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

off with a soft, white cotton towel. The old lady had, of course, been humming some folk tune from her childhood as she worked. She now gleefully addressed Denise in her foreign tongue as she rubbed her hand over the smooth mound. She pulled Denise to a sitting position and went to get a large handheld mirror. She held it under Denise’s loins at an angle so that she could see.
    Denise beheld her now child-like cunt. Only a small tuft of blond hair remained, standing inches above the apex to her now prominent mound. Holding the mirror and chattering happily, the old woman spread the lips of Denise’s cunt with her other hand. Denise had never looked upon her own sex so closely before. She was shocked at the clearly defined slit, the clean lines of her nether lips, the small hole that gaped invitingly. She watched, mesmerized as the old lady stroked her finger up the length of the gash between her legs. Seeing, and at the same time feeling, the sensation of her cunt being stroked was an experience so erotic, she gasped. The old woman’s finger tickled the somnolent clit, and Denise watched it rise with excitement. She saw the moisture begin to flow between her lips. The old lady looked up at Denise and smiled, knowingly. She said something that sounded sultry and provocative.
    When the old lady thought Denise had seen enough, she pulled the mirror aside and then led the girl from the room by her leash. They came to the top of the stairs and the old man opened the heavy, wooden, locked door at Tamara’s signal. His eyes poured over Denise’s gracious form, her clearly visible sexuality. The old lady just pushed him aside and led Denise to the living room where she affixed the chain to a ring set in the wall near the staircase that led upstairs.
    For the next two hours, Denise watched as the old lady came and went. The old man had drifted away, and watching the woman was Denise’s only distraction. She disappeared upstairs for what seemed to be a long time and returned carrying an armload of sheets and pillowcases. Denise was sitting cross-legged on a small, thick throw rug by the bottom of the stairs. Tamara gently patted her head as she walked by.
    The room was empty, Tamara off on one of her missions, when Denise saw the form of the man who had cruelly abused her the night before. He had come upon her suddenly and was looming over her, measuring her. Sweat broke out on Denise’s palms as she thought of the man’s brutality to her last night. A pit formed in her stomach. What would he want today, to drive her to distractive pleasure with his iron hard cock or to drag her back down to the dungeon to torment and abuse her?
    The man’s bear paw-like hand grabbed Denise’s collar at the ring that was attached in the front and pulled her to her feet. He unhooked the leash from the wall and tugging on it, led Denise away. When he turned to walk up the stairs towards his bedroom, Denise almost broke into tears with relief. As she mounted the steps, her arousal quickened. She knew she was damned, but she yearned for the feel of the dangerous man’s steel like cock in her womb.
    When they entered the Turk’s bedroom, he sat her down on the bed. She watched him as he undressed before her, noting the terrible scars that lined his stomach and arms. When he was disrobed, she admired the taut muscles, the broadness of his hips, the thickness of his thighs.
    The Turk gazed back at his slave. His cock was hard with anticipation of its burial deep inside Denise’s body. He stepped towards her and pushed her onto her back on the bed. He swung her legs up and guided her to the middle of the firm, expansive mattress. It was a man’s bed, plainly decorated with simple light blue cotton sheets, a pair of thick, hard pillows.
    Denise was resting on her bound arms. Her masked face was turned to her master. She felt him spread her legs and watched him absorb the view of her now naked cunt. He leaned over and placed his rough, hot lips