"We'll have to walk a bit-how do you feel?" I asked.
"I'm all right if you are. Which way do we go?" So we set off walking.
It took us quite some time to reach the other, bigger lane and my shoulders were aching from the blows and having to keep them upright by the time we found ourselves walking towards the road south from Paris. Here we were in luck. Tootling along behind us, bright and early in the morning came a country laundry van. I raised my thumb and soon we were speeding towards the main road, being plied with questions by a voluble little Frenchman.
The little, square-faced man was completely unable to contain his curiosity as to what we were doing on that lonely road, at that time in the morning and in such a state.
We told him the truth to a considerable extent-that I had been beaten up by roughs while out with my girl friend. We left it at that. The little man was furious. Incredible! Insufferable! What Frenchmen could have done this thing and left us lying in the woods all night. We had to assure him we were going to the police about it and it was with difficulty that we restrained him from stopping at a station on the road so that he could add his indignation to our story. He went well out of his way to drive us nearly home and left us with a thousand handshakes, condolences and assurances that this sort of thing was not frequent. He drove off at an unwisely furious speed. Doubtless his family waxed indignant with him over the lunch table.
Back in the friendly comfort of the studio we each had a bath, did what we could for our bruises and went to bed. Much later we got up, had a meal and went to bed again. The following day we felt much better.
My anger against the toughs had to some extent dissipated. Now, it was directed completely at Jaswant and Olsa. Particularly against Olsa. There must have been something sexual in my anger against her for causing us the bother. A man one could always meet on equal terms. One could hate him squarely, fight him squarely. But a woman. I felt a woman was hitting below the belt in hitting at all. There was something altogether unjust about a woman, with her sexual lack of physical strength, having a man beaten up. Something in which hate could simmer.
I resolved to pay her a little visit and by the evening I had decided on the best way to get my revenge on both Jaswant and Olsa. It was a possibility I knew, that they had already cleared out of the city, afraid that I would expose them. On the other hand they might think I would be in a hospital for a few days and be taking their time.
Late in the evening I told Monique I was going out for a breath of air. She looked at me anxiously and wanted to come too, but I told her I wanted to be alone to think for a while and she eventually gave way.
"Please be careful, darling," she murmured as she unexpectedly kissed me.
I went out into another warm Paris night, Olsa's automatic in my pocket.
At speed, I strode through the warm tourist-filled night, seeing nothing, my mind bent on what I intended to do. The trees, the restaurants, the conglomeration of voices, all so many half-seen, half-heard shadows, slipped away from me, and with the Arc de Triomphe looming gloomily and distantly behind me, I was soon moving quietly through the sober, silent streets of Neuilly.
There was no answer when I rang the bell of Olsa's apartment and I walked back through the foyer, crossed the road and established myself in the dark shadows of a courtyard on the opposite side of the road.
During the half hour I waited, leaning quietly on the wall, only three or four people passed along the street, an occasional light flashed on in the opposite apartments, a voice carried down from the rooms overlooking the courtyard behind me-no noise of the city; all quiet in this still backwater.
Until, surprising me, catching at my stomach with its sudden approach after the long wait, Olsa's car swept into the street and pulled up in front of her apartment. As I'd hoped, Jaswant was with her, hand in pocket, staring up and down the street as he got out of the car. He looked as if he was expecting me at some time. Olsa, beautiful and unsmiling, pressed the button and looked around anxiously for the Indian as the foyer door swung open.
"You first," she said quietly.
With a last look at the street, Jaswant swirled past her and led the way up the stairs. And as they passed out of sight, I was across the road in a few little strides.
I pressed the button and was in the door with a quick movement as it swung automatically open. Olsa turned on the stairs, looking at me with a stupefied expression, above her, Jaswant reached for his pocket. A motion of my extended automatic stopped his movement half way, however, and they both stared in a mixture of fear and surprise as I advanced slowly up the carpeted stairs toward them.
"Nice to see you again," I said as I passed a hand over Olsa's body, searching for any weapons she might have, enjoying the firm, roundness of her flesh as I did so. As I took a gun from Jaswant's pocket, he said:
"Sorry we can't return the sentiment with sincerity, Crawford."
He had recovered his sangfroid in quick time.
"You appear to have had some trouble with your face," he continued, mocking and cynical. I looked at him for a moment, anger simmering slowly in my chest
"The boot's on the other foot, now," I replied quietly.
I took the key from Olsa and ushered them into the apartment, watching them carefully.
"The boot. Ah, yes," Jaswant continued suavely.
"Significant that you should use such an expression. Well swung, I imagine that they have an unfortunate effect on a handsome face."
The man's calm arrogance surprised me a little. It was unwise of him to bait me in such a manner. I thought he would have had more sense.
At gun point they removed their coats, Olsa beautiful and provocative, in her tight clothes and then the reason for Jaswant's poise became apparent.
"I don't know what little fate you've prepared for us, Crawford," he said, "But before you commit any indiscretion, such as your last attempt on Olsa's virtue, I'd better warn you that we hold a card or two."
I started at him, without a word, curiosity chasing hatred around my brain.
"It seems," he continued smoothly, "that you make a habit of forcing your unwanted attentions on the gentle sex. Whilst you have, to some extent my sympathy in these matters, there are limits beyond which a gentleman such as yourself should not go."
Jaswant paused for effect, reveling in his supercilious eloquence as I began to see what had happened.
"There is, behind you, on the table, a newspaper which we've been keeping in case you should be so unwise as to return," he went on. "If you care to pick it up, turn to page three and look at the bottom of the page, you may see something which will interest you."
Carefully, keeping my eyes on the two of them, I eased back to the table, put it between myself and them and turned the pages of a London evening newspaper. I found the spot and lifted it to my eyes, so that I could see the slightest movement while reading. Quite small, at the bottom of the page, was a little continuation of investigations into the rape of an 18-year-old girl in Sussex. It came as only a slight shock to see that the police would like to see 34-year-old painter, Harvey Crawford, who, they thought, might be able to assist them in their investigations. The careful politeness of the Law had a menacing, irrevocable echo. Here was the raper, it proclaimed to the world.
"So, Mr. Crawford," Jaswant said, as I put the paper back on the table. "I should not advise you to do anything but go away from here and keep out of the way for quite some time-unless of course you would like the police to have some inkling of your whereabouts."
I stepped quickly across the room and hit the Indian full in his sneering face. He staggered and cannoned against a wall, slipping to the floor as Olsa uttered a little, stifled cry.
"Stay where you are, Olsa. I have other plans for you," I snapped.
Jaswant sat against the wall, holding his face glaring at me with blazing black eyes.
"Get up!"
He rose to his feet slowly and I pulled a piece
of cord from my pocket.
"Now, Olsa," I said. "Take this cord and tie the boy friend's wrists behind his back and make a good job of it or it'll be the worse for both of you."
Olsa took the cord and, with me directing her closely, tied Jaswant's hands. After she'd finished I tested the knots carefully, forced Jaswant to lie on the floor, had her tie his ankles in similar fashion and hobble him to the leg of a sideboard. He lay there, awkwardly on his side, staring at us with mute fury in his eyes.
I turned my attention to Olsa.
"Right, you sweet creature. Take off your clothes," I ordered.
Olsa hesitated and Jaswant's voice was a demon in the room.
"You swine, Crawford. You touch her and you'll regret it, I swear."
"Olsa has obviously not told the whole truth," I replied.
"She has already been well and truly touched by me and thoroughly she enjoyed it at the time."
The Indian stared, his eyes two beads of intensity, at Olsa, who shook her head in denial.
"Oh, she'll deny it," I laughed. "She's a very clever young woman."
I motioned her with the automatic, and she began, with a last appealing look at Jaswant, to strip.
"Anyway," I told him. "I really don't think you can , use unpleasant expressions about me after your little remembrance of a day or so ago."
Jaswant said nothing. He had only horrified eyes for Olsa as her charms became once more revealed to me. I had thought he was a jealous type at heart. Olsa, down to her briefs and brassiere, was slim and elegant as an advertisement for somebody's stockings. She rolled her stockings gently off her firm, shapely legs and peeled off her brassiere. As her large breasts came smoothly into view, I realized that my desire was obvious at my loins and as she slithered her hips from the briefs and let them fall to her ankles before stepping slenderly out of them, I wondered if the buttons would hold me intact.
"Right. You can walk around the room a bit for the joy of myself and your boy friend." I told her.
Olsa's blue eyes were a little bit nervous as she complied. Jaswant's eyes followed her supple movements as she walked, hating me seeing her. I began a running commentary on her body, the tensions, the sinuous ripplings, so that Jaswant cried out: "I'll kill you for this Crawford."
I grinned and continued. Olsa's breasts, naturally high, trembled as she walked, smooth, shaped jellies of flesh, her long legs swung freely and her slender buttocks quivered, hollowing and rounding, hollowing and rounding.
"Olsa is a beauty," I told him. "I really enjoyed having her very much last time and I'm going to enjoy even more a little experimentation this time."
"You wouldn't dare touch me," Olsa snapped, eyes flashing.
"Why should I have changed?" I asked her. "All right, you can come here now."
Producing another piece of the cord I had brought with me, I deftly tied her wrists in front of her, chancing a struggle.
"If you do make a fuss," I told her, "I'll take it out of the boy friend."
That must have been a real deterrent because she meekly allowed me to caress her body. Jaswant glared, his lips trembling, as I fondled her breasts, her nipples, curves.
My body was raked with desire and a revengeful anger as I forced Olsa to her knees on the thick rug.
"This," I said to Jaswant, "is what your roughnecks did to the girl I was with at the time they carried out your orders. They tell me it's an eastern custom. Perhaps you know a bit about it already."
So saying I undid my fly and exposed my penis, long and throbbing to the view of both.
"Crawford. I warn you if you touch the girl I'll have you smashed to a pulp." Jaswant spat the words, almost wept them.
"Save your breath for the spectacle," I snapped back.
I pushed Olsa off her balance so that she fell forward on her elbows.
"You can't! You wouldn't dare!" She began to cry slightly at the thought, presumably, of the humiliation of being used before her lover's eyes. I sank down on my knees behind her, holding her firmly as she tried to roll over onto her side. My penis was one long prickle of sensation as I jabbed it against the join of her buttocks. I pulled the cheeks of her bottom apart and prodded my organ against her neat little anus. She writhed away from me and I pulled her back, opening it slightly as it came back towards me. I screwed the tip of my penis into the aperture with an effort and Olsa screamed and tried to kick back at me, jerking away.
"One of your toughs told me I'd missed something," I gasped at Jaswant. "It seems to me we're all missing it."
From his prone position, the Indian could only mutter furious oaths and threats, his eyes bulging in horror and fury at the sight of his mistress about to be buggered.
I ranged myself again against the virgin slit, pushing strongly in short jabs with my whole bodyweight behind them. The reddish-brown skin stretched and yielded as Olsa groaned and struggled vainly. With a thrust I penetrated, the weight of my push carrying my throbbing organ a couple of inches straight into the soft channel as Olsa screamed, seeming to be fighting for her breath. "Oh! Oh! Ooooooh!" Like the tough, I showed no mercy.
The channel was tight, stretching closely around my penis, clamping it, holding and crushing the sensitive skin, rubbing with an exquisite pain as I forced myself in and out.
Olsa continued to groan and wriggle. But her groans fell on ears which accepted them as a prick to desire, her wriggles stretched bottom, pushing her channel unintentionally back onto the stiff rod violating her virgin end.
I clasped her hips, rotating mine, pushing into her from slight angles, pulling her back onto me until with a last insinuation I had lost my penis completely in her back passage and my hips met her buttocks with a smack.
I glanced, panting, to where Jaswant lay. He was straining at the cord which tied him, eyes transfixed on the point where my penis disappeared into the tight hole of Olsa's behind. The cord was tough. I knew it would only cut more painfully into his wrists as he struggled.
I turned back to Olsa, pulling her thighs apart so that I could insert my fingers into her vagina-a little more humiliation. I ran my hands over the fleshy mound, lightly hair-covered at the join of her legs, moving my fingers up over the rubbery flesh of her abdomen, following the thin, silky path of a line of hair which pointed towards her little navel, disappearing into a soft down. I passed over the whirl of her navel with my hands up to the taut line of her ribs, let my hands flow outwards over the heights of her breasts, stroking the tissues of the skin, the sudden jut of the large nipples as I worked into her with a growing tightness in my stomach.
"Open your legs, Olsa," I gasped. "Spread them farther: farther!" This was designed especially for Jaswant's benefit and I heard him grunting and heaving on the floor.
Leaning heavily on her, I pushed Olsa's body down to the rug. The strain on her elbows was too much and they fell away so that she flopped forward straight on her face, haunches flailing high in the air, joined to me by the tube of thick, pulsing flesh which seemed to become more and more conscious of itself. Olsa gasped with each thrust, becoming less tight in each thrust that I made. With my knees I edged her knees wider apart, pulling her bottom back onto my flesh-sword, grunting fiercely each time I rapiered into my soft target. Her anus seemed to be enlarging at its outer extremity and I thrust in deeper, forcing her buttocks apart, leaning more heavily yet, to find the deeper narrowness tearing at my flesh.
"Oh, stop! Stop! Stop!" Olsa had had all she could take. Her behind must have been aching intolerably, but I gave no respite as Jaswant cried out: "For God's sake, Crawford, leave her alone! Leave her you swine!"
With my fingers, my face contorted, I pulled her buttocks from each other, stretching, increasing the diameter of the aperture as Olsa began to sob.
"This is what your toughs did," I gasped, feeling the power rising liquidly inside me as her passage contracted around the whole length of my organ. "Howhow do you find ... it?"
Olsa groaned
, trying to push her legs flat along the rug. But I forced her thighs under with mine, exposing her still more as my penis seemed to enlarge with a hundred sensual armies waiting, growing restless in my loins, waiting for the sign until with a great rushing they came thundering along the well-known paths as my mouth opened in a great contortion. My head jerked back and Olsa screamed afresh with my convulsive stabbing of her bowels. And with a roaring in my head, my whole being sucked down to spill from my penis, the great weight shot from me, shattering into Olsa's backside like charge after charge of buckshot.
I collapsed over her kneeling body, biting her neck and my penis deflated inside her. I left it, deflated, warmly resting in her passage while my gasp-wracked body began to calm. Then I withdrew from her and she fell over on her side holding her legs tightly together, gasping, tears wet on her cheeks. On the floor, Jaswant was silent, only his heavy breathing to be heard. I felt, without looking at him, that he was sick at heart, his vanity flattened, his "own" woman humiliated....
Rape Page 8
