After the first strokes, which screwed her face up in pain, she found the pain a pleasant, ecstatic one and as the thrusting surged more easily she wriggled her bottom about on the end of my sex and pushed back in a splitting movement.
I began to screw her faster and as the sensation grew I rolled over onto her and she turned onto her face, spreading her legs widely so that where I joined her at her anus there was a growing liaison.
With memories of Olsa glimmering in my mind, I pulled her up onto her knees, which she voluntarily spread wide. I pushed her face straight down onto the floor and her buttocks reared up at me as I entered the small, intimate hole in a tubular possession.
Her face was an oriental mask of passion as it flopped sideways, her concaved back, swayed slimly and her round bottom rotated on the end of me.
I glanced behind us in the mirrored wall and saw a maze of thighs, linked like some strange sculpture, twisting and vibrating, my buttocks tensing as I jerked forward for each thrust. At the mirror to our side we looked like a dog and a bitch, animalistic in our position; I could watch my rod sucking out of her and then pushing stiffly in again.
I began to thrust furiously, pushing with all my weight and several times she was forced an inch or two across the floor. My rod was lost in the dark brown depths which contained it tightly up to my hairy abdomen.
The dancer began to groan and pant as if she were about to have an orgasm-as I later found she did in fact-and I leaned back my head, mouth wide, concentrating all my power in the growing heat of my hips, skewering them, swivelling them, thrusting them, ramming them, giving them a sensual life of their own.
As I barraged into her buttocks my whole loins were a whirl of sensation and it seemed that the flood started from much greater depths than was usual. I felt as I panted over her behind that my blood, my living tissue, was being ripped from my inside and sucked down through my body into the bloating tube which crushed into her now soft and easier passage. Her buttocks were spread by her position and my hands into an incredibly stretched posture as the thick fluid gushed from me into her and my body was wracked with groans and tremors. As she received the flood into her behind, she cried out in a great gasping "Oh" after "Oh" As soon as I calmed to stillness, lying along her back, she twisted from under me and clasped me with her slimly muscular arms, holding my head against her palpitating breasts.
We repeated the more usual act twice more during the night and finally slept soundly until well into the morning without being disturbed.
Awake and dressed, we moved from the lighted windowless room to the sunlight of the corridor and the main hall below.
In the hall, which was flooded with daylight, thrown through from the windows of the alcoves, themselves now exposed to the hall, a large crowd had gathered.
The omniscient host came towards us.
"Ah, good," he said. "We are just preparing for lunch and afterwards there is some more entertainment in store for us. I trust you had a good night."
"Never had a more enjoyable," I assured him. The almond eyes of my partner flickered in agreement like a Siamese cat's.
The whole company moved to the great oak-tabled dining room on the ground floor where a number of waiters served the finest meal I'd tasted in France. Truly de Chauvreland catered for every appetite.
After lunch we went back to the main hall to sip our coffee and talk. It was in the moving from room to room that my dancer disappeared.
"I told you she has an appetite," de Chauvreland smiled.
I grinned and looked around at the lovely faces and figures, radiating in the room an uncomplicated contentment, which sprang from the knowledge of an everlasting source to dispel frustration. But before I could start working on a fresh relationship, the heavy curtains were being pulled across the alcove openings sinking the hall into a deep gloom. This was the afternoon's entertainment.
There were movements in the gloom before the double spot-light flashed onto a wall and revealed a naked young man tied by hands and ankles to a pillar. De Chauvreland certainly had an eye for theatrical effect.
The very fact of being there, naked before the eyes of so many women had raised the young fellow's organ to a state of half erection, revealed mercilessly by the bright yellow light.
"He is a virgin," the whisper breathed from mouth to mouth in the room.
As the murmur brought smiles of amusement to the faces of many, faintly visible in parts of the room, a new murmur grew, mysteriously from the same source as on previous occasions-the light strumming of an electric guitar. The rich sound strummed louder and louder and then, naked as the man, four slim-shaped women writhed into the light.
I marveled at de Chauvreland's source of dancers, but as I watched I realized that these were only good amateurs. One didn't need to be professional to succeed in such an erotic situation.
The women, their breasts and buttocks different shapes and sizes, quivering and creasing, danced suggestively around the young man, moving close to him, while his penis rose until it pointed to the ceiling. His eyes watched the surrounding nymphs in a fever of half frightened desire.
One after the other as they revolved around him, they reached out stroking his organ, sending shudders through his body as each in turn, pulled it, caressed it, pinched it. They danced away to surge back again, falling each on her knees before his fastened body, taking the stiff flesh gently in her mouth, clasping it a moment between her lips and drifting away once more.
The young man's agitation was desperate and I almost began to feel sorry for him, so unable to give vent to his feelings.
Circling him, swaying and shaking, the women moved relentlessly in again, bending before him, catching his organ between their breasts, shrugging their shoulders together so that their fine fleshy melons formed a deep rift in which they rolled the throbbing rod.
Twining slim, soft arms around him, they moistly kissed him in turn, rubbing against him with the soft flesh of their mounds. The young man began to pant and strain at his bonds as they turned, moving past him in a row, brushing his pulsation with their buttocks, lingering a moment, letting it rest between their jiggling buttocks, looking like fat, shining cheeses.
As they dispersed, spinning out again to feast his eyes, another woman, in skin-tight satin, which exposed her breasts to the nipples and split up the front to her leg junction, glided amongst them. In her hand she carried a small whip-a cat o'nine tails made of silk; a plaything purely for erotic enjoyment.
She in turn danced before him, the skin-clinging satin voluptuously outlining her figure, falling back from her thighs in front, revealing them, glossy and trembling in long ripples.
The young man's eyes were with passion. He'd forgotten the audience. Here, undoubtedly, were the figments of his imagination come to life by courtesy of Louis de Chauvreland. But their unassailable distance had become a pain in his genitals and he almost wept as his body heaved under the choking effort of his breath.
Eyes gleaming mischievously at her virgin prize, the satin clad woman swayed in towards him, wielding the whip. She brought it down on his rampant penis with soft, tickling blows, increasing the power gradually until he was jerking in a fury, the silk lashing in tentacles of passionate caress around his uninitiated flesh.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" His plaintive words were just audible as his body writhed, hips straining outwards, legs tensing rigid in ridges of young muscle.
The women twirled and flaunted their bodies in unison before him, touching him, drawing their ringers over his tender parts, as the soft, stinging curls of whip sensually tongued his rigidity.
Swivelling her hips, the wielder of the whip lashed it across his chest, his knees, his belly, his thighs, working back again to his genitals and the poor fellow arched himself outwards with a cry, eyes glazed an the nude, bulging figures as he grew set in that intense tautened attitude and his penis turned deep crimson and then almost a fiery purple.
His hips be
gan to thrust forward in rapid movements as if he were having intercourse with some invisible siren, his organ piercing upwards through the thin air until suddenly, with a hoarse cry he finished in a straining forward-thrust position and his sperm shot whitely and furiously at the women in front of him, inundating the hips of one as she twirled in abandon. The long arc of his spending passion fell and fell in company with his moans until only a white trace on the cushioned floor and his thighs remained. His body sagged forward in exhaustion and a tear coursed down his cheek at the emotion of the experience.
The women began to untie him and then led him away.
"Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen," de Chauvreland announced with a grin. "Our young friend will be given time to recover and then reap a full reward at the loss of his unenviable virgnity." There was a trickle of laughter, and several people, expressing a wish to see the true initiation, got up and left at the invitation of their host.
It was during the lull in entertainment that Gene slipped quietly into the gloom at my side and greeted me with a long French kiss.
"You haven't deserted me I hope," she said, with a pretty little pout.
"On the contrary, I had all night to consider your eminent superiority," I flattered, tongue undisguisedly in cheek.
"You unfaithful hound," she grinned. "Oh, by the way, someone was asking for you at the hotel today."
The unexpected words fell like strong fingers on the back of my neck. Everything else blanched from my mind and for some seconds I stared at her, unable to speak.
Gene looked at me queerly and I recovered myself.
"Someone you didn't want to see?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "What was this person like, male, female?"
"Oh, very male," she replied. "Rather handsome in a rugged, middle-aged way-and very well dressed. I thought it might be a friend of yours and I told him you weren't staying there, but that you were in Cannes and that I'd be seeing you and would let you know he'd be back if he wanted very much to see you. He said that he did want very much to see you, but that he'd prefer it to be a surprise so perhaps I wouldn't mention I'd seen him. There, now I've told you and he asked me not to."
I sat looking at her dumbly. So they'd found me already. How the hell? I was almost sure it was Jaswant's henchman from the description. I felt a prickle of uneasiness-if I was taken unawares this time I'd had it.
"Listen, Gene, this is rather serious," I said quietly.
"Oh, dear. What have I done," she breathed, catching my hand.
"It's all right. You weren't to know," I said. "But you see these fading scars,"-I indicated my face-"Well this gentleman has arrived to finish where he and his cronies failed last time."
"Oh, Harvey!" There was real concern and horror in her voice as her fingers tightened involuntarily on mine.
"Never mind," I went on. "There's no point in your worrying. The chief thing is that I must get out of here and quickly."
"Yes, yes. I'll drive you somewhere. You must get out of Cannes or they'll find you in no time." Her words tumbled over one another. She had forgotten her own enjoyment of our relationship. This concern was all for me.
"Let's get out of here," I said quickly. "It's very likely they've followed you."
"Oh my god!"
Quietly and quickly we made our apologies to our host, who expressed his sadness that we had to leave so early and exhorted us to visit him again shortly. Beyond that he asked no question. Doubtless he was well used to sudden intrigues and he had plenty of other things to occupy him.
Just inside the entrance to the mansion we stopped.
"Look," I whispered sharply. I'm going out of the back door and I'll cut through the grounds. You drive onto the road and I'll meet you round the first bend. They won't touch you, especially if I'm not with you and, of course, they may not have followed you anyway. If you see any sign of anyone loitering drive straight on to Cannes and I'll get in touch with you somehow. If I'm not waiting for you, do the same thing. Give me fifteen minutes."
"For God's sake be careful, Harvey."
"Don't worry," I tapped my inside pocket with a smile and walked away through the house.
Once in the grounds at the back where I had recently spent a much more pleasant hour dawdling with my partner of the night before, I slipped into the shrubbery of the flower beds, brushing my way quickly and quietly through their shelter. I drew out the gun just in case and the hot silence of the place sent a spasm of iciness through me. There could be so little in my living or dying in the next fifteen minutes.
I walked quickly through the shrubbery, brushing through the dusty leaves of bushes and small trees, with light swishing sounds. My senses were an intensity of reception for the slightest sound or movement. I reached the woods which were the thickening culmination of an acre or two of grounds, without trouble and paused there, listening to my own breathing in the green stillness of shadow and dappled sunlight. I looked back towards the mansion, cold and deserted looking-such an incongruous mask-and not a thing was moving. No movement at its walls; in the arbours and pergolas-nothing.
I moved into the wood a little farther and began to walk parallel with the house and the main road beyond. Cursing every time I cracked a twig, crunching noisily where the moss and leaf mould became dry earth, I followed the wood round in an arc to the side of the house and beyond it, parallel now with the drive. I saw nothing and where the drive ran into the bend of the lane to the main road I scaled a seven-foot stone wall and dropped lightly to the h-edged-off field on the other side. Keeping close in to the hedge I crossed the field to the stretch of the road to Cannes. And suddenly I froze.
Faintly through the thickness of the hedge bordering the main highway I could make out the vague glinting shape of a car. I dropped on my stomach and crawled with painful slowness towards the hedge at this point.
Quiet voices reached me over its thick, dusty green comfort. I felt a passing sense of the melodramatic-like some Cheyney character. But the nerve-wracking reality killed in me any sense of bravado.
The voices murmured, assumed an identity, became shades of tone, developed into words as I slithered close.
"Wonder what the hell this place is, anyway? Think Crawford's got some country cousin?" The voice was undeniably that of one of the toughs of my acquaintance.
"Probably nothing to do with Crawford. The dame only said she'd be seeing him, didn't say when."
Yes, they were here in force and it looked very much as if caution was no particular object. They were out to get me, quickly, quietly ana be away before the hue and cry.
I lay rooted to the spot, having come so close I was afraid, now, to move away in case they heard me.
There was a few minutes silence, during which my breathing, stifle it though I tried, sounded terribly loud to me.
"For Christ's sake how long we going to have to hang around here?"
"If Crawford's there and the woman tells him, they'll be out sharp." It was the voice of the leader, that "rather handsome in a rugged, middle-aged way" man. "If she doesn't tell him and they stay, we'll wait until he comes out."
"Suppose he's not there at all. I think we'd better go in and see."
"We'll wait until gets dark."
Silence again, slow and intense.
"There it is! He's not with her."
For a moment I missed the significance of the muttered exclamation, but then I heard a car in the distance, towards the mansion and realized they must have a lookout somewhere near the wall of the grounds where he could see the drive and along the lane to the main road.
"So what now?" The young man's voice was harsh and annoyed.
The leader's decision was quick and determined.
"We'll go in and see. He may be hiding out here. We can always pick up the woman again back at her hotel."
I held my breath as the sound of the car grew louder. There was a movement on the other side of the hedge, a scuffling a
nd the slamming of car doors. They had climbed back into their car. No doubt as Gene slowed at the corner and sleeked past, they'd be carefully studying a road map.
The car approached, geared down, purred past in a vague glinting form beyond my cover, turned into the road, geared up and roared away.
I lay still, face close to the fresh-smelling grass.
Doors opened and slammed again and the voices were there once more.
Rape Page 16