Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (8 page)

But when Jeremiah returned, he held a three foot long leather strap. Small metal rings were attached at either end. He turned and faced Justine, his back to Cheryl, obscuring her view. He showed Justine what he had in his other hand. It was a large, thin fishing hook, with a barbed end and a sharp, pointy tip. Justine watched with bewilderment as he threaded the hook onto the end of the strap. With shock she watched as the harsh man grabbed her tongue and deftly pushed the tip of the hook through it.

“Aaaarrrrrrgh!” she cried. The hook sent a literally piercing pain through the woman’s mouth. Blood poured from the wound. Jeremiah smiled at the wailing wench. She would remember this day, he thought.

The ruthless man turned and faced Cheryl. She had not seen the cause of Justine’s anguished cry and her continuing violent moans, but she had heard them clearly. Something remarkably painful had been done to the blonde girl and was about to happen to her. She started to grimace and cry. Her tongue flapped helplessly outside of her mouth. Her hands were tied behind her, rendering resistance futile. She saw Jeremiah thread the strap through a small ring soldered to the top of the bar. He then presented her with the end of the strap in one hand and the shiny, pointy device in the other. Cheryl realized what was to be done with the hook and started to cry.

Jeremiah slapped her across the breasts. “You should have thought of this before you refused the Master!” he raged at her. “You’re a worthless white cunt!”

The vicious slap had stung Cheryl’s breasts and left a mark of red where the hand had landed. All of her wanted to flee. The reality of what this man was about to do to her was so macabre that it was almost unbelievable. She tried to beg for mercy, but, with her tongue extended, her voice sounded more like a gurgle than words. Jeremiah threaded the steel device through the end of the strap and then grabbed Cheryl by the tongue. He deftly slipped the hook through the meaty flesh. Cheryl echoed her sister slave’s strenuous lament. “Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh!” she cried, dancing on her feet, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Jeremiah paused and let the girls take in each other’s distorted faces. The strap hung loosely over the bar. The callous man stepped back and pulled on a chain that was hooked onto the wall. It caused the bar to rise slowly. The women panicked as they realized that they were about to be hung by their tongues. Blood running down their mouths, they wailed plaintively. At first, the only effect was to take up the slack in the strap. But after a moment, the bar rose high enough that the girls were first drawn closer to the bar and then, gradually, their tongues extended upwards. When the women were stretched to their full heights, frantically trying to assuage the pressure on their tongues, the chain was halted and set fast against the wall.

Jeremiah waited a moment, enjoying the spectacle of the moaning, crying women. He had surprised them again with his devious cruelty. Anyone could beat a woman, he thought. He knew how to make them suffer.

Jeremiah stepped back to the women and produced a styptic pencil and a cotton cloth. First with Cheryl, he daubed the blood off of her tongue and applied the styptic pencil to the area surrounding the fishhook. Its fierce sting drew more moans and protests from the tortured girl. Satisfied that the flow of blood had ceased, he removed the clamp from her tongue. He performed the same operation on Justine, who reacted similarly. The women stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, their heads tilted back, unable to assimilate the terrible thing that was happening to them. Their eyes shifted to Jeremiah as he produced two long spreader bars. He affixed them to the women’s ankles, further stretching their powerless tongues and taxing further their poor feet. They were standing on the balls of their feet now, a posture sure to become unendurable within a short time. But the women had to endure, they had to suffer the pain. There was no ‘or else’. The only alternatives to enduring the terrible pain in their calves and feet was to either let the fishhooks tear a slice through their tongues or to strain and tear the muscles that held their tongues in their mouths.

Jeremiah pressed his body against the bodies of the distressed women, his arms encircling them. He was able to run his hands between both of the girls’ legs at once from behind and stroke the extended lips of their sexes. He manipulated them both into lubrication. “The next time,” he said to them sternly, as he pressed his fingers inside them, “you will think only of the pleasure of the Master.”

PART TEN

AT HOME WITH THE TURK II

In the morning, Denise was awoken by the swinging open of her cell door. The gray haired old lady entered singing to herself contentedly. She carried a bowl of porridge and a glass of milk for her young charge. She placed them on the floor and released the bonds around her ankles and thighs.

Denise had spent a tormented night. She had squirmed and struggled with the straps around her legs. Her ability to adjust her sleeping pose was limited to the shifting of her head from side to side. Her arms, held taut behind her, felt useless, not really part of her anymore. She had cried a while after the old lady had left and then drifted off to fitful sleep. When her natural urge to adjust her body during sleep came, she awoke with a start, frustrated and surprised to find herself bound, cocoon-like, and resident in a dingy basement cell. Her helplessness was like a virus, making her stomach swirl and her head ache. When she slept, she dreamt of the harsh but compelling man who had made her his prisoner.

The presence of the old woman made her circumstances seem surreal. What twisted mind could have imagined such a reality? Never had her mind been so conscious of the limitations of the physical realm. While her memories of her former life were fresh, they were separated from her present by a wide untraversible gulf. Now was now, uncontrovertibly. She lived every second of her new existence with a torrid intensity.

Having unfastened Denise’s bonds, Tamara urged the girl to her knees. Smiling, she undid the straps that held the invasive, stifling gag in her mouth. She took the large glass of milk and pressed it to Denise’s lips. Denise drank it greedily, happy to replace the leathery taste of the gag. As the woman spooned the porridge onto her tongue, Denise savored the pasty taste. There were raisins in it and Denise took pleasure in her mouth being free to masticate them. Because of her near constantly gagged state, any use of her mouth was accompanied by a special delight. Tamara had let the gag dangle around Denise’s neck, and it shifted back and forth as Denise leaned over to gather in each flavorful spoonful of her morning meal.

When the bowl was empty, Tamara replaced the gag and carried the bowl and glass from the room. The gag’s musty flavor mingled with the aftertaste of Denise’s repast. Each time the gag was pressed home, she had to stifle a new round of tears. Nothing made her feel more imprisoned and dehumanized than the inability to speak. She yearned for human discourse. Even permission to speak a few words of simple greeting or thanks would have been sufficient to reaffirm her self-dignity. But, no words were permitted.

When Tamara returned to the cell, she unlocked Denise’s chain from the wall and pulled her to her feet. She led her from the cell by her chain. When they entered the hallway, Denise expected to be brought to the large bathroom to be bathed and groomed. Instead, the old lady had her squat over a drain in the floor. She was made to understand that she should pee and she did so, a torrent of yellow liquid splashing the floor beneath her. The old lady wiped her, and then had her stand and watch, as she took a hose from the wall and washed the remnants of the sharply smelling liquid down the drain. The woman patted Denise’s face affectionately and pulled her to a door opposite her cell. She opened it with a key and led Denise in. As the door slammed shut, Denise saw a long, rectangular table in the middle of the white tiled room. There were rings on the four corners of the table, obviously intended to imprison and render one helpless.

Denise, remembering her torture of the night before, quailed at the sight. Her stomach heaved and her knees grew weak. The old lady motioned for her to climb onto the table, but Denise, instead, retreated, fearing the worst. “What cruel torment am I now to be subject to?” she thought, panicking. The old lady slapped the table lightly, smiling, cooing unintelligible soft words to her. But Denise took no comfort from the woman’s soft brown eyes and her pleasant demeanor. She shook her head ‘no’, and pulled at her leash. Tamara’s words became harsher now, commanding obedience. Denise pulled back harder on the chain, trying to put more distance between herself and the dreaded table. Her eyes pleaded with her captor as she mumbled incoherent imprecations to be spared her fate.

Tamara’s eyes flashed with anger. She pulled the whip from her belt and smacked Denise harshly across the legs. The whip stung, but Denise did not relent her refusal to cooperate in her own abuse. The old woman became enraged and began to whip Denise wildly. Denise’s movements pulled the chain free of the old lady’s grasp as she retreated from the blows. Tamara forced her into a corner and slashed her body unmercifully.

When the old lady paused, Denise acknowledged her defeat. She sobbed miserably as she signaled her compliance with the woman’s demands. Warily, she moved herself over to the table and, placing her buttocks on the edge, rolled on to it. Sweat had broken on Tamara’s brow and she was out of breath. She stared at the girl fiercely and barked a command, indicating with her hand that Denise should lie on her stomach. Denise complied meekly, pressing her firm, tender breasts onto the tabletop, closing her eyes in fearful resignation.

The old lady quickly secured Denise’s ankles to the corners of the table, spreading her legs widely. She unlocked her bracelets and affixed each wrist to a ring. The table was long and narrow, and Denise lay splayed across its surface. Anticipating the worst, she flinched when Tamara placed her hand on her head, stroking her hair.

What happened next was wholly unexpected. Tamara cooed her into relative calmness, her deep, pleasant voice drowning out Denise’s sobs. The woman stepped back from Denise and took a large jar of cream from a drawer in the table. She moved to the table’s foot and began to apply the cream to Denise’s legs.

The old woman sang as she used her strong hands to massage Denise’s legs. She seemed to know her physiology well, as she traced the edge of each muscle, isolating it, and sending strong pulses of relaxation to Denise’s body. The old lady merrily urged tender warmth into Denise’s legs and buttocks. The cream brought a slight burning sensation as it was applied, releasing all of the tension that the prone girl’s body held.

At first, Denise thought the application of the salve to her skin was a prelude to some more sinister torment. But gradually, the rhythms of the old lady’s hands, the child like quality to her singing, induced Denise to allow the woman’s efforts to soothe her.

The back was next and Tamara seemed to know the outline of each vertebra, the delineations of each tendon and muscle. Denise moaned in pleasure as the firm hands exercised her back. She drifted into a becalmed state, belying her terror of minutes ago. The neck and shoulders were next and Tamara applied gentle, but firm pressure there, comforting the naked prisoner. Even the temples of her head were massaged, causing Denise to moan softly.

When she had finished massaging Denise’s back and the back of her thighs and calves, Tamara released Denise’s hands from the rings. She gently, but firmly, coaxed Denise to move her right hand to her left and fastened it in place. She then moved to the foot of the table and, releasing her ankles, urged the girl to roll over so that her front could be ministered to. Denise lay on her back and docilely allowed the woman to recapture and imprison her remaining limbs.

Tamara applied the same soothing energy to the front of Denise’s thighs and to her belly. She moved to her shoulders and the tendons that ran under her arms. She massaged the under side of Denise’s arms and even her hands and feet. By the time that the old lady finished with Denise’s feet, the young woman was in a semi-comatose state. Her body tingled with relaxed sensation, but her mind was adrift on a mild, gently rocking ocean.

Denise felt the old lady’s hands climb her legs, stroking them softly. She caressed the inside of Denise’s thighs, gently rubbing up against the protective lips of her sex. A small tingle of pleasure coursed through Denise at the seemingly accidental touch. The strong hands pushed up her belly, encircled her flaccid breasts and squeezed them tenderly. Denise, eyes closed, moaned at the pleasurable sensation of the caress of her mounds. She felt Tamara’s thumbs delicately flick her nipples, causing them to rise to tautness. Tamara was now sitting on the table next to Denise’s hip. Holding the breasts firmly, she leaned over and whispered softly soothing words into the young woman’s ears.

The restful pleasure of the massage had turned into a surge of incipient lust. Before she knew it, Denise’s distended slash began to moisten. She raised her head in ineffectual and desultory protest. When Tamara placed her lips on her teat, sucking at it soothingly, Denise laid her head back and succumbed, letting her passion build.

Tamara let her hand flow across Denise’s belly and stroked the insides of her thighs. She shifted breasts and evoked a moan from deep within Denise’s throat. Denise felt the old lady’s sensitive fingers explore the outside of her sex, deftly intruding between the engorging lips. The old lady allowed a finger to stray into the wet gash and trace a line up the entrance of the girl’s sheath to the little, hard button on the top.

Denise sighed as her clit was enflamed by the woman’s touch. She sighed again, as two extended fingers delved into her womb, pressing on the sensitive roof of the canal.

Slowly, but surely, the old lady urged the young woman to pleasure. Denise’s thighs shuddered and she dug her heels into the table. Her breath was coming in heavy gasps as her passion began to overtake her. As she felt her cunt tingle and throb with impending orgasm, Denise thrust her hips at the hand that was exciting her. When she came, she came with her whole body, rocking and shivering with delight. Pulse after pulse of warmth flowed over her. She cried out, her exclamations of ecstasy muffled by the leather plug that filled her mouth. The old lady was murmuring in her ear, urging her to release.