“And what else?” Uzoma hissed.
“I’m a slut, a cocksucking slut! Oh, please, please, I can’t take it, please!” Cheryl replied screaming with passion.
Uzoma took Cheryl’s thighs in his arms and pressed them back against her chest. Angled above her, he began to thrust hard and long into her cunt. Cheryl’s pussy throbbed and pulsed, her nerve endings tortured to their endurance. As the black ruler’s cock jetted a stream of thick, white cum into her body, Cheryl cried out again and again as her final orgasm shook her.
When Uzoma was finished, he slipped his rod free and let Cheryl’s legs flop down in exhaustion. The big man stepped off of the bed and poured himself another cognac. He sipped it, watching the white woman fall into slumber. Her hands were still bound behind her and her back arched over her arms. Her breasts were puddles of flesh on her chest, raised slightly by her arching back. The black giant was not through with her yet, but he would let her rest. He went to the bathroom and peed. He returned to the room and called the kitchen on the room telephone. He ordered a snack.
Placing the receiver back into its cradle, he went to his suitcase. He pulled out a black box, about 8 inches by 6 inches long and wide. It was about three inches high. He placed it on the nightstand. He returned to the suitcase and removed two penis shaped plugs and two long sets of wires. He connected the wires to the unit and plugged the unit into the wall. A knock came on the door. “Come,” he called out. A tall black woman entered. She was dressed in a long multicolored, patterned kanga wrapped around her and covering her from the tops of her breasts to her ankles. She wore a scarf in her hair decorated with lavender orchids. She carried a tray of cheeses and meats.
“Put it down over there, lovely lady,” the President said in their common native tongue.
“Yes, Lord,” the woman said deferentially as she walked towards the long credenza against the wall. She passed closely to the naked President. She was used to such things in Stoner’s mansion. As she went to walk away, she felt the black man’s hand on her arm. “Don’t go, lady,” the President said to her. “Stay and let me see that beautiful body.”
The woman was slender, about 25 years old, and her shapely hips were not masked by her garment. Her skin was dark brown, her face slender, her features delicate. She had thick, puffed out lips. She froze when the fearsome man touched her. She knew better than to displease one of Stoner’s guests. She had known that there was a good possibility that he would make advances to her when she entered the room. She and the other women in the kitchen had drawn straws to see who would go. She had lost.
“Why do you hide your charms, lady?” Uzoma asked the woman. He picked at the edge of the garment where it was tucked in at her side and pulled it free. Standing up close to her, he was able to unwrap the garment from around her body using both his hands. The woman’s graceful, full breasts were unbound beneath the garment and they swung free. She wore a pair of plain white, cotton, bikini panties. It covered a thick, black bush. Uzoma pulled the underwear down over her hips and worked it free of her feet. The woman was trembling with apprehension. Stoner sometimes grabbed a serving girl to satisfy his physical needs, but not often, as he had the three white sluts for that. But all the women had heard of the fierce man from the capital. Uzoma’s reputation for cruelty was known all throughout the country and outside of it. And now she was faced with the evil man himself, naked, his erection forming between his legs.
Uzoma pressed his body against the native woman’s and grabbed the cheeks of her ass from behind. He pressed his lips to hers and scoured her mouth with his tongue. The woman’s arms rose in feeble protest. He pressed on the woman’s shoulders, forcing her to her knees. “Suck my cock, pretty lady,” he ordered.
The native woman took the hardened meat into her hands and directed it at her mouth. She engulfed its tip and slowly swirled her tongue along it. The President was uncircumcised, and she pulled back the sheath of flesh that covered the end of the cock and caressed it tenderly with her tongue. Uzoma allowed the woman to pleasure him for several minutes. A groan from Cheryl, awakening from her nap, caught his attention. He could get a blowjob from a native woman anytime he wanted. But a pretty white woman, those were in short supply.
The man pulled his hardened rod from the native woman’s mouth. “Thank you for the service,” he told her. “You may go.”
The woman nodded gratefully and rose to her feet. She went to pick up her coverings and Uzoma stopped her with his foot. “I think I’ll keep those,” he said.
The woman nodded fearfully and backed away towards the door. She felt for the handle behind her and, when she found it, rushed from the room. She would have to run through the house naked. This would amuse all of the other servants very much.
Uzoma turned his attention to Cheryl. There were several canes mounted on the wall and he took one down. He stepped over to the bed and slapped it forcefully across the front of Cheryl’s thighs. Cheryl jumped fully into wakefulness at the blow. She sat up and, seeing the cane in the mighty hand of the black giant, started to edge herself away from him in fear.
“On your knees, slut, face down on the mattress. Turn your butt to me.” Uzoma ordered. Cheryl obeyed swiftly. Her twin portals were presented to her abuser. She felt a long, cool, thick object being shoved into her still moist pussy. Uzoma thrust it in and out a few times, covering it with their commingled discharges, and then withdrew it. She felt the object plunged into her ass. It was not too thick and the lubrication made it slide right in. Another object of similar size was then thrust in her vagina.
The long thick plugs were connected by wires to the little box. The length of the plugs meant that it would be unlikely for them to fall free from the girl’s orifices. Uzoma pushed Cheryl to her stomach. He then took the loose ends of the thongs that he had used to tie her wrists to her elbows and, bringing each leg back one by one, tied off Cheryl’s ankles to her wrists. The pressure of her curved legs caused Cheryl’s back to arch painfully. Her cunt and pussy were both wide open and exposed, the plugs and wires extending out from them. Uzoma slid onto the bed and dragged Cheryl by the hair so that her mouth was over his cock. He had a ring gag in his hand and, pulling her head up, he shoved it home. Cheryl knew that ring gags were useful in throat fucking. Thanks to Stoner, she had a lot of experience there and was not concerned, even though the President’s cock was longer and thicker than Stoner’s. She did not know the purpose of the plugs in her rectum and in her pussy; she had not seen the wires or the little black box on the nightstand.
Uzoma had a small remote control in his hand. His legs were splayed wide open, his knees bent. He showed the remote to Cheryl.
“You see this cunt?” he taunted her. “This is connected to the box over there, which is connected to the dildos in your ass and cunt. If I press this button here, it will cause a little shock. Like that,” he showed her.
A pulse of electricity shot through Cheryl’s loins. It made her whole body contract. Her legs shuddered and pulled on her wrists in reaction to the muscle constricting flow of electricity through her, straining further her back and shoulders. She moaned in pain. When she recovered, her eyes were wide open, pleading with the cruel and callous man. He spoke to her again.
“I’m going to set this on automatic,” he said. “It will vary in intensity and duration, and alternate between your pussy and your ass.” Cheryl looked at him, her brow furrowed in fear.
“When you get me off, I will turn it off, but not before. Understand?”
Cheryl nodded desperately. She had felt only one jolt from the machine, but knew that it was capable of producing intense pain.
Uzoma pressed a button on the remote and watched for Cheryl’s reaction. Immediately, another pulse of electricity shot through her, this time through her anal passage. Her body cringed and she moaned. Cheryl realized that since the President had come three times within the last hour or so, it would be a difficult thing to get him off quickly under ideal circumstances. But wit
hout the use of her hands and with the painful emissions from the black box disturbing and interrupting her efforts, it would be very hard indeed.
Uzoma grabbed the back of Cheryl’s head by her hair to help guide her distended mouth to his cock. Just as the end of his cock passed the entrance another seizure overcame Cheryl. She winced and contracted in pain, but continued to her goal. This one had not been so bad. But the next one, a mere three or four seconds after, was the strongest she felt yet. She moaned pitifully. The black man grinned as he felt the vibrations of her moan course through his cock. That was the point, you see. That and the constriction of her throat each time she was jolted. It would produce a nice involuntary squeeze on his tool.
Desperate to end her ordeal, Cheryl tried to bob her head up and down on the black man’s large rod quickly. But Uzoma was in control. He grabbed her hair, immobilizing her head and said to her “Easy, cunt. Do a good job or I’ll thrash you.”
Cheryl groaned and her body contracted at each piercing jolt from the machine. She pressed her mouth down over the upright rod of flesh and pushed it into her throat. She tried to take long, slow, sensuous rides up and down the African’s shaft, but the interruptions of the electric shocks caused her to halt repeatedly and scream and moan onto Uzoma’s cock.
The girl’s throat felt delightful to the President when the already tight passage became narrower on each jolt. The vibrations that Cheryl’s involuntary protestations sent down his cock were marvelous. Like Jeremiah, Stoner’s major domo, Uzoma knew that the point of fucking was the pleasure of possession, not just to come. He took delight in the pitiful moans of his captive. He could do this all night.
But eventually, even he could no longer delay his moment of crisis. He felt his balls contract and his tool fill with fluid. “Ahhhh, slut,” he called to Cheryl, “here it comes!”
Hot sperm flooded Cheryl’s mouth. Even as her mind gratefully rejoiced in Uzoma’s discharge, another jolt of electricity passed through her, causing the flood of jism to pour out of her mouth as her constricted throat rejected it. The slime descended Uzoma’s staff and dribbled into his pubic hair.
Uzoma was just recovering from his moments of ecstasy when he noticed the white cream mixing with his curly black pubic hair.
“You’ve made a mess, cunt!” he yelled at her. He pulled his cock from her mouth and extracted the ring gag. “Clean that up, cunt!” he commanded her.
The jolts of electricity were still coming, as Cheryl endeavored to suck or lick all of the black man’s discharge from his pubic hair. She had to nuzzle her nose against his large belly to do so. Frustrated at her slowness, Uzoma just grabbed the back of her head and swiped his loins with Cheryl’s face. He then pushed her aside. To Cheryl’s great relief, he turned off the electric box.
Uzoma leaned back against the headboard, seemingly, at last, to have exhausted his forces. Looking down at the abject white woman, tears streaming down her face from her terrible abuse, he laughed. “White woman,” he told her, “someday soon Stoner will get tired of you and send you to the capital. I’ll rent you for a month and then you’ll see what pain really is.” He scrunched down on the bed so that his body was next to hers and turned her to her side, facing him.
Placing his hand over her puffy and abused nether lips, he told her, “I’ll pierce your cunt and tie it up with leather laces so no one can use it but me.” His voice was deep, threatening. “And I’ll whip that pretty body of yours until it bleeds!”
A deep, sinking feeling went through Cheryl’s stomach. Until this moment, the threat of being sent to the capital was an abstract one. No girl who had been sent there had ever come back, and so its precise horrors were unknown. So Cheryl had not been able to imagine an environment much worse than her life here as Stoner’s wife. Now she had.
“In the morning,” the dreadful man continued, “I’ll whip your cunt. Then you can suck my cock again.”
In the morning, Uzoma kept his promise. Suspending Cheryl’s ankles from the bedposts, he had lashed her sex terribly. Cheryl, her hands still bound behind her, wailed and cried as the thin whip struck between her pussy lips. Afterwards, she knelt and sucked the African’s thick, black prick. His come filled her mouth when he ejaculated and she had trouble swallowing it. He left her there, hogtied, when he went down for breakfast. Two servants, a man and a woman came in to pack his things. They left Cheryl lying on the floor where they found her.
Following breakfast, it was the big man’s intention to leave. His copter was warmed up and waiting. Stoner was standing on the edge of the parade ground shaking his hand and exchanging last minute pleasantries when he asked the President to wait. He signaled to Jeremiah, who signaled to someone inside the barracks. Two soldiers emerged, frog walking a tall black woman towards them. Her hands were locked behind her and she had a black bag over her head. It was the woman who had been whipped on the afternoon of the raid.
When the woman was brought up to where they stood, the soldiers stopped and held the woman upright. “A present for you, Mr. President,” Stoner said.
A soldier whipped off the hood. The woman’s mouth was gagged by a large red rubber ball, but the rest of her face was clear to see. The President stepped near her and stroked her face.
“Such a pretty one,” he said. He ran his hands down her torso and cupped her sex with one hand. The woman began to struggle.
Ah,” he said, amused. “She is not yet tamed.”
“No, Mr. President,” Stoner replied. “She’s yours to conquer.”
The President laughed. “It will be my pleasure. Turn her around, please,” he said to the soldiers. Uzoma admired the straight lines of her back and the graceful curves of her hips and buttocks. “There’s plenty there to have fun with,” he thought. Then he saw the italicized “S” branded into the cheek of her ass: Stoner’s mark. He wanted to make sure that the President never forgot where this present came from. The struggling woman was dragged to the helicopter, Uzoma and his entourage got in. He waved goodbye to Stoner as it rose gracefully from the grass and climbed into the sky. Stoner watched it as it flew away. “Maybe it’s time to get rid of this guy,” he thought. He had had feelers from a number of young colonels in Uzoma’s army. Maybe he should put somebody in power who would be just a little bit more grateful.
PART TWELVE
SLAVER’S BAIT
The tenor of Denise’s life with the Turk had been set on her first two days there. She was never allowed to speak, her arms were constantly bound behind her, her face half hidden by the leather mask, its thick leather plug in her mouth. Every morning she would receive a thorough and sensuous massage from the old woman followed by a manual manipulation to orgasm. She would kneel at the dining room table, erect, knees apart, at lunch and dinner while the hulking man who had kidnapped her ate. She would watch as Tamara marched to and fro during the day on her seemingly innumerable and never ending tasks.
Her sessions of love making with the Turk continued to be hot and heavy for both of them. She had learned to patiently, slowly, suck Turk’s cock using only her mouth. His eyes would roll back into his head and he would groan loudly when she finally let him come. She would sit astride him, impaled on his long hard rod of flesh and rock her hips gently until, with a mighty groan, he would discharge himself inside her.
And then, there was the dungeon. He did not take her there frequently, and when he did, he did not beat her as cruelly and with such hateful passion as he had before. But he did beat her. He would leave her bound into tortuous positions, her body stretched so that it imposed its own pain on itself, for hours on end.
After lunch, or while she was chained to the foot of the stairs, or at night, after dinner, when the three other occupants and Denise sat in the living room and listened to music, the Turk would grab her leash and pull her to her feet. Wordlessly he would lead her down the hall. If they turned at the stairs and went up, Denise knew that he had opted for an interval of pleasure with her. If he passed the stairs and he
aded to the dining room, off of which the door to the cellar ran, her heart would sink, her mouth would go dry. Butterflies would appear in her stomach. He had decided that he would inflict pain on her.
Every afternoon, Tamara would bring her to the sun porch and they would watch the sun go down together. Each time, Tamara would caress her loins until she came, crying out softly at each wave of pleasure. Only once had the old man joined them. Denise had surmised that the presence of the man would forestall her afternoon delight. But it was not so. As usual, Tamara pulled her onto the lap and delved her fingers into Denise’s slit, which was, as usual, wet with anticipation. At first, Denise was mortified to be seen accepting the old woman’s caresses before this old man. However, he watched her with such obvious pleasure and he and the old lady spoke to each other in such pleasant tones, that Denise soon forgot her embarrassment and let the warmth spread from her loins over her body.
As for the Turk, he was still as unsettled as he had been when he decided to abduct Denise. He spent hours wandering through the woods or rowing his canoe on the lake. He would sit at his perch and try to recreate the feelings of that magic kiss. He agonized over the question of whether to keep Denise or not. At the same time, her presence both exacerbated and alleviated his painful longing for Cheryl. The answer to his dilemma came as a result of a phone call from Nora.
Nora ran a ‘specialized’ brothel and slave procurement business deep in the Nevada desert. Turk had kidnapped females for her many times and had spent some considerable time there, using the product. This time Nora had a job for him in Western Massachusetts. It seemed a wife of a very wealthy executive wanted the executive’s young and lovely mistress to disappear. It was one of Nora’s trademark deals. She would get paid on both ends, by the disgruntled wife and by the ultimate buyer. Mexico or Latin America was the usual destination of her captives. Occasionally, she would ship to Asia or Japan. It was really the highest price that prevailed.
Turk figured the job would take three days. He drove off in his van with one of his specialized boxes. Nora would fly in with her small seaplane and pick up the merchandise. She might stay around a day or two for old time’s sake.
Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl Page 12