She lowered her head closer and closer to the fascinating display of black and pink flesh. Then her lips touched it, and she felt a deep thrill of combined revulsion and hunger as its softness contacted the sensitive tissue of her lips.
Her hand stole out beneath her poised mouth, and lifted the limpid member. It lay gently, softly, vulnerably on her fingers like a sleeping snake. She brought its intriguingly soft darkness up until it lay helplessly exposed in her palm.
Then she wrapped her lips over it, letting its satin slide through the grip she gently imposed on it. When the tip slipped into her mouth, she tongued it delicately, then made her hand peel back the soft skin from its extremity.
The dark head glided into her mouth, and she made her tongue test every soft, tender spot on its surface. Then she began to suck on it. As she vacuumed its round fullness, it began to swell. In seconds, it had doubled its size, and it was pulsing within her mouth as though it had a life of its own.
Her hand squeezed the base of the stiffening organ, then slid back to cradle the fullness of the wrinkled, hairy luggage which hung below it. Groans were emanating form Le Boeuf's lips as she sucked at the swelling head, and massaged the tingling bag.
"Mademoiselle! I cannot contain myself! I will flow into you!" He sounded as if he were in pain. She continued to lick at the soft hardness, of the fullness in her mouth, and then she felt the pressure of his hands, on her body, and she was rolled over with him onto the bed. He had spread her thighs in the air, and was licking at the wet heat of her loins.
She felt the approach of another strong current sweep through her, and then the fullness in her mouth was more full as the pumping, throbbing pulse of his enlargement filled her mouth and throat. She swallowed to keep from choking, and it seemed to fill her forever, then it was through, and she relaxed her lips and jaws as the full tide of her passion carried her over the crest.
When she came to, she kept her eyes closed for a long time. God! she thought. What have I done? I literally sucked that big cock of his, and he didn't even force me to do it! What's happened to me? As she realized the enormity of her perversion, she started to get sick.
Quickly, she got off the bed and ran out and down the hall into the bathroom. When she had emptied her queasy stomach, she gargled with clear water from the lavatory, then drank several swal lows.
When she had half-collapsed onto the bidet, she relaxed a little, and felt the tension decrease as her bladder emptied. Then she summoned up the strength to operate the controls, and flushed herself out with the rushing water.
When she had dried herself, Le Boeuf was standing in the doorway.
"Mademoiselle has been more kind to me than I asked. I will do all I can to protect her and her family. I shall always remember the joys of today." He disappeared into the hall, and waited politely until she came out of the room.
When she had been led back downstairs, her mother looked at her strangely, and after the Moroccan had re-shackled her to her chains, Ann spoke to her.
"What's been going on, honey? He kept you up there a long time after he brought me back."
Darla drew a deep breath, tempted to tell her mother all, and then thought better of it. She refused to lie, and she couldn't stand the shame of telling what she had done without the threat of torture.
"Le Boeuf and I were talking," she said, revealing the semi-truth. "I think he will try to help us, if he can."
CHAPTER NINE
C. Eldon Fleming was sitting at a sidewalk table in front of the approved cafe. Le Cafe Noir did not look like its name. Its facade was a grayish white, with red trim. The only black thing around was visible under the nails of the waiter who brought Fleming his vermouth.
Other than the neglect of his manicure, Maurice – as the waiter had introduced himself – could not be faulted. His courtesy and the speed with which he appeared when required were much better than the American had found in the hotel dining room. He wondered how much of the service was due to the "coupons" Frenchmen vied for. These clever paper incentives were furnished tourists when they entered the country, and they were to be given to citizens who met high standards of courtesy and service in dealings with the visitors.
Fleming listened to the accordionist inside the cafe. He was playing Julie la Rousse. The American remembered sitting in sidewalk cafes in 1945 when other tunes were more in vogue. He looked at his pocket watch. Still almost an hour before he was due at the bank.
He'd spent all of this morning in planning and preparing for what was ahead. He unconsciously patted the breast of his jacket, feeling the papers which he'd put in the inside pocket. A rough map of the Salon area, pinpointing the farmhouse, a slightly less rough sketch of the floor plan, with suggested approaches for the Surete when they closed in, and a brief few paragraphs describing the situation there.
He didn't pat his hip pocket where he again carried the Beretta. But he could feel its reassuring hardness as he leaned back in the chair. What worried him was the probability that he would be given some kind of search when they picked him up. He argued with himself that he had lost their original bloodhound only for a few minutes. He was sure that they also had the hotel staked out, and that they knew he hadn't had time for any lengthy conversations.
He'd checked the suite, and knew that it had been searched thoroughly during the family's absence. He knew that it hadn't been the Surete, because his.38 DA Special was missing from his luggage. It had been registered upon entering the country, and would not have been confiscated. So presumably Gerault and company wouldn't expect him to be armed. They knew how much cash he had on him – he seldom carried a lot of cash – and the American Express money orders had been in the hotel suite, so they should know he couldn't have purchased a pistol in the short time he'd had after evading their "tail" up to the moment he arrived at the hotel.
Still, they might want to be certain he hadn't acquired a knife or something. Yes, he had to expect that he would be frisked again. He gambled that it would happen after he'd entered the car. He'd try to slip it into the seat while they went over him, then get it back before they arrived at the farmhouse.
He ordered shrimp and a green salad, and Maurice brought a fine bowl of bouillabaisse to start him off. It was the best version of the famous fish soup which he'd had since his army days here. He mentally saluted Gerault's taste in restaurants, as he enjoyed the rest of his meal. He promised to bring the family here after he'd gotten them out of this mess.
He ate slowly, and after he'd tipped Maurice and paid the cashier, he returned and gave the waiter one of the prized coupons. The man's face flowed as he thanked Fleming profusely, begging him to return.
At the bank, Monsieur Guiyesse took Fleming through the wooden gate into the plush office area reserved for VIP's. Guiyesse was a thin, tall man with graying black hair – a typical Man of Distinction. He presented the draft for Fleming to sign, took it to one of the clerks, and returned to sit with his patron until the cash was ready.
Fleming slipped the papers from his inside jacket pocket, and handed them to Guiyesse.
"Wait until after I leave here, then find some way to get these to the Surete without being followed. It shows exactly where and how to apprehend the kidnappers who are holding me and my family."