Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (2 page)

Her hands were sweaty with fear. She twisted them behind her back, testing her bonds. Her legs were splayed wide, forced apart by the iron bar between her ankles. Her mouth was dry and her jaws ached from the constant presence of her gag. To be deprived of a voice was to be deprived of humanity. Was she now less than a person?

Denise’s only consolation was that she was one step closer, or so she thought, to finding her sister. Was she locked away in a cell in this very house? Would she see her soon? It would almost be worth her captivity and torture if she could only know for sure that Cheryl was alive and well.

These thoughts ran through Denise’s mind as she endured the long wait for her master’s presence.

As the light outside was turning to darkness, Denise heard a heavy tread on the stairs outside of the room. Other than her own breathing, it was the first sound that she had heard since the old lady had left her there. The footsteps came closer and closer, the leisurely step of a man in his own element. The lock turned in the door and it opened.

The Turk stepped into the room and looked briefly at his prisoner. She was an engaging sight. He could see her breasts quivering with fear. Her nipples were hard and her eyes were glued to him, wide with apprehension. He strode past her and went into the bathroom. Denise’s back was to him but she could hear him washing himself, relieving himself in the toilet. Her stomach was tense as she anticipated his use of her. She heard him leave the bathroom and then the unmistakable sound of the removal of clothes. She felt hands on her ankles, freeing them from their bonds. The Turk crossed in front of her and, taking her arm in his hand, lifted her to her feet. She saw that he was erect, and gave out a feint whine of unhappiness at her fate.

The Turk led Denise to the broad, brocade covered bed. He pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed and then sat her down on the mattress. He unlocked her hands from behind her back and pulled her to the head of the bed where he reaffixed them to a ring in the center of the headboard. Denise had no will to resist. She was as if entranced by the silent determination of this man. He handled her gently, almost tenderly as he spread her body across the bed.

Denise had expected many things, but not what followed. The Turk took her head in his hands and began to kiss her face. Then, burying his head in the crux of her neck, he ran his hands along her shoulders, down her sides and to her breasts. His body was hot against hers and Denise felt the beginnings of passion stirring in her loins. This man was going to take her, against her will, without her consent, but he was intent on making her complicit in her own violation. His mouth sucked on the nipple of her right breast as a hand descended down her left hip. It ran across her stomach, hesitated briefly at her furry bush, and then seized her sex.

The confused and dazed woman could not prevent a moan from escaping from her throat. Turk forced her legs apart and delved his fingers into her moistening cunt. He grabbed the nub of pleasure between finger and thumb and pulled on it lightly, delicately. Denise could no longer restrain her passion as she spread her legs wide, yearning for the strong, dark man to possess her. She felt him lift first one and then the other leg over hers. He now knelt between her legs, his cock pressing up against the entrance to her womb. She sighed deeply as she felt the lips spreading, his hard rod pressing its way inside her.

When the Turk began to stroke his cock slowly back and forth, penetrating her deeply, Denise began to rock back. They were fucking now, both of them. She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him deeper and deeper inside her. Her hands pulled futilely at her bindings as she yearned to circle her arms around his muscled flesh. She started to cry out in short, staccato bursts as her orgasm neared. Suddenly she felt the gag being loosened from behind her head. The thick leather plug that had stifled her fell out and was replaced by the Turk’s hot tongue and his hungry lips. At this, Denise’s crises came. She had never been fucked like this. She had never given herself over to a lover as she was doing to this cruel man who had stolen her very persona away. She felt the Turk come, his hips jamming hard against hers, a deep, rumbling groan accompanying the discharge of his hot fluids. Her orgasm started again, the pulses of pleasure almost too much to bear.

The couple lay enraptured for several minutes. The Turk stirred first, raising his torso off of hers, slowly drawing his flaccid, but still engorged cock from her. She looked up at him with wonder. “What type of man is this?” she thought. How could such tenderness and such cruelty reside in one man? She opened her mouth to speak but his fingers stilled her lips. As he presented the gag once more to her mouth, her eyes began to tear. She wanted to speak, to learn his name, who he was and what was he going to do with her. She dutifully opened her mouth, however, and accepted the intrusion of the thick leather plug. It filled her mouth, widened her lips, as her teeth were forced apart. It pressed down her tongue as it reached to the very back of her oral cavity. And then the half mask was reapplied and she was again reduced to a status less than human.

The Turk sat on the edge of the bed savoring the sight of his property. He caressed her skin softly. He wanted to feel every inch of her, to enjoy the tactile sensation of her flesh. As his hands swept across her stomach, down her thighs and legs and back again, Denise closed her eyes and drifted into an exquisite languor. Her world became his hands as he kneaded her breasts, rubbed her thighs, her arms, her face, her neck, and her belly. She felt herself being turned and she rolled over, passively accepting this man’s desires.

Denise’s back and hindquarters presented a whole new field of exploration for the Turk. He drew his hands down her back and over the rounded cheeks of her ass. He spread her legs and entered her pussy with his hand from underneath her. As he stroked the still distended lips and pressed against her clitoris, Denise raised her hips to ease the Turk’s access to her. Her breath became labored as her lust arose again. The Turk pulled Denise to her knees and spread her legs. He entered her from behind, plunging easily into her moist sheath. Denise was awash with pleasure as with each stroke, The Turk’s cock pressed and rubbed against her sensitive, engorged clit.

As the woman moaned and pressed herself back against the Turk, he pressed a finger against the tight ring of her anus. Slowly he insinuated into her ass, spreading and teasing the puckered ring. He had assaulted her there before, but this time he was determined to gain her cooperation.

Denise felt the Turk’s finger exploring her rear entrance. She discovered that the sensitive nerves around her tight ring sent tingles down into her vagina as the Turk manipulated one and then another finger inside. The strange and exciting feelings triggered her third orgasm of the evening. She came for what seemed an eternity as the fingers in her ass continued their pressure against the tender flesh of the entrance. She felt the Turk withdraw his hardness from her pussy. She knew what was coming and this time, she arched her back and presented her ass for penetration.

The Turk’s cock was well lubricated from Denise’s fluids and the bulbous head glided easily in. At first, Denise felt pain as her tissues were stretched to accommodate the thick, wide member. But as the Turk drew his hard rod back and forth over the entrance to her bowels, Denise’s passion overrode any sensation of pain. It was if he possessed her to her very inner core. The tingles of pleasure ran all over her body. The Turk began to stroke at the rear entrance in earnest as he determined to reach his own climax. His pulsing spear of hardened flesh sent tremor after tremor of pleasure through him. He emptied himself deep inside of Denise, flooding her most secret and private place.

Denise lay still as the Turk rose and dressed. Her face buried into the mattress, she heard, but did not see him leave. The light in the room was dim and she drifted off into a trance-like state. She was shaken from her torpid state when the door to the bedroom opened again and the old lady entered. The woman freed her hands only to affix them again behind her back. She was pulled from the bed and led into the bathroom. In an oversized shower stall, the old lady carefully and thoroughly washed Denise’s vagina and rear. Her fingers carefully spread Denise’s lower lips to permit the warm, pleasant flow from a shower hose to enter and wash out the remains of the Turk’s discharge.

After being washed, Denise was dried with a soft white towel, the old lady humming softly as she tenderly patted Denise’s sex and rear. Denise leaned against the woman as she squatted, her legs spread wide. The woman’s warmth and almost jolly demeanor was comforting.

After bathing her and fixing her hair, the woman reaffixed the chain to Denise’s collar and led her back downstairs. Denise could smell the aroma of cooking meat. She was led into the dining room where the old man was already sitting at the table. Three settings had been laid out and a large pitcher of red wine sat in the middle. Tamara motioned for Denise to kneel by the chair at the head of the table and when she did so, the chain was attached to a ring set at the top of the table leg at the corner.

Denise was kneeling within arms reach of the old man. He was drinking a glass of wine. She was embarrassed to be so naked and confined before this old man. He turned his head towards her and then reached out to caress her breast. His hands were rough and strong. He pinched the nipple delicately and uttered soothing words to her, smiling.

Tamara returned carrying a large platter of carved meat. Denise recognized the smell of lamb. Her stomach growled as she yearned for food. The old woman left and returned again quickly, this time with a bowl of yellow rice and a platter of roasted peppers and onions. She sat at the table, poured herself a glass of wine and waited. A few moments later the Turk entered the room and took his seat at the head of the table.

The trio ate in relative quiet. From time to time, the Turk glanced over at his naked, kneeling prisoner. Denise pleaded with her eyes to be allowed to eat. He ignored her and returned his attentions to his meal. After the sounds of the meal slowed and then stopped, Cheryl heard the voice of the old woman. She was apparently referring to Denise as the old man and Turk both looked at her at the same time. The old man answered the woman, chuckling. The Turk spoke a short, staccato sentence in the foreign tongue and then, after sliding his chair back from the table, got up and left the room. The old man followed him.

After Tamara cleared the table, she unleashed Denise from the table and led her into the kitchen. It was a large, stone tiled room, with a large oven and an old, black, gas fired oven and stove. A large butcher block island stood in the middle of the room. The ceiling was high and a row of hanging lights brightened the room.

Denise saw a large bowl of food sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. Tamara led her to it and, pressing on her shoulders, made her kneel in front of it. She removed the mask and gag and motioned for Denise to eat.

A wave of self pity overcame Denise. If she needed definitive proof of her lowly status, this was it. She would eat from the floor like an animal. The dispirited woman began to sob silently. She was hungry. She needed to eat. She knew that she would ultimately debase herself and bury her face in the bowl. But she couldn’t take that first movement to do so. She looked up at the old woman piteously, stifling the urge to plead and beg for humane treatment.

Recognizing Denise’s forlorn state, the woman knelt by her side. She stroked Denise’s hair and face, speaking softly to her. She picked up a piece of lamb from the bowl and introduced it into Denise’s mouth. Denise accepted it meekly. The well-seasoned, tender meat gave Denise comfort as she chewed it slowly. “Eat, eat,” the woman said kindly. Denise looked down at her proffered meal and swallowed. Spreading her legs wide, she leaned over and pressed her mouth into the bowl.

When Denise was finished eating, she waited patiently for the old woman to finish with the dishes. When she had finished, she came over and wiped Denise’s mouth and face clean. She gave her a tall glass of milk to drink and then took her to a small bathroom off of the kitchen to let her urinate. She then led Denise by her chain from the kitchen, across the expansive hallway at the foot of the main stairs and to a set of sliding doors. She slid them open and Denise saw the Turk and the old man seated in easy chairs. The old man was smoking a pipe. Turk was reading a book. The room was dim with only floor lamps near the chairs to spread light. Denise was led to the Turk’s chair where she was affixed to a ring. She was again forced to her knees.

The Turk and the old man paid no heed to Denise’s entrance. The old man seemed to be lost in some reverie. Turk did not look up from his book. The old lady went over to a stereo player located on top of a long bookcase along one wall and placed a CD in the player. The melodic strains of a classical piano sonata filled the room. Choosing an easy chair near the old man, Tamara sat and closed her eyes, smiling contentedly as she listened to the music.

The music was soothing to Denise. She did not know if it was Mozart, Schubert, Liszt or whomever, but the flowing sonorous notes took her away from her abject state. Thinking about the day’s events made her wonder whether this would be her daily routine. Would she be condemned to be silent and bound for however long she might be kept here? What would she be like after a few days of this or weeks, or even months? Could she maintain her sanity?

The Turk glanced over at his beautiful slave. He had never tolerated speech from any of the unfortunate young women who had found their way here. There would be no exception for this one. He was lucky, he knew, to have Tamara to care for her and to be so willing to keep to his rules. He knew that the woman was crazy, maybe psychotic. But she was strong and had a will of iron. She had her whip and she was not reluctant to use it.

Tamara was actually related to the Turk. She was Turk’s mother’s second cousin. They had come to America from the same village in Turkey many years ago. The old man, whose name was Agfa, also came from that village. While he had learned English and worked in a factory, she had remained home with their sole child, a beautiful and sweet girl named Fatima.