Free Slaver's Bait: The Taking of Cheryl by Lizbeth Dusseau Page A

top of the bar. He then presented her with the end of the strap in one hand and the shiny, pointy device in the other. Cheryl realized what was to be done with the hook and started to cry.
    Jeremiah slapped her across the breasts. “You should have thought of this before you refused the Master!” he raged at her. “You’re a worthless white cunt!”
    The vicious slap had stung Cheryl’s breasts and left a mark of red where the hand had landed. All of her wanted to flee. The reality of what this man was about to do to her was so macabre that it was almost unbelievable. She tried to beg for mercy, but, with her tongue extended, her voice sounded more like a gurgle than words. Jeremiah threaded the steel device through the end of the strap and then grabbed Cheryl by the tongue. He deftly slipped the hook through the meaty flesh. Cheryl echoed her sister slave’s strenuous lament. “Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh!” she cried, dancing on her feet, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
    Jeremiah paused and let the girls take in each other’s distorted faces. The strap hung loosely over the bar. The callous man stepped back and pulled on a chain that was hooked onto the wall. It caused the bar to rise slowly. The women panicked as they realized that they were about to be hung by their tongues. Blood running down their mouths, they wailed plaintively. At first, the only effect was to take up the slack in the strap. But after a moment, the bar rose high enough that the girls were first drawn closer to the bar and then, gradually, their tongues extended upwards. When the women were stretched to their full heights, frantically trying to assuage the pressure on their tongues, the chain was halted and set fast against the wall.
    Jeremiah waited a moment, enjoying the spectacle of the moaning, crying women. He had surprised them again with his devious cruelty. Anyone could beat a woman, he thought. He knew how to make them suffer.
    Jeremiah stepped back to the women and produced a styptic pencil and a cotton cloth. First with Cheryl, he daubed the blood off of her tongue and applied the styptic pencil to the area surrounding the fishhook. Its fierce sting drew more moans and protests from the tortured girl. Satisfied that the flow of blood had ceased, he removed the clamp from her tongue. He performed the same operation on Justine, who reacted similarly. The women stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, their heads tilted back, unable to assimilate the terrible thing that was happening to them. Their eyes shifted to Jeremiah as he produced two long spreader bars. He affixed them to the women’s ankles, further stretching their powerless tongues and taxing further their poor feet. They were standing on the balls of their feet now, a posture sure to become unendurable within a short time. But the women had to endure, they had to suffer the pain. There was no ‘or else’. The only alternatives to enduring the terrible pain in their calves and feet was to either let the fishhooks tear a slice through their tongues or to strain and tear the muscles that held their tongues in their mouths.
    Jeremiah pressed his body against the bodies of the distressed women, his arms encircling them. He was able to run his hands between both of the girls’ legs at once from behind and stroke the extended lips of their sexes. He manipulated them both into lubrication. “The next time,” he said to them sternly, as he pressed his fingers inside them, “you will think only of the pleasure of the Master.”
    PART TEN
    AT HOME WITH THE TURK II
    In the morning, Denise was awoken by the swinging open of her cell door. The gray haired old lady entered singing to herself contentedly. She carried a bowl of porridge and a glass of milk for her young charge. She placed them on the floor and released the bonds around her ankles and thighs.
    Denise had spent a tormented night. She had squirmed and struggled with the straps around her legs. Her ability to adjust her