Hail To The Chief
About three o’clock that afternoon, Stoner’s choppers finished their return to their base. Great swirls of brown African dust swirled around the choppers as they landed. The soldiers hopped out dragging behind them the coffles of newly captured slave girls. The ride back had been uneventful. The frightened women moaned and cried, huddled on the chopper floor. The soldiers took sport in poking and prodding them. Their mocking taunts and cruel laughter could barely be heard over the loud grinding of the helicopter engines.
The women were marched quickly to the parade ground that stood outside the soldiers’ barracks. They were made to stand in two lines, shoulder to shoulder. An officer went down the lines, enforcing his orders to spread their legs with a riding crop.
The girls were all shapes and sizes, although large, firm, breasts predominated. A corporal followed the officer down the lines ripping the tape off of the faces of the girls. This was an inspection after all, and their faces needed to be seen.
Stoner waited until the girls were all lined up, mouths freed, before he strode up to take measure of what he had stolen. He had picked out the twenty most desirable of the great crop of women he had harvested. Now he would select the best of the best.
Slowly, leisurely, Stoner walked down the lines of frightened, naked women. He stopped before each one, measuring their breasts with his hands, peering into their faces. When he had made one full pass, he repeated his inspection. This time, he pointed out several girls with the riding crop and they were freed from the coffle and dragged away from the lines. When he was finished his second pass, seven women had been selected. They stood in the hot afternoon sun, hands tied behind them, legs spread.
Stoner made an even more detailed examination of the seven women. He rubbed their naked loins, measuring their response. He had them turned around and bent over so that he could caress their buttocks. The bodies of the women glistened with sweat, partially from the still fierce rays of the sun, but also from their natural sense of panic at their severance from the pack. What special hell was being prepared for them?
Stoner had two of the women separated from the group of seven. The first was about 5’4″ in height, closer to 18 than 25. She had firm round breasts with large, reddish doubloon sized aureoles. Her nipples were tense from fear and Stoner tweaked the short, thick buds of flesh. The girl was crying and rivulets of tears ran down her face. She shook noticeably as Stoner turned her head right and left, seeking out imperfections in the smooth, black face. He saw none.
The second girl was tall and slender. She had long, delicate thighs. She stood about an inch taller than Stoner. Her face was long, her cheeks high. She was not crying. Her hatred of Stoner was easy to read on her face. She had tiny, tea cup breasts with long, almost pointed nipples. Stoner ran his hands over them, pinching them fiercely. Anger lit up in the tall woman’s eyes, and she spit in Stoner’s face, crying out doubtlessly rude epithets at him in her native tongue. Stoner reacted swiftly by giving the woman a fierce slap across the face. Two soldiers grabbed her arms, protecting their leader. Stoner smiled. Looking over at his general, Kurim, he said, “She’ll do. Give her five lashes with the bullwhip and put her in isolation. I’ll take the other one with me.”
Kurim gave a curt order to the men holding the tall girl. She was dragged by them to a gibbet that stood on the edge of the parade ground. It was set upon a small platform, one large enough for a full grown man to swing a bullwhip from.
Another order from Kurim caused an underling to dash off into the barracks. A few moments later, he returned with a long leather whip. Kurim took it from him and mounted the platform.
The soldiers were having a hard time with their captive. They had loosened her hands from behind her back and she was twisting and turning, struggling to free herself from their grasp, desperately seeking to avoid attachment to the extended arm of the gibbet. It took another man’s help, but the soldiers soon had the frantic black woman’s hands tied before her. They took a rope and affixed it to her bound wrists and looped it through a small iron ring on the underside of the extended arm. With a few tugs of the rope, the girl was standing on her tip toes.
She had long, braided hair, jet black, as black as her skin. She screamed and yelled in protest as she dangled naked before her former friends and neighbors. The other women had been forced to crouch down on the grass. Their silence was enforced by a soldier’s whip. Kurim mounted the platform and shook out the long, sleek whip. The crowd of women let out shrieks and cries of protest, precipitating the repeated application of a soldier’s riding crop.
The bear-sized general played with the whip, letting its end drag across the platform, snapping it in mid air. The cracking sound silenced the on-looking women. The soldiers had crowded round, intent on enjoying the coming spectacle. Stoner had the other beauty he had selected by his side, a leash attached to her collar, and was alert with anticipation. It wasn’t every day you saw a woman bullwhipped.
The tall, lithe woman was now begging Kurim for mercy. She twisted and turned on the platform fervently pleading to be spared this ordeal. Kurim smiled at her, an evil, vicious smile. He reared his arm back and snapped the bullwhip forwards. Its tip struck the woman on the front of her thighs and she screamed.
A blot of blood appeared at the point of contact. The woman’s agonizing scream resounded throughout the compound. All over the mansion, servants rushed to the windows. Mary, who had spent the afternoon naked and alone in the women’s dormitory, dashed to the window to find its source. She looked and cried out in disbelief, just as Kurim snapped the whip again, landing a fierce blow against the tall woman’s right buttock. Her scream echoed anew across the parade ground. The crouched women wept and cried at their friend’s plight. Another ‘crack!’ and then another. Two red rivulets began to run down the girl’s body from her breasts. She danced and squirmed in terrified pain. Kurim let go with one last blow from the whip. This one struck the woman’s unmarked buttock, creating a line of blood across it to match the other.
After a few moments, the woman’s wild screams faded into a desultory moan. She hung on the platform listlessly, all of the fight and spirit taken from her. Kurim barked out an order to the guards who began shouting and screaming at the crouched women. They rose as one and ran off into the front door of the barracks. Once inside, they would be led to individual cells where they would await their ravishment. In the morning they would all be branded, a large slanted “S” on their buttocks.
The remaining five of the seven who had been culled out by Stoner were to be divided among the officers. Kurim got first pick, of course. The rest would be shared. They would all receive their brands in due course.
Stoner walked up the hill towards the mansion, his prisoner in tow. He dragged her up the porch stairs where he was met by Jeremiah. “Take this cunt, clean her up and put her in my room. I’ll deal with her later,” he told the large, jet black factotum.
“Yes, Lord,” Jeremiah replied. “Your wives await you in the discipline room,” he added.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing them. Get me a tall scotch and soda.”
Jeremiah gave a short, curt order to a houseboy who scooted off to do his master’s bidding. The tall man took control of the master’s new slut and led her into the house.
Stoner received his drink a moment later. Taking a long swig, he watched the tall, now compliant African girl being dragged across the parade ground to the barracks. She would be spared further abuse for the time being. He had a plan for her.
Having sucked down the cold, biting refreshment, Stoner went into the house and found his way down to the Discipline Room. Justine and Cheryl had been left there, their tongues cruelly impaled, their leg muscles stretched to intense discomfort. Jeremiah knew his business. The girls were stretched just enough to cause maximum pain and cramping in their legs and in the muscles of their mouths, but not enough to cause serious damage.
Because the cruel piercings to their tongues were connected by the long leather strap threaded through the ring on the bar, any movement by one to ease the strain on her body had an immediate effect on the other. They had had all day to rue their incipient rebellion. Rebellions had to be ruthlessly crushed. Jeremiah had ensured that the women paid severely for their foolishness. Henceforth, they would think only of the need to avoid their own punishment and let the chips fall where they may for the other.
Both women gave a small start when they heard the door to the Discipline Room open, an action they both immediately regretted as their movements exacerbated the pain to their mouths and legs. Stoner smiled as he heard the women’s piteous moans. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he called to them as he slammed the heavy door shut. “Have you been enjoying yourselves?”
The women quailed in fear. This was the moment they had been dreading all afternoon. They had suffered the fierce cramps in their legs, the painful throbbing in their tongues. Their mouths were dry, their throats burned with thirst. The constant need for attention to the delicate balance they maintained between the strain on their tongue and their legs and feet had been exhausting. And now came their tormentor in chief. What brutalities would he add to their suffering?
Stoner grabbed a long rattan crop from the cabinet and approached the grotesquely postured women. He stroked it over Cheryl’s bare ass. “Wouldn’t you prefer to be sucking my cock, cunt?” he asked her. Cheryl could only look at the fearsome man out of the side of her eye. She dared not move her head. She moaned a forlorn plea. Stoner laughed, “Cat got your tongue?” He shook in his merriment. He looked at Justine’s cruelly stretched body and rubbed the crop over her breasts. “Sorry for your little game this morning, bitch?” he asked her. “I think that next time you will jump at the opportunity to suck me off, won’t you?”
Justine gurgled a reply.
“Now someone’s going to get ten strokes across the ass with this whip,” he taunted the miserable women. “The other, I’m going to fuck in the ass. Frankly, in your position, I don’t know which one will hurt worse.” Stoner stepped closer to the women and grabbed one of Justine’s tits. He twisted it fiercely. Justine moaned in agony. Her discomfort was translated immediately to Cheryl, who felt Justine’s every movement in her aching tongue.
“I think that I’ll give you the whipping, Justine,” Stoner told her. “You should have known better. You’ve been here the longest. I think that you believe that your artful mouth has earned you a permanent berth here. Perhaps I should ship you out. Maybe you want to be sucking thick black cocks all day instead?”
Justine fruitlessly tried to communicate her obsequiousness to her owner. Her words came out as mere grunts. Each syllable evoked a twinge of pain.
To Cheryl, Stoner said, “Get your ass ready for a fucking, cunt.”
Stoner stepped behind Justine, admiring the taut, twin globes of flesh on her rear. “Yeah,” he thought, “maybe its time that this one moved along.” He reared back his arm and slammed the cane onto Justine’s delicate, white buttocks. Justine and Cheryl both moaned in pain. The French girl’s flesh twitched as she absorbed the blow. Crack! Another blow fell causing Justine to gurgle and dance. Cheryl tried to make up for the added strain on her tongue by standing on the tips of her toes. But the more slack Cheryl gave to Justine on the infernal strap that connected them, the more that she seemed to want. Blow after blow fell, ten in all. Justine’s ass was cherry red from its abuse. Tears flowed freely down both anguished faces.
Stoner caught his breath. His cock was rock hard as a result of his sadistic treatment of the French woman. That, and the enticing sight of the tall black woman’s dance at the whip, had fueled Stoner’s pump. Not bothering to disrobe, he wrestled his hard meat from his pants and addressed Cheryl’s behind. Her spread legs, forced open by the bar that Jeremiah had placed between them, make readily available the tiny starred entrance to her bowels.
Cheryl knew what was coming and desperately tried to relax her muscles to ease Stoner’s entrance. It was not easy given her predicament. So when Stoner presented his hot cock to his puckered target, the ring of flesh was narrow and taut. Stoner grabbed Cheryl’s hips and held her still as he pressed his manhood into her rear passage. Cheryl’s hands were bound behind her and he delighted in their involuntary contractions as the pain from his forced entry shot through the abject girl. The movement of Cheryl’s body caused unwelcome movement to Justine’s and both girls groaned in torment.
The heartless man reveled in the heat of Cheryl’s bowels, the tight grip on his shaft by the little ring he had violated. He rocked his hips into Cheryl without thought to the anguish the reverberations of his thrusts caused the two women. In fact, their miserable groans and moans fueled his passion. It was not long before he felt his lusts rising, his cock begin to throb. With a loud moan, he began to pump his seed deep into Cheryl. He was thrusting madly, causing the women unbelievable, agonizing pain. And then he was finished.
A half hour later, Jeremiah came down to free the women. After releasing their spreader bars, and using a small pair of clippers, he snapped the barbed ends off of the hooks and passed the steel through the raw openings in the girls’ tongues. As he released them, each girl sagged in his arms. He gently let them fall to the ground.
Dinner that night was an awkward affair. As was the custom, Cheryl, Justine and Mary awaited their master’s return from his rounds kneeling in the main hall, dressed in obscene finery, their fingers in their quims, lubricating themselves for his pleasure. At the dinner table, neither Cheryl nor Justine wanted to eat a single mouthful. Their tongues were swollen and sore from their ordeal. At Stoner’s insistence, they took small bites of the fresh fish from Stoner’s fecund lake and washed them down quickly with cold, soothing water.
But Stoner had little interest in his wives tonight. He had a new toy to play with locked in the cage in his bedroom. There was no pleasure in life for him like despoiling a wench, and the knowledge that a naked, young, innocent girl awaited him made his appreciation of the culinary delights of his table more perfunctory than usual.
When dinner was over, or, rather, when Stoner’s dinner was over, he had Jeremiah rush the women back up to their room. He would have no need of them tonight.
The frightened African girl looked up from her small steel prison when Stoner entered the bedroom. It had been a day of unimaginable terror for her. Only this morning, she had awoken in her own bed, in her family’s hut, among people who loved her. Although she was barely eighteen, marriage and family came young to the women of her village and she had a small child of eighteen months. She was still breastfeeding the little boy, as was the tribal custom, and her breasts ached with unused production of milk.
She had watched her friend meanly whipped and knew that her captor was capable of great cruelty. She had no illusions as to why she was caged, naked, in his sumptuous bedroom. She had no courage to resist. For her son, she must live. As impossible as it might seem, she knew that she could not give up hope of being reunited with him and her loving husband. She would be dishonored, probably cast out from her home, as if she was complicit in her own ravishment. But she could live to see them, could hope for mercy and understanding from her husband; she knew she would get none here.
Stoner approached the cage where his new captive crouched fearfully. He knew that the girl almost certainly had no English, but was sure that the ever efficient Jeremiah had instructed her on her new duties. He rattled the cage with his hand, chuckling to himself as the young woman cringed. “Ready for your fucking, my little black bitch?” he said.
The words were meaningless to the girl, but she could tell from the heavy white man’s tone that her torment was soon to begin.
Stoner undressed and then opened the cage. He had taken up a small riding crop and poked the girl until she obediently emerged. As she crawled on all fours, her firm, round, black breasts swung freely beneath her. Her flanks were meaty, but firm and graceful. She had short ringlets of black hair on her head and a thick, dark thatch below. Her buttocks were rotund and rippled as she struggled to obey the cruel white master.
When she had emerged from the cage, Stoner pushed her head to the floor. She pressed her face to the rug, but her back was arched, her rear presented to her master’s view. Only her husband had seen her like this, as she lustfully prepared herself for his thrusts. She was shamed that this evil white man should see her so. Stoner tapped on the insides of her thighs, and she obediently spread them. He crouched next to the girl and reached his hand under her and felt her cunt.
It was fleshy and hot. The entrance to her womb lubricated obediently as he rubbed his hand against it, tracing a line along the slit with his finger. It took but a minute before he earned a small moan from the girl’s lips.
Satisfied, Stoner rose to his feet. He swung the riding crop fiercely onto her behind. The girl groaned in pain and mortification. She despised herself for succumbing to the man’s caress of her sex and welcomed the pain of the whip as punishment. Five times Stoner belabored the young woman’s rear globes. The girl moaned and cried at each blow. She wondered how she had offended the man so quickly. She did not comprehend Stoner’s pleasure in administering pain. She would learn.