Cheryl nodded tearfully. At least she was not alone. She couldn’t bear it if she was alone.
Justine began to tell Cheryl about the rules. Her accent was heavy, but her English was clear. “First thing is that you can never speak when he or Jeremiah are around. In fact, we can really only speak when we are in this room and neither of them is present. If either of them hears you speak outside of this room, you’ll be beaten.”
Cheryl nodded her understanding.
“You have to remain always open to being raped by him. Whenever you see him, you must put you hand in your pussy and begin to make yourself wet. If he goes to fuck you and you’re not wet, you’ll be punished. Jeremiah lets us grease up our behinds so that when Stoner wants to fuck us there we’ll be ready. I don’t know if Stoner is aware of that or not. He is oblivious to anything beside his own pleasure.”
Mary interjected, her Irish lilt obvious in her voice. “And you always have to call him Master. Yes Master this and yes Master that. Never, ever, ever say the word ‘no’, even if that is the answer. Always think of something else.”
The idea of making herself wet for that cruel bastard revolted Cheryl. But she knew that’s what she would do.
“And you must never open a door. If the doors to a room are shut, you must remain there,” Mary added.
Justine continued, “Tomorrow there will be a ceremony. You will be married to him. We are all his wives.”
Cheryl registered shock.
“Yes, his wives,” Justine said. “Under Muslim law he is permitted tree wives. And under Muslim law, at least here, he can do anything he wants to us. First he will divorce Sara. You must not say anything! Nothing! Its all in Arabic anyway, so you will not understand it.”
Her unfortunate circumstances became more surreal by the minute. Married to that cruel man, Cheryl thought, what could be worse?
Cheryl was told how she would attend dinner with Stoner when he was here. And she was told that she must obey everything that Jeremiah said. He would make her fuck some of the African officers and she was not to ever say anything about it to Stoner. Jeremiah was the real ruler of Stoner’s harem and he would make her suffer horribly if he wanted to.
“What do you do all day when no one’s fucking you?” Cheryl asked.
“Mostly we sit around and wait,” Mary answered. “Jeremiah has us exercise every day, but most of the time we spend in here. Frankly, we fuck each other a lot. It helps pass the time and, since sexual pleasure is the only comfort that we have, we get it when we can.”
“And now” Justine said, caressing Cheryl’s breast, “I want to fuck you. When I’m done, you can lick my cunt, and then Mary’s.”
***
Sara had been sitting on the horse for three hours when Stoner finally appeared in the Discipline Room. The Horse was a wooden construct built so that the apex of the wooden triangle that served as its seat was firmly planted in the sex of the victim. Sara had sat impaled, her feet drawn up, her hands chained over her head. The pain became excruciating after about twenty minutes. Her head was encased in leather, a gag in her mouth. So she heard, rather than saw, Stoner enter. While her present position was the cause of extreme pain and discomfort to her, Sara knew that Stoner’s presence could only mean the intensification of her torture. Unwillingly, the frightened girl began to whimper.
She heard Stoner cross the room and stand a few feet away. She could sense him standing before her, admiring the product of his callous orders. She heard him fumbling with something and then heard the unmistakable ‘whoosh’ of a swinging cane. She had no time to react or to prepare herself for the blow. It struck her across the breasts, drawing a muffled scream of anguish. The pain was exquisite. Her delicate breasts burned where she had been struck. “Thwack!” Another blow landed, striking the frail girl across both of her nipples. Her muffled scream was music to Stoner’s ears. Stoner landed seven strokes of the cane on her tiny mounds, each one causing an immediate welt. Each time the cane landed, Sara sobbed and cried out into her gag.
When Stoner was done addressing Sara’s tits, he crossed the back of the horse so that he could strike Sara from the rear. While the landing of the cane on her breasts had caused a thumping sound, a resonance from Sara’s chest, the blows on her back produced a hard ‘crack!’ each time. Sara was blubbering behind her mask and gag, praying that he would soon tire of his torment of her. She struggled to free herself from her bonds, frantically seeking to avoid the searing pain. Stoner put extra emphasis on the last blow, causing a long wailing moan to escape from behind the gag.
But Stoner was not finished. He stood on a stool and released the girl’s hands from the chain and then released her feet. He pulled her from the horse and tied her hands in front of her. Pushing her to the cold, rough concrete floor, he fixed cuffs around her ankles and snapped chains into rings embedded in the coarse, thick leather. With some effort, he pulled on the chains, lifting Sara’s feet, her head and hands draping across the rough, cool cement floor.
Sara was now upside down, her legs spread in a “V”. She had no doubt what was next and she cringed and whined anticipating her further abuse. Again, she heard the ‘whoosh’ of the cane as Stoner brought it down directly on her sex. Her body convulsed with the pain and her moans became more like a roar. Six more times the cane bit into her cunt and each time Sara jerked and shuddered as a result of the excruciating blows. She tried to reach up to protect the already bruised and sore lips, but it only earned her sharp, painful blows to her hands and fingers.
Stoner had built up a heavy sweat with his exertions. The room, in fact the whole house, was air-conditioned, power being supplied by Stoner’s own generator. But even cool, the room was drenched in humidity, and the least effort produced a cascade of perspiration. He wiped his face and forehead with a handkerchief as he admired his handiwork. The girl too was sweating. Perspiration dripped down her tortured body in a virtual stream. The glistening sheen accented the red marks left behind by the cane.