2 comments/ 29192 views/ 3 favorites Chateau Malmont By: Calandria This is NOT commissioned by the French Tourist Board – It's sort of 'O' meets Dracula, if you like. * Sandra and Rachel had been going to take a package deal to the Greek Islands. Just like every year. But they left it too late to book, and all the best offers were gone by the time they decided they could get away together for two weeks in July. So they ended up piling their luggage into Sandra's not-too-wonderfully prepared Ford and heading off into France, for a spot of sightseeing, gastronomy, and just simple tourism. It sounded like a good idea at the time. And so it turned out, at least until they reached the dark, lowering mountains of the Vosges, and the weather turned sultry and downright unpleasant. 'Bloody hell,' said Sandra, tossing her long blond hair out of her eyes so that she could better see a stretch of road, 'if it rains much more, I'll think we're back in Manchester.' Rachel groaned beside her, thinking she could have been toasting her long slim body on a Greek beach, attracting the usual procession of hopeful admirers. They certainly weren't going to get laid around here, that was for sure, she mused. They stopped at a bar in the next village, and found it was run by English ex-patriots. They ordered beers, and were regaled with stories that made them feel no better about their holiday at all. The owner's wife told them that there had been a succession of disappearances, all of young foreign girls, in the region, stretching back almost twenty years, 'And probably before that,' she said, 'but we've only lived here that long.' With that, she went back to emptying ashtrays, and seemed almost to delight in the girls' discomfiture. As they left, she shot them a parting, 'Last one was an American hitch-hiker, only last year – never seen again!' They walked out of the door, and under an awning onto which the rain was drilling down with gusto. They could hardly see the car, across the road. 'Should we go back and ask her if she's got a room to let?' asked Sandra. 'What, and have the old cow tell us horror stories all evening?' said Rachel, 'Besides, it's only five o'clock – we've time to find a hotel yet.' They scuttled across the road and dived into the car, soaked but laughing, and set off down the narrow, twisting roads again. If anything, the rain intensified, and it was becoming difficult to keep the windscreen clear enough to see the road in front. Sandra had to keep wiping it with a rag to keep it from misting over, and the wipers were having trouble keeping up with the downpour. The next village was bigger, but the only hotel was closed, and looked as if it had been for years, so they had to carry on – onwards and upwards, as the road wound up a hillside through a dense forest of tall trees with rocky outcrops. As they got higher, the car started to protest, and Sandra tapped the petrol gauge, but it wasn't that – she had half a tank left. 'I don't believe this,' she said, as the engine stuttered again, then finally died. 'You'd better,' said her friend, 'I think we're in the shit.' They looked around them, and all they could see were trees and rocks, but there was a track leading off to the right – no sign, but a well-used and maintained track just the same, flanked by two large stone pillars. There was a mail-box beside it – a sure indication that there was some kind of house up the track. Sandra made several abortive attempts to start thee engine again, gave up in despair, and finally let the handbrake off and allowed the car to run backwards into the side of the road, out of the way of any traffic. (Traffic, she thought – now there's a thing! They hadn't seen a car for hours) 'I suppose I'd better go and see if I can find a telephone,' said Rachel, pointing at the track. 'You're not leaving me here alone,' said Sandra, and they both got out in the rain, locked the car, and started to trudge up the track, which wound on up the hill. It seemed to take for ever, but they saw smoke rising from the trees. 'At least they've got a fire,' said Sandra, 'It's none too warm up here.' It was true. The mountain air, combined with the chilling effect of the rain, had brought their temperature down, and they now craved a bit of warmth. Sandra glanced at her watch. It was only seven, but seemed almost dark, and when they came within range of them, lights shone from through the trees with the intensity of night-time. They rounded a corner and Rachel gasped, 'Look, Sandra, bloody hell, it's a fucking great castle.' And it was, indeed, a huge grey stone pile of a fortress, set high on the mountainside, complete with turrets and battlements, hidden from all sides by the towering forest. Somewhat daunted, they had, however, no option but to seek whatever help they could find there, and they marched up to the first entrance they could find, a huge oak door, set at the top of a flight of six wide stone stairs. Rachel tugged at a big old-fashioned iron bell-pull, and a great clanging noise sounded from within, startling them to the core. They had to wait only a few seconds, before a young man appeared, opening the door wide to them. 'Entrez,' he said, 'quel surprise – deux mademoiselles, et comme il pleut!' Sandra's French was just about equal to the occasion, but she was in no mood to try out too much in the way of linguistics that evening, and was almost grateful when the ever-practical Rachel chipped in and said, 'Our car is broken down, back there on the road.' The young man, who she could now see was remarkably handsome, smiled, and said, in perfect English, 'Please don't worry. We have plenty of room for you here, and you will be our guests. It will be a pleasure to have two beautiful English ladies here – you may stay as long as you wish. My name is Jean-Marc. I shall have Celine show you to your rooms and provide you with dry clothes. Your car will be taken care of.' Sandra opened her mouth to speak, but he turned on his heel and was gone, leaving them stood, dripping, in the palatial hallway. Thirty seconds later, a darkly pretty little maid minced in on unrealistically high stilettos. She wore a microscopic black miniskirt and seamed fishnet stockings, the tops of which could be seen as she walked. 'Venez,' she said, and led them up a wide staircase, and along a short carpeted corridor, off which led many doors. She threw open two, one at each side, and indicated with a flourish that they should take one each. Sandra's first reaction was that she would almost have preferred to share a room with her friend in this great spooky castle, but the luxury of a room to herself also had its compensation, when she looked at the huge four-poster bed. Celine was in the room with her as the thoughts crossed her mind, opening the double doors of the huge, old-fashioned wardrobe, and indicating, with a very Gallic wave of her hand, the clothes it contained. It was truly amazing. After the maid had gone, the first thing Sandra wanted to do was to get out of her wet things, so she went into the adjoining bathroom, and threw off all her clothes, slipping into the towelling robe she found behind the door. Then she went across the corridor to find that Rachel had done similarly, and was drying her black hair vigorously with a towel. 'Wow,' she said, 'what a place.' 'And what a guy, Jean-Marc! I saw him first,' said Rachel. 'Have you seen all the clothes in the wardrobe?' asked Sandra, changing the subject, but just then, Rachel's bedside telephone gave a discreet ring. Hesitantly, she picked it up. 'Yes,' she said, 'Hello,' said Jean-Marc, 'please both dress for dinner, and we'll expect you at eight-thirty. Just come down the stairs and turn to the left.' He rang off and she was left holding a dead instrument. Wide-eyed, they were going through the clothes in the wardrobe, when Celine came back, silently collected their wet clothes, and as silently disappeared. In their wardrobes were day-clothes, dresses, skirts and blouses at one side, all neatly arrayed, whilst hung at the other side was a glamorous collection of evening gowns. On the floor were shoes, all high-heeled. At a glance, Sandra saw that everything appeared to be more-or-less her size, and wondered how that should be. Seeking further, she found the bathroom well-stocked with perfumes and cosmetics of all kinds. The drawers in the bedroom contained lots of costume jewellery, but, when she thought she had found the underwear drawers, they contained only two nightgowns and a negligee, two satin garter-belts, and several pairs of stockings. She slipped across the corridor to tell Rachel about her finds, and found her naked, a long silver and diamond pendant dangling from her navel, still drying her hair, this time with an electric dryer she had found in the bathroom. Sandra mentioned the lack of undergarments, but Rachel seemed unconcerned, saying, 'I often go without panties, darling, don't you?' Sandra had to confess that she didn't – not normally, anyway, but supposed she could get used to it. She went back to her room to choose a dress for the evening. Spoilt for choice, she plumped eventually for a dreamy cream silk halter-neck gown, completely backless. When she slipped it over her head, she felt the sensuous softness of the silk caress her flesh like a lover. She finished her outfit with a pair of large gold hoop ear-rings and stepped into strappy gold stilettos. When she had finished her make-up, she went to see how her friend was getting along, and whistled when she saw Rachel in a long black velvet sheath, open at each side, fastened in three places with a silver clasp- She had put her black hair up and wore long silver ear-rings, which brushed her shoulders. At her wrists and elbows were a lot of silver bangles and bracelets. 'Ready?' she asked. 'As I'll ever be.' They made their way down the stairs, feeling a bit like actors in a fifties movie, then turned left, as instructed, through huge double oak doors, into the massive, baronial dining hall. What faced them was a daunting sight. A remarkably imposing man was seated at the head of a huge dining table, in a monstrous throne of a chair. He was large and broad-shouldered, with a fine head of wavy silver hair, and a large, aquiline nose. By his right hand sat a handsome woman, in her forties, with her platinum-blonde hair elegantly coiffed, her dress fastened with a gold clasp on one shoulder, the other bare. At his other side sat Jean-Marc, whilst beside him sat two young women, one an incredibly beautiful blonde, who might well have been a fashion model, wearing a yellow dress with a plunging neckline, the other a shorter girl of unmistakeably Asian visage, wearing a green silk sari. As the girls entered, they got a considerable surprise, though, when Jean-Marc suddenly appeared, as if by magic, behind them! 'Hello,' he said, 'welcome to Chateau Malmont!' 'What the..........!' Started Sandra. The newcomer smiled. 'I am Jean-Pierre, Jean-Marc's twin,' he clarified. Sandra gulped, and both girls started to laugh at once – they had never expected to be confronted by a pair of identical twins. They took their places at the table, opposite the other two girls, with Jean-Pierre at the end, opposite his father, who introduced himself as Yves. The lady at his side, who didn't seem nearly old enough to be the twins' mother, was introduced as Jacqueline. Then it was the turn of the two girls sat opposite to them, and they were introduced as, respectively, Natalya, who was the drop-dead gorgeous Russian, and the demure-looking Eurasian Dana. The silent Celine tottered in on her heels and served soup, and was helped by another, taller girl, also dressed traditionally as a maid, when the main course was brought in. Conversation was limited to the weather, and conducted in English, presumably in deference to the girls' lack of French. As she was finishing her main course, Sandra felt a knee move against hers. She moved it away, in case the move had been accidental, but the knee soon returned, and started to move smoothly up and down her thigh, helped by the smooth silk of her dress. In spite of herself, she found she was getting turned on by this – it may have had something to do with the heady atmosphere, the steady flow of heavy red wine, or the very male presence of Jean-Pierre at her side. Or it might have been that she hadn't had a man for a long time – whichever way, she was starting to get a little damp between the legs, and was suddenly acutely conscious that she was wearing no panties – what if she was staining her light-coloured dress? She would die of embarrassment. She glanced sideways at Rachel, but saw that her friend was talking animatedly now, across the table, with Natalya and Jean-Marc. The subject seemed to be fashion, or something like that. When her attention returned, a hand had replaced the knee, and Jean-Pierre was smiling at her as he massaged her shapely knee under her gown. She knew she should have stopped him there and then, but didn't want to. Not at all. Instead, she put a hand over his, and looked at him pointedly, opening her mouth ever so slightly, and letting the tip of her tongue emerge from between her teeth in what she knew was a lewd gesture no man could resist. The waitresses had taken away the dirty plates, and were bringing in the sweets, but Sandra hardly noticed as she was far too preoccupied with Jean-Pierre's probing hand, which was now gently gathering up her skirt, pulling it slowly, ever so slowly up her leg, until the hem reached her knee, then, faster, he slid his hand up her thigh, encountering no opposition from her, but causing her to squirm, and bringing a sidelong questioning glance from Rachel. His hand slowed as he reached the top of her thigh, and he very deliberately pushed two fingers into her crack, then parted them, pulling her labia apart. An involuntary 'Oh' escaped her lips, and Rachel looked around sharply, then knowingly, and laughed lightly, and looked away pointedly. Jean-Pierre's finger was now crooked into Sandra's wet slit, seeking her cunt, and she was horribly close to a very embarrassing orgasm, which she would never be able to conceal. She had to stop this, and be strong. Decision made, she yanked his hand sharply away, smiling as sweetly as she was able. 'Later,' she whispered, out of the corner of her mouth, 'please!' She thought she had managed the situation reasonably well, and the rest of the meal passed off without incident, and light-hearted conversation continued, but Sandra noticed that Yves and Jacqueline took no part in the discussions at all. When the dinner was over, Jean-Marc stood, and said, 'Please, everyone, we should go into the library for coffee.' With that, everyone stood, and they all followed Jean-Marc through a door into another high-ceilinged room, lined with bookshelves and furnished with nests of overstuffed sofas and coffee tables. Rachel and Sandra sat together on a sofa, facing that on which the other two young girls sat, and accepted the offer of a coffee from Celine. Rachel then whispered in Sandra's ear, 'You cow - if anyone asked me, I'd swear you were getting finger-fucked under that table!' 'Jealous?' said Sandra. 'Fucking right I am,' she breathed, 'and just get a look at those two.' She inclined her head towards the two girls opposite them, and Natalya had her arm around Dana's shoulders, and her hand had disappeared into the folds of the Indian girl's sari. She was obviously toying with the other's breast, and Dana's face was buried in the Russian's neck. Their legs were intertwined, and they gave every appearance of being lovers. Whilst they were taking coffee, Jean Marc (at least, Sandra thought it was he, and not his brother) came and stood behind them, and put his hands on Rachel's shoulders, causing her to look around quickly. She smiled and he said, 'I expect you girls are tired. Please feel free to retire whenever you want. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Tomorrow, I shall arrange to have your car brought here.' They went off upstairs, leaving the two girls, now locked in a passionate embrace, alone in the library, and it was only when she got to her room that Sandra realised that she was, indeed, rather tired. The nightwear in the drawers was not what she would have chosen, but when she let the long, flowing, silk gown drop over her head, she had to admit to herself that a bit of old-fashioned luxury was a nice feeling, and she climbed between the satin sheets ready to enjoy a night of sensuous indulgence. Just how sensuous, she hadn't begun to realise, because no sooner had she turned out the light than she heard a soft click at the door. Her thoughts went from first thinking it would be her fried coming to ask her for something, to terror that it was some intruder. She scarcely dared move, but then a gentle hand brushed her hair from her face, and Jean-Pierre's voice said, quietly, 'I had hoped you were not yet asleep, English Rose. Please let me turn on the light, so I may drink in your beauty.' Smooth bastard, she thought, but she felt again his knowing fingers parting her labia under the table, and knew she had to have him inside her. She flicked on the bedside light, and there he was, in a magenta dressing gown. She took the initiative, and pulled him towards her, struggling to release his excited shaft from the boxers he wore under the dressing gown. Soon she had it in her hand, and guided it into her mouth as he knelt beside her on the bed, seeking her breasts through the silk of her gown. She took him deep into her throat, and heard his moans, so that she knew he couldn't hold off long enough to fuck her, so she sucked his length with all her soul, and looked into his eyes as he came in great spurts, deep within her. She made sure she swallowed every precious drop, licking the last globules off his crown, then cradled him in her arms, her whole length entwined around him, moving, moving, gently against hi, so that he remained hard. To further ensure that, after a while, she found his arsehole, and brusquely pushed a long-nailed forefinger straight up his rectum, which had the effect of giving his cock new life, and she found his fingers straying, as they had at dinner, to her crack, parting her labia, seeking now her erect, burgeoning clit. He plunged two, then three fingers into her cunt-hole, now soaking wet, waiting for his cock. 'Fuck me, Jean-Pierre!' she told him, 'now!' He threw himself on top of her, roughly parting her legs, and plunged his rod into her, right to the very neck of her womb, so that his balls thumped against her arse with every thrust as he pounded her. Her cunt-muscles contracted and expanded in the way she knew she could drive a man wild, and she raked her nails up and down his back as he fucked her. When she felt her orgasm coming, welling up from her inner depths, threatening to make her scream the house down, she again rammed a finger up his arsehole, to ensure that he came simultaneously. She knew it would work, and so it did, as he stiffened, and they came together in a huge, tumultuous melt-down. After laying with her for a while, and smoking an evil-smelling cigarette, he was gone, and she turned over, and slept for ten hours. When Sandra awoke, the sun was streaming through the window, on a very different day to yesterday. She looked at her wristwatch and was mildly surprised when she saw it was after nine o'clock. Swinging her legs out of bed, she cautiously opened the door, looked up and down the corridor, saw nobody, and slid across into Rachel's room, to find her standing looking out of the window, her long, slender limbs outlined by the morning light under the thin silk of her long nightgown. 'Good morning,' she said, and her friend turned to her with a broad, give-away smile, 'Ah,' said Sandra, 'you too, eh?' Chateau Malmont 'Mmmm,' was all Rachel would say, but her face said it all. 'Come on,' said Sandra, 'let's get dressed and go and find some breakfast – I'm starving.' They each showered, then managed to find suitable cotton sundresses in their respective wardrobes, but were grumbling about the lack of underwear as they went down to look for breakfast. 'I feel really naked,' said Sandra, 'You certainly would, if you were clean shaven,' said Rachel, grimacing. They went down stairs, and thought the dining room was the best place to look. So it proved, and a side-table was groaning with platters of food of all kinds, while Celine was scurrying around with pots of fresh coffee. They ate a hearty breakfast, and weree just finishing a second cup of coffee when one of the twins appeared – they weren't sure which, until he identified himself by saying, 'Hi, girls, Jean-Marc, in case you're in doubt. I have asked someone to get your car brought up here. Meantime, perhaps you'd like to look around the castle?' Dutifully, they trailed behind him, as he started to show them around the great halls and state-rooms of the old castle. He showed them the enormous kitchens, and the old armoury, but pointedly steered them away from a corridor which led off beside the library, into the dark interior, in a downward spiral, explaining almost sharply that 'reconstruction works' were going on down there. But just as they were passing the end of the corridor, Jacqueline emerged from it, her face set in a grim expression. She was wearing a long burgundy satin robe of some kind, and appeared to have a long white gown on underneath that. It seemed odd garb for that time of day, and her demeanour was strange, to say the least of it. She passed them without a word. Jean-Marc seemed eager to hurry them on, but as they passed the end of the corridor, and the silent figure of Jacqueline strutted off around a corner, Sandra was almost positive she heard a strange noise – she described it later as something between a wail and a scream – from somewhere deep down at the end of the dingy, unlit corridor. She tried to put the incident to the back of her mind as they emerged into the sunlight at the rear of the castle, on to well-tended lawns. Rachel squealed with delight as she spotted a very inviting swimming pool, and immediately asked Jean-Marc if they could use it. 'Of course,' he said, 'the water is nice and warm just now. I'll arrange towels for you.' The thought prompted Sandra to think about her luggage, and, of course, her car. She asked their host, and he excused himself, telling them to wait for him where they were for a few minutes. He was as good as his word, but wore a serious expression when he returned. 'Your car has been brought up to the castle. It's nothing serious, but you need a new alternator, and this will take two or three days – no problem, of course, you can stay as long as you need. However, there is a problem.' And he looked down at his shoes at this point. 'I'm afraid your car has been broken into, and your luggage has been stolen. The car was empty when my man got to it.' 'Oh shit,' said Rachel, 'that was everything I had!' 'Me too,' said Sandra, feeling acutely the lack of her underwear, then starting to remember things like her camera and her mobile phone. She could see her friend having similar thoughts. They both felt really miserable. 'Look,' said Jean-Marc, 'have a nice swim. We'll report it to the police, and you can talk to the insurance companies, or whatever you need to do, later. Here, we have everything you need, anyway, so you can forget it all, and enjoy your holiday as if nothing has happened. 'But we have no swimming things.' 'It doesn't seem to worry them,' said Rachel, waving towards Natalya and Dana, who had just appeared on the poolside, dropped their flimsy robes on the tiles, and, quite naked, jumped into the water. 'Oh well,' said Sandra, I suppose we might just as well enjoy the sunshine – there's nothing else we can do,' They found the pool even more inviting at close quarters, so they kicked off their shoes, unzipped their dresses and walked down the steps at the shallow end, while Jean-Marc turned back towards the castle and left them to it. They swam up and down a bit, then sat and dangled their legs into the pool, watching the other two cavorting in a corner of the shallow end. They seemed quite oblivious to the presence of the English girls, as they caressed each other openly, and Sandra noticed that they were both clean-shaven, like Rachel – she felt quite the odd one out, and wondered if she might follow suit at some point, it might be fun, she thought. During the morning, they managed to strike up a stilted conversation with the two girls, in a mixture of French and English, and established that they could have a snack brought out to them by the pool, so they decided this was no bad idea, and spent the rest of a beautiful day there, soaking up the sunshine, borrowing sun-creams from the girls, and being altogether lazy, until the setting sun, and marauding insects, drove them indoors. 'I can stand a day or two of this,' said Rachel, after Jean-Marc had been to tell them that the police had been informed and that the car-part had been ordered. Sandra asked if she could telephone their banks to stop their credit cards, and their travel insurance company, and Jean-Marc had brought them a mobile telephone. The world was looking a better place. They went to their rooms, to dress for dinner, and while Sandra was helping Rachel choose her dress for the evening, she remembered the dark corridor, and the odd encounter with Jacqueline, not to mention the noise she thought she had heard. 'You're imagining things,' said her friend, 'but it's a bit spooky down there, I'll grant you, and that Jacqueline's a funny one, and the old man.' 'I don't know,' said Sandra, 'I rather fancied him.' 'Dirty bitch,' said Rachel, 'not getting enough?' Sandra threw a shoe at her, playfully, and they carried on with their dress-selection. Sandra picked a pant-suit with a difference. It was almost entirely transparent, so that her nipples could clearly be seen poking at the thin organdie material, and her pubic hair was also visible, so that Rachel said, 'You'd better shave that off, if you're going to wear an outfit like that.' Finding a razor and soap in the bathroom, she did just that, taking great care, and thought the finished job looked very good. By the time she had finished, she went into Rachel's room, to find that her friend had put on a long gold dress, open right down to the waist, her breasts covered by narrow strips of material, the skirt encasing her so tightly she could scarcely walk. She looked magnificent, and Sandra told her so: 'You make me wish I was Lesbian,' she said. When they took their places at the table, the rest of the party were already assembled, and they were greeted by appreciative nods all around, as their appearance was noted. After dinner, they went, as on the previous evening, to the library, but the two girls, who both wore identical eye-catching fishnet tops, so that their obviously rouged nipples stuck out through the wide mesh, and short black silk skirts, soon stood up and, arms around each other, left the room. Rachel looked at Sandra, and winked, 'Hmmm,' she said. Before they had had time to drink their coffee, they were joined by the twins, who this time didn't identify themselves, but Sandra assumed it was Jean-Pierre who stood behind her and massaged her shoulders, then ran his hands down over her breasts, whilst Jean-Marc was sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Rachel, stroking her long, dark hair. They were full of sympathy for the girls' predicament, and made all sorts of sympathetic noises, but Sandra was, at this stage, much more interested in being fucked, and pulled him around the sofa, and down on top of her, kissing him, her tongue forcing its way between his teeth, as she tugged at the waistband of his trousers. It must have been the day in the sun, watching the two girls making love, because Rachel was in full flow too. Despairing of freeing her from the tightness of her skirt, he had unzipped it, and she was completely naked, her long legs wrapped around his waist, as he speared her on a mighty erection. She moaned loudly with each great thrust as he buried his impressive length deep within her. Sandra wasn't going to be left behind, and cradled Jean-Pierre's long, slightly curved tool in both hands, before helping him ease it into her dripping wet cunt. As he found his way there, his fingers found her arsehole, and he brought her to a frenzy when he rammed two fingers hard up her tight virgin anus, scraping her tender tissue as he thrust and thrust, and she contracted her cunt-muscles in time with his pounding. HE shouted out, 'J'arrive,' stiffened rigidly, and shot great wads of hot spunk hard into her. When she looked up, Rachel was laying, naked, next to her partner, who was smoking a Gauloise. 'Don't you want a cigarette?' asked Sandra. 'I don't smoke,' replied the other. It was Jean-Marc! She had been fucked by both twins in two nights! 'You know what we've done, Rachel?' she asked. 'Mmmm. Good, wasn't it?' came her reply. They went to bed in a darkened castle – everybody seemed to have already retired - and Sandra soon dropped off into a deep sleep. But then, some time during the night, she was suddenly wide awake. She was sure she had heard a scream. And not just a scream, but an agonised wail of a scream. Then, there it was again, no mistake this time. She slid out of bed, slipped on a negligee over her nightgown, and quietly tip-toed across the corridor, and into Rachel's room. She was wide awake. 'Did you hear that?' she whispered. 'Yes,' she nodded 'I'm going to find out what's going on,' said Sandra. 'Don't be stupid, 'said Rachel, 'none of our business!' 'Just the same.' 'Please yourself. I'm staying here.' She snuggled lower under the bedclothes and gave no indication of getting out of bed. Sandra, always the one to stick her neck out, decided to investigate, and creeping out into the corridor, made her way down the stairs, lit by the ample shafts of light from the full moon which had risen. No sooner had she got to the foot of the stairs, than she heard it again, a terrible, moaning scream, nearer now, and seeming to come from somewhere lower down than where she was standing, She had to try the 'forbidden corridor.' She knew, of course, that it wasn't even a slightly sensible thing to do. Skulking about in a medieval castle in the middle of the night in a nightgown and negligee was not remotely a good idea, but there was something about those screams, something that drew her, something she couldn't ignore. She decided Rachel would Come and look for her if anything befell her, and set off down the passage towards the corner of the dreaded corridor. Moonlight lit her path, streaming through clerestory widows high in the walls above her, but it was much darker in the gloomy corridor. She hesitated before taking it, but yet another, more muffled scream made her mind up, and she plucked up the courage. The corridor wound down in a great sweeping curve, forever downwards in a gentle gradient, the floor rough stone, hurting Sandra's bare feet as she picked her way in the gloom. There was enough light to see there were no doors off either side, but then the corridor ended abruptly with a heavy pair of double oak doors. She pushed against them and they opened easily. She found herself in a narrow vestibule, with another set of double doors at the end, and a single door off to the right. It was lit by a single light-bulb, very low-powered, in the ceiling. Sandra tried the double doors, but they refused to budge, so she turned to the single door on the right, which opened immediately, on to a small room, again lit by a single bulb. She stood in the doorway, and looked at the room in amazement. There were a couple of easy chairs and a small television, flickering away merrily in black-and-white, with a video machine underneath it, on a shelf. Sandra looked at what was playing on the television, and did a double-take, because the woman on the screen was Rachel's double! Or as near as could be. The scene was of a beautiful slim, sensuous woman with long dark hair, and high, Celtic cheekbones, dressed in a diaphanous long white dress, and, evidently, nothing else, being manacled to a dungeon wall. And she really was a dead ringer for Rachel – it was incredible! Sandra spotted the box the video belonged to and found the title, 'The Long Hair of Death,' – Barbara Steele – a 1960's horror film. She looked up at the television, and the next frame wasn't showing the Rachel-lookalike, but she was fascinated. So fascinated that she didn't hear the door open, and someone enter behind her. 'So you decided to do some detective work, did you?' And what have you discovered? A television room, eh? How fascinating!' The sardonic tones belonged to Jacqueline, whose strong accent had a harsh sound to it. She stood, one hand on her hip, in the doorway, in a satin robe, the same one, or similar, to the one she had been wearing when she had hurried from the corridor earlier in the day. 'I heard screams,' said Sandra, thinking she sounded pathetic. 'Oh yes?' said Jacqueline, and, grabbing the remote control, turned up the volume. On cue, a scream rent the air as the heroine was subjected to torture, coyly off-camera. 'That what you heard? Yves' little collection in action?' And she indicated row upon row of horror films stacked neatly on shelves along one wall, with a sweep of her arm. But, as she was doing so, a distinct wail sounded from behind the wall, and Sandra raised her eyebrows. 'No, it was that,' she said, quietly, and, as she said it, the door opened again, and Yves walked in, looking very red in the face, and seeming out of breath. He stopped in his tracks. 'Qu'est il ce passe?' he demanded, and Jacqueline spoke to him in French too rapid for Sandra to follow, but, when she made to leave, he blocked her exit, and said, 'No, young lady, you go nowhere now. You are in a very bad position here. Nobody knows the two of you are here, at the castle. You have noticed how your friend resembles the lady in the film. I shall keep from you no longer my plans for you both. Take her, Jacqueline, please.' Sandra started to protest, saying that she had phoned the police. 'Police?' snarled Jacqueline, 'from a mobile phone – you could be anywhere!' Sandra realised with a horrible shock the truth of what she said, and found her wrists seized in front of her and cuffed tightly in metal cuffs, then she was being pulled through the door, into a dimly lit dungeon, with a rough bare stone floor, and rough-hewn stone walls. Jacqueline, showing strength way beyond that which her stature suggested, pulled her roughly towards one wall, and told her to stand still. Then she stood on a step beside her, and raised Sandra's hands way above her head, fastening the chain between her cuffs to a steel chain which depended from the ceiling. In one movement, she tore the negligee from Sandra's body, leaving her in just the thin silk nightgown, shivering in the cold of the dungeon. Next she attended to the young girl's ankles, and there were manacles chained to ring-bolts in the floor at a convenient place, which she now clasped around Sandra's slim ankles. Without a word, she stood, turned, and left her hanging there. Sandra tried to understand what had happened to her but her mind couldn't assimilate the sheer horror of her situation. It turned to Rachel, but she somehow knew that her friend would soon be joining her here in this terrible place – of that she was sure. The likeness in the old film was more than just a coincidence – there was a design to the whole thing. Before she had chance to think further, she heard a terrible moan again, and her eyes were now becoming accustomed to the gloom of the dungeon. On the opposite wall she could now see the body of another girl, chained as she was, but quite naked. Her head hung low, as if she had been there some time, and she was moaning from time to time. 'Who are you?' whispered Sandra, not knowing if it was a good idea to speak out loud or not. She repeated the question, but received no reply, just another, louder, moan. After what seemed like five minutes but may have been less, Jacqueline re-appeared, but ignored Sandra completely, and went to the girl chained to the opposite wall, grasping her brown hair, and speaking to her in a language Sandra couldn't understand. But the girl replied softly, 'Jawohl, bitte,' in a pleading voice – solving the problem, she was German! Jacqueline departed and returned a minute or two later with a glass of water, which she tilted for the German girl to drink from, then placed on the ground beside her. She said something else to the girl, then turned and left again. A few moments later she was replaced by Yves, who was dressed like a monk in a long grey robe, the hood thrown back to reveal his flowing silver mane of hair. He stood close to the German girl, and stroked her young body with all the appearance of a caress, running a hand the whole length of her body, wringing another moan from her lips, this time sounding less like a moan of agony and more like one of pleasure. He then produced, from beneath his robe, a thin cane, and, without warning, lashed the girl hard across the upper thighs, causing her to scream, this time in real agony. Spinning her around, he thrashed her viciously across her rounded buttocks, leaving an angry red welt, which must have hurt terribly. He was warming to the task, and his robe was now tented out by an obvious erection as he whipped her once more, and she let out an awful shriek as a scarlet wheal appeared on her lower back. He threw down the cane, felt between her legs, grabbed her hair, looked into her eyes, and said something in her language, then left her. He crossed to Sandra, and stroked her slim body through the silk of her nightgown. 'I think you would like me to whip you too, English rose?' 'No,' she spat at him, 'let me go, you swine.' But that she had been turned on watching the German girl being whipped, she couldn't deny. 'You must wait,' he said, 'your turn will come!' With that, he turned and left Sandra, in her uncomfortable position, her arms stretched above her head. Jacqueline meantime came and took the German girl down from her manacles, and helped her away out of sight around a corner. Not more than five minutes later there was a commotion from the direction of the corridor, and Jean-Pierre, (or Jean-Marc, she couldn't be sure which) pulled an unwilling, handcuffed, Rachel, clad in just her long white silk nightgown, into the dungeon. She was yelling at her captor, all manner of abuse coming from her lips, in contrast to her lovely appearance. Jacqueline joined in, coming, presumably from the television room, and, in no time at all, Rachel was shackled to the wall, in place of the German girl. The twin retired without a word, leaving her to the mercy of Jacqueline, and Yves. As Rachel's eyes became accustomed to the poor light, she realised that it was Sandra who was chained to the opposite wall. 'I told you not to go poking about,' she said, 'look what a fucking mess we're in now!' 'I think this was always planned for us, darling,' said Sandra. 'How right you are,' said Jacqueline, who had overheard the exchange, 'and Yves has special plans for Barbara Steele here.' 'Eh?' queried Rachel. 'Don't ask,' said Sandra. No sooner had she said that than Yves came on the scene, and walked up to Rachel. 'Lovely,' he said, 'I've waited many years for this. Quite exquisite.' He grasped her nightdress at the neckline, and gave a great yank, tearing it to the hem, exposing her naked body. He played for a moment with the pendant in her navel, then allowed himself a time to fondle her firm breasts, with their cherry-nipples. Speaking English for her benefit, he asked Jacqueline to bring him the ridding crop, and whilst he was waiting, he parted her legs, and massaged gently into her crack. Her eyes widened as he found her cunt, and worked fingers straight up inside her wetness. Chateau Malmont Jacqueline had now returned with a silver tray, on which a short riding crop was resting. He took it, and showed it to Rachel. 'I think you will find pleasure in the pain this gives you, my dear,' he said. He stood back and took aim, then there was a loud swish as the crop flew through the air, and he whipped Rachel expertly, lashing her cruelly, ten slashing strokes across her back, arse and upper thighs. She writhed and bucked against the bonds, and screamed as each blow fell on her tender flesh, leaving red lines criss-crossing her body. Sandra, watching, found herself, inexplicably, almost envious of her friend, and very turned on by the whole proceeding, in spite of their predicament. Abruptly then, he left them, beckoning Jacqueline to accompany him, and they heard the door to the television room close behind them. Not more than a minute later, they heard, Jacqueline's throaty voice, 'Oh, oh, oh, oooh, oaaah!' and the unmistakeable sound of the rhythmic thumping of the sofa against the wall. 'They're shagging,' said Rachel, unnecessarily, still scarcely able to speak properly after her whipping, and they fell silent, both pondering their situation, until a dishevelled-looking Jacqueline, minus the robe, now dressed only in a white cotton dress, came and unfastened Rachel's ankle restraints, then took her wrist chain down, but, keeping her firmly handcuffed, led her off out of sight. Sandra heard some clanging noises, and an exchange of a few words, then Jacqueline was back, repeating the process for her. She found herself being led off around a corner, on the same rough stone floor, past more wall-chains, momentarily unoccupied, and to one of two cages, again both dimly lit by single bulbs. She was pulled into one of them, which contained an iron bedstead with a thin mattress and a slop-bucket. Without a word, Jacqueline indicated that she should lie on the mattress, and rapidly chained her left wrist to the bedstead. Still silently, she left, locking the door behind her and taking the key with her. Taking stock, Sandra discovered that with some kind of manoeuvre, she would just about be able to reach the slop-bucket, whilst still chained to the bed. She also discovered that by stretching a little, she could see Rachel in the adjacent cage. She was also chained to her bedstead, and her nakedness had been covered with a white robe of some sort, before she had been left alone. 'What the fuck do we do now?' Rachel asked, an edge of hysteria unsurprisingly creeping into her voice. 'I'm going to try and get some sleep,' said Sandra, 'maybe it's all a bad dream anyway.' She really was incredibly tired, she just discovered, and soon slept, in spite of everything. Sandra awoke to the sound of her lock being opened. The light from the bulb overhead now merged with a grey light coming in from outside, admitted by high slit windows, up near the roof of the dungeon. A lumpish-looking young guy she had never seen before came in carrying a tray, which he placed on the floor near her bed, then left silently, locking the door behind him. She raised herself, initially forgetting the chain at her wrist, but found she could reach the tray, which contained coffee, croissants and orange juice. All were delicious. With her free hand, she managed to enjoy them, then had to use the bucket. Dignity was impossible in her situation. Time passed, and she glanced over, and saw that Rachel was sleeping soundly. She decided not to call to her. Before many minutes had passed, Jean-Pierre (or was it Jean-Marc?) appeared, and opened the door, grim-faced. 'Which are you?' asked Sandra. 'Does it matter?' He had a point. He unfastened her wrist-chain and led her out into the dungeon. He was a strong man, and she knew it was pointless to attempt to escape. Around a corner, he pulled her into a cubicle which she immediately recognised as a shower, and, before she could think of slipping out of her nightgown, a mighty jet of icy-cold water cascaded from a rose above her head, drenching her from head to foot, so that the silk of her gown stuck to her slim body like a second skin. She shivered uncontrollably, and swore at the twin in every language she could think of, but he merely laughed, from the dryness of the exterior. After a couple of minutes, he turned off the jet, and pulled her by her wrist-chain from the cubicle. She had never felt so cold and miserable, so humiliated, in her life. Back in her cell, he chained her wrist, more tightly this time, to the side of the bed, then, producing another cuff from his pocket, he cuffed her other wrist to the right side of the bed, so that her torso was face down on the bed, as she knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, her drenched nightgown stuck to her body, outlining every inch of her. He knelt behind her, pulling her gown up to expose her wet buttocks, then slapping first the right then the left one resoundingly, with a sharp 'crack', leaving red handprints on the cheeks of her arse. 'Lovely,' he said, then produced from his pocket a tube of lubricant, and squeezed some onto his fingers, and started to work it slowly into her tiny, puckered arsehole. 'No,' she cried, 'not that. I've never.......I mean, I just can't.' 'Oh yes, you can. It's going to hurt you terribly, you know. So prepare yourself.' 'Oh, please be gentle with me,' said Sandra. 'It's not my choice,' he said, and she didn't understand, until he quite suddenly got to his feet and she heard a word of greeting. His place had been taken by Yves! She saw, out of the corner of her eye, his burly form, in his monk's habit, a huge erection projecting from its folds like a tent-pole, entering through the cage-door, and kneeling behind her. He grunted as first he rammed his great rod straight into her unsuspecting but surprisingly moist cunt-hole, but then he withdrew as quickly as he had entered. He was wanting a rarer prize! Lubricated by her own juices, he pushed his crown slowly but horribly hard against the narrow portals of her anus, forcing his way into her reluctant entrance, stretching her wider than she would have thought credible. She screamed with agony as he went thee first few centimetres into her tender channel, then as he approached her sphincter, and she knew her anal virginity was being lost for ever, she moaned and sobbed with the terrible pain, now merging with a desire which spread into her very centre. She writhed with the awful, fiery suffering of it, as she felt him pound into her once most private place, and a tremendous orgasm overcame her, and blotted out the pain, as he gave a great strangled shout, and shot a load of hot, creamy spunk, right up into her bowel. When he had finished, he left without a word, and Jacqueline came in, dressed in her 'regulation' satin robe. There was no soothing word from her, no word at all, in fact. She simply unfastened Sandra's wrists, helped her off with her soaking nightgown, gave her a large towel, and white silk negligee to put on. Then she left, again without a word. Rachel, who had watched the proceedings from her own cage, said merely, 'Wow.' Ten minutes later, Jacqueline was back, whilst Sandra was still aching from the brutal invasion of her arsehole. 'Kneel on the floor!' she ordered, and Sandra did her bidding. Jacqueline pulled the negligee from her back, and produced a riding crop from under her robe. Without any warning, she lashed Sandra with all her might across her upper back with the crop, which landed with a terrible 'crack' on her tender skin, and left a bright scarlet welt, with droplets of blood starting to form where it had broken the skin. She repeated the dose six times, working her way down Sandra's back to her buttocks. When she finished, Sandra was sobbing uncontrollably. 'Tomorrow,' said Jacqueline, 'you will now be ready to go to Phase Two. Yves wants a few minutes with Barbara, and then she will be ready too.' Some time later, Sandra heard the sounds of Rachel's door being unlocked, and looked around to see Yves standing there, huge, in her doorway. 'So, my little Barbara, we are almost ready for the next phase,' he said. 'My name is Rachel,' she spluttered. 'You are Barbara for me,' he said, 'that is how I shall remember you.' Then he fell upon her, dragging off her negligee, thrusting her slim legs wide apart, and seeking her arsehole, which Sandra knew was far from virgin. He thrust himself into her in one great surge and moaned as he found his great cock clamped within her rectum, then he pounded in and out, shouting loudly, 'This is the last cock you will ever have inside you, Barbara – enjoy it, and cum for me!' She screamed, fear, pain and ecstasy combining, and then lay, spent, as he withdrew, and got up and left her. They were both fed during the rest of the day, but no amount of questioning would elicit information from the half-wit who brought them their food. Sandra slept surprisingly well that night, securely locked in the cage, but no longer chained to the bedstead. Then, in the morning, as first light hit the dungeon, Jacqueline appeared with garments piled in her arms. 'Strip!' she said, and when Sandra had slipped off her negligee, she was given a long cream cotton robe, fastened by a cord at the waist. Rachel was similarly attired, then both girls were brought out of their cages, their wrists cuffed in front of them. 'You are now going to Phase Two,' said Jacqueline, 'and from now on you will be shackled and collared.' Thus saying, she fetched heavy leg-irons from a cupboard, and placed them on the girls' ankles, then snapped broad leather collars around their necks, to which she attached leashes. Thus completely humiliated and controlled, she led them both to a huge steel door, which she opened with a great box-key she had been carrying on a chain around her waist. It was terribly difficult to walk with the heavy chains between their ankles. The dungeon they now entered was darker than the one they had just left, with a flickering quality to what light there was. At one side they saw two empty sleeping compartments like the ones they had occupied, but without mattresses, just wooden boards. Along the other wall was an unmistakeable medieval rack, complete with pulleys, and loops for the wrists and ankles. Rachel and Sandra started to shiver with fear, only increased as they came around the corner into the dungeon's source of light. There were ring-bolts and chains hanging from the walls, whose purpose was obvious, and there was a huge cast-iron brazier in the middle of the floor, with a stone step by the side of it. It was full of red-hot coals, and irons of various types stuck out from it. But what made the two girls gasp were its attendants – for by the side of the brazier stood none other than Natalya and Dana, both clad in thigh-length spike-heeled boots, black leather corsets and long black silk gloves. 'Mmmm,' said Natalya, 'I see you have brought Barbara. I can hardly wait to brand her.' Jacqueline pulled the terrified Rachel into position, face to the wall, and Dana stripped off her robe, then clipped her handcuffs to ringbolts above her head. Natalya took a casual step to the brazier, and pulled out one of the irons. Not satisfied, she replaced it, and tried another. It was glowing bright red. With a glance at Sandra, as if to confirm the she was next, she plunged it hard down on to Rachel's right buttock. Rachel's body contorted, and she screamed, a terrible wailing shriek, from the bottom of her soul, then she passed from consciousness. At that, Natalya, sat on the stone pier, and very deliberately opened her legs, separating her shaven pink labia with both hands. Dana dropped to her knees in front of her and started to tongue her, lapping up the juices which oozed from her excited cunt. But Jacqueline was busy taking the unconscious Rachel down, slipping her robe about her, and throwing her bodily down onto the wooden bed in what passed for a sleeping compartment. Then it was Sandra's turn to be chained to the wall, her fear all the more because of the waiting, and watching her friend being branded. She tried to steel herself, but, when the moment came, the pain was, as she suspected truly terrible, and she, too, passed out, and woke up some time later, her arse on fire, finding it quite impossible to get comfortable on the stark wooden board. Time seemed to stand still, and they had no idea whether an hour or a day had passed. They could call to one another through the bars, but the hopelessness of their situation seemed beyond discussion, so they didn't talk any more. Some time later, Jacqueline came again, and said, 'Strip!' Sandra got awkwardly to her feet and shrugged off her robe, feeling the pain, not only of her branding (she didn't even know what it said), but also of her terrible whipping, and the sheer difficulty posed by the leg-irons. Jacqueline helped her on with a black robe, and said, 'This is for Phase Three, the final phase.' 'Do we get to go then?' asked Sandra 'Come,' said Jacqueline, by way of an answer, and picked up both girls' leashes. She led them through another door, into a small dark dungeon, lit by a single bulb in the stone ceiling. There was a heavy wooden cross fastened to the wall, which bore many nail marks in the arms, each of which had trickles of dried blood running down from them, as if someone had been crucified. Then Jacqueline stopped before a huge iron contraption, waving towards it, 'The Maiden,' she announced. Sandra examined it in abject terror. When its door was closed, great needle-sharp spikes would transfix anyone within. She fingered a spike, and found it was covered in fresh blood. Sandra knew instantly what had happened to the girls who had disappeared from this part of France – and she knew what was to be their fate.