Forbidden Acts
(Mm/Ff, size, inc, rape)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.com

The Moroccan was standing at the foot of the bed, and his tongue was moistening his lips as he looked down on her golden body with its two forests of golden hair and two mountains with pink-capped peaks. A little trickle of saliva escaped his lips and ran down his chin. He wiped at it with a giant hand, not taking his eyes off the vision of beauty.

"Come on, Le Boeuf," said Jordi. "It's time for you to open this lovely package!" She rolled her head on the pillow to look at the smaller man. He was grinning in anticipation at whatever was to follow. The Moroccan was naked to the waist when she looked back at him. He was fumbling with his trousers, then they fell down, taking with them the man's underwear, if he had been wearing any. For she saw with horror the hugeness and the grandeur of the man as God had made him. She gasped in awe and fright.

From the dark loins, where a heavy forest of hair was curled, sprouted a fleshy appendage of mammoth proportions. She imagined that brutal assault weapon at her vulnerable vagina and grew faint. She had known pain when using a single finger to gratify her own desires, and this was as big around as four fingers, and God knew how long!

"You can't! My God! It'll kill me! I'm a virgin; you know that."

Jordi laughed so hard that he bent over almost double.

"Show her, Yvonne," he said, when he caught his breath. Claire hadn't noticed the girl entering the room. Now she saw her standing in the doorway, carrying an instant-copy camera by its strap.

Yvonne strolled calmly over to the foot of the bed where Claire could see easily. Then she lifted a leg and placed it so that the spiked heel of her shoe was against the upper rail of the iron bedstead. Still lugging the camera, she used the other hand to lift her skirt high, and Claire could see that the girl wore nothing under it. The stretched thigh pulled at the surrounding tissue, and the heavy lips of the girl's vulva were wide open, showing the parted inner cleft and the vaginal opening. "Go ahead, Le Boeuf," Jordi commanded. The Moroccan moved pivoting on one foot, and laid the heavy, purple heed of his weapon against the wet meat of the girl's opening. He shoved slowly, and Carla watched in horrified fascination as the gigantic rod was engulfed by the previously normal-appearing opening. But as the shaft moved in deeper, Yvonne grunted audibly, and her eyes grew large. Her tongue slipped out to moisten suddenly dry lips.

Claire could tell that this girl, who obviously had been stretched before by the same weapon she had shown no fright when faced with it yet was affected by its size. If anything, the demonstration had served to add to Claire's fear and horror.

Oh, God! I wanted a cock in me, but not one like that! I think I'd rather stay a virgin forever! She tried to shrink back into the bed, praying for it to swallow her up smother her to death. Anything would be preferable to what threatened her now.

Then the Moroccan was kneeling on the bed between her legs. His weapon looked even bigger, now, as it neared her. I wanted to take a cock into my mouth, too. But that would make a meal for a lion! Jordi had pulled the pillow from under her head, and now he forced it under her hips, doubled, making them thrust upward toward the black invader that was poised over her belly.

She was vaguely aware of Yvonne moving nearer, aiming the camera at the bed, then clicking the shutter. Thank God! Maybe they only need the horror of a shot like this to shock Daddy into changing his mind. But she knew, even as the thought came, that she wasn't to get off that easily.

The tip of the hard shaft was lying in the cleft of her moist canyon, and the black face hovered over her own as the Moroccan leaned down to speak to her.

"I tell you this to help you, Mademoiselle Claire. It will not be as difficult for you if you try to want me. Try to wish this thing inside of you. Your body will not fight it as much, and you will have less damage. Understand?" He looked into her eyes, and she could tell that he was not in favor of causing her pain. His brown eyes seemed to reflect a pain of his own.

"Oui, je comprend. Merci." She acknowledged with thanks. Perhaps he could lessen the pain. Then it began. Oh, God! How it began!

It felt as though she was being torn asunder in a hundred different directions. They could have achieved the same feeling with a hand grenade, she imagined. Then she realized she was fighting it, and tried to reverse her muscles. It was impossible. To get to the point where she could will the damned thing to be inside her, she would first have to relax. My God, I can't relax when I'm being torn apart!

Then the black hands were on her breasts, caressing them, kneading the nipples to full erection, gently massaging their sponginess between the dark fingers. She felt herself tingling, becoming impassioned in spite of the pain, and then his hands were squeezing both nipples firmly, and she started to moan her involvement.

The burning sensation just inside the entrance to her tender passage had not increased, but it was a constant reminder of the camel which was straining to get through the eye of the needle. She gasped her need for air, and gulped some into her lungs. Then the kneading hands were replaced by the moistness of a hot mouth, and she felt nipple, areola, and a large part of the firm mound itself being drawn into the hungry mouth.

She gasped at the sensation, and her throat opened to moan her surprised delight. Then she felt the ripping-tearing-spreading pain of the fleshy instrument which bore into her tender depths

It's tearing my cunt apart! It's plunging right into my guts like a giant knife. She almost couldn't bear the pain, but as she started to pass out, she felt the delicious sensation of his massaging lips and tongue on her breasts, and she tarried just a second to savor the feeling. Then the pain in her depths lessened, and she thought she might be able to stand it.

Until the pulsing started. The head of the big shaft was now pressing snugly against her innermost defenses, and when it swelled within her, stretching the tender passage in throbbing pulses, she thought she was going to be sick. The hurtful spasms brought her to the borderline of extreme nausea several Ames, and then it began to feel almost good.

Her body was moving without her willing it to motion; the suction of the hungry mouth on her breast and the pressure of the black padded pelvis against her hard, wet bud carried her past the pain of the gross invader's violation. Her hips thrust upward, and she could feel the rope tension on her ankles as her heels sank into the bed. The Moroccan began to stroke into her depths, pulling the now slippery shaft almost out of its fleshy scabbard, then sinking it again to the hilt. Claire could feel the hairy luggage of the invader as it slapped with a wet smack against her buttocks and crotch. The tingling tremors which were running through her body carried her back once more to the night by the swimming pool, and her passion tripped the memory banks as the black flesh plunged into her.

"Fuck me deep, Daddy! Bust my cunt! Break me, rape me!"

She heard her own voice with surprise, and it shocked her, but the intensity of her feelings was so great she couldn't control herself. As it became even more intense, she heard herself cry out again.

"Squirt it in me! Now! Ohhhh!" Then the roller coaster took her up, up, clear to the top of an unbelievable peak, and as she started to fall, she felt the pumping, squirting streams of warm liquid splash into the tender walls of her being.

She fell a long way, and then floated softly in a fuzzy cloud. When she opened her eyes, the Moroccan was leaning back from her, and the black flesh of his rod was retreating from her passage. As it came all the way out, she watched the purplish head appear, trailing strings of white, sticky semen behind it.

The side of the dark sword were streaked with blood, and she knew why as the burning sensation returned to her torn tissues. Her breathing was a labored panting, and it seemed as if she'd never get enough air. She gasped deeply, and felt her lungs start to fill normally again.

The dark lance was bent, curving downward in a tired arc, the purple head resting on the sheet in a little pool of liquid white that gleamed in the morning sun which came in the barred window.

"Yvonne! Make Le Boeuf ready again!" Jordi commanded.

The brunette had been doing something at the dresser. When she moved away from it, Claire could see several curved photos lying on top of the dirty wood. The girl came over to the bed and kneeled on the edge, then leaned over Claire's thigh and placed her mouth on the black shaft. With a sideways movement of her head, she stroked the dark length, using lips and tongue, until the dormant rod began to stir slightly. When the purplish-red head lifted off the sheet, Yvonne took it into her mouth and began to rotate her head, working the fleshy tip between her teeth, then snaking out her tongue to lash around the coronal ridge, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. Claire, hearing the wet sounds as Yvonne sucked in the remnants of semen, felt truly nauseous. Then the tongue slipped down and stroked the side of the shaft again, cleaning off the streaks of white and red from the dark skin. Claire fought to keep from getting sick. She knew she would get herself covered with it, and have to lie in it. She forced herself to think of other things, but then she saw the great shaft swell into its former size and hardness, and Yvonne gave it a last sucking tug, then slid off the bed. Le Boeuf leaned over her, and the big meaty stick lay snugly in the canyon formed by her swollen lips. His mouth again sought her breasts, and soon she was inescapably caught up in her passion once more. He was moving the hardness slowly against her excitable surfaces while his hands and mouth worked at her breasts. She began to moan and move under him, as the burning sensation was gradually dwarfed by the mounting feelings from within. Then both hands were on her breasts, and the Moroccan's mouth was pressed to hers. As her lips opened to gasp, his tongue entered and plunged around inside, teasing her lips and toying with her tongue, until she could not remain passive Her pink tongue pushed out to fence with his, and he drank deeply of her warm, sweet juices, then sucked her hot tongue until she shivered in ecstasy. He leaned away from her, and then the head of his lance was at the opening of her torn passage. He thrust it inside slowly, until it filled her chokingly. Then he resumed the long, heavy strokes that drove her wild. His mouth moved over to her shoulder, where he nibbled and sucked at the tender flesh. There was a sinking of the bed near her head, and she peered from passion-swollen eyes to see Jordi kneeling by her face. He was as naked as Le Boeuf, and he held his own pallid member in his hand. She watched as the blood gorged head of the white tool came toward her, then it was against her lips

"Take this! You watched Yvonne. Now do the same!" He pressed the meaty head between her lips before she could turn away from it. Then it was in her mouth!

She almost gagged, but the things Le Boeuf was doing to her had her in a passionate trance, and she closed her lips over the soft thing and soon found herself tonguing it in a rotation which drew groans from Jordi's throat.

He pushed the shaft further into her mouth, until it touched the back of her throat, then yelled to Yvonne.

"Cut the ropes, Yvonne! Quick!" In a few moments, Claire felt her ankles and wrists freed, but instead of struggling, she was amazed to find that her legs were wrapping around the Moroccan, and that she had grasped Jordi's shaft with one hand, and was using the other to massage his soft bag.

Then the movements grew swifter, as the dark invader below and the white one above plunged into her deeply. She was thankful for the free hand which encircled Jordi's tool, keeping it from choking her completely. Then she trembled throughout her body, and her hips arched upward, thrusting against the Moroccans drive, and clinging around him with frantic leg tensions. Her mouth began to move on the flesh it held, stroking it in hungry grabs. As she felt herself soaring upward in uncontrollable agony mixed with ecstasy, she felt the throbbing pulsations of the meaty mouthful, and Jordi's grunting sounds marked time with the spurts of his seed against her throat. She swallowed heavily, and managed not to choke. Then the Moroccan was moaning and humming his release, and the pumping of his spurting liquid inside her passage marked the end of her climb. She fell suddenly into utter darkness. As she recalled the degradation of the Thursday morning orgy, she felt more violated than she had when it occurred. She could still feet the sticky strings of semen on her cheek, as though she had just now awakened from the faint which followed the assault. That had been only yesterday. And most of that afternoon and all of last night, she had slept, exhaustedly. Her young body was mending itself, she knew. But the lack of food since that shocking extent, and the shame she felt as she thought about those photos being seen by her family, made her feel sick all offer. She jerked to chase away the flies, again. Then the door opened and Jordi and Yvonne entered. They removed the gag from her mouth and gypsy-type addressed her.

"You are going to join your family. If you promise to be quiet and cooperate, we will not replace this handkerchief in your mouth. Do you promise to do as you are told?"

Claire's mouth was too dry to speak, but she nodded. Yvonne brought her a drink of water from the bathroom, and she held the first sip in her mouth a moment, then swallowed painfully. Soon she was gulping down the entire glassful

They untied the ropes, and helped her up. She moved slowly to the bathroom on wobbly legs, leaning on Yvonne's arm all the way. After relieving herself, she tried to clean up a little. There was no washcloth, but she did the best she could. There was a bidet in the room, and she managed to douche herself satisfactorily, though the clear water burned in numerous areas, as the protecting film of lubricant was rinsed away.

They blindfolded her, and led her off. She was helped into a car, and heard the doors close. Then they were moving. The trip seemed endless. Finally, she began to get frightened. Were they really taking her somewhere to kill her?

"Where are we going? We've traveled long enough to drive clear across Marseilles several times." There was a sob in her voice. She put her hands over her face, out of habit, as she started to cry under the blindfold.

"Do not worry, little cabbage. Your family is no longer at the hotel where you left them. We are going to a different place, and you will see them soon."

As one part of her mind absorbed this consolation, another part worked on his phrasing. The term petite chow had seemed ridiculous and alien in French literature. But these people actually did use the term. Little cabbage! She felt more like a used piece of meat! She knew that Jordi sat on her left, and even if occasional bumps in the bad road had not thrown her arm against Yvonne's breast, Claire would have known the brunette sat on her right, if only from the odor. This woman was a living example of the legend about the French use of perfume as a substitute for bathing. Yet, it wasn't all legend, she knew. In the days when bathing was considered detrimental to the health, even by the medical profession, scents were developed to mask the strong body odors. But there was no excuse for it in the twentieth century! She realized with a little thrill that when her hands had been pressed to her face, part of her blindfold had been shifted, and a small slit of light was in her eyes. She hoped it hadn't been noticed. She slowly moved her head about, pretending to relieve a stiff neck, adding to the effect by massaging it with her hands as she turned it. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of a road sign ahead. She tried to memorize what she had seen, but they passed it very quickly. Her mind worked at it, trying to be sure what she had seen. Was it Salon 65 kilometers, Aix 32 kilometers? Or what was the other name and figure? St. Martin something? She didn't know. Maybe the little bit she thought she had seen might be of value later. She tried to get an occasional glimpse of the scenery, looking for usable landmarks, thanking her special Providence that the thin material was coarsely woven, enabling her to distinguish quite a bit through its screening.

She could see that Le Boeuf, at the wheel, wore a chauffeur's cap, and that a heavy tint in the door glasses probably prevented anyone outside seeing into the car very well. It seamed to be an old vehicle, but rather well cared for. It was some kind of limousine, because there was a partition between the front and back, although the glass had been rolled almost completely down.

Then she began to see people on bicycles, and an occasional car coming from the opposite direction. Suddenly they were in a small town; she saw something which almost made her gasp. She stopped her reaction just before they would have heard her sharp intake of breath. There before her, definitely recognizable from a photograph in Daddy's wartime album, was a building which had been called, in 1945, Hall of the States. She could remember the signs from the photo; signs which ran around the upper part of the lower-floor facade, each with the name of a state. It had been a sort of service club for troops in the area. Her heart pounded with the recognition. She had figured out that if she were blindfolded, it had to be because of some advantage she would acquire by knowing the route they took. So she had made some headway without their knowing it. The big car took off on an oblique angle, down a street which soon became another semi-improved road. They rode for several miles before the car slowed, then turned up a lane between long hedgerows, and approached a big stone farmhouse. They stopped in front of the large door, and Le Boeuf got out and opened the back door of the car. Jordi got out, and reached inside, taking Claire's hand to guide her out. Soon they were inside the building, and when the door closed, Claire's blindfold was removed. She made a great fuss over blinking and rubbing around her eyes, elaborating on her deception.

Then she was taken to a door at the back of the house, and as it opened, she saw steps leading down into a cellar. Jordi went ahead of her, and Le Boeuf followed behind, as they descended the wooden stairs. Jordi stopped at the bottom, and turned on a switch. As the place filled with light, Claire's breath caught in a gasping sob. The walls of the cellar were of the same heavy stone as the rest of the farmhouse. Arid along two wells of the dismal, dungeon are place, shackles were fastened to the stones with huge iron rings. She saw the three figures shackled to the cruel chains, and cried heartbrokenly as she ran toward them.

"Daddy!" she sobbed, throwing her arms about the nearest prisoner. She looked up into his face, and his eyes were fun of his mental agony. His face had a beaten look.

She left him in confusion and ran to her mother, who was chained on the adjoining wall, hugging the limply hanging body, which came tensely alive under her daughter's embrace. The two sobbed in unison at their plight, then Claire reached over and squeezed Robert's hand above its manacled wrist, right next to Gwen's position on the wall.

Claire whirled to their captors with the fire of anger in her blue eyes. She almost spit out her words at them.

"What do you madmen think you're doing! You'll never get any money this way!" She was so full of her hate that she couldn't say another word, but just stood there, seething. She didn't even realize that she had spoken to them in English, until Jordi answered.

"You have been treated with more gentleness than we ordinarily use, because you have spoken to us in the language of our country. Now, it seems, you have reverted to the Ugly American, which makes it easier for us to proceed with out next move.

You see, your greedy father would not part with money, even after he saw the pictures of your little adventure. Now, we shall at least have some entertainment for our troubles. Le Boeuf! Chain her!" She felt the huge hands as they grasped her wrists, and she was taken to the wall and shackled next to her father. Then their captors went up the steps, turning out the light, and left them alone to their misery.


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. Claire'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 Yvonne 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 Jordi's cock with my mouth and both hands! It's better if he thinks l 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." Jim Morgan'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, Claire, 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 Claire forgave him for not ransoming her.

"I know, Daddy. 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. Claire wondered when he'd last had a drink of water.

"It might have worked with a professional of normal mentality, Daddy, but this Jordi 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?" Morgan 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 Claire'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," Morgan 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!" said Claire, faking it along with him smoothly. "They don't know they're up against an ex-OSS man."

"Good for you, Dad!" chimed in Robert, as he sized up the idea his father had begun to put into use. "Jim, I've asked you a hundred times not to carry any kind of weapon. It only leads to trouble." Even Gwen Morgan 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 Morgan realized the silence itself would betray them.

"I hope it's that damned Jordi 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 Claire, not having to fake the hatred she felt for the sadist.

"Me, too," Robert added. "But make sure he's got a key to these cuffs before you do it!"

"You shouldn't talk like that!" said Gwen. "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 Jordi moving across the basement floor toward them. He was carrying a plastic pitcher and some paper cups. He stopped beside Claire.

"We want our guests to be in good enough condition to provide us with satisfactory entertainment. 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.

Jordi moved down the line, stopping next to give Morgan 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 Morgan sipped at the drink, letting it flow around his dry mouth and throat, Jordi moved to the wall where Gwen and Robert 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, Claire 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 Jordi, 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 poor quality of your American bar stock. It is genuine absinthe, and has somewhat more strength from the wormwood. Is it not so?"

Jordi laughed to himself, as he turned away and went back up the stairs, leaving the light on, this time. When the door closed, Claire 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 Morgan. "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," said Claire. "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?" Morgan closed his eyes as he strained to recall the topography out of his past. Claire 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, Claire, 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," Claire 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?"

"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?" Morgan's brow wrinkled as he tried to imagine what his daughter was taking that he knew nothing about.

"Jussincases," Claire mumbled. She felt the flush move upward from her neck, and her face grew warm. Gwen came to her rescue.

"It's something I thought Claire 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." Morgan turned to his daughter. "Have you been taking those things so you could give yourself to some guy whenever you got hot pants?" Claire 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."

Morgan didn't need the disgust in Claire'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," Gwen told him. "You ought to know your daughter's character better than that. Make your own explanations and apologies."

Morgan's face was pink as he turned back to Claire. He sputtered a little, but he managed to apologize satisfactorily, as Claire'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. Jordi 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." Morgan'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 Gwen, then at his daughter, then back at Robert, who had remained silent during the sex-oriented discussion.

Morgan's eyes looked haunted, and Claire thought that he seemed to age several years in a few seconds. She felt a surge of maternal protectiveness for this father whose selective naiveté 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." Morgan'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 attaché 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 tenth 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 Jordi 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 Robert and me to cooperate. He kept the gun on Gwen 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." Morgan'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."

Morgan 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. Yvonne was her same, seemingly unemotional self, and Le Boeuf appeared only to be concerned with his duties as waiter. But Jordi was smiling evilly, and Claire 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, Jordi 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 bien tot!"

It seemed much less than two hours between Jordi's mocking departure and his return. But Morgan knew that the Frenchman's timing was precise; because their captors had permitted the family to keep their timepieces, Morgan 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. Claire 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 Jordi's appearance. Le Boeuf was with him. The pair descended the stairs and approached the wall occupied by Morgan and Claire

"We shall establish some basic facts before we go any further," Jordi told them. He was gazing into Morgan'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. Morgan upstairs, Le Boeuf." Jordi's words were barely uttered when the Moroccan inserted a key in Morgan'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. Yvonne 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 Yvonne, 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. Yvonne grinned at this orderly display. Such arrangements were not part of her habitual characteristics.

"Inside!" Jordi's voice came from the hall. Morgan 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. Morgan. 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, Claire!"

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 fathers

"Bien! Now, on the bed both of you!" Jordi's voice was like a whip. Morgan 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. Morgan. 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!"

Morgan sat on the bed, noting that Claire already had complied.

"Lie down, and embrace each other as lovers. Quickly!"

Morgan's shocked mind couldn't convince him that this was actually happening. Certainly Jordi 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 Jordi's face told him what he dared not accept.

"Mr. Morgan, 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 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!"

Morgan, 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.

"Claire, 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. 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. Yvonne! Over here with the camera!" The sleazy Yvonne moved around the bed until she had a good view of the models.

"Okay. Mr. Morgan, place your left hand on Claire's right hip, and take her breast in your mouth."

Morgan's eyes were full of pain as he slowly started to respond. Claire flashed him a look of compassion, then closed her eyes as she spoke.

"Go ahead, Daddy. 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 Gwen'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, Claire. Quickly!" ordered Jordi.

She gingerly reached down between them and found his semi-soft member. As her fingers moved through his wiry thatch and encountered their target, Claire 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 Jordi'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, Morgan, you repay her kindness by caressing her little pussy." His tone revealed his enjoyment with the scene, and his command of their actions.

Morgan 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 Claire, and the immovable anvil of his innate psychic block.

Jordi had lit a cigarette as Morgan'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 Jordi, "it will be the face which is burned. Perhaps much plastic surgery will be required." The tortured look in Morgan'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," Claire whispered. Morgan, 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 Claire's humming sound was a familiar melody, so much like Gwen's responses.

The performers were dimly aware of snapping-shutter sounds, and the subsequent tearing of exposed film packs. But they began to be carried away by their treacherous sexualities. Claire's hand was moving, slowly, gently milking the fleshy lance in her grasp, and Morgan's heavy breathing started to be interspersed with mild groans, as his passion increased.

The girl's lubricious flow was creaming Morgan'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, Morgan lost himself completely in the remembered lusts of his youth. It was the young Gwen 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.

Claire'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 Morgan'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.

Claire'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 fullness 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 Morgan'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, cum for me, Daddy! 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, I came so hard 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 Jordi'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! 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 Jordi. "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. Yvonne!"

The frowzy girl took Claire's arm and led her out of the room and down the hall. In a few minutes, they returned, and Yvonne took Morgan to the bathroom. While they waited, Claire 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 Claire 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. Yvonne 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?" Jordi seethed to enjoy displaying his knowledge of American slang.

"Yes, I think I have enough for both of us for a few days," Claire 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. Morgan returned, and Yvonne remained in the hall. Jordi studied Claire for a few seconds, then looked at Morgan.

"I think we will give you a rest, now, and bring our other performers up here. Yvonne, see to it that the girl has water with which to take her medicine." He nodded at Morgan. "Get your clothes on, and we will take you back below."

When they were dressed, they were escorted back downstairs to their shackles and Yvonne brought Claire 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 Yvonne provided.

"Merci bien," she told Yvonne as she returned the glass. Then she handed over the other pill. "Pour ma mere, sil vous plait." The French girl merely nodded, then walked over to Gwen and handed her the pill and the glass. When she was finished, Yvonne let her continue holding the tumbler while her shackles were being unlocked.

Le Boeuf had been releasing Robert, and now the two of them were led upstairs. It was very silent in the cellar for several minutes, and then Morgan 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!"

Claire, 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 Morgan, 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 Claire, and the rasping sound of his own breathing.


Gwen Morgan had steeled herself to meet almost any kind of abuse she could imagine. What she had seen in the photos delivered to the hotel convinced her that she could expect sexual assaults from either Jordi, Le Boeuf, or both. She had not seen the photos taken just a few minutes before, in this room, nor had there been any opportunity to learn what Jim and Claire had undergone while upstairs.

She didn't really want to know. She could imagine all too easily the further rape of her look-alike daughter by these Frenchmen. And she didn't like to think of that sleazy, smelly Yvonne toying with Jim's equipment, either. She didn't like the thought of those family jewels, which had given her so many pleasurable delights, in the garbage-like vault of that French whore!

Nor did she care to picture her son's defilement by the woman. Yet, she knew it must be intended. Just as she fully expected to be invaded by the Frenchmen who now ushered her into the bedroom.

"Take off all your clothing!" Jordi ordered them.

Gwen almost protested against their forcing both the mother and the son to disrobe in the same room. But she remembered the threats issued downstairs, and decided to hold her tongue. As she removed her clothes, she detected the faint smell of semen in the room. A little shudder ran through her. That smell was always an aphrodisiac trigger for her. Even now, under these agonizing circumstances, it got to her. She felt their eyes on her, and knew they were admiring her ripe body, which had retained its lushness with scarcely an added wrinkle or ounce of fat, since Robert's birth. She was thinking of Robert, and of the delight she'd experienced when he nursed on her milk-laden breasts as an infant. Now, as he undressed in her presence with obvious embarrassment she noticed that he was very much the virile young man. In recent years, since he'd struggled through the first stages of puberty, she hadn't seen him without at least a pair of shorts or bathing trunks. he certainly was not her 'little boy' any more. In fact, she colored blushingly when he inadvertently looked her way. She stood there, vulnerable in her nudity try, and felt the quick touch of his gaze on her body. It made her feel more exposed to be seen by her own son than by these depraved strangers who were their captors. Robert was blushing, too. The sight of his mother's unclothed body affected him strangely. Mothers were supposed to be different from other women. He realized that they had the same basic equipment, but somehow it seemed indecent that this woman who had given birth to him and cared for him all these years, should have the ripe, exciting figure of a girl many years younger than her 39 winters. Those full, firm-looking globes that he knew he had nursed as a baby showed almost no tendency to sag, and the sleek lines of her hips, swelling out from that tiny waist, were all too much like those of a pinup girl in one of the men's magazines. He kept his eyes completely averted, after that one accidental glance, but the femaleness of that golden-tanned body and the bright blonde triangle which decorated the juncture of thighs and belly, remained as an image burned on his brain.

"Okay!" said Jordi, startling them both with the suddenness of his voice in the embarrassed silence of the room. "Get in the bed! Quickly!" Gwen moved slowly backward until her legs bumped the edge of the bed, then sat down.

"I am going to tell you what I told Mr. Morgan. Then I shall expect complete cooperation from both of you: Mr. Morgan has refused to pay us when his daughter's safety depended upon it. I am convinced that he will pay to protect the reputation of every member of his family. Pride can be a strange thing.

"Therefore, we will take pictures of all of you pictures which he will be anxious to destroy, before they can be seen by others. If he then pays us what we ask, we will let him destroy the pictures. You see, this is the only way we have of dealing with a man of his stubborn convictions.

"Now, we have wasted enough time with this family. So, from here on, you will do exactly as you are told, quickly, and without hesitation. If you do not, there will be pain. Your daughter, Mrs. Morgan, already bears a painful proof of what I tell you. It is up to you if you also receive much pain. So! We waste not another minute! Into bed, both of you!"

Gwen drew up her legs, keeping them chastely together, and lay out full length on the bed. Robert crawled in beside her, keeping to the other side of the bed. There were several inches of space between them.

"Now, you Robert, is it not. you will place your left hand on her hip. Quickly!" Robert's hand reached out, and he had to turn his body toward her to stretch the distance. Gwen, out of the corners of her eyes, saw that he would have to slide his hand and wrist across the area of her womanly triangle to obey the command, so she rolled over toward him on her side, moving the forbidden forest out of the danger zone. When his hand touched the warm flesh of her hip, she gasped involuntarily. The ends of his fingers were lightly resting on the sensitive skin of her buttock a tingle went through her at the contact.

"Now, your mouth on her breast!" commanded Jordi.

Robert hesitated a fraction of a second, then saw the Frenchman moving closer to Gwen's side of the bed. He was blowing on the tip of a lit cigarette, and there was an evil joyful light in his eyes. Had Jordi been moving toward him, Robert was sure he would have refused to obey. But he knew it was his mother who would pay for it. And Jordi seemed to want an excuse to display his sadism.

Quickly, Robert moved closer, until his head was at the level of her breasts. He touched the side of the pale golden hillock with his lips, and Jordi stopped the advance of the glowing cigarette.

"Movement!" ordered Jordi. "Use your lips and tongue; stir up the nipple! We must have convincing photographs."

Robert's lips parted, and he traced a light trail up the side of the tender globe to the irregularly textured surface at its peak. He felt a thrill as the softness touched the tip of his tongue. Gwen was struggling to control her outlaw sexuality, but the warm damp lips and tongue were too much for her. She felt the blossoming of nipple as it rose between the caressing lips, and her lungs filled with a gasp of air that almost whistled through her teeth. Robert felt the tender morsel spring into his mouth, and then the hidden memories of his infancy combined with the strong, urgent cravings of his virile young body, and he sucked at the springy tidbit, then teased it with lips and tongue. The thrill of such a forbidden act struck him unexpectedly. His defenses were not equal to the power of his cravings.

He worked hungrily at the tender meal, and the moaning of his mother's voice was a strange sound in his ears. Then her hands were grasping his head, moving him away from his exciting feast. He was panting as she guided his mouth to her other warm hemisphere, and the damp heat of his passionate exhalations stirred the nipple of this other globe to early blossom. His lips seized it eagerly, and he sucked at its softness, stretching it from its first budding into a swollen sponge. Gwen moaned loudly as the action stirred her to the core.

"Take his cock in your hand!" commanded the Frenchman, and Gwen reached under Robert's arm and sought the flesh of his manhood. As she reached, she had to roll slightly away from him with her hips, to make room for her exploring hand and arm, so that just as she grasped his excitedly stiffening rod, the hand he had placed on her hip was trailed across the front of her upper thigh and then halted in the blonde forest of her loins.

She felt him swell in her hand as he thrilled to the feel of her heated flesh under his fingers. Then she whimpered as she spread her thighs, and the swelling outer lips of her womanhood parted, capturing his fingertips in the damp heat of her fleshy canyon. Robert's pulse raced as he felt the hot lips under his fingers, and the wetness he encountered was an invitation to explore. His hand shifted as he sought out the uppermost cleft, then gently massaged the fleshy protrusion hidden there. It was infinitely more exciting than previous experiences he'd had most of them in the drive-in movie at home. This seemed so much more serious so mature. Even as he felt the guilt of its wrongness, his passion increased. The hand which was closed over his pulsing hardness had started to move, and the friction was driving him wild.

"Now! Get above her, and put your cock inside her!" came the order.

He tried to move, but his knees were like jelly, and it took him quite a while to get up on all fours and position himself above her. Gwen had started to spread her legs wider in anticipation, but suddenly she rebelled. A belated surge of conscience made her close her thighs to her son as he hovered above her. Then the pain struck! Jordi's lighted cigarette pressed against her cheek, and he ground it against the tender flesh. She shrieked as the pain spread over her face, the tears rolled down onto the bed in streams. Robert started to clamber up out of his position, ready to attack the sadist in anger. His stiffened member lost its rigidity, and his excitement cooled as if he'd been thrust into a tub of ice water.

The Frenchman watched him start to spring from the bed, then cut short any ideas about revenge.

"You will not help your mother by being troublesome. Au contraire! Every move you make against us everything you do to delay our little circus will cost her another painful burn. You do not want that beautiful face destroyed, do you?" Robert settled back onto the bed, defected. He was half-kneeling, half-squatting, and his eyes were dark with his frustrated ed anger. But Jordi laughed at him, then spoke to Gwen.

"The same is true with you. You have felt the taste of my displeasure. After this, when it is you who fails to cooperate, your son will suffer the pain. Now! You will both begin once more! At the point where you stopped! Quickly!"

Robert looked down at himself, and both Gwen and the Frenchman followed his gaze. It was obvious that he was in no condition to penetrate anything. Gwen's heart went out to him. Even his virile father had suffered temporary impotency when lesser disturbances had interrupted his boudoir athletics. But Jordi was laughing at him.

"We will fix that. Yvonne! See if you can't wake up the young man's sleeping beauty with your clever mouth!" The slattern moved toward the bed, dropping her camera atop the pile of clothes on a chair.

"No!" Gwen shouted. "I won't have her touch him! If it must be done, I will do it myself!" As Yvonne stopped in her tracks, and the satanic Frenchman grinned his enjoyment of the maneuver, Gwen reversed her position hurriedly, crawling toward the foot of the bed where her son still remained in his squatting-kneeling position.

She placed a hand on his thigh as she neared her goal, and gave it a loving squeeze. She spoke to him in a low voice, not looking up at his face, as if trying to avoid any further emotional pressures.

"Close your eyes, and think of nothing but the moment. Try to let your body function as it will, and enjoy what has to happen. It is the only way we will prevent further misery."

With no more hesitation than it took to get out the few words, she bent over him. As her lips touched him, high up on his inner thigh, he felt a thrilling tingle of contact. Then her tongue was snaking out, trailing up across the curly thatch of his groin, then down to the base of his limp penis. She took the flaccid shaft in her mouth, right at the base of its connection to his torso, holding it briefly in her teeth, as a dog would grasp a bone. She gently shook her head, worrying the reluctant warrior in her mouth. Then her teeth relaxed their grip, and she slid her lips and tongue out toward the tip, noting the surprising length of this unarmed cannon. He's just like his father, she thought. Every inch a man, and plenty of inches, at least ten of them! Even when he's not ready for action! It feels so good in my mouth. Even Jim doesn't know how much I really like to have his big cock in my mouth! He'd probably be shocked. I believe he thinks that I do this for him just to please him, but I can have an orgasm over the feel and taste of his cock quicker than any other way. I love it when he sucks me with it, but it's so much more exciting to have that hot, firm flesh in my mouth! Oh, Jim! Your cock excites me so!

As she gradually managed, by association, to convince herself that it was her mate, and not her son, whose stiffening flesh she was having with her lips and tongue, she felt her legs being moved by Robert's firm, young hands. What a wonderful mother! Robert was thinking. To keep me from being contaminated by that filthy, syphilitic whore, she's taking my cock in, her sweet mouth. And, God help me! I like it. It's driving me wild! I've got to do it for her, too, to help her try to get some relief from this, and keep her from worrying about what we're being forced to do. He grasped her kneeling legs, and moved them out from under her, almost making her lose her oral grasp on him. Then he rolled her over, changing his position until he was poised with his mouth over her blonde-feathered loins. He moved her thighs apart, and watched as her fleshy nether lips swollen from the blood they had engorged during the earlier excitement parted to reveal the delightful pinkness of her most private area.

The faint, sweet muskiness of her rose to his nostrils, and he was surprised to find that the scent excited him. He touched his tongue to the swollen lips, stroking them as they darkened with the increasing engorgement of blood. Suddenly they were beginning to be more wet, and the lubricious flow of her passion seemed to replace the moisture as fast as he could lick it up. She was making little, whimpering, mewing sounds from around the swollen shaft of flesh that filled her mouth, and her breath, which had to come from her nostrils while her mouth was filled, felt hot on Robert's hairy sac, which lay on her face. It aroused him to new levels of excitement, and he feasted hungrily but tenderly on the wet, magenta flesh of her opened blossom. Her hips were rotating slowly beneath his head, with an occasional gentle thrust upward, making his tongue and lips press frequently at the erectly swollen bud of her sensitivity. He grasped the fleshy protrusion with his lips, reveling in its unbelievable soft surface and tender hardness from within. His nose was dipping into the wet, flowing entrance of her passage. Who would have thought a woman's cunt would be so delicious? he marveled. It's so damned excitingly female, open like that, and helpless. I can plunder it all I want. He was lost in the depth of his passionate experience, and the body he assaulted so eagerly was now just an exciting female body. Gwen's juices were so stirred up first by her oral satisfaction, then by the thoroughness of the attentions being given her heated nether flesh that she was lost in the deep twilight that precedes a woman's complete fulfillment. Finally, her flowing loins were so swollen with her driving pulse that she let the huge penis slip from her lips as it pulled back in one of the pumping strokes which had been thrusting into her mouth, and cried out in her aching passion.

"Drink me! Oh-h-h! Drink me all up! Eat me good! Oh-h-h!"

The mouth worked faster, trying to remove the lubricious cum of her overflow as fast as it could appear. The excitement was too much for him, and his penis-now rubbing against the lips and chin below it, started to leak its first drops from the safety valve.

Gwen felt the first hot, damp drops on her neck and breasts, and she grabbed the pulsing shaft and forced it back into her mouth. As it pumped its spurting gobs of semen, she swallowed it, and continued to suck and swallow, while milking the rear of the long rod with the hand whih grasped it.

Robert was moaning into the hot, musky wetness of the blossom in which he feasted, until he felt as though his very soul was being sucked from his body. Then he gave a loud groan, and rolled from his position, falling exhaustedly onto the bed on his face. Gwen, who had reached the second of her complete orgasms, lay there, as spent as Robert. She felt Robert's hand gently pat her thigh, and realized that it was not the aftermath love pat of a satisfied male, so much as a consoling gesture from son to mother. She was also aware of the final shutter click as Yvonne filmed the evidence of their collapse. She realized that her legs were wide open, and her wet nest felt cool in the slight breeze which lead begun to flow in through the bedroom window. She wondered vaguely if this were the beginning of one of the windstorms her husband had described. What was it they called it a mistral? Yes, and she'd wondered if the name first belonged to the winds, or the famous poet laureate of Provencal.

"Okay. Now you may use the bathroom. You first, Mrs. Morgan."

Gwen rose from the bed and allowed Yvonne to lead her down the hall to the bathroom. She spotted the bidet, and headed for it. In seconds, she was feeling the vast relief which accompanies the emptying of an overloaded bladder. Then she was cooling her tingling genitals with the water from the bidet.

When she had squeegeed off all the excess water she could there were no towels in evidence she turned to the open door where Yvonne had stood, observing her. Then she was herded back down the hall to the bedroom.

Yvonne motioned with her head, and Robert followed her sign, leaving the others to be guided to the bathroom. He tried to shut the door, but Yvonne prevented him, waving the silenced pistol at his belly.

"I am to keep you under watch at all times," she said. "Certainly a handsome man like you need not be ashamed to be seen by a woman. You should be proud of that beautiful thing you wear between your legs. I think I will ask Jordi if I can have some of it."

He blushed, but stood there, trying to relieve his bladder as she watched. He found that he had to concentrate, but finally his desperate physical need overcame his psychological block, and he urinated a heavy stream into the porcelain commode. Yvonne watched as he shook off the last drops, then as he turned to look for the lavatory to wash his hands she lifted her skirt with her free hand, keeping the pistol trained on him. As she grabbed it up past her thighs and held it against her belly, he saw the black hair of her mounded pubis and the slightly distended outer lips, a wet gleam of dark red flesh. As he watched, the lips winked at him, and Yvonne chuckled lustfully.

"See what a nice kiss it makes for you?" she asked. "Would it not be nice to have it kiss like that on the end of your so beautiful cock?" She continued to laugh as he washed his hands and shook them to dry them, then herded him back to the others.

"Well. The hero of our little drama is back. Now we can proceed." Jordi was relishing every moment of his domination over them.

"You did not yet complete the orders I gave you. It seems that you were both so hungry for soixante-neuf that you could not stop to do a little fucking for the camera. Eh, bien! You have just reversed the order in which we had planned to photograph you. Now, we will continue with the other: du meme chose, ne cest pas

He gestured them toward the bed, and they crawled onto the crumpled bedclothes and lay there, waiting to see what was next.

"Madame, you have expended the young man's seed with your hunger. Now you will make love to him a little, until he is ready to enter you, and then you will take him inside you for our final pictures." As he finished speaking, Jordi blew on the glowing tip of a freshly lit cigarette.

Gwen turned to her son, reaching out to him, and his arms opened to take her. There was fear and guilt and shame in their eyes as their gazes met briefly. But there was something else. This first opportunity to look into each other's eyes told them both that they were sharing pleasure as well as pain and fear. They embraced each other with a powerful need. The need to drive away the feelings of guilt and shame, and to drown themselves in the forced pleasure of their contact Neither knew what the future held for them, after these forbidden activities, but they knew that the quickest way to end things was to resolve the problem at hand meet the requirements of the sadistic Jordi. Their lips met, and for the first time in his life, Robert was not thinking like a son when he kissed his mother's lips. And Gwen could only compare it in reverse, as she recalled the time when at fourteen, and full of the bursting forces of her blossoming womanhood she had kissed her father on the mouth, and knew that she must never kiss him again, excepting on the cheek. Now, her memory of that journey into puberty seemed to stimulate her quiescent sexuality into fresh stirrings that trembled through her rapidly heating body. She thrust her tongue into Robert's mouth, and he eagerly sucked at it, and caressed it with his own tongue. In seconds, she felt the stiffening evidence of his youthful virility rising steadily, its firm tip tracing a path up her thighs until it pressed against the soft flesh of her lower belly. His hands were caressing her body, now. His fingers traced pencils of heat over her back and hips. Then he was clutching the firm cheeks of her buttocks, massaging them tenderly to the tempo of his increasing passion. She moved her hips until his hardened flesh pressed her just where she wanted it, then made tiny movements which kept up a constant massage of her needy spot. They were gasping for air, now, and their mouths separated. He moved his head, kissing her panting on neck and shoulders, then trying to kiss her swollen breasts. The shift of his body removed the source of her greatest pleasure, but she waited, giving him his feast at both breasts until the nipples were achingly distended, and she was moaning from the results.

Then she pulled his head up to hers, and kissed him again. As his head moved, his torso shifted, and the hot head of his tool was pulsing against her belly. She opened her thighs, and slipped her hips upward, then let them ride back downward with his wand captive sandwiched between the dip nether lips which had grasped it. Once again, she started to move in short, gentle strokes, making the captured flesh massage her own tiny wand. Their mouths were tightly pressed together, their tongues thrusting and searching. As the momentum of her passion gained speed, she suddenly sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, and his hands slid upward to cup the firm globes of her breasts. Her hands went down to grasp him, then she guided him into the spread petals of her wetly open passage. Then he was inside her, and pressing deeply into the grasping, throbbing folds that seemed to pull him on, faster and faster. Until he felt the fluttering touch of some wildly moving thing inside her, nibbling delicately at the sensitive head of his penis. My beautiful mother! he thought, from some subconscious area that refused to trigger his passion-mad conscience. I'm Sucking my own sweet, juicy mother! Oh, God! What's that inside her that's grabbing my cock like that? I've got to get away from it. It's driving me out of my mind! He pulled backward to escape the maddening teasing of her involuntarily grazing hold on him. Then he was thrusting, pumping, in and out, as she rotated her buttocks beneath him. Then she cried out in the throes of her heated excitement.

"Oh! Fuck me hard! Stick it in all the way! Oh-h-h-h-h!" She writhed under him, and her mouth was tight, teeth close together, lips barely parted. A hissing sound came from between her teeth as she fought for air while her jaws were locked in ecstasy.

Then she was trembling, and her body shook under him with the depth of her climax. He had just probed to her innermost wall, and the tiny hand-like grasping had him again! He felt the fluttering over his sensitive nerve ends, then he lost control, and his hot fluid poured into the fleshy folds of her pussy. He groaned as the ecstatic feeling overwhelmed him, and then he lay still, poised above her, weight resting on hands and knees, until he could stop shaking enough to roll off to the side. I came inside her. He was horrified for a moment, remembering what he'd heard of the monstrous offspring which could result from such inbreeding. My God! I shot my load into my mother! Then he recalled the earlier discussion in the cellar, and the pill that he had seen her take before they came up here. Oh, God! I hope it works! Ah poor mother!

"You may use the bathroom again," said Jordi. Robert was glad he could wait until his mother was through. He felt as if his bones had turned to rubber. Yvonne was coating the surfaces of her last few pictures with the preservative which fixed them permanently, so Jordi guarded Gwen as she went down the hall. She waited for him to leave the room, but he stood there, grinning at her.

She sighed in resignation as she moved over the bidet and squatted down. She busied herself flushing out the blobs and strings of whitish semen her son had spurted into her. Then she cleansed her entire genital area with the soothing water. When she turned her head to see if Jordi was watching her, she sucked in her breath as her lips met the tip of the Frenchman's rigid member. He had stealthily moved up beside her as she sat there, washing herself, and had levered his penis out of his slacks, holding it right beside her cheek. As her lips opened to gasp, he was ready, and the hard flesh went into her mouth so far that his hairy belly, which peeped through the open slot of his undershorts, pressed against her nose. His hands were around her head, and he began pumping himself into her mouth and throat, until she almost gagged. Then he withdrew it a little, and she grabbed the rear part of the fleshy shaft to keep it from again going in so deeply. She was wise enough not to resist his attentions, and began to work on him, trying to finish the matter as quickly as possible. But her rebel sexuality betrayed her, and soon she found herself hungrily mouthing him and stroking his shaft with one hand, while her other hand slipped into his shorts and kneaded his hairy sac with gentle, but eager caresses. He was groaning at the sensations she induced in him, and soon he dug his fingers in her blonde tresses and cried out, as he worked his hips to drive his meat into her mouth. Then he was spewing his lust inside her, and it flowed down her throat as she sucked the swollen tip so expertly that he groaned and withdrew it. One last trickle was just seeping out, and it made a sticky string that drooled across her lips and chin, then hung wetly, dangling over her breasts. She leaned over the bidet and turned on the water, then rinsed off her face and stood up. Jordi was smiling as he tucked himself back into his clothes. Then he waited as she went to the lavatory and gargled with warm water. He laughed at her.

"It would seem that the juice of the Frenchman is not as tasty as that of the American," he said. "But then perhaps it is only that you are accustomed to the one taste more than the other." He laughed again as they went back down the hall.

Gwen dressed while Robert was in the bathroom. When he had returned and dressed, they were led out the stairway, and taken back into the cellar.

Claire was looking anxiously at them as they were brought in, but Morgan, from years of habit, was sleeping after his sexual episode. As soon as the mother and son were shackled, Jordi and Yvonne came over and unlocked her cuffs. Then they unlocked Morgan's, after which they shook him until he was awake.

"We will now finish our pictures of you two," he said. Then perhaps we can all get some sleep, non?"


It was deathly quiet in the cellar after Morgan and Claire were taken away for the second time. Robert could hear his mother breathing in long, sighing breaths, and he thought he could hear the pounding of his own heart. But all else was quiet. He thought about what he had just been through really, what his mother had been forced to endure.

Like most well-brought-up young men, he idolized his mother, and he found it impossible to believe that she had been involved in the fantastic circus he had just left upstairs. It just couldn't be! And now, Claire and their father were back up there, being forced into still more shameful acts. When would it end? Would they really be allowed to leave if the ransom were paid?

Then his mind shifted again, and he was trying to assess his feelings during the recent episode. I knew it was my mother there with met And yet I enjoyed it! I really wanted to taste her body in my mouth I loved the smell of her cunt, and the taste of her juice the feel of her heat pouring out of her body at me. My God! What kind of madman am I, anyhow? I even loved it when I was fucking her! The feel of her juicy cunt wrapped around me was like nothing I've ever felt before. And what was that inside her that nibbled on me? My God! Is there something wrong with her, too? Could I really have seemed like a lover to her, or something?

He was working himself up to a nervous tension that he had never known before. The perspiration was gathered on his brow and upper lip. He hadn't realized it, but he was panting with the effort of thinking and searching in the recesses of his mind for some answers. In short, he was frightened with the immensity of what he knew had been a very terribly wrong thing. A thing in which he'd been forced to participate, but which he had actually enjoyed, once he'd started!

It was several minutes after his teeth started chattering with his nervousness, and with the cold of the dank cellar, which chilled him as his perspiration dried, that his mother spoke to him. "Robert! What's the matter? Are you ill?"

He was silent, except for his gasping and chattering Then he bubbled over. All of his fears and guilts and shame all the things that were threatening his sanity he poured out to her. After all, for the greater part of his young life he'd turned to her whenever he couldn't solve his own problems. He thought he'd outgrown his need of her as a confessor and comforter. But he could never have foreseen such events as this.

Gwen heard him out. At times he was almost incoherent in his eagerness to get everything off his chest, hoping that complete confession would relieve him of his aching, bursting burden. But she understood him all too well everything he said. When he finally finished, running down like a record on a hand-wound phonograph that needed another cranking to get it up to normal speed, it was again silent in the old cellar. She thought a long time before she spoke. She had to be sure that she said the right thing. This could affect him for the rest of his life!

"Robert, I may be able to answer you on everything, and I may not. I'll try to do my best. You know that I love you very much, and that I'll always love you. You know that, don't you?" She waited until he pulled himself together sufficiently to answer.

"Of course. I've never doubted that!" he replied.

"Just keep that in the back of your mind, then, no matter what else we discuss. Will you can you do that?"

"Yes. And mother?... no matter what else I said... I'll always love you just as I have since I could remember."

"I know, Robert. I knew that the moment you turned to me to help you with all this that's bothering you so much." She almost choked up on her emotions, then got a grip on herself, and continued.

"Robert, I'll have to talk to you awfully plain. I know that your father, thank God, has brought you up with all the basic sexual knowledge you need, but this mess we're in now is something no one could be expected to foresee.

"You've taken enough of the basic elements of human psychology to understand how closely we parallel the lower animals in certain of our normal functions. What always seems so hard to understand is that the entire package we call civilization all the things we try to instill in ourselves, educate ourselves with, as it were really is only a very thin coating which we manage to keep pulled over the more basic, more deeply ingrained things inside us.

"Of course, everyone is an individual, because he has his own very special formula, which combines the things he has inherited, the things he has learned, and the environment in which he is brought up. There are other factors, too, but these affect us most.

"Now, you won't find two men much farther apart as individuals than your father and that Jordi." She used the Frenchman's name as if it were the filthiest thing she could utter.

"Jim is a big, husky, he-man type, who pretends that he doesn't have a good education sometimes, especially when he's with those who really haven't. He talks as if he'd just as soon beat you as look at you, sometimes. But you know as well as I do almost as well, anyhow that he's really an old softy, and more gentleman than anything else.

"Jordi, on the other hand, pretends to be a gentleman, uses flowery speech to cover his crude thoughts and drives. He pretends to be so very refined in all other ways, yet you know when he tells you he'll do something very horrible that he means it, for there seems to be nothing too foul or brutal for his mind to dream up or his conscience to object to. "And yet, if those two were facing each other in anything like an equal battle, I'd bet on your father. Because underneath all of the veneer that we see his personality that we know, his many fine characteristics lies that basic that we do not know. I think he might very well break the Frenchman in little pieces.

"Something like that can take place in any of us. No matter what we are like all the rest of our lives, underneath we are, after all, very basic creatures. Some of us have as many surprising differences in our basic nature as we do in the side of us which we show to the world everyday.

"Now, your father and I are both highly sexed individuals. And I'm afraid that both you and Claire have inherited more than your share of whatever genes may cause that trait. I can only say that I am not surprised you are so much like your father. And Claire is probably much more like me than I have wanted to believe.

"When we were forced into a situation such as this, Robert, it was inevitable that we burst out of our civilized wrappers and exposed the depth of our sexualities. We were at those moments just two human individuals who were unfortunate enough to be placed in that very set of conditions.

"Sure, we could blame ourselves for breaking down, for giving in to our baser natures. But what would it buy us? It's happened. We couldn't undo it if we spent the rest of our lives and all of our family's resources. So, the only thing to do is to try to shove it into the back of our minds as far as it will go. If we find that we have trouble living with it, we'll just have to bring it out and discuss it again. But I hope we can think of it as a very unfortunate but irrevocable part of our lives that we need not think of, again.

"Before we do try to forget it, honey, it might be well to get the last bit of value out of it. Let me tell you that if you ever have one of those moments when you doubt yourself as a man, for any reason, you can remember that your mother gave you top honors.

You're every bit the man your father is in all ways. You're thoughtful, gentle, and very exciting to a woman. The girl who gets you for keeps, and any others in the meantime will be very lucky. I'll always be proud that you're my son, Robert."

She was silent, and the cellar was full of her presence as it had not been all the time she spoke. Robert felt the magnetism of this wonderful woman who was his mother, and almost not quite, but almost he was glad that they had shared the rigors of this day. It was a lot of female, and a lot of heart that he had the good fortune to call mother. He wept quietly, unashamedly, for a while. Then he spoke his gratitude.

"You're great, mother! I've known that for a long time, but after today, I'm afraid that you're some kind of impossible combination of saint and sweetheart that just might have spoiled me for all the other women in the world. I only hope that I'm lucky enough to get one just a little bit like you."

"Thank you, Robert." She stopped for a moment, then thought of something else. "It's a hell of a way for it to happen, but I don't think we've ever been so close as right now. We've shared the very worst moments of our lives together, and yet found joy in them. Not many people can say that."


"L'eclairage, c'est ne pas suffisant pour la photographie, maintenant," protested Yvonne.

"what did she say?" Morgan asked his daughter. His French had been limited, in the old days, to slowly spoken phrases of simple vocabularies. Now he remembered very little of that.

"She says the lighting isn't good enough for taking pictures, now." Claire hoped that this meant a reprieve. If further photography was postponed until morning, maybe they could find some way to escape in the night.

"We will use the parlor," decided Jordi, dashing Claire's hopes for a delay. They were herded out of the bedroom, which they had just entered before Yvonne's protest, and soon found themselves in a fairly large living room. The wall-to-wall carpeting was old but good, and there were a few pieces of furniture scattered around, none of which seemed to belong.

On the walls were a number of mirrors, which seemed to be built into the structure, or cleverly affixed to seem very permanent. In several places, the faint outlines of rectangular shapes revealed where pictures had been hung. The place gave the appearance of a house deserted by its former occupants, then commandeered by Jordi and company as a temporary headquarters. Claire wondered where the furniture had been obtained, guessing that it might well have been stolen from other homes in the area. Morgan paid little attention to the details of the room. He was just barely awake, and beginning to feel again the resentments and discouragements which had bothered him since his capture, and the guilt and shame he had experienced after the previous episode with his daughter.

"Here, on the sofa," commanded Jordi. They moved toward the huge sofa, which seemed to be rather new both in design and manufacture. As they approached it, the Frenchman tugged at a corner, and it opened out into a fair-sized bed.

"The clothes quickly!" he ordered, and the father and daughter sullenly removed their clothes again. This time they piled them on a long coffee table nearby.

Yvonne had opened the drapes which covered glass-paneled doors leading onto a terrace. A poorly tended garden could be seen through the dusty glass panels. It was on the side away from the road, and the shrubbery hid the doorway from outsiders. The light which entered the room seemed to be magnified by the several mirrors, and it was considerably brighter than the bedroom.

"Let me see; I think Monsieur Morgan will sit on the edge of the bed..." Morgan obliged. "... And Mademoiselle will sit on his lap to begin." Claire obediently seated herself across her father's legs. She could feel the warmth of him against her thighs, and the fine covering of hair tingled where it touched her skin.

"No. Not like that. Turn and face him, with a leg on either side of him." Jordi was playing by ear, as if he were a directive genius setting up a scene for the movie cameras.

Claire lifted a leg and swung it over and around, past Morgan's head. He couldn't help but see the pink flash of her spread vulva as her thighs separated so widely. That, and the way her one breast bounced briefly after her knee had struck it during the move, returned him to the illicitly excited plateau he had reached earlier. Claire, who had grasped her father by the shoulders to make the shift, leaning back on his lap to clear his head with her leg, had caught a glimpse of me soft, white penis which she had coveted until today, and which she had possessed with her mouth less than two hours ago. It made the same little thrills run through her now, no matter how she had intended to control her reactions this time. While they had been in the cellar alone, she tried twice to talk to him, hoping they could help each other in some way. She felt that if she must continue to carry the burden of her incestuous enjoyment all alone, she would crack up. But Morgan had slept soundly, and she hadn't had the heart to make more than a token attempt to wake him with her quiet words. Now, she was more tensely strung than before. She was really up tight. As she settled into the new pose Lion' Morgan automatically put his hands on her h ps, helping her to balance on his lap. The contact doubled the sensations which traveled between them with Claire's hands on his shoulders. "Let us have some kissing, now," said Jordi. As if hypnotized, they moved their heads together. In the beginning it was a zombie-like maneuver, as they reacted to the command, knowing the penalties for hesitation. But as their lips met, both of them knew the defeat of their individual resolutions. The damp warmth of their bodies conducted each tiny tic and movement of every muscle. Even the slight tensions caused by trying to stay balanced in their positions as they mo Led to kiss, were amplified into caresses and meaningful movements, as the animal lusts within each body interpreted the small contacts and responded in kind. Claire's moist lips parted, and she felt the hot tongue enter between them and caress the inner sides of her lips. As she sucked at the intruder hungrily, she felt the hard pressure of Morgan's stiffening member as it rose under her, slapping heavily against the tender sensitivities of her ass. Her buttocks squeezed together in reflex, and they trapped the head of the hard instrument between them. This further excited the man, and he reacted by a muscular contraction which made the rod pulse into life, increasing its size and hardness.

It was a vicious circle. The feel of the swelling penis between her cheeks stirred Claire's inner juices, and they began to seep from the parted outer lips of her fleshy blossom, warming and dampening the base of her father's penis. Something like a low growl emanated from Morgan's lips as he tore them from hers, and then trailed a fiery thrill down her neck to the peak of a breast. Her nipple erupted into a rigid erection which popped into his mouth, and he sucked at it in thirst, as though it could provide him with drink. Claire's fleshy fountain was melting her juices all over his thighs as she writhed under the treatment. Then she tilted her hips and pulled back to release the rigid prisoner from her buttocks, letting it slip forward to dip into the slippery trough of her passion. As it slid upward, between the swollen petals, gathering juices as it moved, it became trapped where the upper extremes of the lips were joined, and pressed tightly against her fleshy nubbin. She gave a squeal of joy, and rubbed herself against the newcomer with little wriggling movements. Morgan's mouth switched to her other breast, and it blossomed under his kiss, eager to be taken and sucked. Then Claire whimpered her weakening defenses as the nether massage culminated her lower tensions. She arched her back and pressed harder against him, then shuddered a giant tremor, moaning as it shook her. When she relaxed, Morgan felt her wet heat leave him briefly then her hand reached down and grasped him tucking the achingly engorged head of his member into her hungry flesh. As he felt himself slip within the inner lips which encircled her passage, his head was pulled from her breast, and drawn back up to place their mouths together again. The tender, wrinkled folds of her passage seemed to suck him within her depths, and he thought he could feel every part of that pulsating passage as it worked at him, drawing him farther inside. She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth. I'm swallowing him at both ends, she thought, exulting at the sense of possession it gave her. His sweet tongue in my mouth, and his wonderful cock in my hungry cant! I don't care what happens after this Daddy is filling me from head to pussy, and it feels so good I hope I die before it stops!

Morgan was less fortunate or unfortunate, as the case might be. He was experiencing the miserable coincidence of having his lusts and his conscious mind fully awakened at the same time. As he felt the hungers of his strongly sexual nature seize him and take control, he began to realize what was taking place, even more vividly than he had at the earlier session in the bedroom. A creature of habit, Morgan had been used to using the period right after waking in the mornings, to lie and think about the recent successes and failures in his business involvements, and to plan the strategy for the day or days to come. His mind, now fully awakening after the refreshing sleep in the cellar, began to function so well that it spotlighted his present involvement all too brightly. It was bad enough to be forced into this, but to be unable to close off the conscious mind to be forced to think on it concentrate on it mercilessly as it took place that was agony. Especially when it was so damned enjoyable! God! She's enjoying this as much as her mother does! The little minx is literally eating me up! And I love it, God help me! That little cant of hers is SO juicy and hot and squirmy, and it grabs at me as if it were starved! What in the name of God is going to happen to us? Our family is being turned into a bunch of perverted animals!

Claire could hear her father groaning, but she took it for the sounds of his lustful enjoyment of her. Unaware of the misery he was experiencing, she gloried in the way she was exciting him to vocalize. It stirred her to even greater passion, and her lubricant was literally streaming from her hyperstimulated glands.

"Fuck me hard! Oh-h-h-h! Fuck it into me! Dig it way up inside me!" Her words were growled out as she lifted her mouth from his to beg him for more. "Oh-h-h!... Fill my whole cunt with it!... Oh-h-h!... God!... I'm leaving you!... Don't let me go empty!... Squirt me full!... Oh-h-h-h!..." She panted and gasped as she bucked around on his lap like a wildcat.

"Oh! Daddy! Fill me or kill me! I can't stand it hungry and empty like this! Argh-h-h-h!" She stiffened as she reached her peak and began to topple. Then she felt the pumping of his pulsing fluids as they splashed against her innermost walls.

"God! I'm coming in you, Baby!" Morgan moaned as he loosed himself. Then he was holding her tightly, pulling her soft buttocks to him, pouring himself into her as deeply as he could, even as he hated himself for it.

He toppled over backward on the bed, taking her with him. They lay there, breathing heavily, still locked together, until Morgan felt a strange sensation, as though he were being tickled at the base of his now overly sensitized penis. Then his balls were being tickled. He knew that Claire's hands were both on his neck. What could be happening? He looked downward past the creamy body that lay on top of him. A mass of flying black hair was moving around at the edge of the bed. Then he looked up to the mirror just opposite the sofa on a nearby wall, and he could see what was taking place.

That damned Yvonne! She's licking my cock and balls, and slurping around Claire's little cant as if she were starving! My God! What a bunch of perverts and sadists! I've got to get us out of here! Quick!

He moved to separate them, wanting to halt the Frenchwoman's intrusion into the episode. From seeing and smelling her, he didn't want any part of her touching him or his. But as he felt his limp member pull out of the snug sheath of his daughter's vagina, the sucking sound it made was followed by another, similar sound.

God! She's sucked me into her mouth! He tried to pull away from the feasting harpy, but Claire's weight on top of him kept him from freeing himself. And Yvonne had both of Claire's legs in her hands, one of them very high up. As Claire's hips began to gyrate, he realized where that hand really was!

"Jordi!" he called out. "We've done what you told us to do you have your pictures now let us out of here. What that woman's doing has nothing to do with your pictures!"

"Monsieur Morgan! You would not begrudge the photographer a small bonus, would you? She has had to watch very much and it makes her very excited. Relax and allow her a little pleasure. Then you can clean up and put on your clothes."

Morgan's head sank back on the bed, and he heaved a sigh of resignation. He felt his member stiffening in spite of his revulsion, as the girl expertly tongued its tingling surfaces. Then it was rock-hard again, and she was sucking and milking it with her mouth, while working her hand in the depths of Claire's hot, wet flesh. Claire was moving wildly on top of her father as the trained fingers delved into her. Then Claire's head moved over her father, and her mouth found his. She tongued his lips until they opened, and plunged her tongue between them into his mouth. The feel of her warm breasts on his chest, and the going-over Yvonne was giving him, loosed his animal once more. He brought his own tongue into locked combat with Claire's, and then he was sucking her tongue into his mouth, famished again for the sweet nectar of her youthful juices. She was wiggling in her excitement as Yvonne worked at the center of her passion, and began to moan into Morgan's mouth as she neared her goal. Then he felt himself opening up. As Yvonne took more and more of him into her mouth, Claire took back her tongue, and then sucked Morgan's up into her mouth with a surprising strength. He felt his insides explode. Claire bunched up in a writhing bundle as she popped her release, and her hot, wet feathery flesh came down on his belly, accompanied by Yvonne's sloppy wet hand, and he was draining out the tip of his member, as if the French girl were stealing his soul. He groaned at the awful completeness of his orgasm; it seemed as if it would never stop. Then he felt her mouth leave his organ with a final, milking tug. Claire, moaning faintly, rolled off him and lay beside him on the bed. Both were replete. It was almost as if their insides had been surgically removed. Morgan looked up to see Yvonne regaining her feet. She lifted her filthy skirt with a shiny-wet hand and wiped her moist face and chin. As she dried her face, her free hand massaged her black-haired pubic mound, parting the thickened lips until her dripping pinkness gleamed wetly at the observers.

"You can go to the bathroom, now," conceded Jordi.

"But I am not finish with them!" Yvonne protested, rubbing her swollen nether lips with one hand, and her upper lip and nose with the other.

"Go see Le Boeuf, then. I want these people to rest. Tomorrow, Monsieur Morgan goes for the money, ne c'est pas?"

Claire had pulled herself together and started for the bathroom. Jordi followed her out of the room. Yvonne pouted sullenly, watching Morgan as he sat up on the edge of the sofa bed. She walked over to him and thrust her hips out.

"Be nice to me. Give me some pleasure. You will not be sorry!" She reached out and picked up his hand, trying to place it in the wet nest of her excitement. He jerked it away from her grasp with a curse.

"You filthy, stinking whore! I wouldn't touch your diseased cunt for anything! You're lower than the dirtiest animal. You're even worse than Jordi. At least he tries to look clean!" His anger boiled up at the disgusting unseemliness of her.

Jordi and Claire came back into the room, and the girl started to dress as Morgan got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. As he went into the hall, he heard Yvonne yell after him.

"I will make you sorry, rich American! No one can talk like that to Yvonne!" She lapsed into French, rattling it off at Jordi, who had followed Morgan into the hall. He cut her off with a few words, then accompanied Morgan to the bathroom.

When the victims had been led back to the cellar and shackled, and the family was again left to themselves, Morgan asked his daughter what the conversation was about. She was quiet for a minute, then answered him in a low voice, so that the other two could not hear.

"She was very angry with you for scorning her and calling her names. To get evens she asked Jordi to give her Robert to play with."

"What did he say?" Morgan felt a chill travel up his back.

"He told her that he'd see after you left to get the money!"

"Damn! He can't do that! It's not part of the bargain. We did everything they ordered and they have the pictures. Now I have to get the money, or even if they release us those pictures could turn up anywhere to haunt us. God! What a horrible mess!"

"Actually, Daddy, he can do anything he wants. Until all of us are free, he has all the winning cards! You'd better talk to him and try to reason with him about Robert. It wouldn't do to make him mad. He thinks you've caused him enough trouble by refusing to pay the ransom in the first place."

Morgan studied his daughter's face, then took a quick look at Gwen and Robert. Both had their eyes closed. He turned back to Claire.

"You think so, too, don't you? You think I should have paid when you first turned up missing, don't you?" His voice was bitter. Claire couldn't be sure whether the bitterness was directed at himself or at her. He could have come to the decision that he'd been wrong in his lifelong opinions about ransoming. Or he could just suspect that she blamed him for all they'd been put through.

"You did what you thought was right, Daddy. No one could ask you to act against the things you believe in. Like I told you before, I'm proud that you had the courage of your convictions when it came to a real test. I know it wasn't easy for you."

I Don't patronize me, Claire!" Morgan roared. He was losing his grip on his temper as his frustrations increased. After years of giving orders, he had been forced to take the kind of orders that he wouldn't have believed anyone capable of giving. His guilt at letting his personal convictions cause the capture and torture of his whole family was now compounded by the guilt he felt about the wildly sexual joy he'd experienced with his own daughter. For her to sympathize with him now was another thorn of guilt in his prickling hide. He blew up.

"Could it be that you're trying to keep me busy thinking about how I got us all into this, just to tout me off the train of thought you don't want me to follow? You wouldn't want me to wonder, would you, about how accomplished a bed partner you are?"

Claire gasped, shocked at what he was insinuating.

"You're a regular bundle of passion, aren't you? A vixen who loves cock so much she don't care how she has it or even if it's her own father, by God!" He was panting as he sputtered the last words.

Claire was sobbing, now She knew again the shame she had felt before as she realized her unnatural passions for her father. But one of the excuses she'd had was that he was a desirable person in so many other ways. She couldn't get excited over just any male. But her father had always been so special. He was so understanding and gentlemanly and solicitous for others. This wasn't like him at all. She felt lost truly lost for the first time since the whole kidnapping thing had started. She was alone in the midst of her family. The father she'd loved more than anything in the world had turned against her. He hated her.

"Jim!" Gwen's voice was like a sharp icicle piercing the thick atmosphere of the cellar. Even in the depth of his angry frustration, Morgan's ears burned at that address. When she called him Jim, Gwen was not about to agree with anything he said or did. And the coldness of her tone now promised even more than the usual rhubarb.

"If I weren't chained to this damned wall, I'd come over there and beat you to death with your own damned pocket watch!" Her tone had not gained any warmth since she first spoke to him.

"This whole family is suffering because they trusted you to do the right thing. I could have raised hell back there at the hotel and insisted you pay the ransom. Rut I let you make the decisions. And I'm not about to cry on your shoulder now, just because your handling of the affair has landed us here.

"But I'll be damned f I'll have you condemn that girl for having the depth of sexuality she inherited in part from you! As did your son! And I admit to at least half of the genes that are responsible for their passionate natures.

"Just what the devil do you think Robert and I were forced to do up there? Play pattycake? We gave in to their threats in pretty much the same way that I imagine you two did. And we did things that mother and son should never in God's world do. And we enjoyed it! Both of us! And we were sorry it happened. And we talked it over like two intelligent, educated, enlightened people should. And we decided not to let it ruin our lives.

"But that could all go by the board. You come along with your self-pity and anger at your own weaknesses and accuse your daughter of habitual promiscuity, and you can ruin all our lives!

"Well, you're not going to do it! I won't let you! This mess is a time for all of us to stick together. And it seems to be a time for revelations, too. Well, let me do a little revealing of my own.

"You seem to be shocked to discover that your daughter is responsive to the stimulation of a healthy male body controlled by a mind that when it's thinking properly commands respect and admiration. Would YOU rather she was a frigid bundle of inhibitions that would go through life looking for a storybook romance that never came?

"And don't tell me that you're unaware of that very normal phenomenon known as a father fixation? Damned few girls don't idolize their fathers, if the men are worth a damn at all. Take a gal like that and force her, naked, into her father's naked arms, and let her feel his naked cock against her very vulnerable body, and what do you have?"

Gwen paused for breath, but not for long. She was fighting for the very foundations of her family, and the battle was going against her by its very nature. It was an unprecedented situation for any family to find itself in.

"We've been forced to learn a lot about ourselves, and about each other. At least that holds true between Robert and me, and between Claire and you, Jim! And we may not be pleased with what we learn, but we can surely forgive in others the same weaknesses we find in ourselves; and in case there are any doubts, let me hear you right now, Jim Mandrake Morgan, deny before God and your family that you did not find pleasure in the incestuous relationship you were forced into with your own daughter! Go on! Let's hear it for old Jimmy!"

Morgan came apart. He began to sob great, tearing, gasping sobs as he broke under Gwen's complete spotlighting of his weaknesses. When he could get his breath, he tried to speak.

God, I'm sorry! Can you forgive me? Any of you?"

"I forgive you Daddy," said Claire, crying herself at the emotions which tore through her.

"Sure, Dad," said Robert, shaken. "Like Mom says, we all were forced to learn all too much about ourselves. I sure couldn't cast the first stone, the second, or the third."

It was quiet for a minutes then Morgan dared to ask the question. "Gwen?"

He waited, and as he waited, he thought. Then he knew he hadn't said enough.

"Gwen, I know that I have to ask your forgiveness especially. You gave me the two finest kids there are, anywhere, and I've not only let them down, but I've caused them unnecessary misery. And by implying that Claire had gone wrong, and that it angered me, I intimated that it was her mother who was at fault.

"God! I don't know what came over me! Here I am, taking out my mad and my helplessness, as Uncle Curt used to say, on the very ones who should be applauded. Most kids would be in shock from having to go through all this, but my whole damn family except me is riding out the storm beautifully. I'm not too sure I want to get out of this alive, myself. As long as I can get the rest of you free. I'm not sure I'll be able to live with myself after this."

"Jim," Gwen's voice came softly to him, and he got up the courage to look over at her for the first time since she'd scalded him with her words. "You've been carrying the load for all of us. Sure, each one of us suffers from all this. But who is it that the other three have been looking to for a way out? Who's been straining his brain to figure out how to protect the people he's always been responsible for? With all you've had on your mind, it took the very worst straw to break the camel's back. I think you've done pretty well. How about it, kids?" In unison, Claire and Robert answered her.

"You'd better believe it!" Everyone chuckled at their simultaneous use of the same words. Then, as the laughing died down, Morgan spoke.

"We'd better make use of whatever time we have left. I think I'm supposed to be dropped off somewhere in Marseilles in the morning. I'm supposed to get the money, then be brought back here. By the way the price has doubled. But that's nothing. I hope you all know that it wasn't the money that made me refuse before." They all assured him that they knew that.

"Holy cow!" said Robert, "I've seen you give bigger checks to the USO than what they asked to release Claire!"

"Well," replied Morgan, "just so you understand that I did what I did because I thought it was the sensible thing to do, based on my own observations of past kidnappings throughout history."

"Daddy! Since you know where we are, from my description, you can bring the police back here, can't you?" Claire asked.

"I'm going to have to play it pretty cagey," said Morgan. "I can't be sure what they might have up their sleeve. I know for one thing ,Yvonne has eyes for Robert, and that Jordi has half-promised her she could have him for a playmate once I start for Marseilles. We've got to think of some way to stop that. Can you imagine that filthy, smelly woman getting that close to you?"

"Yukh-h-h-h!" said Robert, feeling his insides squirm sickeningly. "She made a pitch earlier, when I was washing up in the bathroom. I almost tossed my cookies when she exposed herself to me. Why would anyone want to be so stinking dirty?"

"We'll probably never know, thank God!" said Gwen. "But we've got to think about how to keep her from contacting any of us. Heaven knows what kind of diseases she's liable to carry."

"I'm going to refuse to bring back the money unless she goes along to Marseilles," said Morgan. "I'll