What A Man Reaps
The wedding had been called off, temporarily, at least.
As was his custom, Stoner had spent the night before the wedding abusing his new wife-to-be. He had the added delight of increasing his prospective bride’s humiliation by having her sister join in. He had soundly whipped Denise while Cheryl watched. Afterwards, he made Denise service her sister orally while he drove his thick, hard rod into her bowels. He then outfitted Cheryl with a fat dildo and harness and made her fuck Denise doggy style while she sucked his cock. Finally, he had Denise sit on his face while Cheryl mounted his cock. The women were facing each other and were instructed to kiss and fondle each other’s breasts until he came.
They spent the night, exhausted and ashamed, locked into the little cage at the foot of Stoner’s bed. They were ashamed because, in spite of themselves, they had experienced physical pleasure from each other. They had hungrily sought each other’s lips while riding Stoner’s cock and tongue and had both come twice. Now they were scrunched together in the tiny steel prison. But for once, they were not gagged. Jeremiah, suspicious of Denise, had not wanted the women to speak to each other until he had had a chance to force the truth from the new slut in the Discipline Room. So, after Stoner left the women’s dormitory, he had gone in and affixed thick gags in their mouths. This was the sisters’ first chance to speak.
Cheryl waited until she heard the unmistakable sound of Stoner’s snoring. The women were, generally speaking, facing each other in the cage, although their arms and legs were spread out every which way. The women whispered quietly, at first in commiseration, but after the tears had ebbed, they told their stories. Somehow, Cheryl had guessed that the Turk had been behind Denise’s kidnapping and Denise confirmed it by her description of him. She was surprised at the strange aspects to their ‘relationship’ while at Turk’s mansion. After she considered it for a while, she jumped to what was to her the obvious conclusion.
“He’s coming,” she told her sister.
“Who’s coming?” Denise whispered back.
“The Turk. He’s coming to get me and he used you to find me.”
Denise pondered this. She was about to respond when the door to the bedroom opened. It was Jeremiah. A small rectangle of light shone into the room, spotlighting the cage. When he saw that the women were not wearing their gags, he looked around the room to retrieve them. Once they were found, he opened the cage and reaffixed them to the women’s mouths. He then tied their hands behind their backs and forced them back into the cage. They spent the night in miserable silence.
It was Stoner’s usual practice to get a blowjob from whatever ‘wife’ was available in the morning. But this morning was different. At about 6 A. M. the telephone in his room rang. He rose groggily and grabbed the receiver. The ringing had awoken the women and they could hear his end of the conversation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?… Where?… How many?…There too?… Where’s Kurim? …Okay, I’ll be dressed in two minutes. Have my helicopter ready in fifteen. Get all the spare men from the barracks…Yes, yes, leave the security detail…Now get to it.”
Stoner slammed down the phone and yelled, “Fuck!” He raced to his bureau and pulled out clean underwear and a jungle fatigue uniform. He then threw it on and dashed from the room.
What Stoner had learned was that two outposts of his had been overrun during the night by ‘bandits’. The closer of the two was fifteen miles from his compound. Kurim had already organized a search and destroy team and was scouring the bush with one of the helicopters. Attacks had been made unsuccessfully at two other outposts and his men were engaged in tracking down the retreating attackers.
Jeremiah was waiting for Stoner at the front door with his sidearm. “Get all the servants under lock and key,” he told him. “And get the sluts all together in my bedroom.” Stoner paused and reflected. “I want all the Swiss passbooks and the negotiable securities ready in a valise. Put it in the bedroom with the sluts and guard it with your life. I’ll be back soon, but just in case, we want to be able to get out of here pretty damn quick.”
* * *
Turk and Lenny were speeding up the Benswala Road in a tired, old World War II style Jeep. They had bought it from their contact in the capital along with 2 Glocks, about fifty rounds of ammunition each and papers describing them as buyers for the ‘Acme Minerals Corporation’. Turk had balked at first at the thinness of their cover, be he was assured that no one not born in the United States would get the reference. They had visas and identification in the names of Mr. James Wiley and Mr. Paul Coyote. Somebody’s idea of a joke.
As they rumbled along the mostly paved road, Turk was surprised at the lack of any soldiers or checkpoints. They had a ready supply of cash for bribes, but had not found it necessary to use it yet. In fact, the road was dead quiet, with not a single other vehicle or cart on it.
What they were not aware of was that word spreads fast in the bush and everyone knew that the rebels’ big push was on. Uzoma had pulled the remainder of his troops from the road to the capital. Villagers had fled into the forest. As far as confused circumstances were concerned, the Turk’s expedition could not have happened at a better time.
The plan was to gain access to Stoner’s compound by flashing the fake papers. They were supposedly seeking to buy cobalt. But if anyone asked them more than five questions about it, they were sunk. Turk had determined to risk all on one throw of the dice. He didn’t want to wait any longer than necessary to make the attempt to rescue Cheryl and Denise.
The jeep passed through the town of Benswala, which marked the formal end of the Benswala Road. It looked like a ghost town. It was a good thing that they only needed the jeep for a one way trip, because there was absolutely no place to buy gas.
They emerged from the deserted town and continued the thirty miles towards Stoner’s compound. They got about ten miles away from it when they met their first roadblock. It was manned by twenty or so of Stoner’s men and they were all nervous and trigger happy. They presented their credentials to a jittery noncom, who used his cell phone to call in to the compound. The conversation was done completely in the local dialect and Turk fingered the semi-automatic in his pocket. He knew that if they had to shoot it out they were fucked, but he didn’t want to go like a schmuck, shot in the back with his hands on his head. The sergeant looked at them intently as he spoke to his superior. It took much longer than it should have. Finally, the noncom issued orders to two of the men, who climbed in the back of the Jeep. He then waived the Jeep on.
* * *
Stoner’s helicopter, loaded with its full compliment of 30 soldiers, sailed off to the north. Jeremiah watched it disappear. He then turned back into the house. He would comply with the master’s wishes, but with one exception. He was going to have a little party with the new girl and find out what was up with her.
Jeremiah burst into the dormitory and hauled Mary out of bed. The women slept with their hands bound to the headboard every night and so he had to unlock her wrists first. He paused to admire the beauty of her ample bosoms. How he liked to whip them. Maybe tomorrow, he thought.
He led Mary down to Stoner’s bedroom. Usually the wives were permitted some form of clothing when they traveled through the house, a robe, a wrap around dress, even a shawl. But Jeremiah did not have time to have Mary dress and she ran behind him naked, her breasts flopping and swaying. The servants nodded and laughed as they watched.
Jeremiah had tied Dalila off at the foot of the stairs when he had awoken to the emergency call. He had fucked her like a demon the night before. As far as he was concerned, she was the lowest of the low. All the native women who chose life before dishonor deserved, in his opinion, to be treated as the meanest whores. White women were different. They had no souls. They flaunted their bodies freely and without shame. They were born sluts. But African women should be proud. He had spent the evening making poor Dalila pay for her misfortune at being kidnapped and reduced to a sexual plaything by her depraved and cruel lord, Stoner.
Dalila’s eyes were still red from crying. Her hands were tied behind her and she was affixed to the balustrade by a chain that led to a collar around her neck. When she saw Jeremiah with the white woman, who she had nicknamed the great mother, for obvious reasons, in tow, she cringed. She had seen Stoner run out and sensed the panic of the servants. For a slave, anything out of the ordinary was usually bad.
Jeremiah took her chain and led her, with the great mother, to Stoner’s bedroom. He tied them both to the posts at the head of the bed. Their hands were raised above them and their feet were bound together. He then gagged them. He then prodded Cheryl and Denise out of the cage and, after allowing them to make water in the little slaves’ bathroom, tied Cheryl to one of the posts near the foot of the bed. He left her gag in. He then turned to Denise. “Follow me,” was all he said.
He led Denise to the kitchen stairway that led to the Discipline Room downstairs. Denise had no idea where she was going until they hit the landing at the bottom of the steps and she saw the heavy wooden door. She whined behind her gag and her knees weakened. What had she done to deserve this? She considered running, but knew that there was nowhere to go. He hands were still tied behind her back, so she couldn’t even turn a doorknob. Besides, whatever was in store for her, she knew that she could only make it worse if she ran.
When Jeremiah swung the door opened, he signaled Denise to go in. Nervously, with trepidation, she stepped over the doorsill and entered the infernal room. She was surprised to see a young, blond woman hanging upside down in the middle of the room. It was Justine. She had spent two hours the day before, late in the afternoon, as Stoner’s whipping horse. He had left her hanging there to enjoy her misery. Jeremiah ignored the woman and dragged Denise over to what looked like a large chair, covered with a metal casing. There were little holes in the front of it, near the top, that looked like holes for eyes and a nose. In fact, that’s what they were for.
Stoner called this instrument his iron maiden, although its functionality was somewhat different than the instrument known to antiquity. Denise watched as Jeremiah lifted the cover off of the chair. It was affixed by two hinges to its base. There were two long, thick hard rubber probes with rounded heads sticking up from the seat of the chair, angled in towards one another and there were clamps on the arms and legs of the chair. To Denise, it appeared a foreboding, hellish device. It was.
Jeremiah released Denise’s arms from behind her back and pushed her towards the chair. Denise started to resist, but he placed his large hand around her throat and squeezed. Tearfully, she signaled her willingness to comply.
The probes on the chair seat were flexible and adjustable. They were topped with little helmets of steel, and steel bands encircled them. Jeremiah had Denise crouch as if to sit on the chair and properly aligned the probes. He then pushed her back slowly. He guided the one probe to her rear entrance and pushed her down upon it. It was at least as thick as a man’s cock and Denise moaned in pain as it stretched the delicate ring that marked the entrance to her bowels. When she was halfway down, he fitted the other probe to Denise’s pussy. He lubricated her with his hand, and then eased her the rest of the way down in the seat.
Denise sat in the chair, doubly impaled. She watched tearfully as Jeremiah fastened her arms and legs to the chair. Inside the cover to the chair was a cloth bra-like devise that could be raised or lowered. Jeremiah swung it out and encapsulated Denise’s delicate orbs in it. It took some manhandling, but Jeremiah was able to get Denise’s nipples to fit inside little rings of steel inside the bra. There was a small wheel around each hole allowing it to be reduced to hold the nipples snugly. When Jeremiah was finished outfitting Denise, he addressed her.
“White slut,” he said, “I am going to come back in one hour and I am going to find out all about you. The chair in which you sit will convince you to be truthful with me in all things. When we are done, you will beg to suck my cock and I will let you.”
Denise’s eyes widened as Jeremiah swung the cover to the chair closed. It was painted with a life sized likeness of the face and body of a grotesquely smiling, seated, naked, native woman. The devise sat before a mirror so that the occupant could look out and see the contorted visage. Inside, the girl would be frantically enduring a torrent of pain.
The probes and the rings around Denise’s nipples were connected to an electric box that sent out pulses of varying intensity. Its timing was irregular and the pulses could be sent to one, two, or even all of the terminals at once. Denise would be able to moan and whine behind her gag. It would have been more effective, if the woman inside could be left to scream and beg for release, but there was the danger that she might bite through her tongue due to the electric shock.
The first shock was sent to Denise’s pussy. It was not strong, but was enough for Denise to move nervously in her seat. The next shock came to her breasts. This was a little stronger and made her moan. The third shock was of severe intensity and duration and struck the helpless girl in her bowels. This time Denise jumped and screamed. Jeremiah’s words came back to her. He would be gone for an hour. She would have to suffer the torments of this modern day iron maiden until he returned and shut it off. Denise didn’t understand what it was that he wanted to know, but she was already prepared to sell her soul to avoid this heinous torture. As a shock struck both her breasts and pussy at once, a long, intense shock that stiffened her whole body, Denise could see out of her little window the mocking smile of the African lady.
* * *