The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured Page 5

  She had not seen the steel hook Turk had installed earlier in the ceiling, but she saw it now. It was actually more of an eyelet than a hook and the Turk passed the loose end of the rope that was around her wrists through it. He pulled on it quickly and her arms followed the rope up towards the circle of steel. Turk tied off the loose end on her wrists.

  Cheryl’s feet barely touched the floor as she was stretched to the limit of her height. Her arms were taut and began to ache immediately. Her eyes darted around the room as if seeking assistance from an imaginary rescuer.

  Turk went over to the laptop and camera and made some adjustments. An image popped onto the screen and Cheryl could see herself dangling on her tip toes, her face compressed by her arms, the hem of the dress riding high on her thighs. It was not too long to begin with and another inch or so, her panties would be peeking out. Turk looked at his watch and nodded to himself. “Right on time.”

  There was actually another fifteen minutes or so before the broadcast, but he liked to have a margin of error. This way he could relax a bit and go over his routine. He went back to the kitchen, choosing the Merlot this time and wandered back into the living room. He took some more pictures of the dangling beauty; close-ups of her contorted face, the ropes on her wrists, the teetering feet.

  He walked over to the computer and downloaded the pictures to the hard drive. Then, after checking the workings of the video camera, adjusting the focus and the zoom, he turned to the forlorn woman.

  “Now I am going to let you down and you are going to do exactly as I say. We are going to have a little interview and then you are going to put on a show. I don’t have time to edit this and so if you fuck it up I’m going to come down on you like a load of bricks. I’m going to remove your gag. If you holler or yell it will take me about four seconds to slit your throat.” As he said this, the Turk stepped closer to the woman and unsheathed his blade. He placed it under her chin and rubbed it back and forth. “If I slit your throat, it will take about twenty seconds for you to die. You will drown in your own blood and make a considerable mess on this nice floor. You will not, of course be able to call out because your wind pipe will be severed and anyway, there will be so much blood in your throat that you will not be able to make a sound other than a little gurgle. Got that?”

  Cheryl got it all right. She nodded excitedly to show her earnestness.

  Her wrists were released from the hook. Her feet ached as she was able to place her full weight on them again. The man took the gag from her mouth and smoothed her hair where it had been disturbed by the strap. He checked her makeup carefully. She was ready.

  The Turk stepped back and stood next to the computer. The girl stood forlornly, hands at her sides, trembling with fear. Absent the hulking threat of a man before her, absent the evening of terror and degradation she had experienced, this could be any night. She was standing in her living room, facing away from the windows and towards the door. She had on her best dress and her sexiest underwear. But this was not any other night.

  Before proceeding to the taping, the Turk gave the girl her lines and made her repeat them four or five times. He adjusted the dimmer for the living room lighting and made Cheryl move over a little to her left. “Something else,” he thought. “Oh, yea, the chair.”

  He brought over the chair that had been the scene of Cheryl’s debasement earlier and had her sit in it. She would never think about this chair in the same way again. Showtime.

  The Turk signaled Cheryl, “action” and she slowly began to speak. Her voice trembled as she directed her gaze to the camera as she had been instructed. “Hello, my name is Cheryl,” she said. “I’m going to put on a little show for you. I hope that you enjoy it.”

  Cheryl rose to her feet and took one step forward to the mark the Turk had placed on the rug. “This is my party dress and I got all prettied up just for you. Wait until you see what’s underneath.” Cheryl’s voice faltered at this last statement, but a nervous glance over at the Turk propelled her further.

  “I’m twenty four years old and have a great deal of sexual experience. My body is just made for fucking.”

  At this Cheryl turned slowly around so that the camera could catch the gentle curves of her torso, the gracefulness of her step. Although she was crying inside, Cheryl managed a grimace-like smile for the camera. As she turned to it again, she readied herself for her show. Crossing her arms, she pulled the straps of her dress off of her shoulders. The bodice loosened and she was able to pull it down below her breasts.

  “See what nice breasts I have. I know you would like to feel them. I often massage them.”

  Much of the dialogue to this display was ad-libbed. Turk had told her how to start and given her the general content, but who could memorize all this in a few minutes. The Turk was guiding her through hand movements.

  Cheryl shimmied the rest of the way out of her dress and let the fabric fall to the floor. She kicked it away. She now stood, resplendent in her dainties. Following Turk’s hand signals from the sidelines, Cheryl pushed her breasts together and then cupped them from underneath. “These are for sucking,” she said to the camera.

  She reached behind her back and released the bra’s clasps. The bra fell from her breasts. The Turk almost gasped with delight.

  As instructed, Cheryl slowly swung her breasts from side to side and leaned frontward slightly so that they could distend from her torso. As she leaned forward she cupped them and presented them to the camera. The earrings sparkled in the light and Turk lingered over them with the camera. At his signal, she removed them one after the other. Her nipples were sore from the pressure and the irritation from inside the bra. But she did what she had been told and distended them. “My nipples are fat and tasty,” she said.

  Her panties were next. The shame of pulling down her panties in front of the camera was almost too much for Cheryl to bear. Would he kill her anyway after making these lewd tapes? Was he going to fuck her now in front of the camera, was that what he was waiting for? But fear is a great motivator and she was sure that he would make her suffer intently if she failed in her duty now.

  Cheryl looked directly into the camera and resumed her banter with the lens. “Watch this.”

  Slowly, Cheryl pulled the panties down her thighs. Making sure that she did not disturb the stockings, she worked carefully and slowly. Her breasts dangled in front of her as she leaned over to get the panties past her knees. Now came the difficult part. She had to remove the panties without taking off her shoes. To do this, she had to bend all the way over, practically touching her toes. Before completing this task, she turned slowly so that her back was to the camera. Thus, as she reached down to pass the panties over her shoes, her rear end splayed open before the camera revealing the tender expanse of her rear globes and the delicate flower of her anal opening.

  Turk was beside himself. This was probably the best performance he had ever produced. The girl’s delicate submissiveness and fragile personality stood out clearly. And her charms were displayed to most excellent advantage.

  When she finished pulling off her panties, Cheryl paused. She inched her legs apart and held the pose. Her prize, her delicious cunt pouted out from between her legs. Her labial lips were displayed an all their fullness and softness. Dangling and sparkling between her legs were the two earrings Turk had placed there. A delightful touch.

  Cheryl could only imagine the picture she was making. Waves of humiliation flowed over her. But she was almost done. She could make it.

  She rose from her folded stance and turned once more to the camera. Spreading her knees, she presented her bejeweled pussy to the camera. She ran her hands down her sides and to her now lewdly displayed cunt. One by one, she pulled the earrings off of the labial lips, a stab of pain following each removal. She tossed the earrings onto the floor and returned her hands to her crotch. She gently pulled her pussy lips aside. Her insides were glistening. She stood posed for a moment and stared at the unforgiving lens. “Hope to see you soon.” She smiled.

&n
bsp; The Turk waited a few moments and then shut the camera off. Cheryl, not having been given permission to move, remained poised in her display position. Turk paid her no mind as he made some adjustments to the computer. He checked his watch. Five minutes to spare. Good.

  Turning to the whorish display before him, he chuckled. He could leave her like this for a half hour or so, but no, she needed to be secured. Especially now that the whole thing was just about over.

  Turk signaled the girl to straighten up. He walked behind her and, grabbing her arms, tied her arms behind her. The gag went back in and a short leash was affixed between her ankles. This would do for now.

  Standing nearly nude in her own living room, petrified to make a single move, Cheryl’s eyes began to water. Her body shuddered with the sobs she had been holding back. The little movie acting she had been forced to perform had been the most humiliating thing that she had ever done in her life. She was ashamed at her readiness to make the obscene recording and her failure to make any real effort to resist this horrid man. She had to pee again and was afraid that she would make a mess on the floor.

  The door to her apartment loomed before her a mere ten or twelve feet away. The man was in the kitchen again. If she could dash to the door and use her hands behind her to turn the knob, she would be out and in the hallway. Maybe someone would be there, someone to call the police in the seconds before he cut her throat. No, that wouldn’t work. Besides, the deadbolts were locked. What had been designed to keep intruders out was now keeping her in.

  She watched as the Turk returned to the computer with another glass of Merlot. She was hungry, thirsty, tired, and she had to pee. And here he was drinking her wine as if he were a welcomed guest. She swallowed the urge to stamp on the floor in anger and demand better treatment.

  As Cheryl stewed before him, Turk made some adjustments to the computer screen. A logo appeared, two crossed whips in a circle of chains. Turk typed in his password and quickly streamed the video and all of the pictures he had taken that day to a remote location over the wireless network. Somewhere in the Philippines, another computer received the data flow and regurgitated it out to two dozen select addresses. Across the globe, thirsty eyes took in the record of Cheryl’s torment and her shame. Each recipient, sworn to deadly secrecy, calculated the value of this most interesting acquisition. By rule, there was an hour to make their bid.

  While the Turk packed up his stuff, numbers, six figures long, were racing across the internet.

  There were a few other things to do while he waited. First, he booted up Cheryl’s computer, which sat in the corner of the living room. It was easy to find Cheryl’s financial records and pull up her bank’s website. He pulled Cheryl over from the center of the room and took off her gag. Holding his knife before her, he asked her one question: “Password?”

  Unhesitatingly, Cheryl whispered the password to the Turk. In a few moments her life savings, about twenty thousand dollars, was winging its way to a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. Eventually, after making its way across the globe and diminished somewhat by special “handling fees” to ensure anonymity, the money would come to rest in the Turk’s offshore account.

  Watching her savings fly away deepened Cheryl’s dismay. “He was leaving her with nothing,” she thought. “Nothing.”

  As the Turk reached to replace the gag, Cheryl screwed up her courage and whimpered, “Please Sir, I have to pee again.”

  The Turk didn’t give a rat’s ass what she needed, but having had a very successful show, he was of a mind to be generous. Besides, he didn’t want her all messy and smelly.

  He led her back to the bathroom and let her pee, in the toilet this time. As he watched her pee, he wondered how much she would bring. The best he had ever done was with that blond from Texas. $275,000. With deductions for certain middlemen and protection, he came out with a little over $150,000. This one would be better, he was sure.

  Cheryl could not, of course, wipe herself, and the Turk gladly performed the service for her. She looked up at him, a little girl lost, delectable in her nakedness. She dared to venture another request. “Please sir, may I have a drink of water and something to eat?”

  Now Turk knew, as Cheryl did not, that she would soon be confined and unconscious and ready for transport. Food or water could kill her. He had been with her for over three hours and had carefully prevented her from any intake. Imagine his reputation if he allowed his product to arrive dead, having choked to death on her own vomit.

  He felt sorry for her a little bit. She was prime stuff and soon to be shipped off to God knows where for a brief life of torment and misery. He could not permit himself to give in to sentiment, however. “No,” was all he said.

  He reinserted the gag and walked Cheryl back to the living room. She was crying. He pushed her to her knees and replaced the cuffs around her ankles and hog tied her again. He also replaced the hood. He knew he had to leave the apartment shortly to get the transport box. It was in his van parked two blocks away. He had to leave it there for fear his victim would discover it in the apartment before he had the chance to make his move. Besides, at the time he entered the building he would have been conspicuous and might have been noticed. Too risky. But going out to the van and leaving his subject here was also risky. These were the times when he could use a partner. He had to leave her alone for probably fifteen minutes and that was too much time for comfort. Well, it was now or never. It had worked before.

  He leaned over and spoke directly into the young woman’s ear. “I’m going outside for five minutes. When I come back, if you have moved one inch I will cut off both of those delicious nipples of yours and make you eat them. And that’s for starters.” He knew it would be for more than five minutes, but hog tied and blinded, she had no real way to measure time so she would hardly know when five minutes was up.

  Leaving the girl for a moment, he walked into the kitchen and retuned with a glass of water. He balanced it on her back.

  And spoke to her again. “If this water is spilled when I come back you will pay with your nipples.”

  Cheryl could feel the water glass on her back and immediately began to tremble with fear. Where was he going? Was he really leaving? Would he really return? She had watched movies on TV where the robbers had said they would be right back to make their victims afraid to call the police. Maybe that’s what he was doing. On the other hand, his grotesque threat was enough for her to give her captor the benefit of the doubt.

  Turk walked swiftly to the door and out of the apartment. He had Cheryl’s keys and locked the door from the outside. Even if she got herself untied, she would have to figure out how to get out past the deadbolts.

  Cheryl lay stock still on the floor. The glass of water on her back loomed over her as a guillotine’s blade. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. Her gag and hood were stifling. Breathing in short bursts made her whole body tremble. Her arms and legs were already aching again. How long should she wait? Would he really be back?

  He really was coming back. It took two minutes to get down the elevator and out the front door of the building, three more to get to the van. He checked the van over carefully to make sure it had not been damaged or broken into. He didn’t want to get a box full of girl down to the street with no way to take it away. The subway was definitely not an option.

  He opened the back door and wheeled out the containment box. Its outside was of leather, looking something like a box for musical instruments or drums. Inside, it was cork lined, had various straps and hooks and was softly cushioned. The box’s construction made it heavier than it looked, but the Turk was strong and he lifted it effortlessly from the back of the van. He wheeled it back to the apartment building.

  So far, eight minutes had elapsed. Cheryl couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like more than five minutes. Maybe he wasn’t coming back after all. Hope, slight as it was, rose in her chest. Not since she first thought he was going to dress her and take her out of the apartment did she have such hope. Maybe, mayb
e, maybe

  But something happened to shake her relative composure. She felt a tickle down her throat. She hadn’t had anything to drink since the few sips of wine she had when she came home from work. Her throat was dry. She felt a cough coming on. Desperately she tried to hold it back. She knew that the heaving of her body, if she coughed, would certainly knock the water glass off of her back. She held her breath, panicking. The first few coughs were easily suppressible. She relaxed for a moment. But then came the zinger: a wrenching cough that convulsed her whole body. As she coughed, she felt the glass of water fall from her back and to the floor spilling its contents all around her. “Oh, God, no, no!” she thought. He would maim her, cut off her nipples. He would do it too, she believed. “Oh, God, please, please help me, please!” she prayed in her panic.

  Cheryl knew she had no choice now but to attempt to free herself. She mustered all of her strength to pull her hands free from the ropes that bound them. Contorting herself wildly, her body rocked back and forth. She could feel the seepage of the fatally spilled water beneath her. The rope was slipping, may be she could get it off, maybe.

  Meanwhile Turk was wheeling the travel box down her corridor. Twelve minutes total, he calculated; too much time. He stopped before the door and drew the keys from his pocket. Cheryl heard the key enter the lock and panicked. The rope was not off. She couldn’t slide it past the heels of her hands. She could feel the rawness that had been produced on her wrists from her efforts. She made one last effort as the door swung open.

  Turk saw that the girl had wriggled half way across the room. The glass had spilled and the rug had darkened where she had lain. He was furious at himself, almost a repeat of that Chicago girl. He rolled the box into the room and resecured the door. When he turned back he could see that Cheryl was contorting herself and moaning desperately into her gag. He could see the ropes tightening on her wrists, threatening to cut off the blood supply. The way she was going she might break an arm or a leg.