Chapter 7

"Are you sure?" Cranston asks.

"The reason I'm asking, Randy, is that this seems like quite an acceleration over your original plan."

Buck shrugs.

"I could be wrong, but I don't think I am.

"The Baroness suspects me of something.

"Maybe even more than suspects.

"So I want to progress the game a little faster.

"That way, if I have to bring it to an end, to go in a different direction, at least I'll have had the satisfaction of getting through that phase.

"Hey, if I'm wrong about the Baroness, which I hope I am, if she's got nothing, if she's the one on a fishing expedition tomorrow, then no harm done.

"In fact, it'll be a test of the degree to which I've succeeded in messing up Daisy's mind if we can slow down the 'progress' of our little game, go back to the previous step with no harm done."

"Still, you know, she'll know tonight.

"Won't be a doubt in her mind as to who we are."

"True, true.

"On the other hand, will it have been the real us, or merely a development in this series of dreams she's been having?"

Cranston grins.

"You see my point, n'est-ce pas?

"If we have actually succeeded in fucking her up so far that she can't tell the difference between dream and reality, just think, Cranston!

"Think what that would mean, by way of control!

"Consider the implications!

"Why, there could be not just one, but a hundred, a thousand Daisies running around, all fucked up by yours truly!

"I would almost be tempted to turn her loose in the world, a walking tribute to my genius, to the expertise with which I pursue my hobby, my pastime, that leisure to which all us hard working executive types are entitled.

"I would follow her progress at a distance.

"Perhaps even keep in touch, you know?

"Maybe go so far as to invite her back for a return engagement.

"Ah, Cranston, I should have indulged myself in this way long ago!

"To torture and destroy the body—what is that?

"The pleasure of a few hours, a few days.

"But to attack the mind!

"To allow the body to survive, to function, while changing the very world in which it exists forever—that is power indeed!

"I do so hope to be able to see this thing with Daisy through.

"If not, well, still there is the delicious pleasure of seeing her shock, her terror at the denouement when all, all is revealed!

"Only one thing more to do then, of course.

"No choice, so it can't be helped.

"Still, sooner or later—well, no use saying the obvious, is there?

"So. Bottom line, we go tonight with just the half masks.

"Where is she now, by the way?"

"By the pool."

"Well. I just may join her for a swim before supper.

"Interesting, you know, to be with a person and to know something that is going to happen to them of which they have no suspicion."

"I've noticed that."

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me—"

And Buck leaves the den, his robe flapping open as he heads toward the pool.

"She missed yesterday afternoon, as you can see, but I called the chopper this morning and she's back out there, looking good as ever," Vanessa says.

"I'm sure we need have no qualms concerning her until after my lunch with Randy tomorrow," Cynthia states.

"Then, of course, depending on the reaction I get, or more accurately induce, we'll see."

"You mean we might still scratch the operation?"

"Oh, no, no.

"That's a go, regardless.

"The worse that could happen is that we look ridiculous, warning the girl and offering rescue where there is no perceived danger."

"Not to mention the little matter of breaking and entering," Nancy interjects.

"Oh, come now. Randy Buck may be many things, but petty is not one of them.

"No, we break in and there's nothing happening, we end up with red faces and he gets a good laugh out of it.

"I doubt he'll even stoop to cashing my check for the damages."

"But then, what about the girl?

"What if she doesn't believe us about the danger she's in and decides we're a trio of nuts?"

Cynthia shrugs.

"If she stays, she's dead.

"Buck is just perverse and perverted enough to see to it and then throw it right in my face, no doubt in full detail, having so arranged it that there's no proof."

"He'd kill somebody just for a 'gotcha'?"

"Knowing him, you have to ask?"

And knowing you, Nancy thinks, I don't have to ask if you realize that you may be creating a mortal danger for the girl which might not otherwise exist, pushing Buck over an edge he possibly would not have wandered near, on his own.

Randy Buck sits on the edge of the pool, leaning back on his hands, knees parted.

As Daisy sucks his cock.

It was her idea, begun playfully enough, a natural development of body contact as they swam nude together.

And Buck wants this.

He wants her to become intimately familiar with the details of his body.

He wants to impress upon her this particular shape, that specific texture.

So that, if she encounters it again, say, in a dream, she will recognize it as being him.

But Daisy thinks that this is just an affirmation, after having had time to think it over, that he wants her, wants to be intimate with her.

So that she can become mistress of the manner, and queen of all she surveys.

So that her enthusiasm as she sucks his cock has nothing to do with his sexual attraction for her, which she would consider, in her own parlance, "okay".

The important thing here is that she is making progress in their interpersonal relationship.

Not that she is sucking him, but that he is going along with it, with her, is what matters here.

Which, of course, fits in perfectly with his plan for tonight, not only on the score of recognition through familiarization, but also because she will take the edge off, will give him staying power in the free-form, free-for-all action he has in mind for tonight.

So that he will not be a "fast pop", even though that too will serve just as well for his overall intentions toward her.

But it would not be as much fun.

And he intends to have a lot of fun tonight.

So that, at his meeting tomorrow with the Baroness, he will be calm, relaxed, contented.

And present the very picture of the aging, overweight executive, distinguished and benign in his later years.

And convince her that his past... indiscretions are truly in his past, not to be repeated, enlarged upon, or otherwise undertaken anew.

Or, on the other hand, that they are being so cleverly, so covertly conducted that she has not a prayer of discovering them, let alone trying to stop him.

He does not know, has not yet decided; he will play it by ear, and with the advantage of a thoroughly drained crankcase to clear his head.

Speaking of which—

Daisy warms to her task.

She actually surprises herself by feeling the warmth of initial arousal deep in her abdomen as she continues to suck his thick organ with its great, broad head.

As she explores the indentation of the eye with the tip of her tongue, then sends it round and round, over the surface of the head, taut and throbbing with vibrant life, then around the thick, flaring flange at the rear.

And now, she is bobbing up and down, sucking the thick shaft, lowering her head until the battering ram of the head bumps the soft palate at the back of her mouth, at the entrance to her throat each time.

Up and down, up and down she goes, her wet lips and tongue sliding in full contact with his turgid organ at all times.

And he is beginning to respond with his mind, so deft, so effective is her cocksucking.

So that he no longer looks down on her as from a distance, a cool observer of the hot action, his brain compartmented to permit arousal in the midst of scheming.

Rather, now he allows his mind to give in to the exquisite sensations of sexual pleasure, relaxing, surrendering to the mindless absorbtion of the pleasure which inundates his rampant intruder from every direction as it disappears and reappears in her tirelessly working mouth.

Higher and higher he rises, through level after level of pleasure, each more intense, more exciting than the last.

So that now; he is floating in the delicious, lascivious lap of sexual luxury.

He is permeated with the surfeit of his voluptuous, erotic stimulation.

Gone for the moment his perverted schemes, his exalted position, his wealth, this world.

Gone is everything, including time and space, up and down, replaced now with delight become ecstasy, with ecstasy transformed into rapture.

Gone is all but the feeling and the feeling and the feeling.

And now, head thrown back, chin in the air, the sunlight turning the insides of his closed eyelids into a rosy light show, chest heaving in his sexual excitement, he comes.

He comes and comes, as Daisy swallows his load. And not until she is certain that the last spasm has passed does she relent, releasing his still tumescent organ, pulling her head back to look at it, close range, as, glistening with her saliva, it begins slowly to wilt.

And now, she ducks her head under the water, cooling it off, cooling her ardor.

And swimming under water until she reaches the far end of the pool.

And not looking at him as he gets up, puts his robe back on, and goes back inside.

Back and forth, back and forth she swims, easy, relaxed, dreamy strokes taking her buoyant body effortlessly from side to side.

As, high up in the cloudless, azure sky, the blades of a helicopter beat faintly.

Oh, no! she thinks, not again!

But she knows differently, her limbs unable to respond as she struggles to fight off the numbing, dizzying descent into unconsciousness which has become, for the third night running now, her method of falling asleep.

She seems to hear a faint hiss from the vent near the ceiling, the one she had seen Cranston doing something with, the one behind whose grating she thought she saw the glint of something shiny.

But such minor details are forgotten as she lapses into unconsciousness.

Only to be awakened what seems to her like an instant later by the acrid scent of ammonia, which fades very quickly, forgotten by the fantastic scene now before her.

There are Eric and Randy Buck.

These she recognizes at once, even in the pale moonlight, behind their black half-masks.

Why did they even bother? she wonders, vaguely.

And that third one.

Could it be?

It is. Cranston. She is sure of it.

Even though with no clothes on, he looks larger, more muscular.

And that cock of his!

Even in her fear, she cannot help but notice its gigantic size.

And it figures that a creep like Eric would have an equally creepy cock, long and thin.

Eric especially unnerves her, his pallor making his body appear to have a gelid glow to it in the pale moonlight.

She looks at her hands.

She is not bound this time.

She is free to move.

Except that, no sooner she realizes this, than she is not.

Because they grab her, two of them, forcing her down on the bed from which she has only just sat up.

And Cranston, he of the monster cock, ploughs his huge erection into her so hard that he knocks the wind out of her.

And flips over, so that she is on top, he on the bottom.

And now, Eric is sticking his tongue into her ass hole.

Which can mean only one thing.

With a practiced movement, Eric grabs her hips and raises her up, off most of Cranston's ponderous prick.

And deftly inserts his precision instrument of a hard-on in, in, into her ass hole.

And now, Cranston thrusts up from below.

So that she has two fully inserted cocks inside her, fore and aft.