Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (26 page)

“I guess I’ll have to try and be that man,” the Turk answered her. “It’ll be a big shift for me.”

“You’ve always been that kind of man, Turk,” Nora said. “There was just something broken in you. In me too. But you’ve fixed it. Now we can all lead real lives.”

“But what about the past?” the Turk asked. “How do I make up for what I’ve done, all the misery I’ve caused?”

Matunde answered him. “You have a chance to do a lot of good here, Mr. Temizan. The people respect you. You will help me to manage the vast Stoner properties. It will be my job to make sure that the central government does not impose its rule on this province to the detriment of the people’s rights. I intend to keep my little army in the field. You will have to implement the program of redistribution of wealth here and make provision for education, health care, social stability and justice that these people deserve. That will make you a better man.”

“I hope that you’re right,” the Turk answered.

The following morning, Turk, bedecked in a knee length agbada, a flowing cotton robe with large, loose sleeves, awaited his brides. The garment was ivory white, with a large golden sun embroidered on its front. He wore white cotton slippers and a round, brimless, white hat with a golden stripe around its top. His trousers were baggy, and designed to match the robe and hat.

“You look like an African chief,” Matunde told him as they waited on the veranda for the women to arrive.

“I feel like I’m at a costume party,” Turk replied.

Villagers had turned out from miles around. The cotton workers had organized their native bands and were playing drums and flutes in a seeming myriad of competitions. Matunde was dressed in his finest jungle fatigues, pressed and starched. All of the white overseers had been butchered mercilessly in the days following the revolution, but the new, native foremen, elected by their coworkers, stood in a wide semi-circle dressed in colorful dashikis. The native women who had been serving as the slaves to Stoner’s soldiers were lined up and singing songs with celebratory beats. Turk thought that he caught the song from last night that he had heard, the one about the ‘Stone Slayer’.

The Imam was present, noticeably chastened by the presence of Matunde’s martial guard. His kraal had been looted by the native soldiers, but his life was spared by Matunde at the last minute. A young, black, female head peered out from around the door and laughed. She said something in Kengali to Matunde. He nodded and signaled a small phalanx of riflemen to his left. The beginning of the ceremony was announced by the firing of a volley into the air. A roar went up from the crowd and they closed in on the broad, raised veranda. Matunde waived his arms until they were silent.

When the crowd’s noise was reduced to a mere rumble, Matunde signaled the girl. The door was flung open and the bridal procession appeared. It was led by Dalila, draped in a red and gold kanga, a long, matching scarf in her hair. Her white teeth shined brightly in her smiling face. She carried a large bough of flowers. Behind her were three more native girls, similarly attired. Then the three brides emerged. The women were draped in sparkling white robes, their faces were covered, and only their bright, happy eyes appeared. The robes were pulled tight around them and their graceful hips and slender torsos were well displayed. All the women wore white slippers similar to Turk’s. Cheryl was in the middle. She stepped up first and bowed low to the Turk. Mary and Justine followed suit. The Imam raised his hand for silence and attention.

He spoke loudly in Kengali. Matunde responded. He was giving away the brides. When the Imam spoke again, Matunde nudged the Turk who uttered the only word of Kengali he had been taught, roughly translated as “I do”. The Imam made a pronouncement and the crowd gave a large cheer. The cacophony of music and singing began anew. Turk stepped up to his new wives and, starting with Cheryl, kissed them one by one.

Not long after began what turned into a three day orgy. The first night belonged to the wives. Stoner’s bedroom had been redecorated and the walls were covered with flowers and painted with large, colorful phallic and other fertility designs. When the new family entered the room, the women were dragging Turk along with them, laughing and teasing him. When they entered the bedroom, they asked Turk to stand in the center of the room. As one, the women disrobed and knelt before him, their hands behind their backs, their heads lowered. Cheryl looked up at the Turk and spoke for them.

“Before we consummate this marriage, Tarðk, my sisters have asked me to speak to you about our feelings towards you. We are now your wives under Katangonese law. This means that we are your property, to deal with as you wish. Our bodies and our wills belong to you. You should know that all of us have entered into this marriage with full knowledge of what this means.”

Cheryl paused, a tear running down her face. “We are yours now. We offer ourselves to you completely.”

Turk was visibly moved by Cheryl’s proffer. He reached out his hand and caressed Cheryl’s face. He looked her into her eyes.

“There was never a man who deserved such love less,” he said. “I pledge to you that I will do all that I can to preserve your love and protect you from all harm. I love you, all of you. Please, come and kiss me.”

The women rose as one and kissed their new husband. Then, with expressions of merriment and glee, they pulled Turk over and onto the bed.

They had him stripped quickly and began to devour his flesh. After several weeks of abstinence, the Turk’s loins burned with desire. He felt a hand on his cock and lips on his stomach and chest. Cheryl appeared above him and merged her lips with his. All of the lust and passion that had built in him for this woman charged through him. The kiss seemed the culmination of his heart’s desire. He felt a mouth engulf his rigid pole.

Cheryl broke the kiss and placed her hand on Turk’s face, caressing it lightly. “I want to watch your face while you come,” she said. “And then I want you to make love to me, long and hard.”

Turk could not find any words to respond as Justine’s tongue and lips drew a long, low moan from his lips. Mary was kissing his nipples, her long, auburn hair flowing across his chest. His hand caressed her naked back, running down her graceful torso to her hips. His other hand circled Cheryl’s shoulders as he drew her close to him. When he came, his eyes clouded over and a loud groan came from his throat. Spurt after spurt of creamy fluid pumped into Justine’s hungry mouth. Each throb of his prick sent a wave of pleasure through him.

When his ejaculations had ceased, Justine released his cock from her mouth and crawled up his body. She laid her body on his and placed her lips on his mouth. She kissed him deeply. When she came up for air, she was crying. “Thank you, Tarðk Tamizan, my husband,” she said. “Now it’s my turn,” Cheryl said. Justine slid off of the Turk’s body and the three women pulled him up. Cheryl maneuvered herself under him. He knelt between her knees. Her hands grabbed his turgid meat and began to caress it. The Turk sighed with pleasure as he felt the delicate touch of her fingers. Soon he was erect again and he lowered himself onto Cheryl’s expectant body. She directed his hard cock to her soft folds. Her lower lips were engorged and distended in anticipation of his penetration.

When he entered her, Cheryl moaned.

It was all that the Turk had dreamt about. His mouth found hers and he began to gently rock his hips, relishing every moment of sensation, as his manhood was caressed by Cheryl’s inner flesh. Mary and Justine lay on either side of the feverish pair, pressing their bodies against them. Their hands extended over Turk’s back and joined. As the Turk seemingly probed deeper and deeper inside her, Cheryl’s lust rose higher and higher. Her hands circled the Turk’s neck as she pulled his lips firmly onto hers. Their tongues wrestled madly together.

Cheryl held herself back from completion as long as she could. She was waiting for the Turk’s eruption before she would permit her passion to overwhelm her. Finally, she could hold off no more. Wave after wave of ecstasy flowed through her as her pussy throbbed and contracted around the Turk’s thick, stiff manhood.

Cheryl’s orgasm triggered Turk’s moment of crisis. “Ohhhhh,” he groaned, as his cock released his sperm deep within her womb. Cheryl felt the throbbing cock inside her as her pleasurable contractions continued unabated. She gripped Turk fiercely as she thrust her hips against his. She was laughing and crying at the same time. Turk’s discharge inside her seemed to cleanse her, to wash away the traces of the spunk that had been pumped inside her by cruel and callous men for the last seven months. She felt renewed, born again. As the pulses in her hot sheath subsided, she kissed the Turk once more and thanked him, as Justine had, her voice soft, her eyes brimming with tears. Thank you, Tarðk Tamizan, my husband,” she said.

The lovers lay listlessly in each other’s arms. They were sandwiched by Cheryl’s sisters and co-wives. After a few moments of blissful rest, Mary spoke up. “Hey,” she said. “It’s my turn.”

All through the night, the quartet of lovers joined together and broke apart again. Turk watched, while his reserves of passion were recharging, as his wives kissed and caressed each other. He ploughed the orifices proffered to him, rejoicing in their warmth. He used his hot tongue to caress breasts and cunts to the excruciating delight of their owners.

When morning came, the four were sleeping, still intertwined, the sheets long ago discarded. As the sun was breaching the eastern mountaintop, the door to the bedroom creaked open. Three naked women, carrying trays filled with coffee and piled over with colorful fruit, crept into the room. They placed the trays on the floor and joined the lovers on the bed. It was Cheryl who stirred first. As she lazily raised her head, she saw Denise’s expectant face above hers. Nora had crept into the bed on the other side along with the beautiful black girl, Dalila. Cheryl smiled at her sister. “Welcome,” she said.

Denise, a tear in her eye lowered her lips to Cheryl’s. Cheryl’s lips parted and accepted Denise’s tongue. They embraced each other firmly, their breasts pressed together, their hips meeting. Denise’s moan woke the Turk. When he stirred, Justine and Mary awoke. Mary put her arms around Dalila and hugged her. Justine reached for Nora’s hand. Cheryl and Denise broke their kiss. The Turk placed his hand on Denise’s head and caressed it slowly. His eyes were soft, his expression sad.

“How can I please you, Denise? What can I do so that you will forgive me?”

A gleam sparkled in Denise’s eye. She reached for the Turk’s rising cock. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “This mouth is made for fucking,” she said. She lowered her head and engulfed the Turk’s thick, hot manhood with her lips.

Also by Paul Blades…

The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured

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