Then she rolled back on her hips, and sat on her feet and on Yvette's chest, catching her breath. The brunette looked up at her and grinned, licking the juices from around her mouth with a weak tongue.
"That is a lovely cunt, with the so-soft blonde fur. I am very grateful that you let me eat you." She giggled, and let her arms fall out from her shoulders, the chains clanking on the hard floor.
Darla grabbed the arms near the elbows, then placed herself once more over the brunette's mouth. Yvette began to struggle, and Tommy wondered what his sister was up to. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Something you can't do. I'll bet. I'm peeing in her filthy mouth!" Then she squealed as Yvette bit her, and raised herself up away from the anry teeth, but Tommy could see that a tiny stream still ran down the red canyon into the prisoner's face.
Then Darla backed away and jumped free of the angry hands which grabbed out at her. She stood at a safe distance and laughed. "La Crasse! La Crasse!" Darla spit at her.
"What's that mean?" Tommy wanted to know. Darla told him.
"She doesn't mind being called that," said Le Boeuf. "It is what everyone in La Place Pigalle called her. She would laugh at the other whores, because even though Yvette was not clean about her person, she told them that there was one thing she never had done, and never would do, although many of them had done it. And as long as she held that over them, they could call her what they wished, but they were dirtier than she."
"What was that?" asked Darla and Tommy tot gether.
"Non! Non! Le Boeuf, I keel you eef you tell!" Yvette was white around the eyes, and almost foaming at the mouth.
Le Boeuf laughed. He looked at the dirty brunette, then at the wounded Gerault, and appeared to think about it. Then he shrugged. He was chained next to Yvette, and he studied the scene for a moment.
"Unlock my right hand and right foot, and I will show you."
Tommy studied the Moroccan's face, particularly the eyes. After a moment, he went over and unlocked the cuff around the black right ankle, then right wrist, being careful not to get grabbed.
"Pull her over here a little closer," said Le Boeuf. Tommy and Darla dragged the mattress and its protesting burden as close as it would go toward the Moroccan. She was trying to kick and pull with her arms, but the chains hampered her. The Flemings held her down easily.
There are certain men – perverts of a kind – who get their joy from only one act. They have to pay high to get a whore to go along with it. And Yvette has resisted all these years just to be able to say she is that much cleaner than the others who call her La Crasse.
The Moroccan suddenly shifted his body, placing his naked bottom over Yvette – he hadn't been allowed to put his slacks on before they brought him from his final act of sodomy.
The girl was screaming, now, but she couldn't escape. A slight sound and a sudden odor told the Flemings what was coming. Then the dark excrement fell onto the girl's lower belly. She went limp, and ceased all resistance.
The Moroccan moved back to his place, and with unbelievable dignity stood there, a faint smile in his eyes, and around the comer of his mouth.
"She has needed that for a long time. Perhaps it will change her." He held out his wrist and waved it at Tommy, who slowly walked over and refastened the freed wrist and ankle. Then he grinned at Le Boeuf, who returned one of his own.
"I think we'd better get her upstairs and cleaned up before the marines arrive," said Darla. Tommy unlocked Yvette's shackles, trying to avoid the smelly decoration she now wore. Then he stood up.
"Come on! Wouldn't you like to get cleaned up?" He looked down at her, and she lay there limply. Then her eyes moved to study the brown mess on her belly, and she slowly slid of the mattress, holding her hands cupped over it. She went up the stairs and Tommy followed closely behind her, all the way to the bathroom.
He looked in often, as she splashed in the big bathtub, and when she had finished, she came out an entirely different person. It was almost a shame to chain her up, again. Then she surprised him. She asked if she could wash her clothes before she went back down. He agreed, and she soon had them washed, rinsed and hanging on a line she'd hung up there in the bathroom.
When he locked her up, be told her that he'd bring the clothes to her when they were dry. As he reached the foot of the stairs, she called out to him, softly.
"I really never let anyone do that to me before. I did it to them – the men who wanted me to. But no one ever made me dirty that way. I don't think I'll ever be clean again, now."
"If you take a bath every day, you'll be cleaner than you've been for a long time," Tommy told her. "You've got a good start; why not keep it up?"
"I don't know how often they'll let me bathe in prison," she said.
He turned and walked up the stairs, not wanting to think about her problems. As he got to the doorway, he sensed that something was not right. He stepped through and turned to look both ways. In the hall between the kitchen and the living room, his mother stood. A strange man stood behind her.
"I have a gun in her back," the man said. "Drop that pistol you're carrying in your waistband, or I shoot her!"
Slowly, Tommy pulled out the Beretta and let it fall to the floor.
"Your mother has answered enough questions for me to tell me what is going on. Call your sister up from the cellar." His eyes were strangely burning, and Tommy wondered if this man was perhaps even more insane than Gerault.
He turned and called over his shoulder into the stairwell.
"Darla, you'd better come up here." His sister rushed up the stairs and burst into the kitchen. When she saw what was going on, her face paled.
"Get in here with your mother, Mademoiselle." Darla obeyed. When she and Ann were in the living room, the man spoke again.
"I'm going to take the young man downstairs. If both of you are not here, sitting quietly on the sofa-bed, when I come back up, I shall return down there and kill him. Do you understand?"
They nodded, and he herded Tommy down the stairs and shackled him in the remaining chains.
"Henri!" yelped Gerault. "You have come just in time. Get me a doctor, so we can get out of here."
"To you I am always Monsieur Guiyesse, Gerault," snapped the distinguished man. "You have bungled this whole thing, and I will get you no doctor. You can lie there and die!" Guiyesse looked at the other prisoners, and shook his head. He went back upstairs, and closed the door behind him.
Ann and Darla were sits ing on the sofa-bed, and bight was in their eyes as Guiyesse approached them.
"I would advise you to give me no trouble, because I will kill either or both of you if I must, and then the young man. Take off your clothes and lie down on the bed. Hurry!"
Ann and Darla looked at each other, then began to undress. They had thought themselves finished with disrobing before strangers. But they obeyed, and when they were on the bed, he took some cord from his pocket and tied Darla's hands to the frame at one end of the sofa, and Ann's legs to the frame at the other end. Then he tied Ann's fight arm to Darla's tight leg, and her left arm to the girl's left leg.
He removed all of his clothes, and placed the gun on the lamp table, pulling it close enough to be reached from the bed. When he turned toward them, they saw that he had the smallest piece of male equipment they had seen in this house. It was infantile.
He climbed up on the bed with them, and his face hovered over Darla's exposed blonde bush with its pink gaping slit. Then he lowered his tiny genitalia over Ann's face, letting his hairy bag lie on her chin.
He looked down at Darla's quivering flesh, and even from her awkward position she could see that he was pouting like a child.
"They've had all the fun, after I did all the planning, and they spoiled the whole thing. Now it's my turn to have fun!" The petulance in his voice was that of a maniac. They were now more afraid than at any time in the horrible days they'd just weathered.