The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured Page 6

  He rushed over to Cheryl and grabbed her body. Cheryl’s motions increased along with her wail behind her gag. He drew out his knife and quickly cut the rope around her wrists. He could hear her choking and coughing beneath the gag in her panic. He pulled the bag from her head and whipped out the gag. Cheryl found her voice immediately, yelling, pleading.

  “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t cut me. It fell off by accident, it fell off by accident! Oh please, please don’t hurt me!.” She tried to crawl away, but her feet were still bound together. The noise was resounding around the room and undoubtedly into the apartment below. It had been empty earlier, but who knew now? Quickly the Turk threw his body over Cheryl’s and subdued her arms. He covered her mouth with his, as she attempted to scream again. Pinning her arms to her side with his thighs, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his knife. He placed it at her throat. She immediately stiffened.

  Her voice had subdued itself to a whimper, the sounds echoing into his mouth. Her breath was hot. And then he did what he had never done before; he kissed her. Her eyes gaped wider in surprise, as if that was possible, and her whimpering subsided. His tongue entered her mouth, her heated breath exciting him. She was naked beneath him, her breasts pushed into his chest, heaving. At first, she responded only by stilling her voice and relaxing her face. And then her tongue joined his. Like electricity the lust passed between them. He pulled away briefly whispering to her, “Oh, no, oh no, I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.”

  He resumed his exploration of her mouth as she murmured beneath him, “Oh thank you, thank you. It was an accident. Oh thank you.”

  Slowly, Turk’s sense overcame his passion. He pulled his face away from Cheryl’s and looked deeply into her face. Yes, there was something about this one, something he craved for. But he had already sold her. She was, by now, purchased goods, someone else’s property. And nobody reneged in this business.

  Cheryl, of course had no idea that she had been sold. All she knew was that she would live, not be maimed. And she knew the power of this man who held her, something she had never felt before in her life. And the passion he arose in her, simply by touching. If she could convince him that she wouldn’t tell, maybe her would release her, go away and then come back. Start over. What she would do for him!

  Turk knew that he needed to resume control. As she was about to speak, he pressed the knife to her neck and pushed, causing the point to indent her skin. “Quiet,” he whispered. His voice was low and soft.

  She knew that he meant it but she had so much to say. She uttered only two words “Thank you.”

  He reached out for the gag that had rolled away during their struggle. Cheryl opened her mouth without being told. As he placed the gag in her mouth, one sole tear rolled out of her left eye and down her cheek. He stroked her cheek gently, wiping it away. She was going away, to be used, perhaps branded, and probably sold again and again. He didn’t know which country or even which continent she would eventually be laid to rest in. But he knew that subjugation, humiliation, terror, pain and then death awaited her.

  The Turk shook himself and reached down for the naked girl’s hands. He rolled her over and retied them with a piece of the rope he had just cut. He did not hog tie her, but instead released her legs and pulled her to her feet. He walked her over to the chair in the middle of the room and sat her down in it. She leaned forwards slightly to relieve the pressure on her arms. Her eyes were calm now, almost trusting. He knew he was going to betray her, but he didn’t want her to suffer any more than she had to.

  He walked over to his bag and pulled out his medical kit. From there he withdrew a syringe and a small vial. He had used this many times. It was a reliable muscle relaxant and suppressant. As good as Morphine but with a nerve agent similar to that date rape drug the kids used. It lasted about four hours, more than enough time to take Cheryl to the drop off. He had, of course, prearranged it, knowing he would have product tonight. He would never know who had bought this woman, only what he had been paid. He knew only his contact, a telephone number and a floating email address.

  Usually he reveled in the packaging part of the job, watching a girl’s terror as she realized that she was to be packed away in a little box, gagged and restrained to the extreme. But tonight, for some reason, he felt sad for this young woman whose life he was about to destroy. He had no choice now, really. If he reneged, they would be both dead in a week.

  The Turk steeled himself. This was his work and he was the best. He had to do what was necessary.

  He walked over to the girl sitting patiently on the chair. He filled the syringe and tested its fullness by squirting out a small amount at the tip. He needed a vein and decided to select one on Cheryl’s hip.

  Cheryl saw the syringe and withdrew fearfully. He was going to kill her after all. Turk saw the expression on her face and knelt next to her. “I’m not going to harm you. I need to get you out of here. I’m going to rebind you and pack you in that box. But you will not be harmed. This shot is to relax you.”

  Cheryl’s eyes softened and she nodded yes. He could do anything to her now. She was exhausted and out of emotions. Where he was taking her, she did not know, but she would do whatever he wanted. No one had ever made her feel like he did.

  The shot went in without a hitch and Cheryl almost immediately felt its effects. Her limbs became immediately sluggish and her mind began to cloud.

  Turk lifted her from the chair and gently brought her to the floor. He removed the gag and untied her hands. She lay there, limply. Turk went back to the box and opened it. Inside were the restraints he would need. He walked back to where Cheryl lay and knelt over her form. She was laying face down on the carpet and ready for her bindings. A piece of duct tape was wound around her wrists after her hands had been placed together, palms facing each other. The arms then slid easily into the leather sleeve he had brought from the box. The sleeve was pulled all the way up to her shoulder and straps pulled under her arms and tied off in the center of her back to a ring on the leather sleeve. Her arms were tightly secured.

  The box was of his own design, and had some special features. Normally, it was a problem; do you tie the victim up and lift her into the box? This had the drawback of making it difficult to attach the clamps on the bottom to her restraints. Or did you stand her in the box, force her to kneel and affix the bindings one by one while she knelt there? If she struggled at all, this would be problematic and you risked muscle injury as you forced her to her knees. And again, the same problem, some of the clamps were hard to get to with the female sitting in the box.

  He had resolved this by establishing a procedure where the female knelt on the disassembled bottom of the box, was affixed there and the rest of the box built around her. Thus, he proceeded to disassemble the box and brought the bottom over to where Cheryl lay. She was still awake enough to follow instructions. He pulled her to her knees and walked her over to the base of the box. After gently forcing her down again, he strapped her ankles to her thighs and affixed the bindings to the box base. The mask was next.

  Once he had put on the hood and mask, she would be just trussed up merchandise. The mask had a gag which resembled a penis but which permitted a tube to be snaked down the subject’s throat for watering and feeding purposes. An oral dose of the drug he had given her could be administered as well. It also had two nozzles that were to be pushed deep into the victim’s nose. This would provide air when connected by tubes to the nozzles on the front of the box. If the box needed to be stored temporarily where there was no air, tubes could be affixed to the hidden outside nozzles and led to an oxygen tank.

  It all sounded dangerous, and it was, but the vast majority of the girls transported made it without a problem, other than stiffness and terror at their new surroundings. But that was out of his hands.

  The leather hood was applied first. It covered the head, but left the bottom of the face free. Once on, Cheryl’s eyes would be covered by pads that would press into her eye sockets. He took one last look a
t her face. It was serene and her eyes were watering. The drug had definitely taken effect.

  Cheryl could feel herself being packaged, but she could not resist. The drug had overcome her ability to speak and to move. But she had resigned herself to her fate anyway, she would not have resisted if she could. Something, she did not know what, had made he yearn for the touch of this brutal man.

  Turk, shaking himself from his reverie, gathered Cheryl’s hair and pulled the hood over the back of her head. His pale face, regretting his purpose, was the last thing she saw. The hood covered her eyes and was pulled tight.

  The face piece was next. It was one piece and consisted of the gag and a covering of the nose and mouth. It was important to place the nose plugs accurately and securely. If they came loose during shipment and blocked her air passage, the girl could suffocate. As he pushed the business end of the gag towards Cheryl’s mouth, she managed a whisper. Turk leaned over to hear what she was saying. Her voice was low and soft, “What’s your name?”

  Turk checked himself. Names were a no-no. But he felt that she deserved to know the name of the man who had condemned her to Hell, the man who she could and should hate for everything that was going to be done to her. “They call me Turk,” he replied softly. He parted her lips gently with the end of the gag and pushed it home. She stiffened slightly when it pushed down her tongue and into the rear of her mouth. She was silenced.

  Turk finished quickly. The nose and stomach lines went in without a hitch. Having finished the application of the hood, he tied the face plate of the mask onto a ring at the bottom of the box and pulled tightly. Cheryl’s head was forced downwards. She now was in a low, kneeling crouch, her breasts pressed firmly into the top of her thighs. The tip of the sleeve that encapsulated her arms had a strap of its own and this was tied to a ring on the box bottom between Cheryl’s feet. Hard to get to if the side was already on.

  The sides snapped into place one by one. Buckles on the sides of the arm sleeve allowed fastening to rings in the interior sides. This reduced any side-to-side movement of the captive. Cheryl was now tightly ensconced in the travel box. All he could see of her was her sleeved arms and the delicate white skin of her back and the tops of her tender rear globes. All that was needed now was the lid. Before he fastened it on, he placed the garments and jewelry Cheryl had worn during her show into the box in a little bag. Her new owner might enjoy a live rendition of her strip-tease. And a token of her prior life might excite her new owner by reminding her of her descent into slavery.

  Turk had resisted one more caress of her breasts before tying her down and now regretted it. He took one long last look at his captive. He rubbed his hand over her ass, reveling in the softness and the warmth. But then his purpose reestablished itself. He was a slaver. This is what he did. He had sent dozens of beautiful women to their fates before. This was just one more piece of ass; a very profitable one. The lid went on.

  The top of the case had a handle to expedite transportation, the bottom had wheels. Turk easily rolled Cheryl to the door. He made a last trip around the apartment, wiping carefully all the objects he touched. With no sign of foul play, the police would quickly lose interest in Cheryl’s disappearance. A couple of months from now, the apartment would probably be emptied, cleaned and re-let, all traces of DNA from falling skin cells or hair would be gone.

  Grabbing his bag, Turk opened the door and wheeled the box into the hall. It was heavier now and somewhat lumbering. He locked the door and pushed the box down the hall to the elevator.

  ***

  Three and a half hours later, Turk was pulling his gray van into the parking lot of a small shopping center in East Baltimore. Each time he did this he was given a different drop off point, usually within ten miles of the Baltimore Harbor. The boxes traveled mostly by ship, at least until they reached a “safe” port. No port in the U.S. was considered safe and no customer was allowed to keep or receive the product in the U.S. Mexico, he knew was considered safe, all of South America and Africa. Russia beyond the Urals and the new countries comprising the former Soviet republics of Asia were safe.

  Cheryl could be headed anywhere. She could spend the next few days or a week in the box. However, it was normally considered best to deliver the box within a few days to a safe port and then fly it to its destination. Even then the occupant would be severely cramped and dehydrated. Rest was the usual cure, closely confined of course, before the slave’s new life really began.

  As per instructions, Turk wheeled the box out of the back of the van, pushed it onto the sidewalk and into a darkened doorway. He was being watched, he knew, and there was no risk of the box being recovered by anyone other than the intended. Having pushed the box into the doorway, Turk took a last look at Cheryl’s prison. While the drugs were an intense soporific, they did not deprive the user of consciousness. The occupant of the box remained awake, just not alert. What was she thinking? Did she have hope that she would be saved? Did she now understand what had happened to her? Was she in pain? It was not good for him to think of these things. He tapped the box, said a mental goodbye and walked away.

  Part Two

  Cheryl’s New Home

  Cheryl was awake when Turk abandoned her at the Marlymore Shopping Center in East Baltimore. Her head was fuzzy and she was cramped. She had sensed the box being offloaded from the van and wheeled a short distance. She did not hear the light tap on the box that Turk made due to the box’s construction. After all, it was designed to suppress noise. She was uncomfortable indeed. She had a gag almost down her throat, stuffing her mouth. Her arms were bound tightly behind her and she was crouched down in an agonizing position. “Where was he taking her?” she thought. “What was happening to her?”

  Now that the drug was wearing off, Cheryl’s senses had come alive. Waves of misery swept over her. Confined closely in her small, black prison, she began to sob uncontrollably. She wailed behind the gag, a long, aching wail. She could hear in her head her own sounds, but not in her ears. The long, fat, penis shaped gag suppressed almost all noise. She struggled to raise her head, to free her hands, to move her legs, but all to no avail. Her back and knees ached from the strain, as did the muscles on the back of her legs. Her breasts were crushed against her thighs.

  She remembered her last few moments of consciousness. She remembered the struggle with the Turk, their embrace and her surrender of all resistance to him. Something had shifted in her at that moment, something Cheryl was not sure about. This stranger, who had abused, tormented and displayed her so wantonly had kissed her with a passion she had never before experienced. She had felt it too. Against all logic and against everything she held true, she had felt the man’s lust and returned it. But what had he done? Why was she trussed up and packaged so severely? She remembered the hypodermic and her loss of all volitional function. She had meekly allowed the Turk to adorn her body with the cruel bindings that now held her in place. She remembered the tube pushed down her throat, the sensation of gagging as it went down.

  As Cheryl was musing her future, another gray van moved into the parking lot. A small, lithe man, shadowy in appearance and demeanor, stepped out from behind the wheel and proceeded to collect Cheryl and her box. He quickly rolled the box up a small ramp to the back of the van, slammed the door shut and drove away. It was driven a short distance to a freight yard and there transferred again to the back of a truck headed for delivery down at the harbor. An hour later, it was being lifted over the side of a freighter bound for Liberia. The ship sailed four hours later.

  Cheryl felt the various bumps and movements of her container. She was in a kind of daze, partly due to the aftereffects of the drug, but also from being overwhelmed emotionally and physically by her predicament. Her muscles were now numb from their constriction. Cheryl’s mind was struggling with the unreality of what was happening to her. A few hours ago she was stepping into her apartment, looking forward to a pleasant and maybe adventurous evening with her friends. Now she was no more than a packaged commodity, a ca
ged prisoner, subject to the whims of who knows who.

  Cheryl had no idea how long she had been in the box. She knew she had been driven quite a distance. And she knew that she was still in transit to somewhere. As she pieced together the night’s events, Cheryl ran through the possibilities of what they meant. The sexual assaults by the Turk she could understand. Women were raped in New York everyday, even in their own apartments. But the rest, the little display in front of the computer camera, her cruel and painful packaging, for that she had little context for understanding.

  A flicker of insight began to torment her. She was definitely being kidnapped. Her naked body, her forced invitations to sexual exploitation, could there really be any other explanation? Had she been auctioned off into slavery? Was she being transported to a person who had bought her over the Internet? Could such a thing be possible? Cheryl’s mind literally reeled at the thought. A new wave of despair and terror swept over her. She resumed her futile struggle against her bonds.

  But Cheryl’s struggles could not be detected from outside of her container. She was well packed. Only the most violent scream could permeate the sound-proofed interior, and they would emerge only as faint murmurs. But gagged as she was, Cheryl’s moans and wails were as quiet, as muted and muffled as if they were not occurring at all.

  After the box was lifted over the side of the freighter, its custody was immediately transferred to the ship’s First Mate. Had Cheryl been able to see him, she would have recoiled in fright. His scarred face bespoke his ragged, violent disposition. His frame was well muscled, but bent forwards as if the cruelties which he had suffered and inflicted throughout his life had all taken a piece of his humanity, leaving behind a motley, golem-like creature. As he rolled Cheryl across the deck, all who saw him stepped aside.