Chapter Forteen

Leaving the girl for a moment, he walked into the kitchen and retuned with a glass of water. He balanced it on her back.

And spoke to her again. “If this water is spilled when I come back you will pay with your nipples.”

Cheryl could feel the water glass on her back and immediately began to tremble with fear. Where was he going? Was he really leaving? Would he really return? She had watched movies on TV where the robbers had said they would be right back to make their victims afraid to call the police. Maybe that’s what he was doing. On the other hand, his grotesque threat was enough for her to give her captor the benefit of the doubt.

Turk walked swiftly to the door and out of the apartment. He had Cheryl’s keys and locked the door from the outside. Even if she got herself untied, she would have to figure out how to get out past the deadbolts.

Cheryl lay stock still on the floor. The glass of water on her back loomed over her as a guillotine’s blade. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. Her gag and hood were stifling. Breathing in short bursts made her whole body tremble. Her arms and legs were already aching again. How long should she wait? Would he really be back?

He really was coming back. It took two minutes to get down the elevator and out the front door of the building, three more to get to the van. He checked the van over carefully to make sure it had not been damaged or broken into. He didn’t want to get a box full of girl down to the street with no way to take it away. The subway was definitely not an option.

He opened the back door and wheeled out the containment box. Its outside was of leather, looking something like a box for musical instruments or drums. Inside, it was cork lined, had various straps and hooks and was softly cushioned. The box’s construction made it heavier than it looked, but the Turk was strong and he lifted it effortlessly from the back of the van. He wheeled it back to the apartment building.

So far, eight minutes had elapsed. Cheryl couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed like more than five minutes. Maybe he wasn’t coming back after all. Hope, slight as it was, rose in her chest. Not since she first thought he was going to dress her and take her out of the apartment did she have such hope. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But something happened to shake her relative composure. She felt a tickle down her throat. She hadn’t had anything to drink since the few sips of wine she had when she came home from work. Her throat was dry. She felt a cough coming on. Desperately she tried to hold it back. She knew that the heaving of her body, if she coughed, would certainly knock the water glass off of her back. She held her breath, panicking. The first few coughs were easily suppressible. She relaxed for a moment. But then came the zinger: a wrenching cough that convulsed her whole body. As she coughed, she felt the glass of water fall from her back and to the floor spilling its contents all around her. “Oh, God, no, no!” she thought. He would maim her, cut off her nipples. He would do it too, she believed. “Oh, God, please, please help me, please!” she prayed in her panic.

Cheryl knew she had no choice now but to attempt to free herself. She mustered all of her strength to pull her hands free from the ropes that bound them. Contorting herself wildly, her body rocked back and forth. She could feel the seepage of the fatally spilled water beneath her. The rope was slipping, may be she could get it off, maybe.

Meanwhile Turk was wheeling the travel box down her corridor. Twelve minutes total, he calculated; too much time. He stopped before the door and drew the keys from his pocket. Cheryl heard the key enter the lock and panicked. The rope was not off. She couldn’t slide it past the heels of her hands. She could feel the rawness that had been produced on her wrists from her efforts. She made one last effort as the door swung open.

Turk saw that the girl had wriggled half way across the room. The glass had spilled and the rug had darkened where she had lain. He was furious at himself, almost a repeat of that Chicago girl. He rolled the box into the room and resecured the door. When he turned back he could see that Cheryl was contorting herself and moaning desperately into her gag. He could see the ropes tightening on her wrists, threatening to cut off the blood supply. The way she was going she might break an arm or a leg.

He rushed over to Cheryl and grabbed her body. Cheryl’s motions increased along with her wail behind her gag. He drew out his knife and quickly cut the rope around her wrists. He could hear her choking and coughing beneath the gag in her panic. He pulled the bag from her head and whipped out the gag. Cheryl found her voice immediately, yelling, pleading.

“Please don’t hurt me, please don’t cut me. It fell off by accident, it fell off by accident! Oh please, please don’t hurt me!.” She tried to crawl away, but her feet were still bound together. The noise was resounding around the room and undoubtedly into the apartment below. It had been empty earlier, but who knew now? Quickly the Turk threw his body over Cheryl’s and subdued her arms. He covered her mouth with his, as she attempted to scream again. Pinning her arms to her side with his thighs, he reached in his pocket and pulled out his knife. He placed it at her throat. She immediately stiffened.

Her voice had subdued itself to a whimper, the sounds echoing into his mouth. Her breath was hot. And then he did what he had never done before; he kissed her. Her eyes gaped wider in surprise, as if that was possible, and her whimpering subsided. His tongue entered her mouth, her heated breath exciting him. She was naked beneath him, her breasts pushed into his chest, heaving. At first, she responded only by stilling her voice and relaxing her face. And then her tongue joined his. Like electricity the lust passed between them. He pulled away briefly whispering to her, “Oh, no, oh no, I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.”

He resumed his exploration of her mouth as she murmured beneath him, “Oh thank you, thank you. It was an accident. Oh thank you.”

Slowly, Turk’s sense overcame his passion. He pulled his face away from Cheryl’s and looked deeply into her face. Yes, there was something about this one, something he craved for. But he had already sold her. She was, by now, purchased goods, someone else’s property. And nobody reneged in this business.

Cheryl, of course had no idea that she had been sold. All she knew was that she would live, not be maimed. And she knew the power of this man who held her, something she had never felt before in her life. And the passion he arose in her, simply by touching. If she could convince him that she wouldn’t tell, maybe her would release her, go away and then come back. Start over. What she would do for him!

Turk knew that he needed to resume control. As she was about to speak, he pressed the knife to her neck and pushed, causing the point to indent her skin. “Quiet,” he whispered. His voice was low and soft.

She knew that he meant it but she had so much to say. She uttered only two words “Thank you.”

He reached out for the gag that had rolled away during their struggle. Cheryl opened her mouth without being told. As he placed the gag in her mouth, one sole tear rolled out of her left eye and down her cheek. He stroked her cheek gently, wiping it away. She was going away, to be used, perhaps branded, and probably sold again and again. He didn’t know which country or even which continent she would eventually be laid to rest in. But he knew that subjugation, humiliation, terror, pain and then death awaited her.