Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Slaver’s Bait

  The Taking of Cheryl, Book Two

  by Paul Blades

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2007, All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA

  Cover © Ludovic Goubet

  www.ludovicgoubet.com

  Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com

  This story begins with the novel…

  The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured

  Part Seven

  AT HOME WITH THE TURK

  The Turk’s estate lay on a ten-acre island in the northwestern corner of Lake Winnipie. It was accessible only by boat and the only dock on the lake was served by the only road that led there. Large barbed wire topped fences along the shore of the island discouraged intruders, as did the seventy four year old man who served as Turk’s groundskeeper. The old man and his wife lived there year-round. They protected and maintained his domain. There was electrical service to the island through an underwater cable, but no telephone. Visitors were directed to a gated entrance and an intercom/bell. No one without a warrant and a gun would ever be admitted without the Turk’s consent.

  It was here that the Turk brought his new capture, Denise. She had traveled there in the minute prison of one of Turk’s special boxes. He had strapped her in, just as he had Cheryl, rolled her down to his van and driven her the 250 miles to his island. After he had strapped her down in the box, and was as he was preparing to apply the facemask and gag, she had pleaded desperately not to be imprisoned. It took some effort to jam the mask’s gag into her mouth. She had abandoned her resistance when he twisted her nipple harshly. With tears in her eyes, she meekly opened her mouth and granted admission. He had not sedated her before placing her in the box as he had Cheryl because of the length of the trip. It was about the same distance as to Baltimore, but a much longer drive due to the lack of principal roads in that area of the state. Once the mask had gone on and she was silenced, he administered the hypodermic that would leave her sedated for many hours before he shut the box. He would administer a second, oral dose of the drug later while on the road through the tube that led through her gag to her stomach.

  When Denise finally awoke from her drug-induced slumber, she was already out of the box and lying on a soft pallet in a cell deep in the basement of the Turk’s mansion. It was a large, stone dwelling, built many years before by an eccentric millionaire who, during the depression, leapt from a tall building with a single bound. The property languished for many years until taken over and refurbished by the Turk.

  Denise had no idea where she was. The room was lit by a small bulb mounted behind a steel mesh screen. She was gagged with a thick leather mask that covered the lower portion of her face. Her hands were locked behind her back with leather bracelets and a chain was locked to a thin steel collar around her neck. The chain gave Denise just enough leeway to crawl to the middle of the room. A large, foreboding steel door barred her exit. The room was damp and cold and Denise shivered as she fought back tears.

  After about an hour, she heard the rattling of keys outside the door and the turning of the lock. She was surprised to see a short, rotund, elderly lady, dressed in an ankle length, black shirtwaist dress. Her gray hair was tied in a knot behind her head. She had sharp, but not unkind, features and her skin was dark toned. She wore a pair of heavy black shoes with low heels. She carried a small tray in one hand. On the tray was a glass of milk and a steaming bowl. A long, thin riding crop hung from her waist.

  The old lady smiled when she saw that Denise was awake. She put down the tray and retrieved a stool from outside the cell. She placed the stool near to Denise, picked up the tray and, returning to the stool, sat down. Placing the tray back down on the floor, she placed her hands on her knees and spoke gleefully to Denise.

  Denise did not understand a single word she said. Her harsh syllables made Denise wonder if she was speaking some Slavic language. She continued to speak to Denise in singsong tones as she loosened the mask and removed the gag from Denise’s mouth. Denise started to beg and plea for the woman to help her.

  The woman tapped Denise lightly on the side of her face and murmured, “No talk, no talk.”

  This did not quell Denise. She had been silent long enough. Her pleas became more piteous.

  Shaking her head, the woman stood and drew the thin riding crop from her belt and gave Denise three sharp blows with it across her back. Denise cringed from the blows and squealed with pain. She drew back from the woman, cowering, terrified that she was to receive a beating for her disobedience. But the woman merely replaced the cane and sat back down on the stool. She smiled at Denise again. “No talk,” she said. “Come, come, eat!”

  Denise crawled back to the old lady cautiously. She knelt near her and the old lady picked up the tray, took a spoonful of the hot stew and proffered it to Denise. Denise opened her mouth and allowed the woman to feed her. She was ravenous, and the stew tasted delicious. She was grateful to the old lady for this small act of mercy. After she had consumed the stew, the old lady held up the glass of milk and helped her drink it all down.

  “Good, good,” the old lady said. She put aside the bowl and glass and motioned for Denise to rise. She was confined by the chain that led from the collar around her neck to an eyebolt lodged near the floor in the wall opposite the door. If she remained near the pallet, Denise could just stand up. She was unsteady when she rose and the old lady grabbed her arm and helped her. She took out a key and unlocked the chain from the wall. “Come, come,” she instructed Denise as she led the way from the cell, pulling Denise along as on a leash.

  The cell led into a large carpeted room. It was luxurious compared to Denise’s cell. The woman led Denise to the other side of the room where they entered a large bathroom. In the middle of the floor was a sunken tub, lined with sand colored tiles. Standing next to the tub, the woman turned on the water and began to fill it. She motioned for Denise to get into the tub. Afraid to disobey the woman, Denise got in and sat down on a step. The tub was filling fast and she could feel the warm water as it crept up her legs. The old lady had affixed Denise’s chain to a bolt in the floor near the tub. To Denise’s surprise, she raised her dress, tied it into a knot at her hip, removed her shoes and thick, beige support stockings and joined Denise in the tub.

  She proceeded to wash Denise from her head to her toes. The woman used a large, soft sponge to soap up Denise’s body. She washed her breasts, her legs and the fulcrum of her thighs. Denise’s hands were still bound behind her and the woman lifted her arms so that she could wash under them, causing Denise to utter a soft cry of pain. “Shhhhhh,” the woman hissed. Denise did not want another lesson in obedience from the woman and so she held her tongue.

  The old lady rinsed Denise’s body with a hose attached to the faucet and then sat on the edge of the tub motioning Denise to squat down. Denise crouched before her and the woman carefully washed Denise’s long, blond hair.

  “Who is this old lady?” Denise thought, as she felt her scalp carefully and thoroughly massaged. It actually was calming to have the woman bathe her and attend to her so gently. The strong fingers worked their way across her skull releasing some of Denise’s tension. It was strange to be comforted by the soft murmurings of the old lady and her practiced hands while all the while she was chained and bound, a prisoner in some strange dun
geon.

  When the bath was over, the woman led Denise over to a stool in front of a vanity. There she carefully dried and combed Denise’s hair. All of the time she was caring for Denise she kept up a melodious chatter in her native language. Intermittently, she would begin to sing a few verses of a song. Denise felt that she was being treated as a young daughter, or rather, more accurately, as a pet. Apparently, she had been entrusted into this woman’s care as some form of household animal. Just as you would groom a prized dog, she had been bathed and her hair combed and brushed. She wasn’t expected to talk back, because pets don’t talk.

  As if to emphasize this, after the woman had carefully brushed Denise’s teeth and assisted her in rinsing her mouth, she pulled the mask and gag that Denise had been wearing in her cell from the pocket of her bulky dress. Seeing the gag, Denise felt her heart sink. She had been lulled by the woman’s gentle and kindly ministrations and had momentarily forgotten that she was a prisoner. Denise hesitated in opening her mouth. The woman looked at her sympathetically and patted her head uttering soft, unintelligible phrases. Denise knew that she had no ability to resist the return of the mask and gag to her body. She feared another application of the whip. With a small tear running down from the corner of her eye, she forlornly opened her mouth. The woman reinserted the gag, affixed the attached mask to the lower portion of Denise’s face and locked it behind her head.

  Denise expected to be taken back to her cell when the woman had finished caring for her, but she was mistaken. When they left the bathroom, they ascended a long set of stone stairs. It led to a small landing and another steel door. The old lady pressed a button on the side of the door. After a few moments, a small barred window in the door was opened and a man’s grizzled, old face showed itself. He looked at the woman, who issued a sharp complaint. Mumbling something, he unlocked the door from the outside and opened it.

  The man looked to Denise to be about eighty years old. But he was tall and strongly built. He had a broad, gray mustache and short, but shaggy hair that peered out from under a small brimmed cloth hat. His face had broad, meandering wrinkles. He was wearing rough work clothes, a thick plaid cotton shirt and faded blue jeans. He had heavy workman’s boots on his feet.

  Denise felt the old man’s eyes on her naked form as she was led into a large, wood paneled room. A long oak table stood in its center and the walls were lined with a sideboard and a china closet. Eight shiny, polished oak chairs surrounded the table, which had a bowl of fruit at its center. The normalcy of the room stunned Denise. She did not know what she had expected to see, but a middle class dining room had not been within her imagination. It was a sharp contrast to the harshness of the cellar below.

  The old lady pushed the old man aside with an acerbic comment and led Denise through the dining room and into a central hallway. A wide, semi-circular set of wooden stairs led to the upper portion of the house and Denise found herself being led up them. They were heavily carpeted and comfortable on her feet after the harsh stone stairs that led up from the basement. At the top of the stairs was a landing. To the right was another set of narrower stairs leading to the third floor. To the left was a large finely crafted door. The old woman unlocked the door and led Denise in.

  It was a large bedroom, with a large bed dominating it. The walls were painted off-white and a red and black oriental carpet lined the floor. There was a dresser and an armchair to the left side of the bed.

  There was no doubt in Denise’s mind that this bedroom belonged to her abductor. The room had a manly, austere feel to it. A large bay window to the right of the bed admitted a soft late afternoon light. Denise could see trees outside the window, their leaves having turned bright yellows and reds. She could see a large lake and the glimmer of the sun reflected in its choppy waters.

  The woman, whose name Denise was to learn was Tamara, pulled Denise to the center of the room and forced her to her knees. Tamara went to a closet and returned with a two foot long bar with leather bracelets on both ends. She attached the leather cuffs to Denise’s ankles. She affixed a short chain between the bar and the leather bracelets that held Denise’s hands in confinement behind her back. The chain from Denise’s collar she affixed to a ring in the center of the footboard of the bed.

  Denise looked up forlornly at the gray haired woman. She knew why she had been chained there and knew that the old woman knew it too. Was she expecting pity? She didn’t know. The woman, seeing Denise’s unhappy eyes, gently stroked her face and cooed soft words to her. To Denise’s surprise, she began to caress one of her breasts, tenderly pressing it against Denise’s body and then teasing the nipple to hardness. She smiled and, after patting Denise on the head, turned and left the room.

  The stillness of the room was oppressive as Denise commenced the wait for her owner. She had no doubt now that this man was acting for himself, that he had also taken her sister, Cheryl, and that the purpose of his ownership of her was to make her his sexual slave. She feared what he would do when he finally arrived. Would he beat her like he did in the apartment? Would he be happy just to force himself on her, to make her take his manhood in her mouth?

  Her hands were sweaty with fear. She twisted them behind her back, testing her bonds. Her legs were splayed wide, forced apart by the iron bar between her ankles. Her mouth was dry and her jaws ached from the constant presence of her gag. To be deprived of a voice was to be deprived of humanity. Was she now less than a person?

  Denise’s only consolation was that she was one step closer, or so she thought, to finding her sister. Was she locked away in a cell in this very house? Would she see her soon? It would almost be worth her captivity and torture if she could only know for sure that Cheryl was alive and well.

  These thoughts ran through Denise’s mind as she endured the long wait for her master’s presence.

  As the light outside was turning to darkness, Denise heard a heavy tread on the stairs outside of the room. Other than her own breathing, it was the first sound that she had heard since the old lady had left her there. The footsteps came closer and closer, the leisurely step of a man in his own element. The lock turned in the door and it opened.

  The Turk stepped into the room and looked briefly at his prisoner. She was an engaging sight. He could see her breasts quivering with fear. Her nipples were hard and her eyes were glued to him, wide with apprehension. He strode past her and went into the bathroom. Denise’s back was to him but she could hear him washing himself, relieving himself in the toilet. Her stomach was tense as she anticipated his use of her. She heard him leave the bathroom and then the unmistakable sound of the removal of clothes. She felt hands on her ankles, freeing them from their bonds. The Turk crossed in front of her and, taking her arm in his hand, lifted her to her feet. She saw that he was erect, and gave out a feint whine of unhappiness at her fate.

  The Turk led Denise to the broad, brocade covered bed. He pulled the covers down to the foot of the bed and then sat her down on the mattress. He unlocked her hands from behind her back and pulled her to the head of the bed where he reaffixed them to a ring in the center of the headboard. Denise had no will to resist. She was as if entranced by the silent determination of this man. He handled her gently, almost tenderly as he spread her body across the bed.

  Denise had expected many things, but not what followed. The Turk took her head in his hands and began to kiss her face. Then, burying his head in the crux of her neck, he ran his hands along her shoulders, down her sides and to her breasts. His body was hot against hers and Denise felt the beginnings of passion stirring in her loins. This man was going to take her, against her will, without her consent, but he was intent on making her complicit in her own violation. His mouth sucked on the nipple of her right breast as a hand descended down her left hip. It ran across her stomach, hesitated briefly at her furry bush, and then seized her sex.

  The confused and dazed woman could not prevent a moan from escaping from her throat. Turk forced her legs apart and delved his fingers
into her moistening cunt. He grabbed the nub of pleasure between finger and thumb and pulled on it lightly, delicately. Denise could no longer restrain her passion as she spread her legs wide, yearning for the strong, dark man to possess her. She felt him lift first one and then the other leg over hers. He now knelt between her legs, his cock pressing up against the entrance to her womb. She sighed deeply as she felt the lips spreading, his hard rod pressing its way inside her.

  When the Turk began to stroke his cock slowly back and forth, penetrating her deeply, Denise began to rock back. They were fucking now, both of them. She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him deeper and deeper inside her. Her hands pulled futilely at her bindings as she yearned to circle her arms around his muscled flesh. She started to cry out in short, staccato bursts as her orgasm neared. Suddenly she felt the gag being loosened from behind her head. The thick leather plug that had stifled her fell out and was replaced by the Turk’s hot tongue and his hungry lips. At this, Denise’s crises came. She had never been fucked like this. She had never given herself over to a lover as she was doing to this cruel man who had stolen her very persona away. She felt the Turk come, his hips jamming hard against hers, a deep, rumbling groan accompanying the discharge of his hot fluids. Her orgasm started again, the pulses of pleasure almost too much to bear.

  The couple lay enraptured for several minutes. The Turk stirred first, raising his torso off of hers, slowly drawing his flaccid, but still engorged cock from her. She looked up at him with wonder. “What type of man is this?” she thought. How could such tenderness and such cruelty reside in one man? She opened her mouth to speak but his fingers stilled her lips. As he presented the gag once more to her mouth, her eyes began to tear. She wanted to speak, to learn his name, who he was and what was he going to do with her. She dutifully opened her mouth, however, and accepted the intrusion of the thick leather plug. It filled her mouth, widened her lips, as her teeth were forced apart. It pressed down her tongue as it reached to the very back of her oral cavity. And then the half mask was reapplied and she was again reduced to a status less than human.