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 aGauloise.

'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.