The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured

by Paul Blades

  Jeremiah proceeded to release Cheryl from her bindings. She needed his support to stand as her bodily strength had been depleted by her ordeal. When she had steadied herself, Jeremiah stepped back from her. He had picked up a short rattan cane. He pressed it under Cheryl’s chin. “Stand up straight,” he ordered her in his deep, melodious voice. Cheryl stiffened her body as best she could. She was trembling with fear.

  As he slowly circled the forlorn woman, Jeremiah spoke softly, but sternly to her. “White lady, you are now a slave. My name is Jeremiah and while Bwana Stoner is your owner, I am your real master. You will see me every day as long as you are here. I will tell you when to eat, when to sleep and when to spread your legs for my cock.”

  Cheryl was taking in but barely believing what her ears were hearing. She followed Jeremiah with her eyes as he strolled around her, tapping the cane in his hand. She dared not move or speak for fear of incurring his wrath.

  “Put your hands on your head,” Jeremiah spat out. Cheryl complied instantly. Her breasts rose as she raised her arms and placed the palms of her hands on the top of her skull. Jeremiah’s free hand was now caressing her body as he spoke to her.

  “You will obey me in all things. You must obey Bwana Stoner and please him. He is cruel and barbarous, but it is I who will punish you for any failings. You will forget everything about your former life. That life is dead. You must now think only of how to avoid my whip.”

  At this, Cheryl whimpered. Her past life was dead! Who was she then? What would become of her? How long would she spend in this hell?

  Jeremiah continued. “I am going to give you ten strokes of my cane.” Cheryl’s whimper became an audible whine.

  “Silence!” Jeremiah called out sharply. Startled, Cheryl forced herself to suppress her expressions of misery.

  “I am going to give you ten strokes of my cane,” Jeremiah continued. “And you will remain silent and you will remain still. If you move or cry out, I will start again. You will not leave this room until you have taken ten strokes in absolute silence and obedience. Do you understand, white woman?”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, Cheryl nodded her understanding. Ten strokes! How could she bear it?

  “And then I am going to fuck you, white woman. And you will fuck me back.”

  Cheryl heard the whistle of the cane before she felt it. Jeremiah had struck her across her buttocks with a fierce blow. All of her wanted to scream out in pain. She wanted to run to the corner of the room to escape, even temporarily, her fate. But she held. She jammed her eyes shut and prayed.

  As he slowly circled the trembling, naked white woman, Jeremiah took his time in administering the promised blows. He struck hard at the bruised orbs that rose high on Cheryl’s chest. He struck her in the back of the thighs, and then the front, across her stomach and back. Each time a jolt of searing pain coursed through Cheryl, and each time, drawing on all of her strength and fear, Cheryl remained still and silent.

  When the tenth blow was struck, Cheryl issued a piteous sigh of relief.

  “You have done well, white slut. You surprised me. But understand that the next time I beat you will be a punishment. And then you will not be able to hold back your screams and pleas. Remember that I have told you this.”

  Cheryl’s hands were still on top of her head. She had clutched her fingers into her hair to fortify herself while Jeremiah was beating her. She gripped harder at Jeremiah’s words. She understood all too well.

  Jeremiah directed Cheryl to a mattressed platform in the corner of the room. It was covered with a tightly fitted, brown cotton sheet. There was a round, cloth covered bolster at the head. Cheryl knew that she was going to suffer another rape, but she was committed to avoiding further pain.

  She was ordered to kneel while Jeremiah disrobed. His skin was as black as the night and covered with a fine sheen of sweat from his exertions. Cheryl observed his heavily muscled body with fear and a strange desire. She had never been fucked by a black man and if she had to be fucked, she preferred this finely sculpted flesh, dark or not, to Stoner’s flabby physique and his malicious touch.

  The tall, black man stood beside the bed. “Take my cock in your mouth, white slut,” he ordered. “And caress your cunt. If you are not wet and soft when I decide to enter you, I will beat you again.”

  Jeremiah’s flaccid cock dangled before Cheryl’s face. She had never seen an uncircumcised penis before and its sleek shape took her by surprise. But she did not hesitate to follow Jeremiah’s instructions. Steadying the thick, black meat with one hand, she spread her jaws wide and engulfed it with her mouth. Her other hand descended to the slash between her thighs and began to desperately rub the nub of pleasure at its apex.

  Jeremiah’s sex swelled in Cheryl’s mouth. He placed his hand on the back of her head and drove his cock deep within. Stoner was wrong, Jeremiah thought to himself, this girl did know how to suck cock.

  As Jeremiah languorously enjoyed the ministrations of Cheryl’s tongue and lips, Cheryl found her passion begin to rise. Her lower lips engorged and spread. She slid her fingers inside herself and moaned.

  Knowing that she was ready, Jeremiah pushed the now panting woman from his cock and onto her back. He knelt between her thighs and unceremoniously stabbed his cock at her sex. Cheryl gasped as she felt the walls of her cunt spread and the friction of the fat, hard penis against them. Her thighs were spread wide and, digging her heels into the mattress, she began to pump back at the thrusting cock.

  Jeremiah was riding Cheryl hard. He thrust himself deep inside her, then withdrew almost the length of his hot instrument and pressed himself home again. He could feel Cheryl’s heat and knew that she was close. He placed his hands on either side of her head and pried her tightly clasped eyelids open with his thumbs. She stared up at him, a wild and desperate look in her eyes. Jeremiah then pushed his tongue past Cheryl’s lips and filled her mouth.

  Cheryl’s first orgasm was closely followed by a second. Her cries and moans were suppressed by the mouth of her assailant. As she rose to her third throbbing climax, she felt Jeremiah stiffen and heard his unmistakable moan. As her pussy was flooded with his hot cum, Cheryl exploded in almost painful pleasure.

  Jeremiah lay still, his weight upon the panting female. She was a passionate bitch and would earn him much gold from Stoner’s officers and neighboring tribal chieftains. She would also give him much pleasure.

  Slowly, Jeremiah rose to his knees and regained his feet. Cheryl lay on the mattress, her legs still splayed, her cunt dripping Jeremiah’s cum.

  “Get up, slut,” Jeremiah commanded.

  Cheryl scrambled to her feet at the harsh command from this looming hulk. She feared his whip. It was incongruous to her that, after a intensely pleasurable fuck, the man was so quickly harsh and cold. She would have to get used to it.

  Tapping Cheryl on the ass with his cane, Jeremiah urged her over to a small steel cage. He tied her wrists behind her and reaffixed the harsh wooden gag. Opening a door to the cage he ordered her to get in.

  The cage was a three by three square. It had a padded base, but only shiny steel, thick gage rods on its tops and sides running vertically and horizontally. The door was one of the sides and folded down from the top.

  Cheryl was put off by the command to enter this tiny prison. She could only fit if she scrunched herself up into a small ball. She pleaded with Jeremiah with her eyes. His response was a sharp crack of the cane across her rear, drawing a screech of startled pain from the bound and gagged woman. Tearfully, Cheryl lowered herself to her knees and crawled into the cage. She rested her knees and feet on the padded bottom and folded her torso against her thighs.

  Seeing that the female had squeezed herself into the cage, Jeremiah closed the door and locked it shut. Cheryl was now most cruelly confined. Jeremiah enjoyed the forlorn look of dismay on her face. Smiling, he stepped away and, leaving the harsh light of the room on, left the dungeon, slamming the door closed behind him.

  Cheryl’s discomfort was extreme. Her body
burned from her beatings. She could feel the products of Stoners and Jeremiah’s cocks leaking from her ravaged slit. Being again cruelly confined pressed home to her the desperateness of her plight. She began to cry. As she peered out through the bars of her cage she contemplated fearfully what pain, abuse and torture her future held.

  Part Three

  The Turk’s Remorse

  The Turk was sitting in an overstuffed easy chair. His eyes were glued to the activity of the naked young woman kneeling on the bed in front of him. Her ass was raised and her legs were spread. At the Turk’s instructions, she was busily stroking her hairless cunt, probing it’s now juicy interior with her fingers. Her breath was labored. But the Turk’s mind was somewhere else.

  His mind was on Cheryl. For all that he had tried, he could not shake the memory of her, the tender moment he had share with her in her apartment, the moment before he cruelly boxed her and sent her to her fate. He had viewed the tape he made of her many times since that evening along with the still pictures he had made. He had, as usual, added them to his collection, locked and stored away in a self-destruct program on his computer. He knew he shouldn’t keep them, but if he ever got caught, it would be in the act and he would be up shit’s creek anyway. He was haunted by the poses of the young woman Cheryl, poses he had forced her into, the look of distress in her eyes, the tears that glistened there.

  For the fourth time this month he was visiting the cathouse belonging to Nora. She was known to the world only as Nora, last names being an unnecessary risk for all in their profession. It was located in the Nevada desert, about two hours outside of Reno. The building was a three story house, large enough for the ten or so “bedrooms” necessary for her trade. But the basement portion of the premises was something else indeed. In the basement were ‘workers’ who catered to a special clientele. Men like Turk. Men who wanted only the services of an abject female and the right to do with her body what they wished. In this basement, all was permitted.

  Normally, Nora kept three or four girls down there. Some were whores who had been duped into working at Nora’s whorehouse, only to find themselves prisoners kept under lock and key. Some were strays, picked up in bars or hitchhiking by Nora’s ‘agents’, who cruised for them. Some, like the girl on the bed kneeling before the Turk, had been kidnapped especially for the purpose of serving here.

  Turk did not know, or care to know, her name. He had shown up at Nora’s, morose and angry. His was angry at himself for permitting himself to have an emotional moment with a piece of merchandise. He was angry at Cheryl, too, for drawing this feeling out of him. Now, he was angry at this girl for existing here in bondage.

  Suddenly, as if having been awaiting a cue, Turk stood up from his chair and approached the whore on the bed. Since he too was naked, he was able to quickly address his cock to the tiny puckered star of her rear end. As he expected, the girl relaxed her muscles and allowed him entry.

  “Keep stroking your pussy,” he commanded as he began to push in and out of the tight hole with abandon. Each forward thrust resulted in a grunt from the girl below him, as his thighs slapped fiercely against her ass. The tight ring of her sphincter rode up and down his cock like a pair of pursed lips, while his cock reveled in the floating warmth of her bowels. Turk began to cry out as his moment of release quickly approached.

  “Arghhhh ” he cried out, his voice deep, his rage evident. “Arghhhh ”

  Finally he could hold back no more and he shot his fluids deep into the young woman’s body. Her grunts now became soft cries now as she too crested the wave of passion. Turk called out one last time, raising his voice to a roar, “Arghhhhh!”

  He was spent now. Drained. The anger was sated, for now. He pulled his cock from its warm embedment and gave the woman a curt order, “Clean me.”

  The young woman quickly circled around and placed her mouth on Turk’s diminishing manhood. The determined, hot force on his cock was in sharp contrast to the expansive warmth of the girl’s rear end. Her tongue moved over the head of his penis and then her mouth descended to the base of his shaft. Turk felt himself rising again. But he put a stop to that. He’d had enough for now.

  He pushed the woman’s head off his cock and began to look for his clothes. He donned them quickly, silently. The whip he had used on the girl earlier was lying on the floor. He grabbed it to place it back on the mounting on the wall. Seeing the whip again in this brute’s hand made the girl cringe. A little whinny escaped her mouth. She knew better than to beg to be spared the lash or the cane. She had been taught well by Nora, who had a mean streak of her own.

  The Turk ignored the girl as he placed the whip on the wall. He then grabbed the girl by her hair and pulled her off of the bed. He locked the bracelets she was wearing together in front of her and affixed them to her collar. He then, in turn, affixed the collar to a small chain that descended from the ceiling in the corner of the room. He stood back, observing the girl, as if for the first time. She was pretty. Lovely curves, plump, firm breasts. Only the dried tears on her cheeks spoiled the picture of a young woman at prayer. Her eyes bored into him, asking, “Was I good? Did I satisfy?” For she knew that a complaint about her subservience or her enthusiasm would bring a long, excruciating punishment.

  She was good. A good slave. A good whore. Turk absentmindedly stroked her hair. “Good, good,” he cooed. The girl’s eyes melted a little in gratitude. She would not be punished. Turk left.

  Using his club member key, he let himself into the elevator that was the only ‘public’ means of entry and exit from this dungeon. He stepped out on the first floor, and walked into the ‘client’ area. Two cowboys were ogling three hookers dressed in teddies. A blonde, a redhead and a brunette, one white, one Hispanic, one black. Variety was the spice of life. These urban cowboys were typical of Nora’s upstairs clientele, mostly eager young kids looking for a moment or two with a comely lass so they could push a little and then squirt. Fastest cock in the West. They had bottles of beer in their hands.

  Turk wondered briefly at what the regular girls thought about Nora’s downstairs club. They must have noticed men coming and going on the elevator. Meals had to be served to the inmates, bedclothes cleaned, female necessities taken care of. But then, Nora’s reputation as a mean, rabid enforcer was probably enough to stifle any questions that these girls had. And quite right too.

  Nora espied Turk passing through the hallway and motioned for him to join her in her suite. Turk crossed the room and passed through a door marked ‘Private’. The door led to a large, sky blue carpeted room, white walls, with two sofas and two easy chairs. The suite had a bedroom in the back and a small kitchen. The walls were decorated with various prints of nude women, mostly by famous artists. There were a few originals from lesser known lights. Nora loved her work and worshiped the female form. The only clue, however, to her deeper, darker sympathies was a small statuette of a young woman in submissive pose, naked, her arms folded behind her, her eyes looking up, pleading.

  “Turk, why the glum look? Everything satisfactory downstairs? You didn’t leave my little girl all messed up now, did you? If you did, it’ll cost you more you know.”

  Turk chuckled lightly. “No, she’s all in one piece. She was fine, a nice piece of ass. Very enthusiastic.”

  “Well, I’ll take that as a complement to my training. Sit down, have a drink.”

  The Turk sat down on the sofa facing the door, an old habit from his days as an enforcer. It’s hard to shoot a man in the back when he was looking at you. Nora brought over a large gin on ice. “The usual, Turk?”

  “Sure,” Turk replied. “Thanks.”

  “I’m glad you liked Molly. She’s a good piece of meat. Her boyfriend turned her over to us because he found out that she was cheating on him. I didn’t have to pay even a nickel for her. In fact we charged the asshole $15,000 to dump her where no one would ever find her. He thinks she’s dead.” Nora laughed in obvious glee over her little coup.

  “I’ve got Carlos coming up next week to take a look at her,” Nora continu
ed. “I think she’ll do well in a Mexican whorehouse, don’t you?”

  Turk bridled at the reference to the girl’s future. “Frankly, Nora, I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to that slut, no offense.” He voice had begun large, but ended calmer, more in control. But Nora had spotted it.

  “I thought I saw something when you came in. Four times this month you’ve been here. And I must say that the last time you really left that black haired beauty down there in quite bad shape. I know you paid for the privilege, but that’s just not you.”

  Turk replied, “Well, yeah, I’ve got something on my mind. A girl I packaged a few weeks ago. I can’t get her out of my head.”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  “No. You know me better than that. I don’t fuck the ones meant for the high rollers. They want them pristine. Not like you, who’ll take anything with two legs and a cunt.”

  “Oh, cut it out, Turk. You know my standards are a little higher than that. I did reject those two that Paulie sent me a couple of weeks ago. Too broad in the hoof, you know. He didn’t want them back either so right now they’re on a slow boat to China.”

  Turk took a large gulp of his gin. “Profit where you can find it,” he muttered.

  “Oh, cut the crap, Turk. So you got a little hooked on one of the products. You’re only human. These things happen. Everyone gets a pang now and then. Even I, well, almost, once ”

  “Listen I don’t want any psychotherapy,” Turk interrupted her reverie. “I just gotta get this cunt out of my head, that’s all.”

  “Listen, what I think is that you need a new project, something to fill your mind. Once you see a new girl bagged and sold, you’ll begin to think of this one like all the rest, merchandise. Foolish women who didn’t know how to protect themselves.”

  “Yeah, a new project .that sounds right. I’ve been avoiding it, but a new job might just do the trick,” the Turk responded.