The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured

by Paul Blades

  When Jeremiah returned, he unceremoniously released all of the women from their bonds. After removing the gags from Justine and Mary, he paused to address them. “This is Cheryl, your new sister. Kiss her and welcome her.”

  The two women crawled the short distance to where Cheryl knelt. Justine kissed her first, not a light buss on the lips as Cheryl expected, but a deep passionate kiss. She placed her hand on the surprised woman’s breast and pressed her lips firmly on hers. Justine’s other hand circled Cheryl’s waist and drew her towards her. Her tongue darted into Cheryl’s mouth, teasing the inside of her lips.

  Cheryl felt herself melting. She had never kissed a woman before, not like this. But instead of revulsion, she felt warmth and passion. Her cunt began to lubricate and tingle. Mary kissed her next, placing her lush, ruby red lips on hers and thrusting her tongue deeply into her mouth. Cheryl felt Mary’s ample breasts press against her own. The feeling was electric, as if sparks of pleasure was passing between them. When Mary released her, Cheryl was panting for breath, her pussy afire.

  Jeremiah paused for a moment and then grabbed Justine by the arm. To Mary he said, “Make her come with your mouth.”

  He pulled Justine to her feet and led her to one of the beds. As he pushed her down to fuck her, Mary stroked Cheryl’s face and smiled tenderly. She pushed Cheryl to her back on the floor and took one of her teats in her mouth. Cheryl moaned as Mary administered a long, soothing bite. Her hand found Cheryl’s steaming cleft and, separating the engorged lips, pressed inside. Cheryl moaned as the hand enflamed her. Slowly, Mary dragged her hot lips down Cheryl’s tummy to the fevered gash below. Her long, bright, orange brown hair flowed around the body of the supine girl as she insinuated herself between Cheryl’s legs. Spreading them widely, she pushed her tongue deep into Cheryl’s cunt, drawing a loud sigh from her.

  Cheryl grabbed the head that was pleasuring her and began to rock her hips. In the background she could hear Justine’s moans as Jeremiah took his pleasure with her. Mary’s practiced lips drove Cheryl closer and closer to orgasm. When the throws of her passion seized her, Cheryl cried out.

  The two women lay supine and entangled as they waited for Jeremiah to finish his pleasure with Justine. Unlike Stoner, who sought his pleasure quickly and violently, Jeremiah luxuriated in his possession of a woman’s body, especially that of a white woman. That was not to say that he did not also enjoy the infliction of pain, as Cheryl had already found out. He considered his sexual domination of the white female slaves just as important as his physical, violent domination of them. Thus, he was the source of both pleasure and pain.

  Jeremiah came with a long, drawn out moan. Justine was coming too and her cries resounded throughout the room. When he was done, he climbed off of the bed and ordered Justine to the floor. “You will tell her what she needs to know,” he reminded them. “If she breaks a rule, I will whip you all.”

  After Jeremiah left, Justine and Mary embraced. Mary was crying and Justine soothed her with calm, soft words.

  “Oh, Justine,” Mary sobbed, “I was so scared. I’m sorry for Sara, but I couldn’t face being sent to a whorehouse.”

  “There, there,” Justine comforted her in heavily accented English. “It’s all over now. We’ll be safe for a while.”

  Justine looked up at Cheryl who was taken aback at the sudden show of emotion between the two young women. She too began to sob. She cried for herself and she cried for the poor young woman who had been sent away and who undoubtedly would suffer extreme anguish this very evening. But Mary was right, she was glad it was Sara and not her.

  Justine finally calmed Mary and, releasing her, spoke to Cheryl. “My name is Justine and this is Mary. What is your name?”

  Cheryl told her. Justine crept over to Cheryl and wrapped her arms around her. “I know it’s hard. But believe me, there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re here and you will stay here until Stoner decides to send you to the capital. He is a mean prick and he will make you suffer. But he is away a lot and, since there’s three of us, his attention is usually divided.”

  “B-but,” Cheryl stuttered, her voice cracking, “how can he do this? I, I can’t believe what’s happening to me. I don’t want to be a sex slave. I want to go home.” Cheryl’s tears began anew. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed heartily. The anomalous scene she had just witnessed, the memory of her brutal treatment the night before, and the casual but intense sexual experiences of the last twenty-four hours were causing a type of sensory overload. Cheryl did not doubt the reality of the bruises and lacerations that her body bore first from Stoner’s and then Jeremiah’s whips. She could not dispel the reality of the invasions of her body by these cruel men, nor the delight of Mary’s energetic and experienced lips. But yet her mind could not accept that she was really here, somewhere, apparently, in Africa, and was condemned to spend the rest of her life as sexual property.

  Mary joined the two women and the three embraced each other. “Cheryl, believe me,” she said in her Irish lilt, “you have to forget your old life. It’s gone forever. We’re hundreds of miles from anywhere and Stoner owns us. But we have each other. That’s something.”

  Cheryl nodded tearfully. At least she was not alone. She couldn’t bear it if she was alone.

  Justine began to tell Cheryl about the rules. Her accent was heavy, but her English was clear. “First thing is that you can never speak when he or Jeremiah are around. In fact, we can really only speak when we are in this room and neither of them is present. If either of them hears you speak outside of this room, you’ll be beaten.”

  Cheryl nodded her understanding.

  “You have to remain always open to being raped by him. Whenever you see him, you must put you hand in your pussy and begin to make yourself wet. If he goes to fuck you and you’re not wet, you’ll be punished. Jeremiah lets us grease up our behinds so that when Stoner wants to fuck us there we’ll be ready. I don’t know if Stoner is aware of that or not. He is oblivious to anything beside his own pleasure.”

  Mary interjected, her Irish lilt obvious in her voice. “And you always have to call him Master. Yes Master this and yes Master that. Never, ever, ever say the word ‘no’, even if that is the answer. Always think of something else.”

  The idea of making herself wet for that cruel bastard revolted Cheryl. But she knew that’s what she would do.

  “And you must never open a door. If the doors to a room are shut, you must remain there,” Mary added.

  Justine continued, “Tomorrow there will be a ceremony. You will be married to him. We are all his wives.”

  Cheryl registered shock.

  “Yes, his wives,” Justine said. “Under Muslim law he is permitted tree wives. And under Muslim law, at least here, he can do anything he wants to us. First he will divorce Sara. You must not say anything! Nothing! Its all in Arabic anyway, so you will not understand it.”

  Her unfortunate circumstances became more surreal by the minute. Married to that cruel man, Cheryl thought, what could be worse?

  Cheryl was told how she would attend dinner with Stoner when he was here. And she was told that she must obey everything that Jeremiah said. He would make her fuck some of the African officers and she was not to ever say anything about it to Stoner. Jeremiah was the real ruler of Stoner’s harem and he would make her suffer horribly if he wanted to.

  “What do you do all day when no one’s fucking you?” Cheryl asked.

  “Mostly we sit around and wait,” Mary answered. “Jeremiah has us exercise every day, but most of the time we spend in here. Frankly, we fuck each other a lot. It helps pass the time and, since sexual pleasure is the only comfort that we have, we get it when we can.”

  “And now” Justine said, caressing Cheryl’s breast, “I want to fuck you. When I’m done, you can lick my cunt, and then Mary’s.”

  ***

  Sara had been sitting on the horse for three hours when Stoner finally appeared in the Discipline Room. The Horse was a wooden construct built so that the apex of the wooden triangle that served as its seat was
firmly planted in the sex of the victim. Sara had sat impaled, her feet drawn up, her hands chained over her head. The pain became excruciating after about twenty minutes. Her head was encased in leather, a gag in her mouth. So she heard, rather than saw, Stoner enter. While her present position was the cause of extreme pain and discomfort to her, Sara knew that Stoner’s presence could only mean the intensification of her torture. Unwillingly, the frightened girl began to whimper.

  She heard Stoner cross the room and stand a few feet away. She could sense him standing before her, admiring the product of his callous orders. She heard him fumbling with something and then heard the unmistakable ‘whoosh’ of a swinging cane. She had no time to react or to prepare herself for the blow. It struck her across the breasts, drawing a muffled scream of anguish. The pain was exquisite. Her delicate breasts burned where she had been struck. “Thwack!” Another blow landed, striking the frail girl across both of her nipples. Her muffled scream was music to Stoner’s ears. Stoner landed seven strokes of the cane on her tiny mounds, each one causing an immediate welt. Each time the cane landed, Sara sobbed and cried out into her gag.

  When Stoner was done addressing Sara’s tits, he crossed the back of the horse so that he could strike Sara from the rear. While the landing of the cane on her breasts had caused a thumping sound, a resonance from Sara’s chest, the blows on her back produced a hard ‘crack!’ each time. Sara was blubbering behind her mask and gag, praying that he would soon tire of his torment of her. She struggled to free herself from her bonds, frantically seeking to avoid the searing pain. Stoner put extra emphasis on the last blow, causing a long wailing moan to escape from behind the gag.

  But Stoner was not finished. He stood on a stool and released the girl’s hands from the chain and then released her feet. He pulled her from the horse and tied her hands in front of her. Pushing her to the cold, rough concrete floor, he fixed cuffs around her ankles and snapped chains into rings embedded in the coarse, thick leather. With some effort, he pulled on the chains, lifting Sara’s feet, her head and hands draping across the rough, cool cement floor.

  Sara was now upside down, her legs spread in a “V”. She had no doubt what was next and she cringed and whined anticipating her further abuse. Again, she heard the ‘whoosh’ of the cane as Stoner brought it down directly on her sex. Her body convulsed with the pain and her moans became more like a roar. Six more times the cane bit into her cunt and each time Sara jerked and shuddered as a result of the excruciating blows. She tried to reach up to protect the already bruised and sore lips, but it only earned her sharp, painful blows to her hands and fingers.

  Stoner had built up a heavy sweat with his exertions. The room, in fact the whole house, was air-conditioned, power being supplied by Stoner’s own generator. But even cool, the room was drenched in humidity, and the least effort produced a cascade of perspiration. He wiped his face and forehead with a handkerchief as he admired his handiwork. The girl too was sweating. Perspiration dripped down her tortured body in a virtual stream. The glistening sheen accented the red marks left behind by the cane.

  Although Stoner’s whip had been stilled, Sara continued moaning and twisting in her chains. “Yes,” Stoner thought, “she is a good one. She’ll be a good earner in my whorehouse in the capital.”

  Stoner had yet not said a single word to Sara. He had no need to. He cared not a whit what Sara felt or knew or understood. All he cared for was his pleasure in causing her pain. It was the feeling of mastery and power that he sought. She was a mere object of his needs; faceless, voiceless.

  The merciless man now stripped, removing his heavy boots and pulling off his khaki shirt and shorts. Naked, he grabbed Sara’s joined hands and tied them to a third chain. Pulling the chain, he lifted the front of her body so that she was now parallel to the floor, her legs akimbo, her sex and rear exposed for his use. Beating a woman always made him hard and this time was no exception. He stepped between the still moaning girl’s legs and paused, unsure which aperture to use. He decided that slamming his cock into the girl’s abused pussy would give him the most pleasure and rammed his piece home in Sara’s wet sheath. She was wet, mercifully, because she was trained to be wet. Months of abuse interspersed with caresses had produced a Pavlovian reaction in her. This was mostly Jeremiah’s doing, as he was assiduous in melting the line between pleasure and pain for his charges.

  Stoner pounded away at the gaping hole of Sara’s cunt. Each time his hips collided with hers, his pelvis striking at the lips of the girl’s vagina, he brought a new wave of suffering to her. As Justine had said, he was quick, and it was not long before he jetted his spunk into the girl’s recesses. He moaned and groaned as he came.

  Stoner left Sara strung up and dangling. Before leaving he attached painful clips to her nipples and the lips of her cunt. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

  Dinner was at 7 P.M. and Stoner went up to his room to shower. Jeremiah entered the women’s bedroom to make sure that they readied themselves for the meal. They dined nightly with Stoner, a macabre imitation of family life. Jeremiah told Justine and Mary to dress. He told Cheryl to lie on the bed. He went into the bathroom and returned with a bowl of hot water, some soap and a shaving brush.

  Cheryl had made note of the hairless sexes of her two companions and had wondered whether she would be shaved. Jeremiah provided the answer as he lathered up her ample bush and began to stroke the hair away. When he was done, Cheryl’s sex was as hairless as her face. The sensation was odd and made Cheryl feel more naked than ever. The tall, menacing black man stroked the smooth skin. Cheryl was mesmerized as he spread her lips apart and manipulated her to wetness. She had already come twice since she had been brought to the women’s boudoir and was surprised to feel her loins begin to grow warm again with incipient lust. She watched as Jeremiah’s fingers entered her, his black hand in stark contrast to her hairless, pink skin.

  The two other women had donned their evening-wear and were standing next to the bed observing the tableau. Their dresses were a mockery of decency as the necklines passed below their breasts and the skirts cut away at the tummy to reveal their hairless slits. Justine was dressed in a fiery red dress with puffed sleeves and a hemline to her ankles. Mary’s dress was a deep satin green, knee length with satin straps that ascended from the bodice to around her neck. Her shoulders and neck were bare. Both women wore matching high heels.

  Cheryl was beginning to pant with passion when Jeremiah abandoned his efforts and told her to stand. Cheryl’s yearning for release was frustrated and she realized that the slavemaster’s goal was to raise her passions, but no more than that. Her hopes that she would be permitted clothing, even if it left her sexual organs exposed, were dashed when Jeremiah told her to turn around and tied her hands behind her back.

  Jeremiah opened the door to the bedroom and stood as the three women walked into the hallway. He led them down a long, wide, winding staircase with dark mahogany balustrades. It emptied out into the foyer of the mansion, a high-ceilinged, wood paneled room. Freakish and garish African masks spanned the walls as well as painted, leather covered, warrior’s shields.

  The mansion was a busy place. As Cheryl descended the staircase, she saw the native women and an occasional native man dashing about, either preparing their Master’s dinner table or hoping to escape his notice. They were all clothed, the women in tight, colorful cotton shifts that accentuated their slender stomachs and wide hips. The shifts were low cut so that the tops of their bosoms were exposed. The men wore Western attire, black pants and vests with ruffled white shirts. Cheryl was hotly embarrassed to be walking among these seemingly ubiquitous natives without a stitch of clothing. Her undressed state advertised her as the Master’s new whore. Would she have to fuck in front of them too?

  The three women were led to the front of the foyer, close to the front door. Cheryl watched as, without further instruction, Justine and Mary knelt. Following their example, Cheryl knelt too. From her vantage point on the far left of the three she watched as the two other wome
n reached inside the slits in their dresses and began to finger their sexes. They would be wet when their master arrived.

  Jeremiah stood over Cheryl and withdrew a long, thick object from his robes. It was attached to a leather belt. Cheryl saw that it was shaped like a penis and had a button on the end. Jeremiah fastened the belt around Cheryl’s waist and then slowly, but firmly, introduced the dildo into her cunt. Cheryl was still lubricated from Jeremiah’s prior efforts and the hard, plastic member slid easily in. A thin strap led from the dildo up the crack of her ass and was tied off at the belt around her waist. When he was satisfied that it was firmly attached to the belt, Jeremiah pushed the button on the end and the dildo sprang into life.

  The buzzing sensation in her pussy surprised Cheryl. She had never been brazen enough to use a dildo inside her. She had mostly limited its application to the lips of her sex and the button of pleasure above. It was not possible to ignore the buzzing and it caused a tingling all throughout her pussy. Now, she too would be wet down there when the Master arrived.

  It did not take long. Cheryl heard the sound of heavy boots on the porch outside and then saw the door swing open. Stoner was dressed in khaki slacks as before, but now wore a billowing silken shirt, splashed with colorful African flowers. He halted briefly in front of his women before heading to the dining room. He stroked Cheryl’s left breast softly, admiring it. “I’ll have fun sucking on this baby tonight, honey,” he said.

  As Stoner strode towards the dining room, Jeremiah had the three woman rise and follow. Stoner had paused at a large bowl of water held by a male servant and washed his hands. When he had dried off, he sat at the head of a long, cloth covered table. The dining room was painted a pale green and was at least 20’ long. The rug was a bit darker and the walls were covered with massive paintings of various extraordinary and scenic views of the African continent. Justine and Mary located themselves to either side of Stoner and looking towards him, received his blessing to sit.