Chapter 3

Madeleine could not sleep. She lay restless in the large bed of their expensive Ville de Hampstead apartment, waiting for Antoine to join her. He had wanted a nightcap, but she had been too upset and had gone straight to bed. Now, she could hear the soft music from the tape-deck and visualized him sitting in his favorite chair with his feet up on the ottoman, comfortably stretched out and leisurely enjoying a scotch... entertaining no idea in this world of the abhorrent secret she must now live with.

Her brain whirled in her still-shamed, utter debasement. Again, she had failed this proud young man she loved so much, and this time, there could be no forgiveness. If only she had told him of Igat in the beginning, bared her soul to him... made a clean breast of it. He'd loved her... would probably have understood, but now... it was too late. Dear God, how could she tell him now without laying the whole sordid story before him... yes, even the way Uncle Gaston had forced his salacious attentions on her? She couldn't, not without revealing the whole despicable truth. Yet, if she didn't turn to her Antoine for help, where could she go?

There had been time to think since leaving the party, and once out of Larreau's horrible, dominating presence, Madeleine realized she could not keep their wicked appointment the next day; she just couldn't give herself to that foul beast... yet, if she didn't, he had threatened to bring harm to both Igat and herself. She didn't care about herself... but her baby... her baby meant more than anything in the whole world.

Dear Antoine... Antoine... please come and help me? I need you so badly. Help me tell you my dreaded secret this very night... Be understanding... forgiving... and take us away from here before some terrible thing happens to all of us through that evil man.

Quietly, Madeleine prayed for guidance and strength while she awaited the moment Antoine would join her. She must tell him about Igat... she must! Perhaps she should hold back the horrid secret of Uncle Gaston's outrageous act, for to tell Antoine that would only serve to rile the troubled waters even more so. Certainly, it could serve no other purpose than to arouse hatred... even vengeance of some nature, and God knows, she didn't want to strain their relationship any more than it was at this time, when they were yet to truly know each other, in love.

Once more, she began to toss restlessly on the bed. Why didn't he come now? At this moment she felt certain she could tell everything from the very beginning and make him realize. Yes, she would even tell him about M. Keel, the first iniquitous brute to bring her heartbreak. It was the only way... recount it all in full... everything and pray to God that he would try to understand.

Now, as she waited, her mind began to fill with unwanted memories, and she recalled how she had run away in the night from Mont Du Bane, the small fishing village of her birth on the Peninsule De Gaspe, escaping, she had felt, with the American named Keel, a salesman who passed that way twice a year to sell goods to M. Bidette, le Garde-Magasin.

Four years ago, she remembered, but the bitter reveries were as vivid in her mind as if they had taken place yesterday. She had been sixteen, nearly seventeen, the fourth of nine children and by far the prettier of her three sisters, she knew. She recalled that even at twelve, when she had begun to develop her pubescent charms, the opposite sex had always been strongly attracted to her, especially the older men, and she had been pleased, taking pride in her long black hair and the hygiene of her teeth, realizing that if she were ever to be liberated from the destined weary bondage of becoming a fisherman's wife, these were the assets upon which she would have to trade.

The day she had met the American she was physically ripe, a sensually alluring young woman, while he was somewhere in his aging fifties. She had only to smile at him coquettishly to see his small eyes come alive with lecherous excitement, and as she tripped provocatively from M. Bidette's store she felt certain he would follow.

It was difficult to remember all the little lurid details now, even, difficult to recall his features... only a faceless, grey-haired, fat man... taller and bigger than Uncle Gaston in every respect, but certainly his parallel in villainy, she realized now. And how upset she'd been at first when she decided that he wasn't going to follow her, but by the time she'd reached the edge of the village he had come along in his car and offered her a ride.

She hadn't hesitated; instead, she'd climbed in and began an immediate conversation. He spoke French, which had made it that much easier for her to play the flirt with him, and when he'd reached over placing his big, heavy, hair-covered hand on her knee she had pretended at being excitedly flustered, while in truth her flesh had recoiled at his touch and she'd winced repugnantly within her flat little belly.

"N-Not here... not here," she'd insisted, catching at his hand and noticing the obscene bulge to the front of his trousers where his pumpkinlike stomach adjoined his groin. "There's no place here where we won't be seen..."

"Where, then?" he'd rasped, his licentious, bloodshot eyes raking her young curvaceous body hungrily.

"There's no safe place around here," she'd answered him quickly. "And if we were caught my father would kill you..."

Suddenly, he'd pulled off to the side of the dirtroad, his arms enveloping her and his thick lips engulfing hers, wetly, voraciously, sucking her small mouth into his own like a vacuum cleaner. She'd tried to struggle, but his surprise lunge had caused a frightened wave of dizziness to overwhelm her and momentarily she'd thought she would faint. He'd held her so tight that the breath had rushed out of her, and even now she could not remember whether he was deceivingly strong, or she unexplainably weak. His tongue had burst into her mouth like a slimy, wet eel, exploring, brushing obscenely around the inside. She had been nearly overcome with his odor of sweat and cologne, and his massive anomalous body easily subdued her own.

"No, no, no!" she'd insisted. "Let me go... Later! Later!"

She'd fought him furiously, until at last, he'd seemed to regain control of himself and listen.

"What... later? What'd you mean?" he grunted, breathing heavily into her face.

She had bit at her lower lip. "I want you to take me away with you."

He'd stared at her. "Away with me... ?"

"Yes. I want to go to Boston. If you'll take me with you... then... then I'll let you... do things to me."

He had continued to gape at her, his hungry, red-rimmed eyes growing more gluttonous with lust at each passing second. "All right... all right, tonight. We'll go tonight," he'd said, perspiration dribbling down his heavy jowls. "Yes, by God... tonight!"

She would have done anything to get away from the decaying hovel of her parents, the absurd poverty of the village, and the inevitable arranged marriage to come. God, she remembered, she had only to look upon the drudge who was her mother, a woman unbelievably aged beyond her thirty-five years to find justification in the way she had run off.

Keel had told her he was not married; she hadn't believed him. Anyway, that had been unimportant; all that mattered was getting to Boston where she could meet a nice American boy and marry him. How many nights she'd dreamed such fantasies... a pretty little house with flowers around it, an automobile of their own, and perhaps one, two, even three babies, depending, of course, upon what her husband would want; and a wardrobe of three or four plain dresses, with as many beautiful ones for best... for this was the way with American husbands, she'd been certain, having seen the pictures and read of their love and generosity in the old copies of magazines Docteur Laprise kept in his waiting room.

So, she'd left the note to her mother, saying little except that she was sorry, and that one day she would return to make them all proud of her... and Grace a Dieu for M. Keel, for she wanted her parents to believe that he was a noble man doing this for her out of the goodness of his heart.

A noble man... indeed... Yet, at first, he'd been extremely kind, performing all the simple things to please her, taking her into restaurants where they were served hot-beef sandwiches after the soup-of-the-day, then little pastries for dessert. She had never known such luxury, and before the first day was over she had convinced herself that she'd misjudged him, and vowed not to show the slightest sign of offense when he put his big hand on her thigh outside her dress as they drove along, or when he playfully squeezed and fondled her firm young breasts at every opportunity... but she shortly had learned that her first opinion was very much correct. M. Keel was a vile brute!

However, she recalled now, that before ever realizing the extent of his evilness, she'd convinced herself to willingly carry out her part of their bargain. A girl had to be prepared to pay a price for such an extravagant life as she sought... an American husband... living in the States... and all of the little luxuries that were actually considered necessities in that great country... besides, it was not as if she had never known Jean Louis Blanchette, son of the avocat who had lived upon the hill and who was betrothed to Docteur Laprise's daughter, Francine. Jean Louis had punched away her virginity with his stubby little penis, and together they had discovered many exciting things in the ways of love, but with him it had been so titillating and romantic, while Keel had made her nausee even with the numbing of the wine...

He had registered them into a seedy motel at Riviere du Loup even before the sun had set... had bought wine and poured into the cloudy tumblers that set in a tray on the scarred bureau before removing his coat. Then, he'd smiled and said: "Take off your things, my dear. This is home."

She'd made a tight little smile of her own in response and removed her coat obediently while he took it to hang in the open closet. He ogled her then, in the ruffled and ribboned pink- gingham dress her mother had made for her, licking at his lips, the gentleness she had seen earlier abruptly gone from his eyes, leaving only exigent lust which had added even more ugliness to his carnal face.

At that moment she had wanted to get away from him, at least temporarily, and she'd walked past him toward the tiny bathroom. He came up behind her before she could reach the door, putting both hands on her firm, young buttocks. She'd frozen, sucking in a short breath.

"Lovely," he'd murmured. "You're a lovely piece, Baby." His hands had moved over her bottom and hips, around to her belly and upward to cup her lush, erect breasts. He pulled her back against him until she could feel the flab of his stomach and the hardness of his shaft grinding into the crevice between her round, full buttocks. She steeled herself, not resisting, until finally he'd let free of her, stepping back away. "Well... go ahead and piddle. Then we'll have a little drinkie before we... ah... tumble into bed, eh?"

Laying there in the semi-darkness, Madeleine felt a slight tremor ripple over her as it had at his offensive, intimate touch all those years before, and graphically she began to recall even the most odious minute details... it was almost as if she could feel his depraved hands on her at that moment...

She stood there, subjected to his coarse explorations, his suggestive words racing wildly through her brain and she trembled, a convulsive shudder traversing the length of her soft, young body, from the tips of her toes to the very peak of her scalp. She looked toward the sagging bed, swallowing with difficulty. There was no longer any dubious mystery in her mind of what was to come... no overshadowing ambiguity. Upon this bed it would happen to her, and she would be forced to endure his obese loathsomeness. Abruptly, the rays of the setting sun caught her eyes through the window and the thought of escape briefly rushed to mind... but she fought it and went on into the bathroom. She must get to Boston.

When she returned, he held forth her glass of wine and she took it.

"You drink wine at home, eh?" He grinned. "You Canucks like your wine... I know about that."

Madeleine didn't answer him. The fact was, they were allowed only small amounts with meals, but she saw no reason to tell him this... or anything. She took a long swallow, hoping its effect would be to soothe, even dull her senses for what was to come.

"Go ahead, drink up," Keel said. "Have all you want: it's good for you." She watched his grin twist crookedly. "Makes you sexy, too... and we want that, don't we, Baby?"

Madeleine felt her face flushing. She watched him gulp away his entire glassful, then tilted her own to her lips. He nodded approvingly and filled the tumblers once more; then, as she stared half-fascinated, he began removing his clothes as if the act was completely divorced from her.

He turned to her suddenly. "Well... ? Want me to strip you, myself?"

She hadn't stopped trembling, but she managed to shake her head, set down her wine and unfasten the snaps behind at her neck, then, firming her lips determinedly, wriggled the dress from her shoulders, down over her full, rounded young hips and stepped out of it. Immediately, she sensed his eyes greedily feeding upon her but she dare not look at him lest she break in a mad flight for the door. Instead, she automatically lifted her slip over her head, picked up her dress and laid them over the one chair in the room. She felt embarrassingly naked before him, even though she was still strategically covered with her panties, garter belt, bra and the only pair of nylons she had ever owned.

The wine took its initial effect then, producing a wave of light-headedness. She glanced at Keel; he was naked, removing his socks. His body was as massive and gross as his face, his jaundice-hued flesh sagging and wet with perspiration, causing him to glisten before her. Then, she saw it... his thick penis... rigid and standing out from beneath the hanging bulk of his flabby belly, surrounded by a heavy growth of greying pubic hair. Once more, she trembled in revulsion as she stared at him, the thought of his fat body upon her own sending waves of fear and abhorrence through her. The mere thought... ! My God! She couldn't do it! She simply couldn't!

Keel arose and faced her. His mouth had fallen open with a certain slackness, his lecherous eyes seeming to bug as he gaped wildly at her long, nylon-encased legs, the area of cream-white thigh above, the full, firm breasts causing delicious dunes of smooth, satin flesh above their tight cup-shaped enclosures, the area of milk-white midriff, the long sensuous contour of her hips... Madeleine's eyes widened in shocked disbelief as he broke into a slow, salacious leer and his hand moved downward and began to lewdly stroke the heavy uncircumcised foreskin of his massive shaft back and forth over its hard, blood-filled head.

"Ever see anything like that, Baby?" he taunted in vulgar pride. "Can you imagine how nice it's going to feel when I shove it up into that tight little hole of yours... ?"

The depraved spectacle coupled with lascivious words nauseated her and she gasped at him: "I can't! My God, I can't, M'sieu'! I just can't do it... !"

He continued to stare at her, his stiff, fleshy rod in his hand, his red-saucered eyes narrowing dangerously. "What the hell do you mean?" he half-growled at her. "Forgetting our bargain, ain't you, Baby?"

Madeleine took a step backwards and he moved toward her, his eyes suddenly seeming vacant of anything human... only lust, evil, cruel and unyielding.

"N-No... please, M'sieu' Keel?" she stammered in accented English. "Please... I can't do it... I mean it... ! I-I thought I could, but I can't. Listen... I'll leave... catch the bus back to Mont Du Banc..."

"The fuck you will, baby. That li'l pussy of yours is mine tonight!" he spat at her, his hands reaching out and clutching her to him, his mouth coming down savagely upon her own as he had done the day before in his car, thick, wet tongue bursting between her lips furiously.

Madeleine struggled but he easily pressed her with him toward the bed. It was almost as if they were one individual, his great body seeming to move with her, rather than opposing her frantic efforts, leaving her nothing absolute to fight against. A frenzied panic seized at her belly and she felt herself beginning to tremble uncontrollably; the room carrouseled before her and all of a sudden she was staring upward at the ceiling... and it was coming down to meet her, his wicked, lust-filled eyes joining it fiendishly. She fought him, turning her face away, her strength quickly ebbing in futile desperation. His tremendous weight poured over her amorphously and her remaining clothes were being stripped away, while the huge, shapeless bulk crushing the breath from her emitted strange animal-like noises, until at last, she was completely naked.

He raised up off her then, having securely wedged himself between her forced-apart thighs and she saw him kneeling erect, his face twisted in a lewd, almost brutal grin. He said something that didn't register in her fear-stricken brain, as her eyes trailed down his repulsive torso to the ugly, long, thick penis jutting forth angrily from his hair-covered loins. She saw the heavy, wrinkled sac hanging beneath it and further repugnance gripped at her belly.

"Now... I'm going to fuck the livin' shit out of you, Baby... just the way you led me to believe you wanted it," he hissed down at her.

Madeleine couldn't speak... could barely breathe in her horror and shame; instead, she gaped up at him, too awe stricken to cry, engulfed suddenly by an overpowering sense of miserable degradation, the sight of her own naked young body spread obscenely beneath him filling her with a debasement that would live with her forever, and the helplessness of her situation screamed in her wine-fogged mind as she realized he was actually enjoying this wicked defilement he was subjecting her helpless body to, the cruel gleam ever-growing in his eyes bordering on sadism.

Until that moment, she had given no thought to the physical aspects of the coupling itself, but now a new, and acute, sense of terror came alive as she watched him on his knees before her, once more stroking himself. Her eyes locked on the fleshy instrument he was holding in his big hand. Its thickness was beyond belief. The size of a man's organ had never occurred to her before in her young life; there had been no reason for any such forbidden concern... but suddenly the realization of her own small size in comparison to his huge thing struck her. Dear God! It would split her apart... tear her horribly! She could never take that inside her, she knew... she'd examined herself that close before... !

"Does it frighten you, Baby?" he leered at her, continuing to fondle and massage the vile looking blunt spear of rigid flesh, working the heavy outer layer of skin to-and-fro, exposing its smooth, bulbous head, only to sheath it once more, then repeat the lewd act. "Well, don't let it... 'cause this cock's going to bring you more pleasure than you've ever had in your life, eh?"

He went on tormenting her, gloatingly watching the distressed expressions of fear contorting her beautiful young face, and at last Madeleine felt the hot tears dribbling down the sides of her cheeks as she realized that there was no mercy to appeal to in this man... and dear God, she had brought it all upon herself. She hardly heard his filthy utterances anymore; at first, his foul use of all those vile four-letter words that she had barely, if ever heard spoken in forbidden whispers or dirty little stories from girls her own age, had near-sickened her, but now her mind was too occupied with the hopelessness of her position and the horrifying terror of knowing there was no escape for her... he was going to ravish her defenseless, near-chaste body no matter how she pleaded with him not to. God Almighty, there was nowhere to turn... she was alone and completely at his mercy... !

She rolled her head away from him and her heart pounded in her chest as she lay too petrified to move, her soft white thighs wide under him, her pink, thin vaginal slit fringed so lightly with its soft, raven hair, delicately splitting the pouting flanges of her completely exposed crotch that was helplessly available to his slightest whim. Her belly quaked in her fear, as though he had already forced the long, thick penis jutting out from his aged, hairy loins into the painful depths of her. The mere thought again sent a tremor of sheer horror to register in her brain, not only for the unforgivable sin itself, but from the agonizing, anticipated suffering the inhuman organ was bound to cause her.