Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl by Lizbeth Dusseau Page A

of this New York State wilderness, Denise spent hers at the end of a small length of chain. Tamara had brought her back to the huge room that served as the Great Hall of the mansion. She knelt by the wide, winding wooden stairs that led up to the sleeping areas of the house. Tamara hustled to and fro, patting her on the head occasionally as she passed. Twice she stopped and let Denise drink from a flask of juice, cold, sweet apple juice, freshly pressed. Once, she took the girl to a small bathroom where she was allowed to relieve herself and empty her bowels.
    Late in the afternoon, as the October light shined through the vast windows that served the room began to dim, Tamara unleashed the girl and brought her put to an enclosed porch that looked out over the lake.
    The Turk’s mansion stood alone on its little island and was built upon a hill. Depending where you were in the house and the time of day, you could follow the sun as it passed overhead. Only the north side lacked direct sunlight, but at night the northern stars could be seen shimmering in all their glorious brightness.
    The porch looked out on the southwest side of the house and so it received the sun’s rays almost all of the day. It stuck out from the house and was glassed on three sides. It commanded a wonderful vista. Tamara sat on a small couch that was situated against the wall of the house. From this perch, she daily enjoyed the colorful sunsets that marked the divide between day and night. Just now, as she sat calmly with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, the reds and yellows spread across the sky by the waning sun were at their peak, set off by the clear sky of cobalt blue. Denise knelt on a small rug near the old lady’s feet. She marveled at the beauteous panorama. She was glad that the old lady had allowed her to share it with her. She looked up and saw a gentle calmness in the woman’s face. Tamara looked back down at her and patted her lap. Denise happily acceded to the woman’s affectionate gesture and rose and sat across the tops of the old woman’s thighs.
    Denise was surprised at the sense of calmness that the sunset had brought her and the delight she took from the old lady’s body, as she sat with her head nestled in her shoulder. The old lady was singing a sad refrain, doubtless some tale of lost lovers from her youth. She had her left arm around Denise’s waist. Her other caressed the tops of Denise’s thighs.
    The two sat there quietly for a long while. As the sun started to sink below the gently rolling mountains to the west, Denise felt the woman’s hand nudge her legs apart. She kissed the top of Denise’s head as she ran her hand lightly across the inside of her thighs. She allowed Denise to lean back, and she spread the young girl’s legs open. Denise welcomed the woman’s caresses. It seemed all too appropriate to be naked on this woman’s lap, gagged and bound, her helpless prisoner, but yet to feel comfort and kindness in the woman’s touch.
    The lips of Denise’s cunt were glistening when the old woman’s hands delicately pried them open. She ran her hand over them, probing the soft, yielding flesh in between with the length of her finger. Denise’s nipples were hardened with expectation. The woman took her time, gently stroking Denise’s cunt, softly rubbing the hard nipple of pleasure at its top. Denise closed her eyes and let the warmth from her sex spread throughout her body. Slowly but surely, her passion built.
    When she sensed the young girl approaching her crisis, the old lady hugged her tight and softly stroked the hardened clit. Denise’s thighs shuddered as she came, her breasts swayed as her chest expanded and contracted in her lust. When the orgasm came, it seemed to roll over the young girl. It was unlike the hard, passionate throbs that had overtaken her that morning when the Turk had plundered her cunt unmercifully. It was more like a warm, pulsing wave of release, bespeaking contentment and