Chapter Eight

Pocketing the brooch, Turk rifled through the drawers of the dresser and the closet. He found the normal assortment of clothes and under things, a few lacy panties, matching revealing bras. Again, something for him to look at later. He found a vibrator in a nightstand beside the bed. He laughed to himself. “This is a randy one,” he thought.

Having satisfied his curiosity, he turned to his prisoner, now lolling on her side on the bed. Cheryl had heard the man moving around the apartment and had guessed that he was looking for things to steal. When she heard the jewelry box open, she gave a little moan of despair. He was certain to find Grandma’s brooch, the one her father had told her to insure and put in a safety deposit box. She consoled herself with the thought that maybe, if he found something valuable, he would leave, having gotten his jollies with her. But the next thing to happen dispelled that idea.

Turk decided that it was time to move the scene of operations. Having exhausted the search of the bedroom (he had even looked under the bed), he leaned over the girl and pushed her onto her stomach. He loosened the clip that bound her wrists to her feet and loosened the cuffs around one ankle. He left the binding around her thighs.

Cheryl felt herself pulled to a sitting position. She was glad to be free of the hog tie but dreaded whatever was to come now. Turk sat beside her on the bed. He placed his mouth to her ear.

“Listen, bitch,” he whispered, “we are moving into the other room. You are going to stand up and walk with me. I haven’t hurt you so far but that can happen very quickly if you give me any trouble.” He waited for this to sink in. Seeing Cheryl’s head nod in agreement he lifted her to her feet. Cheryl wobbled slightly as she tried to get her balance. She felt herself being pulled forward and took little baby steps as her bound thighs permitted. She could sense that they were out of the bedroom and into the living room. She was ashamed at her nakedness and could not fathom her captor’s purpose in bringing her out there.

In fact, it was simple. Turk wanted to explore the rest of the apartment and had no intent of leaving her in another room while he did so. That time outside of Chicago, the girl had been left in the bedroom for only a minute. In spite of her bindings, she had managed to loosen her wrists from her feet and hop over to the window. Unbelievably, she had dashed herself against the window and fallen through. The house was in a secluded neighborhood, and no one heard the smash of the glass or the thud of her body as it hit the ground one story below. But when he went outside he could see that she had broken her shoulder when she fell; a complete waste of several weeks of preparation. He had to grab his things, slit her throat and go. She was a real looker too. One he had intended to recruit for a special buyer in South America. Well, live and learn.

And so as the couple emerged from the bedroom, Turk stood the girl in the center of the room and stepped back momentarily. Her visage, framed by the fading light coming through the living room window, was too good to miss. He took another series of pictures, from several angles. She was magnificent!

After putting the small camera back into his pocket, Turk pushed the girl down to the floor and reattached her bindings. Now he was free to look around the living room and kitchen. Nothing of note was found in the living room other than the fact that Cheryl had a rather insipid taste in music. He espied the food she had brought home with her. Chinese. A little cold though. Turk popped the chicken and broccoli into the microwave and heated it up. No sense having it go to waste. When the bell rang he removed the container and brought in into the living room, which doubled as an eating area.

The open bottle of Merlot didn’t really go with the food and so he explored further until he found a nice chardonnay. He opened the bottle with a slight pop and poured himself a glass. He looked at his watch. “Another hour,” he thought. Time enough.

Cheryl listened to the sounds of the Turk eating, much to her dismay. Not only was she pissed that he was eating her dinner, but she was also very hungry herself. Those light lunches were good for her diet but made her ravenous around dinnertime. It occurred to her that it was odd that in spite of having been sexually molested, in fear for her life, and being hog-tied here in her own living room, she was still hungry.

The room had darkened during the tryst in the bedroom and Turk rose to turn on a light. He made sure that all of the blinds were closed first. Then, he began to set up the night’s main event.

He first looked around for the proper setting. Seeing evidence of a joist across the ceiling, he retreated to the bedroom momentarily and brought out his little bag of goodies. A simple hook was removed and he pulled over a chair, stood on it and screwed it in. He then removed a laptop computer from his bag and placed it on a coffee table nearby. A small digital video camera followed it. He booted up the computer, connected the camera and checked the settings. Everything was working fine.

Now was the time to begin working on the decoration of the merchandise.

He again released the clip holding Cheryl hogtied and took off the cuffs to her ankles and the belt around her thighs. He removed the belt around her arms, loosening them for the first time to Cheryl’s great relief. She was now lying at his feet, unsure of what, if anything, to do. Turk nudged her with his foot.

“Get up.”

Obediently, Cheryl struggled to her feet. It was not easy given that her hands were still handcuffed and she was blinded by the oppressive hood. But she did it and for the first time in over an hour was able to stand freely and move her muscles. She was not reassured when she felt the Turk grab a nipple and pull her close to him. She felt her hood being untied and pulled from her head. Her eyes blinked at the light and she immediately remembered her first terror when she had realized that she had seen his face. Here it was again.

Turk’s appearance was not one to calm her disquietude. His face was swarthy, a crooked nose, obviously the result of more than a few fistfights, a scar on his right cheek, probably from a knife, and hard, glaring eyes. He stood at least seven inches taller than her and was obviously well muscled. She tried to turn her head away but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his face. She quailed in fear.

His voice was harsh and strict. “I am only going to go over this once with you. You are to cooperate in everything I tell you to do. If you struggle or try to escape, I will hurt you very badly. We are going to back into the bedroom and you are going to get cleaned up. You will take a shower and dress in the clothes that I give you. If you speak or make any noise, you will regret it immediately. I have many ways of causing pain. Do you understand?”

Cheryl nodded her head desperately. Goose bumps ran all up and down her body. She had never been confronted with such strength or evil intent. She would do whatever this man wanted.

Turk took Cheryl’s arm and led her back to the bathroom. At the shower he released her arms from behind her back and removed the gag. Cheryl sputtered and coughed as the gag was removed, drawing for the first time in a while, a deep breath into her lungs. Her arms and shoulders ached. She looked up to the hulking assailant beside her and spoke softly. “I have to pee.”

“Piss in the shower,” the man hissed back. Cheryl nodded fearfully. It had taken a desperate rush of courage to speak to this man who was so cruelly holding her captive, and she was not about to take any more chances. She believed it when he said he would hurt her and she did not want pain to accompany her humiliation and shame.

Cheryl stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The shower was rather large for a small apartment, but it was one of the attributes that had convinced her to take it. There was enough room to stand aside as she waited for the water temperature to adjust. When it reached the right tepidness, she stepped under the flow of water from the nozzle. The Turk had left the door open so he could watch her. As the water poured over her, she turned her back to the man and spread her legs, releasing the flow of water that had been urgently pressing her bladder. She knew that it was flowing down her legs in spite of her spread knees but didn’t care. She also knew that the Turk was watching, but that didn’t matter either. Her need was too desperate and her spirits so low that she had no more embarrassment to give.

Turk watched the girl as she peed. Watching a woman urinate was not one of his things, but there were guys who liked it. She would learn to do it with her front turned to the eyes of her tormentors soon enough, if that was what was demanded. He did want to watch her wash herself, however.

Cheryl had started to soap her body with her back turned to the Turk. He ordered her to turn around and she complied meekly. “Soap your tits and your cunt,” was all he said.