Brittany's Travels Ch. 06

Naturally she did not fall asleep for quite some time. And so she was aware of the footsteps approaching her bed a while later. At least two people, from the sound of it, but she dared not open her eyes to confirm that. However many of them there were, they came to a stop at her bedside. The mystery woman from the hallway, Brittany wondered? Would she recognize Brittany? Would Brittany recognize her? There was, of course, no way to tell.

One last thought occurred to Brittany as the footsteps resumed and retreated from the room. They hadn't touched her, but she just had to make sure. She reached down between her legs with her left hand. The money was safe.

Breakfast was served by the same two women, and was just as lavish as dinner had been. Brittany was allowed a shower afterward, with her old friend the gunman watching her every move from outside the tub with no curtain. She was worried about getting the money wet, but not washing her bush would have drawn more attention (and probably a nasty comment about what she might have growing in there), so she took her chance and soaped it up to his titillation.

Brittany's luck ran out on the walk back from the bathroom this time, as a door opened and a man in a three-piece suit stepped out. But he simply headed down the stairs, scarcely noticing the naked woman being directed down the hall at gunpoint. Just how common a sight was that here? Brittany felt more discouraged than embarrassed - if it was that common, she was out of luck indeed as far as an escape was concerned.

Nevertheless, it was worth asking. "Any chance I could get some fresh air?" she asked as she pulled her clothes back on.

"Very funny," the gunman said.

"I'm not joking!" Brittany had yesterday's clothes back on, and she flopped down on the bed. "What's the harm? It's not like I can just stroll out past the guards, is it? And don't you want me to be fresh as a daisy when my father gets here?"

"I couldn't care less what shape you're in then, and I doubt he'll care either as long as we've got you secured," the gunman said. "You have any idea how much you've lost for us?"

"That's enough!" thundered maybe-Brian's voice behind him, and Brittany looked up to see him smacking the gunman's head. "Loose lips, understood?"

"It's not like I don't know I've cost you some money and customers," Brittany sassed him, no longer caring what consequence it might bring.

"You stay out of this!" maybe-Brian snapped. "We'll have your father here in three more hours, and then you're not my problem anymore. Now what the hell were you two talking about in the first place."

"She wanted to go outside!" the gunman said. "I said no way, of course."

Maybe-Brian laughed. "Sure, Brittany, we'll let you get the lay of the land, plot your escape."

"Why would I want to escape when I'm about to see my father?" Brittany said.

"I just might fall for that if you didn't have such a big mouth last night," maybe-Brian said.

"I've got an idea," the gunman said.

"I don't give a fuck about your ideas," maybe-Brian retorted.

"You'll like this one," the gunman said. "She doesn't mind prancing around naked, you know. What do you say we let her go outside if she takes all her clothes off?"

Brittany laughed. Maybe-Brian didn't. "She's not stupid, she knows what that'd do to her in this cold."

"It'd be nice and bracing," Brittany allowed. "And don't expect me to believe you wouldn't get a kick out of it, Brian."

"Stop calling me that!" maybe-Brian snapped. "But yeah, it'd be a scream." At that moment the two maids appeared in the doorway, and he beckoned for them to come take away the breakfast dishes. "Let's see what your fellow females think of that idea." Turning to the gunman, he said, "Go ahead and share your brilliant idea with them."

Brittany's French grades had never been very good and she hadn't kept up her studies at all since finishing high school, but she did remember the word for clothes - vêtements. The gunman laughed on that word, and the two maids looked uncertainly at Brittany and also laughed, but it was an uneasy laugh for them both - she was quite sure of that.

"Wonderful," maybe-Brian said to the gunman. "Now even your countrywomen know what a dipshit you are. Happy?"

"Maybe I am," the gunman said defiantly.

"That figures," maybe-Brian said, stepping out into the hallway. "I'll be back when Lou gets here." He stepped downstairs, and the gunman gave Brittany one last dirty look and turned around.

The two maids had the breakfast cart ready to take away, but they both stood looking at Brittany, with what she hoped might be a bit of sympathy. One of them - the one she had not tried to speak to in English last night - spoke to her. "You want...outside?"

Brittany nodded. "Yes."

"You...can. But no...cloze."

"I can?" Brittany stood up.

"If you...no cloze," said the maid, and she mimed removing her dress. "He said," she added, pointing to the gunman.

"Well, if he said." Brittany pulled her top off without hesitation; at this point it felt like everyone in Switzerland had seen her naked anyway. The two maids stifled a laugh as they watched her also pull her pants off. "Let's go!" she said as soon as she had them off.

The gunman turned around and saw what was up. "Hey!" he said. "He didn't really mean you could go outside naked!"

One of the maids snapped at him in French - Brittany thought she said "Il a dit!" - He said! And so he had, Brittany knew. She rather suspected a bit of sarcasm had been lost in translation, but an order was an order.

The gunman responded with a comment Brittany couldn't decipher at all, but he looked scared and uncertain. He looked down the stairwell, perhaps hoping for maybe-Brian to appear and offer some direction. But there was no sign of him.

Both maids went on arguing. Brittany could scarcely make out a word of it, but she did hear the name Brian a few times. They must be arguing over what Brian - and she was now quite sure it was him - would do if they disobeyed his order to allow her to go outside as long as she was naked. Finally the gunman said something Brittany did understand: Cinq minutes.

"Five minutes," the maid said to Brittany, not knowing she'd already understood.

Brittany nodded. "Thank you." She figured that was likely all she could stand out there with no clothes anyway.

The gunman gave all three women a ferociously dirty look, but stood aside and let the maids lead her to a doorway down the hall, which turned out to be a back stairwell.

"You want...échapper?" one of them asked Brittany as they guided her down the stairs.

Brittany guessed échapper must mean "escape". "Yes, please!" she said with an urgent nod.

The maid opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, and pointed in what Brittany believed was the direction of the barn she'd spotted yesterday. "Ask Jacques!" she said.

"Jacques," Brittany repeated. She took a precious second to take each of their hands in hers. "Merci beaucoup!" she said, hoping her accent was only mildly awful, and she stepped out into the snow.

Each step was a shock of icy pins and needles, but Brittany kept her focus and raced up along the big house, staying close in so she wouldn't be spotted from upstairs. At the end of the house was a gap of at least twenty feet before the barn, with no way to stay out of sight. With no other option, Brittany took a deep breath and made a run for it. She thought she heard someone scream and laugh, but she didn't dare look back to confirm it, and made it to the lee of the barn.

There was a door just a few steps up the way, and Brittany took a chance that it would be unlocked. It was, and she stepped inside to find herself facing down a row of stalls with cows being milked. A few farmhands, all of them women at least, exchanged disbelieving looks.

"Jacques?!" Brittany blurted out urgently.

One of the women gathered her wits and pointed around a corner. She said something in French that Brittany could only guess meant Jacques was somewhere over there. To Brittany's tremendous relief, she also picked up a blanket from an empty stall and handed it to her. It was filthy and smelly, but Brittany thanked her profusely and then stepped off around the corner.

"Jacques?!" she asked of every man she saw, most of whom gave her a funny look at her bizarre attire, but none looked terribly shocked. They knew, she concluded, they knew people were held hostage on the farm, and they wanted to help her échapper. Or was that just her seeing what she so desperately wanted to see?

It didn't matter, for one by one they all pointed her in the direction of a truck parked inside the garage door she had spotted yesterday. It was still closed, but a man in overalls and a heavy coat was standing by the driver's side door, watching it being loaded with sheep. "Jacques?" Brittany asked when she made eye contact with him.

"Oui, je suis Jacques," he said.

Brittany heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh good. Je m'apelle Erika, et..." Why, oh why, hadn't she studied harder in school?! "Et il faut que je...échapper?"

She didn't mind at all the laughter that her poor French brought from Jacques and a few of the bystanders, for he nodded and reached inside the cab and produced a pair of boots. He said something in French that she guessed was "Put these on", and then he pointed at the back of the truck.

Brittany did put the boots on, and without complaint she stepped into the back of the truck with the sheep. They were loud and smelly and the wool was scratchy every time the blanket fell away from any part of her body, and she saw just why Jacques had insisted on the boots, for they protected her from any number of wayward hooves. She breathed a touch easier as the door of the truck was shut behind her, then held her breath as the garage door opened. She was sure the gunman would rush in at any moment and demand to know where she was, but to her delight the truck shifted into gear and they were off.

Instead, it was a moment later at what Brittany guessed was the gate that she did hear the gunman. He and Jacques exchanged heated words in French, and instinctively Brittany ducked down to below the sheep's eye levels, and waited.

The back of the truck was opened, but no one came on board. Jacques said something angry and the gunman responded with what Brittany guessed was a question. She understood Jacques' answer: "Je ne sais pas!" I don't know.

Was it her location he was claiming not to know? Brittany couldn't tell. But evidently the gunman believed him, for the door was shut again and moments later they were once again on the move.

As the truck pulled away, Brian - for it was he - turned and marched back to the house with his heart in his throat. If Lou, who was waiting in the parlor, had his head for this, Brian vowed to take Claude and the two maids down with him. In fact, he resolved as he stepped back inside, he would take care of that first. Lou could wait a moment or two.

"Brian?" Lou called out as he rushed past the parlor door.

"I'll be right with you, Lou!" Brian called, clenching both fists in rage.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Lou said. Brian didn't look back as he rushed up the stairs, so he didn't see Lou had come out of the parlor and was standing at the bottom of the stairwell. "Brian, stop!" he ordered, and reluctantly Brian did.

"We had her, Lou," Brian said, gripping at the banister and wishing he could use it to somehow fly away. "It wasn't even ten minutes ago I checked on her. She wanted to go outside, and that idiot Claude said she could if she took all her clothes off, and the maids didn't know he was joking - I mean, maybe he wasn't joking, but..."

To his immense relief, Brian realized Lou was laughing his ass off. "That's my girl! Oh, good good, that's my Brittany!"

Brian's panic had passed, but now all he felt was disbelief. "You think this is funny, Lou?"

"Oh, if you want to throw Claude and those girls out in the street, I'm all for it!" Lou said, still laughing. "But admit it, this is hilarious! Besides, how far can she get without even any clothes?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Brian said. "But I know three people we can order to find out. Claude! Bring the girls out here now!"

Brittany's former guard appeared at the top of the stairs, looking white as a sheet. "Lou, listen, I -"

"Shut up," Brian ordered. "Do you want to still have a job this time tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course."

"Ask the girls the same."

Claude did, and got the same answer with the same pleading looks from both of them.

"Here's how you can make that happen," Brian said. "Get your gun out, and go out in that barn and get them to tell you where the naked girl went. Someone out there knows, you can bet on that."

"What if they won't tell?" Claude knew the score with the farmhands and where their sympathies lay.

"Then I'll give you three a ten-minute head start on getting out of town. If you're lucky."

Claude nodded glumly, and didn't bother translating for the women, "Allons," he said to them, and they filed downstairs and off to the barn.

"You think he knows we couldn't possibly risk chasing him once we kick him off the farm?" Lou asked as he and Brian headed outside to wait in Lou's car.

"Probably not," Brian said. "He's a crack shot but he's not too bright."

"Best kind of wingman, then," Lou said. "Now, my daughter didn't really believe you were me, did she?"

"Well, she hasn't seen the real you since she was...how old?"

"I don't remember," Lou said.

Brittany tried to count the minutes as the truck rumbled along. She estimated about twelve minutes had passed when she felt it drawing to a stop and the engine was turned off. She ducked down again, fearing the worst as the back door was opened again.

"Allo?" came Jacques' voice. "Only me!"

Brittany stood up. "Merci, monsieur," she said. He beckoned for her to come out, and she stepped as carefully as she could among the sheep until she was free.

"Where you go?" he asked.

"France?" Brittany had had the same thought Angie and Joseph had.

"Where France?" Jacques asked. "Quelle...What town?"

"Any!" Brittany said. "Just get me to France!"

Jacques nodded and pointed up at the cab, and Brittany gratefully climbed in.

"No cloze?" Jacques asked as soon as they were settled.

"No," Brittany said, gathering the blanket around her. She couldn't think of any way to explain why in simple enough English, never mind French.

Jacques nodded and smiled. "Vous deviez vouz échapper," he said.

"I...had to escape," Brittany translated. "Yes, I did. With no clothes. Only way."

Jacques appeared to understand. He reached behind the seat, and Brittany's prayers were answered with a pair of coveralls. "Mettez."

Brittany hoped that meant "put these on," and as he started the truck again, she set about doing just that. Before she did, though, it occurred to her that this might be the last chance she had for some time to get her cash. Figuring she had no dignity left to lose at this point, she cast off the filthy blanket and reached down, and Jacques nearly drove off the road as he realized what she was up to.

As she triumphantly held up the money, Jacques sputtered something out in disbelief. She could only make out one thing, at the very end: something about le vagin.

"Le vagin?" Brittany repeated incredulously. "You mean what makes a woman a woman is masculine? No wonder I never did very well in French."

"Comment? I don't understand."

"Moi non plus!" Brittany wiggled into the coveralls, and did her best to look inconspicuous as other cars and trucks roared by. Once a police car passed them, but the driver didn't look up.

They passed through a few villages, but Jacques didn't slow down until they came to a sign reading "Douane La Cure". The cure? Brittany, in her relief, couldn't help laughing. The cure for what?

"C'est la frontière," Jacques said, pulling the truck to a stop just past the sign, and Brittany looked around to see they were in a picturesque little village, just the sort of place she had fantasized about in prison.

But she hadn't understood Jacque. "C'est la...quoi?"

"C'est la frontière," Jacques repeated. He pointed down - "Suisse" - and off to his left - "France!"

"The border!" Brittany exclaimed, and she threw herself at Jacques. "How can I thank you, Jacques?"

"Comme ça!" Jacques helped himself to a feel on her breast.

Instinctively, Brittany pulled back and felt like slapping him, especially as she gave him a hard look and saw only hunger in his eyes. But he had saved her life, at considerable risk of his own, hadn't he?"

Brittany's face softened, and she nodded. "Hotel?" she asked.

Jacques grinned and nodded, and opened the cab door. Brittany followed suit, fingering the still-damp cash in her pocket and grateful to have a pocket to put it in.

He led her to a hotel at a bend in the road. Brittany was uncertain. She had already figured out that he didn't want the hassle of getting a truckload of sheep across the border, but surely he planned to get her across at least?

Before she could ask, Jacques ushered her into the lobby, and was greeted joyously by the desk attendant. "Jacques!" the man said, and the two launched into a heated but happy discussion of which Brittany didn't understand a word. She did, though, welcome the knowledge that Jacques was well known here. Surely he had done this before. But what about getting her to France? Looking around, she noticed there were plenty of French flags about, so there was that.

At a lull in the conversation, Jacques held up his hands and rubbed his fingers together - the universal money gesture. Brittany nodded and pulled one banknote out of her pocket. She and Jacques exchanged knowing grins as the man took the money, unaware of where it had been.

Next thing Brittany knew, Jacques was leading her up a flight of stairs. "Jacques, France?" she asked.

Jacques pointed at the bottom of the stairs. "France," he said. Then he pointed at the top of the stairs. "Suisse!"

All at once, it dawned on Brittany. "Oh, this is that hotel!" she exclaimed, recalling an article she'd read about it once in prison, and how desperately she'd wanted to visit it. "The hotel on the border!"

"Oui!" Jacques said, and he led Brittany upstairs and back into Switzerland. She was utterly delighted as he led her to a room and unlocked it. There, on the bed, were two pillows, one decorated with a Swiss flag and one with a French one. "Je...toujours...voulais visiter!"

Jacques smiled at her clumsy French but didn't laugh this time.

First things first. Brittany pointed at the bathroom. "Shower?" Then she recalled the French word, which had always delighted the boys so "Douche?" It was embarrassing to even say it, but Brittany was sure she still smelled like sheep or worse.

"Oui!" Jacques lost no time in tearing his clothes off. Brittany was a bit surprised he didn't undress her first, but then she remembered he'd already seen her naked and then some.

Brittany took her first opportunity in far too long to use the bathroom alone, then opened the door and welcomed Jacques in. He was a little heavy but he wore it well, and she found his hairy chest delightful. After helping herself to a first run of her fingers across it and welcoming his hands on her breasts, she took his hard cock in one hand and led him into the shower.

Jacques immediately picked up the soap and worked up a good lather, and set about washing Brittany's bush. She laughed and grabbed onto the towel rod for balance, and let him play to his heart's content in the hair. As he rinsed the soap out, he looked up into her eyes and they laughed together, and he gingerly reached one finger inside her.