Life In Katanga
Cheryl spent the night of her first day as Stoner’s slave in a three by three foot cage sobbing and crying. Mercifully, she had finally fallen asleep, exhausted from her ordeal. When she awoke, still confined in her tiny steel prison, still in the dimly lit torture room, she had recommenced her tears.
Cheryl did not know whether it was day or night when Jeremiah came in to retrieve her. He wheeled the steel cage out of the door and to a small lift that took them to the second floor of the sprawling mansion. When they reached a brightly lit room, Jeremiah released the lock on the door of the cage and ordered her out. Cheryl crawled cautiously out of the cage. When she rose to her knees, she saw that there were three other naked young women in the room, kneeling and trembling, their arms locked behind their backs.
Wordlessly, Jeremiah pulled Cheryl to her feet and escorted her into a large bathroom. He released her bound wrists and removed her crude gag. He ordered her to cleanse herself and watched carefully as the frightened woman stepped into an open shower stall and began to bathe. Her wounds stung as the lukewarm water pelted against her body. But the water was comforting. She needed desperately to be clean but she knew that she could never wash away the stain of her debasement at the hands of Stoner and his factotum.
As the water ran over her, Cheryl remembered her last shower in her apartment, with Turk standing and watching her soap and scrub her body, just as Jeremiah stood there now. As strange and foolish as it sounds, Cheryl yearned for Turk’s eyes to be on her. Although he had humiliated and assaulted her, sold her to this monster Stoner, Cheryl believed, against all logic, that somehow, deep inside, Turk had ended by feeling something for her. She hoped and prayed that she was right and that he would come for her, rescue her, reclaim her.
When Cheryl was returned to the bedroom, she was instructed to kneel and her hands were tied behind her back with a thin leather cord. Jeremiah addressed her sternly, “No talking! Remain quiet!”
After Cheryl communicated her understanding and agreement, Jeremiah left. Cheryl knelt and studied the three young and shapely women who shared the room with her. They were all beautiful. Two of them were blondes, the third a brunette like Cheryl. They silently stared back at Cheryl, anxiety clear in their faces.
The four women her been kneeling silently in the room for about twenty minutes when the door opened and Stoner strode in. He was carrying a leather encased riding crop. He was dressed in khakis and heavy black boots.
“Ah, my lovelies,” he exclaimed. “All ready and waiting for me. Four pretty cunts waiting to be filled.” He stopped by Cheryl and grabbed her cheeks, pressing them hard and causing Cheryl to wince with pain. “The lovely Cheryl,” he said. “I enjoyed our little party last night. I hope you learned your lessons well.” He stared into her eyes. “Did you?” he queried.
Cheryl did not want to abase herself before these other women, although they were as naked and as helpless as she was. But her desire to avoid pain was stronger.
“Yes sir,” she answered in a low, trembling voice.
Stoner yanked her head back and struck her viciously across the breasts with the riding crop.
“It’s ‘master’ to you, slut!” he yelled. “I am your master and don’t you ever forget it!”
Cheryl cried out in pain, but was able to eke out a plaintive “Yes, Master,” before another blow was landed.
“That’s better, whore,” Stoner replied. He turned and addressed the three kneeling women. “And now for my three beautiful wives. I’m afraid that one of you must go. Cheryl is going to be my new wife, and you know that I am only permitted three. Now, who shall it be?”
Stoner was a practical and frugal man. He believed that having more than three sexual thralls at a time was a waste. He had gotten to where he was by discipline and the ruthless exploitation of those around him. Having a fourth sexual slave was just an extravagance and another empty mouth to feed. It was better that the fourth girl begin to earn her keep in one of the whorehouses he kept in the capital. She would, at first, ply her trade in the fashionable house uptown frequented by the rich and privileged. When she began to show the strains of wear, she would go to one of the whorehouses frequented by the better off civil servants, army officers and merchants. After that, well, it was a downward slope. But there was always some poor native who would pay a few extra pennies to fuck a white woman.
And there was another reason for the limit of three servile sluts at a time. Under Muslim law as practiced in Katanga, a man was permitted only three wives and Stoner had, of necessity, adopted the Koran as his bible and Allah as his God. This helped control the sometimes unruly troops in his small mercenary force. It helped at the capital, Christians being roundly despised. And, should the annoying, but still powerful, international aid inspectors come around, he could produce perfectly legal marriage certificates for each of the white sluts under his roof. Once married to him, the woman became his property as a matter of religious and Katanganese law. They had no more rights than a stool or a post.
The three naked women knelt at attention as Stoner stepped up to examine them. Jeremiah, who had entered the room behind Stoner, went over to the three women and, one by one, stuffed thick leather gags into their mouths. There would be no crying and pleading as Stoner made his selection. The women could only communicate with their eyes and their posed lasciviousness. Their breasts were jutted out proudly, delicate, round offerings. Their legs were spread widely, their hairless sexes presented for their master’s touch. Stoner walked slowly between them.
He caressed the breast of the first in line, one of the blondes. “Ah, Justine, my French poodle. You have such a sweet cunt. You have been here the longest and are the obvious choice to go. But you have a very skilled mouth, and I might miss it.”
He proceeded to the next girl, the brunette. She had long, flowing, wavy hair, tinged with red. Her breasts were large, spread across her delicate frame like overripe fruit. “And Mary, my Irish beauty, I love to whip those ample tits. I would miss them.” Stoner twisted Mary’s nipples. She stoically absorbed the abuse, her eyes imploring Stoner to spare her.
Stoner stepped over to the third girl. She was thin and had small, pointed tits. Her blond hair was short. Her features were, however, delicate and soft. She had a beautiful face, graceful blue eyes. Her frailty invited torment and she bore several red lashes across her breasts and stomach as if to emphasize this. Stoner spoke to her.
“Sara, Sara, Sara,” he intoned, “what am I going to do with you? You have been here the shortest. You have been a wonderful fuck. Of all, I believe that you are the most enthusiastic whore. And you bear the whip so well. But do I want two Americans? Alas, I don’t think so.” Stoner signaled to Jeremiah. He quickly affixed a leash around her neck and pulled her to her feet.
“My officers have been pining for you for months, Sara. You will be a nice change from their buxom native girls. And I will make it a point to visit you in the capital.”
Sara started to cry. She stood before Stoner, a forlorn expression on her face. As Stoner’s ‘wife’, she at least knew what abuses and torments she would be subject to. After all, even Stoner had his limits and it was rare that he would torture and abuse all three of his ‘wives’ in the same night. As long as she was in his harem, she could reasonably expect some respite from torment. But as a whore in the capital, she would suffer daily humiliation and pain.
“We have one more night together, Sara,” Stoner told her as he caressed her face. “Be assured that I will make the most of it.” And to Jeremiah he said, “Take her to the Discipline Room. Put her on the ‘horse’. I’ll be down later to say goodbye.”