by Paul Blades
The crew, mostly Filipinos and other third worlders, knew enough to remain oblivious to the machinations of the officers of the ship. They knew nothing, they saw nothing. The sea was a large and lonely place and many a troublemaker had found himself drifting along the North Atlantics waves, waiting for death. The crew busied itself with the ships preparations for sea.
The First Mate rolled Cheryls small, black prison towards officers country. He knew what was inside, for it was his job to see to it that its contents were discretely stowed and properly cared for during her journey. The ship was subject to search while still in American waters, but although the Coast Guard was diligent at screening vessels entering American waters, no one cared much once the ships had left. A few thousand dollars of easy money would be split between himself and the Captain, a small bonus for the other officers. All for a few days work and, of course, for silence. The Atlantic Ocean was just as lonely and deadly for ships officers as for the crew.
The box was taken down a service elevator outside the Captains quarters. His destination, or rather Cheryls, was a small cabin at the bottom of the ship. Three doors, all locked, separated the cabin from officers country, and that was the only way in or out. Inside the cabin was a small hatchway, hidden from all but the most scrupulous of searches. Four times during inbound trips to the U.S. the room had been searched by Coast Guard, customs men and the like. No one had found the hatch yet. On the way in, it had contained 50 kilograms of cocaine. On the way out, it contained the imprisoned body of a young female on her way to a life of slavery.
After the hatch had been opened, Cheryls box was rolled in, back end first. This made it easier to affix the oxygen tube to the boxs small openings. Before closing the hatchway and sealing our young lady into her hiding place, the First Mate removed a small plastic bottle from his pocket. The bottle had a narrow top and was designed to permit its contents to be squeezed out. The First Mate squirted the contents of the bottle down the tube that led to Cheryls gag. He then attached a water pressure line that pushed the liquid down the tube and into Cheryls stomach. When he was sure the drugged liquid had been pushed far enough, he stopped the flow. Cheryl had no choice in the matter; the liquid sped down the tube and, after a few moments, commenced absorption into her blood stream.
Cheryl had been alert to the movements of her prison and surmised that she was reaching some sort of destination. She hoped and prayed that her confinement would soon end. But then the box stopped moving. There was a pause and then a flow of air gently into her nose. Next, she felt something traveling down the tube through her throat. A few moments later, the dizziness she had felt before, at the commencement of her involuntary journey, was felt once more. Cheryl realized that she had been drugged again. As her mind started its protest, the fog of semi-consciousness descended upon her.
Twice over the next twenty-four hours Cheryl was permitted to ingest nutrition. A cup of a special diet supplement was pumped down the tube that led to her stomach. Each time, Cheryl, who by now had settled into a listless dream-like state, felt that she was drowning, unable to acclimate herself to the experience of being force fed. As she was stirred from her listlessness, she again was forced to undergo the horror of realizing where she was. Once a day, her container was rolled from its hideaway, the back side removed and a cleaning performed. The Turk had affixed a small pad to Cheryls sex before finalizing her enclosure, and a small plug had been inserted into her ass. The First Mate simply removed the pad and replaced it. This was not, of course, for Cheryls comfort, but to prevent her from suffocating in her own wastes. The plug remained in place.
There were many possible destinations around the globe for Cheryl. There were many places where men of wealth and power could possess and own women. From the back streets of Hong Kong to the pampas of the Argentine, from the jungles of Thailand to the steppes of the former Soviet Union, evil men, cruel men, owned and brutalized women. It might take a slow freighter the better part of a week to reach a port convenient to some of these destinations. But Cheryl was lucky. Three days out from Baltimore, outside the tiny Azores Islands, a small shore craft nosed up to the side of the freighter. Cheryls box, retrieved from its hiding place, was gently lowered over the side and received by the smaller boat. Within five minutes of arrival, it whizzed away. A seaplane was waiting at dockside and Cheryl was rapidly transferred. A few minutes later, it was in the air and headed south.
Benjamin Stoner was a millionaire many times over who had grown tired of the pedestrian pleasures of civilized life. For the last fifteen years, he had owned a large plantation about seventy miles inland of the African coast. Katanga was a small country and reliant on the investments Stoner had made there. Down by the capital, Stoners exercise of influence took a somewhat discrete form. Too many aid agencies and snoopy diplomats made the blatant flex of his muscle risky. Stoner had the monopoly on construction and imports in Katanga and the flow of aid from western nations very often came to rest in Stoners bank accounts. He also had many interests in the civilized world and he knew that even his wealth could not prevent all harm if some of his machinations with the ruling junta were discovered.
But he made his own rules north of the Paliba River. Twenty thousand square miles were his domain. Nothing moved there without his permission, nothing came in or out. His plantation, nestled between the jungle and the mountains, knew no ruler other than him.
And that was where they were headed. When Cheryls box was brought aboard, Stoner had been sitting with lustful anticipation for her arrival. He knew that Cheryl had been boxed for the better part of three days and was certainly suffering. That, he didnt really care about. But he preferred that any suffering experienced by his new property be inflicted by him. And she might be damaged. He did not want to carry a piece of dead meat back to Katanga.
So upon their ascent to a satisfactory cruising altitude, Stoner decided that he could not wait the six hours until the plane touched down. He rose from his padded swivel chair, took a long pull at his drink and stood over the black case. He nodded to Jeremiah, his native factotum and general overseer, to open the container.
Cheryl knew she was on a plane as the feel of rising into the air was unmistakable. She was dazed and tired and sore, but she registered that. Her last dose of drugs had been several hours before and so she was attaining an incremental level of consciousness. To her joy and against all of her previously forlorn hopes, someone started to open the box.
A strong odor of sweat and fear emanated from the box as Jeremiah opened it. Stoner overcame his olfactory sensitivity and peered inside the box to examine his new property. There she was. All he could see was her back and a part of her ass, but she was there. And good money he had paid for her too. That bitch from Venezuela had pushed the bidding up over $300,000. It had finished at $375,000, or thereabouts. He wasnt quite sure since the biding was in Euros. Nobody wanted dollars anymore.
A soon as the auction was over, he had remitted his payment by wire to a very temporary bank account in the Cayman Islands. His delivery instructions went by email to another very temporary account, who knew where, since they were transferred via the Internet. But whoever it was who ran this thing, had come through, as they had before, and his new toy was right there in front of him.
Stoner at first feared that she had died in her box. But he soon saw a telltale movement of the arms and torso. A low murmur escaped from the bottom of the box. Cheryls head was pointed down to the floor and any sound she made had to escape her gag and the sound absorbing materials of the box interior. But he had heard it, she was alive. Stoner beamed with delight.
Take her in the back and hose her down. Then bring her back, I want to see her. Stoner told his servant.
Jeremiah dutifully rolled the box, now topless, into the rear area of the plane. It had been set up as a freight area and had cages, a metal floor and drains to facilitate cleaning. Stoner used the area to transport wild animals up to his
game reserve so he could release them and shoot them. It was something that Jeremiah never figured out. But who could figure out white men, especially rich ones?
After releasing her bindings from the sides and the front of the box, Jeremiah removed them. Cheryl was left bound to the floor of the box, as if on a platform. He pulled a hose from the sink and began washing the young girl down. The wastewater flowed out into the drain as the cold water poured over the poor girl. It felt like heaven to her, cold or not. He soaped her back, her ass and what part of her legs he could reach. It was painful back there for Cheryl, not having had her cunt wiped for several days. But she didnt care, she was being cleaned. Someone was touching her. She had heard voices.
When he was finished, Jeremiah rolled the box, absent its top and sides, back into the passenger area of the plane. Stoner was sitting in the swivel chair that he used while relaxing during flights. His whiskey and soda was in his hand. He was beside himself.
Jeremiah had loosened the tie that kept Cheryls head bent down to the bottom of the box, but had not removed the mask. He knew that Mr. Stoner would want to do that, to be the first to see her face.
Cheryl struggled to raise her head. She could feel the coolness of the air-conditioned plane around her. She knew that the sides of the box had been removed and prayed that she would soon be completely released from her strict bondage. She had stopped crying after her first five hours in the box and had been dry-eyed since, but now she felt tears of gratitude welling up inside her. Free, she was going to be free.
Stoner ran his hand down Cheryls back and she reveled at the touch. The hand descended her buttocks and pressed into her sore, raw pussy. She jumped to the limits she could, in pain. Stoner chuckled. Oh, shes very sensitive indeed, he thought.
It was her face he wanted to see, and her tits. He crept around the front and took in the pulchritude that hung from Cheryls chest. Using two hands, he grabbed the tits by their base and squeezed. Lovely, he thought. Just lovely. He felt Cheryl squirm as his grip tightened. She gave a little squeal as Stoner pressed harder.
Good, good, Stoner murmured out loud to no one. This bitch is a keeper. He released the twin orbs and reached for the ties that held on the mask.
Cheryl was overjoyed that the gag was being removed. She didnt care why or by whom, but she was glad. She could overlook the abuse of her breasts. In fact, any touch was welcome after her many hours of imprisonment and isolation. The mask was rolled back so that her mouth and nose were free, but her eyes were still covered. As the gag was slowly withdrawn from her mouth, Cheryl was overwhelmed with joy. A noise, she wanted to make a noise, she wanted to speak.
Stoner, however, had other ideas. He was rock hard from anticipation and his cock was at the ready. As Cheryl opened her mouth to speak, he rammed his cock home. Cheryl was stupefied. What was this? She wanted to speak, to ask for help. Stoner was having none of it. Hearing her moans and stutters around his cock, he pulled out a short leather quirt he always carried in his belt and stroked Cheryls ass hard. She squealed in pain. Shut the fuck up bitch and suck my cock or youll be back in that box in ten seconds flat.
Cheryl couldnt believe it. It wasnt Turks voice. It was a man and he had his cock down her throat and was whipping her. Back in the box! she thought in panic, No, no, no, anything but that. She started sucking the cock energetically.
Stoner pushed in and out of his prisoners mouth. It was dry from dehydration and the going was not all that smooth. Cheryls jaw was weak from disuse and she couldnt keep her mouth open wide enough for Stoners huge piece. As a result, her teeth scraped his tools underside slightly.
Stoner pulled out in agitation. She doesnt know how to suck cock. Give me a ring gag, he ordered his servant. Jeremiah, as always, was prepared for his masters wishes and complied instantly. Stoner rammed the ring gag home, spreading Cheryls jaws and leaving a hole for his Johnson. The going was better now, smoother, and no teeth. He felt for the back of Cheryls throat with the head of his thick, hot cock. Cheryl started to gag, shuddering and convulsing each time the flow of air was blocked and the tip of Stoners cock pressed past the back of her mouth. She could feel the tip of stoners rigid sex as it edged its way down her throat.
But, Stoner was done quickly. His excitement overtook him and he spilled his seed into Cheryls mouth. He gripped her head firmly as he let the pulse of his ejaculations flow through his body. He felt his power, his mastery of this helpless female, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.
Before he exited Cheryls mouth, Stoner snapped open the hood that concealed Cheryls eyes. She blinked at the harsh light. She could see the hairy stomach that towered over her, feel the now tumescent cock leak the residue of its slimy byproduct. She felt the pressure on her head from Stoners grip. Stoner pushed Cheryls head back, his cock slipping free. He held Cheryls eyelids open with his thumbs and forced her to look him in the face.
Look at me bitch, look real good. You are my property now and youll have to do a lot better at cock sucking than that. Were going to have a lot of fun together and you sure dont want to make me angry.
Cheryls worst fears had been realized. She had been sold to this crude, cruel man. She was to be enslaved to his whims and desires. New York, her job, her apartment, they were all things of the past. A brand new reality was at hand.
Where she was and where she was going, Cheryl had no idea. But this cruel man who had forced his cock down her throat, who had whipped her, was now the master of her destiny. She could hardly imagine the horrors that faced her, but she knew that very soon, she would find out.
Stoner left Cheryl to ponder her fate and returned to his seat and liquid refreshment. He had plans for this cunt. He wistfully thought of the many hours of pleasure he would obtain from her torture and debasement. Ive got to get her oral skills up right away, he thought to himself. But Jeremiah knew how to train bitches. This slave would soon learn how to pleasure her Master or she would suffer terribly for it.
The trick, Stoner knew, was to make the bitch learn that he held the keys to life and death and that death would not be a release, but a long, slow process of unbearable torment. He had the films of prior escapades to prove it and this bitch would soon watch them. She would learn that whatever pain and humiliation she faced as his plaything, the alternative of death could only be reached only by traversing the Golgotha of torments that he was capable of and had inflicted.
Stoner was anxious to get a good look at the rest of his new property, but wanted to wait until he had the proper setting. It was enough now to watch Cheryl moan and strain against her confinement. After zipping his fly and stepping away from the girl, he had signaled Jeremiah to restore the mask and gag. Jeremiah did so quickly and efficiently and strung a line from the ceiling of the cabin to the top of the hood over Cheryls head. Cheryl was stretched upright, her ankles and legs still pinned to the boxs floor. Cheryls head swayed side to side with the movements of the plane and her breasts quivered as she struggled.
Stoner knew that Cheryls hopes of immediate release had been crushed and that she was convulsing with sorrow and disappointment. No matter what she had thought while so long confined, he knew that she had certainly not been prepared for the reception she had just received. Stoner knew his business. He had to have a good handle on the feelings of those he mastered. How else could he maximize his exploitation of them?
Jeremiah was a case in point. Stoner knew that Jeremiah hated him and all white men. But he knew also that Jeremiah enjoyed the domination of white women and liked to watch them suffer. He had allowed Jeremiah an occasional spree with his toys, and they always came back more obedient and pliant than they had been before spending some time with this servant. That was what Jeremiah lived for.
After several hours, the aircraft circled the lake appurtenant to Stoners plantation and began its descent. Once landed, it cruised slowly to dockside. The regular cro
wd was there, servants, slaves really, who worked his fields, maintained his house and, when he wanted them to, even wiped his ass. He was lord here and everyone knew it. Standing at attention was also a small contingent of his mercenary force and its commander, a tall, jet black native, named Kurim.
Every lord needed an army and Stoner had his; three hundred armed men, two attack helicopters, and a more than adequate arsenal of weapons. They patrolled the edges of Stoners empire, enforced his rule and even plundered neighboring villages and towns on his order. The men liked the plunder part and Stoner liked it too. Fear brought control, and it was good to keep the surrounding countryside and those assholes down in the capital in fear. Three hundred well-armed and trained men were more than enough to tip the scales in any internecine struggle in the capital. With his small air force of transports, Stoner could have his men in the capital forty minutes from takeoff. That was plenty to provide support on behalf of his anointed ruler and had a few times.
Stoner had taken advantage of the trip to collect his new female property to stock up on goodies for the plantation. There was plenty of rum and ganja for the men, food, the best of which was destined for his consumption, some gold, some weapons and other odds and ends for his own delight. The laborers commenced unloading the goods while Jeremiah wheeled off the plantations newest guest. Stoner had had Jeremiah replace the sides and top of the box before wheeling Cheryl from the plane. Stoner watched as the black carton was wheeled away from the loading dock and up the small, grassy hill that separated the dock from the buildings of the plantation. He would conclude his welcoming ministrations to his new toy later. For now, his interests shifted to an update of security and other issues from Kurim.
Cheryl was wheeled up the path between the principal residence, the Stoner Mansion, and the outbuildings that lay to its south. Her destination was a single story, whitewashed concrete building that sat about fifty yards from the main building. The box containing the forlorn beauty was brought into the main room of the building, lifted from the floor and set upon a cushioned table in the center of the room.