even though I was acting under orders, I did
take from you that which you can never replace. I have some guilt
because of this." He had a pained look in his eyes.
"If you did not want to do it, why didn't you refuse?" she
asked. "Jean Monsieur Gerault has knowledge of something I once
did. If I do not do as he says, he will see that the gendarmerie
learns of it. And then even if I do not wish to admit it when I
saw the beauty of your perfect body before me, I had a great
hunger for you. The two things together they were too much for
me!"
Darla smiled at him sympathetically. And then she thought of
something else that perturbed her.
"Where does Yvette fit into this company? Is she Gerault's
mistress?" Le Boeuf laughed heartily.
"They call her La Crasse or La Femme Crasseux in Pigalle,
where Jean found her. He would not touch her except with my cock,
as the unfortunate joke tells it. When he is very drunk, and
wants to have his cruel amusements, or when he wants it to happen
for a special reason, as when he had me show you there in
Marseilles, then he orders me to stick my cock in her. But most
of the time, he ignores her, because she disgusts even him. He is
not without appreciation for the clean, only without compassion."
Darla thought about this. So, even in the less than sanitary
confines of Pigalle, the heart of the Paris section noted for its
prostitutes and pimps, Yvette was named The Filth, or The Dirty
Woman. She shuddered as she recalled the sight and odor of what
could otherwise be a very pretty and desirable young woman.
Then she realized that she was standing here, relaxed,
talking as if she were not a prisoner, and that Le Boeuf was eying
her with renewed interest. She became a little frightened, as the
thought came to her that she was separated from her mother and
Tommy, and that this big, horny Morrocan whatever his kindness and
intents actually had her at his mercy. He had admitted to
becoming intoxicated with the sight of her body before. What was
to stop him from taking her here and now?
Oh, God! I don't know if I costed take another attack by
that huge prick! It's so big and beautiful and horrible that it
fascinates me, amost hypnotizes me but it hurts so awfully when
it's stuffed into my cunt. "If Mademoiselle will confer a
kindness upon me, I will try to repay her with every sort of favor
that I can." Her eyes widened at his words. What could he have
in mind? Oh, God! does he want to buck me with that monster
cock, again? "What do you mean?" she managed to ask.
"I can make no precise promises. Mademoiselle can understand
that. If Jean gives me a direct order, I have to obey. But at
all other times, I will try to help Mademoiselle and her family,
and to do such kindnesses as I can do without Jean finding out.
At the very least, I would rebel the moment he might decide to ...
to kill you!"
Darla gasped. They had pretty well come to the conclusion
that their captors would not want to get involved in murder. But
now, Le Boeuf, who surely knew them better than the Flemings,
indicated that there was a possibility of Gerault's wanting them
dead! Now she was really frightened. "What do you want me to
do?"
"I wish to make love to Mademoiselle gently, to taste the
wonders of her body without bringing pain. And Gerault must not
know of it! It must be a secret between us. I believe that he
has plans to take you in his own way, and he is very jealous!"
Darla thought about this for a moment, and then decided that she
had very little to lose, and perhaps much to gain. If she could
win the big Moroccan over to their side and it seemed possible,
since he already had demonstrated his sympathy they would have
that much less to fear in the event anything went wrong. And she
had resumed taking The Pill, and if the harm hadn't already been
done, she stood little risk of anything occurring, now.
But how could he make love to her without hurting her?
She drew in her breath and smiled bravely at him, knowing
that she must make the most of this opportunity.
"I think I would like that, Monsieur Le Boeuf," she lied.
He took her hand and led her into the living room, where the
sofa-bed was still opened to its most functional position.
"We can hear better from this room when the car comes back
from Marseilles," he explained.
Then he helped her undress, and soon she was naked under his
hungry gaze. As she watched, he peeled off the sweatshirt he
wore, then his con toured slacks and undershorts.
The magnificent hard flesh of his invader was already firmly
saluting her desirability. It poised, cobra like, extended from
his dark loins, and pulsing with a life of its own. The
uncircumcised foreskin was peeling back of its own volition as the
purplish-red tip swelled within the confinement of its folds.
Darla's eyes were wide with awe as it seemed to stare at her with
its one eyeless socket.
She sank onto the bed weakly, and Le Boeuf's eyes followed
the flash of her creamy thighs, and the wink of her pink nether
lips as she drew one foot up onto the edge of the bed.
Then he was down on the floor on his knees, and kissing her
legs, moving his ravening lips and tongue slowly and wetly up the
soft, satin contours of her calves, then her thighs, until his
mouth met the first feathery tendrils of her blonde curls, as they
lay damply against her inner thighs. The healthy musk of her
youthful but very womanly femaleness drew him to the fleshy lips
which lay slightly parted, overhung with a stray wisp or two of
the soft, blonde hair.
He placed his lips against one of the fleshy folds, and
nibbled at it delicately. As Darla whimpered her surprised
excitement, the thickness of the tender fold increased, and the
deep pink of her inner flesh, as it became exposed, turned to a
dark, purplish red as it filled with the rushing blood of her
impassioned pulse.
The swelling made the lips part even more pronouncedly, and
the slightly lighter hue of the wet flesh beneath them showed more
and more. His lips nibbled up one fleshy fold and down the other,
then his tongue snaked out and captured a drop of the jewel-like
lubricant which appeared.
Darla watched in the nearby wall-mirror as Le Boeuf paid
homage to her desirability. As his tongue searched out her erect
bud, standing in its cozy hiding place at the apex of the fleshy
lips, she cried out a hoarse wail of need. He licked at the small
hardness until she felt she would go mad.
Then the flow of her juices really began, and he was drinking
deeply of her passionate fountain, as she whimpered and moaned,
then wrapped her legs around his head, hugging to her the source
of this maddening excitement.
Then her back arched as she felt the tightening of every
nerve and muscle in her body. A shimmering haze filled the air in
front of her eyes, and a strange heat flowed through her as a
great tremor pulsed from the very center of her body, reaching
every fiber of her being. She relaxed and lay there, gasping for
breath.
Le Boeuf gave the delicate blossom a final lick with his
long, hot tongue, and then trailed a tingling path up across her
belly to the dimple of her navel, where he inserted the exciting
whip for a thrilling search of its wrinkled surface.
Darla's hands had been cupping her aching breasts, and now
she wanted the feel of his lips on them, the suction of his mouth
which might relieve the fullness they felt so painfully.
Then he was there, sucking deeply at each swollen, straining
nipple, and squeezing the sponges of their erection with lips and
tongue.
The hard hugeness of his dark member was thrust against her
loins as he leaned over her, and in spite of her passionate
involvement, she felt fear that he was going to penetrate her with
it.
Then his lips left her breast, and he removed his weight from
her. She felt his hands on her buttocks, as he rolled her over
onto her belly. Then his hands were under her, dipping at the wet
flow that still poured from her openings. He spread the slippery
juices up past the bottom of her natal lips, along the crease of
her body seam, to the tiny, tight opening of her anus. As his
hands spread her creamy buttocks apart, he wet the tight exit with
the juices he had robbed from her flowing fountain.
Then the head of his monstrous erection was pressing at the
rear door of her body! She tried to scream, but her mouth was
buried in the bedclothes, and she bit down on the fabric viciously
as the unbelievable hugeness of him invaded her rectum!
Oh, God! He's fucking me in the assl It wasn't meant for
that! I'm not built to take that giant prick in my asshole! Oh-
h-h! It hurts something fierce! It was like a white-hot truck
driving up the path into her intestines. Her bottom raised up in
self defense, trying to ease the tightness of the entrance. But
she couldn't get away from the largeness of the invading flesh.
It plowed deep into her body, forcing its way through the tender
wrinkles of her guts as if nothing could stop it.
Then his hand slipped under her belly and began to massage
the wet, pulsating flesh of her hot natal lips and the hardness of
her erect and burning clitoris.
She felt herself responding to the stimulus, even though the
pain of the swollen tissues inside continued. As his hand moved,
slopping the juices around in the heated flesh, she began to move,
until all she could feel was a horrendous fullness a swelling,
aching, burning fullness that threatened to burst her from within.
Then she began to feel the onslaught of her orgasm, climbing,
working its way through her tortured flesh, until she wanted to
scream at the absolute completeness of the sensations that
throbbed through her, tearing her asunder with their strength.
She felt the fullness at her blossoming flesh as he thrust
two fingers deep into her passage, and then the horribly wonderful
swelling of his meaty maleness in her rear as it began to pump his
fluids into her belly.
She moaned loudly as the twofold invasion of her body brought
her up the steep, tortuous slopes to the cliff that had no
retreat, then fell, gasping, to the bottomless depths below.
She felt, vaguely, the withdrawal of his shrinking but still
large organ from her bowels. And his fingers retreated from her
flowing fountain. Then she lay there, panting, wondering how she
had lived through the sheer pain and pleasure of it all.
Le Boeuf's weight was gone for quite a while before she
managed to gather enough strength to roll over onto her back.
Then she saw that he was not in the room. She wondered if maybe
she could make a break through the French doors, out into the
garden and across the farmlands to somewhere maybe to someone who
could get help for the lRlemings. Then she thought about her
father, maneuvering at whatever plans he might have, in
Marseilles. She might foul it all up if she went off on her own
and did anything wild on the spur of the moment.
But she knew that the truth of the matter was that she was
too weak, too spent, to attempt anything until she could get back
her wind and her strength. The ordeal with Le Boeuf had left her
a limp, quivering bundle of gelatin.
Then he was back in the room, standing over her, looking down
on her defenseless body as if he could eat it up in a few bites.
"I apologize to Mademoiselle. I did not intend to enter her
from the back, like that. I know it is not easy to accept a man
that way for the first time. But I was carried away by my passion
when the so delicious juices of Mademoiselle were in my nostrils
and on my lips. I hope that I have not given Mademoiselle too
much pain."
Darla looked up at him, and noted that his huge, limp organ
was dripping water. Obviously, he had retired to the bathroom and
washed after the anal engagement. She was still quivering and
weak from the terrible onslaught, and he seemed to waver in her
gaze as she looked up at him.
She tried to smile, but had no way of knowing whether her
facial muscles responded. It was like the time she had been alone
at home one weekend, when Daddy Chuck and Mother Ann were
Christmas shopping in New York. She'd been lonely and bored, and
had grown bold in her solitude. She'd gotten into the liquor
shelves back of the bar in the den, and drunk herself into a
solitary stupor. She recalled that she had tried to make faces
into the bar mirror, and laughed at her inability to command her
facial muscles to respond properly.
Le Boeuf smiled down at her adoringly. Then he sat on the
edge of the sofa-bed beside her, and she felt the surprising heat
of his flesh as his thigh touched her own. She wondered at the
effect this chain of events was having on her mind. She felt
absolutely amoral as she lay there, enjoying the play of the mild
breeze on her nude body, and the contrasting heat of the
Moroccan's flesh against hers.
She rolled over halfway and leaned up on her elbow, then
looked at the dark skin of the huge man as he sat there, looking
for all the world like an African prince in his nuptial chambers.
He was a clean man, as evidenced by his immediate repair to
the bathroom to wash after the episode he'd just completed. And
he was a good man, basically, trying to be honest with her, when
he really needn't have, because she was absolutely under his
power.
She felt a strange tenderness for this big Moroccan who had
just violated the previously inviolable entrances of her body. He
had torn her maiden head several days previously, and now he'd
plunged his raping flesh into the tenderness of her anal privacy.
Yet, he had brought her a wild, primeval pleasure in the midst of
her otherwise bland existence if one were to discount the sadistic
influence of Gerault on the scene.
She leaned over Le Boeuf's lap, inspecting closely the
resting length of this flesh which had torn the tissues of her two
most private body openings. It looked so tender and harmless,
now, almost as if it were incapable of the ravages it had wrought
on her vulnerable body. She leaned over it, looking at the dark
skin and the fine lines of the veins which ran through its
intriguingly patterned surface. Something came over her which she
could not then or later define. It was a compulsion born of her
strangely maternal feelings for this big man with the tender
heart, and the fantastic pain-pleasure he had given her.
She lowered her head closer and closer to the fascinating
display of black and pink flesh. Then her lips touched it, and
she felt a deep thrill of combined revulsion and hunger as its
softness contacted the sensitive tissue of her lips.
Her hand stole out beneath her poised mouth, and lifted the
limpid member. It lay gently, softly, vulnerably on her fingers
like a sleeping snake. She brought its intriguingly soft darkness
up until it lay helplessly exposed in her palm.
Then she wrapped her lips over it, letting its satin slide
through the grip she gently imposed on it. When the tip slipped
into her mouth, she tongued it delicately, then made her hand peel
back the soft skin from its extremity.
The dark head glided into her mouth, and she made her tongue
test every soft, tender spot on its surface. Then she began to
suck on it. As she vacuumed its round fullness, it began to
swell. In seconds, it had doubled its size, and it was pulsing
within her mouth as though it had a life of its own.
Her hand squeezed the base of the stiffening organ, then slid
back to cradle the fullness of the wrinkled, hairy luggage which
hung below it. Groans were emanating form Le Boeuf's lips as she
sucked at the swelling head, and massaged the tingling bag.
"Mademoiselle! I cannot contain myself! I will flow into
you!" He sounded as if he were in pain. She continued to lick at
the soft hardness, of the fullness in her mouth, and then she felt
the pressure of his hands, on her body, and she was rolled over
with him onto the bed. He had spread her thighs in the air, and
was licking at the wet heat of her loins.
She felt the approach of another strong current sweep through
her, and then the fullness in her mouth was more full as the
pumping, throbbing pulse of his enlargement filled her mouth and
throat. She swallowed to keep from choking, and it seemed to fill
her forever, then it was through, and she relaxed her lips and
jaws as the full tide of her passion carried her over the crest.
When she came to, she kept her eyes closed for a long time.
God! she thought. What have I done? I literally sucked that big
cock of his, and he didn't even force me to do it! What's
happened to me? As she realized the enormity of her perversion,
she started to get sick.
Quickly, she got off the bed and ran out and down the hall
into the bathroom. When she had emptied her queasy stomach, she
gargled with clear water from the lavatory, then drank several
swal lows.
When she had half-collapsed onto the bidet, she relaxed a
little, and felt the tension decrease as her bladder emptied.
Then she summoned up the strength to operate the controls, and
flushed herself out with the rushing water.
When she had dried herself, Le Boeuf was standing in the
doorway.
"Mademoiselle has been more kind to me than I asked. I will
do all I can to protect her and her family. I shall always
remember the Joys of today." He disappeared into the hall, and
waited politely until she came out of the room.
When she had been led back downstairs, her mother looked at
her strangely, and after the Moroccan had re-shackled her to her
chains, Aml spoke to her.
"What's been going on, Honey? He kept you up there a long
time after he brought me back."
Darla drew a deep breath, tempted to tell her mother all, and
then thought better of it. She refused to lie, and she couldn't
stand the shame of telling what she had done without the threat of
torture.
"Le Boeuf and I were talking," she said, revealing the semi-
truth. "I think he will try to help us, if he can."
