Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (10 page)

The Turk lay heavily atop the panting woman. His lust was spent. Pulling himself from her soggy cunt, he got off of the bed and went into the bathroom.

Denise heard the shower running behind the closed door. She was overcome with the mix of her emotions. Largely, she was ashamed at her wantonness. She felt complicit in her own abasement. She could sense the Turk’s semen as it seeped from her well ploughed holes. Her rear still burned from his invasion. Her jaw ached from his callous assault. Yet she still yearned for his hot cock. She could feel its presence in her mouth as she shifted her teeth around the thick hard gag that filled it. The benumbed girl rolled to her side and drew up her knees. Her back was to the room and she could see the lake through the window, the late morning sun shimmering on it. She heard the bathroom door open and the man’s heavy footsteps. She heard the rustle of cloth as he dressed. She did not stir. The Turk fastened the leash to the back of her collar and linked it to the ring in the headboard. He left the room.

She lay there, enjoying the peace and solitude of the moment. Her thighs were sticky with cum, and the tender soft skin on them stuck together as she shifted her legs. She was nothing but a whore now, she thought. How easy it had been to change from the bright, alert, confident woman she had been to the slavish whore who wet herself at the sight of a rampant cock. Her constant nudity and total availability made everything sexual. Even now, as she lay there in the bed, balled up, she felt the openness of her rear passage, still dilated from the forceful thrusts of her master.

It was not for about thirty minutes that the old woman came for her. Denise did not stir when she heard her enter and so the woman sat next to her on the bed. She stroked Denise’s thigh and sang a little melody to her, rubbing it gently. It was soothing and Denise began to cry softly. What a terrible mixture of cruelty and sweetness, she thought. This morning, the very hand that calmed her now had beat her with a whip.

Tamara pulled at Denise until she rolled over on her back. She undid the chain, fastened it to the front and pulled her from the bed. She led her to the bathroom where she washed her with the shower hose. She soaped her sex and rear thoroughly. She let her pee. The caress of the warm water of the shower replenished Denise’s body. When the girl was dry, Tamara led her from the room and back downstairs. She led her to the dining room and locked her to a leg of the table while she went into the kitchen. She came out with three large bowls with spoons. It was lunchtime and the house once more became a strangely domestic place. The old man came in and, looking Denise in the eye, winked at her. She had not yet heard from this sturdy old man, but from his not so subtle glances she knew that it was just a matter of time.

The Turk appeared dressed in thickly whaled, rust colored, corduroy pants and an Irish knit sweater. Tamara appeared with a large tureen of steaming soup. The Turk sat down at the end of the table next to where Denise knelt. She shivered in fear and shied away from him. Her movement caught his eye and he turned his head to look at her.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded in a low but emphatic voice. Denise, who had been kneeling with her legs together, her buttocks resting on the back of her calves obeyed instantly. “Wider,” he said.

The girl widened her thighs. She knelt now, open to him, her labia widened, the naked lips visible. Her spread legs forced her to kneel straighter, no longer having her calves under her. This, in turn, made her soft pale breasts more prominent. She was presented for her master.

The trio ate mostly in silence. Denise could smell the aromatic aroma of the soup as it wafted through the room. She could not keep her eyes off of the strong, scarred hands of her tormentor, hands that had beaten her cruelly not much more than an hour ago. She felt the ghosts of those hands on her body as she knelt so clearly available for her owner’s whims.

The trio ignored her as they finished their repast. The old man got up first and mumbling something under his breath, and walked from the room. The Turk got up next. He cast a sideways glance at the obedient girl and left, striding purposively. Tamara got up and began clearing the table. On her last trip, she led Denise into the kitchen where she permitted her to lap up her own portion of soup from a bowl in the corner. When she had filled herself, Denise knelt by her bowl in silence watching the old lady put away the remainder of the pots and pans.

When Tamara had finished, she came over to Denise and picked up the bowl. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of chocolate. She proffered it to the bound girl, saying, “Eat, eat.”

Denise seized the chocolate with her teeth and drew it into her mouth. The sweet flavor overwhelmed her. She looked up at the old lady with gratitude. As she chewed it, savoring every bit, she chided herself. How delightful a small sweet was to her now! What little it took to please her! She smiled at the old lady as Tamara approached her to replace the gag. She wanted to thank her for this little kindness, but knew the rules well. Her mouth was for fucking and not talking. She opened her mouth and received the gag obediently.

The Turk had gone to the dock and released a canoe he kept there. It was his habit, when home, to explore the hills and forests that made up the huge state park that surrounded his mansion. He enjoyed the solitude, and trudging up and down the mountain trails kept him in shape. He rowed the canoe about five miles down the lake and pulled the canoe ashore. This was one of his favorite spots. Climbing the steep hill, he ascended the rocky crag that loomed out over the lake. An hour and a half later, he was at its top. From here he could see up and down the length of the lake. Forest and mountains loomed for miles. There was always a strong breeze, there being nothing to assuage the gusts that blew down the valley.

The solitary figure sat still, brooding on his life. He had spent most of it full of hate. He had destroyed countless lives, ripping comely white females from their homes and condemning them to cruel, abysmal fates. Now he was in love or what he thought was love. And with a woman he had spent perhaps two hours with, had kissed only once. The memory haunted him. Like the prisoner, Denise, in his fortress home, he wondered where she was, what had happened to her. Was she dead? Was she cursing his soul somewhere as she was callously used by whatever cruel man or woman had claimed her? Would the torment of her memory ever leave him?

While the Turk spent his afternoon wandering the verdant forests of this New York State wilderness, Denise spent hers at the end of a small length of chain. Tamara had brought her back to the huge room that served as the Great Hall of the mansion. She knelt by the wide, winding wooden stairs that led up to the sleeping areas of the house. Tamara hustled to and fro, patting her on the head occasionally as she passed. Twice she stopped and let Denise drink from a flask of juice, cold, sweet apple juice, freshly pressed. Once, she took the girl to a small bathroom where she was allowed to relieve herself and empty her bowels.

Late in the afternoon, as the October light shined through the vast windows that served the room began to dim, Tamara unleashed the girl and brought her put to an enclosed porch that looked out over the lake.

The Turk’s mansion stood alone on its little island and was built upon a hill. Depending where you were in the house and the time of day, you could follow the sun as it passed overhead. Only the north side lacked direct sunlight, but at night the northern stars could be seen shimmering in all their glorious brightness.

The porch looked out on the southwest side of the house and so it received the sun’s rays almost all of the day. It stuck out from the house and was glassed on three sides. It commanded a wonderful vista. Tamara sat on a small couch that was situated against the wall of the house. From this perch, she daily enjoyed the colorful sunsets that marked the divide between day and night. Just now, as she sat calmly with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, the reds and yellows spread across the sky by the waning sun were at their peak, set off by the clear sky of cobalt blue. Denise knelt on a small rug near the old lady’s feet. She marveled at the beauteous panorama. She was glad that the old lady had allowed her to share it with her. She looked up and saw a gentle calmness in the woman’s face. Tamara looked back down at her and patted her lap. Denise happily acceded to the woman’s affectionate gesture and rose and sat across the tops of the old woman’s thighs.

Denise was surprised at the sense of calmness that the sunset had brought her and the delight she took from the old lady’s body, as she sat with her head nestled in her shoulder. The old lady was singing a sad refrain, doubtless some tale of lost lovers from her youth. She had her left arm around Denise’s waist. Her other caressed the tops of Denise’s thighs.

The two sat there quietly for a long while. As the sun started to sink below the gently rolling mountains to the west, Denise felt the woman’s hand nudge her legs apart. She kissed the top of Denise’s head as she ran her hand lightly across the inside of her thighs. She allowed Denise to lean back, and she spread the young girl’s legs open. Denise welcomed the woman’s caresses. It seemed all too appropriate to be naked on this woman’s lap, gagged and bound, her helpless prisoner, but yet to feel comfort and kindness in the woman’s touch.

The lips of Denise’s cunt were glistening when the old woman’s hands delicately pried them open. She ran her hand over them, probing the soft, yielding flesh in between with the length of her finger. Denise’s nipples were hardened with expectation. The woman took her time, gently stroking Denise’s cunt, softly rubbing the hard nipple of pleasure at its top. Denise closed her eyes and let the warmth from her sex spread throughout her body. Slowly but surely, her passion built.

When she sensed the young girl approaching her crisis, the old lady hugged her tight and softly stroked the hardened clit. Denise’s thighs shuddered as she came, her breasts swayed as her chest expanded and contracted in her lust. When the orgasm came, it seemed to roll over the young girl. It was unlike the hard, passionate throbs that had overtaken her that morning when the Turk had plundered her cunt unmercifully. It was more like a warm, pulsing wave of release, bespeaking contentment and affection.

The two women sat silently, conjoined, as the sky began to darken. There was just a feint splash of light over the western sky. Tamara kissed her charge on the nipple of her breast, her lush lips surrounding it, drawing a long, wistful sigh from her captive. That done, she patted the girl’s thigh with her hand and spoke softly to her, “Up, up.” Denise obeyed. The old lady rose and, reaffixing the leash to Denise’s collar, led her back into the house.

The Turk did not return to the house until well after dark. Denise had knelt by Turk’s empty chair as the two old people ate silently. When they had finished and the table cleared, Denise was brought into the kitchen for her meal. She was kneeling over her bowl, mouthing the small chunks of meat and vegetables that Tamara had filled it with, when she heard the Turk’s heavy footsteps. Denise looked over her shoulder and saw the dark visaged man take a seat at the shiny, steel covered island that separated the cooking area from the rest of the room. Tamara brought out a steaming plate of food and set it before him, together with a large glass of deep red wine. The Turk ate quietly, staring at the figure of his kneeling prisoner.

Denise feared the Turk more than she had ever feared anyone. However, she looked back at her meal and resolved to finish it. She was conscious of his eyes burning into her as she knelt, her thighs spread widely so as to permit her to lean over and place her face in the bowl. Her rear cheeks were spread, openly displaying the small ring of flesh that the Turk had so cruelly pierced earlier that day. Her naked slit peaked out from under her, positioned conveniently for rear penetration.

The Turk watched he girl as he ate. His blood was boiling. The contentment he had sought during his prolonged excursion into the wild had escaped him. He wanted Cheryl but he had Denise. Was she the next best thing or a taunting reminder of his helpless obsession?

He waited until the girl had finished supping and Tamara had held a tall cool glass of milk for her to drink. When Denise emerged from the water closet following a post meal urination, Turk was standing there waiting for her. A cold shiver went through her as Turk took the leash from the old woman and led her from the kitchen. Denise remembered her savage treatment from the night before and had to hold herself in check, lest she dissolve into fearful panic.

The stairs to the dungeon led off of the dining room. The Turk led her there from the kitchen. The heavy, wooden door loomed as a foreboding sentinel. But, to Denise’s untrammeled relief, she was led past it into the Great Hall. The stairs were lighted by small sconces on the walls and they cast an eerie light as Denise followed her master up the stairs. Once in the Turk’s room and on his bed, he unfastened her arms from behind her back, where they had been bound uselessly all of the day, and attached her wrists to the ring in the head board. As the Turk disrobed in the dim light, his hard flesh glistened. Before coming to the bed, he closed the light, plummeting the room into near darkness. The moon was full and its yellow light cast shadows of the tall, sturdy oak that stood outside into the room. Turk knelt on the bed and unfastened Denise’s gag. He lay his body over hers, spreading her thighs with his knees and covered the grateful girl’s lips with his.

Denise cast aside her guilt over her passionate yearning for the Turk’s embrace. She fed hungrily on his hot tongue as it explored her mouth. She pressed her thighs hard against his with desire. The Turk circled the arms held above the lusting girl’s head with his large, rough hands. He breathed fire in to her mouth.

Although the Turk had callously penetrated Denise’s every orifice, she had yet to place her hands on his cock. She yearned to now, wanting to guide the hot, stiff rod to her lush pussy. It burned with desire for him.

As if sensing her need, the Turk took his hand from Denise’s arm and reached down for his manhood. He probed in the darkness for the girl’s wet gash. He found her dilated nether lips and slid his cock into the soft, hot flesh.