extreme beastiality

Chapter 1

Gaston Larreau smiled to himself. Guests, noting the expression,
anxiously returned it with one of their own, but truly the little man
was smiling in his own amusement. It pleased him that celebrities and
others of importance vied for invitations to his weekly affairs. It
gave him a certain inner sense of superiority. He knew what they
thought of him … Canada's czar of the underworld; yet, to be seen at
one of Gaston's Larreau's Mont Royale affairs was to be mentioned in

the society columns of the Montreal World. He hated them all; they were
frauds and parasites; yet, he appreciated them too, for they gave him
an air of legitimacy.

Gaston Larreau stood five-feet-seven-inches tall in his exclusively
hand designed, one-hundred-and-fifty dollar elevator shoes; he was
abundant of girth, broad at the shoulders, balding, and meticulous of
dress. His head, like his face, was round and set close to his
shoulders, and his small grey, almost colorless, eyes were spaced too-
wide apart, just as his too-small ears clung tight to his head. The
cicatrix left from an aged razor wound ran the length of his right
cheek, ending at the corner of his mouth, making the flesh there puffed
and malformed until he smiled, and then the line of strong golden upper
teeth became predominant.

Presently, he smiled with her by his side and moved amongst them,
always hating yet always appreciating, lashing and cutting with his
bitter tongue, but forever enjoying, listening to the whispers, staring
down the men and lecherously eyeing their women, while unendingly
squeezing her hand. She would be his ultimate moment this evening. He
looked forward to it as might a connoisseur saving the finest wine
until last. She had no idea what was to come. The expression on her
lovely face would be as exciting to him as a moment of actual
seduction, he thought. He could wait; to savor in anticipation was
often greater than the act itself.

They whispered:

She is the niece?

She is Antoine's new wife three months, I think. But of course, he's
adopted, you know.

I didn't know. I thought he was actually related.

Hell, no. He's not a Larreau; his name is Poirier. That monster adopted
him when he was twelve … conscience, I suppose … inasmuch as he
killed the boy's parents. A struggle for power within the syndicate, as
I understand it, and the lad's mother happened to be in the car when
the bomb went off.

My God! Are you certain, Chapput? That's a dreadful thing to say unless
you're certain …

Certain? Who's certain about anything these days, M. Minstre? I'm
simply a reporter.

She is devastating, a female voice commented jealously.

Sexy, I believe is the modern term, my dear, replied her male
companion.

They say she comes from the Gaspe … that horrid place, spoke another
female. Unbelievable … such a lovely creature …

Breathtaking. But why doesn't he have his own daughter act as hostess,
seeing she is home from college? It doesn't seem right, does it?

Annette? Don't be silly. They don't get on, you know … an
estrangement of some sort between them … at least, that's what I
hear. Probably over her mother … she's in an institution … has been
for years.

I've heard, but I know little … Tell me, is M. Larreau as vile and
evil a man as they say? tittered the first female voice.

Ask Chapput. He's the reporter, came a male retort.

Don't ask me anything. I need my job. Just look around you and consider
yourself one of the chosen … the czar has commanded your company.

Look! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput? What to say to him.

My God! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput?

Tonight, she's lovely; tomorrow, well … one hesitates to guess …

* * *

Madeleine Poirier watched her handsome young executive husband from
across the room. Uncle Gaston's so-called secretary, Ginny Novak,
continued to cling to his arm. It irked the beautiful, raven-haired
girl, but there was little to be done about it; Uncle Gaston's Friday
night cocktail-dinner parties were a social must on their calendar;
they had no choice but to attend, it seemed, their wealthy and powerful
benefactor having chosen her to act as hostess and remain at his side.
It was a distinct honor, Antoine insisted, especially now that Annette
was down from Quebec where she attended Lavel, Universite. Madeleine
tried, as she had for the past eight weeks, to enjoy the distinction,
attempting to put her own inner burden temporarily from mind as she
assumed a false, worldly attitude, while the squat mighty overlord
clung to her small soft hand inside his own fat, sweaty one; but
invariably she felt uneasy … hardly equal to the task, and the manner
in which the glamorous twenty-nine year old blonde from the states hung
possessively to her Antoine was annoying her to no end.

Ginny Novak was never a secretary; in fact, Madeleine wondered if she
could write her own name correctly. She was Uncle Gaston's mistress and
nothing more. There had been a great number of them over the last dozen
years according to Antoine, ever since Aunt Yolande had been put away
in some institution or other … a mental case the family said; no one
ever went to see her. Antoine, himself, could hardly remember her; he
was fifteen at the time of her commitment, and he doubted if Annette
remembered her at all. She had been only nine, and he remembered no
mother-daughter relationship. A calloused, if, strikingly attractive
girl, Madeleine had opined from their very first meeting, and
constantly at odds with Uncle Gaston, seemingly taking pleasure in
defying him. Now, she looked about the room, but the nineteen year old
lovely was nowhere to be seen.

"Come, ma chere," Uncle Gaston said, distracting her fixed dark eyes
from Ginny Novak who was laughing gaily into the slender handsome face
of her husband. "It's time we reviewed this assemblage of social
leeches, eh?"

Sometime earlier in the evening, Madeleine had fastened a perpetual
little smile to her delicate-featured, oval face. She offered it to him
in answer as the emperor maneuvered her about the luxurious room,
always holding to her hand, introducing her to new guests as his
Madeleine, "… wife of that adopted nephew of mine. Magnificent, isn't
she? Sometimes, I wonder if the boy realizes how lucky he is …"

After awhile, Madeleine no longer blushed at his syrupy compliments
before others. It was natural that these praises should react upon her
ego, never in her poor existence having known such flattery, but she
hardly felt parallel to them and she was pleased when other topics
dominated the conversations, especially politics and more worldly
subjects in which she was not expected to be versed. It gave her the
opportunity to look intelligent with pretended interest while her mind
actually wandered on many planes.

Sometimes, she could not believe this new, luxurious life she had
become a part of and she would have to pinch herself to know that it
was real. Then the lump of near-ultimate happiness would rise into her
throat, but always followed by the little tears of pain as thoughts of
her tiny Igat would rush to mind. Her shame … her child … her
dreaded secret … Dear God, how she longed to hold the beloved little
creature in her arms … to cuddle her … to mother her … her own
precious Igat. What would all of these people think of her if they
knew? What would Uncle Gaston say? But more important than all, what
would Antoine believe of her, then? Oh God, she dare not even think of
that; she loved him so.

Now, automatically, she let her eyes search the room until they found
him again, and the little lump of near-happiness arose in her throat.
He stood among several guests engaged in conversation, that blonde
vixen beside him … he stood taller than the others, not handsome
really, she supposed … his face was too thin and his nose too long,
but it had been his gentleness of eye and his firm, thin-lipped mouth
that had first attracted her … that she had fallen in love with. She
watched him smile; his handsome white teeth sent a little thrill
through her. Antoine Poirier, President of Galaxy Mining, Ltd., how
impressive it sounded. Of course, Galaxy was one of Uncle Gaston's
enterprises and it was not as if Antoine had worked his way up the
ladder the hard way; all the same such an executive responsibility
required great intelligence and ability, and Uncle Gaston was not to
let him remain in such a capacity if he didn't merit it. She was so
proud of him … loved him so … God, if there was only some way she
could unburden her soul to him and have him understand, perhaps, even
bring her Igat into their family … Heavenly Father, how wonderful
that would be … if only there was some way … But she was groping
for straws and she knew it. There was just no way … no way in the
world … at least, not at this time with only three months of marriage
behind them, and that somewhat strained with their individual efforts
of trying to discover each other.

She thought about that now as she wore her pleasant little smile and
feigned being a good listener while Uncle Gaston argued with Ernest
Mallory, the Minister of Citizenship and Immigration over existing,
'stupid' immigration laws. She thought about their love-making, and her
own inability to respond fully because of her constant pressure of mind
over Igat. In effect, the unfulfilled results, time and again, had left
her as flustered as Antoine, for invariably, once he had emptied his
loins into her, he would blame himself over her lack of climactic
achievement, often-times with tears and swearing that next time it
would be different … but as yet, it was not. Sometimes, she felt that
he, too, was carrying some heavy inner burden … a business pressure
probably, but she didn't pry; when it was time, if he wanted her to
know, he would tell her. Nevertheless, their sexual fiascos had added
to her growing feeling of frustration, until she had reached this point
of even being jealous over the likes of Ginny Novak. Lord, she had to
get hold of herself. She was a woman of position now …

"What is your opinion, Cheri?" Uncle Gaston interrupted her train of
thought, speaking in English for the benefit of the Minister from
Ottawa.

Madeleine caught herself; she never liked to appear the fool. "I think
my opinions are better left unsaid, Oncle," she replied smiling
somewhat shyly, entirely unaware of the nature of their conversation.

"What's more, Madame Poirier is a diplomat, M'sieu'," Mallory returned,
smiling broadly. "As if being beautiful is not enough."

"You flatter me, M'sieu' Mallory," said Madeleine into his pale,
hawkish face. He was a tall man, lean and impressive of stature, with
fine eyes and an unruly shock of white hair. "I fear if you gentlemen
don't stop you'll turn my head."

"In my direction, I hope," the Minister teased.

Madeleine made an habitual gesture of tossing her head to right her
shoulder-length, raven-black hair even as she continued to smile. The
little movement caused her firm rounded breasts to quiver in the thin,
invisible bra behind the low-cut, white mini-gown she wore and Uncle
Gaston imagined that he heard male eyes click as they locked upon the
voluptuous spectacle. He squeezed her hand and let his tongue wet his
dry lips. It was time, he thought. Why the hell should he wait any
longer? He'd been waiting all day. He stole a glance at Antoine and saw
that Ginny was keeping him occupied … per instructions.

"You will pardon us, M'sieu' Mallory," Gaston Larreau excused them,
"but we must argue with the other guests too."

"Of course," said Mallory. "Perhaps we can get back into the subject
later, M'sieu' Larreau. There are some other ramifications I believe
you're overlooking …"

"Later," the little czar replied bluntly. "Come, ma chere." He held to
her hand and led her across the room toward the archway into the
central hall, then addressed her in French: "There's something I want
to discuss with you, my pet."

"Oh …?" said Madeleine, surprised. "What is it, Uncle?"

He retained her hand within his own and escorted her to his large,
paneled study. There, he let free of her, closed the double doors,
flicking the locking catch on the knob, then walked toward his private
bar to make them a drink. As yet, he had not answered her and Madeleine
watched his broad expensively covered back move away from her; she
glanced behind her at the closed, locked door, then back at the squat,
powerful man who now mixed casually behind the bar. Occasionally, his
colorless little eyes raised from what he was doing and dwelled upon
her face, then, openly raked the length of her curvaceous body with an
almost lecherous gleam lighting them. He smiled, his gold teeth
flashing in the indirect lumination of the room. She felt a little
catch in her breathing and a certain clamminess moved along her spine
as he continued to smile … almost leer while his eyes all but
stripped her naked.

Whatever it was all about, Madeleine had no idea. She had never seen
him like this, and he coldly frightened her.

"Are you happy with Antoine, dear?" he questioned in their native
tongue, his vicious small eyes never ceasing their lewd undressing of
her person.

"O-Of course … why do you ask, Uncle?"

"I'm concerned. After all, besides Annette, I have no one else … with
the exception of you, now … and I regard you of the greatest
importance, Madeleine." His near-twisted smile seemed affixed to his
round face as he came from behind the bar carrying two drinks. His eyes
held her own exotic dark ones levelly, almost hypnotically, as he moved
toward her, one hand bearing the glass, extended. "I wouldn't want you
unhappy, my pet."

Automatically, Madeleine's graceful hand accepted the glass, but her
eyes remained adjoined to his. Additional ripples of chill trickled up
her back. She knew of his reputation, his ruthless brutality, had even
guessed that such tales might be … could be true, but she had never
dreamed that she, herself, would ever witness any indication
enlightening that part of his character. Dear God, she thought she was
previewing it now … but why? Had she done something! Where was
Antoine …?

From the moment he handed her the glass he never stopped moving closer
to her. They were nearly of equal height. She felt his great middle
pressing ever stronger against her, his round, scarred face closing in
on her own. The meaning of the gesture was beyond her and Madeleine
stood her ground, iced fear stiffening her being. But, then, within
that scope of inches, she saw the blurred visage of his puckering lips
swooping in upon her own, and she realized the affront.

"Uncle Gaston! My God! What're you trying to do …?"

Her hands, one still holding a glass, came up between them, rigid at
arm's-bent length against his chest. She backed several feet toward the
locked door behind her and gaped at him.

"I was going to kiss you," he hissed, the wild satyrism she had read in
his eyes even more pronounced now. "I'm sure you're familiar with the
act."

"Uncle Gaston …! I-I just don't … I don't understand …! Please
… please, let's go join the others …"

"Shut up, slut! Shut your fucking mouth!" he spat at her.

Madeleine stared in utter disbelieving, mounting horror at the squat
despot of crime before her … this man who not only controlled the
vile and vicious underworld, but whose company the wealthy and famous
competed for, while the lewd word he had blurted at her ricocheted like
a giant, depraved, evil omen in her brain.

"Un-Uncle Gaston … Wh-What is it …?"

"Bitch! You stand there, cunt-slut that you are and tell me you don't
understand?" Suddenly, he threw back his vicious head and laughed, loud
and not caring, his teeth glistening in the light. He stared at her,
his evil smile never lessening, then, he moved closer to her once more.
"You've got a kid! You've hid it out in the home of one Rafael Girarde
here in Montreal. A bastard brat you'd like to forget … and you dare
to marry my Antoine and pretend? Cunt-slut! That's what you are! Come
into my house … Me, Gaston Larreau, and put on airs! You pig! What do
you think Antoine would say if he knew? Eh? And you wonder how I know,
don't you, bitch? Well I'll tell you. Your Doctor Carey does little
things for me … takes a shady bullet out now and then … whatever I
have for him. But suddenly, he read the papers … thought he might
have a hot banana, one he could use to raise hush money, so he dared
come to me and spit out the truth."

Madeleine had backed to the door. The czar inched closer against her.
He said: "You know what that information cost me?" He laughed. "Twenty
dollars … enough for a gallon of booze. And you know the value of
that same information my pet?" Once more, he laughed … slowly at
first, then, in a rising crescendo. "You! You, my dear, are the
ultimate value of that twenty dollars so well-spent. You, with your
young, voluptuous charms will crawl to me unless you want me to destroy
your world. You will give yourself entirely to me to do with as I see
fit … otherwise, I'll completely destroy you not only with Antoine,
but wherever you go. Now … say something, darling … say something
intelligent, you luscious creature."

Madeleine stood frozen in mental horror. Her entire body seemed a part
of the door as she pressed backward against it and stared at the
metamorphosis of human into monster before her. She watched him raise
his drink to his lips and sip, and she watched mesmerized in abject
terror and instantaneous hatred, the salacious leer ever contorting his
evil face as inch by inch he moved in closer to her.

"Oh God! Please … Uncle Gaston … My God! You can't tell Antoine,"
she pleaded, for nothing else mattered. "Let me! I'll tell him! I swear
it …!"

"Stupid cunt," Larreau spat and Madeleine cringed at the vile insult.
"What good do you think that'll do, now? The damage is done. Do you
think he would want someone else's bastard child?"

"But you don't understand! She's just a little baby. Stop calling her
those names! Damn you …!"

Larreau widened his grin. "So … you do have some spunk, after all. I
… I was beginning to wonder."

"She's not to blame! She's an innocent baby …!"

"Shut up! You hear? Shut up, cunt!"

She did, gaping at him. His smile had disintegrated; his eyes were
emblazened with rage. He raised his glass and drained it, then threw it
on the davenport beside him, the ice dribbling out to wet the expensive
cushions, his vile epithets cutting her to the quick. Heavenly Father,
she had never been so abused in her life. He came next to her and tore
the glass from her grasp, then wound his pudgy, brutal hand in her hair
and forced her mouth to his.

He kissed her! His vicious tongue stabbed at her lips and she fought
it, clenching her teeth until his hand twisted the long length of her
hair, until tears streamed from her eyes and her mouth gaped from the
pain. His tongue, hot and wet, plunged to her throat and his short arm
encircled her waist powerfully, crushing her to him. He ground his
belly overwhelmingly against hers, his groin tightly against her own
soft, tender pelvis, until she could feel the hardness of his swollen
member undulating in a near-pulverizing motion at the juncture of her
full, warm thighs.

Mon Dieu! Antoine! Please … come quick! I need you! I need you!

Finally, he eased back from her, smiling as if he had just brought her
great pleasure.

"There now," he said, "Not so bad is it?" He lifted the glass he had
taken from her and drank from it. "Why satisfy yourself with the
parasite when you can have the king, my pet?"

"I-I-I love Antoine."

He drank again. "Love? Humph!" he grunted. "A word … not a very
meaningful one either. Only an excuse for attachment." Again, he drank,
"Never mind, it isn't important what you think, or want. It's what I
want that counts … and I want you, my dear." He backed away and moved
in a small circle before her. "You'll do what I say from here on …
unless you prefer to be completely destroyed … along with your
illegitimate daughter."

"What are you saying? You … you wouldn't do anything to hurt Igat
…?"

"Why not? Bastard kids are born every day. What's one more? If she or
he holds me from getting what I want … then, it's time to destroy
them."

"My God! My dear God! You're horrid! An unadulterated monster …!"

Larreau set down his glass and moved against her once more. His left
hand encircled her small waist while his right darted to her left
breast, encompassing its full, rotund protuberance, squeezing and
kneading, working at its nipple through the several layers of garments
until it stood hard and erect, and in her helplessness she submitted to
him.

"No … I'm not what you think," he said, letting his hands trail down
her slightly delineated ribs to her hips, then moving behind her while
she stood spellbound, and slipping downward to envelop her soft, warm,
full buttocks in cupping fashion. He pulled her to him and once more
she felt the hard unbelievable length of him grinding against her
pelvis. "I'm human enough. Trouble is … you don't know what made me
the way I am. It isn't important, anyway. What's important is that I
want you … and I know I'm ugly. So … I have to take you … to
force you. I-I-I'll make a deal with you. You be 'nice' to me and I'll
get your kid back for you … make Antoine accept it. I promise, I
will. Girarde is a nothing … a Ministre of Gouvernment, but a
nothing. I'll get the child, I swear it … if you're nice to me …"

"And … and if I'm not?"

His face changed. Before, when he'd spoken of returning Igat, he was
almost the man she had come to know. But now …

"I'll completely destroy you and the kid! I swear it! I take an oath on
it!" Once more he grabbed her, clutching her to him. "Christ! I want
you, pet! I'll give you anything … just be nice to me. Don't you
understand? I've got to have you …

And then, she felt his small pudgy hand moving down her outside thigh,
brushing up beneath the skirt of her gown along the nylon-encased
column of her smooth, tensed, long leg. Dear God! What was he going to
do? Should she scream … create a scene? She was entrapped! His hand
felt hot … repulsively hot against the frightened, twitching flesh of
her thigh, while the other brazenly cupped at her buttocks, holding her
firm, unable to move away from his insulting hand. Even so, tiny,
unwanted prurient twinges seemed to erupt within her at the attentions
of a strange touch, while simultaneously, she fought the vile idea of
his lewd suggestion.

"Please … please, Uncle Gaston, don't! Please don't …!"

"Christ! I've got to. You understand? I've got to have you …!"

"No … No! Please … I understand … yes, I understand … really, I
do!" she pleaded and babbled, frantically struggling both physically
and mentally, but she was no match for his strength and her brain
refused to function in her fear and shame. "L-Let's think about it …
tonight, we'll think about it … Oh God …!"

His hand reached and played at the tight, concealed portion between her
legs where only the narrowest, sheerest strip of nylon protected her
secret, sensitive genitals. She felt the knuckle of his hand press the
material of her panties between the soft, fleshy lips of her vulva as
it stroked again and again into the warm, moistness of her womanhood.
She whimpered helplessly. Mother of God, no woman alive could endure
such galvanic touches at her most delicate parts without knowing
sensation, she swore it. Yet, she was near-overwhelmed with the
abasement he was heaping upon her; it could not go on like this! He had
to listen to reason!

"In heaven's name, Uncle Gaston, you've got to stop! It's not right!
Please … I-I'll never be able look at you again, think of Antoine, if
not me …"

"I'm thinking of me, damn you!" he hissed at her. "And I'm thinking if
you want that kid of yours, you better be nice to me, understand? Nice!
Now … do you want her or not?"

Madeleine wagged her head in confusion. She felt the hot tears welling
onto her cheeks as he continued to stroke tauntingly at the now
trembling, nylon-covered aperture between her legs.

"Well …?" he rasped.

"Yes … yes … you know I do! What would you expect? My God, I'm her
mother! I want my baby …"

"And you'll do anything to get her back?"

"… Yes … anything … I'll do anything! My God … oh, my little
Igat …"

Suddenly, his colorless eyes glowed as if they had been dipped in
Satan's fire and he hauled her closer to him, his thick middle-finger
slipping inside her elastic panty-leg to ease slowly between the
fleshy-fringed lips of her now moistened pussy, moving downward through
the velvety, pink slit toward the small quivering vaginal mouth …
then, worming up into her … ever upward inside her warm, snug
channel. She gaped at him during the inserting process … gaped and
gasped in revulsive, helpless humiliation as she felt his thick finger
sliding possessively further up into her while she stood as if frozen
in horrified disbelief … and then his thumb began to massage the
tiny, soon-erected bud of her clitoris maddeningly. She jerked then,
bodily against him, causing her buttocks to spasm and circulate
uncontrollably in his other hand, and he said: "I'm going to give you
an address and you come there tomorrow. It's downtown … my special
apartment. You fail me, pet … and both of you will pay … you and
the kid … understand?"

Madeleine tried to answer, but her words bunched in her throat from the
unwanted shocking spasms he was causing at her loins, and she could
only nod her head jerkingly. Finally, she managed: "I-I under …
stand."

Larreau laughed. "Good," he said. "But in the meantime … I want to
play with this … this delightful little cunt of yours, pet."

Madeleine moaned pathetically, at the same time cringing as she sensed
his thick finger move further up into her, while his use of the lewd,
foul word caused strange, if, undesirable sensations to soar through
her quivering body.

"Oh … Oh, please … can't we wait?" she heard herself whine, and
even as she spoke she realized in self-abomination that she was moving
sensuously upon his penetrating finger, making involuntary, pelvic
motions as his finger reached and taunted the snail-like mouth of her
womb.

"Oh God!" she blurted for the hundredth time.

"It feels good, doesn't it, pet?" Larreau tormented. "You wish to God
it didn't, but you can't help yourself, eh? And how would you like to
have a nice thick cock right up inside that little cunt at this moment
… filling that round little belly … shooting its hot load into you,
eh? You'd like that … but you wouldn't admit it, would you … you
hot little bitch … All right … I'll wait until tomorrow … I want
to be sure there'll be no interruptions when I fuck you, pet … no
interruptions whatever … understand?"

"Y-Y-Yes … anything you say …"

"And now, you belong to me … is that clear?"

Madeleine managed to nod affirmatively. Then, she said: "And … and
you promise about Igat?"

"Sure … sure, I promise."

"S-She's my baby … I'll do anything to get her back … You realize
that, don't you?"

"Of course," he said, his thick finger worming around in and out of her
damp, dilated passage now.

"And … and you'll help me … even with making Antoine understand?"
she stammered.

"I told you I would, didn't I?"

"Oh … yes … Oh God …" she gasped, as vile, tingling sensations
began to spread throughout her whole body.

"Damn!" he hissed, pushing his mouth against hers, his open lips
engulfing her soft, wet ones, and then slowly he withdrew his finger
from her vagina and she whimpered in the confused, unfulfilled passion
he had aroused in her unwanting body. Dear God in heaven, she had to
get out of here and think! Merciful Mother, what was she going to do
now?

And a wicked spasm trembled Gaston Larreau's coarse body.

Chapter 2

Antoine Poirier was delighted with the way Uncle Gaston had taken to
his Madeleine from the very beginning, immediately accepting her and
making her feel as one of the family. He was worried for fear that it
would not go that way at all. Madeleine not being of the select social
class from which his benefactor had insisted he choose a wife when that
time came; in fact, hers could hardly be called even the lower middle
class, her father being nothing more than a fisherman. It hadn't been
an act of defiance on his part, for Lord knows, he felt greatly
indebted to this man who had taken him in following the brutal death of
his parents, treating him as he might his own son, had there been one,
even to giving him the finest of education at McGill University; no, it
had simply been love … of the head-over-heels variety, and upon first
sight at that; then, Uncle Gaston had amazed him by understanding.

Antoine had found her in a small restaurant where she waited on table
and where he took lunch only occasionally, until that day. The rest was
inevitable, for as she had told him some two weeks later when he asked
her to become his wife, she had loved him from the first moment she saw
him. Her lack of formal education, or the fact that she came from poor
peasant stock, nothing could have been of less importance to him; her
exotic beauty stunned him; she had only to smile that first time and he
was completely lost. Even Annette … snippy, audacious, envenomed
Annette … even she had taken to her immediately, and from the first
moment Uncle Gaston had laid eyes on her he had done little more than
smile his pleasure.

Of course, the proof of Uncle Gaston's acceptance had come when he'd
asked Madeleine to act as family hostess at these Friday night affairs,
and he, Antoine, could barely contain his own elation … even now, as
he watched her graceful movements beside his Uncle, the powerful little
man holding affectionately to her hand, and the manner in which she
conducted herself in the presence of Montreal's most elite … as if
she had been born to it … filled him with pride and love. God, if
only he didn't have this other worry, he thought.

Uncle Gaston had assured him a dozen times that there was nothing to
get upset about, but just the idea of Ottawa sending officials over to
look at the company books and records had upset him considerably. He
couldn't help it; after all, Galaxy Mining, Ltd. was his
responsibility, and because Uncle Gaston had entrusted him with its
helm he felt more accountable than ever. He had worried himself to the
point where he could hardly sleep nights, and of course, the whole
thing was having an effect on his and Madeleine's personal lives. Their
love-making had become little more than a series of abortive attempts
at sex on his part, filling his Madeleine with unsated frustrations, he
felt certain, and God Almighty, he didn't know what to do about it.

She was such a vibrant, voluptuous creature; he had only to look at her
even in her clothes to feel immediate stimulation and a stirring at his
loins, but to enjoy the enchanting vision of her magnificent young body
in the rich splendor of nakedness was enough to set him off like a
rutting bull. It seemed at those times he had no control whatever over
himself, that nothing mattered only plunging his aching penis into her
tantalizing flesh and emptying his life-giving sperm into her. He just
couldn't seem to contain his lust, even though he invariably hated
himself after and would sincerely vow that it would be different next
time … yet, wonderful, loving person that she was, she would smile
understandingly and forgive him. Nevertheless, he felt certain that his
constant failures were straining their yet-to-be-seasoned relationship
and he laid the whole damned mess to this Ottawa investigation business
… whatever that was all about.

Now, as he watched them moving among the guests, Madeleine looked his
way and smiled. A warmth crept over him and he responded with a slight
pursing of his lips that she would understand … a symbolic kiss. It
was at that moment that Ginny Novak joined him, taking his arm fondly
and brushing one soft, full breast against it.

"Darling, I've been looking for you," she said for greeting, smiling
radiantly up into his face.

"Really? I've been right here," he said, always aroused by the
suggestive tiny lights that seemed to be forever dancing in her sea-
green eyes. As always, she'd had a bit too much to drink and her
attractive face reflected it in the slackness about her wide, full
mouth and the slight glaze to her eyes. Her usually upswept, perfectly
coiffured blonde-hair showed tattle-tale wild strands also, and when
she spoke there was just the hint of thickness to her tongue.

"I've been in the playroom sampling the bourbon," she said, giving his
arm a little squeeze and once pressing her full, ripe breast against
him. "I was hoping you might wander back and sample some with me. We
might even've gotten into a game of billiards … or something."

Antoine smiled. Her words, her gestures, her every move was suggestive
of sex, and had been since the first day she had walked into this house
on the arm of Uncle Gaston better than a year ago, replacing his former
mistress. Her capacity had been obvious, her duties nil … except to
cater to the master's personal and private needs … whatever they
might be. Antoine only knew that he didn't blame his Uncle; after all,
he was human and Aunt Yolande had been ill for at least a dozen years;
a man had to have a woman, and Ginny Novak was very much that.

He, himself, had never touched her sexually … had hardly ever laid a
hand upon her, but in all honesty he had wanted to many times, and from
her actions … just the way she would hang onto him, or brush her
breasts against him teasingly as she was doing right at that moment, he
felt certain that she would be receptive. But once again, his loyalty
to the man who had befriended and raised him would never permit him to
commit such an act. Ginny Novak was his uncle's toy, and although
Antoine too-often could barely tolerate the little man's cruel and
abusive treatment of her in public, he bit his lip and kept his place.
After all, if she didn't like it, she could always go back to the
States where she came from.

Now, as he watched her, she looked about the room until her eyes found
what they sought.

"Ah, so there the little czar is," she said with obvious distaste. "And
with your Madeleine, of course."

"Of course …? Why do you say it like that?" Antoine questioned, her
derisive tone provoking him.

"Did I say it wrong? I'm sorry, Darling. Probably just the natural,
unrefined farmer coming out in me. Nothing more crude than a half-
drunk, corn-fed girl, they say."

Antoine grinned and she moved around until her back was to Uncle Gaston
and Madeleine, then he saw the almost immediate, serious expression
that sobered her attractive face. It surprised and puzzled him
simultaneously.

"What is it?" he heard himself question. "Is something wrong, Ginny?"

"We must go someplace where we can talk," she replied in a voice above
a whisper. "It's terribly important to you, Antoine …"

"What is it?"

"We can't discuss it here," she insisted, "too dangerous."

"But … I don't understand …"

"Wait …" she said, turning slowly, her loose little smile returning
once more as she pretended to look dazedly across the room. Then, he
felt her hand tightening on his arm, and she said: "Look, they're
leaving the room … now we can slip out …"

Antoine watched his Uncle leading Madeleine toward the central hall and
felt a moment of confusion. "Where the devil are they going?"

"Probably to the front sitting room," Ginny lied. "There're some guests
in there, too. Please, now come with me."

She gave him little chance to refuse, ushering him by the arm through
the doorway that led to the servants' corridor and back toward the
playroom.

"Look, Ginny … I don't understand," Antoine said, resisting, but not
enough to slow her anxious pace. "What's so damned important that we
couldn't talk about it back there?"

"Plenty, Darling," she half-whispered as they entered the near-darkened
playroom and she closed the door quietly behind them. "In fact, I'm not
going to tell it all to you here, either. It's too dangerous … could
even mean my neck …"

"Your neck? Good God, what're you trying to say, girl?" he snapped, his
accent broadening his English in irritation.

Ginny Novak eased in close to him, both hands suddenly clutching at the
muscles of his arms. She looked up into his face, her own expression
one of taut seriousness. "Listen to me," she almost hissed, her lovely
eyes probing the depths of his own irked and questioning ones, "that
filthy uncle of yours is working at hanging you. And unless you do
something about it awfully damned quick, it's going to be too late."

"Wh-What? Look … what the hell are you talking about, anyway?"
Antoine rapped, angrily trying to shed her hands from his arms. "Is
that what you brought me back here for? To malign Uncle Gaston? Christ,
what kind of girl are you? You sleep with him, eat his food, drink his
liquor … and too damned much of that by the way you're talking …"

"Stop it!" she hissed vehemently. "Stop and listen to me you stupid,
naive idiot! Galaxy Mining, Ltd. is in trouble with the government. I
overheard a conversation between Gaston and his attorney, Robert
Jovell, this afternoon on the telephone. I heard Gaston say something
to the effect that he'd been expecting it … it had to come sooner or
later, but that he wasn't worried, they couldn't touch him … the
whole operation was in your name! Now … do you still think I'm trying
to malign that noble bastard?"

Antoine was stunned. He stared down at her, hardly seeing her. Of
course, it was all ridiculous. Either she had misinterpreted whatever
it was she'd heard, or she was making the whole thing up for reasons of
her own. Certainly, Uncle Gaston would never do anything that would
reflect on him, Antoine, let alone making him some sort of scapegoat
that might wind him up in prison. The whole idea was preposterous!

"I-I don't know what you're trying to do," he spat at her, "but
whatever it is you're wasting your time. My advice is that you lay off
the liquor and get yourself out of here as soon as you can. It looks to
me like you've overstayed your welcome."

With that, he tried to get around her, but she quickly backed to the
door and stood against it, momentarily preventing his leaving. Her
usual dancing, suggestive eyes narrowed in her own anger, and although
the scintillating lights continued to enliven them, they were now tiny
explosions of rage.

"You are a stupid ass, Antoine Poirier! I don't know why in hell I
should be putting my head on the chopping block for you … but here I
am! Now you listen to me, damn you; what I've told you is truth! You
can do whatever you want about it, I don't care. This much I can tell
you, that little gargoyle you call 'uncle' is a vile monster, and he
doesn't care anymore about you than he does one of his lovely
prostitutes who has to kick in a third of her earnings so that he can
live in the style he's become accustomed to. And as far as overstaying
my welcome, M'sieu', I'd be out of here in two minutes if I dared …
but you know what would happen to me if I tried? I'd be dead! That's
right, dead!" Suddenly, a mean little smile stretched her pretty mouth.
"I hope to God you don't think I'm here because I want to be? You'd
have to be out of your mind to believe that. I'm here because that foul
bastard won me in a poker game from a stateside hood just like him …
a gambler named Lou "The Ace" Fennell … and you don't run away from
their kind of scum … you merely deteriorate into a common whore to
provide their bread and butter when they're finished with you … or
you [CENSOR] yourself … You pays your money, and you takes your choice."

Antoine stared at her as if his eyes were glued upon her paled, anger-
lined face. Every word she spoke had registered, and abruptly, he
realized her sincerity. Whether there was any accuracy in what she had
said pertaining to Galaxy Mining and Uncle Gaston abandoning him, was
still questionable in his mind, but her own position, he suddenly found
himself not doubting for a moment. Almost instantly, his heart went out
to her, and when he saw the little tears trickling down her cheeks he
couldn't help himself. He opened his arms and she burst inside them
with a sob.

"There, there," he whispered into her ear as she cried against his
chest, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils as she clung to him
and he held her, smoothing his hand down her back, caressing the silken
material of her gown to feel the soft flesh and indentation of her
barely perceptible spine beneath. Her full, pointed breasts dug into
his chest, while the little round bowl of her belly rested snugly
beneath his own, and as he held her, she inched tighter against him
until her warm, full thighs clung tightly to his hard, lean ones, and
her pelvis and belly ground against, and shared the length of his
stiffening cock.

She raised her face to him then, her wet full mouth falling open …
and he kissed her. Her arms encircled his neck and her mouth clung to
his hungrily. Almost subconsciously, his tongue slid between her opened
lips and teeth and she softly began to suck on it, drawing it deeper
and deeper into the warm moist cavern toward her throat as her soft,
vibrant loins began to rotate against his already throbbing prick in
tiny little stimulating circles. He gasped into her mouth, his long,
sinewy hands dropping to cup at her soft, yet firm, hollowing buttocks
so full and round in his grasp, and she pressed even tighter against
him.

Eventually, they separated for a breath, and he said: "I-I didn't know,
Cheri …. I-I had no idea why you stayed with him … the way he
treated you … I used to wonder why you put up with it … God …
I've wanted you so bad a thousand times …"

She whimpered at his words and he felt the vibrations of sound against
him more than he heard it. Her mouth searched for his and he kissed her
again, this time, tasting the deliciousness of her tiny tongue as it
darted forward between his lips.

"Oh Darling," she hissed, "we must make love. I've wanted you for so
long, too. But we have to be careful. He'd [CENSOR] us if he found out."

"He won't find out … nobody but you and I will know," Antoine assured
her, his hands caressing and stroking her back and buttocks covetously
now, the soft, warm resilience of her flesh causing his hardening penis
to throb vigorously between them.

"I can feel you so hot and hard and excited against me," she whispered.
"God, how I'd love to take it out right here … right now, and suck it
until it pumped its love sperm down my throat."

"Christ! Don't talk that way or I'll come right in my pants," he
smiled, but said in a harsh, whispering voice. "I want those things
too, but we have to find a place. We can't do anything here …"

"I know," she interrupted excitedly. "The summer house at Ste. Agathe
des Monts. We can go there … tomorrow, Darling."

He thought about it briefly. It seemed safe enough. Uncle Gaston
wouldn't be opening it for a mouth … not until July. The idea
intrigued him. Christ, he had to have her now, after this; there was no
turning away from it any longer. He had to fuck her!

"All right. Tomorrow around two. I'll meet you there, Cheri. Are you
sure you can get away without suspicion?"

"Yes, I'm certain of it … but it wouldn't make any difference. I'd
come to make love to you even if I had to bring an audience."

"Damn!" he gasped, and kissed her once more.

Then, she eased back away from him and he read the concerned expression
on her face. "Please, Darling," she whispered. "You must listen to what
I've told you. Galaxy Mines is in great danger … and that puts you in
great danger. I don't know to what extent but maybe I'll hear more
tonight and be able to tell you tomorrow."

"I'm not worried about that," he lied. "I'm more concerned about how
I'm going to get you away from all this."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. What's important is
that you take care of Madeleine and yourself. I know this evil man
better than you, Darling. I know him at his vilest, bedroom self …
and that's where you really come to know a man's mettle."

"But I can't believe he would do anything to hurt me. I-It's just
impossible to believe. I mean, after all, I'm like his own son …"

"Oh Darling, please … You must try to understand the type of man he
is," she almost begged him. "I realize why you've closed your eyes to
these things … because he has been like a father to you. But in God's
name, don't blind yourself entirely. He's the warlord over crime in
Canada … and you must know about his connections with the syndicate
…"

"Yes, yes, I know all of that," Antoine replied, not looking at her now
as he fished out a cigarette and lighted it. Then, suddenly looking at
her, he said: "But I'm not just a … a relative to him … I'm like
his very own flesh and blood. He's raised me, Cheri, clothed, fed and
educated me. No, Christ, I can't believe it! He just couldn't do
anything to hurt me …"

"Unless …" she whispered.

"Unless? Unless what?"

"Unless … it becomes a matter of your neck … or his …"

She reached him at that point. Antoine stood very still and dragged at
his cigarette. In his mind, he was endeavoring to evaluate Galaxy's
situation. It occurred to him that he had never actually seen the mines
in Alberta or the Yukon; Uncle Gaston had not thought that necessary.
His task was to see that the ever-increasing stockholders received
favorable dividends and that the Board of Directors met once a month,
with quarterly reports being sent out on the day to all investors.
Should there ever be a shortage of cash to meet dividend payments, he
was to immediately report it to his Uncle so that whatever the deficit
might be it could be made up. Investors don't like to be informed of
non-dividend quarters, Antoine, he'd said to him once. So, even if it
hurts, and we have to take it from other enterprises, we'll keep them
happy, eh?

He questioned the illegality of it then, but the powerful little man
had merely laughed.

Don't you worry about illegality, young man. That's my department. You
just take care of board meetings and that cute little wife of yours,
eh? She looks to me as if she might require lots of loving.

And then, he'd laughed, vulgarly, a little too vulgarly, Antoine had
thought, biting his own tongue to keep from saying something he might
later be sorry for …

"Darling … do you understand what I've been trying to tell you?"
Ginny questioned, moving close to him once more.

"I-I … I've got to think," he said, walking to a table and stubbing
out his cigarette.

"About me?"

He went to her quickly, enfolding her into his arms once more. "Hell no
… not about you, Cheri. You've haunted my mind for a year now." He
kissed her. "Look, we have to get out of here … get back to the party
before we're missed."

"Yes, I know. Tomorrow then … at the summer place?"

"At the summer place … I wouldn't miss it for anything in the world."

"Oh … Oh Darling," she moaned, kissing him a last time. "I wish I was
twenty-one instead of twenty-nine … I wish I'd never known a man
before you …"

"Funny," he said, grinning down at her, "I'm glad that you're twenty-
nine … and more happy that you've known other men. Now, I'm going to
get the benefit of all that experience … and it better be good."

"Whatever it is, it'll be for you and you alone."

"We'll see," he teased.

"Yes," she whispered, "we'll see …"

Chapter 3

Madeleine could not sleep. She lay restless in the large bed of their
expensive Ville de Hampstead apartment, waiting for Antoine to join
her. He had wanted a nightcap, but she had been too upset and had gone
straight to bed. Now, she could hear the soft music from the tape-deck
and visualized him sitting in his favorite chair with his feet up on
the ottoman, comfortably stretched out and leisurely enjoying a scotch
… entertaining no idea in this world of the abhorrent secret she must
now live with.

Her brain whirled in her still-shamed, utter debasement. Again, she had
failed this proud young man she loved so much, and this time, there
could be no forgiveness. If only she had told him of Igat in the
beginning, bared her soul to him … made a clean breast of it. He'd
loved her … would probably have understood, but now … it was too
late. Dear God, how could she tell him now without laying the whole
sordid story before him … yes, even the way Uncle Gaston had forced
his salacious attentions on her? She couldn't, not without revealing
the whole despicable truth. Yet, if she didn't turn to her Antoine for
help, where could she go?

There had been time to think since leaving the party, and once out of
Larreau's horrible, dominating presence, Madeleine realized she could
not keep their wicked appointment the next day; she just couldn't give
herself to that foul beast … yet, if she didn't, he had threatened to
bring harm to both Igat and herself. She didn't care about herself …
but her baby … her baby meant more than anything in the whole world.

Dear Antoine … Antoine … please come and help me? I need you so
badly. Help me tell you my dreaded secret this very night … Be
understanding … forgiving … and take us away from here before some
terrible thing happens to all of us through that evil man.

Quietly, Madeleine prayed for guidance and strength while she awaited
the moment Antoine would join her. She must tell him about Igat … she
must! Perhaps she should hold back the horrid secret of Uncle Gaston's
outrageous act, for to tell Antoine that would only serve to rile the
troubled waters even more so. Certainly, it could serve no other
purpose than to arouse hatred … even vengeance of some nature, and
God knows, she didn't want to strain their relationship any more than
it was at this time, when they were yet to truly know each other, in
love.

Once more, she began to toss restlessly on the bed. Why didn't he come
now? At this moment she felt certain she could tell everything from the
very beginning and make him realize. Yes, she would even tell him about
M. Keel, the first iniquitous brute to bring her heartbreak. It was the
only way … recount it all in full … everything and pray to God that
he would try to understand.

Now, as she waited, her mind began to fill with unwanted memories, and
she recalled how she had run away in the night from Mont Du Bane, the
small fishing village of her birth on the Peninsule De Gaspe, escaping,
she had felt, with the American named Keel, a salesman who passed that
way twice a year to sell goods to M. Bidette, le Garde-Magasin.

Four years ago, she remembered, but the bitter reveries were as vivid
in her mind as if they had taken place yesterday. She had been sixteen,
nearly seventeen, the fourth of nine children and by far the prettier
of her three sisters, she knew. She recalled that even at twelve, when
she had begun to develop her pubescent charms, the opposite sex had
always been strongly attracted to her, especially the older men, and
she had been pleased, taking pride in her long black hair and the
hygiene of her teeth, realizing that if she were ever to be liberated
from the destined weary bondage of becoming a fisherman's wife, these
were the assets upon which she would have to trade.

The day she had met the American she was physically ripe, a sensually
alluring young woman, while he was somewhere in his aging fifties. She
had only to smile at him coquettishly to see his small eyes come alive
with lecherous excitement, and as she tripped provocatively from M.
Bidette's store she felt certain he would follow.

It was difficult to remember all the little lurid details now, even,
difficult to recall his features … only a faceless, grey-haired, fat
man … taller and bigger than Uncle Gaston in every respect, but
certainly his parallel in villainy, she realized now. And how upset
she'd been at first when she decided that he wasn't going to follow
her, but by the time she'd reached the edge of the village he had come
along in his car and offered her a ride.

She hadn't hesitated; instead, she'd climbed in and began an immediate
conversation. He spoke French, which had made it that much easier for
her to play the flirt with him, and when he'd reached over placing his
big, heavy, hair-covered hand on her knee she had pretended at being
excitedly flustered, while in truth her flesh had recoiled at his touch
and she'd winced repugnantly within her flat little belly.

"N-Not here … not here," she'd insisted, catching at his hand and
noticing the obscene bulge to the front of his trousers where his
pumpkinlike stomach adjoined his groin. "There's no place here where we
won't be seen …"

"Where, then?" he'd rasped, his licentious, bloodshot eyes raking her
young curvaceous body hungrily.

"There's no safe place around here," she'd answered him quickly. "And
if we were caught my father would [CENSOR] you …"

Suddenly, he'd pulled off to the side of the dirtroad, his arms
enveloping her and his thick lips engulfing hers, wetly, voraciously,
sucking her small mouth into his own like a vacuum cleaner. She'd tried
to struggle, but his surprise lunge had caused a frightened wave of
dizziness to overwhelm her and momentarily she'd thought she would
faint. He'd held her so tight that the breath had rushed out of her,
and even now she could not remember whether he was deceivingly strong,
or she unexplainably weak. His tongue had burst into her mouth like a
slimy, wet eel, exploring, brushing obscenely around the inside. She
had been nearly overcome with his odor of sweat and cologne, and his
massive anomalous body easily subdued her own.

"No, no, no!" she'd insisted. "Let me go … Later! Later!"

She'd fought him furiously, until at last, he'd seemed to regain
control of himself and listen.

"What … later? What'd you mean?" he grunted, breathing heavily into
her face.

She had bit at her lower lip. "I want you to take me away with you."

He'd stared at her. "Away with me …?"

"Yes. I want to go to Boston. If you'll take me with you … then …
then I'll let you … do things to me."

He had continued to gape at her, his hungry, red-rimmed eyes growing
more gluttonous with lust at each passing second. "All right … all
right, tonight. We'll go tonight," he'd said, perspiration dribbling
down his heavy jowls. "Yes, by God … tonight!"

She would have done anything to get away from the decaying hovel of her
parents, the absurd poverty of the village, and the inevitable arranged
marriage to come. God, she remembered, she had only to look upon the
drudge who was her mother, a woman unbelievably aged beyond her thirty-
five years to find justification in the way she had run off.

Keel had told her he was not married; she hadn't believed him. Anyway,
that had been unimportant; all that mattered was getting to Boston
where she could meet a nice American boy and marry him. How many nights
she'd dreamed such fantasies … a pretty little house with flowers
around it, an automobile of their own, and perhaps one, two, even three
babies, depending, of course, upon what her husband would want; and a
wardrobe of three or four plain dresses, with as many beautiful ones
for best … for this was the way with American husbands, she'd been
certain, having seen the pictures and read of their love and generosity
in the old copies of magazines Docteur Laprise kept in his waiting
room.

So, she'd left the note to her mother, saying little except that she
was sorry, and that one day she would return to make them all proud of
her … and Grace a Dieu for M. Keel, for she wanted her parents to
believe that he was a noble man doing this for her out of the goodness
of his heart.

A noble man … indeed … Yet, at first, he'd been extremely kind,
performing all the simple things to please her, taking her into
restaurants where they were served hot-beef sandwiches after the soup-
of-the-day, then little pastries for dessert. She had never known such
luxury, and before the first day was over she had convinced herself
that she'd misjudged him, and vowed not to show the slightest sign of
offense when he put his big hand on her thigh outside her dress as they
drove along, or when he playfully squeezed and fondled her firm young
breasts at every opportunity … but she shortly had learned that her
first opinion was very much correct. M. Keel was a vile brute!

However, she recalled now, that before ever realizing the extent of his
evilness, she'd convinced herself to willingly carry out her part of
their bargain. A girl had to be prepared to pay a price for such an
extravagant life as she sought … an American husband … living in
the States … and all of the little luxuries that were actually
considered necessities in that great country … besides, it was not as
if she had never known Jean Louis Blanchette, son of the avocat who had
lived upon the hill and who was betrothed to Docteur Laprise's
daughter, Francine. Jean Louis had punched away her virginity with his
stubby little penis, and together they had discovered many exciting
things in the ways of love, but with him it had been so titillating and
romantic, while Keel had made her nausee even with the numbing of the
wine …

He had registered them into a seedy motel at Riviere du Loup even
before the sun had set … had bought wine and poured into the cloudy
tumblers that set in a tray on the scarred bureau before removing his
coat. Then, he'd smiled and said: "Take off your things, my dear. This
is home."

She'd made a