The Misogynist

Cheryl hadn't been able to suck that awful of man's penis. She'd thrown up, and fled to the room Turner had designated as hers. Then just as she was slipping into her clothes to escape this terrible place she heard the door slam behind her. Turning she saw Turner. He was just standing there, smiling. He had a belt in his hand.

He slowly, almost solemnly locked the door. Grimly he looked at Cheryl. She was only half dressed and clearly terrified. God he loved this. "You bitch! You dumb fucking whore bitch. That was my supervisor. I promised him a good time. And what did you do? You puked your filthy guts outs out all over his suit."

Cheryl backed away from the bed. She retreated to the farthest corner of the room. "Turner I'm sorry. He was so dirty. The thing you told me to do was so dirty. You were wrong to tell me to do that."

He curled the belt behind him as though it were a whip.

She cringed back as far as she could. "What are you going to do? You can't do this. Look at me. It's Cheryl. You're Cheryl! I love you. Turner, men don't hit women!"

He was enjoying every entreaty, every groveling little whimper. He lived for moments like this. He swept out his arm bringing the belt around swiftly and viciously. It struck! It hit Cheryl fully around her left shoulder and across her chest, nicking the soft tissue of her left breast.

Cheryl felt the belt like a lightening shock! It hurt! "Turner no!"

He brought the belt down on her shoulder. Another swift stroke! He broke the skin on the top of her shoulder. He swept in another time. More blood! Bright crimson stripes appeared on her upper body. He lashed out again.

Cheryl scrambled from the corner, but fell to the floor face down on hands and knees.

He unleashed a flurry of swift savage strokes across her lower back and behind. Blood oozed from a dozen tiny wounds. He slashed the belt down her soft thighs causing new welts to emerge.

Cheryl leaned up timidly. She tried to fend off the blows with her hands and arms, but her feeble defenses only enraged the mad man more.

Turner slashed and whipped, and mauled the beautiful young woman. Finally, having had his fill he ripped away the last shreds of her clothing. Took the heap of wadded cloth, opened the door, and threw it all in the hallway. Glaring down at the shattered woman he growled. "You're not going anywhere for a while." He left the room locking the door behind him.

Unknown to the monster and poor girl on the third floor, at that very moment Martin was ringing the front doorbell. He'd been out since early evening trying to locate Cheryl. Everywhere he looked he had turned up nothing, so he drove to Turners figuring she was still there.

Turner, still out of breath from the beating he just given the girl, opened the door. "Hey Martin! Good to see you, come on in." He thought. What a great coincidence! He could entertain his best friend, while the girl his best friend had fallen in love with was upstairs bleeding. "What can I do for you?"

Martin didn't beat around the bush. "I've been looking for Cheryl, and can't find her anywhere."

Turner glibly replied. "Oh she left maybe forty minutes ago with another man. You remember old Ryan?

Martin nodded.

"Yeah. They hit it off right away. Ryan offered to take her to his place and show her a good time. And you know Cheryl. Always ready for a new adventure. That's the last I saw of her."

Martin didn't believe a word he said. He knew Ryan. He was a filthy old pervert, and Cheryl would never have gone anywhere with him. He also knew Turner was trying to portray Cheryl as some kind of newly minted whore. But to Turner all women were whores. Cheryl had been played like a Cherokee fiddle, but she was certainly none of the things Turner made her out to be. "Thanks man. Look I can't stay. Got to get back to catch a plane, and get back to work. If you see Cheryl let her know I was asking after her." He shook hands with the bastard and left.

Turner replied. "Sure man." As Martin walked back down the sidewalk to his car the other man closed the door and went back upstairs.

Martin drove down the street and pulled to the curb. He had to think. He was certain Cheryl hadn't gone anywhere with Ryan, but he decided to pay the old man a visit anyway. He'd have to call his business associates in the morning and beg off on the meeting. Considering how many times he'd covered for them he knew there would be no problem there. That would give him some time to figure out what was going on. He'd seen Turner in action many times before, but he was meaner than he used to be. He knew his methods, but something told him Cheryl was in more trouble than just a broken hymen and broken heart. Martin put his car back in gear and pulled off. Let's go see Ryan, he thought.

Turner spent the next forty minutes in his living room looking over the video tape of Cheryl and Ryan. It wasn't much, but he got five pretty good shots of her almost touching the old man's penis with her lips. He was getting bored with the bitch anyway. He could duplicate the pictures and go with his original twenty-five guy plan, but what difference did it make? He'd go with five guys, good guys he knew. He could still get her to put in for a leave of absence. He wouldn't want her by then, but it would serve the pig right. She'd also have to call in and quit her little bookstore job. In her condition someone would ask questions.

He unlocked and opened the door to her bedroom. He saw her cowering in the corner. She looked small and scared. It made him feel great. Re-locking the door he went straight to the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. Leaning out he snarled. "Get in here bitch."

Cheryl got up slowly. Every bone in her body ached.

Turner snarled again as he handed her a bar of soap. "Get in there and wash your ugly ass off. Don't try to adjust the water. Keep it hot. Hot is good."

Cheryl walked to the edge of the shower stall. The water was so hot hefty wafts of steam rose from the floor. She stepped in. It was horrible, just short of scalding. She took the soap and started to clean her tattered body. The soap seared her torn flesh as much as the hot water. She wanted to scream. Cry out. Anything! But she was afraid to make a sound. She glanced at Turner standing at the bathroom door. He had the meanest look on his face. Why hadn't she seen this before? Why hadn't she listened to Martin? Where was Martin now? As the hot water blistered her broken flesh and the soap heaped added pain on her cuts and abrasions she cried out in her mind. Martin! Oh Martin! I need you!

As though he was reading her mind Turner derided. "By the way, our boy Martin was just downstairs. He was asking about you. I told him you went out with Ryan. He said, knowing you, that figured. Told me he had to go back out of town for another business meeting, probably won't be back for at least a week." Turner wanted to rub it in. "By the way, the last thing he said was you deserved everything you got."

Cheryl listened through the cascading water. Her tears quickly mixed with the soapy stew. She didn't know what to think. Martin had certainly been angry, but did he feel that harshly? She hoped not. She prayed not.

Turner order her out of the shower, threw her a towel and made her follow him to the bed. He commanded. "Kneel down in front of me."

Cheryl knelt at his feet, her body between his legs.

He pulled down his pants and held his penis in two fingers. "Now you're going to suck this off."

From somewhere, from the deepest reserves of Cheryl's being came a renewal of courage. "No."

Turner grabbed her by the hair and jammed her face between his legs, her mouth a scant half inch from his flaccid penis. "I said suck it!"

Cheryl still had her courage up, but not enough to go the distance. In a split second she thought she could bite his penis, but fear overtook her. Instead she quickly turned her head to the side and bit deeply into the uppermost part of his inner right thigh.

"Ow!" Turner yelled. He threw her across the floor. "You bitch!" You fucking whore bitch. Look what you've done." He looked down at his thigh. She hadn't broke the skin but her teeth marks were there, vividly red, soon they'd be a dark blue, then ugly black bruises. "I'm going to fuck you up for this." His mind was racing. He wouldn't touch her again. She wasn't worth another drop of his semen, but he'd follow through with the rest of his plan.

Turner glared down at the helpless girl. She already backed herself into another corner. He reached from behind and pulled out the five pictures he'd printed from his computer. "Take a look at these."

Cheryl, in spite of the pain of aching muscles and the cuts and scrapes deftly reached out and pulled back the pictures. She looked at them in horror.

Turner saw the look on her face. "You want those pictures and the tape that made them?"

Cheryl wasn't stupid. If he had five pictures now, they could become fifty by morning and a million on the Internet by lunchtime. Still, she had to hear him out. "Yes."

Turner grinned. "Here's how it's going to be. First, I know you're wondering will there only be five pictures, or will he make hundreds and spread them all over the place? Well you won't know will you? But here's what I am going to do. I've five pictures and one tape. They'll be no multiple copies, no Internet, no long term suffering or worry for you. All you have to do is a few simple things. Are you listening?"

Cheryl nodded her head.

"First, you'll sleep and fuck one man a night for five nights. Each man will give you two envelopes, one will be money for me, and the other will have one pretty picture. Then we're going to have a nice poker party. There will seven poker players, me, the five guys you slept with, and Martin. At the party you'll be our sweet little hostess. As our sweet little hostess you'll serve drinks, chips, and pretzels, and at some point you'll crawl under the table and suck off the five guys. You won't get to do me. You're too filthy for me. And you won't do Martin.

After the poker party you'll have one more special job. I have one man who wants a command performance. Once you do him you'll get your tape." He paused for emphasis. "I've been thinking about your work schedule. You obviously can't go back to the bookstore so tomorrow you'll call them up and tell them you're through for the summer. It's only two more weeks anyway. We'll take a few days to clean to clean your filthy ass up, and then we'll start our schedule. If we run over you'll have to call your school and request a leave of absence."

Cheryl looked up. "No."

Turner grinned. "I have the pictures. I have the tape. You do what I say. All the parents of the nice little children you teach I'm sure would love to see what their little school mom does on her summer vacation."

Cheryl cringed. She was trapped.

"No answer for that. Stand up. I want to start your rehabilitation."

Cheryl stood up.

Turner pulled out a bottle of alcohol and starting pouring it over Cheryl's body. The pain was intense. She cringed and started to weep. She knew he was only using alcohol because it hurt. Still, no matter what the pain, she also knew things would heal more quickly. She might make it back to school. She'd make it back if Turner followed through on his plans. If he changed his mind she didn't know what would happen.

Turner finished with the alcohol, pulled down the bed sheet. "Get in bed. I'll be up in the morning and we'll do the whole shower alcohol thing again." He turned, unlocked the door, stepped out, relocked it, and walked down the hall leaving Cheryl to her tears.

Martin had gone straight to Ryan's where he found him home. They'd talked for several minutes. Ryan denied any knowledge of the events Martin described. Martin was sure something had happened, but he was equally sure neither Ryan's nor Turner's stories were true. He bet something had happened that neither of the men had liked, and he bet whatever it was had ultimately worked to Cheryl's disadvantage. He'd have to go home, get some sleep, and decide what to do next. One thing, he had to find Cheryl.

Turner was a busy boy the next three days. Cheryl got her twice daily showers and alcohol rubs. By the third day most of her scrapes and scratches had largely healed, though her skin was dried out from the alcohol. He continued showering her, but shifted to witch hazel, something that restored some moisture. He had to slap her every now and then to keep her mouth shut, otherwise she was minding pretty well. He'd been busy on the phone as well. He'd set up a five night schedule for Cheryl that would start soon, the date for the card party had been set, and he'd called Ass Hole. The way it worked he'd just win the bet by a day.

Martin had no luck locating Cheryl. He'd gone back to see Turner who gave him some cock and bull story about her quitting the bookstore the last two weeks so she could visit her parents. Martin had learned enough about Cheryl to know her parents were the last people she'd ever want to see again.

He was up against a stone wall until he went to see Mike. Mike was his last hope, but turned out to be the mother lode. Turner, ever the braggart, had invited Mike to be one of several men who would screw Cheryl on consecutive nights. In fact Mike knew all the details, five guys, five nights, five envelopes, five pictures. The scene of the crime was to be the same Holiday Inn, even the same room Turner had gotten her the first time.

Martin shuddered to think of the humiliation that would have been in store for her if he hadn't gotten wind of the thing. But armed with what he'd found out he went to work. It was easy to call the Holiday Inn, give a plausible lie that got him the nights Turner had reserved the room. The men didn't matter. He had a good idea who all five were. They were all probably married. Turner was the type to cover his ass if he could, a married man would never squawk. Martin assumed Cheryl had never left Turner's; that he'd been keeping her, probably against her will, using the pictures as blackmail, to keep her under wraps. He bet he'd put Cheryl in there the first afternoon and deliberately leave her all five days and nights. That was the kind of crass bastard his one time best friend was.

Came the day of the first visit and, sure enough, Turner showed up with Cheryl in tow. She was garbed in a long coat. Martin guessed she was naked underneath. He watched discreetly as Turner took her up, and shortly came back down through the lobby. Martin had secured the suite directly across the hall from Cheryl's. His plan was simple. He'd intercept each man, one at a time, and lay it all out.

The night of the first rendezvous Martin sat across the hall with his door slightly ajar. The first of the five got off the elevator, checked the room numbers and went straight to Cheryl's. The first man up was a salesman who worked for a prosperous local firm. Martin knew him well, nice man, wife, four children, not the type to really get too involved with Turner, but still he was there.

Martin opened his door and stepped into the hall. He quietly called over. "Hey Bob."

Bob looked over in absolute disbelief! "Shit." He made as if to run, but Martin stopped him. "Come on in here. I have a story to tell."

He took Bob in his suite and gave him the whole low down, every detail, all the facts. Bob was aghast. He had no idea. Martin told him what to do that night and later at the party. Martin told Bob not to worry. In fact, when Martin found out what Bob had been asked to pay, Martin handed him the money. The only condition he placed on him was to promise not to tell Cheryl who was helping her. He sent Bob across the hall.

Bob knocked on Cheryl's door. It opened and he saw her. She was terrified. She was naked, and quite obviously on the verge of tears. He spoke to her. "Do me a favor and go get something to wear."

Cheryl fled to the bedroom and came out wrapped in a blanket.

They sat down together on the sofa. "Here." This envelope is for you, and this one is for Turner." Bob tried to offer some consolation. "Tomorrow when Turner comes give him his envelope, and if he asks you anything, tell him we had sex all night."

Cheryl looked at him in disbelief. "Why are you doing this?"

Bob gave her the most complete answer he could. "I was led to believe you were something other than who you really are. When I found out the truth, well, things changed."

Cheryl never felt so relieved. "Tell me who talked to you? What aren't you telling me?"

Bob did the best he could to put her at ease, tell her as much as he could, and still not betray the man across the hall. "All I can say is, for the next few nights no one will hurt you. Let's just say you have a guardian angel, and leave it at that." He leaned forward and did something he'd never intended. He kissed her on her forehead. Cupping her chin in his hand he said. "You're a good girl. Someone is watching out for you." He got up and left.

Cheryl wondered who it was. Then again, maybe she already knew who it was.

The next four nights followed the same script. Martin intercepted each man in the hall, explained the whole story, gave them the money they needed, and sent them in. Each man did his part, he assured her of her safety, told her she was a good person trapped in a bad situation, and left with assurances someone was looking out for her.

Each afternoon Cheryl handed an envelope to Turner, and he made his usual comments about her being a whore. Cheryl spent the rest of the time nibbling on the trays sent up by the hotel and wondering about Martin. She thought about what he'd said. He'd said a lot of things, but he never talked about having feelings for her. She thought it was funny in a tragic sort of way. If Martin had taken her out instead of Turner she would certainly have fallen for him. At the time she was ready for any man. Since Turner she just didn't know. Maybe it was better just being alone. She just felt so sad.

By the end of the fifth evening Cheryl sighed. There was only a poker party and one special person ahead of her. She worried. How was it all going to turn out?

Turner pulled out all the stops for the poker party. He ordered a platter, got chips, dip, pretzels, a quarter keg of beer, whiskey, bourbon, scotch, and all sorts of other items. And of course he had Cheryl. She was to be premier entertainment of the evening. He had it all planned. They'd play cards, drink, have a good time and sometime during the evening Cheryl would crawl under the table and suck each one of them off. All of them except Martin, she was warned not touch Martin.

The guys all showed up between 7:00 and 7:30. Turner had Cheryl ready in a new outfit. Tonight she had on a simple white silk V-necked blouse and comfort fitting bra. It was short sleeved, and it gave everyone a generous view of her delicious cleavage. She wore a black mini-skirt that came to mid thigh, still no pleats so her legs were displayed to their best affect. No stockings tonight, short white socks and black patent leathers. Make up was minimal, and her hair was brushed back and held in place with two barrettes. Even the most critical observer would have had to admit she was ravishing.

Martin by choice was the last to arrive. As he strode in he saw her. His heart skipped a beat. He'd forgotten just how beautiful she was. He noticed she was behaving in an outgoing friendly fashion toward all the other men, even Turner, but at once he realized she was deliberately avoiding any contact with him at all, no comments, no nearness, no eye contact, nothing. He imagined it was either because he made her feel self-conscious or perhaps his association with Turner had impacted her outlook. He remembered the last time they'd spoken. She had fled, literally running up a hill to get away. He hoped it was self-consciousness and not antipathy.