Chapter Seven

Now adequately lubricated, Turk placed his cock between the soft and billowing orbs. Cheryl, having recovered from her bout of passion, at first thought that he was compounding her humiliation. She had never had so direct an experience of the fruits of her own passion as when she had inhaled the musky odor of her cum under the hood. Knowing that it had been produced unwillingly, at moderate effort by a complete stranger, was embarrassing enough. Being compelled to breathe its essence made it even worse.

Cheryl cringed at the baseness of her assailant who would drool over her breasts. But as her breasts were pushed together and the Turk straddled her stomach, she began to get the idea. She was about to be tit fucked.

Once, in high school a boy had asked her to do that. She had had only three or four boyfriends in high school. She had not gone beyond mutual masturbation with any of them, not even a blow job. But this boy wanted more and she did really like him. With his hand in her quim, he had whispered the suggestion to her. She thought it exciting and agreed. Kneeling between his knees in the back seat of his father’s Ford Lumina, she had opened her blouse (it was already unbuttoned) and pulled her breasts free from her bra.

The boy’s cock was already out of his pants, his trousers and underwear around his thighs. Pressing her breasts together, she had begun to stroke him. Something about the heat between her breasts, the boy’s smell as she pressed her nose into his stomach, the twitching of his thighs against her, brought a rush of lust to her. Urgently she pushed her breasts up and down to match the rhythm of the boy’s thrusts. He grabbed her hair and held her head tightly to his body as he called out her name repeatedly.

She came as he did, splashing the sticky hot semen on her chest and throat. As her passion subsided and the boy finally released her hair, she leaned back and discovered that her whole chest was covered in the boy’s slime. She was disgusted and vowed never to do it again. Later that month she found out that he was fucking her friend Arlene and that was that.

As she felt the Turk’s cock slide between her breasts she recalled her former experience. That had been an exercise in her own sexual power to excite this boy and to daringly go where she had not gone before. But this exercise in power was not her own. This was much different and Cheryl felt nothing but disgust and shame as the heated shaft rubbed between her breasts. Her whole body was jolted back and forth with the man’s thrusts.

She could hear his grunts and heavy breathing as he took his pleasure. He paused for a moment, added another dollop of spittle, and resumed, now leaning his torso on top of her head and face. Had she anticipated this move, she would have turned her head to the side, but failing that, she was given the full pressure of the man’s chest on her face. Her need to breath only through her nose was already limiting her flow of oxygen. The addition of this weight lessened the flow of air to a trickle. “He’s going to suffocate me,” she thought. “He’s a sick perverted bastard, capturing me only to make me come against my will and then suffocate me as he fucked my tits.”

Her body reacted naturally to the deprivation of oxygen by bucking wildly beneath her tormentor. Her screams behind the gag got louder and more desperate. Turk was aware of the distress he was causing, but he was almost done. He thrust steadily, now climbing his own mountain and suddenly convulsed in pleasure. His come spurted from the tops of Cheryl’s tits across her chest. Noting that Cheryl was still struggling mightily beneath him, he pushed his body aside and came to rest on his back. “That was good,” he thought. “Really good.”

Cheryl snorted as she drew fresh air into her lungs through her now liberated nose. Her gratitude at being freed from this foul embrace was tempered by the knowledge that her torture and abuse would be continuing. She knew that the man had just gotten started and that this was only a prelude to a fuller, more degrading abuse yet to come.

She felt the man lift himself off of the bed and heard him enter the bathroom. She could hear the water run and then felt him kneel back on the bed. The Turk had gone to clean himself off. He was careful to use tissues that could be flushed down the toilet rather than a towel or facecloth. No DNA left behind. For the same reason he used some tissues to wipe Cheryl’s chest clean. He didn’t want it come off and get rubbed into the sheets or bedspread.

His tension having been relieved, Turk now took the time to look around the bedroom. First he looked for jewels. Most of these young, single girls did not possess any really valuable jewels, but there were exceptions. Maximizing profit was a sturdy business principle the Turk had learned well. Cheryl’s body would bring a tidy sum, but there were the extras to be considered and not sneered at. Last year, that redhead in Miami had $40,000 in cash in a box in her closet and three ounces of cocaine. Another captive had a rare book collection, probably an asset of some relative’s estate. He was able to lift a few of these when he took her. And so on. Someday, Turk knew, he would retire and all these things would add up.

There was a jewelry box on Cheryl’s dresser and he opened it to look inside. Mostly junk, a few decent pieces worth a few hundred bucks. A delightful pair of ruby earrings, not worth anything, but a distinct possibility when it came to decorating his lovely captive later. And, yes, here it was, the diamond in the rough.

The Turk pulled a large diamond encrusted brooch from the box. His eye, while not expert, was experienced, and he knew a nice piece when he saw it. Undoubtedly an heirloom, the brooch sported pea-sized diamonds surrounding an emerald encrusted heart framed by gold. No one would wear anything like this unless to a highbrow formal affair where it could be matched against the conspicuous wealth of the other guests. It might be worth as much as $15,000; a nifty bonus to this enterprise.