Slave Procurement Part 11 –

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#Abuse #Bisexual #Rape #Teen

By Edward Pembroke

Edward Pembroke continues to enslave and train beautiful women

Seventeen-year-old Elira Dervishi stared out her window at the dusty haze clinging to the distant mountains that ringed her tiny village in Kosovo. The university entrance exams, her one shot at escaping this suffocating existence, had loomed large, then vanished in a blur of failed tests and crushing disappointment.

A lone girl among five brothers, she now saw no option outside of her family, either here, or marriage to a cousin in the UK. Her father had laughed at her failure to get into university, not so secretly delighted his only daughter would never be a career girl but only a housewife. She secretly longed for more femininity and often stared at herself in the mirror, in her underwear, imagining herself as a pop star, anything beyond the suffocating male household she was in and the patriarchal expectations.

But there seemed no way out. A few months ago, she had stumbled on a forum after going through a depressed rabbit hole of despair. Out of sheer boredom, she had posted pictures of herself in her underwear, and the sleazy messages she had received were almost a tonic. They made her even more depressed, more willing to kill herself. Maybe subconsciously she was encouraging them.

Then, a message – a spark in the gloom. Adnan Hasic, a nineteen-year-old Bosnian Muslim with a name that danced on her tongue, had reached out. His messages were filled with a kindness that surprised her, a humor that made her lips twitch upwards for the first time in months. His profile picture showed a mop of dark hair and eyes that seemed to hold a universe of their own.

In their late-night conversations, dreams bloomed, fragile but persistent. Maybe, just maybe, there was a future beyond the dusty horizon, a future filled with laughter, shared dreams, and a love that transcended borders. Elira clung to this schoolgirlish hope, more of boredom and desperation than anything.

Mekonnen Tesfaye took a deep breath, savoring the small but comforting certainty of the cash in his hand. It was an uncomplicated arrangement, one that allowed him a modicum of control over his days, even if the details of his work remained shrouded in mystery. The routine was simple but crucial: pick up the USB sticks from the post office in Sarajevo, travel to Dubrovnik, and deposit them in a locker. No questions asked, no deviations. He’d tried once to peek into the encrypted files, but the technology was far beyond his expertise. It wasn’t his job to know what was inside—just to ensure it made it to its destination safely. While it made him feel like a spy, Mekonnen remained unaware that the USB sticks contained nothing more than generic files. In reality, they were routinely picked up by cleaners soon after he deposited them and thrown in the bin.

But then, he had few options. After serving a prison sentence for sexual assault in Austria and being deported, he was stranded in Bosnia. The offer for this strange but lucrative job had come after he made an appeal on a subreddit for advice on next steps. The financial stability it provided was a lifeline, a chance to stay afloat.

When given his next set of instructions, Mekonnen did not hesitate. He was to visit the Athletic Stadium Otoka a few times each week and capture footage of the athletes during their training sessions. The task was straightforward: film from the stands, avoid interference, and collect the footage without drawing attention. There were no specific rules against recording from the stands, and the stadium’s policy was generally lenient in that regard.

Still, Mekonnen’s presence did not go unnoticed. The stewards, tasked with maintaining order at the stadium, eyed him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. His constant presence and the camera in hand made them wary. They occasionally glanced his way, their unease evident, but he made sure to remain unobtrusive, blending into the background as best as he could.

The footage he collected was to be sent to an anonymous contact, and he had learned not to question too much. The less he knew about the end use of his recordings, the safer he felt.

“Good girl Efua, you have adapted well!”

Pembroke lay in his bed within the complex, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. With her face between his legs, Efua moved with a mix of trepidation and resolve, making the most of her first night out of the cell. She served her master with a determined grace, knowing that her best chance at a reprieve from the relentless pain and humiliation of the past weeks lay in her ability to please him. Torture, captivity, and the constant, brutal reminders that she would never see her family again had broken her spirit, but she had learned that her only path to a semblance of a tolerable future depended on her compliance.

Efua used her hand and her mouth to work his rock hard cock in her mouth, expecting him to cum. “No, Efua, not so hard, I don’t want to cum yet, I need to watch this, use your tongue on my balls, gently, very gently!” Efua complied, worshipping the genitalia of the monster who had owned her life since that fateful night on the sea. Her thoughts were on where and who her Master would sell her to, all she understood was that the better she sexually satisfied the Master, the nicer a buyer he might sell her to.

Pembroke was not focusing on Efua, however, but on the screen above her beautiful black body. Kamal Abdelrahman, the wealthy Egyptian magnate, was willing to part with a small fortune for the right toys with which to amuse himself in the last few years of his life. Pembroke had crafted what he considered to be the perfect video to drive the old Egyptian crazy with lust and extract the maximum money from him.

The video featured Gal Avraham and Cassie Johnson. Gal, an Israeli beauty, was particularly attractive to an old Egyptian looking for an outlet for fun, and lustful vengeance. Cassie, a pretty All-American blonde, had her own appeal for the same reasons. Pembroke also thought it was wise to get Cassie out of the picture before she realized that both her parents were now dead.

The video was short but like all others had taken many hours to film. The main issue was motivating the actresses to say the desired lines. Dozens of takes followed by beatings, waterboarding torture, and confinement with spiders and rats, had been required over two days along with makeup to hide trails of tears. Pembroke was patient, it would take as long as it would take. The girls would break eventually and perform their lines, it was just a matter of punishment and time. And when they would watch the finished product in shame they would wonder why they had put themselves through such torture for it.

Gal appeared on screen in an Israeli military uniform, a one-piece boiler suit that clung to her curves. She held a toy gun, dancing and laughing with an enticing playfulness. The skin-tight outfit accentuated her figure, each movement designed to captivate and allure.

“Hello, my name is Gal Avraham. I can be your Zionist whore, to hurt and to punish” she slapped her ass and bent over. “I was a naughty Jewish girl, I let myself get captured, and we know what happens to naughty, Zionist, Jewish sluts. We get raped, beaten and tortured. Do it to me, and I’m such a slut I will cum nonstop and do everything for you!”

She sucked on the toy gun like a cock, her eyes gleaming with mischief and seduction. As she did, Cassie appeared on screen in a bikini emblazoned with the US flag, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. They danced with each other, their movements synchronized in a provocative display. Cassie slowly unzipped Gal’s green boiler suit, revealing her naked body underneath.

“Hi, I’m Cassie Johnson. My father was a US admiral. But me, well silly me, I’m just an American whore that you can own, and beat, and fuck, and abuse.” She giggled put her finger to her mouth and pouted. “Like Gal here, I got captured, and now we are both ready to be your slaves, for the rest of our young lives.”

Gal, now naked, leaned over and kissed Cassie passionately, her hand slipping underneath Cassie’s top. She turned to the camera, her eyes full of lust and submission. “Oh, Master, see these tits? They can be yours, as can mine! Both our bodies, we are western whores, bitches!” she declared with a provocative tone. She slapped Cassie loudly on the buttocks, the sound echoing through the room, before lowering her mouth to suck on the blonde’s tits.

Cassie took over, her voice sultry and commanding. “We will be your ultimate pleasure. We have no path back to freedom; our only life will be to serve you and you alone.” As she spoke, Gal turned, exposing her ass to the camera, her pussy and asshole visible between her cheeks. Slowly, she lowered her mouth down Cassie’s tummy, reaching her bikini bottoms. With deliberate care, she pulled them down and brought her tongue between Cassie’s legs, exploring her with a mix of submission and eagerness.

Cassie sighed and lowered herself to the ground until she was on all fours, her bottom pointed towards the camera. Gal pulled down Cassie’s bikini bottoms, running her tongue down her ass crack while gazing up at the camera with a seductive look.

“Cassie’s daddy is a big, powerful military man, but he cannot help her now, and will spend the rest of his life wondering where his little girl is. You will be her daddy now. Me too. My military training is useless; now I’m just a pathetic bitch, defenseless against your masculine power. We will serve you for the rest of our lives!”

The background of the movie prominently displayed the Israeli military ID of Gal Avraham and the military credentials of Admiral Herbert Johnson. Pembroke was certain that Kamal Abdelrahman would take great delight in telling Cassie that both her father and mother were dead, but that would not be his problem. There were still other family members to threaten her with, and the Egyptian could use his own threats of physical violence to quell both his slaves.

“That’s a good video,” Pembroke said, his eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction. He turned to Efua, who lay beside him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and resignation. “You see, Efua? Men love to humiliate and control girls. This is what I am going to do to you soon, and you will be with a Master who will hopefully treat you kindly but strictly. Either way, you have to accept you are a slave, with no option but to make your Master happy.”

His voice took on a commanding tone as he continued, “Now, make me cum!”

As Efua sucked hard on his cock, Pembroke felt his balls tighten in anticipation. He luxuriated in the suffering of Cassie and Gal, both of whom had felt like traitors to their country, families, and friends while making the video. They would now face a remaining lifetime of humiliation, degradation, and pain. The thought of their despair and the absolute control he wielded over them heightened his pleasure, driving him closer to the edge. Efua, sensing his imminent climax, redoubled her efforts, knowing that making him cum in her mouth was the only way to secure a brief reprieve from her own torment.

Afshan had never accepted being a slave and had to be physically restrained before being strapped into her gimp costume and secured for transport to her new owner. Her defiance had been fierce, requiring significant effort to subdue her.

Pembroke had already made $20,000.00 just for her kidnapping, and her sale price to the megalomaniac and drug-addled Russian oligarch brought him both thrills and concerns. The transaction offered Pembroke unique insights into human nature, revealing the depths of depravity and the lengths to which some would go to exercise power and experience entertainment at the expense of another human being.

“Now, Afshan, I want you to remember, you are here because you were cheeky enough to take exception to a member of the Azmarai Royal Family raping you,” Pembroke said, his voice cold and unyielding. “If you learn to accept violence in the future, it will be better for you.”

He looked down at her, strapped into the gimp costume, her eyes burning with defiance despite her situation. The oligarch would not tolerate any rebellion, and Pembroke knew her spirit would soon be broken under the weight of her new reality.

“Afshan, I know you hate me, but I was ordered to take you,” Pembroke said with a twisted smile. “It has been a pleasure training you. Your new life will involve many … challenges, from what I understand.”

Afshan was already gagged, just waiting for the goggles before being pushed into the small space where she would spend the next few hours before meeting the heavily tattooed, psychotic multimillionaire who had paid for her.

“My training was not only for the benefit of your owner. It was for you too,” Pembroke said, his tone laced with a twisted sense of justification. “You will have to adapt, for your sake, for your family’s sake, for your own sanity. Your owner will not want to kill you, not after spending so much money. He will want to spend time with you, and if you want a bearable life that will not make you go insane, then you have to accept a life of pain, humiliation, degradation, and suffering. I like to think I have made you used to that!”

He tightened the goggles over her eyes, the darkness enveloping her. Pembroke’s words hung in the air, a grim foreshadowing of the torment that awaited her. She felt herself being shoved into the cramped compartment, her mind racing with fear and dread, knowing that her fate was now sealed in a world of unimaginable horrors.

The last words she heard were, “Remember your family, Afshan. In the UK and in Pakistan, I will not forget them, or where they live! Do not let yourself, or me, down! Obey your Master.”

The compartment door closed, sealing her in darkness. Pembroke’s ominous words echoed in her mind, a final reminder of the stakes involved. Her family’s safety hung in the balance, a cruel motivation to ensure her compliance.

Coming to tour Europe as an athlete was a dream come true for Lucy Seratova. She was excited to explore new places, meet new people, and make unforgettable memories. Her journey began in France, where she reveled in the freedom and excitement of touring with her friends.

She often wore mini skirts that showed off her toned legs, paired with stylish tops that highlighted her figure. Her dark hair flowed freely, and her smile was always bright. Boys couldn’t help but stare at her, captivated by her beauty and confidence. Lucy loved the attention, feeling exhilarated by the admiring glances and occasional compliments.

On the dancefloor, Lucy truly came alive. She loved dancing to the music, moving her body with a sensual grace that drew even more attention. Her outfits always revealed as much flesh as possible, emphasizing her athletic physique and natural beauty.

She did not drink much, remaining focused on her training for Munich. Before that, there was the meet in Sarajevo. In her hotel room, she often danced around with her college mates, prancing about as they talked about the upcoming events. They laughingly put on their skimpy athletic costumes, watching themselves in the mirror. Giggling, they tested how high they could get their leg cuts and how low they could wear their panties on their waists, enjoying the playful moments together.

Adnan Hasić was truly a marvel. Pembroke could only admire Konrad Fischer as he demonstrated how he could create this character and make him appear and speak in broken English and Serbo-Croatian. His sorry excuse of a webcam and internet connection provided a good cover for screen freezes and delays, cleverly masking the fact that an AI tool managed his script, generating responses for the silly teenage girls who conversed with him.

Nevertheless, most girls grew tired of Adnan, and some even suspected he was a bot despite his realistic face and movements on camera. One exception, however, was Elira Dervishi. She had gone from suicidal to crazy in love with Adnan. The added bonus was that she couldn’t share anything with her overbearing family, making her eager to keep Adnan’s existence a secret.

Elira’s devotion to Adnan grew stronger with each interaction. The AI’s ability to mirror her emotions and respond with just enough realism to maintain her belief in Adnan’s authenticity kept her hooked. Pembroke saw in her a perfect target—vulnerable, isolated, and desperate for connection. It was a chilling reminder of how easily technology could exploit human emotions, but for Pembroke and Fischer, it was a triumph of their creation.

Elira did have one negative situation. While coming from a shop, she had been propositioned by an older man who wanted to marry her. Elira had refused, and her own father blamed her for trying to seduce the man and embarrassing the family. In tears, she had spoken to Adnan on camera, a visible black eye highlighting her distress.

Adnan, or rather the AI managing his persona, responded with concern and sympathy, his face showing a carefully programmed expression of care. “Elira, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. You did nothing wrong. Your family should be supporting you, not blaming you. I wish I could be there to protect you.”

Elira’s heart ached at his words, her tears flowing freely as she felt the virtual comfort of her digital confidant. “It’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I should move away from my family and this place. Everyone else leaves. That man saw me like a piece of meat. Maybe my dad was right. I should be getting married or I should be getting out of here!”

Adnan’s expression softened, his voice gentle yet firm. “Elira, you deserve to be treated with respect and love, not like an object. Your worth is so much more than what anyone here sees. If you feel trapped, leaving might be the best choice for your happiness and safety.”

Her tears slowed as she listened to his comforting words, the conflicting emotions in her mind slowly untangling. She clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of her oppressive situation, even if it meant taking drastic steps.

“What is Sarajevo like? I mean, it’s not that far, not like England or France. Maybe I could just hang out there, if you know anyone…” Elira shyly let the words hang in the air, hoping for a glimmer of possibility.

Adnan’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Sarajevo is a beautiful city, Elira. It’s rich in history and culture, and the people here are very welcoming. I know quite a few people, and I’m sure we could find a way for you to visit. You deserve to experience a place where you can feel free and happy.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his response, the idea of escaping to Sarajevo filling her with a newfound sense of hope. “Do you really think I could fit in there? Would it be safe for me?” she asked, her voice tinged with both excitement and trepidation.

“Absolutely,” Adnan replied reassuringly. “I can help you get settled and introduce you to friends who will support you. It could be a fresh start, away from all the negativity. Just imagine walking through the beautiful streets of Sarajevo, feeling free and alive.” He seemed to shyly look down, flicking his hair before looking back at the camera. “I mean … I think that I would really like it if you came here.”

Elira’s face softened, a smile spreading across her lips. “I would really like that too, Adnan. But I have to keep it a secret from my family. They would never understand, and they would try to stop me.”

Adnan nodded understandingly. “I understand, Elira. We’ll keep it between us. Just hold on a little longer, and soon you’ll be here in Sarajevo, starting a new chapter of your life.”

Elira’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Thank you for being so kind to me, Adnan. I think … I think I would really like to spend time with you.”

Adnan’s own cheeks reddened as he smiled. “You’re welcome, Elira. I think I would really like that too. We’ll make it happen. Just stay strong and believe in the future we’re planning.”

With renewed hope, Elira began to consider the steps she needed to take to make her escape a reality. As she planned, she couldn’t help but daydream about holding hands with the handsome Adnan as they strolled through the beautiful streets of Sarajevo.

Emir Demir, feeling the weight of his financial burdens, made his way from his office in Adana to the remote and sparse buildings of Bereketli Yemcilik. His daughter needed more tuition fees for the next term, and his son had just written off his car and was begging for another. These distractions clouded his mind as he arrived at the animal feed company’s premises.

Hassan Al-Khatib, the CEO, welcomed him warmly. Hassan appeared to be a nice man, pious and courteous, yet Emir had noticed some irregularities in the accounts that made him uneasy. As he entered the complex, he observed its high level of security. Despite this, there was only one bored local guard at the entrance, who never seemed to venture inside.

The atmosphere was tense as Emir stepped further into the facility, trying to shake off his personal worries and focus on the task at hand.

Hassan Al-Khatib smiled warmly at Emir and said, “My friend, here we export grain for the animals but also money for the poor. As the Quran says, ‘The example of those who spend their wealth in the way of Allah is like a seed of grain that sprouts seven ears, in every ear a hundred grains’ (Al-Baqarah 2:261).”

Hassan paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course, sometimes certain … incentives can ensure that everything runs smoothly. Perhaps a small token of appreciation for your troubles?” His voice was calm, but the implication was clear.

Demir recalled Mr. Al-Khatib taking an interest in his troubles during their last meetings in Adana. As he wandered around the complex, he found it unclear how they made so much money from selling cattle feed. Other than the young Turkish security guard, the only other employees he saw were a shaven-headed man in a boiler suit doing something unspecified and another man in a face mask cleaning out a container.

As they supped coffee, Demir asked, “Do you have a receptionist?”

Hassan Al-Khatib smiled and replied, “Mr. Demir, forgive me, I love women, but my religion forbids me to employ them. I owe it to my wife not to have distractions.”

Mr. Demir laughed, “Of course, I understand. There would only be gossip anyway!”

Both men laughed. Emir Demir then turned his attention to a map of Europe and the Middle East with various locations marked. The map piqued his curiosity, hinting at a broader network of operations than he had previously realized.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking at a bullwhip and cattle prod hanging from the wall.

Hassan Al-Khatib followed Demir’s gaze and chuckled. “Ah, those. They’re actually old relics from when we first started the business. Back then, we handled some livestock directly before focusing solely on feed production. Now they serve as a reminder of our humble beginnings and the challenges we’ve overcome.”

Demir nodded, accepting the explanation, though he couldn’t shake a lingering sense of unease. The tools seemed oddly out of place in a facility that no longer dealt with animals directly.

“Mr. Demir, we are both criminals here,” Hassan Al-Khatib said with a serious tone. “We do not deal in the suffering of animals. We only try to ensure that religion is not forgotten. Sometimes, governments don’t like it.”

Mr. Demir, who was not religious, didn’t mind this revelation. He felt a tinge of sympathy and saw an opportunity for some money. “Mr. Al-Khatib, I won’t lie, there are irregularities here, and in particular this need to charter a private plane for exotic feed and seeds, but as you say, it’s probably from a good spirit. If you help me, I can help you.”

Hassan’s eyes lit up with interest. “And how might that be, my friend?”

Demir leaned in slightly. “I can overlook the irregularities and even support your cause, but in return, I need financial assistance. My daughter’s tuition fees, my son’s car—these are pressing matters for me.”

Hassan nodded slowly, considering the proposal. “Very well, Mr. Demir. Let’s discuss how we can help each other achieve our goals.”

Mr. Demir left the complex feeling much happier. His suspicions about the Azmarian government were correct but he felt good. No one was being hurt and he could not only pay his debts but perhaps have a little holiday.

Elira Dervishi was sprawled across her bed, staring at the ceiling in utter boredom. Another monotonous day had passed with nothing to do but watch TV with her parents and brothers, or endure the company of the same tiresome classmates she saw every day. Life felt painfully dull, and she longed for something exciting to break the routine.

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and retreated to the solitude of her bedroom. As she scrolled through her social media feeds, she noticed that Adnan was online. Her heart skipped a beat. Adnan, with his charismatic smile and exciting life, was the subject of her daydreams and the crush she couldn’t shake.

She quickly sent him a message. “Hi Elira! Sorry, just working online on a forum with some guys. We are planning a get-together for a band,” he replied.

Elira’s curiosity was piqued, and a pang of jealousy twisted in her stomach. “Oh cool!” she typed back, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Who else is gonna be there?”

There was a pause. She watched as the ellipsis indicating he was typing appeared and disappeared, but no response came through. Adnan wasn’t on his webcam, and the silence stretched on, amplifying her insecurities. Elira’s mind raced. She felt so helpless, so ordinary compared to the vibrant life Adnan seemed to lead. Why would he be interested in her? Her room, her life, felt like a cage, and the thought of him in Sarajevo, surrounded by music and interesting people, made her feel even more isolated.

Maybe he wasn’t serious about her coming to Sarajevo, she thought, her heart sinking. The possibility of him being just polite or uninterested gnawed at her, making her feel even more insignificant. She tossed her phone aside and buried her face in her pillow, wishing desperately for a life that felt worth living, and for a boy who saw something special in her.

“Hey, I got new underwear today, want to see?” Elira typed, biting her lip nervously as she waited for his response. Her heart pounded in her chest, her cheeks flushing with anticipation.

When his reply came with a smiling wink emoji, she jumped off her seat, a mix of excitement and anxiety surging through her. She dashed to her dresser, opening the drawer where she kept her newest purchases.

There were a few options to choose from. She could go with the delicate lace set in a soft pastel pink that made her feel both elegant and cute. Or perhaps the bold red thong and skimpy bra with intricate embroidery. There was also the simple but stylish black set, which was classic and subtly sexy.

Elira hesitated for a moment, her mind racing. She wanted to choose something that would make her feel attractive and confident, something that might impress Adnan.

Finally, she settled on the red thong set. It was a daring choice, but she felt a thrill as she put it on. She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric, feeling a rush of empowerment.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her phone and snapped a photo. She sent it with a quick, “What do you think?” and waited, her heart pounding, for his reaction.

“Wow, Elira, you look absolutely stunning! That red really suits you. I can’t wait to see you in person. You’re amazing!”

Elira was elated, and a wide smile spread across her face as she read Adnan’s response. She felt a surge of confidence and excitement and looked at herself in the mirror once more.

But at that moment, her father walked in unannounced through her door. “Elira, what the hell are you doing?”

Elira’s face flushed as she fumbled for words, quickly pulling on a nearby robe to cover herself. “Oh … er … Dad…” she stammered, her mind racing to find an explanation. “I … I was just trying on some new clothes I bought.”

Her father’s expression was a mix of shock and anger. And where did you get those clothes? Are you some kind of whore?”

Elira took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Dad, I bought them with my own money. I just wanted to try something different, something that makes me feel confident.”

Her father shook his head, his voice rising. “This isn’t how I raised you! Sending pictures like that? What are you thinking? Who the fuck is that?” He went to grab her phone.

Elira felt a lump in her throat but forced herself to speak calmly. “Dad, I’m an adult now. I need to make my own choices, even if you don’t agree with them. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Her father’s face twisted with anger. “You little slut!” he yelled, ripping the phone from her hand and hurling it against the wall. The phone shattered, pieces scattering across the floor.

Elira stood frozen, shock and hurt washing over her. “Dad! How could you?” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes.

Her father’s eyes were seized with fury and something else—something darker. He gripped her by the hair, pulling her to the bed, and threw her across his lap.

Elira’s heart pounded with fear and confusion. “Dad, stop! Please!” she cried, struggling to get free.

But his grip tightened. “You need to learn a lesson,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Elira felt a wave of panic. “This isn’t right! You can’t do this!” she shouted, trying to push herself up.

Ignoring her pleas, he raised his hand, and Elira braced herself, feeling utterly helpless and terrified. With a thunderous “Slap!” his large hand struck her buttock, leaving a red mark where it landed.

“You will learn respect!” he shouted, his voice echoing with anger. Elira gasped in pain, tears streaming down her face. “Dad, please, stop! it hurts!” she cried, struggling to get free. But he struck her again and again as Elira felt humiliation and revulsion at what was happening to her.

“Alban!” Suddenly, Elira’s mother was in the doorway, appalled at the sight of her daughter in her underwear over her husband’s knee, shrieking in pain. “Alban, what the hell are you doing!” she screamed, rushing into the room. Elira’s buttocks were now the same color as her red thong.

Elira’s mother quickly pulled Elira up and away from Alban, wrapping her in a protective embrace. “This is not how we handle things!” she shouted, glaring at her husband. “You can’t treat her like this!”

Elira clung to her mother, sobbing. “Mom, please, make him stop.”

Alban froze, his face contorted with anger and confusion. “She needs to learn respect,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “I caught her showing herself on the internet.”

“Is this true?” Elira saw her mother’s expression change, her embrace loosening as she took in Elira’s nearly naked form, the skimpy red lace barely covering her lily-white skin. “Elira, what in God’s name have you been doing!”

Elira felt a fresh wave of shame wash over her. “Mom, I … I was just trying on some new lingerie I bought,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother’s eyes filled with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Elira, this is not how I raised you! Dressing like this and sending pictures?” Suddenly, she lost herself and slapped her daughter across the face, sending Elira reeling over the bed.

“Fucking slut! Our family will be a disgrace because of you!” she spat, turning away in disgust. She and her husband stormed out of the bedroom. “You will get married off before you disgrace us further. Then you can be someone else’s problem.”

Elira cradled her face, tears streaming down as she absorbed the sting of the slap and the harshness of her mother’s words. She was left alone, trying to piece her phone back together, and pulling on her pajamas over the damned lingerie.

Mekonnen Tesfaye spent another day filming the American college girls training in track and field. Though bemused by his instructions, he didn’t mind; he desperately needed the money for himself and his family back in Eritrea.

Lucy Seratova, at nineteen, effortlessly balanced partying, studying, and athletics. She peeled off her skin-tight track pants, bending over and giving Mekonnen excellent footage as her blue shorts came into view, encasing her toned buttocks and revealing the valley of her backside as the fabric disappeared between her cheeks. She adjusted her shorts, smoothing her flat stomach and smiling at how good she looked before picking up the pole to vault.

Her body arced through the air as she went feet-first over the bar, landing gracefully on the cushioned surface on the other side. “Yay!” she exclaimed, legs spread wide. She kicked herself up, the thin blue fabric of her shorts between her legs maintaining her modesty. Laughing with her track mates, she adjusted her skimpy bottoms once more, ready for the next vault.

After practice, Mekonnen’s next task was to approach Lucy and another girl and try to get their phone numbers while recording himself doing it. He had bad experiences with this in the past with local and Austrian girls, but he had no choice but to comply.

“Hi girls! Wondering if you need a guide in town?” he asked.

Lucy and her friend Fiona, both in tight sports pants and tops, were laughing in a carefree manner but immediately became guarded when the dodgy-looking youth appeared.

“We’re fine,” Fiona said, trying to shut it down.

“Are you sure? Why don’t you give me your phone number?” Mekonnen persisted.

“Leave us alone!” Fiona responded firmly, clearly annoyed.

Mekonnen sighed, feeling the sting of rejection once again. He had tried his best, but now he had to follow through with the next part of his instructions: finding out where Lucy and Fiona lived. As he pondered his task, he couldn’t help but wonder who these people were who gave him such odd and invasive tasks.

Determined to complete his assignment without looking like a creep, he decided to be discreet and careful. He hung back, maintaining a distance, and tried to blend into the background as he followed the girls from a safe distance. He needed to gather the information without drawing attention to himself, all the while questioning the true intentions of those who had hired him.

“That creep is following us, Lucy,” Fiona whispered urgently.

“Ugh, I hate it! Come on, let’s lose him!” Lucy replied, frustration evident in her voice.

The two girls quickened their pace, weaving through the crowded areas of the campus, hoping to shake off Mekonnen. They took sharp turns, ducked into busy buildings, and tried to blend in with groups of other students. Soon, Mekonnen lost track of them.

Lucy and Fiona were room-sharing and chatted excitedly into the night about boys, their studies, and the upcoming games. Fiona, the shot putter with her sturdy build, was a stark contrast to Lucy’s lean and graceful figure. Their conversations were filled with laughter and dreams, creating a bond that grew stronger with each shared secret and late-night talk.

Just a floor below them, Mr. Nikolai Solokov and his brother Julius checked into the same hotel. Phillipe appeared to be in a wheelchair, severely disabled, and entirely dependent on Julius for care. Julius tended to his brother with patience and visible dedication, showing everyone that Phillipe’s needs were met. Phillipe spoke haltingly but good-naturedly to everyone around him with a thick Russian accent.

In addition to being an apparently loyal carer, Julius was also a much better spy and crook than Mekonnen. Within minutes, Lucy and Fiona’s room was bugged with microphones and hidden cameras. An extensive investigation showed that CCTV footage was limited to the reception area and the main entrance and exit of the hotel.

The next day, Fiona and Lucy ventured out to the track in their sports outfits—shorts, trainers, and jackets. As they walked, they heard a voice call out, “Hey … hey girls.” They turned to see Nikolai, with white hair and trembling hands, sitting in his wheelchair. “Do you think I could come try out for your team?”

The girls laughed at his joke and asked, “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here for the college games,” Fiona explained.

“Oh, my friend and I are here in Sarajevo. We were here during the war, and that’s when I got this…” He pointed to his wheelchair.

Admiring his spirit, Lucy said, “That’s incredible. You’ve got such a positive attitude.”

“Don’t be sorry!” Nikolai responded. “We still have our lives. You should go see the Field of Athletes Memorial, just outside the city in the hills. It’s an isolated spot where many young athletes who fought in the war are remembered. It’s a powerful place to pay respects to the fallen.”

“We will,” Fiona and Lucy promised, feeling a mix of admiration for his resilience and sympathy for his injuries.

Nikolai continued, “It’s a peaceful place, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. Many people don’t know about it, but it’s a place where you can reflect and honor those who gave everything.”

“Thank you for the recommendation,” Lucy said warmly. “We’ll definitely visit.”

Mekonnen was getting fed up with these mysterious requests and was thinking he should ask for more money. He felt self-conscious sitting in the stands, watching the athletes, knowing he might have been ‘outed’ as a creep and feeling conspicuous as the only Black person in the sparsely attended stadium. When this was over, he really had to get out of here and try his luck in Italy next. He groaned as he read his next instruction on his phone.

A few seats behind him sat another person, in sunglasses and a baseball cap—a middle-aged man who blended in perfectly, unlike Mekonnen. Both men were admiring the same thing: the shapely bottom of Lucy Seratova as she peeled down her black tracksuit bottoms, fished her red sports knickers out of her crack, and began to warm up. The man behind admired her body but also noted with interest that she wore the same USA baseball cap he had seen her in previously, both in footage and in real life.

Elira could not stop crying. She had fled her family home, heart pounding and fear gripping her every step. Finally, she managed to piece her phone together after the brutal beating from her parents. With trembling hands, she discarded the lingerie she cursed, feeling it symbolized the dirt and shame she wanted to rid herself of. In a half-hearted attempt to feel clean, she put on pure white knickers and a bra, but the feeling of dirtiness lingered, impossible to wash away.

She could not forgive her parents. The betrayal and hurt ran too deep. In her desperation, she reached out to Adnan, who felt deep sorrow for her plight. Understanding her need for safety, he recommended she come to Sarajevo. He told her of a women’s shelter there, a place where she could find refuge. Elira could get a bus to Sarajevo, stay at the shelter for a few days, and during the daytime, meet Adnan and his friends, who promised to support and comfort her.

Elira felt embarrassed at the thought of meeting Adnan like this, discarding any semblance of the confident girl she had tried to portray. Despite her shame, she was profoundly grateful for his help. Secretly, she hoped something more might come from this trip. Maybe, out of necessity, a great opportunity for romance could blossom? The thought provided a small glimmer of hope in her otherwise bleak situation.

Elira was excited but terrified to be in a big city by herself for the first time. Sarajevo seemed so alive and bustling compared to her village. She felt awkward in her ill-fitting jeans and sweater, her discomfort amplified when she came across a group of young women who appeared to be sports athletes. They were laughing confidently, wearing just tight sports shorts that rode up their thighs, showcasing their toned bodies. It was a far cry from her local town, and Elira couldn’t help but feel out of place and envious of their ease and self-assurance.

She had no idea about ‘women’s shelters’ and felt utterly lost. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and the streets were bustling. Adnan had told her he could meet her later on, but she felt so nervous and out of place. She looked plain, had no nice clothes, and certainly had no desire to turn up in lingerie.

Adnan had suggested that his uncle could pick her up and drive her to his place. Adnan himself was still in a meeting with charity workers, and she hadn’t informed him of her bus’s arrival time. She apologized by text for bothering him, feeling useless. His uncle worked for the UN in Sarajevo, making Elira’s world feel small compared to Adnan’s. She wondered if she should just get on a bus back to Kosovo, return to her family, and prostrate herself in apology.

She read the last few messages from her mother. Some were conciliatory, but the last read, “So you don’t even bother responding? We are worried sick about you! When you come back, you had better be able to say where you have been!”

Feeling torn and overwhelmed, Elira stood in the bustling city, unsure of her next move.

Suddenly, a man approached her. He was black, and Elira had never seen a black person. “Hi girl! You look lost. Want to come for a ride? I have a car; I can drive you around for a bit.”

Elira was in shock, not just at seeing a person of color but also at how to deal with the invitation. She froze.

“Err … no, sorry…”

“What’s wrong? You look lost, and you’re cute…”

Elira stood there, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never felt so alone and vulnerable. The man’s presence was overwhelming, and she didn’t know how to handle the situation. She was scared, but she also didn’t want to be rude.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she managed to say, her voice trembling. She turned away from the man, hoping he would leave her alone. She tried to remember Adnan’s advice about staying safe in the city, but it was hard to think clearly with fear clouding her mind.

As she walked away quickly, she could feel the man’s eyes on her. She kept her head down, clutching her phone tightly in her hand. She needed to find a safe place, somewhere she could wait for Adnan or his uncle.

She saw a small café across the street and made her way over, her steps quick and determined. She found a corner table and sat down, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Elira pulled out her phone and sent a quick message to Adnan: “I’m at a café. Can you or your uncle come soon? I feel very lost.”

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, her phone buzzed. It was Adnan: “My uncle Edward is on his way. Stay inside the café and don’t worry. You’re safe there.”

Elira sighed in relief, feeling a bit of the weight lift from her shoulders. She ordered a cup of tea. As she waited, she thought about her family and how much she missed them, despite the conflicts that had driven her away.

“Hello, Elira?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see a tall, handsome man with black hair greying at the temples. He had strong features and a kind expression.

“Yes, I am Elira,” she replied, her voice a bit shaky.

He spoke in basic Serbo-Croatian before apologizing, “I am sorry, I can speak English much better! I only work here; Adnan is my sister’s son. My name is Edward Pembroke.”

“Oh, hello!” Elira responded, still nervous but relieved to finally meet someone who seemed trustworthy. “Do you work for NATO?” “Haha, no, common mistake, but I work for the UN,” Edward said, matching Adnan’s description. He seemed friendly and charming.

“Adnan told me about your situation with your parents. Really, I hope you contact them soon, but for now, I am happy to help you find somewhere for the night with Adnan. Do not worry; we are decent people. My wife Anna is happy to cook for you!” he reassured her.

Elira felt a wave of relief wash over her. Edward’s warm demeanor and the mention of his wife’s hospitality made her feel more at ease. “Thank you so much,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “I appreciate your help.”

Edward smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. Let’s get you settled. Adnan will join us later. You’ll be safe with us, and we’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

As they left the café, Elira felt a glimmer of hope. The city was still daunting, and her future uncertain, but for the first time since arriving, she felt like she had found a small sanctuary. She was determined to navigate this new chapter in her life, one step at a time, starting with the kindness of strangers who felt like friends.

She walked over to Edward’s van with him, parked nearby. It was a white van emblazoned with the UN logo on the side. All around were people going about their day. Edward smiled and held the door open for her before heading to the driver’s seat. The van seemed clean and sterile, with a black box in the back and paperwork on the passenger seat that she had to move.

“Oh, please do not mind the files. Just move them to the back,” said Edward, smiling.

Elira was still slightly nervous and texted Adnan, “I’m with your uncle in his van!” Adnan responded with a thumbs up and said, “Great! You can talk more easily with my aunt Anna. She is Bosnian!”

Elira relaxed as they drove off away from the city center and up a hill along streets she did not recognize. The scenery became more residential, with trees lining the roads and houses becoming more spaced out.

“Oh, just let me park for a minute. I need to take this call; it’s my wife,” said Edward.

“Of course,” said Elira, looking forward to hearing a woman’s voice to allay her fears.

Edward pulled over to the side of the road and took out his phone. “Hi, Anna. Yes, I have Elira with me. We’ll be home soon. Could you prepare something warm for her? Great, thank you. Oh, and can you speak to Elira for a minute?”

He handed the phone to Elira. She was happy at the prospect of talking to his wife but found it odd that she hadn’t heard any voice coming from the phone while Edward had it in his hand. As she held the phone to her ear and said, “Hello? Hello?” she suddenly felt a sharp, excruciating pain.

Pembroke had taken out a metal object and pressed it against her side. Without warning, she was convulsed by the taser’s electric shock. The phone fell from her hand as her body seized uncontrollably. She tried to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat. The pain was intense and overwhelming, leaving her disoriented and unable to move.

Pembroke quickly secured her hands with zip ties, ensuring she couldn’t escape or fight back, and gagged her. He placed her in the back of the van, where the black box she had noticed earlier was now open, revealing a hidden compartment. He pushed her inside, closing the compartment door securely.

He looked through her phone and grinned as he found some very risqué photos. He immediately forwarded them to Adnan along with a message: “Package received ;)” to which Adnan, or rather Konrad Fischer, responded with a grinning emoji.

Pembroke got out, ripped off the UN logo—which was actually just a symbol of support, not anything official—then drove to a secure storage unit. He placed the black box inside but not before checking on its occupant.

“Well, well, Elira. I hope you’re not claustrophobic. You’ll be staying here for a day or so before we move you on. You’re not the only girl we’re picking up in Sarajevo. I’m afraid you’ll never get to see Adnan, but don’t worry about making your parents angry—they’ll never see you again!” He grinned wickedly and closed the box again. It was very convenient to have a cheap storage place to hold a human captive; these black boxes were marvelous soundproof inventions.

Elira lay in the darkness, her heart pounding with fear and despair. She struggled to breathe, the air feeling thick and oppressive. The reality of her situation was horrifying, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t believe how quickly her life had taken such a terrifying turn.

She thought about her family, their faces flashing before her eyes. She regretted not responding to her mother’s messages, wishing she could now. But she couldn’t, and she knew she was very far from being safe.

Fiona and Lucy were deep in conversation, planning their evening and the much-needed rest they wanted before their big day of competition. “You know, Lucy,” Fiona started with a grin, “I was thinking about that older man we met—the one in the wheelchair. My dad’s a veteran, and I think I’d really like to go see that monument he mentioned.”

Lucy nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Totally. Something quiet to focus on. We shouldn’t be partying before the competition. We should be so grateful to be here.”

Their conversation shifted to a more heartfelt tone as they thought about their families. “It’s important to remember the sacrifices our families made,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “My granddad fought in World War II. It’s in our blood to honor their memory.”

“Same here,” Fiona agreed. “Visiting that memorial will be our way of paying tribute to them. How about we get there just after six?” Lucy smirked and added playfully, “Plus, it’ll give us a break from those cute guys on the athletics team. You know, the ones you keep ogling.” Fiona laughed, nudging Lucy. “Oh, please. You’re the one who can’t stop talking about the tall one with the dimples!”

They both giggled, feeling a mixture of excitement and reverence for the day ahead. Their playful banter about the boys lightened the mood, but they both knew the importance of their plans for the evening. The decision to visit the memorial was a way to ground themselves and honor their family’s legacies before the competition.

They left to go downstairs for some lunch, leaving their room behind. Unbeknownst to them, soon after they left, the room door was opened, and a man slipped in. Moving swiftly and quietly, he took out the cameras and bugs. He then took Fiona’s USA cap and carefully placed a tracker into the lining of the cap, ensuring it was well-hidden.

With his task complete, the man left the room as stealthily as he had entered, leaving no trace of his intrusion. Fiona and Lucy, completely unaware, continued to enjoy their lunch, discussing their plans and their gratitude for being part of such an important event.

Mekonnen was getting fed up. He had another work errand planned and had been ordered to wait at a spot near the city center for three hours now. He wondered who he was supposed to give a lift to. Would these be unaware victims or linked to the masterminds, his employers? He was told to say that “Dmitri” had sent him to pick them up.

After what felt like an eternity, Mekonnen was surprised to see a man pushing another man in a wheelchair approaching him. The man in the wheelchair had white hair and looked like an invalid.

Mekonnen straightened up, preparing to play his part. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew better than to deviate from the plan. As the pair got closer, Mekonnen cleared his throat and said, “Dmitri sent me to pick you up.”

The man pushing the wheelchair nodded, a grim expression on his face. “Good. We’re ready.”

Mekonnen’s mind raced with questions, but he knew this wasn’t the time for them. He opened the car door and helped the man in the wheelchair get settled inside. The wheelchair couldn’t be folded, and he barely managed to close the trunk, having to tie it down with some string. As they drove off, Mekonnen couldn’t help but glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the old man’s weary eyes. For now, his job was to get them to their destination, no questions asked.

Mekonnen was instructed to drive them to the Field of Athletes Memorial. Perhaps these men were veterans from the 1990s war, coming to pay their respects, he thought.

“Park here, please,” said the man in the wheelchair.

“How long will you be?” Mekonnen asked, trying to gauge the situation.

“We will be as long as we need to be. Others died, so we need to respect them! Just park here and wait for us,” the man replied firmly.

Mekonnen nodded and parked the car, watching as the man pushed the wheelchair-bound veteran towards the memorial. As the minutes ticked by, Mekonnen’s thoughts drifted to his own plans. With the money he had, he was determined to leave Bosnia behind and start fresh. This would be his last errand for these mysterious employers.

Fiona and Lucy loved Sarajevo; they felt so safe in the city. Despite it being dark, everywhere was peaceful.

“This is so not like Chicago,” laughed Fiona. “There is no way I could do this after dark there.”

They moved through the graveyard, taking photos and trying to be respectful about the brutal war they had read about.

“Oh my God,” said Lucy. “It’s that old man in the wheelchair and his friend!”

“What a coincidence, but I guess he did recommend this place to us. We should say hi!” said Fiona.

The two men looked somber and in a prayerful mood near the memorial, which was now deserted. In reality, they were both engrossed in their phones, showing that the tracker hidden in Fiona’s baseball cap was very close by.

As Fiona and Lucy approached, Fiona called out softly, “Hello again! We took your advice and came to visit the memorial.”

The men looked up from their phones, startled for a moment, but then quickly composed themselves. The man in the wheelchair gave a gentle smile, masking the urgency of their real task. “It’s good to see you here,” he said. “This place holds a lot of history and memories.”

Lucy glanced around, feeling a sense of reverence. “We can see that. It’s very peaceful and solemn.”

“Say,” said Fiona, “would it be too much to ask to take a photo with you? Don’t mean to be disrespectful…”

The man in the wheelchair mulled it over and seemed to think. “Why not? You seem like nice girls.” He looked all around him, as did the other man who took Fiona’s camera to take the photo.

“It’s dark, so you have to use the flash,” said Fiona helpfully to the man, who hesitated before taking the camera. She then skipped back to the wheelchair-bound man.

The man in the wheelchair wondered why they had not yet asked his name. He was also a little put out by their disrespectful short athletic shorts they wore beneath their puff jackets, displaying all their legs. They obviously felt safe here even after dark, though they perhaps should have thought more about respecting the dead.

The two girls stood on either side of the wheelchair, smiling into the camera. They did not notice that the man in the wheelchair had picked out two metal sticks from under the blanket over his legs and held them now in both hands. As the girls said, “cheese,” he held both sticks between their legs. He smiled into the camera, glad to have such easy access to their bare flesh for this purpose.

Each girl was surprised at the intimate touch, but before they could react further, a shock of convulsions went through them.

Lucy glanced around, feeling a sense of reverence. “We can see that. It’s very peaceful and solemn.”

“Say,” said Fiona, “would it be too much to ask to take a photo with you? Don’t mean to be disrespectful…”

The man in the wheelchair mulled it over and seemed to think. “Why not? You seem like nice girls.” He looked all around him, as did the other man who took Fiona’s camera to take the photo.

“It’s dark, so you have to use the flash,” said Fiona helpfully to the man, who hesitated before taking the camera. She then skipped back to the wheelchair-bound man.

The man in the wheelchair wondered why they had not yet asked his name. He was also a little put out by their disrespectful short athletic shorts they wore beneath their puff jackets, displaying all their legs. They obviously felt safe here even after dark, though they perhaps should have thought more about respecting the dead.

The two girls stood on either side of the wheelchair, smiling into the camera. They did not notice that the man in the wheelchair had picked out two metal sticks from under the blanket over his legs and held them now in both hands. As the girls said, “cheese,” he held both sticks between their legs.

Each girl was surprised at the intimate touch, but before they could react further, a shock of convulsions went through them. Fiona and Lucy collapsed to the ground, unconscious from the shock.

Quickly, the “invalid” jumped out of the wheelchair. The wheelchair was swiftly taken apart, revealing two bags with gags and cuffs hidden within. The girls’ phones and watches were pocketed by the former invalid, who then gagged and cuffed the unconscious girls, placing them into the black bags. The bags were then carried to the car along with the disassembled wheelchair.

Mekonnen was shocked to see the two men approaching his car with two large sleeping bags carrying the wheelchair. “What happened to the invalid?” he thought to himself. Should he drive off? But he hesitated, and soon both men were at his car.

“Open the boot!” said the former wheelchair pusher with a commanding tone.

Mekonnen’s mind raced, but he knew he was in too deep to back out now. Reluctantly, he got out of the car and opened the boot. The men quickly and efficiently loaded the bags and the remaining parts of the wheelchair into the trunk. The former invalid looked at Mekonnen with a hard gaze. “Drive, and don’t ask questions,” he ordered.

Mekonnen swallowed hard, got back into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

“Go here,” the man commanded, handing Mekonnen a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it.

Mekonnen glanced at the address, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He drove through the dimly lit streets of Sarajevo. The silence in the car was heavy, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle from the men in the back seat.

The address led them to a row of storage units on the outskirts of the city. Mekonnen pulled up to the designated unit and killed the engine, his heart pounding in his chest.

The former invalid and his companion quickly got out of the car and moved to the trunk, opening it and retrieving the black bags containing Fiona and Lucy. Mekonnen watched them silently, his mind still calculating his next move.

“Open the storage unit,” the former wheelchair pusher ordered, tossing Mekonnen a set of keys.

Mekonnen opened the unit and was surprised to see a large black box in the unit, along with other miscellaneous items. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized a laptop and some electronic items that belonged to him. Shocked and confused, he turned around to see the shutter being pulled down, and the two men now facing him, each with a gun drawn. “What’s going on here?” Mekonnen demanded, trying to keep his voice steady despite the fear gripping him.

Pembroke, now tiring of his makeup and white hair wig, gestured to one of the black bags with a figure wiggling inside, the sound of muffled murmurs emanating from it. “Open that one,” he ordered.

Mekonnen unzipped the bag with trembling hands. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Fiona inside, dressed in her jacket, shorts, and trainers. She was cuffed and gagged, her face tear-stained and terrified, eyes wide with fear.

Mekonnen, his voice shaking, said, “I don’t understand. What are we doing?”

Pembroke, now free of his makeup and white hair wig, stared at Mekonnen with a cold, calculating expression. “Mekonnen, you should look at your next task as the most pleasurable. You see, Fiona here, her father is a brutal racist and very anti-abortion. We know about your little conviction in Austria, so we thought you would be an excellent candidate. Now, why don’t you pull down Fiona’s shorts and underwear? You don’t have to uncuff her; just pull them down to her ankles. Go on.”

Mekonnen laughed nervously, trying to mask his rising panic. “You must be joking!”

Pembroke’s cold eyes narrowed. “Why the hell would we pay a bum like you all that money for such stupid tasks? This is the real task. Now earn your money, and we will let everyone go. Of course, Fiona here will be a little different, and if you do well, she might even be pregnant. But if you don’t, we will shoot you and get someone else for her.”

Dmitri chimed in. “We picked you because you are a rapist. So don’t feel bad.”

Pembroke smiled. “And we want Fiona’s father to have an inconvenient son-in-law, so please, don’t worry about your safety or Fiona’s. Just please make love for us and don’t feel embarrassed.”

Mekonnen’s heart pounded in his chest as he glanced at Fiona, her eyes wide with fear and tears streaming down her face.

“We have you a first-class train ticket to Venice, Mekonnen, and some more money, your final payment,” Pembroke said, holding out an envelope before throwing it on the floor. “Ten thousand dollars. You either do this now, and get out of the country, or you die here.”

Mekonnen thought of the money and his life. These men looked serious and dangerous. His mind raced, trying to find a way out of the nightmare unfolding before him.

“Shall I untie her?” Mekonnen asked, hoping to buy more time.

“No, you don’t need to,” Pembroke replied, his voice cold and impatient. “You can open her thighs without opening her ankles. Now come on, no stalling.”

Mekonnen looked at the other bag, the figure inside mewing softly and shuffling within the formless black bag. His gaze shifted back to Fiona, her blue shorts still between her legs.

Mekonnen’s hands trembled as he gently pulled Fiona’s shorts down to her ankles, revealing a white thong. Pembroke laughed, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I always wondered what these athletes wear under their shorts and pants. Very nice,” he sneered, keeping his gun trained on Mekonnen. “Now I want you to rip that thong off and give it to me.”

Mekonnen kept his eyes focused on the white straps around Fiona’s hips, his hands shaking as he reached for them. He pulled hard, trying not to meet her gaze, and soon a ripping sound echoed around the room. He pulled the cloth away, the delicate fabric tearing in his hands.

“Give it to me,” said Pembroke hungrily, his eyes gleaming with a sickening satisfaction.

Mekonnen felt a wave of nausea wash over him as he handed the torn thong to Pembroke, who took it with a grotesque eagerness, bringing it to his lips and nose. “Hmmmm … now Mekonnen,” Pembroke said, his voice dripping with malicious pleasure, “don’t get up. Get under her cuffs, between her legs, and why not get that cock out for us to see.”

As he did so, Fiona’s legs were spread and her smooth pussy lips were opened up. He unzipped his jeans and took his flaccid cock out. Dmitri and Pembroke moved to check they could have a view of the pair’s genitalia.

“Come on Mekonnen, nice fresh pussy for you!” Dmitri laughed.

Mekonnen started to cry as he manipulated his penis, his erect cock starting to poke against Fiona’s pussy. He accidentally caught sight of her face and their eyes met. Her blue eyes were in shock, melting with tears.

“Get inside her!” commanded Pembroke.

Mekonnen closed his eyes and pushed himself inside her, his large cock gradually disappearing inside her despite her groans and sobs.

“Enjoy yourself, Mekonnen, now I want you to cum inside her, let’s see if we can get her pregnant!” chuckled Pembroke.

Mekonnen tried to think of anything else, but could not help but get turned on by the vice-like grip the young American’s vagina held on his manhood.

Fiona could not believe her life had changed forever in the space of just an hour. She was abroad for the first time, excited to be taking part in these games with her friends and thinking only of her future. She was a virgin and had been saving herself for the right man. Now, this was over. She could only pray that she and Lucy could get out of this alive. The man inside her, her rapist, whom she had seen for days following her, was disgusting but seemed to be acting against his will.

Her rapist sighed as he came, immediately feeling even worse than before, but he did not have time to think. As soon as he felt his sperm flood her insides, a brutal shock rippled through his body, and everything went black.

An hour later, Mekonnen stirred, enveloped in darkness, his mind a foggy labyrinth of confusion. Drugged and bound with cuffs, he lay cramped in the trunk of a car. Beside him, Fiona was similarly restrained and gagged. Through the faint light seeping in through the cracks, their blurred forms were just visible to each other. The drugs dulled their senses, rendering their struggle against the restraints futile.

They were trapped in Mekonnen’s car, commandeered by Pembroke, with Dmitri riding shotgun, both gloved to avoid leaving prints. The back seat was cluttered with sinister equipment. The car rolled to a stop in an isolated area near the woods outside the city, pulling up next to their previously rented white van.

Night had fallen, but Pembroke and Dmitri moved with cold efficiency. They dragged the barely conscious Mekonnen into the woods, to a tree they had scouted the day before. A noose was already prepared, dangling menacingly from a sturdy branch. Pembroke, having perfected his grim technique with Salvatore Greco, was ready for his next victim.

The scene was chillingly silent as Mekonnen’s body was hoisted up. Moments later, he dangled lifelessly from the tree.

“Now, for Fiona,” said Pembroke. They opened the boot, revealing her terrified blue eyes reflecting the figures looming over her. Gagged and unable to speak, she could only plead with her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Fiona. Perhaps in different circumstances, you might have made me a lot of money and some man very happy. But for two million dollars, I am prepared to make some sacrifices.”

He nodded to Dmitri, who pulled out a large knife and opened her jacket, revealing she was still naked, with her shorts around her ankles and top pulled up above her breasts. Fiona felt the cold air on her skin and saw the knife, trying to scream through her gag.

“Do it,” hissed Pembroke.

Dmitri plunged the knife into Fiona’s pale stomach, then out and again, repeatedly stabbing her abdomen in a fury as blood spattered everywhere. Fiona’s eyes widened with pain and horror—this was happening—this was the end.

Pembroke looked around and still saw no one. “Right, enough, she’s dead, let’s get her to her grave!”

They both carried her, still cuffed and gagged, through the trees to a site not far from the dangling figure of Mekonnen. It was a freshly dug grave. Dmitri quickly dug another few feet with his shovel before they took Fiona’s cuffs and gag off and threw her into the shallow pit.

While Dmitri shoveled the earth over her, Pembroke took a cloth soaked in Fiona’s blood and approached the dangling corpse of Mekonnen. He meticulously rubbed the fresh blood over Mekonnen’s hands, cuffs, T-shirt, and jeans, ensuring the scene looked as gruesome as possible. From his inside pocket, he withdrew a vial of blood drawn from a wound drawn from Lucy’s arm and poured it on his hands as well.

“Right, let’s get out of here!” They checked Mekonne’s car, got everything out, and made their way to the white van. A quick change out of their bloody clothes and they were off back to the self-storage unit.

Elira had her first breath of air outside her box in a day as Pembroke simply leered at her. “Don’t be anxious, Elira, we’ll get you to your new home soon. For the time being, you’ll stay trussed up, and soon all will be a little clearer.”

Both Elira and Lucy were now curled up in balls within their boxes, now covered with layers of seeds. They were placed in the back of the van along with all the other incriminating evidence, such as Mekonnen’s electronics. Their next destination: Sarajevo Airport…

Nadim Darwish glanced at his phone. His boss, Hassan Al-Khatib, had been very clear. The plane needed to be in the air and make the last private slot before 9 PM. ‘Bereketli Yemcilik’ seemed a generous if mysterious employer, and he could not afford to mess this up. Drugs, prison, escape from the Syrian air force, all had meant that Nadim was a loose end, and he was surprised they could not find a better pilot. Unless, of course, they were transporting something other than animal feed and exotic plants. But he knew better than to question.

Shortly after the latest text, his boss Mr. Al-Khatib showed up in a van with an associate. Two ominous black boxes had clearance to get through customs to the plane, with the waiver of Turkish customs generously agreed upon by Emir Demir.

When they were in the air, Pembroke, masquerading as Al-Khatib, sipped a bottle of whiskey as he pondered the two black boxes, considering their seven-figure value, the pleasures of flesh hidden within, and the deaths required for them to be there. Nadim looked back from the cockpit at his new boss, questioning just how pious this man was, and what kind of operation this truly was.

The following morning, an old man walking with his granddaughter was shocked to see the figure of a black man hanging from a tree by a noose. He called the police, who were stunned to find the body of illegal immigrant Mekonnen Tesfaye, covered in someone else’s blood, apparently having hanged himself. A search of his car revealed further blood evidence.

Meanwhile, the US university track and athletic team were growing increasingly worried about Fiona and Lucy, as neither had shown up for their events and hadn’t been seen since the previous evening.

The story rapidly gained media attention, and later, the body of Fiona Flaherty was discovered in a shallow grave nearby. A massive manhunt was launched for the missing Lucy Seratova. However, it seemed clear to the authorities that the killer had taken his own life. Tesfaye, who had served time for rape in Austria, had been harassing and following the girls for days before the murders, and all the clues pointed to him. No one thought about or remembered Pembroke or Dmitri.

Fatima Al-Tayeb pushed her body to the limit, trying to find a reason to go on. Her motivations were purely negative: to save her daughter, to protect her family, to avoid more pain from the evil Mr. Harris. But how could she continue? There was no dignity in this life, no point, nothing to live for except to sacrifice herself for relatives she prayed would never find out how she had lived.

She was on a rare trip ‘outdoors,’ within a high-walled area resembling a rodeo stadium. Harris had meticulously planned for some private alone time with just him and his slave pony girl. Fatima knew this setting all too well; it was his twisted playground, a place where she was forced to endure his cruel games.

“Giddy up! Giddy up, girlie! Come on now!” Harris shouted with twisted delight. He had always loved horses and women, and his new hobby of combining the two had consumed him over the last few months. He spurred Fatima on, relishing in her humiliation and pain.

Fatima wore a demeaning ponygirl bondage outfit designed to strip her of any dignity. A tight leather corset cinched her waist painfully, accentuating her forced posture. Attached to the corset were straps that held her arms in a strict, immobile position behind her back. Her legs were encased in thigh-high boots with impossibly high heels, making every step a precarious challenge. A faux horse tail protruded from a plug, embedded i her asshole, adding to her humiliation.

Around her head, a bridle and bit gag kept her silent, with blinders on either side limiting her vision to only what was directly in front of her. A plume of feathers adorned the top of her head, completing the dehumanizing ensemble. Harris had ensured every detail of the outfit was meticulously designed to degrade and control her, turning her into a grotesque parody of a pony.

“Keep those knees up, girlie! Yee-ha!” Harris shouted, whipping her gently on the buttocks to encourage her. Fatima trotted around in a circle, endlessly, for no discernible outcome. Harris simply enjoyed the movement, the sights, the sweat, and most of all, the humiliation.

Soon, Fatima would be back down in her subterranean dungeon, where another small race track served as her usual place of torment. Harris would abuse her there, having pierced her nipples and hung little bells from them that jingled as she ran. He liked to force her to pull him around on a small chariot, all the while tapping her with the whip, and sometimes hitting her quite forcefully, either to punish her for perceived laxity or out of sheer animal lust.

She was kept with the horses and had not seen another human being other than Harris in weeks, or perhaps even months—she had lost track of time. Harris only spoke to her in cruel taunts, angry outbursts, or dehumanizing appraisals of her body.

She missed her old life, her family, her husband, her daughter. She even missed the complexity and the humanity of the other girls she had once known. Here, she felt she was becoming an animal.

She was not allowed to talk, even without the bit. Harris had installed a small microphone, and once, when he heard her whispering a prayer, he whipped her until she was bloody.

“Animals don’t talk, they never fucking talk, and you are a fucking animal,” he had snarled at her.

Despite the constant torment, Fatima’s body had grown stronger, more resilient. Her thighs were firm, her backside sculpted from the relentless exercises Harris subjected her to. This transformation only seemed to fuel his depraved desires, making her both an object of his sadistic pleasure and his lust.

In the stables, he often finished a ride by fucking her from behind, pawing at her breasts, and skull fucking her with her arms still tied behind her. Despite her animal get-up, he could not stop running his hands all over her smooth body, his sexual fantasy since he was a boy.

She ate from a bowl like the horses and drank from the same water. Harris did not mind that he was the one who had to clean her after urination and defecation for she was rarely allowed to have her hands free. She spent most of her time in her stall having nothing to do but stare at the wall.

“I wonder what you will be like when you start to lose your mind,” Harris mused, his voice dripping with malice. “I would, having nothing to do here but ride around, get fucked, and stare at that wall.” His blazing eyes bore into her, the face of an evil man twisted with sadistic pleasure. “The sooner you become an animal, the better for you.”

Fatima thought the same. Her life was forfeit, at the hands of this monster. She only hoped she might die soon at his hands and have release.

Pembroke had been thinking of pony girls as he appraised Lucy’s naked body, admiring the lines and curves of her athletic figure. Lucy, strictly bound, could do nothing but flinch and shiver as his fingers ran all over her.

Elira, of a slighter build, had grapefruit-sized breasts, a slim waist, and a carved figure that Pembroke enjoyed toying with. Both were excellent catches, he considered, and he hoped both would be suitably impressed with their induction into his twisted world.

Both girls, gagged, bound, and barely wiped clean between their legs, were ordered into the hall. They gazed in astonishment at the naked females in the cell on the side. Both were then forced onto their knees. Nadia and Yasmina were ordered out of the cell to slide themselves underneath Lucy and Elira, positioning their faces between the girls’ legs, looking up at their exposed genitalia.

“Nadia, Yasmina, you will start to eat our new guests. You will stop when I tell you,” Pembroke commanded with a sadistic smile. “Don’t worry about refreshments; I have a feeling they will arrive in your mouth at some point, and I expect you to swallow everything our new friends give you.”

Nadia and Yasmina, with trembling obedience, began their degrading task, their faces pressed close to the pussies and assholes of the two newcomers, and their tongues began to lick. Lucy and Elira, powerless and humiliated, could do nothing but endure the violation.

Meanwhile, Mrs Parker and Mrs Al-Hara called the rest of the girls out for a full training session. “This will be your new life before you are sold, ladies, so pay attention. Today, you can enjoy your friends’ tongues but from tomorrow, intensive training for you!

The girls started off on the cocksucking machines, their mouths forced around dildos for fifteen minutes at a time. Occasionally, they shrieked with pain as they missed a cycle, causing the electrodes attached to their nipples and pussies to buzz with a painful shock.

After a total of an hour with four different dildos, the slack-jawed, slobbering girls were ordered to continue using their mouths. They were paired with another girl and forced into fifteen minutes of French kissing. With nothing to sustain them other than each other’s saliva, they soon began to complain about being thirsty.

“Now girls, come on, suck the spit from your lover’s mouths, there is plenty of moisture to go around for now!” said Mrs. Parker mischievously, batting away their pleas for bathroom breaks.

Elira couldn’t help herself. She had only masturbated occasionally before, but the relentless tongue action from Nadia had driven her to countless orgasms. Suddenly, she exploded in Nadia’s mouth with a stream of piss. Nadia pulled away, choking on the urine that stung her eyes and burned her throat. She gasped for breath, the acrid taste lingering in her mouth, while tears of humiliation streamed down her face. The scene was chaotic and degrading, each girl trapped in their own personal hell, their dignity and humanity stripped away by the sadistic pleasure of their captors.

Pembroke merely laughed. “Come along, Nadia. Our poor new girl here has had a traumatic journey, much like your own! You should be more tolerant and glad for a drink!” He sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Now, I want you to lick all that up off the floor before you get your face back between her legs.”

Nadia, trembling and humiliated, bent down to follow his command, her cheeks burning with shame as her tongue ran along the rough surface of the ground, sucking up the sour pools of piss. Elira was mortified, and looking at these girls made her nauseous, the violence was one thing, this was just … unnatural.

Meanwhile, the main girls were now ordered to form different pairs for 69 practice. They awkwardly positioned themselves, their bodies aligned in degrading compliance, their tongues hesitant but obedient as they made contact with each other’s pussies.

The room filled with the sounds of their reluctant efforts, tongues moving tentatively at first, then more insistently under the pressure of their captors’ watchful eyes. Hands were placed on each other’s thighs and hips, some in reluctance, others in genuine love for their partners. The Russian sisters, and the Afghan mother and daughter, again showed that family ties helped with the passion of their lesbian sex.

Next, the girls were re-paired again. One girl in each pair had to place a dildo gag in her mouth, the strap tied around her head, and lie down flat on her back. The seven-inch dildo protruded obscenely from her mouth, u into the air.

The other girl in the pair had to position herself above her partner’s face, lowering herself until the dildo slid up inside her. She was to continue until her pussy lips met the outstretched lips of the girl lying beneath her.

The room was filled with muffled groans and the slick sounds of the dildo moving in and out. Each girl had to balance precariously, hands gripping thighs or hips for support.

“Faster! Harder! Come on, girls, bounce up and down! I want to hear your pussies smack on those faces, and I want to see those titties bounce!” shouted Mrs. Parker encouragingly.

The girls, their faces flushed with exertion, moved faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the muffled groans and whimpers of the girls below. Their breasts bounced with the rhythm, and some girls forgot the discomfort of the girls beneath them, losing themselves in orgasm, soaking the faces of their partners.

Elira and Lucy watched in a daze, the surreal, degrading spectacle unfolding before them like a nightmarish parody. The room’s oppressive atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and arousal,

Elira and Lucy, still forced to watch, felt their minds teetering on the edge of madness after what seemed like hours of tongues and fingers inside their pussies and assholes from the poor, tired girls beneath them. The relentless assault on their senses left them in a haze of exhaustion and humiliation.

“OK, girls, that’s enough for now! Now for feeding time!”

Nadia and Yasmina slid out from beneath the newcomers, their faces covered in piss, cum, and other detritus from being under their asses for two hours. They joined the other panting, exhausted, sweating girls in getting down on all fours and eating with their mouths straight from the cat bowls of food.

“Elira? Lucy? Come on, you must be hungry. Here is your food!” Mrs. Parker set down four bowls, two for each, water and food, with vegetables and meat. They were bound so they did not have the temptation to use their hands. Both were exhausted.

Lucy just stared at the bowl in front of her.

“Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Parker tapped her on the ass with a long cane. “I will have to beat your bottom with this cane if you don’t eat, so please,” she smiled, “eat up!”

Elira, seeing the futility of resistance, leaned down and began to eat from the bowl, her stomach growling with hunger despite the humiliation. Lucy, still hesitant, felt another sharp tap from Mrs. Parker’s cane, the sting of it a clear warning.

Reluctantly, Lucy lowered her face to the bowl and began to eat, the taste of the food mingling with the bitterness of her tears. The room was silent except for the sound of the girls eating, their spirits broken, their dignity stripped away, so thought the new arrivals.

A few hours later, Lucy was strapped to a table, naked, while Mrs. Parker tattooed Pembroke’s brand onto her wrist. Pembroke approached them, smiling at Mrs. Parker.

“This is what two million dollars looks and feels like,” Pembroke said, running his hand along the hollows of her stomach, up her breasts, and grabbing one with one hand, squeezing the flesh and tweaking the nipple while staring into Lucy’s frightened eyes.

“Where is Fiona?” asked Lucy, finally gathering the courage to ask about her friend.

“Fiona will not be joining you in your new life. Unfortunately, she had another path to follow, though it was one in which she has been of immense benefit to me and my enterprise, and to your new Master’s enjoyment of you for the rest of your life in peace without any intrusion,” Pembroke said, smiling down at the prone woman.

Lucy’s heart sank at his words, realizing the grim fate that awaited her. Mrs. Parker continued with the tattoo, her hands steady, marking Lucy as property, as something owned and controlled.

“I don’t understand. Who has bought me? And where is Fiona?” Lucy asked, her voice trembling.

“Your new owner. Their identity will not be known to you until you meet him. After that, you may never see another human being again,” Pembroke said, his tone whimsically thoughtful. “As for Fiona, she is somewhere where she won’t be revealing anything to anyone. To the outside world, to everyone who matters—including your family—both you and Fiona were murdered yesterday in Sarajevo. So, try to think of Fiona as having been murdered,” he smiled cruelly, “and think of yourself as having died as well. This is your second life, your slave life.”

A wave of despair crashed over Lucy. The thought of her family believing she was dead, of Fiona’s fate being sealed, and of her own future being nothing but a life of servitude and isolation was almost too much to bear.

“Accept your new reality, Lucy,” Pembroke said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “The sooner you do, the easier it will be for you, and for me.” He scooped up a tear from her face and licked it. Then, he ran the same finger along her pussy, gently dipping it inside to capture her flavor. He brought his finger to his mouth and tasted her. Lucy’s body shuddered with revulsion, but she knew any resistance would only bring more suffering.

“Mrs. Parker, well done on her tattoo. But why no electrolysis?” Pembroke inquired.

“Master,” said Mrs. Parker, “I think the young lady has waxed herself in preparation for her performance. We may need to wait for her hair to grow back.”

“Ah, I see. So I knew it! All you female athletes, it’s all about showing off your bodies, huh?” Pembroke pretended to be offended as he ran his hand over her smooth crotch. “You looked lovely out on the track; you will be missed!”

He smiled at Mrs. Parker. “Why don’t you have a little taste of her, Mrs. Parker? Her pussy tastes wonderful!”

“Yes, Master, thank you.” Mrs. Parker obediently put the tattoo gun away and moved down to place her face between Lucy’s legs. She gingerly extended her tongue and dragged it along her pussy lips, savoring the taste while Lucy’s body shivered in humiliation and despair.

Pembroke watched with a satisfied smile as Mrs. Parker’s tongue worked on Lucy, her body reacting involuntarily to the older woman’s tongue. He fished in his pocket and brought out a small, ripped white thong. “Here’s something to remember your friend Fiona by. She tasted lovely herself. Well, consider it an appetizer of a girl you’ll never have the chance to eat!” He put the thong inside Lucy’s mouth and laughed. Lucy gagged, the fabric filling her mouth, the bitter taste overwhelming her.

Pembroke had felt bad about Fiona. A fine young woman, but she had been better worth as a corpse, raped by a rapist immigrant, than as the pristine All-American beauty she had been. She could have been a great addition to his collection, but circumstances had dictated a different, more profitable path for her, particularly as her friend was worth two million dollars alone.

Pembroke tried to relax as he ran his fingers through Lucy’s hair. Her abduction had been traumatic for her, but Pembroke reminded himself that he had endured the stress of worrying about getting away with it. The discovery of Fiona’s body had sparked not just a huge investigation, but also a mini riot against the local black community, diplomatic arguments, and the postponement of the athletics tournament.

He was particularly unsettled by initial reports that Fiona had been buried alive and may have survived for up to four hours after being buried. While he was primarily angry at his own performance in covering up the murder, rather than the horrific last few hours of Fiona’s life, he consoled himself with the thought that it had been dark, and the main thing was that she had been found dead.

A celebration was in order. Not many men could conjure up seven figures worth of tradeable human flesh in one day and hold captive such beauties as he could see before him in his personal possession.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz, has Elira been electrolyzed and tattooed?” Pembroke asked, his eyes scanning the cell where Elira cowered among the other girls, praying he would leave so she could speak to them and try to understand what was happening.

“Yes, Master,” Mrs. Al-Haraz appeared at his side.

“Good. I think tonight I would like Elira to spend the night in my bed, for the taking of her virginity, in all three of her holes. Mrs. Al-Haraz, I would be so grateful if you could ensure she is clean inside and out and accompany her to my bedroom. I think a woman’s touch will be nice for her to ease her into it,” he said with a wink.

Elira was horrified as she looked at the Yemeni woman who bowed to the Master but clearly commanded respect and fear from the other girls. Mrs. Al-Haraz leered at her with a heavily made-up face that could not hide the burns covering the left side of her head, the seared flesh stretching from around her left eye to her forehead and the side of her head, ensuring she only had hair growing on the right side. She wore a black mini skirt and boots with her garish makeup, looking even more sexual than the much younger naked women in the cell who all appeared terrified of her.

“Hello, young girl,” Mrs. Al-Haraz smiled at Elira, who froze. “Come to the showers, let me clean you. You and I will be spending tonight with each other and the Master. It is a great honor for you to lose your virginity to the Master, so I will make it special for you!” She grinned and grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the showers.

Elira breathed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She caught sympathetic looks from the other girls, but none of them dared to intervene.

Pembroke smiled at the innocent frightened young girl as she yelped while being given the unfamiliar enema. Mrs Parker was obediently still eating out Lucy and Pembroke ran his hand over her ample ass under her dress. Her fleshy buttocks felt great, full of fat but different from the other girls, some barely out of pubescence.

“Oh, Gal and Cassie, I should have told you earlier. Tonight will be your last night at the complex. You have both been sold to the same owner and will be shipped out tomorrow. So say your goodbyes tonight!” Pembroke announced, allowing himself a frisson of pleasure at the look of utter confusion and terror on both girls’ faces.

“Get Lucy into the cell, Mrs. Parker, and then follow us out! Good night, girls!” Pembroke smiled, his voice dripping with sinister satisfaction.

As Mrs. Al-Haraz escorted the daunted-looking Elira out of the cell, Pembroke walked alongside them, leading all three toward his bedroom. The hallways seemed longer and more oppressive with each step, Elira’s dread growing with every moment.

Despite all the shock and new experiences of the last few days, Elira had still not seen a man naked. The sight of Pembroke stripping off, revealing his tall, hairy, lean body, repulsed and shocked her. Her stomach churned with a mixture of fear and disgust as he stood before her.

“On your knees, little girl,” whispered her Yemeni overseer, who was stripping off her own clothes. Elira knelt down alongside Mrs. Al-Haraz so that the strange purple cock head was level with her face, such a srange appendage as she had never seen before.

“Watch me,” winked the older woman as she took the cock into her mouth, sucking on it while running it back and forth with her hand and lips. The side of her burnt head was next to Elira, and she couldn’t help but stare at the acres of singed pink skin, as ugly as the strange pink muscle she had taken into her mouth.

Pembroke sighed with pleasure and lay back on the bed, spreading his legs. “Come,” said the Yemeni, “bring your tongue here. Be gentle with the balls, lick with your tongue, lick here and here,” she pointed to the hairy skin underneath the balls leading to his asshole.

“No … please … I cannot. I will be sick…” Elira pleaded, her voice trembling with nausea.

The Yemeni woman shot her a stern look, clearly unamused by her hesitation. “Do as you’re told, or you will regret it,” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger and impatience. Elira’s heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to summon the courage to comply. She shut her eyes, and stuck her tongue out letting it touch skin and hair.

“Lick harder, respect your Master. It is an honor for you to lick his balls,” snapped the Yemeni woman. Impatiently, she spat at Pembroke’s asshole. “Lick that off! And swallow it!”

Shocked, Elira hesitated, but Mrs. Al-Haraz’s stern grip forced her face closer. Elira licked the saliva dribbling from his anus into the bedsheets, her mouth held against his perineum by Mrs. Al-Haraz’s firm hand.

“Lick, girl, lick!” she commanded, her voice harsh and unyielding.

Elira’s stomach churned with disgust, but she forced herself to obey, her mind numbing to the degrading reality of her situation. Every lick was a reminder of her helplessness.

“Show me that tongue, stick it out,” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded. Elira did so like a dog and was surprised when the Yemeni woman brought it into her mouth and sucked on it. “Hmm,” Mrs. Al-Haraz murmured, running her hands over Elira’s breasts and between her legs. “Now, back to the Master’s cock. Put your whole mouth around it and let it slide into your throat!”

She positioned herself over Pembroke, her mouth agape as she opened wide and began to take him in, feeling the invasive pressure as he slid into her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she pushed through, while Mrs Al-Harax pushed her head so her nose reached his pubic hair. She pushed herself back up, choking and in tears, while Pembroke laughed.

“A good effort for a new starter!” Pembroke exclaimed with a twisted smile. “Mrs. Al-Haraz, why don’t you use your tongue to prepare her and have her sit on my cock?”

Mrs. Al-Haraz grinned wickedly and positioned Elira to kneel beside the bed. She gently pushed Elira’s legs apart, her fingers tracing along her inner thighs before her tongue began to work, preparing Elira for what was to come. Elira’s body tensed.

“Relax, girl,” Mrs. Al-Haraz murmured, her tongue moving with practiced ease. “This will make it easier for you.”

Elira’s breath came in ragged gasps, her mind reeling from the humiliation and the sheer violation of her body. After a few moments, Mrs. Al-Haraz guided Elira onto the bed, positioning her above Pembroke.

“Now, sit down slowly,” she instructed, holding Elira steady as she lowered herself onto Pembroke’s erect cock. Elira’s body trembled with each inch, her mind trying to retreat from the reality of her situation, but there was no escape. Pembroke’s satisfied groans filled the room as Elira finally sat fully on him, her body now entirely at his mercy.

Mrs. Al-Haraz worked her tongue into Elira’s ear, whispering, “Good girl. Now bounce gently. Your Master’s cock is your God; you must obey it and please it with all your body. Now, move up and down.”

Elira, tears streaming down her face, began to bounce slowly, her movements guided by Mrs. Al-Haraz’s firm hands. Every motion was a painful reminder of her captivity, but she forced herself to comply, her mind numb with despair. Pembroke’s satisfied moans filled the room, each sound driving the reality of her situation deeper into her soul.

“That’s it,” Mrs. Al-Haraz whispered, her breath hot against Elira’s ear. “Please your Master. Make him happy.”

Elira’s body moved mechanically, her spirit broken as her breasts were massaged and four hands worked their way all over her as his huge cock struck her cervix.

“That is wonderful, Elira,” Pembroke said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. He had to admit, this was the best line of work. He massaged the wondrous orbs of her breasts, watching the tears trail down between them.

“I don’t want to make my product pregnant, so I will not be cumming in your cunt until we get you sterilized or get that womb out of order,” Pembroke said, his voice cold and calculating. “So we will be moving on to your third hole soon. Mrs. Al-Haraz, please get that hole ready with your tongue and your fingers.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz nodded obediently, bringing her face behind Elira and between her bouncing buttocks. Elira’s heart rate rose as she felt Mrs. Al-Haraz’s hands spreading her cheeks. Pembroke’s cock was still buried inside her pussy as Mrs. Al-Haraz began to work on her asshole, her tongue and fingers probing and preparing her for the next degrading act.

Pembroke continued to thrust inside her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “That’s it, get her ready,” Pembroke said, his voice thick with lust. “I want her to be nice and prepared for me.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz’s tongue and fingers worked diligently, stretching and lubricating Elira’s tight entrance.

“Now, get her pussy off my cock, and get my cock into her asshole”

Mrs. Al-Haraz obediently guided Elira to lift herself off Pembroke’s cock, slightly repositioning her above his throbbing member. With a mixture of fear and resignation, Elira felt the shift as Mrs. Al-Haraz aligned Pembroke with her newly prepared entrance.

“Slowly now,” Mrs. Al-Haraz murmured, her hands steadying Elira as she began to lower herself onto Pembroke’s cock.

Elira’s body trembled, every inch a struggle as she felt the invasive pressure. Pembroke’s hands gripped her hips, guiding her descent with a cruel smirk. As he entered her, Elira’s eyes widened in pain.

Mrs. Al-Haraz continued to offer murmured encouragement, her hands never leaving Elira’s body as she endured the next stage of her torment.

“Oooowww, it hurts,” Elira wailed as the cockhead pushed against her anal ring, expanding it and forcing it to stretch against its resistance.

“Don’t fight it, darling,” Mrs. Al-Haraz breathed into her ear, running her finger around the edge of her anus, feeling it expand to accommodate the invading member. “Relax and let it in.”

Elira’s body trembled, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to comply, her mind teetering on the edge of panic. Pembroke’s grip on her hips tightened as he pushed deeper, a satisfied groan escaping his lips.

“That’s it, take it all,” he said, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction. Elira’s tears flowed freely, each sob a testament to the unbearable pain and humiliation she was enduring. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s touch, meant to soothe, only heightened the surreal nightmare she was trapped in, every moment stretching out in agonizing clarity.

After Pembroke finished, Mrs. Al-Haraz pulled Elira off his cock. As Elira felt her anus try to close after the violation, she instinctively reached back to massage it. But her hand was pulled away, and she jolted as she felt Mrs. Al-Haraz’s lips press against her asshole. The vacuum-like suction of the Yemeni woman’s mouth drew Pembroke’s cum out of her rectum.

Elira was mortified as she felt the strange fluid flow from inside her into Mrs. Al-Haraz’s mouth. Moments later, she was yanked up by her hair, and Mrs. Al-Haraz loomed over her, open-mouthed, and kissed her deeply. Elira tasted the salty remnants of Pembroke’s cum, fresh from her own ass.

Later that night, Pembroke relaxed with the two women lying in his embrace. Elira was quietly quivering in his tight arms, unable to sleep. She sucked her thumb and prayed she could speak to her parents just one more time and return home.

Pembroke checked his encrypted phone before drifting off to sleep. He had a message from Brad Watkins: “Really love the new product. Takes a good pounding, sturdy, takes punishment well. The surface gets scratched with heavy use, but recovers after time. Very feisty, but does what it’s told.”

A cruel smile played on Pembroke’s lips as he read the message. Elira’s quiet sobs went unnoticed as he drifted off, his mind filled with the satisfaction of a successful transaction and a happy customer. Elira, meanwhile, clung to the faint hope of escape, her heart aching for the life she had lost.

Pembroke could not help but feel sympathetic and sad about the scenes in the cell as Cassie and Gal made their tearful goodbyes to the other girls. They all held onto hope that they could be rescued, making promises that anyone who escaped would come back to help the rest as soon as possible. The thought irked Pembroke somewhat; he hoped that Kamal Abdelrahman would not let them out, but had faith in the old man. Mr. Abdelrahman had a great deal to protect in his reputation as a philanthropist, and these girls were to be his private, naughty secret in his old age. If anything were to happen to him, automatic instructions would be sent for their cellar to be blocked off, only to be reopened after a minimum period of three months by Pembroke himself.

It was a nice little legal formality devised by the old man, his lawyers, and Pembroke for an additional fee. Abdelrahman was very keen that his girls would not be reused or subjected to anything so vulgar as being second-hand goods, and thus the three-month period had been specified to prevent Pembroke from trying to recycle his old stock. He would be collecting emaciated corpses of skeletons, to be disposed of. Pembroke had smiled at the old man’s business acumen and demanded a good price for the administrative death duty.

Abdelrahman laughed and said he had planned to live for a good few years yet. “What would you want with some thirty-something women anyway? They would be of little value, and the poor girls, I fear by that stage, they would be lost without me anyway. The kindest act would be to let them pass away peacefully.”

Pembroke had thought that wasting away for weeks in a dark dungeon with no idea of the outside world was not the kindest fate the old man could have selected for his slaves, but reasoned that he had paid for them and they were his property.

Cassie had a touching, almost supernatural belief that her father could rescue her. “He must know that I am not dead. They must be looking for me. My father will not rest; I know he won’t,” she declared with unwavering confidence.

Pembroke, reading the AI-generated summaries of their conversations, couldn’t help but chuckle. Cassie had said this right after the Moroccan girls tearfully exclaimed that they would surely be presumed dead after their misadventure at sea, cursing themselves for trusting that ‘idiot’ American who had sailed them, all in front of Cassie.

Cassie had no idea that her father was dead, nor that Pembroke had killed him. Not only was it kinder for Cassie not to know, but it was also useful for Pembroke to have this threat hanging over her to prevent any disobedience or naughtiness in her new life. The threat would be so easily carried out, he laughed to himself.

Two black boxes were packed up in front of the girls’ cell and carried away. Each girl was then given the now traditional warning, accompanied by photos of their loved ones. They were reminded of how they were expected to behave in their new lives as trusted products under the warranty of Pembroke’s facility. Obedience and compliance were to be expected for the rest of their lives.

Holly Streatham was also set to be packed up soon and delivered to Mr. Han at his complex in Malaysia. Mr. Han’s final demand had been that a large tattoo be made across her back, depicting a lotus arising from a sunset. It was quite a pretty picture, but Pembroke baulked at putting it on Holly’s back and insisted that half the money be paid upfront. If Han backed out after a permanent marking of his product, her resale value would be seriously affected.

While Pembroke did not want to offend his customers, he also did not want to deal with lower-class tattooed girls. His tattoos on their wrists were brands of quality, not tattoos, he told himself.

He had also demanded an additional cost to the purchase price, far beyond what a tattoo would normally cost. Despite their reputation, Pembroke could not find a tattoo artist degenerate enough to take part in his enterprise.

Pilots, despite their much better reputation, had always had a more degenerate side, Pembroke had found. Nadim Darwish was someone he now trusted to fly his products without question. Having looked into him more, Pembroke considered Nadim might be even more useful if brought in closer to the organization.

Nadim had been disowned by his family after being outed as bisexual early in his life, but had somehow made it into the Syrian Air Force. He had taken part in the war but then sold details of army personnel to rebels for money, enabling him to escape Syria and the conflict. He had gone to Germany and tried to make it as a pilot there, but was sacked after failing competency and drug tests.

Nothing lit up his CV, in Pembroke’s eyes, more than his conviction in Belgium for enticing a boy in changing rooms to have sex with him. He had fled Belgium before sentencing and had been working somewhat crazily under the proviso that he just needed to avoid flying back there.

“Nadim,” Pembroke invited him into his office in the complex.

“Yes, Mr. Al-Khatib.”

“I am sure you know by now that our business here is a little, shall we say, illegal. And so are you, in fact—you filthy degenerate pervert!”

“But…” Nadim felt awful, his color draining from his face.

“No matter,” Pembroke waved it away. “This just makes you more ideal. As long as you can fly a plane, you can keep working for us. Now, I feel sorry you are estranged from your family in Damascus.”

Nadim bristled at the mention of his family. He had no care for them, but he was starting to realize this Mr. Al-Khatib was a very, very bad man.

“My family, they do not accept me,” said Nadim. “I just have weaknesses. I try and control them.”

“Not very well, though. As long as you fly well, that is the main thing.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Well, well. I think that maybe you want to surrender to your weaknesses. Tell me, when you gave up the lives of your men for money, how did it feel?”

Nadim went even whiter. “I did what I had to do. Anyway, they bullied me in that training center, they deserved it.”

“Look, Nadim, I think we have established the content of your character. I am happy for you to fly us anywhere but Belgium,” Pembroke smirked at him, “but I think I may have another position opening up for you deeper in the complex as well. I need to know if I can trust you.”

“How?” Nadim was curious but also frightened.

“I deal with the trade in beautiful young livestock to gentlemen of distinguished taste. Oh, and my name is not Hassan Al-Khatib; you can think of me as Edward Pembroke, but ‘Sir’ will do.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Nadim, his eyes now curious.

“To work with me carries many rewards. In the long term, a lot of money; in the short term, access to some of the most succulent flesh that the continent has to offer. At the moment, only the female gender is present, but I understand you enjoy that too?”

“Yes,” said Nadim, almost ravenously.

“Well, it’s a tough business. Clandestine, risky, and not for the faint-hearted, and certainly not for those restricted by ordinary morals. For your probation period, I would like you to help me with two tasks. I will explain them to you, and if you are willing to help, then I can be sure you are the right fit for our organization.”

Pembroke did not say what would happen if Nadim turned him down. He hoped it would not come to that; finding replacement pilots was difficult.

Emre Aydin loved his life in Antalya. The tattoo parlour was booming with tourists making regrettable choices, and in contrast to his life in rural Turkey, he had a great sex life with men on the dating apps, tourists and locals alike.

He thought little of matching with and meeting up with a blank profile, a man who said he was married and could not show his face. Just a body picture was enough to turn Emre on, who himself was nothing to show off in body and face.

His date, Abdullah, was much more handsome in real life, and Emre could not wait to follow him to his hotel room. Abdullah, however, was not so attracted to Emre and was relieved when the date rape drugs finally had their effects, causing Emre to slump unconscious on the ground.

Abdullah, aka Nadim Darwish, drove Emre to the complex overnight. Part of him could not believe he was doing this, showing up to his boss with an unconscious, tied-up gay tattoo artist to win his approval.

But his boss was delighted. Emre was much less so. He awoke to find himself naked in a sterile room with just a hospital bed and the naked figure of a young woman, tied and gagged face down on her stomach, securely strapped, with her back exposed.

On the side was a wide range of tattooing equipment, and a video camera loomed in view. The door was locked.

There were a series of paintings and pictures of the Lotus Flower disappearing into a sunset. The beauty of the picture contrasted with the grim, evil state of the room, including the frightened face of the woman on the bed, her eyes looking at Emre in terror as he looked back in confusion.

“Don’t try and release her binds; only we can do that,” said a man, entering. It was Nadim. “You have been recruited for a very special task. Perform it, and you will get ten thousand dollars and get back to Antalya. If you refuse or screw it up, well, you won’t leave here at all.”

Pembroke watched Nadim give the directions in a cool, calm, calculated manner, approvingly. It was a big way to go just to get a tattoo done but might well double as a crucial recruiting tool for a much-needed extra pair of hands.

Emre tried his best, with all his ten years of experience. He knew his life, and that of his family, were at stake. He did not want to know about this poor girl. Who was she? Why was she being held down to be tattooed?

“She is a mental patient. Don’t worry about her, Emre, just do your job!” Nadim told him.

The whole process took over two days. Emre had been ordered to provide his social media account and put out a message that he was going on an impromptu hike without any distractions for the next few days.

When it was finished, he was held in another area while Pembroke and the others inspected Holly’s back. “Not to my tastes,” said Pembroke, “but this is what Mr. Han wanted.”

He turned to Nadim. “Now, time to show you can do something for the enterprise.”

Nadim nodded. He went into Emre’s room, looking at the camera watching them. Emre was in tears of nervousness.

“I did what you asked, now please, can I go home?” he thought of the brief frisson of excitement he had felt when he had gone with this handsome man to his hotel room; that felt like a lifetime ago. Now, he was a monster, approaching him with what seemed like a string.

“Sure, you can go home…” Nadim said.

Pembroke put his finger to his nose pensively as he watched Nadim slowly strangle the poor Emre. He detected some enjoyment in Nadim’s face but reasoned that he could not hope to hire well-balanced people for this type of work.

Holly spent that night in bed with Pembroke, her body moving rhythmically as she gyrated on his cock. She arched her back, sliding her hips back and forth, feeling his cock deep inside her, pressing against her stomach. Facing away from him, she was lost in the sensations, her movements slow and deliberate, working him inside her still tight pussy walls.

Pembroke lay back, watching Holly’s back, ordering her to pull her hair forward over her shoulder. He traced his fingers along her back, following the paths of her sweat and the intricate patterns and colors of the large tattoo that adorned her skin. He liked how it rippled as her back muscles contorted with her movements, but he wondered if Mr. Han would eventually get tired of it. Pembroke would have decried it as a waste of good, firm young skin if he hadn’t had well over a dozen pristine, blank bodies waiting for him in the cell.

He sighed, a mix of pleasure and contemplation, as the sensations rocked his cock and the sight and touch of the nubile teenager on top of him intensified. His thoughts drifted to the darker aspects of his business. He had always insisted to his clients that these girls were slaves for life, not mere temporary amusements. However, if clients like Mr. Han grew bored of Holly or tired of her tattoo, they might be tempted to prematurely end that life, becoming more frequent customers in the process. Encouraging such early disposals was not something he openly advocated, but he couldn’t deny the sinister appeal of the monetary benefits it would bring.

Holly was close to climaxing, hating every moment of it, but the sheer power of her captor and his massive manhood was enough to drive her over the edge. She could almost feel the ink coursing through her veins, the tattoo on her back a grotesque reminder of her captivity. As she reached her peak, a haze of pleasure clouding her mind, she resigned herself to a life marked as a slave forever.

The Darwish family was having an extended dinner in Damascus, and the mood was angry as the men and women furiously discussed how Nadim had shown up.

“I thought that perverted faggot was dead. It would be better if he was,” spat out Selim, his cousin. “I wanted to kick his ass. How dare he turn up? His mother doesn’t want to see him anyway, he knew that!”

“I agree,” said Nadim’s sister, Aliyah, eating olives. “He was always disgusting. The whole street is talking about how they saw him. We cannot have any contact with him.”

“Well, if he really is living in America, let’s hope he stays there. Though God knows what he does with himself,” said another cousin.

There was one family member who felt differently. Sixteen-year-old Rania, Nadim’s niece, was bored with the stifling family life in Damascus. The only future she saw was as a conservative Muslim housewife, which left her yearning for something more. She wore a hijab every day and prayed like a good girl, but her dreams were far from the life laid out for her. Rania was fascinated by the adventurous side of her uncle Nadim, whom she had met only briefly. She found it hard to believe the stories her family told about him. To her, he seemed mysterious and perhaps misunderstood, living an exciting life abroad, far from the constraints she faced.

Her father was Nadim’s older brother. They hated each other with a passion so intense that her father had sworn to kill him if he ever saw him again. This animosity was due to Nadim’s lifestyle, the shame he had brought to the family, and his betrayal during the war.

Rania was very secretive when she got in touch with Nadim, who told her he was staying in a hotel in the city center. He told her that the family was bad and that they told lies about him. There were so many dark family secrets from the war and before, and he had been made a scapegoat because he did not want to conform to their lives. He was living in New York, having a far better life than them. It was jealousy, he said. They spoke on the phone with Rania whispering so as not to attract her father’s attention.

“I am leaving tomorrow,” Nadim told her sadly. “I guess I will never see you, Rania. Sorry, I really wanted to see my little niece, but New York calls me back, and I don’t think I will ever return.”

“Uncle Nadim, can I meet you?” Rania asked, desperate to see him.

“Your father will kill both of us if he finds out.”

“He won’t find out, I promise. I will make up a story.”

“Okay, but be careful. Delete my number from your phone and all calls, messages, and emails. Commit my number to memory in your head; it’s safer.”

Rania agreed, knowing her father’s temper and fearing his wrath.

———- Rania had given her father the perfect story: a sleepover at her friend’s house, which she would go to after seeing Nadim. She wore a full veil, disguising herself as she made her way to the hotel first. As she walked through the hotel, she marveled at the international guests, dreaming about the life Nadim must lead.

She was surprised to see Nadim with a friend, introduced as Hasan. He was a little older, taller, and bigger than Nadim, handsome with greying black hair, wearing sunglasses. Despite his imposing appearance, he was warm and chatty and spoke Arabic very well.

In a private booth in the hotel reception bar, Rania gushed to them both about the trouble she would be in if anyone found out. She revealed her face to the men, suspecting that Hasan might be Nadim’s gay lover.

Rania started to get bad vibes from her uncle. He seemed to be looking at her in a lecherous way, much like the men in the street, and he wasn’t the bohemian, clever man she had built up in her head. Instead, he came across as quite repulsive—his jokes were crude, and his gaze lingered too long on her body. He also reeked of alcohol, which made her uncomfortable.

Oh well, she thought, perhaps the stories about him were true. It was good, however, for her to know this herself. No one would know they had met; this would be her secret. She hoped to gain some wisdom about the trappings of glamour and wealth, understanding now that the reality might be far less appealing than the fantasy.

Suddenly, she started to get a headache. “Sorry, Nadim, I am a little … tired … I think instead of going to my friend’s place, I should go home…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” interjected Hasan. “Have some more water. It’s the air conditioning in here, I think.”

But Rania started losing focus rapidly and stopped being able to talk. “Nadim … I think I am … going to faint … I should go home.”

Nadim and Hasan helped put Rania’s veil back on, lifted her up, and both walked her out of the hotel lobby into a blacked-out limousine parked nearby.

Rania lost consciousness in the back, while Hasan, aka Edward Pembroke, took the wheel and drove the vehicle to the private airport where their private plane was ready to go.

Pembroke smirked into the rearview mirror as he caught glimpses of what was going on in the back seat between Nadim and Rania. “Careful not to tear her robe, Nadim. We will be bringing her to the plane as she is now.”

“Yes, sir,” grinned Nadim, now wholeheartedly embracing the fruits of his employment, thanking providence that he finally had the job of his dreams. “I am just checking for devices and … other things.”

Pembroke tried to concentrate on the chaotic Damascus traffic while stealing glances at Rania’s naked body being exposed in the back seat. Nadim, her uncle, ran his tongue over her and kissed her as she half-heartedly tried to bat him away, drugged out of her mind and barely resisting as her underwear was peeled off. Pembroke smiled to himself as he saw Nadim pocket the pink panties he had slipped off her ankles. A man with a similar fetish, thought Pembroke, smiling to himself.

Nonconsensual incest was not something that he discouraged in his line of business, on the contrary, he found it was something deeply in demand among his customers. However, he still had to see Nadim abuse his niece in the flesh, as it were, to believe he was for real. The sibling hatred was very real, though Nadim’s depravity seemed to transcend it.

The air traffic controllers at Damascus International Airport impatiently called on the private plane several times, informing them they had clearance to take off. Finally, a breathless, sweaty, and naked Nadim threw on a shirt, grasped the microphone, and took his seat at the controls, confirming they were ready for takeoff.

Pembroke grinned as he removed his clothes as the plane took off. “Now, finally, I can get some action. You have a beautiful family, Nadim; it’s very generous of you to share!”

“No problem, boss, this was an excellent experience,” grinned Nadim as he soared the plane into the skies.

Rania suddenly came to, emerging from a haze into sobriety. She remembered drinking spring water with her uncle and his friend at the hotel, still in her jilbab. Now, she found herself naked on her back, in what seemed like a plane, with clouds visible through the windows and the engines humming! Panic began to set in as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings and how she had ended up in such a terrifying situation.

But what was even worse was the naked, towering figure of ‘Hasan’ standing above her, looking down with an evil grin. His hairy, strong, lean body loomed over her like a predatory beast. Her eyes were transfixed by the erect penis jutting from between his legs, an implicit threat of the harm it was destined to cause.

“What! Nadim! Help! What is happening?” Rania cried out in panic.

“Don’t disturb your uncle, my dear, he’s busy flying the plane,” said Pembroke, as he obscenely stroked his penis, pulling it out and in, displaying the bulbous purple helmet to her. His voice dripped with menace, and the lewd display only heightened her terror.

Rania tried to close her legs, but suddenly realized the burning pain in her vagina. She instinctively put her hand protectively between her legs and felt blood. Panic and confusion overwhelmed her.

Pembroke, in one swift movement, knelt down and lay over her, bringing his face close to hers. He stuck out his tongue, gripping Rania’s head by the hair as she tried to turn away, and kissed her on the mouth.

“No!” she cried, beating his back with her small fists. Pembroke grabbed her wrists and held them to one side, rendering her helpless as a trail of saliva trailed from his mouth down to cover her mouth and nose. Her eyes blazed with terror, but she could not move. Her thighs tried to bang against his torso, but it did nothing.

Pembroke sank himself lower, not taking his eyes off her face, as his cock descended, seeking its target. The heat emanated off her burning pussy as it reluctantly engulfed his penis, his forceful push driving deeper inside her.

“No … no” sobbed Rania quietly, now just clenching her teeth in pain, having given up trying to stop her rape, knowing now she would never be the same girl as she had been this morning.

Pembroke continued thrusting until he came deep inside her. He pulled out, admiring her beautiful, youthful body. Her curly black hair fanned out around her head on the floor of the deck, creating a stark contrast against her olive skin. Her dark eyebrows framed her bloodshot, teary almond eyes, which were filled with a haunting mix of pain and fear. Her aquiline nose led down to her makeup-less, ruby red full lips, slightly parted as she struggled to catch her breath. Her slender, delicate limbs lay limply at her sides, and her breasts rose and fell with ragged breaths, her entire being a picture of violated innocence and tragic beauty.

“Your niece is stunning, Nadim, she was a great fuck” he still could not believe his pilot was so blase about doing all this to his own kin.

“No problem! I am happy to help. My family has many beautiful girls, and I am happy to help get them too!” Nadim shouted from the cockpit. “They all deserve it, and I would love to see each one of their faces when we get them!” he laughed. “Oh, and many boys too, if we want to take them. Rania has a little brother…” Nadim made a gesture as if to give a chef’s kiss, laughing. “He’s so cute,” he said mockingly. “Speaking of boys, boss, I left Rania’s asshole for you, I hope you enjoy!”

“Thank you, Nadim. I will enjoy that now. As for boys, yes, perhaps that is an area of the market we may move into in the future. Maybe your extended family can be a nice source for both in future procurement,” he laughed, his tone dripping with sinister intent as he looked down at Rania.

Rania lay on the floor, her legs raised and pressed together, one hand cupping her vagina, the other covering her face. What she had just experienced and heard disgusted her to the core.

Pembroke kneeled down beside her, his cock still erect and covered with her blood and almost touching her breasts as he wiped away a tear. “Now, Rania, you heard what your uncle said. He has bequeathed me your asshole. You see, I own you now, and I am in the business of selling bodies. Your body will be trained and used, and right now we are just at the foothills of your new life,” Pembroke said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact.

“There are a few ways we could do the next part. I want you to get off your back and onto your hands and knees, like a little doggy, and spread your legs for me for what is going to happen next. You can do this now, or you can refuse, in which case I will hurt you, and then you will be forced to do it anyway. This is going to be a familiar part of your new life, so which is it to be? Do I need to force you?” Pembroke’s voice was menacing, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

Rania thought for a few seconds, weighing her limited options. Her body trembled with fear and disgust, but she knew that resisting would only lead to more pain and suffering. With a heavy heart and tears streaming down her face, she slowly moved onto her hands and knees, spreading her legs as instructed, feeling utterly defeated and hopeless, looking up at the cabin, at the head of her uncle, flying the plane into the dark sky.

She jerked as she suddenly felt a projectile of warm saliva hit her exposed anus, accompanied by a lewd spitting sound. The shock and humiliation made her body tense, but she remained in position, knowing any resistance would only bring more pain.

Pembroke used the juices and blood from Rania’s pussy along with his saliva and worked his fingers inside her asshole, opening her up while holding her in place with his other hand. “Spread your knees wider, get that ass lower,” he commanded. Rania obeyed, her knees painfully scraping the floor as she felt her buttocks part widely and the soft flesh of his helmet rub against her anus. She prayed it would not hurt as much as her vagina.

Nadim heard a gut-wrenching scream reverberate around the plane and turned to look down the cabin. His niece’s face was just off the ground, her eyes clenched shut, her face red, sweat and tears flowing. Her mouth was open, teeth bared and clenched shut in agony, strands of hair caught between her teeth in a vain attempt to bite into something to alleviate the pain. This contrasted sharply with the face of ecstasy on Pembroke, who knelt behind her, thrusting himself into her with fervor.

Rania’s nipples rubbed against the rough floor, but her main focus was on the burning of her anal ring and the excruciating sensation of her insides being forced apart. Nadim took another look, a twisted fascination in his eyes. He always preferred anal sex, even with women.

Exhausted, Pembroke tied Rania up after he had finished inside her a second time, rubbing his cock against her lips to clean it. He pulled on his underpants and lay sprawled on his comfortable seat, casting his eyes over the naked, bound figure of Rania. He glanced out the window at the dark clouds and the waters of the Mediterranean below, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Sex in the skies made him think of Katalin and his last encounter on a plane. He pulled out his phone while ruffling Rania’s hair. “Flight will soon be landing, no seat belts for you—I think you are secured enough,” he laughed at his own joke. He read the message he had received from Katalin earlier that day and thought how he should reply.

“Hi Edward, It’s Katalin! I thought I’d drop you a message and see how you are. You’re probably traveling around the world, doing whatever it is that you do! Well, I have some big news. I decided to quit my job with Azmaria Airlines! After fifteen years, I felt it was time for a change. Maybe it was my family nagging me, or maybe it was meeting you—I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided to take a leap! I have a new job in Bucharest with a refugee charity. It’s a bit scary, starting this new chapter, but as they say, ships are meant for the storm, not the port, right? Haha. Maybe I’m just a foolish, not-so-young woman, but I really like you. I know you must have a lot going on, and I understand that, but I would love to see you again. So, if you’re ever in Bucharest, please let me know! Katalin xxx P.S. I’m still planning to go to Egypt on holiday with my niece. I want to show her that Arabs are not such bad guys. Maybe I can see you there too? Haha. xx”

Pembroke read the message aloud, glancing at Rania’s bulging eyes as she struggled to understand him. “I really do think nieces should be more careful about their wayward uncles and aunts,” he said with a sinister chuckle, “and not take their advice so readily.” The twisted humor in his words hung in the air, the irony clear—Katalin’s infatuation with Pembroke might, unknowingly to her, be just as fatal to her niece as Rania’s uncle’s own depravity and duplicity had been to Rania.

Rania Darwish watched through the condensation on the cell wall, the breath, sweat, and smell of vagina from countless females in the small cell overpowering. She gazed at the nothingness, the sterile walls, equipment, and barred high windows of the hall beyond the clear cell walls.

She looked at the other girls, their flesh on display like sardines packed tightly in a can, their bodies barely able to be apart without touching in the cramped space.

She looked down at her own body, comparing it to the others. Her stomach was more toned from the exercises, but other than that, she had the same taut skin and firm breasts as the rest. Some had A cups, others had D cups, but there was barely any flabby flesh or loose skin among all the girls. Their bodies, like hers, were meticulously maintained, all showing signs of the relentless conditioning they endured.

Having first witnessed and then been involved in the lesbian sex required every day for ‘training,’ she had lost some inhibitions but remained wary of opening up to any girl, conscious that an hour later she might be forced to have her tongue between her legs. She was shocked to discover that some girls were cousins, sisters, and even mother and daughter, and it only seemed to strengthen their sexual attraction to each other.

The only imperfection she had noticed was one girl, Francesca, who seemed to have lost a little finger. The Moroccan girls had translated for her the horrific story of how it had come about. Everyone seemed to have a heartbreaking, brutal story about how they had come to be there.

Rania rubbed the Pembroke brand tattoo on her wrist and ran her hand over her silky smooth mons. She could not believe how drastically her life had changed since meeting her sleazy, horrible uncle Nadim. Everything her family had warned her about had not only turned out to be true, but she knew they would never believe the extent of the horrors she had endured because of him. The transformation from her innocent, sheltered life to this nightmarish existence was beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

Nadim had taken to the girls like a fox in a henhouse. All the male overseers were brutal and horny, but Nadim stood out even among them. His predatory nature and lack of restraint made him particularly terrifying to the girls, who quickly learned to dread his presence. While Konrad loved to tear and bit their flesh he had been warned off but the Master did not seem to mind the disgusting interest Nadim had in each of their assholes.

Nadim had worked his fingers and almost his entire fist inside the asses of some of the girls, favoring certain female asses over others. As they were ordered to bend over with their bottoms facing the cell wall out in the hall for his viewing, each girl was terrified. What if now he chose her posterior to play with and work on? The fear of becoming his next target was a constant, horrifying thought that plagued their minds.

Pembroke was in Budapest, dining at the famous and opulent Gundel Restaurant with Dr. Viktor Ivanov, a renowned Hungarian-Russian heart surgeon nearing retirement. The restaurant, known for its stunning Art Nouveau architecture and rich history, offered an array of exquisite delicacies. Pembroke indulged in foie gras with truffle oil, slow-cooked duck leg confit, and a Château Margaux red wine, a luxurious choice that reminded him of the recent profitable sales of Holly, Cassie, and Gal.

“Well, Mr. Pembroke,” said Dr. Ivanov as he ate his food, “I hope you are as interesting a dinner companion as I was told you might be…”

“Ah, I try,” Pembroke smiled charmingly. “Who has been telling tales about me, I wonder? But no matter, I understand discretion,” he grinned, fully aware that Dr. Ivanov had been a private surgeon to the Azmari and several Gulf royal families, as well as other rich and influential men.

Dr. Ivanov was an intelligent man and knew to let the salesman do the talking.

“I am sure you must have a nice nest egg, Dr. Ivanov, and here’s to a long retirement, richly deserved. I’m sure you have lots of plans, your beautiful wife is doubtless going to be in them.”

“She will be there, but I can have other time away from her,” said Dr. Ivanov.

“Dr. Ivanov, for a man of your culture, what you have given to the world, what you have given your family, I think you deserve a bit of fun in your old age. What do you think of the waitress with the blonde hair?”

“Beautiful,” Dr. Ivanov smiled. “Stunning.”

Pembroke leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, Dr. Ivanov, I specialize in providing unique experiences for discerning gentlemen such as yourself. I can offer you something far more exclusive than a fleeting encounter with a waitress.”

Dr. Ivanov raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Pembroke?”

Pembroke smiled, sensing he had piqued the doctor’s interest. “Imagine having a companion of your choosing, someone who meets your every desire and is completely dedicated to your pleasure. A young, beautiful girl who is entirely yours.”

Dr. Ivanov leaned back, considering Pembroke’s words. “And how would one go about acquiring such a companion?”

Pembroke took a sip of his wine, maintaining eye contact. “It’s quite simple, really. I handle all the details. You simply tell me your preferences, and I ensure that you have exactly what you want. Discreetly and securely, for the rest of your life or hers, with the understanding that her lifespan won’t exceed yours,” he winked.

The surgeon’s curiosity was fully engaged now. “Good. I will cut straight to it, Mr. Pembroke. I have spent a lifetime with cadavers and saving lives. In my retirement, I want to extend my curiosity. I want a companion I can see inside and understand what is really going on in there. Not just sex,” he added, almost distastefully. “I can get that anywhere. What I want from your services is … something for someone of my profession to play with, something beautiful, something healthy, something to … open up.”

Pembroke nearly choked on his duck but swallowed it down with a gulp of his wine. He composed himself quickly, realizing the gravity of Dr. Ivanov’s request. “Well, Dr. Ivanov, it seems you have very specific needs. I assure you, I can provide exactly what you are looking for. A beautiful, healthy companion who will meet all your … professional curiosities.”

Dr. Ivanov’s eyes gleamed with a mix of anticipation and dark excitement. “Good. That blonde girl, she has a beautiful body, but one only sees the exterior. Of course, exploring her three cavities is tempting, but … I want more than just that. I want to see beneath the skin. In romantic novels, one always talks about the exterior of the body, but what about the interior? What would it feel like to massage her organs, to see the intricate workings of her anatomy firsthand?”

Pembroke felt a chill run down his spine but maintained his composure. “I understand, Dr. Ivanov. You desire a more profound, intimate … exploration.”

Suddenly, the blonde waitress appeared again. “Would the gentlemen like more wine?” she asked with a friendly smile, her pearly white teeth contrasting with the dark conversation.

“Yes, please, another bottle,” Dr. Ivanov replied, smiling like a grandfather. Pembroke watched as Dr. Ivanov’s eyes followed the waitress’s posterior as she walked away.

“My, I would love to eat every inch of her body,” Ivanov mused, his demeanor shifting from longing to a more composed state as he turned back to Pembroke. “I hope you don’t think it’s too crazy. You must have many stranger requests. With the money I’m willing to spend, I imagine this is all quite normal.”

“Yes, of course,” Pembroke said, smiling uneasily. “My clients have eclectic tastes. Not many girls volunteer for the kinds of services they require, you see, so my service matches those with money to their desired … objects.”

“You know, the female chest is very different from the male chest,” Ivanov went off on another tangent, as if released from a repressed life of normality into a frenzy of distraction. “That blonde, I would love to see her truly naked, really naked … but you see, I still have my Hippocratic oath.”

“Yes, I suppose that oath might be a little difficult to comply with if you are into…” Pembroke hesitated, struggling to find the right words to complete the sentence.

“If you’re into exploring beyond the boundaries of conventional medicine,” Dr. Ivanov finished for him, a glint of dark excitement in his eyes. “But that’s where your services come in, Mr. Pembroke. You provide the … subjects, and I ensure they receive the utmost care, in my own way. You see, I don’t believe in anesthesia, but I also do not want to actually harm the subject. In fact, most of what I want to do should not kill them if done correctly and would mostly be reversible. Well, in theory, perhaps, after a little practice.”

Pembroke looked at his dish and wondered how he was going to finish it. He had been looking forward to it all day, and now he had lost his appetite.

“Well, Dr. Ivanov, as I say, what you desire is a very comprehensive illicit secure service. I hope the prices may not be off-putting. We usually deal with rather wealthy private sector individuals. I myself always say that doctors should be paid the most,” Pembroke laughed slightly at the joke, secretly hoping that the prices would put him off.

Dr. Ivanov smiled, not missing a beat. “Money is no object, Mr. Pembroke. The pursuit of knowledge, experience and beauty is priceless. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to satisfy my curiosities.”

Pembroke looked at the food again and thought of the blonde’s breasts. Pembroke’s mind lingered on the menu prices and the fates of the girls he had procured. Was this really any different, especially if they were in the hands of a medical professional?

“I can show you a private gallery,” Pembroke offered, trying to redirect the conversation. “Any particular preferences for races?”

Dr. Ivanov’s eyes gleamed with a dark amusement. “I believe in one race—the human race! As long as they are beautiful, young, and fit, that’s all I ask.”

Pembroke nodded, feeling the gravity of their conversation. “Very well. After dinner, we can retire somewhere more private for cigars and port, and I’ll show you some pictures.”

He promised himself he would only show Dr. Ivanov the girls who had been the most troublesome, and ensure that the surgeon paid a hefty premium for the unfortunate ‘product.’

The following day, Pembroke enjoyed a much more wholesome and affordable date with Katalin and her eighteen-year-old niece, Lila Kovács. Katalin had invited Lila for a few reasons: she wanted to show Pembroke that she had a close-knit family and, on a more personal level, to hint at her own aspirations for a family. Katalin was keen to keep the conversation non-sexual, particularly after their wild first meeting on Pembroke’s private jet. She was interested in observing how Pembroke interacted with her family members and younger people to gauge what kind of family man he might be and to understand more about his true character. Additionally, Katalin hoped Lila might find inspiration in Pembroke’s glamorous lifestyle and see the broader possibilities life could offer.

Lila’s English was good enough for conversation. “It’s good for her to practice,” Katalin said, laughing at her niece’s occasionally awkward phrases. Lila smiled shyly, her cheeks reddening.

Pembroke leaned in with a warm smile. “You’re doing great, Lila. Your English is impressive.”

“Thank you,” Lila replied, her voice tinged with a mix of shyness and pride. “I’m trying my best.”

Katalin couldn’t resist teasing. “Lila, you should practice the piano more. And maybe think about becoming a doctor. You’d be amazing!”

Lila rolled her eyes playfully. “A doctor? I’m not sure about that. But I’ll definitely practice the piano if it means you’ll stop teasing me about it.”

Pembroke chuckled. “And what about you, Katalin? Are you enjoying your new job? I heard it’s quite a shift from being an air stewardess.”

Katalin’s smile grew warm. “Yes, it’s a big change. I’m really happy with where I am now. It’s nice to have a job that’s a bit more grounded.”

Lila interjected with a grin. “Aunt Katalin, at least you have a proper job now. Maybe you can stop dyeing your hair. In fact, I bet you have some grey hair hidden under that platinum. What do you think, Edward?”

Katalin laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Not yet, Lila. But you might be right about the grey hair eventually.”

Pembroke looked at Katalin with an amused expression. “I have to say, Katalin, you handle the grey hair jokes very gracefully.”

Katalin laughed, her cheeks still slightly pink. “Yes, I guess I’ll have to accept that part of aging gracefully.”

The conversation then turned to more personal topics. Lila mentioned her parents, saying, “You know, my parents—well, they have some pretty outdated views. It’s hard sometimes.”

Katalin nodded sympathetically. “I understand, Lila. I was telling Edward how they don’t really like my new job. As for my last one, well, traveling around the world changes your perspective. I hope you remember that.”

Pembroke looked thoughtful. “It’s important to experience new things. I’ve met a lot of people around the world, and while they’re all different, I think if you put, say, fifteen people from around the world in one room, say like a prison cell, eventually they’d all get along.”

Lila laughed at the joke. “Or tear each other’s hair out!”

Katalin laughed lightly, though she was a bit puzzled by the joke. “Well, I suppose that could happen too.”

Lila brightened. “So, Edward, when are you planning to take Aunt Katalin to Paris?”

Katalin grinned and added, “Hungarian food is wonderful, and I’d love to cook for you here. Maybe both of us are a little too tired of traveling and going to Paris all the time,” she said, looking at Pembroke.

Pembroke’s eyes twinkled with interest. “I’d be honored. That sounds wonderful.”

Katalin’s heart warmed at the thought of blending her personal life with Pembroke’s world, hopeful that these moments would help him see the full spectrum of her life and what she valued most.

Pembroke awoke in Katalin’s cozy apartment in Budapest, the morning light softly illuminating the modest but charming space. The previous evening had been a whirlwind of affection, with Katalin unable to keep her hands off him after Lila had left. Their dinner had been almost forgotten amidst the passionate sex, which was a lot more loving than most of his previous interactions with much younger women.

As he sipped his coffee, Pembroke admired the simple yet inviting decor of Katalin’s apartment, a stark contrast to the complexities of his life. For a moment, he entertained the idea of settling down in Budapest, imagining how he could transform a place like this into a luxurious haven. The city’s charm and authenticity were undeniably appealing.

His thoughts shifted to his complex in Turkey as he checked his messages. The girls’ training was progressing well, and he was intrigued by a substantial offer for Amina and Farah, pleased that they would remain together and bring him a small fortune—enough to retire comfortably. However, he also read Yasmina’s scornful comments about him, including hurtful remarks about his body and fantasies about how to kill him with small sticks made from toothbrushes.

Pembroke made a mental note to change the toothbrushes and decided that Yasmina would be the girl he would sell to Dr. Ivanov. Perhaps a stint under the surgeon’s knife, which he could only imagine would be brief and painful, would teach her some manners.

The sound of Katalin singing in the shower brought him back to the present, and he pondered the allure of this simpler existence, even as the complexities of his other world loomed in his mind.

Katalin emerged from the shower, her skin glistening with droplets of water. She stood naked, her toned body and firm curves accentuated by the morning light. With a playful smile, she sauntered toward Pembroke, her eyes sparkling with a lingering desire. “How’s my mysterious businessman?” she asked, her voice teasing and sultry, clearly still in the mood for sex.

Pembroke’s mischievous grin widened as he playfully slapped Katalin’s ass, the sound echoing through the apartment. “I think it’s you who wants it, you naughty girl,” he said, his voice dripping with desire. With a ravenous look in his eyes, he lowered his head and began to kiss and caress her breasts, savoring the warmth and softness of her skin as she sighed in pleasure.

Their playful and passionate exchange soon led them into a more intimate embrace, transitioning smoothly into a 69 position. Katalin adored his cock, wondering at the back of her mind how many other women had sucked or sat on this member, and tried to put it out of her mind to avoid screaming in jealousy. Nobody could suck cock like her, she told herself, and she would make this man cum for her if he wanted or not.

Pembroke relished the taste and sensations as he explored Katalin’s body, his attention focused on her clit. Each gentle nibble sent delightful shivers through her, and he could feel the vibrations of her pleasure building. Her inner thighs were slick with saliva and her juices, adding to the heady mix of scent and taste that drove him wild.

Part of him wanted to bite into her thighs, do anything to make her scream, which would immediately shut down everything with her and have her throw him out. He could not do it, and it made him want it even more. The girls at the complex had no such option, and he reminded himself how lucky he was to have access to such female flesh he could hurt at any time he wanted.

His thoughts grew darker as he considered whether he could procure both Katalin and Lila, leveraging their familial connection for his own ends. Was there a market for forty-year-old women? Many buyers would write her off without having the benefit of tasting her delicious body. Lila would undoubtedly be a good prospect; she had dressed modestly, but he could tell she had the same body as Katalin.

They lay in bed later, intertwined and savoring the warmth of each other’s bodies. “Edward, do you have to go?” Katalin implored, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Pembroke smiled reassuringly. “Well, sorry darling, but yes, I do. However, I can’t wait to get back! I’ll definitely be sure to return. In the meantime, let me check my diary for the day.”

He stepped into the next room to make a brief call and returned with a beaming expression. “I’m having lunch today with Dr. Ivanov, a renowned surgeon. We’ve crossed paths at various charities over the years, and I’ve supplied his hospitals with high-end equipment. I was thinking—it’s rare for young people to meet their heroes. If Lila is interested in studying medicine, she might really enjoy meeting him. If you two want to hang out again, we could arrange to meet for a short time downtown. What do you think?”

Katalin smiled warmly. “Of course! Can I come too?” she giggled.

“Of course,” Pembroke replied, his grin widening. “It’ll be a pleasure to have you both join me.”

Pembroke had initially been repulsed by Dr. Ivanov, but the surgeon’s willingness to pay substantially over the odds for a girl had somewhat mitigated his distaste. He had no idea being a surgeon was so lucrative. Pembroke rationalized that this transaction wasn’t fundamentally different from selling a girl as a ponygirl or subjecting her to indefinite whipping. At least with Dr. Ivanov, there was a semblance of adherence to the Hippocratic Oath, which might ensure that the girls would have a degree of care and that the Doctor would at least be trying to keep them alive.

Nevertheless, Pembroke couldn’t shake a twinge of guilt as he walked arm in arm with Katalin. She wore a flowery dress with no bra and just a thong underneath. Their connection had been so intense that they had stopped at a museum along the way, and had fucked beside a statute of a Roman general.

Katalin composed herself before meeting Lial, not wanting to appear as a wanton woman, though she could feel Pembroke’s cum oozing into the gusset of her thong.

When they met up with Lila, Pembroke’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Lila was dressed in a crisp school uniform: a navy-blue blazer adorned with a school crest, a white blouse with a pleated collar, and a plaid skirt that fell just above her knees. Her look was completed with knee-high socks and polished black shoes, giving her a youthful and studious appearance. “Yeah, I’m still in school,” Lila laughed. “But soon I’ll be applying to university.”

“Ah, to be young again,” Edward said with a smile.

Katalin nodded. “Well, Edward thought it would be wonderful for us to meet his friend, a surgeon.”

“Wow,” Lila said, slightly taken aback. “Was that Edward’s idea, or are you just looking for an excuse to spend more time with him?”

“Lila,” Katalin flashed a warning glance, “show some respect.”

Later, when they were apart, Lila nudged Katalin. “You really like this guy, don’t you? That’s why you’ll take any excuse to be around him.”

Katalin blushed. “No, of course not! Well, yes, I do like him, but seriously, Lila, this is a really famous man. He’s highly respected!”

Dr. Ivanov was deeply intrigued by more than just his own ambitions; he had also developed an unsettling fascination with Pembroke’s business of human trafficking. They had recently agreed on a subject—a young Moroccan girl—but Dr. Ivanov was eager to explore further possibilities and observe the trafficking operation in action.

Accompanied by his wife, Lydia, he had convinced her that he was merely meeting an old business contact who might assist with his retirement plans. He had also managed to arrange a brief meeting with his contact’s niece, claiming it would inspire her to pursue a career in medicine.

“Oh, Ivan,” Lydia said, rubbing his arm affectionately. “You’re too kind. But of course, I don’t mind the company.”

The five made a pleasant group at the restaurant, chatting happily over salads and sparkling water.

Lydia Ivanov was charmed by Edward Pembroke as he regaled her with stories about his retirement planning business and his past dealings in medical equipment. His anecdotes about client interactions had her laughing and engaged. Katalin, eager to learn more about her beau’s business ventures, listened intently.

Dr. Ivanov, on the other hand, was more reserved as he spoke with Lila and Katalin. Shy and bashful in the presence of the two attractive women, he answered their questions about his medical career with a modest demeanor.

After a while, Dr. Ivanov excused himself to go outside for a drink. “Just us girls now,” Lydia said with a laugh, turning her attention to Katalin and Lila.

“Your wife is a wonderful woman, Dr” said Pembroke.

“Yes, and four wonderful daughters” sighed Dr Ivanov. His eyes changed as he turned to Pembroke. “I am glad to meet someone with who I don’t have to pretend to feel guilty.”

“Well, it’s a business, one of the oldest ones,” Pembroke replied. “None of the girls would be as attractive or tantalizing if they hadn’t lived their lives freely before … entering service.”

“No, no, of course not,” the doctor said, growing more relaxed as he ensured no one could overhear them. “Yasmina … I can’t wait to meet her. Can you tell me more about her?”

“I’m sorry, but I must maintain discretion until you have possession,” Pembroke said. “She’s twenty, Moroccan, and she looks like her video and her picture. Now, Dr., I don’t need to remind you that you’re not hiring an escort.”

“No, no, of course not,” the doctor responded, clutching his glass. “My eyes are wide open … just as hers will be when I go to work.”

Pembroke tried to hide his disapproval. “But, of course, you’re just having fun in a safe environment. As an experienced surgeon, you’ll be able to ensure she’s patched up if needed. And I believe you mentioned you might even find ways for her to enjoy herself?”

The doctor smiled at him. “How do you sleep at night, Mr. Pembroke?”

Pembroke smiled back. “Usually pretty well, and rarely with the same woman.”

“I’m sure you can think of worse things,” the doctor said. “Her escaping, or me falling in love with her—that would keep you up at night. As for myself cutting into her skin and checking her out, I bet that doesn’t bother you that much, does it?”

“You’re right,” Pembroke said with a sigh. “From a business perspective, I’ve found that morals can be expensive, and their absence very lucrative. Anyway, I thought I might do my current lady friend a favor by introducing you to her niece. What do you think?”

The doctor laughed. “You must have known that when you texted me about introducing me to a beautiful woman and her even more beautiful young niece, what my answer would be. I’ll respond by asking you a question. When you see that lovely girl, Lila, in her school uniform, what do you want to do? Perhaps grab a steak knife, slice through that skirt, and maybe find out what color panties she is wearing, I bet you have been wondering the color since you met her. Perhaps you might also want to cut through her blouse, and through her bra, explore her bare breasts. Well, I am the same, I just want to bring the knife a little … closer to her.”

Pembroke could not deny it. “She looks wonderful in that uniform—many more clothes to cut through than Katalin.”

“The whore in the dress and no bra,” the doctor replied, his tone laced with disdain. “I can see she’s wearing a thong from here. Really, Mr. Pembroke, I’m disappointed in your choice of women. I do hope you find more distinguished ladies to be your partner.”

“Well,” Pembroke said with a smirk, “what about product instead of partner?”

“Well,” Pembroke said with a smirk, “what about product instead of partner?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded. “She’s attractive, and both of them are. I would certainly like to have intercourse with them both. Given that they’re related, I’m curious to see how similar they are and how they might react to different … stimuli.”

“Well, there’s no guarantee they’re available,” Pembroke smiled. “You see, they’re still free. I need to get them into captivity first and give them a bit of training. Until then, it’s more like observing wildlife on a safari than shopping at a pet store.”

“Oh, of course,” the doctor smiled in return. “It’s quite interesting. The young girl gets to see what my job is like, and I get to see a part of yours! May I ask how you plan to … acquire them?”

“Oh, just tricks of the trade,” Pembroke smiled. “We’ll make a plan and seize opportunities as they arise. There’s no guarantee with these girls—they might escape and never know a thing about it. But if the stars align, I hope they can disappear together. You see, not many buyers are interested in women Katalin’s age. The method for acquiring Lila will probably involve Katalin disappearing as well, so I’m curious about the buyers’ opinions on Katalin.”

“Well, she’s the same age as my daughters,” the doctor laughed. “So I wouldn’t complain. But I suppose, when there’s so much money involved, youth becomes the deciding factor. Medically, she seems strong. Another thing is, we share a common language. Hungarian is a very expressive language,” he said, looking coldly at Pembroke. “While all of us are speaking in a foreign language, when we truly want to express our feelings—say, if we’re experiencing the most excruciating pain—we can be most honest and descriptive in our native tongue.”

“I see,” said Pembroke. “Well, perhaps with practice, you might be able to avoid such unpleasantness with your skilled hands,” he laughed.

“Look at young Lila,” the doctor said, his eyes blazing as he looked at the young schoolgirl. “See how she laughs? No anesthetic needed—real emotion, genuine giggling, true happiness.”

Pembroke’s eyes lingered on Lila’s dimpled, smiling face, her wavy brown hair framing her glowing complexion. His gaze drifted down to where he could see beneath the table, noting with a touch of satisfaction that her panties were white. His thoughts turned to the further examination the doctor would likely want to conduct between her thighs.

“I can induce an orgasm with a scalpel, I know it,” the doctor’s face was alight with excitement.

“Well, Doctor, Yasmina will soon be able to confirm that,” Pembroke smirked.

“Oh yes, she will scream, for a variety of reasons,” the doctor laughed.

“Now,” Pembroke said, “let’s return to the girls.” Part of him recognized that this salesmanship was crucial for making money, while another part felt intrigued. Yet, he still experienced a pang of guilt as he approached the smiling faces of Katalin and Lila and returned to the table.

As they were leaving, Katalin smiled at the esteemed surgeon. “Goodbye, you two. Perhaps my little niece will see you again sometime!”

“Perhaps around the same operating table,” the doctor laughed. They all chuckled. “Yes, of course, I’ll make sure she studies!” Katalin said with a smile.

“Now Katalin,” Pembroke said with a wink, “you’re not too old. Perhaps you might find yourself there too if you’re interested in making any more life-changing decisions?” He gave her a playful wink. Katalin giggled, feeling a touch of his hand on her ass through the dress.

Katalin felt even more in love. “Darling, do you have to go?”

Pembroke watched as Lila walked off. Was it his imagination, or had her skirt seemed shorter over the last hour?

He considered the meetings, the research on targets, and the negotiations he could handle here before moving on. “Of course,” Pembroke smiled at her. “I can spend one more night.”

Katalin felt like she was in heaven. She really should stop herself from falling head over heels so easily. “Oh, darling,” she hugged him and kissed him. “Tonight, let’s have even more fun!” She brought his hand up her dress, and cupping her thong clad crotch, feeling her wetness. It was nice to have such an enthusiastic partner for once, Pembroke smiled to himself.

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By Edward Pembroke
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