The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured

by Paul Blades

  Jeremiah quickly undid the clasps holding the box shut and its top and sides fell away. There was Cheryl in all of her agonized splendor. She was wide awake now, and trembling in anticipation of some new outrage. But that would come later. Now was to be a peaceful interlude at last.

  Jeremiah carefully undid the strap securing Cheryl’s arms. He unleashed her ankles from the box’s padded bottom and released the buckles that secured Cheryl’s legs to her thighs. He knew that a sudden extension of Cheryl’s legs could result in pulled muscles or torn tendons, and so he slowly and gently extended one leg after the other. The strain on Cheryl’s leg and thigh muscles was painful, but at the same time, as a portent of her ultimate freedom from her long and terrorizing confinement, a source of great exhilaration to her. “Finally,” she thought. “Release.”

  Once her legs had been fully extended, and her body lay half on and half off of the bottom of the box that had been her prison, Jeremiah gently lifted Cheryl’s torso with one hand and pulled the box bottom from underneath her.

  Now Cheryl was lying fully extended for the first time in days. A paroxysm of relief shuddered through her body. She began sobbing through her gag, sobbing as she never had before in her life. Her hands were still bound behind her and the mask and gag still adorned her head and mouth. But she was laying on a cushioned leather table, blood finally flowing freely thorough her extremities.

  Jeremiah let the young woman sob for a few minutes. Experience had told him that it was best to let the white bitches have their hysterics. Jeremiah had processed many white women through this small concrete hut. Stoner was right, Jeremiah hated the white man, the Europeans and Americans who seemed to own everything. But Jeremiah prized the white women, their skin so pale, a delight to touch and feel against his palms as he ran his hands across their breasts, along their thighs, and touched their secret places. They marked so well too. The red stripes from the whip or the black and blue from the cane, contrasted sharply with their wan skin. And black women, at least the natives who were used to pain and toil and trouble, did not scream so delightfully when he inflicted pain on them at the Master’s command or for his own enjoyment.

  Jeremiah actually was often conflicted in his feelings for the white female prisoners of the Master. He hated white women as he hated all whites. Yet, he reveled in the feel of their bodies, liked to watch their faces as he manipulated them to climax, feel the contractions of their cunts around his cock as he forced them to pleasure. For the Master gave Jeremiah free reign with his bitches when he was away, and that was often.

  And so Jeremiah ran his hard, bony hands down Cheryl’s thighs. He nudged them open so that the plugged rear opening and the beginnings of Cheryl’s cunt lips could be seen. Jeremiah was tempted to squeeze those tender lips until the white girl moaned in pain. He was anxious to feel her reactions and begin to build the fear of him in her on which his, and therefore the Master’s, control of the bitches depended. He would get to know this bitch well. And tonight, well, that would be a special pleasure.

  Redirecting himself to the task immediately ahead, Jeremiah released Cheryl’s hands and arms from the black sheath that had pinioned them since the Turk had wrapped them up so cruelly. Again, slowly, Jeremiah separated the arms and pulled them first down to Cheryl sides and then out, finally bringing them to rest above her head. The mask and gag were left in place while Jeremiah began to slowly and efficiently massage Cheryl’s tortured body. She could feel the frightening strength of the hands that kneaded her muscles. The hands poked and prodded, finding the right places. It was heaven compared to the box, and Cheryl prayed that she would not be returned there. She did not know where she was or what was to happen to her, but she knew that she was experiencing pleasure for the first time since her horrible kidnapping.

  When convinced that the bitch could stand and walk, Jeremiah ceased his ministrations and pulled the woman to a sitting position. He then nudged her off of the table and onto her feet. Cheryl’s hands were free and they grasped the arms of her liberator as she gently placed weight on her feet. She could feel the strong, sinewy muscles of his arms as they held her. His flesh was warm and a strange comfort.

  At first, Cheryl’s knees buckled as she stepped down from the table, but with the help of this monster of a man beside her, she straightened out and stood up, exhilarated to feel her body free from confinements.

  She was led to a small shower stall in the corner of the room. Jeremiah forced her to squat over a round, low pan and then tugged free the plug that had kept Cheryl’s wastes from soiling her cargo container. Cheryl felt a nozzle press against her anal opening and guessed that she was about to receive an enema. She was right, as warm water flowed into her intestines. Cheryl knew that her intestines were packed even though she had consumed almost no solid food for a long time. She had felt the cramps in her stomach and belly and was actually grateful for this unconsented to, but utilitarian, invasion of her ass. Cheryl was too relieved to be embarrassed.

  Jeremiah, after flooding Cheryl’s intestines two more times and ensuring that her bowels were truly empty, led Cheryl to anther stall nearby containing a shower and a drain. He turned the water on. The water never really got cold even though pumped from a deep well. The heat of the tropical day baked the water as it stood in the pipes. The hut was not air-conditioned and Cheryl had already felt the weight of the hot muggy air.

  Cheryl heard the shower turned on and the flow of water to the floor. Hands tugged at the mask she wore and it was released. Cheryl blinked, blinded even by the soft light of the bunker. Slowly, her eyes focused. She turned her head to look at the face of her liberator, but Jeremiah placed his hands on the sides of her head and forced her to look forwards. He didn’t have to speak. Cheryl understood what was required by the firmness of the hands that held her head between them like a melon that could be squashed.

  Big, strong, black hands pulled the gag from between her lips and eased out the ring of leather that had facilitated Stoner’s rape of her mouth. Again sadness but also joy overcame Cheryl. She was free of all of her bonds at last. Even standing here naked before an unknown black man, obviously at his mercy, was not enough to dampen her delight at being able to close her mouth, to feel it free of its invader, to be able to see.

  Jeremiah now pushed Cheryl forward into the shower. It ran down over her head, down to her shoulders, her torso, and down her legs. The tepidness of the water was soothing and Cheryl quickly fell into a reverie. As it flowed over her she could almost imagine standing in her shower back in New York, after a good workout.

  She was startled by the hand that placed itself on her right shoulder, tempted to look behind to see the face of this mysterious force that was controlling her. Her instincts told her better though, and she remained staring at the far wall of the shower. She then felt a sponge running across her back and a soapy wetness behind.

  Jeremiah scrubbed Cheryl’s back thoroughly with the sponge. It was important that the girl’s skin be fresh and sensitive for what would come later. Jeremiah descended Cheryl’s back and then her thighs and legs. He lingered at the crack of Cheryl’s ass, causing Cheryl to give a little yelp as he ran the sponge across her sphincter.

  Jeremiah had shed his robes and stood in the shower naked behind the young woman. He was excited and his thick black prick was hardening with every contact of his hands or body with Cheryl’s skin. Cheryl felt Jeremiah’s nakedness as he stepped closer to her to soap her stomach and breasts from behind. His long, sinewy black left arm encircled Cheryl’s throat as his right wielded the sponge. Cheryl could feel Jeremiah’s now quick breath in her ear and feel the press of his now fully hardened cock against the crack of her ass.

  Cheryl shuddered as her feeling of total vulnerability returned. As the water ran over the two now entwined bodies, Jeremiah pushed Cheryl’s thighs apart with the hand that held the sponge and pressed it firmly against Cheryl’s mons. Cheryl whimpered slightly as her sex was manhandled. This was the third man since her capture to fondle or abuse h
er, for the black man who pressed his body into hers was clearly intent on more than washing her pussy. His intentions became even more obvious when the sponge dropped to the shower floor. It did not take long for the hand to drive Cheryl to wetness and cause the vagina’s lips to part. Cheryl fought back the feelings of pleasure and desire that soon flooded her as the obviously expert hand massaged and stroked her cunt and the bud at its apex.

  The arm encircling Cheryl’s throat tightened when Cheryl raised one hand to protest, and tried with the other to pull the offending, coal black hand from between her thighs. Cheryl got the message and dropped her hands to her sides in resignation.

  Jeremiah stood at least a foot taller than Cheryl who was no slouch at 5’6.” So Jeremiah’s balls rested at the top of Cheryl’s posterior while his cock was pressed against her back. Cheryl felt it like a weapon held against her spine and wondered when she would be wounded by it.

  But this was not Jeremiah’s intention, at least not now. This was more of academic exercise, to measure Cheryl’s responsiveness, her pliability. Jeremiah’s left arm now released Cheryl’s neck and his hand seized her right breast. His arm crushed Cheryl’s left breast against her body. Jeremiah’s hand encircled his prize and squeezed softly. Cheryl moaned as she finally gave in to the sensual assault. She now spread her thighs willingly, wanting the hand to bring her to climax. She pressed her back against her assailant, reached behind her to feel the back of his thighs.

  Jeremiah was pleased. This girl had passion. The Master would be entertained. And so would he when he had access to her. And her creamy thighs and open mouth would be barter for the favors and “gifts’ that he received regularly from the Master’s minions. Although there were few who could afford them, the Master’s white sluts were in great demand.

  He could feel Cheryl now mounting to her climax. Her breath was now coming heavily and the moans from the back of her throat louder and more insistent. Her hands gripped the back of his thighs tightly as Cheryl felt herself tottering on the edge of an abyss. Casting all dignity and resistance aside, she finally achieved release.

  The woman’s body jerked against his as she came wildly. Jeremiah’s right hand, buried in her cunt was remorseless in its insistence. Anticipating Cheryl’s resistance to the continued plundering of her sex, Jeremiah adroitly captured Cheryl’s arms with his thighs and held them pressed against her legs and ass. He let the first wave of pleasure subside and then pressed on. Cheryl’s moans now became cries as she was pushed again past the wall that confined her pleasure.

  After the third climax, Jeremiah let his hand slow to a gentle rubbing of the white woman’s sex. She would cool down now, her body relaxed, her mind swimming in a different place. He allowed Cheryl to slump in his arms and lowered her to her knees. He pushed her body forwards and Cheryl caught her fall with her hands. As the water continued to pour down from above, Jeremiah completed his ablutions of Cheryl by soaping and rinsing her hair.

  Cheryl’s heart was pounding still. She barely felt the hands massaging her scalp. She did not care what he did. She was his prisoner.

  When the shower was finally over, Cheryl was led back to the cushioned table in the center of the room. Jeremiah held her neck from behind as he led her from the shower. His manhood was now flaccid, having exploded its seed over Cheryl’ back. Cheryl, absorbed as she was in her own passionate delirium, did not notice when the hot liquid poured over her back, or the tensing of Jeremiah’s body as he reached his climax.

  Jeremiah pushed Cheryl’s torso down on the table and pressed her face down and to the right. He quickly toweled her body. He stood her up again and toweled her hair, also brushing the hair straight, releasing all the knots and tangles. Cheryl patiently let this man administer to her. She let him gather her hair behind her head in a pony tail and felt him tie it tight with something. When he stepped away for a moment, she did not move, but resignedly kept her place.

  The tall black manservant returned with his robes restored and two lengths of leather strips in his right hand. In his left he held a black cotton blindfold and a primitive gag. He guided Cheryl’s body back down to the table, bending her at the waist. He then gathered her arms behind her and quickly and expertly bound her wrists.

  Cheryl was jolted from her dream-like state by this development. Too late to pull her hands away, Cheryl tried to lift her body from the table. The man’s firm left arm held her down. Cheryl, now spoke for the first time in days, words now flowing out from her as from a burst dam.

  “Please, oh please, don’t do this. Please let me go. I haven’t hurt anyone, please don’t tie me up, please don’t hurt me.” Cheryl’s voice was desperate. The man’s response was to press his body into hers, forcing her back down against he table. He pulled her head back as Cheryl tried to plead, to beg for release. As her mouth opened to protest, he jammed the gag home.

  It was simple and primitive, but effective. It consisted of a leather encased stick, about five or six inches long and three inches around. Leather thongs had been pulled and knotted through holes at each end. Placed lengthways against the mouth, it jammed the teeth apart and caused the mouth to grimace. Sounds, but not words could escape the mouth as the depressed tongue could not form them.

  Cheryl felt the leather-bound stick jammed across her mouth, spreading her lips backwards. Her teeth were pried apart and her tongue pinned to the floor of her mouth. She felt the ends of the thongs tied about the rear of her head.

  Jeremiah then placed the blindfold over Cheryl’s eyes, darkening her vision. Once again, she was a helpless prisoner. The momentary tranquility she had felt from the shower and the passionate, if imposed, orgasms fell away as the terror of her situation came back in a flash. She recalled the vision of the leering face of the man on the plane. His face had been deformed by hate as he scowled at her. His words came back to her too. “Fun,” he had said. He was going to have fun with her.

  Jeremiah now pulled Cheryl’s torso up from the table. After allowing her to steady herself on her feet he affixed a slight chain around her neck and pulled her forward towards the exterior door. Cheryl stumbled at first, it being somewhat unnatural to be led blindfolded, hands behind the back, barefoot. But the tug at her neck was insistent and she quickly acclimated herself to the pace established by her keeper.

  As soon as she left the shaded concrete bunker, Cheryl could feel the heat of the sun upon her body. It was a searing, smothering heat, almost unnatural, and quite an experience for one used to temperate climes. She had no idea where she was, but the fact of the intense moist heat convinced her that she was either in or near a jungle. It was a small comfort.

  She was dragged up the walkway towards the main house and brought in, not through the main entranceway that led off of the extensive veranda. She was not brought in through the servants’ entrance in the rear of the building. Instead she was led to a door that opened to the cellar of the mansion. It was not actually below ground. Cellars, as such, were impractical here, where the water table was so high and the soil so soft. But the actual first floor of the dwelling was used as a storage and utility area. There were several entrances all around the building, each designed to admit one to a specific functional portion. The door to which Cheryl was being led was the portal of such an area of specific function, one that she would soon discover.

  Jeremiah carried with him a spate of keys and was able to produce the one necessary to unlock the heavy steel door. Cheryl waited while he did so, taking in the sounds of the door opening, its foreboding heft apparent from the noise of its hinges. She was led in and the rough, stony texture of the walkway was changed to the smooth coldness of indoor concrete. Cheryl heard another door being unlocked and then slammed after they had passed through it. She did not know where they were going, but she knew that she was being inexorably led to a discovery of what that angry, hurtful man had called “fun.”

  Although Cheryl felt powerless and knew that she was at the mercy of a cruel, hard man, she did not feel owned. “How could anyone own another?” she
thought to herself. She was a person, with rights and an identity. Wherever she was, there must be some way to escape, to find help. For the present, Cheryl considered her plight, as drastically fearsome as it may be, temporary. The ordeal she was about to undergo was meant to help dispel those notions.

  For the room to which Cheryl had been admitted was the “Discipline Room.” She had yet to see the various instruments and mechanisms of pain that were stored here. She did not see the rack-like device that would be used to stretch and tear at her muscles. She did not see the sharply pointed “horse” she would have to ride. She did not see the whips and canes mounted on the walls along with various implements of intense and cruel confinement that hung there.

  Cheryl felt her hands being untied. She knew better than to struggle or to try and flee. Not only was she no match for this brute of a man, but where could she go? Whose help would she seek? What direction should she flee in?

  Jeremiah brought Cheryl over to a crucifix-like device. He pushed her back up against a steel pole that ran up from the floor. Cheryl felt one wrist, then the other affixed to a bracelet on the end of a pole that ran horizontally and which was somehow attached to the pole that she leaned against. It was about chest high for her and presented no specific difficulty for her to adjust to her binding. Her arms had been placed over the bar and her wrists joined to the bracelets on its underside. This had the effect of wrapping her arms around the bar. She felt a slight discomfort to her shoulders as she tried to adjust herself to this strange posture.

  Jeremiah knew what this device was for and he knew that its nature was now deceptively benign to this new slave. All that was left to do was to confine the girl’s ankles in a short chain, one that ran behind the perpendicular pole and would prevent her from kicking or flailing her feet. This was a satisfying moment for him. It was the first moment that this dog of a white whore would discover what torments awaited her.