eyelids, bursting into showers of lumpy, porridge-textured spunk that rained heavily over her body and filled her nostrils with the pungent smell of male sperm.
As Lisa tightened her sphincter, involuntarily contracting the deep muscles of her arse, Chabrol felt his sex being squeezed by a powerful, fleshy vice. He thrust the prick in and out-fucking twice more into the girl's sodden, rigidly-clamping tube of a shitter-and ejaculated another, final, flow of semen into her bowels before his orgasm was spent…
Lisa emerged from this shattering experience a fully-grown woman: not only in a physical sense, but also psychologically. She had been brought abruptly to maturity, her always-present sensuality ripened into full flower by Louis Chabrol's violent seduction. From him, and the other men who were to follow in swift succession, Lisa learnt that her body was a magical garden where thrilling and often strange seeds could grow; it was an oasis, a watering-place for quick or gradual desire, and she came-in the years of her late adolescence-to realise that her sex (that small, private and ever-moist cleft between her thighs) attracted worshippers both male and female… all of them anxious to sacrifice their lust at its deep, possessive fount.
Thus began Lisa's true separation from her step-brother. From this time on, she diverged in ways both spiritual and emotional from Richard: enveloping herself in a world of growing eroticism, sharing the delights of her body with any healthy man or woman who cared to seduce her. And the easy tempo of life in the Lebanon also inclined Lisa towards a more introspective nature, there being no necessity for the girl to concern herself with materialism or financial worries.
Kathleen Wynter remained as a constant companion, but Lisa was drawing further and further away from the ex-Governess as well. During the first few months in Beirut, the woman was useful to Lisa; but when she had exhausted Kathleen's few contacts in the city, the girl no longer bothered about her faithful teacher… making new friends without Kathleen's aid and gradually excluding her from the parties and the sexual orgies which Lisa attended every weekend.
Fortunately for her, Kathleen was too loyal to betray the girl to John Cunningham. She remembered the debt which she owed Lisa and Richard: and Kathleen now repaid their silence by writing encouraging letters to their father, telling him that Lisa was proving to be a model pupil-“a shining example to the other girls at Byblos,” she lied shamelessly…
There was only one vital link now existing between the step-brother and sister. Their deep-rooted and omnipresent obsession with each other made it impossible for either Lisa or Richard to sustain a relationship with a third person…
CHAPTER EIGHT
Richard knew now what it felt like to be a wanted man. Every stranger they passed seemed to stare suspiciously into his eyes, every police constable was regarding him with a quizzical expression-probably running through his mental file of dangerous criminals, about to stretch out a strong, uniformed arm and grab him by the shoulder!
But they strolled through the ticket barrier at Charing Cross railway station without incident; and although Richard caught a glimpse of his hunted, anxiety-ridden expression in the reflected glass of the public telephone kiosks, nobody was really paying him any attention. He shuffled nervously from one foot to the other, wishing Spencer would hurry up with the telephone call. Standing here by himself, jostled by the rush-hour crowds, Richard felt conspicuous and transparent: certain that at any moment he would be recognised and dragged back on the next train to Fernleigh and the dreaded school…
It had been Spencer's plan to abscond. Left to his own devices, Richard would have suffered whatever punishment was meted out to him and resigned himself hopelessly to his fate. But Spencer had decided that he, personally, had already taken all the discipline and petty restrictions he could stomach. It was time to leave, time to break forever the chains which still bound him to his unreasonable family.
And Richard-required to make up his mind in the space of a few brief minutes-had thrown caution to the wind, packed as many of his clothes and belongings as he could cram into a single suitcase and joined Spencer on an early morning train from Fernleigh to London. Surprise was the boys' greatest advantage. Apparently chastened and terrified at being caught out-of-bounds, nobody suspected that they would have the audacity to run away from the school that same night. With reasonable luck, Spencer told Richard as they pulled in to the London terminus, their absence hadn't even been noticed yet. And now that they had safely arrived in the metropolis, it would be easy for them to quietly disappear-swallowed up without trace among the millions of drifters, students, hippies and others who roamed the streets, coffee bars, clubs and parks of England's capital city…
But Spencer didn't intend that they should be homeless. He had frequently spoken to Richard about a woman named Elizabeth Hayes; and he was now telephoning her, making arrangements for them to stay at her “open house” until they settled independently in London and decided on the easiest means of earning a living.
“What did she say?” Richard pulled open the door of the kiosk immediately Spencer replaced the receiver.
“Don't worry!” Spencer laughed. “I told you everything would be all right, didn't I? She says that she can't wait to meet you! You're going to be another stray waif for Elizabeth's collection!” He grabbed Richard's arm and steered him through the thinning crowd towards the broad pavements of The Strand-glancing at the big clock above the station exit. It was now ten a.m.
“I've just got enough money on me for the 'bus fare,' Spencer told him, breaking into a run as a Number 74 double-decker started to move away from the stop. Richard jumped on the platform, following Spencer upstairs and feeling a knot of excitement pulsing just above his heart. If only half the stories he had heard about Elizabeth Hayes were true, then the wealthy nymphomaniac was going to be quite an interesting character! She might provide an amusing diversion for him while he made plans to gather sufficient funds to get to Beirut… and Lisa!
For this was still Richard's main objective. He wanted more than ever to continue his intimacy with the girl who had been both his childhood and his adolescent lover; and although his intellect warned him that such a liaison-locking them together in adult life, also-could destroy them so far as more normal relationships were concerned, he couldn't resist the urgent impulse to return to his stepsister…
Elizabeth Hayes opened the door to them and stood in the jamb, her watchful green eyes taking a methodical inventory of their appearance and their physique. A faint smile creased the corners of her rather full mouth, and then she stepped aside-sweeping them through into the hallway with an expansive, theatrical gesture that reminded Richard irresistibly of a prima donna.
Her apartment, located in one of the new blocks of flats overlooking the Kings Road in Chelsea, was lavish and cluttered with a weird assortment of pop- and op-art paintings, kinetic sculptures which revolved slowly and sparked with multicoloured lights, obscene but artistically designed figurines and a mountainous heap of ragged- looking manuscripts…
(Richard learned later that these were some of the works of art donated to Elizabeth by her numerous “kept boys”: small tokens of appreciation for services which she had rendered to them).
Elizabeth had a pot of percolated coffee bubbling on an electric ring, and after Richard had consumed three cups of the black, steaming stimulant, he felt more relaxed in her presence. He sat back, his body sinking luxuriously into the soft cushions of a settee, letting Spencer do all the talking; conscious that Elizabeth's eyes remained fixed on him, regarding him with a frankness that-a year or two ago-would have made Richard uncomfortable. She listened while Spencer explained the circumstances of their leaving Fernleigh, nodding her approval, but saying very little. Spencer seemed to feel very much at home. He stretched his legs out on the deep pile of the carpet, crossing his ankles and grinning confidently at Richard-winking at him as if to remind the boy that he could expect the seduction to begin at any moment…
Elizabeth either failed to notice Spencer's implied lewdness, or she had long ago ceased to care what her boy-friends thought of her. She was a tall, attractive woman; her body slender but well-curved, the movement of her breasts under the man's shirt which she wore betraying ample evidence that they were generously buxom-and unfettered by a brassiere. Her long, showgirl's legs were concealed by a tight-fitting pair of white slacks: their crotch so snug that Elizabeth's pubic mound could be seen bulging like a small child's penis, straining against the tautly-swathing material and clearly unrestrained by panties.
