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 I 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 question. "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 father's.
"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 Chuck, 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'il 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.