Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (23 page)

* * *

Stoner’s helicopter, loaded with its full compliment of 30 soldiers, sailed off to the north. Jeremiah watched it disappear. He then turned back into the house. He would comply with the master’s wishes, but with one exception. He was going to have a little party with the new girl and find out what was up with her.

Jeremiah burst into the dormitory and hauled Mary out of bed. The women slept with their hands bound to the headboard every night and so he had to unlock her wrists first. He paused to admire the beauty of her ample bosoms. How he liked to whip them. Maybe tomorrow, he thought.

He led Mary down to Stoner’s bedroom. Usually the wives were permitted some form of clothing when they traveled through the house, a robe, a wrap around dress, even a shawl. But Jeremiah did not have time to have Mary dress and she ran behind him naked, her breasts flopping and swaying. The servants nodded and laughed as they watched.

Jeremiah had tied Dalila off at the foot of the stairs when he had awoken to the emergency call. He had fucked her like a demon the night before. As far as he was concerned, she was the lowest of the low. All the native women who chose life before dishonor deserved, in his opinion, to be treated as the meanest whores. White women were different. They had no souls. They flaunted their bodies freely and without shame. They were born sluts. But African women should be proud. He had spent the evening making poor Dalila pay for her misfortune at being kidnapped and reduced to a sexual plaything by her depraved and cruel lord, Stoner.

Dalila’s eyes were still red from crying. Her hands were tied behind her and she was affixed to the balustrade by a chain that led to a collar around her neck. When she saw Jeremiah with the white woman, who she had nicknamed the great mother, for obvious reasons, in tow, she cringed. She had seen Stoner run out and sensed the panic of the servants. For a slave, anything out of the ordinary was usually bad.

Jeremiah took her chain and led her, with the great mother, to Stoner’s bedroom. He tied them both to the posts at the head of the bed. Their hands were raised above them and their feet were bound together. He then gagged them. He then prodded Cheryl and Denise out of the cage and, after allowing them to make water in the little slaves’ bathroom, tied Cheryl to one of the posts near the foot of the bed. He left her gag in. He then turned to Denise. “Follow me,” was all he said.

He led Denise to the kitchen stairway that led to the Discipline Room downstairs. Denise had no idea where she was going until they hit the landing at the bottom of the steps and she saw the heavy wooden door. She whined behind her gag and her knees weakened. What had she done to deserve this? She considered running, but knew that there was nowhere to go. He hands were still tied behind her back, so she couldn’t even turn a doorknob. Besides, whatever was in store for her, she knew that she could only make it worse if she ran.

When Jeremiah swung the door opened, he signaled Denise to go in. Nervously, with trepidation, she stepped over the doorsill and entered the infernal room. She was surprised to see a young, blond woman hanging upside down in the middle of the room. It was Justine. She had spent two hours the day before, late in the afternoon, as Stoner’s whipping horse. He had left her hanging there to enjoy her misery. Jeremiah ignored the woman and dragged Denise over to what looked like a large chair, covered with a metal casing. There were little holes in the front of it, near the top, that looked like holes for eyes and a nose. In fact, that’s what they were for.

Stoner called this instrument his iron maiden, although its functionality was somewhat different than the instrument known to antiquity. Denise watched as Jeremiah lifted the cover off of the chair. It was affixed by two hinges to its base. There were two long, thick hard rubber probes with rounded heads sticking up from the seat of the chair, angled in towards one another and there were clamps on the arms and legs of the chair. To Denise, it appeared a foreboding, hellish device. It was.

Jeremiah released Denise’s arms from behind her back and pushed her towards the chair. Denise started to resist, but he placed his large hand around her throat and squeezed. Tearfully, she signaled her willingness to comply.

The probes on the chair seat were flexible and adjustable. They were topped with little helmets of steel, and steel bands encircled them. Jeremiah had Denise crouch as if to sit on the chair and properly aligned the probes. He then pushed her back slowly. He guided the one probe to her rear entrance and pushed her down upon it. It was at least as thick as a man’s cock and Denise moaned in pain as it stretched the delicate ring that marked the entrance to her bowels. When she was halfway down, he fitted the other probe to Denise’s pussy. He lubricated her with his hand, and then eased her the rest of the way down in the seat.

Denise sat in the chair, doubly impaled. She watched tearfully as Jeremiah fastened her arms and legs to the chair. Inside the cover to the chair was a cloth bra-like devise that could be raised or lowered. Jeremiah swung it out and encapsulated Denise’s delicate orbs in it. It took some manhandling, but Jeremiah was able to get Denise’s nipples to fit inside little rings of steel inside the bra. There was a small wheel around each hole allowing it to be reduced to hold the nipples snugly. When Jeremiah was finished outfitting Denise, he addressed her.

“White slut,” he said, “I am going to come back in one hour and I am going to find out all about you. The chair in which you sit will convince you to be truthful with me in all things. When we are done, you will beg to suck my cock and I will let you.”

Denise’s eyes widened as Jeremiah swung the cover to the chair closed. It was painted with a life sized likeness of the face and body of a grotesquely smiling, seated, naked, native woman. The devise sat before a mirror so that the occupant could look out and see the contorted visage. Inside, the girl would be frantically enduring a torrent of pain.

The probes and the rings around Denise’s nipples were connected to an electric box that sent out pulses of varying intensity. Its timing was irregular and the pulses could be sent to one, two, or even all of the terminals at once. Denise would be able to moan and whine behind her gag. It would have been more effective, if the woman inside could be left to scream and beg for release, but there was the danger that she might bite through her tongue due to the electric shock.

The first shock was sent to Denise’s pussy. It was not strong, but was enough for Denise to move nervously in her seat. The next shock came to her breasts. This was a little stronger and made her moan. The third shock was of severe intensity and duration and struck the helpless girl in her bowels. This time Denise jumped and screamed. Jeremiah’s words came back to her. He would be gone for an hour. She would have to suffer the torments of this modern day iron maiden until he returned and shut it off. Denise didn’t understand what it was that he wanted to know, but she was already prepared to sell her soul to avoid this heinous torture. As a shock struck both her breasts and pussy at once, a long, intense shock that stiffened her whole body, Denise could see out of her little window the mocking smile of the African lady.

* * *

It took about an hour for Turk and Lenny to travel the last 20 miles to Stoner’s compound. There was nothing wrong with the road, but every couple of miles there would be some of Stoner’s soldiers, nervously fingering their weapons. It was well that they had the two soldiers in the rear of the Jeep to advise the others that these two important white men, who had come to buy the master’s metals, could pass. Of course, the soldiers could see from the color of their skin that they were not rebels. However, they were riding a nice Jeep, something that would be quite handy if there was a need for a quick getaway. Stoner’s soldiers enjoyed killing and plundering for him. They just didn’t want to die for him.

The Turk’s heart skipped a beat when they finally reached the compound. They were admitted through a large solid metal gate and waived on towards the main house. “There it is,” he thought. “They’re in there, I know it.”

The Jeep was allowed to pull up to the veranda. The two soldiers got out and started their long walk back to their post. They would bring back with them the latest rumors.

Turk got out of the jeep cautiously. There was no one to greet them. That was fine with him. He pulled out his cell phone and called Nora who was at that moment circling about fifty miles away in the seaplane. “We’re in,” was all he said. He turned to Lenny who was still sitting in the jeep and said, “Go in the house and see if there’s anybody around. I’m going around the back to see what’s what. The girls have got to be somewhere inside. I’m going to try and find them.”

Lenny nodded and watched Turk stroll around the side of the huge mansion. He took his time walking up the steps to the veranda. Just as he got to the top, a tall black man appeared. “Are you in charge here?” Lenny asked him.

Jeremiah had just finished locking all of the servants in the cellar of the mansion as Stoner had ordered. So when Turk came around to the back, he was able to slip in the house unchecked. He came into a storage room of some kind that led into the kitchen. Quietly he made his way through it, making sure that he peered around every corner. He had the Glock out, a shell in the chamber.

“It can’t be this easy,” Turk thought to himself. He stepped down a long hallway that led to the front of the house. He stopped by the long, curving staircase and looked up. Undoubtedly the girls’ bedrooms were upstairs. But would they be there? He would have to walk up and see. He had gotten to about the fourth step when he heard someone behind him. He turned quickly only to see five AK-47’s pointed directly at him, each one backed up by a determined looking native soldier. Standing in the middle of them was a cruel looking, tall black man who seemed to be their leader. Next to him was Lenny.

“Hiya, Turk,” Lenny said mockingly. “You should’ve come up with that extra fifty thou. I think this big fella just outbid you.”

Turk leered viciously at Lenny. “That scumbag,” he thought. “I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.”

The tall fellow spoke. “Come down the stairs, Mr. Turk and keep that weapon pointed upwards. If you fail to do so, these men will certainly shoot you down.”

The Turk reluctantly obeyed. When he was an arm’s length from the soldiers, one stepped forward and removed the Glock from his hand. He looked at it gleefully and placed it in his belt. He then swung the stock of the automatic rifle at Turk’s head. Turk saw stars and then everything went black.

* * *

Kurim, Stoner’s general had led his forces deep into the bush in pursuit of the rebels. He had hop-scotched men all along the trails with the helicopter. The rebels would be in for a surprise as they found his men dug in behind them. He had just landed with another contingent of thirty joining a hundred or so that had been airlifted in earlier. His men would now drive the rebels into the guns of his men in the path of their retreat. He blew his whistle and the men advanced in a long line. Ten men had been left behind to guard the helicopter.

As they stepped forward, Kurim’s men found the bush to be eerily quiet. Nothing could be heard other than the cracking of sticks as they were stepped on by the men or the chopping noises of their large bolo knives as they hacked away at the vines and bushes that impeded them.

Suddenly, they heard automatic weapon fire behind them. The helicopter was under attack. As they turned to protect their lifeline, a roar rose in the jungle before them. Three hundred armed men dashed out of the dense, green overgrowth and charged, firing automatic weapons wildly or wielding long bolo knives and spears. Kurim’s soldiers where overwhelmed. The fighting became hand to hand and the mercenaries were no match for the fervent revolutionaries. There was a bitter firefight. As one after another went down, the soldiers began to lose confidence in their ability to stem the onrushing rebels. The firing from the landing zone had stopped. The soldiers panicked. Kurim was able to pull a few men together with him into a gully where they could make a stand. The other men were hunted down, one by one and slaughtered.

Kurim had maybe twenty men with him in the gully. He pulled out his cell phone to call for reinforcements from Stoner only to see that a bullet had pierced it. He laughed and tossed it away. A moment later, a line of rebels advanced on the gully firing the weapons they had just captured. It was over in a few minutes.

* * *

The Turk awoke on the floor of the concrete building that sat about 50 yards from the mansion. His head was sore and his vision was blurred. His hands were tied behind him and his feet were tied together. Next to him was a small, naked, blond woman. She was also tied hand and foot. She was awake.

“Monsieur,” she said to him, “are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” the Turk answered.

Justine had been dumped in the concrete hut by the soldiers who Jeremiah had ordered to take her from the Discipline Room. They wanted first crack at her so, rather than taking her to the barracks, they brought her here. Her arms were tied behind her back and her ankles were crossed and bound. She was desperate to escape, even if it meant her death. Her eyes scoured the room for something to cut her bonds with. In a moment of inspiration, she had crawled into the shower and had managed to lift the drain cover out. She had been trying to cut through the leather thongs around her wrists with it when different soldiers dragged the Turk in. She hadn’t had much luck.

The Turk shook his head and everything became a little more steady and clear. He looked at the bound girl beside him. “She must be one of Stoner’s white slaves,” he thought. He spoke to her.

“Where is Cheryl,” he asked.

Justine’s eyes lit up. “You must be Turk!” she exclaimed, amazed.

“How do you know who I am?” the Turk asked her, incredulous.

“Cheryl said you would come. We didn’t believe her. But here you are!”

A surge of hope ran through the Turk. All of these months he had hoped that he had not mistaken the exchange of passion between him and Cheryl those few moments in her apartment. And now he heard that she was expecting him. He had feared that his obsession with Cheryl was just an illusion, that nothing had passed between them that night. But he had not been wrong. She had felt it too.