Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Then let’s see what you can do,” President Uzoma said as he pushed her off of his lap. While the video Justine stood, frozen in time, the real, physical Justine unfastened Uzoma’s belt and then opened his pants. Uzoma shifted himself so that his thighs hung over the end of the chair. He watched as the diminutive blond woman undid his fly and released his already swollen member. It sprung up when released and Justine seized it with her lips. Uzoma sighed with pleasure.

  Cheryl could sense the dismay of her sister slave. She had just watched a video of her own debasement, the last moments of her free life, and now she was abjectly sucking the cock of a man she had never met as wantonly as any whore. Ironically, the better the job she did in bringing oral pleasure to this mountain of a man, the more likely she would be picked to be his bedmate. One could only speculate at the cruel and callous nature of a man who had risen to power in this God forsaken country, a man who had probably unflinchingly sent thousands to their deaths. But Justine knew that she could not falter in her task. Whatever this man could deal out to her, the fact was that tomorrow, or the next day, he would be gone. If he was unimpressed with her oral skills, she would be in the Discipline Room tonight and, doubtlessly, for many nights to come.

  Stoner had Mary on his lap and was sucking at her big breasts. His hands squeezed them until Mary moaned in pain. Stoner took the clicker and started the next scene. It was Mary.

  The video opened with a shapely young woman, naked, her arms affixed to a chain from the ceiling. Her legs were captured in a spreader bar. She was hooded, but her long, reddish brown hair ran out from under it down her shoulders to her hips. The girl wore a large, auburn bush around her sex. But the most telling feature of the young woman was her tits, large, firm, round tits.

  Stoner turned Mary’s head so that she was forced to watch. “See those lovely tits Mary? That’s what sold me on you. When I saw them I had to have you.” He squeezed Mary’s breasts again as if in emphasis.

  Justine’s efforts were clearly having an effect on Stoner’s native guest. Uzoma’s face was flush and he was breathing deeply. His eyes were glued to the screen.

  A man came from the side of the video. He was dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans. A distortion was kept over is face to hide his identity. He addressed the camera stiffly, as if reading from a script. His voice was heavily accented, Russian or maybe Serbian. It was oddly macabre to see this man with no face speaking to the unknown audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a high pitched, raspy voice. “We present to you a cunt for sale. Fresh cunt, never been fucked by us.” He stepped back to stand next to Mary. “Look at hips,” he said. “Beautiful hips, flat stomach.” He ran his hand over Mary’s stomach. Mary squirmed; a low mumble could be heard from under the hood. The man looked at Mary and then back at the camera.

  “Sometimes cunts do not know to shut up,” he continued in his broken English. “You can teach, with whip,” he said. He reared his hand back and slapped it down hard on Mary’s bottom. A loud ‘crack!’ came from the tape. The woman stiffened. The man yelled something at her in another language and slapped her ass again. The mumbling stopped.

  Stoner’s wives had traded stories of their abductions. While Justine had been plucked from the very streets of Paris, and Cheryl had been kidnapped in her own home, Mary’s story was different. She and her German boyfriend were hitchhiking their way to Greece. They were passing through Croatia. The main highway had been blocked by a landslide and they were on a local road. A van stopped for them. Three men emerged. The boyfriend was shot out of hand. With three bullets in his chest, his body tumbled into the gorge below the road. Mary had screamed. In a flash, she was hauled into the van and sped away.

  Mary looked at the screen bitterly. This man on the screen was not only her captor, one of the men who had profited by the sale of her body into slavery, but he was also one of her lover’s murderers. Stoner, his hand in her crotch, was oblivious to her reaction. “Watch this!” Stoner instructed his guest.

  Having silenced the video Mary, the obscure man stood behind her and reached around her chest seizing her breasts. They overflowed his hands. His obscured head appeared over her shoulder. “Look at these tits!” he exclaimed. “You will not see better tits!” he said.

  The man placed a hand between Mary’s legs from behind and seized her twat. “This is a hungry, juicy pussy,” he said as he massaged the tender lips. He took his time. At first the only reaction from Mary that could be seen was her stiffened response to having her slit invaded. Slowly, but surely, over the course of about seven minutes, the effects of the hand began to tell on her. The pale skin on her chest began to redden. Sweat appeared between her breasts. Her hips started to sway involuntarily. As if trying to shake off a chill, the woman shuddered in apparent frustration at her body’s reaction. Before long, Mary’s chest was rising and falling rapidly. A moan escaped from under the hood. The hand could be seen dancing between her thighs. Another hand had taken hold of a breast and was massaging it, teasing the nipple. Mary’s hips swirled as she tried to avoid the hand that was driving her lust. Suddenly, she gave a loud, low moan, her knees buckled, her hips shivered. Her body convulsed in the chains. Moan after muffled moan came forth from her throat. The man withdrew his hand and showed it to the camera. It was full of Mary’s discharge.

  “You see?” the man in the video said.

  Uzoma gave a long, guttural laugh. He looked over at Mary, whose face was red with mortification. “Mary,” he said to her, “you come like a Bantu woman!” He looked at Stoner, who had a broad grin on his face. “Ha, ha, ha,” Uzomo laughed. “Stoner, you were right! Excellent! Excellent!”

  All eyes went back to the video. The man was removing the hood. A wild woman’s face appeared, sweaty and red. A small rubber ball was lodged in her mouth, silencing her without distorting her features. Her body covered with a sheen of sweat, anger in her eyes, her bulbous breasts swaying to and fro, Mary was a visual delight. The video froze with that scene. A legend crossed it reading, “Mary, Irish, 23, opening bid 45,000 Euros.”

  Cheryl knew what was coming next. Stoner had replayed these videos a number of times, and each time that she saw her own, she broke down into tears. Tonight, even though tears were already filling her eyes, she steeled herself, praying for emotional strength. She did not want to be a source of this savage ruler’s amusement.

  Cheryl’s video opened with her dressed in the very short, black cocktail dress she wore now. When he had kidnapped her, the Turk had thoughtfully placed it in her carrying case with her. Cheryl also wore tonight, as she did every night for dinner, the ruby earrings Turk had decorated her with that night many sad months ago. Two long strands dangled from her ears, two were clipped to her nipples and two fastened to the lips of her vagina.

  In the video only the earrings in her ears could be seen. Uzoma noticed the similarity in dresses immediately.

  “Ho, ho!” he exclaimed, “She’s wearing the same dress, no?”

  “The very same dress,” Stoner responded with a laugh. “With some modifications, of course.”

  “Stand up! Stand up!” Uzoma demanded of Cheryl. “I want to see!”

  Hesitatingly, Cheryl rose to her feet.

  “Stand next to the tv!” Uzoma ordered.

  Cheryl dutifully stepped closer to the television. She wore the very same forlorn, desperate look she did the night the video was made. She hung her head, not wanting the big black man to see her tears. It tormented her to see her own apartment, the furniture she had bought, a print on the wall, a row of books on a table. This was her home, a sacrosanct place. It, and her very life, had been stolen from her.

  And there was the Turk. Cheryl was conscious of him behind the camera, she remembered the feel of his hands, his lips on her burning pussy. And she remembered the kiss. It was a kiss of promise, of desire. “Will he ever save me?” Cheryl thought.

  She excoriated herself nightly for her fantasy that the ve
ry man who had cruelly kidnapped her and sold her into slavery would be her redeemer. But, yet, it stayed with her.

  The dress that Cheryl wore tonight was the same dress that Turk had selected for her from her bedroom closet. It had a narrow waist, a low back. Two straps held panels of overlaid fabric over her breasts. The skirt flowed around her knees almost jauntily. Now, the panels had been removed so that her breasts, adorned with the red jewels, could be plainly seen. So too her sex, as a pie shaped wedge had been sliced out from the skirt of the dress. Even now, Cheryl’s fingers stroked the interior of her bare cunt, a ministration that was clear for all to see.

  Cheryl was spared the torment of watching herself tauntingly tease the camera, slowly removing her dress and underclothes. The video Cheryl remarked on the purpose of her presented breasts. She bent over, her back to the camera, to give a clear picture of the split lips of her sex and the jewels that adorned them. Hearing her voice, remembering the Turk’s non verbal commands from behind the camera, the present day Cheryl could not hold back her tears.

  Uzoma noticed Cheryl’s discomfiture. Justine was still slowly, exquisitely teasing his hard meat. His hand was on her head, stroking it. With his other hand he called Cheryl over.

  “Let me kiss your lips, you poor girl,” he said. Cheryl cringed at the thought of the evil man’s tongue in her mouth, but she obeyed readily. She leaned over him and presented her lips. The man took one of his oversized hands and grabbed her hair at the back of her head. He thrust his fat tongue into her mouth and jammed lips his against hers. Apparently, this was all he needed to release his building lusts. He grunted loudly as he spurted into Justine’s mouth. His hand gripped Cheryl’s head tautly. “Ughh! Ughh! Ughh!” he cried, his hips thrusting at the mouth that engulfed his throbbing black cock. He gave a long, final moan and his body slumped. Justine sucked and licked at his cock delicately, determined to absorb every drop. Although he had shot his load, Uzoma continued to press his tongue into Cheryl’s mouth. His other hand had left Justine’s head and had inserted itself under Cheryl’s skirt and was rubbing the soft, hot cheeks of her ass.

  Although her stomach turned at the unwanted invasion of her mouth by the President’s large, demanding tongue, Cheryl knew that he had chosen his whore for the night.

  Uzoma finally released the grief stricken girl. He looked her in the eyes. “Tonight,” he told her, “I will comfort you with my cock. Okay?”

  Cheryl strained to find the proper words. “Y-yes, Mr. President,” she replied, her voice soft and low. “If you desire it.”

  “Very much, my dear,” the large man said gleefully. “Very much!”

  To Stoner he said, “I compliment you on your wife’s very skilled mouth. I thought I was in heaven.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. And now Jeremiah will show you to your room.”

  The giant rose from his chair and stretched. Jeremiah was standing, ready to lead him upstairs. The leader of the nation signaled his readiness and Jeremiah strolled from the room. The President grabbed Cheryl by the wrist and dragged her along.

  When they reached the sumptuous guest room, Jeremiah left the President and his slut to their own devices. He had shown Uzoma a liquor cabinet and a small container of ice. The room was dimly lit by several lamps along the walls.

  Uzoma’s demeanor changed immediately as they entered the room. Gone was the pretension of the amiable giant. He spoke sternly to Cheryl, “Take off that dress and the jewels and get on the bed.”

  Cheryl quickly complied. She knelt there expectantly, her hands on her thighs, her back erect.

  “No,” the President corrected her, “on your belly.”

  Cheryl lay down on the bed on her stomach. She heard the African removing his clothes at the foot of the bed, where a suitcase sat on a stand. Uzoma looked at Cheryl whose hands were by her sides. “Hands behind your back, cunt,” he said. Cheryl obeyed.

  Uzoma went over to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of cognac. He took two long strands of leather from the suitcase and approached Cheryl. He quickly tied her wrists to her elbows. Cheryl groaned at the stress on her shoulders. For now, he let the ends dangle free. “Sit up,” he ordered Cheryl. The bound girl struggled to her knees and then swung her legs around so that she was sitting on her bottom, her legs crossed.

  It was the first glimpse that she had gotten of the naked African. He had a broad, hairless chest, firmly muscled arms. He sported a slight paunch, a tribute to fine living. His thighs were like tree trunks and his long, thick, tumescent cock lay between them. He sat on the bed, taking a large mouthful of cognac from his snifter. He put his lips to Cheryl’s and forced them open. Slowly, he squirted the cognac into Cheryl’s mouth.

  Cheryl had not tasted alcohol since before her kidnapping. She struggled to swallow the steady stream of liquor that flowed into her mouth. Her throat burned as it went down and a flash of heat passed through her body. Uzoma took another large mouthful and repeated the exercise. When his lips left Cheryl’s, her head was swimming. The alcohol made her dizzy. Her whole body tingled.

  Uzoma smiled at the girl. “We’ll have some fun tonight, whore,” he said to her. He finished off the snifter of cognac and placed the glass down on a nightstand. He draped an arm over Cheryl’s shoulder and drew her body to his.

  “Stoner says that you have very sensitive tits, white bitch. Let’s see how sensitive.”

  The man pushed Cheryl back down on the mattress and pressed his body next to hers. With his right hand, he began to worry the nipples of Cheryl’s breasts. The ample breasts lay flat against her chest, but her taut, thick nipples stood out. The bulky man had a delicate touch, and he stroked and pulled the hard buds on Cheryl’s tits teasingly.

  Cheryl could feel her cunt moistening as the tender strokes on her nipples began to enflame her. Uzoma leaned over and whispered in Cheryl’s ear. “I’ll bet I can make you come just by sucking on your tits. What do you think?”

  The liquor had loosened any control Cheryl had over her body’s responses to the man’s caresses. She felt the heat growing in her loins even as the man spoke. “Y-yes, Mr. President,” she moaned back.

  Uzoma laughed. “Call me ‘Master’ you white bitch,” he said.

  “Y-yes Master,” Cheryl replied with a sigh.

  Uzoma placed his broad lips over Cheryl’s nipple, subsuming the top portion of the breast in his large mouth. He sucked at the teat strenuously. He massaged the other breast while doing so and evoked another moan from the girl. Cheryl’s hips were grinding against the mattress. Her legs were splayed, inviting a caress of her now well lubricated gash. Uzoma leaned over and took the other breast in his mouth. Cheryl squirmed and moaned in pleasure. She felt her lusts building. Sensing her approaching climax, Uzoma withdrew his lips and tickled the teat with his tongue. Cheryl groaned in frustration.

  “There’s no rush, whore,” Uzoma said to her. “We have all night.”

  After he had sensed that Cheryl’s tide of passion had receded, he began his teasing and caresses once more. Three more times, he led the panting, bound girl to the brink of satisfaction, only to draw her back again. Cheryl was desperate for release.

  The African was enjoying his torment of Stoner’s white slut. His rigid manhood was lodged against her thigh. He whispered into Cheryl’s ear. “Do you want to come, slut?”

  “Yes, please Master, please let me come,” Cheryl responded, her voice husky with passion. The cognac’s effects heightened the sensitivity of her breasts, made her cunt burn all the hotter.

  “First you must tell me what you are, slut,” Uzoma instructed the writhing woman. “Tell me that you’re a whore.”

  “Yes, master, yes, I’m a whore, please!”

  “A cocksucking slut.”

  “I’m a cocksucking slut!” Cheryl cried out desperately. Uzoma was stoking her passions while he interrogated her, twisting and turning her nipples with his fingers, pulling on them.

  “I thought so, cunt,” he said. O
nce more his expansive mouth captured fully a third of Cheryl’s breast. She moaned loudly, arching her back. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried out, digging her heels into the mattress, pressing her thighs together. The contractions of her orgasm were like electrical shocks. She twisted and turned her torso while the African’s tongue and lips tormented one breast and a huge hand encircled and squeezed the other. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” the girl cried as throb after throb of pleasure passed through her.

  When he felt her orgasm subsiding, Uzoma withdrew his lips. He placed his hand between the panting girl’s thighs and delved into the gushing slit. “You come like a Bantu too,” he said. “Now you’re nice and wet for my cock.”

  The huge, muscular man moved between Cheryl’s legs and mounted her. His thick cock slid home easily. Slowly, deliberately, he stroked his manhood inside of her. Cheryl groaned and met his thrusts by rocking her hips. Twice she orgasmed as the African probed her loins in a mesmerizing rhythm. Cheryl felt him splash his seed into her hot canal, felt him stiffen, heard him moan. She expected for him to withdraw, to give her relief from the almost excruciating pleasure of the friction of his meat against the hard bud that lay at the top of her gushing slit. But the domineering man merely paused and then started his subtly rhythmic rocking again.

  Uzoma’s bulk dwarfed Cheryl’s body, and his torso pressed hard against her chest. He slid his thighs up, pressing Cheryl’s out widely. He took her lips with his and filled her mouth with his meaty, insatiable tongue. Cheryl tried to fight the brute off, her pleasure now becoming exquisitely painful. Each stroke sent sharp bolts of passion through her.

  Cheryl moaned and cried into the mouth that covered hers. Uzoma’s big, meaty hands were on either side of her head, holding it still. He tore his lips from hers and whispered in her ear, his breath coming in grunts, “What are you?”

  “I’m a whore!” Cheryl yelled out, frantic to satisfy the iron rod that ploughed her.