Chapter nineteen

And that was where they were headed. When Cheryl’s box was brought aboard, Stoner had been sitting with lustful anticipation for her arrival. He knew that Cheryl had been boxed for the better part of three days and was certainly suffering. That, he didn’t really care about. But he preferred that any suffering experienced by his new property be inflicted by him. And she might be damaged. He did not want to carry a piece of dead meat back to Katanga.

So upon their ascent to a satisfactory cruising altitude, Stoner decided that he could not wait the six hours until the plane touched down. He rose from his padded swivel chair, took a long pull at his drink and stood over the black case. He nodded to Jeremiah, his native factotum and general overseer, to open the container.

Cheryl knew she was on a plane as the feel of rising into the air was unmistakable. She was dazed and tired and sore, but she registered that. Her last dose of drugs had been several hours before and so she was attaining an incremental level of consciousness. To her joy and against all of her previously forlorn hopes, someone started to open the box.

A strong odor of sweat and fear emanated from the box as Jeremiah opened it. Stoner overcame his olfactory sensitivity and peered inside the box to examine his new property. There she was. All he could see was her back and a part of her ass, but she was there. And good money he had paid for her too. That bitch from Venezuela had pushed the bidding up over $300,000. It had finished at $375,000, or thereabouts. He wasn’t quite sure since the biding was in Euros. Nobody wanted dollars anymore.

A soon as the auction was over, he had remitted his payment by wire to a very temporary bank account in the Cayman Islands. His delivery instructions went by email to another very temporary account, who knew where, since they were transferred via the Internet. But whoever it was who ran this thing, had come through, as they had before, and his new toy was right there in front of him.

Stoner at first feared that she had died in her box. But he soon saw a telltale movement of the arms and torso. A low murmur escaped from the bottom of the box. Cheryl’s head was pointed down to the floor and any sound she made had to escape her gag and the sound absorbing materials of the box interior. But he had heard it, she was alive. Stoner beamed with delight.

“Take her in the back and hose her down. Then bring her back, I want to see her.” Stoner told his servant.

Jeremiah dutifully rolled the box, now topless, into the rear area of the plane. It had been set up as a freight area and had cages, a metal floor and drains to facilitate cleaning. Stoner used the area to transport wild animals up to his game reserve so he could release them and shoot them. It was something that Jeremiah never figured out. But who could figure out white men, especially rich ones?

After releasing her bindings from the sides and the front of the box, Jeremiah removed them. Cheryl was left bound to the floor of the box, as if on a platform. He pulled a hose from the sink and began washing the young girl down. The wastewater flowed out into the drain as the cold water poured over the poor girl. It felt like heaven to her, cold or not. He soaped her back, her ass and what part of her legs he could reach. It was painful back there for Cheryl, not having had her cunt wiped for several days. But she didn’t care, she was being cleaned. Someone was touching her. She had heard voices.

When he was finished, Jeremiah rolled the box, absent its top and sides, back into the passenger area of the plane. Stoner was sitting in the swivel chair that he used while relaxing during flights. His whiskey and soda was in his hand. He was beside himself.

Jeremiah had loosened the tie that kept Cheryl’s head bent down to the bottom of the box, but had not removed the mask. He knew that Mr. Stoner would want to do that, to be the first to see her face.

Cheryl struggled to raise her head. She could feel the coolness of the air-conditioned plane around her. She knew that the sides of the box had been removed and prayed that she would soon be completely released from her strict bondage. She had stopped crying after her first five hours in the box and had been dry-eyed since, but now she felt tears of gratitude welling up inside her. Free, she was going to be free.

Stoner ran his hand down Cheryl’s back and she reveled at the touch. The hand descended her buttocks and pressed into her sore, raw pussy. She jumped to the limits she could, in pain. Stoner chuckled. “Oh, she’s very sensitive indeed,” he thought.