Cheryl began to moan first, her passion building slowly. Her passionate sounds excited Justine’s lust, and the blond woman struggled to ignite the rising heat in her loins. Faster and faster the women rocked against each other on the floor. Their bodies shimmered with perspiration; their nipples were taut with excitement. Stoner’s heat was rising too as he watched the nubile bodies pound against each other, breasts jumping and swaying.
It was Justine, who crested first, arching her back, jamming as much as she could of the plastic phallus into her cunt. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried, as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Pleasure and relief, for she knew who had won and who had lost. Cheryl, the focus of most of Stoner’s recent brutalities, was just a few seconds behind her. She groaned with lust and fear as her pussy began to throb, a tingling spreading throughout her body. She cried out as her orgasm overcame her.
While the women moaned and gyrated in their pleasure, Stoner shot his hot, sticky discharge into Mary’s face. Mary presented it as a ready target as spurt after spurt of Stoner’s jism struck her eyes, her nose and her mouth. She held her mouth open so that she could absorb her lord’s cum. When Stoner had shot his load, he pushed Mary to the floor.
By now, Cheryl knew that it was useless to protest against her upcoming beating. Mercy was not one of Stoner’s qualities. She awaited instructions before daring to pull the plastic penis from her gently throbbing pussy. Justine looked at her with pity. Cheryl just bit her lip.
Stoner took a drink from his scotch glass and motioned to Jeremiah. “Send them to my room and string that dumb cunt up,” he said, pointing at Cheryl. “I want that one’s mouth ready for my cock,” he continued, indicating Justine. “And take Molly here up to the dormitory.”
Molly was his pet name for Mary. Stoner sometimes had trouble remembering their real names and so he often attached a sobriquet to them and used that. Mary was called Molly because of her Irish blood and thick reddish hair.
Justine and Cheryl took this as a sign that they should disengage, and they slid the thick device from their sexes. They both stood and waited for Jeremiah to lead them to Stoner’s bedroom. Rarely were the girls allowed to pass from one room to another in the mansion without an escort. And they were never, ever, permitted to open a closed door. This obviated the need for locks on the doors, for the girls would hardly hazard punishment by moving from room to room without permission. If the house were afire, they would experience intense conflict about whether to flee or not.
And if one of the involuntary inmates determined to flout the rule and seek an escape from Stoner’s cruel clutches, there was nowhere to go anyway. Any native within 100 miles would know where they came from and would turn them in in a minute. Their reward would be sure to be ample. There was always the jungle, but it doubtful that any of the otherwise pampered ladies would last more than a day there.
Stoner left Jeremiah to deal with his slaves. He walked out onto the veranda, holding his drink in his hand. The mansion stood on a hill in the middle of the residence compound. From the porch he could see the lights on in the soldiers’ barracks. Music and laughter could be heard drifting over the well manicured grass. A woman screamed; more laughter. Some native girls were getting a humping, he mused. Lying before the mansion was the huge lake that was fed by the Kenga River. The shimmering full moon created a spotlight on the water. Stoner could see the seaplane he used to import vital goods and fresh white slaves. The plane drifted silently, catching a glint of moonbeam on its smooth, white surface.
To the left of the mansion, further away, were the native huts. A faint jungle beat of drums could be heard, a nightly tribal ritual. There was no electrical service to the huts, and the sparkle of candlelight from the open windows of the numerous huts looked like a bed of shiny diamonds cast across the valley.
Stoner loved Africa, not the Africa of wild, untamed jungles and vast savannahs. He cared little for the cackles of the rainforest birds, the bright colorful splashes of flowers, the unspoiled vistas. His loved his Africa, the Africa of white masters and servile natives. He loved to wrestle wealth from its soil, watch while acres of forest were cleared to serve his industrial machine.
Stoner took another gulp from his glass. All that he could see was his and more. Here he ruled. For 10,000 square miles, no human could challenge his will. Tomorrow, he would enforce his will. The celebration evident in the barracks was in anticipation of the havoc he would wreak in the morrow. Good times would be had by all.
Finishing his drink, Stoner stumbled back into the house. He was nearing his limit for the night. He had some fucking to do before he slept, and that cunt Cheryl was due a whipping. It would not do to promise a whipping and not give it.
When Stoner entered his bedroom he saw that his wives had been well prepared. Cheryl was fastened to a chain, hands aloft. She grimaced visibly when she saw him. “Good,” he thought. He enjoyed her fear. Of all of his wives, he enjoyed tormenting her the most. She had a simple elegance that cried out for blows. She had a noble visage, high cheeks and a delicate line to her jaw. Her eyes were soft, almost unfocused. Her breasts were not large, like Mary’s, but much more than a handful. Long, thick teats were set upon silver dollar sized, dark red aureoles. Her hips were curvaceous with a gentle slope to her loins. Her thighs were sculpted and long. He would beat her breasts tonight, he thought.
Justine lay on the bed, perpendicular to the mattress. Her head lay just over the edge, tilted down. Her legs were spread wide, tied off to the bed’s upper frame with long, leather thongs, her ass raised up off the mattress. Cheryl was positioned in the direction of her feet. Cheryl had a clear view of Justine’s delicate little hairless lips. There was a mirror on the wall just opposite Justine’s head, and from where she lay, she could view her sister slave upside down, patiently awaiting her abuse.
Stoner walked slowly up to Cheryl. She averted her eyes from his in fear. He placed his hands on her breasts, caressing them gently. He knew that her breasts were especially sensitive and that his efforts would soon produce a growing heat in her loins. He stroked the nipples, watching them harden, pinching them lightly. Cheryl shifted her weight nervously. She pressed her legs together, squeezing the little lips of her cunt. She hated herself for her nearly automatic lustful response to the handling of her prominent mounds.
Stoner leaned over and took one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked on it gently, swirling his tongue around its tip. He was teasing her, delivering a tantalizing preliminary to the main event. He reached down and sought her moistening slit. Obediently, Cheryl spread her legs. Stoner did not abide reluctance in his whores and considered their intimate parts his and his alone. Their bearers had no right to them superior to his own.
Forcing his fingers inside the dilating hole, he spread her moistness over the tender folds of her cunt. He flicked his fingers over the little nub at the apex. His efforts garnished a moan from the helpless girl. Cheryl could never get wholly inured to being used as Stoner’s whore. She obeyed him, succumbed to his desires, actively abetted her own degradation. But she despised her abaseness. She yearned for the courage to protest, to spit in the cruel man’s face. But she feared the merciless beating that would ensue more than she regretted her failure to act.
Justine watched the enfolding tableaux in the mirror on the wall. She knew that Stoner would use her mouth ruthlessly. Her spread legs invited penetration. Her hands had been fastened to her sides by a broad cloth belt. She would be unable to fend off Stoner’s assault. She knew that Cheryl’s promised beating did not preclude Stoner administering the whip to her flesh. When the ruthless man became enflamed with lust, anything could happen. She had been Stoner’s prisoner for almost two years. She had seen her predecessors and those that came after mercilessly tormented by him many times. She, herself, had suffered from his tortures. Watching him take his pleasure with Cheryl’s body, she knew that her turn would come.
Cheryl was now reaching towards a crescendo of lust. Stoner had
switched tits and sucked hard, pulling at her nipple with his teeth. She ground her hips into the man’s rough hand, her movements involuntary, a product of forced desire. Stoner released her teat and looked into her face. He smiled, congratulating himself on his ability to render this slave a prisoner of her own lusts.
While Stoner was manhandling the young woman, his third wife was kneeling on her bed in the wives’ dormitory. Her breasts were crushed onto her knees, her back arched, presenting her rear passage to Stoner’s slave-master. Jeremiah had the right to use Stoner’s wives. Stoner enjoyed the thought of these helpless white women being subject to the penetration of Jeremiah’s long, thick, black dick. It increased their subservience and kept them in practice when he was away or otherwise engaged.
Jeremiah was stroking his rigid cock slowly along the avenue of Mary’s bowels. His heavy hands gripped her hips as he plunged deeply inside and then drew himself back. Kneeling behind the moaning whore, he pressed his flesh against hers. He was a patient man who reveled in his pleasures. He enjoyed his mastery of his lord’s white bitches. He knew that his slow, methodical degradation of these women intensified their self-loathing and accentuated his command over them. He used, but did not need, the whip to enforce his will on them. Knowing that at any time he could press his manhood deep into their throats, could savage their nether regions, could fill their cunts with his hot, black meat rendered them pliant and obedient.
Just as Cheryl was about to reach the peak of her passion, Stoner stepped away from her. He watched her legs press together in frustration, heard her moan in disappointment. “Maybe later, cunt,” he said. “First you have to do a little dance for me. I’ll give you some more time to think about it.”
Stoner disrobed quickly. He advanced to a credenza along the wall and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He poured himself three fingers and gulped some of it down. It burned in his throat. He rang for a servant. A short, thin, black minion responded. He was dressed in a ruffled white shirt and black pants.
“You called for me, My Lord?”
“Yes, I want you to select a long thin crop from my cabinet. When I tell you to, I want you to beat this whore’s tits, slow and hard.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the obsequious man replied.
Stoner’s mad behavior was legend among his staff. Who else but a white man would parade his wives around the house naked or nearly so, fuck them in full view of whoever happened to pass by? But as much as they despised their overlord, the servants feared him. His word was law.
Stoner entered the luxurious bathroom that serviced his bedroom. His bladder was set to burst and he took a long time emptying it. While he did so, his wives and servant awaited his pleasure. The servant gazed longingly over Cheryl’s naked flesh. Cheryl, ashamed of her nudity, her helplessness, averted her eyes from him. She knew this man. She had sucked his cock.
It was part of Jeremiah’s private revenge against the white man that he served that, whenever Stoner was away, he made his wives available to the servants of the house and the officers from Stoner’s private army. He was careful not to let it get out of hand and rationed the women cautiously. This servant had spent three months of his meager wages for the privilege of having his tool massaged by Cheryl’s well trained mouth. He might not ever get another opportunity. But he did have the occasional pleasure of beating her or one of the others. And he got more than an occasional look at their nubile forms. He anticipated his administration of the crop to Cheryl’s flesh with great relish.
When Stoner emerged from the bathroom, he went directly to the side of the bed where Justine’s head and mouth waited expectantly. He sat next to her and leaned over, caressing her pert breasts. He ran his hand over her stomach and between her legs. Justine’s body was tense, rigid with apprehension. When Stoner seized her labia, squeezing them sharply, she stiffened and let out a quiet gasp. Stoner watched her face as he pressed harder and harder. Justine squirmed at the painful compression of her tender lips. Her legs, suspended in the air, flailed uselessly. When Stoner was satisfied that he had her whole attention, he released his grip and stood, placing Justine’s head between his thighs. His cock was hardening in anticipation of its pleasure. He rubbed the still flaccid meat over Justine’s face.
“Are you ready for my cock, slut?” he asked her tauntingly. Justine answered him by seizing the appendage with her lips. She massaged it gently and swirled her tongue over it, caressing the underside of the bulbous head. Stoner allowed his slut-wife to pleasure him. He felt his tool stretch and fill with blood. He rested his hands on Justine’s breasts, twisting the nipples harshly. Justine moaned with pain, but did not break stride in her attention to her master’s cock. His leathery sac rested on her face.
“Suck my balls, cunt,” Stoner commanded. He pulled his cock from the artful mouth and leaned forward so that his scrotum was presented properly for Justine’s attentions. The blonde French girl opened her mouth and sucked the hairy bag into her mouth.
Stoner gasped with pleasure. The warmth of the obedient mouth spread through his loins. He looked up at Cheryl and the attentive servant. “Whip her tits!” he commanded, his passion evident in his voice. “Whip them slow and hard!”
The servant needed no further encouragement. He swung the long, hard crop and landed a fierce blow directly across the pair of tender, white breasts. The crop indented the flesh where it struck. Cheryl cried out in pain, “Ohhhhhhh!” The crop left a line of red where it had fallen.
The servant waited a few moments and struck again. “Ohhhhhhhh!” Cheryl moaned, the painful sensations traveling like electricity through her.
Stoner’s lust was upon him now and he craved Justine’s lips and tongue on his meat. He pulled his testicles from her mouth and replaced it with his rigid pole. Justine’s lips and tongue welcomed it and he moaned loudly.
Smack! Another blow fell on Cheryl’s tits. The pain made the woman sway and twist in her chains. Stoner watched intently, relishing her discomfort. “Harder!” he yelled as he pumped furiously into Justine’s energetic mouth.
The servant reared back and struck Cheryl’s breasts with all of his might. Cheryl screamed in pain, “Ayahhhhhh!”
The cruel overlord, mad with lust, shoved his cock deep into Justine’s mouth. His eyes were glued to Cheryl’s torment. As blow after blow struck her in a slow but steady cadence, matched by Cheryl’s responsive cries and moans, Stoner’s cock throbbed deep inside Justine’s throat. Struggling for air, Justine nonetheless maintained the supplications of her lips and tongue. Stoner groaned with pleasure as he began to spill his seed inside the frantic girl. Her hands twisted at their confinements, her extended legs pushed and pumped in the air as her lack of oxygen turned critical. Jet after jet poured from the hot, throbbing cock to slither down Justine’s distended esophagus.
Just as one last solid blow fell on Cheryl’s tormented breasts, Stoner gave out a last gasp and extracted his softening meat. “Enough,” he croaked out at the small native who had been wielding the crop with gleeful effectiveness. He was leaning over the body of Justine, his chest on her belly. The girl gulped fresh air into her lungs, an effort Stoner’s considerable weight made difficult. Slowly, Stoner came alive. He pushed himself up off of the supine girl and ordered the servant from the room. Cheryl was slumped in her chains, moaning softly, wetness all down her cheeks. Her breasts were bright red from their abuse.
“Tomorrow, they’ll be black and blue,” Stoner told her as he crossed the room to appreciate his servant’s handiwork. “I hope they’re good and sore so I can tit fuck you.”
Stoner was caressing his manhood, urging it back to life. In the other hand he had a glass of scotch. “Tonight I’m going to fuck your ass.” He released the chain holding the exhausted woman. She fell to the floor.
“Get up!” he ordered. He kicked her viciously. “Get up cunt!”
Cheryl struggled first to her knees and then to her feet. Stoner pushed her onto the bed. “Suck that cunt, bitch,” he told her. C
heryl placed herself between the uplifted thighs of the prone Justine. She crouched on her knees and placed her lips on the gaping sex of her fellow slave. Justine sighed as she felt the girl’s tongue delve into her moist slit. Cheryl inhaled the pungent aroma. She had often given oral pleasure to her co-wife and received it in return. The three wives, locked in their dormitory for most of the day, had little else to do besides grant each other physical solace. And, when commanded, she did so for her master’s gratification. She knew Justine’s preferences well and now used that knowledge to drive her to crisis.
The sight of Cheryl’s upraised ass was tantalizing for Stoner. His cock had come back to hardness and he knelt behind the woman to take his pleasure. Justine’s moans excited him. He pressed the head of tool into the brown star between Cheryl’s cheeks and pushed the small ring of flesh open. Cheryl knew to relax herself to ease the cruel man’s passage. She gratefully felt the cock slip inside her without effort.
The tight ring pressed firmly on Stoner’s cock as it stroked back and forth over it. The heat of Cheryl’s bowels enflamed him. Cheryl allowed the sensations to excite her. Her sore breasts swayed as her body absorbed the force of Stoner’s thrusts. Justine was moaning loudly now as the knowledgeable mouth found her center of pleasure. Her cunt was juicy and hot to Cheryl’s tongue. She let the passion of the blonde woman carry her away. Her own cunt burned with desire. She could sense its lips distending, its center lubricating.
Justine came first, crying out. Her staccato cries triggered Stoner’s release and he pumped his semen deep into Cheryl’s bowels. Cheryl squeezed the rigid pole in her ass tightly to maximize her assailant’s pleasure. It was far better to have him lust after the delights she could give him than to vent his passions on her violently. She knew that her master’s pleasure was all and that if he found her to be deficient, her torment would begin anew.
Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl Page 4
