The Cheryl Series

Chapter One-6

The Turk was truly appreciative. He was satisfied that his well-honed eye for delectable female flesh had not let him down. She was a beauty all right. Her movements in the shower were dainty and graceful, as her gently swaying form had persuaded him when he had watched her walking on the street. In fact, it was that gentle sway, that suggestion of grace and delicacy, which had led him to pick her out. There were a million good-looking women in New York. The trick was to pick out the best.

He was admiring her sumptuous n*****s and areolae when Cheryl turned off the shower. She had been tempted to remain in there forever, but she knew it could not be. She knew that she would have to face whatever was coming from this man and she garnered her courage to confront whatever it was. Besides, the fact that he was obviously enjoying the display of her naked form and her jiggling breasts was reason enough to stop it.

The Turk stepped back and allowed the girl to exit the shower. He handed her a towel and watched her dry her body. He handed her the blow dryer when she was through and motioned her to dry her hair. As she stood by the mirror, she raised her arms combing through her hair with one hand and using the blow dryer with the other. In doing so, she presented her firm, youthful breasts most advantageously. The man was standing next to her and she could see him looking down at her chest, almost mesmerized. He reached over and placed his hand under her breast.

Cheryl stopped, stunned momentarily at the resumption of the offensive contact she had previously experienced. His hand was hot as the wetness of her body after the shower had cooled her flesh. Seeing his cruel glance at her in the mirror, she resumed her activities. She could not hide the water that rose in her eyes as she bordered on another fit of sobbing. As he pinched her n****e firmly, she felt the heat begin to rise within her again. Her body seemed to remember what he had done to it and her explosive orgasm. He could feel the heat as well. He looked into her eyes, knowingly.

Cheryl finished her hair and stood still, waiting for an instruction from this man. She fully expected that he would push her back onto the bed, and this time, plunder one or more of her orifices with his giant c**k. But that was not what was next.

He pointed to the accumulation of make-up on the sink and told her to fix herself up. His instructions were precise: blush, not too much, eyeliner, above and below the eye, bright lipstick. He looked carefully at her nails. These she had just had done a few days ago and the stress of her experiences had not marred their appearance. “Do the toes,” he said.

He left her in the bathroom, door open and wandered into the bedroom. A sideways glance told her that he was rifling her drawers. He pulled out a few pairs of her daintiest underwear and tossed them on the bed along with the matching bras. It looked to her that he was going to make her do a dress up routine for him, but to what purpose she could not surmise. If that’s what he wanted, she thought, that’s what he would get.

The relative quietude of the bathroom, with the Turk in the other room, brought some calm to the young woman. She was thinking desperately about what she could do to save herself. She was still afraid, not of the expected rape, she had gotten over that fear, but of the murder that might just well follow. He would have to be some kind of a real weirdo to want her to dress up and then murder her, but what did she know?

Her cell phone was in her purse in the kitchen. Maybe she could somehow get access to it and dial 911. Or maybe call a friend using her speed dial and they would call 911 when they heard the background noises of her assault. Her parents or her sister would certainly react if they got a call from her and heard only dead air or murmurings in the background. What Cheryl did not know, however, was that the resourceful Turk had already found the cell phone and disabled it. There was no other telephone in the apartment because, with cell phones being so cheap these days, who needed an actual telephone?

When Cheryl emerged from the bathroom, she saw that the Turk had placed a couple of her dressier skirts and blouses on the bed. “Maybe he’s taking me out,” she thought. “I can run away or call for help.” Once outside of the apartment, there would be people and ways to get their attention. Things were looking up. Maybe.

Cheryl still had her toes to do and so she sat down on the bed. She had brought the nail polish from the bathroom and she showed it to the Turk for his approval. It was a slightly darker shade of red than her nails, but very similar. Turk took the bottle from her hand and opened it. Grabbing her foot, he placed a swatch on her big toe and then drew her hand next to it for comparison. He nodded. “Okay” was all he said.

What Cheryl could not figure out was how she was going to do her toenails without spreading her legs wide open for this cretin’s visual pleasure. As she tried to raise one leg to place her foot within arms reach, she attempted to press her thighs together. She was quickly dissuaded by a light, but painful slap across her face. “Spread ‘em”, the man barked. She complied.

The Turk stood across from Cheryl admiring the grassy slit between her legs. He had some familiarity with it and had a premonition of the delights it would produce for the properly inserted c**k. He knew that that was not to be, at least for him, but why should he deprive himself of the chance to imagine plowing that fissure to his heart’s content?

Again, Cheryl felt deep chagrin and embarrassment as the man ogled her most private parts. Her breasts wiggled back and forth with her efforts to polish her nails. She knew that her p***y was wide open for the man to enjoy, since she had facilitated that view by cutting back the hairs that would have shrouded it. She fought back her tears as she resolved herself not to let this guy have the benefit of knowing how much she was humiliated and ashamed of her degradation.

But Turk knew. He knew very well. And there would be more.

Finally, the nails were done. Cheryl thought that Turk would now let her dress, but that would wait. Turk, having had some experience in this area, had palmed a lipstick and blush while she was in the shower. He now proceeded to complete Cheryl’s makeup himself.

“Put your hands on your head,” he commanded. Cheryl complied readily. Staring up at him, she wondered what was going to happen next. Was he going to suck on her breasts again, tickle her cunt, make her come? He sat on the bed next to her. She could see that he had her reddest and darkest blush in his hands. He drew out the brush and began to apply it to her left n****e. He held the breast firmly in his left hand as he stroked on the blush with the other. She had never put make up on her breasts. She was uncomfortable enough with the darkness of their hue, au natural. Having finished with the left, he then adorned her right n****e similarly. Her teats stood out dark and red, a strange contrast to her milky white breasts.

Turk pushed Cheryl onto her back and ordered her to lift her legs up and pull her knees to her chest. Cheryl did what she was told and felt, rather than saw, the application of a bright red lipstick to her labial lips. In order to make them easier to adorn, Turk grabbed the woman’s cunt with his left hand and gently squeezed the lips closed. Cheryl could feel the pressure on her p***y and the heel of Turk’s hand resting on the hood to her c******s. The pressure on her c**t brought back her earlier humiliation. She closed her eyes and tried to prevent her bodily response.

It was to no avail and when Turk finished stroking her cunt lips with the lipstick, he noticed the tell tale gleam emanating from between them. “Good,” he thought, “this will be a really good show.” He knew also that the more Cheryl felt dominated and helpless, the easier she would be to handle. This was a good opportunity to see how well he could control her.

Keeping one hand on her cunt, he dropped the lipstick on the bed. He then turned and used his elbows to spread Cheryl’s legs wider. Cheryl felt the brush of the Turk’s hair on her thighs as he bent over to place his lips on her s*x. She knew what was coming and she felt a wave of revulsion go through her. “Please don’t” she whimpered. She was too afraid to let go of her legs. She felt the man’s lips on her labia and his hot breath. She whimpered again, “Oh, God, please don’t do this.”

Turk stopped suddenly. He reached his hand across Cheryl’s body and grabbed her hair in one hand. Pulling her up he lashed out sharply, once, twice, across her face with the other. Cheryl was surprised with the swiftness of the man’s actions and the sting of the blows shocked her. While the pain was still resonating across her face, Turk pulled her face to within an inch of his own and snarled, “Shut the f**k up.”

Cheryl nodded in desperation. She wanted no more pain, no more blows. Turk yanked her by the hair from the bed and dragged her back into the living room. Cheryl could not suppress the pain from her head as she felt her roots stretched almost to the point of breaking. He dragged her over to a chair by the dining table and pushed her into it. Cheryl trembled in terror. Turk reached back into his pocket and produced the gag she had worn earlier that evening. He rammed it into her mouth, securing the strap behind her head. “Sit,” he commanded.

Cheryl had no thought other than to do what this man demanded. She had felt his strength before, but not this ferocity. She prayed in her mind that he was not going to hurt her, pleaded to whatever god would listen.

Turk fished a roll of duct tape from his bag and returned to the sitting girl. The chair was a straight-backed dining chair with narrow arms on each side. Cheryl had gotten the set at a garage sale the last time she was home. Little did she know then what use one of them would be put to.

The Turk grabbed Cheryl’s right leg and drew it to her chest. He then took her right arm and pulled it in under her leg, securing it to the arm of the chair with the tape. He repeated the process with the left leg and arm.

Cheryl now sat spread eagled on the chair, her legs splayed wide apart, her arms preventing their closure. Her cunt was spread wide and her moisture was well evident. Cheryl cursed herself for her lack of control and for her lapse in judgment. He was going to do it to her anyway, not on the bed, but here, in her own living room, bound like an obscene f**k toy. Her contorted position gave him a clear view of her adorned nether lips. Her cunt lips were bright red, invitingly red. “Only the meanest and cheapest w***e would wear something like that,” she thought and sobbed.

Taking a moment to contemplate Cheryl’s wanton display, Turk caught himself. He shouldn’t have slapped her, risking injury. Her face was slightly puffy where his hand had struck. Her tears were ruining her mascara. He needed and wanted to finish what he started.