Jonathan Everest - The tortured tourists

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.

"Now, Maman, kiss it for me as you used to do, while I have my little feast." He rubbed his pitiful equipment against Ann's lips as he grabbed Darla's buttocks in his hands, and buried his face in her silky mound.

Ann, frightened, began to kiss the wrinkled thing that dangled over her. It was so small and soft that she doubted if it would ever become anything useful. She wondered if his mother really had kissed it for him. What a way for a man to develop or rather, not to develop. She prayed that Chuck would come quickly. There was no telling what this madman might do.

The tiny thing slipped from her lips, and she could not recapture it with her hands tied. He half-turned and gave her a clout on the side of her face.

"You stop that! You just want to make me feel bad. But I won't let you! I'll kill you if you don't be nice to me!"

She stretched her neck out as far as she could, and finally managed to seize the miniature target, and hold it. She didn't dare let it slip away again! She vacuumed it into her mouth and held it tightly between tongue and teeth, then tried to work on it, hoping she could make him change his attitude.

Darla was ready to scream. This maniac had meant it when he said feast.

God! If he bites my cunt lips like that much longer, I'll have to bust out and scream. Then the mouth lifted from her pained flesh, and he laid his head down with his cheek where his lips had been. He seemed to be going to sleep!

She listened for a while, and his breathing grew heavy. She decided to chance it.

"Mother!" she whispered. There was no answer, but the head on her pubis did not move. "Mother!" she increased her volume this time.

No answer. She wondered if he had struck her mother harder than it had appeared!

Then she heard it. It was muffled, and sounded far away. But it definitely was a sound, though it barely reached her.

"Hi-m-m?" was all Ann could get out past her slippery little ward. And the dead weight of the madman's lower torso covering her face muffled the sound considerably. "Mother, I think he's asleep!" she said.

Ann took a chance, and let her mouth open to try to converse.

"So? We can't get loose. That damned cord cuts into the flesh, and it's tough – probably nylon."

"Wait a minute," Darla said. "I've got an idea." She told Ann what they might do, and soon they decided to try it. It was a slim chance, and if he woke up, it might mean the end!

Slowly, carefully, Darla inched her buttocks sideways on the sofa-bed, leaning slightly to hold the sleeping head on its pillow. Then she worked to get her leg close to the wall.

It seemed like an eternity, and it must have taken them at least a half-hour, but finally Darla's left foot almost touched the mirror on the wall. Ann's left hand turned, twisting in its bonds, until she could place the back of her hand against the glass.

Then she pressed her diamond to the glass and tried to keep up the pressure as she described a triangle on the slick surface.

The cracklingg hiss of the hard stone on the glass sounded loud enough to wake the dead, but their baby slept on.

Then Ann made a fist and pressed it to the center of the triangle she'd cut. She pressed hard, but nothing happened.

Then she moved away a few inches, and told Darla she needed help.

"You'll have to swing my fist with your foot. Can you see where it has to hit?" she whispered. "Yes, I think so," Darla replied.

"God! Be sure! Honey, we may not have time for a second try if the sound wakes him up!"

"I know. But I think I can see the exact spot. It's just that I don't know if I can hit it right on the first try."

"Listen, honey, do like a blacksmith – you know? Swing right up to it the first time, but just touch it. If it's the right place, then hit it hard on the next swing. Like a golf ball on the tee, okay?"

"Okay."

Gingerly, the foot and hand moved out, then swung against the glass. It touched, but the hammer of flesh started to shake, and Darla rested her foot on the bed.

"I can't do it!" she said. "If I swing it with enough force, I'll lose my balance on my hip, and his head will slide off, and that'll wake him up for sure!"

"Okay, honey. But can you relax your muscles and let me try to swing your foot with my hand? We've got to try something."

"I think so. Try it once."

Darla tried to let her leg become limp, and concentrated on the balance of her right hip, which held the crucial support for her dangerous burden.

Ann lifted upward, and from the first moment that the dead weight of Darla's foot, ankle, calf, and thigh rested completely on Ann's wrist, she knew there would be no second swing. It was too much weight for the leverage she had. "First time or nothing, honey – pray!" she said.

She swung, and Darla's leg moved dangerously far, making the sleeping head tilt slightly. But as Ann's balled fist struck the glass, there was a sharp crack.

The hand and foot rested on the bed, and Ann tried to see if the piece had fallen out. No! It was still in place.

Then, as she looked at it, it dropped onto the bed! Both of them sighed and tried to catch their breaths. Then Ann got the glass in her fingers and turned it around, arching it back toward her wrist.

At first she thought the piece was too small – that there wouldn't be enough reach. But she managed to get a shorter grip on the sharp glass, and then she had its edge against the cords.

In seconds, she had freed that hand and Darla's leg. Next problem was what to do first.

She could hold the glass against Guiyesse's throat and make him stay still until Chuck came. But he might be crazy enough to try to out jump her, and she'd have to cut his throat. The thought was too much for her.