Slave Procurement Part 7 Sex Story

#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen

By Edward Pembroke

Pembroke continues his campaign of kidnap, torture, training and sales

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.

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By Edward Pembroke
#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen