Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  While the Turk was gone, life went on as usual at the homestead. With one exception. Denise had known that this time would come eventually. During the afternoon after the Turk left, the old man walked into the Great Hall and saw Denise sitting cross-legged at the foot of the stairs. Tamara was upstairs cleaning. The old man paused for a moment in contemplation and then stepped over to where Denise sat. He unhooked her chain and led her out of the Hall, through a long hallway and then outside the house through a door in the back. He led her to a tiny shack about 30 yards from the house. When they had entered the shack, he turned to Denise and, pressing on her shoulders, forced her to her knees. He undid the mask and withdrew the thick leather gag. He opened his pants and pulled out his large, withered cock. Denis knew what to do.

  The young woman patiently massaged the old man’s tool with her lips and tongue. He moaned as he felt her hot tongue lick his shaft and circle around his cock’s bulbous head. It took some time, but the old man finally got hard. Denise was happy that she could please the kindly old man. When he was hard enough, he withdrew from her mouth and had her kneel and bend over on a large stack of bags of mulch. Denise spread her legs willingly and opened herself so that the man’s passage to her cunt would be eased. He pressed the head of his cock against the entrance and slipped inside. He moaned the whole time he was fucking her. He took his time, patiently sawing back and forth. Denise’s blood began to rise at the motion of the man’s large, hot tool. When she felt the old man’s pace begin to quicken, she contracted her pussy muscles as hard as she could, increasing the old man’s pleasure.

  When the pair came back inside, Tamara was standing there at the bottom of the stairs waiting for them. Denise felt like a naughty school girl, although she had had really no choice in whether to fuck the old man. He sheepishly reaffixed her leash to the hook by the stairs. The old lady spoke a few words in to him, curtly. The man nodded. Tamara hesitated for a second. Her mouth then turned into a grin, her face beamed. She stepped up to the old man and, curling her hand behind his head kissed him on the cheek. They hugged. Denise had sunk to her knees to await Tamara’s presumed displeasure. Tamara merely smiled at her and patted her on the head. She walked away humming one of her little songs. The old man looked at Denise, shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, Turk’s boat could be heard motoring up to the dock. Tamara rushed into the kitchen to prepare him some food. Denise, who had missed her passionate fucking with the strange, dark man, came to her feet and tried to peer out the window of the Great Hall in an effort to see him. She was affixed to the bottom of the stairs and so could not run to the door. She heard the kitchen door open and the tread of the Turk’s heavy boots. When she saw him enter the great hall, her heart stopped. He was carrying a big black box, the kind that he had imprisoned her in when he kidnapped her. The box, from its weight, was obviously full. Denise quickly fell to her knees. “What does this mean?” she thought to herself. The Turk looked at her sternly and then muscled the box past the stairs and towards the entrance to the dungeon.

  He emerged about twenty minutes later. He passed by her without looking and went into the kitchen to eat. She could hear the chair scraping on the stone floor of the kitchen, the clatter of dishes. He talked to the old woman. His voice was sharp and curt. Hers was pleading, soft.

  In fact Turk and Tamara were having an argument. Tamara had made the same assumption that Denise had made. She knew better than to confront the Turk head on. This was his house. He ruled here. But she let him know how much she loved her ‘little bird’ as she called Denise, how sweet she was. Turk told her to mind her own business, that he was the judge of who came and went here. He would do what he wanted with the girl. He had no immediate desire to sell Denise. He just didn’t want to commit himself to keeping her. He couldn’t keep her bound and gagged and chained forever, could he?

  When Turk left the kitchen after his meal, he grabbed Denise’s leash. To her relief, she was dragged up the stairs after him. But in the event, she was left unconsoled. His lovemaking was harsh, hard. He ploughed her throat cruelly and then had her kneel on the bed, crunched over, so that he could ravish her rear passage. He had no soft caresses for her. There was no quiet, tender interlude. When he was done, he took her leash and ran it under her, between her legs, and fastened it to her bound wrists. She was forced to continue kneeling on the bed, her breasts crushed against her knees, her head forced down. The chain rubbed between her pussy lips, grating against her sore clit each time she tried to move. She stayed that way until Tamara came to relieve her some two hours later.

  That night, Denise was taken to the dungeon after dinner. Turk took her into the torture room. She was crying, both in anticipation of the frightful pain she could expect, but also because she had apparently fallen from grace in the cruel man’s eyes. The addition of a new girl undoubtedly signaled the removal of the old. The Turk pulled her over to a steel pole set in the floor and attached the back of her collar to it. The floor near the plate had been covered with a steel plate. Embedded in the plate were large, rounded prongs, about 2” in circumference and set about 1” above the surface of the plate, 1” apart. Turk left the room. It didn’t take long for Denise to discern the precise nature of her torture. The iron bumps drove directly into the soles of her feet. There was no way to stand on them comfortably. She could shift her feet in any direction, roll back on her heels, stand on her toes and she experienced the same dull, throbbing pain in her feet within a few seconds.

  The Turk returned with a short, shapely young brunette in tow. Her hair was long and she wore a mask similar to Denise’s. Her eyes were wide with terror. She was nude and her firm, round breasts bounced as she was led into the room. The Turk led her to the center of the room where the chain came down from the ceiling. Denise had taken the whip or the cane here several times. She knew what was in store for the girl. The increasing pain in her feet, however, prevented her from giving her full empathy to the Turk’s new victim.

  Turk unfastened the girl’s hands behind her back and fastened them to the chain. He pulled her hands up over her head. He tied her ankles to the ring in the floor.

  The girl was visibly trembling. She had dark, tanned skin, presumably from a salon due to the time of the year or perhaps from weekend trips to the Bahamas. Her areolas were dark, her nipples taut with fear.

  Turk unlocked the gag around her head and pulled it free. The girl immediately began to plead and beg for her freedom. She had not noticed Denise when she had entered, but she saw her now and uttered a mournful moan. “Oh, God, please mister, please! I’ll do anything you want. I have money! I can get more! Oh, God, what are you going to do to me?”

  Turk slapped her across the face. “Shut up!” he yelled at her. The young girl obeyed, her lips trembling, tears flowing down her face. The Turk went to the wall and selected his favorite rattan cane, the same one he had used on Denise. When the girl saw it she went insane. “No! No! No!” she yelled, struggling desperately and futilely at her bonds. “Please don’t whip me. Oh, I couldn’t stand it. Please! Please!”

  The Turk let go with a mighty blow of the whip across her tits.

  “Ohhhhhhh,!” she cried out. “Oh, God! Oh! That hurts! Please don’t whip me! I’ll do anything you want. Please!”

  Turk paid her screaming no mind. Ruthlessly, methodically, he traversed her body with the cane. Across her stomach, the front and rear of her thighs, her ass and her back, and of course, her breasts again. More than twenty blows fell on the girl’s flesh. Her screaming had deflated to a constant low wail by the time the Turk was finished. She was a sweaty, red marked mess. She slumped rather than stood. The Turk put away the cane. Cheryl had watched the girl’s pummeling with astonishment. She knew now why the Turk had whipped her. It was an awesome thing to watch.

  The Turk’s manhood tented against his trousers. He knelt down and undid the straps holding the girl’s ankles in place. He pulled them back, attached a sp
reader bar between them and locked the bar to the floor. He had not lengthened the chains holding the girl’s wrists, and so she had to lean forwards. Her rear jutted out invitingly. The Turk turned around to the front of the girl and jammed the gag back into her mouth. He buckled the mask back into place. In front of the girl, Turk began to remove his clothes. The girl watched incredulously at first, and then began to protest and cry behind her gag. When he was fully disrobed, the Turk reached out and grabbed the young woman’s full and firm breasts. He squeezed them, twisting the nipples. The girl winced in pain. Moving behind the girl, the Turk reached his hand under her and began to manipulate the tender lips of her sex. His cock in one hand, her quim in the other, the Turk stood and watched the young girl pull fruitlessly against her bonds. When she was wet, he presented his rock hard cock for penetration. As he eased himself in, to the girl’s great dismay, he looked at Denise. The new girl was facing Denise and Denise watched as Turk impaled the girl. Their eyes met. Denise could read only the cold hardness of a man who kidnaps and rapes women. Gone was the tenderness she had seen, gone was, or so it seemed, any hope for her.

  The Turk pounded away at the girl’s cunt. He had barely registered seeing Denise and she quickly faded from his mind as the pleasures of this new bitch’s cunt went through him. He grabbed her swinging breasts for leverage and he ploughed back and forth into her. She was whining throughout her ordeal. Twice she looked up at Denise, her eyes pleading for help. “I can’t help you,” Denise thought. “I can’t even help myself.”

  When the Turk was done, he left both women there. He left the light on so that they could look at each other and benefit from the other’s predicament. When the door slammed shut, Denise began to cry.

  About two hours later, Denise was surprised when a tall, young, black haired woman entered the room. She was speaking loudly to ‘the man’ as Denise thought of him. They were not speaking English. The woman wore tight black slacks, matching black boots and a white shirt with frills down the front. Her hair was dark and short.

  Nora had arrived just before dark. Her plane had coasted in low over the trees and then landed on the long lake. When the plane was tied off, Nora walked up to the house. She was admitted through the chain link gate by the old man. He hugged and kissed her. Tamara screeched with joy when Nora walked in the door. They hugged and kissed. Tamara pulled her into the kitchen and sat her down at the counter. In a minute a large cup of tea and honey covered pastries were on the counter.

  Nora was an old friend of the family’s. She was Turk’s second cousin. She had been close friends with Tamara’s daughter, Fatima. Fatima’s death had torn something in her too. The only men she had any stomach for were the old man, Fatima’s father, and the Turk. She would do anything for the Turk.

  The Turk had been out rowing his canoe. He had heard the plane and returned to the house. He got in just as Nora was finishing her tea. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. They said hello in English. Nora’s eyes searched Turk’s. “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she said, still in English.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he replied. “Auntie,” he said in Turkish as he addressed Tamara, “Nora will stay for dinner and until after lunch tomorrow. Please have her bedroom ready.”

  Nora snuggled up to the Turk. “I’d rather sleep with you, Turk.” Even she had abandoned use of his given name.

  “Cut the crap. Let me show you the goods.”

  So when Nora walked into the dungeon, Turk was right behind her. She paused at the frightened new girl, feeling her tits and her thighs. She noticed the dried sperm on her thighs and smiled. She spoke in Turkish. “Couldn’t wait, eh?” she said jokingly.

  “It’s good to get them going right away,” the Turk answered. “Besides, I was horny.”

  “Okay, okay,” Nora replied. She looked over at the distraught Denise. While the new girl’s aches and pains subsided, Denise’s had grown. The aching in her feet had grown close to unbearable. She had tried every combination of placement of her feet. She begged the Turk with her eyes to release her.

  “She looks a bit uncomfortable, Turk,” Nora said. Denise did not understand the words, but she knew that the woman was talking about her. Was this her new owner?

  “So?” Turk replied.

  “So, I just thought I’d mention it,” Nora said. She reached out and stroked Denise’s breasts. She cupped them in her hands and squeezed them gently. She rubbed the nipple with her thumbs, testing their responsiveness. She ran her hands along the young girl’s back, over her ass and down her thighs. In English she spoke to Denise, “Spread your legs, dearie.”

  Denise was taken aback by the sudden switch to English, but obediently complied, although moving her feet was agony. Nora ran her hands along the inside of Denise’s thighs. She rubbed against the delicate cunt lips and tickled the little nub of flesh at the apex. Nora was an expert at female flesh. She had peddled enough of it. She knew her way around a cunt and soon had Denise lubricated and moaning.

  “Maybe I’ll sleep with her tonight,” Nora teased the Turk.

  The Turk, who had been watching, replied, “Suit yourself.”

  “I’d get her out of this if you want her to be able to walk,” Nora told him.

  “Okay, okay,” the Turk answered. “So, get her out.”

  Nora unleashed Denise from the pole and pulled her off of the steel plate. She was escorted from the room. The new girl, whose calves were burning from the effort of leaning forwards for two hours, pleaded to be released. Her voice was just a mumble. The Turk turned out the light and shut the door.

  Later, at dinner, Denise knelt at her usual station. She had her eyes fixed on the Turk while he ate, trying to find any hint of her fate. She realized that she had become complacent over the last few weeks. She had even, at times, forgotten that she was a kidnapped prisoner here, at the mercy of her chief tormentor. Her body craved his touch, the hardness of his manhood as it filled her. Yet, she was remembering, he was the enemy. He had kidnapped and tortured her. He could destroy her at will. He could even sell her body to some other cruel, hateful master and perhaps already had.

  But she didn’t want another master. Would another master caress her so tenderly? Would there be anyone like the old woman, whose lunacy seemed almost natural? Denise, for the first time since her first day here, feared for her future. If only she could convince him to keep her! So she knelt, her back straight, her breasts thrust out, awaiting her master’s pleasure.

  After she had eaten from her bowl in the kitchen, the old lady had brought her to the living room where the Turk, the young woman and the old man sat. Denise was worried at the muted demeanor of the old lady. It gave credence to her own feelings of impending doom.

  Before she had a chance to kneel at the Turk’s side, the young woman rose from her seat and took her leash from Tamara’s hands. She said something teasingly to Turk and then led Denise out of the room and up the stairs.

  The guest bedroom was across the hall from the Turk’s room. Nora led Denise over to the bed, a wide, long bed with a white cotton bedspread. Nora pulled back the covers and urged Denise into it. She went to the bathroom and emerged in the process of removing her blouse. She wore a light, white, under wire bra underneath and she removed it, releasing her pale white breasts. She shucked off her slacks and panties and then sat on the bed.

  Nora was far from bashful when it came to women’s bodies. She ran her hand over Denise’s stomach as she seized a nipple with her mouth. She gave the nipple a long, soothing kiss as she tenderly separated the delicate lips below. Denise, disconcerted by this woman’s amorous intent, spread her legs obediently nonetheless. She closed her eyes and let the moist lips and the practiced hand impassion her. Nora turned her oral attention to Denise’s other breast. The young girl’s cunt was moistened now and loose. Nora plunged her fingers inside and made Denise gasp. She felt the hand leave her pussy and then the back of her mask being loosened. The gag was removed and the young woman’s tongue was thru
st into her mouth.

  Denise had never experimented with lesbian sex and had never had another woman touch her private places since she was a child. She had been shocked at first at Tamara’s advances, but the sweetness and affection that seemed to prompt them made them seem natural. But this was the real thing. A woman was kissing her, rubbing her breasts against hers, insinuating her leg between her thighs. But something inside of her told her that whatever she had believed about sex, its ‘right’ usages, the appropriate circumstances for lust, was useless now. Sex was imposed on her and she could either enjoy it or burn. She would rather enjoy it. She began to kiss the woman back. She clenched Nora’s thigh with hers. Nora returned her hand to Denise’s sex and pulled and prodded at the point of pleasure at the top. She slid her fingers into the moist crevasse and stroked the roof. Denise was gasping in pleasure, pressing her lips to Nora’s. She began to thrust her hips, bucking at the hand that was driving her lust. When she came, she moaned into Nora’s mouth while she squeezed the hand that pleasured her with her thighs.

  Nora whispered in her ear, “Say ‘thank you’, slut.”

  Denise hesitated. This woman was asking her, ordering her, to break one of the cardinal rules. She couldn’t make the words come out. Nora rubbed Denise’s still moist cunt with her hand, sending a reverberation of her passion through her body.

  “Say ‘thank you’, cunt,” she repeated.

  The voice was more emphatic. Tears came to Denise’s eyes. In a hushed, small voice she replied, “My mouth is made for fucking.”

  Nora looked up at her and smiled. She was familiar with Turk’s practices. But this was her night with the girl, not his. “Not tonight it’s not. Now, thank me.”

  “Th-thank you,” Denise stuttered.