Chapter Five

There was a temptation, once a girl had been bound and gagged, to take in one’s handiwork and enjoy the sight of the struggling female flesh. But Turk was a professional and he knew he had a few more details to add to Cheryl’s unhappiness. Two small belts emerged from his pants pockets. The first, since he was already there, went around Cheryl’s thighs, pulling them close together. The second went around her arms, just above the elbows. Cheryl made a slight moan, or at least it sounded slight from behind the gag, as her arms were forced together unnaturally. A small clip was all that was necessary to join the cuffs on her wrists to the ones around her ankles. The Turk then placed a small black velveteen sack over Cheryl’s head and drew the string at its entrance around her neck. Now he was done.

Well, done with the first part at least. Cheryl was immobilized and he could take a little breather. In the heat of action, Turk’s blood naturally came to a mild boil. All that contact with naked flesh, the thrill of the acts of violence, as mild as they were, the sight of a bound and beautiful woman before, him got his blood up. A couple of deep breaths were called for and a mental reminder of why he was here.

Cheryl had left the struggling stage and had entered the whimpering stage. He could hear her muffled squeals from behind the gag and hood. Tightly bound and deprived of the ability to communicate and/or observe was, in fact, a very traumatic experience. Fearing the worst, Cheryl’s mind raced through a brief inventory of her life and all that her death would deprive her of. Maybe, just maybe, he would let her live. Her mind reached out to what she had learned in her anti-rape course. Rape was about domination, not sex. If she cooperated and gave her attacker no reason to escalate the violence, maybe he would let her live. After all, she had gotten only a brief look at his face. Maybe he wore a disguise. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. Her mind rapidly raced from one thought to another. She could feel the rise of the mattress as her attacker stood up from the bed. There was a momentary quiet. What would happen next?

Turk gazed with appreciation on the delightful feminine form displayed before him. A good selection, he thought. He could see the firmness of her thighs as they strained against the bonds, the delicate curve of the posterior, the swelling of the lithe torso as Cheryl struggled for air, the peek-a-boo of the sides of her breasts as they lay mashed beneath her. Time for a little closer inspection.

It was a simple matter to push Cheryl’s body over onto her side. She made a muffled cry as she was turned over. The black velveteen bag on her head moved in and out with her accelerated breathing. Not panic, but awfully close. Turk had brought with him a digital camera and now snapped a couple of shots. He liked to keep a record of his professional work. Cheryl looked engagingly helpless, her alabaster skin in stark contrast to the black belt around her limbs, the black hood. The pale yellow of the bedspread melded nicely with her pale complexion.

Turk knelt on the bed and crept nearer to the supine female before him. Cheryl had been pushed over onto her right side and her breasts and belly were now exposed to Turk’s trepidations. He ran a rough hand over her hip, feeling the gentle curve, the absence of appreciable fat. Cheryl stiffened as she was touched, but did not struggle. She knew what was coming, at least at this stage, and was determined to remain as passive as possible. There was nothing she could do anyway.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Turk pressed Cheryl backwards, twisting her torso slightly to get a better look at her breasts. The tops of her breasts were creamy white, ample enough to bulge slightly above the brassiere’s cups. Slipping the left bra strap down Cheryl’s shoulder made the bra cup loosen on her left breast. A little tug and the breast sprung free from its confinement. The right strap was a little more difficult as it was pressed beneath Cheryl’s side. But a moderate tug and it too fell loose on her arm. The right breast joined its companion, two oval globes stirring gently as gravity and the gentle pressure on the mattress gave them life.

Cheryl had always been extremely bashful about her breasts. She had developed early and had gotten the first round of nervous stares from the grammar school boys in her eighth grade class. For a while it seemed that they would not stop growing. But they had and when some of the other girls surpassed her in size, she had escaped the center of attention. Cheryl had been active in sports and it took some getting used to have these orbs bouncing on her chest when she ran. Getting struck in the chest by a basketball was a strange experience and she learned to protect herself at all times.

The girl’s locker room was another strange experience. The girls tended to be more modest and private than she understood the boys to be, but she was still able to see the wide variety of assets that nature had doled out. Some were large and meaty, others small and pert. The tits on Marsha Wilson were legendary as her overweight frame had found its complement on her chest. Little Dory McKenzie had small tits, pointy. In their brief display in the locker room, Cheryl had learned that breasts came in all shapes and sizes. Hers were somewhere in between the extremes, with one exception or rather two.

Cheryl’s nipples were long and fat. She actually had had to put extra padding in her bra to cut down on irritation. And the areolae were dark and wide. Her skin was pale, especially on her breasts, which she had never had the nerve to expose to the sun, and the dark circles at their tips stood out like drops of chocolate on coconut. Marlene Trimble had mocked her one day, calling her a cow and mooing around the locker room. Marlene was one of the leaders of the “in” set and frequently singled out for her group targets for their disdain. Poor Carol Petrillo actually asked her parents to let her go to another school after Marlene and her friends had learned that she had “made out” with Carl Lopez, the Hispanic kid from the poor end of town. Marlene and her friends had changed Carol’s name to “Puta”trillo, and it had quickly caught on. Mr. Calabrio, the new sophomore science teacher, had called her that after Marlene had surreptitiously changed the entry on his class list. Carol stormed bawling out of class.

Cheryl’s nickname became “Udderly Ample” for a few weeks. But it had died down. That was after Marlene had been discovered giving the varsity backfield blowjobs in the boy’s locker room after the homecoming game. Marlene was a little drunk and, being desperate to date the starting quarterback, had accepted his demand that she “help out” his friends. After that, Marlene’s popularity had shifted from the girls to the boys. And she acquired a few nicknames of her own.

Anyway, Cheryl was very self-conscious of her breasts. Her backseat struggles in high school with randy adolescents were usually resolved with her permission to let them suck on her teats to their heart’s content while she delicately pulled their meat to orgasm. Her lovers had discovered the extreme sensitivity of her nipples and the fact that given adequate stimulation, she could be brought to orgasm merely by the proper administration of their tongues and lips. The firm and protruding erectile tissue always received a lion’s share of attention when she masturbated.

And now Turk had discovered Cheryl’s heretofore hidden assets. He smiled appreciatively as he beheld the nipples’ stiffness (at this point caused by fear and not by lust) and the tempting reddish brown setting of the dark, silver dollar sized aureoles. During the investigative stage of his pursuit of Cheryl, he had observed her tempting form many times. He had even seen her working out at the local athletic club in her sports bra and shorts. But this was the first time he had viewed her exposed bosom and it was quite a surprise and indeed a bonus. Tits were tits, but Turk had a special love for them. After the many years of his pursuit of female flesh, he had seen quite a wide variety. These were special.

He slid his body closer to Cheryl’s to get a better look and to enable himself to use his right hand to lift the left breast for better inspection. Cheryl, by now, had a good idea of what he wanted and consistent with her determination to be cooperative (again not based on any lustful feeling, but rather on her desire to let her assailant have his way without struggle), pressed her chest forward to ease her assailant’s access.