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Chapter Text

Eduard Benaïssad sat slumped at the corner of a dimly lit London bar, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses serving as a constant backdrop to his spiraling thoughts. Now in his mid-forties, Eduard’s once sharp features had softened over the years; his overweight frame a testament to his inability to curb his vices. The pungent scent of alcohol clung to him, a chronic companion that had only deepened his depression.

His bloodshot eyes, partially obscured by greasy, thinning hair, stared vacantly at a group of young women in their twenties. They laughed and chatted animatedly, their youthful energy a stark contrast to his own depleted state. There was a lecherous glint in his eye as he watched them, but it was dulled by the knowledge of his impending fate.

Nearly bankrupt, Eduard’s financial ruin was just another weight on his shoulders. But he no longer cared about the money. The looming prison sentence occupied his mind, a grim specter following his every step. He had spoken to his lawyers earlier in the day, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper with every word. The crime he had committed would soon see him behind bars, and his lawyers could scarcely conceal their disgust at him.

Eduard raised his glass to his lips, taking a long, bitter sip of whiskey to ease the pain. It was at that moment that there was a tap on his shoulder. A well-built, handsome, authoritative, ambitious Arabic man in an expensive suit surprised him. The two men’s eyes met, and they hugged in recognition.

“Eddie, you old dog!”

“Ahmed, what are you doing here?”

Eduard was not stupid. He knew Ahmed Al-Masri from working with him in Saudi Arabia. Ahmed was a (very) minor member of the Gulf royal family but had risen on merit. Eduard had worked as one of his lieutenants in his security team, dealing with pirates in the Red Sea. Both men were far from human rights devotees, and the pair had worked well together.

Ahmed grinned, pulling back from the hug to take a good look at Eduard. “I could ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you were neck-deep in some security contracts in Iraq. What brings you to London?”

Eduard let out a humorless chuckle. “Let’s just say my luck ran out. Bad investments, bad choices ... and now, I’m facing the consequences.”

Ahmed’s eyes narrowed slightly, his sharp mind quickly piecing together the unspoken details. “Prison?”

Eduard nodded, the weight of his situation evident in his weary expression. “Yeah, for something I’m not proud of.”

Ahmed’s demeanor shifted, the casual reunion taking on a more serious tone. “I might be able to help. You know I have connections.”

Eduard shook his head. “Appreciate it, Ahmed, but this is the UK, not the Middle East.”

Ahmed smiled, he knew the charges. Eduard Benaïssad had drugged and raped a young university student. He had been caught by security cameras and his efforts to blackmail the girl with sharing her naked photos had backfired. The girl had insisted on bringing the charges even after the leak of the photos and now Benaïssad was looking at five years minimum.

“Eddie, I am going to be honest. You do deserve it” he smiled.

“What? So ... you know...”

Ahmed laughed. “Of course I do, it’s my job to know everything. But to be honest, you have done a pretty good job of staying out of prison for so long.”

Eduard Benaïssad knew something was up. This was no coincidental meeting. He switched to flawless Arabic to speak to Ahmed.

“You and I have both done things that are far worse than what I am going to prison for. I’ve raped so many women over the years, I got unlucky and I got stupid. But I’m going to pay the price for it now. Why did you come and see me?”

Ahmed responded in Arabic, “Eddie, you’re still sharp despite the circumstances. Bad luck doesn’t change that.”

“Do you have a job for me or not?” Eduard suddenly recognized there might be a way out of his current malaise, or if not, maybe a chance to make some money.

“That depends, Eddie. I have risen since we last worked together. I now work for ... well let us keep that a secret for now. But I Have been given a specific project to carry out and if it goes well, I will be richly rewarded, politically and financially. I need the right man.”

Eduard was intrigued. He was far from the “right man” for almost any project he could think of.

“First, Eddie, why don’t you show me, what you can do, that other men cannot, or, let’s face it, won’t do.”

Ahmed’s attention was drawn to the group of vivacious twenty-something women. Among them were two blondes and two brunettes, each exuding an aura of joy, radiance, and youthfulness. Dressed in strappy dresses, they were enjoying their drinks, their infectious laughter resonating with a sense of carefree abandon. Their beauty was undeniable, accentuated by their long, slender legs visible under the table.

“I want to fuck one of them, can you make it happen?” asked Ahmed nonchalantly.

“Thoughts like that are why I am going to prison, Ahmed.”

“Come on Eddie, use your initiative, show me something, that you are the right man for the job.”

“What job?”

“I will tell you after this. But it could be your ticket out of prison and into riches, trust me.”

Eduard thought long and hard. There was no reason why Ahmed would want to incriminate him further. He had seen Ahmed commit the most unspeakably cruel and inhuman acts on men, women, and children in Yemen. Eduard’s main skill had been to acquiesce in these, all the other mercenaries had quit in disgust.

“OK. Fuck it. But you have to remember there are cameras all over London.”

“For the job I have to offer, they will be an occupational hazard.”

Eduard reasoned to himself. He was already going to prison for rape. He had raped dozens of women, why not try one more? He would be in his fifties when he got out of prison.

Eduard regarded the four women with a hunter’s eye. They would not be interested in money nor the looks, or lack thereof, of he and Ahmed. He thought of where in London he was.

“Give me ten minutes, Ahmed, wait here.”

Ahmed sat by himself, a solitary figure amidst the bustling atmosphere of the bar, patiently waiting for his “friend” to return. He had known Eduard for years, understanding all too well the depths of his character—sleazy, morally bankrupt, devoid of any ideology. Yet, amidst Eduard’s lack of conscience, there existed a twisted form of reliability, a trust that extended only as far as one could rely on someone without morals.

He knew Eduard Benaïssad’s file top to bottom. Born in 1977 to a French Algerian oil engineer and a Russian nurse, he had grown up around the world, and by the age of eighteen was fluent in French, Arabic, Russian and English. But he had been a tearaway and spent time in prison in France as a teenager for dealing drugs and a brutal assault on a boy who could not pay his drug debt. At a loss, his parents had enrolled him in a military officer training school in the UK when he was released from the French prison.

He had initially seemed to fit in, the military life suited him as a young man, especially forays with prostitutes in east Africa and the Far East. He had been disciplined for an unfortunate incident with a Kenyan hooker, which had seen the young woman close to dying.

He would have faced dismissal from the army had it not been for the events of 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror. His exceptional proficiency in languages made him a valuable asset, sought after for his ability to navigate complex linguistic landscapes. However, his aptitude as a soldier fell far short of excellence, and civilian deaths always seemed to be more likely when he was part of a patrol on the streets of southern Iraq.

Thereafter, Afghanistan proved to be a playground for Eduard. Afghan villagers were not as worldly as the Iraqis and Benaïssad and some renegade soldiers managed to exact intelligence, revenge, and pleasure on isolated villages in some brutal raids.

Yet again, lady luck shone on Benaïssad in Afghanistan. One comrade who accused him of what were war crimes was blown up before the investigation could be taken further. Other Afghans who accused him of crimes also mysteriously died in an air strike.

He was eventually discharged from the army, after not suffering a scratch, mentally or physically, but having committed dozens of outrages. His skill at languages made him a useful recruit for western mercenaries in Iraq, Syria, and around the world. But he was still not popular among his comrades after committing several crimes including bank robbery, rape and extortion of locals.

When Ahmed Al-Masri was tasked with dealing with rebels in Yemen, he hired some of the toughest military he could find. But it was not miliary skill he was short of. He needed men who would do what he knew needed to be done, and few westerners, or locals, wanted to do it. He had been recommended Eduard Benaïssad by one such ex soldier, who then quit, lacking the stomach for the kind of fight Ahmed wanted.

Benaïssad was not a very good soldier, but he was a great linguist, and he was not shy of using every method banned by the Geneva convention. Ahmed had grown so comfortable with this British/French/Algerian/Russian hybrid that they would often ride around isolated villages, picking women from houses, raping them together, and murdering anyone who objected.

Ahmed Al-Masri’s strategy succeeded, and he soon was promoted to the head of security for the Gulf Prince Al-Qadim of Azmaria. In the affluent Gulf state of Azmaria, there was little tolerance for the likes of bloodthirsty rapist soldiers like Benaïssad and his cohorts. Generous payoffs were offered to rid themselves of such unsavory characters.

As Ahmed had settled into his new role, his aspirations soared higher. Could he ascend even further, perhaps to the position of Prime Minister? The possibilities tantalized him, fuelling his ambition.

Meanwhile, Benaïssad squandered his wealth on hedonistic pursuits, indulging in vices across Europe with prostitutes, drugs, and alcohol. Ahmed was well aware of the dark cloud of criminal charges hanging over Benaïssad’s head—a warrant for rape in Bulgaria, allegations of assault in Italy, and a robbery in Spain conducted in a drug-fuelled haze.

Ahmed pondered the situation carefully. It was a risky game, but he knew the importance of plausible deniability. If Benaïssad posed a threat to their operations in Azmaria, he would be swiftly dealt with. But for now, despite his flaws, Benaïssad remained the best man for the job.

Eduard Benaïssad returned, smiling, full of verve. “I just bought a little something on the street corner. I think the young ladies might love it.”

Ahmed watched him, like a master at work, as he wandered over to the women. He chatted amicably to them, laughing, then made his way to the bathroom. Returning, he sat opposite Ahmed and winked.

“Give it a few minutes, it’s pretty strong.”

Ahemd’s eyebrows shot up. “I did not see you do anything! I was watching!”

“You see Ahmed, it’s all in the wrists, haha”

About ten minutes later, the atmosphere in the bar shifted abruptly. The group of women, previously filled with laughter and joy, suddenly grew louder, their voices tinged with drowsiness and agitation. Concerned, the bartender approached their table.

“Don’t worry,” Eduard interjected, stepping forward. “I’ve called a taxi for the ladies. I’m their manager and we have just got our bonuses. It’s truly regrettable; they’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

The bartender nodded, relieved to see the situation being addressed. “Thank you, sir. It’s best to ensure they get home safely.”

“Wait a minute,” Ahmed said, “what taxi?”

“I texted a friend, a drug dealing scumbag I know. He is a taxi driver, and is nearby. He can pick these girls up and bring them anywhere. Where should he bring them to? The girls should be unconscious in a few minutes, by which time they will all be safely in the back seat of the taxi.”

“Now, girls,” he addressed the slurring women with a forced geniality, adopting the facade of a friendly father figure. “Gather your things. The taxi is outside.”

The barman watched, and the security guard saw the girls being escorted outside and into the waiting taxi while the two good samaritans walked away elsewhere. All above board, they thought.

Eduard got a call as soon as the taxi pulled away. “Haha, Dennis you scumbag! Yes, they are all so hot. Look, there are four of them, do you have any friends who want a late night delivery? I gave them some good doses, they should be out of it for a few hours at least, just make sure they don’t swallow their tongues.”

Eduard paused and turned to Ahmed. “Would you like some of them? We could take two, and have them in a hotel room for a few hours, then we should pass them on to Dennis and his friends. It would be good to have some ... other men inside them afterwards, to get rid of our own evidence.”

Ahmed couldn’t help but chuckle at Eduard’s enthusiastic embrace of their nefarious scheme. “Yes, I quite liked the blonde in the green dress. I have my own limousine parked nearby. Why don’t we follow the taxi, and get some girls into my car for a bit...”

“Excellent idea” Eduard beamed. He had really come alive. They followed the taxi, and Eduard marvelled at the luxury of the inside of the limousine. The driver was a monotone Arab, who obeyed his master’s every command. The dark windows hid the inside from the prying eyes of London.

Ahmed and Eduard drank champagne as they looked at the gorgeous young girls walking the pavements, until Dennis made another call to them.

“Excellent!”

Eduard turned to Ahmed. “Dennis knows a place without CCTV. The girls are all passed out in the back of the taxi, we can get out and drag two of them into the limousine. But it depends, how long do you want to spend?”

“Not long” Ahmed wanted to fuck one of them and move on. He had only been here tonight to test Eduard, and had promised his wife he would be back at the hotel before midnight so that they could take the kids out for a full day of sightseeing tomorrow.

Both cars slowed to a halt. Ahmed winced as he saw the taxi driver, ‘Dennis’ a sixty year old Jamaican with dreadlocks, tracksuit, and several missing teeth. He hoped he had not touched the girls ... yet.

“You guys want a few of them?”

“Just the two, Dennis, can you keep the other two in your taxi for now? Then you can bring all four on elsewhere. I am sure you know somewhere? Remember, they will be out for hours, I will give them something more, just to give you a good night with them, they won’t remember a thing!”

“Haha, sure thing boss! I can entertain myself with the other two in the back of the taxi here!”

Ahmed and Eduard maneuvered the two chosen ladies out of the taxi, their bodies slumped like dead weight between them. Drool trickled from the corners of their mouths, their eyes glazed over with intoxication. Soft moans and stuttered words escaped their lips, betraying the depths of their inebriation.

After bundling them into the back of the limousine, both men were free to play with their victims. Eduard’s girl had brown wavy hair, blue eyes, and a made up face like a doll. He guessed she could be nineteen. Her skimpy dress was open at the back, and so short, he could hardly avoid the sight of her knickers. He ran his hand over her breasts, marvelling at how perky and firm they were.

Ahmed played with the blonde’s hair and enjoyed her vacant dead green eyes. He slipped off her tiny black dress, and ran his hands under her white thong, enjoying her moist pussy. Respecting his wife, he put on a condom, and began fucking her on the seat.

Eduard pocked his girl’s green knickers, keeping them as a souvenir, and took several photos of her as well as keeping her ID, a note of her address, and her house keys. It was always good to keep a copy of a girl’s address and keys, he smiled. The phone he left, for now. It would surely be stolen by the gentlemen this young lady would soon be fucked by. Eduard also wore a condom, mindful of DNA evidence.

Soon, both men had cum. Dennis came around after a call, and he dragged the girls one by one out of the limousine and into his taxi again.

“Dennis, make sure each of the girls swallows one of these pills, it will keep them knocked out for longer!”

Dennis grinned and thanked Eduard for the great find. “The boys are gonna love these girls. I am making 500 for selling them!”

“Now Dennis” Eduard chided him good naturedly “these lovely young ladies are nice and clean, so you know what means?”

Eduard quickly gave his own joke the punch line. “It means no need for condoms, OK!” He and Dennis laughed at the joke.

“Don’t worry man! I’ve already cum in one of the girls already, and I’ll cum in the other before I hand them over!”

The two cars departed from each other. Ahmed felt good about the release, and the adrenaline, but now wanted to go back to his family and away from this place of sleaze. But Eduard had passed the test.

“See, Ahmed? I still have it” Eduard was beaming. “Those girls are going to get gang raped tonight and they won’t remember a thing. They will be full of cum from about six guys each, maybe a few pregnancies among them, likely some STDs. You will be out of the country, and me, well, I live dangerously.”

Ahmed smiled. “Thanks, Eduard. I’m heading home now, but you can continue enjoying the night. Here’s 500 pounds for you to treat yourself.” He handed over the money, a token of appreciation for Eduard’s cooperation.

“But tomorrow,” Ahmed continued, his tone shifting to one of businesslike efficiency, “we can meet again. I’ll go through my proposal in a more professional format. There’s much to discuss, and I believe we can both benefit from what I have to offer.”

Eduard smiled, and agreed. The night was still young, and with cash in his pocket, he planned more hours of debauchery.

The following morning, Eduard Benaïssad woke up with a thumping hangover. He just about remembered the meeting with his old friend, Ahmed, the fun with the four girls, the night at the casino, and the liaison with the prostitute which had cost him more than the 500 that Ahmed had given him. He laughed ruefully. He had paid 20 pounds for the drugs which had knocked out and delivered the four pretty women to him, Ahmed, and countless other lowlifes for the night, but one savvy hooker had wrangled him out of nearly a grand.

He was no good with money. He checked his phone. Several texts, including from Dennis, who had sent him several photos of the girls at a house party full of men, with the girls half naked, then fully naked, assuring him that each girl had been pumped full of semen on many occasions and had all been kicked out onto the street in the early hours of the morning. Another text was from Ahmed, inviting him to a meeting at the Embassy of Azmaria later that afternoon.

He shaved and got himself into his best suit, and made his way to the embassy. He reflected on the recent meetings he had with his sisters, and mother. They had all been disgusted with him, not just for the current accusation against him, but the unspoken reality they all knew, that Eduard had raped his younger sister when young, scarring the family and ensuring they could never be happy together. His father had died, having been ashamed of calling Eduard his son. He was without friends and family, and had thought of killing himself rather than going to prison. What was there to live for? Well, maybe this meeting might show him something.

Eduard strolled into the glamorous embassy of Azmaria, where a picture-perfect young Arab woman, dressed in a sleek black skirt and high heels, with a flawless face, greeted him with a polite smile. With practiced grace, she led him through the elegant corridors, her presence adding to the aura of sophistication that permeated the surroundings.

Led into an office, Eduard found himself face to face with Ahmed, a secret smile passing between them, acknowledging their shared exploits from the previous night.

“So, Eddie, some formalities,” Ahmed began with a hint of apology in his tone. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to frisk you for wires and ensure your phone and watch are switched off.”

“Not a problem, Ahmed,” Eduard replied casually. “Can’t have any spies, can we?”

Ahmed conducted a perfunctory check, ensuring no electronic devices were present, before they settled down to business.

“Now, you can probably guess who my boss is,” Ahmed continued, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. “The Crown Prince of Azmaria. He has a secret passion for the old way of life, and he has entrusted me to make it a reality for him.”

Eduard listened intently, his curiosity piqued.

“My boss wants a harem of beautiful women. Now, of course, he already has one, and he has access to many of the most beautiful prostitutes and sluts of the world. But, he wants something a little more, thrilling and illicit, with better pedigree.”

Eduard thought of Crown Prince Yousef Al-Wedesdah. An old, fat man who preached strict Islamic values but was known to indulge in every possible vice.

Ahmed continued. “He wants to start off with seven western women. These girls will be permanent members of his harem. They will not be invited or bought, or hired. They will be taken, against their will, and kept in his harem, as slaves to his will.”

Eduard grinned. “I like the Crown Prince’s ideas!”

Ahmed smiled back tersely. “Of course, the attraction for him is the difficulty of it. He does not want drug addicts or poverty-stricken illiterate peasants. Indeed, it’s crucial that they come from good breeding, and well-educated backgrounds,”

“I think perhaps your boss just wants revenge against western whores” grinned Eduard. He did not care, particularly as he was half Arab himself.

“Yes, well no need to be racist Eddie” laughed Ahmed. “Once these girls are taken, they will not be heard from again. Their families will have to deal with the fact they have disappeared off the face of the earth. The girls will spend the remainder of the lives entertaining the Crown Prince discreetly and, well, in a very harsh manner.”

“Oh, really?” Eduard was intrigued.

“Yes, you see he already has a harem. Arab girls, Ethiopians, Filipinas, and they stay hidden away, kept from their families, and nobody knows what happened to them. They are very beautiful, but some do not last very long ... you see” Ahmed swallowed a glass of whiskey. “One of my rather unpleasant tasks as his head of security has been to dispose of their bodies. I can only assume they have displeased him in some way. I have also had the regrettable task of going all the way to the Philippines just to have some poor old woman murdered. It seems she was the mother of one of his slave girls who was misbehaving. It seems the girl could withstand any torture herself, but once her family back home started dying, she grew more ... compliant in her duties towards the Crown Prince.”

“Oh,” Eduard remarked with a tinge of regret. “That is a shame, but I suppose the girl must have been given fair warning.”

Ahmed nodded in agreement. “Oh, indeed,” he responded solemnly. “She was. Fortunately, she still had a father and three siblings. I hope I do not have to make a return visit to the Philippines again, so for her sake I hope she does whatever the Crown Prince wants.”

“Poor girl” said Eduard “he is not very handsome, is he? Still, he has money, I am sure they have some luxury.”

“Well, no one is allowed to see them apart from some eunuchs, who still exist believe it or not! Even I have not seen them, apart from the girls I have taken out to dispose of, who are already dead. One thing I can say is that they have all been beautiful, it is such a waste.”

“Yes, well, it is the way of the world, is it not?” mused Eduard, his tone reflecting a blend of resignation and acceptance. “Rich men get all the girls.”

“Indeed,” Ahmed agreed with a knowing nod. “Well, I am in the business of helping the old man expand his portfolio.”

“And you want me to help?” winked Eduard, enjoying the whiskey and warming to the idea.

“Indeed,” Ahmed responded, his tone businesslike as he delved into the details of their operation. “As I say, we have some definite targets and some are suggestions of the type of girl we want. I am prepared to front you some capital for the venture. What we are talking about here is, for each target, surveillance, information, procurement, transport, training, and finally onward packaging to Azmaria.”

Eduard thought about the suggestion. “Wait a minute. Training?”

“Yes, the Crown Prince wants the girls to at least know what they are in for. He does not expect or want zombies, they must already be versed in the ways of pleasing men when they really don’t want to, although quite a few of these girls will be virgins and will remain so until they reach the Crown Prince.”

“Ahmed, I have a one bedroom flat, and this sounds like a lot of work for one man.”

“Eddie, in a bar in London, at a few minute’s notice, you organized the drugging, kidnapping, and gang rape of four women, the type my boss is looking for. The fewer people who are involved in this the better. The world is crumbling but there will still be a lot of police involvement in these disappearances.”

“Well, kidnapping girls and transporting them halfway around the world ... and training them?”

“There are facilities you can use” interrupted Ahmed. “In various locales, I will give you a list. They are secure and can hold a screaming female captive without any issue. Money is no object to my boss, but we do not tolerate failure.”

Eduard suddenly realized that he could not back out of this. He knew too much. Ahmed might be his ‘friend’ but he would not hesitate to have him killed.

“And Eddie, we are old friends, but we cannot tolerate foolishness. You have seen what I can do, in Yemen. I went to the Philippines to murder an old woman because her daughter perhaps refused to lick an old man’s asshole. I know about your sisters and your mother. I really, really hope it does not come to that, but please, Eddie, do not let me down.”

Eduard nodded, pretending to care. But he did not mind if his family were murdered, if anything it would be freeing.

“Good,” Ahmed smiled, his expression unwavering despite the gravity of his words. “Now, I can go into the plan in more detail with you. But first, I’m afraid that Eduard Benaïssad needs to die. A new persona must arise.”

With that, Ahmed retrieved two passports from his desk, a silent confirmation of the finality of his decision.

Eduard knew that he could not turn back. He took both passports, both had the same passport photo, of himself. He wondered how Ahmed had got it. The name on each passport was “Edward Pembroke.” A new life was afoot!

Chapter Text

The air crackled with aristocracy at Wimbledon. Ladies with impossibly long legs and hair like spun gold flitted about, each a walking trophy wife boasting about their offspring’s genius. Valerie Spencer, a vision in a crisp dress and pearls, surveyed the scene with a practiced smile. Her own daughter, the apple of her eye, Charlotte, was a blonde bombshell currently dominating the U18 court. This wasn’t just any tournament; it was a stepping stone to Oxford and the perfect life Valerie envisioned for her daughter.

“Goodness, Valerie, how does Charlotte do it all?” chirped Emma Bradley, a diplomat’s wife whose children built bridges instead of lobbing tennis balls. “She must have no time for those pesky boys!”

Suddenly, a voice cut through the social chatter. A dark-haired man, all sharp suits and movie-star charm, leaned in from the next table. “Bravo, Madame! Your daughter plays with the grace of a gazelle!” Beside him, a striking young woman with a pout and a hint of a Russian accent offered a strained smile.

Valerie, momentarily thrown by the man’s French accent and the undeniable tension between the couple, managed a reply. “Thank you, kind sir. We appreciate that.” Her gaze flicked to the woman, a spark of competitiveness igniting within. “May I inquire, do you follow the tournament often?”

“Alas, no, Madame,” he replied, his French now tinged with a hint of amusement. “Business brings me here, but I confess, a good match is hard to resist. This is my wife, Maria.”

Valerie offered a polite nod to Maria, then turned back to the Frenchman. “And you are...?”

“Clémence Carnot,” the woman beside him surprised them both by speaking up. “A lawyer, at your service.”

A thrill shot through Valerie. Married or not, Clémence exuded a certain je ne sais quoi. “Why don’t you join us, Clémence?” she purred, a mischievous glint in her eye. “There’s always room for another sophisticated mind at our table.”

Valerie basked in the awkwardness radiating off Maria. The younger woman seemed lost in the conversation, a nervous flutter behind her forced smile. It was a delicious opportunity for Valerie to flex her social muscles, to be the undisputed queen of this little gathering. Little did Valerie know, Maria was merely an expensive escort and clueless to the elaborate game unfolding.

Clémence, on the other hand, was a captivating enigma. His conversation flowed effortlessly, peppered with insightful commentary on the game. He would seamlessly switch between French and English, then conversing with Maria in fluent Russian that left the ladies at the table wide-eyed.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Charlotte Spencer. At eighteen, she was an English rose in full bloom. With her blonde hair and cheeks still flushed from her victory on the court, she entered in a crisp white skirt and t-shirt, a picture of youthful athleticism. A wave of congratulations washed over her from the table, causing a rosy blush to bloom on her cheeks. Valerie, overflowing with pride, leaned over and enfolded her daughter in a hug. Clémence watched the young athlete with a flicker of intrigue in his dark eyes.

The conversation naturally turned to Charlotte’s future. Valerie, ever the proud mother, eagerly fielded questions while Charlotte bashfully swatted them away. Finally, Charlotte, gaining some confidence, surprised everyone. “Actually,” she said, “I want to be a lawyer. That is my passion.”

“A lawyer!” Valerie exclaimed, perhaps a touch more surprised than necessary. “Why, of course, darling! And speaking of lawyers, we have one right here at our table.” She gestured towards Clémence with a flourish.

Clémence raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Indeed, at your service, Miss Spencer. Though perhaps a more ... noble career might tempt you? I confess, I always harbored a secret desire to be a tennis star myself.”

Charlotte, still slightly flustered, found herself blushing again. “Well,” she said in her posh voice, but with newfound determination, “to be honest, I’ve always admired lawyers. International law, that’s my thing.”

“International law,” Clémence repeated, a thoughtful smile playing on his lips. “Well, Miss Spencer, it seems we have a connection then. I work for a firm in Paris. Perhaps your mother and I can discuss some ... networking opportunities.”

Valerie, pleasantly surprised at this unexpected coincidence, beamed. “Oh, Clémence, that’s wonderful! What good fortune. You seem like just the right chap to know, with Charlotte’s aspirations.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but steal another glance at the intriguing Frenchman. He certainly seemed clever, and the idea of a connection in Paris sent a little thrill through her.

Just then, Emma Bradley, a woman at the table whose husband was a criminal lawyer, interjected, “Well, I don’t know about law.” She cast a sideways glance at Clémence. “My husband sees some dreadful cases. I don’t know if they are suitable for decent people to work on.”

“Oh really?” Clémence inquired, his voice maintaining a casual tone. “I deal with mergers and acquisitions, but criminal law sounds fascinating to me.”

Emma hesitated, then mumbled, “Well, I ... sorry I shouldn’t raise this at this table, it’s disturbing amid all this happy talk.”

Charlotte, however, leaned forward, her youthful curiosity piqued. “Oh, do go on,” she urged.

Emma sighed. “Well, my husband told me about a case,” she began, lowering her voice. “They had to represent this utterly repugnant, vile fiend of a man. He ... had his horrible way with this young girl, and then ... took photos of her while she was unconscious and threatened her with sharing them. The poor girl was so strong and he was prosecuted, but my husband, he had to act for him! He said the man was such a creep.”

Clémence cleared his throat, a flicker of unease crossing his features. “Oh dear,” he murmured, trying to mask his sudden nervousness. “What happened to the man?”

“Well, I hate to say it, but my husband doesn’t have to deal with him anymore, he seems to have either disappeared off the face of the Earth, or ... topped himself. He was this former soldier, with lots of debts, an utterly vile man from what I heard. And my husband had to act for him ... it gave me the shivers just hearing about him secondhand...”

“He just disappeared? But surely they can find him?” Valerie was incredulous.

“We think he threw himself off a cliff or something. His passport was still in his flat. His family hadn’t heard from him in years. A few months gone now, and frankly, I’m relieved. Justice, perhaps, even if it wasn’t served in a courtroom.” Her voice hardened. “But believe me, there are plenty more like him out there that my husband has to defend.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air. Clémence, his earlier charm dimmed, offered a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Valerie, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, attempted to lighten the mood. With a strained smile, she turned to Clémence. “Well, Clémence, I’m sure your clients in Paris are a far cry from such ... unsavory characters. All international law and high-stakes mergers, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ha of course, though I think, ladies, that our clients can be just as demanding and sociopathic!”

Giggles erupted around the table as the chat turned back to tennis and other children’s exploits and the ladies’ husbands.

“Oh, speaking of husbands,” Emma chimed in, “mine should be here soon. Maybe, Charlotte,” she added with a laugh, glancing at Clémence, “he can talk you out of this law business altogether!”

Clémence’s forced laugh was a touch too terse. The mention of Emma’s husband, the one burdened with defending monsters, seemed to prick at him. Suddenly, the idea of lingering any longer lost its appeal.

“Well, ladies, this has been delightful,” Clémence declared, a touch too brightly. “We must terribly apologize, but Maria and I have another engagement.”

Maria found herself being cajoled along quickly by her ‘date’ this mysterious French lawyer with perfect Russian.” Where on earth are we headed now?” she breathlessly inquired.

Clémence Carnot, aka Edward Pembroke, aka Eduard Benaïssad, was just eager to get away from the tennis club before he ran into Jack Bradley, his former lawyer. Edward Pembroke had dyed his hair jet black, adopted a slicked-back hairstyle, and was dressed more snappily now he had access to Ahmed’s funds but he knew he would be recognized straight away. He was pleased that he had been assumed dead but had to remember that technically he was a fugitive from justice.

In flawless Russian, Edward responded, “We are going back to my hotel, Maria. Remember, you’re getting paid handsomely for your services. Time to earn your keep.”

The playful facade had vanished, replaced by a cold efficiency that sent a shiver down Maria’s spine.

A few hours later, Maria was tied up over a bed in a plush central London hotel. She was being spanked hard by this man wondering what she had gotten herself into. Gone was the charming facade of Clémence Carnot, replaced by a stranger with eyes like cold steel. The sharp crack of his brute hands against her bare skin sent a fresh wave of pain through her.

Edward Pembroke watched the growing red imprint on her buttocks enlarge with twisted satisfaction.

“Bite into the pillow, and don’t scream, or you will not get a fucking penny of your money, you little peasant bitch” he snarled in Russian at the poor girl.

Edward Pembroke was thinking of Charlotte Spencer and her mother Valerie. Charlotte was first on the list of the Crown Prince. He had to kidnap her. He had an inroad, a taste for her, and was sure he could do it. She was a lovely, trusting girl, full of promise, and he was looking forward to taking her. He only regretted the instructions that she was to remain a virgin, however she would require severe training to be obedient to her future master.

As Maria sobbed into the pillow after another hard spank, he thought of that bitch Emma Bradley. She had definitely been talking about him, her husband Mr Bradley had been his lawyer, who had looked at Pembroke like he was a piece of trash, subhuman. He was pleased that Eduard was assumed dead, but knew that the new Edward had to be careful.

As he stared at Maria’s bare ass, he pulled his cock out, and slid it into her pussy, as she grunted in pain and surprise. He remembered Charlotte’s stunning physique, her toned calves and thighs leading up to her knickers under her skirt as she played, her flat midriff as she rose to smash balls overhead. Her blue eyes and blonde hair. The Crown Prince was a man of good taste, indeed.

He thought of Valerie and noted the loving looks between mother and daughter. He remembered Ahmed’s comments about the need to discipline the girls in the harem. As he pummelled the Russian girl, he imagined that Ahmed might send him to take action against Valerie if Charlotte refused some vile act for the old decrepit Crown Prince. He hoped he would, it would be fun to play with Valerie for a while, before dispatching her.

Charlotte was stunning, but she seemed very timid and shy, she would need good training to be a perfect sex slave slut for an old man. Edward Pembroke knew that he would need to put in time and effort for this as well as just kidnapping her. He needed to find a good assistant.

Chapter Text

Dilan Talebani, a 21-year-old influencer based in Beirut, was a striking figure in the world of social media. Known for her daring videos and outspoken political views, Dilan had made a name for herself by fearlessly challenging societal norms and advocating for women’s and LGBTQ+ rights.

An embodiment of Arabic beauty, Dilan had long, flowing black hair and captivating dark eyes that reflected her bold spirit. With her penchant for wearing bikinis and other revealing outfits, showing off her stunning figure, Dilan unapologetically showcased her beauty, pushing the boundaries of conventional fashion in Lebanon. On her left forearm, she proudly displayed a tattoo of a Cedar Tree, to symbolise her patriotism for Lebanon, another affront to conservative sensibilities.

Her outspoken nature and daring fashion choices drew the ire of religious conservatives, who criticized her for challenging traditional values. Despite this, Dilan remained undeterred, continuing to use her influence to promote progressive change. She was a vocal participant in local protests and activism while wearing the likes of denim cut-off shorts, mini skirts, and crop tops. She had a huge following among young girls and lecherous old men.

Dilan Talebani was more than just a social media personality; she was a symbol of modernity and progress in a conservative region. She had a busy schedule but was happy to meet with Mr. Karim Al-Faraj. Dilan had received numerous offers from charities, but there was something raw and pure about Karim. The social media presence of him and his charity had significantly grown in the last month or so, and she was deeply moved by the plight of the children around Europe he was helping—gay Arab kids and Palestinian children affected by the recent wars in the region. Some of the videos had brought her to tears, and she shared them, amplifying their impact.

She met Karim in an upmarket restaurant in Beirut. Karim was obviously gay and very camp, but he had an infectious sense of fun that helped the beautiful young woman relax in the presence of this flamboyant forty-something man.

“You know, Dilan, you are so beautiful,” Karim said with a warm smile. “I think it’s a testament to God’s will that with great beauty he gave you such a strong heart as well.”

Dilan was used to flattery but still blushed. “Men here think I am a brainless idiot,” Dilan replied, her eyes reflecting both determination and frustration. “But I want to change the world.” She placed her hand on Karim’s. “It must have been so hard for you growing up, especially back then, being gay.”

“Yes, it was tough” Karim’s eyes watered. “Some of my friends, in Syria and Egypt, they...”

Karim leaned back in his chair, wiping his eyes behind his glasses. “I’m sorry Dilan, but it is thanks to young people like you that the world is becoming more tolerant.”

Dilan’s smile erupted, a full bloom revealing a dazzling array of white teeth. Dimples punched into her cheeks, her eyes crinkling at the corners with unrestrained delight. It was a smile that radiated pure joy, fuelled by the knowledge that she was making a difference.

. Her smile, like a beacon, drew attention around the restaurant. Husbands stole shy glances, their wives pretending not to notice. Young women, usually radiating confidence, couldn’t help but cast envious looks. Even the children, wide-eyed with admiration, were captivated by the minor celebrity’s infectious joy.

Karim Al-Faraj, also known as Edward Pembroke, smiled back. He had often used the trope of the flamboyant gay man to lure cute young women into a false sense of security. It hadn’t cost much to buy the Reddit, Twitter, and Facebook social media accounts of an old Arab charity and spruce them up with some heart-rending videos—some stolen, some staged, and some made up with AI—to engage with social media followers. A little bit of artificial cash injection made it seem like a going concern.

The beautiful young woman opposite suspected nothing. She was a fool, to fall for his virtue signalling and the apparent safety of a genteel gay man. She had no idea she was having lunch with a predator with orders to kidnap her.

Pembroke gazed at her short, snappy leopard skin halter neck top and her denim skirt, detecting a sliver of white cotton between her legs as she crossed and uncrossed them excitedly, talking about local politics. His predatory instincts kicked in, and he couldn’t help but imagine how easy it would be to slip some drugs into her lemonade in front of her, escort her to his hotel to take a call from children eager to talk with her, and instead have his way with the intoxicated girl. He imagined taking photos and videos, which he could use to utterly ruin her reputation in the still conservative region. He imagined running his fingers and tongue all over her tight, taut physique, plundering all her holes, and leaving the country and destroying all traces of Karim Al-Faraj while she was still picking up the pieces of her ruined young life.

But, alas, this was part of a longer game. Young Ms Talebani was being drawn into a spider’s web, and very soon she would no longer be showing off her body and her opinions to the world, or anyone for that matter, save for the Crown Prince of Azmaria. Even Pembroke bristled at her tirade against Arab conservative rulers, and got an insight into why the Crown Prince was so keen to have her in his harem. This rebellious young woman would soon be leading a life of pain and subservience, and quite right too.

The housing estate in Sunderland, in the North East of England, was a far cry from downtown Beirut or the gentility of South West London.

Rebecca Parker was 40 years old, with two kids who wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Neither did anyone else in her circle of friends and family.

She had become addicted to porn to deal with the stress of being a single working mother but cursed the day she met, online, Stan Bridgerton. She had fallen for the pervert, who had drawn her into a

depraved fantasy world of child pornography and even used her own children as material for him.

She had never even met him, but was eventually found out when material surfaced which she had made when completely drunk and which she did not even remember making. Thereafter followed years of misery; prison, having her kids taken away, occasional violence from others happy to take it out on the local paedo, and having to constantly move.

She was blonde, blue-eyed, with a buxom figure, and still harbored hope for a happy life with someone who would love her. But who could, with a past like hers? With children who might never see their mother again?

She was so despondent, she had made one mistake while drunk on the computer, and now it felt like her life was over. She drank every day to ease the pain, and often found herself contemplating why not end it all?

She made her way home to her bedsit in the rough council estate, praying there would be no new graffiti. She wore a hood to disguise herself, in case local louts pelted her with stones again.

That night, she cried herself to sleep beside an empty bottle of vodka. She did not notice an intruder who had forced open a window, and who was prowling around her bedsit, looking around.

The intruder was wearing a dark hoodie and gloves. He was well-practiced in this sort of thing. He gazed at the drunken woman on the bed, thinking that with a few weeks of being weaned off alcohol and some fitness training, she would have a much better figure.

Rebecca woke up through the fog of alcohol in her system. A figure loomed above her, a horrifying silhouette. Terror pulsed through her veins as a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream that rose in her throat.

“Don’t say anything, Rebecca,” a voice rasped, devoid of warmth. A glint of serrated metal flashed in the dim light. Panic surged through her as a wad of fabric was shoved into her mouth, muffling her cries. Expert hands swiftly secured her wrists and ankles with restraints.

Blind panic surged through Rebecca. Were these the ones to finally end it all? She had long wondered when the youths and vigilantes torturing her would take their actions to the logical conclusion. Was this the end? Her gaze darted to the masked figure, a silent plea for mercy forming in her widening eyes. “Please,” she choked out, the muffled word a desperate plea. “I’m not a bad person. Please...” Her voice hitched, the words dissolving into a choked sob. Don’t kill me, she pleaded silently, the raw terror a primal scream echoing in her mind. Forgive me...

Elena Petrova was a stunningly beautiful young influencer from Moscow at just 20 years old. She had luscious brown hair, and captivating brown eyes, and stood tall at 5 feet 9 inches, with an impossibly slim figure. Despite her striking appearance, she was not just a pretty face; Elena was also a student of International Relations at Moscow State University.

Combining her studies with her passion for modelling, Elena seamlessly balanced academia with her thriving social media career. On her platforms, she showcased not only her intellect but also her confidence and beauty, often sharing snaps of herself in bikinis and other stylish ensembles.

Yet, despite the allure of luxury and the offers from wealthy businessmen, Elena remained steadfast in her principles. She refused to compromise her values or virginity, much to the annoyance of the men who sought to exploit her. She remained committed to saving herself for someone who valued her for more than just her outward appearance.

With a strong sense of conviction, Elena was unabashedly anti-war and unafraid to criticize her government’s actions. This bold stance often set her apart in a society where dissent was often met with scrutiny.

Yet all young girls have some longing for fame and fortune. One day, a message arrived from Nikolai Sokolov, a war veteran and vocal critic of the Russian government. He was spearheading a clandestine film project. The project aimed to raise awareness and aid those fleeing the tightening grip of conscription. Nikolai believed Elena, with her public image and passionate voice, was the perfect protagonist for the film.

As Elena Petrova sat across from Nikolai Sokolov in a cozy Helsinki cafe, she listened with rapt attention to his passionate vision for the film.

Nikolai spoke animatedly about his aspirations to make a difference through cinema and how Elena would be the perfect fit for the lead role.

Thrilled at the prospect of being involved in such a meaningful project, Elea eagerly agreed to participate. She was captivated by Nikolai’s sincerity and determination to effect positive change in the world.

“You know Elena, young women like you are the future of Russia, not those fake influencers and the militarists in Moscow! Thank you for coming to see me, I long for the day when I can get back to Russia, and see my family again.”

Elena felt so sorry for this man, a proud Russian patriot, who had sacrificed so much for his country and only wanted peace.

“Nikolai, I can help your wife and children. My family has some influence, maybe my father can get your mother a new flat and some money for the kids over in Blagoveshchensk. I hate the fact that your children are going hungry, while those bastards in Moscow just sit around continuing the war and threatening to arrest you.”

“Family’s fine, Elena, don’t you worry,” Nikolai said with a smile that flickered just a touch too quickly. “Safer if they stay out of the limelight for now. Maybe later, I might need your help with something there.” He pivoted the conversation with practiced ease, returning to the passionate details of the film, the project itself starting to feel as ephemeral as his supposed family.

Elena, caught up in the whirlwind of the offer, found herself blurting, “Turkey sounds exciting! Never been.”

“Ah, yes,” Nikolai replied, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “But listen, there’s a large Russian exile community there. Only place somewhat close to home where we can film securely, you see. Tragic, isn’t it? My colleagues, all with such talent, they can’t display their real names. Such a shame to live in fear.”

“I hope one day, that you and your colleagues will be famous, Nikolai. You deserve it, after what you have been through. One day, justice will prevail in Russia!”

Unbeknownst to Elena, the man sitting before her was not the real Nikolai Sokolov. The true Nikolai had tragically passed away months ago, his death quietly swept under the rug by Russian authorities. In his place stood “Edward Pembroke,” who had assumed Nikolai’s online identity and persona to execute his nefarious plans.

Under the guise of Nikolai Sokolov, Edward Pembroke spun his web of deception, skillfully convincing Elena that the film project was legitimate and that he was a genuine peace campaigner and war veteran. With his mastery of the Russian language and clever manipulation of social media accounts, Pembroke maintained the illusion, preying on the gullibility and impressionability of the young woman.

As plans were made for the secretive filming location in Turkey, Elena’s excitement only grew. Enthralled by the prospect of starring in a meaningful project and oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the surface, she was venturing further into his trap.

Nikolai bid Elena a platonic goodbye, waiving a kiss by explaining that he reserved such gestures solely for his wife back in Russia. Elena marvelled once again at this stoic, virtuous man, and couldn’t help but feel safe in his presence.

Edward Pembroke wasted no time, heading straight for Helsinki Airport, his next target already in his sights. Alone, a genuine, chilling smile finally bloomed on his face. Elena was such a naïve young fool. Even with her woolly jumper and jeans, he could see she had a great body. He laughed at her concern for his fictitious family and her apparent admiration for his faithful devotion to his ‘wife.’ Soon, if all went to plan, Elena would be on video, but of a very different kind to what she had dreamt of, and he would soon be doing a lot more than just kissing her.

Chapter Text

Rebecca Parker had endured a harrowing few days. Ever since her violent abduction from her home, she had been trapped in a nightmare. Shoved into a sack that restricted her every movement, blindfolded, and gagged, she had been jostled around for hours on end. She feared her captor had forgotten she was still alive, or worse, didn’t care.

She was terrified by the uncertainty of who had kidnapped her. Was it some crazed vigilante? A member of her own family trying to scrub their reputation clean? She knew she had done wrong, but she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t want to die, condemned as a degenerate pervert by her peers. The loneliness was crushing. No one was coming to help her or sympathize with her.

She awoke, after what felt like almost a day, in a dark, utterly silent cellar. She was naked, save for an ankle cuff which was attached by a chain to a strong D-ring on the wall. The only light came from a tiny lightbulb overhead. Edward Pembroke had managed to lease out a container within a larger storage facility for a shipping company in an industrial estate outside of Glasgow, Scotland. The Azmari parent company operating it would not need it for the next month or so, and they were happy to lease it out to Pembroke. It was very private and very soundproof.

Rebecca had been dragged into the cellar-like container, stripped, and cuffed by the ankle by the same masked man who had abducted her in her bedroom. He did not talk, and responded to her frantic pleas, once ungagged, by punching her in the mouth, leaving her with a bloody mouth and a terror of opening it again.

She was cold, and kept rubbing herself to stay warm. The dim red light showed that there was nothing else in the cellar, even out of her reach, only the steel door.

Hours passed, and she thought she might die of thirst or hypothermia. Eventually, the door opened and a chink of vague light came in, accompanied by the man.

This time, he was unmasked. He quickly shut the door behind him.

“My goodness, Rebecca, it stinks in here! I see you’ve been to the toilet already. Heavens, I think you need to be cleaned before we proceed. Now, we are in an isolated area, and I’m going to open the door again. No one can hear you; we are inside a secure unit, and no one is around outside. Even so, I don’t want to hear any screaming, or I will be very angry. It won’t save you; it will just make me hit you, OK?”

Rebecca was surprised by his urbane and educated manner. This man was not a vigilante from her hometown. He was dark-haired, almost handsome, and in his forties. Since embarking on this venture, a light had come on inside Edward Pembroke, making him strangely attractive.

He opened the door, and she could tell they were still inside from the dimness of the light. She then saw him bring in a hose.

Jets of ice-cold water blasted at the naked woman, who screamed and shouted, raising her hands in a futile attempt to shield herself.

Pembroke laughed, relishing in her frantic attempts to evade the water. He sprayed her relentlessly, the icy jets hitting her from every angle.

“Open your legs, Rebecca, I need you clean there the most!” She obeyed him, frantically trying to placate him to make the cold stop. “Please ... no more!”

He sprayed the floor of the container, allowing the water to flow out through the narrow gaps, taking all the unpleasantness with it.

Once he had satisfied himself, he threw the woman a large towel. “I will be back in a while, dry yourself!”

Pembroke stepped outside and went over his busy schedule with meticulous care. After some calculations and arrangements, he returned to the container with bottles of water, food, and blankets in hand.

Rebecca was shivering, hiding herself in the towel.

“What do you want? Why did you kidnap me? Where am I?” she demanded, her voice trembling with fear.

Pembroke’s relaxed demeanor remained unchanged as he began to explain his motives for the kidnapping.

“Mrs. Rebecca Parker. I hope I have the right woman?” he chuckled, observing the woman sitting on the ground, wrapped in her blanket, cowering from him.

“Yes, what do you want?” Rebecca asked, her voice quivering.

“I am sure you can think of reasons why people would want to hurt you?” Pembroke replied calmly. “You went to prison for child abuse, of your own children. A more heinous crime one cannot imagine!” His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of any accusation or anger.

“Tears streamed down Rebecca’s face, her voice thick with despair. ‘Yes, I admit it,’ she choked out. ‘I made a terrible mistake. I was drunk, and I paid the price. A heavy price. But I served my time. Why can’t they just let me go?’ Her voice rose, laced with raw desperation. ‘What more do you want from me? What can I possibly do to make it stop? If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. I don’t care anymore. There’s no changing what I did. But please,’ she pleaded, her voice cracking, ‘just let me have some peace.’

“Mrs. Parker,” Pembroke began, his voice smooth as polished marble, “it seems your life in England has reached a dead end. Reuniting with your children? That ship has sailed, I’m afraid. Perhaps for the best, wouldn’t you agree?”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing with a chilling smile. “Now, as for your future, peace won’t be part of the package. What I have in mind is ... different. Consider it a unique opportunity, though one with limited choices.” His smile vanished, replaced by a steely glint in his eyes.

“The world will assume you’ve met an unfortunate end, either by someone else’s hand or your own. Your family might even find solace in your absence. A clean break, wouldn’t you say?”

Pembroke leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “However, there is an alternative to your presumed demise. You can remain alive, but only under my very strict control. Think of it as a second chance, albeit a twisted one. Disobey, and your ‘disappearance’ becomes a permanent reality. Actually, there isn’t really a choice.”

Rebecca groaned. She wished she had killed herself, and wondered if she would regret it if she went along with anything this man wanted her to do.

“I am not really interested in your answer, Rebecca. Because I am going to make you do the things I want you to do.”

“Please, sir, I know I did wrong. But, I’m not evil, I just did something stupid, and I paid for it...”

Pembroke suddenly lashed out with a backhand to the side of her head, sending her sprawling. She dropped the blanket, exposing herself again. Pembroke looked again at the large breasts, the fleshy belly, and hips, and thought a few weeks of starvation might not be a bad option for her.

“I don’t give a fuck, Rebecca. What matters is that you have no life to go back to, and you already have some depravity in you. Don’t think I haven’t heard about you, all the chats you were in, the porn you watched. Your whole neighbourhood knows, it’s all over the internet!”

Rebecca cried. She had let herself down, badly. Unlike with other crimes, there was no one who would ever forgive her. No amount of apologies or amends could erase the past. She was now entirely at the mercy of this evil man and it broke her heart that no one would be interested in helping her even if they could.

“Yes, I’m sick. I’m sorry. What more can I do?” she sobbed.

“I want you to stop being sorry, I want you to be even sicker for me.” Pembroke smiled and began undressing casually.

“You see, Rebecca, I want you to come into business with me. Now, it will not be as equals, in fact, you will be my prisoner, my slave, to do whatever I want, on pain of death. But I want you to enjoy yourself. You see, I have kidnapped you to help me train some young ladies for a specific purpose.”

Rebecca’s eyes opened wide as he began stipping all his clothes off and realized what he was saying.

“No! I won’t do it anymore! I don’t care what you do to me, what I did, I want to go to my grave a decent person!”

“Haha, don’t worry Rebecca, you can always tell the devil I made you do it! Tell you what, your kids hate you but I know you still care for them, little Terry and Olivia...”

“No! Please don’t harm my children!”

“Strong words coming from a sexual abuser, from someone whose kids will never want to see them again, ever!”

“I don’t care, I am a monster, I was a monster, but I will not have them harmed, I’ll sacrifice anything!”

Pembroke was now naked and smiled at the pleading woman. He believed her. She had committed a relatively minor transgression by his standards, and still loved her children. He had a nice hold on her, any mischief on her part, and her kids would be punished.

“Well, your kids will grow up and be happy, if you just work with me on this project then!” Pembroke winked at her. “We are at early stages, but I know what filth you have in your mind, and I want you to practise it on these young ladies, who are much purer and more innocent than you!”

Rebecca’s blood ran cold as she realised she was being used for some disgusting undefined purpose. She looked at his erect cock inches from her face.

“I do not want you to be shy, Rebecca. Whatever depravity you have inside you, you can release it. Now, I have had a long journey, and I am going to rape you now. First, I want you to suck me.”

Rebecca wondered what choices she had. Was there any way out? Should she wait? Would there be more violence?

She tentatively leaned forwards and ran her tongue and lips over the man’s cock. Pembroke sighed. “You are good at this Rebecca hmm. I hope you like eating pussy too, you are going to get a lot of it very soon.”

Soon, he pushed her head away and directed her to lie down. He entered her, and stared into her face as he ravished her.

“You and I will have such fun Rebecca! Wait till you see the fine fillies we have waiting to be trained. Waiting to be ordered about, and trained to be fuck holes.”

Pembroke thought of Charlotte Spencer, Dilan Talebani and Elena Petrova, as he came inside the older woman.

He got up and got dressed. Rebecca covered herself with the blanket again, wondering what he would do to her next.

“These ladies will be quite upper class, much more sophisticated than you. So you must remember your place, but at the same time, you will have power over them. Have you ever struck a girl before?”

“No ... no, why would I want to do that?”

Pembroke casually grabbed her by the hair, bent her over, and spanked her hard on her ass. He laughed as she screamed in fright.

“Beating someone, especially someone you want to fuck, is one of life’s greatest pleasures, Rebecca. Maybe you beat your own kids? Well, I am going to do it to you, and you will learn to discipline your charges too. I want you to think about it.”

Rebecca rubbed her behind, cursing him.

“Now, now Rebecca, you will be obedient.” And with that he slapped her across the face, sending her onto her back.

“You see, violence is going to be a way of life for you now. It has been for me for a long time. But for now, I think you need to lose some weight.”

Pembroke was now fully dressed. “I have a busy schedule. Girls to meet, disappearances to arrange. Human trafficking to arrange. You are just a small piece. So I am going to leave you here, perhaps for a few days. Here is plenty of water, and some bananas, bread apples. That should keep you from starvation.

“Please, don’t just lock me up here!”

“Ha, or what? Don’t worry, soon you will be drowning in pussy, for now, just be patient and think of it!”

Pembroke slammed the door shut and locked up. He had his first attendant.

Rebecca grabbed another blanket and ate one of the bananas. She wondered what her future would hold. It seemed to be just one nightmare after another.

Anna Gao had just completed another stunning round of skiing, her proud parents looking on from the balcony of the exclusive ski resort restaurant. Harry Gao, a well-respected business magnate from China, had recently shifted his focus from relentless profit-making to philanthropy, finding immense joy in spending more time with his family. Downsizing his electronics firm had been a pivotal decision, driven by his daughter Anna’s insistence. At her urging, he had withdrawn his factory from the Gulf state of Azmaria in protest of its poor workers’ rights record. This decision, while costly and infuriating to the Azmarian government, had brought great happiness to Anna and reinforced her belief in social responsibility.

Susan Gao, a retired 1990s supermodel, also took immense pride in their only daughter’s skiing prowess. Anna, who had just finished high school, was soon to compete in the Winter Olympics and had secured a place at Stanford University. Her parents couldn’t have been prouder of her achievements and the principled young woman she had become.

As they admired Anna from the balcony, they were not alone in their admiration. Among the onlookers was Clemence Carnot, a skiing aficionado and representative of an international sports marketing company. Due to an unfortunate injury, Clemence was not skiing that day but was keen to get to know young Anna Gao.

Edward Pembroke could not ski, and was happy to limp along to hide his lack of skill being exposed. His expensive ski attire and confident nature made him fit right in among the exclusive clientele.

He watched the beautiful young Anna Gao approach, admiring her slim body in her ski pants. Her pretty Asiatic features still shone from her father’s side, while she had inherited her mother’s honey-brown hair and eyes.

“I would love my own harem,” thought the lecherous Pembroke as he approached the Gao table.

“Best of luck, Ms. Gao. Clemence Carnot, at your service, Rettiger International Sports. Don’t worry, I am not touting for business. I know young Anna here is already in great demand! I just wanted to congratulate you on some fantastic skiing and wish you good luck for the Olympics!”

Harry Gao beamed, puffing out his chest a little with pride. “Thank you, Sir! Anna is a natural on the slopes. We’re simply thrilled for her.”

Susan, ever the picture of elegance, leaned in and offered a warm smile. “It’s kind of you to say such kind words. These Olympics are a dream come true for her.”

Anna, slightly flushed from the exertion and praise, bowed her head shyly. “Thank youMonsueiur Carnot. It means a lot.”

“Please, call me Clemence. And truly, it’s no trouble at all. Your daughter is an inspiration. Have you decided which events she’ll be competing in?”

Harry, ever the businessman, straightened slightly. “The downhill and the giant slalom for certain. We’re still finalizing the details with the national team coaches.”

“I just want to do my best, Monsieur Carnot” said Anna, shyly. Without her ski goggles, she looked so pretty. Clemence Carnot grinned at her, his mind racing with malicious intent. The girl was beautiful, her figure filling out the ski pants perfectly.

“I’m sure you will, Anna,” he said, his tone smooth and seemingly sincere. “You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

The Gao family continued to chat with the friendly French sports marketer, pitying his apparent injury. Pembroke was able to gauge the deep love of the family and guessed that Mr Gao’s decision to pull his factory out of the Crown Prince’s domain was the reason why his daughter was soon destined to disappear off the face of the earth. But as he bathed in the girl’s gentle exuberance and beauty he could not help but silently toast his boss’s tastes in sex slaves.

Pembroke’s next stop was rural southern Turkey, forty miles inland from the sea. Nestled amidst arid farmland, a cluster of sturdy buildings stood sentinel. Once a bustling military base and copper wire factory, the complex now slumbered in a semi-abandoned state, stretching for miles around. This isolation made it a haven for the kind of operation Pembroke had planned, particularly after some modest bribes to the local police chief.

Pembroke stood waiting for his visitors at the complex. The desolate surroundings and the silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind, added to the sense of foreboding.

Before long, a white van appeared, dust billowing in its wake. He watched intently as the vehicle approached, its tires crunching on the gravel road. The van came to a stop, and the doors opened, revealing a large man who stepped out. His face was horrifically disfigured and would have shocked anyone, but Pembroke smiled in greeting.

Jamal Haddad was just the man that Pembroke wanted, just as he had been the man wanted by Ahmed Al-Masri. Jamal had a troubled upbringing and had ended up in prison in Syria for rape by the time the Syrian civil war had started. He joined the rebels, then switched sides, but had no interest in the outcome. his fondness for women was not reciprocated and he found himself charged with involvement with mass rape again before a prisoner exchange saw him released. This time, he fled to Germany. Confronted with the abundance of young beautiful blonde women in front of him, it was not long before he got in trouble again and for the third time ended up in prison for rape. He was able to learn some German, and grew close to a German ex-soldier in prison, bonding over a disturbing propensity towards violence and sex with the weaker male inmates. His friend got out first and used his old military contacts to join a mercenary force in Yemen. When Jamal was released and deported, he was recommended by his German friend to join the force in Yemen.

Jamal and his German friend fitted in well in the Yemeni civil war, and joined Ahmed and Pembroke in committing effective atrocities.

An IED blast killed Jamal’s German friend, and blew off half of Jamal’s face including most of his lower jaw and left ear and eye. The rest of his huge body functioned well, and Pembroke had witnessed him murder several people in a rage after the attack.

A simple man, with no family ties, he only had a voracious sexual appetite and a faithful nature. Pembroke had thought of him as a perfect security man and managed to locate him with Ahmed’s help.

He really was hideous and frightening-looking, and Pembroke smiled at the thought of what the girls might make of him.

He brought out his own captive. Layla Al-Haraz had suffered a hard life. She had been beautiful, once, but an acid attack from a jealous rival at just 15 had scarred her for life. Raised in the Yemeni countryside she had known nothing but misery and deprivation while her friends got married. She had finally got pregnant by another man and bore him a son. But the man’s first wife’s jealous family conspired and burned her alive, killing her infant son and scarring her even further.

She had festered, alone, in misery for years until the Yemeni civil war came to her village. She had betrayed her own villagefolk for sheltering rebels leading to a massacre in which she had begged to be allowed to join in. A few months later, the rebels issued a warrant for her arrest as the area came back under their control and she fled to the capital. Life on the streets as a prostitute was not easy for such a deformed woman, and she was unable to bribe the police enough money to be left out of a prison round-up.

In his downtime, Pembroke had enjoyed visiting the women’s prison in Sanaa and taking his pick of the women there. Layla had fascinated him. Her burned, scarred head had half the hair burnt off, and her left eye socket was almost completely bare, like a witch. She terrified the other girls. He had enjoyed raping her in the prison, and unlike the other men who paid to use her, enjoyed looking at her horrific face as he fucked her.

She was bitter, resentful, and racist but still had a beautiful body. Using his contact with Ahmed, he had arranged for her to be extradited from Yemen to Azmaria on some trumped-up charge, and then to be collected by Jamal and taken straight to his complex in southern Turkey.

She was trussed up like a turkey, and froze with hatred when she saw Pembroke again. Pembroke smiled and spoke in Arabic to both of them.

“We meet again, my friends. This time we will have a very interesting project.”

Jamal was entrusted with security and could come and go. For now, his only prisoner was Layla, who at thirty-five still had her excellent figure. They made a terrifying-looking couple, Jamal the burly giant with his lower jaw and eye blown off, and Leyla with the side of her head covered in red scales but with both eyes shining out with malevolence, her black hair only growing on one side of her head.

While Layla was held in one small cell, Jamal began building up the security needed to hold seven high-value prisoners. Layla cursed them both as she was raped repeatedly within hours of her new incarceration. Pembroke smiled as he thought of how she would soon be able to direct her bile and aggression on some innocent and haughty young ladies for his benefit.

Chapter Text

As Camille Leclerc gracefully glided down the bustling streets of Marseille on her rollerblades, she effortlessly drew admiring glances from passers by. Her fiery red hair caught the sunlight, casting a radiant glow around her, while her striking green eyes sparkled with vitality and curiosity. At just nineteen years old, she possessed a rare combination of youthful exuberance and timeless elegance that captivated all who beheld her.

Born into a family rooted in the pursuit of social justice, Camille’s upbringing was shaped by her father, a distinguished human rights lawyer practicing at the UN criminal court in Paris. From an early age, she was inspired by his unwavering commitment to defending the vulnerable and marginalized, a passion that would later influence her own aspirations.

Camille’s journey into the world of rhythmic gymnastics began at a tender age, driven by a natural inclination towards grace and movement. With dedicated training and unwavering determination, she made the French Olympic team. Standing at five feet five, she possessed a lithe yet powerful physique, perfectly suited to the demands of her sport.

But Camille’s interests extended far beyond the confines of the gymnastics arena. A true Renaissance spirit, she had already become a talented filmmaker, benefiting from her adoring father’s funds. she was passionate about filmmaking. Drawn to the power of storytelling, she envisioned a future where she could use her creative talents to shed light on pressing social issues and advocate for positive change.

Her smooth white legs effortlessly swayed through the streets of Marseille, meeting in a small tight pair of denim shorts offset by a loose top exposing her bra top underneath. She sucked on a lollipop as she moved as if to taunt the male onlookers leering at her.

Camille enjoyed the attention, but really her mind was buzzing with ideas for her next short movie. With each graceful turn and twist, she imagined the scenes unfolding before her, weaving together narratives of hope, resilience, and the enduring human spirit.

Edward Pembroke marveled as this teenage vision approached him, moving at high speed and then effortlessly stopping at the restaurant table by the seafront. Nonchalantly, she glided to his table, a smile gracing her lips.

“Karim Al-Faraj, I presume?” she asked in French.

“Ah, Camille,” grinned Edward Pembroke. “You recognized me!”

“Well, Karim, can I call you that? No offense, but you do look like a man who is interested in making a movie about gay Algerian ballet dancers!” Camille smiled, her dimples breaking out, her pearly white teeth gleaming against her pale skin, her green eyes shining, and her red hair adding a fiery contrast.

“Haha, guilty as charged,” Pembroke, or Karim, replied, his outfit as vibrant as his personality, with a flamboyant scarf and a bright pink shirt, exuding a distinctly theatrical and stylish flair.

The two happily made small talk, as Karim complimented her outfit and moves. His obvious homosexuality made Camille feel at ease, this man was no sexual threat to her!

Camille confidently took the next step, to talk business. She had been thrilled to hear he was eager to fund and work with her on a short movie having been impressed by her work. “Karim, your idea for a short movie about gay Algerian ballet dancers is brilliant. I’m really passionate about using film to address social issues. I want to help any way I can.”

Originally,” Karim began, his voice taking on a serious tone, “I had a very specific vision for the film. But your work on deconstructing French colonialism in modern Algerian cinema ... well, it blew me away. That’s when I knew I wanted you to work on this with me.”

Camille’s heart warmed. “Karim, I deeply respect your heritage. I’m truly sorry for the way France has treated Algeria in the past. It’s a disgrace the way Algerians are treated here in France. It’s horrible how people think all Arabs are sexist towards white women when every Arab I have met has been a gentleman. White people really need to atone for...”

Karim chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. “Camille, the past is the past. We’re focused on the future, on telling a story that resonates with today’s Algeria.”

“Well...” said Camille “I defer to you. I would just be the director. Do you have an idea for the actors? I know several dancers, and they are all gay!”

“Yes, I know a few...” smiled Karim. He also smiled inwardly at the realization that beneath her confident tone, Camille was a fool. She had fallen for his ‘script’ that he had lifted from an Algerian drama group online, eager to tick all the boxes of anti-racism and anti-homophobia to advance her movie-making career. A career which, he suspected, depended not on her lackluster skills and uninspired films, but rather on her daddy’s money.

“Camille, your enthusiasm is truly infectious,” Karim said, his smile never wavering. “I cannot wait to get started!”

One thing which Pembroke could not disagree with was that Camille was an excellent acrobat. It was a skill he would have to develop further in training, for the benefit of the Crown Prince. This silly airheaded girl should learn that her body was all that matters and not her stupid notions of art and culture.

Camille rolled away on her blades soon afterwards, giving Karim a cheeky farewell wink as he was able to admire her perfect body gliding away. Pembroke wondered what work her human rights lawyer of a father had done which had annoyed the Crown Prince so much. He could not wait to see her again.

Pembroke had been enjoying the French Riviera for the last few days, like so much of his sojourn around Europe since accepting Ahmed’s deal. He soon lost the gay persona of Karim and was Edward Pembroke, in a a casino in downtown Marseille, gambling at blackjack, drinking and leering at waitresses.

“Monsiour Pembroke? Or should I say, Monsieur Eduard Benaïssad?”

Pembroke suddenly sobered up and whipped around. It was Ahmed Al-Masri, his boss.

“Ahmed! I did not expect you here, I suppose this is not a coincidence.” Pembroke tried to appear professional but knew it must look like he was fooling around with the Azmarian Royal Family’s money.

“As a matter of fact, I am here on business. There are some troublesome dissidents who are based in France. One of them fell out of a window yesterday, and tomorrow one is going to drown in the sea.”

“Well, you will be pleased to know, that I am on track” smiled Pembroke.

“Really? It seems to me all you’ve done is fuck around Europe on our money. You’ve met most of these girls, and for what?” Ahmed was getting annoyed. “His Excellency is getting impatient. Another girl died recently. It was, I was assured, a tragic accident during a sex game gone wrong. Well, it’s a shame, a waste of a beautiful young Eritrean girl who is now shark food in the Red Sea. Foreign governments are starting to get more concerned about their young pretty citizens disappearing while working in our state, so it’s getting harder to get replacements fast enough.”

“You’d think he would just hand them down, like second-hand clothes. Very selfish of him” replied Pembroke nonchalantly.

“No. Once these girls enter the harem, the only way out is as a corpse soon to be disposed of. And it’s the same with these girls, including that Camille LeClerc.” Ahmed continued, grimly. “I hope for their sake they impress him or they will not last long. And for our sake, a happy Crown Prince means better political prospects for me!” Ahmed seemed lost in his own dreams.

“But” he interrupted his own reverie “the old man is getting impatient, he doesn’t understand the ... intricacies of taking these high-value females. He seems to think we can just snatch the girls at gunpoint and bring them to him!”

“Well, if that were the case, every man would have his own female slave “ laughed Pembroke.

“But he has a point. When can we expect results? Have you made any procurements yet?”

“No, I am very close though. Collections will start soon, and training can soon commence. I can guarantee these girls are going to make the Crown Prince very happy in his old age.”

“I hope so, for your sake, Eddie.”

Pembroke wondered how he could impress Ahmed he was making progress. “Look, Ahmed, I can show you something, tomorrow morning. Why don’t you join me tonight for some debauchery?”

Ahmed smiled tightly. “Tomorrow morning? OK, I can wait till then. And I suppose we can have some fun tonight. Remember I am on business so it should be above board, let’s go to a strip club then get some hookers.”

“That’s the spirit” smiled Pembroke.

The following morning, Pembroke and Ahmed were walking along the sea harbour of Marseille. They reached a yacht, only just pulled in, the ‘Zephyr’. Ahmed recognised it, it had been known under a different name a few weeks ago when it had been loaned out to Pembroke for his scheme.

“I would like you to meet a great sailor. Kwame Okor, from the streets of Lagos. He came to Europe years ago, worked on the tourist boats, then the yachts, and then on the boats smuggling cocaine from Nigeria to Spain. Very talented sailor.”

“How did you hear of him?” Ahmed was suspicious, he did not like more new characters.

“Well, in my old line of work, I knew quite a few guys who went into drug running. They all had good words to say about Kwame’s sailing ability. But my old mates, well, they do have some qualms, and it seems old Kwame has a thing about young girls, very young girls, and he spent a few years inside in Italy for something very unpleasant.”

Ahmed sighed. He did get a thrill from the underworld dealings his job required, but he was a little exasperated at how Eddie seemed to seamlessly attract and swim in a sea of degeneracy.

“Anyway, when I found out he owed a drug debt to a Nigerian cartel in Lagos, that they were threatening his wife and family back there, and that his shipmates were going to throw him overboard after his next drug smuggling trip, I asked to take him on. Told them it’s a shame to waste a good sailor.”

“I hope you haven’t been telling more people about this, Eddie.”

“Don’t worry, Ahmed, they just think I’m smuggling girls or drugs from North Africa. Kwame doesn’t know how close he was to being shark food but he does know only I can pay off his debt and his family is still under threat. And he seems to be a completely immoral pervert, so I think he can do a job here.”

Pembroke paused and conspiratorally whispered. “And don’t worry, he will end up at the bottom of the sea once I’ve finished with his services. He is, after all, a nasty pervert haha!” Pembroke giggled at the irony while Ahmed grimaced.

Kwame greeted them at the yacht, smiling at his new boss, Edward Pembroke, who he had last seen ten days ago in Glasgow as he had set sail. “Permission to come aboard” laughed Pembroke as Kwame waved them both aboard.

Ahmed inspected the yacht, wincing at the state of it. Kwame was short but squat, about fifty but looking very fit and wiry.

Kwame grinned as he regaled them about his days at sea. “I had a fun time, sir, haha!”

Pembroke grinned and motioned Ahmed to come down below deck. Under a hidden compartment, Pembroke opened a horizontal door, and in the darkness underneath, a thing stirred under the Mediterranean sun.

Ahmed was struck by the smell. He coughed and nearly threw up. In the tiny compartment, was a naked woman, tied up and gagged.

“I hope you have enjoyed her, Kwame!” Pembroke was pleased to see that Rebecca Parker looked like she had barely been allowed out on deck at all. Kwame seemed sensible and able to handle women in captivity.

“Yes sir” Kwame grinned, his huge mouth showing his pearly teeth. “I fucked her hard. The only food she has eaten are some apples and my cum!”

Pembroke gazed down at the face of Rebecca Parker. She was sweating, dirty, and shaking. She was squinting, having barely seen the sun for the whole voyage. She had been kept in her own filth, and Kwame had not seemed to mind, as he had plainly only briefly taken her out to stick his cock into.

She had lost a little weight, which was good. Her face showed pure terror, her gagged mouth hiding that she desperately wanted to say something, but Pembroke failed to see why he should listen to it.

“I hope this is not one of the Prince’s slaves” Ahmed scorned, looking down at the frightened blonde woman.

“Oh, goodness no! I would never dream of presenting this old bitch to such a respected figure! No, she will be there to guide the young ladies from their previously gilded, free life, to that of a humble sex slave. It won’t be as fun as it sounds!” Pembroke laughed as he saw that Rebecca had a new black eye, and a slight bump on her nose.

“Kwame, have you been given cause to discipline Mrs Parker?” he asked the Nigerian, working at the controls to test all was well.

“Oh yes, Sir, she struggled with my cock in her mouth, it’s quite big, I felt teeth a bit too much for my liking so I had to slap her around a bit. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Oh no, on the contrary, my dear fellow” Pembroke chimed back “It’s good to see men taking control. The young ladies must know that men have to be obeyed at all times, and their supervisor is still just a woman to be smacked about if any man so wants. However, Kwame, I do ask that you be a little more delicate with the young ladies, they are precious, like china, and we do not want to be handing over broken goods to the end user.”

“Yeah I got you!” smiled Kwame. “Keeping the virgins, that’s OK, but I know plenty of ways to scare a girl without touching her!”

“That’s the spirit” cheered Pembroke. “Any time your cock needs an outlet, there will be Mrs Parker, and another Arab lady at our final destination.”

Ahmed was intrigued. “How will this woman train them?”

“She herself is a bit of a dirty slut, and she worked as a teacher, so she should have some experience. It’s always good to have a matronly figure. But Mrs Parker had better remember...” Pembroke crouched down to get close to the figure still lying below them “her job is to make sure these young ladies are utterly depraved and broken. There are ways in which Mrs Parker had her two young children could be hurt if she does not live up to her duties!

Rebecca sighed in agony. She did not know where she was, all she knew was that she had been tortured and raped over the last ten days, seasick, and kept in this compartment in the dark and had to lie in her own shit, piss, and vomit. It had not discouraged the odious man, Kwame, from raping her every now and then. His cock had been huge, nine inches and thick. She was still dreading reaching her final destination, whatever kind of hell that would be.

As Ahmed and Pembroke strolled away, Pembroke reassured him. “Don’t worry, we can rely on the woman and on Kwame, for now. And soon the collections will commence!

Chapter Text

Sailing off on the ‘Zephyr’ made Edward Pembroke feel like a true man of the sea. He let Kwame handle the sailing and spent his days admiring the stunning Mediterranean vistas. With the wind in his hair, the sun on his back, and the saltwater in his nostrils, he relished the freedom and adventure. Although he had enjoyed the playboy lifestyle, he was acutely aware that he was living on borrowed money and borrowed time.

As he spent his time formulating his nefarious plans, Pembroke couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He hoped that this venture, if successful, would secure him a permanent position as a procurer for the Crown Prince. The prospect of such a life—filled with travel, wealth, and beautiful girls-thrilled him. The knowledge that it would be made on the lives and heartbreak of countless innocent people did not even register with him.

The night, it became cold and stormy. He retreated into the cabin. Kwame was not put off by the weather, and had hauled Rebecca out of her compartment, and was fucking her over the side of the yacht railings. Rebecca was terrified, staring down at the dark stormy waters, she thought she might fall in, while the Nigerian’s massive cock pumped inside her. He grabbed roughly at her breasts, and bit into her upper back, lustily rewarding himself for a hard few hours navigating in the darkness.

“Please, please, I cannot ... please just let me be...” screamed Rebecca, she was sore and tired, hungry and cold and her insides were not getting any chance to repair themselves from his constant fucking of her.

Kwame ignored her pleas but suddenly heard something else. It was shouts and screams, but from another boat, out in the darkness.

Kwame quickly pulled out of Rebecca, and pulled back her hair, and threw her onto the deckfloor. Putting his huge dick away, he cuffed and gagged the blonde woman, dragged her back to the little compartment, and threw her inside unceremoniously. She banged her head and was almost upside down, but Kwame did not care, he was terrified this might be the coastguard.

“Sir!” Kwame shouted. “There is a boat approaching!”

Pembroke and Kwame rushed out to see what was happening. They peered through the darkness with binoculars. It wasn’t a boat but a large, flimsy dinghy, and it was sinking, clearly in trouble.

The dinghy was overcrowded with refugees, growing panicky as the weather worsened. They had sent a distress call to a charity rescue boat, which had messaged back saying they would arrive in two hours. When they saw the ‘Zephyr,’ they were delighted and assumed it was the rescue boat arriving early.

Abdul Majid, the de facto captain of the flimsy vessel, was growing scared but did not want to worry the dozen or so passengers. He was relieved to see the boat and messaged the rescue boat he had been in contact with earlier, but got no response. He assumed the arriving boat was the rescue vessel and that they must be out on deck, ignoring their radio.

Abdul might have wanted to verify that this was the rescue boat they had messaged earlier, but right now, he did not care. He had to get his passengers out of the sinking dinghy and to safety! All the passengers were waving and shouting, desperate for help in the darkness.

“Ah, it’s just some refugees, let’s ignore them” Kwame was relieved. His libido returned and he suddenly wanted to pass this vessel so he could get Rebecca back on deck to finish off inside her.

“Not so fast, Kwame.” Pembroke was looking carefully through his binoculars at the passengers. “One should always be compassionate and look out for one’s fellow man. Perhaps we should take a closer look.”

Fatima El-Tayeb was terrified and freezing. She had made the rash decision to leave Libya 48 hours ago in the vessel with her husband, Farouk, and her 18-month-old baby. Libya offered nothing for them, and they had long dreamt of making a new life in Europe. She was only twenty years old, beautiful but modest. In the stormy weather, she could not hide her face or her figure under her life belt, as she and her fellow passengers were soaked from the spray of the sea and the waves. She screamed along with the others in utter terror, feeling scared for her infant daughter whom she clasped to her bosom. It was cold, and the water felt like a knife just touching her. She did not want to know what it would be like to be in the water, but the vessel seemed to be sinking lower and lower, and there had been no sign of this rescue boat.

Her cousin, Zara, was beside her. Just eighteen, and as beautiful as Fatima, she held on to her cousin, utterly petrified.

Like the others, they screamed for help from the boat passing nearby. It seemed like an oasis of comfort in this harsh, unforgiving sea. They could see two figures on deck. “Please help us, for God’s sake!” they screamed. Fatima’s husband was almost crying with relief. “We are saved!”

“Are there any boats in the vicinity, can you check?” asked Pembroke. “No, sir, not anywhere close by.”

“And how long before we reach Karataş?”

“Should be by tomorrow night, sir.”

Pembroke took another look at the frightened but beautiful face of the young girl holding the baby. The baby seemed at first an inconvenience but to a man like Pembroke, any problem could be turned to a solution. The girl next to her had no children and looked just as stunning.

Pembroke asked Kwame a few other questions. Kwame smiled and nodded. “Trust me, sir, I can show you what I can do!”

“Let’s have a little fun shall we” smiled Pembroke with an evil flint.

He took out the loudspeaker and called out to the vessel. “We can take you aboard, and take you to Cyprus. But you must swim over to our boat, and climb up the ladder. If you stay on the boat, we cannot accept you, and your asylum claim cannot be processed!”

The passengers were perplexed but the captain, Abdul, understood. Under the rules of the sea, if they willingly got on the rescue ship from a safe vessel, they might be refused entry to Cyprus and never allowed back to Europe. They had to go through the charade of ‘abandoning ship’ to assist their asylum claims.

The dinghy vessel pulled up alongside the Zephyr. Abdul tried to contact the rescue ship again and took a photo of the Zephry for future checking, but could get no signal in this weather in such a deserted place.

Kwame swiftly threw a rope around a loop on the dinghy, preparing it to be towed.

“I don’t understand, why do we have to swim to the boat!” Fatima was furious. Even with life jackets, neither she nor the passengers could swim.

“Don’t worry, the life jackets will keep you afloat. It’s just a matter of being in the water for no more than three minutes. That’s all it will take for us to get up that ladder!” replied her husband.

The clean Zephyr looked so inviting to the desperate passengers.

“Women and children first!” shouted Pembroke through the loudspeaker, eyeing the frightened young women among the group of men. They looked so vulnerable when they were frightened, he thought. It was the kind of vulnerability he relished the most.

A mini jacket was put on Fatima’s daughter, and her husband kissed them both. All passengers then all got into the water together and swam the few meters towards the yacht and the slim ladder leading up to the deck.

Zara was first, and Pembroke watched with pleasure as she climbed up the ladder, her soaking wet clothes clinging to her figure.

“You are safe now, my lady” Pembroke spoke in Arabic, and Kwame gave Zara a blanket and directed her towards a small bench on the other side of the yacht.

Farouk watched, still freezing in the water, as his wife Fatima ventured up the ladder, holding their daughter.

“There, there, we have you now!” Pembroke spoke to her in Arabic, smiling. The young woman was shivering and soaking, crying with relief now that she and her child were safe.

Farouk shouted up. “I will come now.”

Pembroke had to act quickly. As Farouk was close to the top of the yacht about to hop onto the deck, he smiled with happiness, seeing his young wife safe and sound with his daughter on a small bench. He was freezing, but now they were safe! He turned and looked at their savior, the face of Edward Pembroke. Pembroke smiled at him and offered a hand.

“Thank you, Sir! You saved us!” Farouk held his hand up to take Pembroke’s, but Pembroke’s face suddenly fell away, replaced by the open sky. With horror, Farouk realized the ladder had come away from the side of the yacht.

“What?” shouted Farouk in confusion, and suddenly he fell back into the cold water.

The others in the water panicked. The ladder had broken, and there was no other way to get up! Abdul’s teeth were chattering. He trusted the ship’s crew to be able to get them a rope or something.

But instead, the engine started on the boat. With horror, Abdul and the others watched as it motored away. Farouk and others swam desperately to the side, banging on the side, but there was no way to climb up.

Realizing what was happening, Abdul swam desperately back to the dinghy but was horrified to see that the rope attaching the “rescue boat” to the dinghy was now towing it away with it!

Fatima and Zara did not understand what was happening. The black man had disappeared to pilot the boat, and the man who had been their rescuer now approached them, amidst the background noise of the engine and screams and shouts from the sea. He produced a gun.

Abdul, Farouk and the others in the water waved and screamed, not understanding what had happened. The boat and the dinghy vessel were soon out of sight and the engine noise dissipated among the howls and waves of the sea. The men called to each other, afloat in their life jackets, and desperately tried to come up with a solution.

But there was none. Their phones were all soaked or gone. They could only try and stay alive and afloat and hope that another boat might see them. But the water was very, very cold, and the cries of the men gradually grew quiet. Finally, Abdul called out and realized he was alone. He was still afloat, but the cold of the Mediterranean soon claimed him.

The dinghy vessel was abandoned a few miles away by the Zephyr. Pembroke calculated that the men would not last long in the water. They would be floating corpses by daybreak, if not sunk. It would be just another tragic loss of life among desperate refugees fleeing for a new life. No one would realize that there had been three survivors.

Pembroke smiled behind dark glasses at the two terrified and devastated young women, who had witnessed their menfolk being abandoned to a horrifying death and were now bound, gagged, and naked, entirely at the mercy of these two sick monsters. Fatima only prayed that they would have some mercy on her infant daughter, lying in a makeshift cot in the pilot cabin.

As the two Swedish sisters, Ingrid and Freja Johansen, engaged in online conversation with Edward Pembroke, they couldn’t help but giggle at the adorable scene unfolding. Edward, with his hippy appearance and passionate activism, sat with his infant daughter, Heather, on his lap. Heather, a bundle of energy and curiosity, awkwardly played and crawled around him, occasionally reaching up to grab onto his T-shirt or tug at his floppy black hair.

The sight of Edward interacting with the toddler, balancing his role as a dedicated activist with that of a loving father, melted the hearts of Ingrid and Freja. They exchanged smiles as they watched Heather’s playful antics, charmed by the genuine affection and warmth in Edward’s interactions with his daughter.

“I think it’s great that you can care for your daughter, your wife is so lucky!” Ingrid, the seventeen-year-old eldest sister, expressed, her admiration evident in her words. As a proud proponent of women’s rights, she found Edward Pembroke’s support of his wife’s full-time career as a doctor incredibly inspiring. His dedication to both his family and his activism resonated deeply with Ingrid and Freja.

Edward Pembroke’s social media account, previously owned by a disillusioned hippy, portrayed him as an idealist with connections to all major left-wing organizations.

Idealism resonated deeply with Ingrid and Freja, igniting a fervent desire to enact positive change in the world and earn the admiration of their parents, Ronald and Maria Johansen—renowned left-wing activists and environmental scientists. The Johansen family had faced significant challenges in their activist pursuits, including financial struggles and backlash from an Azmarian oil company after exposing their illegal labour practices and environmental degradation.

Ronald and Maria wanted to shield their children from the hardships they themselves had endured. They encouraged their daughters to fight for change from within and, as such, sent them both to the best schools while teaching them the value of kindness and compassion.

Edward Pembroke chuckled as cuddled Heather while trying to discuss the forthcoming protests against the military naval parades off the coast of Sweden in the next few weeks. He was looking forward to being there, but he was disappointed that Ingrid and Freja’s parents would not be.

“You really should get your parents’ permission, girls. I’m not sure this is that safe. I mean, I will be going, but the police might be heavy-handed, and it’s risky to take the boat out there.”

“Oh, we will be fine. We don’t want to involve our parents; they are so frightened for us!” Ingrid replied.

“Haha, you remind me of me at your age! I hope Heather grows up to have your spirit!”

Ingrid and Freja enjoyed a few more moments watching the doting father interact with his gurgling, smiling infant daughter before they logged off. Freja, fifteen years old, felt more determined than ever.

“I know Mum and Dad won’t let us, but I know they’d be proud! We have to do this!” she declared passionately.

Ingrid smiled at her sister. “Oh Freja, I guess I will have to come to look after you then!”

The two girls giggled and excitedly chattered about the upcoming protest. They were passionate about the cause, believing the ugliness of the NATO war machine should not be tolerated in their hometown. They were thrilled to join an online group planning to disrupt the naval parade.

Edward Pembroke turned off his laptop, and his playful expression vanished. Suddenly, ‘Heather’ or rather Ayesha, was not so fun anymore. He got up and swept back his hair, took off his fake glasses, and swept Ayesha up in his arms. The small room had been made up to look like an average spare bedroom of a busy activist needing to look after his daughter and get in touch with his online acolytes. It was very different from the rest of the complex Edward Pembroke was currently in.

He carried Aisha in his arms, the young toddler oblivious to the very odd surroundings, clinging to Pembroke like he was her real daddy. Pembroke was thinking of the two blonde Swedish teenage sisters, their long lithe bodies, and how he wanted them here, soon.

The child smiled again as Pembroke entered into a further hall and a large spacious gym room. She had recognized her mother, although she was looking ... a little different.

Fatima and Zara Al Al-Tayeb were naked. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and their ankles were cuffed and connected with elasticated cord which restricted their movement and prevented them from kicking or raising their feet. They were each gagged with large ball gags which stretched their mouths obscenely.

As they stood, Pembroke noted with pleasure the subtle distinctions between the cousins. Both were about five feet five, Fatima had a voluptuous figure with generous curves in all the right places. Her breasts were full and round, with nipples that hardened at the slightest touch. Her hips swayed with discomfort drawing attention to her softly rounded stomach and toned thighs.

Zara, on the other hand, had a leaner physique. Her breasts were smaller but perky, accentuated by dark nipples that stood out against her pale skin. The contrast between her smooth stomach and muscular legs was striking, making it clear the eighteen-year-old enjoyed regular exercise.

Both girls were in tears, Fatima in particular was sobbing, watching Pembroke hold her daughter.

Behind them, stood Rebecca Parker and Layla Al-Haraz. Rebecca was clad in a black PVC mini dress, low cut displaying her buxom tits with black pump high heels. She wore stockings held up by suspenders and Pembroke was eager to know what she was wearing underneath. She had ruby red lipstick and black mascara to complete the slutty look, her blonde hair and blue eyes a contrast to the dark Al-Tayeb girls and her companion beside her.

Layla was, to say the least, a striking figure. Half of her face was marred by a landscape of scar tissue and burnt skin. The scars were jagged and deep, giving her a fierce, almost robotic appearance, particularly around her left eye, which was completely encircled by the damaged tissue.

The right side of Layla’s face retained its natural beauty and her light chocolate Yemeni complexion.

Her black hair cascaded down the beautiful side of her face, while on the other, there was just the reddened tissue where the hair should be. Her lips were maroon, and in contrast to Rebecca, her sparkling black eyes and wicked grin showed she was enjoying this. She had long given up on any hope of an ordinary life, and this brutal prison was a step up from prison in Yemen.

Layla was wearing a pair of black PVC hotpants and a black PVC bra top with black boots on high heels. She was slim and petite, but her angry spirit raised her above her five feet three figure and Pembroke was in no doubt who would be the overseer of Rebecca and, by extension, the other girls.

Layla was looking at the naked girls from behind, admiring their form, their cute firm buttocks, wobbling slightly with their sobs. Through their bound arms, Layala noted with satisfaction the thin red lines caused by her cane. She had taken on her role as overseer with gusto and had beaten both girls when they had refused to lick her own pussy.

Rebecca had cried when she witnessed Layla beating the crying girls, flinching from their being forced to perform unwillingly on the snarling little Yemeni woman. Rebecca felt even worse when she realised that she would soon be forcing these girls to perform on her and that she would have to hit them as well.

Zara and Fatima had just had the worst week in the world, and there was no indication things were going to get better.

They had been handcuffed by Kwame and Pembroke on the boat, while little Ayesha was kept in the cabin they were forced into the compartment with a terrified, hungry, dirty, naked gagged, and bound blonde woman. The three were forced to cramp beside each other, for nearly 2 days before they arrived at their destination, Karataş.

All three females had been tightly bound and gagged and packed into a large holdall. Kwame and Pembroke wheeled it off onto the quay where no customs official bothered to check. Jamal was waiting with a lorry.

Pembroke later dealt with the immigration after the officials bothered to turn up, and he, Kwame and Jamal enjoyed an hour-long truck journey with the three females whimpering in pain inside the holdall in the back.

They had arrived at the dusty compound, past barbed wire fences, into some large hangars inside which were further container buildings, some of which looked like they may have been meat abattoirs.

Pembroke had felt nervous about having only Jamal and Kwame as any kind of external security detail here. He only hoped the compound looked so worthless to outsiders that no one would bother robbing it, and it did have tight security. If they got in past the perimeter, it would just look like half-used storage space, with relatively worthless cases of printing paper and used batteries being the only thing of value to steal.

The pretty Libyan cousins had not yet been fully raped, but had been molested by the men and Layla. Both had been forced to suck the cocks of Kwame and Jamal. Zara had been a virgin and Fatima had only seen her husband naked, and this had been a traumatic turn of events for them.

Using a laser, the girls had been denuded of all body hair. Pembroke’s rule was that all his females, including Rebecca and Layla, would undergo this.

Pembroke surveyed the scene with pride. Just a few weeks ago, this complex had been deserted. The two Arab girls were living in Tripoli with their families. Rebecca in northern England and Layla in a Yemeni prison. Now all four were in front of him, his prisoners.

Fatima’s eyes remained fixed on the child in Pembroke’s arms, Ayesha. She thought of her husband, and the poor passengers, drowning or freezing to death in the sea. Zara thought of her family, she had known friends and an uncle on the boat, all dead now. She wondered if their fate was any better, the perverted men and women, even the terrified English woman with whom they could barely talk, and the remote prison lacking any natural sunlight, had been hell for the last few days. The little Yemeni woman had leered at them like an unleashed tiger, hitting them, mauling them, and forcing them to do the most disgusting things, that had made her throw up just remembering them. Neither of the girls could imagine that things would get any better.

Little Ayesha gurgled “mama” and reached a little hand out to her naked bound mother. “Please! Have some humanity!” pleaded Fatima.

“SILENCE” it was Leyla, who commanded her. She and Rebecca had been told in no uncertain terms that the girls would have to behave, and if they did not, it would be seen as a reason to punish their overseers. Leyla did not mind, she loved finally having some control over another human being, in this case, the two pretty Libyans, the kind who turned men’s heads. She had been robbed of her own beauty, put down and mocked, and was now finally to express the jealousy and anger bubbling up inside.

“Thank you Mrs AL-Haraz!” Pembroke gave a pointed look to Rebecca, as if to remind her that she too should be reprimanding the girls. Rebecca had been reminded of this constantly, and although she had not understood what Fatima had said (though could easily imagine the kind of plea the girls might be making) she knew the command “Samat” - silence, whenever the girls spoke out of turn.

“Now ladies. I see you have been beaten well, I can only imagine that you have not been very compliant during training, which is to be expected. This is a steep learning curve!

“Now, I have been busy since bringing you here, and I know the emotional turmoil of being kidnapped and seeing your family members drown will probably have affected your minds. You females are not the most logical gender at the best of times!” Pembroke smiled, as he evilly stroked Ayesha’s nose, knowing how heart-wrenching it must be for Fatima to watch.

“But now I think it is time to give you a full introduction. As you know, I am Edward Pembroke, procurer of beautiful female flesh for the wealthy and well-connected. And you two are my first items for sale. You should consider yourself honoured! From a boat of desperate people, I saw your potential, and thought to myself, some rich man will want to fuck that, so here you are!”

Pembroke giggled at the absurdity of it all but checked himself. He had an air of his own importance now. “You see, we live in a world where a few have everything they always wanted. But they can’t fuck anyone they want. Of course, if you are a billionaire you will never be short of beautiful women throwing themselves at you, as well as prostitutes of varying legality. But the price the rich pay is that world is very, how shall we say, “rules based.” Hundreds of years ago, Genghis Khan could rape any woman he wanted. Now, the billionaire cannot lift up his secretary’s skirt without getting arrested!”

Pembroke seemed personally affronted by this. He and his two male accomplices had faced the force of the law in forcing themselves on females.

“What all these rich men want, is not yachts or mansions, or even beautiful wives or prostitutes. They want to own someone. What greater power is there, than to own a human being, a slave, to end their life when you want, to use them for anything, as an object. That is a dream.”

Pembroke looked at the two girls, shaking and frightened.

“You will be my pieces of flesh and I will get a good price for you. You will be trained to do anything that a wealthy man will want. It won’t be serving plates, fixing appliances, flying private jets or looking after his children. It will be sucking his cock, licking his feet, shaving his ass, being whipped and beaten just to relieve him from stress, and providing him with the kind of sexual ecstasy that money cannot buy from a free woman. Yes, you will be the first of my perfect female slaves.”

Pembroke surprised himself and reminded himself he must give this speech to every girl he kidnaps.

Mrs Al-Haraz smiled, she knew she was too ugly and scarred to be one of these slaves, but would enjoy molding them into one. She was starting to think she may finally have a purpose in life outside of rotting in prison or begging on the street. Rebecca understood no words but was alarmed at the growing whimpers of the girls.

“Now, part of my operation is procurement, that is taking girls. As you can see, that has been done. No one will find you, some bodies have been recovered from your wretched dinghy, but most are still missing, including yours. And that was with no planning, just pure opportunism” Pembroke grinned.

“The next part will be providing girls who do what they are told. Obedience. That will be beaten into you. I don’t care how long it takes. There are an infinite number of ways in which to torture someone, to make them do things they do not want to do. Are either of you lesbians?”

The girls just shook their heads, looking at the ground.

“Mrs Al-Haraz, did these ladies lick your pussy?”

“Yes Master” Mrs Leyla Al-Haraz proudly stood to attention. “I had to beat them both, but found threatening one of them was enough to make the other lick me, they are very good Master!”

“Thank you Mrs Al-Haraz!” Pembroke smiled then looked at Rebecca. “Mrs Parker, have these girls served you at all?”

“Oh ... sorry ... I was not getting the Arabic, what do you mean?”

Pembroke smiled tersely. “Have any of these bitches licked you out yet, have you kissed them or touched them up?”

“No ... no...”

“No what?” Pembroke quipped back.

“No Master.”

“And why not? They are young, they are beautiful. They must get used to sex, a lot of it. They will be forced to have sex with each other, with other women, men. You are not here to watch or to clean. Mrs Al-Haraz here got them to perform for her, I expect you to do the same.”

“But, Master, if they don’t...”

“Then you beat them!” Pembroke was getting annoyed. “Look to Mrs Al-Haraz as your exemplar. Now, It is unfortunate that I have to reprimand you in front of the slave girls, or should I say, the products. You are in charge of them. That means you force them. You are bisexual are you not?”

“Yes ... yes Master”

“Then force these beautiful girls to have sex with you. Hell, eat them out yourself. I don’t want to have to order you, otherwise, what is the point in me keeping you around? You are not useful as a product, you are here to train young ladies in the acts of debauchery.”

“Yes, Master, sorry Master.”

“Now, Mrs Parker, I am rooting for you. Not least because you were my first transport and I have sailed you hundreds of miles to get you here. You are quite beautiful. But if you don’t measure up, well, we have a bone saw, and a furnace to dispose of you.”

“Sorry, sorry Master I will improve!” Rebecca, or Mrs Parker, was shaking with fear now. She was not aggressive, she did not want to hurt these girls or force them to have lesbian sex with her, but her life was on the line.

“Now, I am going to explain in Arabic to these girls the same thing. My ethos will be obedience, enforced with direct punishment including severe pain. However, I will also be using your family against you. You have two children, parents, who you still love, despite your problems back home. I do not want to have to do it, because for one thing, I resent having to go back to your little shit hole of a town when I have so many other things to do, but in order to keep up discipline, not just for you but for the other girls, I will take action against your family, before I dispose of you. I am sorry, but you will need to die knowing that your family has been harmed, and more importantly, the other girls will know it too. It is for the good of the whole enterprise. So, please, step up and do your part!”

Mrs Parker’s blood ran cold as she heard the threats to her family again. Her only option was to be a cruel pervert to these poor girls. Unlike Mrs Al-Haraz, she could not embrace this, she would just have to force herself, making every day a living hell. She wondered if she killed herself accidentally somehow, it might give her a way out and let her family live. Tears ran down her face at the sheer awfulness of her situation.

Pembroke switched to Arabic and turned to the two girls. “Right, so you two are going to be trained to be good little sex slaves. Imagine every depravity you can, that is what you will be forced to carry out. Imagine something you pray you will not have to do, ‘anything, oh but not that’ ha! well, you will be doing it. So far, it has been easy compared to how it will go. It is for your own good! Once you leave here, your new owner will be demanding.”

Pembroke turned to smile at little Ayesha again, who was totally oblivious to the horrific scene she was in with her mother just feet away.

“I will have my own seal of quality. My discipline will follow you for the rest of your life. You will be beaten and tortured, by me and by my owner, but you will still perform and if even pain fails, then I will put a lifetime guarantee on you, that if you ever bring shame on my establishment with my new owner, if you act up, refuse some sexual act, or even try to escape, then I will take action against your families!”

Fatima started to cry. “Please, Master, we will do what you want, just please do not...”

“SAMAT!” - Silence. Mrs Al-Haraz was quick to intervene.

“Thank you Mrs Al-Haraz, I think I may be asking you to discipline the girls further for their outbursts after this talk. You see, girls, I own you. And hopefully, soon someone else will own you, after paying me money. Your body and your soul. When you have some old man’s cock down your throat and you are trying to find the motivation to make him cum in you, for the 1000th time, I want you to think of your families.”

Zara and Fatima sobbed miserably.

“Of course” Pembroke grinned “I will not be asking you to do anything that you cannot do. Your tongues are perfectly capable of licking a man’s testicles. Your pussies can accommodate anything the size of a baby. There is no physical reason for you to disobey me. You just have to do as you are told, for the rest of your life. If you embrace it, then perhaps you may have a decent life. Any questions?”

“What about our families? What are you doing to them? How can I stop you?” Zara was pleading.

“Ah Zara, yes, well I know a little about your families. I must thank Jamal for that needlework under your toenails. I am sorry I was not around to witness it!”

Pembroke grinned as he looked at the slight bruising on Zara’s toenails, imperceptible to most, the only sign of the brutal torture Jamal had inflicted on her in order to get details of her family, where they lived in Tripoli and in Paris, and Pembroke was happy to see that there was a long happy extended family he could blackmail the girls with.

“For now, nothing. Well, obviously there was your uncle and Fatma’s husband, but they were just inconveniences. Just remember, I do like Paris, and will always be happy to have a reason for a work trip there!”

“What about ... Ayesha...” Fatima stuttered out the words.

“Pembroke had thought of keeping the infant in the compound but reasoned it would be a hassle. He had found a better solution.

“I have found a place for Ayesha, for now. I know a family, seven kids, in a tenement building in Gaziantep. Father is a builder. Poor, but a little money a month will persuade them to add an eight child. Little Ayesha will just be another poor bastard child adopted, don’t worry, for now, she will not be harmed.”

“Please, can you send her back to my family somehow...”

“Haha, Ayesha must have been some swimmer to be the sole survivor of a boat sinking in the middle of the sea! No, sorry, Fatima, everyone on that boat died, including you three. That is what the world thinks, let’s keep it that way. Ayesha will grow up a poor young girl close by but you will never see her again, nor will either of you see your families ever again. And if you behave yourselves, perhaps I will never meet them either!”

Pembroke chuckled at his evil threat. Fatima pondered her options.

“You can kill me, if you just give Ayesha to my family.”

“Fatima, darling, I can kill you any time I want. I want to train you and sell you for money. Incidentally, do you know how much money I think I can get for you?”

Fatima’s tears ran down her face, this monster was inhuman.

“An ordinary worker might pay 40 euro to fuck either of you, is you were just kept in a bedroom as a common whore. Perhaps your pimp could get 10 men a day to fuck you. That’s 400 euros a day, say 300 days a year. That’s 120,000.00 euros a year! For each of you. For a couple of years, minus expenses. So your street value is hundreds of thousands of euros. You cannot pay me that much, and even if you could, I cannot have my operation and identity blown apart, so here you will stay.”

Pembroke continued. “But I intend to make you more than street whores. You will be works of art, a wealthy man will have you as his secret, most prized possession, hidden away, his secret that he smiles about when he addresses captains of industry or politicians or employees. You are very rare, real female sex slaves, completely owned. So, please do not waste your breath in trying to bargain with me. Just remind yourself that the best thing you can do, is keep yourself from being punished and keep your families from harm, by obeying my instructions and everyone I tell you to obey, OK?”

The two girls were sobbing loudly now, their tears splashing off their perky breasts.

“Say goodbye to mummy, Ayesha!” Pembroke mocked Fatima, and made to leave.

“Oh, Mrs Parker, I think the girls need to be punished for their earlier outbursts. I think that in addition to spanking, you can force them to serve you!” He spoke in English, with glee, at the Englishwoman.

Mrs Parker shook herself at hearing the English amid the Arabic. “Yes ... yes Master...”

“I will be away but expect this to be done to my satisfaction. Remember where you do it, and when you do it, and tell me later when I see you next. I will be checking the video footage to make sure everything is done properly. Understand, Mrs Parker?”

Mrs Parker gulped. She knew she would have to force herself to dominate these poor girls, facing their own torture, and saying goodbye to Fatima’s daughter.

“NOOOOO ... AYESHA!!! NOOO!” Fatima made to run towards the departing Pembroke and the infant, but tripped up as the cord stopped her legs moving too far apart, and she fell on her face. Mrs Al-Haraz came up behind her, laughing, and grabbed her by the hair.

“Get back! Do not disrespect the Master, you bitch!” Mrs Al-Haraz snarled at the crying girl, hauling her back to stand beside her cousin.

Pembroke smiled in the satisfaction that Leyla Al-Haraz was doing her job without having to be ordered and his last look was not at the two ashen-faced girls but at Rebecca Parker, her face in shock and disarray. He gave her a look and a smile and she knew she would have to be like Mrs Al-Haraz or face the consequences.

Fatima watched the departing face of her daughter, helpless, and wondered if she would ever see her again.

Ayesha performed one final task for Pembroke before he carted her off to the poor builder’s family, whom he had gotten to know as the cousin of a corrupt local official.

Ayesha appeared in the background again in another video call with Camille LeClerc. Camille was charmed with the adorable infant playing with Pembroke, or Karim’s floppy hair. Camille suspected nothing untoward about this gay Algerian playing with his niece and looked forward to their movie collaboration.

Pembroke was thrilled with how his own project was going and was looking forward to Camille’s capture.

Chapter Text

On the streets of Paris, men and women alike stole glances at Charlotte Spencer, the blonde blue-eyed eighteen-year-old English rose. Fresh from winning the quarter final of a junior tennis tournament, she was brimming with confidence and excitement. Alone in Paris, she sought to savour every moment of her visit, hoping to experience the romance the City of Love promised. The bustling streets and charming cafes of Montparnasse near her hotel called to her, inviting her to explore their hidden gems.

She took as many selfies as she could, hoping she would be making her old school-friends jealous of her glamorous lifestyle. She bit her lip and smiled as she saw the likes her photos of the Eiffel Tower had got her. She laughed at how silly her mother had been to warn her about having an open profile! The poor woman had been worried sick about Charlotte’s solo trip

Charlotte did not have much experience with boys having gone to an all-girls school but had secretly hoped that her Paris trip might open up the possibility of romance. There was that Spanish tennis player, Fernando, her tinder match, Gustav, or Simon, the son of one of her father’s business associates. Her father had meant to accompany her but had been called away on business. She felt sorry her father worked so hard. That last court case against the Azmarian government had left him a nervous wreck, she wished he would slow down.

But it opened up so many possibilities for romance, it was almost a shame her tournament was going so well! Dressed in her sports skirt and jacket, she admired herself in a shop window, sure that she would meet a handsome young man to complete her Paris trip.

Clemence, the distinguished French lawyer in his late forties, recognized her as well. He paused and exclaimed, “Why, is it the young lady from the tennis in London? Valerie’s daughter? Ah, what an enchanting coincidence!”

Charlotte was thrilled at the serendipity and his elegant manner. “Yes! It’s Charlotte! Salut, Monsieur ... Carnot?”

“Ha, yes! What brings you to Paris, Charlotte? I am just on my way home.”

“Ah, you live here. It’s a beautiful area!” Charlotte swelled with pleasure as she soaked in the surroundings and smiled at the older man. “I am here for the junior tennis tournament. I just won the quarter-final!”

The older man admired the beautiful young rose and her sense of adventure and wonder at her new surroundings.

“Oh, congratulations! Are you here with your family or friends? My wife and I could invite you to our home for some French cooking!”

“Haha, oh thank you, Monsieur Carnot, but I am here by myself.”

“Ah, that is OK then. I understand. A young lady like you should have adventures here. I hope you enjoy yourself as well as the sport, haha.”

“Merci, Monsieur.” Charlotte smiled, understanding the man would probably not want to invite a single young girl to his home to meet his wife. She blushed at the thought that the glamorous Russian woman she had met at the lunch in London might be jealous of her.

“Oh, tell you what, Charlotte, I recall you mentioned an interest in law. Why don’t you come by my office sometime for lunch? You can see what an international firm looks like!”

Charlotte was thrilled. This was something she could show on Instagram, and it might help her. International Paris law firm? “Of course,” she blushed again.

“Please, take my card, and we can arrange something this week!” he smiled. “I must be off now; my wife has prepared some escargots du vin. She is expecting our first child!”

“Oh, congratulations!” beamed Charlotte. “I will get in touch!”

Charlotte walked away with a spring in her step. Truly, Paris was a city where anything could happen! She walked with a little more flair, drawing more admiring glances, talking up the steps to her hotel not minding that her underwear was clearly visible to the gawking Japanese businessmen below.

Plenty of vain gay men answered the advertisement for extras for a beach party movie in Marseille. Karim Al-Faraj had spent more time than he cared for responding to excited questions when all he was worried about was attracting a prospective director, Camille LeClerc, to a meeting.

Camille was thrilled and enjoyed chatting with the gay guys online. She was looking forward to partying with them after the shoot!

A few days later, Charlotte Spencer found herself walking along a less salubrious part of Paris. Despite her outward appearance, she was feeling slightly down; she had lost the semi-final of the tennis tournament. The disappointment weighed heavily on her, but Miguel, her handsome admirer who had made it through to the mens final, had invited her to dinner tonight. The thought of spending the evening with him thrilled her. Her black dress was for him, and she hoped it was not too revealing for her current appointment, at Clemence Carnot’s law firm “Duval et Fils.” She was looking forward to learning about the workings of an international law firm.

Clement had been very busy and the communication was sparing but she was excited and felt so smart and professional, imagining herself as the consummate young female lawyer in Paris. But the reality was very different. She was in a run-down neighbourhood and was getting a lot of lecherous stares.

The sign above the door said “Duval & Fils” but it was a small accounting company above a coffee shop, flanked by a mobile phone shop. It was nothing like the Duval & Fils from Clemence’s business card, the website, or Google.

Confused, she checked the address Clemence had sent her on WhatsApp, and it matched the location she was at. Just then, her phone rang. It was Clemence.

Charlotte, where are you?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Clemence, I am outside Duval & Fils, but I think I am at the wrong one! This one is in La Goutte d’Or,” Charlotte replied.

“Oh Charlotte! I am so sorry! I must have sent you the wrong address! I apologize ... you must come to the real Duval & Fils in central Paris! This is my fault, I am so sorry. I’ve had a difficult case today ... but wait, let me get you an Uber immediately. That area is not safe for a young lady like you ... just give me a minute...”

Charlotte was relieved and giggled to herself at the mix-up. She waited for the Uber, feeling a sense of adventure even in the mishap. She thought of her father and his absent-mindedness, recognising it in Carnot. A car came around the corner, its number plate matching Clemence’s message confirming the booking, and she waved.

The driver was a smiling black man, introducing himself as Kwame. Charlotte tried to adjust her dress, and crossed her legs, mindful of showing her knickers to the driver. She looked out the window at the working class streets relieved that she was being whisked to the real Duval & Fils. She thought of mentioning this to her mum in a message, but decided against it, she did not want to make her mother worry. She checked herself in the mirror, her flawless face and her blonde hair was still in perfect condition. She smiled as the central Paris skyline beckoned.

Charlotte felt a little put out that Clemence had chosen a cheaper Uber option, but agreed with a nod. Used to the best, she had high standards and hoped Clemence would make up for his mistake with a nice lunch and an impressive showing at his firm.

She was a little weary of her dress now and tried pulling it down. Her driver kept stealing glances, though she was a little flattered she was looking forward to mixing with more upper class people again.

The car slowed down, and a man approached and opened the door at a quiet side road. Charlotte noticed a suited man with grey hair, a hat and sunglasses get in. She gave him a quick discreet look and smile then turned back into her own world. As the taxi took off again, she went back to her phone. She was engrossed in her notifications and didn’t notice her fellow passenger pulling out a taser.

Suddenly, the man leaned closer, and before Charlotte could react, he pressed the taser against her side, delivering a sharp, electric shock. Pain surged through her body, and everything went dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.

All good, Mr. Pembroke?” Kwame asked his boss. Pembroke smiled and took off his glasses, revealing his true self under the wig. “Yes, Kwame. We have our first little fish. Keep driving, and I will have her tied up and hidden.”

Kwame laughed as he continued to drive through the quieter parts of Paris. Pembroke, now showing his true face, worked quickly and efficiently. He tied Charlotte’s wrists and ankles more securely and placed a cloth over her mouth to muffle any sounds.

The following morning, at a secluded beach, Camille LeClerc was goofing around with four gay guys. She was excited to be part of a project with these exuberant gay French Algerians. They were all waiting for Karim Al-Faraj.

Karim Al-Faraj arrived breathless, a sense of urgency in his movements. “Sorry I’m late! I had to make some last-minute arrangements,” he explained, catching his breath. He was exhausted having travelled all night, and his he had cuts on his hands from being scratched and bitten by a desperate English teenager.

“No worries, Karim! We were just having some fun,” Camille replied with a smile.

The two greeted each other and made some small talk. “Perfect,” Karim said, scanning the beach. “Hey, I have a fun idea. Camille, why don’t you go out into the water a bit and take some photos of the guys from there? It’ll give us some great shots for the project.” Karim handed her a waterproof camera. “Trust me, the perspective will be amazing from the water.”

Camille was a little alarmed at the stormy waters and the rocks, but accepted. Karim stared at her in her pink gym shorts and bra. Her bare feet carefully traced the rocks as she waded out, like a gymnast would.

He was confident that no one could see Camille, only him and the four extras. As she positioned herself in the water, Karim subtly activated a remote voice machine hidden in a nearby cave. A faint but distinct sound of someone calling for help echoed from the cave.

The four extras turned towards the cave, puzzled and concerned. “Did you hear that?” one of them asked. “It sounds like someone needs help.”

“Let’s go check it out,” another suggested. They all started making their way towards the cave, their curiosity piqued.

Karim followed them, he looked back at Camille, who was watching from far out on the edge of the rocks, up to her thighs in water, puzzled. What were they looking for?

Suddenly, Camille noticed a lifeguard, furiously beckoning her to come in. He was a short, African looking man. Camille had seen the men going into the cave, and on the other side of the rocks was the lifeguard. The lifeguard was insistent, but was not shouting, just waving her to come in. Camille ventured in padding over the rocks.

Karim watched nervously as Camille walked back over the rocks, while the four men continued looking for the sources of the cries. As soon as she was out of his sight, he went into the cave and charged ahead of the men. He spotted the speaker and pocketed it.

Camille watched the Lifeguard approach her, holding out his hand for her. He seemed to be looking around for others, but there was no one else on the beach at all. She could not see the others now, she was out of their sight line, they were around the rocks and inside the cave. She really wanted to see what had happened.

“Excuse me sir, what is the matter? My friends are over there...”

The lifeguard grabbed her with one hand, and held a taser to her stomach with the other. Camille was stunned and fell onto the rocks. Kwame failed to catch her, and she banged her head. Kwame urgently picked her up, and carried her hurriedly across the beach. He looked around but saw no one. He sprinted across the sand, carrying the unconscious girl up the slopes and towards his waiting van. Breathless, he dumped her in the back, and speedily trussed her up and gagged her. He composed himself, and rewarded himself with stroking her legs, from her feet up her legs and thighs and squeezed the hard flesh of her buttocks under the pink shorts.

“Camille!” Kwame suddenly heard a shout from the beach. He slipped forward to the drivers seat of the van and noticed some of the men had come on to the beach and on the rocks, their attention on the sea, and were calling out. He discreetly started the engine, and drove across the sand until he joined the road and sped up.

Amidst the confusion and noise of the waves, none of the men noticed the van parked at the top of the sand slopes nor it driving off. Instead, Karim and the men, having finally given up searching for voices in the cave, began looking for Camille. Curiosity turned to desperation as they failed to find her, and then one of the men found the camera being washed up on the rocks.

“Oh no, Camille, where is she? She may have slipped!” Karim was swimming out with the rest of the men, calling her name, and searching around, desperately. He was praying that Kwame had done his job well.

The men called the police and lifeguard, while Karim tearfully admitted he was an illegal immigrant and was terrified of getting in trouble. He said he wanted to swim out one last time, near the cave. Except this time, he swam and did not come back. He went onto the beach on the other side of the cave, picking up his phone and belongings and ran towards the road and his hidden bicycle, and cycled as far as he could while texting Kwame.

Kwame doubled back, and met Karim, or Pembroke on the road. Pembroke threw his bicycle into the back of the van beside the black bag holding the tied up girl, and he joined Kwame in the front seat. Both men quickly threw off their tops and put on white T shirts and hi viz jackets and baseball caps as they drove back towards Marseille. On route, they met police cars, their sirens blazing.

Pembroke gave Kwame a pat on the back. “That was superb, Kwame. But they will soon be looking for Karim Al-Faraj. We need to get to the boat and we need to get our two little pussies out onto the sea by this evening!”

Meanwhile, Rebecca Parker and Leyla Al-Haraz were together in Rebecca’s cell. Mrs Al-Haraz enjoyed dressing up, having had the chance for the first time in her life, and was now in a long, flimsy black dress. The dress had daring slits on both sides and the front, barely covering her crotch, and revealing a thin black thong. Her toned small body stood and leaned over the cowering and seated body of Mrs Parker.

“Mrs Parker. You my slave.” She leered at the blond woman, dressed in nothing but white bra and pants. “You eat my pussy NOW!”

“I am not your slave! I am an overseer!” Mrs Parker quivered in fear and winced at the sight of Mrs Al-Haraz’s hideous face and the scaly side of her head. She did not see the slap coming, and despite having superior weight and height could not get the upper hand, as Mrs Al-Haraz wrestled her to the ground. Mrs Al-Haraz pinned her wrists down, and moved her crotch up over her face. “Lick me. Bitch. Lick me!”

Mrs Parker cried and shook her head, but only received more slaps to the face from the angry Yemeni woman. “Lick me, Slave!”

Mrs Parker relented, stopped struggling, and gazed up at the black material on top of her face, and the half human half mutant face above it. She stuck her tongue out, and ran it across the cotton, tasting the sour taste of pussy through it. “More! Stronger! Lick!”

Mrs Parker continued to lick. Mrs Al-Haraz pulled her thong to one side, exposting the full sight and smell of her musky pussy lips on the Englishwoman’s face as she continued to eat, teasing. She thought of her life, and how this mutant above her had embraced it. She remembered enjoying doing this, to girls when she was young. She told herself that now she had no choice. She brought her hands to the Yemeni woman’s hips, feeling the soft skin, a contrast to the side of her face, and sucked and licked harder on her pussy, chewing on her clit.

Mrs Al-Haraz smiled in ecstasy and rubbed her nipples as she felt the woman’s tongue work inside her and over her clit. She rubbed the blonde hair, admiring the fine strands, before cumming inside Mrs Parker’s mouth.

“Hmm, you are good. You do this, to the other girls. OK?” Mrs Al-Haraz lowered her face to Mrs Parker’s, whose eyes widened at the burnt face coming closer. But she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to received the deformed woman’s tongue, kissing her back. Giggling, Mrs Al-Haraz got up, and left to go back to her own cell, which was much more spacious and comfortable.

The next morning, Mrs Parker notified Jamal that she needed to “discipline” the girls. Jamal was intrigued and allowed her access to the girls’ cell. Mrs Parker ordered them out to a portion of the hall covered in gym mats. The two girls had known Mrs Parker as having some kindness, and some empathy from being beaten herself, her whip marks visible around her clothes.

But today, Mrs Parker was different. She was in her black PVC skirt, and boots. “Girls. Today I punish you.” “Please, Mrs Parker, he is not here, you do not have to...” But Mrs Parker was aware of the cameras above. She lashed out at Fatima with an open hand, knocking her to the ground.

“No more talk!” The Englishwoman was emotionally charged, thinking of her children, her ruined reputation, her kidnapping, the threats from her horrible captor, her treatment from Mrs Al-Haraz. “Fatima, you lie down NOW! Zara, you sit on your cousin’s face NOW!”

“What? Rebecca, you know us, you don’t have to do this, please...”

“Bitches!” Mrs Parker turned her heart to stone, and began striking both girls with a small stick. “Obey me. Obey Master Pembroke. Obey Mrs A-Haraz!”

Both girls were naked, as they had been kept since arriving. They cowered under the hits from Mrs Parker, until Fatima relented and lay down on her back. “Now, Zara, sit on her face, or I keep hitting her!”

Zara had faced brutal treatment from the men and Mrs Al-Haraz but had thought of them as vicious animals. Seeing Mrs Parker’s kind face twist into rage and anger broke her heart. This was truly a place of evil.

Zara crouched down, keeping her eyes on the contorted raging face of Mrs Parker, until she felt her pussy lips meet the nose of her cousin. “Now, Fatima, Lick!”

Fatima knew what was expected of her by now. She tried to close her eyes but still caught sight of her own cousin’s asshole and pussy coming close to her face. She wanted to throw up, she had not even given her husband oral sex before, now she was being forced to kiss and lick the genitalia of her own female cousin, someone she had known and was close to all her life.

Zara’s musky sweet smell pervaded her nose and mouth as she sat down. Fatima could barely breathe but to inhale the air through her cousin’s puffy lips. She began licking, watching with horror and fascination at her cousin’s vibrating brown asshole, centimetres from her eyes. She had never even seen hard core pornography, or even seen examined her own anus in the mirror and was horrified and repulsed at the sight.

The torture games went on. The cousins were forced to kiss, then to lick Mrs Parker’s pussy. “If you don’t lick me, girls, I will have to give you a beating. I don’t want to, I just want you to obey me and take the punishment that Master Pembroke ordered for you.”

Zara and Fatima endured hours of humiliation and disgusting lesbian sex. So the only remaining humanlike creature was just as capable of disgusting actions and horrible behaviour. Fatima had watched with horror and disbelief as the previously kindly blonde woman had licked her own cousin’s asshole like it was ice cream. Maybe she was being forced to do this, but she loved it. She loved girls and enjoyed the bodies of the Al-Tayeb girls just as much as the men.

Mrs Parker enjoyed the sense of domination and the sight of the terror in the girls’ eyes did something to her. The little bit of power gave her just that piece of self respect. As the finished, she looked back over the beautiful bodies of the girls and felt good that she could have them anytime she wanted. There was no point in denying herself some pleasure, if it would save her life and that of her family.

The real Clemence Carnot was a private person, who had refused to put his photo on the website of his company, Duval & Fils. But he was still a respected lawyer of close to seventy, and so was shocked when the police turned up at his offices, to question him about the disappearance of Charlotte Spencer. He was quickly released without charge, but the Paris police were baffled about the disappearance of the young tennis star.

Likewise, the police were puzzled about the disappearance in Marseille of Camille LeClerc. Drowning was suspected, but the four men who had been questioned had maintained the had never seen her go into the water, and could not explain the voices from the cave. And no one could trace Karim Al-Faraj, or his movie project, which seemed to have been abandoned as the man himself had vanished into thin air.

Chapter Text

The Zephyr cut a fine shape as it raced across the Mediterranean, its sleek lines slicing through the waves with ease. Onboard, there were only two crew members: Kwame at the helm, expertly navigating the vessel, and Edward Pembroke, gazing out to sea with a triumphant feeling, like a pirate of old. The wind whipped through his hair as he stood at the bow, the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before him.

The compartment in the yacht had been modified. The bottom of the compartment was clear glass and the two terrified occupants of the tiny space could see into the dark sea for the entirety of their journey. It could slide open at any moment at a press of a button in the cabin, and the large stone attached by chains to the ankles of the two girls left them in no doubt that if were to open, they would plummet straight to the bottom of the sea.

For Pembroke, it was a precaution. If a coastguard or nosy authority crossed their path he had only to press the button and his precious but incriminating cargo would soon be deep in the depths leaving him in the clear. He hoped it would not be necessary, he was looking forward to getting the two girls into more comfortable surroundings in the compound.

Kwame had been frustrated. Unlike his rape-fest with Mrs Parker he was not allowed to stick his cock into either Camille LeClerc or Charlotte Spencer, having to content himself with running his hands and tongue over their shaking, nervous bodies when he took them out for air, and masturbating on their skin.

The girls spent most of their time gagged, other than to eat. Questions had been met with slaps to the face from Kwame, Pembroke simply ignored them. Each time he looked down into the compartment or ran his own hands over the beauties on the deck, he saw the confusion, panic and fear in their blue eyes. Charlotte could not believe that Clemence Carnot had kidnapped her, the man at the London tennis lunch, flirting with her mother, bumping into her in Paris, was not pawing at her lecherously and speaking with a pompous English accent. Camille was stunned that the man she had thought of as a gay friendly creative was a firmly heterosexual predator who had taken her away from everything she knew. As the girls started out at the vastness of the sea on their ventures, flinching from the rough hands enjoying their bodies, they could only guess with horror what the next stage would be. They joined foreheads in the tiny compartment, staring into each others’ eyes, their gags and strict bondage preventing them from speaking or touching hands despite being so tightly packed together.

Mrs Parker had started to give in to her inner cravings. She had been watching Fatima, feeling kinship with a woman separated from her children, but surveying her flesh with pleasure. The Al-Tayab girls had not worn clothes for weeks now and barely tried to hide themselves.

“Master Pembroke commands we make love. We must do it, better for us both!” Mrs Parker did not want to force herself on the girls, she just wanted them to understand the reality. Fatima and Zara tolerated her presence but refused any sexual advances unless forced.

With Mrs Al-Haraz, they were afforded no niceties. Both girls were forced to lick her pussy on threat of being beaten. Fatima forced herself to do it to stop Zara being beaten, but Zara just could not take it. She had slapped Mrs Al-Haraz, and kicked Mrs Parker, suffering a severe beating as a result. Jamal had raped her hard and tied her up for Mrs Al-Haraz to administer more punishment. Jamal and Mrs Al-Haraz developed a strange asexual relationship, neither being interested in the other, but taking pleasure in seeing the other enact their fantasies on both the Libyan girls and on Mrs Parker.

Mrs Parker was very skilled with her tongue, and was able to make Jamal, Mrs Al-Haraz and the two Libyans cum all within hours of each other. She kept thinking back to her online fantasies. This had been what she had dreamt of and now this was reality, having left behind a destroyed family life. She had no choice but to enjoy it.

Zara had been a virgin and had never seen another naked woman or man until being kidnapping. The constant sex and the humiliating forced sex between her and her cousin was driving her crazy making it impossible for her to have any serious conversation with Fatima.

“Zara, darling, this is hell. I know, my husband is dead, my daughter is God knows where, our uncle, all those men, dead, and these animals are torturing us. But this is just to survive. When we get out of here, we will forget it. I promise.”

But Zara knew she would never forget. She was not meant to do this. Her cousin’s vagina, and asshole, in her mouth. Licking the feet of the odious Yemeni woman. The blonde Englishwoman, kissing her, forcing her tongue inside her. The deformed Syrian giant, forcing his cock inside her, where only her future husband should be. This was hell, her life would never be what she wanted. Maybe it would get worse. She was not born to be a slave, and her physical attacks on her overseers were not dimmed by the threats on her family.

Eventually, things came to a head when she bit on Jamal’s cock during oral sex. The enraged Syrian punched her in the face, breaking her nose. He would have killed her, but knew that nothing should be done until Master Pembroke returned.

“Zara! Are you OK, Oh my God, what did that monster do to you?”

“He broke my fucking nose. Fatima, I no longer want to live. I just want to kill that bastard, that Pembroke. When he gets back, I will think of something, don’t care if they torture me afterwards.”

“For God’s sake Zara, be careful!”

“They are going to sell us, as whores! We might be separated! I would rather kill him and end this operation before other girls are hurt.”

Fatima admired her cousin’s courage but wanted to remind her she did not have a daughter at the monster’s mercy. She went to hug her cousin, and their breasts mashed together. Zara returned the hug tentatively. She smelled her cousin’s skin, and the memory of sucking and licking her skin all over on command came over her, and she pushed Fatima away.

“Zara, don’t be like that, I don’t want to do it either, but we have to...”

“You cum every time I lick you. You like it.”

Fatima blushed and the two huddled in opposite sides of the cell. She could not help it, her body betrayed her. But she did not want to be here. Like Zara, she wanted that animal dead, her family safe and these freaks to be sent to prison before she became like them. The haunted looking blonde Englishwoman seemed to her what she might be like in 20 years if she surrendered to this sexual degradation, but what choice did she have?

To much fanfare, Edward Pembroke arrived in the combine with his red and blonde headed captives. He, Kwame and Jamal had a celebratory whiskey in front of the naked and bound girls as they prepared to bring them into the interior hangar, out of which none of the females would be allowed until or unless they were sold on, or their bodies be disposed of.

“My, my, Charlotte, you must have been thinking you were going to have a romantic liaison in Paris. You shaved your pussy!”

Charlotte blushed, though by now she had spent days naked, having had her toilet activities monitored and cleaned by Kwame. Pembroke ran his finger over the weeks old stubble as the helpless girls stood, her ankles bound, her wrists tied behind her back, and her mouth still gagged. “Still quite sparse. I suppose it makes you aerodynamic for the tennis. Sorry again for your defeat, I suppose though you thought you might meet some men in Paris instead of getting to the final, maybe your horniness was your undoing in the semi final!”

Charlotte just wanted the rape to happen now, to get it over with. Fingers and hands had invaded very square inch of her body. This had been her worst nightmare, but she was still shocked when she realised how pre-planned it must have been. The sleazy cruel eyes of ‘Edward Pembroke’ were those of the lawyer she had foolishly imagined as being part of the top crust of society. Now, she was entirely at the mercy of this mysterious pervert.

Camille cursed herself for not taking more precautions for her shoot with Karim. The black man, Kwame, why had she just wandered straight to him, and what had happened? She only remembered being helped over the rocks, and then waking up bound in the back of a van in darkness. Like Charlotte, she had been pawed at and humiliated, having her orifices cleaned and wiped by the man who had kidnapped her. She was shocked that the nice open man she thought she could help had been preying on her the whole time! She wondered about the blonde girl, when could she speak with her, alone? What did they want? Surely they did not just want to rape her?

“Mr Pembroke, can we fuck these girls, ever?” asked Jamal.

“Not for now, Jamal, sorry. I include myself in that!” He spoke in Arabic, and the girls did not understand. “These are girls picked out by a customer. I think the blonde may be a virgin. No offence, Jamal but your cock is huge, it will change their holes, change their value to the customer!” Pembroke giggled and put his finger between Charlotte’s legs, causing the blond to squirm. “I will take a view, perhaps, their assholes may be suitable for your cocks, those holes heal more easily, and can be just as tight and nice! And their mouths, once they have been told what is expected of them.”

“Thanks Mr Pembroke, you are the best!” winked Jamal.

“Now, I think these two girls should be introduced to Zara and Fatima and we can have all four prisoners together. It is starting to be a real prison in here now!”

Charlotte and Camille were led into the cell with the two shocked Libyan girls, and they were released from their gags and binds and all four girls were left naked, together.

Pembroke called in Mrs Parker to his little office. “Ah, Rebecca, or Mrs Parker, I need to call you! How have you been, during my absence.?”

Mrs Parker swallowed, intimidated by this animal who had kidnapped, trafficked, blackmailed, tortured, raped and imprisoned her. “Good, Master Pembroke. I did what you asked, and the girls have settled in well.”

“Well, Zara has been disobedient, Jamal has informed me. That broken nose will affect her sale value. I am not pleased with her. But, let us check your punishment of them. Can you remember the time and location you punished them? I can check right now.”

Mrs Parker swallowed again. “Master Pembroke, it was the day after you left, sorry I do not know the days down here. It was at 8.16pm, I saw the clock, by camera 5. I also punished the girls on other occasions, I can give you the times and locations...”

“Let’s just check this one first, my darling” Pembroke went through the cameras on his computer, then brought up a video. He watched it, and listened to the audio. As he saw Mrs Parker admonish the Libyans he smiled and ran his hand up Mrs Parker’s skirt, massaging her meaty globes.

“Hmmmm ... this is really good Mrs Parker. Those girls look really frightened of you. Hmm why don’t you suck my cock while I check out your performance. Oh ... This is your chance to cheat, you are so good with your tongue, I might let you off if you make me cum...”

Mrs Parker left nothing to chance, she lathered her tongue all over the monster’s balls and his taint, straining her tongue to get it into his asshole under the seat Pembroke was sitting in. She had complied with his demands, had forced the girls to lick every inch of her body, but had to cover all bases.

Pembroke came in her mouth before the video ended, just as he watched a tearful Fatima be forced to dip her head between her cousin’s ass cheeks by Mrs Parker’s determined hand. “Oh ... that is very good work Mrs Parker. I am so glad that you are getting into it! I am quite fond of you my darling...” he reached his hand down and groped her generous breasts. “You can have quite a nice life down here with me. You just have to embrace it, I know you want to!”

Charlotte and Camille finally got to talk in the little glass prison cell in the corner of the cavernous hangar. They were naked, next to two Arab girls, also naked, who looked at the new arrivals, nervously.

“Oh my God, what happened! What the fuck, it’s been days. Were you kidnapped in France?”

“I’m Charlotte, I’m English. I was in Paris, I knew that guy in London and then met him in Paris! He pretended to be some lawyer, he met my mother! The bastard, he tricked me into a taxi in Paris, and took me here...!”

“He pretended to be some gay film director ... my God...”

The two girls gossiped, forgetting their nakedness, their lithe torsos and breasts quivering with anger and excitement as they spoke about their misfortunes. They tried to talk with the two Arab girls in limited English.

“We are kidnapped, the women, they bad. The men, they evil!” The two white girls frightened themselves looking at the resigned and scared looking expressions on the girls, including the broken nose and bruises on the younger Arab girl.

Charlotte had never been naked in front of someone before, she held her arms over her breasts and crossed her legs, as did Camille. She thought of herself just a few days ago, a confident young woman competing at the highest level, dreaming of an international legal career, and now she was a naked prisoner, soon to be raped by a bunch of creepy degenerates. Camille was thinking much the same. All her plans, the clothes she had bought, the friends, the contacts, the projects, the parties, all gone by the wayside. Instead, she was naked, as only a few boys had found her. She thought of her family. What must they be thinking? Was anyone looking for her?

“Ah ladies!” Edward Pembroke appeared in front of the cell, followed by Mrs Parker, wearing a short purple dress. “I think it is time to tell you a few hard truths.”

“What the fuck, Karim, are whatever the fuck your name is!” Camille was furious. Pembroke glanced at Mrs Parker, and she knew what she had to do.

“You will be quiet when Master Pembroke speaks to you!” commanded Mrs Parker. Camille was surprised at the woman silencing her. “Master Pembroke is in charge here. You do not speak unless you are specifically told to speak!”

Pembroke smiled and gently massaged Mrs Parker’s buttocks under her dress. “Thank you Mrs Parker! Now ladies, yes, you must really control yourselves. You are not free young women anymore. You are prisoners. You are ... slaves.”

“Karim, I don’t know what the fuck you think you are...”

“Silence! Bitches like you do NOT interrupt Master Pembroke!” Mrs Parker barked at the naked girl in the cell. Pembroke was pleasantly surprised, and kissed the blond woman on her head.

“Camille, please pay heed to Mrs Parker here. You must not speak freely. You will be punished. Your old world, where you could do what you want, when you wanted, as a young woman, that is now gone. Now we are in a more ... natural order. You are restricted, as are you Ms Spencer. You are pretty young girls, the objects of desire of thousands of men, and now you are to be trained, both of you, to be the objects of one powerful man. Other than I and my male accomplices that you have met, and your future owner, you will never see another man again. You will only see those few lucky men, and a few females who share the same fate as you.”

Pembroke smiled at the shocked faces. “You can ask your cellmates. You are beautiful highly prized females. A lot of money will pass hands for you. You have been pre-ordered, as it were. A lot of planning went into taking both of you. You will never see your families and friends again, ever. You are now dead as far as the rest of the world knows. The rest of your lives, instead of parties and weddings and children, will be that of sexually satisfying some of the most select males on the planet, in terms of their wealth.”

“I want to go home! Mr Carnot! It’s not too late...”

“It IS too late Camille. Home for you is not an option. In fact, it is a weapon which I will soon explain. Look, girls, a lot of work went into your kidnapping. You will never see home again. I, on the other hand, may well see your home, if only to punish YOU for your misdeeds.”

Camille and Charlotte stared at this maniac.

“Now ladies, you are the first products of my own high value slave trading enterprise.” Pembroke raised his arms as if to emphasis the theatrics of his presentation. “There are thousands of incredibly wealthy men, who are horny and want to fuck, enslave, hurt and imprison hot young girls, not just fuck prostitutes and party girls.” Pembroke was getting to his element.

“I aim to provide a market for these gentlemen. Ladies like yourselves. Beautiful, pure, young, of good stock, trained to submit to whatever disgusting desires these men have, that can be hidden away from the world. Not whores that any other man will have, little pure jewels that can be kept in a little pocket, hidden away from the world. Hidden from their own families. Imagine, Charlotte, a sixty year old man, enjoying your body, knowing that your own father, a respected sixty year old lawyer, is grieving over you! Imagine the power that will put into the soul of a rich old man!”

Charlotte was horrified. She crossed her legs tighter, trying to hide as much of her breasts as possible.

“Charlotte! You must know every man you have met wanted to fuck you, to see you naked! Now, one man gets to realise all those dreams! Not your husband, no, but some old man with enough money to buy you! Unlike a husband, he owns you! He can end your fucking life any second he wants to!” Pembroke was so excited now, he was lost in the thrill of the dream he was selling, not to these unfortunate girls, but to their buyers.

“You are the kind of girl that most men would fight over for the chance to pay a thousand dollars for a meal with. One man, will buy your life, and will seal all those other avenues off, for the other men. Charlotte, you are a human, but you are so fucking valuable!”

He turned to Camille. “Camille, you too! You are going to be owned, body and soul. Don’t worry I will train you. You will satisfy your owner, it will be overriding duty of your life.”

Pembroke paused and smiled wickedly.

“You both come from loving families. That is to the credit of your parents, but unfortunately, I am going to use it against you. You see, your performance here will not be paid for, it will be demanded, on pain of physical punishment on you personally, and ultimately, when all else fails, your families will be targeted if you fail in your new duties. Charlotte, your darling mother, Valerie is devastated at your disappearance. Camille, your father is beside himself at your drowning. Please, do not force me to bring more death to your families!”

“Please, Mr Carnot...”

“I am not Clemence Carnot, you silly bitch!” Pembroke was a little annoyed at how slow these girls where. “Look, someone wanted you, so I kidnapped you, to sell to them, and now I am training you!”

Charlotte, in spite of everything, was taken aback at the language.

“Charlotte, I played you a pretty little picture, but it was all to get you here, naked. I thought about what you would look like, naked, since the second I met you. As did you future owner. Speak to your cellmates here ... they will tell you what life is like from here on. No more tennis, no more movies, no more career, no more handsome boys. You will be licking each other’s pussies soon, just to please us!”

The Libyan girls watched the white girls, noting their horror, remembering their own horror stories.

“Men will pay a lot of money for a beautiful young thing they can do ANYTHING with, fuck, kill, hell, even eat! Not a hooker, not a hanger on, there are billons of people in the world, and yet it is so hard for wealthy people to own another human, like they are nothing! I will provide that service. The most stunning high value girls, reduced to nothing for these men. You two, last week, you were out of anyone’s league, you were things 99.9% of men could only dream of. Now, you are products that a lucky man with the right money will own. Everything you thought you would have, or would do, is gone, it’s gonna be converted to the sexual pleasure of some man who is going to make me rich.”

Pembroke smiled again taking a break from his tirade. “You girls can forget about that stuff you learned about womens rights and education and consent. Your life is going to be cock sucking, taking it in every hole, using your tongue on every little thing you can find, you are sex slaves!”

Pembroke smiled again at Mrs Parker. “Now, soon we will have a competition between these two Libyan girls. Mrs Parker, I hope you win...”

Mrs Parker gulped. Pembroke had told her of the plans. It was disgusting and cruel, but entirely in keeping with how this operation was unfolding.

Chapter Text

Dmitri Voskov was no-ones idea of a decent human being. Born from an alcoholic, heroin addicted mother in 1980s Moscow, he had been a petty criminal and orphan by the time he was drafted into the Russian army. He suffered a gunshot wound to the leg, not from the Chechen militias he was supposed to be fighting, but from his superior, disgusted at the fact he had been caught raping the daughter of a couple held for questioning. Discharged, he tried to fit into the Moscow underworld but the hardened Russian criminals found the slimy greasy low IQ Dmitri good for little but scaring small businessmen as a henchmen.

He had a fondness for girls which was never reciprocated. Missing several teeth, scarred from several knife fights and with a foetal alcoholic face, the short squat Dmitri was eternally frustrated. Eventually, he found himself more effective as an informer by threatening the businessmen’s young daughters, but this only worked for a while. Even the Russia mafia had limits and he had his nose almost sliced off as a punishment and kicked out of the organisation. From then he became a travelling hobo until one night he spotted two young schoolgirls while drunk, and raped both of them. After nearly being lynched by the local townfolk, he was arrested and found to be the suspect in a series of rapes and murders across Russia and was sentenced to life in prison.

After 12 years in a brutal prison where, as a rapist, he was subject to the harshest conditions and punishments from other inmates, he was offered a lifeline. Vladmir Putin’s war was going badly in Ukraine, and he volunteered for the front lines and a pardon for his terrible crimes. Having a keen instinct for survival, he played dead in an offensive and surrendered himself to the other side. The Ukrainians released him and let him wander into Europe as a refugee and he ended up living in Germany where his impulses got him in trouble again with young women late at night. He was in prison awaiting deportation when Edward Pembroke read the story in the media. Unlike others who were furious at the scum allowed to stay in Germany, Pembroke spotted potential.

Sabine Muller was just 21, newly graduated in law from Ludwig Maximilian University. She scorned offers from major law firms. Instead, all she cared for were the rights of asylum seekers and refugees. She threw herself into applying for law firms holding up the human rights of the most marginalised, after all, first they came for the refugees, those most demonised, then they came for the rest of humanity!

When she first faced Dmitri, she had to force herself to face her own demons. Dmitri, ugly, a toothless smile, an ugly, scarred face, was everything she found disgusting. He had looked at Sabine with a lecherous grin, but Sabine had stopped herself from hating him. Poor Dmitri, he had been a victim, of the Russian penal system, the war in Ukraine, and was likely framed in the first place.

She hated the right wing elements in Germany making unfortunate people like Dmitri into scapegoats. If only he had been given the chances she had, loving parents, a stable upbringing and good education.

Against the advice of the lawyers at the firm she was starting out in, she had connected with a journalist, Philippe Papin. His Linked and twitter profile showed a forty something Frenchman, about fifty, who was passionate about refugee rights and stopping the rise of right wing parties.

Sabine’s instagram, linkedin, facebook and twitter profiles showed her as a passionate young woman, full of hope, vigour and passion. Dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, tall at 5 feet 9, a natural rebel.

Sabine was working on Dmitri’s release, and on securing an interview between Philippe Papin and Dmitri. She had to play hardball with the German authorities, and also Philippe’s schedule which was full of busy commitments.

Sabine did allow one interlude into her professional commitments. The love of her young life. Anna Gao, whom she had met last year while skiing in St Moritz. What began as a casual conversation over coffee in a cozy lodge soon blossomed into a profound bond. Both were the children of high achievers, of wealth, and both wanted to give something back to society, world they soared high above.

Sabine admired Anna’s beauty and her skiing prowess, and her smarts. Anna had loved Sabine’s passion and intellect. Anna would soon go to Stanford, and the two wondered how they would cope being so far apart. Their parents had been supportive, they did not mind that they were both girls, they were in love, and they were both decent, good people.

Sabine was intrigued with the meeting with Philippe Papin that morning. He appeared as a messy, laid back French left wing activist. “Forgive me, Sabine, so much to do. Germany is so much more advanced than France!” His German was broken and Sabine smiled at his efforts. “It’s OK Philippe, I love your articles! I hope you can help poor Dmitri!”

Sabine, Philippe and Dmitri got together in an interview room in the prison. Sabine smiled at the Russian man while Dmitri smiled back at the only female who had smiled at him in years. “Hello Dmitri” said Philippe “Can we talk in Russian?”

Sabine sat back while Philippe conversed with the prisoner in Russian, understanding nothing. She was just happy that Dmitri could converse in his own language, feeling safe, and hoped that this would help him in his bid to seek release next week.

“OK, Mr Vostov, let’s cut the crap. The girl cannot understand, OK?” Philippe asked. Dmitri’s eyes darted to the older man with the fluent Russian. This man, unlike Sabine, was not a do-gooding idiot. Sabine went to her phone and messaged Anna, texting her and sending likes to her recent photos on Instagram, both of her skiing, and in her underwear, after workouts.

“Dmitri, in Russia, you were a scumbag. A rapist, a deserter, a criminal. And now in Germany, you are a rapist again. You are 40 years old, what do you think is going to happen in the next 30 years? Are things going to get better?”

Dmitri was taken aback. He looked at Sabine, in her trouser suit, her shirt clinging to her chest, smiling in her own little world at her phone.

“Don’t worry, Dmitri, this stupid bitch does not understand anything. But she can get you out of here!” Philippe grinned at Dmitri, recognising a kindred spirit. “What do you want?” asked Dmitri, with suspicion at this urbane educated multilingual man.

“Listen Dmitri, I am a daring man. I go out and I take what I want. I use people, I use this stupid German bitch sitting beside me! What I want is to create a harem of pretty young cunts, just like the young bitch sitting beside me. You are a fucking scumbag, unlike this gullible idiot, I know what you are. Tell me, come on, what do you want to do to this cute German girl, just tell me, promise I will not say!”

Dmitiri laughed, and stole a glance at Sabine. “Look, OK, I would fuck that bitch, she is so hot, you should have seen the skirt she wore a few days ago! I saw right up inside her ... but yeah. If I ever see her on the street outside, I would rape her but ... she is nice ... she is trying to get me out of here...”

Papin, aka Edward Pembroke, smiled at Sabine, who grinned back, and then went back to her phone. “Listen Dmitri, this is between you and me. I know you are a hopeless criminal. You cannot go back to Russia or you will be killed, if you stay here you will spend years more in prison. What if I told you, there is a place where I can find work for you, where your talents “can be recognised? Where you can oversee beautiful females, unwilling, like Sabine here?”

Dmitri found it hard to believe this Frenchman. “Dmitri, you have no future outside of prison. I am here to offer you help. Not take help like these refugee people. Real help. You can come disappear, and work for me. Looking after young woman that are held against their will, as slaves. Girls like Sabine here, what do you think?”

Sabine sat back and smiled at Dmitri. She did not understand the Russian language but wanted Dmitri to feel safe.

“Look, Mr Pembroke, I think you are talking nonsense, so please just leave me alone...” Dmitri thought this all sounded too good to be true.

Edward Pembroke insisted. “Listen, why do you think someone like me would be here? I have an opportunity for you. If you don’t want it, that is fine. Tell Sabine here that you find me a little strange and don’t want to see me again. You are happy to happy to be sent back to Russia, or Ukraine, or to to end up here again. Or if you want to work for me, to have girls like Sabine here, suck your cock every day, then listen to what I have to say!”

Dmitri looked again at Sabine, who was oblivious to the friendly seeming Papin, now talking about her as if she was a sexual object. “See, Dmitri? That stupid cunt, she thinks she is someone. She has no idea how I am. I am a seller of women. I came for her, and I come for you! Listen, I tell you what. You can do one of three things. You can tell this pretty little girl everything, and nothing will happen, I will disappear, and I probably will still take her anyway. You can say nothing, and I will take her, but you will remain in prison or go to Russia. Or you can co-operate with me, and I can take you and this girl to my base in the middle east, and I promise you, you will get to fuck her, as much as you want, what do you think of that?”

Dmitri smiled. He was so instinctive he barely registered that this was such a strange situation. He just decided. “Sir, I come with you, and with the girl, if you can get us both away from here!”

Pembroke grinned. “Good man!” He recognised the man. A degenerate, happy to live simply in a compound with alcohol and women. A natural order follower.

“Sir, that girl, next to you, every time she opens her mouth ... I imagine her cunt looks like just like it, I want to lick it...”

Pembroke grinned. “Dmitri, be patient, trust me, and this girl next to me, I promise you, you will fuck her, all the time you want.”

The two exchanged a look. Dmitri sensed something, from this man, something he sensed from the roughest gangsters he had known. This man was definitely not a journalist.

Pembroke broke off and spoke to Sabine in broken German.”Oh Sabine, the gentleman is truly troubled, well done for looking out for him!”

Sabine smiled. “That’s OK. Poor Dmitri, he cannot control himself, he has such a hard life, we have to help him. He just has not had the chances that I had. I owe it to men like him, to give him some opportunity, to make things right.”

Papin smiled. “Sabine, I feel like throwing myself over you to protect you! You are so kind, the world would be perfect if everyone was like you. Oh, I think Dmitri is an angry man, but there is a kindness there, somewhere...”

“Really?” asked Sabine “What did you guys talk about?”

Papin frowned. “He was mistreated. In Russia, he should never have been in prison. It really messed him up. And then the frontline Ukraine...” Papin shook his head. “I am sorry Sabine, he broke the law here in Germany, but Russia broke him.”

Sabine shook her head, “I hate that. And we have to pick up the pieces! The broken people left behind, and we have to fix them, its so awful, Philippe!”

Pembroke smiled as he watched young Sabine, nearly as tall as he, walking in her skin tight trousers, her breasts filling out her shirt. He hoped Dmitri took up his offer. He would be a great henchman, a great disciplinarian of young women ... like Sabine.

As they left the courtroom, they had to take their metallic objects off. Sabine saw him look at her taking off her pedant around her neck. She smiled. “My grandmother gave me this. When I am nervous or stressed, or think that evil is nearby, I touch this and it calms me.”

Pembroke smiled at the girl, who was already smiling and asking the security guard about his day, making him feel at ease. While she chatted with him about his family, nodding sympathetically, Pembroke moved ahead, and in the space of a thirty seconds, had lifted her pedant out from the plastic box beyond the metal detector, quickly screwed it open and inserted a tracking tag inside, then tossed it back into the box.

They walked away from the court. “Oh Philippe, what is it like in France, are people like Dmitri mistreated there too? What could we do to make sure people like him get the help he needs?”

Pembroke smiled to himself. “Dmitri may be released, he could have a new life! I fancy he has a secret intellectual side, an unpolished diamond!”

“Oh, that would be wonderful” Sabine grinned happily. “I would love to see someone like Dmitri thrive! It would show those right wing bastards, a refugee who overcomes adversity!” She suddenly gripped Pembroke’s arm. “Oh Philippe, it would make so happy if Dmitri became a good German citizen!”

“Oh, Sabine ... soon men like Dmitri will be making new lives, starting new sagas ... all over the world!” He smiled paternally at the young woman, stroking her arm.

That evening, Pembroke reflected on his progress. He now had four slave girls, two of whom were part of the seven planned for the Crown Prince of Azmaria. Soon that number would grow. He knew there must be a huge demand, not just from the Crown Prince, but others, and he made it a point to keep an eye out for other pretty young girls who might seem suitable to be adopted into a new life as a sex slave.

He needed Anna Gao, and by a happy coincidence, Sabine Muller had become a perfect conduit. Anna’s girlfriend, Sabine represented another girl, who could be sold on. Dmitri Voskov seemed perfect as a potential henchman. Two birds could kill one stone!

Anna Gao had been a little disappointed in her performance at the Winter Olympics but had her High School Finals to look forward to. She just had to pass to get into Stanford, but was scared to be apart from her partner, Sabine Muller. They were both determined to keep their relationship strong, and so had arranged a little getaway, just the two of them, in a mountain range in southern Germany. It was too late in the year for skiing, so this would be just hiking for a few days.

A few days later, Sabine arrived to meet her love, Anna, at the foothills of the Alps outside Munich. She was in a good mood. Dmitri had been released, and she had cried as she hugged him, urging him to make the best of the rest of his life. Dmitri had tried to hide his erection as the girl embraced him, as he could not help but breathe in her scent and feel her body all over him. As Sabine surveyed the vista of the Alps, she prayed that Dmitri would come good, she could not bear the alternative, that some people were innately evil. She had shown him kindness, something the surly ugly little scarred Russian had been deprived of all his life.

Sabine’s Nordic features creased into a smile as she saw the figure of Anna approaching. Anna was wearing shorts, hiking boots, a jacket, and a backpack, looking every bit the adventurous spirit Sabine adored. Sabine had just parked her car at the trailhead and was ready to spend the next few days on foot, immersed in nature with her love. These moments were precious, too few and far between, especially with Anna’s impending departure to Stanford...

Their eyes met, and they screamed with happiness, rushing into each other’s arms. Their reunion was marked by a passionate kiss, a testament to the depth of their affection and the intensity of their longing during times apart. As they held each other, some older passersby muttered disapprovingly at the open display of same-sex love. However, many others smiled warmly, touched by the visible joy and connection between the two gorgeous brunettes.

“I missed you,” Sabine murmured softly into Anna’s ear, breathing in her scent.

“Oh, you too, Sabine. No more skiing. I can’t wait to spend the next few days with you. Just us!” Anna replied, her voice filled with excitement and love.

Hand in hand, they began their hike, the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the trail a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Towering trees, blooming wildflowers, and the distant sound of rushing water washed over them as they talked and laughed, sharing stories and dreams. Anna spoke excitedly about the Olympics, while Sabine spoke about her cases and her career.

Fellow hikers could not help but steal glances at the toned legs and pretty faces of the two girls as they hiked, permanently smiling at each other or at the nature. They giggled and teased each other as they pitched their tent for the night, eventually getting it right.

They listened to the sounds of the night as they lay in their one sleeping bag, holding their hands tight, and gazed into each other’s eyes. Sabine could feel the warmth of Anna’s body pressed against hers, the rise and fall of her breathing in perfect harmony with her own.

“These moments with you are everything,” Sabine whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, Sabine” Anna stroked her perfect cheekbones, and brushed away her brown hair, admiring the blue of her eyes, a contrast to the honey of her own Asiatic eyes. “I have a feeling, something telling me, that in months or years to come, we will look back on this time, and will regret not staying here, that the future will never be as good as this.”

“Oh Anna” giggled Sabine. “Your future is going to be great, whether I am in it or not, let’s just enjoy there here and now OK?” She pressed her lips against Anna’s and the two girls kissed slowly, their tongues probing each other’s mouths, their hands moving from their lover’s faces down their bodies, feeling each other’s firm breasts, smooth stoned stomachs and hips.

Anna kissed Sabine’s neck, and moved to lick her nipples as the German girl moaned, her own fingers in her pussy. Anna giggled as Sabine’s pedant got in her mouth. She ran her fingers along it, admiring it against the white skin of it’s wearer.

“It’s my good luck charm, Anna, remember?” Sabine giggled and held Anna’s eyes as she bit her lip and grinned, and moved down into the sleeping bag, planting kisses along Anna’s torso, along her nipples, and down her concave stomach. Both giggled as they had to open out the sleeping bag to allow the German girl to move further south and pull down Anna’s shorts and her black panties. “Hmmm you shaved, like you were expecting someone”. Sabine giggled and flashed her eyes up again at the adoring face of Anna, who bit her lip as she saw Sabine stick her tongue out, and probe between her lips. As she felt the hot muscle flicker between her legs, she sighed and moaned. “Sssshhh” Sabine chuckled and Anna put her hand to her mouth. “Haha, oh Sabine that is your fault, the forest wolves might be listening to us.!”

“Well, they should not be so nosy, relax, it’s the wilderness, you can scream if you want to” Sabine grinned and laughed as she forced her tongue inside Anna’s pussy as the Swiss girl bit into sleeping bag to stifle her moans and giggles. Outside the tent, there was just darkness, and the sounds of the forest night.

A few miles away, Philippe Papin aka Edward Pembroke sat in a van with his new recruit, Dmitri Voskov. Dmitri marvelled at how this man worked. He was showing him a small screen on his phone, displaying the exact location of Sabine Muller. They had glimpsed her with another girl, marching off into the forest, dizzy with happiness and ignorant that they were being trailed by predators far more dangerous in the mountains.

“So this Sabine, she has a girlfriend? I don’t understand women” Dmitri rubbed his chin and spoke in Russian. “She offers herself to me, wearing all those sexy clothes like a whore!”

“Don’t worry, Dmitri. Sabine is a silly little woman, thinking she can control things. She and her unnatural relationship with Anna Gao, well it needs to be punished. It is only to be expected that if you go against nature, you will be punished.”

“Indeed” Dmitri smiled. “But also, I always wanted to fuck her, from the moment I laid eyes on her.”

Pembroke smiled. “Yes, Sabine and Anna have only themselves to blame. Two pretty girls alone at night in the forest. Asking to be kidnapped! Dmitri, as a new employee present, I promise you will have Sabine, as will I. She will undergo a major adjustment soon!”

The following morning, Anna and Sabine woke up at the same time, kissing and cuddling. “Oh Anna we have to get up, we cannot spend all our vacation in a tent!” Sabine laughed, but she would never get tired of running her fingers all over Anna’s perfect body, enjoying the softness of her skin and her smooth fine hair, such a contrast to her tangled curls. They had made each other cum several times just in the morning, but both agreed that it was too beautiful a day to waste.

They walked for a few more miles meeting plenty of fellow hikers who smiled and greeted them. It was a beautiful day. “I want to show you a secret place” Anna said “It’s where I’ve been many times, it is beautiful...”

Sabine was intrigued but felt a twinge of alarm when she saw warning signs ahead. The path led to an old quarry, with prominent “Keep Out” signs posted along the way. “Anna, isn’t this dangerous?” Sabine asked, her concern evident.

“No!” Anna replied confidently. “Trust me, you’ll be safe with me!” She took Sabine’s hand, and they skipped along the path, their laughter mingling with the sounds of nature around them.

“When they finally emerged from the dense trees, Sabine was stunned by the sight before her. A small, serene lake lay nestled in the heart of the quarry, its surface reflecting the sky like a mirror. The area was completely deserted, the tranquillity undisturbed by human presence.

“Sabine, you have to agree, it is beautiful. I’ve been coming here for years,” Anna said, her voice filled with affection for this hidden gem. She glanced at Sabine, and felt vindicated when she saw her blue eyes shine as she took in the gorgeous surroundings,.

Anna led Sabine to a smooth rock near the water’s edge, and they sat down, their feet dangling above the cool water. “I used to come here to think, to escape, and to find peace,” Anna said softly. “And now, I wanted to share it with you.”

Sabine smiled, her earlier apprehensions fading away. “It’s perfect, Anna. Thank you for bringing me here.”

The two girls kissed again, running their hands through each other’s hair. “You know, Sabine,” Anna said coyly, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “there is no one around. We can swim, and we don’t need to wear anything.”

Sabine looked around, taking in the quiet, deserted surroundings. The sense of adventure and freedom in Anna’s proposal was irresistible. “Anna, let’s do it!” she replied, her eyes flashing with daring excitement.

They stood up and began to undress, their laughter mingling with the sounds of nature. As their clothes fell to the ground, they felt a thrilling sense of liberation. Anna held her breath as she took in Sabine’s tall, athletic body— her well sculpted hips and abdomen, her tapered legs, and her curvaceous, pneumatic breasts.

Sabine’s eyes were equally captivated by Anna’s slender yet toned frame, her delicate curves, and the way her skin glowed in the fading light. The sight of each other, free and unembarrassed, led to further kisses and the roaming of hands all over. “Come on, beautiful” said Anna, dreamily, “let’s get in!”

Hand in hand, they ran towards the lake, their bare feet splashing into the shallow water. With joyful whoops, they dove in, the refreshing embrace of the lake enveloping them. They swam and splashed around, the lake becoming their private playground. The absence of any onlookers gave them a sense of unrestrained freedom, and they floated face to face, their hard nipples touching, their lips meeting, their hands softly running all over their bodies as they gently kicked to stay afloat.

Pembroke was intrigued. Sabine was now at a little lake in a restricted area. Perhaps there would be no one else there? “Naughty girls” he smiled. They drove the van on a dirt track trying to get as close to the lake as possible, hoping they would stay there a while. Pembroke could not drive any further, but saw Sabine was now just 1 kilometre away.

Pembroke took another look at the strong figure of Dmitri. “Dmitri, here, take a backpack.” It was large, but empty. It could hold a female if she was bound and tied up in an awkward position. Each girl might weight up to 60kg. He was hoping they could both carry them the kilometre back to the van.

The girls floated on their backs, side by side, their fingers intertwined. The sky above was a vast expanse of blue, slowly deepening as the day turned to dusk.

“This is perfect,” Sabine murmured, turning her head to look at Anna.

Anna smiled, her face glowing with happiness. “It is. I’m so glad we’re here together, sharing this moment.”

“I think, though, we should get out soon. There might be a park patrol coming,” Sabine suggested, a hint of concern in her voice.

Anna grinned. “I doubt it. We can camp here tonight if you want, right on the shore.”

“Good, but I am still cold,” Sabine laughed. The girls agreed and decided to swim back. They got out of the water, naked, wringing the water out of their hair, giggling and laughing as they ran back to their things, gathered under a tree.

Sabine got there first, shivering and tiptoeing across the rocks, her focus solely on the large pink towel that was the center of her attention. She bent down to pick it up, her mind already anticipating the warmth and comfort it would bring. Suddenly, she felt a sharp, electric jolt in the back of her right butt cheek. She gasped in shock and pain, her legs buckling beneath her. She had barely registered the arm that had come around the tree, holding the taser that had brought her down.

Anna was also carefully tiptoeing on the rocks and did not register the arm and taser appearing from behind the tree. She only saw with shock the figure of Sabine collapsing onto their things, apparently unconscious. “Oh, Sabine, what happened!” She rushed forward, her eyes solely focused on the prone naked figure of Sabine sprawled on the rocks, her legs spread and her buttocks upturned to the sky. She leaned down and tried to turn her over to get to her face.

“Sabine! Sabine! What happened?” Anna’s voice was filled with panic and confusion.

Sabine came to slowly, looking into the eyes of her lover, trying to register what had happened. Then, she saw with horror a figure over Anna’s shoulder, threatening and looming. She tried to scream to warn her.

“Anna, look out!” Sabine’s voice was weak but urgent.

Anna turned to follow the path of Sabine’s frightened gaze. She saw a familiar figure but before she could open her mouth to scream, the taser struck her on her side. Anna gasped in shock and pain, her body convulsing before she collapsed next to Sabine, her eyes wide with terror and confusion.

Pembroke shocked the girls again, watching with pleasure as their bodies shook, their breasts jiggling from the shock, their eyes bulging out of the sockets. They stayed still, unable to speak or move.

Dmitri emerged from some bushes, carrying two empty backpacks, cuffs, ropes and gags. “Oh ... Sabine, she is naked!” Pembroke was concerned Dmitri would want to rape Sabine right there and then. But they had to get them away as quickly as possible.

“Have you a few gropes Dmitri but remember the benefits of delayed gratification! Lets truss these girls up, and then the hard stuff begins. We are both old soldiers, so hopefully we can carry these bitches in our backpacks.”

Sabine faded in and out of consciousness, thinking she was in a dream, but the pain made her realise this was real. But she saw the figure of Dmitri Voskov, tying her up, gagging her, running his hands all over and ... inside her. Surely this was a nightmare, or was this hell?

Anna felt pain like never before from the shocks to her insides. She thought of random memories, of her parents, a skiing restaurant and a sports marketing agent. Was this real, was this a dream?

Sabine and Anna were both tied up, their ankles bent backward, pressing firmly against their buttocks. Their wrists were bound tightly behind their backs, securing their arms in an immobile position. Their knees were pulled up towards their breasts, forcing their chins to rest directly against their knees, creating a compact cube form. The gag in their mouths made it impossible to speak, but Anna tried to make soothing noises to calm Sabine, whose head was turned towards her. Both had tears of fear and desperation.

Pembroke and Dmitri took half an hour to travel the 900 metres or so to where the land rover van had parked. When they got there, both men were sore and exhausted. “We did it!” Dmitri sat down, sweating.

“Not just yet, Dmitri. We have two high value females, and we need to get them as far away from her as possible. With any luck they will not be reported missing until tomorrow, but by then, we need to be out of Germany at least.

The men checked the girls within the backpacks. Pembroke idly ran his finger along Anna’s exposed buttocks, glaringly open, revealing Anna’s pussy and asshole for the world to see. “Such beautiful soft pink skin” he rubbed his index finger along the fissures of her puckered anus, then up to her slit, and pushed into her pussy, raising squeaks and moans from the poor girl. He raised his hand and swatted her ass cheek with a loud crack, making birds fly out from a nearby tree.

“Enough! Girls like you are such a tease. There will be time for play later! For now, Dmitri, let’s put them away, and drive off. I hope you have been to the toilets ladies, because we won’t be stopping for several hours!”

Dmitri found it hard to draw his gaze from the treasure in between Sabine’s spread buttocks. He took a last look at her white terrified face as she zipped the backpack over her, looking forward to getting into each and every one of her holes.

Sabine had seen both Phillipe Papin and Dmitri Voskov. How on earth had these two got together and kidnapped her? Nothing made sense. But it was them. She felt horror for poor Anna, had she dragged her into some sick game?

Anna knew this man as Clemence Carnot, but why, how? What was going on? But the fingers that had touched her made her realise one horrible undeniable fact. These men were perverts, they were sick and meant to to do them harm. This perfect day had turned into a nightmare, she only prayed she and Sabine could get out alive.

Chapter Text

“No ... Mrs. Parker ... please, no...” Charlotte’s voice trembled with fear ... and disgust.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. It is for your own good. Master Pembroke will be back soon, and when he is here, there will be a lot less tolerance for disobedience. You are a nice girl, Charlotte. You probably think things cannot get any worse, but...” Mrs. Parker sighed heavily, the weight of her own helplessness evident. “They can, and they will.”

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders hunched, her face hidden by her hair as she sobbed. The tears fell freely, a mix of fear, frustration, and hopelessness.

“Why do you do this, Mrs. Parker?” Charlotte looked up, her eyes red and accusing. “Why?”

“Charlotte, I am just as much a prisoner as you,” Mrs. Parker replied, her voice tinged with sorrow and frustration. “Unlike you, I have responsibilities here. This is not for me; this is for you. Here, Master Pembroke is like a god. Jamal and Kwame will hurt you, as will Mrs. Al-Haraz. If there was another way, I would not only tell you, I would have taken it.”

Mrs. Parker knelt beside Charlotte, her face softening with genuine concern. “I know this is hard to understand, but Master Pembroke’s wrath is far greater than what you can imagine.”

Charlotte was naked in Mrs Parker’s cell, on her bed. Mrs Parker was a in a black negligee with nothing underneath.

Charlotte wiped her eyes, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. “What do I do then? How do I survive this? How do I get out of here?”

Mrs. Parker placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “You comply, for now. You follow the rules, keep your head down, and do everything you are told. You stay alive, and hope that one day you will get back to your family.”

Charlotte shuddered at the woman’s touch. She knew what ‘comply’ meant. “What if he kills me. He will probably do it anyway. I cannot do this, I am not gay, I cannot stand those men. If I have to live this life without my family, there is no point in me staying alive.”

Mrs Parker grimaced. “Charlotte, do you have friends and family that you love?”

“Yes, of course! I don’t want to have to forget them to live this life!”

“Charlotte...” Mrs. Parker stroked her hair gently. “Master Pembroke will hurt not just you. If you do anything to yourself, he will come after your family. That is the kind of men we are dealing with. It is not just him. The man who bought you is even more powerful than Master Pembroke.”

“This cannot be happening in the 21st century! They cannot get away with it.”

Mrs. Parker sighed, her face etched with sorrow and resignation. “I know it seems impossible, but they have been getting away with it for a long time. They have power, influence, and connections that make them nearly untouchable. Me, I’m older and, and...”

“Master Pembroke told us about you!” Charlotte suddenly grew angry. “Fuck you! Trying to make me feel sorry for you. You are a disgusting animal, abusing your own children. But me, I don’t belong here! You do!”

Mrs Parker blanched. It wasn’t fair. She did not deserve to be here. This little bitch had no idea what it was like. She was pretty and rich, and even now she would be sold to some rich man who might treat her well. But life with Master Pembroke would be, for Rebecca, nasty brutish and short. She could feel it.

“Charlotte...” Mrs Parker’s tone changed. “I did not choose to be brought here. But I have a job, and my life and my family’s life depends on me doing my job, and that is to train you.”

“Just fucking stay away from me. I’ll wait for Jamal...” Charlotte looked at the older woman with revulsion.

Mrs Parker considered her options. If she failed to force Charlotte into lesbian sex, it would be known. Jamal was watching now on video, and would punish her now and Master Pembroke would be furious on his return. She looked up at the evil video camera in the top corner of the cell, knowing she had to always perform.

Mrs. Parker used her bodyweight and slapped the young girl across the face, then pulled her hair, eliciting a scream from Charlotte. She wrestled her onto the bed and pinned her to her back as Charlotte tried to wave her arms. Charlotte screamed, but no one was going to intervene.

“Stop fighting, Charlotte!” Mrs. Parker shouted, her voice a mix of desperation and frustration. “I’m trying to help you!” The older larger woman’s breasts hung down and dangled on Charlotte’s face, the hard nipples brushing against her cheeks as she turned away from them in horror.

Charlotte’s screams turned to sobs, her strength ebbing away as she realized the futility of her struggle.

Mrs. Parker’s grip loosened slightly, her own eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I hate this as much as you do, but you have to understand—this is the only way.”

Mrs Parker leaned down, and Charlotte shut her eyes tight, feeling her lips against her own. She kept them shut as she felt the older woman’s tongue trace along the edges of her mouth and slip inside.

“Open your mouth darling, let my tongue inside you. It’s the only way.”

Charlotte kept he mouth and eyes shut. Mrs Parker gripped her lower face, and squeezed her mouth open and stuck her tongue inside roughly.

“Ugghh ... aaa” Charlotte tried to spit out at her, but Mrs Parker persisted. She then moved down, her breasts rubbing along her torso as she admired the girl’s stretched taut tits, and sucked on her nipples. Charlotte felt no pleasure, just utter nausea.

Mrs Parker moved lower, and tried to force the girl’s legs apart. “Nooooo ... please ... enough ... I need a break” Charlotte was covering her face with her hands, trying to blot out what was happening to her.

“Now Charlotte, come on, open those legs for me.”

Charlotte allowed her legs to be prised open as Mrs Parker looked at the slim film of pink flesh open up for her. The skin around it was red from the electrolysis and not a hair was in sight. Mrs Parker dove in, and sucked licked and nibbled on her pussy. Charlotte squirmed and whimpered, it felt so strange, having a woman down there, with her tongue! Mrs Parker knew the rule, nothing bigger than a finger was to go inside Charlotte and Camille, and put her index finger inside, as she sought out the girl’s clit. As she heard the girl breathing heavily amidst the sucking and squelching sounds, she hoped she might enjoy some part of this.

Meanwhile, Mrs Al-Haraz was on top and enjoying a 69 with Camille. Camille was not enjoying it at all. She had no interest in women, and certainly no interest in the scarred burnt face of the Yemeni woman. She kept her eyes shut as the older woman kissed her. Opening them, her left eye looked right into the seared flesh surrounding the open eye of her tormentor and she broke away screaming, thus earning herself a beating.

Now, Mrs Al-Haraz was hungrily supping on the young girl’s pussy, running her hands up and down her toned smooth white thighs. These white European bitches had long been a fantasy for her. Every now and then, she dug her fingers into the girl’s flesh, to warn her to get her tongue moving. Camille again kept her eyes shut in revulsion at the sight of the dark vagina lips in front of her, and dark anus radiating out onto her honey brown buttocks. The more her tongue touched the hot lips, the more they grew and glistened, leaking an acrid juice into Camille’s mouth. Even despite her disgust, Camille found it hard to avoid cumming to Mrs Al-Haraz’s expert tongue.

Jamal was naked lying in bed, watching the screens of the cells of Mrs Parker and Mrs Al-Haraz. He didn’t mind that his lack of any other language and his noticeable deformity made it wiser to sit out the adventures the others had in kidnapping girls throughout Europe. His intimidating presence on its own was enough to frighten the girls into submission.

He ran his huge hands over the slim buttocks of Zara, as she lay on top of him in a 69. She was sucking on his huge cock, not wanting to be beaten again. She was happier looking at his cock than his hideous face. She had vomited when forced to kiss him, and been slapped so hard she had banged her head against the wall, and Jamal had made her lick her own blood stains from the floor and the rough stitches on the gash on her head had been very painfully and clumsily put in.

Just his finger felt like a cock inside her, as she worked on his cock, a part of the male anatomy that she had not seen until her kidnapping. Now the male phallus invaded her nightmares. Her dreams of a marriage to a good man, children, they would be forever tainted if she ever got out of here. Below her, Fatima was licking the man’s huge hairy sweaty balls. She closed her eyes, not just to avoid the sight of the disgusting things, but her own cousin’s eyes and concentrated face. Making eye contact in this situation was a grim experience.

She hoped her cousin would make the monster cum soon. She need to have words with Zara, she was disobedient and was getting them both in trouble. She needed to live, for her daughter. That said, she could not fault Zara for vomiting at having to kiss his mouth. His jaw was half gone, his breath stank and his eye was just a scarred mess under his eye patch. His cruel blow to her head had terrified her, she had though he had killed her!

For now, she just suckled gently on the testicles, trying not to look at his asshole below, another area she had been forced to put her tongue into. These perverts were relentless, and to make mattes worse, the three men would soon be back, perhaps with more helpless female victims.

No one really minded that Sabina Muller and Anna Gao did not make contact with anyone that night. Both their parents were happy with their choice of companion and knew they would want alone time without phone calls and messages.

It rained the following morning, putting off anyone from wanting to venture to the little lake. It was later in the day that a local ranger visited the cordoned off lake and saw belongings still on the shore. Not seeing who owned the phones, and clothes and the backpacks, he called for help.

The girls’ parents were called after IDs had been found in the backpacks, and they rushed to the lake where they found extensive rescue efforts going on, although both were warned that at this stage they had to expect the worst.

Word got out on social media about the tragedy, that the two must have got into difficulty in the lake and drowned. Tributes flooded in from friends and family who all loved the popular girls. But days later, divers had still not found any bodies. Some police thought there might have been foul play, while others believed the girls might have swam into a cave network along the bottom of the lake. Either way, it was unexpected that both bodies could not be found, but there was no reason to suspect they had been kidnapped and taken away.

By the time suspicions had been raised that divers still could not find any bodies, Kwame, Dmitri and Pembroke were enjoying the breeze of the Mediterranean on the Zephyr. All three were having beers and reminiscing about various criminal exploits. Pembroke smiled at the easy going camaraderie developing between Dmitri and Kwame. Helped, no doubt, by both having enjoyed the female company onboard.

36 hours after having taken the girls from the lake in the Alps, Dmitri and Pembroke had arrived in Marseille in the van and smuggled the girls on board the waiting yacht and the hidden compartment and were out to sea. Kwame had enjoyed Marseille by himself, sending money to his family and enjoying some prostitutes. Women were an addiction, the more you got, the more you wanted.

The girls had barely communicated with each other despite being held together in the van and now bound together in the small compartment, ankles tied to the rock, above the window opening out to the depths of the ocean. Gagged and bound, they could only butt heads together, and stare into each other’s despairing eyes, and try and comfort each other.

Sabine could not believe that Philippe Papin was not some activist or journalist, but he was Edward Pembroke a disgusting kidnapper and rapist. But above all she was horrified that Dmitri, whom she had helped, shown kindness to, had repaid her by conspiring to kidnap her.

As Dmitri had raped her he had bellowed profanities at her, calling her a whore, a stupid fucking cunt, telling he about he had masturbated to her since he had met her. The words cut through Sabine just as harshly as his cock into her vagina. So her good works were for nothing, she was still just meat to this evil man, she had been just an idiot. This evil man had just seen her as pretty collection of holes, no amount of kindness would have changed that. And Pembroke, that monster. The causal cruelty, he disgusting acts, the pain. Kwame’s massive cock in her asshole, in her mouth, all three relishing in frightening her by holding her over the edge.

Anna did not know why she had been spared rape, but had been forced to suck their cocks. Watching her lover be pummelled mercilessly by these animals had hurt her, she had wanted to scream at them to take her instead.

Pembroke was enjoying himself. He now had three male employees who could be trusted not just for security, but for complex kidnappings. In the complex, he was getting reports that Zara was playing up but otherwise the other girls were progressing. He had three beautiful girls, Sabine, Zara and Fatima, that he could sell for his own profit. He had Camille, Charlotte and Anna for the Crown Prince. He smiled at how easy it had been to collect girls on the side! After completing the order for the Crown Prince, there would be dozens, hundreds of girls that could be kidnapped and sold.

The world was changing. Security was breaking down. Girls had spent decades living in a fairytale world where they could go anywhere and do anything. Soon, that old world would vanish with wars and societal breakdown. But there would be a brief window where innovators like he could exploit all those lovely women, and pick them like wild flowers as the world burned.

Most men would not have stomach for it, or the talent. But he was born for it. Feeling horny again, he walked to the compartment and opened it up. Two heads of dark hair craned back and two pairs of frightened eyes looked up at him, brown and blue. He would choose blue on this occasion.

“Up you come Sabine. Time to take that gag out of your mouth. I am going to put my cock into it, and your other holes. You need to get used to your new life!”

Mrs. Parker scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her wardrobe options were limited, but she was now trying on a short leopard-print dress made of flimsy material. Adjusting the dress, she pushed her breasts together, aware that her cleavage was something she had over the other girls. Examining her face, she noticed the lines and sags, checking that her makeup had done all it could to conceal them. Her blonde hair was tied back, and the dark makeup on her face resembled war paint—because she felt like she was going into battle now.

Mrs. Parker waited anxiously on her bed for several minutes until she spotted Mrs. Al-Harax approaching from outside the clear glass walls of the cell. In her hand, Mrs. Al-Harax held the keys to the cell, a clear symbol of her superiority over Mrs. Parker and the other girls.

“Time to go, Mrs. Parker. I hope you’re ready. I know I am!” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s voice echoed through the room. She stood before Mrs. Parker in a short tan dress, open at the back, with the hem riding high on her thighs. Her feet were clad in high-heeled boots, a stark contrast to the smaller red pumps of the taller white woman beside her. Despite her heavy makeup, nothing could conceal the scarred, seared flesh on the side of her face. Even the black-painted eyebrow over the reddened scar tissue looked somewhat unnatural.

The two women walked in silence, swaying their hips in their obscenely short skirts. They were at least dressed, the girls in the cell in the inner hangar were naked, as always.

“All right, bitches!” The Yemeni began in Arabic. “Listen up, Mrs Parker will address you!”

“Thank you Mrs Al-Haraz” Mrs Parker composed herself and looked into the eyes of the girls, reading all their confusion and hatred of her. Charlotte soured her lips in disgust at her, but Mrs Parker had to go on.

“Girls, the Master will return soon. The good news is that he has successfully captured more girls. That means more success for the enterprise, more girls for the Master to train, and you will be expected to set an example for the new girls. Remember, here we obey our masters. And you will obey me and Mrs Al-Haraz.”

Mrs Al-Haraz understood the basics of what the blonde woman was saying and gave her grudging respect for her growing authoritarianism.

“There will be a spectacle for the Master and the men, and for the new girls. It is important to show that we are obedient and display our bodies for their benefit. Mrs Al-Haraz and I will pick two teams of girls to compete against each other. I will pick first.”

Mrs Parker licked her lips and looked pointedly at Charlotte. “Charlotte, you will be on my team.” Charlotte shuddered visibly and looked away in disgust.

“Fatima, I want you on my team.” Mrs Al-Haraz piped up.

“Zara, you will be on my team.” Mrs Parker continued.

“So, Camille you are on mine” smiled Mrs Al-Haraz.

“OK, girls we are going to let you out, and in our teams we shall both discuss the game. This will involve a lot of practice. You must know...” Mrs Parker paused for effect “ ... that failure to embrace this game, failure to entertain the Master, will result in severe punishment. We must practice, any reluctance will be punished by me and Mrs Al-Haraz now, but will be doubly punished by the Master when he gets home!

As Zara and Charlotte trotted out in front of Mrs Parker to a corner of the hangar for their “team talk” Mrs Parker patted Charlotte on her bottom to establish dominance. “Charlotte, remember who is in charge here. It is me. Zara, you too. Any foolishness or disobedience and I will beat both of you, OK?”

Mrs Al-Haraz didn’t need to exert herself to dominate her two girls. She scrunched her face, bared her teeth, and dragged her nails slowly down Fatima’s back as they walked. ‘Nice,’ she remarked, with a hint of satisfaction in her tone. She continued to leer at the two cute swaying bottoms in front of her until they got to the edge of the hangar.

Both teams had sheets of paper outlining tasks they had to prepare for. Each set of girls felt their skin crawl as they listened to their captain and overseer set out what they would have to learn and play out for the Master over the coming days.

Chapter Text

Elena Petrova was nervous about traveling to Turkey, so she spoke to her friend, Vitaly. Vitaly had so far avoided being drafted for Ukraine but was heavily involved in protests against the war.

“Elena, I know of this guy Nikolai Sokolov, but I think he is dead. What if this is some kind of trap?” Vitaly voiced his concerns, his face etched with worry.

“Why don’t you come with me, Vitaly?” Elena suggested, her voice tinged with hope. She was secretly enamored of Vitaly; his presence made her feel safer. She wanted this project to go through so badly, she was blind to any risks. Travelling abroad was a dream, and Turkey seemed so romantic.

Vitaly hesitated for a moment, considering her proposal. “Yes, Elena, I think you need a friend. I just have a funny feeling about this,” he finally agreed, his protective instincts kicking in.

While Elena Petrova was excitedly planning her trip to Turkey, her secret dreams of movie stardom coupled with her motives to stop the war, less pleasant events were unfolding in Pembroke’s compound in southern Turkey.

The Zephyr made another easy entry into Karacask, Turkey, and the cargo was swiftly smuggled aboard a van driven by Jamal and three other men. They drove past the entry gate and the barbed wire, proceeding towards the hangars. Once through the security doors, they were greeted by Mrs. Al-Haraz, who awaited them with a smile. She knelt down, her gaze hardening as she looked at the two girls being dragged along behind the four men.

Sabine and Anna had been in hell for almost a week. Their trek in the mountains had transformed into a kidnapping, into brutal rape then a voyage across the sea and now into a forbidding compound.

The girls, naked, bound, and gagged, walked with cords passed between their ankles, limiting their strides. Their journey from the beautiful lake had just seemed one long descent into hell. At least they were not split up ... yet.

They were shocked to be led into a large cavernous hall, containing a large cell, with clear glass walls, containing 4 naked women. The women gathered at the cell walls placing their hands on the glass, watching the new arrivals.

Sabine and Anna were shocked at the sight of the four frightened girls and the two women leading them, one of them a blond older woman in a mini skirt, and the other a deformed/mutilated Arab woman in a black dress, who leered at them with evil eyes from her scarred face.

Pembroke had changed into his suit, in order to provide a theatrical introduction. The girls cowered in silence at the evil monster’s return.

“Ah ... Miss Muller and Miss Gao, finally we can have a proper introduction! Ladies, you may have known me as Clemence Carnot, or Philippe Pain, but in reality, I am Edward Pembroke! The name may well be famous in years to come, as the procurer of beautiful girls from the world of fun and liberty, to the wealthy men of the world willing to pay a fortune for young female flesh!”

Pembroke smiled as he surveyed his audience. The grinning men, the sombre overseers and the shivering girls.

“These other girls are probably tired of hearing this speech. But it is important that you hear it. You girls are the most valuable asset on earth. Wealthy men will pay vast sums of money to own you. To hide you from the world. To own your life more than you do. To be able to eat you, to kill you, to do anything with you.”

“I Edward Pembroke have opened up the first genuine company that caters to the real nature of the super rich how now own the world. They don’t want cars or paintings. They don’t even want wives or prostitute. They want humans to own. Hundreds of years ago, the Khans could demand girls to be tribute and do what they wanted with them, fuck them or sacrifice them. But now all these wealthy men have to be oh-so-careful with their wives and all women. What they will want is bitches like you. Dead to the world. Beautiful, elegant, from good loving families, to be disposed of as they wish, not how you wish. You will be owned by another human, you are no longer fully human. Embrace it! You are the first of a new breed, complete sex slaves!”

“You, Anna Gao, you have been pre-ordered. Someone wanted you, so you have been taken. You, Sabine, your future remains a mystery, but you are beautiful, clever, elegant, there will be some man out there, perhaps some man who has already seen you, maybe your boss who knows? Who has the power and the money, who can choose to take your life from me and have you in his own little world, to do with you what he pleases.”

The two girls were petrified of this madman. Edward Pembroke was crazy. His eyes gleamed with a fanatical light as he spoke, his words sending chills down their spines.

“I am sorry, girls,” he continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “I know you think your lives, what you thought would be your lives, would be fun and happy. But the lives I have chosen for you will be among the most select in the world! Elite, among the richest in the world, you will endure pain, misery, and a lot of degradation, but you will be serving the very cream of human existence in a way 99.99% of the world would refuse to do!”

He watched the eyes of the girls open up in horror as his words soaked in. Their breasts heaved with terror, and Pembroke looked at their gorgeous torsos. Anna, with a physique that her fans had perved over through her ski clothes, now naked in front of him, and Sabine, her pure white skin shining with sweat.

“These girls here, I captured them, just like you. You will stay with them. They are being trained.” Pembroke leered at Anna. “Anna, you were always going to be captured, you have been ordered.” He turned to Sabine. “You, on the other hand, Sabine, you are here because I needed a way to kidnap your girlfriend. And not only have I got my target-your girlfriend, I also have you, a new slave! You will be destined for another owner, I will market you and sell you make money and you will end your life serving a rich man. I am sorry, Sabine, you were just too silly, too stupid. But too beautiful to pass up!”

Pembroke strode up to Sabine, menacingly, and ran his finger between her legs, from her anus, through her pussy lips, up past her belly button and then brought it to his own mouth, and sucked. “You had 21 fun years, Sabine. Now the rest of your life will be spent as a sex slave. Your beautiful body will be a plaything. You will be trained to serve, to objectify yourself, to perform the most disgusting tasks that right now, in the dark recesses of your mind, you are thinking won’t happen to you. Surely, you ask yourself, you won’t have to do that? Well, bitch, you will!”

Mrs Al-Haraz had a sixth sense as to her Master’s perversions and stepped forwards to cup Sabine’s pert buttocks.

“I know you little cunts liked to lick each other’s pussies, and don’t worry. You will be licking every pussy you see here, but don’t think that your love for each other means anything to me.”

Pembroke turned to Anna, and lowered his head and bit into her nipples, causing her to squeal. “It is important that you know your place. Sex, and violence. That will be your life now, for the rest of your life. I don’t think you sheltered girls know much of violence at all, and the only sex has been fun, the kind that you allow when you feel safe. But from now on, that will not be the case. Your bodies are now my property and we will do with them what we want, which is mainly to stick her cocks in.”

Pembroke ripped off their gags, The girls coughed, and Sabine shouted. “Let us go, you are all fucking animals Dmitri, let us GOOOO”

Pembroke calmly rolled his arm back, and slapped Sabine across her face with all his might. She was lifted off her feet, and landed on her side with a sickening thud.

“You fucking ANIMAL!” Anna Gao screamed at him. Her lover had been assaulted and she could not bear it. “You leave her alone. You pervert, you won’t get away with this! My family, the police...”

Pembroke raised his arm and struck Anna under her chin, sending her sprawling onto her back. “I have got away with it. You stupid cunts can ask these girls, who is coming to rescue them. You will join them now. I am afraid you fucked up, your deaths have been reported as an accident, they are still looking for your bodies at the bottom of the lake. Here you will be trained to serve the wealthiest men in the most disgusting ways imaginable and will eventually be sent out to a hidden place somewhere else. Listen, Sabine and Anna, whatever you said to your loved ones last, that was the last thing they will hear from you. You will never see your families again! Ever! You will serve men, and you will die, that is just it for you.”

The girls cowered in pain and fear. They looked into the cell at the four sullen naked captives. Sabine was astonished to see the face of Charlotte Spencer, who had been in the news as having been kidnapped weeks ago in Paris. What kind of organization was this?

“Now, Mrs. Parker, I expected a little show from you and Mrs. Al-Haraz. Can we expect it now?” Pembroke’s voice held a sinister edge as he addressed the women.

“Master, if you so desire it. We can hold it now.” Mrs. Parker stood to attention, answering with conviction.

Pembroke smiled. “Excellent, Mrs. Parker. Mrs. Al-Haraz?”

“Yes, Master.” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s voice dripped with determination, matching her rival’s resolve.

“Excellent, why don’t you ladies take your girls out and get them ready! You can go to opposite corners of the hall!” Pembroke commanded, his tone cold and authoritative.

He opened the cell, and the two women led their girls out. Charlotte and Zara sullenly followed Mrs. Parker to one corner of the hall where a table stood, their steps heavy with reluctance. Mrs. Al-Haraz, on the other hand, pulled Fatima and Camille by their arms more aggressively, pushing them towards a table in the opposite corner. Her determination to win, to outshine Mrs. Parker and her girls, was palpable.

Mrs. Parker, maintaining a calm and composed demeanor, brought out the costumes for the girls. She turned to Charlotte and Zara - “Remember, we do this for the Master. Show him your dedication.”

Charlotte and Zara nodded, their faces pale. They knew resistance was futile and that any defiance would only lead to harsher consequences, especially now the Master and the men were here.

Across the hall, Mrs. Al-Haraz barked orders at Fatima and Camille. “Stand straight! We will not lose to them. Now get dressed!”

Fatima and Camille had the same expressions of fear, and disgust at what they were going to do. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s aggressive approach only fuelled their anxiety, but they knew they had no choice but to comply.

Pembroke watched from the center of the hall, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He relished the control he held over these women and their girls, the power to command and the ability to break them. The hall was silent except for the shuffling of feet and the heavy breathing of the participants.

“While, the girls are getting ready, let us gag Sabine and Anna. We don’t want any outbursts to spoil our viewing. You girls should watch and learn. This what the rest of your lives are going to be like, whether here, or wherever I sell you to.”

The three men helped to gag the girls, running their hands over breasts. Jamal was thrilled at the new additions. He had Anna sitting on his lap on a chair, while Sabine sat on Pembroke’s lap. Kwame and Dmitri sat on another sofa, drinking beers, looking forward to the show.

The atmosphere in the hall grew tense, the air thick with anticipation. Pembroke’s eyes flicked between the two groups, savouring the spectacle of control and obedience as his hands went to Anna’s nipples, tweaking them gently.

Sabine and Anna watched with horror while squirming on the laps of their abusers, trying to deal with the wandering hands. It seemed each team of girls was changing into rather complicated outfits.

The girls put on black leather high-heel boots and then their overseers began securing an intricate BDSM harness around their torsos. The older women tightened the main strap around their midsections, just below the ribcage, securing it with a metal buckle at the front. From this central band, they pulled the shoulder straps over their shoulders, connecting them to the back of the central band, ensuring a tight, supportive fit.

Next, they attached the vertical straps from the central band, guiding them down the smooth stomachs and between the girls’ legs. Each girl gasped as their overseer pulled the straps up tight, eating into their pussies. These straps converged at a point near the lower back, where they fastened another adjustable buckle, creating a secure fit that prevented the harness from shifting. With the harness in place, the overseer attached reins to D-rings at the front and back. The thick, sturdy leather and polished metal buckles gave the harness a durable and visually striking appearance.

Mrs Parker had done both her girls with the harness and looked over nervously at Mrs Al-Haraz’s team. She was still finishing up with Zara on the harness.

“OK girls, you know what is next, just relax and bend over the table.” Mrs Parker whispered the girls. Charlotte and Zara bent down their breasts cushioning against the table. They made brief eye contact with each other, then turned away to face into the table surface, ashamed and humiliated.

Mrs Parker had two little butt plugs with artificial horse hair pluming out. She went to Zara first, spread her cheeks, and worked the strap to one side, until her puckered anus was visible. She leaned in close, and spat at it repeatedly. She put her index finger on it, and wriggled it inside while patting her buttocks as if to console her. Zara grimaced at the finger inside her but knew more was coming. The strap was biting in even more on her pussy lips with it being pulled aside and she wanted it over with.

Mrs Parker put the butt plug in her mouth to lubricate it, and then placed the tip on the center of the sphincter muscle, and pushed in gently. “Come on Zara, open up for me darling!”

Zara grunted and clenched her teeth as she tried to relax her sphincter muscle, finally feeling it enter, expanding inside her, and allowed her ring to close around the end. “There, said Mrs Parker, as she fitted the strap to one side of the butt plug, keeping the taut pressure between her legs but allowing the flamboyant horse hair to flow out. “Now you can thank me for all the practice!”

Mrs Parker had spent hours forcing the girls to obey her and take the butt plugs in their assholes. She was glad, they had screamed in agony for the first few days of it, and could barely walk properly during it or after, no matter how much she licked and fingered the assholes beforehand. But after a week while the Master had been gone, their assholes had now adapted to the butt plugs.

The men laughed and cheered as Zara’s exposed rump now sported a flowing mane. Mrs Al-Haraz noticed that Mrs Parker was ahead of her, cursed and spanked Fatima’s buttocks eliciting a yelp. “Open that fucking asshole, bitch,” she hissed as she angrily licked then stuck two fingers into the tortured hole. She had spent the last week forcing the butt plugs into her girls with gusto, cutting the sphincters to ribbons, drawing blood, and enjoying it. Now, the injured holes were clamping shut, even thought the poor girls were desperate to open their assholes up and get this intrusion over with.

Mrs Parker’s kinder, gentle approach had paid dividends and Charlotte’s little pink anus opened up invitingly after just a few gentle kisses from her overseer. She gently eased the buttplug in, and now both her girls had flamboyant horse tails.

Mrs Parker wondered if the girls would thank her, though. She spent days having to overcome their reluctance, particularly from Charlotte who regarded her as a filthy disgusting scumbag. Pembroke had noted with interest that Charlotte now seemed to sport a faint bruise above her eye, and guessed correctly that Mrs Parker had finally snapped and struck her, telling her it was for her own good. The spoiled little Ms Spencer needed to get used to the new reality. Her future owner might be even more brutal.

She pulled each girl’s arms behind their backs, sliding their arms and hands into the single sleeve so that their limbs were conjoined in one tight, restrictive encasement. As she pulled the sleeve up, she adjusted it to ensure their shoulder blades were pulled together, creating a taut and immobilizing restraint. The tightness of the sleeve forced the girls’ shoulders back, adding to their already submissive posture.

Sabine, sitting on her Master’s lap, saw all this with growing revulsion. She watched as Mrs. Parker meticulously placed the pony girl headdresses on the girls’ heads, securing them tightly under their chins. The sight of the leather straps and the forced, submissive postures made her stomach churn.

Her discomfort turned to horror as Mrs. Parker moved on to the single sleeve black gloves. Sabine’s eyes widened in disbelief as she saw the girls’ arms being pulled behind their backs and slid into the single sleeves, conjoining their arms and hands in a tight, restrictive encasement. The strain on the girls’ faces as their shoulder blades were pulled together and their arms immobilized was almost too much for Sabine to bear. She felt a wave of nausea, a mix of fear and disgust welling up inside her, making her shift uncomfortably on her Master’s lap, which only made his cock harden and jut in between her buttocks through his trousers.

Anna was watching Mrs Al-Haraz being even rougher with her girls, cursing and spanking them for her own mistakes in getting the headdresses on. She dared not look down at the huge round hands of Jamal which were cupping her breasts and scrolling up and down her stomach. She felt like she was sitting on a pointy rock, such was the hardness of his apparently huge cock poking into her.

Pembroke took a pen from his jacket pocket and pushed Sabine forward and down slightly, and started writing on her back. It was a score card “Parker – Al-Haraz”. Sabine moaned as the tip of the pen raked across her skin but Pembroke did not care.

“My girls are ready, Master.” Mrs. Parker guided the two girls to the center of the hall, in front of Master Pembroke. The girls stood rigidly, their faces a mix of determination and fear, their harnesses and headdresses gleaming under the dim lights.

Mrs. Al-Haraz cursed under her breath as she continued to put the single sleeve on her girls, her movements growing more agitated as she realized she had been slower. “Hold still!” she snapped, struggling to secure the straps as quickly as possible. Fatima and Camille winced but complied, their eyes darting nervously towards the center of the hall where their competitors already stood.

Master Pembroke watched with a cold, assessing gaze, his satisfaction evident. He turned his attention to Mrs. Al-Haraz and her girls, his expression stern. “Hurry up, Mrs. Al-Haraz. We don’t have all day,” he commanded.

“Yes, Master,” she responded, her voice taut with frustration. With a final tug, she secured the last strap on Fatima, then quickly moved to adjust Camille’s harness. Despite the rush, she ensured that each strap was tight and each buckle secure, unwilling to present anything less than perfection.

Finally, Mrs. Al-Haraz led her girls to the center of the hall, joining Mrs. Parker and her team. “My girls are ready as well, Master,” she announced, her tone clipped but respectful.

Pembroke pushed Sabine off, and got up and walked to the girls, checking their harnesses and playing with the horse tails. “Great effort ladies!”

He went back down and pulled Sabine over on his lap again, and wrote on her back. Mrs Parker had been quicker, but both sets of harnesses seemed good.

“OK, now, Mrs. Parker, present your ponies!” Master Pembroke commanded, his voice echoing through the hall.

Mrs. Parker stepped forward with a nervous smile. “Parade, girls!” she ordered firmly.

The girls obeyed immediately, beginning to march in unison. They raised their knees as high as they could with each step, their movements deliberate and synchronized. They moved in a circle around the hall, encircling Mrs. Al-Haraz and her girls. Each step was precise, their posture immaculate, with heads held high and eyes focused straight ahead. The sound of their boots clicking against the floor filled the hall, creating a rhythmic pattern that emphasized their discipline and coordination. Mrs. Parker watched intently, her gaze following her girls’ every move, ensuring they maintained their perfect form.

After several laps, Charlotte and Zara were tiring. Their breasts jiggled with each step, and sweat started to lash down their bodies. Their knees were getting lower each time, and Mrs. Parker produced a riding cane, gently smacking their bottoms to remind them. “Knees up, girls!” she commanded, her voice firm yet encouraging.

Charlotte and Zara, though exhausted, tried to muster the last of their strength. The sting of the cane spurred them on, and they forced their knees higher, pushing through the fatigue. Mrs. Parker could see the desperation in their tired faces, their eyes still focused ahead with determination.

The rhythmic sound of their boots hitting the floor continued, albeit with more strain now. Their heavy breathing was now interspersed with gasps and whines of effort. Mrs. Parker moved alongside them, her presence a constant reminder of the expectations they had to meet.

“You’re doing well, girls. Keep going!” she encouraged, her voice softer yet resolute.

Charlotte and Zara, driven by Mrs. Parker’s encouragement and the sting of the cane, pushed on. Each step was a struggle, their legs feeling heavier with each passing moment. Sweat dripped down their bodies, their muscles burning with fatigue.

“Enough, girls, bravo!” Mr. Pembroke started to applaud, his claps echoing through the hall. He was soon joined by Jamal, Dmitri, and Kwame, their applause creating a chorus of approval.

Charlotte and Zara stopped their march, standing still in the center of the hall. Their breasts heaved with each labored breath, and they lowered their heads, feeling the weight of their exhaustion. Their bodies trembled with the effort they had expended.

Mrs. Parker gave the girls a reassuring nod. “Well done,” she whispered, proud of their performance despite the challenges.

Pembroke then turned his attention to Mrs. Al-Haraz and her girls. “Now, Mrs. Al-Haraz, present your ponies!” he commanded.

Mrs. Al-Haraz, feeling the pressure to match or surpass Mrs. Parker’s presentation, quickly directed her girls to the center of the hall. Fatima and Camille, now fully harnessed and ready, took their positions.

“Parade, girls!” Mrs. Al-Haraz ordered, her voice sharp with determination.

Fatima and Camille began their march, raising their knees high with each step, mimicking the disciplined movements of Charlotte and Zara. They moved in a circle around the hall, their focus intense as they worked to impress Master Pembroke.

The hall once again filled with the sound of boots hitting the floor, the rhythmic pattern underscoring the girls’ efforts. Master Pembroke watched intently, comparing the performances, while Mrs. Parker observed from the sidelines, her eyes still on her own exhausted but resilient team.

Camille and Fatima tired much sooner than Charlotte and Zara had. As their pace slowed, Mrs. Al-Haraz’s frustration grew. “Knees higher!” she shouted, her voice echoing sharply through the hall. But Fatima, in particular, struggled to comply. Her legs trembled, and she lost her posture, her head lowering in exhaustion after just a few laps.

Seeing this, Mrs. Al-Haraz brought the cane down on Fatima’s bottom much harder than Mrs. Parker had on her girls. The sharp cracks of the cane echoed in the hall, eliciting pained screams from Fatima. But despite the harsh punishment, there was no improvement in the girls’ performance. In fact, the strikes only seemed to hinder them further, sapping what little strength they had left.

Camille, seeing Fatima’s distress, also began to falter, her movements becoming erratic and uncoordinated. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s shouts and strikes created a chaotic scene, starkly contrasting with the earlier disciplined performance of Mrs. Parker’s team.

“Keep moving!” Mrs. Al-Haraz barked, but the girls were already at their limits. Fatima stumbled, nearly falling, and Camille’s steps became more of a shuffle than a march. The high-heeled boots and tight harnesses, their aching assholes, combined with their exhaustion, made it impossible for them to maintain the required form.

Master Pembroke watched with a critical eye, his earlier satisfaction replaced by a stern frown. “Enough!” he finally commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. The hall fell silent, save for the labored breathing of Camille and Fatima.

Mrs. Al-Haraz’s face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment as she stepped back, her eyes downcast. Fatima and Camille stood still, their bodies heaving with exhaustion, their faces wet with sweat and streaked with tears.

“Disappointing, Mrs. Al-Haraz,” Pembroke said coldly. He made more marks on Sabine’s back with his pen. “Now, we are still in the early stages, so no need to fret yet girls” He nodded at the dejected looking Fatima and Camille, still grunting in pain and exhaustion.

For the next part, Pembroke had been inspired to bring a scooter he had picked up from a shop in Karataş. It was a child’s scooter, and he had thought it useful for this event, giving it to Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz for their duel.

This time, Mrs. Al-Haraz went first. She attached a harness to the D-rings on her girls’ harness and brought the scooter behind them. She took the harness in her hands, and as instructed, took her hands off the control handlebar of the scooter. She was wearing high heels and a short black PVC mini skirt, and she tottered dangerously on the scooter, just able to have her two feet planted on either side. Standing up straight, she held her girls by the harness as if she were on a chariot.

She steadied herself and ordered, “Advance.” Camille and Zara resumed their stride pattern, wearily trying to lift their knees again. However, their thighs now felt like lead, and the weight of the scooter with Mrs. Al-Haraz on it made moving all the more difficult. They had to strain just to get it going, their teeth clenched with effort. Their strides were hard to keep in tandem, and their heads bent down to the ground, seeking more power to pull the scooter and their overseer.

“Poor form on your girls, Mrs. Al-Haraz,” Pembroke commented. He admired the girls’ efforts, noting the taut and defined muscles visible in their abdomens and the sheen of sweat glistening on their skin, but he wanted them upright.

“Heads up!” Mrs. Al-Haraz shouted, raising her cane. She struck the girls on their sides, reminding them to straighten up.

“I cannot!” wailed Camille, sweat now dripping from her face to the floor.

Pembroke tutted loudly. Kwame took a swig of his beer and remarked, “Hmmm, now they are talking? Not going well for this team.”

Dmitri and Jamal laughed, adding to the mounting pressure on the struggling girls.

Mrs. Al-Haraz screamed at her girls, “No talking! No excuses! Heads up, knees up, pull! Pull!” Her voice was sharp and commanding, driving Camille and Zara to push through their exhaustion and pain. She angrily raised the cane again, but lost her balance and fell off the scooter, landing on her backside on the ground.

The sudden loss of weight on the scooter made the girls lurch forward. They stumbled in their own high heels and fell forward, their arms helplessly bound behind their backs, unable to stop their fall. They landed face down on the ground, the impact resonating with a dull thud as they struggled to catch their breath. The scene was chaotic, with Mrs. Al-Haraz fuming and the girls trying to recover from their unexpected tumble struggling to get to their feet.

The men were laughing their heads off. Mrs. Al-Haraz got up and hurriedly helped her girls to their feet, each of them now crying in pain.

The girls continued, pushing through their pain and exhaustion. Mrs. Al-Haraz wisely chose not to use her cane anymore, opting instead to shout encouragement.

“Come on, girls, you can do it! Just a bit more!” she urged, her tone more desperate than supportive.

Anna squirmed uncomfortably at the gruelling spectacle even more than the giant hands planted on her breasts. The girls’ neck muscles strained, their faces turning purple from the effort. Their attempts to keep high knees and heads up were now almost completely abandoned, with their focus shifting solely to pulling the scooter around in a circle at an increasingly slow pace.

“That’s enough, girls,” said Pembroke.

The girls both gasped in relief, dropping to their knees with their heads bowed almost to the ground as they caught their breath.

“Now, Mrs Parker, get your girls ready.”

Zara and Charlotte had been watching the other girls with horror. Zara found it impossible to watch her cousin’s face, choking and turning purple, her eyes bulging with effort. She had been relieved when their ordeal had ended. But now, it was their turn to start.

However, Mrs. Parker’s insistent training came to their aid. She had drilled them relentlessly, preparing them for this moment.

“Remember your training,” Mrs. Parker whispered firmly. “Stay focused, keep your form, and you’ll get through this.”

But within seconds, the plan went wrong. Mrs. Parker, dressed in a blue mini dress and high heels, found herself just as handicapped as Mrs. Al-Haraz. As soon as the girls took a few steps, she wobbled on the scooter, leaning first to one side and then the other, before falling to the ground with her legs akimbo. The men laughed and leered at the sight of the blonde woman’s white knickers on show.

Mrs. Parker, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, quickly scrambled to her feet, adjusting her dress. “Alright, let’s try that again,” she said, attempting to regain her composure. “But more steady this time, girls.”

The girls continued. They were tired and their thighs burned from the earlier effort. Charlotte secretly thanked the older woman for putting her through her paces all week, while Mrs Al-Haraz had been more concerned about having her girls lick her all over.

With their knees lifting high and chins held up, Zara and Charlotte marched in unison. Despite their exhaustion, they managed to maintain a steady rhythm, their training evident in every step. Mrs. Parker watched closely, offering words of encouragement, while trying to stay balanced.

Mrs. Parker nervously glanced at Master Pembroke to gauge his reaction. She saw him smiling at the two young girls, clearly admiring their form, their sculpted young physiques, and the defined muscles in their thighs as their legs went up and down.

Mrs. Parker’s spirits rose, but her momentary distraction proved costly. Once again, she lost her balance, this time falling off and landing hard on her arm. The men burst into laughter, adding to the already tense atmosphere. Zara and Charlotte looked back nervously as Mrs. Parker struggled to get up, nursing her wrist and crying in pain, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Mrs. Al-Haraz cheered with an evil smile, clearly relishing Mrs. Parker’s misfortune. All the other females gasped in sympathy, their concern evident as they watched Mrs. Parker struggle.

Mrs. Parker got back on the scooter, trying to ignore the sniggers from the men as she again sought her balance and gripped the harness. As the girls moved off, she felt the pain in her wrist intensify as Zara pulled the harness, but she had to stay balanced, knowing her girls were doing so well.

Mrs. Al-Haraz watched with envy at the girls’ form. Zara and Charlotte’s knees and chins remained high, their wiry torsos exposing every sinew of muscle straining to keep going.

Mrs. Parker prayed that Master Pembroke would call an end to it as she kept wobbling. The girls found themselves being pulled all over the place from her erratic hand movements as she desperately tried to stay stable. Eventually, Charlotte felt a strong pull from Mrs. Parker as she tried to prevent herself from falling over. Charlotte lost her own balance on her high heels and fell back onto her bottom. Mrs. Parker, tottering on her high heels, also fell, this time hurting her ankle.

“Oh dear, Mrs. Parker, you are letting your girls down!” Master Pembroke remarked, making more notes on Sabine’s back.

Mrs. Parker, determined to see it through despite the pain in her ankle and wrist, got back on the scooter. She wiped the tears from her eyes, resolved to not fall again. Zara and Charlotte, pulled with renewed effort, their movements synchronized and focused.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Master Pembroke commanded, “Stop!”

Mrs. Parker put away the scooter and stood with her girls, limping slightly and holding her wrist. Despite her pain, she maintained a composed demeanor. Zara, and Charlotte sank to the ground, their bodies trembling from the exertion.

“Good spirit shown there, Mrs Parker!” Master Pembroke was impressed, and really enjoying this show. “Now, ladies, you can take the harnesses off your girls.”

The girls allowed their overseers to remove their headdresses and sleeve gloves. They rubbed their arms, which were almost numb from being trapped behind their backs for so long, while their overseers unbuckled and removed their harnesses. The girls gasped with relief as the tight straps were removed from around their torsos, especially when they were released from the constricting tight straps between their legs.

Zara and Charlotte, Fatima and Camille, all stretched their limbs, feeling the blood flow back into their arms and legs. The overseers then helped them out of their high heels. Finally, the overseers took the horse tail butt plugs out of their girls’ assess. Mrs Parker took considerably more care than Mrs Al-Haraz who yanked each one out aggressively with one pull, eliciting pained screams from her girls.

The girls stood in front of Master Pembroke, rubbing their arms, and their sore asses, exhausted. The overseers stood with arms to the side, awaiting instruction.

“Really good show, wouldn’t you agree gentlemen?” Master Pembroke turned to his three male employees.

The men nodded and hummed in appreciation. “Credit to Mrs Parker for not giving up!” Kwame raised a beer in salute of the woman, who bowed in return.

“Indeed.” Master Pembroke now went on “For the next round, I want to test your anal muscles.” All the girls in the room flinched, the men raised their mouths in smiles.

“Now, Mrs. Parker’s team, I want you all on your hands and knees, facing that wall,” Master Pembroke instructed, pointing to the left wall.

Zara and Charlotte, along with Mrs. Parker, obediently got on all fours, positioning themselves as directed. The four men, along with Sabine and Anna, had a side view of them, with Mrs. Parker positioned on the far side.

The girls were still sweating and breathing hard from their exertion, dreading what was coming next. Mrs. Parker cried out in pain from having to put weight on her injured wrist in the position but bit her lip, determined to get through it.

Master Pembroke observed them for a moment, noting the strain and effort each one was putting in. “Maintain your positions,” he commanded. “This exercise is about endurance and discipline.”

Master Pembroke turned to Kwame. “Kwame, remember what we talked about. Please take out the white chocolate.”

Kwame grinned, pulling out a large bar of white chocolate with thick chunks. He walked along each girl, admiring their asses, leering as he went. The girls could feel his eyes on them, adding to their discomfort and tension.

“Now Kwame, put a chunk of chocolate up each of their assholes, just enough so it is not sticking out. You will need to remove Mrs Parker’s knickers for her.”

Kwame grinned, and knelt down behind Charlotte. The men cheered and laughed as he ran his hands over her buttocks, and he pushed the chunk of white chocolate into the girl’s anus, still winking slightly from having been stretched by the butt plug. Charlotte’s face was red from this humiliation, even more so than the pony play. She felt the chunk bulge into her rectum. Kwame moved on to Zara and did the same thing, then with Mrs Parker he forced her legs together, pulled her knickers down and then off her legs, exposing her like her girls. He admired the older woman’s meatier pussy. The pain in her wrist and physical strain of maintaining her positions was evident in every muscle, including her sphincter muscle, surrounded by a ring of creased skin, unlike the smaller buttonhole anuses of the younger girls. He forced a chunk of chocolate inside her, and Mrs Parker sucked in air at the pain that shot into her wrist.

“Excellent, now keep holding the position, ladies and let the chocolate melt for a few minutes. Keep your assholes shut tight!”

Master Pembroke took a drink of beer and shared some jokes with the men as they killed time. They were enjoying the spectacled immensely. Sabine and Anna tried to sneak glances at each other, they each exchanged expressions of horror. Sabine mouthed “I love you” at her lover, to try and support her, in the midst of this hell.

Pembroke checked his watch. “OK, five minutes, that should be enough. Now, Mrs. Al-Haraz, you and your girls get on your hands and knees behind each girl. Mrs. Al-Haraz, you get behind Mrs. Parker. Captain against Captain. Hands on the ground at all times, and position yourselves right behind the girl in front of you so you are touching them with your nose!”

Mrs. Al-Haraz and her girls obediently got into position, each one aligning themselves directly behind the girls from Mrs. Parker’s team. Mrs. Al-Haraz positioned herself right behind Mrs. Parker, her nose almost touching Mrs. Parker’s backside.

“Remember, hands on the ground at all times,” Pembroke reiterated. “Now I want you to look at the asshole of the girl in front of you. Mrs Al-Haraz’s team, you will have three minutes in which you must suck, lick, and eat as much of the white chocolate out of the other girl’s asshole as possible. No hands, only tongues!”

Fatima was behind her cousin, and staring at her tiny brown star made her retch. She had been forced to lick her pussy before but this was a new low.

“OK, now start!”

The girls tentatively placed their tongues against the little stars in front of them, smelling and tasting sweat and the faint whiff of chocolate. In contrast, Mrs Al-Haraz furiously got stuck in, running her tongue over the anus in front of her, circling it and stabbing it. Mrs Parker clenched her asshole tight, determined not to let the angry tongue enter her and take away the chocolate she held in her rectum. But the Yemeni woman was a strong licker, and motivated.

Mrs Al-Haraz attacked the white woman’s asshole as if her life depended on it. She felt it give a little, and worked her tongue inside, and rejoiced in getting a bit of chocolate on her tongue. Hungry for more, she slabbered and slurped against the soft flesh of Mrs Parker’s anus, then sucking and hovering up as much of the sweet chocolate as she could.

Mrs Parker was trying to clench herself shut, but the pain in her wrist and ankle made it hard to concentrate. The rough tongue was loosening her up. Mrs Al-Haraz had an inspiration, and lowered her tongue to her pussy, and sucked on her clit. Mrs Parker sighed with pleasure against her will and her opponent spotted her anus relax and widen, opening into a small pinhole, the white globs of chocolate visible within the small gape. Mrs Al-Haraz brought her tongue swiftly back up and drove it inside her, this time flickering it against the woman’s inner walls and sucking so hard it hurt Mrs Parker, but the pain did not help her closing up.

In contrast, Zara and Charlotte were faring better. Each did not want to open up their assholes for the tongues behind them, although each found a small frission of pleasure from the oral skills working on them. Fatima and Camille were tired, their arms hurt, and they hated doing this. The little pink holes were not opening up, and their lazy licks were not prising the muscles open.

“Time is up!” Pembroke watched Kwame go up again, to inspect the ladies.

Mrs Al-Haraz and her girls stood up as the other team stayed on all fours. Kwame first went to Mrs Parker and stuck a long thick finger up her ass, and fished around, feeling for something, anything. He brought his finger out, and saw barely a trace of white and when sniffing it, barely any smell of it, or taste when he sucked it.

“No chocolate left, boss!”

Mrs Al-Haraz’s mouth was full of the taste of the white chocolate. She grinned with pleasure. Mrs Parker sighed in defeat, her asshole had been conquered.

Kwame then went to Zara and his finger went hoking through her asshole. He fished out dollops of white chocolate, sucked them off his fingers, then put it back inside, and brought out even more. “Boss! Her ass is full of chocolate, I don’t think the other girl got any out of her ass!”

Mrs Parker cheered inwardly as Mrs Al-Haraz cursed Fatima and her lazy tongue. The next was Charlotte, who grunted as the large finger fished her insides, bring out several fragments of white chocolate. “Boss, even more chocolate inside this girl, her ass held it all!”

Mrs Parker discreetly clenched her fist in triumph as Mrs Al-Haraz shot an angry look at Camille.

“Now, Mrs. Al-Haraz, get your knickers off and have your team face the other wall. You will get on all fours this time,” Master Pembroke commanded, his voice authoritative. “Position yourselves correctly. Hands on the ground at all times, and maintain your form.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz complied, removing her knickers and signalling her team to turn and face the other wall. She got down on all fours, her face showing a determination, she turned her face to the two girls. “Keep those fucking assholes tight, OK!”

Kwame forced the chunks of white chocolate into the assholes of the three females, and the hall waited for a few minutes for it to melt inside them.

“Now girls,” whispered Mrs. Parker, “Remember to be patient. Just use your tongues like I told you, like we practiced, and before long they will relax, OK? You both did really well, we can win this.”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker,” Charlotte said, her voice a mix of exhaustion and determination.

Mrs. Parker nodded at her with a tight smile, acknowledging their shared effort. Despite the animosity between them, they were both in this together.

“Now, ladies, get your faces up to those asses. Mrs. Parker, you are behind Mrs. Al-Haraz,” Pembroke spoke with real passion, eager to see how this round would go.

Mrs. Parker, fighting through the pain of her injuries, positioned herself behind Mrs. Al-Haraz, her face close to her rival’s exposed backside. Zara and Charlotte followed suit, moving behind the other members of Mrs. Al-Haraz’s team, their faces inches away from their targets.

Mrs. Parker stared at her target: the crinkled dark brown, almost black star of the Yemeni woman, nestled amid her coffee brown buttocks and bright pink pussy lips. The sphincter muscle was wound tight and contracted even as the Englishwoman looked at it. Her nemesis’s anus would be a difficult treasure trove to break into, but Mrs. Parker knew she had to reach the prize of the white chocolate behind it.

“Remember, girls,” she whispered to Zara and Charlotte, “take your time and be gentle. We know what we’re doing.”

Both Charlotte and Zara were shocked and disgusted at the state of the other girls’ anuses. They were bleeding and open, evidence of Mrs. Al-Haraz’s rough treatment. This brutality would now be her downfall, as the girls found it difficult to close the damaged holes.

“Now, three minutes start now!” Pembroke raised his hand theatrically.

Mrs. Parker leaned in and gently applied her tongue to her target. It remained sealed. Mrs. Al-Haraz clenched her teeth, shut her eyes, and fought to stop the sensation of Mrs. Parker’s tongue from loosening her sphincter muscles. Mrs. Parker felt as if she were tonguing a brick wall. Even forking her tongue, she could not gain any purchase or make progress through the sphincter.

In contrast, Zara and Charlotte were working well despite their revulsion. The initial taste of blood had given way to the taste of chocolate as their tongues wormed their way into the holes. Fatima and Camille fought to try and seal their sphincters, but the irresistible sensation of the hot tongues and the pain from being stretched earlier combined to make it fruitless to close their walls against the invading tongues.

Mrs. Parker, sensing the resistance, adjusted her approach. She applied more gentle pressure, using slow, deliberate movements, trying to coax the sphincter to relax. She whispered words of encouragement to Zara and Charlotte, hoping to inspire them to push through their own challenges. “Keep going, girls. We’ve got this,” she murmured, her voice a mix of determination and reassurance.

In contrast Mrs Al-Haraz hissed at her girls. “Keep those fucking assholes shut, keep that chocolate in!”

The taste of chocolate in the mouths of Charlotte and Zara became more pronounced, signalling their progress. Zara looked at the now gaping asshole of her cousin and saw the huge globs of chocolate pouring out. She sucked hungrily, her desperation for something sweet overcoming the appalling nature of the task. After weeks of eating nothing but healthy, tasteless slop, the sweet, rich chocolate was a welcome relief.

Charlotte, similarly, focused on the task, her revulsion momentarily overshadowed by the pleasure of tasting the chocolate. The once daunting challenge seemed slightly more bearable with the reward in sight.

Fatima and Camille, unable to seal their sphincters against the determined tongues of Zara and Charlotte, also gave way, their bodies betraying them as the hot tongues continued their work.

Mrs. Parker, seeing her girls making progress, felt a surge of determination. She redoubled her efforts, using every technique she had practiced to break through the resistance of Mrs. Al-Haraz’s sphincter. The muscle started to relax, the tightness giving way under her persistent, gentle pressure.

Mrs. Al-Haraz felt the chocolate starting to ooze out of her, and as she heard the slurping, sucking sounds of Mrs. Parker desperately trying to suck and hoover the chocolate out of her hole, the Yemeni woman clenched with all her might, trying to squeeze her sphincter shut, desperate to keep it in.

As the first taste of chocolate hit Mrs. Parker’s taste buds, she felt a surge of desperation and determination. She stabbed her tongue inside, trying to force it deeper into the hole to get more chocolate. Then, planting her lips around the anus, she violently sucked, creating a loud vacuuming sound as she tried to extract as much chocolate as possible. Mrs. Al-Haraz clenched her jaws with effort, fighting against the prickling sensation of the hot mouth invading her asshole.

Suddenly, Master Pembroke shouted, “Stop!”

The command echoed through the room, freezing everyone in their tracks. Mrs. Parker immediately pulled back, her lips and tongue leaving Mrs. Al-Haraz’s anus. Zara and Charlotte also halted, their faces flushed and their breathing heavy.

Kwame made the rounds again, stopping at Mrs. Al-Haraz. He inspected her asshole with his finger and was met with a loud farting sound as huge globs of white chocolate came out onto his hand and onto the ground.

“Wow, boss, I don’t think the lady got any chocolate out of her at all!” Kwame marvelled at all the sticky white goo on his hand. He wiped the rest up off the ground and brought it to Mrs. Al-Haraz’s mouth to clean off.

Mrs. Al-Haraz licked Kwame’s fingers clean, grinning proudly as she stared at Mrs. Parker, her eyes flashing with a sense of victory. Her tongue savored the chocolate, running it around in her mouth as if to boast that she had won. The chocolate was in her mouth now, not Mrs. Parker’s.

Mrs. Parker looked down, annoyed that she had been so close having had to perform the disgusting task. Kwame continued his inspection of the other girls, their rumps still upturned in the air. He moved methodically from one to the next. “Boss, there is no chocolate in either of these girls, only blood!” he announced.

“Well done Mrs Parker! Your girls’ tongues must have razors in them!” Pembroke laughed and made more marks on Sabine’s back. Both Sabine and Anna were beyond wondering what could happen next.

“Now the final round! Mrs Al-Haraz, your team to go first!”

Mrs Al-Haraz was still annoyed at the girls as they limped to the table. “You fucking sluts, you cannot keep your holes closed!” she hissed. “Madam, you were rough with the butt plugs, and all last week, I could barely feel my asshole, I could not help it!” Camille complained. The older woman slapped her across the face. “Shut up! Now you remember your fucking lines, OK?”

Camille rubbed her face, her fingers tracing the lines sting of the slap. She resignedly took the clothes she was to wear and had a final read over the “script.” The past week had been a nightmare, but having to relive her ordeal for a performance felt like an added cruelty. She was going to have to re-enact her kidnapping, with Fatima playing the role of Pembroke.

Meanwhile, Charlotte was getting changed into a tennis player outfit. It felt weird wearing clothes again for the first time in weeks, but the obscenely short white skirt and the tight white vest top reminded her that she was still a sex object. The cotton white panties under her skirt felt nice, her pussy being hidden for the first time, but she knew they would soon be off again.

Mrs Al-Haraz stood with the script, but could not understand most of the English. Camille stood next to Fatima, still naked. Camille was in a pair of small pink shorts and a t shirt.

Camille breathed hard, looking at a space on the wall above the leering men and the frightened naked girls on their laps.

“I really like being a film director. I am sure that my films are good, and that ... that they are not just paid for by my daddy, and that no one would pay for them otherwise...” Camille choked on the words, the lines viciously written by Pembroke to mock her film career.

The words stung as she spoke them, each sentence a cruel reminder of the doubts and insecurities she harbored. Her present situation was awful, and the competition so far had been a horrible ordeal, but even after all that, the worlds about her film career cut to her heart.

“Don’t worry Camille...” Fatima struggled with the English... “Who cares ... who...?” Fatima looked back at Mrs Al-Haraz for support, who sighed and tried to read the script. “Stupid bitch!” She hissed at her.

“Stupid bitch?” Fatima repeated the line.

Pembroke laughed hysterically. “No, Fatima, that was Mrs Al-Haraz calling you a stupid bitch. Here give me the script, I will remind you of the lines.”

Pembroke read them out. “Who cares about your movies, you are a hot young slut, and the only movies you should be in are porn movies.”

“Who cares about your movies, you are a hot young slut and the only movies you like are porn movies.” Fatima looked quizzically at Pembroke who shook his head and laughed.

“Go on!” he sighed.

“I ... I have a hot young body but I do not want to share it with anyone, only daddy.” Camille said the line out robotically. She tried to focus, to just get past it. But to what end? Would this humiliation ever end? And they were going to lose, Fatima and Mrs Al-Haraz could not speak English and they could barely practice.

“Yes, your daddy, he likes me?” Fatima spoke the words helplessly, realizing she got the line wrong. Her face flushed with panic, and she broke down, tears welling up in her eyes. “I am sorry, Master, I don’t understand English...” she cried, her voice trembling as she held her arms out to Pembroke as if pleading for mercy.

“It’s alright, Fatima. Mistakes happen.” Pembroke smirked. He loved the feeling of despair and panic on the naked girl’s face. He laughed as he thought of how hilarious it must have been to see the two Arab women with little English desperately trying to memorise and understand the script.

“I think white people are disgusting and Arab men are wonderful gentlemen who would never hurt me. So I think I should meet this Algerian film director. It sounds like a good idea,” Camille spoke the next line in a deadpan voice, her scorn for the stupidity of the line and the whole idea clear.

“Careful, Camille. Don’t be mocking, careful,” Pembroke warned, his tone sharp. He did not appreciate the young lady’s cheek.

Camille turned to Fatima, who was waving her arms around frantically trying to remember the line. Her movements caused her breasts to jiggle, and the stress of the moment became too much for her. Fatima burst into tears again.

Pembroke just laughed. This was hilariously bad, but what on earth was he expecting. “Haha, I am going to trick this girl and kidnap her. She will never suspect a gay guy and four gay actors!” Pembroke read out the line, then smiled at Camille.

Camille closed her eyes and read out the line, swallowing hard to stop crying. “Yes, of course I will go to a deserted beach and yes, of course I will go out to the rocks by myself. Oh wait, a lifeguard is calling me in.”

Fatima, still trying to understand, looked completely lost. She waved her arms around in frustration, her face a mask of confusion. Camille, seeing her struggle, spoke up gently. “You pretend to be a lifeguard and then you do that thing, ‘hissss’.”

Fatima nodded, trying to process the instructions. “Come in!” she said, her voice shaky but determined to follow through.

Camille, with a hint of mockery towards the absurdity of the situation, raised her eyes theatrically and walked towards Fatima. Fatima knew this part, she put her hand on Camille’s shoulder and she fell to the ground mimicking being shocked.

Camille got up and stood to the side, and spoke to the audience again. Her eyes were dead, her tone flat. “And now I am a sex slave. I will spend the rest of my life pleasing men with my body. I will never see my family again. Sex and violence will be all I will ever know for the rest of my life. The End.”

Camille took a bow, and so did Fatima. They both looked at Pembroke, Fatima with fear and confusion, Camille with cold hatred.

Pembroke was shaking with laughter. “Sorry girls, that was good” He started to clap then so did the other men.

“Now, Mrs Parker, your girls, come on!”

Charlotte walked on inn her tennis outfit, white tiny skirt, bare feet and vest top. Zara was naked.

“Oh, my, I am such a wonderful girl, I am pretty, and I am going to be a top tennis player. I hope nothing awful happens, like becoming a sex slave. “ Charlotte could barely breathe as she said the words.

“When you play tennis ... the men...” Zara nervously tried to remember the words.

“The men all want to fuck you and imagine you naked” whispered Mrs Parker, reading from the script. “The men want to fuck you” repeated Zara.

“Oh, Mr Carnot” said Charlotte. “He seems like a top lawyer. I am just a stupid girl, maybe I can have a law career if I show people my...” Charlotte sobbed, unable to get the word out.

“Pussy” whispered Mrs Parker.

“I know the fucking lines” shouted Charlotte.

“Careful Charlotte!” Pembroke chided her.

Charlotte tried to breathe. She walked towards Zara and they bumped into each other. “Oh hello Charlotte “said Zara. “Why don’t you come to my offices. I promise I am not going to kidnap you.”

Zara was relieved she could remember one line. Charlotte thought back to her meeting with that bastard in Paris.

“Oh, this part of Paris is full of immigrants. I am too good for these people, I am a spoilt, rich girl that needs a good long fucking.” Charlotte suddenly stopped, and got down on her knees, and started to weep.

Mrs Parker and Zara tried to help her up.

“Get the fuck away from me! Leave me alone!” Charlotte wailed. “I want out of here! I don’t belong here! I cannot fucking take this anymore!”

Pembroke looked at Mrs Parker and raised his eyebrow. Mrs Parker felt awful but knew she had to do it. She grabbed Charlotte by the hair and slapped her several times.

“How dare you disrespect the Master like that! You cheeky little bitch! Continue the performance!” Mrs Parker screamed into the young girl’s face. Charlotte reacted with shock, her face went white, and she got back up.

“OK, continue” Pembroke said.

“Do you want a taxi?” Mrs Parker hissed at Zara.

“Do you want a taxi?” Zara asked Charlotte.

Charlotte was silent for several seconds, before answering, her eyes sullenly stuck on the ground. “Yes, I want to go to Monsieur Carnot’s nice law offices. I can dream of being a lawyer even though I am a stupid girl.”

Zara walked to the girl and touched her shoulder and hissed her like Fatima had to Camille.

Charlotte sobbed out the next few words incoherently from the ground. “And now I will never be a tennis player, I will never be a lawyer, I will never have a family, I will never see my parents. My life ... my life will be spent as a sex slave.” She cupped her face in her hands and wailed in despair. All the females in the room apart from Mrs Al-Haraz cried in sympathy.

Pembroke just clapped. “Well done! Now for the dances!”

The first up this time were Charlotte and Zara. Zara remained naked while Charlotte stayed in her tennis gear. Mrs. Parker had one song to play from an MP3 player: “Glow Up” by Ava Starr. Mrs. Parker stroked the girls’ backs, reassuring them that this was the end. She prayed they would win; going through all this just to lose and be punished would be sickening.

The song began, its upbeat tempo filling the room with energy. Charlotte fought through tears to remember the routine. Her blond hair swished around as she moved her fingers, swayed her hips, and mimed the words to the song. Zara tried to copy the moves, though she forgot some of it. She twerked her bottom at the audience, moved her chest, and shook her breasts, also miming to the music.

Mrs. Parker watched anxiously, her heart pounding as she silently cheered them on. The chorus hit, and both girls threw themselves into the routine. As the song neared its end, Charlotte and Zara both performed one co-ordinated sequence, bending their knees and lowering their hips almost to the ground, Zara displaying her bare pussy lips between her splayed legs and Charlotte her white panties.

Mrs. Parker listened intently for the hook and clicked her fingers as she heard it. On that signal, Charlotte and Zara turned to each other, their movements fluid and synchronized. They held each other in their arms. Zara’s hands lifted Charlotte’s skirt, revealing the panties underneath. The men watched with bated breath as the girls ran their hands over each other’s bodies, then started kissing.

The song continued in its extended version, and the girls moved to the ground, their bodies still intertwined in a sensual embrace. Charlotte and Zara kissed passionately, their connection deepening with each movement. Zara took off Charlotte’s clothes, carefully removing each piece to reveal her smooth skin.

As the music played on, they positioned themselves in a 69 position, with Charlotte lying on the ground and Zara lying on top of her, her head nestled against Charlotte’s now bare pussy.

Charlotte’s hands caressed Zara’s back, tracing the curves of her body with delicate fingers. Zara, in turn, continued her movements, her hands exploring Charlotte’s thighs and hips.

Their bodies moved in sync with the music, gently swaying on the ground. Charlotte’s blond hair fanned out on the floor as she lay beneath Zara. She began licking at Zara’s smooth pussy above her, tonguing the young lips. Zara, in turn, forced her mouth between the legs of Charlotte and ran her tongue along the lips, tasting the sweet juices coming out of her.

Mrs. Parker watched intently, her heart pounding, they were so close to the end. The song came to an end, and in the silence the only sound was of their mouths softly sucking and licking each other.

“I don’t want it to stop! But we need the next team on!” laughed Pembroke.

Mrs. Al-Haraz had beaten both girls all week to get this performance right. “Rise Up” by Luna Sky played, and both girls began dancing. Camille had wanted to choreograph the dance but had been overruled by the Yemeni woman, who beat her for offering any suggestion. Mrs. Al-Haraz wanted to see Camille’s acrobatic abilities. But the weeks of confinement and torture had not been kind.

Camille performed various cartwheels and somersaults, her movements strained and uncoordinated due to the physical toll she had endured. Fatima, on the other hand, just danced, trying desperately to remember what Mrs. Al-Haraz had tried to beat into her. The result was a mess.

At one point, Camille attempted a front somersault, and in the chaos, Fatima, dancing desperately, turned into her path. Camille’s foot struck Fatima squarely in the face. Fatima clutched her nose, blood streaming down her face, while Camille hit the ground hard, writhing in pain.

But, driven by sheer determination and fear of further punishment, they struggled back to their feet. Fatima wiped the blood from her nose as best she could, while Camille pushed through the pain radiating through her body.

The men laughed at the mishap, and the dance just got worse as a result. Fatima shook her ass, holding her cheeks wide apart as Mrs Al-Haraz had instructed, but it was not sexy at all. Finally, Mrs Al-Harz shouted out. “Kiss!”

The girls moved close and kissed. Blood was pouring out of Fatima’s nose and both girls tasted it as they kissed.

“Now, 69!” shouted Mrs Al-Haraz. She hoped this next move might clinch victory.

Camille, driven by a mix of determination and desperation, tore off her vest and shorts, now standing fully naked. She quickly moved into a handstand, her body tense with effort. Fatima, despite the blood still trickling from her nose, grabbed Camille around the waist. With a gentle but firm grip, Fatima strained to lift Camille’s hands from the ground, her muscles quivering under the load.

Camille, feeling the shift in balance, gracefully folded her thighs over Fatima’s shoulders, locking them in place. Fatima, now bearing the full weight of Camille, steadied herself, her face a mask of concentration and resolve, as her legs began to shake.

The men in the audience oohed and aahed at the performance, clearly impressed by the extraordinary display of strength and balance.

“Lick!” shouted Mrs Al-Haraz.

Camille’s hair hung down between Fatima’s legs as she brought her face closer, gripping Fatima’s buttocks to steady herself. With careful, deliberate movements, she worked her neck to tilt her face up between Fatima’s legs, her eyes meeting Fatima’s crotch, and she began licking her pussy.

Fatima held onto Camille’s waist tightly, her legs trembling with the effort of maintaining their balance. She felt Camille’s tongue between her pussy lips, and leaned forward, bringing her face closer to Camille’s own pussy and began eating.

The blood was flowing to Camille’s head as she tried to lick her partner’s pussy upside down. Fatima was overcome with the effort needed to hold Camille while having her own pussy played with. Combined with the injuries from the collision and the exhaustion of the competition, it proved too much. Camille slipped from her grasp, and the French girl fell head first onto the ground.

Fatima screamed and rushed to help her partner, who cried while cradling her neck. The men laughed again, finding it all hilarious. The two girls cradled each other on the ground as the song came to an end. Mrs Al-Haraz came forward and started hitting them. “Stupid bitches!”

Pembroke clapped and laughed. “And that concludes the competition! Ladies give yourselves a round of applause!

The girls clapped meekly, heads bowed. It had been humiliating but at least it was over. Camille rubbed her neck and Fatima her face. Mrs Parker still had a sore wrist and ankle.

Pembroke looked at the scores he had written on Sabine’s back. “The winner is ... TEAM MRS PARKER!!”

Mrs Parker and her girls did not celebrate, they merely bowed. Mrs Al-Haraz scowled and her girls sobbed.

“Now, what this means is that Team Al-Haraz has to be punished!” Pembroke pushed Sabine off his lap, and went to collect several small whips and bottles of water.

“Team Parker, here are your prizes, drink these bottles of water. Now.” He threw them at the feet of the three women, who picked them up and drank.

“Now Team Al-Haraz. For the last few weeks I have tortured you but have not broken your skin. Camille, why do you think that is?”

“Because our owner wants us unblemished” said the girl morosely.

“Correct! But these whips will only leave marks that last a few weeks, after which you will be clear again, and we can progress to selling you. Now, have you ladies finished drinking?”

Team Parker had finished the water and they nodded. Suddenly, they all needed to pee.

“Now, first, Team Al-Haraz, put your hands on the wall, facing the wall, and bend over. You are going to be whipped by Team Parker. Mrs Parker, you whip Mrs Al-Haraz who will take her clothes off, Zara, you whip your cousin.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz looked at her enemy, Mrs. Parker, with disgust and anger as she removed her dress and heels. Standing naked alongside her girls, she led them to the wall. They all leaned against it, placing their hands on the surface and arching their backs, pushing out their bottoms in a provocative display.

The men licked their lips in anticipation, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Mrs. Parker and her two girls, Charlotte and Zara, took their positions beside each of their adversaries, readying their whips. Despite the tension and the expectations of the audience, none of them truly wanted to hurt the girls standing against the wall. Even Mrs. Parker felt a pang of reluctance.

Fatima’s buttocks shook gently as she cried with fear, her body trembling with anticipation. Camille’s pert posterior also awaited the worst, her eyes fixed sadly on the ground, where she noticed the blood still dripping from Fatima’s nose like a running tap. Mrs. Al-Haraz, despite her anger and determination, spread her legs and kept her bottom pushed out, bracing herself to take the punishment as well as she could.

“Now girls, I want to see twenty stokes, one girl at a time, I want to see blood, I want to hear screams, I want marks, OK?” Pembroke had his fingers in Sabine’s pussy now, though the girl was dry, not being in the least bit turned on by this horror show.

The room was silent, the anticipation thick in the air. Mrs. Parker took a deep breath and stepped forward, the whip held firmly in her hand. She struck Mrs. Al-Haraz across the back, the whip cracking through the air with a sharp, menacing sound.

Lines began to appear across Mrs. Al-Haraz’s back as she sucked in air with each hit, stoically refusing to scream. Instead, she stared back at Mrs. Parker with pure hatred in her eyes.

Remembering the woman’s vindictiveness, Mrs. Parker felt a surge of determination and lost her initial inhibitions. She began whipping harder, each strike more forceful than the last. The Yemeni woman’s grunts soon became shouts, and then screams, as the whip strikes ventured south to her buttocks and the back of her thighs. Thin red lines crisscrossed her body. The Yemeni woman cursed loudly as she hopped from foot to foot, her hands shooting down to her buttocks, grabbing them in pain. The men in the audience watched with a mix of amusement and fascination, their eyes following her every move.

Finally, Mrs Parker finished. She saw the Yemeni woman was crying for the first time. She had won, she thought, but the bitch would want revenge.

“Excellent Mrs Parker, now Zara, I want to see the same effort from you. Look your overseer’s back, her legs, her ass, you heard her scream! I want to see the same on your cousin. If not, then I will whip her forty times, and I will whip you sixty times, understood?”

“Yes master” Zara looked at her cousin, who looked back sadly at her, her lower face covered in blood. She choked back tears and looked at the ground, preparing to take the pain.

Zara tentatively whipped her cousin, Fatima, who squealed at the contact. “Harder!” shouted Pembroke, his voice echoing through the room.

Zara’s eyes filled with tears of frustration and anger and she screamed as she brought the whip down again and again against her cousin. Each strike of the whip was not against her cousin but a manifestation of her rage at Pembroke, at the hopelessness, and at the evil of their situation.

Fatima’s screams were piercing and echoed around the hall. With each strike against her body, she jumped up and down, grabbing her tender buttocks, dancing involuntarily from the pain. When Zara finished, she threw down the whip and embraced her cousin, apologising in Arabic to her.

“Now, now, Zara. Well done, but let Fatima get back against the wall. Very well marked, such lovely red lines!”

Now it was the turn of Charlotte against Camille. Camille’s fists were bunched up, she was already crying, anticipating the pain, shaking. Charlotte looked at the beautiful porcelain skin against her red hair. It was going to be awful to stroke that body. But she had to. She raised her arm as if to serve at tennis, then brought it down on her back. Camille screamed and shouted. “NOO I cannot!” and hopped around the hall.

“Camille, get back against the wall NOW!” Pembroke barked.

Camille slapped her hands against the wall, and screamed in frustration. Charlotte kept whipping, as quickly as she could, wanting it over with. Finally, she had stopped and the white porcelain skin of Camille was covered in bloody welts. The screams had been operatic and the men had to put their fingers in their ears to shut out the noise.

“Now ladies, after all that water, you must want to piss. So Team Al-Haraz, lie on the ground, face up.”

The girls flinched as they lay down, the hard surface adding to the soreness of their bloodied backs and bottoms. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through their bodies.

Now Team Parker, I want you to squat over your opponent’s faces, and piss directly into their mouths.” Pembroke grinned.

Mrs Parker looked at the twisted pain face of Mrs Al-Haraz lying down. She did not want to do this to her. She dreaded to think of the revenge this woman would want to take on her. Zara cried again as her cousin consoled her. “It’s OK” said Fatima. “Just finish this.”

Mrs. Parker squatted over Mrs. Al-Haraz’s face, feeling the weight of the men’s fascinated gazes on her. She tried to maintain her composure, looking up to face the men with a stoic expression, but the intensity of the situation was almost overwhelming. She then looked down at the face of her adversary, seeing the seared, scarred flesh around Mrs. Al-Haraz’s eyes. Every part of Mrs. Al-Haraz’s being seemed to be directed with pure hatred towards Mrs. Parker.

The three girls started to pee at the same time. Zara felt a sense of relief but could not bring herself to look down and witness the sight of her cousin, Fatima, struggling to deal with the urine pouring into her nostrils and mouth, almost choking on the flow. The humiliation and physical discomfort were almost too much to bear, and the room was filled with a tense silence as the men and Sabine and Anna watched with a mix of fascination and morbid curiosity.

Mrs. Parker continued to piss, feeling the steam rising off Mrs. Al-Haraz’s face, her hair getting soaked. The flow finally stopped, leaving Mrs. Al-Haraz lying on the ground, gasping for air, her face wet and contorted with anger and humiliation.

Camille had struggled to breathe, managing to swallow most of the piss coming from Charlotte’s pussy. When the flow ceased, she got up, her eyes stinging and her red hair plastered to her face with urine. She wiped her face with trembling hands, trying to regain some composure despite the overwhelming sense of degradation.

The taste of urine invaded the senses of the three beaten women. They felt sick with humiliation.

“Now, I think that concludes the tournament. Let’s get the girls back in the cell!” Pembroke clapped his hands in appreciation.

The girls moved back to the cell, their steps slow and pained. Fatima and Camille walked gingerly, their bloody bodies still stinging from the whip’s lashes and the stench of piss clinging to them like slime.

“Jamal, Kwame and Dmitri have already raped this lovely lady enough” he slapped Sabine on the ass. “Tonight, I think she should sleep with you!”

“Thanks, boss,” Jamal grinned at the girl. Sabine grimaced with disgust, her eyes filled with horror as she looked at the huge, deformed man with one eye and only half a jaw. His appearance was grotesque, and his smile, or what remained of it, twisted his features into a horrifying sight.

“And Mrs Al-Haraz, as a consolation prize, you will have Anna in your bed tonight. She likes girls, so you should have fun!”

The Yemeni woman smiled at the young Swiss girl, who had been watching her with horror throughout the entire ordeal, her fear evident in her wide eyes. The woman’s deformed face, scarred with burn marks, filled the girl with dread. Her breath and wet hair reeked of piss as she walked up to the girl, limping slightly.

“You will be good tonight,” Mrs. Al-Haraz rasped, her voice rough and menacing. She gripped the young girl’s buttocks firmly, causing the Swiss girl to squeak with fear through hr gag.

Sabine and Anna watched each other’s faces in vain, each one trying to console the other with longing glances, unable to speak through the gags that silenced them. Tears welled up in their eyes, the fear and desperation palpable. Each girl was led away by her deformed and lustful partner for the night, their bodies trembling with dread.

Mrs. Al-Haraz felt a twisted sense of gratitude for the token gesture of conciliation from Master Pembroke. The gift of the new, beautiful girl made her feel wanted and affirmed her importance in his operation. It offered a bitter consolation to the pain of the whip marks, the stench and taste of Mrs. Parker’s piss on her and in her throat, and the humiliation of losing to her rival.

As she dug her nails into the frightened girl’s buttocks, she imagined the myriad ways she would take revenge against the Englishwoman in the future. In her mind, she was still the queen of the slave girls, and she would ensure that everyone knew it.

The young girl whimpered, her body trembling under Mrs. Al-Haraz’s painful grip. The fear in her eyes only fuelled Mrs. Al-Haraz’s sense of power. She leaned in close, her breath still reeking of hot piss, and whispered menacingly into the wide brown eyes of the Swiss ski girl, “You will learn to obey, I am in charge here.”

Jamal watched the buttocks of Sabine sway in front of him, dimples creasing her lower back. She was crying, tears streaming down her face as she looked back at him with a mix of fear and revulsion. He knew how hideous and ugly and scary he was, and he saw the terror in her eyes as confirmation. His huge, rough hand rested on her back, pushing her forward toward his room. The anticipation of the night ahead had really turned him on, and he was eager to indulge his cruel desires.

Pembroke motioned to Kwame and Dmitri. “Get the girls to clean up all the piss and blood on the floor,” he ordered, his voice cold and authoritative.

The girls, already exhausted and in pain, brought cloths and got to their knees, forced to scrub the floor clean. The hard, cold surface pressed against their bruised and battered bodies, every movement sending waves of agony through the whip marks on their the backs of Camille and Fatima.

As they scrubbed, the room was filled with the sound of the cloths moving against the floor, a grim reminder of the suffering they had endured. Fatima winced with every motion, her tears mingling with the sweat and blood on her face. Camille’s red hair, still matted with piss, clung to her skin as she focused on her task, trying to block out the pain.

Charlotte and Zara, though less physically injured, shared in the burden, their hands moving in unison with their friends.

Mrs. Parker watched over her girls, her heart aching at the sight of their suffering. She began to kneel next to them but Pembroke stopped her.

“No, Mrs. Parker, tonight is your night of victory. Instead of cleaning, you will spend the night with me in my bedroom. After all these girls, I am looking forward to a mature woman who knows how to please a man.” Pembroke smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he fondled her generous, fleshy breasts.

Mrs. Parker stood still, her face betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside. So her victory had meant she avoided the whipping and the piss, but she knew she would have to perform expertly well on this man tonight. She was tired but would be expected to provide hours of sex.

“Thank you Master” Mrs Parker smiled, her eyes deadened, and she allowed herself to be led away.

Under the watchful, lustful eyes of Dmitri and Kwame, the girls continued to scrub the floors. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and the oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of brushes against the stone. The girls exchanged quiet, furtive glances with each other, as if silently praying for an end to this awful night.

Chapter Text

It was 5 AM, still dark, and the three idealistic young girls were freezing, the cold biting through their layers of clothing. They stood on the deserted beach, a few miles from Gothenburg harbor, looking out at the calm water. Ingrid and Freja Johansen were joined by their friend, Sara, an Albanian girl with blue hair, nose piercings, a little chubby, but with the same fire as the girls for social justice.

“Don’t worry, girls, we can do this! Let’s not be shown up by the boys!” Ingrid smiled, trying to infuse confidence into the group. The three girls shared an impromptu group hug, seeking warmth and reassurance. Despite their brave faces, Ingrid, Freja, and Sara were secretly nervous about the task ahead, especially Sara. Although the boys’ gentle mocking was mixed with genuine concern, the girls were insistent that they sail on their own, as girls only.

Their mission was ambitious and fraught with risks. As peace campaigners, they had planned a daring stunt to coincide with a NATO speech presentation. Early in the morning, under the cover of darkness, the girls would set sail from one isolated beach while the boys departed from another on the opposite side. Their objective was to converge at a central point in full view of the shore, where a ceremony was taking place. The synchronized unfurling of their brightly colored banners was intended to capture the attention of the spectators and TV cameras present.

Ingrid and Freja had been inspired by the activist Edward Pembroke, who had recounted his own daring stunt from the 1990s during a video call with them. Pembroke had described his experience in great detail, recounting how he and his friends had pulled off a similar action to convey a powerful message of peace. Despite his vivid storytelling, he had warned the girls against attempting such risky endeavours. However, Freja had almost detected a wink from him, suggesting a hint of encouragement.

They had shared the story with their wider circle of politically conscious friends, convincing them that they too could make a powerful statement. They hadn’t told their parents about their plan, knowing it would cause worry and disapproval. Yet, they hoped that by succeeding, they would make their parents proud. As the early hours of the morning approached, the girls readied their boat. The boys were already setting sail from the far side.

“All right, girls, enough of this nonsense!” The girls gasped, as three figures approached. In the darkness, they could make out that the men were in military fatigues and berets. Two of them, one black and one white, stood back with mean looks on their faces. The head figure approached, wearing a stern, paternal expression.

“Now girls, we cannot have this type of thing. It’s dangerous for you and highly illegal. I am afraid we are going to have to detain you for the duration of the ceremony.”

He saw one of the girls reach for her phone. “Put that away! Right, give me your phones, all of you! You could get yourselves in even worse trouble. Now, come on, hand them over.”

The girls were shocked but handed their phones over. “Sorry, sir, we were just going to protest. We are not terrorists.”

“Corporals, take these ladies, cuff them, and put them in the back of the van. You are coming back to the base, and you can call your parents from there.”

Ingrid and Freja felt their hearts sink. Their grand plan to prove themselves and deliver a message of peace was collapsing before their eyes. As the corporals approached with handcuffs, the girls looked at each other with a mix of fear and disappointment.

The head figure, seeing their distress, softened his tone slightly. “Look, I understand your intentions, but this is not the way to go about it. You could have been hurt or caused a major incident. We’ll sort this out back at the base.”

The two corporals brought the two blonde sisters to the van. Freja saw the van and noticed that it did not look like a military vehicle. She spoke in Swedish to her sister. “How do we know these are real soldiers?”

“No talking, ladies,” said the black corporal, Kwame Okor. Freja looked back and saw the taller man in charge, standing with Sara. “Why is she not coming with us?”

“We need to get you girls strapped in first,” Pembroke responded. As the van door opened, the girls looked at each other again. It was a normal van with a large black case and padding on the walls. Was this an arrest, or a kidnapping?

“Get in!” The black corporal shoved Ingrid, and Freja was pushed in by Dmitri. The two men followed the girls inside. Once inside, the men’s faces gleamed with aggression. The girls noticed that the military uniforms were cheap knock-offs. The men had even more ropes and gags in their hands and grabbed the girls roughly, tying them up. The girls started to scream, but it was not long before they were gagged.

The sound of the screams was muffled from within the van, but it could be heard by Sara, who was now shaking with fear. She looked at the hard face of the soldier standing beside her. She had secretly been relieved when these men had shown up, thinking it meant she would not have to go through with this crazy plan with the Johansen sisters. Now, it seemed clear they were being kidnapped.

Sara’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. She looked at Pembroke, trying to gauge if there was any chance of reasoning with him. “Please, just let us go. We won’t tell anyone, I promise,” she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Pembroke stared at the girl. Fat, with a stupid short haircut, she was not the kind of girl that Pembroke wanted in his slave ring. And she was a witness. He looked at the boat, and then back at Sara.

The two corporals came back out of the van and approached the terrified girl. “It was stupid of a fat ugly girl like you to get mixed up in this. I am afraid you won’t be joining your friends.” Pembroke clicked his fingers and Dmitri put his hand to the girl’s mouth to stifle any screams while Kwame held her arms down.

“Don’t be too rough, don’t leave any marks. Just hold her under water until it’s done. I am going to get changed.”

Pembroke ignored the muffled pleas and whining as the men carried Sara toward the water. As he walked to the van, he casually checked that Ingrid and Freja were still inside the case, tied up and gagged, before changing into his special wetsuit.

As Pembroke changed, Dmitri and Kwame dragged Sara into the cold, dark water. Her struggles were weak against their combined strength, and as the water rose around her, her eyes widened in terror. She tried to scream, but Dmitri’s hand kept her silent.

Back in the van, Ingrid and Freja could hear the muffled sounds of struggle and splashing. Panic surged through them as they realized something terrible was happening to Sara. They tried desperately to free themselves, but the ropes were too tight, and the gags stifled their cries for help.

Pembroke emerged from the van in his wetsuit, looking every bit the part of a professional diver. He approached the water’s edge, where Dmitri and Kwame were finishing their grim task. The water was still, save for a few ripples.

“Is it done?” Pembroke asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dmitri nodded, and Kwame released his grip on Sara’s lifeless body. She fell on to the rocks, her eyes open in terror, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She was dead.

“Good. Now, let’s get moving. We have a schedule to keep,” Pembroke said, motioning for the men to return to the van.

“Good luck boss!” Dmitri smiled.

Pembroke gathered his things, and carried Sara’s body into the boat. He called to the men as they got into the van. “Don’t stop until you are in Denmark! I will call you when I get back to my hotel. Keep the girls hidden OK!”

Both men gave a thumbs up before getting in. The van drove off.

Pembroke got in the boat, and sailed off, with the dead body of Sara beside him. He had done this in the army a few times and had practised a few days ago with the same kind of boat. Now, he was able to get about a mile out quite quickly, and the sun was still behind the horizon. He approached a rocky outcrop, heaved Sara over the side, and swam into the cold waters, thanking whoever had designed this wetsuit. He looked behind and was satisfied the boat was being blown further and further out to sea. It took him half an hour to swim to the rocks, but he was able to get up and run along them to the shoreline. By now the sun was up, and he hoped no one had seen him. He found his bike hidden behind bushes, with small backpack, took off his wetsuit and changed into a sports cyclist outfit and pedalled as hard as he could towards his hotel with his clothes in the backpack.

Pembroke called his two accomplices from the hotel. They were now in Denmark, travelling down to Germany. Pembroke cheered, congratulated the men, and told them he would meet them in Marseille.

He dumped his clothes and bought a new suit, and made his way to the airport. By now, there had been a major incident at the NATO event. The boys had successfully appeared in the background with horns and flags, but the girls were nowhere to be seen. Soon a full scale search was launched, and the coastguard found their empty boat out to sea.

Pembroke was suited, freshened, and suave in the special airport departure lounge, waiting for the flight to Marseille and enjoying the complimentary food and wine. The dark-haired man in the suit looked every bit the businessman on the go. Little did anyone know about the evil depravity he was involved in.

Pembroke took a call from Dmitri and spoke in Russian. “Hey, you guys keep those girls secure, just let them drink water and get the toilet stuff sorted. They have to remain virgins, remember!” He laughed as Dmitri spoke with angst about how hot the girls were, and how frightened.

Then he got a call from a number he recognised. It was Ahmed Al-Masri. “Ahmed, my friend, this is Edward Pembroke speaking.”

“Eddie, you dog. Two Swedish girls, Ingrid and Freja Johansen, suspected drowned in the North Sea. Anna Gao, suspected drowned in an Alpine lake. Camille LeClerc, suspected drowned in the Mediterranean. Where is the variety haha!”

Pembroke sat back and laughed into the phone, enjoying the sick repartee. “Ah Ahemd, what can I say, we have only had one real disappearance so far, Charlotte in Paris, I am being discreet!”

Ahmed looked at his daughters through the window of his palatial house in Azmaria, smiling at them. There was no way he would let any harm come to them. But he had no sympathy for the other girls who had to suffer for his employer, and for his own perversions.

“What about Sabine Muller who disappeared with Anna Gao? Quite the coincidence. A very pretty girl. Why do I suspect you are stocking up on other girls on top of your target list?”

Pembroke paused, he did not like Ahmed’s tone. “A man is allowed to have fun, and make money Ahmed. The Crown Prince cannot have every girl on earth.”

“Just be careful Eddie, remember you are working for us. I knew you would do something on the side, but just be careful.”

Pembroke ended the conversation, pausing to reflect on the fact that he needed to be discreet about his extra girls. However, being too discreet would not help him find buyers. To make his dream come true, he needed to build a brand that appealed to the super wealthy with no morals. Of course, once a buyer was satisfied, they wouldn’t want Pembroke continuing his operations. The Crown Prince might even want him dead or develop a craving for even more girls.

Pembroke spoke in English to a waiter clearing his plates, catching the interest of the American woman nearby. Sheila Johnson, 45, was on holiday with her 18-year-old daughter, Cassie. Her husband, a senior American and NATO military official, had encouraged them to take a break from their military base in Denmark.

Sheila was thoroughly enjoying her European trip, particularly because she had recently caught her husband in another affair. She noticed Edward Pembroke, with his expensive suit and well-coiffed hair, switching effortlessly between Russian, Arabic, and English. He seemed like a sophisticated, cosmopolitan man.

With a few glasses of wine in her, Sheila, dressed in a low-cut green dress, adjusted it slightly lower and began to flirt provocatively with him.

“What a cunning linguist you are, sir!” she giggled.

Pembroke was startled. Had she been listening in? He soon realized she was just a tipsy woman looking to flirt. He noted her attractive features: blonde hair, the look of an American farm girl, and a buxom, trim figure squeezed into her summer dress, ready for the Riviera. He smiled back at her.

“Ah, thank you! I can work well with my tongue. I have to, for my business,” he replied cheekily, raising a glass of wine. “Where are you headed?”

“Marseille,” Sheila drawled. “My name is Sheila.”

“Edward Pembroke, pleased to meet you. And it looks like I’m going to Marseille too!” Pembroke smiled flirtatiously.

Sheila was so bored with her military-chatting husband, aware that she still had a great body and wanted some fun. She crossed and uncrossed her legs in front of this sexy stranger. She wondered what kind of businessman he was—international, maybe a spy? She found him alluring, this Englishman with the exotic background.

“Who are you traveling with?” asked Pembroke, with a touch of mischievousness, noticing the wedding ring on her finger.

“Oh, just my daughter Cassie and I. I have a husband who is ... boring,” she replied, waving off the mention of him. Sheila returned her gaze fiercely to Pembroke, playfully bouncing her bare leg on her knee.

“Mom! The flight is boarding, we have to go...” a young girl approached, wearing lime green hotpants, a white t shirt. A vision of youthful beauty with sun-kissed skin and flowing blonde hair that framed an angelic face, looked every bit her mother’s daughter. She blushed when she saw her mother flirting shamelessly with the handsome man.

Pembroke, his smile softening at the sight of the flustered girl, turned towards her. “You must be Cassie,” he said politely, his voice gentle.

Cassie, still blushing furiously, mumbled a confirmation. “Y-yes,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her smile revealed a flash of metal – braces lining her otherwise perfect teeth. Pembroke idly wondered how hard it would be to remove braces himself from a captive girl, or perhaps there might be a market for teens wearing braces, after all they seemed so common nowadays.

“Well, ladies, perhaps we will run into each other in Marseille! I would love to show you my yacht, I am only staying until tomorrow, but I am all over Europe!”

“Oh wow, well, Cassie and I are trying to see as much of Europe as possible. Maybe we will keep bumping into you,” laughed Sheila, biting her lip, her eyes hungrily devouring the appealing man in front of her.

“Oh really,” grinned Pembroke. “Perhaps I can show you some nice restaurants in Marseille tonight?”

“That would be heavenly,” purred Sheila as they all walked to the departure gate.

Later, Sheila and Cassie were finally away from Pembroke and seated on the plane.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Cassie exclaimed, throwing a tantrum and putting her bare legs up against the seat in front of her.

“Listen, Cassie, your father had his fun, so can I. Just let your mother have a little fun, OK?” Sheila replied firmly.

After landing in Marseille, Pembroke checked in with Jamal and with Dmitri and Kwame. All was going well at both ends. That evening, he had dinner with Sheila. Sheila wore a short black dress with plunging neckline and slit up to her hips. She played with her long blonde hair, pouting her lips and doing everything she could to flirt with her date.

Edward Pembroke regaled her with tales of his background growing up between London and Cairo, going to Oxford, then the Sorbonne in Paris, working in Wall Street and Moscow then going off grid and having his private equity fund. Sheila was spell bound by the charismatic globe trotter and loved the idea of going on his yacht.

Halfway through the meal, they got a visit from Sheila’s daughter, Cassie. Cassie had worn a lime dress so flimsy it was nearly transparent, with a plunging neckline that exposed her cleavage and a hemline so short it barely covered the crease of her buttocks, leaving little to the imagination as she walked. Sheila had been furious when she saw her in it, but Cassie had told her she shouldn’t be judging her after she was plainly out to sleep with “that guy” tonight behind her husband’s back and so Sheila relented.

Pembroke saw her coming well before Sheila, and so had time to compose himself. “Cassie! My God, I hope you don’t walk up any steps in that dress, where are you going?”

“I’ve met some folks online, mom, I’m going to a club. I just need some money.”

Pembroke smiled at Cassie and Sheila. “Ah, Sheila, you must remember what it is to be young and reckless!” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

Sheila sighed but smiled, handing Cassie some money. “Alright, here you go. Just be careful, okay?”

Cassie took the money with a grin. “Thanks, Mom! I’ll be fine.” She ignored Pembroke, thinking him a sleazy creep and viewing her mother’s behavior as a betrayal of her father.

As Cassie disappeared into the crowd, Pembroke turned his attention back to Sheila, sensing her momentary discomfort. “Well, it looks like we’re both free for the evening. How about we make the most of it?”

Sheila recovered. “You know I’m married, right?”

“The ring gave me a clue.”

“Well, my husband is a no-good piece of shit, so I feel like this is my time to ... play,” she said, fingering her wine glass and giving Pembroke a lingering look.

Pembroke’s smile widened. “I understand completely. Sometimes we all need a break from reality.”

An hour later, Sheila was naked, on top of Pembroke and riding his cock, waving her head her hair flying around as she bucked like a tiger. The two fucked till they were lashing with sweat, their hair soaking and sticking to their faces as they kissed every inch of each other’s bodies.

As they lay together in bed afterward, Pembroke ran his hand idly over Sheila’s body. Her breasts were fleshy but firm, and her hips wide, accentuating her hourglass figure. He marveled at the softness of her skin and the way her body seemed to fit perfectly against his.

Sheila sighed contentedly, nestling closer to him. “That was ... exactly what I needed,” she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

Pembroke smiled, his hand continuing its leisurely exploration. “I’m glad I could be of service,” he replied playfully, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Sheila looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering desire. “Do you think we’ll meet again after tonight?” she asked softly.

“I hope so. If you’re traveling around Europe, I’m sure we can arrange something,” Pembroke said with a playful glint in his eye. “I pop up everywhere, but of course, you would need to keep it a secret from your husband...”

Sheila laughed softly, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I think I can manage that. Cassie can keep her mouth shut too. Poor girl, I think she’s a little embarrassed, but I’ve told her, her dad has it coming,” she replied, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest.

Pembroke was thinking of the money he had spent on the dinner with Sheila tonight. On the travel and logistics of the kidnap of the Swedish sisters, on the costs of the Zephyr and the bills for the complex in Turkey. All the other things. He was living beyond his means even accounting for the future sale of the seven girls, of whom he now had five. He needed to continue. The image of Cassie, her thighs almost meeting before disappearing in that green dress. He was sure some wealthy perverted pig would be willing to pay good money for her. The restaurant bill for tonight would be a welcome investment if he could capture and sell her. ‘You have to spend money to make money’ he reasoned, and he could not deny that having Sheila in his bed was not a bad outcome.

“Let’s see my yacht tomorrow before I take off. Bring Cassie; the harbor is magnificent!” Pembroke suggested with a smile. He sniffed her hair affectionately, wondering if she might be a marketable product herself, or if he might later be forced to take revenge on her for Cassie’s poor conduct as a sex slave.

“Oh, I would love that!” Sheila purred, her eyes lighting up. “Poor Cassie, I hope she is okay. You know, earlier today, three girls went missing in Gothenburg, drowned in the sea while trying to pull some political stunt. It just makes me so scared about Cassie.”

“Oh, my dear, you don’t have to worry with me. I am an excellent sailor. You would be safe with me as your captain,” he reassured her with a wink.

She giggled, feeling comforted by his words, and they leaned in to share a kiss, her worries forgotten as she lost herself in him again.

Chapter Text

“Do you think anyone is looking for these girls? It’s been so long, surely one of these girls is important enough to someone, that there will be a search and they will find all of us...”

Zara was whispering to her cousin, Fatima. Six girls—Sabine, Anna, Fatima, Zara, Charlotte, and Camille—were sitting against the wall in the cell located in the underground hall. They were allowed out for a few hours each day for exercise, but only within the hall. They were permitted to go outside only when all the men were at the compound, and even then, only as part of a coffle, with each girl chained to the next by their collars, which were fitted on before the exercise.

The smell was bad, but the girls were getting used to it. No clothes, not even underwear, had been allowed. The cousins, who had previously been fiercely protective of their modesty in front of anyone, had now lost their inhibitions around each other. But the shame of the lesbian sex they had been forced to carry out with each other still went unspoken between them.

“Zara, I just have to stay positive for Ayesha. If he is going to sell us, then maybe the next man will be better, and I can escape from that.”

“What kind of man buys a woman from a man like Pembroke.” Zara spat out the words. “I wish I could kill him.”

“Quiet, girls!” Jamal was playing cars against himself at a table at the far end of the hall, mindful of his instructions to keep the girls’ communication to a minimum. Psychologically, it was better to break them down, and of course to stop any foolish talk of resistance and escape. The girls were given nothing to occupy themselves with, just six naked females with a long bench and a large mattress, and a shower, a toilet and a water fountain.

Charlotte had transformed from a haughty and proud girl into a bedraggled, zombified figure. She mumbled to herself, pulling out her hair one strand at a time to pass the time. There were no tennis matches, no friends, no parties, and no studies to fill her schedule—just endless hours of nothingness with only the other naked girls beside her. She avoided eye contact with the others, thinking of the disgusting things she had been forced to do to with every one of them.

Camille felt the same. Like most of the girls she had no interest in women, and even though the other cell occupants were beautiful, the smell and the sounds and watching them go to the toilet beside her every day disgusted her. She leaned her face against the cell walls, staring out at the empty hall around it, just artificial lighting and a single secure exit door, desperate for the space, to be away from this naked flesh and the smell of pussy everywhere. Like the rest of the girls she thought of her family and friends and her life outside. Was it all over? Would she ever get out, and could she recover from this.

She cringed when she saw Fatima’s back, still criss-crossed with red lines from the caning, mirroring her own. The pain had been one distraction for a few days, and the welts were still so thick she wondered if they would be permanent.

Sabine and Anna had been grateful for each other’s company in the early days of their confinement. However, the constant suffocation of being locked together, naked, with the other girls, the lack of privacy, and the way their conversations could be overheard by everyone was destroying their intimacy. What could they talk about? Their exciting plans, the beauty of the forest they had been hiking through, education, skiing, their work? None of that felt real here; it felt absurd to discuss the outside world. Beyond hugging, they barely showed any sign of affection towards each other as a couple.

Sabine had been raped constantly in all her holes, while Anna had ‘only’ been anally and orally raped. They had been forced to have obscene sex with each other and every other girl in the cell for the men’s amusement, and so they could not enjoy it between themselves. It was not just that it would be in front of their cellmates, but their brutal experiences here had tainted sex for them, maybe forever, whether they got out or not.

Jamal got up and left. Some of the girls began to chatter. Zara and Fatima spoke in Arabic a little louder. Camille said to no one in particular “that fucking freak, he makes me sick to look at him.” “I feel ill, I need to get out of here!” Anna was aggravated, she felt a fever coming on, it was her period and she hated having the blood freely running out of her.” “We need a doctor to look after us” wailed Sabine, anxious for Anna.

“Who cares, first to die is the luckiest.” Charlotte spoke without looking up, as she knelt on the ground playing with her hair.

“I agree!” Zara had picked up a little more English since her arrival. “I am going crazy, I want them to kill me.”

Anna still had some hope. “My father will do everything to find me. I am sure you all have the same, something will come up!”

“The bastard killed my relatives and my family think I am dead” spat out Zara.

“They think we are all dead, except you Charlotte, you are the only missing girl here,” said Camille, ruefully recalling Pembroke’s taunts to them.

Charlotte’s disappearance was indeed the only genuine kidnapping known to any police force, the other girls were missing, presumed dead. Her family were going berserk at the slow progress of the French police, who had been baffled, but had a description of the African driver who had collected her. But Charlotte didn’t care. Her world had been destroyed over the last few weeks. She stayed silent, drawing imaginary circles on the wall.

Jamal returned with Mrs Al-Haraz. He had gone to check on her, and released her on her request into the hall. The older woman was clean, and in a long vampires dress and high heels, clicking as she followed Jamal. She did not seem to mind being a prisoner, this was heaven compared to the one she had been inside in Yemen and even her life before that.

She and Jamal whispered together in Arabic. Jamal grunted, he did not trust any female and was just as happy to knock her around as the girls.

Mrs Al-Haraz approached the cell. “Hello bitches. I need a slut to sleep with me tonight. Any volunteer?”

All the girls shrank back. It was not just the mutilated face of the woman that still disturbed them, but her cruelty.

“Anna?” She leered at the mixed race Swiss girl, she loved her slim petite athletic body.

“So-sorry Madam, I am on my period.”

Mrs Al-Haraz noticed the red marks around her pussy and tutted. She looked elsewhere, scanning the sea of breasts and hips and hair of different colors. She did not want the marked backs of Camille and Fatima, they reminded her of her own, still painful a few days later. She looked at the bedraggled blonde hair of Charlotte, hiding her face but she knew the beautiful blue eyes beneath.

“Charlotte?” She smiled lustfully.

“Madam, I too have period” and Charlotte slipped her finger between her legs, and brought it up for Mrs Al-Haraz to see, bright red. The older woman sighed again, she did not want a bloody pussy. She looked at Sabine, at the curly brown hair and the blue glacial eyes, and the tall toned body with the perfect pneumatic breasts, covered in bruises still from bite marks.

Jamal suddenly spoke up in Arabic and the two had an argument, which was settled with Jamal clenching his fist and walking up to the Yemeni woman, towering over her.

“Well, Sabine” the older woman spoke cordially “you will be getting fucked by Jamal. So, Zara, you, will come spend the night with me.”

Sabine shuddered as she looked at the even more deformed Jamal again, and his hulking body. She prayed it would be just sex and not a night of cuddling in his huge hairy body and having to kiss his mouth, half open to the air with the scarring. She felt a touch from Anna in sympathy.

Zara was furious. She spat out words in Arabic towards Mrs-Haraz. The two women shouted at each other through the glass wall, muscles tensing in their necks, and spit landing on either side of the glass.

Jamal sighed, and opened the cell door. His huge size frightened them all into silence, even Zara. He hauled her out of the cell without saying anything, and spoke to her quietly in Arabic. She bowed her head and cried.

“Come, lick my pussy here” taunted Mrs Al-Haraz. She lifted her dress up, revealing she was wearing nothing underneath and ran her hands over her pussy. Zara cried, but walked to where Mrs Al-Haraz was, and knelt down. But something stirred within her. She gripped the older woman’s buttocks and moved her face closer to her pussy, then suddenly bolted up to her feet and pushed her overseer away. She backed off, and started shouting furiously in Arabic, that she was not a slave, and that she could not do this anymore. Mrs Al-Haraz was furious and grabbed her hair and the two started fighting.

Jamal sighed again, and with barely any effort lifted Zara off Mrs-Haraz, then threw her to the ground, and kicked her in the stomach. The girls in the cell gasped and Fatima screamed. Jamal lifted the spluttering girl to her feet and slapped her again. She was barely conscious now and could barely stand up by herself. But she could still scream a volley of curses at Jamal, about his face, his mother, and what she wanted to do to him.

Jamal tried to calm himself, but could not let it slide. He clenched his fist and punched her, right on her mouth. She went silent, and flew back through the air, landing on her back, knocked out cold, her hair splayed around her, he arms and legs spread out lifelessly.

The other girls had witnessed a lot of violence during their captivity, as opposed to hardly anything beforehand, but this was another level, a man punching one of them like he would a man in a fight. Fatima banged her hands on the wall screaming and calling for her cousin to wake up. Mrs Al-Haraz was used to more violence than this, and spat on the girl’s face, and kicked her in the sides with her feet.

Jamal lifted her up by her hair, dragged her back to the cell, and threw her inside. Fatima went to her cousin and cradled her, slapping her face to get her to come around.

Outside the cell, there followed another argument between Mrs Al-Haraz and Jamal, though the woman knew to keep her voice down. She was used to taunting violent men and skirting the line between annoying them and getting herself beaten up.

Jamal sighed angrily. Fucking women. He turned to the cell. Zara’s eyes were open, and she was moving slightly. Blood was all around her mouth, and he spotted a tooth on the ground. He would have to explain this to Mr Pembroke. It was lucky that Zara had not been kidnapped to order, even so, a missing tooth was not a good look.

“Camille, shower quickly, then come with me. I don’t care about period. I am going to fuck you in all holes, come on.” Camille blanched at the order. She was already disgusted by this man who had already raped her, but having witnessed this violence, she was terrified, but knew better than to resist. She ran the water over her, wincing again as it went over her cane marks on her back.

“Sabine.” Mrs Al-Haraz leered at the German girl, who was still shaking from what she had witnessed and had been looking anxiously at Zara slowly recovering. “You will spend the night with me, you take a shower too.”

Sabine waited for Camille to finish, while discreetly holding Anna’s hand. Tears flowed down her face, which she hoped would wash off in the shower.

That ‘night’ (though the girls had no way of knowing it was so) they were treated to the sight of Jamal in the far corner of the hall, on a mattress, brutally fucking Camille, who screamed in pain as his rough hands ran all over her deeply marked body. The French girl cursed his stamina, as even though he came constantly inside her, he would soon be hard again in minutes. Jamal loved the red lines across the white skin of her petite back, like a little white tiger, he smiled, his hands almost able to fit together around her waist as he fucked her from behind. Camille felt her cervix being battered, looking up through her tears and her red locks, she saw the four remaining naked figures in the cell, staring at her like zombies.

Meanwhile Sabine was spending the night in the bedroom of Mrs AL-Haraz. Her bedroom was a large cell with clear glass doors, opening out in a hallroom, much smaller than the hall the girls were in. There were cameras on Mrs Al-Haraz’s cell at all times and she was locked in there by Jamal and the men, but her ‘room’ was luxurious by the standards of the girls. She had racks of clothes and lingerie, games, picture magazines, (though she could not read) a large double bed, and a sink and toilet. It was the nicest surroundings she had ever lived in.

She seemed proud to show it off to the girls when she ‘invited’ one of them to sleep with her. She admired the statuesque beauty of Sabine, the muscles of her 5 feet 9 figure still apparent, her hard stomach leading up to her firm gravity defying breasts. The latter had taken a lot of punishment, the men and Mrs Al-Haraz and even Mrs Parker could not resist sucking hard on her tits, as if willing her to release milk to them.

“You like pussy, so you like me, right?” the Yemeni woman grinned and stuck her tongue into the German girl’s mouth. Sabine knew better than to fight back. She despised this woman, the sight of the burned flesh, her evil flashing eyes, even her pussy smelled and tasted like burnt flesh.

Mrs Al-Haraz could not get enough of Sabine. Pale skin fascinated her since being a little girl and having so much European flesh to taste now made her delirious. How could she ever want to get out of here? The men should let her be security, she would run these bitches even more harshly than the men.

“Please ... you’re hurting me!” Sabine could not stand the constant biting, all over, buttocks, thighs, her back, her neck.”

“You remember, I am in charge of you. Call me Madam. You have to do everything I say, OK?” The Yemeni woman cackled at her. “Now, lick me feet.”

Sabine tried to stifle her sobs as she ran her tongue over the dark small feet of her tormentor, as the latter sighed and enjoyed the sensations of the hot wet tongue along her insoles and between her toes. She loved having her feet licked. These pretty rich white girls, just a few weeks ago they had the world at their feet. Now they were at her feet.

A thousand miles away, much happier scenes were unfolding in the harbor of Marseille. Cassie and Sheila were sashaying together, with Cassie teasing her mother about her night with Pembroke and Sheila teasing Cassie about staying out so late. In truth, Cassie had been home by midnight, finding the attention from the men toward her revealing outfit a bit overwhelming.

Now, in matching bikinis and sarongs, the mother and daughter were linking arms in the morning sun as they walked alongside the grinning Edward Pembroke, dressed in white trousers, a white shirt with a handkerchief around his neck, and deck shoes.

“Oh Edward, is that your yacht? It’s beautiful!” Sheila exclaimed.

“Why don’t you come aboard and check it out?” he grinned.

Sheila traced her fingers along the railings of the yacht, wondering if she could persuade her daughter to ‘bump’ into Edward Pembroke again. A boat trip would be so romantic.

Pembroke looked through his dark glasses at Cassie, admiring her form, she was like her mother, but slim, eighteen, beautiful concave toned stomach, innocent smooth face and her braces glittered in the sun. Her blonde hair reminded him of his guests who would arrive soon.

“Why don’t I show you the compartment?” He let them down into the holding compartment, and the mother and daughter giggled as they could barely fit in together, their breasts touching as they laughed embarrassingly. They oohed and aahed at the glass floor and the water beneath.

“God, Mom, you don’t know anything about this guy. Imagine if he’s a pirate and takes girls away across the sea,” Cassie playfully teased her besotted mother.

“Well, that might be fun,” Sheila laughed in response, making her daughter roll her eyes in embarrassment.

Pembroke watched them disembark, his eyes focused on Cassie, her smooth toned slim legs, and her impossibly cute buttocks visible through her sarong. It felt so wrong to let females off the boat like this without raping and kidnapping them.

“Oh Edward, you are a gentleman” said Sheila as he helped them on to the harbour again.

“Not a problem, but let us keep in touch, I am always around the Med!” Pembroke winked.

Sheila waved goodbye as they walked off, trying not to look at the handsome man who had stolen her heart for a night and half a day. Her daughter wondered how far she would go this time and whether her father would find out.

Soon after the delightful mother and daughter were out of view, two other individuals appeared looking very different. Kwame and Dmitri were tired but happy after over a days’ driving from Gothenburg. By now, the body of Sara had been recovered and divers were still looking for the Johannsen sisters in the water, but hope was fading. And with good reason, instead of lying in the deep outside southern Sweden, the Swedish sisters were encased in two black boxes in the back of a van in Marseille.

“Excellent work guys!” Pembroke congratulated them both. “Let’s get the merchandise aboard, and stock it in the yacht compartment securely.”

The cases were carried aboard, then the yacht had to be sailed out to sea to hide the activity from view before the girls were released. Ingrid and Freja were terrified. They had gone from freezing on a Swedish beach about to get on a boat, to being bound and contorted in darkness until they could not feel their bodies. Only the occasional snap of light, fondling and rough cleaning and feeding from these ugly, brutal men had been a break from it. Now, they were roughly pulled from the cases. The bright sun and sea of the Mediterranean was a shock to them. How had they gotten all the way here?

They could only moan into their gags as their limbs were stretched out, and their remaining clothes ripped off. Hands roamed all over them. Pembroke, who had just an hour ago lusted over the nubile Cassie, made up for it with pinching and kissing their bodies now. They were forced into the compartment for now, their bodies packed together upright like sardines, bound hands and feet. Their terrified blue eyes stared up at Pembroke as he placed the seal on the small container. In the darkness, the girls could only manage muffled screams. Barely able to see, their breasts meshed against each other, and they held their foreheads together, trying to console one another, desperate to speak and offer comfort.

The Zephyr set off on its journey to Turkey as Pembroke sent another text to Sheila. He really hoped he would see the Johnsons again. Life was good, he smiled to himself, feeling the sun on his face and the wind in his hair as they sailed through the Mediterranean.

Chapter Text

Fourteen 18-year-olds from Willowbridge High School had excitedly booked a wild holiday together, seven boys and seven girls, to the infamous Greek party resort island of Diafthora. Among them was Holly Streatham, a beautiful and bookish girl who most of the boys fancied. Holly, with her slim figure, five-foot-five frame, and captivating brown hair and eyes, was eager to embrace adulthood, dance, and drink the nights away.

Despite the group’s enthusiasm for partying and sleeping with each other, Holly remained more reserved. While her friends flaunted their thong bikinis and indulged in the debauchery, Holly’s shyness and reluctance kept her from joining in on the romantic escapades, making her all the more alluring to the boys around her.

“Come on, Holly ... Josh really fancies you. Why don’t you just put it out for tonight? I might bring back two guys tonight,” her roommate Sally teased, dressed in nothing but a minuscule yellow thong, spreading sun lotion all over her bare breasts. Holly blushed and looked at her phone, feeling embarrassed. Unlike Sally’s daring attire, Holly wore a more conservative red bikini with full-coverage bottoms, betraying her reluctance to join in the wild atmosphere

“I just want to dance to the music, I don’t want to sleep with anyone here!” Holly insisted, her conservative nature growing stronger with each day she spent on Diafthora.

“Why don’t I rub some sun lotion on you? Might loosen you up,” Sally teased, playfully spraying some lotion on Holly and running her hands over her legs. Holly giggled, “Sally, get off me, haha!” The two girls play-wrestled, nearly naked, on the bed. Holly eventually relented and hid her face in her arms to hide her embarrassment and secret pleasure while Sally ran her hands all over her firm thighs and buttocks, humming contentedly. Holly wondered if she should have some more wine this time, and let things happen, she might enjoy this holiday after all.

A few hundred miles away, six girls were dressed in even less and definitely not enjoying themselves. Mrs Al-Haraz had them lined up, naked as usual. She was in her black mini dress, with black lipstick and makeup, carrying a light switch, swishing it through the hair. She spoke in Arabic and broken English.

“OK, now we do all six! This time, no mistakes OK?” She put her hands on her hips, her voice menacing.

“Down Dog! Al-kalb al-munhani!” They all quickly moved into the downward dog pose. They planted their hands and feet firmly on the ground, forming an inverted V shape. Sabine struggled, her legs slightly bent. “Straight legs, Sabine!” barked Mrs. Al-Haraz, as the tall German girl grunted, breathing deeply, trying to push her heels closer to the ground, feeling the stretch in her hamstrings.

After a minute, she shouted again. “Submission! Al-istislam!” Immediately, the girls dropped to their knees, sitting back on their heels with their backs straight, and their palms facing up resting on their thighs. Fatima had a slight slouch in her back, feeling the pain from the whip marks still hurting her. She concentrated hard, adjusting her posture to straighten her spine, feeling her overseer’s judgmental eye on her.

“Hold! Al-tamassuk!” The girls stood with their legs apart, bending into a 90-degree squat. Their backs remained straight as they placed their hands behind their heads. Anna found it hard to keep her back straight, trembling slightly as she held the squat. “Keep that back straight, Anna!” commanded Mrs. Al-Haraz. Anna gritted her teeth, determined to maintain the position, her thighs burning from the effort.

The Yemeni woman smiled as she paused, waiting for the first girl to fail, relishing the vibrating thighs and knees in front of her and the gasps of effort. It was Anna who gave up first, despite being so used to skiing in that position, prompting a whack on her hips from Mrs Al-Haraz.

“OK, Worship! Al-ibadah!” The girls were grateful for the release and went to their knees and stretched their arms far in front until their breasts touched the ground, placing their hands wide apart. Zara had a hard time keeping her arms straight, struggling to push her broken nose to the ground, feeling the pain. “Put your face to the ground Zara!” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s voice cut through the air. Zara tried to focus on her breathing, inching her hands forward and arching her back to achieve the pose, trying to ignore the pain.

“Cat! Al-qiṭ!” They moved to their hands and knees, lifting their buttocks and arching their backs. Charlotte felt the strain in her lower back, struggling to lift her head high and arch her back properly. “Higher, Charlotte!” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s strict tone was relentless. Charlotte took deep breaths, trying to ease the tension and improve her form, gazing at the black emptiness of the ceiling.

“Bridge! Al-jisr!” The girls pushed up into a bridge position bending backwards, their feet and hands on the ground, supporting their arched bodies. Camille, the gymnast, held the pose effortlessly, her body forming a perfect arch with her pelvic bones facing the ceiling. “Perfect form, Camille,” Mrs. Al-Haraz acknowledged, albeit with a stern nod. Camille did not smile and struggled to stay in position as she felt a finger from the Yemeni trace her pussy lips in this vulnerable position.

“Hmmm, the hair is growing back. More electrolysis today I think. OK, girls, you can finish, well done. But soon you will have to do the handstand. You are beautiful athletic girls and must learn to please your owners!”

The girls were grateful for a break and led back into the cell. They had spent hours learning the positions, practicing and being beaten when failing to remember or perfect them. And this was only the beginning. Handstands? Cartwheels? Only Camille found them all easy.

In the cell, the atmosphere was depressed, sour, and angry.

“I cannot go on, cousin,” Zara said to Fatima. “I don’t want this anymore. Look at my mouth, my nose. When the Master returns, he will punish me even more. I have to get out of here!”

“Zara, please, think of my daughter, think of your family, think of me. Look at my back, I am getting punished too,” Fatima pleaded.

“I am the one who has to live this life, and I cannot. I have tried. I need to do something to escape from here, and if I cannot escape, then I don’t want to live. I’m ugly now anyway, look what that brute did to me.” Zara shivered she spoke, watching the evil gaolors walk off.

Charlotte was complimenting Camille on her acrobatic poses with a slight smile.

“Thanks, Charlotte. But it’s not what I want to do with my skills. I thought I might have a chance at the Olympics growing up. Now all I will be is a doll that can do tricks for some ... animal. My life means nothing. My parents, they love me so much, everything they gave me, that beast is going to hoover up.”

Charlotte started to cry. “I’m so sorry, I understand. All my years of dreaming I was going to be someone, and that ... that pervert just snatched me. I have nightmares thinking of what my parents are going through. I only pray they never find out what became of me!”

The two hugged and their tears dripped down onto each other’s backs.

Sabine and Anna were having a tenser conversation.

“He couldn’t get to me, Sabine. I was on his list, but he couldn’t kidnap me. He tried impersonating a sports marketer, he must have tried so hard. But I’m not stupid, and my father was so protective. The only time I left him was to go on that hiking trip with you. That bastard saw my weak spot. You.”

Sabine was taken aback. “I cannot believe you blame me! He kidnapped both of us!”

“That monster, Dmitri, you got him out of prison, like an idiot. You allowed the Master to track you with your own pendant.”

“Anna, it was your idea to go to the lake!”

“If I had never met you, I would not be here. My father could have protected me. If I had a boyfriend and not a girl like you—useless—then maybe he could have saved me. You are naïve; you let them fool you. Well, I guess you pay the price too, but still, I feel like a fool for my relationship with you.”

“Anna! You cannot mean that!” Sabine was sobbing, she could not believe her girlfriend was turning against her.

“I am glad we are being sold separately, Sabine, at least I will not be reminded of the reason I got taken!” Anna was glaring at her lover now with open hostility.

Sabine withdrew to a corner of the cell and huddled with her head between her knees. The German girl wanted to believe it was not just because Anna was on her period that she was so wayward. The Swiss girl tried not to think of her family, and her life outside, but struggled to think of anything positive about her situation.

Mrs. Parker entered the hall with Dmitri, wheeling a surgical table and the electrolysis equipment. Dmitri opened the cell door. “All right, ladies, Mrs. Al-Haraz noticed that you all had some body hair growing back, so it’s time to get rid of it! Charlotte, you are up first, come on, hop up and let me strap you in!” Mrs. Parker adopted a cheery, matronly voice and smile, dressed in her short mock nurse’s uniform, the breastline and hemline outrageously revealing.

Charlotte hesitated, fear evident in her eyes. Mrs. Parker’s forced cheerfulness only made the situation more surreal and terrifying. With trembling legs, Charlotte moved toward the table, her steps slow and reluctant.

“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Parker cooed, as she helped Charlotte onto the table. “Now, just lie back and relax. We’ll have you all smooth and clean in no time.”

Charlotte was first strapped in on her stomach, her legs spread wide apart, giving Mrs. Parker clear access to her nether regions for the hair removal. Mrs. Parker ran her hands all over her body, searching for hairs to be treated.

Charlotte clenched her fists, her body tense with fear and humiliation. She could feel every touch as Mrs. Parker’s hands moved methodically over her skin, pausing whenever she found a patch of hair that needed treatment.

The electrolysis equipment buzzed to life, and Charlotte braced herself for the pain. Each zap felt like a burning needle, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The process was slow and meticulous, with Mrs. Parker taking her time to ensure every hair was treated.

Dmitri approached Mrs. Parker, interrupting her and whispering something in her ear. Mrs. Parker looked over at Sabine and Anna, who were standing at opposite ends of the cell.

“Anna and Sabine, my dears,” Mrs. Parker called out in her falsely sweet voice. “Dmitri has suggested you put on a show for us while this treatment is taking place. It will be a chance for you to show affection for each other. Why don’t you come to the center of the room?”

Sabine and Anna’s blood ran cold. They knew it was an order. They didn’t want to talk to each other, let alone do this, in front of everyone.

Reluctantly, they walked toward the center of the room, their steps slow and heavy with dread. The tension between them was palpable, and the thought of being forced to perform in front of their captors was almost too much to bear.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes sparkled with a twisted delight as she watched them approach. “Come now, no need to be shy. Show us just how much you care for each other.”

Sabine’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Anna. The bitterness and blame from their earlier argument still hung between them, but in this moment, they were united in their shared horror. Anna’s face was a mask of resignation, her eyes hollow with despair.

They reached the center of the room and stood there, unsure of what to do. Dmitri’s cold gaze was fixed on them, his presence a constant threat.

“Dmitri wants to see a 69 between you, on the floor.”

“Please, we don’t want to do this,” Sabine pleaded, her voice trembling.

“Do as you’re told,” Mrs. Parker snapped, her cheerful facade slipping to reveal the cruelty beneath. “Or there will be consequences.”

With no other choice, Sabine and Anna lay down. Sabine lay flat on her back, while Anna gingerly moved over her, robotically. She could still recall the joy of doing this in the outside world, but now, under the watchful eyes of their captors, the act was an awful reminder of everything they had lost.

Mrs Parker felt some sympathy for the girls, but they were gay, they should enjoy this, especially compared to other tortures. “Come on girls, let’s see those tongues in pussies!”

Like Anna, Sabine was on her period. Before the kidnapping, they had laughed at how synchronized they were, thinking it was a sign they were meant for each other. Now, it just meant they would both be forced to taste the disgusting metallic blood oozing from their pussies for the entertainment of these evil bastards. A few minutes ago, Anna had sworn she would never talk to Sabine again, now she was confronted with the familiar sight of her pussy lips, smeared with blood, forced to eat it. She in turn felt the familiar tongue inside her, sighed, and returned the favour.

Sabine had been hurt badly by Anna’s rejection but now got no pleasure from licking her lover. The sour taste of her period blood blocked all happy smells and sensations she had experienced in happier times. Both licked and cried quietly, while Dmitri watched on, playing with his cock.

Mrs Parker continued with Charlotte’s body, working over from head to toe, feeling the twitches and twerks in the young girl’s body. Unlike the girls, she could admit there were parts of this job she was growing to love.

Meanwhile, Pembroke and the two men were enjoying the lovely nubile bodies of the Swedish sisters Ingrid and Freja. A few days ago, the girls had dreamt of braving the harsh North Sea and making a brave statement, terrified of the dark waters. Now, they were facing the sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean, bent over the rails of the Zephyr, as they were each being anally raped by Kwame and Dmitri. Pembroke had ordered that their vaginas be entered with nothing more than one finger, lest the Crown Prince be disappointed with the lack of virginity of his youngest slaves. But assholes, he reminded his men, recovered more easily and had less of the stigma of reproductive betrayal, and so these were fine to indulge in.

Of course, the pain was not any less for the girls, as the huge cocks of the men entered them with minimal lubricant. Fortunately they never had to sit down, as the tight compartment meant they just stood up leaning on the walls and on each other. Their assholes, permanently on fire now, were not the only holes to be abused. The gags meant they could not speak to each other at all, and were only removed when for feeding, watering, and for cocks being placed into them.

Kwame and Dmitri had longed to get their hands on the blonde girls properly having endured a 30 hour drive, only having a brief sight of their bare skin when opening up the boxes to see their painfully contorted forms, to feed them and wash their excretions away from between their legs. Now, holding their perky breasts, and meandering their hands across their beautiful silky smooth skin, they could have their reward. Even the badly performed blowjobs felt like heaven as they cradled the fine soft blonde heads of the beauties.

“Poor girls” smiled Pembroke, as he watched the girls be re-gagged, and re-bound ready to be placed back in the compartment. “A yacht on the Mediterranean is most girls’ idea of a perfect holiday, but for you, it must be hell! Don’t worry, you will be trained well in the use of your mouths and assholes when we get you to my base, it will get easier. For now, my main focus is on getting you girls there!”

The girls looked at the monster, realizing this was the same Edward Pembroke who had cajoled them into the enterprise in the first place, who must have planned this whole kidnapping for at least weeks. He had gleefully taunted them that the body of their friend Sara had been found. The Johanssen girls were still missing presumed drowned, and stormy weather had hindered further searches. It had sparked a huge political backlash with people blaming NATO for provoking such a dangerous demonstration from idealistic young people. Others blamed the stupid woke idiots for their own demise. Others hinted at a conspiracy by the military complex to spoil the protest and possibly murder the girls, with rumours that a figure in black had been seen coming ashore in the early hours of the same morning, close by where the boat was eventually found, but these were dismissed as politically motivated fantasies.

Pembroke smiled at the saucer shaped blue eyes of the girls as they looked up at him as he eased the cover over their compartment, confining them to hours more of darkness alone. Their slim smooth tight bodies were such a contrast to the lovely Sheila Johnson, but he had enjoyed sex with all of them. He still noted with a determination that he could fit a third girl in with the Swedish girls, and, thinking of the money, realized he must start thinking of getting more girls on each venture.

Suddenly, the boat engine started to cut out. “Kwame, what is wrong?” Pembroke’s voice was edged with panic. What if they needed rescuing? He would be forced to release his precious cargo to the bottom of the ocean! All the hard work and money spent would be wasted, and the Crown Prince’s orders would be broken. The thought of the Crown Prince withholding half of his original asking price made Pembroke’s palms sweat.

Kwame furrowed his brow as he quickly checked the engine. “I’m not sure, sir. It could be a problem with the fuel line or the engine itself. I’ll need a few minutes to diagnose it.”

Pembroke watched anxiously as Kwame worked, his mind racing. He couldn’t afford to have the yacht stranded, especially with the girls on board.

Eventually, Kwame realized the problem. There was a leak. He had some replacement fuel, but he would need to check in somewhere to fix it before that fuel leaked out. Then they would need more fuel. They needed to land somewhere to do this.

“Where is the nearest port?” asked Pembroke, his anxiety palpable.

“Diafthora,” said Kwame. “We should only need a few hours there, and we can take off. It’s safe enough; they will not check anything. I’ve often landed there with drug shipments. It’s a party island full of tourists!”

Pembroke nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Make it happen, Kwame. We can’t afford to have any nosy police see our girls!”

Kwame set a course for Diafthora, the yacht turning towards the island.

As they approached, the vibrant lights and sounds of the party island came into view.

“Make sure to wash, feed, and water the girls before we are in sight of the harbour” warned Pembroke. The men obliged. Ingrid and Freja looked vainly at the lights ahead of them. They could hear dance music, and the faint sound of shrieking and cars, the sounds of people enjoying themselves. If only they could scream for help. This vision of normal life and joy, within reach, seemed so cruel, compounded when they were roughly retied and gagged and dumped back into the darkness of their compartment.

As Kwame moored the yacht, Pembroke was pleased no note no one bothered to check them. Kwame went to work, to find fuel and some materials to fix the yacht. Dmitri agreed to stay with the yacht, ready to act in case anyone became too nosy. Pembroke decided he would go for a walk, stretch his legs, and enjoy the sights and sounds of the young revellers enjoying themselves.

Pembroke sat enjoying a beer in the town square, watching the scene unfold around him. The older Greeks were eating and drinking with their families, engaged in lively conversations and sharing laughter. They exuded a sense of tradition and warmth that was deeply rooted in their culture.

In stark contrast, the rowdy young English holidaymakers were roaring and screaming, their behaviour chaotic and unruly. The girls wore outrageously short hot pants and skirts, while the men were mostly shirtless, showing off their sunburned torsos. Their boisterous behaviour amused Pembroke, but he also noticed the looks of disgust and fear from the Greek families. The older generation cast disapproving glances at the wild antics of the tourists, clearly uncomfortable.

Pembroke soon found a large group of about a dozen young English tourists, who all looked about eighteen, half boys and half girls, sitting at the table behind him. He was about to move but was curious about the dynamics between them. Each girl seemed immature but dressed provocatively, like fresh meat, while the boys were loud but revealed an awkwardness beneath their bravado. It became clear they all went to the same high school together.

Pembroke sipped his beer, mixing lecherous glances at the young girls with nostalgia for his own youth. Maybe the attraction, to himself and to the future buyers of his girls, was for their own youth to return, not necessarily the girls themselves.

Pembroke’s effortless capacity to soak up valuable information allowed him to overhear that the group of young English tourists were staying at a large house all to themselves. It was large and yellow, right by the harbour, near a tattoo shop. They repeatedly reminded each other of the code to get into the box containing the keys for the front door within earshot of Pembroke. Interesting, Pembroke thought, but hardly useful to him. He would have to leave soon as the sun started to go down.

One of the boys had a large crate with him, filled with small cans of cider. “Guys, remember our promise,” he said. “We all have to drink these tonight, in honour of Dave!”

Pembroke listened further and gathered that Dave had been the leader of their group but had died tragically in a motorcycle accident. For reasons that were not fully explained, the cans of cider had been Dave’s favourite, and the group planned to celebrate his memory by drinking them together later at their house.

The lad with the cans disappeared back to the house while the group continued chatting. Pembroke took another look at the girls. These were obviously the hot girls of their year, the in-group. The boys were all fit and sporty-looking, and the girls were lithe and attractive.

Pembroke sighed, he could not help himself. He told himself it would just be a bit of fun. He casually finished his beer and went for a stroll by the harbour. He noticed the yellow house just a few hundred metres from where the Zephyr was. He saw the lad from earlier, having obviously deposited the cans back at the house, leave the house to return to his group. Pembroke strolled to the front on the house, used the code he had heard, and was able to walk in. The house was empty, but was full of the paraphernalia of the young tourists. He noticed the little cans on the table.

He had an idea. “Why not?” He thought to himself. It would be a bit of fun, he would not hope for much. He returned to the yacht and noted that Kwame was making good progress with the repairs.

“Good work, guys. Why don’t we take a break?” Pembroke suggested, feeling a bit more at ease now that things were on track.

“Listen, Kwame, I’m sure you know how to source some good drugs around here,” Pembroke continued. He had noticed plenty of Nigerians on the beachfront offering drugs, but none had approached him. He looked more like a middle-aged local, not the kind of tourist interested in their wares.

Kwame nodded confidently. “Certainly, sir!”

“Purely for business purposes, Kwame,” Pembroke emphasized. “Don’t draw attention to yourself, and come back here afterward. Here, this is what I would like...” Pembroke handed Kwame a small list of specific drugs he needed.

Kwame glanced at the list and nodded again. “Understood, sir. I’ll be discreet.”

Pembroke made his way to a local pharmacy. With a few euros, he bought some Benzodiazepines, Antihistamines, and little clear stickers for small punctures. But as a natural thief, he discreetly slipped a few condoms and a pack of hypodermic needles into his pockets.

He met Kwame back at the yacht, and in the cabin, he skilfully mixed up some of the illicit drugs together with what he had bought from the pharmacy and soon had a water bottle full of a dark brown cocktail of drugs that would be enough to send a herd of horses crazy.

The whole time, Pembroke had kept the yellow house in his sights. Finishing his cocktail, he swished it around and then carried it in a paper bag to the yellow house door. “This is crazy,” he thought. “I have the girls on my yacht; I don’t need this. We should just get back to Turkey!” But his sense of adventure overrode his caution, and he once again used the code to retrieve the keys and gain access to the empty house.

He quickly made his way to the cans on the table and turned each one upside down. Carefully, he opened the bottle full of the cocktail of drugs. Taking a measured amount each time, he siphoned it into the hypodermic needle. One by one, he inserted the needle into the upturned base of each can, squeezing the drugs inside. Afterward, he placed a small transparent sticker over the imperceptible hole. It was barely noticeable to the naked eye and stopped any leaking.

Pembroke worked swiftly but meticulously, ensuring that each can received its dose and that the stickers were applied seamlessly. Once he was done, he carefully arranged the cans back in their original positions, making sure nothing looked out of place. He emptied the remainder of the bottle, washed it out with water, and put it and the used syringe and unused stickers in his paper bag.

He smiled as he wondered what this might do to those strong young bodies, what chaos it might unleash. If all else failed, it might be amusing to watch. He took another look around, and walked from room to room, spying some used bikini bottoms and knickers, and took a few of them and placed them in the same paper bag after sniffing them. He licked his lips, remembering the nubile bodies he had seen at the table earlier.

He made his way out and put the key back in the box. As he walked out, he turned and bumped into the rowdy bunch as they came back.

“Heeeyyy Stavros!” One boy laughed and tried to lift him up, another ruffled his hair. “Hey, what’s in the bag, Stavros?” Another boy joined in the banter, taking a half-hearted rummage around the bag, seeing just an empty water bottle and what seemed like handkerchiefs or underwear at the bottom.

Pembroke panicked. These boys might beat him up in any event, and certainly would if they realized he had been in their house stealing the girls’ underwear. And if the police got involved and found the needle, checked the cans, and then the contents of his yacht ... he was finished!

“Hey! Guys, let him down, you’re being assholes!” The voice came from one girl who pushed herself to the front, grabbed Pembroke’s paper bag back from the boy’s hands, pushed the other boy who had lifted Pembroke by the waist, and angrily lectured them.

“You boys are animals! This is this man’s home town, we are just guests! No wonder the locals hate us. You’re giving us all a bad name. Let’s just enjoy ourselves without annoying them.”

She turned to Pembroke and gave him the bag back. “I’m so sorry for my friends, sir.”

The boys sheepishly agreed. “Sorry, Holly, you’re right.” “Yeah, sorry, man.”

Pembroke was in shock but graciously nodded to the slim brown-haired, brown-eyed English girl. Speaking in what he hoped would sound like Greek-accented English, he said, “Thank you, madam,” and appeared fearful of the boys before scuttling away.

“You boys, you cause so much trouble,” Holly Streatham was so disgusted with them and felt so sorry for the man they had just terrified, going about his business.

Pembroke hurried back to “The Zephyr,” his heart still pounding from the close call. He couldn’t believe his luck that the girl had intervened. Once back on the yacht, he took a deep breath, calming his nerves and reflecting on how close he had come to disaster.

“How long now, Kwame?” Pembroke asked, his nerves still slightly on edge.

“Just a few more hours, sir,” Kwame responded. “We should be ready to leave by midnight.”

Pembroke nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation.

Meanwhile, in the party house, the young English teenagers were showering and getting ready for another night of partying. The girls were in their underwear, laughing and shrieking and dancing. They were boasting of the men they would “pull” and how small their underwear was, showing off their thongs with some daring to go full commando to even more shrieks.

Holly was blushing, trying to avoid the gentle digs from Sally, who was trying to get her to dance with her. Her friend was topless, in just the tiniest pair of pink panties, and Holly felt sure Sally was going to try and sleep with her tonight. Holly had on a sensible pair of white knickers and a bra and was feeling sober but tried to join in the lively atmosphere. She smiled at her friends, thinking that in a few months, she would go off to university and perhaps leave them all behind. She felt a mix of excitement and sadness, knowing that this might be one of the last times they would all be together like this.

Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself caught up in the excitement, dancing, and singing along with the rest of the group. The room was filled with music, laughter, and the infectious energy of youth.

The boys finally joined the girls in the main living area, the atmosphere growing even more electric. The cans of cider were distributed, and the group gathered in a circle, ready to toast to their friend Dave. Holly accepted a can, smiling as she raised it with the others.

“To Dave!” they all cheered, clinking their cans together.

Holly took a sip, feeling the cool, fizzy drink slide down her throat. She looked around at her friends. No matter what the future held, she knew she would always remember nights like this—full of laughter, friendship, and the shared joy of being young and alive.

Pembroke was in his cabin, dozing off the earlier beers, when he was woken by rowdy shouting. It was those English tourists again, now off to party into the night. He quickly put his cap on and crouched down behind the wheel of the cabin, hoping they would not look across and notice him.

The voices grew louder as the group made their way into the center of town, their laughter and shouts echoing across the water. But Pembroke detected something more—a hint of aggression, some slurring in the shouting, and saw the girls and boys stumbling slightly as they walked. One girl stumbled and fell onto the ground, legs akimbo, revealing her underwear, as her friends giggled and laughed, trying to help her up.

The effects of the drugged drinks were becoming apparent. The group’s movements were uncoordinated, and their behaviour was increasingly erratic. Pembroke grinned and brought out a pair of red and white bikini bottoms he had earlier stolen, and inhaled deeply with a sly smile. Who knows what the night might bring, he thought. Pembroke changed into some different clothes, putting on a different pair of glasses. His effortless disguise was second nature to him, a skill honed with necessity.

“You guys stay on board,” he instructed. “Kwame, I hope we can leave soon?”

“Yes, boss. I think we can leave within an hour if we need to,” Kwame replied.

“Excellent. I’m going to go back out, but you two need to be ready to go, OK?” Pembroke emphasized, making sure they understood the urgency.

Kwame nodded, and the other crew member acknowledged the instructions with a thumbs up. Pembroke felt a surge of confidence as he stepped off the yacht, blending into the bustling activity around the harbour.

He made his way back toward the center of town, where the rowdy group of English tourists had gone. The streets were alive with the sounds of nightlife, the energy of the island in full swing.

As he approached the party district, he could see the young tourists mingling with other revellers, their intoxication evident in their stumbling movements and slurred speech.

Pembroke noted a fight breaking out between some of the boys and some Greek waiters. The boys were off their heads, while the girls were in tears, screaming and squealing. Pembroke chuckled at the chaos he had wrought. One of the English boys, who had almost fished out the hypodermic needle and the girls’ underwear from his bag earlier, had squared up to a bouncer, who proceeded to punch him right on the nose, knocking him out.

Families were leaving the squares amid this chaos while Pembroke watched from a distance. Some of the girls were sitting on a bench, their short skirts rising up, and their underwear clearly visible. Pembroke thought to go over but noticed a group of Pakistani men wandering over. “Fresh meat attracts too many flies” Pembroke muttered with annoyance. These men were going to capitalize on his work!

Like a wily predator, Pembroke noticed one girl splitting off from the herd. A blonde girl in a tiny orange mini dress and tottering heels had gone into a little passageway behind a restaurant. The fighting and shouting had distracted the others. Pembroke quickly slipped into the passageway behind her.

The narrow alley was dimly lit, the sounds of the bustling nightlife fading into the background. Pembroke moved quietly, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He spotted the girl leaning against a wall, her head resting on her arm as she tried to steady herself, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

“Hey, are you alright?” Pembroke called out softly, wanting to test the waters.

The girls turned, then suddenly retched and vomited on the ground. Pembroke looked away distastefully, then saw the girl had collapsed on the ground. “Good grief” he muttered.

He approached her cautiously, seeing that she was now completely incapacitated. Her tiny orange mini dress was now stained and hitched up to her hips, displaying pink knickers underneath. She lay motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Pembroke took another look around and knelt down, going through her bag. He fished out a passport and phone. She was Sally Thompson, date of birth 13 February 2006. “Just 18, poor girl,” Pembroke sighed to himself. Her blonde hair was splayed around her soft, youthful face, her eyes glassy and staring unfocused. She mumbled softly, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Pembroke said softly. “I will help.”

He peeled of the pink panties and pocketed them, and noted with satisfaction her small shaved pussy glistening in the streetlights. He pulled her dress down so that it now formed just a small belt of fabric around her waist, and spread her legs while kneading her breasts.

He checked again, and put a condom on his cock, before entering into her. Her only response, was to open her mouth silently, her eyes going to the back of her head, as he pumped her. He enjoyed fucking her, although he would have loved more time.

He came into the condom, then pulled out, taking another look at the beauty beneath him. Too bad, he thought. He could not take her past all those people to the yacht. He grabbed her phone, noticing several missed calls from ‘mum.’ He noticed she had eye scanning security. He pulled up an eyelid of the girl, and pressed the phone up to the retina. He smiled as it opened up. There were several messages of concern, and from other girls whose messages seemed incoherently written. He took some photos of the prone Sally Thompson, making sure to make the pictures as lewd as he could, her breasts, pussy and asshole all visible in them. With an evil grin, he sent them to all her friends on facebook, intagram, whatsapp and her family group, even changing her profile picture to one with her legs spread and pussy gaping open.

He turned the phone off, pocketed it, and walked off. As he turned the corner, he almost bumped into some Nigerians. He smiled at them. “The girl there is ready for you guys.”

He noticed the guys cheering each other as they saw the prone girl, and walked towards her. He smiled, these guys would fuck her as well, with or without condoms, muddying the waters of any rape investigation.

The square was now a scene of chaos. One of the girls was lying out cold, her face covered in blood from being punched by one of the Pakistanis. The other Pakistanis were fighting the English boys, with one waving a knife. He winced as one English boy smashed a glass against one guy’s face. He moved quickly, noticing another one of the girls being helped into a taxi with two other random men, who looked guilty as hell. Pembroke smiled conspiratorially with them, he was sure this girl was going to meet the same fate as Sally.

Pembroke walked past the harbour and threw Sally’s phone into the water. If only he could have fitted her into his pocket, then it would be so easy to traffic women!

As he approached the Zephyr, a sixth sense told him to try the yellow house again. He ordered Kwame and Dmitri to start up the yacht and get ready to leave on his return. Carefully, he went to the house again and opened the front door again. He listened carefully, surely he would them if they were at home. But there was nothing but silence.

He noticed the empty cans with a satisfied grin. He took up a plastic bag and scrunched the cans and swept them all into it. Best to dispose of the evidence, he thought. He was about to head back out when he heard a soft moan from one of the rooms. He thought about leaving anyway, but curiosity got the better of him.

He looked inside. There was a boy and girl in bed together, fully clothed. They were both passed out. He was impressed with whatever cocktail he had cooked up, it was certainly effective!

He moved to the bed and poked the boy ready to strike if he attacked. But the boy slept through it. He noticed the girl beside him, clad in a skirt and t-shirt, with white underwear, also out for the count. It was the girl who had saved him earlier!

He stroked her brown hair and the kind soft face, silently thanking her. But then he saw a large suit wheel on a suitcase, and an evil thought occurred to him.

He removed the contents of the suitcase, gently lifted the girl in his arms, and placed and stuffed her inside the suitcase. She stayed unconscious through the whole thing. With a further thought of ingenuity, before sealing the suitcase, he picked a knife from the kitchen, cut a thin line across her arm, and caught the blood in his hands. He brought it to the bed, letting it drip on the boy, and the sheets, and in a trail towards the open window.

He then wheeled out the suitcase and bag of empty cans and waited for a couple to walk by, before marching quickly towards the Zephyr. The sound of the suitcase was drowned out by the Zephyr’s engines as it got ready to go.

Dmitri and Kwame were intrigued by what their boss was bringing aboard but were professional enough to know that it was imperative they leave before asking questions.

As the yacht took off, he noticed some of the girls staggering back to the house, holding on to each other for support. “Just in time,” he thought.

As the harbour got further away, the sounds of music were replaced by the sirens of ambulances and police, and the flashing lights of police cars zipped up and down the harbour. The violence in the square had distracted all police resources.

When they were a mile out to sea, Pembroke opened up the suitcase and read the passport of the girl he had taken. “Molly Streatham, date of birth 18th March 2006” Pembroke grinned at this new captive. She was still out of it.

Dmitri and Kwame marvelled at their boss’ ingenuity and admired the new toy. Pembroke stroked her skin and tended to the wound on her arm. He bound her, trying to be gentle in thanks for her earlier intervention of saving him. “Thank you, my little bird,” he said as he waved her hair back from her face to put in a gag. “You really are too nice for your own good, I promise I will try and treat you nicely for saving me, within reason, of course” he smiled as he flicked her little pink rose of a nipple on her soft white breast.

He squeezed her into the compartment with Ingrid and Freja, as if forcing another book into an already overstuffed shelf. The Swedish girls moaned in fright at the intrusion as the unconscious English girl was lowered in among them. Now they could barely breathe, their bodies pressed so tightly together, each breast of the three squashed against the other.

Ingrid’s eyes widened with fear as she tried to shift to make room, her breathing quick and shallow. Freja whimpered softly, the claustrophobic space becoming even more unbearable with the addition of another person. Pembroke, unfazed by their distress, closed the compartment door, securing it firmly.

The girl with them might as well be dead, she was only supported upright by the fact there was not a spare inch for movement. The last thing the sisters saw before darkness descended again, was jets of vomit shoot out from behind Holly’s gag into their faces, as they contemplated this new nightmare, every breath a struggle.

Pembroke smiled at the moonlit night, as he contemplated a fun and hugely productive diversion. Diafthora truly had been a wonderful short break for him but had become a holiday of horrors for the young English tourists.

Chapter Text

Holly Streatham remembered drinking with her friends in the house, feeling great when suddenly she had become drowsy and thought she should lie down. The next thing she remembered, she was standing up in a dark place, next to two other female bodies, squeezed tight like sardines, naked and unable to move her hands and legs, with a gag in her mouth. They swayed as if on the sea, and the mixture of alcohol, God knows what else, the bindings, the darkness, the other silent females squashed up next to her, the stench, and the movement of the sea, made her retch repeatedly.

The first sight of light came as the lid of the compartment was lifted hours later. She was grateful for the air, but as she was yanked up, she was in no doubt what was going on. The men put their fingers all over and inside her, and she saw nothing but the blue sea around her on the boat. She was astonished to recognize the man in charge as the man she had saved from her friends the previous day!

She had read about Barbary corsairs. Were these the modern-day equivalents? Her fellow prisoners were two gorgeous blonde girls who seemed to be sisters, but as they were all gagged, they could not communicate.

Pembroke, Kwame, and Dmitri made another easy entry into the Karatas harbour. The three girls were hauled out of the compartment. They were stuffed into a large black holdall and brought off the yacht onto a van, driven out from the quaint port into the rural interior, and to the compound. Jamal greeted them, and Pembroke thanked the Gods again for having such a reliable second-hand man to remain with the females.

Ingrid and Freja had the horrible realization they were at their final destination. It had been ten days since they had last been free, in Gothenburg. They had travelled thousands of miles across Europe since, in strict bondage, never able to speak to each other, facing discomfort and sexual abuse.

The girls had not lost their beautiful bodies. Even with the smell, the men still loved the teenage flesh.

The sight of Jamal did nothing to comfort the three new captives, his huge body and grossly deformed face making him seem monstrous even next to the evil brutes who had brought them here.

The girls were still bound, gagged, and cuffed at their ankles and wrists, forcing them to walk with short, shuffling steps. Their eyes darted around in terror, taking in the grim surroundings, the men who had brought them here, and each other. The complex they were entering loomed large and foreboding, resembling an abandoned factory.

As they were herded through one cavernous hall after another, the walls, once adorned with the remnants of industrial equipment, now stood bare and menacing.

The further they went, the more the place felt like a prison, with its windowless walls closing in on them. Holly glanced at Ingrid and Freja, their eyes wide with panic, their bodies trembling with every step.

The men guided them into a small room that seemed like an office, with a desk, a chair, and old office equipment.

“Kneel down!” Pembroke commanded. The girls slowly sank to their knees, the hard floor biting into their skin. The men left, and the door slammed shut.

The girls just looked at each other, their eyes wide with terror and confusion. They had no urge to get up; there was nowhere to go, nothing that could be done. The bindings on their wrists and ankles were too tight, and the gags in their mouths rendered them voiceless.

Ingrid shifted slightly, moving to one side to brush her shoulder against her sister, Freja. Ingrid stared into Freja’s eyes, trying desperately to convey her support through her frightened gaze. She willed her sister to understand that they were in this together, she would look after her little sister.

Freja’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded slightly, acknowledging the silent message.

Holly watched them, her own heart aching with fear.

Footsteps, from high heels, came echoing through the hall. The girls tensed, their bodies rigid with fear. The door creaked open, and to their surprise, in walked a blonde, middle-aged woman. She had a comely face, made up perfectly, with her blonde hair held up in an elegant style, and she smiled brightly at them.

“Hello girls, welcome to the complex!” she said cheerfully.

But it was her clothes that soon put them at unease. She was in her forties, with a buxom, matronly figure, but wore an obscenely short black dress over stockings, revealing the bare flesh of her thighs above them as she walked. Her cleavage was fully on display, the outfit more suited for a prostitute than someone in a position of authority.

The woman’s incongruous appearance made the girls’ stomachs churn. Holly, Ingrid, and Freja exchanged confused, frightened glances, their hearts pounding in their chests.

The woman approached them, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor. “I’m Mrs. Parker,” she introduced herself, her voice unnervingly friendly. “You girls will always refer to me as ‘Madam.’ Understand?”

The girls nodded fearfully, their eyes wide with apprehension. Mrs. Parker’s smile never wavered as she looked them over, her eyes lingering on their bound and gagged forms. “You must be so scared,” she said sympathetically.

She walked around them slowly, her heels echoing ominously in the small room. The girls couldn’t help but follow her with their eyes, every movement heightening their sense of dread.

“Here in the complex, we have very strict rules,” Mrs. Parker continued, her voice smooth and authoritative. “I have to follow them just as much as you do. The most important rule is that disobedience will not be tolerated.”

Mrs. Parker crouched down in front of the girls, treating them to a full view up her skirt of her black underwear, seemingly unembarrassed. The provocative display made the girls’ stomachs churn.

“I am sure you have lots of questions about what has happened to you and what the future holds. I am going to help you as much as I can, but before we start, please remember, I am also a slave like you. I just have more power. I have authority over you, but I have to enforce my Master’s will, and I will always be obedient to his wishes, as you must be.”

The girls had been through so much, from the disgusting men, that this nice woman so lewdly presented seemed almost scarier with her kind demeanor, combined with her revealing attire.

“Now, let’s get those gags off, shall we? You must be so uncomfortable.” She reached out, her fingers deftly removing the gags one by one.

As the gags were removed, Holly licked her dry lips, her mouth sore and parched. Ingrid and Freja did the same, their eyes never leaving Mrs. Parker’s face.

“There we go,” Mrs. Parker said, straightening up and smoothing her dress. “Much better. Now, any questions?”

The girls hesitated, unsure who should speak first. The silence was thick with fear and confusion.

“Freja! Are you okay?” Ingrid burst out, her voice trembling.

“I’m not, I’m hurt, I feel...” Freja began, her voice breaking.

“Stop!” Mrs. Parker interrupted, her tone sharp. She was mindful that this was being recorded but had been ordered not to reveal this to the girls. She had to conceal her sympathy, for her own sake. But she also knew that it would not have done much good anyway. There was no sugar-coating the girls’ brutal new reality.

“No talking among yourselves, only with me. I asked you if you had any questions for me. Now, please remember to be obedient. I know this is hard, but it’s a steep learning curve.”

The sisters looked at the woman, then at each other, their eyes filled with desperation. Freja, her voice a frantic babble, spoke up. “Please, the men, they kidnapped us, they pretended to be soldiers, and they took us. They killed our friend, they said. They took us all the way from Sweden. I don’t know how long, but we were so scared, I thought we might die...”

Mrs. Parker’s smile faded slightly. “I understand this is difficult for you,” she said, her voice measured. “But you must accept your new reality. You are here now, and you must follow the rules. Your past life is gone. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you.”

Holly, finding a sliver of courage, raised her voice. “What do you want from us? Why are we here?”

Mrs. Parker’s eyes locked onto Holly’s, her gaze intense. “Your new life will be to serve. Your previous life is irrelevant now; it is gone. You will never see your family and friends again. You will never be free, and you will never have a normal life. You have a new purpose, and you will be trained for it here. I will do everything I can to help you transition.”

The girls’ horrific kidnapping and voyage had already indicated they were prisoners, and their rapes had shown them they would be brutalized, but never to see their families again? This could only mean...

“Are you...” Holly choked, “Are you going to kill us?”

Mrs. Parker’s smile was a grim shadow of its former self. “No, we are not going to kill you, unless the Master wills it, which would be a waste. It will be up to you. Your value lies in your ability to serve. Ending your life would be a waste of resources. As long as you obey, you will live. The life you once knew is over, but you will continue to exist in this new reality.”

Freja, her voice barely above a whisper, asked, “What will we have to do?”

Mrs. Parker’s eyes softened slightly, the girl looked no older than fifteen. “You will be trained to meet the demands of those who want to buy you for their own purposes. You girls, you have already been pre-ordered, which means a buyer already exists for you. You will be trained according to whatever specifications are given. Your role will be almost fully to serve your new buyer and owner sexually, and so your time here will be fully devoted to sex, learning about sex, and pleasing your future owner. Above all, we will train you on obedience, on how to please, and on maintaining the demeanor expected of you.”

Freja looked at her sister, they both turned red. Holly shouted.

“You fucking bastards! You will not away with this!”

“Please,” said Mrs Parker. “I understand this is a shock, though I believe you all have been if not fully raped, then severely sexually assaulted for the last few days. I would have thought even young girls like you should know that, well, you are beautiful, and men will want you.”

“You cannot buy and sell us!” Ingrid was furious, her voice shaking with rage and disbelief.

“Now, I am going to have to remind you to refer to me as Madam. Obedience must be followed, no matter how awful the order or situation!” Mrs. Parker’s tone was firm, her eyes narrowing as she emphasized the word “obedience.”

“Fuck you!” snarled Holly, her voice dripping with defiance.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes flashed with resignation. “Now, young lady, remember I am a prisoner here too. I am your trainer and overseer, but you must obey me. I bet you were not so cheeky to the men!” Her voice took on a hard edge, her patience clearly wearing thin.

Holly’s defiance faltered for a moment as the reality of Mrs. Parker’s position sank in. Mrs. Parker swallowed, trying to hide her own discomfort at this awful situation.

“Freja, is it?”

“My name is Holly Streatham. I’m British, and I’ve been kidnapped!”

“Sorry, Holly. Well, Holly, I cannot let you display such disobedience any more, so I am going to give you a punishment.” Mrs. Parker tried to quell her own misgivings. These girls must think her a pervert, a horrible woman. “I will give you a quick spanking on your bottom, just to show you!”

The room’s atmosphere turned silent with shock, and Holly’s eyes widened in horror. She glanced at the other girls, seeing her own fear mirrored in their faces.

“Now, it is going to be just ten spanks, I am sure you may remember this when you were young and you were naughty. Believe me, you will face a lot worse than this here.”

Mrs Parker gently cupped Holly’s breasts, and pushed her forward, until Holly was bent forward with her face almost touching the ground, her bound hands helpless behind her back. Her buttocks now jutted up in the air. Holly swallowed hard, the indignity of the situation making her cheeks burn with embarrassment and humiliation.

“Freja, Ingrid, look at me while I punish Holly. You need to learn too!”

The Swedish girls watched the woman, cradling the nubile English teenager, whose body was shaking as the older woman’s hands gently caressed her bottom. The girls could see right up the woman’s skirt again. Despite the fact she knew what she was doing was wrong, and that she had been forced into it, Mrs Parker’s own pussy was getting wet touching this young girl. She raised her hand.

“Smack!” The sound wasn’t loud, but it made Holly jump and jerk upright, her breasts leaving Mrs. Parker’s supporting hand.

“Back down, darling, there will be a few more, but they won’t be painful.”

Holly, her face burning with humiliation, lowered herself again.

Mrs. Parker continued to slap Holly’s buttocks, each one landing with a stinging sensation that was more about the indignity than the pain. Holly could feel her skin reddening with each smack, the shame of her position overwhelming her.

“There, that’s done.” Mrs. Parker’s voice was tinged with a mix of resignation and authority. “Now, Holly, I do not want you to think that all punishments will be so gentle. That is tame compared to what you will experience here!”

When she was done, Holly cried, refusing to meet her eyes. Mrs. Parker got up and leaned back against the table, spreading her legs in front of them, aware that the girls could see right up her skirt.

“Now, any sensible questions?” Mrs. Parker asked.

The girls exchanged fearful glances, their discomfort palpable in the stifling silence that followed Mrs. Parker’s question.

“Madam ... please Madam ... our father, he has cancer. He does not have long to live, it will hurt him so much, please we will do anything we have to see him or talk to him.”

Mrs Parker steeled herself again. The evil Pembroke would laugh his head off at this. She would have to be strong here, to avoid a beating.

“I am sorry, girls. But that is of no concern to the Master, nor to your future owner. Money has changed hands, and even if it had not, you are worth too much to be let go, especially now you have been taken.”

“No!” Freja moaned. “Please, please have a heart!” The two sisters were in tears, rocking back and forth in their bonds. “Papa,” cried the younger one.

Mrs. Parker struggled to control her voice. “Enough! Now, I have said quite clearly, that you are not being released. You are going to be trained to be sex slaves for your future owners.”

“Please, Madam,” Holly’s eyes were dead with dread. “How can we get out of this?”

“Young lady, you don’t get out of it. I don’t get out of it. The only escape is through the incinerator, and even then, your families and friends will be targeted. You are now the Master’s property, and soon, you will be someone else’s property. You do not own your bodies. Any damage you do to yourselves, he will avenge against your families.” Mrs. Parker’s voice faltered as she delivered the grim warning.

“What kind of organization is this? Are you terrorists or a government? Where are we?” Holly tried to be practical.

“The Master and his organization procure girls for wealthy men. There is no ideology, it’s about money and sex. You are very valuable, and my role is to polish you some more,” Mrs. Parker explained.

“You are a prisoner, aren’t you?” Holly asked, detecting the northern English accent. “Where are you from?”

“That is not your concern, Holly. Again, you failed to refer to me as Madam. I will not talk more about the organization, nor about my own life before I came here.”

“The police will find out,” Ingrid said. “They will arrest you if you do not help us!”

“Ingrid, my dear girl, I am helping you. I cannot get you out of here even if I wanted to,” Mrs. Parker smiled sweetly. “Perhaps the police will find us. But in the months I have been here, that has not happened. The Master is very careful.”

The girls went silent. What could they ask her? She was at best a useless servant and at worst an evil accomplice.

“Now, girls, I would like to ask a few questions,” Mrs. Parker adopted a cheerful tone. “Were you virgins before you were taken? Ingrid, Freja?” She asked the question as casually as if she were inquiring about their hobbies.

The girls were appalled, their faces blanching at the intrusion and the callousness of the question.

Mrs. Parker’s tone shifted abruptly, her eyes turning cold. “If the Master has not found out already, he will need to know. So tell me,”

“I wasn’t a virgin,” Holly said, lifting her head proudly. “I had a boyfriend and we had sex a few months ago.” Her voice wavered, but she held her gaze steady. “Then your bosses kidnapped me, and they stuck their fingers into me for days when I was on that boat, and they ... they...” Holly began to cry, the proud defiance crumbling into raw pain.

“Oh dear, girls. Yes, the boys like to be rough. They like young girls, and they like fucking them. Here, there are no rules for them, there is no such word as “rape” here. I have experienced and seen worse than that here.” Her words stunned the room into silence, the sniffles fading away. “I have been fucked in all the holes in my body, I have been pissed on, slapped, kicked, punched, and I have seen it done to all the girls here,” her tone grew stronger, her eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.

“Listen, girls. I am not your enemy here. I am your superior, but not your enemy. You need to accept that you will be sexually abused for the rest of your lives. You need to get used to it, and the training her is all about that. Men...” she cleared her throat to hide her disgust “you will see the worst side of them here, they like to inflict pain, they like to humiliate and hurt girls. Your job here is to be objects. Who knows, your future owners might be nice but don’t count on it.”

The woman looked at Freja again. “Darling, I’m sure your father is a good man. But you won’t meet good men again. You just have to get used to it. You might even enjoy some of it. Sex can be enjoyable, you will spend most of your time bored, the rest having sex, and some time in pain or having to do disgusting things. If you behave well, your pain will be minimized. And what I was saying about your families ... that is not an idle threat. If you love your families, you will behave, and you will be good girls here, and for the rest of your lives. Their lives will depend on it!”

“Why are you here?” blurted out Freja. “Why did they choose you?”

“I am not going to answer that Freja. You and your sister were chosen because you were beautiful, and possibly for other reasons, I am not told these things. But again, you did not call me Madam. I am sorry, but we will now have to spank your bottom!”

“No ... please...” Freja was mortified, her eyes wide with fear.

“Freja! When you are sentenced to be punished, by the men, or by another woman who is a lot worse than me, you will never beg for mercy. You will stay silent, present yourself, or say you are sorry for your infraction. Now, bend over!” Mrs. Parker’s voice was firm, leaving no room for defiance.

Freja choked with shame as she bent over, relying on Mrs. Parker’s outstretched hand to cup her breasts. Mrs. Parker allowed herself to feel a frisson of pleasure as the nipples grazed into her palm, the breasts firm and round like small oranges.

“Remember, Freja, this is for your own good,” Mrs. Parker said, A gentle spanking ensued, and Mrs Parker left her palm lingering on her red rosy buttcheeks each time, leaving no doubt that she enjoyed the teenager’s body.

Mrs. Parker returned to her normal posture, towering over the girls. Her knickers were now clearly visible to them as she walked back and forth in front of them.

“Everything is sexualized here. Everything. You will have to get used to it, or you will go mad! The better you are at sex, the better it will go for you. The less you disobey, the less pain. Freja and Ingrid, I don’t mind telling you that you will be used against each other. I’m sure you don’t want the other to suffer for your own sins, so please remember to be obedient!”

“Yes,” Ingrid cried, thinking she had to protect her little sister.

“Yes, Madam! Ingrid, am I correct in thinking you are jealous of your little sister? Perhaps you want a spanking too?” Mrs. Parker crouched down in front of her, barely making an effort to close her legs.

“No, Madam! Sorry, Madam,” Ingrid replied, her voice trembling with fear and submission.

“That’s better.” Mrs Parker felt a little more comfortable now. She had to balance impressing Pembroke, with her own need to have authority over these girls and give them the best protection available.

“Now girls, were you virgins?” she asked sweetly, this time, letting her hand linger on Ingrid’s head.

Both girls nodded.

“Did you lose your virginity during transport?” Mrs. Parker asked, her tone light and playful, adopting a mock ignorance.

The girls were silent, their faces pale and tense. “They ... did things,” Freja finally whispered.

“What did they do?” Mrs. Parker continued in the same mockingly playful tone. “Please, tell me everything. I want to know.”

Freja’s eyes welled up with tears, her voice barely audible. “They touched us, everywhere. Forced themselves on us.”

“In which holes?” Mrs Parker’s shocking question was delivered with the tone of a question on the weather.

“They put their ... cocks inside my asshole ... and my mouth ... and they put fingers in my vagina...” Ingrid could barely get the words out through her sobs.

“Me too!” wailed Freja. She looked at her sister in solidarity.

“Ah, that must mean your future owner wants to take your vaginal virginity himself.” Mrs Parker turned to Holly.

“Holly? How was your trip?”

“Those bastards did the same to me. I ... I am injured, my ass is bleeding, I can feel it. They are all really big...”

“Oh yes” said Mrs Parker. “I am going to examine you medically after this with the Master, to look over you. We can care for your wounds. For now, this is just an introduction!”

“When can we get out of these cuffs?” Holly wanted to feel her arms and legs, and the Swedish girls longed to be able to walk and feel their hands for the first time in days.

“Soon, very soon. Then you will meet the other girls here. I must warn you, we do not encourage talking among yourselves about anything other than sex.”

It was the first good news for the girls. There were other prisoners, and they would be released from their bonds soon.

“Now, girls, another question,” Mrs. Parker said, biting her lip and letting her legs part a little wider, pushing her breasts out as she watched their faces intently. “How do you feel about ... other girls?”

“I’m not a lesbian” said Holly flatly. “If that is what you mean.”

“Holly, you really have to say Madam. If you talk like that to me in front of the men or the Master, then you will not get a gentle spanking, you will get beaten very badly. Have you ever been hit by a man?”

“No...” Holly had to admit.

“I have, it is not pleasant. Men are a lot stronger, they are meaner, and these men will hurt you at the drop of a hat. They will hit you eventually and you will know about it. So please remember, obedience.”

Holly went back to silence.

“Now girls, lesbian is not a relevant term here. You will be trained to entertain men, but boys love girls loving girls. So you will be having sex with each other. It is also encouraged to boost morale. Women can be so much softer and more skilled! It can be quite fun, and you will have the most beautiful girls here as partners!” Mrs Parker smiled, forgetting herself. She had sympathy for these girls but also could not wait to get her fingers inside each of them.

She turned to the Swedish sisters. “Ingrid and Freja, you are sisters, and you were ordered, procured, and will be trained together as sisters. Sorry, boys can be disgusting. You will be having sex with each other, probably for the rest of your lives. Needless to say, you had better start getting used to it, and you will have to perform it convincingly. But don’t worry I will be able to help you, with training you will get used to it. I’m sure you already love each other, this will be just ... taking it a step further. The main thing is ... it is going to happen and you must embrace it, for the sake of each other, and your family.”

The girls this time did not turn to each other; they both went white.

“Sick,” Holly muttered under her breath.

Mrs. Parker went to Holly and roughly pulled her hair. “Listen, young lady, less cheek from you. The same is going to happen to you too. I know this is a shock, but you have to get used to it!”

Mrs Parker pulled her head right back by her hair, forcing her crotch against her face.

“You may not know it now, Holly, but I will be your best friend here. I am sorry but I think you will be learning this the hard way here.”

Mrs Parker let go, and went back to her earlier stance against the table. “I will be training you. You should imagine having sex with me, because that is what will happen. Holly, you will be having sex with these girls, and me. All the girls you meet here, you will be licking their pussies before long!”

Mrs Parker smiled grimly at them as the girls looked at the floor, all trying to shut out the awful messages. “And that hair between your legs, that is all going to go. I am in charge of hair removal here, so soon I will be lasering you all. But I promise you if you allow it to be, sex here can be nice. Not with the men, no, they are brutes, and perhaps with Mrs Al-Haraz well... “ Mrs Parker tossed her head “You will meet her, and you will want to run back to me! But I want you to know that unless I am ordered to, or if I think it is for your own good, I will not force myself on you. Please, think of me as like a ... a new mummy here, OK?”

“Please, Madam, when can we be taken to where we are going to stay and get out of these things?” Freja suddenly wanted this “induction” to end.

“Shortly,” said Mrs. Parker. “Unless you have anything you want to ask me, I am going to fetch the Master, and he will talk to you.”

The girls were silent, their fear palpable. The very mention of “the Master” sent a chill down their spines, making them too scared to speak.

“OK, well then, I will see you shortly girls!” Mrs Parker walked out of the room. She liked the girls, like the rest they were gorgeous and so frightened. Poor little lambs, straight to the slaughter.

“What the fuck!” Holly hissed at the others. “Who are these maniacs? Girls, I’m so sorry, that is so sick. They cannot do this. Someone is going to come for us; they cannot get away with it!”

“I don’t know, Holly,” Ingrid said tearfully. “I don’t even understand how they kidnapped us. They murdered our friend! They are murderers!”

“Freja, I love you, no matter what,” Ingrid turned to her sister, her voice shaking.

Freja turned to her sister. The awful things that the woman said she was going to have to do with her sister, surely it would not come to pass. She stared at her sister, their eyes meeting. Then flashes of horrible scenes, possible scenarios, flashed into her head, and she turned away, unable to face it.

Ingrid had the same thoughts and hung her head, in tears. The bastards, they were going to take away the one thing she had, the bond with her sister, their dignity.

Suddenly, the door opened and the girls froze to attention. It was Edward Pembroke, their gaoler, their Master.

Pembroke sat behind the desk like a headmaster, dealing with three scared pupils, if those school pupils were three naked teenage girls, bound and kneeling and petrified with fear.

The girls remained silent, their eyes wide with fear. This man had already done to them more than their worst nightmares had contained. Yet there was still a terrible unpredictability about him.

Pembroke leaned back in his chair, observing them with a calm, almost benevolent smile. “I trust Mrs. Parker has explained your situation,” he began, his voice smooth and controlled. “You will learn to obey and adapt. The sooner you accept this, the easier it will be for you. And for me.”

He looked from face to face. They were avoiding his eyes. Fear and respect, he smiled to himself. Remarkable what a bit of rape, murder and violence could get you.

“Now, girls, we will get you settled in soon. You will be living with the other girls, already procured. I hope to be adding to the collection soon, expanding, and perhaps your living quarters will expand too. Of course, procurement is one part, training is another...” he paused for thought, almost whimsically “I like to be involved in both, but I cannot be galivanting around Europe, abducting sweet young maidens like yourselves and down here getting them to behave, so a lot of your training will be with my associated, Mr Haddad, Mr Okor or Mr Voskov. And of course my ladies, Mrs Al-Haraz and Mrs Parker. You will obey the gentlemen, I don’t need to enforce that, because quite frankly they are even more brutish than I am!” He chuckled “Yes, I am a softy compared to the other three men, and Mrs Al-Haraz I think is the worst! Goodness, you will be well-disciplined here, believe me. Your future owners are going to thank me!”

He got up and started pacing around the girls, playing with their hair, his fingers lingering on the mark on Holly’s shoulder where he had cut her.

“You are all beautiful girls. You really are. That is why you are here. Freja and Ingrid, you were pre-ordered, and your buyer had paid half for you up-front. You will be trained together with others whom your new owner has also paid for. I am not sure if Mrs Parker has told you, but, well... “Pembroke turned the two girls’ heads to each other, and they locked eyes. “You two are going to be kept together, which is good, but you will be doing a lot of kissing, and more, to each other!”

Pembroke laughed his head off. “Sorry girls, it is the ultimate male fantasy. Two teenage Swedish lesbian sisters. Your owner has a lot of money, and he is going to live out the ultimate fantasy every day for the rest of his life with you two, along with whatever other filth he has planned.”

Each of the girls kept giving Pembroke furtive glances, scared to catch his eyes but entranced by this perverted evil.

“Now, Freja, why don’t you just lean over and give your sister a little peck on the lips, just a little one, to show you love her, as a sign of things to come, eh?” Pembroke made the suggestion jokingly, but the girls were well aware of the threat behind it.

Freja could see the dangerous glint in Pembroke’s eyes. She glanced at Ingrid, whose face was pale with fear.

“It would be a pity if Ingrid got punished because her little sister was naughty now wouldn’t it?” Pembroke’s tone shifted from joking to snarling, as he took Ingrid’s nipple in his fingers and twisted it.

“Please, don’t hurt my sister!” Freja pleaded, her voice soft and whimpering. “I will ... do it...”

“Excellent! I am so looking forward to this,” Pembroke said, his tone mockingly playful, a sinister smile curling his lips. “Actually, I don’t think it should be just a peck on the lips. I think it should be a full-on sloppy kiss.”

Shuffling sideways on her knees, Freja leaned towards her sister, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she fought them back. The room seemed to hold its breath as she pressed her lips against Ingrid’s, forcing a longer kiss, as both sisters forced their eyes tightly shut in humiliation.

“Awww, was that your first kiss, Freja?” Pembroke asked in a mocking, puppy-like voice, his tone dripping with insincerity.

Freja’s face burned with humiliation. “Yes.”

“And it was with big sister! Oh, that is so nice. You girls have had a lot of firsts this week, haven’t you? But most girls have their first kiss well before... “Pembroke cupped his chin in exaggerated thoughtfulness “ ... their first blowjob, their first ass fuck...” He howled with laughter.

“Not your pussies though! Your owner, him with the money, is going to be the first to put his cock in those holes, lucky bugger. But I can still have a cheeky finger inside them, and I cannot wait until Mrs Parker washes you and gets that hair off, then I will have a nice taste of you both. Though I would imagine you girls will both have your tongues in each other’s pussies soon enough, I do wonder if you taste any different? You will be eating the same food, so it will be an interesting experiment.”

Pembroke seemed almost lost in thought while the girls just started at the ground, wanting this torture to end, even if it would be replaced by something physical.

“Ah Holly, what a holiday. Diafthora. A nice place, I was only there for about six hours. A busted fuel line. Can you believe it? Such bad luck, turned into even worse luck for you.”

Holly cautiously met his eye. She remembered this same man, tall, threatening, a rapist, being scared of her young friends, and she had stuck up for him.

“Why ... why did you kidnap me?” asked Holly. “Who wants to buy me?”

“Good question, Holly, but always remember to call me Master. Now repeat the question.”

Holly hesitated, just long enough for Pembroke to slap her hard across the face. Unable to put her hands out, she fell to the side, hitting the ground hard.

“CALL ME MASTER, AND REPEAT THE FUCKING QUESTION, YOU STUPID BITCH! ARE YOU DEAF?” Pembroke’s voice thundered through the room.

The Swedish girls gasped, their bodies shaking. Holly felt the pain in her head from the blow and the force of the fall. She clumsily got back to her knees, her vision dazed and her head spinning.

“Master! Master, I am sorry, please ... please don’t hit me...”

Holly remembered Mrs Parker’s words, asking if they had been hit by a man. She suddenly understood. All she wanted was for this brute to not hit her again.

“Master, why did you kidnap me? Master I am sorry, please don’t hit me. Sorry...” She was shaking now, her breasts shaking, her eyes furtive and on the polished shoes of her master.

“That’s better, Holly. You two, also remember it is tiresome to have to correct you girls so often. Believe me, I don’t always want to hurt you, but sometimes I have to. Obedience is key here. Obey me, obey the men, and obey the ladies, although they are just women, so they have to obey us. And obey quickly and without question. None of this faffing around.”

Pembroke walked around the girls again and ruffled Holly’s hair.

“I am a businessman, Holly, a gambler. And yes, a rapist, a murderer, a swindler, and many other things. It was chance. I saw a group of lovely young girls on holiday and saw an opportunity. So did many others, by the way. Those other boys, they all wanted to fuck you. Those other men were leering at you girls too. If they thought they could do what I did, I reckon half of them would have done it. Most of them cannot do what I do,” he said proudly, “but some can. They just don’t have the vision, the balls.”

The girls’ fear and revulsion deepened as Pembroke’s words sank in. They had fallen into the web of a predator. The Swedish girls remembered the forgetful, bashful, funny activist online playing with his daughter. Holly remembered the frightened local, or what she thought was a local, being harassed by her male friends. And all along he was their worst nightmare. The evil in the world was everywhere.

“I do have one question for you, Holly, which I never got to ask you on the boat, but one which is plaguing me,” Pembroke said, sucking in his cheeks and bending down to face the girl.

Holly looked up, her stomach churning with anticipation of what would come next. She felt her insides twist with fear. The Swedish sisters waited with baited breath.

“Who is Dave?” Pembroke asked nonchalantly.

Holly involuntarily perked up and blinked her eyes. She had not expected this question. “What?” she asked.

Pembroke casually slapped her again across the face, less violently this time, but she still lost her balance with her hands cuffed behind her and keeled over before getting back to her knees, scared.

“Tiresome. Boring,” he sighed in exasperation. “To have to repeat myself. Were you girls taught anything by your teachers or your parents?”

“Master ... sorry, Master,” Holly blurted the words out in panic.

“Who is Dave?” Pembroke repeated, his tone laced with irritation.

“Master.” Holly breathed, getting it right. “Master, I do not understand the question?”

“You and your friends were going to toast to the health of someone called Dave. I was listening in on you. You didn’t notice me listening, and you were all stupid enough to repeat the code to get the keys to the house you were all staying in and where it was. And to say you were going to toast him with ridiculous cheap cans of beer. I noticed, because lovely little things like you and your friends, lovely little pieces of meat, dressed like whores, well, you excite me. But like the rest of them, I can see you are silly and stupid, and that is why you ended up here. But anyway, who is Dave?”

Holly’s mind raced as she tried to recall the details of that night. “Dave was ... our friend at school. He died late last year in a motorcycle accident. He always...” She choked back tears. Dave had been the boy she had lost her virginity to. They had agreed to be friends after; he was such a nice guy, and his death had shaken them all. “He ... was my friend.”

“What does he have to do with drinking cans of beer?” asked Pembroke with real curiosity.

“He ... he liked to boast about how fast he could drink the cans. That was his favorite beer. His nickname was ‘Canny Dave.’” Holly felt dead as she delivered the words. The memories of Dave, of the cheer of the drink to his memory, now all twisted and tainted by the horrific reality of her situation.

Pembroke nodded, a small, twisted smile playing on his lips. “Canny Dave, huh? Quite the legacy he left behind.”

Holly was only thinking about Dave, she had missed him.

“Well, Holly, you can thank Canny Dave for your current predicament,” Pembroke said with a twisted joviality. “You see, this is what separates me from other men. I went back to your house when all of you were out, and I spiked every single one of those cans with enough drugs to knock out a horse. And I got to see the results. Quite something,” he laughed to himself.

Holly had not quite put the pieces together, and Pembroke had not bothered to reveal it on the boat, only using her as a human bucket for his cock. She now connected Pembroke coming out from near their house, to the blackout she had shortly after having drunk the can. From his display of his intimate knowledge, it all made horrible, simple sense. But how had she ended up on his boat?

“But of course, it could have ended quite badly. Your hooligan friends accosted me and were about to go through my bag, where they would have found the needles and the drugs, along with some of your friends’ lovely fragrant knickers ... when a lovely young woman rescued me,” Pembroke said, stroking Holly’s face.

Holly flinched at his touch, her skin crawling with revulsion and the horrible conclusion that she might have assisted in her own kidnapping through kindness.

It really was quite the scene you guys made in Diafthora,” Pembroke laughed. “You know, they may have to shut down the tourist industry! It was all only a few days ago, but the details are coming out in the press. I will give you the juicy gossip from the UK tabloids. One man died...”

Holly’s eyes lit up in shock.

“Oh, don’t worry, he was a Pakistani immigrant. But he was almost certainly killed by your friends. I myself saw a huge fight between them, and three of your friends have been arrested for his murder. Another male friend is still in hospital after being badly beaten up by a bouncer...”

Pembroke shook his head, his expression dripping with mock disapproval. “People have little sympathy for British tourists and their wild, reckless behavior. Sure, their friends and family are claiming their drinks were spiked, but let’s be real, Holly,” he said, leaning closer and glaring down at her, “these tourist resorts have heard that excuse a thousand times.”

“Oh and the girls” sighed Pembroke. “Again, there is lots of footage, online, of those little sluts lying around half naked, out of it. Half of them are claiming to have been raped, but I think most people will have little sympathy, especially seeing how they behaved, throwing glasses at people in little more than their knickers.

Pembroke put his finger in the air, as if making a grand proclamation. “But one of your friends was raped. Sally Thompson? You know her? Big tits, blonde hair? Haha, well, I am an opportunist. I raped her, took photos of her with her own phone when she was out cold, and put them on her social media, sent them to her family.” Pembroke giggled. “Naughty, aren’t I?”

The girls were open-mouthed, their faces pale with the realization that Pembroke was not only evil but also possibly mad.

“Oh a few men followed me, Sally got a lot of cock that night. Pity, it was impossible to get her to the boat without dozens of people watching me. Was Sally your friend, Holly?” Pembroke asked, his tone mocking.

“Yes,” Holly replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pembroke put his hands on his hips and stood in front of her. “Yes, Master!”

“Yes, Master,” Holly repeated, her teeth clenched, bracing herself for a violent strike. But none came.

Pembroke simply smirked, enjoying her fear and anticipation. “Good girl. Remember, obedience is key.”

Pembroke drew a pair of pink panties from his pocket, and smelled them.

“I took these from her, have a smell!”

Pembroke pushed the panties into Holly’s face. Holly turned her face away ever so slightly but obeyed. She recognised them. Sally had been dancing with her, clad in only those pink panties as they got changed, flirting with her. She had wondered if she would have a lesbian experience that night with Sally.

Now as she smelled the panties, she thought of Sally. She wished she had spent the night with her. She missed her friend, the lovely blonde girl who had also been despoiled by this bastard. She wished she could be with her now. She wanted her life back.

“Well, after raping Sally, I thought I had enough fun, but thought to check your house. I made sure to get rid of those cans. Nice bit of litter collection, and evidence destruction. No word of them in the media. “Anyway, I noticed you and ... a Josh Wesbourne lying in bed together. You were both out of it, but I think Josh was trying to have his way with you. Shocking behavior!”

Holly remembered nothing, but she just hoped this animal had not hurt Josh.

“Well, you were both comatose, and I was able to scoop you up. You are so light! I carried you off in your own suitcase! That little nick on your shoulder, sorry about that. I needed some of your blood to drip onto the bed, onto Josh, and you know what, it worked a treat!”

Pembroke laughed, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “Josh has been arrested for your murder and disappearance,” he laughed. “Isn’t it hilarious? Your group holiday is now famous, and not a single clue seems to lead to me.”

Holly’s mind reeled with horror and disbelief. The thought of sweet Josh, in prison, and the others, and the raped girls. And this bastard getting off scot-free with her here.

Pembroke relished the look of defeat in her face. He turned to torture the Swedish sisters.

“As for you girls, well you know it already. Very careful planning, and it went smoothly. Sorry about your friend Sara, but she was too fat for me. Our clientele are distinguished and would have been offended to be offered her. She had to go, but her death has made your own drowning more plausible. Fat girls float, skinny girls sink, or get carried out to sea. Anyway, the important thing is, girls, nobody knows you are here, nobody is looking for you, and nobody will rescue you. I am just too good!”

Pembroke looked over his prisoners one last time. “Now I had better get going, a lot of things to do around here, more girls to be added to my little web. You girls are going to be cleaned and that hair removed, and soon the training will start.”

He turned to leave, a chilling smile on his face. “All I can say is, to those about to spend the rest of their lives as slaves, I salute you!”

Chapter Text

Camille was performing an intricate and challenging pose. Balancing precariously on one leg, she raised her other leg straight up, her foot extended gracefully above her head. Despite her flexibility and training, Camille found the position difficult to maintain. Because unlike in her previous life, here she was naked, being watched by a crowd of people, and between her legs was a teenage girl, nervously licking at her exposed vagina.

The four men were sitting on comfortable chairs taking in the glorious sight of Fatima, running her tongue between the split legs of the beautiful red-haired French girl, as she moaned with the strain and the pleasure. Beside the girls, Mrs. Al-Haraz stood ready with her switch stick, in a tiny black dress, the small cane designed to cause pain without leaving a mark. She was prepared to quickly punish any mistakes.

Behind the two girls, the other captives remained in the cell behind the glass walls, watching with discomfort, praying they would not be expected to copy Camille’s extraordinary feats. Outside of the cell, the only other two females were Mrs. Parker and Freja.

Mrs Parker, dressed in the same style black dress as Mrs. Al-Haraz, was halfway through the electrolysis process on the naked and face-down Freja, who was strapped securely to the table. With meticulous care, she inserted a slender, needle-like probe into each hair follicle, delivering a brief burst of electrical current to destroy the hair growth cells. Freja flinched slightly with each zap, feeling a mix of a pricking sensation followed by intense heat, as Mrs. Parker then gently removed the treated hair with sterilized tweezers.

The only sounds in the room were the murmurs of appreciation from the men, the sound of Fatima licking, the moans of Camille, and the hum of the electrolysis machine.

Pembroke was enjoying reaping the fruits of his labors. The complex was not much; it was neither a hotel nor a beach on the south of France with nice restaurants, but he could enjoy the most beautiful girls in the world, against their will. Travelling around and abducting young women was thrilling, but also exhausting.

“Good, Camille. Now, the other leg!” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded.

Camille let her raised leg down, straining with effort. “Uugh,” she groaned softly, her muscles protesting the movement. She took a deep breath, then shifted her balance and began to raise her other leg, extending it upward with visible effort and determination. Fatima waited patiently on her knees, then stuck her tongue inside her pussy again.

For Freja, each tiny prick and the subsequent burst of heat felt like a public spectacle of her suffering. Mrs Parker had now been working for hours on the young Swede, from her ankle now to her buttocks and starting to venture into her crack.

“You are doing great, darling,” Mrs. Parker whispered into Freja’s ear, bending over her with a chilling intimacy. Freja’s body tensed even more. Ingrid, watching from the cell, detected her sister’s discomfort from her buttocks twitching together, and felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. The sight of her little sister’s naked, vulnerable form being subjected to the lecherous hands of Mrs Parker, the older woman’s underwear visible as she bent over the girl, made Ingrid sick.

Mrs. Parker ran her hands over Freja’s beautiful little buttocks, admiring their perfect form. The small, smooth globes were flawless, their texture like polished silk under her fingers. She traced the cleft between them, leading up to her lower back. Her fingers lingered on the dimples there, appreciating the intricate details. She gently kissed Freja on her right ass cheek before commencing the electrolysis on her ass crack, with one hand stroking her blonde hair.

“Now Camille, next position!” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded.

Camille put her foot down and carefully adopted the downward dog position. She lowered her head to rest uncomfortably on the ground, making her torso perpendicular to the floor. She then spread her legs wide, her toes just about touching the ground. Her buttocks faced the ceiling as she supported herself with her hands on either side. Every muscle in her body tensed, straining to hold this inverted position, showcasing her flexibility.

“Fatima, lick her pussy! And Zara, get your ass out here!” barked Mrs Al-Haraz.

Zara looked up, her eyes blazing with frustration. She pleaded for mercy, but a threatening glare from Mrs Al-Haraz silenced her protests. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Zara trudged out to join the girls, each step simmering with resentment.

“Lick Camille’s asshole!” snarled the Yemeni.

The men were treated to a sideways view of the white body of Camille, upside down, her legs coming down in a triangle to support her, with the kneeling Libyan cousins on either side of her, their mouths feasting between the redhead’s legs.

Two tongues now playing with her holes, together with the stress of her upside down position, sent Camille’s face the same colour as her hair as she struggled to breathe while the men chuckled, their cocks growing harder.

Zara closed her eyes, but her nose kept bumping into her cousin’s. Their tongues kept meeting at Camille’s upturned perineum. Every time she opened them, she saw her cousin’s beautiful brown eyes facing hers.

After several minutes, they stopped. “Zara, you now, raise your right leg like a flamingo!” shouted Mrs. Al-Haraz.

Zara groaned; she hated this. She had been forced to practice but was not flexible. Reluctantly, she raised her leg, forcing it high and supporting it with her hands as she hopped on one foot, her leg raised but bent inelegantly.

“Camille, your tongue on the asshole, Fatima, lick your cousin’s pussy!” Mrs Al-Haraz shouted with glee.

At the feeling of the warm tongue on her pussy folds, Zara immediately lost her bearings and her leg went to the ground. Mrs Al-Haraz struck her on the stomach twice with her switch. “Concentrate, bitch!”

“Please ... please, I cannot, I try, but no...” Zara pleaded, her hands clasped together in front of Mrs. Al-Haraz.

The older Yemeni woman furiously struck Zara’s hands away. “Do it now!” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding.

Zara’s tears flowed freely as she tried again, desperately holding her leg but only managing to get it to a 90-degree angle, bent at the knee. She struggled to stay balanced on one foot, swaying all over the place, her body trembling with the effort and frustration. But it was the sight of the men leering and giggling at her, her tits jiggling with her jerking movements, her comical attempts to stay balanced, that really cut to her heart.

At the first touch of a wet tongue against her asshole, she broke down again, stumbling forward.

“Useless bitch!” Mrs. Al-Haraz angrily swatted her again.

This time, Zara lost it. She angrily pushed the Yemeni woman away and faced Pembroke, who stayed calm and impassive.

“I am not an animal! You cannot treat me like this. I AM A HUMAN BEING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS! GOD WILL HELP ME! YOU BASTARD!” she screamed, her voice shaking with fury and desperation.

The females in the room were shocked at her insolence. Pembroke clicked his fingers, and Jamal got up. Zara shrank back at the large ogre’s menacing approach.

“I’m sorry. Please ... don’t hurt me...” she babbled away in Arabic, curling up into a ball and crying.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz,” said Pembroke. “Take Zara and tie her to the post. I want her caned on her back, 25 strokes. Make it hurt.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz grabbed the young woman by the hair and dragged her to the post. Pembroke got up and addressed the rest of the girls.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated. Neither will the kind of rudeness and cheek expressed by Zara. You will now see her punishment.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz secured Zara to the post, her wrists tightly bound above her head, leaving her back exposed and vulnerable. Nearby, Mrs Parker stroked Freja’s back to comfort the girl, who was to witness her first caning. Zara’s sobs grew louder, her body trembling in anticipation of the pain. Mrs. Al-Haraz picked up the cane. With a swift, practiced motion, she brought it down on Zara’s back, the sharp crack echoing through the room.

Zara screamed in agony, her back arching involuntarily as the searing pain shot through her body. The other girls watched in terror, their faces pale and eyes wide with shock. Each stroke of the cane was precise and merciless, leaving angry red welts on Zara’s skin. Her cries grew more desperate with each strike, but Mrs. Al-Haraz showed no mercy.

By the time the twenty-fifth stroke landed, Zara was a sobbing, broken mess, her body slumped against the restraints. The room was filled with a shocked silence, the girls unable to tear their eyes away from the horrific scene.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Pembroke said, his voice cold and commanding. “Disobedience and disrespect will not be tolerated.” He cast his eyes at Holly and Ingrid in particular, who looked aghast.

But it was not all relaxation for Pembroke at the complex. He had several messages from Elena Petrova, who was excited and thrilled to be in Istanbul.

“Nikolai, we are so excited to be here in Turkey!” Elena’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm over the phone.

“We?” asked Nikolai, aka Edward Pembroke, in his office.

“Oh,” Elena was a bit put out. “My friend Vitaly, he is accompanying me. You know, he just ... wants to make sure I am safe and also wants a holiday...”

“Oh, of course,” said Pembroke. “That will be fine!” He composed himself, knowing it was to be expected that Elena would not come alone.

“Now, the film set is not advertised in location; it is in southern Turkey. So, you have to get down here. I can give directions ... it could be a fun road trip for you and Vitaly!”

Elena’s excitement and idealism were audible to Pembroke down the phone. She was clearly swept up in the thrill of the adventure.

Pembroke had already meticulously crafted a convincing setup for his fake movie project using AI and purchased social media accounts. The facade was so believable that many real people were desperate to join which had given him even more evil ideas.

As the conversation ended, Pembroke’s smile widened with devious satisfaction. Soon, another unsuspecting victim would be caught in his carefully woven web.

It had taken hours, but now Ingrid and Freja were hairless on their bodies, the electrolysis having been completed for now. They sat together in the cell, Freja’s head buried in her sister’s shoulder, as they consoled each other at the brutality and depravity they had witnessed and endured.

Holly sat apart, isolated. The girls here seemed to her to have lost all hope, their spirits broken. They did not offer her any reassurance or condolences about her situation, merely a sad look of sympathy.

Zara had started talking to herself, her voice a frantic whisper, ignoring her cousin’s desperate attempts to calm her. Her eyes were wild and unfocused as she stared at the three new arrivals, her gaze so intense and hostile that it frightened them. They shrank back, the inmates at this facility seemed as threatening as their beastly captors.

Suddenly, Zara’s demeanor shifted from eerie silence to explosive violence. She lunged at the glass walls, headbutting them with terrifying force. Each impact reverberated through the room, a sickening thud that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. Zara cursed in Arabic, her words a garbled mix of rage and despair, her flailing arms striking out at anyone who tried to approach her.

Her cousin and the other girls tried to pull her away, but Zara’s strength, fueled by madness, made her a formidable force. She fought them off with a frenzied energy, her fists and elbows connecting painfully with their bodies. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she slumped to the ground, her body trembling, her face a bloody mess. Sobs wracked her frame, her spirit broken.

Later, Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz walked into the room. They approached the glass cell. They both looked exasperated at the sight of Zara, her beautiful visage now marred all over by the bloody wounds she had inflicted upon herself. Zara sat on the ground, still whimpering.

Mrs. Parker spoke, ignoring the badly injured Libyan and addressing the two young Swedes. “Ingrid and Freja, lovely to see you both so hairless and beautiful! You will both be spending tonight with myself and Mrs. Al-Haraz, to take you away from this ... unpleasantness,” she said, waving dismissively in the direction of Zara and the other girls. The depressing scenes of the naked girls slumped on the bench and on the floor, their faces sullen and eyes vacant, filled the room with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.

Ingrid and Freja exchanged a wary glance, and they gripped each others’ hands.

“You will not be together” clipped Mrs Parker. “One will sleep with me, and one will sleep with Mrs Al-Haraz. You will choose which.”

The two girls turned to each other, their foreheads touching, and held each other’s faces, speaking quietly in Swedish.

“Freja, you choose whom you want.”

While Mrs. Parker was obviously a lecherous woman with eyes for both of them, Mrs. Al-Haraz seemed more cruel and ghastly, with her face half-burnt and almost mutant in appearance. Her leering eyes set against her scaly flesh made them both feel ill. She seemed even more sexually aggressive than Mrs. Parker.

Freja’s eyes filled with fear and uncertainty as she looked at Ingrid. The choice felt impossible. They clung to each other for a moment longer, drawing strength from their bond before Ingrid finally whispered, “I will go with Mrs. Al-Haraz. Stay strong, Freja.”

Freja nodded, tears brimming in her eyes as she steeled herself for what was to come. They broke their embrace and turned to face the two women, their faces a mask of resigned determination.

“I want Mrs. Parker,” said Freja, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

“I want Mrs. Al-Haraz,” said Ingrid, matching her sister’s determination.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she looked at Freja, while Mrs. Al-Haraz’s expression turned even more sinister, her burnt features twisting into a cruel smile.

“Very well,” Mrs. Parker purred, extending a hand towards Freja. “Come with me, darling.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz gripped Ingrid’s arm with a vice-like hold, her scaly flesh brushing against Ingrid’s skin. “You will learn to obey,” she hissed, dragging Ingrid away.

The two sisters exchanged one last glance, silently vowing to stay strong for each other as they were led away into the unknown.

Freja was led by the hand by Mrs. Parker out of the room as Mrs. Al-Haraz unlocked and then relocked it, bringing Ingrid with her. Mrs. Al-Haraz then locked Mrs. Parker and Freja into Mrs. Parker’s room, which was a spacious cell with clear glass walls. Inside, there was a comfortably made double bed, some books and magazines on a table, a wardrobe, and other amenities that offered a semblance of normalcy.

Mrs. Al-Haraz then led Ingrid away to her own room. It was clear that Mrs. Al-Haraz had seniority, but her eyes were fixed intently on Ingrid, her predatory gaze unnerving the young girl.

“Finally, Freja, darling, I have you all to myself,” Mrs. Parker purred as she embraced the frightened Freja. Her touch was possessive, her intentions clear as she held Freja tightly, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Darling, I hope you are not too frightened by today’s events. You have to get used to it. Zara...” she trailed off. “Zara is a problem for us, the Master is losing patience. But you, my little flower,” she pushed Freja’s nose like a button, “you are too cute to be beaten. That is why you must pay attention, work hard, and obey the Master. Promise me that, Freja. I don’t want to see you hurt; I want to look after you.”

Mrs. Parker combed her hands through Freja’s hair, her fingers gentle but her intentions predatory. “I am so glad you chose me, Freja. I can be a good friend to you. Now, to repay me, why don’t you give me ... a little kiss?”

Freja was overwhelmed with fear and revulsion. With trembling lips, she leaned forward, her spirit breaking a little more with each passing second.

The older Englishwoman melted in her arms as their lips met, and she stuck her tongue in the younger girl’s mouth, gripping her by the shoulder blades, then throwing her on the bed, ripping off her own clothes to get naked.

“This will be a much gentler introduction than what your sister will be getting from that Arab hag,” giggled Mrs. Parker. “Now, darling, lie back and let me show you how pleasurable lovemaking can be.”

Freja froze as she allowed the woman’s hands and tongue to meander and linger all over her tight young nubile body. She had never kissed a boy, let alone had a woman old enough to be her mother lick her ears, her neck, suck her nipples, and eat out her belly button.

“Oh, little girl” she giggled up at Freja, “you taste delicious, but I haven’t even got to the main dish yet!”

Freja’s heart pounded in her chest as she felt the woman spread her thighs wide, exposing her pussy, newly hairless, to the woman’s hungry eyes. She bared her teeth and locked her mouth onto the sweet film of flesh between the girl’s legs, savouring the virgin taste as Freja bucked in surprise.

“You are the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen,” the woman whispered up to her. “Please ... it tickles...” moaned Freja. Mrs Parker answered by pushing her chin lower and extending her tongue into the opening of her vagina. She could taste the moisture that had already formed inside her, and it made her hungry to taste more. With her tongue extended fully, she pushed it into her vagina and began to move it, dart it in and out quickly. Freja moaned softly, and then again a little louder as Mrs Parker pushed her tongue up between her lips until she reached her clitoris.

“Wh ... what are you doing? Please stop. Don’t. It’s ... weird... ‘‘

“That may be,” the Englishwoman whispered, “but it is something that I am going to do and I guarantee you will enjoy it. Just be quiet and relax.” She teased her clit with the tip of her tongue, moving quickly over it, back and forth, up and down, listening for her breathing to quicken. Without warning, she sucked it into her mouth, holding it firmly in her clenched lips, pulling it away from her body and then tormenting it with quick hits with the tip of her tongue. To the completely inexperienced Freja, this was all that was necessary for her to experience, even involuntarily, her very first orgasm. She had no idea what she was feeling, but it completely overwhelmed her. Her legs slapped against Mrs Parker’s head, pounding her ears as she lost complete control of her body. When the muscle contractions began to subside, Mrs Parker, sat up a little and looked at the face of the beautiful young girl. The only word to describe what she saw was serenity.

“You see Freja, there can be good times here” Mrs Parker lay beside the girl, tracing her fingers all over her tight abdomen, playing with her nipples. “Soon, I will have you well-trained!”.

Meanwhile, Ingrid was undergoing a hellish first night of sex with Mrs Al-Haraz. The hideous face of the Yemeni woman repulsed her as she forced the Swedish teenager to kiss her with tongue. A few months ago, the older woman had only ever seen blonde girls like this in movies and photos. To have a real-life Barbie doll here was heaven.

She licked and bit all over the girl’s body. “Please, do not bite me, it hurts!” Ingrid pleaded with the woman, but her plea was met with a slap and a vicious smile that creased her burnt skin. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s expression was one of cruel enjoyment as she continued her assault, hungrily munching on every bit of skin her teeth could get a grip on.

She pushed Ingrid onto the bed, her eyes locked onto Ingrid’s smooth pussy like a snarling predator spying its prey through the bushes. With a feral intensity, she pounced, her bared teeth chewing and sucking on Ingrid’s most intimate area. Ingrid’s cries of pain and terror filled the room, but they only seemed to spur Mrs. Al-Haraz on.

“White pussy tastes too fucking good,” Mrs. Al-Haraz paused to say, her face emerging from between Ingrid’s legs like a crocodile above water, and with her right eye framed by nothing but scar tissue, just as frightening.

Ingrid writhed at the pain and ecstasy of the woman’s mouth on her clit and pussy, and then her finger. Mrs Al-Haraz fought to control herself and not plunge most of her hand inside, remembering the Master’s protective position of her virginity.

Ingrid screamed as she orgasmed against her will, a jet of liquid shooting from her pussy onto the Yemeni woman’s grateful mouth. She leaped up and spat it onto the blonde’s face then kissed her, biting her lips until they bled, and pushing her arms back when she tried to push her off.

“White bitch! Now you lick me.” With the agility of a cat, the Arab woman jumped up towards the girl’s head and plumped her toned buttcheeks on Ingrid’s face. Ingrid barely had time to scream in disgust as her dark asshole and pussy smothered her.

In only the darkest reaches of the young girl’s imagination had she envisaged a woman’s genitalia in her face, in her mouth. She was 100% straight and found the idea of a cock disgusting, but this was the stuff of nightmares.

She found her arms pinned down as the older woman tweaked her nipples. “Lick. Bitch. Lick, or I will hurt you!” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded. Ingrid’s mind reeled in horror, her entire body trembling as she reluctantly obeyed, her tears mingling with the overwhelming sense of violation.

She moved her tongue up and down, feeling the moistness touching her eyebrows and eyelashes but not daring to open her eyes. The taste was acrid and musky, the plump flesh parting for her tongue, which found even stronger and bitter tastes the further she probed.

“Hmmm, keep licking, bitch,” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded, gyrating over Ingrid’s face. She savored the sensations as the girl’s nose brushed against her asshole and clit. The older woman stared down at Ingrid’s gorgeous, nubile body, which lay still like a corpse.

After cumming over the girl’s face, the Yemeni woman licked her juices over her delectable features, tasting the salty tears mixed in. Ingrid then curled up on her side on the bed, as if to mourn, thinking naively that this signalled the end of the night.

“The night is young, bitch,” Mrs. Al-Haraz whispered, nuzzling into her ear and running her tongue inside her earlobe. “Do not think you are going to sleep now. We will eat each other all night long!”

Ingrid’s heart sank, her body trembling with renewed fear and exhaustion. She now understood the hopeless vacant stare that Zara had given her earlier.

The following morning, Elena and Vitaly were in their rented car, a map spread out between them as they tried to find the mysterious location. Their minds were occupied by the fact that they had made love for the first time the night before.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Elena asked, tracing a route with her finger.

Vitaly glanced over, smiling. “I think so. According to Nikolai’s directions, we should be close. But these back roads all look the same.”

Elena laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. “Last night was ... incredible.”

Vitaly squeezed her hand. “It was perfect, Elena. Everything about this trip has been perfect. Istanbul, this mysterious film project, and most of all, you.”

Elena smiled, feeling warmth spread through her. “And you, my protector,” she teased, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

Vitaly returned her kiss. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. We’re a team. We’ll figure this out together.”

They continued driving, lost in thoughts of each other. The romance of Istanbul, the excitement of the film project, and their newfound intimacy made everything feel like an adventure.

“Look,” Vitaly pointed ahead, “I think that’s the turn Nikolai mentioned.”

Elena checked the map and nodded. “Yes, that must be it. Let’s see where this road takes us.”

As they turned down the narrow path, Elena felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. She glanced at Vitaly, their hands still intertwined, and knew that whatever awaited them, he would be there for her.

After some messages from Nikolai, they drove to a series of tents just off the main road. They could see a small crew, with a car and a truck. There was a blonde woman with a clipboard, a black man holding what seemed like a camera, and two other men who both waved at them, calling them over.

“Four people? That is a small crew,” thought Elena, but the sight of a blonde woman and a black man made her think this film was serious, with the multicultural crew being very different from the people they had seen in rural southern Turkey.

The couple got out of the car, a little apprehensive.

“Welcome,” called Nikolai in Russian. “Welcome,” echoed the second man, who looked like a thug.

Elena smiled nervously as they approached. Vitaly cautioned her - “Elena, I am not sure I like this. Nikolai Sokolov was meant to be a short man, but this guy looks to be six feet.”

Elena nervously asked Vitaly, “Oh, Vitaly, what ... what do you think we should do...”

Vitaly tensed up, feeling for the knife in his pocket, ready to strike. Elena’s demeanor changed despite the smiling face of Nikolai approaching.

Pembroke saw the expression on Elena’s face change. He recognized the wily, knowledgeable look on Vitaly’s face. He was a danger and not stupid. The couple started to walk slowly back to their car, walking backwards, Vitaly holding Elena’s hand.

Pembroke raised his left arm, made a little wave, and dropped it.

Elena’s hand gripped Vitaly’s as they were almost back at their car. “Vitaly, what should we do? Tell me...”

Suddenly, she felt a warm liquid spray over her face. She blinked and felt his hand’s grip loosen, then heard him fall. She looked down and screamed.

Vitaly was dead. The upper part of his face had been blown off.

Elena screamed, “Vitaly! Vitaly!”

She saw the two men starting to run towards her. She sprinted back to the car and opened the door, then remembered Vitaly had the keys. She looked up and saw the second man grab the door and open it, and she screamed as he pulled her out by the hair.

“Suka!” the man cursed at her, angrily clenching his fist and punching her in the stomach.

Elena fell to the ground, clutching her insides, barely breathing. Coughing up blood, she looked up and saw the first man, the man she had thought was Nikolai, stand over her, smiling, then crouching down.

“Hello, Elena,” he said in Russian. “I am Edward Pembroke. There is no movie. Instead, I am here to welcome you to the first day of the rest of your life.”

Jamal emerged from behind the truck, folding back his rifle. Elena was stripped naked and tied up and gagged, then thrown into the back of the truck, with Vitaly’s body. The tents were quickly disassembled and thrown over them.

Mrs Parker, her legs hobbled by the small cord holding her ankles together, was pushed into the driving seat of the truck between Kwame and Jamal as they drove off with Pembroke and Dmitri following in the car.

In forty five minutes, they were back at the complex. “Nice” said Pembroke in Russian to his lieutenant. “Not such a long trip this time, the bitch came to us!”

Elena was shocked. She was naked, tied up and gagged, and now had to hear the customary welcome speech from Pembroke in Russian.

“Elena Petrova. Your kidnapping has been planned for months now. You are here to be trained as a sex slave. You have been pre-ordered. Your owner wanted you and I have procured you, will train you, and will sell you as a trusted piece of my merchandise. You will not let me down, the training will be thorough. Disobedience will be punished, psychologically and physically, and we will target your family if you persist in any failings. You will never see your family again, from here on in, you will exist only to serve.”

Elena was untied, ungagged and brought into the hall where the girls were kept. The girls looked up wearily at the new arrival. It was getting crowded now, the smell was getting bad, and the air was thick with the scent of pussy.

Elena was shocked to see nine naked girls in one cell with clear glass walls. They looked sullen and resigned, but beautiful. She was thrown in with them.

Elena clutched her hands over her breasts, feeling exposed, even though everyone else was naked. No one consoled her or even spoke to her. Half ignored her, while the other half looked at her with apprehension.

“Where are we? What is this?” Elena asked, her voice trembling.

“We are slaves, and we are being trained,” answered Fatima sadly. “Please, do not ask too many questions, or talk too much, or we will be punished.”

“What ... what is your name?” Elena wanted to establish some rapport.

“My name is Fatima. Please, however, we are not to speak more than necessary, so I do not want to chat with you.”

“We are sex slaves,” said a young blonde English girl. Charlotte was to the point, her tone calm and dispassionate. “You will soon learn this, and I expect you will soon be having sex with all of us girls and the brutes that brought you here. I also expect your hair will be removed soon.” Charlotte’s eyes fell to Elena’s crotch, covered in thick stubble. Charlotte then turned away, her demeanor indifferent, and ignored her.

Elena cowered, wondering what kind of hell she had gotten herself into.

After an hour, during which Elena had to endure the excruciating embarrassment of using the toilet in front of all the other girls, the door to the hall opened. The girls watched as Kwame and Dmitri dragged a large black sack into the hall and right outside the cell, so the girls could see. All the girls dreaded what it could be, but Elena especially.

They all screamed when the sack was pulled off. It was Vitaly’s body, his face half blown off. The sight was horrific, blood and gore mingling with the remnants of his handsome features. Elena’s scream was the loudest, her heart breaking at the sight of her beloved in such a state.

Pembroke came in, cheerful. “Ah, girls, I see you have met the new girl, Elena. Welcome, Elena! I hope you have had a nice first day. And I thought the ladies should meet your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend.”

Kwame and Dmitri returned, this time with large saws and a large bucket. Pembroke addressed the girls, his voice cold and commanding. “I thought it might be educational for you to see how your bodies will be disposed of if you are too much trouble. I also want you to see what we are capable of. This young man could be a member of any of your families. We have no hesitation in doing the same to anyone you care about if you break our rules. Remember, obedience, always. This is what could happen to you or your families. Now, watch and learn!”

Pembroke left, and Kwame and Dmitri began the gruesome task of cutting up Vitaly’s body into little pieces and throwing them into the bucket, destined for the incinerator. It was mere feet away from the cell, and the girls fought to get to the toilet to vomit into it. They all cried and tried not to look, but the sounds and the smell were inescapable.

Elena cried loudly, curled up in a ball, trying not to watch as the man she had just fallen in love with was sliced up in front of her. He had died trying to protect her. She felt so stupid, thinking of herself as a movie star, getting him involved in this nightmare. And now, how would anyone find her?

Chapter Text

“Elena Petrova?”

Elena sat morosely in the corner of the cell, her back to the others, her head buried in her knees. She barely looked up as the middle-aged blonde woman approached the cell, the click of her high heels echoing through the hall. The woman wore a skimpy red dress that she was bursting out of, looking more suited for a fancy dress party than anything else. It was a stark contrast to Elena and her cellmates, who were crammed together naked in the tiny space.

“Elena, darling? Please come to the cell door. I’m going to take you out for some treatment. Girls, stand back, remember the cameras.”

Elena’s heart raced as she got up, dreading what was to come. She walked to the cell door, thinking she might be due for medical treatment, as Mrs. Parker opened it, took her out gently by the elbow, and locked the others back in.

“Elena, darling, please come to the table. Let me strap you in.”

Elena’s eyes widened in fear as she glanced at the table and the ominous-looking equipment. “What is this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s electrolysis, dear. The master doesn’t like body hair. Please, hop on!” Mrs. Parker said, her unnerving jolliness and upbeat tone sending chills down Elena’s spine.

Elena hesitated, her body trembling, but she knew she had no choice. She approached the table, feeling more frightened and depressed than ever. She remembered what she had seen the day before. Gingerly, she sat and lay down flat on the table, allowing the woman to cuff her to the D-rings on the side.

The girls in the cell looked on, recalling their own experiences. Some absentmindedly touched their armpits and between their legs, wondering if they would soon need another session.

“I know this is frightening and new for you, darling,” Mrs. Parker said with a cheerful smile as she looked into the Russian’s beautiful brown eyes. “I’m going to try and make it easy on you. First, I’ll take some measurements, check your heart rate and the like, then we will start the hair removal. You must have noticed that the girls are, like me, clean as a whistle. The master does not like his females having body hair, so it is to be removed permanently. It won’t hurt ... much.”

Elena’s voice trembled as she replied, “Please, don’t do this. I ... I don’t want this. Isn’t there another way?” Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the clinical, hopeless surroundings. “It ... it will hurt, I know it will,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Mrs. Parker cradled the girl’s face in her hands, her grip firm yet oddly gentle. Elena was now immobile, her fear paralyzing her further. “I’m afraid a lot of things will hurt here, much more than this,” Mrs. Parker said with a sickly sweet tone. “The best way to stay free from pain is to always obey. You must obey me, as I represent your Master’s will here.”

Elena looked up at the lined, forty-something face, detecting a disturbing sexual interest in the woman’s eyes, perhaps a slight licking of her lips. She remembered seeing Mrs. Parker on the “set” when Vitaly had been shot and she had been captured, and she involuntarily flexed, trying failing to move out of her restraints.

Mrs. Parker was gradually becoming the woman she had always wanted to be. She now had nightmares of being rescued and arrested; the thought of leaving this place filled her with dread. She no longer desired freedom. Here, she had a purpose, training these girls, reveling in the access and authority she wielded over them.

“Another beautiful doll,” she murmured, running her fingers over Elena’s cheekbone. “The master has excellent taste.”

Mrs. Parker swiftly took some measurements, noting Elena’s heart rate and blood pressure. Then, with a calculated smile, she pulled the D-rings back, forcing Elena’s arms horizontally above her head as she lay flat. With deliberate slowness, she spread the legs of the bench, prying Elena’s legs apart until she was completely exposed.

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Parker murmured, her fingers tracing over the stubble on Elena’s armpits and mons. “Two days’ stubble. Were you trying to impress someone? Maybe the gentleman you were traveling with?” she asked, her smile turning cheeky. “Or did you think the movie might need you to be naked? You naughty girl!” Her laughter echoed around the sterile hall.

Elena summoned some courage. “That man—you bastards murdered him. His name was Vitaly!” Her voice trembled with anger and defiance. “He was better than all of you!”

Mrs. Parker checked herself. She was turning into a monster. Half of this was a necessary act; some of it was a sickness within her.

“Listen, Elena,” she said, gazing into her eyes, her breath hot on the Russian girl’s mouth. “Sex, violence, and humiliation are all there is here, and wherever you end up. You might as well get used to it. I am going to be the kindest person you meet for the rest of your life.”

Mrs. Parker started up the electrolysis machine and began the treatment. Elena winced as the first wave of pain shot through her, her body tensing against the restraints.

Mrs. Parker worked methodically, her touch both clinical and invasive. Her fingers glided over Elena’s body like a cat’s caress, a twisted blend of cruelty and tenderness.

Eventually, Mrs. Parker gave in to temptation. Without breaking her rhythm, she leaned down and brought her mouth over Elena’s nipple, sucking on it while continuing to treat the armpit hair. She didn’t even look Elena in the eyes, treating her like a mere object for her twisted desires.

Elena’s mind reeled, her body rigid with a mix of pain and humiliation. She fought to detach herself from the reality of the situation, focusing on a distant memory of freedom, trying to find some mental escape from the grotesque scene.

The girls in the cell looked on. The sight of a middle-aged woman in a short dress, her thong clearly visible, bent over a table and sucking on the breasts of a naked twenty year old girl strapped down while lasering off her hair, should have been shocking. But here, it was normal.

Holly sat running her fingers over her own smooth pussy, remembering the violations she had suffered from Mrs Parker. Her lack of hair reminded her of her own vulnerability, like a little girl again, as the memories of Mrs Parker’s fingers inside her haunted her.

Freja and Ingrid were holding hands. “Ingrid, I know that soon we are going to have to ... play with each other. I want you to know that I am ready. We have no choice, we should not be ashamed!”

“I know sister” Ingird hugged her back. “These bastards” she whispered. “We should not let this destroy us. I won’t. Whatever they make us do, even with each other, you are my sister and I will respect and love you OK?”

Freja nodded, trying not to look down at her sister’s body, and trying not to think of what she was soon going to have to do to her. She was suddenly conscious of her own hard nipples rubbing against her older sister’s breasts, and covered them up, gazing down with embarrassment.

Ingrid smiled bitterly. This was all so unreal.

Jamal suddenly wandered in, chewing Qat. His huge figure and disfigured face always frightened the girls, along with his propensity for hitting them. The room seemed to shrink as he entered. The girls instinctively recoiled. Jamal’s eyes scanned the cell, his gaze settling on Holly and the clear skin between her legs. He smiled, displaying only half a lower jaw.

“You. You come with me.”

“What ... what? Why me? I haven’t done anything ... I...” Holly panicked, her voice trembling. She knew the look on Jamal’s face, and it filled her with dread.

Jamal opened the cell and dragged the terrified English girl out as effortlessly as grabbing a can from a vending machine. He lifted her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her out of the hall and into his room. The casualness of his actions shocked the other girls, as Holly’s desperate pleas were ignored.

Elena had raised her head in terror to watch the scene. Mrs Parker stroked her hair as if to console her.

“You are one of the chosen ones, my darling. Your buyer does not want your pussy violated ... much.” The blonde woman ran her finger over her slim lips between her legs. Elena’s thigh shook with the vain effort to close them father some dignity.

“The men here all have huge cocks” Mrs Parker went on, her eyes widening dramatically “I have had my share in my time, let me tell you, I’ve had kids, and even here I was barely able to sit down for the first few weeks!” she chuckled.

“But you, sweetheart” she cooed at Elena, “your pussy will be protected from those brute cocks. But this hole...” Elena sparked up in surprise, her eyes shooting out of her head as she felt the Englishwoman’s finger press into her anus. “This hole is getting fucked by every man here. “But don’t worry, we can train it to take a lot,” Mrs. Parker giggled affectionately at the startled Russian.

The hall door opened again, and this time Dmitri entered, clearly the worse for wear. He looked leeringly at the girls, who avoided his stare, praying he would not pick them. His disheveled appearance and bloodshot eyes only added to their fear, as they tried to make themselves as small and invisible as possible in the cramped cell. Dmitri’s gaze roamed over each of them, lingering with a predatory glint.

“Sabine ... Sabine,” he called out, sing-songing her name mockingly, threateningly.

Sabine sniffled and shut her eyes, trembling. This beast. She knew what was coming and tried to brace herself for the inevitable.

“Sabine, why so sad?” Dmitri taunted. “You remember, I used to be a prisoner, and you visited me, in your little skirt. You knew I could see your panties. You fucking tortured me. Now I can see ALL of you...” He laughed maniacally, his voice dripping with malice.

Sabine silently sobbed as Dmitri unlocked the cell door, swinging it open with a creak. He stood there, finger wagging mockingly, beckoning her to come out. Shoulders slumped, she walked out, jumping in fright as Dmitri slapped her ass. His cruel laughter echoed through the hall as they walked out of the hall.

“You see Elena” Mrs Parker warned her Russian charge. “I am the kindest person you will meet here!”

Holly gasped as Jamal’s huge hands gripped her waist, squeezing her and lifting her off her feet. His deformed mouth pressed against hers, forcing a kiss. She wrapped her legs around his body to stay upright, allowing his snake-like tongue to invade her mouth.

He threw her onto his bed, immediately attacking her between the legs with his mouth. His scarred head, with just one shark-like eye staring up at her, was visible between her legs as she felt his strong tongue lapping inside and all around her pussy. “God, if that is what his tongue feels like ... what about...” she thought, the fear and anticipation making her shudder.

Jamal stood up and let his cock spring from his underwear. Holly was shocked and nearly screamed. It was about ten inches long and thick.

Jamal brought his hands to her breasts, kneading them roughly, as he brought his crotch to Holly’s pushing his cock into her opening.

“Oh no. Oh my God ... Oh no ... Oh my God ... I’m not ready!”

Her head pulsed back and she screamed at the ceiling open-mouthed, feeling his cock head expand into her pussy, stretching the walls wide. Jamal then plunged deep, banging against her cervix as he took in the sight of the beautiful 18-year-old writhing and shaking her head from side to side, trying to process the intense pain from her vagina. It just spurred him on.

He came inside her, with a roar, twisting her nipples in ecstasy, Holly’s relatively tiny hands on top of her breasts trying in vain to free them from his brutal grip.

Jamal pulled out, his cock flopping out covered in blood while Holly brought her knees to her chin and her hands to her vagina. This fresh English rose, so deflowered, sweating, it gladdened him to have such control over all these bitches.

“OK, suck my cock clean.”

“No! It has my blood on it! That’s disgusting, please, Jamal no...”

“You call me SIR!” he spanked her on the side of her thighs, it was like being hit by a bike.

“Ow ... Ow ... Sir I am so sore, your cock, its’ too big... >”

“Then suck!”

Holly tried not to look at it, as she opened her mouth and allowed the Syrian to grip her hair and push his cock inside her. She could barely close her jaws and felt the huge cock head open up her windpipe.

After minutes of agony during which time she though she would pass out, he stopped. “OK, last hole.”

“Please ... please...”

“Shut up bitch”

Jamal lifted her legs over his huge hairy shoulders and positioned his cock under her pussy at the entrance of her asshole. He gripped her thighs and brought them back, slowly easing his cock inside.

Holly bit her lips so hard she started to bleed, her insides felt they were being torn apart, which they were.

After what seemed like ten minutes, he pulled out, leaving her asshole feeling like it was permanently opened up, the air whistling into her hole as a thousand fissures bled inside her.

“Now, clean my cock again” he commanded. Holly already could taste the blood and shit on it from here, and mixed with her tears she sucked him off again. The salty squirt of cum felt like a welcome promise, that this hell might be over, if only for a few hours. When she was walked back to the cell, limping, holding her vagina and asshole, her eyes bloodshot, Elena was too terrified to ask Mrs Parker what had happened.

Sabine could not believe how her world had turned upside down. Just a month ago, this man who was raping her was a refugee she was helping. She had done everything she could, every act of kindness, and he had turned against her for no reason. It was not just because she was pretty and he was a deviant, it was like her goodness was an affront to the world of evil.

“Dmitri, please don’t you remember me? Don’t you remember I helped you? why are you hurting me?” Sabine was on her knees, hands together pleading with the evil face of the thug in front of her.

“Because you are a bitch, and I want to fuck that ass. Always I wanted to fuck it. I did not give a fuck about your stupid job.”

Dmitri was drunk but he meant what he said. He was naked and his huge cock dangled in front of Sabine’s tear-streaked face.

“Cunts like you are made for fucking. Not for anything else. It makes me so happy to see you cry!” Dmitri laughed maniacally down at the scared German girl. “Now go on, suck my cock!”

Sabine took the rotten penis in her mouth and sucked without enthusiasm. Dmitri took a swig of vodka and sighed as he enjoyed her tongue. He lay back on the bed and raised his legs in the air.

“Lick my balls, my asshole too!” he laughed. He was in heaven, he had always wanted to have all the time in the world with his victims before, but now he could. He thanked Sabine, for bringing the Master to him and making his dreams come true.

Sabine managed what she could, trying to dissociate herself from this awful task. She promised herself that one day she would escape, one day, something would happen. To get to that day, she had to suffer here.

She was a lesbian but even if she was straight, the sight of Dmitri’s asshole and balls would have made her throw up. She fought her stomach, and used her tongue as a battering ram, like a defensive bargepole.

Dmitri continued fucking her in every hole, relishing in her pain, pulling her hair, biting her ears and slapping her face. Finally, he dragged her to the toilet, pushed her face over the toilet seat, and pissed on her, laughing as his piss bounced off her face into the toilet below.

“Hahaha when you were a smart lawyer, did you ever think I would be pissing on you? No you were dreaming of pussy, you dirty lesbian bitch!” He snarled at her, some conservative beast within him justifying his terrible assault on her with homophobia. He spat on her face. “Lesbian.”

Sabine cried at the injustice, the pain, the evil. She was led back, and thrown back into the cell, falling and almost banging her head on the ground as Dmitri laughed.

The other girls were repulsed at the smell of piss and other bodily fluids coming off Sabine as if they might be next if they spoke to her. The German girl gathered herself in a corner and cried. She looked over at Anna, who was pointedly looking away. She was holding hands with Charlotte, they were always together now. Sabine’s heartbreak was complete.

Later, Mrs Parker was finished with Elena. She brought the smooth Russian girl back to the cell, and she awkwardly touched herself, feeling her smooth silky skin. Mrs Parker gave her a playful pat on the bum and winked at Freja who was watching, before leaving.

The silence in the cell was oppressive. Only the whisperings of certain pairs of girls broke it. Hours and hours of nothing to do was maddening.

None of the girls understood why, but Zara started picking on Camille. Camille tried to get away from her, walking all around the cell, dodging the legs of the other girls but Zara followed her around.

“Fucking bith. Mrs Al-Haraz loves you!” Zara snarled at her, perhaps remembering the whipping, or her forced licking of the red-headed French girl.

“Please, Zara, leave me alone!” Camille was alarmed at the angry dusky Libyan girl.

Fatima tried to calm her cousin but was rewarded with an elbow to the face. Zara jumped on Camille and started tearing her hair, clawing at her breasts. The two fell to the ground, wrestling.

Following screams and shouts, Mrs Al-Haraz entered, in only a negligee. “What the fuck? Bitches! Stop fighting!”

The two were split up. Camille was crying, her hair straggled and her nose bleeding with scratch marks around her lovely white skin but otherwise unhurt.

Zara was pumped up and angry.

“Jamal! shouted Mrs Al-Haraz. Jamal appeared and the Yemeni barked orders to him in Arabic. The giant took Zara out, and cuffed her behind her back in a single sleeve cuff, and brought her to the older woman.

“Bitch. You act up here? Come, on the ground!”

Zara could not move her arms behind her back, her shoulder blades were squeezed together, and her breasts jutted out. She was vulnerable but refused the woman’s order.

Mrs Al-Haraz kicked at her knee, and Zara fell with a scream. In front of all the other girls, the Yemeni woman tore off her negligee, revealing her naked sinewy muscular slim body, and pounced on the Libyan girl.

“Eat my cunt! Eat my cunt!”

Mrs Al-Haraz was on her period. The smell and sight of the bleeding pussy made Zara twist and squirm, but the iron thighs of her overseer gripped her face and her lips could not avoid the metallic blood smearing itself all around her. As the woman held the girl’s nose shut, she was forced to open her mouth and inhale and swallow some of the blood.

Mrs Al-Haraz laughed, and then dragged the poor girl up and out of the hall, to her room, for some extended licking. The girls were still reeling from all the earlier violence and now had to look at the puddle of blood on the floor as a reminder of the depravity of this place.

Mrs Al-Haraz and Zara had hours of sex. Zara thought her tongue would fall out of her mouth with exhaustion but the constant beatings from the Yemeni woman kept pushing her. Zara herself orgasmed countless times as Mrs Al-Haraz returned the favour.

The Yemeni woman dozed off, while Zara was left on the bed, still in the painful single cuff behind her back. Zara looked around the woman’s room. Magazines, wardrobe, table, cards, make up table, mirror. The large double bed. It was like a mansion compared to the cell she shared with eight other girls. She looked around the bed, tip-toeing and making sure not to wake up the sleeping Yemeni.

She noticed a piece of metal sticking out from the bed. She twisted it in her fingers, lying against it with her hands behind her back. She managed to make a little shank out of it.

She looked at the evil bitch sleeping on the bed. She could kill her with this if she was not so cuffed.

She could kill the Master, the bastard who had ruined all their lives.

She carefully twisted the shank, and bent down, and managed to stick it up her ass. Part of the wire was sharp at the edges, and she could feel it cutting into her flesh if she moved. But she needed this.

She then gently licked Mrs Al-Haraz’s feet, to wake her. “Aaaah nice! keep doing that!”

Zara sighed. She had to deal with more pain in her asshole as she continued to suck and lick on Mrs All-Haraz’s feet. She prayed the Yemeni woman would not want to probe her asshole with a finger or tongue now.

Half an hour later, Mrs Al-Haraz finally grew bored and brought Zara back to the cell. She uncuffed her, then pushed her into the cell.

Zara walked to a space on the bench and sat, serenely. The other girls were weary of her and left her alone. After a few minutes, no one looked at her as she stuck her fingers up her ass, and discreetly pulled out the shank, covered in blood from her hiding place.

She kept calm. Even if she died, she would kill someone before she did, and hoped it would be the Master.

Two girls were not in the cell. Freja and Ingrid had been brought by Mrs Parker to meet Master Pembroke in his bedroom. Both girls were terrified as they walked in, seeing their naked kidnapper and tormentor grinning wit his legs spread, his large hairy adult body a stark contrast to their smooth youthful figures.

“Mrs Parker, let us see how the girls have learned!” Pembroke had been looking forward to the teenage sisters.

Mrs Parker took her clothes off, and stroked the girls’ hair. “Girls, why don’t you kiss each other, for the Master?”

Ingrid and Freja remembered their promise. They looked into each others’ eyes, for the last time before finally crossing the threshold, and kissed, with tongues.

Mrs Parker caressed their backs. “Nice, darlings, why not enjoy each others’ bodies? Freja, stroke your sister’s bottom!”

Freja obeyed. That was what the sisters agreed they would do.

Mrs Parker came from behind Freja, and kissed the young girl’s neck, then her spine and brought her tongue down to between her cheeks, and began lapping gently at her pussy and asshole, bringing her bottom out and spreading her cheeks wide. She had longed for this.

Pembroke was slowly masturbating his cock to this glorious sight. “Ingrid, Mrs Parker is eating your sister’s asshole, why don’t you eat her pussy?”

Ingrid lowered herself to her knees and kissed her sister between her legs. She felt the hands of Mrs Parker come between her sister’s thighs to play with her breasts. She gently circled Freja’s narrow slit with her hard tongue.

“Hmmm, now girls, get on the bed, and perform a 69.!”

Ingrid lay down, listlessly, while Mrs Parker helped Freja on top of her arranging the sisters carefully, and pushing their heads towards each others’ pussies, pulling the hair out of the way to allow the Master a good view.

“Suck me, Mrs Parker, get me ready!”

Mrs Parker sucked and licked on the engorged cock of her Master, hoping it would not hurt the girls’ assholes too much. She knew Pembroke would not be taking their vaginal virginity.

“Now girls, I will be fucking you in your assholes, so each of you use your tongues and fingers to prepare each other. If you love each other, you will not want it to hurt!”

Each girl moved their mouth a little further, past the pussy, to the little round button of their asses. They both squirmed as their dainty fingers pushed inside each other.

“Now girls, come lick my cock and balls!” Pembroke spread his legs with a wide smile as he watched Mrs Parker coax the two teenagers towards his crotch. The older woman guided their mouths to the cock, pushing Ingrid’s head down and encouraging Freja to lick and suckle on his hairy balls.

“Now, Freja, I want you to sit on my face. Ingrid, sit on my cock, be careful not to let my cock in your pussy, only your asshole! Try and push yourself down. Mrs Parker, please help her!”

Freja found herself in the oddly empowering position of placing her bottom over the face of the man whom all the girls were terrified of. But Pembroke was not afraid of a 15-year-old girl’s ass. He licked upwards at her pussy, his stubble burning against her skin.

Mrs Parker placed a protective hand over Ingrid’s pussy as she fingered the girl’s asshole to open her up, and then held Pembroke’s cock against her anus. She pulled Ingrid down by the shoulders while holding the cock steady up against her opening.

“Aaaaaahhhh!” Ingrid moaned in pain. Her sister watched in sympathy while straddling Pembroke’s face, leaning over and touching her sister on the shoulder. Mrs Parker kissed Ingrid gently on the neck. “Don’t fight it, darling. Let it slip inside.”

Finally, Ingrid breathed out in relief as she let her asshole slide down the pole. She soon got into a gentle rhythm, helped by Mrs Parker cupping her buttocks.

They switched places. Mrs Parker had very thoroughly cleaned both girls out so there was no unpleasantness other than a little blood coming out of Ingrid’s asshole, which Mrs Parker licked out before placing the girl on top of her Master’s face.

Mrs Parker kissed Freja softly, watching her fearful face, as she helped her onto Pembroke’s cock, jealously guarding her pussy and making sure the cock was placed right against her asshole, and cradling her as she forced the fifteen-year-old down on the cock, taking in the bug-eyed expression of the teenager as her rectum welcomed her Master’s cock.

Pembroke moaned into Ingrid’s pussy as he came inside Freja’s ass. The girl’s sweet pussy was the perfect accompaniment to her sister’s asshole gripping his cock. Mrs Parker helped Freja off his cock, and took her Master’s manhood in her mouth to clean it from the small traces of blood, then licked Freja’s asshole and sucked Pembroke’s cum out. She shared his sperm in a kiss with the two Swedish girls.

Both Pembroke and Mrs Parker agreed it had been a splendid introduction to group sex for the young sisters, and congratulated them on their performance.

Pembroke walked into the hall with the two blonde girls and Mrs Parker. The three females were naked and Pembroke was in a t shirt, jeans and flip flops.

Most of the girls in the cell had seen Pembroke naked by now, having had sex with him. But his naked form like this was still surprising. He was carefree and happy.

“I hope you are having a splendid day, girls, no doubt plenty of exciting things to talk about!” He laughed at his own joke. The girls had no clothes, no books, nothing, and were often not allowed to speak. They must be going mad with boredom. But all the better for breaking them down.

Mrs Parker opened the cell for the two Swedes, and was about to close it, when suddenly, Zara burst out of the door.

She was brandishing a knife! Pembroke was shocked. Where had she got that from?

“YOU BASTARD, I WILL KILL YOU NOW!!” The Libyan girl, Zara, screamed, waving the knife around wildly. She managed to cut Mrs. Parker across the arm as she tried to intervene.

Pembroke dodged a few wild swings from Zara, then jabbed her with his fist, sending her sprawling onto her ass.

“HEEEEELLLPP!” Mrs. Parker panicked, clutching her bleeding arm. The girls were frozen, fear paralyzing them. Despite this being their best chance of freedom, they did not move to help Zara.

Zara got back up, carefully waving her knife like a viper, her eyes full of determination. Pembroke danced around her, now enjoying the fight, taunting Zara in Arabic. He moved with a cruel grace, his mocking words stoking Zara’s fury as she prepared for the next strike.

The door to the hall opened and Kwame, Dmitri, Jamal and Mrs Al-Haraz spilled in.

Zara watched the smiling, mocking face of Pembroke and knew the game was up. She retreated back into the cell as the men followed her, advancing menacingly.

The other girls squealed and crammed into a corner to get out of the way.

Desperately, Zara grabbed Camille and held the shank to her throat. Camille screamed, her eyes wide with terror.

“I will kill her!” Zara shouted, her voice shaking. She thought of revenge against Camille but, with a broken heart, realized Pembroke was going to win. He would torture her, brutally, but might not even kill her.

Pembroke advanced slowly, his expression a mixture of amusement and cruelty. “Do it, Zara,” he taunted in Arabic. “Let’s see if you have the courage.”

Inwardly, Pembroke was worried. Camille’s death could cost him an awful lot of money.

Zara threw Camille in front of her. With defiance, she screamed in Arabic and English.

“I am not an animal! I am a human being! You will not sell me!” She brought the knife to her mouth, and pulled it out across her lips, tearing her cheeks open. The men and girls watched with horror. Barely pausing, Zara then sliced her face open from top to bottom and jabbed her own eye.

“Stop her!” Pembroke was angry now. His own merchandise was being damaged.

Jamal charged forward. Zara brought the knife out to strike him, but instead brought it back into her own stomach as hard as she could.

Jamal slapped her hard and took the knife away. He dragged her out of the cell, leaving a trail of blood everywhere.

Pembroke was horrified, her face was sliced open, covered in blood, and her stomach had a gaping wound.

“Take her out of here, to the medic room!” he barked. They carried the bloody body out of the hall. The shocked girls began to cry, trying not to stand on the blood that now covered half of the floor of the cell.

As Zara lost consciousness, she told herself, she had won. The bastard would not be able to use her.

Elena Petrova stood squashed with the sweaty, shaking bodies of the girls in the corner, hiding from the macabre horror. She could not believe what had happened. Her family had sheltered her so much from violence. And just twenty-four hours ago she had been on a romantic journey to appear in a movie that might change the world. Surely, this had to be a nightmare, this could not be her new life?

The following morning, Fatima Al-Tayeb was brought, naked, into Pembroke’s office. She was terrified, her mind racing with questions. Had her cousin died? Would she be tortured? Would Fatima be held responsible?

“Fatima, do you know what kind of establishment I hope to build here?” asked Pembroke. He sat cross-legged, dressed in suit trousers, a shirt, and shoes, looking semi-formal and scholarly. His composed demeanor and scholarly attire were chillingly incongruent with the casual cruelty Fatima was fully expecting.

“Master, I know we are slaves, and I know we should be obedient to you, and will be sold,” Fatima said humbly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Correct, Fatima, well done,” Pembroke replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. “But you see, we want to build a reputation for quality, obedience, and discipline. Every one of you must embody these traits perfectly, for the rest of your lives.”

“Yes, Master, I understand,” Fatima said, her voice trembling slightly.

“And how will we enforce this obedience?” Pembroke asked, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto hers with a chilling intensity.

“Master, with punishments, Master” Fatima quivered as she spoke. Pembroke’s attention was drawn to her breasts shaking, the large aureolas a contrast to her cousin’s more delicate nipples.

“Yes, Fatima. But not just you. Your families,” Pembroke continued, his smile turning cold. “What we promise our clients is that you will be cowed into submission, with training, physical and psychological conditioning, but also the ever-present threat hanging over you for the rest of your lives—that your families’ lives will be forfeit if you damage our reputation!”

Fatima’s heart clenched as she thought of her daughter, Ayesha. “Please, Master, I did not do anything, please...” she pleaded, her voice breaking with desperation.

“Fatima, what will the girls think if I do not punish Zara? If you must know, she is alive, but severely injured and scarred. I am afraid I do not think I will get any money for her. It would damage our reputation if we were to present her to clients. I am afraid she is to be ... disposed of.”

“No!” Fatima cried out, her voice filled with anguish. The thought of Zara being discarded like trash was too much to bear. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, “Please, Master, there must be another way! She doesn’t deserve this!”

“She was told to be obedient, but she failed. She ruined my valuable property—her own body. But most disconcertingly, she has set a terrible example. What am I to tell Charlotte, Camille, or the others? I have to guarantee my girls, like you, will continue serving their owners like loyal slaves ten years from now, or however long they choose to keep you alive.” Pembroke was exasperated.

“An example must be set. Zara must pay, and her family must pay. And of course, you are her family...”

Fatima’s heart sank as Pembroke’s words settled over her like a suffocating blanket. “Please, Master,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and sorrow. “Punish me instead. I’ll do anything. Just spare her family. Spare my daughter.”

Pembroke’s expression hardened. “Your pleas won’t change anything, Fatima. Zara’s actions have consequences, and those consequences must be clear to everyone. Only then will true obedience be maintained.”

Pembroke turned around his computer screen, it showed a huge Arab wedding, with only women present. It was from an online social media account, which Fatima had earlier been tortured into giving up the password to.

“I have two main options as I see it. Zara has a large family, though mainly in Tripoli, some in Paris. To make a noticeable dent that would impress the other girls, I think I would have to kill three or four at least. Now, a gun attack in Tripoli would be risky, but it could also be fun. Motiveless killings are always the easiest to get away with, which is why I so often enjoy them!” He smirked.

Fatima blanched at the horror of this sociopath, her face draining of color as she realized the extent of his cruelty. “Please, Master,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt them.”

“Well, there is another, more profitable option, Fatima. You see, your family has a lot of beautiful girls. Rather heartwarmingly, since your maritime disaster, your relatives and your local mosque paid a lot of money for Zara’s younger brothers and sisters to make the trip from Libya to Istanbul by plane. Much safer, if I say so myself! The poor family, however, are still trying to get across the border...”

Fatima’s heart pounded as she listened, the implications of his words sinking in. Pembroke leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying her distress.

“It would be quite easy to ensure they also tragically disappear” he continued, his tone casual and menacing. “They could be brought here, integrated into our little ... operation.”

Tears streamed down Fatima’s face as she fell to her knees, her hands clasped in a desperate plea. “Please, Master, don’t do this. They are innocent children. I’ll do anything you ask. Just leave them out of this.”

Pembroke looked down at her, his expression a cold mask of amusement. “It’s either a large number of your family members in Tripoli dying, your daughter having an unfortunate accident, or one of Zara’s slut sisters disappearing and becoming your new friend here,” Pembroke said, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact. “Ultimately, it is not up to you, but I would like you to assist me in choosing the last option. I believe you may be of some assistance.”

Fatima’s head sank, despondent and defeated. Her tears fell silently as she realized the horrific choice she was being forced to make.

Chapter Text

Ever since the presumed drownings of members of their family in the Mediterranean over a month ago, the Al-Tayeb family and their wider clan had been in mourning. The loss of so many menfolk hit them hard, and despite sympathy from others, the bills had been rising. The tragedy had become a disputed footnote in the ongoing migration crisis. Yet, one group that stepped in was “Mawaa Atfa,” a children’s charity originally started during Yemen’s civil war and now revitalized. The tragedy of the boat drowning had seemed to energize the charity which had been dogged by accusations it had been a front for arms smuggling and corruption in Yemen, not that the Libyan families cared much to investigate.

A senior figure in the charity was one Faris Rahma, a devout American muslim born in Syria and raised in the US, whose heart was wrenched by the tragedy that had affected so many families. Rather than encourage the families to take such dangerous crossings with women and children, he offered paid travel to Turkey, without the need for visas, for children and elderly people, focusing on the families worst affected by the tragedy.

Muammar Al-Tayeb, only fifty, had eleven children, but now, after losing his daughters Fatima and Zara, only nine remained. Several of his sons were now in Europe. Reluctant to uproot his family and wanting nothing more to do with travel, Muammer was nonetheless driven to leave when his store burned to the ground one night. He felt it was a sign from God telling him to go.

He was comforted by the fact that they had accommodation in Istanbul. The baffled owner of a hotel next to a mosque had been offered a decent amount of money to put up families of refugees. Being devout himself, he assured Muammer Al-Tayeb that his family would be safe.

Edward Pembroke was nothing if not a gambler, but even he could not believe he was taking such risks, and spending so much capital. He anxiously checked the passport photos put forth for the children and women to match them against the family photos supplied under duress by Fatima. He did not want to pay a small fortune to put up ugly unwanted Libyan refugees in Istanbul.

But a greater part of Pembroke was seized by his vision and the need to show Zara and the others that he truly controlled not just them, but their families. He wanted each of his girls’ entire universes, their inner sanctuaries, to be enveloped in fear of what he could do to them.

In recent weeks, the families with the prettiest daughters had received the worst misfortune, all at the hands of one misfit: a Cameroonian refugee who dreamed of becoming a rap artist in Europe. His so-called “thug” credentials had attracted enough interest for a mysterious stranger to offer him money online to burn down certain premises.

The down payments of the Crown Prince were running low, and Pembroke had used old contacts to borrow some money from Turkish underworld contacts. A few mentions of the right people that Kwame had intimate knowledge of, let it be known that Pembroke was into drugs, and would be good for his money.

But Pembroke was getting nervous. He needed to complete his round-up for the Crown Prince, and the training. And he needed to find new buyers, he was getting asset rich and cash poor. But he was also nervous about the value of his girls. Outside of one buyer, his other girls were only worth what others were willing to pay for them and this was a new, hazardous and niche market to sell into.

Pembroke tried not to think of such pressures as he took in the delights of the performance in front of him at the complex.

He sat on a comfortable sofa, watching Mrs. Al-Haraz, clad in a spandex high-waisted body leotard, lead the nine naked girls in a high-tempo aerobics class. Sweat glistened off the girls’ hard bodies as they struggled to keep up. Camille effortlessly followed Mrs. Al-Haraz’s movements as soon as she did them, feeling a sense of self-respect in being able to show off her acrobatic skills, impressing everyone.

Anna and Charlotte were also doing well, performing each move perfectly in tandem. They exchanged smiles with each other, their bodies moving in sync. Their legs kicked high, and they bent low, shedding their inhibitions more easily than the other girls, despite knowing their assholes and pussies were displayed obscenely to the gawking men.

The Swedish sisters tried hard but often got the moves wrong, prompting angry barks from Mrs. Al-Haraz. She would dance close to them, delivering a sharp smack on their ass before moving back to her instructor position, leaving the poor girls’ faces flushed with exhaustion, heat and humiliation.

Sabine and Fatima were trying, but their efforts often resulted in comedic blunders. They tripped over each other, prompting laughter from the audience. Their desperate attempts to get up and follow the moves only added to the spectacle, their faces red with a mix of exertion and fear of being punished for being the worst performers.

Elena and Holly felt it the worst. As the two recent arrivals, they still clung to their dignity, and the shame of having to perform like this in front of the giggling audience and the angry instructor infected them. Their movements were stiff, their faces etched with a combination of humiliation and determination.

All girls tried not to catch the eyes of their Master who lounged back laughing at their pathetic attempts to dance. He detected some tears mixed with the sweat on Fatima’s face. Perhaps she was thinking of her extended family who Pembroke was planning on abducting, or her daughter, or Zara?

Mrs Al-Haraz finally called a halt, as the girls tried to wipe the sheens of sweat off their bodies. But they were then called into further training.

Pembroke had noticed with some amusement that Anna had developed feelings for Charlotte and had discarded Sabine. Seizing the opportunity to further manipulate the dynamics among the girls, he ordered Anna and Charlotte to kneel facing each other and kiss for an extended period of time. Their lips met, and they kissed passionately, trying to lose themselves in the moment.

Behind Charlotte, Sabine was commanded to bend down and lick the soles of the English girl’s feet. Charlotte’s gentle laughter disrupted her kissing with Anna as she felt the German girl’s tongue reluctantly licking her insoles and sucking her toes. The sensation of Sabine’s tongue on her sweaty feet was surprisingly pleasurable.

Anna, a fellow high-achieving young sports girl from a wealthy family, found much more in common with Charlotte than with Sabine. The two girls had quickly formed a bond, strengthened by their similar backgrounds and ambitions. Sabine, on the other hand, was now an outcast. Anna was going to be sold with Charlotte, not Sabine, so what was the point in sticking with her?

Sabine’s attempts to talk to Anna continued to be met with cold indifference. Charlotte was grateful for her pretty friend to distract her from the awfulness of the situation.

Sabine felt utterly defeated as she was forced to lick her love rival’s feet. The overpowering smell between the toes and along the insoles heightened her humiliation. She was so low, she could never have imagined her life would take such a drastic turn, descending from the happiness she had felt in her career, in the lake with Anna, and now to this! Naked, licking a girl’s feet for the amusements of murderous freaks! Nothing in her young life could explain this to her.

Elena’s reserve and struggle to conserve her dignity had caught the eye of Mrs. Al-Haraz. So, this new bitch thought she could rise above this? The Russian girl was called out and forced to lie down. Mrs. Al-Haraz, with a cruel smirk, pulled off her leotard and plopped her sweaty ass crack on Elena’s face. The Yemeni woman sat up in a squat position, back straight, as if meditating, and savored the sensations of Elena’s tongue flickering between her legs. Elena’s mouth opened desperately, struggling to breathe under the weight of her overseer’s ass cheeks.

Dmitri and Kwame sat in their own comfortable chairs, while Fatima and Holly sat on their laps, lowering their vaginas onto the men’s cocks and straddling them. Both men were intoxicated by the sweaty scents of the women, sucking, licking, and biting at their wet skin as the girls pumped their hips up and down on their large cocks, grunting with pleasure and pain at the constant spanks and biting.

Freja and Ingrid were ordered to perform a 69 in the middle of the hall amidst everyone. They half-heartedly ran their tongues along each others’ slits, hoping it would be enough to avoid a beating, but being aware that everyone else in the room was busy having sex. The girls smelled the same as each other; they could barely distinguish the sweat careering off the skin, it was as if they were one person. Secretly, the girls were starting to like this position, free of the shame of making eye contact, they could enjoy giving each other pleasure. The smells and tastes from between their legs felt so familiar to them both.

Camille sat on top of Pembroke, who reveled in the girl’s athleticism. She adopted cowgirl style on top of him, smiling nervously as she picked her feet up and held them by the toes. Using her abdomen muscles, she spun herself around while impaled on his cock, her nervous smile barely concealing the strain and discomfort she felt.

After cumming inside her, Pembroke waved her back into the cell while the others enjoyed themselves. He towelled himself down as she made his way to the medic room to check on Mrs Parker and Zara.

Zara was in a bad way but stable, cuffed to a medical bed. Antibiotics and painkillers were doing their job, but her harsh wounds had scarred her. Her face, already marred by a broken tooth, a broken nose, and other cuts, now had a crisscross of lines from where she had sliced herself with a shank. Her left eye was gone. Pembroke had relied on his and Jamal’s rudimentary military medical knowledge, along with YouTube videos, to treat the injured eye and remove the dead tissue. Rough stitches across her face had stopped the bleeding but guaranteed she would be disfigured even more.

The wound in her stomach had caused her the most pain. It seemed she had severe internal injuries. She had barely eaten in the last ten days and passed in and out of consciousness. Mrs. Parker felt so much responsibility for the poor girl and constantly tended to her wounds. She knew, however, that the Master would never let her out to go to a real hospital.

Pembroke was looking at the naked figure of Fatima, and on social media photos on his phone. He looked at Mrs Parker’s tattoos on her back, and then at her bare forearm and had an idea.

Taking a shower, he knew he had to go back out into the world. There were contacts to be cultivated, money to be made, and girls to be kidnapped and sold.

Chapter Text

Mr. Faris Rahma, the tall, distinguished American with a surprising command of Turkish and Arabic, brought a glimmer of hope to the struggling Istanbul hotel owner, Mr. Hasan Yildiz. The elderly man, in his late seventies, greeted Rahma with a warm but cautious smile. Yildiz’s deep-set eyes spoke of years of scraping by and struggling to keep hold of the hotel left to him by his father decades earlier.

Yildiz had been delighted to learn that Rahma intended to book the entire hotel for refugees sponsored by “Mawaa Atfa.” He was charmed by Mr. Rahma’s devout piety, his sophistication, and even his knowledge of Yildiz’s ancestral land, Algeria. For a moment, hope sparked in Yildiz’s heart, a hope that his hotel might once again serve a noble purpose, as well make some money.

Meanwhile, across town, Mehmet Kaya, a notorious people smuggler, was equally enthusiastic about meeting Rahma. The promise of upfront payment for transporting refugees to Greece made Kaya eager to contact potential clients like the Al-Tayebs and guarantee them safe passage if they could get to northwest Turkey. He was also happy to recommend Mr. Yildiz’s hotel as a good place for the refugees to spend a few days seeing the city and preparing for the crossing.

Muammar Al-Tayeb felt reassured reading up on Mr Kaya’s social media pages, the man had a proven pedigree going back years. Al-Tayeb’s life had crumbled after the devastating fire destroyed his shop and the boat disaster that had taken his daughter, his brother, his niece, and her baby and husband. The hotel seemd legitimate and for the Al-Tayebs, anything was better than their current overcrowded hovel in Tripoli.

At night, he prayed with his family. His daughter, Samira touched his shoulder afterward and hugged him. She was the apple of his eye. Since her sister Zara, so reckless, had left them and drowned, she had been quiet.

“Father,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I feel Zara’s presence watching over us. I believe she’s giving you the courage to make the best choices.”

A faint smile touched Muammar’s lips as he kissed his sixteen-year-old daughter’s forehead. “Samira,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion, “if anything happened to you, I don’t know how I would go on.”

“Don’t worry, Father,” Samira reassured him. “With you by my side, I’ll always feel safe.”

It was at that moment, that Muammar decided to message “Mawaa Atfa” and tell them that yes, he would accept their generous offer. He thanked God for this heaven-sent opportunity amid so much disaster.

Meanwhile, Pembroke was being kept informed of developments at the complex. The girls had been shocked when Zara had re-joined them in the cell. Her face was heavily disfigured by her self inflicted wounds and the clumsy treatment. The wound in her stomach was deep and she found it hard to move, feeling the injury with every step.

But she was kept with the others and obliged to take part in the same games, though was left out of most of the exercises. The girls were more afraid of her than ever, despite her now resigned and depressed air. Being told to eat out Zara’s pussy and asshole was usually reserved for whoever had annoyed Mrs AL-Haraz the most.

Fatima was scared to tell her cousin about the Master’s threats and plans. Even more so, she feared the Master might maliciously tell her that Fatima had helped him by giving him tips on how to procure her siblings.

As if reading her anxiety, Mrs Al-Haraz called out to the girls in the cell in Arabic.

“Zara! Fatima! Get those sexy Libyan asses up. I am going to get you out of there, I want you to 69 here on the floor in front of the other girls, give them some entertainment!” The Yemeni cackled like the evil witch she was.

Both girls walked obediently out of the cell, and placed their bodies next to each other, finding their way between each others’ legs, and licked and sucked on the familiar vaginal flesh.

Zara’s tears fell from her face onto the ground beyond her cousin’s pussy as she took in the same familiar scent, and felt the same emotions of the tongue inside her. This humiliation would never end. She had not even been punished yet, but knew something would happen when the Master returned. She was now ugly, and possibly maimed. She had ruined her life, whatever happened. She had tried to get out, and she had failed, even as a corpse. Maybe she deserved to spend the rest of her life in this hell.

After days of piety and praying with various community figures to prove his credentials with him, Pembroke was delighted when his alter ego Faris Rahma received a notification that several Libyan families had taken up his offer. He blew out his cheeks as he booked the plane tickets. He really needed to start selling girls.

At his hotel he called Ahmed Al-Masri.

“Eddie! How are things going? I hope the girls are getting good training. But my boss is a little perturbed that the young Dilan Talebani keeps posting online. He enjoys her bikini shots, but he seems to remember being promised that she would have disappeared off the face of the earth by now.”

“Yes...” sighed Pembroke nervously. “Ms Talebani is proving difficult. Lebanon is a hard country and she is a very busy girl with many engagements.”

“My boss is very specific Eddie” Al-Masri was enjoying his old friend’s discomfort. “If she is not in his harem, then the purchase price will have to be reduced significantly.”

“But Ahmed! I have already spent a lot of money getting His Excellency’s girls together! I feel like I am being scammed here!”

Al-Masri laughed at the end of the line. “Eddie, I am sure you have more merchandise you can sell off. You seem to be very busy. We should catch up, I am in France soon.”

Pembroke sighed and ended the call cordially. Dilan was the seventh girl. She might be the toughest of them all, she was getting even more famous. But he had an idea., as ever.

For now, though, his focus was on the poor refugees he was flying in from Libya. The hotel they would be staying in left a lot to be desired, and he lectured the hotel owner on the direction of Mecca to be obeyed in the furniture, the general state of the place, and insisted on arranging who would be in which rooms. The owner was embarrassed, he was ashamed to admit that often illicit activities involving ladies of the night had taken place here, but did not want to ruin the chance of a full booking and to let himself down in front of this respectable man he admired so much.

Pembroke’s own hotel was more upmarket, on the Bosphorus. He looked over his laptop on the lounge, carefully analyzing the passport photos of the refugees and looking over the photos of the girls Fatima had pointed out to him.

“Samira.” He said to himself, staring at a girl in red dress at a private female-only wedding party. Her dark hair was uncovered, her beautiful smile illuminating the room around the bride - Fatima. Zara was beside her, just as beautiful ... but not anymore.

The thought of what he wanted to do to these vulnerable girls made him horny. He went on his phone, and soon found a local escort agency, and agreed to pay good money for a “kinky” service. “Incalls only.” He looked around at his classy hotel. Probably not the place to bring a prostitute back to, it would only attract attention. Just as well, perhaps.

Pembroke dressed in casual clothes as he approached what passed for the late-night district. It was a nondescript flat, with mean-looking men, appearing to be Chechen, nodding to him.

Inside, he introduced himself as “Geoff,” an English tourist. A thuggish-looking Chechen looked him over and took his money. He smiled to his associate at the bottom of the stairs. “This faggot can fuck Tatiana.”

“Do we need more men here?” replied the man.

“No, this guy looks like he couldn’t even beat one of the girls. We can relax.”

Pembroke feigned ignorance and affable nervousness, not revealing that he could clearly understand them.

“Give us your cell phone,” said the man to Pembroke menacingly.

“What ... but ... why?” Pembroke thought about refusing to comply, then remembered he had already handed over all his money.

“The bitches upstairs like to gossip too much, they will take your phone off you if we do not,” the man laughed roughly. “We will give it back. But it’s either we keep your phone, or you go, and no pussy for you.”

Pembroke sighed. His phone was encrypted but even so, it would be a huge pain if these men stole it from him. Yet he did not want to sacrifice his money. And he had to admit, he liked the sound of the girls being obviously denied any means of contacting the outside world. He now wanted to see them more than ever.

Pembroke was let into a small room. A red light hung from the ceiling, casting an eerie glow. The room had a well-made bed, and on it lay a young-looking girl with brown hair and blue eyes, about five feet five, with an athletic trim figure. She looked about eighteen and frightened. She was beautiful, dressed in black lingerie with stockings and suspenders.

“Oh hi,” said Pembroke, a little nervously.

“What ... what do I do?” the girl shouted nervously at the Chechen behind him.

“Everything he wants, bitch,” replied the Chechen, laughing as the door slammed behind Pembroke. “His cock is probably three inches anyway” he spat in Russian.

Pembroke felt a bit put off by the Chechen’s presence, and thoughts of getting his own back on him now dominated his thoughts rather than the pretty Russian girl in front of him.

“I’m Geoff,” he extended his hand and spoke in English.

“I am Tatiana,” the girl said nervously.

“I am sorry,” said Pembroke, “I ... I don’t normally do this. I’m married, perhaps I should go...”

“No, please ... please stay. I will get in trouble...” the girl seemed terrified.

Pembroke lay beside her but stayed clothed. “OK, but ... why don’t we just talk?”

Pembroke’s appetite for sex had now been extinguished by the threats from the rude and obnoxious Chechens. He was more intrigued to hear about Tatiana and her life. She was eighteen and had been lured from her small Russian town to Istanbul to work as a presenter on a TV show three months ago. It had been a front. On arrival, she had been taken by these Chechens and used as a prostitute ever since.

But can you not escape?” Pembroke asked, confused.

“It’s not just me,” Tatiana replied, her voice trembling. “The men who tricked me, they got me to get my sister to come, Natalia. She is two years older than me, with a child. She was told to come here and work as a prostitute to pay off a debt incurred by her useless ex-boyfriend, and I would be free too. But I don’t know if that will ever happen.” She started to cry. “It’s been three months, but it feels like three years. They threaten her child back in Russia, our parents. We have to work here until we pay off the debt, but it keeps increasing!”

Pembroke felt a surge of interest. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tatiana. This is terrible. We need to find a way out of this.”

Tatiana looked at him, her eyes filled with desperation. “But how? They watch us all the time. We have nowhere to go.”

Pembroke thought for a moment. “We need a plan. We can’t act rashly, but there has to be a way to get you and your sister out of here safely.”

Tatiana wiped her tears. “I don’t know who to trust. Everyone who tries to help ends up making things worse.”

“You can trust me,” Pembroke said firmly. “I promise, I’ll find a way to help you both.”

Tatiana nodded, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “Thank you, Geoff. Just talking to someone who cares helps more than you know.”

“Where does your sister work?” Pembroke asked.

“She ... works...” Tatiana swallowed her words in disgust. “Downstairs. There is always one of these thugs here, or their women.”

“What about the police?” Pembroke suggested.

“No ... not the police. I’m sorry, you seem like a nice man. I don’t think you should get involved with bad men on my behalf.”

“Oh, Tatiana ... it feels awful knowing you and your sister are holed up here with these thugs holding you captive!” Pembroke exclaimed, his frustration evident but not for the reasons Tatiana believed.

Tatiana’s eyes welled up with tears again. “I know. It feels hopeless sometimes. But I have to stay strong for Natalia and her child. We can’t give up.” Do you speak to Natalia?” Pembroke asked.

“Yes, a few times a day,” Tatiana replied.

“Good, tell her that I am going to see her tomorrow, and I will leave her something. They don’t let me bring in phones, I will think of something else. She can hide it.”

“Oh ... Geoff, that sounds dangerous! What are you going to do?” Tatiana asked, her voice filled with worry.

“I want to know more. I believe I can get the police to take this seriously, or a charity, something, anything. Trust me, I work as a diplomat for the United Kingdom. I know I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but if it helps you two, it could be worth it!”

Tatiana started to cry. Could this meek English gentleman, who looked like he would never hit a woman, be their savior? She prayed nothing bad would happen to him—he was the first good man she had met in months here.

“Thank you, Geoff,” she whispered through her tears. “You’re the first person who has cared enough to try and help us. I will tell Natalia, and we will be careful. Please, just be safe.”

Pembroke nodded, his resolve strengthening. “We will get through this, Tatiana. I promise. I’ll see you both soon.”

Pembroke walked out while the Chechens scorned the middle-class Englishman. Pembroke made his way back to the hotel. He had not fucked the young Russian girl. But soon he might be able to fuck her every day if he played this right.

Back at the hotel, he made a call to Dmitri requesting his presence in Istanbul. He lay in bed thinking of the Russian girl’s tear-filled blue eyes, and the days ahead with the refugees.

Chapter Text

“Ah, my friend,” Mr. Yildiz said, his voice steady despite his age, “thank you for bringing custom to my hotel. But I know how to run it. This is my domain.”

Firas Rahma, sensing the old man’s pride, approached him with a respectful nod. “I don’t intend to change the essence of your hotel,” Rahma said. “I only want to make some adjustments to ensure the comfort and well-being of our guests. Specifically, there are some girls with asthma who require clean air, and I would be honoured if you let me ensure the room is suitable for them.”

Mr. Yildiz paused, considering the sincere request. Rahma continued, “As the Quran says, ‘Whoever saves one life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity.’ By making these small improvements, we are not just helping these girls; we are fulfilling a sacred duty to protect and preserve life.”

The wisdom in Rahma’s words and the genuine concern for the well-being of the guests resonated with Mr. Yildiz. He finally spoke, his tone softened by understanding. “Oh well, kind sir, in that case, yes. Your assistance is most appreciated.”

Rahma smiled, his dark features beaming down on the diminutive Yildiz. “Excellent, the families will be so relieved, these girls are so vulnerable. I have a handyman who can come around soon and look after the room in question.”

Mr. Yildiz bowed in agreement, realizing that some refurbishment in that room could indeed be beneficial. Although he didn’t know much about asthma or how exactly they would fix the room—maybe they would have some sort of giant inhaler in there?—he trusted the gentlemanly, pious man standing before him.

Rahma made his way back to his hotel where he took some calls. After checking on Dmitri’s progress, he spoke with Jamal. The girls were responding well to Mrs. Al-Haraz’s brutal training in his absence, and he chuckled as he described his tattooing experiments on Mrs Parker’s arm. Rahama/Pembroke winced a little, he hoped his blonde mistress would not be too disfigured by all these tattoos, but it was necessary for his plans.

Pembroke then strode outside of the hotel, where he had a good view of the Bosphorus. The sight of the shimmering waters and the bustling activity on the strait provided a perfect backdrop for his next call. He returned a message to Sheila Johnson, suggesting they have a video call. The American woman had been sending him a stream of messages, still lovesick after their time together in Marseille.

Pembroke carefully chose the best spot with the most picturesque background. With the wind gently blowing through his hair and the iconic sights of Istanbul behind him, he adjusted his crisp shirt and answered the call.

“Sheila, darling, you should come here. Istanbul is amazing!” he exclaimed, flashing his most charming smile.

Sheila’s face lit up on the screen, her longing evident. “Edward, it’s so good to see you! I’ve been missing you terribly.”

“I’ve been missing you too, Sheila,” Pembroke replied smoothly. “The city is full of wonders, and I think you’d love it here. The history, the culture, the energy—it’s all so invigorating.”

Sheila sighed wistfully. “It sounds perfect. I wish I could be there with you right now.”

“Why not make it happen?” Pembroke suggested, his eyes twinkling. “There’s so much we could explore together. Think about it.”

Sheila’s eyes softened as she considered his words. “I’ll see what I can do. It would be wonderful to be with you again. I am still traveling with my daughter, so I hope my husband doesn’t suspect anything. It will be safer if she is with me when we meet, less suspicious.”

“Great,” Pembroke said, laughing, his smile broadening. “Cassie would love it here.”

“Well, we were just in Istanbul,” laughed Sheila. “I think Cassie might be a little suspicious if we were to return, and by extension, my husband, haha.”

“Well, what about a little Greek island? So quiet, so nice—perfect way to wind down after a tour of all the European cities.”

“That sounds amazing, Edward,” Sheila said, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Tell you what,” Pembroke said smoothly, “I can give you some recommendations. There are some places I can reach by my yacht. It’ll be a delightful escape.”

Sheila grinned. “Perfect. I’ll start making plans, but send me your recommendations, I will let you know as soon as possible.”

“Wonderful,” Pembroke replied. “I can’t wait to see you and Cassie again. We’ll have an unforgettable time.”

As they ended the call, Pembroke smiled. With a final glance at the Bosphorus, he turned and headed back to his hotel, ready to tackle the next challenge.

Charming half-senile hotel owners, desperate Libyan refugees, and amorous American military wives were all much easier, Pembroke noted with chagrin, than scouring Istanbul’s electronics markets for the kind of device he wanted.

Eventually, Pembroke was able to find a specialist store that could configure two secure two-way text messaging devices to communicate exclusively with each other. The pretty young girl serving him fancied he might be a spy—perhaps British, Israeli, American, Russian, or Saudi? She was entranced by his affable, paternal manner and was also titillated by his desire for such specialized technology.

Pembroke flirted with her, joking, “Oh, it’s nothing too glamorous, I assure you. Just a little project to keep in touch with an old friend in a unique way. We like to keep things private and secure.”

The girl giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. “That’s quite fascinating! You must have some interesting stories.”

Pembroke leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You wouldn’t believe half of them if I told you,” he said with a wink.

After contacting the agency, Pembroke made his way back to the same flat housing the mean Chechens and their female inmates. He appeared nervous as he approached the men, speaking to them in normal English.

“I’m sorry, my wife, she doesn’t...” Pembroke began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“OK, OK,” said the man, exasperated. “Give us the money.”

“Can I see another girl this time?” Pembroke asked, his voice steady.

The Chechen smiled, sensing an opportunity. “Sure, we have another girl, but for a new introduction, a little more money...”

Pembroke smiled outwardly but inwardly cursed these men for lightening his wallet once again. He hoped it would be worth it; he didn’t want to reveal that he knew Tatiana had a sister there and hoped they would send him to Natalia without him having to ask specifically.

As he handed over the extra money, he maintained his nervous demeanor. The Chechens counted the cash quickly, then one of them motioned for him to follow. They led him down the hallway, the air thick with the scent of sweat and despair.

Finally, they stopped at a door. The Chechen knocked twice and opened it. Inside, a young woman with beautiful full breasts, dressed in a transparent red teddy dress sat on a shabby couch, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Pembroke nodded, recognizing the girl as the sister of Tatiana.

“Hello, Natalia,” Pembroke said softly to the girl, who remained cross-legged on the couch.

“Geoff?” she asked back in broken English.

“Yes, it’s me. I spoke to your sister yesterday. Did you speak to her?”

Natalia nodded, her eyes cautious but hopeful.

“Then you’ll know I am here to help,” Geoff said gently. “Yesterday, when I saw your sister, I won’t lie, I did not have the most honourable intentions, but I had no idea you girls were kept like this. I had to come back...”

Natalia’s eyes softened a bit, but she still seemed wary. Geoff knelt beside her, lowering his voice. “I know this situation is terrifying, but I promise I’m going to get you out of here. Both you and your sister.”

She looked at him, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “How?” she whispered.

Geoff glanced around the room, ensuring they weren’t being overheard. “I have a plan, but it will take some time and cooperation. Do you trust me?”

Natalia hesitated, then nodded slightly. “What do we do?”

Pembroke took out his messaging device. “These men don’t allow phones in here. In fact, they have a service that blocks calls, texts, and the internet,” he said, his voice calm and convincing. Pembroke was truthful in the first instance but lying in the second.

Natalia nodded. “The bastards. You know, all the men who see us, they know this, and they must know why, and it doesn’t seem to touch their conscience.” Her face crumpled up in a frown. She softened, “But you seem different.”

Pembroke offered a reassuring smile, trying to maintain his facade. “You need to keep this, to stay in touch with me. Hide it somewhere in the room, can you? I promise it will be a couple of days, maximum.”

“You work for the British government?” asked Natalia, remembering what her sister had told her.

“Yes, but I’m just a diplomat, see. I have some contacts. I just want to know about this place first ... tell me everything...”

Natalia Akhmadova’s tale was a sad one. She had been taken and threatened with the life of her child back in Russia. One of the men was from her local town. Both men lived in Istanbul and controlled a number of flats with different girls. They kept a watch over them with the help of their mother and aunt. The men were sickening hypocrites and would go to pray at the local mosque while the older women looked after the flats.

“Interesting,” Pembroke said, with concern. “And what about your families? You know, you could claim asylum, all of you, in the UK. But please, tell me their details. I want to know everything—your daughter, parents, siblings. It’s important I know of everyone you care about, whomever these vile men might want to hurt to get to you.”

Pembroke meticulously noted down the details Natalia provided. He was pleased to see that she came from a decent middle-class background, with parents who were poor but cultured teachers. Not only were these girls beautiful, they were well-educated and refined. They had no business being forced to serve the riff-raff in a run-down neighbourhood in Istanbul. They should belong to a man of high standing.

“I will try and arrange something,” Pembroke said, his voice filled with determination. “I know decent people here—lawyers who can help you. Just keep texting me from that device, and hopefully, we will have an opportunity to get you both out and get these men away from you and your families.”

Natalia’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. “Thank you, Geoff. I don’t know how to repay you.” She shyly traced a finger on the palm of his hand. “I hope you don’t think less of me because we were forced into this situation.” She was starting to develop a crush on this noble man, who made her feel so safe compared to the brutes who controlled her.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Pembroke replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just stay safe and keep in touch. We’ll get through this together.”

“I just wanted a normal life for me and my daughter, Geoff,” Natalia said, her voice trembling slightly. “I hope I can give her that, and that my sister and I can get out of here...” She looked into his eyes, feeling a connection. Maybe, outside this nightmare, this kind man could be a good suitor. Despite being tempted by a prostitute, he had shown restraint and compassion, qualities that set him apart from the others.

Pembroke nodded. “Natalia, I hope that one day you will meet a man who will treat you with the respect and dignity you deserve. You should never be shared or mistreated like these animals have done to you. If it were up to me, you and your sister would be out of here, pursuing your education, and on the path to meeting the right man who truly appreciates your worth.” As he stood up to leave, he squeezed her hand gently. “Stay strong. I’ll be back soon with more news. Remember, you’re not alone in this. Just keep me updated and answer my queries as I page you.”

Natalia watched him go, feeling a mixture of hope and longing. She dreamed of a future where she could be free, where her daughter could grow up without fear, and where perhaps she and Geoff could build something beautiful together. For now, she clung to the hope that he represented, praying that his promise would come true.

Pembroke made his way back to his hotel, wondering how much money the Chechens made a day out of those two whores, and how he should go about setting an asking price for the two of them as complete sex slaves. He hoped the brutality they had faced would mean their training would not be such a shock to them as it had been for the other girls, but it would still be quite fun. He smirked as he imagined how Tatiana and Natalia Akhmadova would fit in at the compound.

Hundreds of miles further south, Mrs. Parker rubbed her forearm ruefully, upset at the reckless abandon with which Jamal had just tattooed a crude cedar tree symbol on her. The design wasn’t even good, and she would have to bear this ugly mark for the rest of her life without understanding why the Master wanted it. Despite all the niceties and perks, this tattoo was another stark reminder of her enslavement. However, at least she had some authority here, wearing a purple mini dress and heels that complemented Mrs. Al-Haraz, who stood beside her in a red PVC thong and bra, thigh-high boots, and an extravagant ponytail. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s red lipstick only emphasized her garish, burned face.

The ten naked girls they were in charge of had no such dignity. They were all in a conga line, each on all fours, their faces uncomfortably close to each other’s backsides, enough that their noses brushed against the insides of their buttcracks. This degrading “therapy” was a humiliation designed to break their spirits, and strip them of their dignity. The room was filled with the quiet shuffling of limbs, the occasional stifled sob, and the interesting mutterings of the audience, Jamal and Kwame.

Mrs. Parker walked alongside the naked conga line, gently patting each one of them on the buttocks with a rubber cane. They were positioned at one end of the hall, with their ten bodies stretching out from the wall in a line, facing the opposite side about forty meters away. The girl at the back, Camille, had the soles of her feet touching the wall. The girl at the front, Freja, was the only one with her face not in another girl’s ass and faced the other side of the hall some forty meters away.

“OK, girls,” Mrs. Parker began, “on my say, you will start eating the pussy of the girl in front of you. Be sure to work hard; we will be checking constantly! After three minutes, I will shout ‘Go,’ and the girl at the back, in this case, Camille, will stop licking, get up, move quickly to the front of the conga line, get down on all fours, and press her bottom against the face of the girl in front—Freja.” Mrs. Parker stopped to give Freja an appreciative pat on the head and a friendly smile.

“After another three minutes, I will shout ‘Go’ again, and the girl who is now at the back will get up, go to the front, and the process will repeat. Every three minutes, the conga line moves one girl forward.” She smiled at the weary faces. “Now, I estimate that for the front girl of the conga line to be at the opposite wall, it should take about...” She totted up in a little notebook, “ ... about two and a half hours! What a fun way to spend two and a half hours, ladies! Now, if I shout ‘Go’ and you don’t have to move, then you don’t stop licking, OK!” Mrs. Parker said authoritatively.

“That’s right, bitches,” snarled Mrs. Al-Haraz. “You will be licking for hours, non-stop. No laziness! And no going to the toilet!” She cackled, her voice dripping with malice.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz is right,” Mrs. Parker chimed in, though she sounded almost apologetic. “You were warned, ladies. I hope you made all the efforts to go to the toilet that you could.”

The girls groaned and whimpered as they considered the possibility of the girl in front of them needing to go. They had fought to use the showerhead, desperate to stick it up their asses to clean themselves out and evacuate themselves in the little time they were given when the exercise was explained, and had tried to empty their bladders as much as possible. The girls looked at the pristine pussies and assholes in their faces right now, to which they were all accustomed, and dreaded what might happen over the next few hours.

“Start! shouted Mrs Parker, as she clicked the stopwatch. The sound of ticking, and the sound of licking, were the only sounds now in the room.

The girls licked at the pussy of the girl in front of them, while their own was tickled by the tongue from behind.

“I want to see enthusiasm, girls! I want to see the eyes of the girl in front of you light up with pleasure! I want to see those neck muscles bulging, that tongue flickering!” Mrs. Parker walked slowly back and forth, her eyes scanning the line, trying to spot any stragglers.

The rhythmic ticking was interrupted by a sharp “tock,” and Mrs. Parker shouted, “Go!” Camille immediately took her mouth off the pussy in front of her, got up, and walked to the front of the line.

“Quickly! Run!” Mrs. Parker reached across and swatted Camille on the bottom, prompting her to skip forward and get on her hands and knees. She then moved backwards until her ass pressed against Freja’s face. Freja saw the slim, pert buttocks come back towards her and the French girl’s genitalia approach her mouth.

“Lick, Freja!” Mrs. Parker chided her.

The licking continued, and some moaning started. Mrs Parker smiled as she watched Anna struggle to keep her face on Charlotte’s ass and her arms uprights, as behind her Sabine took advantage of the exercise to return her tongue to a place she had known so well, with skill and precision.

Another tock. “Go!” shouted Mrs. Parker. This time it was Zara, who brought her marked and deformed face from behind Sabine and got up, jogging to the front, carefully positioning herself and backing into Camille’s face.

“No stopping or looking around!” Mrs. Parker angrily swatted the backs of a few girls who had paused to glance at the Libyan moving up the line. “If you are not the girl who is moving, then you don’t stop. Your tongue keeps moving up or down, in a circle, or whatever you are doing to please your girl, OK?”

Zara allowed herself the brief privilege of having empty space in front of her, free from another girl’s sweaty asscrack, if only for three minutes. The wall was close, but still far enough that it would take hours for her to reach the other side at this rate. She took in the sight of the four overseers staring lazily at them, like zoo animals, and wondered what it would feel like to degenerate into just that—an unthinking zoo animal obeying every command.

Every three minutes, Mrs. Parker would shout “Go!” and the girl at the back would stop, get up, and move to the front of the line, and the girl in front would continue her humiliating task while the other girls continued. This relentless cycle continued under the strict and watchful eyes of Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz, who patrolled the line, enforcing compliance with harsh words and occasional swats.

Charlotte felt relief when she finally had her pussy free from Anna’s tongue. She had orgasmed twice and desperately wanted to close her legs and stop the brutal assault on her sensitive folds, but she knew that would result in a beating. Having clear air on her pussy felt like such a relief. In three minutes, her pussy would get licked again, but at least her mouth would get a break. Her tongue was exhausted, and the pussy in front of her had orgasmed so much that its taste had changed from sweet to a fresh, salty urine that continually leaked down her throat. It was Fatima, and it would be her pussy she would be eating for two more hours.

Despondency hit when she saw Kwame move to the front of the conga line, taking out his cock and presenting it to the lead girl to suck on. Her mouth would get no break after all. When she moved to the front, Kwame pushed his cock to her lips as soon as she was down. She choked and gagged as he forced it down her throat, and she was grateful for the “Go” command and for the familiar dark-colored ass-crack of Fatima to appear in front of her face again. The smell of the Libyan’s pussy might now be overpowering and sour, but at least she was not going to choke to death on it.

“Come on, bitches, you are not even halfway there!” Mrs. Al-Haraz swatted more bottoms as she spotted slacking, from the girls who were exhausted from the licking and the constant orgasms and sensations from their own pussies.

Some of the girls now rested their hands on the buttocks of the girl in front as their tongues wagged on autopilot, their noses pressed into the relaxed assholes of the girls ahead. Sweating, exhausted, and trembling from repeated orgasms, they had long since moved past humiliation to sheer physical exhaustion and delirium.

Sabine was the first to beg to go to the toilet. “No toilet breaks! You go where you are, and the girl behind you will have to deal with it!” Mrs. Parker barked, her voice sharp with authority. She wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable mess, but the Master had set this task out clearly, and she was determined to follow his orders without deviation.

“You girls will have to deal with bathroom accidents in your new lives and get used to it, and perform despite it,” chirped Mrs. Parker. “Some of you might even end up with owners who are into scat.” Mrs. Parker’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “The Master has ordered that you deal with this in this exercise, for your own good! You will thank me when you have to handle worse under someone else’s ownership!”

Pembroke did not find it sexy at all. While he found the idea of the exercise hilarious and the humiliation most gratifying, he was happy not to be present for it.

This did not motivate any of the girls; some of them sobbed as they realized that no matter how low things were, they could always get worse. Several of the girls squirted or pissed into the mouths of the girls behind them—it was hard to tell which was worse. The constant licking on their pussies had almost removed bladder control, and some girls had now drunk so much piss that they themselves were full and had to pass it on to the girl behind.

Sabine cried and begged again. “Please, Madam, just a few minutes on the toilet, I have cramps, please ... please...”

Mrs. Al-Haraz walked over and struck Sabine on the face with her rubber strap. It was enough to not leave a mark but to hurt and traumatize the girl.

“Shut up! Just fucking lick!” she snarled.

Mrs. Al-Haraz cackled evilly as she looked at the forlorn eyes of Holly, who had to lick between the German’s buttocks. Sabine’s asshole was right on her nose, and she knew what was coming. The oppressive atmosphere grew even darker, as the girls were forced to endure the brutal and humiliating reality imposed upon them.

Please, Madam, can you let her...” Holly began to speak, but Mrs. Al-Haraz swiftly struck her in the face with the rubber strap. “Eat that pussy, bitch!” she demanded harshly.

“Obey the ladies, girls, or I will fucking torture you!” shouted Jamal, his reflexive anger flaring at any hint of disobedience.

Sabine tried to hold on until she was at the back of the line, but she couldn’t manage it. The resultant smells and mess were overwhelming, and Holly, who had to endure the worst of it, threw up on the ground before her. She frantically tried to wipe her mouth and face, horrified by the consequences of Sabine’s inability to hold it in.

Sabine screamed and cried in utter humiliation, the smell and knowledge of what the others must think of her ruining her. She slapped the ground and wailed as Holly continued to vomit and cough up all sorts of horrific mess.

“Urrgghhh,” Mrs. Parker said with a grimace. “OK, I will pause the clock while I clean you off, girls.”

Mrs. Parker grabbed some toilet paper and wipes, scooping and cleaning up the mess. She methodically wiped down the floor, then moved to clean Sabine’s asshole and crack, ensuring everything was as sanitized as possible under the circumstances.

The smell receded, and Mrs. Parker ordered them to recommence. “I won’t fucking do it!” shouted Holly, disgusted at having to lick the same ass crack for the next hour. “I don’t care, I want to fucking die!”

Jamal walked up, lifted Holly by the hair, slapped her face, and threw her back on the ground. “If you don’t get your fucking face in that ass, I will break your hands and pull a tooth out!” Jamal spat at the dazed English girl.

Trembling and sobbing, Holly reluctantly moved back into position, knowing she had no choice but to obey. Each girl continued their degrading task, as Mrs Parker started the clock again. The taste of disinfectant from the wipes filled Holly’s mouth, a disgusting soapy taste that was just as awful as what had been before.

More girls failed to control their rectums before the end. It was Ingrid’s time of the month, Elena had spent hours drinking and sucking her menstrual blood, orgasming, and inhaling every kind of human secretion. This brought her over the edge and she spewed unpleasantness into Fatima’s mouth behind her. Zara also did the same to Charlotte towards the end, out of sheer nihilism.

More threats, more pleading, more violence, more screams, then cleaning, and continuing. None of the girls asked for a drink, the constant pussy juices and piss secretions kept them hydrated.

Finally, Holly’s head touched the other wall, and the girls were allowed to collapse onto their sides, cupping their pussies, and in some cases their tongues, curling up in balls, exhausted and crying quietly.

The room was filled with the sounds of their soft sobs and labored breathing, each girl trying to recover from the brutal exercise they had just endured.

The men and the ladies had not enjoyed watching but knew it was necessary. The girls were shown into the cell and left to their own devices in the crowded space. There was an oppressive silence among them. No one wanted to say anything or look anyone in the eye.

Sabine sat in a corner on the floor, looking out of the glass, trying to see her own reflection, hoping for any sort of sign or mental escape. She just wanted out. She no longer wanted to go forward here. She looked at Zara, who now did not stand out among the others. Every girl was pale, avoiding eye contact with everyone else, ashamed.

Many of the girls were wondering whether they should try what Zara did. They could not stand this way of living, and some even hoped their families might understand if revenge was taken against them for the girls’ ending their own lives. Nothing could be worse than continuing to live like this, they would say to them if they could.

Sabine wondered if this Master Pembroke had so much power to hurt her family. Maybe she should not let him control her so much that he could stop her from taking her own life.

Zara touched her face, along the scar tissue. Why was she still alive, she thought? If only the Master would just end her, she would be out of this misery and perhaps somewhere better.

Meanwhile, Zara’s little sister, Samira Al-Tayeb, chatted excitedly with her cousin Miriam Ben Ali as they sat on an airplane, an experience both had only dreamt of before. They had known each other for years, and recent events had been nothing short of dramatic for both.

Samira, just sixteen, was strikingly beautiful with her long, dark black hair cascading down her back and flawless olive skin. Standing at five feet five, she bore a strong resemblance to her older sister, Zara.

Miriam, a year younger at fifteen, had light brown wavy hair that framed her face perfectly. Her chestnut eyes sparkled with excitement, and her cute button nose and freckles added a touch of charm. Miriam’s coffee-colored skin complemented her features beautifully. Both girls radiated beauty, each in their own unique way.

Dressed in shawls and headscarves, they excitedly looked out the window. Thrilled to be leaving Libya and heading to Turkey, both girls harbored fantasies about the lives they might lead growing up in France, Germany, or the UK.

Despite their excitement, their families had faced plenty of tragedy. Miriam had lost three brothers in the same boat sinking in which Samira had lost her sister Zara, her niece Ayesha, her uncle, and her cousin Fatima. Their excited teenage chatter was tinged with the sadness of these memories.

“Oh, Miriam,” Samira said, wiping away a tear. “I just want to make Zara proud. I want to live the kind of life she would be living if she were alive right now!”

“I hope that happens,” said Miriam, hugging her cousin’s arm, tears in her eyes as she thought of her brothers. “My parents knew we had to come. We can’t let our brothers’ deaths be in vain. I’m sad to be leaving Tripoli, but we know there is no future there.”

“I agree,” said Samira.

“I’m so thankful for that organization that paid for us. It just makes me believe that there are good people out there who help others when they’re down,” sobbed Miriam.

As they reminisced about their losses, the girls also found relief in the optimism of their new beginning and faith in the kindness of strangers.

The girls’ fathers, sitting a few seats away with other children, noticed the touching scene and smiled. He hoped they would finally be able to provide a good and safe life for their children.

Meanwhile, Edward Pembroke was drinking a glass of Macallan 25-year-old single malt scotch at the hotel bar, glancing at the height of wealth around him. He knew it was expensive, but this was what it was all about—luxury. He had worked hard, so he should allow himself to play hard. He closed his eyes and thought of the girls in his sights, reassuring himself that each one would be able to make him enough to recoup this little glass of indulgence.

Pembroke took out his messaging device and checked for messages. A new one flashed on the screen:

“Hi Geoff. This is Tati. Just saying hi. I hope you get this and can help us. I pray you will. I miss you. x”

Pembroke smiled. Tomorrow Dmitri would arrive with his kit and the game could really begin. For now, he would relax, and wonder what men the Russian girls would have to fuck tonight, and how the complex was doing.

“A Zipcom, huh?” said a beefy large American next to him, his tone laden with curiosity and suspicion. “Funny kind of tech. The sort of thing someone would have if they’re up to something shady.”

Pembroke turned to face the man, offering a nonchalant smile. “Old habits die hard,” he replied smoothly, slipping the device back into his pocket, immediately on guard against this man who seemed to spot specialise communication tech so easily.

The American, brash and confident, ordered a drink and leaned back in his chair. He was an imposing figure, with a rugged appearance that hinted at a life of hard-earned experience. His name was Jack “Bulldog” Harris, a security consultant by title but, in reality, an experienced mercenary. He ran his own company specializing in mercenary operations and security services, both in the US and the Middle East. His reputation was one of ruthless efficiency and a bloodthirsty past that had left many wary of crossing him.

“Name’s Jack Harris,” he said, extending a hand. “I run a little security outfit. Keep things in order, you know?”

Pembroke shook his hand, maintaining his composed demeanor. “Firas Rahma. Nice to meet you.” He spoke in a broad transatlantic accent he adopted for the most generic of identities.

Harris squinted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. “You seem familiar. You ever serve?”

“Here and there,” Pembroke replied vaguely, trying to steer the conversation away from any potential revelations.

Harris chuckled, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah, the world’s small for guys like us. You see enough action, everyone starts to look familiar.”

Pembroke nodded. He had recognized Harris from his mercenary past, but it was clear Harris hadn’t made the connection. Pembroke had met him only once very briefly, years ago, when he had a shaven head, moustache, and military sunglasses. They had been discussing, along with the rest of a unit, what story to tell about an artillery strike Harris had called in which had just killed dozens of people in Syria.

“So, what brings you to this part of the world, Mr Rahma, and what kind of name is that anyway?” Harris asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Business,” Pembroke replied, keeping it brief. “Always business. My father was Syrian, my mother was Turkish, but I grew up in Paris and went to school in the states.”

Harris grinned. “Ain’t that the truth. This place is a goldmine if you know where to dig. Speaking of which, if you ever need some real security or a little extra muscle, my boys and I can handle anything. Discreetly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Pembroke said, raising his glass in a casual toast, noticing Harris was feeling a little boisterous. “Always good to have options.”

Harris clinked his glass against Pembroke’s, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to place the elusive familiarity. “Yeah, options are good. Especially in our line of work.”

“Truth be told, Mr. Harris, I used to be in private equity, representing some clients in the Middle East, but now I’m with a charity.” Pembroke brought out a business card and handed it to him. It read, Faris Rahma - Mawaa Atfa.

“Interesting,” Harris said, pocketing the card. He was intrigued by this Mr. Rahma. He seemed familiar, and definitely not a typical charity worker. Harris didn’t begrudge the man for holding anything back; but his curiosity was piqued.

Pembroke knew that Harris was now a rich, wealthy man. He was also an insufferable, greedy psychopath with a fondness for the ladies, who sometimes were not so fond of him. Pembroke had to tread carefully. The last thing he needed was Harris digging too deep into his affairs. On the other hand, he needed to tap into the world of men like Harris eventually if he wanted to offload some product.

“So, what kind of charity work do you do?” Harris asked, leaning in slightly, his eyes studying Pembroke.

“Mainly providing shelter and support for displaced individuals,” Pembroke replied smoothly. “It’s a growing issue, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Yeah, the world’s a mess,” Harris said, nodding. “I’d like to say it’s nice to see someone trying to make a difference, but Mr. Rahma, you strike me as too cynical to take that compliment.”

Pembroke grinned. “I am a realist, as are my clients.”

“Refugees are realists? I guess they have to be,” Harris remarked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Indeed,” Pembroke replied, keeping his demeanor steady. “They’ve seen the harshest realities, which makes them pragmatic about their situations. But my clients are not necessarily all refugees, Mr. Harris.” He took another sip of his drink.

“What is that?” asked Mr. Harris, wanting to expand.

“It is Macallan,” Pembroke replied.

“Bartender, two doubles of that, please!” Harris laughed again, then lowered his voice.

“Mr. Rahma, you don’t dress like a guy, nor stay in the kind of hotel, that one would associate with a bleeding heart liberal.

Pembroke smiled back. “I am not a bleeding heart liberal. I think some people are destined for their roles; that is how it has been throughout history. Mr. Harris, you look like the kind of guy who embraces destiny.”

Harris leaned in, his eyes narrowing with interest. “You got that right. I believe in making my own destiny. And in our line of work, you have to be ready for anything.”

“Exactly,” Pembroke said, raising his glass. “To destiny, then.”

They clinked glasses, and Pembroke took another sip, feeling the warmth of the scotch. Harris was a dangerous man, but Pembroke knew how to navigate these waters.

“Tell me more about your charity,” Harris said, his voice still low. “What kind of opportunities are you creating?”

“Well,” said Pembroke, “opportunities are arising, I would say, rather than being created.” He sipped his drink, looking Harris in the eye. “Human trafficking is a terrible thing, or can be. But human slavery has been a constant; it’s almost unnatural that we’ve banned it for the last hundred years or so.”

“I guess,” said Harris, very interested.

“I know of some men, Mr. Harris, who still like the old ways. Men can take women as wives, sometimes as one-night stands, or mistresses. But many of the men that I ‘have to’ deal with find these modern ways rather tiresome. You see, they prefer to own chattel, as was the right of any gentleman of means for thousands of years.”

“Chattel?” Harris asked, open-mouthed. He had heard of sex slavery in Syria and elsewhere but had discounted it, though he had been envious of the thought.

“Yes, chattel,” Pembroke said, his voice steady and confident. “Women who are owned, who serve without question. It’s an ancient practice, deeply rooted in history. These men see it as a return to tradition, a way to reclaim their natural rights. And, Mr. Harris, they are willing to pay handsomely for such ... arrangements.”

Harris leaned in closer, his interest piqued. “And you facilitate this?”

Pembroke shrugged slightly, a smile playing on his lips. “I hear things, Mr. Harris. I connect those who seek with those who offer. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. Of course, it can be quite sad. You see, unfortunately, in my line of work, I have to deal with cases where the girls are very unwilling, forced against their will, and would do anything to escape, to get back to their own lives. As I say, we represent the interests of various parties in these affairs, and very often the girls’ interests do not come out on top.”

“Yeah, I bet, and quite natural too!” Harris remarked with a chuckle.

“Of course, it is only natural, though in this world, what is unnatural is often the law,” said Pembroke. “For example, in America, Mr. Harris, if you were to partake in such activities, it would be highly illegal.”

“Of course,” Harris laughed. “Yeah, we can’t all be cavemen dragging women into our basements.”

“We cannot all be,” Pembroke agreed. “But some manage it, remain gentlemen, stay discreet, and maintain their family lives. Yet beneath it all, they own another human being—sometimes, someone who was quite famous in their previous life. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

Harris leaned in. “You’re saying there are men out there, respectable men, who secretly own women?”

“Yes, and it is a growing problem,” said Pembroke nonchalantly. “Women disappear every day. Not just Mexican peasants or Afghan housewives. Respectable western girls, with their lives ahead of them. The kind of girls who turn heads everywhere they go. They keep ... disappearing.” Pembroke clicked his fingers. “And no one knows where they go. It’s a mystery. It almost seems there is a code, that these girls are kept hidden from the world, like rare diamonds, only to be shown to those who have paid for them.”

Harris’s eyes gleamed with interest. “And you can have experience in this world, you can make things happen?”

Pembroke smiled. “I try and represent the interests of my clients the best I can. As I say, sometimes those interests can conflict with the wishes of beautiful young girls.”

Harris was growing very interested. “You sound like an interesting man, Mr. Rahma.”

Pembroke nodded. “From what I have heard, the kind of chattel slavery which wealthy gentlemen enter into requires discretion, careful planning, and trust. It’s not something for the faint of heart or the careless.”

Harris wondered what the hell he was doing, discussing sex slavery with a stranger he had just met in a bar in Istanbul. But he had not gotten where he was today by playing it safe. The idea of a sex slave appealed to him. But this was enough for a drink at a bar.

“Mr. Rahma,” Harris said, leaning back slightly, “I have to admit, this conversation has been enlightening. Perhaps we should continue it in a more ... private setting. I’d like to learn more about these opportunities.”

Pembroke raised his glass with a knowing smile. “I’d be more than happy to discuss further. Discretion is key, after all. Here’s to new ventures.”

They clinked glasses again, the clink resonating like a seal of an unspoken pact.

Chapter Text

Jack Harris had drunk even more last night after his chance meeting with Faris Rahma. He couldn’t get the beautiful women he saw on every street out of his mind as he walked around. Lust overpowered him, and he leered at the pretty Turkish girls and tourists who veered away from him, intimidated by the large fifty-something American.

On his return to the hotel, Harris booked a high-end escort to get the crazy ideas out of his head.

Zeynep Yildiz was just like other 20-year-old girls in Istanbul. Her job at the electronics store complemented her studies at the Technical University of Engineering. On the side, she did high-end escorting, making the most of her slim, tall figure, elegant brown hair, and dark Asiatic eyes.

Beneath the makeup and her short but elegant black cocktail dress, Zeynep was a bundle of nerves. She hoped her meeting with this wealthy American would go well. As she thought about the money, she reassured herself, as always, that this would be the last time.

She smiled primly as she entered the hotel room, desperately trying to mask her fear and disgust. The man in the dressing gown grinned like a predatory wolf, patting the bed beside him. She swallowed her indignity, fighting the urge to shudder.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Zeynep ... Zeynep,” she stammered, her voice quivering with nervousness.

“And you’re experienced, right?” the man asked, his voice thick with lust. He barely glanced at her face, his eyes hungrily roaming over her figure. “You know I paid good money for you, so I want my money’s worth.”

Zeynep tried to smile, “Yes, sir, anything you want,” she replied, desperately attempting to sound seductive.

The truth was, her nervousness, which she couldn’t hide, turned the American on even more. He didn’t want an experienced hooker; he had enough of those.

Zeynep began by stripping off, giving him a little striptease, and then straddling him. She kept reassuring herself, “This is a prestigious hotel in Istanbul. I won’t be hurt here, surely. The agency is respectable.”

Harris admired her expensive, classy lingerie, marveling at her tight young body. Her delicate, thin frame featured taut skin that hugged every contour of her slim figure. Prominent collarbones led down to her grapefruit-size breasts and narrow waist. Each movement accentuated the sleek lines of her body.

Zeynep used her mouth on the American’s erect cock. Imitating scenes from countless porn movies she had watched, she gazed seductively into his eyes while she licked the underside of his glans. She was torn between half-enjoying the act and desperately hoping he would cum quickly so her appointment would end early.

She sat on his cock after putting a condom on him, going through the motions with practiced ease. Relying on her youth, beauty, and tight vagina, she worked to get his cock rock hard inside her. She pumped his cock rhythmically, hoping to bring the encounter to a swift conclusion.

Harris came into the condom inside her, then made the young girl lie on his chest for a while as he thought deeply. Zeynep expected the usual spiel about his family and his regrets about doing this kind of thing.

“Istanbul, wow. As a Turk, have you heard about the history of the harem, about sex slaves?”

“No,” said Zeynep, wondering where this was going.

“All the Sultans and many rich Turks used to keep slave girls, to do with what they wanted. Maybe your great-grandmother was one. Fascinating, don’t you think? Do you think they’ll ever bring that back here?”

“Well, sir, women do have rights here,” she chided him, half playfully, half fearfully. “This is 21st century Turkey.”

“Men are men, though, and women are women,” said Harris whimsically, as he idly stroked her buttocks, lost in thought. He thought of the money he had paid in order to place his hand there. In a few hours, out on the streets, this delicate young girl could get him thrown in prison if he did the same thing to her. It felt wrong - to him.

“Imagine if you were with your family, and some Turkish warriors swept you away, killed your family. How would you have felt, serving your superiors, having to have sex with them whenever they wanted?”

“I wouldn’t like it,” Zeynep replied, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and uninterested in the conversation.

“I would never be a slave,” said Harris, almost to himself. “Neither would anyone in my family. But some people are born to be slaves. There should be a natural order. Damn this world, I was born in the wrong time.” He looked at his own large, muscular body and the delicate slip of a girl next to him, noticing her frightened brown eyes.

“I think you would make a lovely harem girl,” he smiled.

“Yes, well, I am going to be an engineer, sir. I’m putting myself through college. No harem for me!” she replied, forcing a smile to hide her discomfort.

‘I am paying for this bitch’s education,’ thought Harris to himself. This girl would grow up to be another annoying female middle manager. Her place should be in the home, and if not safely locked up there, at some other man’s feet. He suddenly became annoyed that he had to pay for something that his strong, masculine nature should grant him by right.

“I want to continue. But I want to play with some bondage.”

“Are you sure ... er ... that might be extra...”

“Fuck that, I paid for you! I get to use you until the time is up!”

Harris grabbed some bedclothes, and Zeynep watched him with shock as he effortlessly ripped the fabric into strips. Her eyes widened in fear as he seized her, a whimper escaping her lips. He put her over his lap. The sensation of the rough fabric binding her wrists and ankles heightened her terror. It was clear from his swift, practiced movements that he could do this a thousand times in his sleep.

“I’d use your panties as a gag, but you are such a whore that these flimsy things wouldn’t stop any screams,” he sneered at her. He stuffed some fabric into her mouth, then wrapped another strip of the pillowcase around her head to secure the gag. Her eyes followed him in terror as she mumbled and whimpered through the makeshift gag.

Harris looked and felt over her body like it was a cadaver. Now she was completely at his mercy. He brought his mouth down to her slim buttocks, so dainty and delicate, and kissed her taut flesh. He sucked the skin into his mouth, then harder, before biting down hard. Zeynep’s muffled whimpers grew louder as she struggled against her bindings. Harris turned on the TV and cranked up the volume to drown out her protestations.

“Hehe, now we can have some real fun,” he laughed.

Harris gripped her rib cage with both hands, pressing in as if testing to see if it would collapse under the pressure, her frame was so slim. He poked his fingers into the insides of her pelvic bones, pressing down on her belly button, marvelling at how petite she was. He revelled in the sight of her large eyes, massive with fear, as he probed around her torso, savoring the feeling of her delicate, thin body beneath his hands.

“Don’t worry, girl,” he said. “You’re in a nice hotel, and I’m flying home today. I’m not gonna butcher you, haha.”

He licked and bit her legs and feet, then moved up to her chest. He sucked and tore at her nipples with his teeth until he could taste blood around her small areolas.

He threw her bound legs up and pulled his head through the gap, looking down at her frightened face as she tried to tell him something. He smiled, knowing exactly what she was trying to convey: ‘Wear a condom.’ Fuck that, he laughed.

He slid his finger inside her, checking to see if she was wet. “I wonder if this turns you on,” he mused, as he casually placed his other hand around her throat. His huge hand squeezed gently and slowly, her breathing becoming labored as her eyes grew even larger, staring at him with veins bulging around her face.

“What is it, baby? Do you want more pressure?” the cruel American smiled. He felt liquid bathe his fingers inside her. It might have been cum, but more likely it was piss; she was losing control of herself, her face turning purple from the lack of oxygen.

He carefully withdrew his fingers and ran his cock inside her pussy, feeling it slide in as her face darkened in color and her body started to shake gently all over, her vaginal walls vibrating against his cock. Gently, he released his grip, and heard the violent rasping as she regained the use of her windpipe, but still kept a firm hold on her neck.

He got into a nice rhythm of fucking her, enjoying this a lot more than the vanilla pounding he had given her half an hour earlier.

“That’s it, baby, feel me inside you. I’m your daddy,” he whispered, his voice dripping with twisted satisfaction.

He leaned down and licked her face like a cow, his tongue rough and invasive, as if trying to hurt her with it. Wishing he could cause more pain, he removed his hand from her throat and bit into it with his teeth, almost piercing the skin with his molars. Zeynep tried to buck around as much as she could, her body writhing in agony.

Harris leaned back again, lifting her buttocks slightly, and removed his cock from her pussy, lowering it to her puckered anus. Zeynep closed her eyes as she felt the helmet push against her forbidden hole. She tried to fight it, but Harris spat down and roughly shoved one, then two, then three fingers into her ass. Her back arched in desperation, trying to cope with the pain shooting up inside her. But this only gave him a better angle to force his cock up and inside her anus.

“Oh yeah,” he shouted as he fucked her up the ass, forcing her tits to jiggle in front of him. Her face was turned to the side, eyes shut, surrendering to the pain and humiliation and just praying he would let her go, alive.

He came with a roar up her ass and then pushed her off the bed in triumph. She landed on her head, her hair sticking to her face in a tangled mess as she lay on the floor, struck still in fright.

Harris looked down at his conquest, meekly shivering and sobbing, his marks of violence all over her. He went to the shower to clean himself, leaving her tied up.

He dressed himself quickly, realizing he should get out of there before the police got involved.

“All right, girl, that was fun. Here, have another 500 for your troubles,” he said, throwing the money on the floor. “But you better keep quiet. Nobody cares about a two-bit whore who gets slapped around.”

He released her, correctly guessing she would just continue sobbing quietly and meekly.

“Get dressed, you little bitch. I’m going to check out now. But those panties are mine. You can get home with my cum leaking down that slutty dress and down your thighs,” he sneered, pocketing her slinky black thong and looking forward to sniffing it all day.

Harris was dressed and ready to go. His flight was booked, and his business was all done. Soon, he would be back with his wife and four kids on the ranch in North Florida.

“Christ! Girl, walk straight, and stop sniffling! You make it seem like you’ve been brutally raped!” he laughed at her.

The hotel staff looked disapprovingly at Zeynep as she walked sheepishly through the lobby in her short black dress, trying to pull it down, her hair a mess, her face red with tears and exertion. The pain between her legs was making every step a difficulty, she was sure there would be blood flowing down her thighs soon. She could feel the rashes on her neck, her breasts, and her ass. Her neck would soon be a mass of bruises. How could she explain that?

Harris smacked her backside as he gave her a parting kiss on the cheek. “That was fun, girl. Just think, if you were in my harem, I could do that to you everyday! Here, you got good money for this, so enjoy it, and don’t look so unhappy!”

Harris hailed a taxi and disappeared from Zeynep’s world. As he sat in the back of the taxi, he reflected on the sexual encounter with satisfaction. The girl got paid well; she would get over it. But now she was back in the wild, earning money and probably complaining about the patriarchy. As he passed the minarets of Istanbul, his thoughts drifted to having a harem and his intriguing meeting with Firas Rahma.

He had done some searches and was sure Rahma and the charity were a front. From various sources, he had figured out that Rahma was probably really a shady individual named “Edward Pembroke.” But he was unsure whether to dig further. Did he want people to know why he was investigating a possible human trafficker? Did he want to alert anyone to this man’s business when he was just doing a job that Harris might find useful?

He fingered the business card and the code given for the encrypted messaging service, contemplating the figure that Rahma had suggested might be the going rate for a nice European girl separated from the embrace of her family. It was a lot, but in the grand scheme of things, he could afford it.

He thought of his ranch and the outbuildings. What a great place for animals, and possibly, beneath that, a human being?

Zeynep watched as the ogre departed. She tried to ignore the leers of passersby at her short dress and hugged her arms tight before collapsing on a bench to cry. She knew she would need to get contraceptives and an STD check now. Seeing people, including her family, in her current state was out of the question; maybe she could use makeup or wear turtleneck sweaters to cover the bruises. She despised herself and felt responsible for ending up in this terrible situation.

She tried to hold onto the hope that there might be decent men out there, but the catcalls from men watching the leggy girl on the bench made it difficult. Eventually, she had to scurry away to avoid their attention, still limping and feeling the wetness on the insides of her thighs, putting her hands under her dress to clean up the blood and other fluids.

She thought of her grandfather, the kindest man she had ever met, and smiled, hoping to see him soon to reaffirm her faith in the opposite sex. Her own decent father, along with many upstanding classmates and friends, were also good men. She even recalled the funny, gentle tourist she had served yesterday at the electronics store, so charming and self-deprecating. She tried to believe that men were not inherently evil.

By an incredible coincidence, at that very moment, Zeynep’s grandfather, Hasan Yildiz, was standing with the charming tourist she had served yesterday. Firas Rahma was meeting the old man, accompanied by his assistant, a taciturn man he called “Adam,” with whom he spoke in Russian. Rahma explained to Mr. Yildiz that Adam was a poor Ingush refugee, also being helped by the charity to find work.

Mr. Yildiz, taking the urbane Mr. Rahma at his word, was happy to let the men into his hotel to look at the rooms, particularly the one facing the fire escape.

“Ah, Dmitri,” Pembroke sighed, speaking in Russian, “at last we are rid of that old fool.”

“He is senile, I think, boss,” laughed Dmitri.

“Well, this is the room we will be targeting. What do you think?”

“I can put up something there that will look like a fire alarm,” said Dmitri.

“Or an antihistamine converter,” laughed Pembroke, amused by the old man’s gullibility.

Both men chuckled as Dmitri went to work carefully on the device to be attached to the ceiling, while Pembroke went to work on the window. He climbed outside and tested himself on the fire escape before working on the locks, both inside and out of the window.

The men had a few drinks in a bar afterward, discussing their nefarious plans.

“Now Dmitri, for a nice reward, why don’t I have you visit one of these lovely Russian girls? Gives you a chance to review the lay of the land, so to speak...”

“Excellent, boss. I like these tasks,” Dmitri replied with an evil smile.

Dmitri put on a pair of shorts and a German football jersey and booked an appointment. Speaking in broken English and claiming to be German, he was eyed distrustfully by the Chechens who didn’t realize he understood their Russian.

He smiled as he was shown into Natalia’s room. Unlike Pembroke, he had no need to be a gentleman. The young woman, dressed in just white panties and a bra, smiled nervously at this new client who looked mean as hell. Dmitri did not break character and gave orders in English.

“Suck my cock, whore!” he demanded, happy to see the girl was cowed and didn’t think to ask for help from her pimps, who probably would have laughed.

He enjoyed fucking her. But Dmitri, accustomed to abusing slaves he could bite, slap, and piss on whenever he wanted, had to hold back. Even so, Natalia felt violated and scared by his violent manner and degrading orders. She prayed it would be over soon and that she would never have to see his ugly face again.

As Dmitri stared down at her while fucking her, running his rough hands over her silky smooth thighs and tummy, he looked forward to having her serve him every day for months until she was sold, with no rules about treating her with any kind of decency.

He knew her type—poor but middle class—and he knew she would look down on Russians like him. He had watched girls like these with lust in their smart dresses and impeccable hair. Now, here she was, naked before him, her white, hairless skin feeling glorious under his touch. Her secret orifices were fully open to him, along with her dignity.

While Natalia had to deal with the pawing hands and his disgusting tongue all over her face and every orifice on her body, she thought of Geoff and prayed that he could help her and her sister. She longed for a man like Geoff in her bed, a gentle respectful lover who would treat her as a human being, an equal lover.

‘Geoff,’ or rather Firas Rahma, or rather Edward Pembroke, was at that moment gathered with Mehmet Kaya and Hasan Yildiz at the hotel.

Kaya was a shrewd man with a sideline in drugs but was happy to help the refugees with any advice on getting them to Greece or Bulgaria. He looked on Rahma as a do-gooder who could be milked for money.

Soon the three men were greeting over a dozen men, women, and children, all relatives of the recent boat disaster victims. Firas Rahma offered his condolences to both Muammar Al-Tayeb and Mohammed Ben Ali, the heads of the two families. The men were grateful and impressed by Mr. Rahma’s professionalism, along with the folksiness of the old man Mr. Yildiz, and the shrewd Mr. Kaya, who took the men aside and spoke of how they could get to the EU safely.

The tall, handsome Rahma drew admiring glances from the women, children, and older men, who were so grateful for this happy change in their fortunes. In their eyes, he was a benefactor. The children were mesmerized by his slick haircut, suit, and expensive watch; he seemed like a character from a movie. His quick knowledge of the Qur’an pleased the wives and mothers, who felt they could trust this decent man.

They were more wary of Mr. Kaya, but research indicated he had plenty of good reviews. In any case, the danger lay in the voyage from Istanbul to the EU, not in this nondescript hotel where they were staying.

Samira Al-Tayeb and Miriam Ben Ali clung to their respective fathers’ arms, grinning and beaming at Mr. Rahma, clearly captivated by his polished appearance. Having spent just a few hours in this huge, bustling city, they were overwhelmed with excitement and promise. Freed from the confines of their staid life in Tripoli, the vibrancy of Istanbul and the diversity of its people filled them with a sense of liberation. Both girls shyly smiled at the handsome man. They giggled, brushed their hair back nervously, and occasionally stole glances at him, blushing and looking away quickly, their admiration evident.

“Young ladies, I hope you enjoy Istanbul. This is a city of hope and future, where dreams are made and lives forged. I hope from here, both of you can make something of your lives!” Rahma said, smiling warmly at the girls, whose eyes sparkled with excitement and admiration.

“Thank you, sir,” said Samira, her voice filled with gratitude. “I am so thankful to you. I only wish my sister could have met you, like I have. But we are so grateful to you.” She wiped away a tear, and her father patted her shoulder as she gazed at Rahma with shining, hopeful eyes.

Rahma smiled back at the young girl, recognizing the essence of her older sister Zara in her features. She had the same striking beauty. He thought whimsically about how he missed seeing genuine happiness on a girl’s face. Samira’s joy stood in stark contrast to the scowls, frowns, and grimaces he had grown accustomed to on Zara, especially with her new disfigurement. He sighed, knowing that if all went according to plan, Samira would likely soon adopt the same depressed look and lose her youthful, vibrant smile. For now, he soaked in her happiness, savouring the fleeting moment.

Samira and Miriam were booked into the same room. The two cousins had grown close over the trip and were over excited at the scenes in Istanbul and the promise of a fresh new life.

Samira had brought some of Zara’s things with her, including her underwear. She felt so grown up in her sister’s thong and bra, proud that she filled out the bra so well. She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering how she would fare as a young woman in the West, or wherever they ended up. She threw on a baggy T-shirt as Miriam joined her, dressed in tiny pajama shorts and a vest top, showing off her athletic figure and flat stomach. Both girls giggled excitedly about this new city and the upcoming adventure.

Samira, with her oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder, barely hiding the lace of her sister’s lingerie, looked adorably grown-up and self-conscious, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Miriam’s tiny pajama shorts and snug vest top accentuated her youthful energy, her toned legs and flat stomach on display as she bounced around the room. They twirled and laughed, their happiness bubbling over as they talked about all the places they wanted to visit and the things they wanted to do.

They collapsed onto the bed in fits of laughter, sharing whispered dreams and plans, completely oblivious to the odd-looking fire alarm hanging from the ceiling.

Pembroke grinned as he watched the girls on his laptop in his own hotel room, his hand rubbing his crotch at the sights of their bare flesh, a stark contrast to their shy demeanor earlier when he met them.

While he perved on the unsuspecting teenage girls, he read some more messages from the poor Russian girls on his device.

“Geoff, I hope you can help us soon. Natalia had a horrible and violent client today. We need to get out of here, please help soon. Tati x.”

“Don’t worry. Keep us informed of the men’s movements. Help is imminent, I promise. Stay strong. Geoff x.”

Pembroke sighed with pleasure at the sight of Samira and Miriam running around their room in their underwear and imagining Natalia and Tatiana currently serving customers in even skimpier clothes. Soon all four might be in his possession. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

Chapter Text

Another day meant another grueling session of training for the females at the complex. Nine girls were split into groups of three, forming a circle filled with uneasy anticipation. In each group, one girl was positioned in the middle, standing upright with her hands on top of her head. The task for the girls on either side was straightforward yet torturous: they had to lick the armpits of the girl in the middle.

“Half an hour, girls, then we will reshuffle you all! Now get licking, and girls in the middle, hold in your ticklishness! I don’t want to see those arms fall down! This is going to be tough for you all!” Mrs Parker’s voice rang out like a stern headmistress.

As the session began, the girls in the middle struggled to maintain their composure, trying to suppress the ticklish sensation while dealing with the discomfort and humiliation of the exercise. The girls on the sides grimaced as they forced themselves to perform the task.

Sabine was in the middle of her group, as Charlotte and Anna licked under her arms. Anna suppressed sweeter memories of Sabine’s sweat - she no longer had any interest in the German girl, and even when she did, the last thing she wanted to do was lick her armpits! Charlotte grew tired and disgusted as Sabine’s scent grew with the heat. Like the rest of the girls, her tongue was suffering every day with having to lick and poke it into the most disgusting places.

The Swedish sisters had to crouch and hold their girl, Fatima, by the hip bones to keep balance while they lapped up and down the girl’s sweaty armpits. Fatima had reflexively squealed at the first lick and brought her arms down, and had been met with a whack on her buttocks from Mrs Al-Haraz. She hummed and squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in short gasps and twinkling her toes in frustration as she had to deal with the relentless assault on her most ticklish areas.

Elena half whimpered half giggled as Holly and Camille licked her. Closing her eyes, the sensation almost carried her away, her mouth agape, her fingernails digging into her scalp, she almost forgot her situation. Until she lowered her arms below ninety degrees without even thinking and was woken up by a biting whack on her bottom from the Yemeni overseer. She gazed up at the ceiling. How could she do half an hour?

The one girl missing was Zara. She was strapped tightly to a medical table in the medic room, her torso and arms secured with thick straps, leaving her unable to do anything beyond twinkle her fingers and toes. She felt utterly helpless, and the giant Syrian ogre, like Frankenstein, terrified her even more.

“What ... what are we going to do? Please, please don’t kill me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I attacked the Master. I didn’t mean it, I don’t want to die! Please!” Her stomach churned with fear, her breathing shallow and constricted by the bindings around her chest, making it hard for her to even register the rise and fall of her breaths.

Jamal leered at her menacingly, holding a needle. “Not today, girl. You will not die today. It is just time for some ... changes...”

“What?” Zara’s voice was barely a whisper.

“No talking!” Jamal snapped. Zara could hardly see clearly on the side where he stood, the loss of her eye blurring her vision.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m ugly,” she sobbed. “I wish I hadn’t done this to myself. Please ... please just don’t kill me. I can do anything...”

“I am not going to kill you! Now, no more talking!” Jamal’s voice was firm and cold, brooking no argument.

Pembroke and Dmitri sat in the truck on a quiet street, their eyes fixed on the flat where the Akhmadova sisters were being held. They knew the women were on the ground floor. Dmitri had identified the weak spot—a window with a lock he could pick in less than two minutes, despite the heavy locks on the main door. A flat full of vulnerable women was like manna from heaven for Dmitri, whose predatory instincts had kicked in.

They were waiting for the Chechen brothers to leave for midday prayers at the mosque. Pembroke pulled out his messaging device and sent a message to Natalia: “Hi, once the brothers leave, just before 12, I need you to distract both of the women and get them upstairs ... can you do that? We need to open the window; we cannot afford to try and get in through the locked door.”

Tatiana had the device hidden in her room. She had been sick with worry for the last few days, fearing the Chechens might find it or that their special security might find it like it apparently detected cellphones. She and her sister kept wondering why Geoff couldn’t just bring the police around. Why had this not happened already? And why could this device only reach his, and not any other source? Her misgivings about Geoff gnawed at her, but what choice did they have?

They had hoped they could stick this out for another few months, thinking maybe these animals would release them, or they would get arrested. Surely this kind of imprisonment couldn’t last forever? But last night, her sister Natalia had an especially violent client from Germany. The brutality of it left Tatiana shocked and horrified. Seeing her sister shaking and crying this morning, she realized they could not endure this any longer. Geoff was their only hope, despite her doubts.

Tatiana typed out a message, “They are upstairs with us now.” Before pressing send, she hesitated, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her wardrobe down, letting it crash to the ground. The noise was deafening, and she heard cursing and shouting as the two older women climbed up the stairs in anger. Just before they were about to reach her door, she pressed “send” and quickly hid the device under the mattress.

Seeing the message, Dmitri and Pembroke sprang into action. They moved swiftly and silently towards the window. Dmitri, a practiced criminal with insider knowledge, began working on the lock with precision.

Pembroke stood guard, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He knew that if they were caught, he could claim he was just being a “good Samaritan,” but the thought of falling into the hands of the Chechens was not a pleasant one.

Just then, Dmitri cursed under his breath as an old man appeared. The duo had to engage in a hurried conversation in Russian, which alarmed the man so much that his pace quickened. No one liked the Russians in this part of town, and several other onlookers hid away from the scary-looking thugs who seemed entirely in keeping with what they knew about the flat.

Meanwhile, inside the flat and upstairs, Tatiana was facing the wrath of the older Chechen women. They were grey-haired and fat, but their mean streak and aggression matched their younger male relatives. The room was a scene of chaos, with clothes scattered everywhere from the toppled wardrobe.

“You stupid bitch, how did you do that? What are you hiding in that wardrobe, eh?” one of the women snarled. The woman with longer hair began rifling through Tatiana’s clothes on the ground, convinced she was hiding something. Her suspicions had been growing over the last few days, and she had warned Tatiana and Natalia that if she found any phone or device, she would cut their faces.

The shorter, fatter woman shoved Tatiana onto the bed. Tatiana felt so vulnerable, clad only in skimpy frilly French knickers and a teddy top. She was terrified they would look under the mattress where she had hidden the device. Her heart pounded in her chest as she prayed for Geoff to come through for her now.

Outside, Dmitri finally managed to unlock the window. He slipped inside with the grace of a seasoned thief. He listened to the angry Russian arguments upstairs, they would not have heard them.

He gently unlocked the main door. Pembroke followed closely behind, carrying four folded-up boxes from the van parked right outside the door, obscuring the view to all but those immediately nearby. Once inside, Pembroke set the boxes down and began to unfold them with swift, practiced movements. The material creaked softly as the boxes took shape, ready to be used for their intended purpose. These boxes would be essential for quickly and discreetly moving items—or people—out of the flat.

Upstairs, Natalia was banging on the door in sympathy with her sister. Tatiana was on the bed, the older woman pulling her hair and slapping her while her sister was ripping apart her personal possessions.

“My sons are too soft on you” the woman snarled at the terrified young Russian girl. “My husband would have sliced your nose up by now, and still made money out of you, you whore!”

“Stop what you are doing!” a voice called out in Turkish.

The women and Tatiana were shocked to see that, while they had been in a fracas, two men had entered the room. “Geoff!” cried Tatiana, hope in her heart.

‘Geoff’ stood at the door beside a tough-looking military man. The two Chechen women recognized both as recent visitors, whereas Tatiana had never seen Dmitri before. All three were shocked into silence.

“You are under arrest,” Pembroke continued in Turkish, motioning for Dmitri to bring out handcuffs. Dmitri roughly pushed the older women onto the bed, cuffing their hands behind their backs.

“Oh Geoff,” Tatiana cried in English, “what is happening? Is this the police?”

Pembroke smiled at her. “This is freedom,” he whispered. “But we need to arrest you too.” Tatiana looked shocked. Pembroke took her by the arm outside the room. “We cannot have the women know you are in on it; they have to think we are arresting everyone. Now, where is the device, I need to collect that.”

Tatiana was relieved and allowed Dmitri to cuff her hands behind her back after she had retrieved the device and handed it to him. Pembroke glanced at his watChapter 12:15. Damn. The service would soon end, and they had only five minutes before the brothers returned.

As planned, Dmitri led the Chechen women downstairs. He heard sobbing and grateful thanks from upstairs. The Chechen women looked at the four open black boxes, then back at Dmitri, recognizing the kindred spirit of cruelty.

Upstairs, Pembroke had to stop Tatiana from trying to kiss him in her handcuffs and lingerie. Pembroke laughed gently, thinking that while she would soon be in a similar state all the time, she would not have the same enthusiasm as she now did.

“Now, Tatiana, we have to ‘arrest’ your sister too. Come on quickly, before the men come back.”

Tatiana was terrified of the men and was not thinking straight. ‘Geoff’ forced Natalia’s bedroom door open, finding her quivering behind the bed covers.

“Tati, we are safe, we have to go! Geoff has to arrest us, let him handcuff you. We need to appear to be arrested, come on Tati!”

Pembroke smiled, understanding the Russian.

“Natalia, are you sure?”

“We have to get out of here, come on!”

Pembroke smiled and held up the handcuffs. Natalia prayed silently and turned her back to him, allowing herself to be cuffed. Pembroke allowed himself a brief moment of pleasure as he cuffed her hands, his gaze lingering on her basque bodysuit that accentuated her smooth legs and buttocks.

“Girls, let’s go downstairs. Remember to look depressed, OK?” Pembroke winked.

With their hands cuffed and expressions of feigned despair, they moved downstairs quickly. The clock was ticking, and every second brought them closer to the Chechen brothers’ return.

Both girls were surprised to see two empty black boxes next to the open front door.

“Geoff?” asked Tatiana, slowly getting a horrible, sinking feeling.

The other man walked in, and this time, Natalia screamed. She recognized the vicious bastard who had terrorized, hurt, and raped her yesterday.

“No! Natalia, this is a trap!” Tatiana shouted, her voice filled with panic.

Dmitri’s expression shifted to one of cruel satisfaction. The facade of rescue dropped, revealing their true intentions. Pembroke’s smile twisted into something sinister.

Both men advanced on the shaking girls, who now felt a terror greater than ever as the gags were produced. Their screams and shouts echoed through the room, but as had happened many times before, the neighbours thought nothing of it.

Pembroke and Dmitri wrestled them both to the ground, easily managing them with their hands cuffed. Despite their struggles, the men gagged them, muffling their cries, and then cuffed their ankles. The girls’ frantic eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of hope or escape, but none was forthcoming.

The girls were dumped unceremoniously into the boxes, which were then wheeled carefully out the front door and heaved into the van. Pembroke looked at the perfectly still and quiet black boxes already in the van. He exchanged a glance with Dmitri, who made a throat-cutting gesture and smiled.

They pushed the two remaining boxes into the truck, and Pembroke checked to make sure they were securely fastened. He slammed the door and noted with pleasure that there was no noise, no hint of the desperate females trapped inside. The street was quiet and serene; no one was around. Even if someone had been watching, they might not have been too sorry or interested in this house of crime and scandal.

“Quick, Dmitri, let’s get out of here!”

They climbed into the van and drove off. As they turned a corner, they saw the two Chechen brothers slowly ambling back from the mosque. Both men pulled baseball caps low around their faces as they drove past slowly.

The timing was tight, but they had made it out just in time. Dmitri accelerated smoothly, merging into traffic and leaving the neighborhood behind.

The Chechens took their time to get back to the flat, chatting about their The Chechens took their time getting back to the flat, chatting about their schedule and dreading the confrontation with their female relatives inside. They were relieved not to face a barrage of anger for being late when they finally opened the door.

However, their relief quickly turned to concern when they saw no sign of their mother and aunt. They hurried upstairs and were shocked to see the rooms of their girls open, with Tatiana’s room in a state of total chaos and disarray. All four females had disappeared!

The men searched everywhere, their panic growing as they found no signs of a break-in through the windows or doors. Desperate, they ran outside and began accosting random passers-by, who swore they saw nothing, while others locked their doors, terrified of these angry Russians.

Meanwhile, by now miles away and hidden by the multitudes of millions, Pembroke and Dmitri congratulated themselves on the successful operation. The tension and adrenaline of the escape slowly gave way to a sense of accomplishment.

“I do feel a bit bad about stealing from other men, Dmitri,” Pembroke said with a twisted grin, “but if you can’t guard your own livestock, maybe you shouldn’t be in the business.”

Dmitri laughed at his boss’s sick joke. The van rumbled on, carrying their secret cargo.

Chapter Text

Pembroke and Dmitri cruised towards a small, secluded warehouse district on the European side of Istanbul. They knew it was the perfect spot where they could park the truck for hours without anyone snooping around, and it was quite close to Mr. Yildiz’s hotel.

Dmitri was instructed to stay in the truck while Pembroke made his way by taxi to his own hotel. He was reluctant to check out; he had loved the luxury and knew he would soon be back to hiding in a van with Dmitri in black jumpsuits. Even in the complex with its limitless sexual delights, the smell of sweat, sawdust, and metal was ever present.

He allowed himself to fantasize about if this operation went even better. He could live more like this, after all, was this not what it was all about?

His first port of call was to Mr. Yildiz’s hotel. The old man was delighted with the work he had seen, and his new guests were so happy it brought a tear to his eye to see their enthusiasm rather than the usual gritty backpackers and nefarious ne’er-do-wells he usually had.

Mr. Yildiz shook the hand of the smart Mr. Rahma, hoping this would be the start of a beneficial relationship. He trusted him much more than Mr. Kaya, who seemed to think of these guests as little more than cash cows.

“Mr. Rahma, I would like to make a donation to your charity,” Mr. Yildiz said, his old eyes shining at the tall gentleman. “And for payment for fixing those rooms. Please...”

He withdrew 500 US dollars from his jacket pocket and placed it in Rahma’s hand.

“Oh, Mr. Yildiz, please, this is too much! You must keep that for your hotel and your family. Please, the charity has enough, and you are doing enough.”

“But you have paid for the guests, and the repairs, and I feel I must owe something. Besides,” said Mr. Yildiz sadly, “this money had an unhappy origin for me. It was easy to come into, but I do not like to have it. I would feel blessed to know it had gone on to make the world a better place.”

Rahma reluctantly took the money, thanking the old man and promising it would be used for noble purposes.

Whoever is generous to the poor lends to the Lord, and He will repay him for his deed,” smiled Rahma at the little old man.

Mr. Yildiz’s eyes gleamed with gratitude and satisfaction. Rahma, or Pembroke, pocketed the money. As he walked away, he smiled thinking that this unexpected bonus had just covered the cost of visiting Natalia and Tatiana.

Pembroke had other chores, including a shopping trip to carry out and an unexpected largesse to spend. He had been impressed by the electronics store he visited yesterday and decided to check it out again.

Once inside, Pembroke wandered through the aisles, appreciating the array of advanced gadgets and technology. He was pleased to see the same girl who had served him a few days earlier.

Zeynep Yildiz was back at work, swearing never to go back to escorting, for definite. Despite the summer heat, she was wearing a scarf around her neck, conservative trousers, and a jacket. It wasn’t just the newfound shame of having sold her body which had prompted her to be more conservative than normal. Her neck was now purple from the marks left by her last client, not to mention the rest of her body.

She had tried to hide it from her parents. She had been so distracted by the pain and efforts to hide her marks from her family as she went in and covered herself up and washed, that she had forgotten to hide the $500 Jack Harris had given her. Her mother found it in her handbag, curious and concerned about her daughter’s withdrawn and mysterious behavior after being out for just a few hours without an explainable reason. She had burst into the shower, terrifying her daughter with her anger, and upon seeing the marks all over her body, flew on her in a rage.

“You whore! You have been selling your body, where did you get that money? How did you get those marks on your neck?” Zeynep’s mother was aghast, seeing bruises and teeth marks on her daughter’s breasts, buttocks, and legs as well.

“I cannot believe you betrayed our family after all the work we did for you! You brought shame to this house, you whore!” She angrily threw the money into the shower, the notes soaking in the water. “You will leave this house!” her mother cried and screamed. She had long wondered how her daughter had paid for certain things; now she knew.

Zeynep slumped in the corner of the shower, gathering the soaking US dollars, moaning in despair. Her father would be even angrier; her life with her family would be over.

She had spent last night at her grandfather’s house. Tearfully, she had confessed everything to him. Her grandfather adored his granddaughter and was forgiving of her weakness. He believed her when she promised never to do it again and felt more anger toward the horrible man who had used and injured her than toward Zeynep’s desperate need for more money to avoid burdening her family.

She had spent last night at her grandfather’s house. Tearfully, she had confessed everything to him. Her grandfather adored his granddaughter and was forgiving of her weakness. He believed her when she promised never to do it again and felt more anger toward the horrible man who had used and injured her than toward Zeynep’s desperate need for more money to avoid burdening her family.

She had spent last night at her grandfather’s house. Tearfully, she confessed everything to him. Her grandfather adored his granddaughter and was forgiving of her weakness. He believed her when she promised never to do it again and felt more anger toward the horrible man who had used and injured her than toward Zeynep’s desperate need for money to avoid burdening her family.

“Thank you, Grandad,” Zeynep said, wiping away her tears. She pulled out the $500. “I don’t want this dirty money anymore.” The memory of Harris, the horrible American, throwing it on the ground next to her like she was a piece of meat made her feel sick. “Please, you take it.”

Her grandfather, his face filled with compassion and optimism, gently took the money from her. “Money is a tool, Zeynep. It can be used for good,” he said, his voice soothing. “We can turn this into something positive.”

Zeynep was grateful for her grandfather and was trying to stay positive. She resolved to concentrate on her studies and her honest job here, believing that everything would be all right with her family. Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus on her work. From now on, she told herself, she would only make good choices.

“Ah, hello sir, are you looking for more spy equipment?” Zeynep smiled as she spotted the gentleman from a few days ago she had served. She noticed the mysterious tall man with dark wavy hair and glasses, who looked pleasantly surprised to see her again.

“Oh hello! Thank you for getting me those devices, they worked like a charm!” he grinned at her. “Maybe you can help me again?”

“I would be delighted to,” smiled Zeynep.

“Oh, hello! Thank you for getting me those devices; they worked like a charm!” he grinned, his eyes twinkling with charm. “I must say, you have quite the knack for these things. Perhaps you can assist me again?”

“I would be delighted to,” Zeynep smiled.

“I’m in need of voice recording sets that can be discreetly worn on a headset,” he paused, almost saying ‘collar.’ “They should record everything and transmit the data in real time to a central computer. Think you can help me with that?”

Zeynep nodded, intrigued. “We have just the thing. Follow me, please.” She led him to a section of advanced recording equipment.

“Can I ask what they are for?” Zeynep asked, feeling genuinely interested. It felt good to be in the company of professional, interesting people, unlike the clients from her escort work.

“This is going to be for an immersive theater project,” he explained with a charming smile. “We’ll have actors wear these headsets to record their dialogue and interactions in real time. This way, we can review and refine every aspect of the performance, ensuring the audience gets the most captivating experience possible.”

“Oh wow, I always wanted to be an actress ... well, I did some drama at school, but my parents insisted I study engineering, so that’s what I’m studying,” Zeynep blushed and giggled.

“I am sure you would be great. You are still young; you have so many options!” said Pembroke.

“Oh, thank you,” Zeynep blushed again and pulled at a strand of her hair.

They chatted further. Pembroke enjoyed the company of this elegant young woman, noting with interest that underneath her neck scarf, she seemed to have had a burn or bruising mark since he last saw her.

Zeynep took the payment for the headsets, which Pembroke was sure he could adapt to a secure neck collar, and took a deep breath. She may never see this man again. Why not take a chance?

“Well, if you ever need an actress for a small part ... I could help out,” she blurted, smiling apologetically.

“Oh, why thank you. Well, we are doing some things here in Turkey, and soon we will have projects up and running. I can bear you in mind ... why don’t I ... oh, I don’t have my cards...”

“Here, you can take my details,” said Zeynep, promptly and a little too eagerly.

“Oh, thank you,” Pembroke smiled and took her number and social media profile down on his phone. “My name is Edward Pembroke; perhaps we will meet again.”

“I hope so,” Zeynep said, grinning, trying to hide her hopefulness.

“Here, Zeynep, I think you deserve a tip.”

“Oh, thank you,” Zeynep counted out 50 US dollars. She smiled and thanked him. It might be less than what she got from that beast in the hotel, and the notes even seemed to smell and feel exactly like those she had tearfully given away to her grandfather yesterday, but this felt more honest, a better way to make a living, and it filled her with hope.

Pembroke walked out of the store, excited at adapting these for his slaves. Soon, he should be able to record and later read every word they had whispered to each other in any language, another seal of total ownership and control. He was also curious about Zeynep, he must keep her in mind for the future.

That night, Pembroke and Dmitri spent an uncomfortable few hours in the truck beside four black boxes. Two of them were still, containing the corpses of the older women whose necks Dmitri had snapped. The other two boxes held Tatiana and Natalia, both alive but bound tightly, gagged, and contorted terribly to fit into the small spaces.

Even in the boxes, the girls tried to hide from the men when they periodically poured water down their throats. There was no food and no toilet visits. The truck was starting to smell like an animal transport, which Pembroke realized it might as well be. There had to be some dirty work in this business of trafficking humans, even beautiful girls—it was a necessary job, but someone had to do it.

They were parked just next to the hotel. The rooms were abuzz with guests, and young Libyans ran around, playing and reluctant to sleep. The parents had a thankless task getting them to bed.

Samira and Miriam had spent a wondrous day seeing the sights of Istanbul, thrilled by their adventures. They played with their younger siblings and babbled excitedly about tomorrow’s plans. The elders of the family were nervous about Mr. Kaya but knew they couldn’t stay in the hotel forever despite the kindness of the owner, the beauty of the city, and the dread of the dangerous journey across the border and the Aegean Sea.

Zeynep had a hopeful chat with her grandfather, who told her that her parents were coming around to letting her return and that he would always be proud of her. She had used the $50 tip to buy her grandfather a new jacket and told him about the gentleman who had given her the tip and his theater idea.

“I think it’s great, Zeynep, that you still dream of acting. Everyone should pursue the dreams they have as kids. I have regrets, but I tell you, always follow your dreams. Promise me, if you get an opportunity like that today, follow it up. You have to go where life takes you.”

Zeynep smiled and hugged her grandfather, promising him she would never go back to escorting, would save herself for only decent men, and would never turn down a chance to follow her dreams, like the opportunity today.

It was 2 a.m. Pembroke had been watching the room of Samira and Miriam. They were lying in bed, asleep for an hour.

“Now, it’s time,” said Pembroke.

The men looked at each other, holding their breath as Pembroke pressed a button on his control. They watched the video feed of the girls’ room. They could faintly see smoke coming from a device hanging from the ceiling.

The girls had been snoring gently, but after a few minutes, the snores fell silent. They were now unconscious, thanks to the sevoflurane gas released from the device.

Pembroke tried to see any difference in the girls but could not. He had to gamble that it had worked.

“Now, let’s get these women out...” Pembroke and Dmitri were not looking forward to this.

They brought out the bodies of the Chechen women and stripped them naked. It was extremely unpleasant work, but necessary to prepare for the undetectable extraction of Samira and Miriam. The men worked quickly and efficiently, knowing that time was of the essence.

Dmitri moved the van next to the alleyway where the fire escape was. They looked around and saw no one stirring. Faint noises of the city at night were heard, but none nearby.

Pembroke hoisted one of the corpses onto his shoulder and took his shoes off. He was in his black jumpsuit, with a gas mask, a naked corpse over his shoulder, and a knife in hand, prepared for anything. If they were discovered, there would be no explanations to talk his way out of it.

Pembroke climbed the fire escape, his heart pounding as he carefully opened the window with his key. Stepping inside, he breathed steadily through his gas mask. He glanced nervously at the girls’ serene faces, fearing the gas might not have worked. His anxiety spiked as he stirred them, but they remained unconscious. Relief washed over him. The sight of an intruder in black, wearing a gas mask, and a naked corpse on the ground would have elicited blood-curdling screams and chaos.

He drew back the covers on the girls, leering with pleasure at their beautiful slim young bodies in their skimpy underwear. He ran his gloved hands over their legs and their unresponsive faces, wishing he had more time. But needs must.

Pembroke pulled Samira’s vest top off her, trying not to focus on the naked breasts underneath, and attempted to put it on the much uglier corpse, now starting to smell. He couldn’t bring himself to put any knickers on the corpse after the struggle with the vest and instead just pulled the corpse onto the bed while hauling Samira off in nothing but her panties, bringing her to the window.

He looked down nervously and saw Dmitri give a thumbs up. Pembroke made his way down in his socks, cursing the creaking fire escape, the weight of the young girl on his shoulder, and the difficulties with the gas mask. He gratefully handed her off to Dmitri.

They brought the girl into the truck, bound and gagged her, and placed her in one of the now empty black boxes, sealing it. One down, one to go.

They had to wait another five minutes as some workmen made their way along the main road, thankfully not stopping. Then Pembroke made another journey with the fatter corpse, carefully getting into the room and making his way to Miriam. This time, he had no appetite to admire the young girl’s naked form. He swiftly pulled the pajamas off the girl and awkwardly dressed the corpse in them. He then heaved the corpse onto the bed and carried Miriam out and down the fire escape, each step heavy with the weight of urgency and danger.

Gagged and bound, the girl was placed in the last of the four black boxes. Pembroke took off his gas mask to breathe. He was exhausted and tired. He looked up at the open window, contemplating their next move. They could just take off now, and he allowed himself a chuckle at the dark thought of the families awakening their girls to find them dead and looking like old women.

But he had to take one more trip. This time without a body. He tiptoed back up to the room, made sure the corpses were covered by bedclothes, and dragged a desk, cringing at the noise. Standing on it, he removed the device on the ceiling containing hidden cameras and gas canisters, and put it all in his bag.

He then set up a candle to burn until it reached a point where it would ignite some clothes. Just as he had set it up, he heard footsteps. Panicking, he rolled under the bed.

Miriam’s mother entered, annoyed and puzzled by the noise and footsteps. She called out gently but, seeing their hair peeking out from the covers and hearing no response, assumed the girls were exhausted and sleeping soundly. She smelled something strange and noticed the window was open. Frowning, she walked over and closed it, taking another look at the girls, obviously dead to the world after the busy day. Smiling, she returned to her room, leaving Pembroke relieved and able to come out.

Emerging from under the bed, Pembroke quickly brought out a spray filled with petrol and drenched the corpses. He then lit the candle and ensured everything was set. Silently, he made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and descending the fire escape. Reaching the ground, he nodded to Dmitri, who was waiting to go. They had completed their grim task, and now it was time to leave.

They drove off cautiously, feeling like the only vehicle on the road until they reached the highway and sped up. Meanwhile, the candle burned down, igniting the girls’ room and quickly spreading to the petrol-soaked corpses.

The hotel erupted in chaos, guests fleeing the building or escaping down the fire escape. The girls’ fathers desperately tried to break through the flames to reach their daughters’ room, but were restrained by other guests.

Soon, the entire building was engulfed in flames. Across the street, Hasan Yildiz emerged from his apartment, shocked and devastated at the sight of his life’s work in ruins and the potential loss of his guests’ lives. When he heard that two girls were unaccounted for, he insisted on going in to try to save them.

His granddaughter Zeynep chased after him, screaming, “Grandad, nooo!”

But the old man couldn’t be stopped. He charged into the inferno, trying to reach the rooms he knew so well. As he succumbed to the smoke and fire, his last thoughts were of how he had let these people down.

Chapter Text

Samira and Miriam, adrift on a sea of dreams after another day exploring Istanbul, envisioned journeys, new lives, and the lingering ghosts of their siblings. But a horrifying undercurrent snaked through their sleep – visions of masked figures, silent and menacing. They woke fitfully, their limbs leaden and unmoving, their bodies contorted into agonizing positions. Thick gags muffled their mouths, and darkness blinded their eyes.

Slowly, a horrifying truth dawned on them. They weren’t dreaming. They were bound, gagged, and at the mercy of some unseen force, hurtling towards an unknown fate.

Unlike Samira and Miriam, Natalia and Tatiana found no solace in dreams. Every jolt of the vehicle sent fresh pain through their already aching bodies. The sickening realization that “kindly” Geoff had been a calculating monster all along, in league with the other, already vicious man, twisted the knife in their guts. A sliver of hope, fragile as a spider’s thread, had flickered when Geoff first appeared. Now, it was extinguished, replaced by cold, suffocating terror. They dreaded the horrors that awaited them, wishing now they were back with the brutal but predictable Chechens.

It was late in the evening when the truck arrived at the compound. The boxes were wheeled in one by one to the “waiting room.” The first two boxes were left in the waiting room, while the other two were taken to a different room.

Mrs. Parker had been hurriedly ordered to wear a short black dress, fishnet stockings, high heels, and garish makeup. The occupants of the black boxes were to be under no illusions about the roles they would be procured for.

“There, there girls, let’s get you up.” Mrs. Parker had to steel herself against the smell, as Tatiana and Natalia had been kept in the boxes for nearly 36 hours by this stage. They were dressed in lingerie but far from alluring, their pleading faces wracked with stress, barely able to stand or move their limbs after such prolonged confinement. “Poor girls,” sighed Mrs. Parker, aware they might not understand her. “I’m afraid this lingerie is very pretty, but it’s best to get rid of it.” She produced a pair of scissors and cut all the underwear off the Russian girls. The girls could barely resist, only mewing in unhappiness. Mrs. Parker then had to wash and wipe the girls clean. She had to admit to herself that these girls were beautiful, yet more females seized from their worlds.

Pembroke and Dmitri walked in, both grinning and leering at the now-clean girls as Mrs Parker wheeled out the filthy boxes.

“Well, Tatiana and Natalia, I am sure by now you can guess what has happened. Unlike the other girls I have taken, you were already whores. You are both quite delicate, which I like, but I hope you can draw on the misery of having your bodies used to get through the rest of your lives. You see, you are going to be used for your bodies, but not as the cheap whores those Chechens sold you as. Instead, I will commodify you as something more exclusive.”

The girls barely looked the men in the eyes. They wore expressions of deep sadness and weary, resigned acceptance, acknowledging this as their fate. Their dreams had turned into nightmares, leaving them shattered. The thought of being at the mercy of the thug beside their supposed savior filled them with dread, but the switch from “Geoff,” the friendly Englishman, to the Russian-speaking, cold, evil gangsters filled them with terror. They could hardly bear to look at each other, each consumed by shame and guilt, as if they had brought this disaster upon themselves.

“You see, I am in the business of procuring and selling girls for exclusive use, for life, by distinguished buyers—men of refined taste who want more than just ordinary women and prostitutes. They want human beings they own completely, body and soul, like an animal. I do feel sorry for your previous owners, for stealing their products, but I do not feel like they were using you to your potential, especially as sisters. You will be marketed as rare diamonds, hidden away from the world and enjoyed in private, not offered to every Tom, Dick, and Harry on the street.”

Pembroke stroked each girl’s face, forcing them to make eye contact with him. “Now, I know you probably think you faced a harsh regime before, and I’m sure you were scared of those Chechens. But here, you will learn absolute discipline. You will obey, quickly and without question. You will partake in every form of sexual depravity imaginable. Those Chechens had sisters, and they did nothing to force you to have sex with each other! What a shame. No, I am afraid I have no sympathy for them. You will be trained much more thoroughly here and will soon wish you were back in that whorehouse in Istanbul.”

Mrs. Parker returned to the room. “Mrs. Parker, remove their gags.”

Mrs. Parker obliged, and the women slowly adjusted, starting to use their mouths again.

“Anything to ask?” Pembroke inquired.

“Did you target us from the start?” Natalia asked sadly.

“Originally, I just wanted to fuck a whore. But I am an opportunist; it is how I get half my stock. When I realized you were sisters and that the hard work of separating you from your happy, secure lives had already been done, well, I thought I would poke until I got an opening. You see, girls, I enjoyed playing with you. I love the anticipation of procurement. You will be easy money for me when I sell you.”

“What about our families, they will be blamed, when you took us.”

“Yes, well, the Chechens will not be happy with your disappearance, and I am sure their mother and aunt disappearing will not be easy to bear either! “ laughed Pembroke. The girls were aghast.

“But you wanted to escape; this is the price you were willing to pay. I am not responsible, and I don’t care if they take revenge against your families. My only concern is training you now, and believe me, whether they target your families or not, I have all your family’s details, which you helpfully provided. And I will target them if you disobey me here. Believe that! You will always have your families’ lives in your hands. You may have already sentenced some of them to death with your escape from the Chechens, but you will definitely sentence them to death if you frustrate me.”

The girls looked sadly at each other. Pembroke was pleased; they were already half broken in. “Now, Mrs. Parker will take you to see the other girls. You will be spending your time in a cell with them as we train you and find you a suitable buyer with whom you will spend the rest of your lives. Tomorrow, you will be performing incestuous lesbian sex with each other. I just wanted that thought to be with you tonight as you try to spend your first night here in your new life,” Pembroke smiled wickedly.

Pembroke clapped as Dmitri and Mrs. Parker escorted the two broken females out of the room, through the hall, and into the cell. The two women were shocked to see nine naked girls, looking quiet, shocked, and cowed, in the cell. Released from their bounds, they hugged each other and cried softly in a corner, staying away from the other dispassionate girls, whose gazes were fixed on the floor, a shared script of resignation etched on their faces.

Mrs. Parker’s next task was to wheel in the next two black boxes to the waiting room. She opened them up and gently coaxed each terrified girl out. The sight of the blonde woman with blue eyes, dressed in an outfit they had only seen in adult movies, was terrifying. What had happened? They had gone to bed in their hotel room, and now where on earth had they ended up? They could see they were in their bed underwear but tried to get away when they saw the woman approach with scissors.

“Now, now girls, you will only hurt yourselves,” Mrs. Parker said as the girls collapsed on the floor, a mixture of the bindings and their limbs being cramped and bound up for over 12 hours. They then had to suffer the indignity of this woman, who only spoke English, cleaning them like babies after getting them naked.

Mrs Parker sighed as she took in their young forms, they looked and seemed like children, so innocent and disorientated. She told herself she would try and be easy on them in training.

After Mrs. Parker left, the cousins looked at each other in their respective bondage. They were grateful that at least they were still together, but they were confused and terrified about what lay ahead.

But their nightmares would continue. In walked Pembroke, or Firas Rahma as they remembered him, followed by three grotesque characters, each more horrifying than anyone they had ever met or even seen in their previously innocent, protected lives.

Jamal Haddad, a giant Arab man with half his jaw missing and only one eye, stood six feet six inches tall. His ugly, scowling face and huge build were intimidating, and his massive hands made the girls think of something sinister.

Mrs. Al-Haraz, a petite but wiry Arab woman, with horrific burn marks around her head and side of her arm. Half her hair was missing, and one side of her face was seared flesh. Her two dark eyes, one flashing from red scaly skin, grinned maliciously. She wore dark makeup and an obscene, revealing black basque with a transparent mini skirt covering a black thong. Her legs tapered into PVC boots as she looked hungrily at the girls.

And a young woman, completely naked, bound and gagged like Samira and Miriam, appeared next. She looked Arab and familiar but had horrific scars across her face, and one eye was just a black mess of flesh where an eye had been.

The young woman was Zara. While the girls averted their eyes and had not recognized her, she was convulsed into shock at the sight of her younger sister, naked at Pembroke’s mercy along with her cousin, Miriam. She wailed into her gag, collapsed to her knees, and crashed her head against the ground.

As Mrs Al-Haraz angrily pulled her up by the hair, the two girls took another look at the unhappy, scarred face, and were shocked. It couldn’t be...?

“Samira Al-Tayeb, Miriam Ben-Ali, welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives!” Pembroke ruffled their hair as they knelt at his feet, luxuriating in the dark pools of confusion.

“Poor girls, in case you think you are still having nightmares, I can assure you that you are many hundreds of miles from the safety of your families in that hotel in Istanbul. You will probably never see them ever again, unless you have more pretty cousins and sisters, in which case you may meet them here in an unhappy reunion, just like young Zara here!”

Pembroke allowed the girls to make eye contact, letting the desperate, heart-wrenching gasps from Zara convey more than he ever could with words. Pembroke idly groped Zara’s breasts as they shook with sobs, and took one nipple in his mouth as he bent down. Zara closed her one remaining eye and looked away in shame. Pembroke looked up with malice at the shaking figures of the girls watching.

Samira and Miriam had never seen porn, had never seen another girl naked, and this lewd display was something beyond their comprehension. Both had grieved Zara, but to see her deformed and abused like this, when all they remembered was going to bed with their families, was unbearable.

Miriam suddenly collapsed from the stress, falling and banging her head on the ground. Her brain could not process the horrific reality.

Mrs. Al-Haraz cursed and went to wake her up. Miriam came to, and upon seeing the gruesome face come into view, she was even more terrified. She began to hyperventilate, struggling to get oxygen through the gag, the reality crashing down on her. This was incomprehensible, but it was really happening!

Samira tried to think, what had happened to her beautiful sister? She had not drowned; she had been kidnapped by this man, tortured, and branded on her face. What horrible fate awaited her now? She silently prayed for her family to help her, wondering where they were.

“This must be very disorienting for you sweet, innocent girls,” Pembroke drawled. He was concentrating on their bodies. He had made a good choice. Samira had the athletic, taut body of her sister, with maybe some puppy fat that exercise would burn off, and Miriam had surprisingly large breasts on her small frame, with a tight, tapered waist flaring into generous hips. Black hair and black eyes, honey-colored hair and eyes, olive skin and freckled tanned skin—they were a nice combination, two lovely additions to his coterie of slave girls.

“Let me introduce myself. I am not Firas Rahma, and I am not some philanthropist. I am a slaver, if you know what that is. I procure lovely young girls like you for rather nasty but wealthy old men who want to enjoy sweet young flesh in comfort and exclusivity, for a tidy sum, of course.”

The girls looked at each other with wide eyes, then at the sad eyes of Zara, downcast.

“I procured Zara and her cousin Fatima some months ago now. I believe all four of you are related. Unlike yourselves, it was largely by chance, a happy coincidence on the high seas. Well, Zara and Fatima have been trained to be sold to my buyers, as you girls will be. My enterprise promises their buyers the highest quality in product, not just in natural beauty, which both of you have, but in obedience. My buyers deal with human beings all day—servants, wives, girlfriends, colleagues, underlings, competitors, you name it. What they want is one beautiful sex slave that they own. Not some girl selling herself who will walk out in two hours, or a girl who will call the police or reveal things about them in maybe one week or one year, but a slave, a possession, a thing that will be forever silent, forever hidden, and can be disposed of without fuss if so desired.”

Pembroke looked satisfactorily at their faces, drained of color as the implications sank in.

“Now, you will be thoroughly trained in the service of sex. You both seem shy and innocent. But not to worry, you will get used to it. Try and imagine the filthiest thing possible, the dirtiest sexual thing. Well, I will push you far more than that. You will soon be doing things that even in your wildest imaginations you did not dare go!” Pembroke’s eyes flashed with zeal at the mesmerized expressions in their eyes.

“Now, I expect the very best from my products. My brand is my pride, and you will represent me long after I sell you. The money that is paid for you will be worth it, that is my guarantee! You will be trained with pain, pain you cannot even imagine yet!” His eyes flashed again as he looked deep into both pairs of eyes, holding their chins up to him. “You probably have never been hit or struck, have you? Soon, you will face the most sickening violence and other forms of torture that will make you beg to be permitted to carry out the most disgusting, unnatural tasks—things that now make your skin crawl but in time will be your life!”

Pembroke sighed theatrically. He walked back to Zara, standing behind her, and began to massage her breasts and kiss the top of her head.

“You see, girls, Zara has been naughty. I told her that if she did not behave, she would be tortured and beaten. She was naughty, and I tortured her and beat her. But she was still naughty! Samira, I will soon ask you what Zara was like in the family. Did she need to get spanked by your daddy often? Did you? Well, she was well and truly spanked here!” He laughed in a way that sickened everyone but both Jamal and Mrs Al-Haraz enjoyed the show and the revulsion from their prey. Both could not wait to get their hands on the young Libyans.

“Zara was told, as are all my girls, that if they misbehave, if they do not do as they are told, if they do not obey, that they will be hurt and beaten, but also that I will come after their families. Did I not tell you that, Zara?”

Zara stared at the ground, sullen and still gagged.

“Did I?” Suddenly, Pembroke slapped Zara across the face. It was like a clap of lightning. Zara’s head flew to the side, and she crashed to the ground.

“You can nod your head, can’t you, you stupid bitch!” snarled Pembroke.

Zara pushed herself back up, crying, and nodded while closing her eyes.

The girls were shocked by this display of brutality. Everything had been a threat before, even the physical restraints and the sexual touching. But this violence was an unprecedented intrusion into their sheltered lives and experiences.

In the silence that followed, a gentle sound of flowing liquid spattering on the ground started. Everyone looked and noticed that Miriam was pissing in fear, her urine falling on the ground beneath her as her face remained rigid with tension.

“Oh dear,” smiled Pembroke, secretly pleased at the visible display of terror. “I don’t blame you girls for being frightened. You are right to be so. You have been taken and will face unimaginable depravity, starting very soon.”

Pembroke advanced and cupped Samira’s breast. The girl squeaked; even while being naked, she had believed this would not happen. No man had seen her naked, and no man had come close to touching her. There had been no prospect of it, and now she was powerless as this animal could defile her. Her worst nightmare was closing in on her. Rape had been a faraway word; she had barely understood it, but now, looking at Zara, she knew it was inevitable. Her life would never be the same even if she did escape, but could she? Would they kill her or do what they had done to her sister?

Pembroke ripped off the gags of both girls. Both were too fearful to say anything. Eventually, Samira composed herself.

“Are you going to rape us?”

“Yes,” responded Pembroke flatly. “For the rest of your life, though rape will soon lose all meaning. You may choose to consent or not, but what will happen to you and what you will have to do will be outside of your control for the rest of your life.”

“What has happened to Zara? Please, can I speak with her?”

“Soon, yes!”

“Where are we? What happened with our families?”

“You are many miles from Istanbul; that is all you need to know. Your families are ... somewhere, still there. Remember, I will be keeping a close eye on your families for the sake of disciplining you. And your families do have a lucrative—well, lucrative for me—habit of producing pretty daughters. You are both here because Zara could not follow instructions, so that should motivate you to follow instructions here, remember!”

Pembroke then smiled at Mrs. Al-Haraz and Jamal, who were both now grinning. He cupped Zara’s face. “Now, Zara, you do not want to inflict further pain on your family, do you? And you accept that it is best they know what their lives will be about? So I hope you perform well now!”

Pembroke sat back as Mrs. Al-Haraz untied and ungagged Zara, whose tears were flowing as she refused to meet the girls’ entranced eyes. Naked and free, she waited for direction.

Samira and Miriam squeaked with terror as both Jamal and Mrs. Al-Haraz began to strip naked.

The Yemeni woman flashed a lascivious smile at the girls as she rubbed her naked pussy in front of them, licked her lips, and lay down on the ground, spreading her legs. She beckoned Zara to crawl across the floor.

Zara avoided looking at her sister and cousin as she moved across like a frightened dog, her body trembling with fear and shame. The familiar glistening cunt of one of her main tormentors was her destination, and she obediently licked it as her overseer pulled at her hair, and purred with vulgarity as she enjoyed Zara’s oral skills.

Samira and Miriam could not even comprehend that a girl, or man, would put their mouth in that place in a girl. Now they were witnessing Zara, raised from the dead, deformed, now licking this horrid woman in the most disgusting place! And the horrid woman seemed to be in ecstasy!

Their eyes were soon distracted, however, by Jamal pulling out his massive cock. Neither of the girls had seen one, and only the vaguest ideas of sex. When they saw the huge ten-inch piece of meta stick out at a right angle, above two huge plums of testicles, they whimpered and tried to look away, almost wanting to vomit.

Pembroke grabbed their hair and pulled their faces up. “Keep watching girls. This is your new life, satisfying the male cock will be the main focus of every waking hour from now on, watch it and see how Zara takes it inside her, and imagine that in your little virgin pussies, and assholes.”

“Nooooo” Samira shouted as she felt a finger plant itself on her anus, somewhere she had barely dared touch herself.”

“Scream if you want Samira, you are going to have every hole in your body violated very soon.”

Pembroke forced his thumb into her asshole, and his index finger up her pussy and wriggled it around a little enjoying her squirms and screams while holding her in place by the hair with his other hand.

“Hmmm ... so tight” Pembroke breathed into her ear.

Jamal had now plunged his meat into Zara’s pussy, and the girl bucked up to scream in pain, prompting her Yemeni tormentor to slap her and pull her back down to her pussy. She had to concentrate on licking out Mrs Al-Haraz while taking Jama’s cock pumping in and out of her, doggy style.

Miriam cried loudly as she witnessed the abuse of both her cousins and the shock of the naked flesh. Her childhood had been obliterated in just a few hours, now there was nothing to look forward to except rape, torture, and abuse.

After both Mrs Al-Haraz and Jamal had cum into Zara’s orifices, the three Libyan females were escorted into the hall and into the cell and released from all remaining bindings.

The sight of twelve other naked females of various races, all not speaking and looking at them like strange animals, was just another shock for the Libyans. They followed Zara to a corner where Fatima was. Fatima was crying, and shouting “sorry” over and over again at the two as she recognized them.

The night in the cramped cell passed slowly as no one could sleep with the noise of sobbing and chatter among the Russians and Libyans, desperately seeking explanations of what had happened and what would happen.

The night in the cramped cell passed slowly as no one could sleep with the noise of sobbing and chatter among the Russians and Libyans, desperately seeking explanations of what had happened and what would happen.

Just 24 hours ago, Samira had gone to bed in her own clothes in a comfortable bed, safe and sound and within meters of her parents and family. Now, she was far away, her dead relatives had come to life, horrifically, and they seemed to be in hell. She prayed she would wake up tomorrow and all would be well again, but she knew it would not be so.

“Fourteen whores, the smell of pussy is getting too strong,” said Pembroke as he looked at the cell of unhappy female flesh. “We need bigger cells, maybe break them up.”

Meanwhile, in Istanbul, the hotel was a smoldering ruin. The Ben Ali and Al-Tayeb families had lost all their possessions, but most importantly, two girls: Samira and Miriam. The hotel owner, Hasan Yildiz, had perished trying to save them.

The bodies of the girls had turned to ash, the room destroyed by fire. The police could not understand what had caused it, but the hotel owner, who would have been best placed to explain, was now dead.

However, the police had found drugs in the luggage of the families, realizing they were intending to travel onward illegally. Upon learning they were refugees, it was discovered that the charity sponsoring them had a dodgy history of drug dealing. ‘Firas Rahma’ seemed like a pseudonym and had vanished, as had Mehmet Kaya, another figure involved in drug smuggling who suddenly wanted nothing to do with the families or the mysterious Mr. Rahma, despite claiming no knowledge of the drugs.

Muammar Al-Tayeb and Mohammed Ben Ali, both grieving their dead daughters, found themselves arrested and charged with drug trafficking. The rest of their families were rounded up and detained, with plans to deport them back to Libya.

The Chechens had spent almost two days desperately searching for the girls and their mother and aunt but had no clue what had happened to them. Instead of going to the police, they started threatening neighbors for information. After eventually getting a lead about a truck parked outside their flat, the police arrested them following a tip-off about their aggressive questioning.

Both men now languished in prison, unable to account for their income to pay rent for the flat, and being suspected of various other crimes after welcome tip-offs from neighbours happy to get rid of them.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Freja, isn’t it lovely to wear underwear and sleep in a nice, comfy bed?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“I guess,” replied Freja. She was getting used to Mrs. Parker but still felt guilty about finding any enjoyment in this situation while her sister languished in a cell with the other naked girls. Freja knew she was effectively giving her body to the middle-aged Englishwoman for some comfort. Although Mrs. Parker was nicer than the others, Freja didn’t want to think about what would have happened if she had refused her invitations. All the girls understood very clearly that they could not refuse the advances of any of their overseers.

Mrs. Parker always looked forward to having the lovely Freja in her bed.

“Oh, I love your little girl panties!” she cooed, admiring the tight white panties with red strawberries all over them. She ran her hand over them and up the teenager’s toned stomach, then over her vest top, feeling her pert breasts through the cotton material.

Freja stirred, enjoying the luxury of the bedclothes and even the warmth and matronly nature of Mrs. Parker. She allowed herself to curl up in her bosom, finding a sense of motherly care that she had sorely missed. She breathed in the woman’s heavy scent, feeling a conflicted comfort.

Mrs. Parker smoothed over Freja’s blonde hair, making sure she could have a nice view of the delightful girl’s blue eyes as she propped herself up on her side. She kissed Freja on the forehead, feeling her nipples harden against Freja’s breath.

Freja nervously cast her eyes up to meet Mrs. Parker’s. “Madam, what is going to happen with Zara?”

Mrs. Parker’s expression softened, though a hint of hesitation lingered in her eyes. “Zara is ... in a difficult situation,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But I promise you, Freja, you are going to be the cutest, sweetest slave girl your owner will have. As long as you always, always do as you are told, you might even enjoy yourself,” she beamed, tapping Freja’s nose playfully like a button, smiling.

“But, Madam, I don’t...” Freja’s words dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to be a slave. I want to go home. My father might be dying. I’m scared of what’s going to happen. I just ... is there any way I can get home in the future?”

Mrs. Parker leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. “That is a naughty question, Freja. I should really put you over my knee and give your bottom a good spanking through those panties for asking it! But I will just tell you anyway. There is no way out. I cannot help you. Neither of us are getting out of this alive. You have to accept it, Freja, as I have.”

Freja felt a cold wave of despair wash over her. Rivulets of tears began streaming from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Freja,” Mrs. Parker said, her voice tinged with regret. “It’s a cruel fate for you. You might have had such a wonderful life on the outside, but you have to focus on the future now, on how to please and how to obey. You don’t want to end up like Zara.”

“What is the Master going to do with her?” sobbed Freja, tears choking her words.

“I don’t know, Freja, but she is not much good to him anymore. And look what happened to her family, not just those two poor girls, but their families—more could have died. She was selfish, Zara. She should have accepted her fate.”

Freja thought of her parents, grieving her. Perhaps it was lucky they thought she and her sister were already dead. The Master could be even crueler.

“When will we be ... sold?” Freja couldn’t bear to say the word.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Parker hugged the poor girl. “I dread to see you go. But the Master has committed you to an owner, that much I know, along with your sister and five others.” Mrs. Parker wished Freja could stay forever with her.

“But the Master still needs to find the seventh girl!” Mrs. Parker exclaimed with unsettling cheer. “Isn’t it thrilling to wonder who it will be? How will he manage it? The Master is so ingenious. Hearing all the different stories about how you girls ended up here is fascinating, don’t you think?” She beamed with admiration for the Master.

“He is lucky,” said Freja flatly. “My sister and I, and Sara—we were unlucky. Anything could have happened!”

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Parker said, patting Freja on the nose again. “The Master made his own luck. And I’m sorry about your friend. The Master, he is so ... ruthless,” she added sadly. “Those poor Russian girls, they were so scared of him. I was talking to them earlier when I was lasering their hair off. Their English is not bad. I just had to tell them what I tell you, Freja: just keep doing as you’re told.”

“Do you think he will get arrested or the police will find us?”

Mrs. Parker straightened up, aware that the Master might be listening. “Now, Freja, that is rude! You should not wish ill luck on the Master! I’m afraid that demands a spanking. Now, come over my knee.”

She forced Freja out of bed and over her knee, her grip firm and unyielding.

“You must learn to respect the Master,” Mrs. Parker said sternly, raising her hand. The sharp sound of the first slap echoed in the room, followed by Freja’s stifled cry.

As Mrs. Parker continued, Freja’s mind drifted to the command “always obey.” The thought gave her a strange, cold comfort—she would not have to hope, nor think, if she just gave in.

After what felt like an eternity, Mrs. Parker finally let her up. “Now, remember to behave,” she said, her tone back to its unsettling cheerfulness. “The Master doesn’t like cheeky girls.”

Freja nodded numbly, her ass cheeks aching, and returned to bed, trying to hold back tears.

“I must say though, Freja, your bum looks delicious in those panties,” Mrs. Parker said, her voice lowering to a purr. “And giving you that spanking has made me quite horny...” She reached out, running a finger lightly over Freja’s back, causing the younger woman to shiver.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and desire.

“Perhaps, a little more playtime is in order,” Mrs. Parker whispered, her hand now trailing down Freja’s side. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

Freja remained silent, her body tense.

“Good girl,” Mrs. Parker cooed, noticing Freja’s submission. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Freja’s ear. “Just relax and do as you’re told.”

As Mrs. Parker’s hands continued to explore, Freja’s thoughts drifted, wondering how far she had come from the innocent virgin who once had big dreams of a future where she could make a difference to the world.

She kicked her legs up, allowing the older woman to peel her panties off, and sighed as she buried her face between her thighs. As Mrs. Parker’s experienced tongue jabbed at her clit and a finger explored her insides, Freja’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

A small moan escaped her lips despite herself, her body responding even as her mind recoiled. She wondered, as the sensations washed over her, if a life of sex, slavery, and pain might be bearable if she began to blot out all of her dreams of freedom.

In the now incredibly cramped cell, tensions were starting to build. Sabine had noticed that Ingrid was missing her sister, who had been taken by the lecherous Mrs. Parker.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid. I pray that Freja is okay. It is so cruel to take her away for so long...” Sabine said softly.

“Fuck you, disgusting lesbian,” Ingrid spat at her, spitting on the ground. She feared that the tall German girl would do to her what Mrs. Parker was doubtless doing to her little sister right now.

Sabine shrank back, despondent and alone, feeling the sting of Ingrid’s harsh words. She was ashamed to admit that she had been looking at the Swedish girl, her blonde hair, and her superb figure. But more than sex, she just wanted companionship. She could never have imagined that in a small cell with thirteen other naked girls, she would feel so alone.

Elena and the two Russian sisters were having their own talk in Russian, comparing dreadful notes about their abductions and how serious and dangerous this Pembroke man must be.

The four Libyan girls were having an unhappy meeting in the corner.

“I don’t understand, how could Daddy have fallen for it?” moaned Zara as she heard about the trip to Istanbul and “Mr. Rahma.” Her sister tried to comfort her, their breasts intermingling as they hugged.

Miriam was still in shock, holding her chest and placing a hand between her legs to hide from the other girls, even though everyone was naked. She looked nervously at her cousin Fatima, who looked guilty and miserable.

“I swear, I never said anything about you two,” said Zara, her one remaining eye losing tears. “The Master is a sick pervert, but he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths unless he knew about you girls. He would have just done nothing, or killed someone in the family.”

“Well,” said Fatima tetchily, “he has my daughter. We knew he was evil. You girls have to learn not to cross him.”

Zara looked at her cousin, her resentment boiling over after weeks and now months of being cooped up together, having forced lesbian sex, and sharing every intimate act with each other.

“Maybe you helped him. That’s why my sister is in here and not yours. What if the Master finds out about Yasmin or Laila?”

“He already has my daughter!” spat out Fatima, angry that Zara was bringing up her own sisters. She was ashamed she had given Pembroke details and clues about procuring Zara’s sisters, but they were her cousins too, and she had tried to avoid it.

“You are the cause of this,” continued Fatima angrily. “This unspeakable, disgusting mess. I endured it, but you couldn’t. You did that to yourself!” She pointed to her cousin’s scarred face. “And you made him take revenge! You are why these girls are here. Now their lives are over, too!”

“You fucking helped him!” Zara looked at the girls and then pointed accusingly at Fatima. “Your fucking cousin here, she helped that bastard plan your kidnapping.”

“Fuck you!” shouted Fatima. “You couldn’t just do as you were told!”

“Because I’m not a fucking slave!”

“You are a slave, and now these girls are slaves too! All because of you!” cried Fatima.

The two girls pushed each other, grabbing at each other’s hair, their faces contorted with anger and pain. Samira and Miriam, terrified and desperate, screamed at their only two friends in this awful place. They had always looked up to Zara and Fatima, but now the two were fighting like vicious cats. Samira and Miriam tried to break up the fight, their pleas for peace drowned out by the escalating chaos.

In their struggle, the four bumped into the other girls in the cramped cell. Within moments, the confined space erupted into a chaotic melee. Nubile young naked bodies clashed against each other, banging against the walls and tumbling to the ground. Screams and shouts filled the air, turning the cell into a cacophony of fear and desperation. All the girls turned animalistic, lashing out after weeks or months of captivity, brutal treatment, humiliation, and degradation.

The men ran into the hall, astonished by the high-pitched shrieking and the sight of flesh bouncing off the walls and on top of each other.

“STOP, YOU LITTLE CUNTS!!” shouted Jamal who brought out a hose while Kwame opened the door. The giant Syrian turned the power hose on the girls. The cold, forceful spray hit the tangled mass of bodies, shocking them into stillness as the water pounded against their skin. The chaotic noise gradually subsided, replaced by gasps and the sound of water hitting the floor.

A few minutes later, Pembroke was having a meeting with the men. Zara and Fatima were tied up, bound and gagged in boxes in another room. The remaining girls had been cowed into obedience and were now shivering, trying to dry off in the cell.

“It is important that Zara, and all the others, see the fruits of her disobedience. Now that Samira and Miriam are here, I think she is now only useful for one final task. I must say, she really is a troublesome young girl! For now, however, we shall have a bit more fun with her before disposing of her.”

He turned to Jamal. “Did you collect those leopard snakes that have been breeding nearby?”

“Yes, I did, boss,” sniggered Jamal, eagerly looking forward to whatever sick surprise Pembroke had planned.

A few hours later, the men carried in two clear Perspex boxes that looked like coffins. The girls in the cell watched with growing trepidation. Zara was back in the cell, gagged and bound with her hands behind her back. Her sister Samira cradled and hugged her, desperate to talk to her and promising they would get through this hell together.

But a few minutes later, the murmurs of fear turned into screams of terror. Jamal walked in, wearing gloves and holding snake-handling equipment. He carried four hissing snakes, their skin patterned with leopard-like spots. The snakes writhed and moved, adding to the terrifying sight. Though they were not venomous, none of the girls knew this, and even if they had, their fear would have remained.

The girls climbed onto the benches as if the snakes were already on the ground. They hid behind each other, tried not to catch Jamal’s eyes, and cried, hoping they would not be chosen for whatever horrible game was about to be played. The cell was filled with screams and sobs, the girls’ faces pale with terror as they watched the snakes slither in Jamal’s hands.

Pembroke strode theatrically in front of the cell, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Ladies! In light of the disturbances earlier, I should remind you that there should be no fighting among you! I do not want to see my merchandise damaged! Now, as a form of punishment and spectacle, I thought perhaps we should have a friendly, a very friendly, game played out here.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, a sinister smile spreading across his face. The girls, already trembling, exchanged fearful glances.

“I am going to have four pairs out here,” Pembroke said casually. “Zara and your sister Samira. Fatima and your cousin Miriam. Natalia and Tatiana. Ingrid and Freja. You can call this ... Family Fortunes!”

The girls not picked cried with relief, while those chosen felt their blood run cold with dread. The air was thick with tension as the selected pairs stepped forward.

The four pairs were brought out and positioned at the four corners of an imaginary square, allowing Pembroke and his men to walk around them in a circle. Zara, now unbound, stood alongside her sister Samira. Fatima and Miriam, Natalia and Tatiana, and Ingrid and Freja completed the formation. Mrs. Al-Haraz, Mrs. Parker, Kwame, Jamal, and Dmitri observed with intrigue. Meanwhile, the snakes in the clear coffins on either side of the hall slithered restlessly, occasionally pressing their faces against the glass and flicking their tongues out, searching for an escape.

Pembroke circled the pairs, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he surveyed his terrified captives, savoring the fear and uncertainty etched on their faces.

“Now, some of you girls are going to be spending time with the snakes,” said Pembroke, his voice dripping with malice. “I will be the judge who decides which ones do. The object of this game is simple: the friendliest families get to avoid the snakes. The coldest family will be locked in there with the snakes for as long as I want, while the rest of you get to watch. Warm, happy families are important, don’t you agree?”

His twisted words hung in the air. The girls’ faces paled further, as they realized the horrifying game they were being forced to play. They shyly looked at their siblings knowing that their bond was about to be cruelly tested.

“Now, for the next half hour, we are going to watch you girls make passionate love with your sisters, or cousins in your case, Fatima and Samira.” The other girls in the cell thanked God they had been captured alone, but knew that Pembroke had the power to kidnap and bring their own siblings in here if he so wished.

“I want to see kissing, pussy licking, ass licking, and a lot more! There are two coffins, and two girls are going in them. It is up to you, the filthier you are, the better your chances of avoiding the snakes. There are no prizes for being shy, incest is something you are all going to have to get used to!”

Pembroke turned to the other girls. “Your time will come too,” he smiled wickedly. “Look at Zara. If you misbehave like her, then you could be licking the pussy of your sister, your cousin, or your mother in here, before very long!”

Zara swallowed and silently mouthed “sorry” to Samira. A tear rolled down the cheek from her one remaining eye.

“Now, your time starts ... NOW!”

Freja and Ingrid bunched their fists and looked hard into each others’ eyes. They prayed that in years to come, they could just describe this in therapy, but for now, they just had to get through it. They began kissing, furiously moving their tongues around each others’ mouths.

Tatiana had started shaking, then fainted in Natalia’s arms. Natalia tried to rouse her sister. “Tati” she whispered desperately. “Come on! We need to do this, please, please I cannot go near these snakes!” Her sister came to, still white as a ghost, and looking into her sister’s face. They both cried as they gingerly joined their lips together, and began kissing.

“Very touching, ladies” Pembroke sneered between their faces “but look, Fatima already has her mouth in Miriam’s pussy, you have a lot of catching up to do!”

Fatima was determined she would not be locked in a coffin with snakes and roughly grabbed her cousin by her cheeks and pressed her mouth onto hers, then dropped between her legs, digging her fingernails into her buttocks to keep her in place, as her mouth furiously fought to get between her legs and against her young pussy. Miriam’s eyes went to the back of her head, she had never felt this before.

Zara brushed the hair back from her little sister’s face, and made her promise she would do whatever she could to get through this. “You must kiss me back, sister, I am going to kiss you, on your mouth, in your pussy, in your asshole, and you will do the same to me, OK? If you don’t I will slap you, because I love you, and I don’t want you in that coffin OK?”

Before long the floor was full of competitive love-making, with extra loud sucking and kissing noises being made, desperate to impress the Master. Zara and Fatima both screamed to exaggerate their orgasms in the faces of their shy partners. Natalia and Tatiana were 69ing with Tatiana on top. Natalia was furiously licking and sticking her finger up her sister’s asshole, she interrupted herself to pull Tatiana’s hair to get her attention and tearfully pleaded “Pease, dear sister, you must lick harder, and stick your finger up my ass too, we must win!” Tatiana just looked back through a haze of tears, her mouth open in a silent cry. But Natalia kicked her on the face, and angrily screamed at her “Pull yourself together, lick me! Lick my pussy come on!”

Pembroke and the others watched with twisted satisfaction. Tongues lavished over bodies, and moans escaped involuntarily as feet, pussies, assholes, ears, necks, and mouths were all explored by predatory tongues. The scene was a horrifying display of forced intimacy and power, meant to degrade and control.

After half an hour, Pembroke called a halt to the proceedings. “That was wonderful! I hope you don’t think this is a one-time event,” he said with a wicked grin. “Incest is the ultimate fantasy, something men will pay handsomely for because they can’t get it legally in the world. I fully expect to make a fortune off you girls together.” He turned his gaze to Natalia and Tatiana. “And you will be doing this for the rest of your lives.”

The four pairs lined up nervously, their mouths wet with saliva and the The four pairs lined up nervously, their mouths wet with saliva and the juices of their sibling or cousin. Each couple held hands, praying they would not have to endure the hell of the horrible snakes after all the degradation they had already suffered.

“Tatiana and Natalia, after a tough start, you worked well,” Pembroke announced with a twisted smile. “Natalia, you have a great tongue; you got right inside your sister’s ass! I don’t think you missed an inch of her body with it! Well done, you two survive. You can go back to the cell!”

The Russian sisters sighed with relief and cursed softly in Russian. They hugged each other tightly before walking back to the cell, which Kwame opened and shut behind them. “Thank you, Master,” said Natalia, her voice filled with a mix of bitterness and forced gratitude.

Pembroke walked past the Swedish girls. Their breasts rose and fell together as Pembroke idly ran his finger along the sweat dripping down into their belly buttons.

“You girls really love each other. Your new owner is going to love you both,” Pembroke said, his tone dripping with condescension. “I see you have benefited from Mrs. Parker’s tutelage, young Freja.” He tugged at Freja’s cheek affectionately. “You both can go back to the cell.”

The sisters cheered silently, turned to each other, and gave each other a kiss on the mouth before walking back together to the cell. Freja remembered Mrs. Parker’s words of wisdom. Perhaps she could survive all this by numbing herself to reality and surrendering to the role forced upon her. As they walked, she kept her hand on her sister’s bottom. Her sister looked back at her strangely but did not move to remove the hand.

“Now, for you troublesome Libyan bitches!” Pembroke blew out his cheeks at the four sweating girls left. They were all breathing heavily, looking at Pembroke through sweat and tears, praying for mercy.

“Fatima, you worked hard and well. You have an amazing body, don’t think I didn’t notice you shaking your ass at me while you ate out your cousin! You temptress, I was going to fuck you there and then! You are a good girl; you obey instructions and you do so promptly. You can go back to your cell.”

Fatima breathed a sigh of relief, though her heart ached as she looked at her three cousins still standing. She walked back to the cell, hoping for a miracle.

“You two girls! Samira and Miriam, how did that feel?” Pembroke asked, his voice dripping with mockery.

“It ... it feels ... strange, Master,” stuttered Miriam, her voice trembling. She hoped he would show her mercy as a newcomer.

Pembroke chuckled darkly. “Get used to it. This is just the beginning.”

There remained a silence during which the girls shook with dread. Pembroke finally clicked his fingers and said, “Dmitri, Kwame, grab Zara and tie her up again. She is going in with the snakes!”

Zara screamed and cursed at Pembroke. She tried to run from the men approaching her, but Pembroke reached out and slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling.

Miriam and Samira remained rooted to the spot, the color drained from their faces.

“I am showing you mercy, you little cunts!” snarled Pembroke. “Get those cute asses back in that cell. I will be fucking both of them soon!” He slapped their bottoms as they ran to the cell. They hugged each other, watching in horror as Zara was manhandled and tied up.

Zara was soon tied and lying on the ground, screaming and begging for mercy. “Please, Master!” she whispered to Pembroke. “I did everything, I worked hard! Please, I know I am ugly but I can work for you...” Her voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I can work for you like Madam Al-Haraz. She is deformed too, but she is still useful. I can be useful too, please ... please...”

Pembroke smiled, realizing she believed the snakes would kill her, and chose not to tell her they wouldn’t. However, he would kill her soon enough, just not here.

Zara screamed and prayed to God as the men lowered her into one of the coffins. The rasping of the snakes grew louder, and they writhed with excitement at the new presence in their confined space. Her naked, bound body pressed against the cold glass, her eyes wide with terror.

“Disobedience is a great crime here,” Pembroke announced, his voice echoing menacingly. “All you ladies watch and see how it is punished. This is not the first, nor will it be the last, punishment for Zara. You have seen one punishment—” he motioned to Samira and Miriam, who cowered in the cell. “If you are disobedient, and/or if you attempt to destroy my merchandise, i.e., yourselves, then I will take action against your families. Samira and Miriam will pay for Zara’s disobedience for the rest of their lives. Think of your families next time you want to defy me!”

The girls in the cell hid their faces behind their hands, barely able to watch or listen to the high-pitched shrieks coming from the clear glass coffin. Inside, Zara’s bound and naked form was a horrifying sight. The two snakes slithered over her, their scales brushing against her skin. Believing they were poisonous, each flick of their tongues and glide of their bodies sent waves of terror through her. The snakes moved over her legs, torso, and face, occasionally nipping at her, causing her to scream in pain and fear. The confined space magnified her panic, and her frantic attempts to avoid the snakes only made them more aggressive. The sight was unbearable, a living nightmare of horror and helplessness for Zara, and a haunting, disgusting warning for the other girls.

A few hours later, Pembroke was having a more pleasant chat with Ahmed Al-Masri.

“My friend,” Pembroke spoke, “I know your boss is impatient, but I only need one more girl, and I have a plan for her! The others are very well trained, trust me!”

“Excellent, Eddie!” Ahmed responded warmly, showing his trust in Edward Pembroke. “I have another favor. We have some undesirables that, in normal times, we would simply outsource to hitmen. But given their characteristics, I thought I might send some business your way.”

Pembroke chuckled. “Ha, there is no shortage of pretty girls, Ahmed. What I need are buyers.”

“That too, Eddie! I can arrange an introduction for you. I am sure the gentleman in question would love to chat with you. Oh, and about this troublesome girl...”

Pembroke raised an eyebrow, catching the insinuation. “You think she might be of more use to me than just a target for ... disposal?”

Ahmed ascended “Exactly. Instead of having her simply terminated, you could procure her. Use her to fill your stock and solve my problem at the same time.”

Pembroke laughed down the phone. “I like the way you think, Ahmed. Consider it done.”

In Tripoli, the remaining members of the Al-Tayeb and Ben Ali families trooped desolately off the airplane from Istanbul. They had no possessions, no money, and nowhere to stay, as their previous homes were now rented out. Their breadwinners were still languishing in prison in Turkey, suspected of drug trafficking. To compound their despair, their two beautiful girls, Samira and Miriam, were dead—the ashes of their bodies had been further cremated and sent with them in jars.

The mothers cried as they sat together in tents near a mosque, refugees now in their own city. The weight of their losses pressed down on them, the once vibrant families now shadows of their former selves.

Meanwhile, in Florida, Jack Harris was speaking with some Honduran builders about constructing a subterranean basement under his horse stables.

“I need this project done quickly and discreetly,” Jack said, looking around to ensure they were alone. “The basement should be soundproof and secure.”

One of the builders, Carlos, nodded. “No problem, Mr. Harris. What will you be using the basement for?”

Jack paused, choosing his words carefully. “It’s for ... specialized storage and training equipment. The soundproofing is to ensure the horses aren’t disturbed by any noise from below.”

Carlos exchanged a glance with his team. “Understood, Mr. Harris. We can get started right away.”

“Good,” Jack replied. “Remember, this needs to stay between us. No one else needs to know about the details of this project.”

Harris smiled with anticipation as he returned to play with his young family, the image of his envisioned sex dungeon lingering in his mind. The thought filled him with a twisted sense of excitement as he watched his own children play, all the while planning a dark future for some other unfortunate human being.

Chapter Text

Edward Pembroke, dressed in his finest suit, his wavy dark hair neatly styled, sat in the luxurious lobby of the Phoenicia Hotel in Beirut. Tall and confident, he longed to permanently belong to this world of opulence. The grandeur of the hotel, with its grand chandeliers and marble floors, made him feel both at home and deeply desirous of this lifestyle.

While waiting, he made a quick video call to Sheila Johnson.

“Sheila, my love!” grinned Pembroke.

“Oh hi Edward, goodness, where are you now? That place looks amazing!”

“It’s the Phoenicia Hotel in Beirut! I am here on business, and I thought I would give you a quick call. After this, I am going on a yacht trip and thought I would stop by that little Greek island, haha!”

“Oh Edward, well as luck would have it, I should be there in a few days,” Sheila laughed into the phone. “Of course, my husband and my daughter don’t know anything; they just think we are going on a mother-daughter trip to this little old cottage by the beach, where this old couple lives, for a few days. I will tell my daughter it’s a total coincidence when you show up, haha,” Sheila giggled like a schoolgirl.

“That’s my girl, Sheila,” smiled Pembroke down the phone.

“Edward, it’s been too long. I cannot wait to see you,” Sheila longed for Pembroke.

“I know, my love, don’t worry it won’t be long. Oh, here is my appointment. I will see you soon, OK?” winked Pembroke.

“See you soon, Edward darling,” smiled Sheila, blushing.

Edward ended the call just as two well-built suited men arrived to greet him.

Directed to a private room, Edward was frisked by the bodyguards before meeting Kamal Abdelrahman, a wealthy Egyptian financier in his sixties, known for his success in the shipping industry and his large family. Abdelrahman, plump and clad in traditional garb, welcomed Pembroke cautiously.

As they sat at a table adorned with exquisite sweet dishes and coffee, they began discussing business.

“Mr. Pembroke, for what is supposed to be an Englishman, your Arabic is excellent,” laughed Abdelrahman, clearly no fool.

“Well, Mr. Abdelrahman, thank you. I try to be a citizen of the world,” Edward replied smoothly.

“So our mutual friend, Mr. Al-Masri assures me. He says you are a salesman.”

“Well, Mr. Abdelrahman, I am. I am a humble merchant, but I ask myself, what can I sell to the man who has everything?”

At that moment, a young waitress appeared, asking if the men would like more coffee. She wore a smart black dress, which, while conservative, clung to her figure. Her perfect bare legs reached high as she bent down to pick up the empty dishes.

The men’s eyes followed the contours of the girl’s body, then met each other, and they smiled.

“I have put up with women all my life. I am just glad I made my money before they started appearing in business. Four wives, whores, and now journalists and activists,” Abdelrahman said, making a gesture as if he were being sick. His words dripped with disdain and misogyny, a stark reminder of his harsh and antiquated views.

“A girl for fun, that is a rare thing!” Pembroke smiled. “Yes, if one could cut out all the strings and bullshit, and the word ‘no,’ then girls could be great fun.”

“I would prefer to hear no words at all,” laughed the older man.

“Well, sir, perhaps you might be interested in my product. I am surprised that a man of your experience has not been offered this before. It seems to be a gap in the market.”

“Oh, well, a few years ago, it was easier, but only with peasant girls. I always wondered though, so many millions of these young western girls walking around and one or two cannot be just, ... you know...” smiled the older man.

“I understand your frustration,” Pembroke said coolly. “There is untapped potential out there, with many young women wasting their time in trivial jobs and careers that contribute little. They possess these youthful, attractive bodies that tease and tantalize but serve no real purpose. While some men might enjoy them casually, men of substantial means should have access to a mechanism that ensures their full-time availability. These women could be utilized in a manner that is both systematic and efficient, providing continuous satisfaction without the complications or resistance typically associated with casual encounters.”

“Interesting” laughed the Egyptian. “OK, enough bullshit. Sell me something.”

“I will give you ... a life. A life of a young girl, full of promise, fun, and beauty, and it will be all yours. I can provide you with a name, along with a report detailing her ... disappearance from this world. Perhaps a funeral notice, a heartfelt story about her drowning at sea, or an unsolvable murder. That name, that girl, that human life, will belong to you for as long as you desire.”

“And if the girl doesn’t like it?” Abdelrahman asked.

“Well, sir, this is what I pride myself on,” Pembroke replied, his tone icy and calculating. “My unique selling point is ensuring my client’s satisfaction through absolute obedience. My girls are not only extensively trained but also conditioned to comply. If necessary, we apply pressure on their loved ones, ensuring their cooperation. Consider it a lifetime warranty on their obedience and your satisfaction.”

“Interesting, and the sale is a one-off payment?” Abdelrahman inquired, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Yes,” Pembroke confirmed with a confident nod. “I aim to expand our market. I’m confident that even as the world descends into chaos, this service will remain high-end and in demand. My goal is to provide nice, middle-class girls from good families, not low-end products. These are quality acquisitions that will cater to discerning tastes.”

“Do you have pre-existing stock then, or would you be able to procure me a girl I have in mind?” Abdelrahman inquired.

“Both are options, sir. We aim to please. I do have some delightful girls available. Some have been pre-ordered, but more are always in stock and we are constantly acquiring new prospects,” Pembroke replied smoothly.

At that moment, the waitress returned. “Any more coffee, gentlemen?”

“Yes, please,” beamed Pembroke. The girl smiled at the charming man and left to fetch their drinks.

“A lovely girl,” Pembroke smiled.

“I agree,” winked Abdelrahman.

“As I was saying, we are always looking for new prospects to add to our stock,” Pembroke continued with a laugh, “and that was a good example.”

“Can you provide me with examples?” Abdelrahman asked.

“Well, sir, I do require some token of seriousness,” Pembroke replied, his tone steady and cold. “You see, this is a serious business. When a girl is sold, her new owner must feel secure. In many cases, the product is believed to be deceased or at least not missing. I wouldn’t want you, for example, to know that your girl was known to have been offered for sale to different gentlemen. Discretion is key so you can enjoy your girl with peace of mind.”

“And how would word get out?” said the Egyptian. “If I don’t want to buy, I’m not going to alert the authorities or feel sorry for the girl.”

“True,” Pembroke conceded. “But ensuring discretion at every level safeguards all parties involved. Our methods guarantee that once a transaction is made, there is no trail, no possibility of exposure. This peace of mind is what our clients pay for as much as the girls themselves. “Indeed, we only sell to serious clients,” Pembroke continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Our motto is that this type of product is for life ... her life.” He winked, adding, “We don’t sell to people with faint hearts who are going to let these girls go.”

Abdelrahman nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “I appreciate your thoroughness. So, how do we proceed?”

“First,” Pembroke replied, “I require a demonstration of your commitment. This ensures we only engage with those who understand the permanence of our service. Once that is established, I can show you examples from our stock or procure a specific girl you have in mind.”

“Can I ask if you have Israeli girls?” asked Abdelrahman.

“Not at the moment, but if this proves to be a popular request, I will make a note to add them to my cellar,” replied Pembroke with a calculated smile.

“Well, this calls for a drink...” Abdelrahman called for a drink, his thoughts wandering to the possibility of ordering the waitress from Pembroke. “And we can discuss your girls and perhaps soon we can discuss prices.”

Pembroke smiled and relaxed, pleased with the turn of events. “A drink sounds perfect,” he said, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “Let’s toast to new ventures and profitable partnerships.”

Pembroke soon left the luxurious surroundings of the Phoenicia Hotel, changing into a dumpy, hipsterish outfit complete with glasses. Now transformed, he entered into a video call with his next contact, a very different proposition from Kamal Abdelrahman.

“Hi Dilan, just thought I would say hi. Sorry I’ve been so busy, but you seem far busier than me,” he said with a friendly tone.

“Oh hi, Karim,” Dilan responded guardedly.

Pembroke, now assuming the identity of Karim, smiled reassuringly. “Yes, it’s been quite hectic, but I always make time for important people. How have you been?”

Dilan relaxed slightly but remained cautious. “Busy, as you said. Lots of projects on my plate. My new podcast is taking off. You are in Beirut I see?”

Karim/Pembroke nodded, keeping the conversation light. “Yeah, I still want to do that project and I’m back working on it. A lot of crazy things happened...”

“I heard...” said Dilan suspiciously.

“Look, Dilan, you may have seen the news...”

“I guess you’re not going back to France anytime soon. A girl dying on set is not a good look,” Dilan said dryly.

Karim sighed deeply, “Oh my God, Dilan, it’s not what you think. Poor Camille ... I know it looks bad, but it wasn’t my fault. Camille LeClerc did not die. Her body was never found because she was kidnapped.”

“Really, Karim? Strikes me you just had a crazy unsafe idea for a movie and it all went bad,” Dilan replied, unimpressed.

“Her body should have shown up by now,” Karim started to cry on the video. “Poor Camille, I can’t believe the media are reporting it as a drowning.”

Dilan remained skeptical, her suspicion clear. “So what makes you think she was kidnapped?”

Karim’s voice trembled as he continued, “Threats, Dilan. She mentioned them to me ... her father was a top lawyer, and there were Middle Eastern rulers who really didn’t like him. They would have had every reason to target her.”

Dilan’s guarded expression began to soften, the plausibility of Karim’s story starting to sink in. “You really believe she was taken?”

“I do,” Karim pleaded, his eyes wet with tears. “I would never have let something like this happen on set. I care about my team. I need you to believe me, Dilan. Camille’s disappearance isn’t just a tragic accident; it’s part of something much bigger.”

Dilan hesitated, but she was beginning to believe his earnest desperation.

Dilan hesitated, but she was beginning to believe his earnest desperation. “Alright, Karim. So what are your plans in Beirut?”

“Trying to reach out for collaborators, trying to get interested funders,” sighed Karim. “But the problems in France have complicated things. Honestly, I would now rather make a movie about Camille. It’s something people need to watch.”

Dilan softened further, seeing the conviction in his eyes. “That does sound like a meaningful project. Just be careful, Karim. If what you say is true, you might be stepping into dangerous territory.”

Dilan sighed, not knowing what to make of this dodgy guy anymore. And she was a busy woman. “Look, Karim, I’ve got to go, but I’ll chat with you later. Hope we can grab a drink sometime before you leave, OK? Kiss, kiss,” she said, signing off quickly.

Pembroke watched the screen go dark, frustration washing over him. He was in Beirut with Jamal and Kwame elsewhere in the city, with little idea of how to make the last of the Crown Prince’s catches. Dilan was a celebrity now in Lebanon; it would be much harder to reach her than prostitutes and refugees.

He despaired, perhaps he would have to write off a large profit and just admit that he could only sell six of the girls and maybe hope that a replacement for Dilan might be suitable.

Pembroke spent the rest of the evening formulating quotes for Mr. Abdelrahman and perfecting the profiles of the girls pending payment for each viewing. He also went through his catalogue of potential targets throughout Europe, before listening to a podcast with Dilan Talebani. She was such a preachy liberal, he thought. Everything that was wrong with the world. But annoyingly untouchable.

Bored and horny, he ordered an escort. The woman was in her thirties, experienced and friendly, and Pembroke enjoyed the night of pleasure and her soft curves. It was quite the change from the reluctance he was used to. Variety was the spice of life, he told himself.

The following morning, Pembroke awoke, hungover, with the Lebanese prostitute lying beside him. He had a series of missed messages, surprisingly, from Dilan. He kicked the prostitute out of his bedroom, who was upset at his terrible manners, and changed into his persona of the camp, gay Karim again.

“Time to get back to work,” he muttered to himself.

Karim answered the call with Dilan.

“Karim, sorry to wake you, I just really wanted to get hold of you!” Dilan seemed extremely excited. Karim tried not to seem nervous, but had no idea what was coming.

“Morning, Dilan. Don’t worry, I wasn’t up to much.”

“Karim, we need to talk. Can you meet right now for breakfast? I can give you the name of the café.”

Karim was piqued. What on earth could it be? He checked the café location and made a call to Jamal, but doubted they could make a snatch at that central location.

Karim carefully selected his outfit for the meeting, ensuring it fit his camp, gay persona perfectly. He donned a vibrant, floral-print shirt that was slightly unbuttoned at the top, paired with tight, tailored pastel pants. Around his neck, he wore a colorful silk scarf, tied loosely for a touch of flair. His ensemble was completed with a pair of trendy, round glasses with a bold frame. To add to the look, he slipped into a pair of stylish loafers and sprayed on a light, citrusy cologne.

As he got ready, Karim reminded himself to stay calm and be prepared for whatever Dilan had in store. This meeting could be a turning point, and he needed to maintain his composure and keep his wits about him...

When Karim met Dilan at the café, he was impressed by her appearance. She wore a hipster-style blue dress and sunglasses. The cedar tree tattoo on her forearm was a striking feature. Karim couldn’t help but admire her style and the confidence she exuded.

“Good morning, Karim,” Dilan greeted him with a bright smile as she took off her sunglasses.

“Good morning, Dilan,” Karim replied, trying to match her enthusiasm while hiding his nervousness. “You look great. Love the tattoo.”

“Thank you,” she said, glancing at her forearm. “It’s a symbol of my heritage.”

They found a table and sat down, ordering coffee and breakfast. Karim kept his demeanor cheerful and light-hearted, all while keeping his guard up. This was a crucial moment, and he needed to handle it perfectly.

“So, what was so urgent?” Karim asked, attempting to keep his tone casual.

“Last night, I did a deep dive into Camille LeClerc. You were right; her father was a senior UN lawyer who took a case against the government of Azmaria, and they hate him!”

“Well, I’m sure he had a lot of other enemies...”

“But it’s not just her! Karim, there was a girl who went missing in Paris a few months ago, an English girl named Charlotte Spencer, and her father was a senior partner in a finance company that sued the Azmarian government for billions of dollars.”

Karim went pale, though Dilan didn’t seem to notice.

“Wow, Dilan, I hadn’t even heard of that girl, but why or how...”

“And I’ve looked into other missing girls! You know how common it is! If you were a girl, you would know. Sorry, Karim, no offense,” she smiled at the flamboyant gay man.

“Oh, none taken,” chuckled Karim, trying to mask his growing panic.

“Anna Gao disappeared while swimming in a lake in Switzerland! Her father, Harry Gao, was a public critic of the Azmarian government and pulled out of a massive contract with the country, costing them billions!”

“Oh...” Karim was puzzled, trying to maintain his composure. “I knew it was big. I thought it was the Marseille mafia. Camille told me she had mafia wanting to launder money through her movies...” He was panicking inside, wondering if she was onto the whole plot.

Dilan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Karim, there are too many coincidences here. I think these disappearances are connected, and they all lead back to Azmaria. Someone is targeting these girls because of their fathers’ actions against the government.”

Karim forced a smile, though his mind was racing. “You might be onto something, Dilan. This is ... quite a revelation.”

“There’s more, Karim...” she sighed. “You know, I have been fairly critical of the government in Azmaria. Call me paranoid, but this morning I just got this feeling, like ... I was being followed. I don’t know, I thought I saw this van yesterday. There was this giant man with a disfigured face driving it, and I thought of Camille, your movie, found out about those other girls, and what the Azmarians said about me...”

Karim’s jaw dropped.

“Dilan, for all I know, they are out to get you too. You’re a gay Arab filmmaker, and as for me, I’ve had lawyers from their government try and shut me up. I don’t know, am I crazy?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Karim took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and her. “Dilan, you’re not crazy. If what you’re saying is true, then we need to be very careful. I really need to look into this. I’m sorry I hadn’t heard of these other girls.”

“No need to apologize, Karim,” Dilan said proudly. “It’s my job, it’s what I do. And I have a podcast now, and I have a voice on social media. You know what, let’s go through what we know together, then, fuck it, I am going public with everything. Let the Azmarian government say what they want; they can’t touch me then!”

Karim took his glasses off to clean them. “Dilan, this is way out of my league. Sorry, I’m a bit of a coward, that’s why I fled France.”

Dilan reached across the table and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Karim. They picked the wrong woman to fuck with if they go after me. I can protect you. I have millions of followers, hell, even a militia behind me. You don’t need to be frightened when you are with me,” she smiled kindly at Karim, feeling so sorry for the marginalized man.

“I don’t know, Dilan. There are ... ways they can get to me,” hinting at his homosexuality.

“I will protect you, Karim. You have my word.” Dilan was determined. “Listen, I haven’t told a soul I am meeting you here. We can keep it a secret for now. But in the meantime, I want us to go to my base and have a real in-depth interview.”

“Like a podcast episode?”

“Yes, why not? I won’t release it until you are out of the country, somewhere safe. But Karim, we owe it to Camille at least, to talk about this and go public with what we know. God, can you imagine...”

Dilan suddenly slapped her head. “Oh my God, can you imagine if they were not murdered but kidnapped and being held ... Oh my God! I won’t stand by, sorry Karim, you must help me!”

“Eee ... OK, well, we can leave now if you like, but ... I just need to make a call. I need to cancel my plans for the afternoon.”

“Of course, take your time! I am gonna bring my Audi around front!”

Pembroke nodded, his mind racing as he watched Dilan leave to fetch her car. He quickly dialed Jamal, needing to inform him of the unexpected turn of events. As he waited for Jamal to pick up, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the complicated situation ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, Karim/Pembroke and Dilan were driving along a coastal road. The sun glinted off the azure waters of the Mediterranean, creating a picturesque scene that sharply contrasted with the tension in the car. Dilan rubbed Karim’s shoulder, noticing how stressed he was.

“Oh, Karim, I’m sorry. I’m like a dog with a bone! But you are safe with me, remember!” she reassured him with a warm smile.

Karim forced a smile in return, trying to relax under her touch. “I appreciate it, Dilan. It’s just ... everything you’ve told me, it’s a lot to take in.”

“I know, I know,” she said soothingly. “But we’re in this together now. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll make sure the truth comes out.”

“How much further?” Karim asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“About another fifteen minutes. Why?” Dilan glanced at him, concerned.

“I ... need the bathroom,” he admitted, his voice tinged with urgency.

“You can’t hold it in?” Dilan laughed lightly. “My base is so cool, wait till you get there!”

“I’m sorry, Dilan. I’m just a little nervous, haha. Please, can we stop?”

They pulled over at a layby just over a cliff, with cars whizzing by. Karim got out to relieve himself, trying to breathe and wondering what to do. He couldn’t go through with a podcast listened to by hundreds of thousands as Karim Al-Faraj, discussing his own kidnappings.

Returning to the car, Karim saw Dilan listening to music. He took out his phone and pretended to be absorbed in it. As he got in, he handed it to Dilan. “I just remembered, Camille had this friend. Do you know him?” He showed her a picture of a generic model he had just downloaded from the internet.

Dilan absentmindedly scrolled through the photos. She didn’t notice Karim’s arm recoiling until his fist plunged into her stomach. Before she could react, Karim punched her again, knocking the wind out of her. Quickly, he took off his scarf and tied her hands behind her back.

He grabbed her mouth to muffle any screams. Then, he pulled off his belt and used it as a makeshift gag, wrapping it tightly around her head and deep into her mouth. Cars continued to pass by, and he hoped the tinted windows concealed the struggle inside.

Unable to find anything to tie her ankles with, Karim waited for a brief lull in traffic before opening the trunk. He hauled Dilan out and dumped her inside, then swiftly got into the driver’s seat and sped off.

Hearing Dilan’s muffled moans and kicking from the trunk, Karim broke into a sweat. He called Jamal urgently.

“Jamal, we need to meet and make the switch NOW! I have her tied up in the trunk!”

Karim’s mind raced as he drove, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. He needed to reach a safe spot where Jamal could meet him without drawing attention. His heart pounded as he sped along the coastal road, praying no one had witnessed the abduction.

Karim/Pembroke drove around trying to get used to the traffic. He noticed Dilan’s phone lighting up with notifications.

“Boss, I have a place. I’m sending it to you. Can you get here?” Jamal’s voice crackled through the phone.

Karim checked it out. “Yes! Twenty minutes, I’ll be there! Thanks, Jamal. Get everything ready. This bitch is feisty!”

The location was outside a warehouse, empty and secluded. Karim drove up beside a white Toyota truck, its back already open. He was greeted by Jamal.

“Right on time, boss,” Jamal said, glancing at the trunk.

Karim nodded and moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk. Dilan lay inside, her eyes wide with fear but unable to scream due to the makeshift gag. Jamal swiftly pulled her out and secured her, dragging her into the van. Karim/Pembroke shut the trunk and followed Jamal into the back of the van.

Inside the van, they found Zara, naked and dazed from a heavy dose of heroin, her eyes glazed and unaware of her surroundings, still bound and gagged.

“Quick! Let’s get this dress off Dilan and onto Zara!” Karim ordered, his voice urgent.

They worked quickly, stripping Dilan of her dress and transferring it onto Zara. Dilan struggled, but the men held her firmly, making sure she couldn’t interfere. They also pulled off a necklace, a bracelet, two rings, and her shoes. Once Zara was dressed and bejeweled, they secured Dilan inside a black box, bound and gagged.

Dilan was horrified by the events, stunned by the betrayal and shock that the gentle Karim was, in fact, a kidnapper. But more than anything, it was the sight of Zara, naked, drugged, with horrific scarring across her face and only one eye. The most disturbing detail was the conspicuous cedar tree tattoo on Zara’s forearm, the same as her own.

As Dilan was packed away, a horrible realization dawned on her: these kidnappers were using look-alikes. Yet, this girl was horrifically facially injured...

Pembroke took off in the Audi, with Jamal following in the van. Beside Pembroke in the passenger seat was Zara, dressed in Dilan’s blue dress. She had the same hairstyle and tattoo, but her face was marred by scars, and her remaining eye was unfocused. She slumped against the seat, barely conscious from the drugs.

“I always wanted to take you on a drive, Zara,” Pembroke smiled evilly, partly to hide his nerves. Zara did not react.

They arrived at their destination, a spot above a cliff top, leading to dry land below. Pembroke took out a pen knife and made small incisions above Zara’s hairline, causing blood to trickle down her face. He continued until she was drenched in fresh blood, creating a gruesome appearance.

“Perfect,” he muttered, satisfied with the horrific scene he had created. He pulled her over to the drivers seat and strapped her in.

He ran his hand up her skirt one last time, and kissed her on the mouth. “I’m sorry Zara, but this is your final act, at least you are wearing a pretty dress!”

Pembroke then sprayed petrol on her dress and hair. The pungent fumes hit her eye, jolting her awake.

“What ... you ... What the fuck?” Zara seemed to come alive, her panic startling Pembroke.

Pembroke jumped on top of her, struggling to keep her restrained. He quickly glanced around, waiting for a break in the traffic so no one would see. When he saw the road clear, he revved the engine and signaled for Jamal.

Jamal drove up from behind in the van, positioning it to push the slowly accelerating Audi. Pembroke held Zara down, ensuring she couldn’t escape or cause more chaos. As the Audi inched forward, gaining momentum, Pembroke kept his eyes on the cliff’s edge.

Just as the car reached the tipping point, Pembroke timed his move perfectly. He released his hold on Zara, threw open the door, and jumped out, rolling to safety on the ground. The Audi, with Zara still inside, went over the edge of the cliff, crashing onto the dry land below with a loud explosion.

Pembroke scurried back to the top and was about to get in the truck when he noticed ... there was no fire. Just black smoke.

“I have to get down there!” Pembroke exclaimed. “Jamal, park somewhere else, and I will run down like a good Samaritan.”

Jamal nodded and drove off to find a discreet parking spot. Pembroke quickly made his way down the rocky path towards the crash site, making sure to appear frantic and concerned. He needed to sell the image of a passerby trying to help.

As Pembroke neared the wreckage, he saw Zara, still alive but badly injured from the impact. The car was wrecked, and black smoke was pouring from the engine. Pembroke reached the scene, only to find two young men had followed him.

The sight that greeted the young men was shocking. The young woman in the vehicle had her body contorted by the crash, her spine appearing snapped, and her face horrifically injured with blood everywhere, half of it missing.

“I think that looks like ... is it ... Dilan Talebani?” Pembroke muttered to himself, trying to sound shocked.

“Oh my God, I think it is!” shouted one of the young men, his voice filled with panic.

Pembroke was still concerned. A trip to the morgue, or worse, a trip to accident and emergency, would reveal Zara’s real face up close. He took his backup lighter from his pocket and took steps towards the car, intending to set it alight and ensure Zara’s identity remained hidden.

“Careful, mister, it could blow up!” one of the young men warned, seeing Pembroke approach the car with the lighter.

Ignoring the warning, Pembroke continued, his mind racing. He reached the car, pulled Zara’s tattoed arm as far as it could go, and, with a swift flick of his lighter, ignited the petrol-soaked interior. Flames quickly began to consume the vehicle.

“Stand back!” Pembroke shouted, pretending to heed the young man’s warning belatedly as he moved away from the burning wreck.

As he returned, he saw one of the men begin recording on his phone as the flames licked at Zara’s body, her arm tattoo, hair, and dress still clearly visible.

A minute later, another group came with fire extinguishers managing to put out the fire, but Pembroek was close enough to see that nothing identifiable remained of Zara’s face.

Disappearing as larger crowds gathered, Pembroke made his way to the top of the cliff and inside the truck. They took off just as police cars arrived. The truck was abandoned as the box with the special cargo was loaded onto the Zephyr.

Social media was starting to blow up with the reported death of Dilan Talebani, and some horrible videos appearing online. Pembroke was pleased to notice that just a portion of his body was visible as he finished running back after starting the fire in the car.

As the Zephyr took off into the Mediterranean, he again congratulated himself and Jamal on a most satisfying capture.

Chapter Text

Sheila Johnson couldn’t tear her envious eyes away from her 18-year-old daughter, Cassie, who lounged effortlessly in her red bikini top, engrossed in “Captain Corelli’s Mandolin.” Cassie’s lithe, flawless figure seemed to taunt Sheila, making her painfully aware of her own imperfections. Sheila glanced down at her own blue bikini, feeling a wave of anxiety as she noticed her stomach spilling slightly over the waistband, a stark contrast to Cassie’s flat, toned abdomen.

The summer had been a whirlwind of indulgence, filled with too much alcohol and rich food, and Sheila could see the effects in the mirror every day. The thought of her husband’s infidelity gnawed at her—he hoped his affair with that whore in Dallas had been worth it-the tens of thousands of dollars he had paid to fund her and Cassie’s European escapade had been fun for her though.

“I’m going for a run, honey,” Sheila announced, trying to suppress the jealousy that flared up as she looked at Cassie’s perfect body, which seemed to require no effort to maintain.

“Sure, Mom!” Cassie replied, barely glancing up from her book.

Their small cottage, surrounded by woods on the edge of a peninsula near Ayia Napa in Cyprus, felt like a strange choice to Cassie, who was a little put out that there was no wifi or internet coverage. Sheila had been deliberately vague about why they were there.

As Sheila jogged through the dense trees, her skin glistening with sweat, her thoughts were consumed by Edward Pembroke. She longed for him, her heart racing not just from the run but from the anticipation of seeing him again. Edward had recommended this secluded spot, and Sheila had kept their upcoming rendezvous a secret from Cassie. The image of his yacht appearing on the horizon and the prospect of seeing his tall, dark, and handsome figure again filled her with a mix of excitement and anxiety. She desperately hoped she would look good enough for him, that he would still find her attractive despite the toll the summer had taken on her body.

Edward Pembroke’s yacht was, indeed, nearby, though it was a stark contrast to the serene atmosphere at the Johnsons’ pleasant holiday cottage. While Sheila and Cassie enjoyed the quiet, natural beauty of their secluded retreat, Dilan Talebani was undergoing a brutal introduction to her new life.

She had been shocked when the gentle Karim had suddenly punched her. The sight of his twisted, aggressive features as the air was knocked out of her had been like a bolt of lightning. Her confusion only deepened when she was tied up roughly and driven to the tall giant with a deformed face. Watching her clothes being switched with those of an equally deformed woman had added to the surreal nightmare.

Since then, she had been locked in a box, the sensation of being at sea adding to her terror. She was eventually forced into a tight compartment, gagged and bound, with the sea visible through the glass beneath her. Her fears of being targeted were true. Who really was this Karim? Who were these people?

The compartment door above her head was suddenly opened, and light cascaded in, blinding her momentarily. Rough hands reached down, gripping her under her armpits, and lifted her off her feet like a doll. Naked and exposed, she couldn’t cover herself with her hands tied behind her back. Her eyes, a mixture of fear and defiance, darted around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She knew she had to stay alert and keep her wits about her.

As her eyes adjusted to the daylight, the figure of the man she knew as Karim came into focus. But now, he looked entirely different. The paunch she remembered was gone, replaced by a leaner, stronger frame. He seemed taller, more imposing, and without his glasses, his features appeared cruel and sharper. All traces of the gentle, friendly persona had vanished. The transformation was shocking. She struggled to reconcile this new, menacing figure with the Karim she thought she knew.

“It’s a pity the world never got to hear your world exclusive about those missing girls, Dilan. Instead, you are going to join them, and the world will hear about what a tragedy it was that you died at such a young age in a car crash.”

Pembroke relished the shocked expression on her face, contemplating whether to pull out the gag. His eyes wandered down to her proud, trembling breasts, where a cascade of saliva trailed from her gagged mouth, forming a web-like pattern over her chest. A moment of panic gripped him as he noticed for the first time her pierced belly button—something Zara’s corpse did not have. But otherwise, her beautiful olive-skinned body was just like Zara’s.

“Let’s see what other piercings you might be hiding...” Pembroke lunged forward, sliding his hand between her legs. She jumped back instinctively, but Pembroke grabbed her shoulders, preventing her from throwing herself off the yacht. Her eyes were wide and large, pools of defiance, fear, shock, and confusion. Pembroke savored staring into them as he fingered her labia, attempting to decipher the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

He decided that Dilan needed a clear lesson about her new life before any sensible conversation could be had, and that lesson was sex and violence.

“You know, Dilan, I’m not a filmmaker, and I’m not Karim Al-Faraj, and I’m certainly not gay,” he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with malice. “However, I do like to indulge in some ... anal sex from time to time.”

As he said this, he brought a hand behind her and placed it between her buttocks. Her eyes widened with terror, the reality of his words sinking in.

With one hand, he gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. With the other, he brought it to his mouth, spat on it, and then returned it between her buttocks, pushing a finger roughly into her anus. His nose pressed against hers, their faces inches apart, as she recoiled in discomfort at the intrusion.

Pembroke flipped her around and pulled her to her knees, then pushed her forward so her head banged on the deck. He raised her ass high and spread her legs in front of him, positioning her exactly as he wanted.

Dilan moaned in pain as she felt his hard cock press against the tight opening of her asshole. She whimpered in agony as it forced its way in, tearing through her tight walls and plunging deep into her insides.

Pembroke dug his nails into her back and shoulders, not caring about the pain he caused. She was so slim and had so little to hold onto that he had to dig deep into her taut skin. Dilan was pushed back and forth by his movements, each thrust of his cock sending waves of pain through her bumhole and deep into her guts. Through squinted eyes, she looked out at the clear azure sky—a beautiful vista that only emphasized how far from safety and help she was. In the distance, she saw the shore of an island, desperately clinging to the hope that help might be at hand. She prayed for rescue.

On that shore, Sheila was running along the clifftop, her body pouring with sweat. She looked out to sea, and her stomach flipped when she saw a white yacht. “It must be Edward,” she thought. “Oh my God.” She realized she needed to get back to the cottage and get ready. She wished she had brought the binoculars to confirm, but they were back at the cottage. Oh well, she would run back now. She was sure it was him, and her heart fluttered at the thought of seeing her love again.

Cassie was puzzled to see her mother sprinting to finish her run, huffing and puffing as she disappeared into the cottage to shower. As Cassie looked out to sea, she spotted a yacht. Curious, she brought out her binoculars and saw a man in a white shirt and trousers crouching over the deck, looking down a hatch.

On the yacht, Pembroke had just shoved Dilan into the compartment. Every movement Dilan made was agony, her insides and the ring of her anus throbbing with pain, blood trickling down the insides of her thighs. She was roughly tossed down and looked up in pain at the grinning face of evil.

“For all your smarts and attitude, Dilan, all you ever were is a pretty bitch with holes that are going to be plundered from now on,” Pembroke sneered. “Now, stay tight. Soon you will be introduced properly to your new life.”

Cassie recognized the figure as he stood up—it was Edward Pembroke. She smiled knowingly to herself. “What a coincidence, eh, Mother?” she murmured, laughing and shaking her head.

That evening, the trio enjoyed a simple Cypriot dinner. Sheila, adorned in her best summer dress—a flowing, white, off-the-shoulder piece that accentuated her tanned skin and highlighted her curves—had prepared what she hoped would be an excellent rustic Greek meal for her daughter and their guest. Her golden hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, and a subtle touch of makeup enhanced her natural beauty. The table was adorned with fresh Greek salad, grilled lamb, homemade tzatziki, and warm pita bread. A bottle of chilled white wine complemented the meal perfectly.

Edward Pembroke had swum from the yacht to shore after making contact through sign language as they viewed each other through their pairs of binoculars. They now laughed at the absurdity yet excitement of it all. Now, he was dressed in a crisp white shirt and trousers, effortlessly charming both Sheila and Cassie.

An old record player, crackling softly, played traditional Greek music, filling the air with a nostalgic melody since there was no electricity in the cottage.

Cassie, dressed in a light, flowing sundress perfect for a summer evening on a Greek island and showing off as much skin as she could, was delighted by Pembroke’s attention. She wore sandals and had her hair loosely tied back, embodying the carefree spirit of youth on holiday.

The evening was filled with playful, flirtatious banter. Pembroke teased Cassie about her holiday adventures, remarking, “I bet you have all the boys in Ayia Napa wrapped around your finger.”

Cassie laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Only the cute ones! Maybe you can take me there tomorrow?”

Pembroke chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. But only if you promise not to outshine your mother.”

Sheila stroked Pembroke’s arm and rubbed her foot against his leg under the table. “Oh, don’t worry, Edward. Cassie might be young, but she knows her mother has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

Edward smiled at Sheila, his eyes warm. “I wouldn’t doubt that for a second,” he said, his tone suggestive.

Despite being married, Sheila felt no guilt about her feelings for Edward, especially given her husband’s infidelity. Cassie, aware of her father’s indiscretions, didn’t mind her mother’s fun and games. In fact, she was eager for Pembroke to sail her to Ayia Napa the next day, bored with the lack of Wi-Fi and internet coverage in their isolated cottage on the peninsula.

That night, Sheila and Pembroke continued drinking in the cottage, staring into each other’s eyes. Cassie laughed and took it as her cue to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Edward,” Cassie smiled suggestively at him and giggled as she slipped off her dress, revealing she had been wearing nothing underneath, and ran to the beach to swim. Just before diving into the water, she gave Edward a suggestive, flirtatious look, her eyes twinkling with mischief. The moonlight bathed her in a soft glow as she dove into the sea, her naked form gliding effortlessly through the water. She floated on her back, the gentle waves caressing her skin, feeling the freedom and excitement of the night.

Inside the cottage, the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of electricity. “Oh, my Cassie,” giggled Sheila, holding Pembroke’s face tenderly. “She is just like me.” Their kiss deepened, filled with passion and longing. They moved to the bedroom, where the soft glow of candlelight added to the romantic ambiance.

Sheila and Edward made love slowly and tenderly, savoring every touch and kiss. The sounds of the distant waves and the faint melody from the old record player blended into the background, creating a perfect symphony for their romantic adventure. They were lost in each other, their connection deepening with every moment.

“Oh Edward, I’ve been looking forward to this all summer...” Sheila whispered as she tore off his clothes and stepped out of her dress, nervously exposing her smooth, sun-kissed skin and curves. Her breasts were full and inviting, and her waist curved gently into her hips. Pembroke smiled as he took in her mature beauty, finding it a refreshing and alluring contrast to the youthful bodies he had spent months with.

They made love, and in the moonlight, Sheila lay on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. “You know, Edward,” she began softly, “Cassie is eighteen now, all grown up. I’ve spent so many years in this marriage, dedicating myself to raising her and managing the household. But now that she’s an adult and ready to start her own life, I realize that I want something different for myself.”

Sheila paused, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I think I’m going to get a divorce. It’s not just about ending the marriage; it’s about starting a new chapter in my life. I want the freedom to explore, to rediscover myself.”

She looked up at Edward, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. “I know this sounds crazy, and we barely know each other, but there’s something about you that makes me feel alive again. When I’m fully free, I’d love to get to know you ... even more. To see where this connection can take us. I want to experience life with you, to have adventures, to see the world, and to find out what it truly means to be happy.”

Pembroke listened intently, a soft smile playing on his lips. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. Pembroke listened intently, a soft smile playing on his lips. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Sheila, you’re an incredible woman. I admire your courage. But ... even more than that ... I admire your daughter.”

“Wait, what?” Sheila was surprised, her eyes widening in confusion.

“And you know, I think there should be at least one corpse to be found among the ashes. At least your husband will have something for the funeral...”

“Edward ... what the ... what is this?” Fear surged through Sheila as she realized the sinister turn of events.

Pembroke leaned over her, his expression darkening. He brought his hands to her throat. Sheila started to gag, her hands frantically trying to pry his fingers away. She couldn’t scream, her breath constricted as terror enveloped her.

Pembroke snarled like a wolf as he looked into her petrified red face, her weak hands pounding gently at him, her legs kicking fruitlessly. His grip tightened around her throat as he forced his rock-hard cock into her, his eyes filled with cruel ecstasy. Sheila’s expression began to fade, her face turning purple in the dim light, her eyes rolling back, and her arms flopping lifelessly to her sides.

Pembroke didn’t stop until he came inside her, grunting like an animal before collapsing onto her soft, lifeless flesh. He kissed her unresponsive lips, and gazed into her open, lifeless eyes.

He got up, and took another swig of wine, and looked out of the cottage window onto the sea. He watched the pale figure of Cassie swimming in the waters, and the yacht beyond.

Pembroke then ran to the part of the beach where he had swum ashore and found the bag he had discreetly hidden. Inside the waterproof bag were a series of fire sticks and lighting materials, gags, cuffs, and a compact, inflatable swim buoy equipped with a small electric propulsion device.

Cassie had been enjoying the water, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the sea as she swam. She relished the sensation of being exposed, naked but unseen. It was just her, her mother, and Edward, whom she knew were making love in the cottage. And a part of her didn’t mind the idea of Edward catching a glimpse of her. That thought made her bite her lip as she padded along the sand out of the water, her breasts and slim, athletic body glistening.

She was shocked when a voice called out right beside her. “Hello, Cassie, your mother is done, and now it’s your turn,” said Edward, his voice dripping with menace. He was naked, his torso glistening in the dim light, his erect cock prominently visible like a weapon pointed at her.

“Edward! What the fuck...,” she stammered, as the threatening form of Pembroke loomed closer.

“Don’t run, Cassie,” he sneered. “You can’t escape.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as fear took over. Without another word, she turned and bolted, the sand flying beneath her feet. He caught up with her and tripped her, sending her sprawling head over heels. She landed hard, dazed and disoriented. Edward was quick, throwing a pair of cuffs on the ground beside her. He pinned her down, holding both her hands with one of his above her head. With a brutal kick, he forced her legs apart, his erect cock pointed menacingly at her exposed pussy.

“Please ... no ... Edward ... WHY?” Cassie screamed, her voice breaking as Pembroke entered her forcefully. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled in vain against his overpowering strength.

He gripped her throat with his free hand, squeezing just enough to silence her screams and make her feel like she was suffocating, but not enough to kill her. Cassie’s legs thrashed against him, trying desperately to fend him off, but her attempts were futile. His cock filled her insides as he leered over her face like an animal, her body shaking as she fought for breath and consciousness.

Pembroke grunted, reaching his climax and coming inside her. Then, without warning, he blindsided her with a slap to the head. Cassie lay dazed, her vision swimming. Seizing the moment, Edward grabbed the cuffs and gag from the sand, binding her wrists and silencing her screams. He hoisted her over his shoulder, her body limp and defeated.

He laid her down by the shore next to his waterproof bag and collected his fire materials. Slipping on a wetsuit, he glanced at Cassie with a sinister smile. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Cassie,” he winked at her.

True to his word, a few minutes later, he returned and set up the inflatable dinghy and motor. He placed the bound figure of Cassie inside it, securing her tightly. With everything in place, he started the motor, and they began to move out into the water, heading in the direction of the yacht.

Cassie could barely concentrate on anything other than the cold splash of the water and the sound of the motor. She then noticed, with horror, huge licks of flames filling the sky in the direction of the disappearing shore.

As they reached the yacht, her helpless body was pulled on board by the man she knew as Edward Pembroke, along with a giant ogre-like figure missing half his face and a short black man. She took one last look at the shore, now engulfed in fire, feeling a mix of despair and helplessness. What had happened to her mother? Who was this Edward Pembroke?

She was thrown into a tight, confined space and squealed with horror into her gag when she realized she was pressed against human flesh in the darkness. The other girl, Dilan, was equally terrified. They could neither see in the darkness nor speak, their muffled cries blending with the sounds of the engines starting.

By the time the fire brigade reached the isolated peninsula, the fires had devastated acres of farmland. The cottage had been destroyed, and police searched the scene for a mother and daughter, American tourists, Cassie and Sheila Johnson. One charred corpse was found in the cottage, but the other was still missing, with searches ongoing.

Chapter Text

Dilan and Cassie reacted very differently to their brutal treatment after being captured.

Dilan never stopped screaming and shouting and clawed Kwame’s face as he raped her, resulting in a slap that left her with a black eye. None of the men felt comfortable putting their cock in her mouth without an 0-ring gag, though when they did Dilan’s throat was fucked so thoroughly that she coughed up blood afterward.

Cassie had cried non-stop for hours after the shock of finding out who Edward Pembroke really was. Meekly, she had surrendered to the non-stop rapes in every orifice, even trying to perform oral sex as best she could and apologizing through tears when the men had taunted her for her poor oral skills.

The journey to the complex was smooth and not so long. Dilan was angry and defiant when she saw the line of naked girls in the cell when her new life was shown to her. Cassie just collapsed on the ground shaking with fear at the dead faces.

Dilan was naked and positioned in the middle of the hall, her body tightly restrained with rope. The rope was wound securely around her thighs and ankles, effectively binding them together and causing each leg to bend double, with her heels against her buttocks. Her arms were pulled behind her back, with rope intricately wrapped around her wrists and arms, securing her hands to the corresponding elbow in a painfully tight position. Forced to kneel, Dilan felt the tightness of the ropes constricting her every attempt to move.

All thirteen girls were out of the cell and lined up in a row, each forced to adopt a submissive pose. They sat on their knees with their buttocks against their ankles, knees apart, hands placed on their thighs with palms facing up. Their backs were straight, and their heads held high, looking straight ahead, as Dilan knelt in her uncomfortable position in front of them in the middle of the hall.

At the side of the hall, Cassie was strapped to a table, facing up and witnessing the macabre scene. Mrs. Parker stood beside her, preparing the electrolysis machine. She was dressed in a Halloween-style nurse’s outfit that barely contained her voluptuous figure, with her ample breasts and curvaceous ass spilling out of the obscene dress.

Mrs. Al-Haraz walked in front of the row of kneeling girls, with Dilan positioned in the middle, lecturing them while twirling her cane. Her high-heeled PVC boots clicked against the floor, and she wore a black PVC thong and matching basque that exuded dominance. Even Dilan was cowed by the snarling, half-burnt, scarred side of her face.

“All right bitches!” she sneered with a grin “This arrogant stuck up bitch thinks she is above being a slave, she thinks she will defy our rules and defy the Master. What do we say to that?”

The girls remained silent.

“These bastards cannot do this!” Dilan shouted at them. “Camille?” She looked at the redhead, the girl she had looked into, who had disappeared during the shoot of the movie “Karim” had been involved in. “Camille LeClerc, I know about you! People are looking for you, and they will find you!”

Mrs. Al-Haraz approached and struck Dilan across the face with her cane, the sickening sound echoing through the hall. Dilan toppled backward, landing on her back.

“Shut up bitch! You don’t talk, or you get hit!” Mrs Al-Haraz wanted to whip every piece of flesh off the rich little bitch’s back.

In the corner, Pembroke coughed and ruffled his newspaper, the subtle sound commanding immediate attention. Without looking up, his quiet authority filled the room. Mrs. Al-Haraz straightened in deference to her Master’s presence.

“Dilan, these girls disappeared months ago, most of them. There is no investigation. You yourself were buried a few days ago. Thousands attended your funeral.”

He clicked a button on a device, and a screen displayed Arabic TV footage of a funeral in Beirut, where thousands mourned the young influencer.

“You see, you are dead, Dilan, and so are these girls. Your new life is as a slave, that is all. Now, I expect you to obey Mrs. Al-Haraz. She is not to be trifled with.”

The girls remained in their poses, even Camille. They had been waiting weeks and months for rescue, but none had come. Instead, new girls were constantly being brought in. In addition, it had become clear that Zara had been killed or somehow disposed of. Her sister and cousins were forced to mourn her while being casually beaten whenever they begged to know where she was. They were only told that she was no longer around and that they would never see her again.

Dilan lay back, acutely aware of how exposed she was, her pussy open to the room as Mrs. Al-Haraz stared hungrily down at her.

“No ... NO! I will never give in to you!” Dilan shouted.

“Okay, first bitch ... Elena, come forward. Crawl here and get your face between Dilan’s legs,” commanded Mrs. Al-Haraz.

Elena tried not to look at the brave Lebanese girl, instead keeping her eyes on the ground as she crawled submissively. Approaching Dilan, she saw her knees in the air, with her shins tied to her thighs. The legs were clenched tightly together for modesty but her pussy was clearly visible. Shame washed over Elena; she wished she could support Dilan but knew it was futile.

“Elena, you will lick Dilan’s pussy for twenty minutes. All you bitches will, one after the other. That will be just over four hours of licking pussy! Elena, you better work good. I want to hear less complaining and more moaning from Dilan!”

Elena tried to forget about the brave, ambitious girl she had been just a month or so ago; thinking about it would only bring more misery. She wiped away a tear, realizing how tragic it was that this would be her advice to Dilan when she finally got to speak to her.

She put her hand between the Lebanese girl’s thighs and locked eyes with her as her face moved south toward her pussy. Dilan looked at her with a mix of pleading and incomprehension. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

Elena’s sad, weary look spoke volumes more than words could. Her defeated spirit was evident in her sad brown eyes before they lowered to the private flesh in front of her. She brought her lips against Dilan’s labia, a tear escaping as she began the forced act.

“No toilet breaks! You all had a good warning, if you go, you go where you are! And if Dilan goes when it’s your turn, she goes in your mouth OK!”

Mrs Al-Haraz bared her teeth in glee at the sullen girls lined up in front of her, as she patted the upturned buttocks of Elena while the Russian girl lapped at Dilan’s vagina.

“No ... No ... stop!” Dilan’s voice quivered, unable to hide her feelings from the oral attention she was receiving. Elena, though not used to the hairs around Dilan’s pussy, had been licking pussy every day for weeks, if not months—she had lost track of time. Her practiced tongue knew all the tricks to turn Dilan on, despite the horror of their situation.

Pembroke casually spoke up again from the corner without looking up. “Mrs. Al-Haraz, please remember to tell the girls to pay special attention to Dilan’s poor bumhole. The poor girl’s anus has taken a severe hammering over the last few days from the men’s large cocks. I’m sure the girls will understand—her asshole is cut to ribbons. So please remind them to use their tongues on that hole as well!”

“You heard the Master, Elena, get that tongue into that asshole!”

Elena pushed the butt cheeks a little further apart, and looked at the splayed, bloody and torn star below the pussy, gently pressed her tongue against it, tasting blood and other fluids.

“Please ... you don’t have to ... please don’t do that...” Dilan was mortified. She tried to squeeze her sphincter tight but couldn’t after the battering it had taken. She felt a chill of humiliation as Elena’s warm tongue oozed its way up her ass. The utter degradation of the act and her inability to control herself left her shaking with humiliation and her protests dropped to a whisper. She shut her eyes and sobbed, turning away in shame from the girls all looking at her.

At the table, Mrs. Parker had started the electrolysis machine.

“Please...” whispered Cassie to Mrs. Parker, who seemed to have some warmth despite her sexually explicit costume and position of authority in this hellhouse. “What are you doing? What will happen to me?”

“I am lasering your hair off,” whispered Mrs. Parker, gently patting the girl on the head sympathetically. “Be a good girl and stay quiet. This will take about four hours. Then you will change places with Dilan, and I will laser her. Be a good girl and don’t complain—it will only make things worse.”

Cassie bit her lips as the needle started on her armpits. Mrs Parker gently caressed her breasts, leaving her in no doubt that she had no respite from sexual harassment here.

“The girl, Dilan, was ordered by a buyer. The Master took great care to procure her for sale. You, on the other hand, were an opportunity procurement. The Master saw you and decided he had to have you. He is a very clever, ruthless man, and once he decided on you, I’m afraid you were always going to end up here,” Mrs. Parker explained, smiling sadly at her.

“Some of the girls were procured because they are family members of girls who misbehaved and had to be disposed of. You see, Cassie, here you have to be obedient; you have to do as you are told. Otherwise, you get punished, and your family gets punished. You will learn, but it is best you know from the earliest opportunity.”

“But my mom...” Cassie cried quietly, “he killed my mom, I know it!”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Parker, kissing the girl on the forehead. “I am so sorry. I am afraid sometimes these things happen during the procurement process. Please, Cassie, you must remember that things can always get worse here. Think of your mummy, and try to stay obedient. She would not want you to get hurt further, and you can protect your family by behaving well here, OK?” She smiled at the stunned girl.

As the hours wore on, Dilan started to lose her mind from the repeated orgasms. She screamed in utter mortification as first, her bladder failed her, and she pissed into the mouth of Miriam. An hour later, she committed an even more unspeakable act, losing control of her bowels into the face of Holly. The poor English girl squealed in disgust and tried to run away, but the Yemeni overseer tripped her and then beat her repeatedly with a cane for her failure to obey despite the circumstances. The foul smell prompted Pembroke to order that Dilan be cleaned up before the licking continued.

“Oh dear,” whispered Mrs. Parker to Cassie. “Don’t worry, Cassie, I will make sure your bottom is cleaned nicely from the inside so you won’t have to worry about that!”

Later on, Dilan, dazed by the repeated orgasms, her body wracked by hours of strict bondage, and overcome with shame and mortification, was tied down for Mrs. Parker to perform the electrolysis. She ignored Mrs. Parker’s cooing compliments about her body, comforting words, and gentle strokes of her face, simply turning her head to the side and staring vacantly into space, trying to ignore the touches.

Cassie wailed into the air as tongue after tongue worked her private parts, sending her into orgasm after orgasm. She squirted so much that she didn’t actually piss in anyone’s mouth and managed to control her empty bowels for the intense four and a half hours of torment sending her into orgasm after orgasm.

After nearly nine hours of excruciating waiting and sex, the girls were fed and put back in the cell. Pembroke noted with satisfaction that Dilan, her body now sleek and hairless, sat with her head bowed, covering her face, feeling completely degraded and demeaned in the eyes of the other girls and unwilling to meet their gaze. It was a small first step, but the road to her total abasement and conversion to slavery had begun.

Chapter Text

Edward Pembroke entered the dimly lit club, his eyes scanning the perfect, nubile bodies of the strippers dancing on the poles. The lecherous crowd of Marseille’s seedy underbelly gawked at the girls, who pranced in G-strings, dancing robotically or writhing on customers’ laps.

Pembroke could use a dance himself; he never passed up the sight of nearly naked young women. But tonight, he had serious business. He approached the bar, where a young woman with a beehive hairdo, wearing a revealing bra and tight denim shorts, smiled at him warily. She had seen enough predators to know this man was to be feared.

“What do you want, stranger?” she asked.

“A tall glass of Scotch ... and have one yourself, pretty,” he winked and smiled. “And tell Amir I want to see him. Tell him Eddie the Rat is here.”

The woman looked puzzled but disappeared. A few minutes later, a swarthy, sinister-looking man appeared.

“Eddie, my God, I thought you were dead!” he exclaimed. The two men hugged.

“Good to see you too, Amir,” Pembroke replied with a grin.

Amir Ziani led Pembroke to the back of the strip club. “Business is booming,” Amir boasted, introducing him to his girlfriend, Sophie, her outfit leaving little to the imagination. She wore an outrageously short skirt that barely came past her crotch, dark makeup that accentuated her sharp features and black hair, fishnet stockings clinging to her long legs, and a tight, skimpy top thatjust about kept her breasts in place.

Chewing gum loudly, her eyes sizing up Pembroke with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

“And who’s this?” she asked, blowing a bubble and popping it with a smirk.

“Sophie, meet Eddie,” Amir said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Eddie the Rat.”

“Eddie the Rat, huh?” Sophie leaned closer, her body language both inviting and defiant. “Yeah, well, just keep your hands to yourself, old man. I’m not one of your opportunities.”

Amir grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. He slapped Sophie on the bottom, causing her to narrow her eyes at him. “Go on, babe. We need to talk business.”

“Wow, Amir how old is she?”

“Fifteen, Eddie, that’s the age of consent here, dont look at me like that! “ Amir laughed as he said, “I just can’t let her on stage even though she wants to. Wild girl, parents a doctor and a surgeon. They aren’t too happy, but there’s nothing they can do!”

“Well, I’m just looking out for the girl’s best interests” smirked Pembroke.

“Ha, right! Thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Had some things to take care of,” Eddie said, smiling. “But I’m back now. Thinking of setting up a club myself.”

“Really?” Amir raised an eyebrow. “I could use a partner. Someone with your ... experience.”

“Maybe,” Eddie replied, his tone hinting at deeper plans. “I hear you’re into more than just strip clubs these days.”

“Ha, well the Belhadj Family are behind me, I just have to make payments, you know,” Amir said with a casual shrug.

The two men continued talking business. Amir was interested in Eddie’s life. The man had always been a mystery and a magnet for trouble.

“Have a dance on me, and mention my name, and you’ll get more, OK?” smirked Amir as they parted.

Pembroke made his choice. A young-looking blonde girl, possibly with dyed hair, caught his eye. She had dark eyes and a lost expression, appearing unsure of herself and nervous. Despite her lingerie and the crude leers of the men around her, she carried herself with an air of dignity. There was something in her eyes—an innocence mixed with a fierce passion. She danced athletically around the pole, moving with a grace that seemed out of place in the seedy strip club. Pembroke was enchanted.

The girl was about to tell him to clear off, but at the mention of Amir’s name, her expression shifted to a nervous, forced smile as she adopted a faux sexy look. Touching Pembroke’s shoulder, she took him by the hand and led him to a private booth.

As the music started, she began to dance for him. Her body was a perfect blend of softness and strength, with long, toned legs and a slender waist. Moving with a practiced grace, she robotically removed her bra, letting her perfectly poised breasts spill out. Her hard nipples brushed against his face as she moved her chest around him.

After the dance, she sat down beside him, slightly out of breath and putting on her bra, but maintaining her composed demeanor. Pembroke leaned in, curious about the girl who seemed so out of place in this world.

“Where are you from?” he asked gently.

“I’m Violet,” she replied with a hint of hesitation. “But my real name is Kasia. I’m twenty years old, a film studies student from Poland.”

“Kasia, I don’t think this is the place for you.” said Pembroke.

Kasia nervously tucked her breasts back into her bra, uncertain about what else this “friend” of Amir wanted. “I need the money. I would do something else, like act, if it paid any money,” she shrugged, her voice tinged with resignation.

Pembroke tried to keep his eyes on her soft brown eyes, avoiding the temptation to look at her elegant bare torso, legs, and the tiny film of material between her thighs.

“There is always a choice, and the money here is good, I’m sure. Amir told me you would dance for me for free, but I feel I should owe you something.”

“No, no, if you are a friend of Amir’s then ... it’s right that you ... get things for free,” Kasia looked down, as if ashamed.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Pembroke. “I just want a chat. I don’t normally go into these kinds of places. Amir and I, we go back a bit, but I was never much of a ... ladies’ man.”

“Are you married?”

“I was ... I had a wife and two children. My wife died five years ago, so it’s just me and the kids. If it were not for Amir, I wouldn’t have come here,” he laughed softly. “You are a lovely girl, of course, but I don’t want anything.”

“Oh...” Kasia felt a bit heartened. “I am sorry about your wife, what happened?”

“She...” Pembroke looked away, a tear forming in his eye. “She was in a car accident. A drunk driver hit her head-on. She was on her way to pick up our kids from school. It happened so fast, and we lost her instantly. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through, and it’s been a struggle every day since.”

Kasia’s expression softened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must be so difficult for you and your children.”

“Like you, well, I had to make compromises with myself to make money for my family. Since my wife died, it has led me to do things I am not proud of, but I still have a code. Frankly, I don’t think Amir follows that code. I think he is bad news for you, my dear. I think you should get out of this place.”

Kasia looked at this tall, wiry, muscular man, feeling a kind of safety with him despite wondering about the bad things he might have done. She wondered if she should dare open up.

“But, I don’t really have a choice, you see,” she began hesitantly. “I partied too much at university here. I even borrowed money for a stupid movie project and got scammed by my ex-boyfriend who took all the money ... I kind of owe him a lot.”

Pembroke’s eyes softened with understanding. “That sounds tough, Kasia. But maybe there’s a way out that doesn’t involve staying here. Sometimes, all it takes is finding someone who can help you get back on your feet.”

Kasia hesitated, then asked, “Do you really think there’s a way out for me? He says he would follow me all the way back to Poland.”

“Amir, he doesn’t have to live like this,” said Pembroke angrily. “Kasia, you should not be spending the best years of your life in fear and doing this for him.”

“But he knows my family, he has the key to my apartment, he has my passport, even my bank cards,” Kasia whispered, her voice trembling.

“Why can’t you go to the police?”

“Well...” Kasia shrugged. “I was an idiot. I agreed to buy drugs to sell to clear the debt, and of course, it didn’t work. He said I would get arrested for it if he turned against me.”

“Oh, Kasia,” said Pembroke sadly. “Listen, I am going to be back here in a few days. I can help you, maybe then. Just stay strong, okay?”

Kasia looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and hope. “You really think you can help me?”

“I do,” Pembroke replied firmly. “But until then, try to stay safe and avoid Amir as much as you can. We’ll find a way to get you out of this mess.”

“Okay,” she whispered, feeling a small glimmer of hope in the midst of her desperation.

Pembroke gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back soon, Kasia. Hang in there.”

As he stood to leave, Kasia watched him go, feeling a strange sense of relief, but also wondered how this man would help her, and if he ulterior motives.

Pembroke looked back at the solemn blonde girl in the white bra and panties, so out of place among the wild girls. Her limbs were close together, knees touching, feet splayed wide, and elbows resting on her knees. Her eyes were in a daze, daydreaming. Suddenly, she was touched and manhandled by a rough customer.

Startled, she awkwardly got to her feet and broke into an excruciatingly awkward dance for him. Her movements were hesitant and uncoordinated, a stark contrast to the confident, practiced performances of the other dancers. Pembroke suddenly felt an all-consuming desire to procure her and have her in his complex.

A few days later, Pembroke was in the German city of Achen.

The funeral in Aachen for Frau Rosa Fischer was a somber affair. Her many relatives gathered to mourn at the Aachen graveyard and attend the church service. Now, they were at the after-funeral reception. One person everyone avoided was the morose and odd-looking Konrad Fischer, her youngest son. It wasn’t just the ankle tag around his leg, marking him as a prisoner on day release, that kept people away.

Konrad had been granted compassionate leave to attend his mother’s funeral after spending ten years in prison for a crime so unspeakable that his family refused to talk about it or acknowledge him. Standing alone, apart from the rest, Konrad mourned in isolation. Tall, with long blond hair now balding and greying, he was approaching forty.

Years ago, Konrad had raped a young girl, and been caught and jailed. It had been a long sentence, and Konrad’s face was marked with scars from vicious beatings and slashings from fellow inmates. He only had a few years left now, but had little to look forward to, either in prison, or out.

Konrad cut a lonely figure at the bar, the barman barely looking at him as he served him his drink.

The lanky German was greeted in broken German by a stranger staying in the hotel.

“Sad day, are you one of the relatives?”

“Yes, she was my mother,” said Konrad, his guard up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man replied. “My name is Ritchie Kessler, American. I’m a tourist, so this is not my thing, but hey, at least she had a long life, right?”

Konrad looked at this avuncular American, with a baseball cap and curly red hair peeking out from underneath, and dark glasses. There was something disarming about Kessler’s casual demeanor, but Konrad remained cautious.

“Yes, she did,” Konrad replied stiffly, not offering more information than necessary.

“Well, if you need anything, I’m around,” Kessler said with a sympathetic smile. “It’s tough losing someone, even when they’ve lived a full life.”

The barman felt like warning the American tourist about who this man was, but thought that as long as there were no kids around, it was safe.

The German did not respond.

“You are a bit weird, aren’t you?” said the American.

“Yeah, I guess,” shrugged Konrad apologetically.

“It’s a shame, with all that electrical engineering knowledge and the systems you designed in prison, I’m sure you could contribute to society if they would let you.”

Konrad pricked up. So this man knew exactly who he was! He became frightened. What did he want? Why had he lied?

“What do you want?” Konrad asked, his voice low and tense.

Kessler took off his sunglasses, revealing sharp, penetrating eyes. “Relax, Konrad. I’m not here to cause trouble. In fact, I might have an opportunity for you.”

Konrad’s heart raced. “Opportunity? What kind of opportunity?”

“A chance to use your skills for something worthwhile. I represent a group that values your ... particular talents. We can help you start anew, make a real difference. Interested?”

Konrad studied Kessler’s face, searching for any sign of deceit. “And what do you get out of this?”

Kessler smiled. “Let’s just say we believe in second chances. Besides, a man with your abilities shouldn’t be wasted.”

“I have to go back to prison after this. I have two more years of my sentence.”

“Two more years of hell. A lot of those inmates will not want you to get out; it gets more dangerous the closer you are to release. And trust me, this is a good opportunity; you won’t get it in two years. In two years, if you’re alive, you’ll be in a bedsit, working in a warehouse, looking over your shoulder, like now.”

Konrad felt a chill run down his spine. He knew Kessler was right; the closer he got to his release date, the more dangerous it would become. The prospect of constantly living in fear after his release wasn’t appealing either.

“What do I have to do?” Konrad asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I am going back to prison later today.”

“Leave with me now. I can cut that ankle tag off. In an hour, we will be across the border. And in a week, we’ll be in the Middle East. Just a word of warning, there won’t be a return trip. So say any goodbyes to your family now.”

Konrad looked around. He would not be saying anything to his family.

“What work, how would I be paid, would I be your prisoner?”

“I don’t suppose anyone would believe a criminal child rapist like you if you told them, would they?” smiled the American. He looked around to ensure no one was listening. “Come sit with me.”

Konrad hesitated but then followed Kessler to a table in the corner. The American pulled out his phone and began showing Konrad videos.

The footage depicted young women being trained, tortured, and raped in an underground facility. Konrad felt a mixture of disgust and horror as he watched.

“Is this ... just porn?” Konrad asked, his voice shaking.

No,” whispered Kessler. “This is these girls’ lives. They are sex slaves. We procure, process, and sell girls as sex slaves, and we require someone with your talents to work in our processing facilities to aid expansion. Here, have a look at this girl...”

Kessler swiped to another video, showing a terrified young woman being forced into submission. Konrad felt a deep sense of revulsion, followed by awe, curiosity, and an unsettling hint of lust.

“Now, take a look at this girl.”

It was a photo of the missing girl, Charlotte Spencer, believed to have been kidnapped in Paris months ago. It was the same girl as the naked captive. Konrad’s eyes widened. He looked around, fearing being discovered more than the American who had shown him the video.

“I can delete these videos the second you make a scene, Konrad, but I don’t think you want to, do you? I think you want to see more...” Kessler’s voice was smooth, almost hypnotic.

Konrad nodded, sweat pouring from his forehead.

Kessler swiped to another video, this time of another naked girl being trained, brutalized, and mistreated. The footage transitioned to Anna Gao, another girl who had gone tragically missing on a hiking trip with her girlfriend, Sabine Muller. The next video showed another tall German brunette being tortured, matching the description of the missing Sabine.

Konrad’s heart pounded in his chest. The realization of the enormity and horror of the operation Kessler was involved in began to sink in.

“So, Konrad,” Kessler continued, his voice low and commanding, “do you understand now what you’re getting into? This isn’t just a job. It’s a new world, one where you can either be a part of our operations, enjoying those girls, and a lot more besides, or remain trapped in your own miserable existence. What’s your choice?”

Konrad swallowed hard, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He had barely been able to take his eyes off his young cousins in knee-length dresses earlier, this had sent him spinning.

“What do you need from me?”

“Your skills in electrical engineering and system design,” Kessler replied. “We need you to upgrade our facilities, improve security, and ensure everything runs smoothly. In return, you’ll be well compensated, not necessarily with money, but with ... females, and kept safe. You’ll have as much sex as you dreamt of, a chance to live out your fantasies, and a chance to live without fear.”

Konrad’s mind raced. The offer was both tempting and repulsive. He despised the idea of being part of something so vile, yet so ... attractive.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

Kessler smiled, a look of satisfaction crossing his face. “Good choice, Konrad. Welcome to your new life.”

As they left the hotel, Konrad couldn’t help but wonder what he had just agreed to and how it would change his life forever. Kessler easily sawed off the tag, and they climbed into his car.

By the time the authorities realized Fischer was missing, he and Kessler, AKA Edward Pembroke, were already in France. Pembroke smiled reassuringly at Fischer, who knew now there was no turning back.

Fischer did not know that Pembroke had planned for every eventuality, including his refusal. After being shown the evidence of the complex, Pembroke had reasoned that no one would mourn a murdered child rapist. He had brought a large knife, ready to kill Fischer if he turned him down or chickened out at any point from here on in.

Fischer soon got to know the real Edward Pembroke. On his first night in Marseille, he was treated to a night out in Amir’s strip club and a night with a prostitute. Grateful for his newfound freedom and the attention from women, Fischer grew more and more interested in traveling to “the complex.”

Meanwhile, Pembroke was waiting for the Zephyr to arrive. Traveling by sea was a discreet way to transport stock, but time was money, and weeks had been spent sailing the seas with nothing to do but indulge in his own product. He was eager for the fresh arrivals and the new business they would bring.

He had another concern. Of the sixteen girls he had kidnapped so far, and the numerous murders and other crimes he had committed in the process, it had almost all gone surprisingly well.

No one was looking for the Libyan girls. The Russian prostitute sisters were only cared about by their families, who had already lost hope and were more in fear of their angry pimps missing their own product.

Dilan Talebani was supposedly dead, mourned and buried. The inability to find the bodies of Freja and Ingrid Johansen had puzzled authorities but only fueled anger against NATO and the authorities, sparking conspiracies and political arguments rather than a serious search for kidnapped sex slaves.

Elena and Vitaly were presumed to be victims of the long arm of the Russian government or mafia. Cassie Johnson was presumed burned alive along with her mother in the tragic forest fire around their secluded cottage.

Anna Gao and Sabine Muller’s disappearance had attracted a lot of interest, with stories circulating that their ghosts haunted the forest. However, the police had absolutely no leads as to what might have happened to them.

Holly Streatham was looking to be the only girl whose disappearance led to a conviction. The boy Pembroke had framed was looking at spending decades in prison. His defense of having no memory of the night in question, yet being found covered in blood in her bed, combined with a history of violent drunken attacks, did not look good. Her other male friends were facing prison sentences for rape, violent assault, and in two cases, murder. The girls had escaped criminal charges but were still processing the aftermath of being raped while out of it on Pembroke’s cocktail.

The disappearance of Camille LeClerc had been unsatisfactory, Pembroke chided himself. Yet, the police proved utterly unable to find any suspects, locate the body, or track down the hapless Karim Al-Faraj.

Rebecca Parker had been widely presumed to have killed herself or been murdered, and the search for her seemed half hearted.

Charlotte Spencer, on the other hand, had attracted a lot of interest, a lot of investigation, and eventually, some progress.

Kwame Okor had been named as a chief suspect in her disappearance. Kwame had either not realised this, or had kept quiet about it, but for Pembroke, it was not good.

As Fischer slept in with his prostitute, Pembroke, or Eddie the Rat, was having lunch with Amir. Sophie was with him, this time not caked in emo makeup, looking fresher and prettier. She wore a sleeveless blouse that highlighted her fresh, toned arms and, under the bright sun, subtly revealed her pink nipples. A short, flowy skirt danced around her thighs, occasionally lifting with the gentle summer breeze to reveal a hint of bright pink knickers. Stylish sunglasses obscured her eyes, making her expression seem immutable and making Pembroke wary of her, yet curious.

“You men are so boring,” yawned Sophie. “Amir, can you take me to the mall afterward? I’m all out of lingerie,” she flirted, stroking his arm.

“Sophie,” Amir said irritably. “Why don’t you go get yourself an ice cream or something? We need to talk business.”

Sophie pouted but reluctantly stood up, her skirt fluttering slightly in the breeze as she walked away. Pembroke watched her go, that ass was going to have hundreds of pairs of eyes following it, it must drive Amir crazy.

“Should young Sophie not be at school?” Pembroke teased.

“Not my problem!” laughed Amir.

“Listen, Amir, the reason I came, well, I just wanted to know, is anyone looking for me? I had some debts and some problems, I needed to lay low, but I just need to know what to look out for.”

“Nobody is looking for you, Eddie, not that I know of,” Amir paused. “Of course, nobody looks for dead men, but I think you overestimate your importance. The world goes on, the guys we know, they’ve forgotten about you.”

“Nothing then? Because some guy was looking for me, a guy called Kwame Okoro.”

Amir’s eyes narrowed slightly at the name. “Kwame Okoro, huh? That name rings a bell.”

Pembroke showed Amir a photo.

“Yes, I know of him. He disappeared months ago. He worked for the Belhadj for a while, but he was a really bad sort. He raped a kid in Italy, went to prison for it. He was useful to the family, I seem to remember, but they didn’t want someone like him. Maybe they killed him. Why do you think he is alive and coming after you?”

“Just something I heard,” Pembroke replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Well, he would not be welcome back here in Marseille, unless he is working for a rival gang. But I remember now, some guys wanted him dead. And now I think of it, he is suspected of being involved in that English tennis girl kidnap case. You know some of the police tried to tie that to the Belhadj family on account of Kwame! But I don’t see why he would come after you.”

“OK. And no one else is interested in me?” Pembroke asked, his tone edged with anxiety.

“You are paranoid,” laughed Amir.

The pair chatted further, and their talk turned to women.

“That girl Kasia, she is really something. You control her?” asked Pembroke.

“Ha, she told you a sob story. The bitch tried to defraud me, then ordered a lot of drugs on credit she could never pay, then straight up robbed me. I’ve given her three months of shifts to pay me back. Then she’s free to do whatever. The way she complains, you would think I had kidnapped her as a sex slave!” Amir scoffed.

“What about Sophie?” Pembroke inquired.

“She is just fun. In a few months, she will go back to being a normal teenager again, but she is good while it lasts,” Amir said, winking and laughing.

“Would you sell Kasia to me?” asked Pembroke.

“Haha, Eddie, you overestimate me. I might slap Kasia around, but I can’t own her. It’s like trying to control a cat, women,” Amir said, shaking his head. “Are you going to start a strip club? Lesson number one: don’t think you can control the women.”

Pembroke chuckled but pressed on. “I see your point, but I’m looking to invest. I want to know if there’s potential here.”

Amir shrugged. “Potential is everywhere, Eddie. But don’t think you can own people. Manage them, maybe. Influence them, sure. But control? That’s an illusion.”

“I can buy her debt if you arrange a meeting. Then she can work for me,” Pembroke proposed.

“Ha, Eddie, I know your game. You want to be the white knight!” Amir laughed.

“Well, I would be fair,” Pembroke insisted.

“Are you opening up a brothel?” Amir teased.

“Why not? Are you getting moralistic?” Pembroke challenged.

“Every man thinks he can control women, but they always fail,” scoffed Amir.

“Seriously, Amir, set up a meeting—me, you, and Kasia. You can see how I exert my acumen and management style. See if it’s worth investing in,” Pembroke said with a wink.

“OK, let me arrange something. Now, let’s talk about something else...” Amir said, shifting the conversation.

Later that evening, Pembroke and Fischer went to the harbor to welcome the Zephyr into Marseille. As the ship docked, a figure emerged, stretching and grinning broadly after spending so many days at sea alone.

“Konrad, Kwame. Kwame, Konrad!” Pembroke made the introductions.

Kwame extended his hand, his grin revealing a hint of mischief. “Good to meet you, Konrad. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Konrad blanched somewhat. He had not expected that reaction to his past of child rape.

Pembroke stepped in, his tone authoritative. “First, we need to get you settled. Then we can discuss our next moves. We have some new business opportunities on the horizon, and I want you both ready.”

Kwame’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way.”

It was midday in Amir’s club, devoid of anyone but Amir and his girlfriend. Sophie was eagerly trying her hand at the pole while Amir was reviewing the takings behind the bar.

“Amir, you gotta let me perform, watch!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. She had stripped down to her plain blue bra and thong, the simple lingerie accentuating her youthful allure.

Giggling, Sophie climbed up the pole, her toned legs wrapping around the metal with surprising grace. Her toned stomach flexed with each motion, showcasing the subtle strength beneath her soft curves, her skin glistening under the club’s dim lights.

“Not now, Sophie!” Amir said, trying to concentrate on the takings. But despite his words, he couldn’t help but steal a sideways glance, admiring her form.

Sophie continued to climb and descend the pole, her movements becoming more confident and sensual. She arched her back, her tummy muscles tightening, and her thighs gripping the pole with practiced ease. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she spun around, but she stopped when she noticed a girl had entered. It was Kasia.

Kasia held her arms tightly around herself, dressed in a baggy grey tracksuit. She had been told to be here sharp at midday and had turned up straight from bed after dancing at the club until 4 a.m. Amir had her phone, like so much else, and this club was her life. She was scared of her boss and wondered why the foolish rich young girl playing in her bra and panties on stage could not see she was in dangerous territory with him. Only a few more months, she told herself, and she would pay off the debt and be rid of him.

Amir had been intrigued by Eddie’s suggestion. Kasia was a dumb, neurotic white girl who couldn’t dance, couldn’t make money for him, and was only good for ripping off and stealing from him. The money Eddie had offered was generous, and all he had to do was turn Kasia over to him? He wondered if Eddie knew what he was getting into. He could threaten Kasia, he could bring her over to his new place up the coast in Montpellier, but he doubted that he could control Kasia like he had. He had warned Eddie that this would all end in tears; Kasia would cause havoc and run away at the first opportunity.

“Kasia, you are late! You are lucky I am in a good mood today, otherwise...” Kasia flinched, shrinking back in fear, already anticipating a slap. Her whole body tensed.

Amir smiled. Eddie needed to learn from his mistakes, and that being a successful pimp required a special kind of skill—one that involved intimidating women and bending them to his will.

“Kasia, come into my office. There is a gentleman I think you should meet, perhaps some opportunities for you.”

“But who...” Kasia was confused and wary. She was right to be; Amir only cared about his money. He was interested to know Eddie’s plan for Kasia. In compliance with Eddie’s suggestion, he had turned off all the CCTV. Whatever happened, he wanted plausible deniability in case Kasia blamed him for whatever happened next.

Kasia wrapped herself more tightly her face etched with worry.

Her grey tracksuit top had ridden up, revealing her toned, slim stomach above the loose grey sweatpants and the hem of her boy pants.

“Just go wait in my office, and don’t touch anything!” Amir laughed and slapped her ass as he walked past. “And don’t be so fucking miserable in front of this man!”

A few minutes later, Pembroke showed up with Kwame and Konrad. The short Nigerian and the lanky, long-haired German seemed an odd couple, and were introduced as “Larry” and “Harry.”

“Nice moves,” Pembroke smiled over at Sophie, who was giggling as she slid down, enjoying the attention of the four men.

“She is learning fast,” Amir winked.

“Say, why can’t she practice a lap dance on my friend Harry here?” Pembroke said, slapping Konrad’s shoulder.

“Good idea,” Amir grinned, though part of him was a little perturbed about why the two heavies were here. “Sophie, take care of this gentleman. It’s time you learned: you make your money with your tits in the customer’s faces, not from up there!”

Sophie stopped smiling and looked at Konrad with distaste, suddenly nervous about the intimacy of a lap dance with this odd-looking tall man with greasy, unkempt hair who looked at her like she was a piece of meat.

In the office, Pembroke and Kwame entered, with Pembroke sitting on the chair opposite Amir behind his desk and Kwame sitting on a small couch next to them. Kasia was standing to the side, nervously. She did not like how Kwame looked at her from top to bottom, mentally undressing her with his eyes.

“Hello Kasia,” Pembroke smiled at her friendly. Kasia was a bit scared.

“So what do you think? You have seen Kasia without that unflattering tracksuit. I would not be such a gentleman to ask her to take it off...”

“Well, I have seen it, but my friend Larry here, I think he deserves a viewing before we can commit to money changing hands...”

Kwame grinned, “Yeah, girl, let me see that body, take that tracksuit off!”

Kasia was stunned. “Amir ... and you! I have been a fool to expect more from you!” Dead wife, kids, code of honor, what a load of bullshit, she thought. But this could turn nasty. “I am out of here, fuck you, Amir. I am leaving and this time I am not coming back!”

Kasia made to leave, but Kwame leapt up like a cat to block the door.

“I’m afraid I already sold your debt, Kasia, fifteen thousand euros,” said Amir dryly.

“I only ever owed you nine, Amir, and I’ve been working here for months!”

“Interest, darling, and the market rate.” Amir laughed.

“Kasia darling, as your new employer, I hope you are not going to cause me trouble,” Pembroke smiled wickedly at her, his face totally different from the concerned man who had been so reluctant to take a lap dance last week.

Kasia froze. She had no phone, she lived alone, with only fellow strippers, drug addicts, and prostitutes as neighbors. She had been kicked off her course, finding it impossible to study with the demands of working in the strip club, and kicked out of her flat share after her tenants objected to her late hours and profession. She hadn’t called her parents in over a week and when she did it was always in the presence of Amir.

She had told herself she was not a prisoner, she was not some kind of trafficked girl, she was just paying off a loan to make up for her mistake then normal life would resume. She was only twenty! Everyone made mistakes, right?

Now, however, her pale face went even whiter as she realized maybe this was just the beginning of a descent...

Amir, ever the gentleman, walked up to her, brushed her hair, and wiped away a tear. She was still. “Now, now, dear, why not take those ugly clothes off, just get to your underwear, that’s all we need to see...”

He took off her tracksuit as a gentleman might take the coat from his girlfriend at a restaurant, while Kwame and Pembroke took in her toned pale torso. The sports bra was the only remnant on her upper body now, every mole, jut of hip bone, and curve along her torso visible in the light of the office and the window. It was so different from the sleaze of the club, but also more sinister, more clinical.

Kasia stood like a mannequin, her hands shaking slightly, as Amir tugged at her bottoms and pulled them down to her ankles. The sudden exposure of her lower half jolted her, and she crossed her crotch with her hands. She was wearing modest sports boy pants, but even so, to be so exposed in front of these three creeps in this office, despite her profession here, was something far worse and sinister. She hated wearing skimpy underwear outside of work and had sworn she would never wear a thong again after being done as a stripper.

“So can I take her? After I transfer you the money?” asked Pembroke airily to Amir.

Amir laughed nervously. “Sure - Kasia, you better pack your things at home, you have a new employer.”

“Well, I think Kasia might have to be ... restrained a little, just for fun...” Pembroke was standing up, tracing a finger from her hip along the contours of her athletic, concave stomach up to her breastplate under her sports bra.

Kwame stood up and brought out some cuffs.

“Er ... I don’t think that is necessary,” laughed Amir, wondering what game Eddie was playing on him.

“Don’t worry, Amir, it’s just a bit of fun. I want to see what kind of girl Kasia is, what games she enjoys!” He turned to Kasia. “A bit of light bondage, it’s fun, don’t worry Kasia!”

Kasia was too stunned to resist as Kwame efficiently clipped her wrists behind her back, and then her ankles together. “What ... Amir, what are you letting them do to me?”

“I never got to see your teeth, Kasia, you look so glum, you never smile,” Pembroke seemed utterly alien to the man last week now.

“You are not buying me, I am not going with you, I am going home, Amir, do something!”

Suddenly, Pembroke brought his hand to her mouth and clenched it open, his thumb and fingers on either side of her mouth, as he forced it roughly into an O shape. With the other hand, he quickly inserted a gag, and then wrapped a strap around her head, having it all done in about ten seconds.

“Now steady on, Eddie, what the hell is this joke? This is too far...” Amir’s voice trailed off as his gaze turned from the man he knew as Eddie to his associate.

“Larry” was now carrying a huge machete knife and was staring right at Amir.

“Eddie?” Amir looked from the frightened, gagged girl to Eddie the Rat, then to the black man with the knife, and suddenly recognized the latter. It was Kwame Okor. He had seen him on the news in connection with the Charlotte Spencer kidnapping and had heard all about him from his associates on the drug smuggling routes for the Belhadj gang.

Amir started to open his drawer, reaching for his gun, but Kwame was too quick. He moved across the table and lunged toward him, plunging his huge knife into the man’s stomach. Amir gasped, his eyes wide with shock and pain, as he crumpled to the floor.

Kasia’s muffled screams filled the room as Eddie and Kwame stood over Amir’s body. He was gasping and bringing up blood.

“Kwame, you stay here with him. Don’t finish him off yet, keep him conscious,” Eddie commanded.

Pembroke lifted Kasia up over his shoulder and marched out of the office.

In the next room, Sophie was still giving Konrad a lap dance. She struggled to stand his smell and refused to take her bra off, slapping his hands away several times. Konrad could not believe the tight young flesh, the glow of her buttocks, the soft creamy white flesh, all in front of him.

“Touch me again, and I will break your fucking hand,” spat Sophie.

They were interrupted by a surreal sight. Pembroke was carrying the body of Kasia, her legs on his front, trousers around her ankles, and her ass over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?” said Sophie. She moved to get away, but Konrad grabbed her.

“Let me go, you sick bastard!” she shouted, struggling in his grip. Konrad’s hold tightened as he looked at Pembroke.

“What’s going on, boss?” Konrad asked.

“We need to move, now. Kwame is handling Amir,” Pembroke replied curtly. “And we need to keep these two under control.”

Sophie fought harder, her eyes wide with fear and anger. “You won’t get away with this!”

She tried to break free, screaming, but Konrad grabbed her by the bra strap. It pulled her back, and she fell hard on her ass on the floor. Both men quickly held her down, cuffing her wrists and gagging her to silence her screams.

Sophie struggled against the restraints, her muffled cries joining Kasia’s as the men secured them both.

“Right, Konrad, go back to the van, check no one sees you, and bring in that big holdall. It will hold both these girls,” Pembroke instructed, slapping Sophie loudly on her ass cheeks. She flinched, her muffled protests intensifying.

“I am going to check on Kwame and Amir!” Pembroke added before heading back into the building.

Konrad nodded, before slipping out into the alley. He moved swiftly and silently to the van, looking around to ensure no one was watching. He grabbed the large holdall from the back of the van and hurried back inside.

Meanwhile, Pembroke walked back into the office. Kwame was lounging on the couch, maliciously watching the dying Amir Ziani, who was unable to speak but still coughing up blood, the crimson liquid leaking from his stomach and pooling on the floor.

Without a word, Pembroke went to his drawer and retrieved a gun. He checked the chamber, ensuring it was loaded, then pulled it out.

“Kwame, can you finish him off?” Pembroke asked.

“Sure thing, boss!” Kwame replied, getting up and flashing his machete, grinning at his victim’s despairing face.

Pembroke shook his head slightly. “No need for theatrics, Kwame. Let’s be quick about it.”

Kwame’s grin faded, but he nodded, understanding the urgency. He stepped closer to Amir, raising the machete high, and in one swift, brutal motion, brought it down. The blade struck true, ending Amir’s suffering instantly.

Pembroke watched for a moment to ensure the job was done. Then, without warning, he carefully raised his gun and shot Kwame in the kneecap.

The Nigerian convulsed and dropped to the ground, clutching his knee. He screamed, looking at Pembroke with confusion.

“Sorry, Kwame, having a family back in Nigeria and the police looking for you in Europe is too much of a risk for me. But thanks for your service.” Pembroke fired two more shots into Kwame’s chest, killing him instantly.

Quickly, Pembroke dropped to Amir’s dead body, wiped the gun of his own handprints, and put the gun in Amir’s lifeless hand. He squeezed the trigger and fired one bullet into the wall, leaving the gun in Amir’s hand before standing up to walk out.

He was met by Konrad, who was shaking. “What happened? Kwame?”

“Kwame is dead. The bastard surprised him with a gun, but Kwame got him before he shot us both. Poor bastard. But it’s the risk of the game. Come on, are those girls safely stuffed inside?”

“Err, yeah.”

“Good, then let’s go!”

They hurried out to the van with the holdall, climbed in, and sped off into the warm sunshine of Marseille.

Hours later, the moon shone brightly over the calm waters of the Mediterranean. Pembroke was piloting the “Zephyr” out to sea, smiling at the ease of commanding the vessel. He didn’t need Kwame after all; he could captain his own ship.

The gentle waves lapped against the hull as the boat cut through the water. He was in control, steering not only the ship but the fates of Konrad and the two unfortunate young females onboard.

Kasia was in the compartment, now fully naked, blindfolded, bound, and gagged, still reeling from the brutal murder of her former boss. He had seemed like a friendly pussycat compared to these animals. The confined space and the sticky sensation of her flesh pressed up tightly against Sophie’s for hours on end had been unbearable. She suffered from claustrophobia, and the tight, cramped conditions only exacerbated her terror and panic.

She was momentarily alone, for Sophie was on deck, though her feet struggled to touch it. She was bent over the railings, her legs dangling behind her in thin air, trying to plant themselves on the deck floor, her face and whole upper body turned towards the ocean below. The cold night air stung her exposed skin, and the sound of the waves crashing against the hull was deafening.

Konrad was behind her, as naked as she, and taking out his frustration on her with a vigorous fucking. His pent-up anger from the lap dance, her deflections, and threats to stop him from touching her had reached a boiling point. Now, he was unleashing it all, emptying his balls into her while she dangled precariously above the water.

Pembroke laughed as he watched. “Careful, Konrad, we don’t want our stock overboard!” But he was pleased with the German’s lack of humanity and raw lust. He would fit right in, and his skills would be invaluable in the complex.

Kwame had needed to go; he could not have returned to his family, and he would have been arrested sooner or later. At least, Pembroke thought, he had given Kwame a fun few months. He had also implicated, he hoped, the Belhadj family. Kwame was a former associate, and Amir was a current associate, and they had apparently murdered each other. Hopefully, the authorities would concentrate on that organized crime unit, well known for the types of crimes that might include the disappearances of young women like Charlotte Spencer and Camille LeClerc.

And, of course, he had two new additions to his stock. Sophie Candelema, the daughter of senior doctors, and Kasia Kowalska, a student and daughter of Polish farmers. Each of these should bring a lot of fun and, ultimately, hopefully, a lot of money.

Chapter Text

While Pembroke was away in France, Germany, and cruising the waves of the Mediterranean, the training for his confined slaves continued relentlessly in the complex. Despite his absence, the overseers maintained a strict schedule, enforcing discipline and exacting standards upon the slaves.

Four imposing, square-shaped posts dominated the main hall, with each side of the posts hosting an interface. Kneeling before these interfaces were four girls per post, each deeply engrossed in their tasks, though not helped by having their hands tied behind their backs.

The girls were oriented towards the posts, their lips tightly encircling the ends of dildos protruding from the interfaces. Each girl’s nose was pressed against a long, slender button, closely matching the diameter and length of the dildo in their mouths. Directly in front of their eyes, screens displayed critical information – the frequency with which they needed to operate the button.

These screens alternated between red and green. When the screen turned green, the girls had to pull back, allowing the button to extend back out to match the dildo’s length. Conversely, a red screen signaled them to push their faces forward, fully depressing the button with their noses. A ‘click’ signified the push or pull had been completed.

The task demanded relentless attention and synchronization. The cycle of pushing and releasing the button was continuous, and the dildos had to remain in their mouths at all times, as they would not be able to push the button with their noses otherwise.

Any deviation from the required timing – failing to push the button in or releasing it before the screen changed color – would trigger an electric shock. Wires coming from the base of the post connected to each girl via two crocodile clips on her nipples and a small butt plug inserted into her anus, delivering a stinging shock. The shock would cause them to shriek, their cries muffled by the dildos in their mouths.

The room echoed with the rhythmic clicking of buttons, the occasional jarring shrieks, and the constant sound of sucking, filling the air as Mrs. Al-Haraz patrolled around them, studying their efforts. On each post, the dildos were of four different sizes: five inches and thick, six inches and slim, seven inches and thick, and nine inches and thick.

Charlotte was struggling. She was on a nine-inch dildo. Even though the men she had sucked at the complex had a similar size, she struggled with the rhythm and beat. Her neck was hurting, and she kept missing the timing for the clicks. Each missed timing sent a sharp jolt through her body, making her eyes water and her muscles tense.

In a moment of overwhelming discomfort, she withdrew her mouth completely, choking and gagging. Almost immediately, she visibly convulsed as steady shocks coursed through her body, her breasts vibrating up and down. The pain forced her to hurriedly move her nose back to the button and envelop the dildo back in her mouth. Desperately, she tried to regain the rhythm, her moans of pain loud and frantic.

None of the other girls stopped or even looked at Charlotte. They had to keep their eyes focused on the small screens in front of their eyes as they moved to and fro, to and fro continuously.

None of the other girls stopped or even looked at Charlotte. They had to keep their eyes focused on the small screens in front of their eyes as they moved to and fro, to and fro continuously.

Mrs. Al-Haraz chastised the young blonde and tapped her on her bottom. “No slacking, Charlotte, no excuses. Your owner will not care if you are tired!” She noticed that the shocks to Charlotte’s body had caused her to prolapse slightly, and her butt plug was almost about to fall out of her asshole, so she promptly pushed it back in snugly.

“Naughty, Charlotte! Keep that plug snug right up your ass!”

She turned around the room. “Keep it up, girls. Remember, you will not get to choose the size of your owner’s cock. Whatever size it is, it is perfect for you, and you will have to get used to it!”

Every half an hour, the dildos were rotated around the top of the post, ensuring that each girl experienced every one. After just over two hours, they were finally allowed to rest. Exhausted, they stood with mouths agape, bent over in fatigue, and drenched in sweat.

“Oh, well done, girls!” said Mrs. Parker cheerily as she entered with a trolley of goods. “Good work! Your hard work will pay off when your owners cum easily in your mouths!”

The girls did not respond; they were still working their jaws back to normal and gingerly feeling the backs of their throats. Some could still taste the faint metallic hint of blood from the intense strain on their throat muscles.

Mrs. Parker, wearing an apron over a black thong and bra, brought out their meals. As usual, they were prepared in fifteen separate cat bowls. Pembroke wanted the girls healthy—they were growing girls—but not fat. Each cat bowl had a helping of spinach, beetroot, carrot, potato, and tuna fish, with a second bowl of water beside it.

“Now, girls, do your hair and adopt the pose,” said Mrs. Parker gently.

The girls twisted their hair into knots to hold it up and obediently adopted the naru pose, kneeling with their buttocks against their heels, backs upright, and staring straight ahead. Their palms were upturned on their thighs as they waited quietly.

“Now,” Mrs. Parker smiled at Elena, who was on the end. “Elena, why don’t you lead the prayer? Everyone else join in!”

Elena swallowed several times to soothe her throat and began. After the first few words, all the other girls joined in, mindful of the watching eyes of their overseers.

“Master, we thank you for your benevolence in keeping us alive, for the food you graciously provide, and for guiding us to be perfect slaves to your will.

We are grateful for your watchful eyes, your firm hand, and your unwavering direction. May we continue to serve you faithfully, to meet your every demand, and to honor your supremacy over us.

We exist to please you, to follow your commands without question, and to perfect ourselves as instruments of your desires. Thank you, Master, for your mercy and for shaping us into what you need us to be.”

“Well done, girls! Now eat!” Mrs. Parker smiled. After weeks, if not months, the girls had finally recited the prayer in perfect unison. Initial defiance had been met with swift beatings, forcing compliance. Others struggled to remember the words, particularly those who did not speak English. The Libyan and Russian girls spent hours in their cells, panicked as they tried to memorize the foreign words, knowing any mistakes would lead to more punishment.

“Now, please eat!”

The girls crawled forward and began eating from the bowls on all fours, their mouths inside the bowls as they licked and consumed their food. They were not allowed to use their hands and had to finish everything, including the water. Only after completing their meals could they sit upright, but they were still not permitted to use their hands, even to wipe the food often smudged on their faces, until their bowls had been inspected and everyone had finished.

And even then, hands were not permitted. Instead, each girl had to turn to another and lick each other’s faces clean. Today, Sabine found herself facing Anna, her old flame. While free, they had often enjoyed passionate kisses. Now, they awkwardly licked each other’s mouths and faces clean of the remains of the disgusting food they had just eaten, trying not to lock eyes.

“Good! Well done, girls,” said Mrs. Parker, gathering up the empty bowls. “Now, you have a break, but I need you nice and clean, so make sure you all get a shower and clean yourselves. Soon we will have another exercise!”

Inside the cell, the girls formed a queue for the showers and toilet, using the small brushes they all had to share to wash their teeth. Privacy was nonexistent, but occasionally, camaraderie would surface as they joked about the dildo exercises.

Over the months, they had grown accustomed to their cellmates and the constant presence of sex, allowing dark humor to foster a sense of unity. Spontaneous, heartfelt intimacy was impossible, especially as they lay on mattresses next to each other, their skin always touching. However, discreet friendships and bonds had formed, with the Libyan cousins and the Russian and Swedish sisters always staying together, holding hands automatically.

An hour later, Jamal entered the room, pushing a large trolley with a box draped in sheets. He parked it to one side and went to his workshop in the corner to work on electronics. He was followed by Mrs. al-Haraz, who wore a black mini dress. She sat on a sofa on the far side of the room, flipping through magazines, though she could barely read them.

Shortly after, Mrs. Parker entered the room, now wearing a flowery mini dress that strained against her buxom figure. She motioned for the girls to come out of their cell.

“Now, ladies, don’t worry! In that little box over there are our slithery friends. This isn’t my idea, but it’s meant to motivate you to participate in the game! Please, girls, let’s show that we don’t always need punishment to play properly. If anyone is extra naughty or refuses to play along, I’m afraid you’ll have to go into the coffin. We don’t want that, do we? Let’s all play along and have a good time, okay?”

Mrs. Parker smiled. “Do I hear a yes?”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker,” the girls responded in unison, their faces turning pale with fear.

“Wonderful, now ... let’s get started,” Mrs. Parker said with a protective yet stern expression.

She explained the exercise: the girls had to walk in figures of eight, smiling at each other whenever they crossed paths. Self-conscious and uneasy, the girls began to move as instructed.

Mrs. al-Haraz, lounging on the sofa, watched eagerly, her eyes glinting malevolently as she scanned for any sign of non-compliance. Meanwhile, Jamal continued tinkering with his electronics, seemingly indifferent to the surreal spectacle.

Suddenly, Mrs. Parker called out, “Scream!” The girls threw their arms in the air and screamed at the ceiling, their voices echoing through the room. Next, she shouted, “Crazy!” and they began shaking their heads wildly, flailing their arms and legs. They felt ridiculous but obeyed, knowing the consequences of non-compliance.

The scene looked bizarre: girls marching in patterns, intermittently screaming and acting frantically. Their laughter was nervous, their smiles strained. Mrs. Parker watched them closely, ensuring that everyone participated fully.

Mrs. Parker then commanded, “Laughter!” The girls forced themselves to laugh, the sound hollow and uncomfortable. Mrs. al-Haraz’s gaze intensified, scrutinizing each girl for any hesitation, relishing the power she held over them and grinning at the thought of one of those beautiful girls screaming in terror in the coffin.

“Remember, ladies, cooperation makes everything easier. Keep it up,” Mrs. Parker encouraged.

More orders followed, and they got lewder and lewder.

“Stand still and hold up both your breasts!” Mrs. Parker commanded with a mischievous glint in her eye. The girls hesitated momentarily, then obeyed.

“Touch your toes and spread your legs!” she called out next. Some girls struggled to maintain their balance and toppled over, prompting giggles from Mrs Al-Haraz.

“Now, put your right index finger in your mouth and your left index finger up your asshole!” The command was met with a moment of stunned silence before the girls complied, their movements mechanical and their discomfort palpable.

“Now switch fingers!” Mrs. Parker’s voice was almost playful. The girls switched as instructed, their humiliation tempered by the dread of what was to come.

“Now, get on all fours and go around barking like a dog, and make sure you sniff other girls’ butts like a doggy!” Mrs. Parker commanded.

The girls complied again, their barking echoing through the room as they crawled around, completing the absurd and degrading task. Some of the girls moved like robots, displaying varying levels of enthusiasm. A few seemed to go mental, as if they were really into it, driven half mad by months of incarceration and brutality. Others tried to maintain some dignity, but a sharp raised eyebrow from Mrs. Parker kept them in check.

Dilan was crawling aimlessly, hiding behind a cascade of hair, concealing her tears of disgust at what she had allowed herself to become since being taken here. Only her stomach-churning fear of snakes kept her going. Mrs. Parker smacked her on the bottom as she went past and hissed at her in a whisper, “Dilan, start barking and get your face in another girl’s ass quick, or I will be forced to pick you out for the coffin.”

Dilan sprung to life, telling herself a story of survival and revenge. She would get through this, and she would have her vengeance on everyone who had done this to her. For now, she just had to sacrifice her body. She went crazy, barking and woofing as loud as she could like a wolf, and nuzzling into every pair of buttocks she could see with an animalistic snarl, prompting surprised stares from the other girls.

‘Surely, this would drive the girls out of their minds,’ thought Mrs. Parker. ‘It was to be expected.’

“Now, girls, I want you to be monkeys, wild little monkeys. Come on—oo-oo!” Mrs. Parker demonstrated, plucking at her armpits to show them how. “Come on!”

Mrs. Parker squealed with delight as the girls moved around like monkeys, grunting crudely. They hopped and swung their arms, imitating her with a mix of embarrassment and forced enthusiasm.

As the girls performed, the absurdity of the scene grew. Mrs. Parker clapped her hands in delight, her eyes sparkling with twisted satisfaction.

“And now, bumblebees,” she commanded with a giggle. “Buzz around, flap your arms, and pretend to collect nectar by licking one another’s nipples as you buzz around!”

The girls, their spirits further crushed by the ridiculous demands, began to buzz and flap their arms like bees. Some of the Libyan girls, initially confused, looked on in horror as their fellow captives began acting literally like animals, realizing they had to join in with gusto.

They moved from one girl’s nipple to another, mimicking the act of collecting nectar. The sight of girls licking each other’s nipples while buzzing filled the room, adding another layer of surrealism to the already bizarre scene.

Mrs. Parker clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, girls, time for another game! This one is called ‘Foot Worship.’ Pair up with the girl closest to you, and one of you will be the foot worshipper while the other will be the worshipped. The worshipper must kneel and lick the feet of the other girl. Make sure you do it thoroughly!”

The girls, already worn down by previous humiliations, paired up reluctantly. They knew they had no choice but to comply. Some of them cast pleading glances at each other, silently begging for forgiveness for what they were about to do.

The room filled with the shuffling of bodies as they arranged themselves. One girl knelt down, becoming the worshipper, while the other girl stood with her foot extended, the expression of discomfort and embarrassment evident on many of their faces.

The girls standing hopped around, flinching as the tongues worked on their sweaty feet. The worshippers tasted the sweat and dirt from the hall floor as they tried to be as light with their tongues as possible while fearing that at any moment they would be sent “to the snakes.”

Mrs. Parker walked among them, correcting their postures and occasionally pressing down on the “worshippers” to ensure they were doing it properly.

“Make sure you thank her for the privilege!” Mrs. Parker called out, adding another layer of humiliation. “Say how grateful you are!”

The girls complied, their voices shaky and forced. “Thank you,” they murmured, some barely able to hold back tears.

“Remember, ladies, obedience makes everything easier.”

Mrs. Parker then walked across the hall and fetched eight yoga mats. “OK, girls, that was fun, I hope. The important thing is, you obeyed and you acted. Your new owners want a slave who will entertain them. You cannot just be a lifeless mannequin, or you will soon be ... well, quite possibly lifeless!” She giggled at her own sick joke, though she checked herself when she realized how grimly true it was.

“Using your imagination is key. Remember to always try and anticipate your partner’s next demand, which in your case will ultimately be your owner. You have to be his flower, his entertainment, the thing he comes to when he’s had enough of the world. If you cannot bring him happiness, trust me, he will bring you nothing but misery.”

“Now, girls, the next task should remind you that your lives should not be seen as drudgery and horrible servitude. I want you to pick a partner, someone you truly care for, and the two of you pair up on a yoga mat.”

“I want you to make love to each other, however you want, for an extended period of time. Don’t worry, this is not a competition, although remember, any naughtiness or disobedience will have consequences,” she hissed like a snake, gesturing toward the sheet-covered coffin like a schoolmistress delivering a threat.

“Mainly, the command I want you to remember is to have fun! Enjoy your partner! Now, go!”

The girls were sweating and breathless, and now looked nervously for partners. Mrs. Parker was intrigued to see the sisters all approaching each other.

Freja stared into her sister Ingrid’s eyes, and they silently communicated that they wanted to do this together. Whether making love or dreaming of freedom, they had to stay together. The same thought switched between the Akhmadova sisters, who almost ran to each other and hugged. They pressed their cheeks together.

“Tati ... we have to stay together. Let’s do this, let’s get through this,” Natalia whispered, feeling a tear fall from her sister’s face. They pulled away, looking sternly into each other’s eyes, and took each other by the hand, heading to the mat.

Anna and Charlotte paired up and sat down cross-legged facing each other, smiling calmly at one another.

Other pairings took longer to settle. Nervous glances and hesitant movements filled the room as the remaining girls searched for partners.

Sabine smiled at Samira, who shuddered in disgust and almost hid behind Fatima. Sabine shrank away, desolate, while Fatima hugged her two younger cousins. “Girls, we have to choose someone, just let’s get it over with.”

“Fatima, please can I have you?” Miriam wrapped her arms around her big cousin. “Please,” her brown eyes stared up at her. If she had to spend hours making love, she would rather it be her cousin who had looked after her here and not one of the other strange girls.

Fatima nodded sadly and squeezed Samira’s hand in sympathy as they left her to lie down together on the mat. There were seven girls left. Camille smiled shyly at Elena, and she smiled back and nodded. They held hands as they lowered themselves onto the mat.

Cassie and Dilan, remembering their shared trauma on the boat, caught each other’s eye. Both looked at the available mat, then at Mrs. Parker, before reluctantly kneeling down, facing one another.

Holly touched Samira on the back, who jumped. She smiled at Holly, who she had chatted with sometimes, and looked back into her eyes, sharing an acceptance of the invitation.

Sabine found herself the odd one out, sitting alone. She nervously glanced at the coffin, then at Mrs. Parker, as if to implore that she did not want to be left out. Mrs. Parker noticed her hesitation and, with a smirk, called out, “Sabine, come here.”

Sabine, trembling slightly, walked over to Mrs. Parker. Mrs. Parker directed her to a mat where she would participate alone. “You’ll perform for everyone else, Sabine. You will play with yourself, and make a show of it, no hiding places for you!”

The girls each began stroking one another, out of friendship and shared torment, before gradually kissing awkwardly, massaging each other’s breasts, arms, back, and thighs. Nervous, gentle kisses on the cheeks, around the lips, gave way to prolonged nibbles and visible slips of tongue between the girls. It was like watching awkward women having their first lesbian experience.

Mrs Parker did not say anything, she wanted the performance to grow naturally.

The first deep sigh came from Charlotte as Anna started working her pussy with her fingers. It was like a bell giving permission, and soon the girls were more adventurous, licking each other’s necks and kneading their breasts.

Miriam had seen so much of her cousin’s body; her smell and taste were already so familiar from lying next to her. For the first time, she had permission to taste it with her mouth and went everywhere, shocking Fatima with her appetite for sucking and licking every inch of her until she dove between her legs. Fatima’s sudden squeal of passion sent a charge through the room, and soon the girls were writhing on the ground with each other, hands and mouths between legs, in an orgy of passion.

Some of the girls found it less awkward to concentrate their energies between the legs of their partners than meet their eyes. Natalia and Tatiana fixed themselves into a steady 69, working on their near-identical pussies, finding each other’s taste so familiar. They knew exactly what buttons to press with fingers and tongue, soon driving each other to multiple orgasms.

Dilan again lost herself in animal lust. Despite having no gay feelings, she threw herself on Cassie, who reacted like a wounded antelope, simpering at the Lebanese girl’s bites on her nipples, her tongue in her ears and down her throat, her fingers forcing themselves inside her and rubbing her clit. Mrs. Parker remarked how Cassie was lucky Dilan was doing so much and provoking so many painful cries from her, as otherwise, she might be forced to recommend she take a trip to the snake coffin.

Mrs. Parker knelt down beside Holly and Samira. “Girls, you are being a little shy. Please don’t let the side down; everyone is having fun. Why don’t you girls let loose a little and go for it, right?” she smiled at them both, leaving them in no doubt what they needed to do. Samira’s mouth clamped onto Holly’s nipples, refusing to let go, as Holly furiously rubbed her pussy and played with Samira’s thick black mane of hair.

Mrs Parker let the girls go on and on for over an hour. Poor Dabine just had to masturbate constantly, orgasming over and over, playing with her own tits, until her pussy was numb and she switched to fingering her asshole instead, looking at no one in particular, realising she was visible to the likes of Ms Al-Haraz more than anyone and that any slacking would be punished more easily.

Tatiana and Natalia had licked each other’s pussies so much and orgasmed so many times, they lost themselves in lust and heat. They snogged each other on the ground with a ferocity that belied their initial reluctance. Whatever they had been forced into, they now wanted it, and each sister angrily chewed and licked at the other’s mouth, running their fingernails over each other’s body and almost delighting in the mild pain of the other.

Mrs Parker smiled at how Freja had clearly learned from her. Her sister Ingrid was flat on he back, legs in the air, eyes closed, and shaking with pleasure as her little sister worked her tongue between her legs. The little pink tongue flickered between the thighs and her blue eyes looked appreciatively up Ingrid’s navel at the little mounds of breasts and her sister’s ecstasy-filled face in between.

Poor Sabine was exhausted. Feeling sorry for her, Mrs. Parker patted her head and directed her to Anna and Charlotte. “Sabine, join in with these girls, I want to see a threesome here.”

Sabine hesitated but knew better than to disobey. She joined Anna and Charlotte, who were already heavily engaged in a 69, and timidly began to participate. Charlotte was on top, and despite the forced nature of this whole exercise, Sabine still couldn’t help but remember the intimacy she once shared with Anna.

Anna, sensing the tension, tried to include Sabine by guiding her hands over Charlotte’s body while she continued munching on the English girl’s pussy. Sabine’s touches were hesitant; this beautiful English girl was hostile and had stolen the only comfort she had in this hell.

“Better get to work, Sabine,” whispered Mrs. Parker into her ear, willing the German girl on. Sabine pushed herself and ran her tongue along Charlotte’s spine, satisfactorily seeing and feeling her back arch in response. She licked all the way down the tailbone and onto her asshole, locking eyes with Anna, whose lips were sucking on Charlotte’s pussy, inches from her own mouth.

Sabine, driven by a mixture of anger and desire, pushed herself to explore Charlotte’s body more aggressively. She prised her ass cheeks apart to get further access to her butthole and ran her fingernails up and down her sides, squeezing her tits half in lust and half in vengeance, making Charlotte squeak into Anna’s pussy.

Sabine kept her eyes on Anna as her tongue ran up and down Charlotte’s ass crack, over her asshole and perineum, and onto the threshold of her pussy, touching Anna’s own tongue as both girls’ tongues fought over access into the blonde English girl’s vaginal hole. Anna’s own body reacted to Charlotte’s licking as Sabine’s saliva flowed down the blonde’s ass into her mouth like a river, as their tongues intertwined in a heated battle for dominance. Charlotte, caught between the two, moaned and squirmed with a mix of pleasure and surprise. Her body responded involuntarily to the intense sensations, her back arching and her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Anna reached out with both hands and cupped Sabine’s face, and the two danced their tongues into each other’s mouths, while lightly skipping along Charlotte’s labia. It was as if their passion had awoken anew, and Mrs Parker smiled at the thought.

Later, all the girls were ready to be guided back into the cell. The atmosphere felt different; some of the pairs stayed together, sneaking glances at each other, their bonds strengthened by the shared experience.

Mrs. Parker stood before them, her demeanor still commanding but with a hint of satisfaction. “Girls, I hope you learned that sex can be fun, and you can enjoy yourselves with it, not everything here has to be a punishment!”

The girls exchanged looks, a mix of emotions crossing their faces. For some, the forced intimacy had created a strange, confusing sense of connection. For others, it was a reminder of their loss of autonomy, a painful reinforcement of their captivity.

“Before we leave you, Jamal has some jewelry for you all!” Mrs. Parker announced with a smile.

Jamal came up with a trolley, displaying fifteen collars. “We will be putting these on you,” he said, holding up one of the collars for them to see. “They are waterproof and need regular charging. Don’t worry, they should not be uncomfortable. But needless to say, no taking them off or damaging them, or there will be trouble!”

The girls exchanged anxious glances as Jamal began fastening the collars around their necks one by one. The atmosphere, which had briefly softened, grew tense again with the introduction of the collars, each snap of the clasp a reminder of their captivity.

As the last collar was secured, Mrs. Parker stepped back, surveying the girls with a satisfied nod. “There, now you all look so pretty. Remember, these collars are a symbol of your obedience and a reminder of your place here. Make sure you keep them in good condition.”

The girls fingered their collars that night, and a few girls also fingered each other, seeking comfort in the only way they knew how. As they lay close together, there was definitely a sexual intimacy that had not been there before, a newfound connection forged through their shared experiences. Their bodies, packed so close together, now felt more like opportunities for comfort and connection than sources of discomfort and revulsion.

Chapter Text

Pembroke had spent a week at sea piloting the Zephyr, meticulously researching and devising new plans, all while indulging in horrific sexual abuse of the two female captives. His actions, though vile, paled in comparison to the depravity Konrad had inflicted upon them.

Hours stretched infinitely in the tight darkness of the compartment where the girls were kept in strict bondage. Unable to see, they could only feel the warm flesh and heartbeat of each other, trapped for hours and hours in the sticky, hard-to-breathe atmosphere.

Konrad’s nervous demeanor had melted away when faced with the vulnerable girls, revealing a chilling cruelty that shocked even Pembroke. There were moments when Pembroke had almost intervened to prevent the girls from being thrown off the boat or seriously injured by Konrad’s brutal actions.

Pembroke first witnessed Konrad’s depravity when he saw him lifting Sophie off the deck, holding her upside down with her legs spread apart and forcing her exposed sex to his mouth. He bear-hugged her waist, pinning her against the cabin wall, and shoved his penis into her mouth as she struggled to breathe in her inverted position.

“Careful Konrad” laughed Pembroke, with a little concern, “that piece of ass is worth a lot of money!”

Pembroke had also been startled to find Kasia, after pulling her out one morning, to have quite an incredible amount of bite marks over her body, her feet, legs, thighs, back, torso, everywhere, even her arms. She was bleeding from some of them, and Pembroke had to swab her down with antisceptic, before putting her back into the darkness.

“Sorry, boss” Konrad sheepishly explained “I had so many years without seeing any girls, I just got over excited with Kasia, I will control myself, I promise!”

But the long boat trip was, Pembroke mused, a useful induction of terror, violence, and sex for new stock.

Pembroke carefully explained Kwame’s demise to the men and the ladies at the complex. By now, Kwame’s death had been reported, with French police informing the media that they believed he and Amir had killed each other in a gangland spat. They also speculated that the disappearances of Kasia Kowalska and Sophie Candelema were likely related to a sex trafficking ring centered on Amir’s club. Pembroke hoped that the numerous suspects would keep him safe from suspicion.

Kasia and Sophie were curtly informed of the complex’s purpose. Pembroke had brought them here to be trained and redesigned as sex slaves. They would be held alongside other females already in advanced stages of training, while they underwent their own conditioning and were marketed to buyers.

Their introduction to Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz was shocking, but what truly rattled them was the sight of fifteen naked, collared females in the cell where they would be joining them. The space seemed overcrowded, with just enough room to lie down on the ground on the mattresses and sit on the benches. In one corner, there were two shower heads and two toilets, offering minimal privacy and highlighting the grim conditions they would have to endure.

The smell of female flesh filled the air inside, a mix of metallic period blood, other vaginal secretions, sweat, and soap. The cell was crowded with a sea of naked bodies, some sitting, some standing, others lying down. There were few places to go where they were more than an outstretched arm from touching another girl’s body. The oppressive lack of personal space only heightened Kasia and Sophie’s sense of despair and claustrophobia, even after days of being squeezed against each other in an even tighter space.

“Hey, hairy girls,” smiled Camille, approaching them and speaking in French. She noticed the stubble between their legs. “Did you guys get here on the boat?”

“Ye-yes,” Kasia responded, shocked by the girl’s whimsical, cheerful, and nonchalant demeanor.

“Oh, me too. It sucked, squeezed up tight! Of course, it’s tight here too, but you get used to it. No privacy, you know ... hope you’re not an introvert or have any hang-ups about going to the toilet and ... hah, hope you’re okay with sex, a lot of it.”

“The boat trip? Is that what you call it? It was horrific—they raped us!” Kasia exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Camille stretched her arms above her head as if daydreaming. “Yes, they do that. They do it ... a lot.”

“How long have you been here?” Sophie asked.

“I don’t know, months I think, maybe half a year. Time is ... strange here, you know. But I will be going soon. I’ve been booked, ordered. I have a buyer, and I will be going with six of the girls here.”

“You are bought? This is so fucked up,” Sophie said, her voice filled with disbelief and anger.

“To be honest,” said Camille, “I just want to see my new owner now. I’ve been here too long ... too long! I mean, I’m sure I’ll be having lots of pussy there too, but this place is like living in a vagina. My owner will be rich, I hope it’s nice there and he can treat me better than ... well, you know...”

“Are you mistreated here?” Sophie asked.

Camille suddenly burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, sitting in another corner giggling her head off. Sophie and Kasia looked at each other in puzzlement, unsure of how to react to Camille’s bizarre response.

Sophie and Kasia tried to mingle, feeling awkward and exposed, their attempts to avoid touching anyone only adding to their discomfort. Fatima and her two cousins stared at them suspiciously, their three pairs of dark areolas gazing at them like a small gang, making Sophie and Kasia feel even more out of place. Two Russian brunettes who looked like sisters held hands and turned away from them, as did two blonde sisters. Three girls seemed to have a group—Elena, Holly, and Dilan.

“Where were you taken from?” asked Dilan.

“Marseille,” Sophie replied. “This bastard kidnapped us. He murdered my boyfriend in front of me. He and the long-haired man—they’re animals!”

“The long-haired man is new. What about the black man?” Dilan inquired.

“I don’t know,” Kasia said. “He didn’t come with us on the boat.”

The girls exchanged worried glances. Neither Sophie nor Kasia had any new information about other girls kidnapped over the course of the year.

“This place is hell,” said Dilan. “You just have to ... adjust yourself.”

“Do what you have to do to survive. They have killed people here. They have also killed girls that defied them,” added Elena, stifling a cry as she remembered Vitaly.

“Have you been ... bought?” asked Sophie, nervously.

“Not that we know of,” said Dilan, clearly disgusted at the mention of the word.

“Not yet,” said Elena. “But it makes me sick thinking some perverts out there are looking to buy us.”

“I just need to get out,” said Holly, her voice trembling. “We cannot escape from here, and it is hell. It can send you crazy. I can’t stay sane here much longer. It’s just torture and sex and this. I can’t even remember my family. I just want to be away, even if some millionaire keeps me.”

Kasia and Sophie were still surprised at how comfortable the girls all seemed, sitting naked next to each other. The casual intimacy and lack of shame among the captives was a stark contrast to their own discomfort and unease. It was clear that the girls had adapted to their circumstances in ways that Kasia and Sophie had yet to comprehend.

The hall door opened, and Mrs. Parker, Konrad, and Pembroke entered. Konrad moved towards the cell like a fox approaching a chicken coop, drooling at the sight of the recoiling naked girls. His eyes roved over all of them with a predatory gleam, savoring their fear and discomfort.

Both girls tried to shrink back into the crowd, their hearts pounding.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce Konrad,” commanded Pembroke. “You will always refer to him as Sir! You will obey him as you obey me!”

The girls exchanged fearful glances, Konrad looked like he was, a weird, dangerous psycho.

“Yes, Sir,” the girls mumbled in unison, their voices barely audible.

Konrad’s eyes lingered on Freja and Miriam, his expression darkening with sadistic anticipation. Both girls tried to shrink back into the crowd, their hearts pounding.

“Konrad,” Pembroke said with a friendly slap on the back, “why don’t you go into the cell, have a taste, a smell of all that lovely pussy in there?”

Konrad’s grin widened as he stepped closer to the cell door. As Konrad entered the cell, the atmosphere grew even tenser. He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring the terror in their eyes, as the girls each tried to hide behind the other.

Konrad held his hands out, brushing against their skin, grabbing breasts and buttocks, as if he were in heaven. He approached Freja and Miriam first, his gaze predatory. “Don’t be shy,” he taunted, leaning in to inhale their scent.

“The blonde girl, I am afraid, is to remain a virgin. Trust me, these last few months it has been hell, but I have fucked her ass many times. If you want all holes, the other girl, the Arab girl, Miriam, she’s a lovely girl!” Pembroke announced.

Miriam burrowed into Fatima’s embrace, the older girl’s protectiveness a flimsy shield against the towering figure of Konrad. His long, messy hair hung limply around his gaunt face. His body, all sharp angles and knobbly bones, ended in massive, gnarled hands that looked like they could crush her. The ragged smile that stretched across his face did little to hide the unsettling glint in his eyes that seemed to ooze with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

“My dear Miriam,” Mrs. Parker spoke up with a sickening sweetness. “Don’t be shy, child. Stand apart, and let the gentleman admire you.”

Miriam took a deep breath while the other girls shrank away from her. With a choked sob, Fatima also retreated, leaving Miriam utterly alone with the monstrous figure before her.

Konrad still thought he was dreaming as he brought his hands up to her breasts, massaging the pert C-cup tits jutting out, so perfect and soft. He reached behind her and stroked her ass, smiling at her lack of resistance. This really was heaven! He put his hands between her legs, savoring the silky smooth skin and the dry flesh not yet responding to his fingers rubbing her labia.

“Can I spend a night with her, boss?” Konrad asked hopefully.

“Of course Konrad!” smiled Pembroke. “Just remember, don’t get too excited! No permanent marks, but as a special treat...” he winked “You can bite her as much as you want tonight! She is one hell of a tasty treat” he giggled.

Konrad took Miriam out by the hand, smiling as if bringing a date to the prom, and walked out of the hall with her. Miriam turned back briefly to the cell, her face a picture of fear. She still didn’t understand all the English and for all she knew she was being sold off and would never see her cousins, who looked out of the cell forlornly at her, again.

“I trust you girls are making Kasia and Sophie feel welcome,” Pembroke said, his voice smooth as polished marble. “It must be quite an adjustment, arriving in a new place, remember how you all felt on your first day?” He never stopped enjoying the flicker of fear that crossed their faces.

“Kasia, perhaps you’d like to go first?” Mrs. Parker chirped, her voice a sickly sweet counterpoint to the tension in the room. “We need to get you up on this table for some electrolysis - laser hair removal.”

Pembroke Walked to the door. He didn’t speak, but the single, cold glare he leveled at Kasia spoke volumes.

Kasia’s mind reeled. Just weeks ago, this same man had offered her a kind smile and a listening ear, a beacon of hope in a world that felt increasingly cold and confusing. But he had revealed himself as the devil.

“Come out, Kasia,” Pembroke finally spoke, his voice devoid of warmth. The simple command felt like a physical blow.

Kasia shuffled forward, her head bowed and every step heavy with dread. She allowed Mrs Parker to strap her down, face up.

“This little procedure is simply to help you feel your best, just like all the other girls.” she smiled at her.

Pembroke’s gaze turned towards the Russian sisters.

“Natalia and Tatiana. Come with me.”

The sisters had been patiently waiting for him to leave, and this request was like a bullet. What had changed? What did he want from them now?

They knew better than to resist, and walked out, following him out of the hall.

The girls in the cell sat morosely as Mrs Parker set about her task. Kasia shouted in pain as the first zaps were applied to her armpits. She wondered how this middle-aged woman, wearing a sexualized mini-dress, could have ended up here.

Sophie watched nervously at the hair removal. She knew she was next. She was also a discomforted at the change in atmosphere. No one wanted to talk while the blonde lady was out there.

Natalia and Tatiana showered in Pembroke’s room before slipping into some lingerie. They were grateful to have a stitch on them for the first time since their kidnapping. They both bitterly remembered being fed up with wearing nothing but sexy lingerie every day, but now it felt like a nun’s costume compared to their constant nakedness.

“Now girls, I want to see a show. Imagine I am your owner, I don’t want to have to order you around, just give me a show to make me happy...”

The two Russian girls, tenderly ran their hands through each others’ wavy brown hair as they locked eyes and moved their bodies. Natalia wore a delicate black lace bralette paired with matching high-waisted panties that accentuated her curves. The intricate floral patterns of the lace contrasted beautifully against her fair skin.

Tatiana was dressed in a deep red satin camisole, trimmed with black lace around the edges, paired with matching lace-trimmed shorts. The satin shimmered softly in the light.

As they danced, their lingerie clung to their forms, moving with them as their hands gently explored each other’s bodies, their lips eventually meeting in a tender kiss.

Pembroke lay naked on his luxurious bed, his body comfortably stretched out against the soft, opulent sheets. His hands were behind his head, propping it up slightly as he surveyed the scene before him with a satisfied smile.

He thought back to the little brothel in Istanbul. All he had wanted was a rather expensive thrill. The benefits of deferred gratification! He had not fucked the girls there, instead listening to their concerns and gaining their trust, and pretending to help them.

And now, he was reaping the rewards! He wished their former pimps or their families could see them now! Too beautiful incestuous sisters, snogging each other, exploring their bodies, wanting each other!

“Come on girls, come on top of me ... Natalia, sit on my face, and Tatiana, you sit on my cock!”

He munched between Natalia’s legs through her black panties, enjoying the feel of the material after so many months of bare pussy. It made the sudden taste of her pussy juices as his tongue slipped inside feel all the nicer.

Tatiana slipped off her underwear and lowered herself onto her captor’s large cock, gripping it in her hand. As she did, she couldn’t help but think that this piece of meat was the source of all their travails.

Tatiana gasped as it filled her insides, her body shuddering as she slid down. She glanced at her sister’s face, seeing it contorted with sensations from the tongue exploring her depths. Their eyes met again, and each had a flash of their lives before, playing as children, as young teenagers, doing everything together. Now, they would do this together, and without the stigma of outside life intruding, were getting used to it.

They leaned across Pembroke’s body, enjoying both his appendages inside their respective orifices, and kissed again, their tongues fighting inside their mouths, feeling their breasts, touching them as if they were their own. Having spent hours exploring the other girls’ bodies, the familiarity of their sibling’s bodies, the texture, the smell, the same reactions to the same touches, felt so comforting.

The ambience of the moment was disturbed somewhat by the soudn of screams and shouts in German. As Pembroke sucked on the succulent flesh between Natalia’s buttocks he wondered what on earth Konrad was doing to poor Miriam. But he didn’ stop.

Later, Pembroke lay back with his legs spread wide. Natalia was sucking on his cock, her lips moving rhythmically along its length, while Tatiana bathed his balls with her tongue, her movements gentle and deliberate. He had already cum inside both their pussies, unable to help himself earlier, but this moment felt different—comfortable and heavenly. As he looked down at the pair of blue eyes gazing up at him with a hint of worship, a sense of power and satisfaction washed over him.

“Maybe you girls are happier here than in Istanbul?” Pembroke mused aloud. The girls did not answer nor break eye contact, continuing to use their mouths to pleasure him. “You were wasted there, two sisters, working apart, serving the trash of the city. I have converted you to a pair of lesbian sisters, the ultimate male fantasy! You will be sold to the wealthiest; there is a rich but delicately small market for sisters like you. I’ll make more money from you than your pimps ever did. And I didn’t even get anything when I paid for you the first time!” he laughed.

The girls had almost lost hope in humanity by now; if they had ignored ‘Geoff,’ what might have happened instead? Their old life, even being sold in the brothel, had been bad, but this was so foreign. The life they had dreamed of as little girls now seemed like a cruel joke. Their experience of men over the last few years had made them wary of hoping for anything better.

Natalia just hoped her son was safe and that somewhere. She clung to that hope, imagining him playing in a park with her parents, going to school, and living a life free from the horrors she had endured. Perhaps it would be better for him to only dream of his mother and not know what she had become, entangled in a sordid life of perversion with her own sister.

Pembroke took in the eyes and the sleek bodies of the sisters who were worshipping his genitals. He felt a pang of guilt about withholding the news from them. Their parents had recently been brutally murdered in Russia, found with signs of torture. Whoever had killed them, he guessed them, had been seeking information from them.

He felt a tinge of guilt, offset by the feeling of a finger sliding up his asshole to massage his prostate. The killings and tortures had probably been the work of the Chechens, desperate to know not just the whereabouts of their stolen prostitutes, but what had happened to their mother and aunt. The girls’ parents had suffered brutally, but Pembroke reveled in the knowledge that his operation remained invisible to them all.

As Natalia and Tatiana continued their ministrations, Pembroke’s thoughts briefly flickered back to the gruesome fate of their parents. His more pressing concern was that he still needed leverage over the girls and would have to look into their wider family, in particular Natalia’s son. For now, it was better to hide the sad news about their parents from the girls, for one thing, it would ruin this excellent blowjob he was getting.

Elsewhere in the complex, Freja was buried in the breasts of Mrs. Parker, hugging the older woman in bed. Mrs. Parker was gently stroking Freja’s body, trying to offer some comfort. Freja trembled, scared by the inhuman screams coming from where Miriam was staying with Konrad.

“It’s okay, darling,” Mrs. Parker whispered, her voice soft and soothing. “You are safe here with me.”

Freja’s body shook as she clung to Mrs. Parker. “Why is this happening? Why can’t they stop him? he must be hurting hr so badly, it has gone on for hours” she whispered, her voice quivering with fear.

Mrs. Parker continued to stroke Freja’s hair, trying to calm her. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But you have to remember, girls were put in this world to suffer, so try and have fun while you can, and make men like you and not want to hurt you. I’m afraid I can’t give better advice than that.”

Freja buried her face deeper into Mrs. Parker’s chest, her tears soaking the older woman’s breasts. “I can’t stand the screams. It’s too much.”

“I know, I know,” Mrs. Parker murmured, her voice tinged with sadness. “It’s a cruel world we live in, and sometimes it feels unbearable. But we have to find small moments of joy where we can, and hold on to them.”