Jon Reskind - Uncle Gaston and niece Voluma One

"Round robin, baby," Poulette hissed down at her between his teeth. "And it'll go on and on like this for hours, eh? Suck and fuck… until your belly's filled so full a cum you'll drowned in it… the time of your life, oui Cheri… the very last time…"

McShea chuckled lewdly as he clenched her cheeks and rammed his thick cock into her throat. "Suck it, you whore! Suck it!"

Ginny could barely think any longer; her agony had reached almost beyond human endurance. Her brain whirled and panic filled her… then, suddenly, excruciating pain, as Poulette's re-hardened cock charged right up her tightly resisting rectum in one barbaric thrust.

Oh God… Oh God… Oh God! It was the end for her… the bitter deplorable end… and there was no one in the world to help her… no one who cared a damn what happened to her… Oh God… have mercy on me…!

Three days following the discovery of Ginny Novak's body in the Saint Lawrence River, Antoine Poirier was brought to trial for extortion, found guilty, and sentenced to ten years in prison. Throughout the horrible ordeal, Madeleine remained secluded, appearing only at the court hearings and always in the company of Gaston Larreau and his battery of attorneys. But there was hardly any escaping the newsmen who swarmed the court daily and badgered her at every opportunity; it was front-page scandal for weeks inasmuch as the nefarious Canadian crime czar was involved, as well as his nephew, along with the untimely death of the powerful underworld lord's mistress.

Madeleine had never been close to Ginny Novak, but it was nearly impossible for her to think of the lovely blonde girl as being a suicide. When she had first disappeared right after Antoine's arrest, Madeleine felt certain she had run away, back to the States perhaps, but then, all those weeks later when they fished her horribly bloated body from the river, the shock, on top of Antoine's pending situation, was almost too much to bear. Only Uncle Gaston seemed to have the strength and perseverance necessary to keep them all going.

"Antoine will be all right, ma chere," the little emperor would insist. "You mustn't worry. So… he has to do a little time; it won't hurt him, eh? He gambled for big stakes and lost. He's lucky he's got the syndicate behind him… otherwise, he could end up with twenty years." Then, he would take her hands inside his own little fat ones and hold them possessively. "But don't you worry about a thing, Cheri. I'll see that you're taken care of. You'll come to live with Uncle Gaston, eh? One big happy family…" He'd wink then and the blood would chill in her veins.

Madeleine remained in her and Antoine's apartment until the end. On that last rainy morning when the judge passed sentence, she thought she would lose her mind. She had screamed out in the courtroom, then fainted. Later, in an adjoining chamber, she had awakened with only Uncle Gaston beside her. He sat on the edge of the leather chesterfield where she lay, and she could hardly believe it when she felt his hot hand caressing her thigh beneath her mini-dress, his wet, rubbery mouth stretched in a warm, if, lecherous smile.

"There, there, my pet," he cooed down at her. "Everything's going to be fine. You'll come home with me and I'll take care of you… just you and me now, eh? We'll have some wonderful times together. We'll travel… see the world… whatever your little heart desires, ma chere…"

She stared up at him, her eyes widening in horrified disbelief, the meaning of his words registering fully in her sickened, heart-broken brain.

"First, we'll get the kid for you, eh? How's that?" he said, grinning, convinced that this of all things would influence her.

"Oh… Oh God…! Y-You filthy… filthy, vile beast!" Madeleine hissed at him, shoving his hand from beneath her dress with such force that he nearly fell off the edge of the couch. Suddenly, she swung bodily around, pivoting on her buttocks, and was on her feet before the squat Larreau could regain his balance. "Damn you!" she half screamed at him. "You're the cause of Antoine's going to prison! You used him… and he's going there in your place… just as you probably had Ginny Novak murdered! All so that you could have me… is that it? Y-You despicable pig! Filthy swine!" She backed toward the door, her beautiful face drawn in vicious hatred. "Well… you'll never have me again, damn you! Never, you hear? Never!"

Abruptly, Larreau's expression changed, the blood draining from his round face, the scar on his right cheek suddenly becoming a livid purple in his mounting rage. He moved toward her then, but she was not there by the time he'd crossed the room; she had jerked open the door and was running down the corridor, her sobs and the pounding of her heels echoing back to him as he called after her.

Goddamn her! She was getting away from him after all!

Madeleine had no idea of how long she ran the wet streets of Montreal. She only knew that the rain dampening her face was all that was keeping her from fainting again, and when the pain in her aching chest became so severe from running, she stumbled into an unfamiliar little bar and found herself a secluded, darkened corner to collapse in. Fortunately, at this time of morning, the place was deserted except for the young bartender and a male patron at the far end of the bar.

Slowly, Madeleine composed herself as the young man approached and she ordered a vermouth.

He smiled down at her; he was clean-cut and had a pleasant smile. He said: "Are you looking for someone, Ma'm'selle?"

"N-No. Why do you ask?"

The young man shrugged. He wiped at the table in front of her with a dry little towel he carried. "Most of the girls who come here this time of day are looking for… shall we say… a companion?"

Madeleine could barely see his face in the shadows, but the gleam of his white teeth was very distinct. She understood then. "I-I'm not one of those girls, M'sieu'," she replied sharply, the ache in her chest gradually leaving her. "Do you have coffee?"

"No."

"Just the vermouth then, thank you."

He nodded, smiled, and went away. She watched him and saw that the patron at the bar was trying to study her. She couldn't see his face, but he seemed tall, well dressed, and perhaps middle aged. The young bartender exchanged a few words with him and the older one continued to watch her.

Abruptly, her situation came back to her like an overwhelming shroud, and momentarily she felt nauseous. Dear God, what was she going to do? Her Antoine was lost to her; she had failed him miserably as a wife, and now there would be no chance to make it up to him. He was gone… out of her life, perhaps, forever. Oh God… dear, dear God… She never wanted to see Gaston Larreau again… never, never! But what was she going to do? She had no money, no friends, no ready means of livelihood… unless she went back to waiting table, but that was not as simple as it sounded… finding a job, a place to live… It all took money… God… she wished she were dead… just like Ginny Novak… at least, her miseries were behind her now… And her Igat… her sweet little darling, Igat… what of her? She couldn't contain her tears any longer. Her head dropped onto her arm and she wept.

Shortly, a familiar but unidentifiable male voice said softly: "Why are you crying, Ma'm'selle?"

Madeleine jerked her head erect. She wiped at her eyes with long fingers, looking up at him; she could hardly see his face, but recognized him as the patron from the end of the bar. He was carrying her vermouth on a small tray. He seemed to be tilting his head and squinting as if attempting to place her. She said coldly: "It's Madame, M'sieu'… and I don't believe we've met…"

He smiled. "Ah… but I think we have, Madame Poirier," he replied, setting her drink before her, moving close enough now so that she could see him well.