Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl (12 page)
Stoner caught his breath. His cock was rock hard as a result of his sadistic treatment of the French woman. That, and the enticing sight of the tall black woman’s dance at the whip, had fueled Stoner’s pump. Not bothering to disrobe, he wrestled his hard meat from his pants and addressed Cheryl’s behind. Her spread legs, forced open by the bar that Jeremiah had placed between them, make readily available the tiny starred entrance to her bowels.
Cheryl knew what was coming and desperately tried to relax her muscles to ease Stoner’s entrance. It was not easy given her predicament. So when Stoner presented his hot cock to his puckered target, the ring of flesh was narrow and taut. Stoner grabbed Cheryl’s hips and held her still as he pressed his manhood into her rear passage. Cheryl’s hands were bound behind her and he delighted in their involuntary contractions as the pain from his forced entry shot through the abject girl. The movement of Cheryl’s body caused unwelcome movement to Justine’s and both girls groaned in torment.
The heartless man reveled in the heat of Cheryl’s bowels, the tight grip on his shaft by the little ring he had violated. He rocked his hips into Cheryl without thought to the anguish the reverberations of his thrusts caused the two women. In fact, their miserable groans and moans fueled his passion. It was not long before he felt his lusts rising, his cock begin to throb. With a loud moan, he began to pump his seed deep into Cheryl. He was thrusting madly, causing the women unbelievable, agonizing pain. And then he was finished.
A half hour later, Jeremiah came down to free the women. After releasing their spreader bars, and using a small pair of clippers, he snapped the barbed ends off of the hooks and passed the steel through the raw openings in the girls’ tongues. As he released them, each girl sagged in his arms. He gently let them fall to the ground.
Dinner that night was an awkward affair. As was the custom, Cheryl, Justine and Mary awaited their master’s return from his rounds kneeling in the main hall, dressed in obscene finery, their fingers in their quims, lubricating themselves for his pleasure. At the dinner table, neither Cheryl nor Justine wanted to eat a single mouthful. Their tongues were swollen and sore from their ordeal. At Stoner’s insistence, they took small bites of the fresh fish from Stoner’s fecund lake and washed them down quickly with cold, soothing water.
But Stoner had little interest in his wives tonight. He had a new toy to play with locked in the cage in his bedroom. There was no pleasure in life for him like despoiling a wench, and the knowledge that a naked, young, innocent girl awaited him made his appreciation of the culinary delights of his table more perfunctory than usual.
When dinner was over, or, rather, when Stoner’s dinner was over, he had Jeremiah rush the women back up to their room. He would have no need of them tonight.
The frightened African girl looked up from her small steel prison when Stoner entered the bedroom. It had been a day of unimaginable terror for her. Only this morning, she had awoken in her own bed, in her family’s hut, among people who loved her. Although she was barely eighteen, marriage and family came young to the women of her village and she had a small child of eighteen months. She was still breastfeeding the little boy, as was the tribal custom, and her breasts ached with unused production of milk.
She had watched her friend meanly whipped and knew that her captor was capable of great cruelty. She had no illusions as to why she was caged, naked, in his sumptuous bedroom. She had no courage to resist. For her son, she must live. As impossible as it might seem, she knew that she could not give up hope of being reunited with him and her loving husband. She would be dishonored, probably cast out from her home, as if she was complicit in her own ravishment. But she could live to see them, could hope for mercy and understanding from her husband; she knew she would get none here.
Stoner approached the cage where his new captive crouched fearfully. He knew that the girl almost certainly had no English, but was sure that the ever efficient Jeremiah had instructed her on her new duties. He rattled the cage with his hand, chuckling to himself as the young woman cringed. “Ready for your fucking, my little black bitch?” he said.
The words were meaningless to the girl, but she could tell from the heavy white man’s tone that her torment was soon to begin.
Stoner undressed and then opened the cage. He had taken up a small riding crop and poked the girl until she obediently emerged. As she crawled on all fours, her firm, round, black breasts swung freely beneath her. Her flanks were meaty, but firm and graceful. She had short ringlets of black hair on her head and a thick, dark thatch below. Her buttocks were rotund and rippled as she struggled to obey the cruel white master.
When she had emerged from the cage, Stoner pushed her head to the floor. She pressed her face to the rug, but her back was arched, her rear presented to her master’s view. Only her husband had seen her like this, as she lustfully prepared herself for his thrusts. She was shamed that this evil white man should see her so. Stoner tapped on the insides of her thighs, and she obediently spread them. He crouched next to the girl and reached his hand under her and felt her cunt.
It was fleshy and hot. The entrance to her womb lubricated obediently as he rubbed his hand against it, tracing a line along the slit with his finger. It took but a minute before he earned a small moan from the girl’s lips.
Satisfied, Stoner rose to his feet. He swung the riding crop fiercely onto her behind. The girl groaned in pain and mortification. She despised herself for succumbing to the man’s caress of her sex and welcomed the pain of the whip as punishment. Five times Stoner belabored the young woman’s rear globes. The girl moaned and cried at each blow. She wondered how she had offended the man so quickly. She did not comprehend Stoner’s pleasure in administering pain. She would learn.
Content that the girl knew what agony his displeasure could bring, Stoner sat on the edge of the bed. He motioned for the girl to come to him. He grabbed her hair and lifted her to her knees between his legs. His cock was rampant and his desire was obvious. She knew what he wanted. The trembling girl hesitatingly took Stoner’s cock in her hand and pressed her lips to it. Stoner, his hand still in her hair, pressed her face down on his cock. He pierced the girl’s mouth to the back of her throat. “Suck cock!” he ordered. These words, and other short, curt imperative phrases such as, ‘spread your legs’, ‘kneel’, ‘bend over’ would quickly become known to the girl.
The frightened girl began to swirl her tongue around Stoner’s rigid member. With tears running down her youthful face, she pleasured Stoner’s tool with all of the skill and enthusiasm she could muster. Seeing that she had gotten the message, Stoner released her head and let her do the work.
The dark, cruel man reveled in her oral caresses. He watched her face intently, enjoying the desperate look on her face. The girl looked back up at him, seeking any sign of displeasure, the bright whiteness of her eyes, eyes filled with wetness and ringed with red, a stark contrast to the coal-like blackness of her skin.
Stoner was enflamed by the wide lips that encircled his pulsing cock. Here was Africa, itself, at his feet, its eyes searching for his approval, sucking his steel hard dick, succumbing to his whims. He felt it fitting that this black cunt should be on her knees to him, as was every living thing within a thousand square miles. He did not often have native whores to his bed, but when he did, his mind reeled with exaltation as his mastery of this corner of the continent. Few men in this modern age wielded the power that he did.
The black girl’s efforts were bearing fruit as Stoner felt his juices rising. She felt it too, as the cock in her mouth began to throb and the semi-sweet precum washed against her tongue. She had one hand cupping Stoner’s drooping testicles, caressing them gently as she had been taught, and the other hand wrapped firmly on the meaty pole. She began to hum a song of delight, as her husband liked it, her voice reverberating on Stoner’s swollen member. Stoner moaned and seized her head again, pressing it into his loins. He groaned with pleasure as he shot his load into her throat. Pulse after pulse of almost excruciating delight swept through him.
He allowed the native woman to continue to massage his softening cock with her mouth and lips. Her oral skills matched her beauty, he thought to himself.
When she had finished, and Stoner’s cock had deflated to its restful state, Stoner pulled her up onto the bed. She had never been in a bed like this, her marriage bed in her village consisting of a thin pallet laid on the dirt floor of her small hut. She marveled, in spite of herself, at its softness. She felt unsteady as it rose and fell beneath her, as she struggled to the center of the bed.
Once she had lain out prone on the bed, Stoner commenced a minute inspection of her flesh. He ran his hands over the smooth skin of her hips. He felt the softness of her inner thighs, the pink softness between her black thighs. But what delighted him most of all were her firm, large lactating breasts. The milk was oozing from her nipples. The breasts, used to the frequent suckling of a child, were filled to burst. Stoner placed his lips upon them and drank the sweet, thick milk. The girl moaned in relief as the aching pressure on her teats was released. She cursed this man for stealing what was, by rights, her child’s. The thought of her young boy hungry and crying for his mother was unbearable to her. But she docilely allowed the white man to have his way. The white men had stolen everything, why should her mother’s milk be any different.
That night Stoner ploughed his new captive fore and aft. She had never been fucked in the ass before and protested loudly when she felt his thick cock press open the dainty ring of flesh. She cried while he plunged deep into her bowels. Stoner held her hands locked tightly behind her back as he took his pleasure there. To the girl’s abysmal shame, before he allowed her the safety of her cage, he forced her to clean him with her mouth.
Dalila, her name meant ‘gentleness of soul’, was thereafter Stoner’s almost constant companion. He led her around, naked on a leash, while on his visits and inspections. He proffered the use of her mouth to his managers and overseers matter-of-factly, and often used it or her cunt, if he was in the mood, casually throughout the course of the day.
At night, at dinner, she would be chained to his chair, her own dinner presented in a wooden bowl. In his bedroom, he would order her, by obscene gesture, encouraged by the whip if necessary, to suck on his wives’ pussies while they fellated him or while he fucked her ass. She would spend the night jammed into the cage with one of the white women every night, their hot flesh pressed firmly together. She had no words for them and they had none for her.
Dalila’s milk still ran, as Stoner suckled at her breasts several times daily. She was mortified to have these white women, who were treated almost as shamefully as she, watch as this grown man drank from her body. She was also shamed that she permitted the white man to bring her to pleasure, for there were times, as Stoner callously drilled his cock into her wet slash, that her own lusts were sated. And she was ashamed to admit that the soft white bodies of the white women, as she caressed them with her tongue or was pressed up against them in her cage, made her loins burn.
On several occasions, Stoner ordered his white women to make love to her after dinner in the drawing room, reveling in the sharp contrast between the black and white flesh. She hesitatingly accepted their tongues in her mouth, their fingers on her sex. She had often played at sex with her girlfriends when they were younger, and the delicate softness of female flesh, the aroma of their arousal, was not new to her. At times, she would close her eyes and imagine herself back in her village, a young girl, kissing and fondling her best friend.
It was the whipping she could not stand. Stoner whipped her when she failed to understand an order, when she was slow carrying it out, or when the whim came over him. He had the servants beat her while he ploughed one or another of the orifices of his white slaves.
Cheryl and the other wives felt great sympathy for Dalila, although they did not even know her name. She seemed so young and frightened. Only once, when Stoner was away for a day, did she spend any time in the wives’ dormitory. Jeremiah had brought her there and, at first, the poor girl trembled with fear that the white women would beat her. When Mary took her in her arms and kissed her, the girl broke down into tears. The women spent the afternoon comforting her. Late in the day, Jeremiah took her away, down to the Discipline Room to beat her and to fuck her.
A few days after the raid on the village, the trucks carrying the remainder of Stoner’s booty arrived. Coffled in strings of twelve, the women were pulled from the trucks and hosed down. A large fire was kept burning into the night, heating the branding irons, as one after the other, the women were marked as Stoner’s property. There was much crying and protesting from the women, but they had been taught obedience while prisoners on their four day trek, and there were no incidents of rebellion. By late afternoon and into the evening, Stoner’s helicopters were ferrying the first groups to their new homes, the many workers’ brothels around Stoner’s mines. A few would be sent to service the lonely men who toiled in Stoner’s cotton fields or to the workers on the hillside coffee plantation. By noon the day after their arrival, they were all gone.
It was about two weeks after the raid that Jeremiah came into the wives’ dormitory to announce that, “All sluts must make themselves clean!” He instructed them to be particularly meticulous in their makeup. They were to wear their dinner dresses and to make up the lips of their pussies.
The wives frantically followed Jeremiah’s instructions. It was clear that something unusual was to happen, but they could not fathom what. Justine helped Mary and Cheryl line their labia with bright red lipstick. Cheryl did hers. They sat dressed and waiting for a long time, well into the afternoon. Jeremiah checked them several times, each time telling them, “No fucking. No fucking!”