Although Stoner’s whip had been stilled, Sara continued moaning and twisting in her chains. “Yes,” Stoner thought, “she is a good one. She’ll be a good earner in my whorehouse in the capital.”
Stoner had yet not said a single word to Sara. He had no need to. He cared not a whit what Sara felt or knew or understood. All he cared for was his pleasure in causing her pain. It was the feeling of mastery and power that he sought. She was a mere object of his needs; faceless, voiceless.
The merciless man now stripped, removing his heavy boots and pulling off his khaki shirt and shorts. Naked, he grabbed Sara’s joined hands and tied them to a third chain. Pulling the chain, he lifted the front of her body so that she was now parallel to the floor, her legs akimbo, her sex and rear exposed for his use. Beating a woman always made him hard and this time was no exception. He stepped between the still moaning girl’s legs and paused, unsure which aperture to use. He decided that slamming his cock into the girl’s abused pussy would give him the most pleasure and rammed his piece home in Sara’s wet sheath. She was wet, mercifully, because she was trained to be wet. Months of abuse interspersed with caresses had produced a Pavlovian reaction in her. This was mostly Jeremiah’s doing, as he was assiduous in melting the line between pleasure and pain for his charges.
Stoner pounded away at the gaping hole of Sara’s cunt. Each time his hips collided with hers, his pelvis striking at the lips of the girl’s vagina, he brought a new wave of suffering to her. As Justine had said, he was quick, and it was not long before he jetted his spunk into the girl’s recesses. He moaned and groaned as he came.
Stoner left Sara strung up and dangling. Before leaving he attached painful clips to her nipples and the lips of her cunt. “See you tomorrow,” he said.
Dinner was at 7 P. M. and Stoner went up to his room to shower. Jeremiah entered the women’s bedroom to make sure that they readied themselves for the meal. They dined nightly with Stoner, a macabre imitation of family life. Jeremiah told Justine and Mary to dress. He told Cheryl to lie on the bed. He went into the bathroom and returned with a bowl of hot water, some soap and a shaving brush.
Cheryl had made note of the hairless sexes of her two companions and had wondered whether she would be shaved. Jeremiah provided the answer as he lathered up her ample bush and began to stroke the hair away. When he was done, Cheryl’s sex was as hairless as her face. The sensation was odd and made Cheryl feel more naked than ever. The tall, menacing black man stroked the smooth skin. Cheryl was mesmerized as he spread her lips apart and manipulated her to wetness. She had already come twice since she had been brought to the women’s boudoir and was surprised to feel her loins begin to grow warm again with incipient lust. She watched as Jeremiah’s fingers entered her, his black hand in stark contrast to her hairless, pink skin.
The two other women had donned their evening-wear and were standing next to the bed observing the tableau. Their dresses were a mockery of decency as the necklines passed below their breasts and the skirts cut away at the tummy to reveal their hairless slits. Justine was dressed in a fiery red dress with puffed sleeves and a hemline to her ankles. Mary’s dress was a deep satin green, knee length with satin straps that ascended from the bodice to around her neck. Her shoulders and neck were bare. Both women wore matching high heels.
Cheryl was beginning to pant with passion when Jeremiah abandoned his efforts and told her to stand. Cheryl’s yearning for release was frustrated and she realized that the slavemaster’s goal was to raise her passions, but no more than that. Her hopes that she would be permitted clothing, even if it left her sexual organs exposed, were dashed when Jeremiah told her to turn around and tied her hands behind her back.
Jeremiah opened the door to the bedroom and stood as the three women walked into the hallway. He led them down a long, wide, winding staircase with dark mahogany balustrades. It emptied out into the foyer of the mansion, a high-ceilinged, wood paneled room. Freakish and garish African masks spanned the walls as well as painted, leather covered, warrior’s shields.
The mansion was a busy place. As Cheryl descended the staircase, she saw the native women and an occasional native man dashing about, either preparing their Master’s dinner table or hoping to escape his notice. They were all clothed, the women in tight, colorful cotton shifts that accentuated their slender stomachs and wide hips. The shifts were low cut so that the tops of their bosoms were exposed. The men wore Western attire, black pants and vests with ruffled white shirts. Cheryl was hotly embarrassed to be walking among these seemingly ubiquitous natives without a stitch of clothing. Her undressed state advertised her as the Master’s new whore. Would she have to fuck in front of them too?
The three women were led to the front of the foyer, close to the front door. Cheryl watched as, without further instruction, Justine and Mary knelt. Following their example, Cheryl knelt too. From her vantage point on the far left of the three she watched as the two other women reached inside the slits in their dresses and began to finger their sexes. They would be wet when their master arrived.
Jeremiah stood over Cheryl and withdrew a long, thick object from his robes. It was attached to a leather belt. Cheryl saw that it was shaped like a penis and had a button on the end. Jeremiah fastened the belt around Cheryl’s waist and then slowly, but firmly, introduced the dildo into her cunt. Cheryl was still lubricated from Jeremiah’s prior efforts and the hard, plastic member slid easily in. A thin strap led from the dildo up the crack of her ass and was tied off at the belt around her waist. When he was satisfied that it was firmly attached to the belt, Jeremiah pushed the button on the end and the dildo sprang into life.
The buzzing sensation in her pussy surprised Cheryl. She had never been brazen enough to use a dildo inside her. She had mostly limited its application to the lips of her sex and the button of pleasure above. It was not possible to ignore the buzzing and it caused a tingling all throughout her pussy. Now, she too would be wet down there when the Master arrived.
It did not take long. Cheryl heard the sound of heavy boots on the porch outside and then saw the door swing open. Stoner was dressed in khaki slacks as before, but now wore a billowing silken shirt, splashed with colorful African flowers. He halted briefly in front of his women before heading to the dining room. He stroked Cheryl’s left breast softly, admiring it. “I’ll have fun sucking on this baby tonight, honey,” he said.