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

sleeping pose was limited to the shifting of her head from side to side. Her arms, held taut behind her, felt useless, not really part of her anymore. She had cried a while after the old lady had left and then drifted off to fitful sleep. When her natural urge to adjust her body during sleep came, she awoke with a start, frustrated and surprised to find herself bound, cocoon-like, and resident in a dingy basement cell. Her helplessness was like a virus, making her stomach swirl and her head ache. When she slept, she dreamt of the harsh but compelling man who had made her his prisoner.
    The presence of the old woman made her circumstances seem surreal. What twisted mind could have imagined such a reality? Never had her mind been so conscious of the limitations of the physical realm. While her memories of her former life were fresh, they were separated from her present by a wide untraversible gulf. Now was now, uncontrovertibly. She lived every second of her new existence with a torrid intensity.
    Having unfastened Denise’s bonds, Tamara urged the girl to her knees. Smiling, she undid the straps that held the invasive, stifling gag in her mouth. She took the large glass of milk and pressed it to Denise’s lips. Denise drank it greedily, happy to replace the leathery taste of the gag. As the woman spooned the porridge onto her tongue, Denise savored the pasty taste. There were raisins in it and Denise took pleasure in her mouth being free to masticate them. Because of her near constantly gagged state, any use of her mouth was accompanied by a special delight. Tamara had let the gag dangle around Denise’s neck, and it shifted back and forth as Denise leaned over to gather in each flavorful spoonful of her morning meal.
    When the bowl was empty, Tamara replaced the gag and carried the bowl and glass from the room. The gag’s musty flavor mingled with the aftertaste of Denise’s repast. Each time the gag was pressed home, she had to stifle a new round of tears. Nothing made her feel more imprisoned and dehumanized than the inability to speak. She yearned for human discourse. Even permission to speak a few words of simple greeting or thanks would have been sufficient to reaffirm her self-dignity. But, no words were permitted.
    When Tamara returned to the cell, she unlocked Denise’s chain from the wall and pulled her to her feet. She led her from the cell by her chain. When they entered the hallway, Denise expected to be brought to the large bathroom to be bathed and groomed. Instead, the old lady had her squat over a drain in the floor. She was made to understand that she should pee and she did so, a torrent of yellow liquid splashing the floor beneath her. The old lady wiped her, and then had her stand and watch, as she took a hose from the wall and washed the remnants of the sharply smelling liquid down the drain. The woman patted Denise’s face affectionately and pulled her to a door opposite her cell. She opened it with a key and led Denise in. As the door slammed shut, Denise saw a long, rectangular table in the middle of the white tiled room. There were rings on the four corners of the table, obviously intended to imprison and render one helpless.
    Denise, remembering her torture of the night before, quailed at the sight. Her stomach heaved and her knees grew weak. The old lady motioned for her to climb onto the table, but Denise, instead, retreated, fearing the worst. “What cruel torment am I now to be subject to?” she thought, panicking. The old lady slapped the table lightly, smiling, cooing unintelligible soft words to her. But Denise took no comfort from the woman’s soft brown eyes and her pleasant demeanor. She shook her head ‘no’, and pulled at her leash. Tamara’s words became harsher now, commanding obedience. Denise pulled back harder on the chain, trying to put more distance between herself and the dreaded table. Her eyes pleaded with her captor as she mumbled incoherent imprecations to be spared