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

affection.
    The two women sat silently, conjoined, as the sky began to darken. There was just a feint splash of light over the western sky. Tamara kissed her charge on the nipple of her breast, her lush lips surrounding it, drawing a long, wistful sigh from her captive. That done, she patted the girl’s thigh with her hand and spoke softly to her, “Up, up.” Denise obeyed. The old lady rose and, reaffixing the leash to Denise’s collar, led her back into the house.
    The Turk did not return to the house until well after dark. Denise had knelt by Turk’s empty chair as the two old people ate silently. When they had finished and the table cleared, Denise was brought into the kitchen for her meal. She was kneeling over her bowl, mouthing the small chunks of meat and vegetables that Tamara had filled it with, when she heard the Turk’s heavy footsteps. Denise looked over her shoulder and saw the dark visaged man take a seat at the shiny, steel covered island that separated the cooking area from the rest of the room. Tamara brought out a steaming plate of food and set it before him, together with a large glass of deep red wine. The Turk ate quietly, staring at the figure of his kneeling prisoner.
    Denise feared the Turk more than she had ever feared anyone. However, she looked back at her meal and resolved to finish it. She was conscious of his eyes burning into her as she knelt, her thighs spread widely so as to permit her to lean over and place her face in the bowl. Her rear cheeks were spread, openly displaying the small ring of flesh that the Turk had so cruelly pierced earlier that day. Her naked slit peaked out from under her, positioned conveniently for rear penetration.
    The Turk watched he girl as he ate. His blood was boiling. The contentment he had sought during his prolonged excursion into the wild had escaped him. He wanted Cheryl but he had Denise. Was she the next best thing or a taunting reminder of his helpless obsession?
    He waited until the girl had finished supping and Tamara had held a tall cool glass of milk for her to drink. When Denise emerged from the water closet following a post meal urination, Turk was standing there waiting for her. A cold shiver went through her as Turk took the leash from the old woman and led her from the kitchen. Denise remembered her savage treatment from the night before and had to hold herself in check, lest she dissolve into fearful panic.
    The stairs to the dungeon led off of the dining room. The Turk led her there from the kitchen. The heavy, wooden door loomed as a foreboding sentinel. But, to Denise’s untrammeled relief, she was led past it into the Great Hall. The stairs were lighted by small sconces on the walls and they cast an eerie light as Denise followed her master up the stairs. Once in the Turk’s room and on his bed, he unfastened her arms from behind her back, where they had been bound uselessly all of the day, and attached her wrists to the ring in the head board. As the Turk disrobed in the dim light, his hard flesh glistened. Before coming to the bed, he closed the light, plummeting the room into near darkness. The moon was full and its yellow light cast shadows of the tall, sturdy oak that stood outside into the room. Turk knelt on the bed and unfastened Denise’s gag. He lay his body over hers, spreading her thighs with his knees and covered the grateful girl’s lips with his.
    Denise cast aside her guilt over her passionate yearning for the Turk’s embrace. She fed hungrily on his hot tongue as it explored her mouth. She pressed her thighs hard against his with desire. The Turk circled the arms held above the lusting girl’s head with his large, rough hands. He breathed fire in to her mouth.
    Although the Turk had callously penetrated Denise’s every orifice, she had yet to place her hands on his cock. She yearned to now, wanting to guide the hot, stiff rod to her lush pussy. It burned with desire for him.
    As if sensing her need, the Turk took