Read Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl for Free Online

Her hand rubbed gently on the girl’s buttocks. Patting the supine girl’s rear end twice, she stood and, after locking Denise’s leash to a bolt on the wall, left the abject woman alone in her cell. Mercifully, she left the dim light on.
    * * *
    In Katango, a small country on the western coast of Africa, the sun had just begun to peek over the mountains surrounding the vast holdings of Benjamin Stoner. The redness of the dawn sky had dissipated and the native workers, housed in ramshackle huts beside the meandering Kenga River, were already in the fields. In Katango, as in all of tropical Africa, work in the fields was best done at early light. By noon, the unforgiving sun would beat down upon the workers and their white foremen. Cotton was Stoner’s crop here in the valley. On the mountainsides, he grew coffee or rather, his workers did. On the northern end of his 10,000 square mile empire, his mines produced dull yellow gold ore. To the east were two small diamond mines. In the south, huge steel derricks pumped black gold. Cobalt, nickel and uranium also flowed from Stoner’s veritable duchy.
    Stoner was a throwback to the great conquerors of Africa. He ruled his fiefdom with an iron hand and with little interference from the government in the capital. The government’s writ didn’t run here. So Stoner meted out justice as he saw fit to the 300 or so native villages within his domain. He had his own little army complete with helicopters and the equipage of a small Marine battalion. He used this army to enforce his will within the borders of his empire and to keep friendly the rulers in the capital city. During the last coup attempt there, Stoner’s men had held the balance of power and the streets ran red before they were done preserving the rule of Stoner’s select.
    Stoner had not yet stirred. He was sleeping, naked, in his huge four-poster bed. At the foot of his bed was a small steel cage. This morning it held, not one, but two naked women, pressed in together, arms and legs tangled. No whores slept in Stoner’s bed and neither did his wives. Stoner’s whores were his wives and vice versa.
    It was Stoner’s particular conceit that he should have on hand for his use only three female slaves at a time. He had converted to the local sect of Islam, which permitted him to have three wives. He used the pretext of a marriage to his three whores to assuage concerns of nosey international agencies that monitored the flow of aid into Katango. Under Katangonese law, wives were no more than slaves, totally subject to the whim of their husband, their master. By marrying his chattel, Stoner created a veneer of legitimacy to his ownership of their flesh.
    The two women locked within the steel cage had been his victims the night before. Normally, he selected one of his ‘wives’ for sexual and physical abuse each night. But last night he had been unable to choose between the blond-haired French girl, Justine, a slender beauty whose oral skills had made her the ‘senior’ of his three wives for some time, and the chestnut haired Cheryl, a beauty in her own right.
    As usual, after a macabre ‘family’ dinner, Stoner had retreated to his study to drink and take pleasure from his slaves. He had ordered Justine and Cheryl to remove their obscenely tailored dinner dresses, dresses cut to reveal their intimacies to good advantage, and to fuck each other while he watched. He tossed a thick, double headed marital aid on the floor and instructed them to make good use of it. Stoner’s wives were required to fondle themselves into lubrication whenever in his presence and so it was a simple matter for the women to sheath each end of the flexible dildo in the moist pussies. He watched as the women gently slid the device home, inching themselves closer and closer to each other, their thighs extended, their knees bent.
    The women sighed as their cavities were filled. The dildo had two sets of straps that the women affixed around