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.
Denise moaned as she felt the Turk fill her. Their lips were still pressed together, and she sucked long and hard on the hot tongue that filled her mouth. The Turk was plunging wildly into her pussy, grunting each time he sheathed his sword to the hilt. Dissatisfied with its reach, he reached for Denise’s thighs and pressed them towards her chest. Denise felt his cock penetrate deeply into her pulsing gash. She yearned to swallow it with her cunt, wanted to suck it inside her.
Oblivious to all else but their passion, the couple bucked and heaved against one another. The Turk felt his loins fill with telltale heat and rammed his cock home. As he jetted spurt after spurt of his hot cum into her cunt, Denise cried out and thrust her hips up to meet him. Her orgasm hit with a jolt. Their tongues were still intertwined and Denise poured her lustful moans down the Turk’s throat. Finally, their lusts spent, the two collapsed.
Turk was sated. He had, temporarily, driven his demons from him. His whole body sagged with physical and emotional release. A few moments later, he was fast asleep.
Denise lay under the heavy, somnolent man, her arms still stretched out above her. The Turk’s deep breaths rocked her gently. For the first time in three days, her mouth was left uncovered. She reveled in its freedom. The Turk’s head lay along side hers, and she placed a light kiss on his temple, careful lest she disturb him. She yearned to encircle him with her arms, to whisper her blissfulness into his ear. She knew that she dared not. She would do nothing to destroy this heavenly interlude. A small tear ran down her cheek, sparkling in the soft, comforting moonlight. She lay her head back and fell asleep.
The moon had fled and the room was almost pitch dark when Denise felt the Turk stirring. He unleashed her hands from the head of the bed and pulled her up. Silently, gently, he had her stand and rebound her arms behind her back. Denise stifled a cry as she realized that she was to be cast back into the dungeon for the night. The Turk led her to the door and, before opening it, reaffixed her leash. When he opened the door, Denise saw the old woman sitting in a small chair in the hall, fast asleep. She stirred to wakefulness at the opening of the door and smiled at the naked couple. Turk placed his hands on either side of Denise’s head and kissed her, a long, soothing kiss redolent of their passion. When he was done, he gently, almost kindly, eased the gag back into her mouth. He buckled it behind her head and handed the leash to the old woman. Denise watched as he closed the door, retreating into his room. She felt a soft tug on her leash and she let herself be guided down the stairs.
PART ELEVEN
HAIL TO THE CHIEF
About three o’clock that afternoon, Stoner’s choppers finished their return to their base. Great swirls of brown African dust swirled around the choppers as they landed. The soldiers hopped out dragging behind them the coffles of newly captured slave girls. The ride back had been uneventful. The frightened women moaned and cried, huddled on the chopper floor. The soldiers took sport in poking and prodding them. Their mocking taunts and cruel laughter could barely be heard over the loud grinding of the helicopter engines.
The women were marched quickly to the parade ground that stood outside the soldiers’ barracks. They were made to stand in two lines, shoulder to shoulder. An officer went down the lines, enforcing his orders to spread their legs with a riding crop.
The girls were all shapes and sizes, although large, firm, breasts predominated. A corporal followed the officer down the lines ripping the tape off of the faces of the girls. This was an inspection after all, and their faces needed to be seen.
Stoner waited until the girls were all lined up, mouths freed, before he strode up to take measure of what he had stolen. He had picked out the twenty most desirable of the great crop of women he had harvested. Now he would select the best of the best.
Slowly, leisurely, Stoner walked down the lines of frightened, naked women. He stopped before each one, measuring their breasts with his hands, peering into their faces. When he had made one full pass, he repeated his inspection. This time, he pointed out several girls with the riding crop and they were freed from t
he coffle and dragged away from the lines. When he was finished his second pass, seven women had been selected. They stood in the hot afternoon sun, hands tied behind them, legs spread.
Stoner made an even more detailed examination of the seven women. He rubbed their naked loins, measuring their response. He had them turned around and bent over so that he could caress their buttocks. The bodies of the women glistened with sweat, partially from the still fierce rays of the sun, but also from their natural sense of panic at their severance from the pack. What special hell was being prepared for them?
Stoner had two of the women separated from the group of seven. The first was about 5’4” in height, closer to 18 than 25. She had firm round breasts with large, reddish doubloon sized aureoles. Her nipples were tense from fear and Stoner tweaked the short, thick buds of flesh. The girl was crying and rivulets of tears ran down her face. She shook noticeably as Stoner turned her head right and left, seeking out imperfections in the smooth, black face. He saw none.
The second girl was tall and slender. She had long, delicate thighs. She stood about an inch taller than Stoner. Her face was long, her cheeks high. She was not crying. Her hatred of Stoner was easy to read on her face. She had tiny, tea cup breasts with long, almost pointed nipples. Stoner ran his hands over them, pinching them fiercely. Anger lit up in the tall woman’s eyes, and she spit in Stoner’s face, crying out doubtlessly rude epithets at him in her native tongue. Stoner reacted swiftly by giving the woman a fierce slap across the face. Two soldiers grabbed her arms, protecting their leader. Stoner smiled. Looking over at his general, Kurim, he said, “She’ll do. Give her five lashes with the bullwhip and put her in isolation. I’ll take the other one with me.”
Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl Page 8