The Taking of Cheryl, Book I -ebook



The Taking of Cheryl, Book One: Cheryl Captured by Paul Blades

The beautiful, auburn haired Cheryl is accosted in her New York City apartment by a slave trader known only as Turk. He strips her, and after sampling her luxurious body, he dresses her in her sexiest dress and forces her to do a lascivious strip tease before a web cam. The performance is webcast to wealthy and unscrupulous bidders throughout the world: Cheryl is their latest prize. The ultimate buyer is unknown to Turk; his job is to package her in a soundproof traveling case and deliver her to a strip mall in Baltimore, where he will hand her off to unknown agents of an international criminal organization known only as “K”.

While preparing Cheryl for her journey, he finds himself strangely drawn to the comely young woman. He kisses her, something he has never done before to any of the women he has taken. But he must disregard his strange attraction to the girl; she’s to be sold. Packed in a specially designed travel box, the bound and frightened Cheryl is delivered as scheduled.
From there, she’s taken to a waiting freighter, ready for transport to her owner. The buyer, an American multimillionaire named Benjamin Stoner, is a colonial robber baron who controls most of the northern half of the West African country. Arriving at her final destination, Cheryl quickly learns the awful truth about her new life, as she’s subjected to Stoner’s sadistic demands, and a sexuality she both despises and learns to crave.

While Cheryl suffers under Stoner’s brutal regime, her sister Denise arrives in NYC, in search of her. As soon as Turk discovers the look-alike sister, he immediately sets his sights. If he can’t have Cheryl, he’ll take Denise as his own. An S&M sexual fantasy, as raw and rough as it is thrilling, for those who enjoy the extremes of sexual slavery. Also included in its graphic content are intense bondage, whipping, humiliation, pain, anal, oral sex. Certainly not for the timid reader.

Additional information

Artist Credit

Cover Image Ludovic Goubet

Publish Date


Page Count


Word Count



Turk was not a murderer, at least not tonight. He had murdered before but mostly only when the profit was clear. And occasionally out of anger or revenge. And once he had killed a pathetic mealy mouthed bastard just for fun. But that was many years ago and now he took these things more seriously. No, he had plans for Cheryl, the woman he just assaulted in her NYC apartment, but killing her was not one of them.


There was a temptation, once a girl had been bound and gagged, to take in one’s handiwork and enjoy the sight of the struggling female flesh. But Turk was a professional and he knew he had a few more details to add to Cheryl’s unhappiness. Two small belts emerged from his pants pockets. The first, since he was already there, went around Cheryl’s thighs, pulling them close together. The second went around her arms, just above the elbows. Cheryl made a slight moan, or at least it sounded slight from behind the gag, as her arms were forced together unnaturally. A small clip was all that was necessary to join the cuffs on her wrists to the ones around her ankles. The Turk then placed a small black velveteen sack over Cheryl’s head and drew the string at its entrance around her neck. Now he was done.

Well, done with the first part at least. Cheryl was immobilized and he could take a little breather. In the heat of action, Turk’s blood naturally came to a mild boil. All that contact with naked flesh, the thrill of the acts of violence, as mild as they were, the sight of a bound and beautiful woman before him got his blood up. A couple of deep breaths were called for and a mental reminder of why he was here.

Cheryl had left the struggling stage and had entered the whimpering stage. He could hear her muffled squeals from behind the gag and hood. Tightly bound and deprived of the ability to communicate and/or observe was, in fact, a very traumatic experience. Fearing the worst, Cheryl’s mind raced through a brief inventory of her life and all that her death would deprive her of. Maybe, just maybe, he would let her live. Her mind reached out to what she had learned in her anti-rape course. Rape was about domination, not sex. If she cooperated and gave her attacker no reason to escalate the violence, maybe he would let her live. After all, she had gotten only a brief look at his face. Maybe he wore a disguise. Maybe, maybe, maybe…. Her mind rapidly raced from one thought to another. She could feel the rise of the mattress as her attacker stood up from the bed. There was a momentary quiet. What would happen next?

            Turk gazed with appreciation on the delightful feminine form displayed before him. A good selection, he thought. He could see the firmness of her thighs as they strained against the bonds, the delicate curve of the posterior, the swelling of the lithe torso as Cheryl struggled for air, the peek-a-boo of the sides of her breasts as they lay mashed beneath her. Time for a little closer inspection.

It was a simple matter to push Cheryl’s body over onto her side. She made a muffled cry as she was turned over. The black velveteen bag on her head moved in and out with her accelerated breathing. Not panic, but awfully close. Turk had brought with him a digital camera and now snapped a couple of shots. He liked to keep a record of his professional work. Cheryl looked engagingly helpless, her alabaster skin in stark contrast to the black belt around her limbs, the black hood. The pale yellow of the bedspread melded nicely with her pale complexion.

Turk knelt on the bed and crept nearer to the supine female before him. Cheryl had been pushed over onto her right side and her breasts and belly were now exposed to Turk’s trepidations. He ran a rough hand over her hip, feeling the gentle curve, the absence of appreciable fat. Cheryl stiffened as she was touched, but did not struggle. She knew what was coming, at least at this stage, and was determined to remain as passive as possible. There was nothing she could do anyway.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Turk pressed Cheryl backwards, twisting her torso slightly to get a better look at her breasts. The tops of her breasts were creamy white, ample enough to bulge slightly above the brassiere’s cups. Slipping the left bra strap down Cheryl’s shoulder made the bra cup loosen on her left breast. A little tug and the breast sprung free from its confinement. The right strap was a little more difficult as it was pressed beneath Cheryl’s side. But a moderate tug and it too fell loose on her arm. The right breast joined its companion, two oval globes stirring gently as gravity and the gentle pressure on the mattress gave them life.

Cheryl had always been extremely bashful about her breasts. She had developed early and had gotten the first round of nervous stares from the grammar school boys in her eighth grade class. For a while it seemed that they would not stop growing. But they had and when some of the other girls surpassed her in size, she had escaped the center of attention. Cheryl had been active in sports and it took some getting used to have these orbs bouncing on her chest when she ran. Getting struck in the chest by a basketball was a strange experience and she learned to protect herself at all times.

The girl’s locker room was another strange experience. The girls tended to be more modest and private than she understood the boys to be, but she was still able to see the wide variety of assets that nature had doled out. Some were large and meaty, others small and pert. The tits on Marsha Wilson were legendary as her overweight frame had found its complement on her chest. Little Dory McKenzie had small tits, pointy. In their brief display in the locker room, Cheryl had learned that breasts came in all shapes and sizes. Hers were somewhere in between the extremes, with one exception or rather two.

Cheryl’s nipples were long and fat. She actually had had to put extra padding in her bra to cut down on irritation. And the areolae were dark and wide. Her skin was pale, especially on her breasts, which she had never had the nerve to expose to the sun, and the dark circles at their tips stood out like drops of chocolate on coconut. Marlene Trimble had mocked her one day, calling her a cow and mooing around the locker room. Marlene was one of the leaders of the “in” set and frequently singled out for her group targets for their disdain. Poor Carol Petrillo actually asked her parents to let her go to another school after Marlene and her friends had learned that she had “made out” with Carl Lopez, the Hispanic kid from the poor end of town. Marlene and her friends had changed Carol’s name to “Puta”trillo, and it had quickly caught on. Mr. Calabrio, the new sophomore science teacher, had called her that after Marlene had surreptitiously changed the entry on his class list. Carol stormed bawling out of class.

Cheryl’s nickname became “Udderly Ample” for a few weeks. But it had died down. That was after Marlene had been discovered giving the varsity backfield blowjobs in the boy’s locker room after the homecoming game. Marlene was a little drunk and, being desperate to date the starting quarterback, had accepted his demand that she “help out” his friends. After that, Marlene’s popularity had shifted from the girls to the boys. And she acquired a few nicknames of her own.

Anyway, Cheryl was very self-conscious of her breasts. Her backseat struggles in high school with randy adolescents were usually resolved with her permission to let them suck on her teats to their heart’s content while she delicately pulled their meat to orgasm. Her lovers had discovered the extreme sensitivity of her nipples and the fact that given adequate stimulation, she could be brought to orgasm merely by the proper administration of their tongues and lips. The firm and protruding erectile tissue always received a lion’s share of attention when she masturbated.

And now Turk had discovered Cheryl’s heretofore hidden assets. He smiled appreciatively as he beheld the nipples’ stiffness (at this point caused by fear and not by lust) and the tempting reddish brown setting of the dark, silver dollar sized aureoles. During the investigative stage of his pursuit of Cheryl, he had observed her tempting form many times. He had even seen her working out at the local athletic club in her sports bra and shorts. But this was the first time he had viewed her exposed bosom and it was quite a surprise and indeed a bonus. Tits were tits, but Turk had a special love for them. After the many years of his pursuit of female flesh, he had seen quite a wide variety. These were special.

He slid his body closer to Cheryl’s to get a better look and to enable himself to use his right hand to lift the left breast for better inspection. Cheryl, by now, had a good idea of what he wanted and consistent with her determination to be cooperative (again not based on any lustful feeling, but rather on her desire to let her assailant have his way without struggle), pressed her chest forward to ease her assailant’s access.

Pressing his hand around the breast, Turk squeezed gently, but firmly. The breast swelled in his hand and the nipple projected invitingly. Its tender and soft texture was a stark contrast to his rough and calloused hand. Giving in to a base instinct, Turk circled the nipple with his lips and sucked gently. Cheryl let out a little squeal. She could feel the tug on her nipple and the wet warmness of the man’s mouth. She knew what would inevitably follow if the stimulation to her nipple continued and she dreaded her response. Despite her earlier impulse to cooperate, she began to struggle, at least to the extent that her bindings enabled her to. She could feel the roughness of Turk’s clothes and the warmth of his body as he pressed against her. In spite of herself, she began to plead for a desistance. Of course no words escaped her gag, but Turk had a good idea what she was saying. He lifted his head from her breast, amused.

He now drew his attention to the taut belly and the crevice at the apex of Cheryl’s thighs. He could not see her sex, but her curly pubic hairs stood out from the edges of the white panties. He ran his hand across Cheryl’s stomach and down her thighs. It was time to get this broad naked, he thought to himself.

Returning his attention to Cheryl’s chest, the Turk took out his knife and cut first one bra strap and then the other. Pressing his chest close to Cheryl’s, he reached behind her and undid the clasps. The bra was then removed by the simple expedient of pulling it forward. He tossed it on the floor.

The panties were a slightly different problem. The binding around Cheryl’s thighs prevented easy access, and a slight adjustment of them was necessary. Turk loosened the belt around Cheryl’s thighs. Cheryl, of course, knew what was portended. She clasped her thighs together tightly, vainly hoping that she could frustrate her assailant’s intent. But this was not to be. Turk spoke softly, but firmly, for the second time to the young lady.

Pressing his mouth close to Cheryl’s ear he growled, “We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Your choice.” As he spoke, he reached for Cheryl’s left breast and twisted her nipple harshly. Cheryl chose the easy way.

Turk pushed the now cooperative thighs apart. His knife passed easily through the gussets of first one leg hole of the panties and then the other. The panties came off revealing a large curly blond bush and the tender lips of Cheryl’s sex. Cheryl had often thought of getting a bikini trim, but never had the nerve to go into a salon and ask for one. She also enjoyed, during her somewhat frequent self-administrations of pleasure, running her hand through the wiry bush, a prelude to a descent below. Her sole concession to taming the curly bush had been to trim the hairs bordering her nether lips. She enjoyed oral sex and believed that having her pussy more available encouraged this activity during lovemaking. She had a particular disdain towards pulling pubic hair from her mouth following oral sex and thoughtfully wanted to spare her gamauchers this inconvenience.

Turk appreciated Cheryl’s considerations as his view of the pouty lips of her pussy was unobstructed. As he ran his hand down Cheryl’s stomach and towards this prize, Cheryl was chagrined at what she knew he would find. Turk’s limited but effective administrations to her breasts had caused her normal reaction. She knew that Turk would find evidence of her arousal and sobbed quietly behind her gag. As expected, Turk, after sliding his index finger along the lips of her sex, pressed his advantage and entered the gap between them.

It was not unexpected that Cheryl’s cunt would be wet. Cheryl did not know this because her experience of being a bound and stripped woman was very limited. But Turk’s experience was great in this area. Some women’s bodies reacted by drying up and tightening the lips of their love nest. But many had the opposite reaction. Fear brought excitement as naturally as it brought sharpness of breath and an accelerated heart rate, part defense mechanism and part emergence of subconscious desire.

Only one of Cheryl’s lovers had broached the idea of bondage with her. He had even gone to the extent of producing a small rope during a sexual encounter at his apartment. Cheryl had been repulsed by the idea and adamantly refused. That relationship terminated shortly thereafter. Cheryl was equally repulsed by the idea of being tied up and helpless now before the Turk, but she had very little to say about it.

The Turk wondered to himself how long it would take to bring his captured prize to orgasm. He knew the shame she was feeling and it excited him to know he was causing it. He began to explore the woman’s lubricated labia with more intent. Her cunt was tight, but obviously used. It was hot to the touch and his ministrations were rewarded with a low moan from his captive. He pushed his two largest fingers deeper into the hole. Cheryl squirmed as her excitement increased. As Turk turned his attention to the nub at the apex of her sex, her disturbance increased.

“Please don’t let him do this, oh, please, no, no….” she pleaded mentally. But Turk was an expert. He pressed the source of Cheryl’s discomfort and rubbed it firmly. A slow circular motion at first, establishing a rhythm. After a few moments, he shifted to a pinch, at first gently, and then more firmly, pulling the clitoris away from Cheryl’s body. More rubbing and then pulling. Turk knew that Cheryl’s ability to control her sexual excitement was limited and that varying the nature of his stimulation would distract that control. Pushing his fingers back into the cunt, he then spread the girl’s natural lubricant above to the clitoris, making it slippery and easier to manipulate. He could see Cheryl’s breath growing heavier, a redness spreading across her chest, a trembling in her thighs. He knew she was close. And he knew how to put her over the top.

Leaning back to her breasts without ceasing his manual manipulations, he again seized her left nipple with his mouth. He sucked first gently and then, steadily, harder and harder. Cheryl by now was beyond her limits of control. Unconsciously, she began thrusting her hips against the pressure of Turk’s body. She was climbing the mountain. He could hear her moans and squeals from behind her gag.

Cheryl could not believe the waves of lust overcoming her. She strained at her bonds, her toes curled, her fingers flicking open and shut. As she felt the Turk’s teeth tug on her nipple, she bit down hard on the ball in her mouth, straining her jaws. She knew how this would end and she knew the only way to get her captor to stop was to give him what he wanted. At this point she had no choice and, as expected, she exploded.

Turk enjoyed the picture of the bound woman jerking and moaning as she came. He continued to stimulate her until he was sure she was finished. He did not want to exhaust his captive, at least not yet, and after the first series of convulsions began to subside, he slowly withdrew his hand from the now sopping cunt. One more step would complete her humiliation. He loosened the hood from around her neck and drew it up over her nose. Taking his right hand, he liberally moistened it with the product of her passion. He then slipped his hand underneath the hood and rubbed the pungent moisture over her lips and nose. Cheryl was presented with the aroma of her shameful submission. He sealed the hood again around her neck.


There are no reviews yet.

Be the first to review “The Taking of Cheryl, Book I -ebook”

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may also like…