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.