"Driving Daisy Crazy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Unknown)

Chapter Five

"Check it out," Vanessa says. Cynthia does, squinting intently at the photograph.

"Looks like the girl knows what she's doing, garden-wise," Cynthia concurs, pointing to the muslin gauze covering the tomato stakes.

"Maybe it's the real thing, after all," Nancy observes.

"As far as the girl is concerned, I'm sure that's true," Cynthia says.

"But then, she's not the problem, remember?"

"Right," Vanessa confirms.

"She's merely the victim.

"And, unless I miss my guess, the first of many, at that.

"But we still have to play the waiting game.

"We move too soon, and even the girl would be hard put not to believe we're a trio of loonies, until it's too late."

"Delicate damn situation," Cynthia agrees.

"There's absolutely nothing until there's something, at which time we have to move like greased lightning."

"Greased lightning," Nancy says, "that's us."

"Your confidence is indeed reassuring," Cynthia says.

"I was being sarcastic."

"So noted.

"Now, then. Going back to the overall views, notice something else, anyone?

"It has to do with wheels, hint, hint."

"Eric," Vanessa says.

"He doesn't put the limo away in the garage."

"That's right!

"Weather's been dry for so long that he keeps it right at the portico, ready to move at a snap of Buck's fingers."

"Good man, Eric:" Nancy puts in.

"Good chauffeur? Yes, I suppose he is, at that," Cynthia agrees.

"Point is, we can tell if Buck is there or not merely by watching the spot in front of the portico, since he doesn't make a move without his beloved Eric."

"Right now, for example-by the way, is the chopper up, Vanessa!"

"Absolutely.

"I can patch through, if you wish."

"I wish."

Vanessa picks up the phone and is soon in contact.

"I have the chopper, Cynthia."

"Is it or isn't it?"

Vanessa speaks into the phone.

"Gone.

"Girl's working on God's little acre, but no limo in the driveway.

"Anything else?"

"Not at the moment."

Vanessa talks into the phone briefly and disconnects.

"What are we doing?" Vanessa asks, puzzled.

"Well, let us reason together," Cynthia begins.

"First, we have Randy's next victim, the farm girl garden person, the first of many, as Vanessa so aptly put it, in a program we are powerless to stop because, until it actually gets started, there is nothing to stop.

"Our action? Surveillance.

"The girl's in the garden, working, therefore she is not yet a wisp of smoke above the Estate's incinerator.

"Problem.

"The garden isn't big enough to keep the girl working out there, morning and afternoon, very much longer.

"She could, of course, pass her days beside the pool, sunning her buns to a rich, golden brown, but we can't count on it.

"If she disappears into the great indoors, we don't know what is happening, especially dangerous when the limo continues to occupy home port.

"Then, there is the matter of the nights, Buck's fave time of day.

"What if Randy suddenly tires of the build-up, the anticipation?"

"What if he has a bad day at the office and decides that right now would be an excellent time to take it out on somebody?

"Who is to say that he and his merry men won't suddenly decide not to wait for that special occasion to have their little party?

"Right now, we're gambling with that girl's life because we have no choice.

"Right now, it seems, not a safe but a relatively safe thing to do.

"The garden is looking more and more like serious dirt every day and very real progress is being made.

"That fits in with Buck's personality.

"This particular joke is a shaggy dog story and the longer he drags it out, the funnier it will be when he gets to the punch line.

"Another factor to consider, his brothers in the creephood, Cranston and Eric.

"So far, as you know, Randy has gotten into the girl at least once, possibly more.

"This means that he's getting kicks out of her, they're not.

"This too could be part of the.plan, part of the thrill, that added little zing they're getting, knowing that the big romance is building up as another part of the joke, to make it all the more delicious when they pull the rug out from underneath her.

"Be that as it may, suffice it to say that Randy's two playmates are temporarily out of it, as far as we know.

"Very temporarily.

"Patience is a virtue and these guys ain't got none.

"Virtues, that is.

"Which means that he can't string them along for very long before one of them-Cranston, probably, him being so good at making his case with Buck and all decides they're tired of waiting for the big yuk and can we have it now, to which he will doubtless reply sure why not anything for my ass hole buddies and like that."

"I still don't see what all that has to do with our knowing that Randy is downtown and on the job."

"Ah, but it has everything to do with it, Vanessa!

"Randy is downtown and so am I.

"Old enemies, old friends, all the same thing on the social calendar.

"We do not ignore one another here in the world of oxygen and sunlight.

"At night, in the dark, on paper, even, we plot one another's destruction.

"Face to face? Another matter entirely, my dears, don't you see?"

"Keep going, you're doing great-I guess."

"Marvel Industries and Buck Enterprises.

"Two gigantic, non-competitive endeavors whose chief executives know each other-better, perhaps, then either of us would like.

"Be that as it may, what do we mutually acquainted chief executives do when we're in town at the same time?"

"I know, teacher, I know," Nancy says, raising her hand and bouncing on the couch.

"Nancy?"

"You have lunch!"

"Exactly."

"Ya lost me," Vanessa says.

"I've come to a decision," Cynthia says.

"I'm going to pick the time for Buck and company to make their move on the girl."

"By having lunch?" Vanessa asks, her tone incredulous.

"I don't see how-"

"Just watch and listen."

Cynthia buzzes the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Get me Randy Buck, please, will you, Sandra? I believe he's at his downtown office."

And they wait until the intercom speaks.

"Mister Buck on line one, Baroness."

"Randy, darling!"

"Cynthia dearest!

"To what do I owe the honor of this call?"

"I was thinking, if you're in town all week and so am I, we could have lunch together, say… Friday?"

"Let me see now… Yes, the calendar is certainly in favor of that.

"Only-and I hope you won't think this terribly, shall we say, suspicious of me-but, well.., why?

"Surely not in order that you can gloat over past triumphs."

"Yours or mine, Randy?

"Randy, I don't know what you think or what you think that I think about our various, shall we say, shared adventures and misadventures, but your fortune, your health and your reputation, however undeservedly, remain very much intact."

"You've cost me several small fortunes, my dear."

"Poor baby!

"Now you've only got more money than you can ever spend in ten lifetimes instead often and a half!

"But then, that isn't what's really bothering you about our common past, is it?

"It isn't the money, it's the little worlds, the petite, private hells over which you once reigned supreme and which are no more that gripe you, correct?"

"Something like that," he admits.

"And you feel that causing their nonexistence affords me satisfaction, when in fact we came out even."

"How so?"

"Because, my dear, the destruction of your plots and arrangements was a side-effect of I and my companions barely escaping with our lives.

"As did you."

"As did I," he agrees.

"Never thought of it that way, but you do have a point. Interesting.

"Okay, so you promise not to gloat."

"Having nothing in particular to gloat about where you are concerned, that would seem an easy promise to keep."

"So then, back to the question before the house: Why?"

"If I said I missed you-"

"You'd be lying," he completes.

"So why don't you just level with me?"

"I wanted to discuss your… current activities."

"I'll send you my annual report."

"No, no. I mean your private activities.

"You know-hobbies, pastimes, like that."

"What do you, uh…"

"There, you see? Not something for over the phone, right?"

Big sigh at the other end.

Then, "Right."

Because he must pump her.

He must wheedle from her the sum and substance of what she knows and what she suspects.

Unlikely that she really knows anything, but then he has underestimated her before.

Face to face, he can use his powers of observation and judgment to gauge the extent of her knowledge, as opposed to attempts to probe, to see what she can discover from him.

No harm in a lunch, certainly.

So "Friday it is, then?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, why not?

"Shall we say Maison des Fleurs at one?"

"Looking forward to it."

"Me too."

"Ciao, then."

And she hangs up.

"Just what did that accomplish?" Vanessa asks.

"Two things.

"It slows him down enough that he won't try anything serious with the girl until after he has this chance to find out what I know, and, more importantly, it gives me the chance to push him over the edge, make him act precipitously after we have our little get-together.

"All I have to do is make him nervous enough and angry enough and he'll act to defy me, to score a point he thinks I can't prevent his getting."

"Which puts that girl in even more danger," Nancy observes.

"Very probably."

And Nancy looks away from Cynthia's level gaze. As she thinks, how very like our enemies we become.

She doubts that the girl's health and safety is the real issue here.

This is simply a dangerous game Cynthia is playing with her arch-enemy, Randy Buck.

If a pawn must be sacrificed to win, so be it. And here is Nancy herself, for the first time actively wishing to snuff Buck and thus put an end to this perpetually recurring phenomenon of the deadly encounter.

So that she too is being drawn into the madness for her own reasons.

To end Buck is, perhaps, to end Cynthia's incipient madness.

And Nancy no longer is thinking in terms of self defense.

Not this time.

This time, if she gets the opportunity-any opening at all-she will kill the monster and put an end to all this costumed craziness.

The plan within the plan, she tells herself.

And one she will keep strictly to herself.

And now, she finds herself looking forward to the inevitable confrontation with a steely determination which exceeds her terror.

"All right, you two, I think we can resume the normal curse of business.

"It's only Wednesday and nothing will happen with our favorite maniac before Friday."

But she is wrong.

Buck tries to go about his business.

No good.

He cannot concentrate.

The images of past encounters with the Baroness swim before his eyes, making him clench his jaw and grind his teeth.

Face it, he tells himself, she whipped your ass- every time.

Useless to tell himself that he will not stand for it; he has.

Ah, but not this time, she won't win.

Already, she is losing.

Because he has made inroads into the girl's mind.

He has caused her to doubt her own sense of reality.

And tonight, he will add to that doubt. Perhaps he will not destroy her, in the end. Perhaps he will turn her loose, hopelessly insane. He wants everything perfect for tonight. He buzzes his intercom.

"Yes sir?"

"Have Eric bring the limo around. I'm leaving for the day."

Daisy is glad Randy is taking such an interest in the garden.

She was beginning to think he didn't care.

But of course, that's ridiculous.

Why would he engage a full-time gardener, if he didn't want a garden?

This other thing, after all, was her idea. And now, she is reviewing with him the plot plan to which he appeared so indifferent previously.

As Eric, inside her room, is resetting the timer, checking the level of gas in the cylinder, checking the valve before putting it back in the air conditioning duct and replacing the grating.

Buck surreptitiously glances at his watch. Eric should have had sufficient time by now.

"Yes, well, you certainly seem to have everything under control."

And he hugs her to himself and kisses her on the cheek.

The promise of things to come? she wonders. But now- "See you for supper then, my dear.

"I've quite a bit of work to do between now and then."

And he is gone, back inside the mansion, leaving her to tend the garden.

After supper, they sit in the living room, watching the tube.

Finally, Daisy excuses herself.

She has put in a hard day, raking, hoeing, watering, and feels the urge to sleep.

She passes Eric on the stairs and feels an involuntary shudder.

She almost wishes that she had a lock on her bedroom door.

She can't help it; he gives her the creeps.

"Everything all set, Eric?"

"Midnight," he confirms.

"Excellent! As they said in ancient Rome, ‘Let the games begin!'"

And the men go to their respective rooms to change into their robes.

I don't believe this!

Her first thought as the faint smell of ammonia from smelling salts arouses her to consciousness.

This time, she is on her stomach, wrists tied to the bedposts once more with those odd, silkwrapped ropes.

At first, she thinks she is alone.

But no, there is movement on the bed behind her.

And, looking over her shoulder, she can make out a shadowy presence.

And another.

Hooded, both of them.

And there is a third figure as well, this one causing the bed to shake as he Yes, this is happening!.

Too vivid, too sharp, too real the feeling to be a dream.

As the unseen figure, the rough cloth, of his sleeves beneath both thighs, lifts up her pelvis-and buries his tongue in her ass hole.

Yes, he is rimming her, his tongue probing, wet and smooth and very, very insistent, in and Out of her ass hole.

He is fucking her in the ass with his tongue.

And now, suddenly, he drops her.

Only to grasp the belied flare of her hips with both hands, lifting her pelvis in the air, so that she is on knees and elbows, her ass high and wide.

She tries to wriggle out of his grip, but cannot. Because the other two are holding her in place, one hand at the crook of her knee, the other in the small of her back, holding her fast.

As the one behind "Unnh!"

Because Eric has shafted into her rectum, all the way.

It was he who loosened and lubricated her and who now shafts his precision instrument of an erection into her, all the way.

Once in, he shows no mercy, now humping her ass with piston action, in and out with hard, fast thrusts, now rotating his hips round and round, reaming her rectum.

And reaching down and around, helping himself to hefty handfuls of her hanging breasts, kneading and fondling them, squeezing them, now gently, now painfully.

As he continues to plough her ass, quickly working himself up, getting hotter and hotter, moving faster and faster in all directions, in and out, round and round, until- He is coming inside her, no question.

This is real, no question.

She can feel every nuance of the spasms of his orgasm, the length of her violated rectum.

And he is off her, replacing one of the other hooded figures she dimly perceives, looking back over her shoulder.

Whose movement behind her she feels.

And whose "Ooooh!"

Because this one is filling and stretching her completely.

To the point that she wonders if that is his cock or his fist inside her.

There is no getting away from this one. The first one, she could, by relaxing her bowels, actually accommodate.

So that even while her heart was pounding in fright, she was able to help herself to relieve the pain, the discomfort.

Not so now.

Because Cranston is shafting in and out of her full force with his mighty cannon of a prick.

But for Eric's sperm providing additional lubrication, he would not be able to move inside her at all.

But now, he can, he is.

Smoothly, because of the sperm enema Eric just gave her.

But still under high pressure, because, even though Daisy is far from small back there, she is hardly built to take on an erection of such monstrous scale up her ass.

But she does take him, all of him, her tissues stretching, at the entrance and inside as well.

As Cranston pounds into her furiously, a battering ram intent upon pulverizing her insides which, fortunately, are sufficiently elastic to accommodate him.

But she cannot get comfortable.

The millions of nerve ending in her rectal walls are sending forth message after message of dull pain, of distress.

And now, it is almost a relief when she feels him come, deep inside her, his vital essence forming a thin, uniform coating of additional lubricant between the rock-hard monster inside her and her insides, oozing out a little each time he lunges into her, which he does with each spasm of his climax.

So that now, as he subsides, the pain at least ceases, even though the terror is still there, full force.

At least, when the third hooded monster mounts her, she is not so physically stressed.

As he goes about the apparently workman-like task of humping her ass to completion.

Which he does.

And once more, she feels the plastic cup cover her nose and mouth and feels herself falling, losing consciousness, whirling, dizzy and disoriented, into oblivion.

"One more time," Buck commands.

And Cranston fills the douchebag with warm water, as Eric stands there in the bathtub, naked, holding Daisy's unconscious form against himself.

Cranston replaces the cap with its hose and plastic nozzle.

And promptly shoves the black plastic fitting into Daisy's ass hole, Eric's fingers spreading the cheeks of her ass to provide a better target.

He releases the clamp.

And they all stand.there, watching as the red rubber balloon deflates.

Cranston pulls the nozzle out.

And they watch, amused, as the pressurized stream gushes from her anus.

"That oughtta do ‘er," Buck says.

"You guys clean it all up, now. Don't wanna leave any pecker tracks at all."

And he leaves them to their work.

The sun streams in through the window.

Outside, the birds are twittering merrily.

Daisy shuts off the clock radio which, fortunately, she has remembered to set before retiring.

Because she feels simply awful and would not have been able to get up without it.

And what's this rawness to her ass hole? And the feeling that her insides are somehow bruised, what does that indicate?

She looks down at her wrists, her breasts.

Nothing.

It happened again, then, that strange, vivid dream.

Three hooded figures, raping her anally. So what is this that she feels, then, if it was only a dream?

Or is there something wrong with her and it is actually a physical disorder causing this?