Life In Katanga II
Half a world away from her former home, Cheryl was sleeping soundly. She lay in a steel cage, twelve foot square, at the foot of her master’s bed. After two hours of sexual and physical abuse, Stoner had lapsed into a drunken sleep. The ever present and dutiful Jeremiah had eased her from the bed, allowed her to pee, and then locked her into the small steel cage that sat at the foot of Stoner’s large bed. The cage was the same one that she had been locked into on the night of her arrival in Katanga, many months ago.
Cheryl had actually lost count of the days that she had been Stoner’s captive. The days all seemed to run into each other. She hardly was aware of the day of the week, never mind the date. While there were variations in her routine, they seemed to meld into one another since they all involved either her sexual or physical abuse or both.
She was now Stoner’s wife, sharing that title with Mary, the heavy breasted Irish beauty and Justine, the slender Frenchwoman whose broad red lips and agile tongue had saved her from exile to one of Stoner’s whorehouses in the capital of Katanga. Justine had been there the longest, outlasting a number of younger and more desirable beauties on the basis of her oral skills. Mary had been there, as far as she could reckon, about a year. Cheryl, when she thought about it, measured her time in Katanga as about four months.
She had learned to please Stoner in various ways. But, to her dismay, there was something about her meek expression, her innate shyness, which piqued Stoner’s desire to mar and torment female flesh. She had spent many nights a prisoner in the Discipline Room, affixed to one or the other device of torture. She almost always carried some evidence of the man’s brutality, for as soon as the bruises, lacerations and swelling from one beating healed, Stoner determined it was time to begin the cycle anew.
Not that the other wives were spared their share of torment. Mary’s unfortunate attribute was her large yet still buoyant breasts. Cheryl and Justine were often witnesses to his abuse of those rotund orbs and Mary’s screams of pain. Justine was whipped also from time to time, most often when her innate sauciness floated to the surface. Stoner became enraged at any sign of resistance or disobedience from his wives and he often detected Justine’s ironic smile or contemptuous grimace.
To Cheryl, it was surreal to be considered “wedded” to this monster. But her marriage to him was as valid under the laws of Katanga as it would have been if she had married her high school sweetheart in the States. Stoner, the de facto ruler of ten thousand square miles of Katanganese territory, had converted to the local brand of Islam so as to better control his three hundred mercenaries, all native Muslims themselves, and to facilitate dealing with the various political factions in the capital. As a non-Christian, he could own property, run businesses, influence governmental policy. As a Katanganese Muslim he could have three wives, wives whose very bodies and souls would be owned by him. No political body in the world could challenge his ownership of his three sex slaves. From time to time, he acquired a new sex slave and one of the old ones would have to go. Thus, on her second day in Katanga, Cheryl was made ready to be Stoner’s unwilling bride.
The night before the wedding, Cheryl had been taught the fine art of throat fucking. She spent the night in the three by four cage at the foot of Stoner’s bed. She cried all night. It was only as the bright orange African sun peaked over the hills that surrounded Stoner’s compound that she drifted off.
She only got about a half hour’s sleep. Stoner, in spite of his inveterate drinking and his nightly debauchery, rose early every day. If you lived in Africa you were smart to rise early, before the orange sun turned yellow and scorching. It was the same this morning. He sprung awake with a jolt, as he usually did. A man who wielded as much power as Stoner, often the power of life or death, rarely slept peacefully. And when he awoke, it was very important to make sure that there was no one in the room intent on his destruction.
Having gone through his morning panic attack, Stoner crept out of the bed. He stumbled towards the bathroom, stopping only to rattle Cheryl’s cage to make sure that she was awake. She too awoke with a start, as her whole world seemed to be convulsing. Then she looked up and saw the face of her tormentor and she remembered where she was.
“Wake up cunt,” Stoner said. “It’s time for my morning blow job.”
Stoner strolled to the bathroom where he emptied his bladder noisily. Stoner slept naked, and Cheryl could see his shrunken member, folded into a wrinkle of fat as he approached her.
“Come on whore, get your mouth where I can reach it. We’re getting married today and I want us to start off right.” He laughed. He was prone to laughing at his own jokes and hearing the echoing laughs of his sycophants. But Cheryl was not one of these. She did not have to pretend to be abject and obsequious, she was in reality and of necessity.
Cheryl shifted her body in her tiny cage so that her mouth neared the bars where Stoner was holding out his dick. He pressed himself against the cage and the tip of his flaccid joint poked through. Cheryl was tired, hungry, thirsty and miserable. She ached from her confinement and was sore from the previous night’s lashing. But she did what she was told.
Cheryl was able to place her lips around the head of Stoner’s cock. She sucked and pulled at it with her lips until it commenced to rise and thicken. Soon, there was enough through the bars for her to engulf the shaft with her lips while running her tongue over the tender bulb at the end. Stoner delighted in Cheryl’s mouth. He got a blowjob every morning, for every morning one of his slut wives found herself locked in the cage that Cheryl occupied now.
Stoner began to rock himself back and forth to facilitate Cheryl’s efforts to draw him to orgasm. It did not take long. Stoner liked his blowjobs quick and to the point, for the most part. Only Justine was able to entrance him to a lengthy enjoyment of the art of fine fellatio.
Stoner came with a series of loud grunts. His spunk filled Cheryl’s mouth. She swallowed without hesitation. She knew that any sign of reticence on her part to please her sadistic master would result in pain and suffering.
“Ahhhh,” Stoner sighed. “That was good. A fine way to start the day.” He pulled his cock from Cheryl’s mouth and proceeded to the bathroom and his morning shower. As if prescient, a black butler entered the room and readied Stoner’s towel and underclothes. He cast a sidelong look at the Master’s white prisoner. He was saving his pay. A few more weeks and he would have enough to pay Jeremiah for the right to fuck one of the Master’s wives. As he perused Cheryl’s naked flesh, he made his selection.