The Tortured Tourists
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 1
The flies were the worst of the many indignities. Even the
odors of decayed fish from the nearby wharves, and the sharp,
acrid smell of male urine from the pissoir outside her window,
had become part of the accepted background. She was aware that
her own body had begun to add to the aroma. Next to the flies,
she hated more than all the rest to feel the acute needs of her
unwashed body.
She tried to shift her position, but the bonds which kept her
spread-eagled on the soiled bed linen were not loose enough to
permit much movement. She looked down through the valley of her
proud young breasts, over the creamy flat tummy and the blonde
curls of her womanly forest, to the iron rails at the foot of the
bed. The ropes which secured her ankles were tied to the two
corner posts.
The shifting movement had caused a little chafing, but her
ankles didn't bother her as much as her wrists. She couldn't see
them but she could imagine the red rawness of the skin from the
burning sensations. Yet, this misery paled by comparison with the
flies.
The insects, which had awakened her by crawling over the damp
stickiness of her exposed vulva had flown away as she moved. She
knew she would have to move repeatedly to keep them away. She
tried to scream past the gag in her mouth, but the only sound it
inside was in her own head, where the pressure was so great, that
she gave up.
If only the La Jolla crowd could see her now! Darla Fleming,
princess of the tennis courts, pacesetter of the flashy younger
set, untouchable virgin with a reputation for semi-frigidity! If
she had only given herself to Jeff, or Alan! She choked back a
sob, knowing from bitter experience how much more miserable she'd
be if she let herself start crying with that gag in her mouth.
Some flies had returned to feast in the forest of her sticky
golden curls. She rolled her hips, and the movement made all but
one stubborn insect buzz off. She could feel it moving across the
moist outer lips, then into the slit of her sensitive inner lips.
She thrust her hip upward, and it flew out and away, joining one
of the groups of its fellows hovering in the air, or crawling on
the many unclean surfaces in the shabby room.
The perspiration was gathering on her skin, and it added to
the discomfort and to the closeness of the room, as if the June
warmth and the humidity of the harbor area weren't enough.
She tried to take her thoughts off her misery, to get away
from the unendurable present. Not daring to think of what might
lie in the immediate future, she could only dwell on the past.
And the most immediate experiences of the last two days were so
luridly etched in her memory that they flashed past her all too
slowly.
* * *
The sights and sounds of Marseilles were novel and intriguing
to Darla Fleming. Her four years of French were just enough to
add spice to the adventure. She and her mother did all the
translating and interpreting for the family. Daddy Chuck's meager
vocabulary, acquired in the latter part of World War II, was
almost completely lost, and Tommy had chosen Spanish for his
language courses. Well, little brother was anxious to do the
honors when they got to Spain. He insisted that he didn't care
much for the French.
At nineteen, Darla was in full flower. Her luscious body and
charming personality were almost the exact replica of her mother
at the same age. But her goals were different. Ann Fleming had
become a bride at seventeen, marrying Charles Eldon Fleming II in
1946, the week after his separation from the army. Captain
Fleming and his bride were a handsome couple, and Darla enjoyed
looking at the old photographs in the numerous albums at home.
Darla wanted a few more years of freedom before committing
her entire life and responsibilities to another. She had her
hands full with the young males of her acquaintance, finding it
difficult to convince them of her true wishes for non-involvement.
But underneath, the juices of her flowering womanhood ran
swiftly and warm. She knew her susceptibility to the healthy
maleness of her friends, and took great care to avoid temptations.
She blushed when she thought of how she had been aroused even by
her own father, on several occasions. Well, she knew better than
to blame herself for that. The constant denial of her womanly
desires increased her sensitivities It was no wonder that being
embraced by a proud and loving father could stir her unreasonably.
Especially a virile man like Daddy Chuck. Even now, at 42,
he was more man than many of his juniors. Darla had seen numerous
females make a play for the handsome industrialist. His six-one
frame was in trim condition, only ten pounds heavier than he'd
been in those wedding photos. And he still satisfied the constant
hungers of his loyal wife.
Darla recalled all too clearly the scene she had witnessed by
accident only a week before the trip started. At 1:30 in the
morning, she had been unable to sleep, and decided to take a swim
The warm evening and the high walled security of the Fleming
estate had lulled her normal precautions, and she simply tossed a
shorty-short terry cloth robe on her naked body, and went across
the patio to the pool. Bare footing over the cool concrete, she
had stopped short at the sight of her parents on the huge canvas
pad at the far side of the big pool. The five-foot, eight-inch
length of her mother's ripe body lay in serene repose on the mat,
elegant in the creamy skin which glowed under the bright
moonlight.
From her shadowed vantage point, Darla watched as her equally
naked father knelt at Ann's feet. His short, brown hair glinted
in the moonlight, and Darla could see bright droplets of water on
his muscular body. Obviously, her parents had decided on a
midnight swim, believing her to be in bed. Tommy wasn't due home
from college until the weekend.
Daddy Chuck's hands took the slim ankles and moved them aside
and upward. He went forward, and his face pushed into the valley
of Ann's lovely breasts. Darla's breath caught as she watched the
kisses he bestowed on the creamy mounds. Her own full globes
ached as she watched him nibbling and tonguing the peaks, and she
felt her nipples distend in sympathetic passion.
A mild guilt feeling tried to move her away from the scene.
It was a private thing, between a man and a woman. What's more,
it was her own father and mother. But her hungry body was
tingling with its own fevers, and in the self-imposed restrictions
of her young life, this was the only direct sexual play she had
ever encountered. It was too much for her susceptibilities. She
moved quietly and stealthily along the shadowed edges of the tall
shrubs which surrounded the end of the pool. She didn't stop
until she was behind the bush nearest the canvas pad.
She was only a few yards from the damp bodies, and she could
hear her mother's low, purring sounds, and the wet, lapping sounds
of her father's tongue and lips. He had moved down, now, across
the sleek belly into the blonde, feathery curls be low.
Darla knelt in the grass, her hands clutching her fevered
breasts, fingering the swollen nipples frantically. She saw the
creamy tanned thighs open wide, and one of the feet, with its
neatly pedicured nails pointed right at Darla's hiding place.
Chuck Fleming's lips and tongue were searching tenderly among
the blonde curls, and Darla knew he had found what he sought when
Ann's purring sounds became a louder, continuous moan, and the
full hips rose from the pad. Ann's hands reached down and grasped
the brown curls of her lover's head, pulling the ministering mouth
tighter to her damp, heated flesh.
He's eating her cunt! Darla thought to herself. My God!
That must feel wonderful. The girl dropped one hand from its
clutching, squeezing movements at her breast. It sought the
blonde jungle at the juncture of her quivering thighs. Her
fingers parted the wet lips, and began to massage the stiff little
bud of her passion.
Oh-h! I wish it were me! To have those lips and that tongue
in my cunt would drive me wild! Darla's hand was covered now with
the hot liquid of her passion's lubricant. Her breath was
labored, and a jellylike weakness was creeping through her thighs
and loins.
"Chuck! Oh, lover, drink me! Drink me dry!" Ann's
trembling voice on Darla's ears excited her even more. She saw
the wiggling hips moving in spasms as the climax built. Then a
shuddering jerk of the moonlit body gave Darla the knowledge that
her mother had found release. At that moment, her own orgasm
began, and she shook under the intensity of its effect on her
body.
Darla took her weight off one knee, and moved her thighs
close together. It squeezed her hand in place, nestling it tight
in the sloppy, swollen lips, and maintaining a glowing feeling
with its pressure on her most sensitive spot.
Chuck had changed his position, and Darla could see the rigid
tool of his loving art. The three-quarter view afforded her all
too clearly a complete awareness of what took place.
Ann's thighs were drawn back and even farther apart, now.
The gleaming pink meat of her womanhood was vulnerably spread
wide, and Darla could see the juices flowing down it. Then
Chuck's body hid the pulsing love-mouth as he positioned himself
over his wife.
Darla moved quietly to place herself in another position, not
able to make herself leave, knowing that she had to see
everything. Then she watched as the purplish pink head of the
rigid lance lay lightly in the wet lips Ann's hips raised, and
Chuck's hips went forward. The shaft buried itself in the depths,
and the sight of its hairy luggage swinging against the wet
portals below it was too much for Darla.
Again, she worked feverishly in the sloppy heat of her
crotch. Now, the anxious massage seemed not enough. As she
watched the slow strokes of the plunging rod, she thrust a finger
of her other hand into the tightness of her own virginal passage.
The pain almost made her cry out, but she retained enough
awareness in the midst of her extreme passion to bite back the
sound.
She gave up the attempt, afraid of betraying her presence,
and contented herself with massaging her hard bud and rolling her
nipples=8Bfirst one, then the other=8Bbetween the fingers of her other
hand.
Oh-h! If just watching can do this to me, what would it toe
like to have a wonderful prick like that inside me? It looked so
good, I almost crawled over there and put it in my mouth! My God!
What kind of a nymphomaniac am I, anyhow? Her breath was sobbing
in her throat as she worked her fingers in the slippery swollen
meat of her nether lips.
Then she watched her father cease his plunging, grab her
mother's buttocks, and press hard against her. Ann's husky voice
was pleading.
"Fuck me deep, Chuck! Ohhhhhh! Now! Squirt the goodies in
me! My cunt's so hungry for you!" The coarse words from the
normally refined and quiet woman seemed to excite her husband
tremendously. He cried out softly, and his buttocks squeezed
together.
Darla had all she could do to keep from crying out herself,
as she watched his muscles spasm, knowing that he was pumping some
delightfully exciting elixir into the hot, female depths. She
smothered her sounds as she moaned softly to herself, feeling the
huge wave of heat tear through her body. A warm extra flow of
juice poured over her hand, and she fell over backward and lay,
trembling in the cool grass.
It was lucky that Chuck and Ann took their time about getting
up off the mat. Darla's legs were like water as she tried to get
to her feet, and they barely supported her as she slipped through
the shadows back to the house. By the time she reached the French
windows of her room, and entered, little streams of fluid were
running down both thighs, tickling the sensitive skin.
She rushed into her shower and bathed quickly, ending up with
a cold needle-spray. It seemed to help calm her down.
But, lying in bed, afterward, she kept seeing the actions she
had witnessed, and before she realized it was happening, her hand
was again seeking the heated and swollen lips. When she found how
slippery and wet they had become from those recalled sights, she
gave up all hope of restraint, and worked herself through another
fevered climax, until she lay spent, panting for breath. Then she
had to shower all over again.
* * *
Recalling the shameful episode had affected her strongly,
Darla knew. She could feel the flow of her juices running down
the crevice of her crotch, and wetting her tense anus before it
added to the stains on the soiled linen. She twitched her hips
and moved upward to shake off the flies, again, and to try to
relieve the hot, tingling feeling around her genitals.
She fought back the sobs again, as she remembered how she had
spied on her parents that night. They were wonderful parents.
The mother who was so like her daughter in appearance, and
apparently in passion, and the handsome, virile, accomplished
father, who was so proud of his girls. She remembered how pleased
he was the other morning~was it only two days ago?
* * *
They had left the hotel and started to see the sights of
Marseilles. They intended to spend only two days there, until
Chuck could make contact with a French competitor whose firm he
considered buying to merge with his owes European company.
Darla and Ann were dressed exactly alike, in matching blouses
and miniskirts, even to the sexy little boots. Chuck walked
between them, and his pride in their beauty was evident to all who
looked, including the girls themselves.
Tired as they were when they returned to the hotel, they were
laughing and full of enjoyment from the novelty of the visit.
Tommy had awakened from a nap in his room, and had joined them for
a few minutes before going off on his own to look up a friend who
had been an exchange student at his school.
Then Chuck and Ann flaked out in their room, and Darla rested
for a short while. But she became restless, and decided to take a
walk in the little park she could see from her window. She left a
note on her table, and headed for the cool-looking greenery.
Looking back, she cursed herself for the hundredth time for
her foolhardiness.
Walking through the park, which turned out to be quite small,
shabby, and very dusty, when she once was inside it, she had seen
a curious little shop across the boulevard, and had walked over to
window shop.
Later, when she realized that she had waled several blocks
down the street, and was entering a rather disreputable-looking
neighborhood, she turned and crossed the boulevard and started
back to the hotel.
When the car first pulled up beside her, she thought it was a
taxi, and leaned down to the window, telling the driver she didn't
need him, but thanks just the same. She realized that her French
was quite good. As her head lowered to look into the window of
the vehicle, the back door opened, and she was pulled into the car
before she could make a sound. Then it was too late.
Something soft was pushed against her face, then she choked
on acrid fumes. Trying to hold her breath was useless, for her
captor had arms of steel, and she couldn't fight away to get a
breath of pure air. The fog closed over her, and she knew nothing
else until she awakened in the dirty bed, roped into submission,
and gagged on a handkerchief from her own purse. Her head hurt,
and her ears were ringing strangely.
The sun had gone down, but a dim bulb burned in a ceiling
fixture, and she could finally focus her eyes well enough to see
two people in the room with her.
The woman who sat on the bed beside her could have been any
age from sixteen to thirty-six. The impression given by her too-
plentiful makeup and frowzy dress was one of coarseness. Darla
had the thought that this could be a very young girl who had lived
a very hard and fast life. Her black hair was done up in Spanish
style, with a cheap comb which was studded with phony gems. The
gaudy and equally phony ring on one finger was turning the skin
brassy green, and under the hand with the ring, a knee showed
whitely where a neglected run had opened a black stocking.
The man who had just entered the room was now leaning against
the chipped paint of the door. He was maybe an inch taller than
Darla's five-eight, and he looked wiry, but not too thin. Darla's
first impression was that he could be one of the apache dancers of
the cabarets. His olive complexion was complemented by the black
curls at the front of his brow. He had a gypsy air about him,
more pronounced as he flashed white teeth at Darla. He addressed
her in French.
"I see you're awake, Miss Fleming. I hope you are not too
uncomfortable." His smile seemed more to mock her than to put her
at ease. She tried to speak, but the gag prevented any
significant sound from passing her lips, and no one made a move to
withdraw it.
"Just as soon as your father delivers a package to a
specified place, you will be released near your hotel. Until
then, I am very much afraid that your discomfort is necessary to
our plans."
She struggled at her bonds, and tried again to speak. Her
eyes were wild with her attempts to communicate. She had to tell
them what they couldn't know, before this went on any longer.
Charles Fleming was quite an individualist. He was a man who
acted with the courage of his convictions. And if Darla had heard
him once state his attitude on kidnapping, she must have heard it
a dozen times. Charles Eldon Fleming II knew his vulnerabilities
as a man of wealth who received more publicity than he desired.
He took many precautions to lessen the opportunities for those who
might wish to victimize him. Darla and Tommy had been very
closely supervised and guarded, especially in their earlier years.
Few temptations and no opportunities were offered to would-be
kidnappers.
But Flaming was adamant on one facet of this particular
crime. He believed that only a fool would comply with a ransom
request. It just was not practical for a kidnapper to operate so
that the person kidnapped could not recognize him. Inevitably,
the criminal would have to consider the possibility of
identification and pursuit. So, once he proved that he had the
missing victim captive, he would be Likely to kill such a witness
without further ado.
If he didn't do it then, he would never do it. At any rate,
no guarantee ever existed that a kidnap victim would survive after
the ransom was paid. Fleming believed that the only course was to
play cat and mouse with the extortionists, calling in the FBI and
the police at the start, and with no intention of ever paying off.
Right or wrong, Darla knew he wouldn't give in now. His
pride as an American was also at stake, here. He wouldn't let any
non-American sucker him, no matter what.
Darla continued her struggle to communicate this to her
captors. But they ignored her efforts
"My friend still return within the hour. If he brings the
money, you are as good as returned to your family. Now, we will
go and get something to eat. Come, Yvette."
They had left her alone, then returned a few minutes later
and offered her food. When her gag was removed, she drank a
little of the wine they gave her, to moisten her mouth so she
could talk.
They laughed at her when she told them what her father's
attitude was on kidnapping. They insisted that his talk about the
subject would change, now that he was faced with the actuality,
rather than the theory. No amount of persuasion could convince
them otherwise. Darla was so shaken that she could not eat. They
let her relieve herself, Yvette standing in the small bathroom
with her, then they tied her to the bed again.
That had been Wednesday, the day they abducted her.
Thursday she remembered with shudders. Thursday she would
always remember! Wednesday night had been unpleasant, especially
after the third member of the group returned empty-handed. There
had been much loud discussion, most of it arguing, all of it in
French. She could hear a little of it through the thin wall, and
interpret most of what she heard.
She knew when they had decided to wait until morning before
making the next demand. Things had quieted down, and the gypsy-
type had stuck his head in the door to give her the word.
"Your foolish father has refused to cooperate so far, just as
you predicted. But I believe that tomorrow he will meet our
demands, just as I predicted. You see, we are going to send him
some pictures of you which should make him wish to end your visit
with us. Good night, mademoiselle."
Thursday, though, her real misery had started. It was after
she had eaten two croissants, and had drunk a cup of surprisingly
good cocked better than the hotel served.
The gypsy-type came into her room, sipping at a cup of the
same brew. He watched her as she finished her last bite of
croissant, and then he Spoke to her as he lit a cigarette.
"Today will not be a good day for you, Mademoiselle Darla.
It will not be a day you will wish to remember. But that is life,
of course. One has those days.
"While you were unconscious from the anesthetic, we
discovered the curious fact of your virginity. No need to blush;
it was Yvette who made the inspection for us. But you will have
less privacy from your hosts in the nest hours. I suggest that
you rest while you can. It is your father who angers me, and I do
not wish this to be more difficult for you than necessary."
As if on command, Yvette removed the breakfast tray from the
decrepit dressing table beside the bed, and went out through the
doorway to the other room. When she returned, she removed Darla's
clothes all of them. Protest was useless, she knew, so she saved
her strength, waiting for what she feared would follow.
The man looked at her appraisingly, and she felt defiled by
his inspection. His gaze dwelled overly long on her full, ripe
breasts and again on her curly, blonde triangle. "I think that I
shall have to sample such a tasty treat before she is spoiled for
all time. His dark eves gleamed greedily, and he met her shocked
gaze with insolence.
"It is only just that I drive some pleasure for the trouble I
must endure. Is it not so?"
She shuddered, and jumped into the bed, pulling the dirty
linen sheet over her, as he laughed shortly, still watching her,
letting his eyes appreciate the soft curves under the stained
sheet.
Yvette sat on the edge of the bed and watched her, as he left
the room. Darla's eyes strained to see an avenue of escape. The
window was barred, and she knew it was on the second floor. When
she had returned from the bathroom, she had seen that the street
below was not busy. She could only spot one pedestrian, a man who
fumbled with his fly as he entered the pissoir on the sidewalk.
Maybe they were only threatening her, anyhow. Trying to get
her scared so they could make her tell her father something on the
phone, or write him a note. After all, would they really dare to
rape a tourist, one whose family had wealth enough to expend
thousands of dollars in vengefully tracking down such criminals?
While lying there, trying to decide whether to make a wild
dash for the window, she fell asleep. And when she was awakened,
it was too late.
Yes, she would remember Thursday. Her eyes opened, and she
saw that Yvette was gone. The gypsy-type was sitting on the edge
of the bed beside her. It had been his hand on her breast which
brought her out of her sleep. At the foot of the bed was another
man. He was huge, and very black. A Moroccan, probably. He
stood with his arms folded, hands clasped to upper arms. He was a
little taller than her father, and must have weighed well over two
hundred pounds.
But his face was not as frightening as the gypsy-type's
leering countenance. The black seemed not to enjoy his position,
even when the other man suddenly whipped back the sheet and
exposed her ripe body to view.
"You may have much more meat, Le Boeuf, but this is one of a
fine quality, is it not? Mignon, eh?" He chuckled to himself,
then ran a cool, moist hand over her belly. She shivered.
They were actually going to do it, she realized. And she
could never get to the window, now. Then her wrists and ankles
were being tied, again. She struggled fiercely, now, but it was
too little and too late. The Moroccan was helping, and soon she
was spread-eagled once more, this time with her clothes gone.
Then she felt the cool hands on her thighs, moving over the
soft skin, tracing upward across her belly, until they reached the
full, ripe mounds of her breasts. The hands clutched, one on each
proud hemisphere, and she felt a sharp pain as something tiny
pricked her.
"Give me your cigarette, Gerault," said the Moroccan. "It
will not help to burn her with your ashes."
So that's what felt like a needle; a spark from his
cigarette. She felt the hand leave her left breast, then return.
The Moroccan's footsteps had neared that side of the bed and
retreated, as he took the butt from the gypsy. Is his name
Gerald? It's so hard to tell French names just from hearing them.
A tremor ran through her as he put his lips on her right
breast, nibbling the peak with tantalizing slowness. She felt the
nipple distend as it betrayed her, and then his lips were around
it, and his tongue was tattooing its spongy fullness. She writhed
under him, and he chuckled with his mouth full of her breast.
He toyed with her nipples until her breasts ached, and her
teeth were clenched in a firm refusal to show her emotional
involvement. Then he moved his mouth down her body, trailing his
tongue across the sensitive nerve-ends of her belly, dipping it
into her navel and swirling it around the touchy dimple. She
arched away from his kiss, but the bed springs were too weak and
the mattress too matted to provide any significant distance
between them. His avid tongue followed her no matter where she
moved.
When his mouth was nibbling its way through the blonde forest
of her loins. She gasped as his lips nibbled at the edge of the
golden jungle, then his tongue found her open slit, and her ankles
were secured too far apart to give her knees the freedom they had
to have if she were to try to close her thighs to him. He was
enjoying his feast. Little moaning sounds slipped past his busy
lips as they worked at the pink, moist meat of her vulva. She
finally could hold back her tension no longer, and a loud gasp
escaped her just as he found her tightening bud with his searching
tongue.
Her body arched again upward this time. Her need had been so
emphasized by his expert mouth that she reached out for
fulfillment. His head was buried in her loins, and she could
hear the moist workings of his lips and tongue
He's eating my cunt! Oh, God! It feels wonderful! She
couldn't control her thoughts any more than she could control the
thrusting of her hips, the shuddering tremors that ran through her
body. His lips and tongue are driving me out of my mind!
She felt her hips wiggling from side to side, getting the
very most from his hungry mouth, then she was trembling in every
part of her body, and she knew she was reaching her pinnacle of
passion. Her memory came back to haunt her, like the vision of
guilt that it was in her mind, and she saw her parents on the mat
at the pool side.
Suddenly she was her mother, and as Ann's demands had
triggered her, so Darla's were now controlling her every
sensation. I'm creaming all over the place, and he's drinking it
like wine! She felt her last barrier crumble, and she moaned at
him, then yelled.
"Oh, Daddy! Drink me! Drink me dry!" Then her mind closed
as a pink cloudy mist surrounded her, and she felt herself
falling, floating downward, endlessly.
She opened her eyes to look into Gerault's face. He was
standing beside the bed, and he was now naked. His hard tool was
standing rigidly out from his belly, and the wiry black curls at
its base seemed coarser than the brown ringlets her father
sported. She was afraid, really afraid for the first time, she
knew. He was going to pierce her maiden head, now!
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 2
The Moroccan was standing at the foot of the bed, and his
tongue was moistening his lips as he looked down on her golden
body with its two forests of golden hair and two mountains with
pink-capped peaks. A little trickle of saliva escaped his lips
and ran down his chin. He wiped at it with a giant hand, not
taking his eyes off the vision of beauty.
"Come on, Le Boeuf," said Gerault. "It's time for you to
open this lovely package!" She rolled her head on the pillow to
look at the smaller man. He was grinning in anticipation at
whatever was to follow. The Moroccan was naked to the waist when
she looked back at him. He was fumbling with his trousers, then
they fell down, taking with them the man's undershorts, if he had
been wearing any. For she saw with horror the hugeness and the
grandeur of the man as God had made him. She gasped in awe and
fright.
From the dark loins, where a heavy forest of hair was curled,
sprouted a fleshy appendage of mammoth proportions. She imagined
that brutal assault weapon at her vulnerable vagina and grew
faint. She had known pain when using a single finger to gratify
her own desires, and this was as big around as four fingers, and
God knew how long!
"You can't! My God! It'll kill me! I'm a virgin; you know
that."
Gerault laughed so hard that he bent over almost double.
"Show her, Yvette," he said, when he caught his breath.
Darla hadn't noticed the girl entering the room. Now she saw her
standing in the doorway, carrying an instant-copy camera by its
strap.
Yvette strolled calmly over to the foot of the bed where
Darla could see easily. Then she lifted a leg and placed it so
that the spiked heel of her shoe was against the upper rail of the
iron bedstead. Still lugging the camera, she used the other hand
to lift her skirt high, and Darla could see that the girl wore
nothing under it. The stretched thigh pulled at the surrounding
tissue, and the heavy lips of the girl's vulva were wide open,
showing the parted inner cleft and the vaginal opening. "Go
ahead, Le Boeuf," Gerault commanded. The Moroccan moved pivoting
on one foot, and laid the heavy, purple heed of his weapon against
the wet meat of the girl's opening. He shoved slowly, and Carla
watched in horrified fascination as the gigantic rod was engulfed
by the previously normal-appearing opening. But as the shaft
moved in deeper, Yvette grunted audibly, and her eyes grew large.
Her tongue slipped out to moisten suddenly dry lips.
Darla could tell that this girl, who obviously had been
stretched before by the same weapon she had shown no fright when
faced with it yet was affected by its size. If anything, the
demonstration had served to add to Darla's fear and horror.
Oh, God! I wanted a cock in me, but not one like that! I
think I'd rather stay a virgin forever! She tried to shrink back
into the bed, praying for it to swallow her up smother her to
death. Anything would be preferable to what threatened her now.
Then the Moroccan was kneeling on the bed between her legs.
His weapon looked even bigger, now, as it neared her. I wanted to
take a cock into my mouth, too. But that would make a meal for a
lion! Gerault had pulled the pillow from under her head, and now
he forced it under her hips, doubled, making them thrust upward
toward the black invader that was poised over her belly.
She was vaguely aware of Yvette moving nearer, aiming the
camera at the bed, then clicking the shutter. Thank God! Maybe
they only need the horror of a shot like this to shock Daddy Chuck
into changing his mind. But she knew, even as the thought came,
that she wasn't to get off that easily.
The tip of the hard shaft was lying in the cleft of her moist
canyon, and the black face hovered over her own as the Moroccan
leaned down to speak to her.
"I tell you this to help you, Mademoiselle Darla. It will
not be as difficult for you if you try to want me. Try to wish
this thing inside of you. Your body will not fight it as much,
and you will have less damage. Understand?" He looked into her
eyes, and she could tell that he was not in favor of causing her
pain. His brown eyes seemed to reflect a pain of his own.
"Oui, je comprend. Merci." She acknowledged with thanks.
Perhaps he could lessen the pain. Then it began. Oh, God! How
it began!
It felt as though she was being torn asunder in a hundred
different directions. They could have achieved the same feeling
with a hand grenade, she imagined. Then she realized she was
fighting it, and tried to reverse her muscles. It was impossible.
To get to the point where she could will the damned thing to be
inside her, she would first have to relax. My God, I can't relax
when I'm being torn apart!
Then the black hands were on her breasts, caressing them,
kneading the nipples to full erection, gently massaging their
sponginess between the dark fingers. She felt herself tingling,
becoming impassioned in spite of the pain, and then his hands were
squeezing both nipples firmly, and she started to moan her
involvement.
The burning sensation just inside the entrance to her tender
passage had not increased, but it was a constant reminder of the
camel which was straining to get through the eye of the needle.
She gasped her need for air, and gulped some into her lungs. Then
the kneading hands were replaced by the moistness of a hot mouth,
and she felt nipple, aureole, and a large part of the firm mound
itself being drawn into the hungry mouth.
She gasped at the sensation, and her throat opened to moan
her surprised delight. Then she felt the ripping-tearing-
spreading pain of the fleshy instrument which bore into her tender
depths
It's tearing my cunt apart! It's plunging right into my guts
like a giant knife. She almost couldn't bear the pain, but as she
started to pass out, she felt the delicious sensation of his
massaging lips and tongue on her breasts, and she tarried just a
second to savor the feeling. Then the pain in her depths
lessened, and she thought she might be able to stand it.
Until the pulsing started. The head of the big shaft was now
pressing snugly against her innermost defenses, and when it
swelled within her, stretching the tender passage in throbbing
pulses, she thought she was going to be sick. The hurtful spasms
brought her to the borderline of extreme nausea several Ames, and
then it began to feel almost good.
Her body was moving without her willing it to motion; the
suction of the hungry mouth on her breast and the pressure of the
black padded pelvis against her hard, wet bud carried her past the
pain of the gross invader's violation. Her hips thrust upward,
and she could feel the rope tension on her ankles as her heels
sank into the bed. The Moroccan began to stroke into her depths,
pulling the now slippery shaft almost out of its fleshy scabbard,
then sinking it again to the hilt. Darla could feel the hairy
luggage of the invader as it slapped with a wet smack against her
buttocks and crotch. The tingling tremors which were running
through her body carried her back once more to the night by the
swimming pool, and her passion tripped the memory banks as the
black flesh plunged into her.
"Fuck me deep, Daddy! Stick it in hard! My cunt's starved!
" She heard her own voice with surprise, and it shocked her, but
the intensity of her feelings was so great she couldn't control
herself. As it became even more intense, she heard herself cry
out again.
"Squirt it in me! Now! Ohhhh!" Then the roller coaster
took her up, up, clear to the top of an unbelievable peak, and as
she started to fall, she felt the pumping, squirting streams of
warm liquid splash into the tender walls of her being.
She fell a long way, and then floated softly in a fuzzy
cloud. When she opened her eyes, the Moroccan was leaning back
from her, and the black flesh of his rod was retreating from her
passage. As it came all the way out, she watched the purplish
head appear, trailing strings of white, sticky semen behind it.
The side of the dark sword were streaked with blood, and she
knew why as the burning sensation returned to her torn tissues.
Her breathing was a labored panting, and it seemed as if she'd
never get enough air. She gasped deeply, and felt her lungs start
to fill normally again.
The dark lance was bent, curving downward in a tired arc, the
purple head resting on the sheet in a little pool of liquid white
that gleamed in the morning sun which came in the barred window.
"Yvette! Make Le Boeuf ready again!" Gerault commanded.
The brunette had been doing something at the dresser. When
she moved away from it, Darla could see several curved photos
lying on top of the dirty wood. The girl came over to the bed and
kneeled on the edge, then leaned over Darla's thigh and placed her
mouth on the black shaft. With a sideways movement of her head,
she stroked the dark length, using lips and tongue, until the
dormant rod began to stir slightly.
When the purplish-red head lifted off the sheet, Yvette took
it into her mouth and began to rotate her head, working the fleshy
tip between her teeth, then snaking out her tongue to lash around
the coronal ridge, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. Darla,
hearing the wet sounds as Yvette sucked in the remnants of semen,
felt truly nauseous. Then the tongue slipped down and stroked the
side of the shaft again, cleaning off the streaks of white and red
from the dark skin.
Darla fought to keep from getting sick. She knew she would
get herself covered with it, and have to lie in it. She forced
herself to think of other things, but then she saw the great shaft
swell into its former size and hardness, and Yvette gave it a last
sucking tug, then slid off the bed.
Le Boeuf leaned over her, and the big meaty stick lay snugly
in the canyon formed by her swollen lips. His mouth again sought
her breasts, and soon she was inescapably caught up in her passion
once more. He was moving the hardness slowly against her
excitable surfaces while his hands and mouth worked at her
breasts.
She began to moan and move under him, as the burning
sensation was gradually dwarfed by the mounting feelings from
within. Then both hands were on her breasts, and the Moroccan's
mouth was pressed to hers.
As her lips opened to gasp, his tongue entered and plunged
around inside, teasing her lips and toying with her tongue, until
she could not remain passive Her pink tongue pushed out to fence
with his, and he drank deeply of her warm, sweet juices, then
sucked her hot tongue until she shivered in ecstasy.
He leaned away from her, and then the head of his lance was
at the opening of her torn passage. He thrust it inside slowly,
until it filled her chokingly. Then he resumed the long, heavy
strokes that drove her wild. His mouth moved over to her
shoulder, where he nibbled and sucked at the tender flesh.
There was a sinking of the bed near her head, and she peered
from passion-swollen eyes to see Gerault kneeling by her face. He
was as naked as Le Boeuf, and he held his own pallid member in his
hand. She watched as the blood~gorged head of the white tool came
toward her, then it was against her lips
"Take this! You watched Yvette. Now do the same!" He
pressed the meaty head between her lips before she could turn away
from it. Then it was in her mouth!
She almost gagged, but the things Le Boeuf was doing to her
had her in a passionate trance, and she closed her lips over the
hardsoft thing and soon found herself tonguing it in a rotation
which drew groans from Gerault's throat.
He pushed the shaft further into her mouth, until it touched
the back of her throat, then yelled to Yvette.
"Cut the ropes, Yvette! Quick!" In a few moments, Darla
felt her ankles and wrists freed, but instead of struggling, she
was amazed to find that her legs were wrapping around the
Moroccan, and that she had grasped Gerault's shaft with one hand,
and was using the other to massage his soft bag.
Then the movements grew swifter, as the dark invader below
and the white one above plunged into her deeply. She was thankful
for the free hand which encircled Gerault's tool, keeping it from
choking her completely. Then she trembled throughout her body,
and her hips arched upward, thrusting against the Moroccans drive,
and clinging around him with frantic leg tensions.
Her mouth began to move on the flesh it held, stroking it in
hungry grabs. As she felt herself soaring upward in
uncontrollable agony mixed with ecstasy, she felt the throbbing
pulsations of the meaty mouthful, and Gerault's grunting sounds
marked time with the spurts of his seed against her throat. She
swallowed heavily, and managed not to choke.
Then the Moroccan was moaning and humming his release, and
the pumping of his spurting liquid inside her passage marked the
end of her climb. She fell suddenly into utter darkness.
* * *
As she recalled the degradation of the Thursday morning orgy,
she felt more violated than she had when it occurred. She could
still feet the sticky strings of semen on her cheek, as though she
hod just now awakened from the faint which followed the assault.
That had been only yesterday. And most of that afternoon and
all of last night, she had slept, exhaustedly. Her young body was
mending itself, she knew. But the lack of food since that
shocking extent, and the shame she felt as she thought about those
photos being seen by her family, made her feel sick all offer.
She jerked to chase away the flies, again. Then the door
opened and Gerault and Yvette entered. They removed the gag from
her mouth and gypsy-type addressed her.
"You are going to join your family. If you promise to be
quiet and cooperate, we will not replace this handkerchief in your
mouth. Do you promise to do as you are told?"
Darla's mouth was too dry to speak, but she nodded. Yvette
brought her a drink of water from the bathroom, and she held the
first sip in her mouth a moment, then swallowed painfully. Soon
she was gulping down the entire glassful
They untied the ropes, and helped her up. She moved slowly
to the bathroom on wobbly legs, leaning on Yvette's arm all the
way. After relieving herself, she tried to clean up a little.
There was no washcloth, but she did the best she could. There was
a bidet in the room, and she managed to douche herself
satisfactorily, though the clear water burned in numerous areas,
as the protecting film of lubricant was rinsed away.
They blindfolded her, and led her off. She was helped into a
car, and heard the doors close. Then they were moving. The trip
seemed endless. Finally, she began to get frightened. Were they
really taking her somewhere to kill her?
"Where are we going? We've traveled long enough to drive
clear across Marseilles several times." There was a sob in her
voice. She put her hands over her face, out of habit, as she
started to cry under the blindfold.
"Do not worry, little cabbage. Your family is no longer at
the hotel where you left them. We are going to a different place,
and you will see them soon."
As one part of her mind absorbed this consolation, another
part worked on his phrasing. The term petite chou had seemed
ridiculous and alien in French literature. But these people
actually did use the term. Little cabbage! She felt more like a
used piece of meat!
She knew that Gerault sat on her left, and even if occasional
bumps in the bad road had not thrown her arm against Yvette's
breast, Darla would have known the brunette sat on her right, if
only from the odor. This woman was a living example of the legend
about the French use of perfume as a substitute for bathing. Yet,
it wasn't all legend, she knew. In the days when bathing was
considered detrimental to the health, even by the medical
profession, scents were developed to mask the strong body odors.
But there was no excuse for it in the twentieth century!
She realized with a little thrill that when her hands had
been pressed to her face, part of her blindfold had been shifted,
and a small slit of light was in her eyes. She hoped it hadn't
been noticed. Stealthily, she moved her head about, pretending to
relieve a stiff neck, adding to the effect by massaging it with
her hands as she turned it.
Suddenly she caught a glimpse of a road sign ahead. She
tried to memorize what she had seen, but they passed it very
quickly. Her mind worked at it, trying to be sure what she had
seen. Was it Salon 65 kilometers, Aix 32 kilometers? Or what was
the other name and figure? St. Martin something? She didn't
know. Maybe the little bit she thought she had seen might be of
value later.
She tried to get an occasional glimpse of the scenery,
looking for usable landmarks, thanking her special Providence that
the thin material was coarsely woven, enabling her to distinguish
quite a bit through its screening.
She could see that Le Boeuf, at the wheel, wore a chauffeur's
cap, and that a heavy tint in the door glasses probably prevented
anyone outside seeing into the car very well. It seamed to be an
old vehicle, but rather well cared for. It was some kind of
limousine, because there was a partition between the front and
back, although the glass had been rolled almost completely down.
Then she began to see people on bicycles, and an occasional
car coming from the opposite direction. Suddenly they were in a
small town; she saw something which almost made her gasp. She
stopped her reaction just before they would have heard her sharp
intake of breath.
There before her, definitely recognizable from a photograph
in Daddy Chuck's wartime album, was a building which had been
called, in 1945, Hall of the States. She could remember the signs
from the photo; signs which ran around the upper part of the
lower-floor facade, each with the name of a state. It had been a
sort of service club for troops in the area.
Her heart pounded with the recognition. She had figured out
that if she were blindfolded, it had to be because of some
advantage she would acquire by knowing the route they took. So
she had made some headway without their knowing it.
The big car took off on an oblique angle, down a street which
soon became another semi-improved road. They rode for several
miles before the car slowed, then turned up a lane between long
hedgerows, and approached a big stone farmhouse. They stopped in
front of the large door, and Le Boeuf got out and opened the back
door of the car. Gerault got out, and reached inside, taking
Darla's hand to guide her out.
Soon they were inside the building, and when the door closed,
Darla's blindfold was removed. She made a great fuss over
blinking and rubbing around her eyes, elaborating on her
deception.
Then she was taken to a door at the back of the house, and as
it opened, she saw steps leading down into a cellar. Gerault went
ahead of her, and Le Boeuf followed behind, as they descended the
wooden stairs. Gerault stopped at the bottom, and turned on a
switch. As the place filled with light, Darla's breath caught in
a gasping sob. The walls of the cellar were of the same heavy
stone as the rest of the farmhouse. Arid along two wells of the
dismal, dungeon are place, shackles were fastened to the stones
with huge iron rings. She saw the three figures shackled to the
cruel chains, and cried heartbrokenly as she ran toward them.
"Daddy Chuck!" she sobbed, throwing her arms about the
nearest prisoner. She looked up into his face, and his eyes were
fun of his mental agony. His face had a beaten look.
She left him in confusion and ran to her mother, who was
chained on the adjoining wall, hugging the limply hanging body,
which came tensely alive under her daughter's embrace. The two
sobbed in unison at their plight, then Darla reached over and
squeezed Tommy's hand above its manacled wrist, right next to
Ann's position on the wall.
Darla whirled to their captors with the fire of anger in her
blue eyes. She almost spit out her words at them.
"What do you madmen think you're doing! You'll never get any
money this way!" She was so full of her hate that she couldn't
say another word, but just stood there, seething. She didn't even
realize that she had spoken to them in English, until Gerault
answered.
"You have been treated with more gentleness than we
ordinarily use, because you have spoken to us in the language of
our country. Now, it seems, you have reverted to the Ugly
American, which makes it easier for us to proceed with out next
move.
"You see, your greedy father would not part with money, even
after he saw the pictures of your little adventure. Now, we shall
at least have some entertainment for our troubles. Le Boeuf!
Chain her!" She felt the huge hands as they grasped her wrists,
and she was taken to the wall and shackled next to her father.
Then their captors went up the steps, turning out the light, and
left them alone to their misery.
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.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 4
Ann Fleming had steeled herself to meet almost any kind of
abuse she could imagine. What she had seen in the photos
delivered to the hotel convinced her that she could expect sexual
assaults from either Gerault, Le Boeuf, or both. She had not seen
the photos taken just a few minutes before, in this room, nor had
there been any opportunity to learn what Chuck and Darla had
undergone while upstairs.
She didn't really want to know. She could imagine all too
easily the further rape of her look-alike daughter by these
Frenchmen. And she didn't like to think of that sleazy, smelly
Yvette toying with Chuck's equipment, either. She didn't like the
thought of those family jewels, which had given her so many
pleasurable delights, in the garbage-like vault of that French
whore!
Nor did she care to picture her son's defilement by the
woman. Yet, she knew it must be intended. Just as she fully
expected to be invaded by the Frenchmen who now ushered her into
the bedroom.
"Take off all your clothing!" Gerault ordered them.
Ann almost protested against their forcing both the mother
and the son to disrobe in the same room. But she remembered the
threats issued downstairs, and decided to hold her tongue. As she
removed her clothes, she detected the faint smell of semen in the
room. A little shudder ran through her. That smell was always an
aphrodisiac trigger for her. Even now, under these agonizing
circumstances, it got to her.
She felt their eyes on her, and knew they were admiring her
ripe body, which had retained its lushness with scarcely an added
wrinkle or ounce of fat, since Tommy's birth. She was thinking of
Tommy, and of the delight she'd experienced when he nursed on her
milk-laden breasts as an infant. Now, as he undressed in her
presence with obvious embarrassment she noticed that he was very
much the virile young man. In recent years, since he'd struggled
through the first stages of puberty, she hadn't seen him without
at least a pair of shorts or bathing trunks. he certainly was not
her "Little boy" any more. In fact,she colored blushingly when
he inadvertently looked her way.
She stood there, vulnerable in her nudity try, and felt the
quick touch of his gaze on her body. It made her feel more
exposed to be seen by her own son than by these depraved strangers
who were their captors.
Tommy was blushing, too. The sight of his mother's unclothed
body affected him strangely. Mothers were supposed to be
different from other women. He realized that they had the same
basic equipment, but somehow it seemed indecent that this woman
who had given birth to him and cared for him all these years,
should have the ripe, exciting figure of a girl many years younger
than her 39 winters.
Those full, firm-looking globes that he knew he had nursed as
a baby showed almost no tendency to sag, and the sleek lines of
her hips, swelling out from that tiny waist, were all too much
like those of a pinup girl in one of the men's magazines. He kept
his eyes completely averted, after that one accidental glance, but
the femaleness of that golden-tanned body and the bright blonde
triangle which decorated the juncture of thighs and belly,
remained as an image burned on his brain.
"Okay!" said Gerault, startling them both with the
suddenness of his voice in the embarrassed silence of the room.
"Get in the bed! Quickly!" Ann moved slowly backward until her
legs bumped the edge of the bed, then sat down.
"I am going to tell you what I told Mr. Fleming. Then I
shall expect complete cooperation from both of you: Mr. Fleming
has refused to pay us when his daughter's safety depended upon it.
I am convinced that he will pay to protect the reputation of every
member of his family. Pride can be a strange thing.
"Therefore, we will take pictures of all of you pictures
which he will be anxious to destroy, before they can be seen by
others. If he then pays us what we ask, we will let him destroy
the pictures. You see, this is the only way we have of dealing
with a man of his stubborn convictions.
"Now, we have wasted enough time with this family. So, from
here on, you will do exactement as you are told, quickly, and
without hesitation. If you do not, there will be pain. Your
daughter, Mrs. Fleming, already bears a painful proof of what I
tell you. It is up to you if you also receive much pain. So! We
waste not another minute! Into bed, both of you!"
Ann drew up her legs, keeping them chastely together, and lay
out full length on the bed. Tommy crawled in beside her, keeping
to the other side of the bed. There were several inches of space
between them.
"Now, you Tom-mee, is it not. you will place your left hand
on her hip. Quickly!" Tommy's hand reached out, and he had to
turn his body toward her to stretch the distance. Ann, out of the
corners of her eyes, saw that he would have to slide his hand and
wrist across the area of her womanly triangle to obey the command,
so she rolled over toward him on her side, moving the forbidden
forest out of the danger zone. When his hand touched the warm
flesh of her hip, she gasped involuntarily. The ends of his
fingers were lightly resting on the sensitive skin of her buttock
a tingle went through her at the contact.
"Now, your mouth on her breast!" commanded Gerault.
Tommy hesitated a fraction of a second, then saw the
Frenchman moving closer to Ann's side of the bed. He was blowing
on the tip of a lit cit,arette, and there was an evil joyful light
in his eyes. Had Gerault been moving toward him, Tommy was sure
he would have refused to obey. But he knew it was his mother who
would pay for it. And Gerualt seemed to want an excuse to display
his sadism.
Quickly, Tommy moved closer, until his head was at the level
of her breasts. He touched the side of the pale golden hillock
with his lips, and Gerault stopped the advance of the glowing
cigarette.
"Movement!" ordered Gerualt. "Use your lips and tongue; stir
up the n pple! We must have convincing photogrophaphs."
Tommy's lips parted, and he traced a light trail up the side
of the tender globe to the irregularly textured surface at its
peak. He felt a thrill as the softness touched the tip of his
tongue.
Ann was struggling to control her outlaw sexuality, but the
warm damp lips and tongue were too much for her. She felt the
blossoming of nipple as it rose between the caressing lips,and
her lungs filled with a gasp of air that almost whistled through
her teeth.
- Tommy felt the tender morsel spring into his mouth, and
then the hidden memories of his infancy combined with the strong,
urgent cravings of his virile young body, and he sucked at the
springy tidbit, then teased it with lips and tongue. The thrill
of such a forbidden act struck him unexpectedly. His defenses
were not equal to the power of his cravmgs.
He worked hungrily at the tender meal, and the moaning of his
mother's voice was a strange sound in his ears. Then her hands
were grasping his head, moving him away from his exciting feast.
He was panting as she guided his mouth to her other warm
hemisphere, and the damp heat of his passionate exhalations
stirred the nipple of this other globe to early blossom.
His lips seized it eagerly, and he sucked at its softness,
stretching it from its first budding into a swollen sponge. Ann
moaned loudly as the action stirred her to the core.
"Take his cock in your hand!" commanded the Frenchman, and
Ann reached under Tommy's arm and sought the flesh of his manhood.
As she reached, she had to roll slightly away from him with her
hips, to make room for her exploring hand and arm, so that just as
she grasped his excitedly stiffening rod, the hand he had placed
on her hip was trailed across the front of her upper thigh and
then halted in the blonde forest of her loins.
She felt him swell in her hand as he thrilled to the feel of
her heated flesh under his fingers. Then she whimpered as she
spread her thighs, and the swelling outer lips of her womanhood
parted, capturing his fingertips in the damp heat of her fleshy
canyon.
Tommy's pulse raced as he felt the hot lips under his
fingers, and the wetness he encountered was an invitation to
explore. His hand shifted as he sought out the uppermost cleft,
then gently massaged the fleshy protrusion hidden there.
It was infinitely more exciting than previous experiences
he'd had most of them in the drive-in movie at home. This seemed
so much more serious so mature. Even as he felt the guilt of its
wrongness, his passion increased. The hand which was closed over
his pulsing hardness had started to move, and the friction was
driving him wild.
"Now! Get above her, and put your cock inside her!" came
the order.
He tried to move, but his knees were like jelly, and it took
him quite a while to get up on all fours and position himself
above her. Ann had started to spread her legs wider in
anticipation, but suddenly she rebelled. A belated surge of
conscience made her close her thighs to her son as he hovered
above her. Then the pain struck!
Gerault's lighted cigarette pressed against her cheek, and he
ground it against the tender flesh. She shrieked as the pain
spread over her face, the tears rolled down onto the bed in
streams. Tommy started to clamber up out of his position, ready
to attack the sadist in anger. His stiffened member lost its
rigidity, and his excitement cooled as if he'd been thrust into a
tub of ice water.
The Frenchman watched him start to spring from the bed, then
cut short any ideas about revenge.
"You will not help your mother by being troublesome. Au
contraire! Every move you make against us everything you do to
delay our little circus will cost her another painful burn. You
do not want that beautiful face destroyed, do you?"
Tommy settled back onto the bed, defected. He was half-
kneeling, half-squatting, and his eyes were dark with his
frustrated ed anger. But Gerault laughed at him, then spoke to
Ann.
"The same is true with you. You have felt the taste of my
displeasure. After this, when it is you who fails to cooperate,
your son will suffer the pain. Now! You will both begin once
more! At the point where you stopped! Quickly!"
Tommy looked down at himself, and both Ann and the Frenchman
followed his gaze. It was obvious that he was in no condition to
penetrate anything. Ann's heart went out to him. Even his virile
father had suffered temporary impotency when lesser disturbances
had interrupted his boudoir athletics. But Gerault was laughing
at him.
"We will fix that. Yvette! See if you can't wake up the
young man's sleeping beauty with your clever mouth!" The slattern
moved toward the bed, dropping her cnrnera atop the pile of
clothes on a chair.
"No!" Ann shouted. "I won't have her touch him! If it must
be done, I will do it myself!" As Yvette stopped in her tracks,
and the satanic Frenchman grinned his enjoyment of the maneuver,
Ann reversed her position hurriedly, crawling toward the foot of
the bed where her son still remained in his squatting-kneeling
position.
She placed a hand on his thigh as she neared her goal, and
gave it a loving squeeze. She spoke to him in a low voice, not
looking up at his face, as if trying to avoid any further
emotional pressures.
"Close your eyes, and think of nothing but the moment. Try
to let your body function as it will, and enjoy what has to
happen. It is the only way we will prevent further misery."
With no more hesitation than it took to get out the few
words, she bent over him. As her lips touched him, high up on his
inner thigh, he felt a thrilling tingle of contact. Then her
tongue was snaking out, trailing up across the curly thatch of his
groin, then down to the base of his limp penis.
She took the flaccid shaft in her mouth, right at the base of
its connection to his torso, holding it briefly in her teeth, as a
dog would grasp a bone. She gently shook her head, worrying the
reluctant warrior in her mouth. Then her teeth relaxed their
grip, and she slid her lips and tongue out toward the tip, noting
the surprising length of this unarmed cannon.
He's just like his father, she thought. Every inch a man,
and plenty of inches! Even when he's not ready for action! It
feels so good in my mouth. Even Chuck doesn't know how much I
really like to have his big cock in my mouth! He'd probably be
shocked. I believe he thinks that I do this for him just to
please him, but I can get creamed over the feel and taste of his
cock quicker than any other way. I love it when he Sucks me with
it, but it's so much more exciting to have that hot, sof t-hard
flesh in my mouth! Oh, Chuck! Your cock excites me so!
As she gradually managed, by association, to convince herself
that it was her mate, and not her son, whose stiffening flesh she
was having with her lips and tongue, she felt her legs being moved
by Tommy's firm, young hands. What a wonderful mother! Tommy was
thinking. To keep me from being contaminated by that filthy,
syphilitic whore, she's taking my cock in, her sweet mouth. And,
God help me! I like it. It's driving me wild! I've got to do it
for her, too, to help her try to get some relief from this, and
keep her from worrying about what we're being forced to do.
He grasped her kneeling legs, and moved them out from under
her, almost making her lose her oral grasp on him. Then he rolled
her over, changing his position until he was poised with his mouth
over her blonde-feathered loins. He moved her thighs apart, and
watched as her fleshy nether lips swollen from the blood they had
engorged during the earlier excitement parted to reveal the
delightful pinkness of her most private area.
The faint, pissy muskiness of her rose to his nostrils, and
he was surprised to fi~d that the scent excited him. He touched
his tongue to the swollen lips, stroking them as they darkened
with the in creasing re-engorgement of blood. Suddenly they were
beginning to be more wet, and the lubricious flow of her passion
seemed to replace the moisture as fast as he could lick it up.
She was making little, whimpering, mewing sounds from around
the swollen shaft of flesh that filled her mouth, and her breath,
which had to come from her nostrils while her mouth was filled,
felt hot on Tommy's hairy sac, which lay on her face. It aroused
him to new levels of excitement, and he feasted hungrily but
tenderly on the wet, magenta flesh of her opened blossom.
Her hips were rotating slowly beneath his head, with an
occasional gentle thrust upward, making his tongue and lips press
frequently at the erectly swollen bud of her sensitivity. He
grasped the fleshy protrusion with his lips, reveling in its
unbelievable soft surface and tender hardness from within. His
nose was dipping into the wet, flowing entrance of her passage.
Who would have thought a woman's cunt would be so delicious!
he marveled. It's so damned excitingly female, open like that,
and helpless. I can plunder it all I want. He was lost in the
depth of his passionate experience, and the body he assaulted so
eagerly was now just an exciting female body.
Ann's juices were so stirred up first by her oral
satisfaction, then by the thoroughness of the attentions being
given her heated nether flesh that she was lost in the deep
twilight that precedes a woman's complete fulfillment.
Finally, her flowing loins were so swollen with her driving
pulse that she let the huge penis slip from her lips as it pulled
back in one of the pumping strokes which had been thrusting into
her mouth, and cried out in her aching passion.
"Drink me! Oh-h-h! Drink me all up! Eat me good! Oh-h-h!"
The mouth worked faster, trying to remove the lubricious
cream of her overflow as fast as it could appear. The excitement
was too much for him, and his penis-now rubbing against the lips
and chin below it, started to leak its first drops from the safety
valve.
Ann felt the first hot, damp drops on her neck and breasts,
and she grabbed the pulsing shaft and forced it back into her
mouth. As it pumped its spurting gobs of semen, she swallowed it,
and continued to suck and swallow,whilemilking the rear of the
long rod with the hand whih grasped it.
Tommy was moaning into the hot, musky wetness of the blossom
in which he feasted, until he felt as though his very soul was
being sucked from his body. Then he gave a loud groan, and rolled
from his position, falling exhaustedly onto the bed on his face.
Ann, who had reached the second of her complete orgasms, lay
there, as spent as Tommy. She felt Tommy's hand gently pat her
thigh, and realized that it was not the aftermath love pat of a
satisfied male, so much as a consoling gesture from son to mother.
She was also aware of the final shutter click as Yvette filmed the
evidence of their collapse.
She realized that her legs were wide open, and her wet nest
felt cool in the slight breeze which lead begun to flow in through
the bedroom window. She wondered vaguely if this were the
beginning of one of the windstorms her husband had described.
What was it they called it a mistral? Yes, and she'd wondered if
the name first belonged to the winds, or the famous poet laureate
of Provencal.
"Okay. Now you may use the bathroom. You first, Mrs.
Fleming."
Ann rose from the bed and allowed Yvette to lead her down the
hall to the bathroom. She spotted the bidet, and headed for it.
In seconds, she was feeling the vast relief which accompanies the
emptying of an overloaded bladder. Then she was cooling her
tingling genitals with the water from the bidet.
When she had squeegeed off all the excess water she could
there were no towels in evidence she turned to the open door where
Yvette had stood, observing her. Then she was herded back down
the hall to the bedroom.
Yvette motioned with her head, and Tommy followed her sign,
leaving the others to be guided to the bathroom. He tried to shut
the door, but Yvette prevented him, waving the silenced pistol at
his belly.
"I am to keep you under watch at all times," she said.
"Certainly a handsome man like you need not be ashamed to be seen
by a woman. You should be proud of that beautiful thing you wear
between your legs. I think I will ask Gerault if I can have some
of it."
He blushed, but stood there, trying to relieve his bladder as
she watched. He found that he had to concentrate, but finally his
desperate physical need overcame his psychological block, and he
urinated a heavy stream into the porcelain commode.
Yvette watched as he shook off the last drops, then as he
turned to look for the lavatory to wash his hands she lifted her
skirt with her free hand, keeping the pistol trained on him. As
she grabbed it up past her thighs and held it against her belly,
he saw the black hair of her mounded pubis and the slightly
distended outer lips, a wet gleam of dark red flesh. As he
watched, the lips winked at him, and Yvette chuckled lustily.
"See what a nice kiss it makes for you?" she asked. "Would
it not be nice to have it kiss like that on the end of your so
beautiful cock?" She continued to laugh as he washed his hands
and shook them to dry them, then herded him back to the others.
"Well. The hero of our little drama is back. Now we can
proceed." Gerault was relishing every moment of his domination
over them.
"You did not yet complete the orders I gave you. It seems
that you were both so hungry for soixante-neuf that you could not
stop to do a little fucking for the camera. Eh, bien! You have
just reversed the order in which we had planned to photograph you.
Now, we will continue with the other: du meme chose, ne c=B9est pas
He gestured them toward the bed, and they crawled onto the
crumpled bedclothes and lay there, waiting to see what was next.
"Madame, you have expended the young man's seed with your
hunger. Now you will make love to him a little, until he is ready
to enter you, and then you will take him inside you for our final
pictures." As he finished speaking, Gerault blew warr=9Eingly on
the glowing tip of a freshly lit cigarette.
Ann turned to her son, reaching out to him, and his arms
opened to take her. There was fear and guilt and shame in their
eyes as their gazes met briefly. But there was something else.
This first opportunity to look into each other's eyes told them
both that they were sharing pleasure as well as pain and fear.
They embraced each other with a powerful need. The need to
drive away the feelings of guilt and shame, and to drown
themselves in the forced pleasure of their contact Neither knew
what the future held for them, after these forbidden activities,
but they knew that the quickest way to end things was to resolve
the problem at hand meet the requirements of the sadistic Gerault.
Their lips met, and for the first time in his life, Tommy was
not thinking like a son when he kissed his mother's lips. And Ann
could only compare it in reverse, as she recalled the time when at
fourteen, and full of the bursting forces of her blossoming
womanhood she had kissed her father on the mouth, and knew that
she must never kiss him again, excepting on the cheek.
Now, her memory of that journey into puberty seemed to
stimulate her quiescent sexuality into fresh stirrings that
trembled through her rapidly heating body. She thrust her tongue
into Tommy's mouth, and he eagerly sucked at it, and caressed it
with his own tongue. In seconds, she felt the stiffening evidence
of his youthful virility rising steadily, its firm tip tracing a
path up her thighs until it pressed against the soft flesh of her
lower belly.
His hands were caressing her body, now. His fingers traced
pencils of heat over her back and hips. Then he was clutching the
firm cheeks of her buttocks, massaging them tenderly to the tempo
of his increasing passion.
She moved her hips until his hardened flesh pressed her just
where she wanted it, then made tiny movements which kept up a
constant massage of her needy spot.
They were gasping for air, now, and their mouths separated.
He moved his head, kissing her pantingly on neck and shoulders,
then trying to kiss her swollen breasts. The shift of his body
removed the source of her greatest pleasure, but she waited,
giving him his feast at both breasts until the n pples were
achingly distended, and she was moaning from the results.
Then she pulled his head up to hers, and kissed him again.
As his head moved, his torso shifted, and the hot head of his tool
was pulsing against her belly. She opened her thighs, and slipped
her hips upward, then let them ride back downward with his wand
captively sandwiched between the dip nether lips which had grasped
it.
Once again, she started to move in short, gentle strokes,
making the captured flesh massage her own tiny wand. Their mouths
were tightly pressed together, their tongues thrusting and
searching.
As the momentum of her passion gained speed, she suddenly
sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, and his hands slid upward
to cup the firm globes of her breasts. Her hands went down to
grasp him, then she guided him into the spread petals of her wetly
open passage.
Then he was inside her, and pressing deeply into the
grasping, throbbing folds that seemed to pull him on, faster and
faster. Until he felt the fluttering touch of some wildly moving
thing inside her, nibbling delicately at the sensitive head of his
penis
My beautiful mother! he thought, from some subconscious area
that refused to trigger his passion-mad conscience. I'm Sucking
my own sweet, juicy mother! Oh, God! What's that inside her
that's grabbing my cock like that? I've got to get away from it.
It's driving me out of my mind!
He pulled backward to escape the maddening teasing of her
involuntarily grazing hold on him. Then he was thrusting, pumping,
in and out, as she rotated her buttocks beneath him. Then she
cried out in the throes of her heated excitement.
"Oh! Fuck me hard! Stick it in all the way! Oh-h-h-h-h!"
She writhed under him, and her mouth was tight, teeth close
together, lips barely parted. A hissing sound came from between
her teeth as she fought for air while her jaws were locked in
ecstasy.
Then she was trembling, and her body shook under him with the
depth of her climax. He had just probed to her innermost wall,
and the tiny hand-like grasping had him again! He felt the
fluttering over his sensitive nerve ends, then he lost control,
and his hot fluid poured into the fleshy folds of her pussy. He
groaned as the ecstatic feeling overwhelmed him, and then he lay
still, poised above her, weight resting on hands and knees, until
he could stop shaking enough to roll off to the side.
I came inside her. He was horrified for a moment,
remembering what he'd heard of the monstrous offspring which could
result from such inbreeding. My God! I shot my load into my
mother! Then he recalled the earlier discussion in the cellar,
and the pill that he had seen her take before they came up here.
Oh, God! I hope it works! Ah poor mother!
"You may use the bathroom again," said Gerault. Tommy was
glad he could wait until his mother was through. He felt as if
his bones had turned to rubber. Yvette was coating the surfaces
of her last few pictures with the preservative which fixed them
permanently, so Gerault guarded Ann as she went down the hall.
She waited for him to leave the room, but he stood there, grinning
at her.
She sighed in resignation as she moved over the bidet and
squatted down. She busied herself flushing out the blobs and
strings of whitish semen her son had spurted into her. Then she
cleansed her entire genital area with the soothing water.
When she turned her head to see if Gerault was watching her,
she sucked in her breath as her lips met the tip of the
Frenchman's rigid member. He had stealthily moved up beside her
as she sat there, washing herself, and had levered his penis out
of his slacks, holding it right beside her cheek.
As her lips opened to gasp, he was ready, and the hard flesh
went into her mouth so far that his hairy belly, which peeped
through the open slot of his undershorts, pressed against her
nose. His hands were around her head, and he began pumping
himself into her mouth and throat, until she almost gagged.
then he withdrew it a little, and she grabbed the rear part
of the fleshy shaft to keep it from again going in so deeply. She
was wise enough not to resist his attentions, and began to work on
him, trying to finish the matter as quickly as possible.
But her rebel sexuality betrayed her, and soon she found
herself hungrily mouthing him and stroking his shaft with one
hand, while her other hand slipped into his shorts and kneaded his
hairy sac with gentle, but eager caresses.
He was groaning at the sensations she induced in him, and
soon he dug his fingers in her blonde tresses and cried out, as he
worked his hips to drive his meat into her mouth.
Then he was spewing his lust inside her, and it flowed down
her throat as she sucked the swollen tip so expertly that he
groaned and withdrew it. One last trickle was just seeping out,
and it made a sticky string that drooled across her lips and chin,
then hung wetly, dangling over her breasts.
She leaned over the bidet and turned on the water, then
rinsed off her face and stood up. Gerault was smiling as he
tucked himself back into his clothes. Then he waited as she went
to the lavatory and gargled with warm water. He laughed at her.
"It would seem that the juice of the Frenchman is not as
tasty as that of the American," he said. "But then perhaps it is
only that you are accustomed to the one taste more than the
other." He laughed again as they went back down the hall.
Ann dressed while Tommywas in the bathroom. When he had
returned and dressed, they were led out the stairway, and taken
back into the cellar.
Darla was looking anxiously at them as they were brought in,
but Fleming, from years of habit, was sleeping after his sexual
episode. As soon as the mother and son were shackled, Gerault and
Yvette came over and unlocked her cuffs. Then they unlocked
Fleming's, after which they shook him until he was awake.
"We will now finish our pictures of you two," he said. Then
perhaps we can all get some sleep, non?"
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 5
It was deathly quiet in the cellar after Fleming and Darla
were taken away for the second time. Tommy could hear his mother
breathing in long, sighing breaths, and he thought he could hear
the pounding of his own heart. But all else was quiet. He
thought about what he had just been through really, what his
mother had been forced to endure.
Like most well-brought-up young men, he idolized his mother,
and he found it impossible to believe that she had been involved
in the fantastic circus he had just left upstairs. It just
couldn't be! And now, Darla and their father were back up there,
being forced into still more shameful acts. When would it end?
Would they really be allowed to leave if the ransom were paid?
Then his mind shifted again, and he was trying to assess his
feelings during the recent episode. I knew it was my mother there
with met And yet I enjoyed it! I really wanted to taste her body
in my mouth I loved the smell of her cunt, and the taste of her
juice the feel of her heat pouring out of her body at me. My God!
What kind of madman am I, anyhow? I even loved it when I was
fucking her! The feel of her juicy cunt wrapped around me was
like nothing I've ever felt before. And what was that inside her
that nibbled on me? My God! Is there something wrong with her,
too? Could I really have seemed like a lover to her, or
something?
He was working himself up to a nervous tension that he had
never known before. The perspiration was gathered on his brow and
upper lip. He hadn't realized it, but he was panting with the
effort of thinking and searching in the recesses of his mind for
some answers. In short, he was frightened with the immensity of
what he knew had been a very terribly wrong thing. A thing in
which he'd been forced to participate, but which he had actually
enjoyed, once he'd started!
It was several minutes after his teeth started chattering
with his nervousness, and with the cold of the dank cellar, which
chilled him as his perspiration dried, that his mother spoke to
him. "Tommy! What's the matter? Are you ill?"
He was silent, except for his gasping and chattering Then he
bubbled over. All of his fears and guilts and shame all the
things that were threatening his sanity he poured out to her.
After all, for the greater part of his young life he'd turned to
her whenever he couldn't solve his own problems. He thought he'd
outgrown his need of her as a confessor and comforter. But he
could never have foreseen such events as this.
Ann heard him out. At times he was almost incoherent in his
eagerness to get everything off his chest, hoping that complete
confession would relieve him of his aching, bursting burden. But
she understood him all too well everything he said. When he
finally finished, running down like a record on a hand-wound
phonograph that needed another cranking to get it up to normal
speed, it was again silent in the old cellar. She thought a long
time before she spoke. She had to be sure that she said the right
thing. This could affect him for the rest of his life!
"Tommy, I may be able to answer you on everything, and I may
not. I'll try to do my best. You know that I love you very much,
and that I'll always love you. You know that, don't you?" She
waited until he pulled himself together sufficiently to answer.
"Of course. I've never doubted that!" he replied.
"Just keep that in the back of your mind, then, no matter
what else we discuss. Will you can you do that?"
"Yes. And mother? ... no matter what else I said ... I'll
always love you just as I have since I could remember."
"I know, Tommy. I knew that the moment you turned to me to
help you with all this that's bothering you so much." She almost
choked up on her emotions, then got a grip on herself, and
continued.
"Tommy, I'll have to talk to you awfully plain. I know that
your father, thank God, has brought you up with all the basic
sexual knowledge you need, but this mess we're in now is something
no one could be expected to foresee.
"You've taken enough of the basic elements of human
psychology to understand how closely we parallel the lower animals
in certain of our normal functions. What always seems so hard to
understand is that the entire package we call civilization all
the things we try to instill in ourselves, educate ourselves with,
as it were really is only a very thin coating which we manage to
keep pulled over the more basic, more deeply ingrained things
inside us.
"Of course, everyone is an individual, because he has his own
very special formula, which combines the things he has inherited,
the things he has learned, and the environment in which he is
brought up. There are other factors, too, but these affect us
most.
"Now, you won't find two men much farther apart as
individuals than your father and that Gerault." She used the
Frenchman's name as if it were the filthiest thing she could
utter.
"Chuck is a big, husky, he-man type, who pretends that he
doesn't have a good education sometimes, especially when he's with
those who really haven't. He talks as if he'd just as soon beat
you as look at you, sometimes. But you know as well as I do
almost as well, anyhow that he's really an old softy, and more
gentleman than anything else.
"Gerault, on the other hand, pretends to be a gentleman, uses
flowery speech to cover his crude thoughts and drives. He
pretends to be so very refined in all other ways, yet you know
when he tells you he'll do something very horrible that he means
it, for there seems to be nothing too foul or brutal for his mind
to dream up or his conscience to object to. "And yet, if those
two were facing each other in anything like an equal battle, I'd
bet on your father. Because underneath all of the veneer that we
see his personality that we know, his many fine characteristics
lies that basic that we do not know. I think he might very well
break the Frenchman in little pieces.
"Something like that can take place in any of us. No matter
what we are like all the rest of our lives, underneath we are,
after all, very basic creatures. Some of us have as many
surprising differences in our basic nature as we do in the side of
us which we show to the world everyday.
"Now, your father and I are both highly sexed individuals.
And I'm afraid that both you and Darla have inherited more than
your share of whatever genes may cause that trait. I can only say
that I am not surprised you are so much like your father. And
Darla is probably much more like me than I have wanted to believe.
"When we were forced into a situation such as this, Tommy, it
was inevitable that we burst out of our civilized wrappers and
exposed the depth of our sexualities. We were at those moments
just two human individuals who were unfortunate enough to be
placed in that very set of conditions.
"Sure, we could blame ourselves for breaking down, for giving
in to our baser natures. But what would it buy us? It's
happened. We couldn't undo it if we spent the rest of our lives
and all of our family's resources. So, the only thing to do is to
try to shove it into the back of our minds as far as it will go.
If we find that we have trouble living with it, we'll just have to
bring it out and discuss it again. But I hope we can think of it
as a very unfortunate but irrevocable part of our lives that we
need not think of, again.
"Before we do try to forget it, honey, it might be well to
get the last bit of value out of it. Let me tell you that if you
ever have one of those moments when you doubt yourself as a man,
for any reason, you can remember that your mother gave you top
honors.
"You're every bit the man your father is in all ways. You're
thoughtful, gentle, and very exciting to a woman. The girl who
gets you for keeps- and any others in the meantime will be very
lucky. I'll always be proud that you're my son, Tommy."
She was silent, and the cellar was full of her presence as it
had not been all the time she spoke. Tommy felt the magnetism of
this wonderful woman who was his mother, and almost not quite, but
almost he was glad that they had shared the rigors of this day.
It was a lot of female, and a lot of heart that he had the good
fortune to call mother. He wept quietly, unashamedly, for a
while. Then he spoke his gratitude.
"You're great, mother! I've known that for a long time, but
after today, I'm afraid that you're some kind of impossible
combination of saint and sweetheart that just might have spoiled
me for all the other women in the world. I only hope that I'm
lucky enough to get one just a little bit like you."
"Thank you, Tommy." She stopped for a moment, then thought
of something else. "It's a hell of a way for it to happen, but I
don't think we've ever been so close as right now. We've shared
the very worst moments of our lives together, and yet found joy in
them. Not many people can say that."
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 6
"L'eclairage, c'est ne pas suffisant pour la photographie,
maintenant," protested Yvette.
"what did she say?" Fleming asked his daughter. His French
had been limited, in the old days, to slowly spoken phrases of
simple vocabularies. Now he remembered very little of that.
"She says the lighting isn't good enough for taking pictures,
now." Darla hoped that this meant a reprieve. If further
photography was postponed until moming, maybe they could find some
way to escape in the night.
"We will use the parlor," decided Gerault, dashing Darla's
hopes for a delay. They were herded out of the bedroom, which
they had just entered before Yvette's protest, and soon found
themselves in a fairly large living room. The wall-to-wall
carpeting was old but good, and there were a few pieces of
furniture scattered around, none of which seemed to belong.
On the walls were a number of mirrors, which seemed to be
built into the structure, or cleverly affixed to seem very
permanent. In several places, the faint outlines of rectangular
shapes revealed where pictures had been hung.
The place gave the appearance of a house deserted by its
former occupants, then commandeered by Gerault and company as a
temporary headquarters. Darla wondered where the furniture had
been obtained, guessing that it might well have been stolen from
other homes in the area.
Fleming paid little attention to the details of the room. He
was just barely awake, and beginning to feel again the resentments
and discouragements which had bothered him since his capture, and
the guilt and shame he had experienced after the previous episode
with his daughter.
"Here, on the sofa," commanded Gerault. They moved toward
the huge sofa, which seemed to be rather new both in design and
manufacture. As they approached it, the Frenchman tugged at a
corner, and it opened out into a fair-sized bed.
"The clothes~quickly! " he ordered, and the father and
daughter sullenly removed their clothes again. This time they
piled them on a long coffee table nearby.
Yvette had opened the drapes which covered glass-paneled
doors leading onto a terrace. A poorly tended garden could be
seen through the dusty glass panels. It was on the side away from
the road, and the shrubbery hid the doorway from outsiders.
The light which entered the room seemed to be magnified by
the several mirrors, and it was considerably brighter than the
bedroom.
"Let me see; I think Monsieur Fleming will sit on the edge of
the bed ..." Fleming obliged. "... And Mademoiselle will sit on
his lap to begin." Darla obediently seated herself across her
father's legs. She could feel the warmth of him against her
thighs, and the fine covering of hair tingled where it touched her
skin.
"No. Not like that. Turn and face him, with a leg on either
side of him." Gerault was playing by ear, as if he were a
directive genius setting up a scene for the movie cameras.
Darla lifted a leg and swung it over and around, past
Fleming's head. He couldn't help but see the pink flash of her
spread vulva as her thighs separated so widely. That, and the way
her one breast bounced briefly after her knee had struck it during
the move, returned him to the illicitly excited plateau he had
reached earlier.
Darla, who had grasped her father by the shoulders to make
the shift, leaning back on his lap to clear his head with her leg,
had caught a glimpse of me soft, white penis which she had coveted
until today, and which she had possessed with her mouth less than
two hours ago. It made the same little thrills run through her
now, no matter how she had intended to control her reactions this
time.
While they had been in the cellar alone, she tried twice to
talk to him, hoping they could help each other in some way. She
felt that if she must continue to carry the burden of her
incestuous enjoyment all alone, she would crack up. But Fleming
had slept soundly, and she hadn't had the heart to make more than
a token attempt to wake him with her quiet words. Now, she was
more tensely strung than before. She was really up tight.
As she settled into the new pose Lion' Fleming automatically
put his hands on her h ps, helping her to balance on his lap. The
contact doubled the sensations which traveled between them with
Darla's hands on his shoulders. "Let us have some kissing, now,"
said Gerault.
As if hypnotized, they moved their heads together. In the
beginning it was a zombie-like maneuver, as they reacted to the
command, knowing the penalties for hesitation. But as their lips
met, both of them knew the defeat of their individual resolutions.
The damp warmth of their bodies conducted each tiny tic and
movement of every muscle. Even the slight tensions caused by
trying to stay balanced in their positions as they mo Led to kiss,
were amplified into caresses and meaningful movements, as the
animal lusts within each body interpreted the small contacts and
responded in kind.
Darla's moist lips parted, and she felt the hot tongue enter
between them and caress the inner sides of her lips. As she
sucked at the intruder hungrily, she felt the hard pressure of
Fleming's stiffening member as it rose under her, slapping meatily
against the tender sensitivities of her anus.
Her buttocks squeezed together in reflex, and they trapped
the head of the hard instrument between them. This further
excited the man, and he reacted by a muscular contraction which
made the rod pulse into life, increasing its size and hardness.
It was a vicious circle. The feel of the swelling penis
between her cheeks stirred Darla's inner juices, and they began to
seep from the parted outer lips of her fleshy blossom, warming and
dampening the base of her father's penis.
Something like a low growl emanated from Fleming's lips as he
tore them from hers, and then trailed a fiery thrill down her neck
to the peak of a breast. Her nipple erupted into a rigid erection
which popped into his mouth, and he sucked at it thirstily, as
though it could provide him with drink.
Darla's fleshy fountain was melting her juices all over his
thighs as she writhed under the treatment. Then she tilted her
hips and pulled back to release the rigid prisoner from her
buttocks, letting it slip forward to dip into the slippery trough
of her passion.
As it slid upward, between the swollen petals, gathering
juices as it moved, it became trapped where the upper extremes of
the lips were joined, and pressed tightly against her fleshy
nubbin. She gave a squeal of joy, and rubbed herself against the
newcomer with little wriggling movements.
Fleming's mouth switched to her other breast, and it
blossomed under his kiss, eager to be taken and sucked. Then
Darla whimpered her weakening defenses as the nether massage
culminated her lower tensions. She arched her back and pressed
harder against him, then shuddered a giant tremor, moaning as it
shook her. When she relaxed, Fleming felt her wet heat leave him
briefly then her hand reached down and grasped him tucking the
achingly engorged head of his member into her hungry flesh.
As he felt himself slip within the inner lips which encircled
her passage, his head was pulled from her breast, and drawn back
up to place their mouths together again.
The tender, wrinkled folds of her passage seemed to suck him
within her depths, and he thought he could feel every part of that
pulsating passage as it worked at him, drawing him farther inside.
She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth.
I'm swallowing him at both ends, she thought, exulting at the
sense of possession it gave her. His sweet tongue in my mouth,
and his wonderful cock in my hungry cant! I don't care what
happens after this Daddy Chuck is filling me from head to pussy,
and it feels so good I hope I die before it stops!
Fleming was less fortunate or unfortunate, as the case might
be. He was experiencing the miserable coincidence of having his
lusts and his conscious mind fully awakened at the same time. As
he felt the hungers of his strongly sexual nature seize him and
take control, he began to realize what was taking place, even more
vividly than he had at the earlier session in the bedroom.
A creature of habit, Fleming had been used to using the
period right after waking in the mornings, to lie and think about
the recent successes and failures in his business involvements,
and to plan the strategy for the day or days to come.
His mind, now fully awakening after the refreshing sleep in
the cellar, began to function so well that it spotlighted his
present involvement all too brightly. It was bad enough to be
forced into this, but to be unable to close off the conscious
mind to be forced to think on it~concentrate on it mercilessly as
it took place that was agony. Especially when it was so damned
enjoyable!
God! She's enjoying this as much as her mother does! The
little minx is literally eating me up! And I love it, God help
me! That little cant of hers is SO juicy and hot and squirmy, and
it grabs at me as if it were starrved! What in the name of God is
going to happen to us? Our family is being turned into a bunch of
perverted animals!
Darla could hear her father groaning, but she took it for the
sounds of his lustful enjoyment of her. Unaware of the misery he
was experiencing, she gloried in the way she was exciting him to
vocalize. It stirred her to even greater passion, and her
lubricant was literally streaming from her hyperstimulated glands.
"Fuck me hard! Oh-h-h-h! Fuck it into me! Dig it way up
inside me!" Her words were growled out as she lifted her mouth
from his to beg him for more. "Oh-h-h! ... Fill my whole cunt
with it! ... Oh-h-h! ... God! ... I'm leaving you! ... Don't
let me go empty! ... Squirt me full! ... Oh-h-h-h! ..." She
panted and gasped as she bucked around on his lap like a wildcat.
"Oh! Daddy! Fill me or kill me! I can't stand it hungry
and empty like this! Argh-h-h-h!" She stiffened as she reached
her peak and began to topple. Then she felt the pumping of his
pulsing fluids as they splashed against her innermost walls.
"God! I'm coming in you, Baby!" Fleming moaned as he loosed
himself. Then he was holding her tightly, pulling her soft
buttocks to him, pouring himself into her as deeply as he could,
even as he hated himself for it.
He toppled over backward on the bed, taking her with him.
They lay there, breathing heavily, still locked together, until
Fleming felt a strange sensation, as though he were being tickled
at the base of his now overly sensitized penis. Then his balls
were being tickled. He knew that Darla's hands were both on his
neck. What could be happening? He looked downward past the
creamy body that lay on top of him. A mass of flying black hair
was moving around at the edge of the bed. Then he looked up to
the mirror just opposite the sofa on a nearby wall, and he could
see what was taking place.
That damned Yvette! She's licking my cock and balls, and
slurping around Darla's little cant as if she were starving! My
God! What a bunch of perverts and sadists! I've got to get us
out of here! Quick!
He moved to separate them, wanting to halt the Frenchwoman's
intrusion into the episode. From seeing and smelling her, he
didn't want any part of her touching him or his. But as he felt
his limp member pull out of the snug sheath of his daughter's
vagina, the sucking sound it made was followed by another, similar
sound.
God! She's sucked me into her mouth! He tried to pull away
from the feasting harpy, but Darla's weight on top of him kept him
from freeing himself. And Yvette had both of Darla's legs in her
hands, one of them very high up. As Darla's hips began to gyrate,
he realized where that hand really was!
"Gerault!" he called out. "We've done what you told us to
do you have your pictures now let us out of here. What that
woman's doing has nothing to do with your pictures!"
"Monsieur Fleming! You would not begrudge the photographer a
small bonus, would you? She has had to watch very much and it
makes her very excited. Relax and allow her a little pleasure.
Then you can clean up and put on your clothes."
Fleming's head sank back on the bed, and he heaved a sigh of
resignation. He felt his member stiffening in spite of his
revulsion, as the girl expertly tongued its tingling surfaces.
Then it was rock-hard again, and she was sucking and milking it
with her mouth, while working her hand in the depths of Darla's
hot, wet flesh. Darla was moving wildly on top of her father as
the trained fingers delved into her.
Then Darla's head moved over her father, and her mouth found
his. She tongued his lips until they opened, and plunged her
tongue between them into his mouth. The feel of her warm breasts
on his chest, and the going-over Yvette was giving him, loosed his
animal once more.
He brought his own tongue into locked combat with Darla's,
and then he was sucking her tongue into his mouth, famished again
for the sweet nectar of her youthful juices. She was wiggling in
her excitement as Yvette worked at the center of her passion, and
began to moan into Fleming's mouth as she neared her goal.
Then he felt himself opening up. As Yvette took more and
more of him into her mouth, Darla took back her tongue, and then
sucked Fleming's up into her mouth with a surprising strength. He
felt his insides explode.
Darla bunched up in a writhing bundle as she popped her
release, and her hot, wet feathery flesh came down on his belly,
accompanied by Yvette's sloppy wet hand, and he was draining out
the tip of his member, as if the French girl were stealing his
soul. He groaned at the awful completeness of his orgasm; it
seemed as if it would never stop. Then he felt her mouth leave
his organ with a final, milking tug.
Darla, moaning faintly, rolled off him and lay beside him on
the bed. Both were replete. It was almost as if their insides
had been surgically removed.
Fleming looked up to see Yvette regaining her feet. She
lifted her filthy skirt with a shiny-wet hand and wiped her moist
face and chin. As she dried her face, her free hand massaged her
black-haired pubic mound, parting the thickened lips until her
dripping pinkness gleamed wetly at the observers.
"You can go to the bathroom, now," conceded Gerault.
"But I am not finish with them!" Yvette protested, rubbing
her swollen nether lips with one hand, and her upper lip and nose
with the other.
"Go see Le Boeuf, then. I want these people to rest.
Tomorrow, Monsieur Fleming goes for the money, ne c'est pas?"
Darla had pulled herself together and started for the
bathroom. Gerault followed her out of the room. Yvette pouted
sullenly, watching Fleming as he sat up on the edge of the sofa
bed. She walked over to him and thrust her hips out.
"Be nice to me. Give me some pleasure. You will not be
sorry!" She reached out and picked up his hand, trying to place
it in the wet nest of her excitement. He jerked it away from her
grasp with a curse.
"You filthy, stinking whore! I wouldn't touch your diseased
cunt for anything! You're lower than the dirtiest animal. You're
even worse than Gerault. At least he tries to look clean!" His
anger boiled up at the disgusting uncleanliness of her.
Gerault and Darla came back into the room, and the girl
started to dress as Fleming got to his feet and headed for the
bathroom. As he went into the hall, he heard Yvette yell after
him.
"I will make you sorry, rich American! No one can talk like
that to Yvette!" She lapsed into French, rattling it off at
Gerault, who had followed Fleming into the hall. He cut her off
with a few words, then accompanied Fleming to the bathroom.
When the victims had been led back to the cellar and
shackled, and the family was again left to themselves, Fleming
asked his daughter what the conversation was about. She was quiet
for a minute, then answered him in a low voice, so that the other
two could not hear.
"She was very angry with you for scorning her and calling her
names. To get evens she asked Gerault to give her Tommy to play
with."
"What did he say?" Fleming felt a chill travel up his back.
"He told her that he'd see after you left to get the money!"
"Damn! He can't do that! It's not part of the bargain. We
did everything they ordered and they have the pictures. Now I
have to get the money, or even if they release us those pictures
could turn up anywhere to haunt us. God! What a horrible mess!"
"Actually, Daddy Chuck, he can do anything he wants. Until
all of us are free, he has all the winning cards! You'd better
talk to him and try to reason with him about Tommy. It wouldn't
do to make him mad. He thinks you've caused him enough trouble by
refusing to pay the ransom in the first place."
Fleming studied his daughter's face, then took a quick look
at Ann and Tommy. Both had their eyes closed. He turned back to
Darla.
"You think so, too, don't you? You think I should have paid
when you first turned up missing, don't you?" His voice was
bitter. Darla couldn't be sure whether the bitterness was
directed at himself or at her. He could have come to the decision
that he'd been wrong in his lifelong opinions about ransoming. Or
he could just suspect that she blamed him for all they'd been put
through.
"You did what you thought was right, Daddy. No one could ask
you to act against the things you believe in. Like I told you
before, I'm proud that you had the courage of your convictions
when it came to a real test. I know it wasn't easy for you."
I Don't patronize me, Darla! " Fleming roared. He was
losing his grip on his temper as his frustrations increased.
After years of giving orders, he had been forced to take the kind
of orders that he wouldn't have believed anyone capable of giving.
His guilt at letting his personal convictions cause the capture
and torture of his whole family was now compounded by the guilt he
felt about the wildly sexual joy he'd experienced with his own
daughter. For her to sympathize with him now was another thorn of
guilt in his prickling hide. He blew up.
"Could it be that you're trying to keep me busy thinking
about how I got us all into this, just to tout me off the train of
thought you don't want me to follow? You wouldn't want me to
wonder, would you, about how accomplished a bed partner you are?"
Darla gasped, shocked at what he was insinuating.
"You're a regular bundle of passion, aren't you? A vixen who
loves cock so much she don't care how she has it or even if it's
her own father, by God!" He was panting as he sputtered the last
words.
Darla was sobbing, now She knew again the shame she had felt
before as she realized her unnatural passions for her father. But
one of the excuses she'd had was that he was a desirable person in
so many other ways. She couldn't get excited over just any male.
But her father had always been so special. He was so
understanding and gentlemanly and solicitous for others. This
wasn't like him at all. She felt lost truly lost for the first
time since the whole kidnapping thing had started. She was alone
in the midst of her family. The father she'd loved more than
anything in the world had turned against her. He hated her.
"Charles!" Ann's voice was like a sharp icicle piercing the
thick atmosphere of the cellar. Even in the depth of his angry
frustration, Fleming's ears burned at that address. When she
called him Charles, Ann was not about to agree with anything he
said or did. And the coldness of her tone now promised even more
than the usual rhubarb.
"If I weren't chained to this damned wall, I'd come over
there and beat you to death with your own damned pocket watch!"
Her tone had not gained any warmth since she first spoke to him.
"This whole family is suffering because they trusted you to
do the right thing. I could have raised hell back there at the
hotel and insisted you pay the ransom. Rut I let you make the
decisions. And I'm not about to cry on your shoulder now, just
because your handling of the affair has landed us here.
"But I'll be damned f I'll have you condemn that girl for
having the depth of sexuality she inherited in part from you! As
did your son! And I admit to at least half of the genes that are
responsible for their passionate natures.
"Just what the devil do you think Tommy and I were forced to
do up there? Play pattycake? We gave in to their threats in
pretty much the same way that I imagine you two did. And we did
things that mother and son should never in God's world do. And we
enjoyed it! Both of us! And we were sorry it happened. And we
talked it over like two intelligent, educated, enlightened people
should. And we decided not to let it ruin our lives.
"But that could all go by the board. You come along with
your self-pity and anger at your own weaknesses and accuse your
daughter of habitual promiscuity, and you can ruin all our lives!
"Well, you're not going to do it! I won't let you! This
mess is a time for all of us to stick together. And it seems to
be a time for revelations, too. Well, let me do a little
revealing of my own.
"You seem to be shocked to discover that your daughter is
responsive to the stimulation of a healthy male body controlled by
a mind that when it's thinking properly commands respect and
admiration. Would YOU rather she was a frigid bundle of
inhibitions that would go through life looking for a storybook
romance that never came?
"And don't tell me that you're unaware of that very normal
phenomenon known as a father fixation? Damned few girls don't
idolize their fathers, if the men are worth a damn at all. Take a
gal like that and force her, naked, into her father's naked arms,
and let her feel his naked cock against her very vulnerable body,
and what do you have?"
Ann paused for breath, but not for long. She was fighting
for the very foundations of her family, and the battle was going
against her by its very nature. It was an unprecedented situation
for any family to find itself in.
"We've been forced to learn a lot about ourselves, and about
each other. At least that holds true between Tommy and me, and
between Darla and you, Charles! And we may not be pleased with
what we learn, but we can surely forgive in others the same
weaknesses we find in ourselves; and in case there are any doubts,
let me hear you right now, Charles Eldon Fleming, deny before God
and your family that you did not find pleasure in the incestuous
relationship you were forced into with your own daughter! Go on!
Let's hear it for old Charlie!"
Fleming came apart. He began to sob great, tearing, gasping
sobs as he broke under Ann's complete spotlighting of his
weaknesses. When he could get his breath, he tried to speak.
"God, I'm sorry! Can you forgive me? Any of you?"
"I forgive you Daddy," said Darla, crying herself at the
emotions which tore through her.
"Sure, Dad," said Tommy, shakily. "Like Mom says, we all
were forced to learn all too much about ourselves. I sure
couldn't cast the first stone, the second, or the third."
It was quiet for a minutes then Fleming dared to ask the
question. "Ann?"
He waited, and as he waited, he thought. Then he knew he
hadn't said enough.
"Ann, I know that I have to ask your forgiveness especially.
You gave me the two finest kids there are, anywhere, and I've not
only let them down, but I've caused them unnecessary misery. And
by implying that Darla had gone wrong, and that it angered me, I
intimated that it was her mother who was at fault.
"God! I don't know what came over me! Here I am, taking out
my mad and my helplessness, as Uncle Curt used to say, on the very
ones who should be applauded. Most kids would be in shock from
having to go through all this, but my whole damn family except me
is riding out the storm beautifully. I'm not too sure I want to
get out of this alive, myself. As long as I can get the rest of
you free. I'm not sure I'll be able to live with myself after
this."
"Chuck," Ann's voice came softly to him, and he got up the
courage to look over at her for the first time since she'd scalded
him with her words. "You've been carrying the load for all of us.
Sure, each one of us suffers from all this. But who is it that
the other three have been looking to for a way out? Who's been
straining his brain to figure out how to protect the people he's
always been responsible for? With all you've had on your mind, it
took the very worst straw to break the camel's back. I think
you've done pretty well. How about it, kids?" In unison, Darla
and Tommy answered her.
"You'd better believe it!" Everyone chuckled at their
simultaneous use of the same words. Then, as the laughing died
down, Fleming spoke.
"We'd better make use of whatever time we have left. I think
I'm supposed to be dropped off somewhere in Marseilles in the
morning. I'm supposed to get the money, then be brought back
here. By the way the price has doubled. But that's nothing. I
hope you all know that it wasn't the money that made me refuse
before." They all assured him that they knew that.
"Holy cow!" said Tommy, "I've seen you give bigger checks to
the USO than what they asked to release Darla!"
"Well," replied Fleming, "just so you understand that I did
what I did because I thought it was the sensible thing to do,
based on my own observations of past kidnappings throughout
history."
"Daddy! Since you know where we are, from my description,
you can bring the police back here, can't you?" Darla asked.
"I'm going to have to play it pretty cagey," said Fleming.
"I can't be sure what they might have up their sleeve. I know for
one thing ,Yvette has eyes for Tommy, and that Gerault has half-
promised her she could have him for a playmate once I start for
Marseilles. We've got to think of some way to stop that. Can you
imagine that filthy, smelly woman getting that close to you?"
"Yukh-h-h-h!" said Tommy, feeling his insides squirm
sickeningly. "She made a pitch earlier, when I was washing up in
the bathroom. I almost tossed my cookies when she exposed herself
to me. Why would anyone want to be so stinking dirty?"
"We'll probably never know, thank God!" said Ann. "But
we've got to think about how to keep her from contacting any of
us. Heaven knows what kind of diseases she's liable to carry."
"I'm going to refuse to bring back the money unless she goes
along to Marseilles," said Fleming. "I'll insist on her
accompanying me when they drive me to wherever they're going to
let me off. That's the only way I can think of to derail whatever
train of thought she has about Tommy."
"where could the Moroccan be, I wonder," mused Tommy "I
haven't seen him since be was down here earlier, just before Mom
and I were taken upstairs."
"I don't think that Le Boeuf really likes Gerault, although
he takes orders from him," said Darla. "Le Boeuf seems to have a
little conscience, and I think he hates the way Gerault enjoys
being sadistic with us."
"Maybe so," replied Fleming. "But he also could be out
somewhere laying some kind of groundwork for tomorrow. After all,
they have to plan pretty carefully before they turn me out some
place in the city, and they'll probably have me followed while I
go to get the money."
"I'm curious about how you're going to contact them after you
get it," Tommy said. "They must have something pretty sneaky
figured out after all, you might be suspected of having yourself
followed by the police or something."
"I imagine they'll contact me. Probably have me return to
the area where they let me off and wait until they're sure I
wasn't followed before they reveal themselves."
"However it's done, you can be sure they'll take plenty of
precautions to protect themselves," said Ann. "Be careful every
minute, Chuck! Don't take chances!"
"I won't," Fleming promised. "If I did something stupid, and
they decided to kill me, you might all be left here to rot in this
Godforsaken dungeon. You can bet I'll be plenty careful!"
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 7
As the Citroen carried him on his blindfolded way to
Marseilles, Fleming was concentrating on the routes and distances.
Yvette was driving, and he was seated beside Gerault in the back.
He knew that the dim interior of the car would not permit any
perception of his blindfold by those outside the vehicle. Darla
had told him about the tinted glass.
He began orienting himself as soon as the car started down
the lane of the farm, and tried to guess at distances and speeds
as they proceeded. By the time he began to smell the sea smells
that announced their approach to Marseilles, he was fairly certain
that he knew the entire route he'd traveled.
In late 1945, he'd been a young artilleryman with the 66th
Infantry Division, and he'd logged a lot of time on the roads
between the big port city and the towns and villages of the
Camarguc the back country of Provence.
He'd had a lot of adventures in the short months spent here,
and much of it was refreshed in his memory as he sniffed the
unchanged atmosphere of the filthy harbor district.
Somewhere around here was the surprisingly clean little cafe-
if it still stood where he and several of his buddies used to come
late at night to get sandwiches. They were nothing more than
tomato and onion slices on the dark "black" bread which was the
only staple bakery product available in the area. But those
sandwiches had tasted great with the beer they smuggled into the
billets.
And somewhere not too far away was the spot where he and
Fabrini had almost been caught by the MP's. They'd been out on
the town, having a few drinks and trying to find a couple of
young, pretty girls who might also be clean by the soldiers'
standards.
Fleming had just finished buying a black market Beretta
pistol from a Senegalese soldier, with whom he'd bargained for
almost a half-hour before arriving at an agreed price. Fabrini
had been forced to interpret for them, though he'd been leery of
Fleming's having the pistol on him while they were on pass. It
could go hard with anyone a GI at least caught carrying a weapon
on pass there.
Just as Fleming had wrapped the tiny pistol in his
handkerchief and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his "Ike"
jacket, Fabrini had spotted the patrol moving toward them from the
other side of the street almost a block away.
They'd panicked, and as they turned and ran in the opposite
direction, they'd become separated. When Fleming had caught his
breath, huffing and puffing in an alley next to a ruined building,
he looked around him, and discovered that he was right behind a
temporary post of the Military Police. There was a jeep parked in
the alley, and he could hear voices from within the alley entrance
way. Fearing that he'd be surprised by a pair of MP's exiting to
climb into the jeep, he looked around for a place to ditch the
gun.
Frantically, he'd clambered up a pile of broken pieces of
concrete until he reached the top. He spotted the jagged opening
of what had been the approximate center of a stone chimney. He
wrapped the handerchief-covered pistol in the raincoat he'd been
carrying over his belt, and dropped it into the opening. Then
he'd half-stumbled half-climbed back down the pile of concrete to
the alley.
When he'd gone back to the billets, and discussed it with
Fabrini, they'd come to the conclusion that there was little hope
of retrieving the gun without the help of heavy equipment or a
company of men. When they'd casually meandered past the site the
next day, they confirmed their estimate.
Fleming had finally managed to get another Beretta before he
left for the States, but it was an older model. The one he'd
abandoned had been brand new, still coated with its sticky packing
of thick grease or whatever it was that the manufacturer or
arsenal had used to preserve it.
The big Citroen came to a halt, and Fleming's blindfold was
removed. He was able to see that they were parked inside some
kind of garage. The three walls around them were bare. The floor
was entirely clear except for a small steel drum in one comer.
The light which came through the big door behind them did not
penetrate the windows of the car, but the smells and sounds told
Fleming that they were in the waterfront district.
"You will return here in exactly twenty-four hours," ordered
Gerault. "And you will wait here until you are contacted. I need
not tell you that you will be observed during that time. One of
the reasons for the large amount of the ransom we demand is that
we have many people in our pay.
"You will go to only those places I tell you. You may go to
the bank, of course, where I know you have connections. That is
necessary to arrange for the money. And you may stay at your
hotel tonight. If you wish to eat at any place other than your
hotel, it will have to be Le Cafe Noir. Any other stops will be
suspect, and your family will suffer for your attempts to be
clever. Understand?"
Fleming nodded, and then the door opened and Gerault shoved
him outside. He just had time to step backward before the Citroen
backed out with a roar into the alley, and sped off into the
bright morning sun. He stood there, gathering his thoughts for a
few moments. Then he stepped out of the garage and looked around.
He couldn't recognize the immediate neighborhood, but the smell
and direction of the wind told him which way the harbor lay. From
this, he could orient himself, and find his way to the hotel.
He'd decided against taking a taxi here.
The only plan he had in his mind was still half-formed. And
it had a prime requisite: he couldn't be followed! He had to
shake off anyone who might be trailing him. They would be
prepared to follow him on wheels, he was sure. The European idea
of moneyed Americans almost assuredly would lead them to believe
that he'd never walk if he could ride.
So he intended to walk until he had spotted his tracker or
trackers or convinced himself that there were none. Then he'd
catch a cab and initiate his plan. They might not be prepared for
this, and if he could do it innocently enough, they might not
suspect anything.
He paced casually down the alley to the street, then turned
and headed along the sidewalk, watching from the corners of his
eyes and trying not to appear interested in either the people or
places around him. Most of the pedestrians at this hour were
longshoremen, dock workers, market workers and truckers. The
fishermen had long been gone, out to catch the morning tide and
look for the seafood that would feed Marseilles and many other
cities tomorrow.
He was specifically trying to detect anyone who seemed to be
on the same route as himself, and traveling at the same pace.
What was a normal rate of walking speed to an American, he knew,
would be inconsistent with the stride of the average Frenchman, so
it did not take long for him to spot the short, wiry character who
appeared to be hurrying on his way to some office.
He'd never seen a Frenchman that eager to get to work. Those
short legs were really pumping to maintain the pace that the long-
legged Fleming was setting.
He spotted the ideal setup almost a block away. One of the
old-fashioned pissoirs on the sidewalk was very close to a bunch
of marketing trucks parked at the curb. He assessed the layout as
he neared it, and tried to gauge the relative pace at which the
pursuer trailed him. He slowed a little as he approached the
trucks and the men who moved about them.
Just as he neared the center of the busy area, he sidestepped
into the pissoir. It was accessible from two sides, and he knew
that his tail would not dare give away his presence by pulling to
a halt and waiting or tracking him inside. He heard the click of
the heel plates worn by so many small men as the bloodhound walked
on past the iron structure
As expected, he found that the slope of the terrain was such
that, if he stayed near the end of the pissoir where he'd entered,
the top of his head would not be visible to the pursuer as he got
down the street a few paces.
He took advantage of the facilities, and as he mentally
counted off the seconds, he urinated in the long trough. When he
had counted what he thought was about the right amount of times he
backed slowly out of the entrance through which he'd come, keeping
the sheet metal bulk of the pissoir walls directly centered in
line between his own position and the sidewalk beyond.
He reached the mouth of the alley he'd included in his plan,
and rejoiced in the accumulation of trash cans and crates piled
out from the building next to the alley entrance. They electively
blocked all view of the distant sidewalk which was not covered by
the pissoir farther down.
He dashed up the alley and chuckled to himself. By the time
the pursuing Frenchman decided that his quarry could not have had
such a full bladder as to take all this time, and tracked back to
find out what was up, it would be too late. And it had been
engineered so that he couldn't be quite sure whether it was
intentional. Fleming may have walked into that block specifically
to use the pissoir, or may have decided while using the facilities
to take a different route.
They couldn't very well get nasty about this kind of thing.
He hastened through the alley and came out on the next
street. As he crossed the street, heading toward a likely-looking
place to catch a taxi, he slowed to a crawling walk. Just inside
the alley entrance was a familiar spot. His pulse raced, and the
hair at the back of his neck bristled as he thought of the
possibilities. Then he dashed on into the alley and stopped
before the vacant lot. Of the concrete rubble that had been there
almost twenty-three years ago, only a few of the smaller pieces
remained. And the big old chimney had been knocked down until
only a little over three feet of its former height still stood
above ground. And there were two fair-size pieces of concrete
lying against its base. He strolled over to it and walked around
it. There was little hope that his cache remained after all these
years. Not that the pistol would be likely to be usable after the
long exposure to the rains which must have poured down that
chimney.
But he couldn't resist the feel of the treasure hunt. The
memory of that day came back to him as he reached his arm down the
maw of the broken stone structure, trying to reach the bottom. He
felt the tips of his fingers encounter a piece of stone, smooth
all over excepting a slight ridge where the cement had held it in
place before it toppled or was knocked out.
There was no hope whatsoever of his getting a grip on the
stone to pull it out. And even if he could, he then could not
reach lower to feel around for the bundle which just might still
be there. And he couldn't fool around any longer, because his
tail might accidentally run across his path again. He had to get
out of here!
As he started to leave, heavy-hearted, he knew he'd been
foolish to waste the time on such a hopeless longshot. Before he
could reach the alley, he heard footsteps approaching. There was
no sound of the heel plates, but if that were Fleming tailing
someone, he'd be walking on his toes about now, anyhow. He
quietly tiptoed back to the chimney and got behind it, keeping it
between himself and the alley. He was down on his hands and
knees, peering between the base of the chimney and the craggy hunk
of concrete which leaned against it. He tried not to breathe
loudly.
The figure moved into sight and on up the alley. It was a
gendarme. Fleming started to move, but caught himself in time.
He couldn't take the risk of being spotted talking to the law.
He'd have to make contact with them where he couldn't be seen.
He watched as the figure disappeared up the alley, then his
eyes took in something that made his pulse pound again. The light
coming between the chimney base and the concrete chunk had shown
him the reddish-brown outline of a rusty iron door.
Of course! This was the cleanout-access for the chimney! He
struggled with the rough surface of the concrete. It was pretty
heavy for one man to move, but he managed to shift it enough so he
could pull open the corroded iron door. It shrieked in protest at
being disturbed after so long a time. The brittle hinge pins
broke, and he grabbed to keep the door from falling loudly to the
ground, where chips and pieces of cement could make the ringing
sound that might bring unwanted attention!
He reached inside and felt something dank and slippery. He
pulled at it, and the pieces of stone inside the chimney opening
rattled as their foundation was shifted. Then it was in his
hands. He peeled away the slimy, musty layers of the raincoat,
and the grayish-white of the Irish linen handkerchief was exposed.
He unwrapped the pistol and rewrapped it in the handkerchief he
carried in his pocket. Then he shoved the old wrappings back into
the chimney hole and got to his feet. Stuffing the pistol into
his coat pocket, he returned to the alley and headed in the wake
of the now-vanished gendarme.
He caught a taxi two blocks farther from the spot where he'd
intended to hail one. And soon he was at his hotel. The desk
clerk looked at him strangely, then gave him his key.
"There 'as been some Concern for you, Monsieur Flam-meeng,"
he said. Fleming wondered why a first class hotel would have desk
clerks whose accent was stronger than that of a hoodlum like
Gerault. He forced a smile.
"We decided suddenly to take a short trip in the country," he
lied, not knowing belt what the clerk might be on Gerault's
payroll. Even if he weren't, Fleming didn't want anything to
occur which might bring the Surete to the hotel. That would be
bad for Ann and the kids! "They are staying with friends for
another day or two. I had to return on business." He smiled
again as he headed for the elevator.
The gingerbread grillwork of the iron-caged elevator moved
downward past his eyes as the car moved up to his floor. Then he
was in his suite, going into every room to make sure that he was
alone.
He sat on the chaise longue near the Winslow by his bed, took
the package from his pocket, and unwrapped the handkerchief. As
he looked at the gummy surface of the pistol, he realized two
things. The preservative had done its job. The metal was still
in excellent shape. Blat what good would it do him? The
preservative itself told him it was new, fresh from a factory or a
miltary arsenal. Such guns do not come loaded!
And where could he obtain ammunition for it without being
spotted?
Fleming, you're a damned fool. You keep proving that to
yourself every time you turn around. You took the risk to get
this useless gun without even thinking about ammo. Christ! Have
you ever gotten rusty!
He sat there with the gummy weapon in his hand, marking time.
The bank would not be open for a while. Idly, he activated the
clip release, and felt the slow response as the preservative clung
to the clip, impeding its ejection. Then it was in his palm, and
the weight of it made his heart pound inside him.
He looked at the top of the clip, gave a little yip of
delight, then went to the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed.
He opened it and removed a can of lighter fluid and a couple of
handkerchiefs.
Reseating himself on the chaise, he began to clean the gummy
preservative from the weapon with the petroleum product, thanking
his lucky stars that he'd decided against making the trip with
butane lighters.
By the time he'd cleaned the entire weapon, stripping it down
with the sure hand of a gun lover, removing the goop, then
covering every part with a fine film of oil from his electric
shaver kit, it was a beauty. But it wasn't new!
That dirty, double-crossing Senegalese! He Cosmolened this
damned gun to make it look like a new one, fresh off the line!
But he didn't know that it wouldn't come from the factory loaded.
The sneaky sonovabitch! But he may have saved my ass, he and good
old Lady Luck!
He finished reassembling the little Italian marvel, and then
worked the slide, ejecting cartridge after cartridge. It had been
loaded with four rounds in the clip and one in the chamber when he
disassembled it. Another stroke of luck. With four instead of
the six rounds the clip normally held, the spring had not been
under complete compression, and it was forcing the top cartridge
into exactly the right position each time, right up to the last
round.
He reloaded all five in the clip, slammed it into the handle,
and cocked it, throwing the top round into the chamber. Then he
flicked on the safety, wiped the outside again to remove all
visible oil, and put the gun in his hip pocket.
He went into the bathroom and shaved and washed, performed a
few other functions, and then dug up some clean clothes. He
changed quickly, then went to the phone and had the switchboard
get the bank for him.
In less than fifteen minutes, he had completed initial
arrangements for picking up the funds he requested. He would have
to go down to the bank at two o'clock to pick up the money.
Then he flaked out on the bed for a while, resting as he
tried to visualize all the possibilities of what might occur in
the next twenty-four hours or more. The longer he thought, the
shakier he became.
He called room service and ordered up some whisky, ice and
soda. When it came, he built him self a triple load, and as he
sipped at it appreciatively, he thought with guilt of the others,
chained in the musty cellar back at the farm.
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."
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 9
C. Eldon Fleming was sitting at a sidewalk table in front of
the approved cafe. Le Cafe Noir did not look like its name. Its
facade was a grayish white, with red trim. The only black thing
around was visible under the nails of the waiter who brought
Fleming his vermouth.
Other than the neglect of his manicure, Maurice as the
waiter had introduced himself could not be faulted. His courtesy
and the speed with which he appeared when required were much
better than the American had found in the hotel dining room. He
wondered how much of the service was due to the "coupons"
Frenchmen vied for. These clever paper incentives were furnished
tourists when they entered the country, and they were to be given
to citizens who met high standards of courtesy and service in
dealings with the visitors.
Fleming listened to the accordionist inside the cafe. He was
playing Julie la Rousse. The American remembered sitting in
sidewalk cafes in 1945> when other tunes were more in vogue. He
looked at his pocket watch. Still almost an hour before he was
due at the bank.
He'd spent all of this morning in planning and preparing for
what was ahead. He unconsciously patted the breast of his jacket,
feeling the papers which he'd put in the inside pocket. A rough
map of the Salon area, pinpointing the farmhouse, a slightly less
rough sketch of the floor plan, with suggested approaches for the
Surete when they closed in, and a brief few paragraphs describing
the situation there.
He didn't pat his hip pocket where he again carried the
Beretta. But he could feel its reassuring hardness as he leaned
back in the chair. What worried him was the probability that he
would be given some kind of search when they picked him up. He
argued with himself that he had lost their original bloodhound
only for a few minutes. He was sure that they also had the hotel
staked out, and that they knew he hadn't had time for any lengthy
conversations.
He'd checked the suite, and knew that it had been searched
thoroughly during the family's absence. He knew that it hadn't
been the Surete, because his.38 DA Special was missing from his
luggage. It had been registered upon entering the country, and
would not have been confiscated. So presumably Gerault and
Company wouldn't expect him to be armed. They knew how much cash
he had on him he seldom carried a lot of cash and the American
Express money orders had been in the hotel suite, so they should
know he couldn't have purchased a pistol in the short time he'd
had after evading their "tail" up to the moment he arrived at the
hotel.
Still, they might want to be certain he hadn't acquired a
knife or something. Yes, he had to expect that he would be
frisked again. He gambled that it would happen after he'd entered
the car. He'd try to slip it into the seat while they went over
him, then get it back before they arrived at the farmhouse.
He ordered shrimp and a green salad, and Maurice brought a
fine bowl of bouillabaisse to start him off. It was the best
version of the famous fish soup which he'd had since his army days
here. He mentally saluted Gerault's taste in restaurants, as he
enjoyed the rest of his meal. He promised to bring the family
here after he'd gotten them out of this mess.
He ate slowly, and after he'd tipped Maurice and paid the
cashier, he returned and gave the waiter one of the prized
coupons. The man's face flowed as he thanked Fleming profusely,
begging him to return.
At the bank, Monsieur Guiyesse took Fleming through the
wooden gate into the plush office area reserved for VIP's.
Guiyesse was a thin, tall man with graying black hair a typical
Man of Distinction. He presented the draft for Fleming to sign,
took it to one of the clerks, and returned to sit with his patron
until the cash was ready.
Fleming slipped the papers from his inside jacket pocket, and
handed them to Guiyesse.
"Wait until after I leave here, then find some way to get
these to the Surete without being followed. It shows exactly
where and how to apprehend the kidnappers who are holding me and
my family."
Guiyesse's eyes narrowed as he accepted the papers, then he
put them in the top drawer of his desk.
"I could telephone them and have them send a man over here to
get them," he suggested.
"No!" Fleming insisted. "They may have someone watching the
bank who might know the man they send. Better if you phone them
and have them pick them up somewhere else after you drop them off
in a safe place. We can't take any chances. The leader of this
gang is very vindictive, and a sadist. He would enjoy the excuse
to torture us more than he has already." Guiyesse nodded
understandingly.
The clerk arrived with the money, and Guiyesse counted it out
into the attache case Fleming had brought with him from the hotel.
The moment the case was latched, the American stood up, shook
hands with the banker, and thanked him.
"We'll be very grateful for your help in delivering those
papers, Monsieur Guiyesse," Fleming said.
"Please call me Henri," said the banker. "I am happy to be
of service."
The taxi which pulled up as Fleming came out of the bank
could very likely be a plant, he knew. But it didn't matter. All
that counted was that he would appear to be following orders. If
he conducted himself properly from here on, and came back with the
money, they would have little to say about the few minutes during
which he'd shaken off his first tracker. After all, he had made
it look very innocent and accidental.
When he was again in the hotel, he talked to the desk clerk.
"Do you have a paper cutter in your office that I could use
in my room for a while?" he asked. "You mean scissors?" queried
the clerk.
"No. A cutter for working with a small stack of paper.
Something to cut several thicknesses at once."
"Ah, yes. I believe there is one in the manager's office.
I'll send up a boy with it."
"No. I'll take it with me, now. And wrap it before you
bring it out of the office. This is a very private matter, and I
wouldn't want any of the other members of your staff to know about
it."
The clerk looked at him curiously, then disappeared into the
manager's office. In a few minutes he came out with a newspaper-
wrapped bundle. Fleming thanked him, then went up to his suite,
where he phoned down, requesting that all the newspapers available
be sent up to him. Today's and for the previous two days,
including the American editions.
The stack which a bellboy brought up later was much larger
than Fleming had expected, and more than he required. He busied
himself cutting packs of newsprint into the exact size of the
banknotes.
Then he opened the attache case and laboriously duplicated
the packets of money. He placed a genuine banknote on top and
bottom of each phony pack. When he'd completed the project,
anyone looking inside the case would believe it to contain exactly
what it looked like: a hell of a lot of money.
He took the loose bills which had piled up on the bed, and
put them into one of the travel cases which were a part of his
wife's luggage, then shoved it under the bed.
He took the remnants and scraps of newspaper into the
bathroom and tore the larger pieces until they could be flushed
down the big drain. After he'd erased all the evidence of his
trickery, he rewrapped the paper cutters went back down to the
desk, and returned it to the clerk, who carried it back into the
office.
Fleming then went into the boutique in the lobby and
pretended to browse for a while, after which he went back up to
his room.
He was thinking about the timing of the events to come, as he
undressed and got into bed. If he could get to sleep this early,
he'd be up very early, refreshed, and able to think fast when the
time came. What bothered him was whether the Surete would do as
he asked, and wait until he'd been taken back to the farmhouse
before closing in. He wanted to be there with the family, in case
of anything unforeseen.
He dreaded the first moments following his return. If
Gerault looked at the money packets closely, there would be
trouble. But he hoped that he could convince the Frenchman that
he wasn't trying to be cheap and greedy. He just wanted the
payoff to be on his own terms.
If Gerault would let the others go back to the hotel suite,
then phone him, Fleming would remain at the farmhouse under
captivity as hostage, and when he was convinced that Ann and the
kids were safe and could not be recaptured, then he would tell
Gerault where to get the money. He planned to wait until Ann
phoned him from the hotel suite, make sure from her that they were
safe, then have her get the money from the suitcase under the bed,
and have a bellhop or other messenger deliver it to wherever
Gerault wanted it.
He tossed for quite a while, and was just getting drowsy
enough to sleep when his phone rang. It was Gerault's voice that
greeted him.
"The schedule has changed. Bring the money down and get into
the taxi which is waiting for you in front of your hotel."
"But, I'm in bed! It will take me a while to get dressed."
"You have five minutes. Hurry!" There was a click as the
Frenchman hung up. Fleming started to worry. Things were bad,
this way. The Surete~ would not come to the rescue until late in
the morning! He'd better be able to convince Gerault about the
phony money!
When he came out of the hotel, a taxi pulled up from the rank
and opened its door. He got in; the driver pulled out into
traffic without asking the destination, so Fleming sat there
quietly, expecting to be driven to the garage where he'd been
dropped.
But within ten or twelve blocks, the cab parked at the curb.
The Citroen limousine pulled up beside it, and Gerault got out and
paid the taxi driver. Fleming was hustled into the car, and they
drove off. Yvette was again driving, and the sadist was seated
beside the American, who wondered why he wasn't being blindfolded.
When they were well on the road to Salon, he turned and
looked at Gerault, noting the tight corners of the Frenchman's
mouth, and the way his eyes were narrowly slitted, even though
very little light entered the darkly tinted windows. "No
blindfold?" Fleming finally asked.
"Of what use would it be to a man who can map the route we
take and diagram the house to which we go?" The Frenchman's voice
was hard and sharp, and it made a warning bell ring in Fleming's
mind. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"You heard me quite well, Monsieur Fleming Let us not play
any more games with each other. You have tried to enlist the aid
of the Surete, and you have failed. You have attempted to double
cross me and you have failed. Let us see if you have the money."
He pulled the attache case onto his lap and opened it, then stared
down at the packets for a moment before he closed the case.
"At least in this you have not failed. It is the only thing
which has saved you and your family from a number of unpleasant
experiences. Now, scoot forward in your seat, while I see if you
have brought with you anything we do not want you to have in your
possession."
Fleming put his hands behind him as if to push himself
forward. He pulled the Beretta from his pocket, and almost
decided to use it there and then. But Gerault's silenced gun was
aimed at him. He tucked the Beretta behind the seat cushion and
scooted forward. The Frenchman used his free hand to feel and pat
around for a few moments, then he leaned back and kept the gun
aimed at Fleming.
"Pull out your pockets, one by one, while I see what you
have." Fleming obeyed, and when he had exhibited the contents of
every one of his pockets, including the lining itself, the
Frenchman lowered the pistol slightly. "Bien. Sit back in your
seat and relax.
They drove on, and Fleming studied the countryside,
remembering the times he had driven through it in a jeep or truck.
He wished that his reflexes were as fast now as they had been in
those days. And that he had been sharp enough to guess that
Gerault might have recruited someone at the bank, for it had to be
that which had tipped him off. Whoever it was undoubtedly had
followed Guiyesse and grabbed the papers before the Surete picked
them up. It was a hell of a note!
His only hope now was that Guiyesse might have studied them
before he dropped them off. And that the Surete, having missed
the pickup, would check back with the banker and get enough
information to find the place.
When they pulled up in front of the farmhouse, Gerault forced
him out of the car before he could manage to get the Beretta back
into his pocket. He barely had time to shove it down far enough
behind the cushion to hide it from the Frenchman, who stayed
inside until Fleming was clear of the car.
The hidden gun had been his last hope to turn the tables by
himself. If the Surete didn't come through, the Flemings could be
tortured to death!
Damn! Damn! Why the hell did I fool with that phony money?
I only wanted to get Tommy and the girls out of there before the
shooting started between Gerault and the Surete#. Now, it looks
like I've killed us all!
All the way down to the cellar, Fleming was sweating cold
drops which beaded on his brow and upper lip. It would be only a
matter of time before the newsprint "banknotes" would be
discovered.
When the family was again alone in their dungeon, he
confessed to the faulty planning and warned them of what might
happen. He couldn't let them have any false hopes, and he was so
disgusted with himself for having come a cropper, that he wanted
them to hate him for it as he was hating himself. "Exactly where
is the gun, Dad?" asked Tommy.
"What difference?" Fleming countered. "We can't reach it
from here!"
"Mother gave me a hairpin they missed when they frisked us.
I've been practicing, and I can open every one of my cuffs
excepting the one on my right wrist. I lock them all up again,
each time, just so I won't get caught at it before I'm completely
loose."
"I'll be damned!" said Fleming. "Listen. Keep working on
that stubborn one until you get it. If we can get one of us
loose, and he can get out of here, we'll have it made."
"I know! I know! It's just that I can't seem to do as well
when I'm working with my left hand. But I'll keep after it, all
right!"
"Okay. Well, you all should know, anyway. Just in case.
The gun is exactly like the 7.65 Beretta I have at home. You've
all had training in how to use it. It's tucked between the seat
and seat-back of the car out front the rear seat, of course.
There's a round in the chamber, and the safety's on. If any one
of Us manages to get to it, remember this: Besides the round in
the chamber, there are only four others in the clip. So make your
shots count if you have to use it on these bastards."
"I'd hate to think of Le Boeuf getting hurt or killed,
Daddy," Darla interjected.
"what are you talking about?" said Fleming. He was shocked
to hear her defend the Moroccan. "Isn't he the sonovabitch that
raped you first?"
"Yes, Daddy, but he was acting under orders. Gerault has
something on him, and if he doesn't cooperate, Gerault will turn
him in. He's really the only one of the bunch who has any
compassion at all. And he's really a lot more intelligent and
humane than you might guess from the way he acts."
"Darla, honey, you're inclined to romanticize a little too
easily, you know. But even if you're one-hundred percent correct
in your opinion of the Moroccan, we can't take chances. All of
our lives es depend on getting the upper hand with these people."
"Yes, Daddy, but he's promised to help us all he can. He
doesn't dare do anything that Gerault might discover and use as an
excuse to turn him over to the police. But in any other way, I
really believe that he'll honestly try to help us. He just can't
refuse a direct order from Gerault if he's likely to be found
out."
"What if Gerault orders him to kill us?"
"Oh, Daddy! You don't think they'll go that far, do you?"
"Honey, we are very likely to be skating right now on thinner
ice than ever before in our lives and I hope we can get lucky
enough to get out of it somehow!"
"Well, the worst thing that Gerault can be holding over his
head is murder right? He wouldn't commit one murder just to keep
from being turned in for another, would he?"
"Of course, he would! He'd have to! Whatever Gerault has on
him even murder is unknown to the authorities at present. If he
had to kill us on Gerault's orders, that could be presumed to be
without the knowledge of the authorities, too. What he really has
to fear is Gerault's telling on him. And that will happen,
supposedly, the moment he refuses to do anything Gerault orders
including our mass murders!"
"I think he'd kill Gerault, first!" said Darla. "I really
do!"
"Well, honey, we can't take chances. The only thing we can
do is plan to overcome them, no matter how we do it. If Le Boeuf
goes along with our takeover if we are lucky enough to make it
then he'll be spared. But if he resists us, we'll have to fight
him in any way we can. It's survival, honey. Surely you can see
that."
"I guess so," said Darla, feeling strangely sad about this
discussion which might lead to the kindly Moroccan's death.
They ceased any further discussion as the stairway door
opened. Gerault descended slowly, and as he entered the circle of
light provided by the naked bulb in the center of the arena, they
saw the black look he wore on his face. "It seems that we have
need of the services of Madame Fleming," he announced. He moved
to where Ann was chained, and unlocked her shackles. He led her
up the stairs as the others looked at each other and then followed
the departing pair with anxious eyes.
Ann was taken to the living room, where the sofa bed was
opened and ready for occupants. She looked at it, then studied
the dark face of Gerault.
"Your husband has seen fit to play a dangerous game," he
said. "I have examined the ransom he brought from Marseilles, and
it seems to be somewhat less than the agreed amount." He was
looking at her with mocking eyes, and the arch of his brows made
her think of the prototype of all the Mephistopheles characters
she had seen or imagined in the role.
"We shall now begin a very interesting series of adventures.
You are honored to be the first member of your family to
inaugurate this series. Take off your clothes and get on the
bed!"
Ann slowly removed her clothes, wondering what was going to
happen to her, now. When she had removed all but her bra and
panties, she hesitated, wondering again what she was in for.
Gerault stepped toward her, and tore the brassiere from her,
making the straps cut her shoulders and arms, cruelly.
Then his hands were under the band of her panties, and he
gave the elastic a mighty jerk downward, pulling them from the
area of her blonde-feathered genitals, and off her thighs.
Another jerk, and he had them down past her calves, at her ankles.
She stepped out of them, and her eyes were wide as he moved her
rudely back onto the bed Then he was spreading her legs, and his
mouth found her opening blossom of flesh, as it split asunder.
He's eating me. I hope it ends these! What can he have
planned? Oh! he certainly knows how to get at the heart of a
cunt! He's licking and slurping at my little erection as though
he's going to devour it! Oh-h-h! That tongue! It's pushing
right into my hot pussy! What's he doing, now? Oh-h-h-h! He's
biting at my cant lips with his teeth! Oh-h-h! It hurts so good!
This is torture, all right, but 1 think l can stand it, of I can
just hold on!
Then she felt the lips and tongue depart, and her hungry
flesh lay there, exposed and throbbing with her need. Suddenly
she felt the entrance of a hard intruder, as Gerault's rigid
member penetrated her passage.
He's fucking me, now. I can stand that. Be Boeuf gave me
one of Darla's pills this morning, and I can take whatever he
dishes out. In fact, I think it feels good!
Then the meaty invader was pounding at her, and she felt the
slap of his hairy bag on her buttocks and anus as he plunged
repeatedly into her depths. She began to groan as the frictional
contact of his loins rubbed her sensitivities excitedly. Then he
was moving faster, and she felt his mouth on her breast. He
sucked and nibbled at the delicate bud which formed excitedly
under his teasing mouth. She felt herself going, and the
thrilling plunge into oblivion was an ecstatic pleasure, until he
started to bite her. As she felt the shuddering tremors start to
spread from the center of her being, his teeth clamped down on her
tender nipple, and she felt pain such as she'd never known before.
Then he was grabbing her buttocks with his pinching hands,
clawing his nails into her soft flesh until she wanted to die from
the agony. Her scream started deep in her throat, and rolled out
loudly onto the afternoon air.
He reached up with one hand and grabbed her by the throat,
cutting off her sounds at the source. But the teeth didn't let
up. They bit deeply into the sensitive flesh of the spongy
nipple, and the shock traveled through her like an electric
current.
Then he was speeding up his movements still more, and she
felt the beginnings of his pulsing end.
He's coming in me, and I hurt so much that I can't come with
him! God! He's a beast! I'm hanging high and dry, and I'm about
to lose out while he fills my helpless cunt with his hot old
cream. He's a bastard worse than I imagined! And I thought
Frenchmen were great lovers. Oh-h-h! Fuck me some more, and stop
that biting!
But she was out of luck. Gerault was only out to relieve his
animal lusts, and to make her miserable. She was furnishing the
first payment on what he felt Fleming owed him for the double-
cross!
Then Gerault was grabbing her buttocks tightly, pulling her
to him, as he pumped his heated fluid into her in spasms. The
flow was filling her, and she realized it, but she was dying for a
release of her own. Then he rolled off her, and she felt the wet
trail his member left across her thighs.
She looked up as his weight was lifted from her, and he got
to his feet, and disappeared from her sight. She could see in the
wall-mirror the results of his attack. Her left breast was
streaked with blood, and the nipple was still bleeding slightly.
The streak of white, stringy semen that trailed across her thigh
from the pinkly wet slit of her opening was also visible.
She reached down and wiped it off, then smeared it onto the
bed-linen in a far corner remote from her head. As she looked up
to see what was going on, the gigantic figure of Le Boeuf filled
her field of ... vision.
He was stripped for action, and the hugeness of his member
was all she could see. It was stretched to full length and seemed
to be throbbing and pulsing as it stood there, extended from the
blackness of his loins. Its own darkness seemed to threaten her,
and yet she felt no real fear. It seemed large, but her hungry
passage was unfulfilled, and anything that would fill her needs
would gratify her, now.
Then heavy, large hands were grasping her buttocks, and she
was rolled over onto her belly. The same large hands pulled at
her soft skin, around the stomach area, and her butt rose in the
air, until she felt the firm cheeks spread by searching fingers.
She turned her head, and looked into the wall-mirror. She
could see the giant Moroccan poised over her, and his hands
separating the cheeks of her ass. Then one of his handy
disappeared under her, and she felt the fingers probing at her
flowing crotch.
He's dipping his hand into my cunt, but only for the juice,
she thought. What's he doing? Then she felt the wetness on the
tight circle of her virgin anus. My God! Even Chuck hasn't
fucked me there! My ass is too tight! That horrendous cock of
his will split me in half!
Then she felt the head of his weapon press at the tight ring
of her anus. Its heat and hardness seemed to tolerate no
resistance. She felt her burning tissues part as the stiff
invader pressed at the tender ring of flesh. A monstrously
swelling sensation began to spread through her as his bulk slowly
forced its way past the tight, puckered exit he was using as an
entrance.
The aching pain of it was unbelievable. The force of the
huge, meaty invader violated her with steady, brutal pressure.
She was being spread open where she had never before been touched.
"Stop! Please stop! I can't stretch there like this! Fuck
me right! You're killing me! Oh-h-h!" She was gasping with the
agony of her fullness. Then she started to pass out. As her
muscles automatically relaxed, the pain lessened, and she started
to come to before completely losing consciousness. This made her
tighten up her muscles, again, and the pain increased.
Oh! I've got to relax. It helps to relax, but I can't! Oh,
God! There's no use begging. They're going to hurt us as much as
they cant Ooh-h-h! He's fingering me. That helps. The way he's
digging around in my sloppy cunt, helps take my mind off the pain.
Oh! Not enough, thought. God! That hurts! He's pumping at me,
now. It burns so! His finger's in my cant so deep, too. Oh!
It's like being fucked with two pricks at once! If he wasn't so
big it might feel good. Oh, if he only weren't so god awful big!
Le Boeuf was thrusting at her hard, and she could feel the wet
slap of his giant sac against her parted cheeks as he banged
against her. It felt as if he must have torn up everything inside
her. Then his arm, which was around her lower belly, shifted as
he changed the position of his hand. In addition to the long
finger which was sunk deep into her passage, another finger or
thumb now was splashing in the soup of her flowing flesh to
massage her throbbing bud. It felt so good that she started to
move her hips. She was on her knees, and as she reacted to his
stimulating fingers, the movement also gave added impetus to his
unorthodox penetration.
Suddenly his size within her seemed to increase. It swelled
and pulsed deep in her bowels.
He's coming in my ass. That hot cream is gooding my guts.
It's like being fucked by a stud horse! Oh-h-h! I'm coming, too!
Then a red, shimmering curtain closed her off from the
outside world as the big, black organ pumped its load into her
body. Her flesh seemed to separate from her mind, melting into
blobs of wet, hot, red meat that gleamed fluorescently in the
blackness of space.
In a series of colorful explosions, she lost consciousness.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 10
The return to the dungeon was different this time. Gerault
had thrust her clothes at her minus the torn bra and panties and
told her to dress. There was no time to clean up. He let her
stop just long enough to urinate in the bidet, then pulled her off
and forced her down the hall to the stairs.
She could walk only with difficulty, and going down the steps
was a painful ordeal. When she had been shackled in place, the
Frenchman unlocked Tommy and shoved him toward the stairs. As the
boy began the upward climb, Gerault leered at Fleming over his
shoulder, and spoke as he followed Tommy on the stairs.
"Madame has been well-fucked for you, Monsieur at front and
back doors. Later we will bring her up and give her something to
eat. A lot of meat and a little gravy!" He laughed maniacally as
he disappeared through the stairwell, and the door closed in the
middle of his mad gurgles.
"God! Ann, I'm so sorry for you. I'm such a dumb
sonovabitch for getting us into this mess! If I could just get my
hands on that sadistic bastard for ten seconds!"
"Don't} Chuck! It won't help to berate yourself. And don't
feel so bad about me. After all, I'll heal up. We have to keep
our minds occupied with planning and scheming. We don't have time
for recriminations and worrying about individual problems.
There's only the one problem getting loose, somehow!"
"I know. You're right, Ann. If only Tommy can get that last
lock picked, we'll stand a chance."
"Mother," Darla said, "it might help to know that you'll stop
hurting sooner than you expect to."
"Darla! Do you mean that you were ... that they ..."
"Yes. Le Boeuf got me from the back, too. It hurt like
anything, but it's not so bad now. Although it burns for a while,
every time I ... I mean ... I think I'm going to eat awfully light
for a few days, to ease any additional problems."
"You poor kid!" Fleming groaned. "These mania^s all ought
to be killed. They're a menace to the whole damned world!"
"I wonder how poor Tommy's making it," Ann said.
* * *
Tommy wasn't making it as well as he might.
He was flat on his back on the sofa-bed, and Yvette's mouth
was working on him. She'd started on his belly, worked her way
juicily down to his thighs, then back up to his slowly responding
genitals.
She's a filthy animal, but she sure knows how to stir a guy!
That tongue of hers must be twice as long as normal, and it
maneuvers about like an anteater's! He felt it swirl around the
end of his organ and then seesaw across the tip like a fleshy
file. Damn! That tickled and hurt at the same time.
Then she had the greater part of him in her mouth, and began
to strip it in long strokes, sucking deeply each time she neared
the tip. Oh, God! That crazy Bruce Bowers and his story about
the milking machine! It couldn't hare been any worse than this!
Nothing could be worse. I can't stand it! But there was worse to
come!
Yvette pulled her dirty skirt up around her middle and swung
her unbathed body onto the bed until her legs straddled Tommy's
chest. She hadn't let go the captive flesh with her mouth for a
second! Then she backed herself into position and shoved her
hairy bush into Tommy's face. The smell was overpowering!
Was it only two days ago that he had found himself surprised
by his enjoyment of the faintly pissy, musk like scent he'd
discovered between his mother's legs? Somehow, he reasoned, that
had seemed a healthy male reaction.
But nobody could be attracted by this! The red wetness
suspended over his face was dripping with the girl's excitement,
and the drops struck him on the nose and mouth. Then she lowered
it on target! The wet heat of her flesh smothered him. He rolled
his face away and spat at the wall.
Then his right hand was grabbed, and Gerault's glowing
cigarette t p was pressed against his wrist! He yowled loudly
before he could close his mouth. He hated showing his pain.
"You will cooperate with Yvette, or you will be a mass of
blisters when we take you back downstairs!" the Frenchman
promised.
Tommy wondered which he could stand the longest the burning
or the sickening flesh in his mouth. He tried to think clearly
through the smarting pain on his wrist. He had to stay in
condition so he'd be able to help with an escape. He'd have to
force himself to do whatever they ordered for now. But if he got
half a chance, he'd make them pay for it!
The slimy flesh pressed again to his mouth, and he nibbled at
it halfheartedly. She rotated her hips, making the wet meat move
on his mouth. When the surprisingly long, hard bud of her passion
had rubbed up against his lips, she held it there and wiggled to
massage it against him.
"Lick it Tom-mee! Suck it for me!" the said, removing her
own mouth from ham just long enough to get out the words. The
initial shock of her odor and wetness at his face had softened his
manhood, but now she was awakening it again. As it stiffened in
her mouth, he tongued her and sucked at the small fleshling
between his lips.
She was humming as he treated her, and the vibration of the
sound seemed to act like a tiny electric massager as her humming
lips encircled him. The rhythm of her oral movements became
faster, and he tingled all over as she seemed to pull at his nerve
centers.
He could tell that she was getting more excited, too. The
juices flowed liberally from her large, open gap, and she was
wiggling in the same fast tempo as she was using at the other end.
Then she lifted her head to yell at him
"Stick it in me! Put your tongue in me, deep! Quick!"
He reluctantly thrust his tongue into her sloppy passage, and
it seemed to suck and swallow at him. Then he felt it go into her
until his teeth were pressed roughly against the fleshy outer lips
of her canyon, and she wriggled excitedly, frictioning snugly on
his lower lip and chin.
Then he was spurting his soul out through his loins, and
Yvette was pumping at him hungrily, sucking at his tip with each
stroke, until he felt completely drained. But still she wouldn't
stop. She pulled and sucked at him until he thought he'd go mad.
When he could take it no longer, he risked another cigarette burn.
He bit her as hard as he could on a fleshy, swollen lip of her
womanhood.
She let go of him and rolled off, laughing with glee.
"I take more than you have to give, non? Even a healthy
young man like you will have to have a rest before you can make
enough to feed me again! But I am better than you. Even now I am
ready for you to suck me so nice some more. Can he, Jean?" She
turned to look at Gerault pleadingly.
"Later. Le Beouf, take him down and bring up Papa."
"Just one minute, Jean. Please?" Before Tommy could get up,
she rolled him over on his belly and parted his buttocks with her
fingers. Then her tongue dug into his anus and wiggled hotly. It
was a wild sensation! But the thought of what she was doing made
him nauseous.
She probed and licked at him, washing the ring of his exit
until he groaned with the unexpected ecstasy of it. Then she let
him go, again laughing happily.
The Moroccan motioned at him, and he went back to the cellar,
after slipping into his clothes.
"The blister on my wrist ... do you hare to use the cuff? I
can't go anywhere with the other three locked." Tommy's pulse
beat swiftly as he awaited the Moroccan's reaction.
Then Le Boeuf nodded, slowly, as he locked only the three
shackles. When Fleming was released, he winked surreptitiously at
Tommy as he turned to precede Le Boeuf up the stairs.
As he was herded into the living room, which had remained the
base of operations, for some reason even though the light was not
essential in the absence of the camera Fleming saw the gleaming
eyes of Yvette boring into him.
As he started to strip on Gerault's command, the girl peeled
off her dirty skirt and blouse. For the first time, he saw that
she was really a pretty girl with a terrific figure.
But when she threw her naked body on him, the brief
admiration was dissolved by the scent of her unwashed skin. She
forced a hard breast against his mouth, cupping the globe with one
hand as she tried to maneuver the nipple tip between his lips.
"Tom-mee, he suck me good! You 'have more experience, nor?"
The revulsion rose up in his throat, and he swallowed, hard.
But his lips did not open. Gerault's cigarette tip against his
left buttock made them open as he gasped, but his teeth were
clamped together in agony. Nevertheless, Yvette had wig gled the
rising tip of her nipple between his lips, and was cooing in his
ear.
"Chew eet for me, gently. Make eet hurt a leetle for me,
non?"
Having earned his battle scar, Fleming slowly obeyed. He
wanted to make this last as long as he could stand it, to give
Tommy as much time as possible to get free. But if he got too
many of those burns especially if any of them were in the wrong
places and serious enough, it might hamper him in aiding the boy
when the time came.
He nibbled with his teeth at the dark, spongy flesh, and
Yvette moaned as he chewed. Then she made him switch to the other
breast, and he gnawed at its springy peak until she was gasping.
Her body slithered over him, and she grasped his wand and began to
stroke it.
When it filled her hand stiffly, she arched her back and
scooped her hips downward. Her hot, dripping maw gulped at him
and began to engulf him within her. Her passage was like a
throat, and he could feel it swallowing him. The folds of her
lining were like grasping hands, pulling at him, sucking him in.
Good Lord! What a machine! She must have been fucked by
millions to get that kind of muscle development! And she's
probably had all the diseases there are in the books maybe still
has them! But she sure has an educated cunt! It's milking me
like I was a cow's teat!
As she moved her hips above him, squeezing his rigidity with
her practiced muscles, she covered his mouth with hers. He got a
quick blast of her garlic breath, then her hot tongue was plunging
into his mouth. She sucked at his lips and probed with her tongue
until the expertness of her treatment broke him down despite his
distaste.
She vacuumed his tongue up into her mouth and sucked at it as
her hips rotated and her buttocks rose and fell above him, pulling
and swallowing at his manhood.
Raped, by damn! I'm actually being raped. After all the
times I've joked about it, I'm being fucked against my will!
Fucked? Hell, I've been fucked by what I thought was the
greatest. I'm being milked and that's all you can call it. Her
cunt must be a living lake. The juice is all over me!
She worked at him faster as her own excitement built. Then
she turned into a fiery tornado. His stretching flesh was caught
in the vortex of the sexual cyclone, and it felt as if it were
being pulled out by the roots! She was sucking his tongue deep
into her mouth as she pressed tightly against him and shuddered.
Her whole body shook with her tremors, and something deep in her
passage wrapped an iron hand around the tip of his wand and
squeezed at it.
He spurted hotly into her in spasms, and they were shuddering
together for several long seconds.
Yvette's weight lifted from him, and he rolled to the edge of
the bed to get up.
"Wait! We are not through," Gerault said. "Yvette, lie down
on the bed. We are going to have a special soixante-neaf party."
The girl stretched out, this time with her feet at Fleming's head.
"Okay, Monsieur. Now you get the pleasure of eating Yvette's
very hot pussy. Climb over her and get started!"
"Hell, make her take a douche, first, at least!" demanded
Fleming.
"You are in no position to dictate terms," replied Gerault.
His tone was deadly, and so was the look in his eyes. He was
moving toward Fleming, and blowing on his cigarette as he
approached.
"You're all crazy! Filthy, crazy-mad animals!" Fleming
muttered. But he climbed aboard just in time to avoid the
cigarette's kiss of fire. So he thought. But as he positioned
himself over the dirty brunette, he felt its fire boring into his
thigh in back.
"There will be no more angry words from you, Monsieur. Or
you will go back to the cellar looking as if you had the plague.
Do you have any idea how many places I can burn you with one
cigarette?"
Fleming was boiling, and the blister rising on his thigh was
a constant agony. He steeled himself to what was coming, then
tried to hold his breath as he dove into her wet, hairy canyon
with his lips. Her head was hanging over the edge of the bed, so
he had to stand his toes on the floor and lean his thighs against
the edge to poise over her in the proper place. She spread
herself wide for him, and the first breath he had to take was
pungent. But he had to admit that a large portion of the odor
comprised the smell of his own semen, which had flowed heavily
into her, and was dripping at her fleshy opening in whitish
strings.
It's not bad enough to have to suck ok this filthy cant! I
have to eat my own come. Makes me a second-hand cock sucker If I
just get my hands on these swine, I'll make them sorry they were
born!
Suddenly he was shocked at the slimy, wet feel of something
in the crack between his buttocks. A hand had slipped into the
crease and deposited something greasy there. Now what? Did this
dirty whore park her chewing gum in my asshole?
But he found out all too soon that Yvette was blameless.
Hands separated his stern cheeks, and something hard pressed at
his anus.
"Give it to him, Le Boeuf!" Gerault shouted, and Fleming
felt the muscle tissue around his tightened ring stretch as the
hardness pressed at the greased, puckered flesh. Then he swelled
inside as the fullness entered him.
Bastards! Dirty, filthy animals! They haven't done enough
to me already now I get fucked in the ass to boot! He was so mad
that he bit Yvette's swollen entrance, and she wailed her
surprise. Fleming expected another blister, and tensed him self
for it. But he got his punishment in another way. Yvette wrapped
her arms around his waist and took the head of his penis in her
mouth.
She bit on it, and he gasped in pain. Then she started to
lick it, and in seconds he had another stiff problem. The pain of
the bite increased when he swelled up, and it throbbed like a
toothache. She worried it with her tongue and lips as he started
to carry out his orders again.
He lapped his tongue in the flowing fountain of her red
flesh, and she thrust up her hips to meet him, smearing her juices
and the leftover semen on his lips, chin and face. He abandoned
all hope of avoiding disease, and determined to get it over with.
He licked at her erect passion bud until she writhed under him
with ecstasy, sucking hard on him as she moaned around the
mouthful of his flesh.
The Moroccan was plunging into his bowels up to the hilt, and
each stroke ended with a smack as the huge balls slapped against
Fleming's crotch. Each thrust forced his own organ hard against
Yvette's mouth and throat, but she seemed to take it without too
much discomfort. At least, her attentions to him did not slow
down.
Then Le Boeuf let loose his loins, and the warmth being
discharged in Fleming's bowels triggered his lust. He sucked and
lapped at the meat below him, then sunk his tongue deep into her
passage.
Yvette moaned heavily around her mouthful of flesh as she
began to shudder out her finale. Then Fleming was turned on, and
his flow pumped into her mouth and throat. He could feel her
swallowing, as the head of his tool touched the back of her
throat. It coaxed an additional flow from him, and he felt
drained.
And then she sucked at him still more, drawing his guts right
out through the tip. It felt like he was dying. As she sucked a
last, long string out of him, the Moroccan pulled his limp member
from Fleming's rectum.
The combined feeling was like genuine death from fatigue.
Fleming fell over on the bed and lay there. He couldn't move a
muscle. If his life depended on it, he couldn't have gotten up by
himself.
Gerault's laughter was filling the room, as he reveled in the
ultimate revilement of this American millionaire who had refused
to meet ransom demands.
"Wait!" he yelled at Le Boeuf, who was leaving the room.
"Don't go yet. We are going to get the camera for the next step.
I am going to have a picture of this rich American sucking your
big black Moroccan cock!"
"Jean!" Le Boeuf was even shocked, now. "Let me wash it
off."
"No! To use his own native phrase, I have taken enough shit
off this man. Now I will see him take a little of his own shit
off you. And get my prize picture at the same time. Yvette, get
the camera."
"Yvette is not going to move," said Tommy from the doorway,
as he calmly took aim and shot Gerault in the kneecap.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 11
The Frenchman's screams filled the room. It sounded loud
enough to be heard in the dungeon. Fleming thought of this, and
imagined what the girls might be going through, not knowing who
had been shot.
He moved carefully away from the bed, staying out of Le
Boeuf's reach, until he got to the lamp table where Gerault had
placed his pistol; he checked it to see if it was loaded, then
kicked off the safety.
"Okay, Tommy. You can get the girls loose, now. Gerault,
toss him the keys!" The Frenchman was moaning between clenched
teeth, as he held the shattered knee in both hands. The artery
had not been hit, for the blood was only seeping slowly between
the white-knuckled fingers.
"They're already loose. I picked their locks before I went
out for the gun. I figured that they could wait at the top of the
stairs and trip anyone who showed up before I got back with this."
"That was taking a risk, son. But good work, anyhow. But we
still want those keys." Silently, Le Boeuf moved a hand up to his
shirt pocket, and pulled out a ring with one small key on it. He
held it out to Tommy.
"Use mine," he said. Fleming and Tommy both had covered him
with their guns as he reached for his shirt pocket. Now they
relaxed.
"How about your key, Yvette?" Tommy asked. She shrugged her
shoulders and nodded toward the back of the house.
"In my purse on the table back there." Her eyes were tired,
but they showed no fear.
"Okay, Yvette. Now get down there on the floor and get
Gerault's key from him." She looked at Tommy, and then grinned.
"There are only the two keys. They were in the houses just
like the shackles and chains. Gerault thinks this place was used
by the Underground or the Boche during the War." Her accent was
less pronounced, now, as she spoke slowly, without excitement.
Tommy looked at his father, who nodded at him, then at
Yvette.
"Let's go, Yvette. The Beretta motioned her up onto her
feet, and she preceded Tommy down the hall. Fleming heard two
short raps, then three more harder raps on the cellar door. He
grinned to himself as he thought of Tommy planning the signals
with Ann and Darla.
The women came down the hall, but Fleming motioned them back.
"Stay out of here. Keep to the back of the house, until
there bastards are under chains." The girls disappeared back down
the hall and he heard them using the bathroom.
When Tommy returned, he looked to his father, then at Le
Boeuf, then at the moaning Gerault.
"We'll do it the easy way," Fleming said. You go down first
and wait for us. Stay clear of the bottom of the stairs, in case
Le Boeuf drops his burden. Okay, pick him up and take him down
there!" The silenced pistol centered on the Moroccan's belly.
He stepped over to Gerault and amid much groaning and
protesting, picked up the smaller man and started down the hall.
Fleming followed at a discreet distance, all the way to the
cellar.
Le Boeuf put his load down by the wall where Tommy stood,
pointing with the Beretta. Le Boeuf saved them trouble. He
walked over to another set of shackles, then fastened them around
his own ankles and wrists. There was only resignation on his
face.
Tommy checked the locks on the Moroccan, then he and his
father got the cuffs locked on Gerault.
"I have to have a doctor!" the Frenchman protested. I could
bleed to death! You could not have that on your conscience!"
"Couldn't I?" asked Fleming. He regarded the deflated
sadist with disgust. "You're not bleeding that much. If you're
smart, and hold that leg still, you'll be alive when we get you a
doctor. If you move it, a piece of that bone or cartilage might
just puncture an artery."
"You did not have to shoot me! I wasn't even holding my
gun."
"Be thankful you weren't. Tommy's a crack pistol shot. He
knew that if he'd just threatened you with it, you might have gone
for a gun, and he'd have had to shoot to kill. You see, we aren't
taking any chances on the safety of our family with a madman like
you. Now, shut up and consider yourself lucky."
Tommy had gone upstairs, and now he returned with Ann and
Darla in tow. The girls had cleaned up quite a bit, but they
still showed signs of fatigue and the ordeal they'd been through.
"I've cased the whole place, Dad, and there's no phone here,"
said Tommy. "Guess we'll have to go somewhere and call the
Surete."
"I'll tell you what You keep your eye on things here, and
I'll go get the law, and bring some clean clothes for everyone
from the hotel. I know the girls won't want to go back to town
looking like they do now." The wry smiles and nods told him he'd
been right. "Don't forget the doctor!" groaned Gerault.
"I'd like to," Fleming told him, then he kissed Ann, patted
Darla's cheek, and winked at Tommy. "Stand loose. See you as
soon as I can make it."
He went up the stairs, leanng the door open, and soon they
heard the engine of the Citroen as it left.
"I think I'll go up and lie down for a while," said Ann,
smiling apologetically at her children.
"I don't blame you, Mother," said Darla. "I'll join you
later. Right now, I think I'll keep Tommy company for a while."
Ann went upstairs, and Darla leaned against one of the pillars
which supported the floor joists of the house, as she studied the
nude form of Yvette, who was sitting on the mattress parked below
her wall chains.
Tommy was studying her, too. He was remembering the
humiliation she'd put him through. Then he tensed as Darla picked
up her skirt and held it at her waist, walking slowly over to the
filthy Frenchwoman. Tommy was aghast as Darla pushed the girl
over onto her back, then squatted over the brunette's head.
"Stick your tongue in this," she whispered, her eyes daring
the prisoner to refuse. Still she seemed surprised when the long,
pink tongue snaked out and lapped greedily at her widely opened
slit. It twirled expertly around Darla's little fleshy bud,
making her tingle all over. Around and around it moved, then
licked out and caressed daintily the swelling lips on either side
of the slit.
Darla had intended to humiliate Yvette, but now she was
caught up in the pleasure of what was happening to her. Her
breath panted as the expert tongue made passionate love to her
excited flesh. She could feel the juices start to flow from her,
and every once in a while the brunette's mouth would move up to
cup her entire fleshy canyon and suck at it, draining it of its
nectar.
Tommy was fascinated by whatever it was that his sister was
up to. He walked slowly over toward them, and squatted down to
see it all.
Darla was too involved by now to think or care who saw what.
She was breathing heavily, and the wind hissed through her teeth
as the sensations built up inside her. Her eyes were closed, and
a whimpering sound was issuing from her nose.
Tommy's eyes dropped from his sister's face to her crotch.
He stared at the beautifully enticing pinkness of her open slit,
and watched as Yvette's tongue lashed out and upward, sliding
along a fleshy lip up to the top, then dipping in and caressing
the tiny sentinel inside.
When her lips reached up and sucked at the meaty splendor, he
felt a thrill unlike any he'd experienced before. In spite of his
recent activities, he felt himself getting an erection. He hadn't
known that watching one female do this to another could affect a
man so deeply.
Squatting down as he was, his slacks were stretched so tight
that the erection was painful. He groaned, and Darla's eyes
opened to look at him. Her gaze fell on his stiffening problem,
and she made a tiny moaning sound, then reached out and unfastened
his fly.
Her hand dipped inside, and came out with his hard lance.
While Yvette continued to pursue her involvement, Darla leaned
over and let her weight go onto her knees, then she took Tommy's
wand in her lips and kissed it gent Iy.
Oh, God! These people have really made perverts of us ad! My
sister is kissing my cock, and no one's even forcing her to. Oh-
h-h! it's wrong, but it feels so good. Ah-h-h! She's licking
it, now.
Darla had snaked out her tongue, and it began to keep time
with the rhythm of Yvette's caresses, which were stimng the
blonde's hot fluids steadily.
I can't help myself! My cunt is so swollen I don't know what
to do, and that lovely hard thing made me so hungry I couldn't
leave it alone. God! I hope Mother doesn't come down here, now!
Her hand was wrapped around the pale shaft, moving the soft
skin back and forth over the hard core, as she licked and sucked
at the darkened head.
As the chained brunette worked faster and faster, she sneaked
a hand over and dipped it into her own heated pool, where she
fingered her hot depths while licking and sucking at the blonde's
canyon.
Tommy's hands had slipped into his sister's blouse and cupped
the unfettered treasures there. The nipples were rolling between
his fingers, and his excitement was at its peak. Then Darla's
most intense moment came, and she trembled all over, just as Tommy
lost his load. It spurted hotly into her mouth, and she swallowed
as it gushed over and over.
Then she rolled back on her hips, and sat on her feet and on
Yvette's chest, catching her breath. The brunette looked up at
her and grinned, licking the juices from around her mouth with a
weak tongue.
"That is a lovely cunt, with the so-soft blonde fur. I am
very grateful that you let me eat you." She giggled, and let her
arms fall out from her shoulders, the chains clanking on the hard
floor.
Darla grabbed the arms near the elbows, then placed herself
once more over the brunette's mouth. Yvette began to struggle,
and Tommy wondered what his sister was up to. "What are you
doing?" he asked.
"Something you can't do. I'll bet. I'm peeing in her filthy
mouth!" Then she squealed as Yvette bit her, and raised herself
up away from the anry teeth, but Tommy could see that a tiny
stream still ran down the red canyon into the prisoner's face.
Then Darla backed away and jumped free of the angry hands
which grabbed out at her. She stood at a safe distance and
laughed. "La Crassel La Crasse!" Darla spit at her.
"What's that mean?" Tommy wanted to know. Darla told him.
"She doesn't mind being called that," said Le Boeuf. "It is
what everyone in La Place Pigalle called her. She would laugh at
the other whores, because even though Yvette was not clean about
her person, she told them that there was one thing she never had
done, and never would do, although many of them had done it. And
as long as she held that over them, they could call her what they
wished, but they were dirtier than she."
"What was that?" asked Darla and Tommy tot gether.
"Non! Non! Le Boeuf, I keel you eef you tell!" Yvette was
white around the eyes, and almost foaming at the mouth.
Le Boeuf laughed. He looked at the dirty brunette, then at
the wounded Gerault, and appeared to think about it. Then he
shrugged. He was chained next to Yvette, and he studied the scene
for a moment
"Unlock my right hand and right foot, and I will show you."
Tommy studied the Moroccan's face, particularly the eyes.
After a moment, he went over and unlocked the cuff around the
black right ankle, then right wrist, being careful not to get
grabbed.
"Pull her over here a little closer," said Le Boeuf. Tommy
and Darla dragged the mattress and its protesting burden as close
as it would go toward the Moroccan. She was trying to kick and
pull with her arms, but the chains hampered her. The Flemings
held her down easily.
"There are certain men perverts of a kind who get their joy
from only one act. They have to pay high to get a whore to go
along with it. And Yvette has resisted all these years just to be
able to say she is that much cleaner than the others who call her
La Crasser
The Moroccan suddenly shifted his body, placing his naked
bottom over Yvette---- he hadn't been allowed to put his slacks on
before they brought him from his final act of sodomy.
The girl was screaming, now, but she couldn't escape. A
slight sound and a sudden odor told the Flemings what was coming.
Then the dark excrement fell onto the girl's lower belly. She
went limp, and ceased all resistance.
The Moroccan moved back to his place, and with unbelievable
dignity stood there, a faint smile in his eyes, and around the
comer of his mouth.
"She has needed that for a long time. Perhaps it will change
her." He held out his wrist and waved it at Tommy, who slowly
walked over and refastened the freed wrist and ankle. Then he
grinned at Le Boeuf, who returned one of his own.
"I think we'd better get her upstairs and cleaned up before
the marines arrive," said Darla. Tommy unlocked Yvette's
shackles, trying to avoid the smelly decoration she now wore.
Then he stood up.
"Come on! Wouldn't you like to get cleaned up?" He looked
down at her, and she lay there limply. Then her eyes moved to
study the brown mess on her belly, and she slowly slid of the
mattress, holding her hands cupped over it. She went up the
stairs and Tommy followed closely behind her, all the way to the
bathroom.
He looked in often, as she splashed in the big bathtub, and
when she had finished, she came out an entirely different person.
It was almost a shame to chain her up, again. Then she surprised
him. She asked if she could wash her clothes before she went back
down. He agreed, and she soon had them washed, rinsed and hanging
on a line she'd hung up there in the bathroom.
When he locked her up, be told her that he'd bring the
clothes to her when they were dry. As he reached the foot of the
stairs, she called out to him, softly.
"I really never let anyone do that to me before. I did it to
them the men who wanted me to. But no one ever made me dirty that
way. I don't think I'll ever be clean again, now."
"If you take a bath every day, you'll be cleaner than you've
been for a long time," Tommy told her. "You've got a good start;
why not keep it up?"
"I don't know how often they'll let me bathe in prison," she
said.
He turned and walked up the stairs, not wanting to think
about her problems. As he got to the doorway, he sensed that
something was not right. He stepped through and turned to look
both ways. In the hall between the kitchen and the living room,
his mother stood. A strange man stood behind her.
"I have a gun in her back," the man said. "Drop that pistol
you're carrying in your waistband, or I shoot her!"
Slowly, Tommy pulled out the Beretta and let it fall to the
floor.
"Your mother has answered enough questions for me to tell me
what is going on. Call your sister up from the cellar." His eyes
were strangely burning, and Tommy wondered if this man was perhaps
even more insane than Gerault.
He turned and called over his shoulder into the stairwell.
"Darla, you'd better come up here." His sister rushed up the
stairs and burst into the kitchen. When she saw what was going
on, her face paled.
"Get in here with your mother, Mademoiselle." Darla obeyed.
When she and Ann were in the living room, the man spoke again.
"I'm going to take the young man downstairs. If both of you
are not here, sitting quietly on the sofa-bed, when I come back
up, I shall return down there and kill him. Do you understand?"
They nodded, and he herded Tommy down the stairs and shackled
him in the remaining chains.
"Henri!" yelped Gerault. "You have come just in time. Get
me a doctor, so we can get out of here."
"To you I am always Monsieur Guiyesse, Gerault," snapped the
distinguished man. "You have bungled this whole thing, and I will
get you no doctor. You can lie there and die!" Guiyesse looked
at the other prisoners, and shook his head. He went back
upstairs, and closed the door behind him.
Ann and Darla were sits ing on the sofa-bed, and bight was in
their eyes as Guiyesse approached them.
"I would advise you to give me no trouble, because I will
kill either or both of you if I must, and then the young man.
Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed. Hurry!"
Ann and Darla looked at each other, then began to undress
They had thought themselves finished with disrobing before
strangers. But they obeyed, and when they were on the bed, he
took some cord from his pocket and tied Darla's hands to the frame
at one end of the sofa, and Ann's legs to the frame at the other
end. Then he tied Ann's fight arm to Darla's tight leg, and her
left arm to the girl's left leg.
He removed all of his clothes, and placed the gun on the lamp
table, pulling it close enough to be reached from the bed. When
he turned toward them, they saw that he had the smallest piece of
male equipment they had seen in this house It was infantile
He climbed up on the bed with them, and his face hovered over
Darla's exposed blonde bush with its pink gaping slit Then he
lowered his tiny genitalia over Ann's face, letting his hairy bag
lie on her chin.
He looked down at Darla's quivering flesh, and even from her
awkward position she could see that he was pouting like a child.
"They've had all the fun, after I did all the planning, and
they spoiled the whole thing. Now it's my turn to have fun!" The
petulance in his voice was that of a maniac. They were now more
afraid than at any time in the horrible days they'd just
weathered.
"Now, Maman, kiss it for me as you used to do, while I have
my little feast." He rubbed his pitiful equipment against Ann's
lips as he grabbed Darla's buttocks in his hands, and buried his
face in her silky mound.
Ann, frightened, began to kiss the wrinkled thing that
dangled over her. It was so small and soft that she doubted if it
would ever become anything useful. She wondered if his mother
really had kissed it for him. What a way for a man to develop or
rather, not to develop. She prayed that Chuck would come quickly.
There was no telling what this madman might do.
The tiny thing slipped from her lips, and she could not
recapture it with her hands tied. He half-turned and gave her a
clout on the side of her face.
"You stop that! You just want to make me feel bad. But I
won't let you! I'll kill you if you don't be nice to me!"
She stretched her neck out as far as she could, and finally
managed to seize the miniature target, and hold it. She didn't
dare let it slip away again! She vacuumed it into her mouth and
held it tightly between tongue and teeth, then tried to work on
it, hoping she could make him change his attitude.
Darla was ready to scream. This maniac had meant it when he
said feast.
God! If he bites my cunt lips like that much longer, I'll
have to bust out and scream Then the mouth lifted from her pained
flesh, and he laid his head down with his cheek where his lips had
been. He seemed to be going to sleep!
She listened for a while, and his breathing grew heavy. She
decided to chance it.
"Mother!" she whispered. There was no answer, but the head
on her pubis did not move. "Mother!" she increased her volume
this time.
No answer. She wondered if he had struck her mother harder
than it had appeared!
Then she heard it. It was muffled, and sounded far away.
But it definitely was a sound, though it barely reached her.
"Hi-m-m?" was all Ann could get out past her slippery little
ward. And the dead weight of the madman's lower torso covering
her face muffled the sound considerably. "Mother, I think he's
asleep!" she said.
Ann took a chance, and let her mouth open to try to converse.
"So? We can't get loose. That damned cord cuts into the
flesh, and it's tough probably nylon."
"Wait a minute,' Darla said. "I've got an idea." She told
Ann what they might do, and soon they decided to try it. It was a
slim chance, and if he woke up, it might mean the end!
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 12
Slowly, carefully, Darla inched her buttocks sideways on the
sofa-bed, leaning slightly to hold the sleeping head on its
pillow. Then she worked to get her leg close to the wall.
It seemed like an eternity, and it must have taken them at
least a half-hour, but finally Darla's left foot almost touched
the mirror on the wall. Ann's left hand turned, twisting in its
bonds, until she could place the back of her hand against the
glass.
Then she pressed her diamond to the glass and tried to keep
up the pressure as she described a triangle on the slick surface.
The cracklingg hiss of the hard stone on the glass sounded
loud enough to wake the dead, but their baby slept on.
Then Ann made a fist and pressed it to the center of the
triangle she'd cut. She pressed hard, but nothing happened.
Then she moved away a few inches, and told Darla she needed
help.
"You'll have to swing my fist with your foot. Can you see
where it has to hit?" she whispered. "Yes, I think so," Darla
replied.
"God! Be sure! Honey, we may not have time for a second try
if the sound wakes him up!"
"I know. But I think I can see the exact spot. It's just
that I don't know if I can hit it right on the first try."
"Listen, honey, do like a blacksmith you know? Swing right
up to it the first time, but just touch it. If it's the right
place, then hit it hard on the next swing. Like a golf ball on
the tee, Okay?"
"Okay."
Gingerly, the foot and hand moved out, then swung against the
glass. It touched, but the hammer of flesh started to shake, and
Darla rested her foot on the bed.
"I can't do it!" she said "If I swing it with enough force,
I'll lose my balance on my hip, and his head will slide off, and
that'll wake him up for sure!"
"Okay, honey. But can you relax your muscles and let me try
to swing your foot with my hand? We've got to try something."
"I think so. Try it once."
Darla tried to let her leg become limp, and concentrated on
the balance of her right hip, which held the crucial support for
her dangerous burden.
Ann lifted upward, and from the first moment that the dead
weight of Darla's foot, ankle, calf, and thigh rested completely
on Ann's wrist, she knew there would be no second swing. It was
too much weight for the leverage she had. "First time or nothing,
honey pray!" she said.
She swung, and Darla's leg moved dangerously far, making the
sleeping head tilt slightly. But as Ann's balled fist struck the
glass, there was a sharp crack.
The hand and foot rested on the bed, and Ann tried to see if
the piece had fallen out. No! It was still in place.
Then, as she looked at it, it dropped onto the bed! Both of
them sighed and tried to catch their breaths. Then Ann got the
glass in her fingers and turned it around, arching it back toward
her wrist.
At first she thought the piece was too small that there
wouldn't be enough reach. But she managed to get a shorter grip
on the sharp glass, and then she had its edge against the cords.
In seconds, she had freed that hand and Darla's leg. Next
problem was what to do first.
She could hold the glass against Guiyesse's throat and make
him stay still until Chuck came. But he might be crazy enough to
try to out jump her, and she'd have to cut his throat. The
thought was too much for her.
And when she visualized the gendarmerie pouring into the
house and seeing the scene on the sofa-bed, she had another reason
to play the longshot.
Carefully, she turned toward her right, pivoting slowly onto
her right shoulder, while raising her left hand with the glass
triangle over and across the legs which lay on top of her. She
had to got the glass over the right spot, or it would fall on the
floor, or else somewhere out of reach of hercaptive right hand.
Just as she thought she was poised over exactly the right
spot, Guiyesse stirred, and the glass crashed onto the nearby
lamp-table.
There was a loud noise, like a plank cracking in two, and
then Guiyesse was once more a dead weight on top of the two.
There were heavy footsteps, moving swiftly away from them, and
then the sound of the French windows opening and slamming.
"what happened?" asked Ann, too frightened to move, although
she knew somehow that Guiyesse was not conscious.
"It was Le Boeuf~" Darla said in a hushed voice. "He came
in the hall doorway just as the glass fell. He hit our crazy
friend on the back of the neck with his fist, just as his head was
coming up. The way it fell back down, I think his neck's broken."
"Let's see if we can get out of here," said Ann.
They managed to roll Guiyesse off onto the floor. Then Ann
cut another triangle of glass and popped it out onto the bed. She
cut her ankles loose, then the other wrist. It didn't take long
for her to free Darla.
"Get dressed, and hurry!" Ann said. She was worrying about
Tommy, and wondered what might have happened if the prisoners had
all escaped.
Darla was even more worried about her father. She hadn't
told her mother that the Moroccan had scooped up the gun from the
lamp table. If he ran into anyone on his way out, he might have
to shoot to kill. And C. Eldon Fleming could arrive at anytime.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 13
Ann fished in Guiyesse's pockets until she found the key for
the shackles. By the time she'd located it, she was sure he was
dead. She felt sorry for him. Somewhere he'd been twisted,
probably as a small boy with a less than capable mother. And he'd
used his twisted mind to plot against the Fleming
If what he'd said had meant anything, this man must have bed
behind the whole thing.
She took the key and the Beretta she spotted on the floor
near the stairs where Le Boeuf had missed seeing it in his haste.
Tommy was white faced and Shaking when she got to him. He'd been
worried sick about what might have happened to them upstairs.
He took the gun from her, and the key, and rushed back
upstairs to look things over. As soon as she saw that Gerault was
still there holding his leg and moaning through whitened lips and
that Yvette was sleeping peacefully on her mattress, Ann went up
to join her children.
She could hear Tommy moving about in the living room, so she
started to go to him. Then she halted at the bathroom doorway.
Darla was just getting the bleeding stopped at the several places
where Guiyesse had bitten her natal lips.
"My God, honey! That maniac must have bitten damned near
through you! Is it stopped bleeding? We'd better get you to a
doctor right away. A bite can be dangerous."
"It's not as bad as it looks, Mother. It's several bites
bleeding a little - not one bleeding a lot. Until I douched and
started it bleeding again, I'd forgotten it. I know this towel
looks like I'm mortally wounded, but get that deathbed look off
your face. I guess his head lying on me there made it coagulate,
and then the water got it going again. But it's stopped."
Tommy appeared in the doorway, and both he and Darla blushed
darkly before he excused himself and moved down the hall. Ann
shook her head sadly at the brief scene. These two wouldn't be
comfortable around each other for a long while, if ever again.
Neither would any of the family, probably. It had been a hell of
a ghastly experience for them all.
When the Citroen rolled up out front Ann panicked. "My God,
kids! We forgot all about the pictures!
We've got to find them and burn them before anyone but your
father gets in here! Tommy, run out and tell him that. Darla,
help me look."
"I think they're right over there in that drawer, Mother,"
the girl said. "I saw Yvette putting some in there once."
She raced over to the table in question and pulled out the
single, large drawer so fast that all the curved photos spilled
onto the rug. They gathered them up, hastily and ran with them
into the bathroom. They closed and locked the door, and started
tearing them into little pieces. Frequently, they'd flush an
accumulation down the drain.
Just as they watched the last ones disappear in a swirl of
water, someone pounded on the bathroom door.
Ann opened it, as she stepped out, Fleming jumped inside and
closed the door, yelling "Emergency!"
It was several minutes later that she recalled the fact that
Darla still must have been in there.
Fleming was unlimbering and aiming as he ran to the commode.
It wasn't until the final relieving feeling that he realized his
daughter was standing at the lavatory with her dress up, daubing
at her tender parts with a bloody towel. Her eyes were wide with
wonder at the sight of the once coveted member of her father,
streaming like a fire hose in front of her eyes.
Their glances met, and both darkened and averted their gazes.
"I'm sorry, baby doll I didn't know you were in here, too."
He'd started to get an erection, as he looked at his daughter's
pinkly spread blossom, and it was difficult to shake off the last
drops, now. He did it quickly, and swore as a last drop ran down
his leg after he tucked himself away.
Darla had rushed to the door, and when she heard the sound of
the flushing water, she bolted outside. Fleming took a deep
breath and followed her out. Ann was standing there with a
strange look on her face. "What's the matter with Darla,
Charles?"
"I'm sorry, honey. I guess I shocked her. I didn't know she
was in there until it was too late. She wasn't where I could see
her when I went in. I'd been holding that back all the way into
Marseilles and back here. Didn't take time for it at the hotel,
because I didn't want to leave you here any longer than necessary.
I was about to jet spray my jockeys."
"This family is sure fouled up sexwise," Ann replied, looking
at him as if trying to read something on his face.
"Some of this family got sex-wise under pretty foul
conditions," Fleming retorted. "I hope we can get readjusted
pretty damned soon."
"I don't think it's going to be very easy or very quick," she
told him. She didn't add that she was still trying to shake out
of her own mind the way that Tommy has stirred her with his
amazing virility. Chuck hadn't stirred her up so, himself for
several months.
She damned herself for a pervert and forced herself to take a
walk in the weedy, ragged garden outside the living room. It was
a good fifteen minutes before she felt the fresh air clear her
mind. Then she watched several busy members of the Surete leading
Yvette to one of their cars. Shortly afterward, a stretcher was
carried out to the waiting ambulance Two gendarmes flanked Gerault
as he started his bloody ride to the hospital.
Tommy showed up in the frame of the open French windows. He
ran to meet her as she came toward the house.
"I hope you got rid of the photos. I couldn't get to Dad to
tell him in private, and then he went on inside. I showed the law
where the dungeon was, and I guess that kept them off you for a
while."
"We destroyed them all right. But don't mention it to your
father. When he finally remembers those photos, I want to see the
look on his face." Tommy grinned and shook his head. "That might
require a transfusion."
"The shock might just be what he needs," she said,
mysteriously. And she wondered what kind of shock it would take
to straighten her out. Tommy, she observed, as he headed blithely
back into the house on his own, seemed to be the least affected of
any of them by the incestuous entanglements they'd been trapped
into.
Suddenly, she almost felt all of her thirty-nine years for
the first time she could recall. Then she remembered that Chuck
had promised to bring them clothes. At least she needn't look as
old as she was ... if he'd also brought her overnight case. She
headed down the hall searching for him.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 14
It was the end of the first of many weeks to be spent in
France. Weeks of waiting for the slow mills of French justice to
start grinding. Weeks that were to have been spent in Italy,
Switzerland, and other places.
Tommy had gone out to see if he could make any sense of a
French movie. Darla had decided to stay in and perhaps write some
letters. Chuck and Ann were dining with the Consulate General.
It was only about seven-thirty when Tommy returned to the
suite, disgusted with the silliness of the film, and fed up with
trying to follow the dialogue by the action. He ordered some
sandwiches and Cokes sent up, suddenly craving a taste for the
bottle of the bulge, and then peeled off his clothes and put on a
robe.
He answered the door and took the tray from the bellhop, and
set it on the table while he got out of his shoes. As he swapped
the oxfords for a pair of slippers in his closet, he thought he
heard something like crying.
She's probably having a bad dream, poor kid. No wonder,
after what she's been through. He opened the intercommunicating
door to Darla's room, and started to enter and wake her from a
nightmare.
There were no lights on in her room, but the moon was bright,
and additional light poured in from reflections of the hotel
marquee lighting. He took two steps into the room and halted.
Darla was lying on top of the covers. Her feet were drawn up
snugly to her buttocks, her knees tightly together and raised.
Her face wasn't visible behind the raised knees, but he could see
that her hands were busy massaging her full breasts.
The hand nearest him was almost fully in view, and a darkly
pink nipple was peeping from between her fingers. She was
squeezing it and rolling her cupped hand on her breast, and all
the while she was moaning low, but steadily.
"Oh-h ... Oh-h ... Oh-h ... oh-oh ..." on and on and on.
He tried to move to back out through the door way and close
the door on her privacy. But he seemed rooted to the spot. And
when her knees began to separate, he couldn't have moved at the
point of a gun.
As the dimpled knees parted, the soft light etched the creamy
inside pillars of her thighs, spreading as they separated, until
they fell to either side, of their own weight.
The bright blonde gold of the soft feathers in her crotch
caught gleam of light and sparkled. So did the diamonds that he
saw were dewy drops of her passion. They sparkled at the edges of
her swelling natal lips, and the lips were parting as they
engorged with blood from her racing pulse.
Tommy's pulse was racing, too. He'd let his robe fall open,
and the rayon sash lost its slippery hold further down. The whole
front of his robe hung wide open, and the painful hardness of his
instant erection was like a steel bar being drawn to the magnetic
power of the sight before him.
He groaned as his feet moved forward, carrying him nearer to
the awful temptation. Darla's face was visible, now. Her eyes
were shut, and her constant moans continued as she massaged her
breasts.
If there had been a framework at the foot of the bed, he
might have been able to halt. But the way was open to him. He
slowly moved forward onto the bed, pulling himself up to the
gleaming wet pinkness of her spreading slit.
Then he caught the hot, musky scent of her, and he plunged
his lips into the brimming pink vessel of flesh. Her juices
flowed out around his lips, and he licked out his tongue and
caressed her most sensitive spot.
Her moans were heavier and louder as he licked and sucked at
her flowing juices, and then his hands were moving upward until he
stole her breasts from her own hands, and began to knead them, and
tweak the taut nipples.
Her legs wrapped around his back, and her heels pressed
against the back of his neck, holding him snugly to the heated
slit which was opening still farther to his penetrating tongue.
He knew that her eyes were open, now, as she replaced the moans
with words.
"Oh, Tommy! You're a darling lover! We shouldn't! We
mustn't! But don't stop, for God's sake! Oh, it's good! It's so
good! Oh-h! Eat me good, yes!"
His mind answered her as his lips and tongue and hands
functioned like thinking creatures with lives of their own.
I know we shouldn't! We mustn't! I can't stop! Yes, it's
good! Your sweet cant is so juicy I can't stop eating it! Oh,
Darla What will we do? We can't go on like this.
He felt the shuddering release begin. The tremors ran
through her fine body until they filled her with tension. Then
her hips rose and she pulled tighter with her heels against his
neck, as she let herself explode into the clouds.
When her legs released him, he licked her hot flesh
completely void of its juices, then his mouth trailed upward
through the blonde forest and over the heaving, panting belly. He
tongued her navel, then moved up to suck heavily at her nipples
Tommy! Your wonderfully hard cock is dragging up my legs.
It's burning a trail up my thighs! Oh, how I want it! Damn me
for a slut, but I want it! l have to have it!
Her hands seized his head and pulled it from her breasts,
then brought it up to place his mouth on hers. As his body moved
to make their lips meet, she felt the hard undercarriage catch in
the hot meat of her crotch.
As their mouths tried to devour each other, she moved her
hips until she got the swollen entrance of her passage touching
the tip of the equally swollen club that lay in her freshly
flowing fountain.
"Darla! I can't help myself! I'm going inside you! Stop
me!"
"No! I want you, Tommy. I need you. Fuck me, Tommy. Stuff
me with it!" She thrust at him to speed it up, and he became
engulfed in her.
He sucked deeply at her mouth, then let his lips slide around
to her ear. As he penetrated her, he spoke into her ear.
"Darla, when I get near that sweet pussy of yours, I can't
resist it! I love the way it smells, the taste of it, the way it
feels on my cock now, as I'm sliding into it. I can't leave you
alone, Darla! What'll I do?"
"It's not just you, Tommy. I get hungry for your juicy prick
when I see it, even when I think about it! Let's talk about it
when we're through. Just forget everything, now, and fuck me!"
He thrust into her with long strokes, probing the soft,
slippery folds which closed over him as he plowed through. Then
they were hurrying, rushing to completion, and he felt her open up
incredibly to him, deep in her hungry cavern, and he pushed hard
to bury himself as he gushed out his all.
When they stopped panting, he pulled himself out of her with
a slushy, sucking sound and fell over on his side. She looked at
the limp remains of his excitement, and the tiny blob of semen at
its tip. A short string of the thick fluid trailed halfway along
its soft shaft.
She got to her knees and moved down to it. Her tongue licked
out and captured the soft flesh, pulling it into her mouth. She
sucked at it until he groaned.
"Don't, Darla! You'll give me such a mean hardon I'll never
be able to get rid of it. Let's quit while we're ahead or before
we go any further astray."
"I was just kissing it goodbye, Tommy. From now on, we'll
just have to be extra careful. We mustn't go in each other's room
unless we're positive it's safe. And we'll have to avoid touching
each other. But not too conspicuously, or the folks might catch
on that something's happened between us."
"After having you, I don't think anyone else will turn me
on," he told her.
"That's what you might think, now. But when you get really
hard-up like we were tonight, look around, and you'll find someone
that will please you. I hate to think of anyone else having you.
But we've got to be firm about breaking this off. You know that!"
"Sure. I'll be okay. At least I think I will. if I can
convince myself of one thing."
"What's that, honey?" Darla asked, as she started to run her
hand through his unruly hair in an old habitual sisterly habit.
She jerked her hand away, and they grinned at each other.
"I'm good enough to get by, aren't I? I mean. w. you
didn't want me just because I'm your brother ... sort of
contagious perversion from what happened before' He was watching
her closely.
"You heard Mother talking to Daddy back in our dear old
dungeon. I'm a highly sexed gal who had a pretty strong father
fixation. And you=B9re a lot like Daddy Chuck. But you've probably
got more endurance now than he has. Maybe it was partly that, and
partly that you're just a natural born lover. Too damned good a
lover!"
"I think I'll buy that. Your reasons, I mean. Because I
think part of what draws me to you is that you're a lot like
Mother. I don't think I had a strong mother image bit, but that
episode with her did something that stirred me up good. It showed
me one thing. Dad sure didn't get cheated on a good match for his
sex drives, either."
"If we can all just force ourselves to toe the line until we
can get readjusted, maybe well all learn from this. It was a
horrible adventure while it lasted. But I'm not so sure the real
torture isn't what comes now until we can lick the tigers that
were let loose on that farm." Tommy got up and put on his robe
and fastened it. Then he bent over and kissed the still juicy
opening of her womanhood. "Goodbye, you sweet, juicy thing. Good
night, sis."
"Good night, Brother Tom." The door closed on him, and she
was alone. "Goodbye, lover," she whispered into the night.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 15
When the elder Flemings returned to their suite, they both
deeded to shower again. Ever since their visit to the Salon
farmhouse, the whole family seemed to be unable to bathe enough.
As she watched her husband towel himself Ann wondered if the
bathing obsession might not be a subconscious desire each of them
had to wash away some other fixation.
She climbed into the shower he had vacated it had taken her
longer to undress~and tried to asks her own feelings. Had she
been able to break the morbid train of thoughts the last time they
poured into her mind? Yes, but it hadn't been easy.
She'd gone in to wake Tommy this moming, and found that he
was in the shower. On the way out, she noticed the dampness on
his sheets. As she leaned over and the magnetic semen scent rose
to stir her, she bent down and started to lick the meager remnants
of the boy's dream.
She'd pulled herself away and walked unsteadily from the
room. She'd beaten it. But it took several minutes of deep
breathing exercises to get up the ambition to join the others at
breakfast.
She climbed out of the shower and toweled herself dry, then
put on the robe she'd brought in with her. Chuck had gone without
his, but he would sleep naked, anyway, and probably was in bed
right now.
But he wasn't there when she went in. She moved around the
suite until she found him, standing just inside Darla's door,
looking at the sleeping girl. Sleeping in the raw, like her
father.
Fleming stood a moment after she spotted him, then he
silently closed the door and turned. He was startled to find Ann
so close.
"She's a pretty big girl to peep in on at bed check, isn't
she?"
"Maybe so," he replied. "But something about her's been
worrying me. I just can't put my finger on it."
"The thing about her that worries me you'd better not put
your finger on!" Ann answered. "Would you mind explaining that?"
"We were married before I was as old as she is, now. And she
has yet to get interested in one boy enough to go steady. After
the wild stirring her juices got, she's going to be hot-pantsed as
hell until she starts getting laid regularly. I see enough of me
in her to know that."
"That's it," Fleming said. She's been fidgeting around a lot
since we got back in the hotel. Can't sit still. And I remember
now that I got the impression she was rubbing herself under the
table at breakfast. Does it get that bad?"
"Not usually," Ann laughed. "But I know what's causing that
particular discomfort. She told him about the bites Darla had
gotten from Guiyesse, and explained that they were healing now,
and very itchy.
"For crying' out loud! You never told me about that when it
happened."
"I suppose there are a number of things that happened at that
place which we haven't discussed in detail around the dinner
table. Some of them might well be left alone. But I'll compare
notes with you here in the privacy of our bedroom."
"Okay. For openers, what do you think about Le Boeuf?"
"I think that I hope he doesn't get caught."
"That's not what I mean, Ann. And you know it. Why did
Darla stick up for him so strongly before he saved you from
Guiyesse?"
"I think that she has the knack of sensing when people are
basically right or wrong good or bad."
"Too bad her clairvoyance didn't extend to sensing the extra
key Le Boeuf had made in Marseilles and kept on him."
"That's your opinion. Darla and I both think that he had
good reason to have that extra key made, and we're glad he did!"
"Why did he do it, then?"
"Because, if you believe the initial premise that he told the
truth about Gerault's having something on highland Darla and I do
--it's a short step to believe that he could expect anything from
Gerault, including locking up Le Boeuf in those cuffs. He just
prepared himself for the possibility."
"Well, your judgment of him --or Darla's might be proved by
his stopping on his way to freedom to save you two. But how about
his deserting his comrades in crime? Does that make him look
goody
"It surely does If he'd been forced to go along with
Gerault's operations, then finally decided to get away from
Gerault once and for all, he wouldn't turn loose the very man
whose sadistic tendencies he hated. And he'd stop on the way out
to prevent similar tortured"
"Okay. Really, I'm sort of playing devil's advocate about
all that. I'm just as relieved the Moroccan's still free. But I
wanted to be sure it wasn't just Darla's overzealous approach to
French civil rights, or because she was hypnotized by his enormous
cock, or something"
"What is it about you men that makes you uncomfortable when
you think a woman likes sexy things? "You think a monstrous cock
is so sexy?"
"No. You were the one to suspect Darla of being hooked on
the Moroccan's equipment. Remember? I'm trying to find out why
such a fascination should bother you, if it were true."
"I'm not sure that it would. Look, why this Battle of the
sexes' approach? I think I'm pretty liberal single standard and
all that."
"I'm going to see if you are. For a long time, you've made
it clear that you like to eat my pussy. You've almost made poems
about it. You're always telling me how the smell of my cunt
excites you, and how you like the taste of it. Now, you didn't
expect me to be upset about it, did you? Didn't you think that
perhaps I should accept it as a compliment a token of your overall
feelings for me?"
"Naturally! So ..."
"So, Mr. Single Standard, for years I've tried to get you to
go off in my mouth, and I've succeeded only a few times. So, tell
me why the objection. Especially since I happen to be crazy for
your cock, and I love the smell of your semen and the taste of it
in my mouth. So do you think less of me now that I've admitted
that, or will you accept it as a compliment?"
Fleming was nonplused. He looked at his wife with a crooked
grin, and scratched his head.
"I know this is silly, but it takes some getting used to. I
do see what you're driving at: The old bit about a man wanting a
hot pants mistress or party girl, but a wife that's a virgin. Not
exactly that, because you know I'm glad you love to screw.
"Maybe it's part of Momism, something that's got us
believing, subconsciously, all our lives, that you females the
nice ones, the ones we marry, and our daughters, and all are
somehow better than men belong on pedestals, and all that. And
while we can love the cream that flows out of your gorgeous
pussies, we are repelled by the semen we ejaculate, and don't want
to 'contaminate' you with it. "But you know, it is silly. If you
like what comes out of me when you've excited me and made it come
out, it should be exactly the same as the thrill I get from making
you cream your panties and then enjoying the smell and taste of
your hot little cunt, flowing all over for me. Honey, I'm getting
horny! Did you start this conversation, or did I?"
"I don't care who started it. Are you horny enough to let me
steal your precious juice from you? I want to eat you, Charlie
Fleming!"
"Jeez! What the hell are we waiting for? I've got a hardon
that won't quit."
"I know. I've been watching it. I've been sitting here
creaming my nightie over it. In another minute I'm liable to suck
your balls right out through the end of that gorgeous thing!"
"Ha! I've got a picture of you killing the eggs that lay the
golden goose!" He turned pale. "Oh my god! The pictures! we
never got those dunned photos they took of us. How in hell could
I have forgotten about them?"
"Because you were worried about your family's physical and
emotional condition. That's what drove the blackmail bit out of
your mind. But us girls took care of it for you. They're all
just little bitty pieces floating in the sewage somewhere "You're
a doll. What would I do without you?"
"Like hell I'm a doll. I'm a real, live female, and the
question is what are you going to do with me?"
"Well, what I had planned will be delayed a little. That
photo thing scared away my bone."
"I think I can take care of that," said Ann.
The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 16
Ann Fleming made a final dab with the brush in one dark
corner of the canvas, then put down both brush and palette and
stretched. She walked slowly around the perimeter of the glassed-
in cupola that perched atop the huge house. Even the painting had
failed to ease her restlessness, as it used to do.
For years, every time the tides of the moon had tugged at
her, and the inescapable woman's nuisance rendered her useless for
the complete kind of sexual romping her nature demanded, she had
come up here and fought the irritability by painting. But when
the first warning drops had appeared last night, right after a
wildly satisfying sexual bout, she had not wanted to come up here.
For the first time in years, she felt a great reluctance to
be isolated from her family, even by the small distance that would
allow her to be heard if she yelled at them.
And for the first time since Tommy's birth, she had not
douched away the fluid which had been spurted into her, if one
were to discount the instances which had occurred in that French
farmhouse.
She'd blocked her passage this time, she knew, as much to
retain the precious semen inside her as long as possible, as to
catch the red stains of her womanly curse.
What was happening to her these days? What was happening to
all of the family?
They'd all seemed to be throwing off the effects of their
submergence into the depths of incest, even before they left
Marseilles. Yet there had been a festering inside each of them,
an imitating something which like the oyster each had coated to
stop the irritation. But it wasn't pearls they had produced.
Just a hard, cold core of something foreign and frightening. And
at unforeseeable moments, that cold hardness would become warm,
then build such inner fires that it couldn't be ignored.
She'd watched all of them closely. They'd all watched each
other. Not that any of them be grudged any other the smallest
pleasure. But each seemed to have, at those moments when the
coldness of that knot within turned to heat, a possessive hunger
which made them reveal the naked desires they tried to suppress.
It couldn't go on indefinitely like this. Either the evil forces
within them could be exorcised, or something disastrous should
happen.
All of them had come into this life with a healthy body and
with a strongly sexual nature, which also should be healthy.
Could those brief episodes of forced incest be the total cause of
their breakdown? Would these incestuous hungers never have come
to the surface but for the despicable Gerault?
Gerault! I hope he's miserable there on Devil's Island, or
where ever it is that they've sent him! If he hadn't done those
things to us, we might be a happy family yet, today.
Shakespeare didn't cover it all when he said that the evil
men do lives after them. The evil that's done unto you lives on,
too. It has a horrible life of its own!
She felt the stir of longing increase in her, and she
tightened her vaginal muscles on the steadily swelling tampon
within her.
I wish it were a cock a big, pulsing, spurting cock, filling
me up till I splashed over, till it flowed all over me! Oh-h-h!
Will this obsession never let up?
Is it a weakness that we can never hope to overcome? And was
it the same weakness that made us cooperate with Gerault? Would
other people have endured the physical tortures csen death rather
than perform the first incestuous act?
But it wasn't the threat of personal pain that swayed us it
was the threat to another. I couldn't let Tommy be tortured to
death so I gave in. I'm sure it was the same way with him. And
with Chuck end Darla. It acts our love for each other that made
us do it.
But was it the purity of parental love and the love of
children for their parents? Or the forbidden love of the damned
working inside us even then, trying to break out into the open?
Could both Chuck and I have the madness of diseased ancestors
in our genes, and passed them on, multiplied in strength, to those
poor lost children?
A scream seemed to be building up inside her, trying to burst
out. But she felt that if she loosed it, she would let her
sanity what little remained escape with it.
She bottled it up, and walked once more completely around the
cupola, until she again faced the ocean. She watched the waves as
they assaulted the beach and the rocks nearby.
Then she cleaned her brushes, covered her palette, and turned
out the light which she hadn't needed for at least an hour, since
the bright dawn began to illuminate the glass cupola.
She went down below, and moved through the halls, restlessly,
wanting to go into every room, to shake the occupant from sleep
and ask the questions she'd been asking herself.
She opened a door and slipped quietly into the room, then
moved to stand beside Chuck Fleming as he lay there, sleeping.
His robust body was limned in the morning sunlight which came in
through the open drapes at the French windows. His regular
morning erection extended to his naked body, and she bent down to
it, then placed a kiss on its purpling tip.
Just as quietly as she'd entered, she slipped out closing the
door softly behind her.
Down the hallway she moved, halting beside another door. She
hesitated, fighting with herself, then gave in and turned the
knob. She opened it on its silent hinges, and closed it behind
her.
Tommy, unlike his father, wore a pajama top to bed. But it
did nothing to hide the virility of his maleness. His morning
erection was almost the exact image of his father's, and she bent
down and kissed it in the same tender but irresistible compulsion.
He stirred in his sleep, and she backed away a step, waiting
until he quieted again before leaving.
Tommy, my son, my lover. Your fluid is still inside me, in
the depths of my hungry cunt. But it will soon be gone. The part
of you that's in my greedy, evil blood, though, will still be
there. When will I find peace? When will we all be free of this
thing?
She left the room, and moved down the hallway again. Maybe a
shower would help her. A cool shower.
As she started to pass Darla's room, she saw that the door
was slightly ajar, and looked inside.
A glass of water on the nightstand was half-consumed, and the
tiny envelope beside it showed that a sleeping pill had been
taken. A scent filled her nostrils, and Ann moved to the bedside.
Darla's nude form was spread eagled in sleep, and the opened
thighs disclosed the wetness of her pinkly swollen slit. A string
of the white, sticky semen that had been spurted into her was
trailed over one of the blonde curls at the edge of her canyon.
Ann leaned over and inhaled the heady odor. Her tongue
lashed out at the solitary telltale string, and gathered it up.
Then she turned and went out of the room.
In the doorway, she paused before closing the door, and
looked at the girl's sleeping form.
I can't tell whose it is. Either of them could have been in
there with her. Either of my lovers That's the horrible part. Or
is it? No. The real horror of it is that I'd feel the same way
in either case.
She closed the door, and went slowly down the hall to the
bathroom. A really cold shower might be best, after all.
The End
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