The Cheryl Series

Chapter One-4

Turk appreciated Cheryl’s considerations as his view of the pouty lips of her p***y was unobstructed. As he ran his hand down Cheryl’s stomach and towards this prize, Cheryl was chagrined at what she knew he would find. Turk’s limited but effective administrations to her breasts had caused her normal reaction. She knew that Turk would find evidence of her arousal and sobbed quietly behind her gag. As expected, Turk, after sliding his index finger along the lips of her s*x, pressed his advantage and entered the gap between them.

It was not unexpected that Cheryl’s cunt would be wet. Cheryl did not know this because her experience of being a bound and stripped woman was very limited. But Turk’s experience was great in this area. Some women’s bodies reacted by drying up and tightening the lips of their love nest. But many had the opposite reaction. Fear brought excitement as naturally as it brought sharpness of breath and an accelerated heart rate, part defense mechanism and part emergence of subconscious desire.

Only one of Cheryl’s lovers had broached the idea of bondage with her. He had even gone to the extent of producing a small rope during a s****l encounter at his apartment. Cheryl had been repulsed by the idea and adamantly refused. That relationship terminated shortly thereafter. Cheryl was equally repulsed by the idea of being tied up and helpless now before the Turk, but she had very little to say about it.

The Turk wondered to himself how long it would take to bring his captured prize to orgasm. He knew the shame she was feeling and it excited him to know he was causing it. He began to explore the woman’s lubricated labia with more intent. Her cunt was tight, but obviously used. It was hot to the touch and his ministrations were rewarded with a low moan from his captive. He pushed his two largest fingers deeper into the hole. Cheryl squirmed as her excitement increased. As Turk turned his attention to the nub at the apex of her s*x, her disturbance increased.

“Please don’t let him do this, oh, please, no, no….” she pleaded mentally. But Turk was an expert. He pressed the source of Cheryl’s discomfort and rubbed it firmly. A slow circular motion at first, establishing a rhythm. After a few moments, he shifted to a pinch, at first gently, and then more firmly, pulling the c******s away from Cheryl’s body. More rubbing and then pulling. Turk knew that Cheryl’s ability to control her s****l excitement was limited and that varying the nature of his stimulation would distract that control. Pushing his fingers back into the cunt, he then spread the girl’s natural lubricant above to the c******s, making it slippery and easier to manipulate. He could see Cheryl’s breath growing heavier, a redness spreading across her chest, a trembling in her thighs. He knew she was close. And he knew how to put her over the top.

Leaning back to her breasts without ceasing his manual manipulations, he again seized her left n****e with his mouth. He sucked first gently and then, steadily, harder and harder. Cheryl by now was beyond her limits of control. Unconsciously, she began thrusting her hips against the pressure of Turk’s body. She was climbing the mountain. He could hear her moans and squeals from behind her gag.

Cheryl could not believe the waves of lust overcoming her. She strained at her bonds, her toes curled, her fingers flicking open and shut. As she felt the Turk’s teeth tug on her n****e, she bit down hard on the ball in her mouth, straining her jaws. She knew how this would end and she knew the only way to get her captor to stop was to give him what he wanted. At this point she had no choice and, as expected, she exploded.

Turk enjoyed the picture of the bound woman jerking and moaning as she came. He continued to stimulate her until he was sure she was finished. He did not want to exhaust his captive, at least not yet, and after the first series of convulsions began to subside, he slowly withdrew his hand from the now sopping cunt. One more step would complete her humiliation. He loosened the hood from around her neck and drew it up over her nose. Taking his right hand, he liberally moistened it with the product of her passion. He then slipped his hand underneath the hood and rubbed the pungent moisture over her lips and nose. Cheryl was presented with the aroma of her shameful submission. He sealed the hood again around her neck.

Another picture was called for, he thought as he admired the flushness of Cheryl’s chest and breasts, the gleam of sweat on her frame. He took the camera from the dresser where he had left it and popped away a few more frames. He decided that a close-up of the breasts was appropriate. The areolae were darkened by the flow of passion and stood out even more readily against the creamy skin of Cheryl’s breasts.

Of course, the Turk’s own excitement was far from satisfied. His c**k was rock hard and he was in need of relief. Now, it was not his habit to use the merchandise. Cheryl had no idea what was in store for her, but Turk of course, did. And it was bad business practice to consume the product. He had built a fine reputation and, as delectable as Cheryl was, he would not depart from his business ethics now. Still, he could get some relief without violating his principles.

After first reaffixing the bindings around Cheryl’s thighs, he returned his attention to those magnificent and beauteous mounds on Cheryl’s chest. He pushed Cheryl so that she was fully on her back now, her hand and arms trapped painfully beneath her. He pulled his manhood from his trousers and gave it a few gentle tugs. Leaning over the woman’s supine form he let a large drop of spittle drop between her breasts. His first choice would have been to caress himself between the cracks of Cheryl’s ass, but he would have to release the hogtie to do that and he was not sure that the tempting sight of the narrower passage made so available would not overcome his qualms about damaging the goods. And so f*****g her t**s was the next best thing.

Now adequately lubricated, Turk placed his c**k between the soft and billowing orbs. Cheryl, having recovered from her bout of passion, at first thought that he was compounding her humiliation. She had never had so direct an experience of the fruits of her own passion as when she had inhaled the musky odor of her c*m under the hood. Knowing that it had been produced unwillingly, at moderate effort by a complete stranger, was embarrassing enough. Being compelled to breathe its essence made it even worse.

Cheryl cringed at the baseness of her assailant who would drool over her breasts. But as her breasts were pushed together and the Turk straddled her stomach, she began to get the idea. She was about to be tit f****d.

Once, in high school a boy had asked her to do that. She had had only three or four boyfriends in high school. She had not gone beyond mutual m**********n with any of them, not even a blow job. But this boy wanted more and she did really like him. With his hand in her quim, he had whispered the suggestion to her. She thought it exciting and agreed. Kneeling between his knees in the back seat of his father’s Ford Lumina, she had opened her blouse (it was already unbuttoned) and pulled her breasts free from her bra.

The boy’s c**k was already out of his pants, his trousers and underwear around his thighs. Pressing her breasts together, she had begun to stroke him. Something about the heat between her breasts, the boy’s smell as she pressed her nose into his stomach, the twitching of his thighs against her, brought a rush of lust to her. Urgently she pushed her breasts up and down to match the rhythm of the boy’s thrusts. He grabbed her hair and held her head tightly to his body as he called out her name repeatedly.

She came as he did, splashing the sticky hot semen on her chest and throat. As her passion subsided and the boy finally released her hair, she leaned back and discovered that her whole chest was covered in the boy’s slime. She was disgusted and vowed never to do it again. Later that month she found out that he was f*****g her friend Arlene and that was that.

As she felt the Turk’s c**k slide between her breasts she recalled her former experience. That had been an exercise in her own s****l power to excite this boy and to daringly go where she had not gone before. But this exercise in power was not her own. This was much different and Cheryl felt nothing but disgust and shame as the heated shaft rubbed between her breasts. Her whole body was jolted back and forth with the man’s thrusts.

She could hear his grunts and heavy breathing as he took his pleasure. He paused for a moment, added another dollop of spittle, and resumed, now leaning his torso on top of her head and face. Had she anticipated this move, she would have turned her head to the side, but failing that, she was given the full pressure of the man’s chest on her face. Her need to breath only through her nose was already limiting her flow of oxygen. The addition of this weight lessened the flow of air to a trickle. “He’s going to suffocate me,” she thought. “He’s a sick perverted bastard, capturing me only to make me come against my will and then suffocate me as he f****d my tits.”

Her body reacted naturally to the deprivation of oxygen by bucking wildly beneath her tormentor. Her screams behind the gag got louder and more desperate. Turk was aware of the distress he was causing, but he was almost done. He thrust steadily, now climbing his own mountain and suddenly convulsed in pleasure. His come spurted from the tops of Cheryl’s t**s across her chest. Noting that Cheryl was still struggling mightily beneath him, he pushed his body aside and came to rest on his back. “That was good,” he thought. “Really good.”

Cheryl snorted as she drew fresh air into her lungs through her now liberated nose. Her gratitude at being freed from this foul embrace was tempered by the knowledge that her torture and abuse would be continuing. She knew that the man had just gotten started and that this was only a prelude to a fuller, more degrading abuse yet to come.

She felt the man lift himself off of the bed and heard him enter the bathroom. She could hear the water run and then felt him kneel back on the bed. The Turk had gone to clean himself off. He was careful to use tissues that could be flushed down the toilet rather than a towel or facecloth. No DNA left behind. For the same reason he used some tissues to wipe Cheryl’s chest clean. He didn’t want it come off and get rubbed into the sheets or bedspread.

His tension having been relieved, Turk now took the time to look around the bedroom. First he looked for jewels. Most of these young, single girls did not possess any really valuable jewels, but there were exceptions. Maximizing profit was a sturdy business principle the Turk had learned well. Cheryl’s body would bring a tidy sum, but there were the extras to be considered and not sneered at. Last year, that redhead in Miami had $40,000 in cash in a box in her closet and three ounces of cocaine. Another captive had a rare book collection, probably an asset of some relative’s estate. He was able to lift a few of these when he took her. And so on. Someday, Turk knew, he would retire and all these things would add up.

There was a jewelry box on Cheryl’s dresser and he opened it to look inside. Mostly junk, a few decent pieces worth a few hundred bucks. A delightful pair of ruby earrings, not worth anything, but a distinct possibility when it came to decorating his lovely captive later. And, yes, here it was, the diamond in the rough.