Chapter Tweenty-Five
Stoner had been crisscrossing his estates that day, checking up on things. He was a man who checked up on things personally. He checked out the readiness of his phalanx of enforcers, congratulating Kurim on the discipline and skill of his men. There would be a party tonight. Ganja, whiskey, and the native women captured in the raid last week. There were twenty of them, which, arithmetically, made it over ten to one. But Kurim and his lieutenants had their pick of the crop. The sergeants shared five or six among them. That left less than ten for the grunts. Those girls had a hard night’s work ahead of them. But the party would last all night so there would be plenty of time for the girls to take in their quota of cocks.
And the odds got better for the girls considering that at least fifty men would be on duty, on stand by in case of emergency. Fifty more were stationed at outposts around the plantation guarding machinery and equipment, out buildings and crops.
Stoner needed men on guard and on stand by because there had been some rumblings in the jungle and hills of his fiefdom. A “freedom” movement was in its nascent stages. There had been raids on outposts, men had been killed, equipment destroyed. Kurim had captured one of the raiders last week. The women who would service the troops tonight were from his village.
During the course of Stoner’s travels, Cheryl was not far from his mind. He knew that Jeremiah would have her ready for him when he returned to the house. He had instructed Jeremiah to mount her on the “T-bar”, and he kept a mental image of Cheryl’s torment as he went around his inspections.
At about five o’clock, five hours after the plane had landed, four hours after Cheryl’s torturous confinement had begun, Stoner mounted the veranda of his mansion. The sun was low in the sky and would soon be hidden by the mountains that surrounded the verdant plain that constituted Stoner’s plantation. A small native girl dashed out from the house carrying Stoner’s standard refreshment, a scotch and soda. Stoner was not ready to come inside yet so he sat in his favorite rocker and absorbed the dimming reddish rays from the setting sun.
“Lord of all I survey,” he thought as he sipped his cool drink. “And Lord of the underworld as well,” he mused as he thought of Cheryl, undoubtedly suffering in terrible pain not twenty yards from where he sat.
Stoner finished his drink. He was ready for some entertainment. He entered the house and told the serving girl to fetch Jeremiah. The factotum responded quickly, anticipating his master’s wants. The two of them went down the stairs that led to the punishment room.
Cheryl heard the door to the room opening. She could not see who it was because her back was to the door. She hardly cared who it was. But she would care soon enough.
Stoner stepped in front of the helpless young woman. She looked at him morosely. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look him in the eyes. Standing inches from her face, he hissed at her, “Welcome to Africa, bitch.” Suddenly hanging from this horizontal pole, all alone, pain screaming through her shoulder and arm muscles, seemed less dire to Cheryl than facing this twisted man.
Taking his cue from Stoner, Jeremiah lowered the horizontal bar on which Cheryl’s arms were spread. Slowly, Cheryl’s body lowered so that her feet touched the floor. At first the contact of her feet with the cool cement was painful, her legs having hung suspended for so long. But after a moment, when the pressure on her arms and shoulders was eliminated, Cheryl felt a wave of relief. It was to be short lived.
“Cunt,” Stoner addressed Cheryl, “my name is Benjamin Stoner and I own you.” He paused to let that bit of information soak in. He had Cheryl’s attention. “From now until I tire of you, your whole, sole purpose in life is to give me pleasure. I am going to fuck you in your cunt, in your ass and in your mouth. I am going to beat you until you scream in agony from pain in every pore of your body. Because that gives me pleasure too. You will do whatever I say, when I say it.”
Stoner paused to observe the effect his words were having on the bound girl before him. Stoner wasn’t tall and his eyes were approximately the level of Cheryl’s. Tears were forming at the corner of her eyes. She shivered in fear.
“Tonight, you will feel the business end of my whip,” Stoner continued. “By the end, you might wish that you had never been born. But tonight is to teach you several important things. You will learn the price of disobedience. You will learn that I have total and complete domination over you. And most importantly, you will learn to fear me.”
Cheryl didn’t need that lesson. She was already terrified. Stoner grabbed her nipples and twisted them hard. Cheryl’s knees went weak with the pain. He smiled and said to Jeremiah, “Let’s mount her on the rings.”
That did not sound good to Cheryl who began to plead and whine behind her gag as Jeremiah released her aching arms from the horizontal pole. Stoner unfastened the chain that had held her legs connected to the vertical pole. They dragged Cheryl’s resisting form across the room to a point where two large rings of tubular steel stood anchored in the floor. They were about five feet apart and eight feet high. There were four bracelets attached, free to slide the length of the ring, two bracelets on each one. Cheryl was struggling with all of the strength she could muster. Stoner was actually laughing as he managed to get one foot and then the other hooked to rings. Jeremiah had already fastened Cheryl’s wrists.
The design of the rings allowed the victim to be displayed in virtually any pose you could want. The bracelets could be anchored at any point on the ring so that if you wanted the victim to hang in the air, for instance, her cunt and widespread legs exposed for a lashing, you just slid the bracelets to the top of the ring. With both legs and arms up, the bracelets could be anchored. The girl’s legs would be spread wide, her cunt and thighs open for the whip.
This was, in fact, the pose in which Cheryl was placed. The rings could be pivoted in their base and so the part of the rings where the legs were attached could be made wider than the part where the wrists were fastened. It also slid apart on a track to accommodate the precise dimensions of the victim’s body.
Stoner’s cock was hard as he anticipated the pain he was about to inflict. Cheryl was open, her thighs stretched wide. He took a leather quirt, with a lash about three feet long into his hand. Cheryl could see it and resumed whimpering. “Take out her gag,” Stoner said to Jeremiah. “I want to hear her scream.”
Jeremiah quickly complied. Cheryl was glad to have the stifling bit removed from her mouth. But it had been a minor discomfort compared to what was to come. She promised herself that she would not beg. She would not cry. She would not scream. But she had never been whipped before and had no way to measure what she could endure.
In fact, she did not last past the first stroke. Stoner had reared his arm back and landed a blow directly on Cheryl’s widened cunt. She screeched loudly as the shock of the blow coursed through her. She could see Stoner, between her legs, smiling. “Oh, he’s going to kill me,” she thought.