The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured Read online

  “Please don’t let him do this, oh, please, no, no .” she pleaded mentally. But Turk was an expert. He pressed the source of Cheryl’s discomfort and rubbed it firmly. A slow circular motion at first, establishing a rhythm. After a few moments, he shifted to a pinch, at first gently, and then more firmly, pulling the clitoris away from Cheryl’s body. More rubbing and then pulling. Turk knew that Cheryl’s ability to control her sexual excitement was limited and that varying the nature of his stimulation would distract that control. Pushing his fingers back into the cunt, he then spread the girl’s natural lubricant above to the clitoris, making it slippery and easier to manipulate. He could see Cheryl’s breath growing heavier, a redness spreading across her chest, a trembling in her thighs. He knew she was close. And he knew how to put her over the top.

  Leaning back to her breasts without ceasing his manual manipulations, he again seized her left nipple with his mouth. He sucked first gently and then, steadily, harder and harder. Cheryl by now was beyond her limits of control. Unconsciously, she began thrusting her hips against the pressure of Turk’s body. She was climbing the mountain. He could hear her moans and squeals from behind her gag.

  Cheryl could not believe the waves of lust overcoming her. She strained at her bonds, her toes curled, her fingers flicking open and shut. As she felt the Turk’s teeth tug on her nipple, she bit down hard on the ball in her mouth, straining her jaws. She knew how this would end and she knew the only way to get her captor to stop was to give him what he wanted. At this point she had no choice and, as expected, she exploded.

  Turk enjoyed the picture of the bound woman jerking and moaning as she came. He continued to stimulate her until he was sure she was finished. He did not want to exhaust his captive, at least not yet, and after the first series of convulsions began to subside, he slowly withdrew his hand from the now sopping cunt. One more step would complete her humiliation. He loosened the hood from around her neck and drew it up over her nose. Taking his right hand, he liberally moistened it with the product of her passion. He then slipped his hand underneath the hood and rubbed the pungent moisture over her lips and nose. Cheryl was presented with the aroma of her shameful submission. He sealed the hood again around her neck.

  Another picture was called for, he thought as he admired the flushness of Cheryl’s chest and breasts, the gleam of sweat on her frame. He took the camera from the dresser where he had left it and popped away a few more frames. He decided that a close-up of the breasts was appropriate. The areolae were darkened by the flow of passion and stood out even more readily against the creamy skin of Cheryl’s breasts.

  Of course, the Turk’s own excitement was far from satisfied. His cock was rock hard and he was in need of relief. Now, it was not his habit to use the merchandise. Cheryl had no idea what was in store for her, but Turk of course, did. And it was bad business practice to consume the product. He had built a fine reputation and, as delectable as Cheryl was, he would not depart from his business ethics now. Still, he could get some relief without violating his principles.

  After first reaffixing the bindings around Cheryl’s thighs, he returned his attention to those magnificent and beauteous mounds on Cheryl’s chest. He pushed Cheryl so that she was fully on her back now, her hand and arms trapped painfully beneath her. He pulled his manhood from his trousers and gave it a few gentle tugs. Leaning over the woman’s supine form he let a large drop of spittle drop between her breasts. His first choice would have been to caress himself between the cracks of Cheryl’s ass, but he would have to release the hogtie to do that and he was not sure that the tempting sight of the narrower passage made so available would not overcome his qualms about damaging the goods. And so fucking her tits was the next best thing.

  Now adequately lubricated, Turk placed his cock between the soft and billowing orbs. Cheryl, having recovered from her bout of passion, at first thought that he was compounding her humiliation. She had never had so direct an experience of the fruits of her own passion as when she had inhaled the musky odor of her cum under the hood. Knowing that it had been produced unwillingly, at moderate effort by a complete stranger, was embarrassing enough. Being compelled to breathe its essence made it even worse.

  Cheryl cringed at the baseness of her assailant who would drool over her breasts. But as her breasts were pushed together and the Turk straddled her stomach, she began to get the idea. She was about to be tit fucked.

  Once, in high school a boy had asked her to do that. She had had only three or four boyfriends in high school. She had not gone beyond mutual masturbation with any of them, not even a blow job. But this boy wanted more and she did really like him. With his hand in her quim, he had whispered the suggestion to her. She thought it exciting and agreed. Kneeling between his knees in the back seat of his father’s Ford Lumina, she had opened her blouse (it was already unbuttoned) and pulled her breasts free from her bra.

  The boy’s cock was already out of his pants, his trousers and underwear around his thighs. Pressing her breasts together, she had begun to stroke him. Something about the heat between her breasts, the boy’s smell as she pressed her nose into his stomach, the twitching of his thighs against her, brought a rush of lust to her. Urgently she pushed her breasts up and down to match the rhythm of the boy’s thrusts. He grabbed her hair and held her head tightly to his body as he called out her name repeatedly.

  She came as he did, splashing the sticky hot semen on her chest and throat. As her passion subsided and the boy finally released her hair, she leaned back and discovered that her whole chest was covered in the boy’s slime. She was disgusted and vowed never to do it again. Later that month she found out that he was fucking her friend Arlene and that was that.

  As she felt the Turk’s cock slide between her breasts she recalled her former experience. That had been an exercise in her own sexual power to excite this boy and to daringly go where she had not gone before. But this exercise in power was not her own. This was much different and Cheryl felt nothing but disgust and shame as the heated shaft rubbed between her breasts. Her whole body was jolted back and forth with the man’s thrusts.

  She could hear his grunts and heavy breathing as he took his pleasure. He paused for a moment, added another dollop of spittle, and resumed, now leaning his torso on top of her head and face. Had she anticipated this move, she would have turned her head to the side, but failing that, she was given the full pressure of the man’s chest on her face. Her need to breath only through her nose was already limiting her flow of oxygen. The addition of this weight lessened the flow of air to a trickle. “He’s going to suffocate me,” she thought. “He’s a sick perverted bastard, capturing me only to make me come against my will and then suffocate me as he fucked my tits.”

  Her body reacted naturally to the deprivation of oxygen by bucking wildly beneath her tormentor. Her screams behind the gag got louder and more desperate. Turk was aware of the distress he was causing, but he was almost done. He thrust steadily, now climbing his own mountain and suddenly convulsed in pleasure. His come spurted from the tops of Cheryl’s tits across her chest. Noting that Cheryl was still struggling mightily beneath him, he pushed his body aside and came to rest on his back. “That was good,” he thought. “Really good.”

  Cheryl snorted as she drew fresh air into her lungs through her now liberated nose. Her gratitude at being freed from this foul embrace was tempered by the knowledge that her torture and abuse would be continuing. She knew that the man had just gotten started and that this was only a prelude to a fuller, more degrading abuse yet to come.

  She felt the man lift himself off of the bed and heard him enter the bathroom. She could hear the water run and then felt him kneel back on the bed. The Turk had gone to clean himself off. He was careful to use tissues that could be flushed down the toilet rather than a towel or facecloth. No DNA left behind. For the same reason he used some tissues to wipe Cheryl’s chest clean. He didn’t want it come off and get rubbed into the sheets or bedspread.

  His tension having been re
lieved, Turk now took the time to look around the bedroom. First he looked for jewels. Most of these young, single girls did not possess any really valuable jewels, but there were exceptions. Maximizing profit was a sturdy business principle the Turk had learned well. Cheryl’s body would bring a tidy sum, but there were the extras to be considered and not sneered at. Last year, that redhead in Miami had $40,000 in cash in a box in her closet and three ounces of cocaine. Another captive had a rare book collection, probably an asset of some relative’s estate. He was able to lift a few of these when he took her. And so on. Someday, Turk knew, he would retire and all these things would add up.

  There was a jewelry box on Cheryl’s dresser and he opened it to look inside. Mostly junk, a few decent pieces worth a few hundred bucks. A delightful pair of ruby earrings, not worth anything, but a distinct possibility when it came to decorating his lovely captive later. And, yes, here it was, the diamond in the rough.

  The Turk pulled a large diamond encrusted brooch from the box. His eye, while not expert, was experienced, and he knew a nice piece when he saw it. Undoubtedly an heirloom, the brooch sported pea-sized diamonds surrounding an emerald encrusted heart framed by gold. No one would wear anything like this unless to a highbrow formal affair where it could be matched against the conspicuous wealth of the other guests. It might be worth as much as $15,000; a nifty bonus to this enterprise.

  Pocketing the brooch, Turk rifled through the drawers of the dresser and the closet. He found the normal assortment of clothes and under things, a few lacy panties, matching revealing bras. Again, something for him to look at later. He found a vibrator in a nightstand beside the bed. He laughed to himself. “This is a randy one,” he thought.

  Having satisfied his curiosity, he turned to his prisoner, now lolling on her side on the bed. Cheryl had heard the man moving around the apartment and had guessed that he was looking for things to steal. When she heard the jewelry box open, she gave a little moan of despair. He was certain to find Grandma’s brooch, the one her father had told her to insure and put in a safety deposit box. She consoled herself with the thought that maybe, if he found something valuable, he would leave, having gotten his jollies with her. But the next thing to happen dispelled that idea.

  Turk decided that it was time to move the scene of operations. Having exhausted the search of the bedroom (he had even looked under the bed), he leaned over the girl and pushed her onto her stomach. He loosened the clip that bound her wrists to her feet and loosened the cuffs around one ankle. He left the binding around her thighs.

  Cheryl felt herself pulled to a sitting position. She was glad to be free of the hog tie but dreaded whatever was to come now. Turk sat beside her on the bed. He placed his mouth to her ear.

  “Listen, bitch,” he whispered, “we are moving into the other room. You are going to stand up and walk with me. I haven’t hurt you so far but that can happen very quickly if you give me any trouble.” He waited for this to sink in. Seeing Cheryl’s head nod in agreement he lifted her to her feet. Cheryl wobbled slightly as she tried to get her balance. She felt herself being pulled forward and took little baby steps as her bound thighs permitted. She could sense that they were out of the bedroom and into the living room. She was ashamed at her nakedness and could not fathom her captor’s purpose in bringing her out there.

  In fact, it was simple. Turk wanted to explore the rest of the apartment and had no intent of leaving her in another room while he did so. That time outside of Chicago, the girl had been left in the bedroom for only a minute. In spite of her bindings, she had managed to loosen her wrists from her feet and hop over to the window. Unbelievably, she had dashed herself against the window and fallen through. The house was in a secluded neighborhood, and no one heard the smash of the glass or the thud of her body as it hit the ground one story below. But when he went outside he could see that she had broken her shoulder when she fell; a complete waste of several weeks of preparation. He had to grab his things, slit her throat and go. She was a real looker too. One he had intended to recruit for a special buyer in South America. Well, live and learn.

  And so as the couple emerged from the bedroom, Turk stood the girl in the center of the room and stepped back momentarily. Her visage, framed by the fading light coming through the living room window, was too good to miss. He took another series of pictures, from several angles. She was magnificent!

  After putting the small camera back into his pocket, Turk pushed the girl down to the floor and reattached her bindings. Now he was free to look around the living room and kitchen. Nothing of note was found in the living room other than the fact that Cheryl had a rather insipid taste in music. He espied the food she had brought home with her. Chinese. A little cold though. Turk popped the chicken and broccoli into the microwave and heated it up. No sense having it go to waste. When the bell rang he removed the container and brought in into the living room, which doubled as an eating area.

  The open bottle of Merlot didn’t really go with the food and so he explored further until he found a nice chardonnay. He opened the bottle with a slight pop and poured himself a glass. He looked at his watch. “Another hour,” he thought. Time enough.

  Cheryl listened to the sounds of the Turk eating, much to her dismay. Not only was she pissed that he was eating her dinner, but she was also very hungry herself. Those light lunches were good for her diet but made her ravenous around dinnertime. It occurred to her that it was odd that in spite of having been sexually molested, in fear for her life, and being hog-tied here in her own living room, she was still hungry.

  The room had darkened during the tryst in the bedroom and Turk rose to turn on a light. He made sure that all of the blinds were closed first. Then, he began to set up the night’s main event.

  He first looked around for the proper setting. Seeing evidence of a joist across the ceiling, he retreated to the bedroom momentarily and brought out his little bag of goodies. A simple hook was removed and he pulled over a chair, stood on it and screwed it in. He then removed a laptop computer from his bag and placed it on a coffee table nearby. A small digital video camera followed it. He booted up the computer, connected the camera and checked the settings. Everything was working fine.

  Now was the time to begin working on the decoration of the merchandise.

  He again released the clip holding Cheryl hogtied and took off the cuffs to her ankles and the belt around her thighs. He removed the belt around her arms, loosening them for the first time to Cheryl’s great relief. She was now lying at his feet, unsure of what, if anything, to do. Turk nudged her with his foot.

  “Get up.”

  Obediently, Cheryl struggled to her feet. It was not easy given that her hands were still handcuffed and she was blinded by the oppressive hood. But she did it and for the first time in over an hour was able to stand freely and move her muscles. She was not reassured when she felt the Turk grab a nipple and pull her close to him. She felt her hood being untied and pulled from her head. Her eyes blinked at the light and she immediately remembered her first terror when she had realized that she had seen his face. Here it was again.

  Turk’s appearance was not one to calm her disquietude. His face was swarthy, a crooked nose, obviously the result of more than a few fistfights, a scar on his right cheek, probably from a knife, and hard, glaring eyes. He stood at least seven inches taller than her and was obviously well muscled. She tried to turn her head away but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his face. She quailed in fear.

  His voice was harsh and strict. “I am only going to go over this once with you. You are to cooperate in everything I tell you to do. If you struggle or try to escape, I will hurt you very badly. We are going to back into the bedroom and you are going to get cleaned up. You will take a shower and dress in the clothes that I give you. If you speak or make any noise, you will regret it immediately. I have many ways of causing pain. Do you understand?”

  Cheryl nodded her head desperately. Goose bumps ran all up and down her body. She had nev
er been confronted with such strength or evil intent. She would do whatever this man wanted.

  Turk took Cheryl’s arm and led her back to the bathroom. At the shower he released her arms from behind her back and removed the gag. Cheryl sputtered and coughed as the gag was removed, drawing for the first time in a while, a deep breath into her lungs. Her arms and shoulders ached. She looked up to the hulking assailant beside her and spoke softly. “I have to pee.”

  “Piss in the shower,” the man hissed back. Cheryl nodded fearfully. It had taken a desperate rush of courage to speak to this man who was so cruelly holding her captive, and she was not about to take any more chances. She believed it when he said he would hurt her and she did not want pain to accompany her humiliation and shame.

  Cheryl stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The shower was rather large for a small apartment, but it was one of the attributes that had convinced her to take it. There was enough room to stand aside as she waited for the water temperature to adjust. When it reached the right tepidness, she stepped under the flow of water from the nozzle. The Turk had left the door open so he could watch her. As the water poured over her, she turned her back to the man and spread her legs, releasing the flow of water that had been urgently pressing her bladder. She knew that it was flowing down her legs in spite of her spread knees but didn’t care. She also knew that the Turk was watching, but that didn’t matter either. Her need was too desperate and her spirits so low that she had no more embarrassment to give.

  Turk watched the girl as she peed. Watching a woman urinate was not one of his things, but there were guys who liked it. She would learn to do it with her front turned to the eyes of her tormentors soon enough, if that was what was demanded. He did want to watch her wash herself, however.

  Cheryl had started to soap her body with her back turned to the Turk. He ordered her to turn around and she complied meekly. “Soap your tits and your cunt,” was all he said.