Slave Procurement Part 12 –

Latest sex stories about Slave Procurement Part 12 – added for who looking to read new experience of teenager narrative Slave Procurement Part 12 – story.
Read from here : 👉

#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen

By Edward Pembroke

Edward Pembroke continues to kidnap, enslave, brutally train and sell girls

Katalin was delighted to be asked to accompany Pembroke the next morning to Tököl Airport, just outside Budapest. Having her with him reduced the risk of any foul play during the transaction he had planned.
All Pembroke had to do was arrive at the airport and meet a plane chartered by Bereketli Yemcilik, carrying rare exotic animal feed. The cargo would be held at the special customs area, where the first box would be collected by a special purchaser, and then two others would be picked up by a second purchaser for onward transit.
Katalin felt special within the confines of the private airport, watching her man sign important-looking documents of which she had no clue about. He was a middleman, a wheeler-dealer, who made things happen. Rare animal feed, retirement homes, medical equipment—she would have been suspicious had she met him in a bar, but having seen him with illustrious company in Hungary and Azmaria, she felt secure.
In another elegant dress, Katalin had taken off her coat and walked around in her high heels, circling the mysterious black boxes. “I hope you’re not a drug dealer,” she teased, a playful glint in her eye.
Bored and seeking his attention, she sat on one of the boxes, rolling up her skirt to her thighs, displaying her pink knickers, and spreading her legs. “Edward, come on, take a break.”
“Katalin, you know this is important,” Pembroke said.
She pouted playfully, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Just a little break.
It’s so private here, and I’ve been such a good girl, haven’t I?”
He walked over to her, placing his hands on her knees. “You are impossible to resist,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. He ran his hands up her thighs, his fingers slipping under her panties and into her slit. He pushed her back over the box, pulled her panties down her legs and over her ankles, and buried his face between her legs.
Katalin moaned softly, her hands gripping the edges of the box as Pembroke’s tongue explored her. In the midst of their passionate moment, Pembroke noticed, amid the view of her labia folds and inner thighs under her skirt, that his face was positioned over the air hole.
Saliva was dripping from his mouth and her pussy into the grid, and he realized with a start that it would likely eventually reach the box occupant as they tried to breathe. Oh well, he thought, perhaps a little favor of pussy in the air might do them good and break up the monotony of their transit.
Katalin’s moans grew louder, her body arching against the box, and she soon flopped over the box in pleasure. Pembroke smiled and gently pulled her off, not wanting her to block off the air vent too much. The occupants should be able to live for 36 hours with the air vents letting air inside, and some of these girls had a long flight, with Holly having to spend another 11 hours in the air to get to Malaysia. He wondered if she would have heard or tasted the sex so close to her.
As he helped Katalin back to her feet, they both composed themselves, adjusting their clothes and catching their breath. Just as they steadied themselves, the representative of Kamal Abdelrahman arrived to collect the boxes marked “GA” and “CJ.” Pembroke said a silent goodbye to Cassie Johnson and Gal Avraham, hoping they arrived alive and that the rest of the money would come in.
Katalin hopped up on the remaining box marked “HS” as Pembroke nervously checked that her bottom was just away from the air hole. Katalin wanted to appear important; she just had a lowly job with refugees but wanted to impress Pembroke.
“You know, Edward, I think your job is fascinating. I really want to progress in my job. These types of transactions make me think of human trafficking. God, to think that I keep hearing of young women and children getting trafficked in crates like this!” She sighed, trying to sound important. “You know, I would love to be able to help you. I work with refugees, and a lot of them are in different countries. Maybe if you need to use couriers or employees, I can help, place some people for you who are looking for jobs?”
Pembroke looked at her, almost laughing in incredulity. He couldn’t believe the opportunity that had presented itself.
“Katalin, that’s an incredibly generous offer,” he said, masking his true feelings with a warm smile. “It’s not every day that someone with your kind of experience and skills offers such valuable assistance.”
She beamed, clearly pleased with his response. “I just want to make a difference, you know? And if my work with refugees can intersect with what you do, it could be a perfect match.”
“It would indeed, Katalin. We do often need people at short notice. If you could help me out in the future when I need someone, we might have a working relationship!” he grinned at her, knowing that she would be eager to help him out with the ‘right candidate.’
She smiled brightly, feeling validated and important. “Thank you, Edward. It means a lot to me that you’d consider it. I will absolutely do my best if you ever need anything!”
As they continued their conversation, the representative for the final box marked “HS” arrived. Pembroke smoothly facilitated the handover, maintaining his professional demeanor while inwardly contemplating how he could leverage Katalin’s offer in his future operations.
Katalin was almost crying as she said goodbye to Pembroke. She cursed herself for being a silly girl falling for another unobtainable guy but swore that she would do her best in her work to help out Pembroke with anything he wanted, just to see him again.
“Take care, Edward,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion. “If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Pembroke gently squeezed her hand, and smiled. “I have a feeling I will be seeing you again soon, Katalin.”
Edward Pembroke strolled out of Vienna Train Station, adjusting his coat against the chill in the air. He hailed a taxi and directed the driver to the Hotel Sacher, one of the most prestigious venues in Vienna. Upon arrival, he stepped into the grand lobby, where chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegant furnishings. The concierge led him to a private dining room, where Ahmed Al-Masri was already waiting.
Pembroke greeted Ahmed with a firm handshake, and they settled into their seats. As the waiter poured their wine, Edward leaned forward, his expression serious yet amiable. “Shall we begin?”
Ahmed Al-Masri took a sip of his wine, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, Eddie, I am in town for some diplomacy, and I cannot help but think that you are my main problem and the main problem for my government.”
“Ahmed, I told you, we are discreet, and nothing is suspected,” Pembroke replied calmly. “There is no grand investigation into our business. Everything is proceeding smoothly and under the radar, just as we planned.”
“We planned,” said Al-Masri, “that this would be an efficient gathering of seven separate products for my Crown Prince. And we are very grateful to you. I can say that the Crown Prince is very happy with them.”
“All still alive?” asked Pembroke, sipping his wine nonchalantly.
“Yes, I can say that,” said Al-Masri grimly.
“Ahmed, I’m sure you know, not just the Crown Prince has expressed an interest in our services. His wider family has too. My girls are selling like hotcakes!”
“I am just concerned,” said Al-Masri, his tone serious. “The increased attention and demand could potentially draw unwanted scrutiny. We need to ensure that your operations remain airtight and completely under the radar.”
Pembroke nodded. “We will tighten our protocols and ensure that every transaction is as seamless and secure as possible. Your peace of mind is a priority, Ahmed, as are all my customers.”
“I cannot believe that just because one Crown Prince got horny, my entire government is now dependent on a slave trafficker for its survival,” Ahmed laughed bitterly. “I am in the wrong business.”
Pembroke leaned back remembering Ahmed’s earlier threats, even against his family. If they thought him a real threat, it would not take much for them to kill him. He needed to tread carefully and appeal to Ahmed.
“Ahmed, you know I am always grateful for your help, personally. I do not want to get you in trouble with your wife, but are you sure you cannot find some room for a little … pet?” Pembroke smiled, his tone light yet insinuating.
“Absolutely not!” Al-Masri replied firmly, shaking his head. He knew he had to distance himself from this trade and be ready to jettison it and condemn it when the time eventually came. He had no doubt Pembroke would get caught one day, and he wanted to be in the right position by then.
“I understand,” Pembroke said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No harm in asking.”
Ahmed’s expression softened slightly. “Eddie, what would make me a little happier is some money. I want a cut of your sales going forward.”
“What? But I give you a finder’s fee when you get me a buyer. Ahmed, I must protest—this is extortion!”
“Well, Eddie, I am in the extortion business, just as you are in the slavery, kidnapping, and murder business,” Ahmed smiled. “So we are quite a match here.”
Pembroke stared at Ahmed, weighing his options. “OK, I guess we still owe you, but we are branching out.”
“Oh, I know,” smiled Al-Masri. “Say, did you hear about the University Games in Sarajevo? Cancelled, such a poor show.”
“Oh, I did not know you were into athletics, Ahmed.”
“One did not need to follow it to see it on the news. Two pretty young American athletes, murdered. Such a tragedy, and the murderer hung himself! Riots in the streets because he was an illegal immigrant and black. Quite the international incident!”
“Oh yes, I seem to recall it now,” said Pembroke, having some nuts. “I try to avoid too much international affairs. The news makes me depressed.” “I have been keeping an eye on it. So strange that the murderer killed both of them, then hung himself. One girl stabbed to death and buried hastily nearby. But the other girl, still not found, weeks later!”
Pembroke paused, his hand hovering over the bowl of nuts. “The police are corrupt in these countries, Ahmed. Who knows what happened, but it is reassuring to know that the murderer is obviously gone from this world.”
“Well, it did not take much investigation to find that the missing girl was Lucy Seratova, daughter of Annie Seratova, who had raised allegations that she had been raped by one Bradley Watkins at High School. The same Brad Watkins who I saw you talking with in Azmaria a few months ago. Just struck me as odd, perhaps I am reading too much into it.”
“Indeed,” Pembroke replied smoothly. “But coincidences happen. The important thing is that both murders have been described as such, and other than your overexcited imagination, no one is bothering Mr. Watkins about this ridiculous conspiracy theory now. They will still be digging holes for Ms. Seratova in Sarajevo 20 years from now and not in Mrs. Watkins’ back garden.”
Ahmed’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Of course, Eddie. Just an observation. But I can’t help wondering how much money Watkins would be willing to pay for the daughter of a woman he was besotted with as a young man. Money that I cannot help but feel should partly belong to me. If I had not brought you to Azmaria, I have a feeling those two American athletes would be walking around today, alive.”
Pembroke smiled back, chewing some nuts and gulping some wine. “Who knows, the merest butterfly effect and all that, haha. But tell you what, Ahmed, perhaps you are right. We can talk some figures to help you out and recognize your contribution to our business.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Ahmed, smiling slightly. “And to sweeten the deal, I can tell you I have another person who wants to meet you.”
“Oh really?” Pembroke’s eyebrows raised.
“Yes, here in Vienna. In certain circles, your name is like a drug dealer at a frat house party.”
Pembroke chuckled. “I’m flattered. Who is this person, and what do they want?”
“He’s a high-profile individual with significant resources and a keen interest in your … services,” Ahmed replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “Let’s just say he operates on a global scale.
Pembroke’s interest was piqued. “Alright, I’m listening. When and where do we meet this individual?”
“Tomorrow evening, at the Imperial Hotel,” Ahmed said, sliding a small card across the table. “Details are on there. Be discreet and come prepared.”
Pembroke took the card and nodded. “I’ll be there. Thank you, Ahmed, and good luck with your other political machinations here in Vienna.”
“Agreed,” Ahmed replied, clinking his glass against Pembroke’s. “To new opportunities and continued success.”
After Pembroke walked into the Imperial Hotel, he was directed to a side area where bodyguards frisked and scanned him before allowing him into the hall to be seated at a table of diners in the luxurious hotel.
He was placed at a table next to a man he recognized instantly. Aarav Mishra was one of the wealthiest men in India, having made his career in semiconductors in Chennai and built up a worldwide IT technology empire.
Mishra stared at him impassively through hooded eyes, showing no emotion, and did not speak.
“Good evening, Mr. Mishra. I must say it is an honor. I have long admired your business acumen,” Pembroke said, breaking the silence.
“Maybe there are similarities in our practices,” Mishra replied, his tone cool and measured.
A waiter approached. “My guest will not just have a glass of my wine. He does not need any food or drink,” said Mishra dismissively.
Pembroke smiled, understanding he would be a fleeting visitor.
“I see you are a man who values time, Mr. Mishra, so I will get to the point. Unless you have the conscience of a nun and not the hard-nosed businessman I believe you are, you desire some of my products.”
Mishra wiped his mouth and washed his steak down with some wine. “Yes, you are right, sell them to me.”
“Well,” Pembroke said, admiring Mishra’s cut-to-the-chase attitude, “I usually insist that buyers educate themselves on the need to properly accommodate my products. Their release into the general population or back to their families can have very negative consequences for the buyers. So, we recommend you sort out accommodation before deciding on the lady of your choice.”
Mishra’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded in understanding. “I have already taken the necessary precautions. The accommodation is discreet and secure. Your products will not be the first guests there, and none have ever escaped so far.”
“Excellent” warmed Pembroke “I do like doing busienss with experienced end users.”
“Excellent,” warmed Pembroke. “I do like doing business with experienced end users.”
“I like beautiful things,” said Mishra, finally opening up. “I have just bought a vintage Iron Maiden from the 16th century. It’s a fascinating piece of history—an upright sarcophagus with well-placed spikes on the inner surfaces, designed to enclose a human body and inflict maximum pain without death. It’s both gruesome and mesmerizing.”
Pembroke raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. “A remarkable acquisition. It seems you have a penchant for items with a dark history.”
“Indeed,” Mishra replied, his eyes gleaming. “The artistry and the intent behind such devices are a testament to human ingenuity and the extremes of human nature.”
“You appear to be seeking the right body to be placed within it,” Pembroke said, his tone almost casual, but with an underlying hint of curiosity.
Mishra leaned back, his gaze steady. “I would prefer two products, preferably bonded together in some way, sexually. Lesbians. Or sisters. White girls, beautiful, young.”
Pembroke nodded thoughtfully, taking in Mishra’s specific requirements. “Understood. Your preferences are quite clear, and as it happens, I have just the right pair for you. In fact, I’ve been saving them for the right customer—someone who truly appreciates them and can give them a proper home.”
Mishra’s interest was piqued. “Tell me more.”
“They are sisters, both exceptionally beautiful and young, 20 and 18 years old,” Pembroke said, leaning in slightly. “Their bond is strong, and they meet all your criteria perfectly. They’ve been well-trained and are ready to be integrated into your collection.”
A satisfied smile played on Mishra’s lips. “You have my attention. I would like to see photos.”
“If I may be so bold, Mr. Mishra, I can show you them now,” Pembroke suggested. “You can view them while you have your wine and make a decision. Of course, you can have a cooling-off period. I can say that these particular products, while some might describe them as stolen property, are not being hunted extensively by law enforcement. This should not be taken to reflect badly on these girls; they are good middle-class girls from a good home.”
“And they are not missed?” Mishra inquired, his tone cautious.
“They are from Russia, and their parents unfortunately passed away following their acquisition,” Pembroke replied smoothly. “Not at our hands, I should say. Their disappearance has not raised any significant alarms.”
Mishra nodded, seemingly reassured. “Very well. That alleviates some of my concerns.”
Pembroke handed his phone across the table, looking discreetly around. Mishra smiled as he looked at photos of Natalia and Tatiana Akhmadova, some from before their descent into prostitution in Istanbul, and some taken during their time at the complex.
“There is a video, of course, Mr. Mishra. I recommend you turn the sound down, haha, and perhaps view it at your leisure,” Pembroke said with a knowing smile.
“Well, I suppose if they are not missed, this video might as well be on PornHub,” shrugged Mishra, as he accepted Pembroke’s headphones and turned on the video.
Pembroke was a little nervous as he glanced around him. The cream of Viennese society was here. He looked at the suited gentlemen and elegant ladies quaffing their wine and fine food and then thought of the contents of the video.
He recalled the hours spent filming the video, even though the sisters were now used to having consensual lesbian sex they had needed plenty of threats to complete the short video.
Clad in contrasting black and white lingerie, the two girls had been making out in the video, then acted as if caught. “Oh, you caught us! Incest, it turns us on so much, ever since we were little girls, we only had hands and eyes for each other.”
Tatiana then chimed in and spanked Natalia’s ass. “Daddy didn’t like it, he spanked us so hard, but we licked each other’s pussies any chance we got.”
Natalia giggled and slipped her fingers inside her sister’s panties as she playfully licked her nose. “Mummy too, but she didn’t mind when we licked her pussy, did she Tati?”
“Oh Natalia, Mummy’s pussy tasted so good!” laughed Tatiana, whipping off her top and pulling Natalia down to suck on her tits.
“We are sisters” Tatiana continued, looking at the camera. “And together, we are slaves, we can serve you, you can be our new daddy.”
It cut to the two of them in bed, licking each other, naked, playing with each others’ pussies and assholes with their tongues.
“Please, be our new Master, we will dedicate the rest of our lives to you, our new daddy,” they spoke in unison “We will always obey, we will always seek to please, and we will promise you our soul and our bodies, for the rest of our lives, as you see fit.”
Mishra watched intently, his expression revealing nothing as he absorbed the content. After a few moments, he removed the headphones and handed the phone back to Pembroke. “They are exactly what I am looking for. Your recommendation is well-founded. I only wish their parents were still alive, I would have found it immensely pleasurable to taunt them about their children’s new lives.
“I understand” smiled Pembroke. “The girls are used to humiliation and control, they will obey well.”
“We have not yet, of course, discussed the price,” said Pembroke gingerly.
“I don’t like talking numbers over dinner, Pembroke,” Mishra replied coolly. “But I promise you, I will give you a figure afterwards, and you will find it satisfying and unmatchable. I want the shipment made as soon as possible, so please, I look forward to agreeing on figures and moving on.”
Pembroke nodded, trying to mask his relief with a composed expression. “Understood, Mr. Mishra. I appreciate your discretion and confidence in our arrangement.”
“I know a good deal when I see one” winked Mishra. “Now, please leave me, I do like a little solitude when I eat. You will hear from me very soon.”
Pembroke left, strolling out of the hotel, happy that business was booming. He would be sad to see the sisters go, and promised himself he would try and get back before at least one more threesome with them before the time was ready for them to be shipped.
Mrs. Parker murmured gently over Elira as the latter bent over the bed, sobbing. “Don’t worry, Elira, it’s a little sore now, but soon you will be right as rain,” Mrs. Parker soothed, her hands moving in slow, comforting strokes over Elira’s asshole, applying the cream.
Elira’s voice trembled as she spoke, her sobs making her words barely intelligible. “It still hurts, when will the pain go away?” she cried, her body shaking with each word.
Mrs. Parker continued to stroke Elira’s hair. “Your anus is a strong muscle, dear,” she said with a kind smile. “It will be good soon. Muscles heal, and so will you.”
Elira winced as Mrs. Parker applied the cold cream over her tender, inflamed asshole. She could feel the soothing sensation of the cream taking the edge off the pain, but the memory of the violation was still fresh, raw, and brutal. Standing up slowly, she tried to cover her embarrassment, her face flushed with a mixture of pain and shame.
Mrs. Parker noticed Elira’s discomfort and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to feel embarrassed, Elira. But you do have to get used to this kind of thing, I am afraid in this life, you will have this kind of thing done to you a lot. Hopefully, your owner will be a kinder man than Nadmim,” she said, attempting to console her.
Elira’s eyes flashed with anger and despair. “Or Konrad? Or Jamal? Or Dmitri? Or Mrs. Al-Haraz – she was the worst! I thought I was just going to be a prisoner, but this is just torture!” she cried, her voice breaking as fresh tears poured down her cheeks.
Mrs. Parker’s expression softened, and she pulled Elira into a gentle hug. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But the Master will be back soon, and they all behave better when he is here. The kind of men who can afford to buy you are more likely to be like him than the uneducated thugs here, so perhaps you might even tolerate being a slave with the right owner.”
Both women admitted to themselves that Master Pembroke was an alluring figure. He was strong, dominant, and sophisticated—the kind of master they could serve with a strange mixture of fear and admiration. Elira had even fantasized about him disappearing from the complex forever and taking her with him as his private slave. She had lost her virginity to him; at the time, she had found it brutal and devastating, but now she yearned for another chance to sleep with him and impress him.
She had missed him since he left and looked forward to his return, though she was terrified of the unknown and the possibility of being sent away.
Elira sniffled, her body shaking as she struggled to calm down. “But what if he’s not kind?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Parker did not answer. The probability of her new owner being “kind” was something approaching 0%, and they both knew it.
“Enough talk for now, Elira,” Mrs. Parker said gently. “It’s making you nervous.”
Elira nodded, trying to calm herself.
“Now, Elira,” Mrs. Parker continued with a smile, “one of the perks of staying with me is you get to wear some nice clothes!” She held up a delicate black negligee and matching panties. “Why don’t you put these on? They go so well with your hair.” She cooed, running her fingers through Elira’s strands.
Elira savored the sensation of slipping on the black panties, followed by the delicate sheer negligee. “Look in the mirror, isn’t it wonderful to wear something so lovely?” Mrs. Parker murmured, guiding Elira to see her reflection. The older woman, with her blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, stood behind Elira, dressed in a sheer blue negligee and a matching thong. Her hands rested gently on Elira’s shoulders.
Elira traced her fingers over the fabric, relishing its snug fit. She could sense Mrs. Parker’s eyes on her, and through the mirror, she saw the older woman’s hand glide down to her hip, fingertips grazing the hem of her panties. The touch made her feel more exposed than when she was bare.
But she didn’t mind. Mrs. Parker’s kindness was a rare thing here, and in her bedroom she was safe from the other violent predators and the suffocating cauldron of pussy in the cell.
Mrs. Parker’s blue eyes bore into Elira’s brown ones as she turned the younger girl around to face her. Her fingernails dug into Elira’s toned buttocks, creating a mix of sensation and tension. “Elira, we need to take our pleasures as they come. The men do it, and you must learn to do so with our owner and enjoy everything. So…” She licked her lips, bringing her mouth closer to Elira’s. “Show me.”
A few weeks ago, the thought of kissing another woman would have baffled Elira. In fact, she had never kissed anyone until coming here, and even then, she had kissed her Master’s asshole before kissing anyone on the lips. Now, she had experienced so much lesbian and heterosexual sex, doing things she had never even imagined human beings did, that kissing Mrs. Parker seemed natural and even enjoyable.
Their lips met, and soon their tongues slipped into each other’s mouths. Mrs. Parker’s hands wandered all over Elira, treasuring the teenager’s firm stomach, perfectly straight from her ribs down to her mons, and over her perky breasts beneath the thin material of the negligee. Elira tentatively ran her hands over the older woman’s much fleshier body, finding some comfort in her large breasts and buttocks, almost feeling a wave of nostalgia for her own mother.
“Let’s lie down, sweetie,” Mrs. Parker said. She fell on top of Elira, their breasts mashing together as she passionately kissed the girl’s face, losing herself in the moment. Her hand slipped fully into Elira’s black panties. “We’ll keep these on; it seems a shame to remove such pretty panties after putting them on you! But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun inside them,” she smiled.
“Oh … Madam … I am sore there, remember?” pleaded Elira.
“Don’t worry, child,” Mrs. Parker reassured her. “I’ll just play with your little clitty and bring you some pleasure to ease your pain. But feel free to play with whatever you want,” she giggled.
Elira sighed in pleasure as Mrs. Parker licked her neck, rubbing her clit with her index finger and massaging her breasts with her other hand. Elira ran her hands down the blonde’s flesh, finding the soft satin fabric of her thong, and then the wet, soft flesh underneath, dripping with juices. She slid her finger inside.
“Oh, Madam,” sighed Elira, “I think I’m going to come.”
“Hmm, darling,” Mrs. Parker murmured as she stuck her tongue into Elira’s ear, “that’s just the first of many tonight. Believe me, you are good enough to eat!”
Elsewhere, the Russian sisters were with Jamal in his bedroom. It was understood they were to be sold promptly, so they were to concentrate on working as a pair.
Jamal still couldn’t believe he could have such beauty. Natalia’s buttocks were over his face, her inner thighs stretched and her pussy lips planted on his mouth as he chewed on her labia. Her asshole rested on his nose. Trails of sweat passed down her spine along her back dimples, down the valley of her cheeks, and trickled along the crinkled anus, dripping on his face, the salty taste merging with her pussy juices.
Facing Natalia was her sister Tatiana. She straddled Jamal’s giant body, riding his cock as it slid up and down into her pussy. She leveraged her thighs, pushing up and lowering herself repeatedly, feeling the giant cock hit her cervix and fill her insides with pleasure.
Each sister was gyrating and writhing with pleasure, their hips moving rhythmically. Their arms and hands were wrapped around each other’s heads, grasping their hair, their foreheads touching. Their hard nipples rubbed against each other’s breasts, creating an intense friction that felt like hard pebbles gliding over soft flesh. Their eyes simmered, boring into each other, and they kissed passionately every now and then, never letting go of each other’s faces and the back of their heads. They pressed against each other with an intensity beyond love, wanting to be as one.
“You cannot do this to me, you Arab bitch! I’m an American citizen!” Lucy yelled, her voice full of fire.
Despite being bound with her arms and hands securely behind her back, and her ankles connected by a cord preventing much movement, Lucy was angry and spitting rebellion at Mrs. Al-Haraz.
Mrs. Al-Haraz, however, relished this confrontation. The Yemeni woman was used to such outbursts and took a perverse pleasure in controlling and punishing the inevitable uprisings against her. “Spoiled American whore, you think because I am a woman you can say things you would not dare to the men!” she sneered.
The thought of breaking Lucy’s spirit even more only fueled her determination. She leered at the naked figure of the American, savoring the challenge that lay before her.
They were in Mrs. Al-Haraz’s bedroom. The garish bedclothes and Mrs. Al-Haraz’s equally garish teddy and French knickers did nothing to hide the hideousness of her burned face. Lucy was naked, as exposed as ever.
“Look at this,” the Yemeni woman said, touching Lucy’s swollen black eye. “And this,” she continued, bringing her finger slowly down over Lucy’s heaving breasts to her hip, where a bright red mark from an earlier cane strike stood out.
Suddenly, she slammed both her hands against Lucy’s buttocks, enveloping them. Lucy gasped in pain as Mrs. Al-Haraz smiled, her breath hot against Lucy’s face. Lucy’s buttocks were still red and bruised from the hard spanking she had received earlier, for her lacklustre efforts at sucking Jamal’s cock.
“I think maybe you like pain, you slut,” Mrs. Al-Haraz murmured, her lips brushing seductively against the trembling ones of the frightened American. “Is that why you are so naughty with me? You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” Her eyebrows arched, stretching the seared flesh around her eyes, their faces mere centimeters apart.
“No, I don’t. I just want to go home, I want out of here, I want my family, please … please…” Lucy crumbled into tears, her resolve breaking. She lowered herself past Mrs. Al-Haraz’s face until she was on her knees on the floor, crying and shaking. She began praying unintelligibly, begging for someone, anyone, to help her, as tears streamed down her face.
Even though she had been violated many times, Lucy was still shocked by the application of violence while in such a vulnerable position. The powerful slap from the well-practiced Yemeni stunned her and sent her sprawling on the ground. Unable to protect herself with her hands, her face hit the floor.
“No crying here! You are not a little girl; you are a woman, and you will be treated like a woman,” Mrs. Al-Haraz barked, her voice cold and commanding. “Now get on the bed!”
Lucy cursed herself as she succumbed to the inevitable, awkwardly getting to her feet before limping onto the bed with her ankles and wrists constrained.
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Al-Haraz murmured as Lucy, unable to help herself, ended up on all fours on the bed, her legs spread. “Nice!”
Lucy shrieked as she felt the Yemeni woman’s face press between her legs. Desperately, she tried to turn around on the bed, closing her legs, trapping Mrs. Al-Haraz’s face between her thighs. The Yemeni woman hungrily brought her mouth to Lucy’s pussy, her tongue exploring with fervor. Lucy struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the pain of the restraints and the intense sensations of the tongue on her pussy lips.
As Lucy orgasmed, Mrs. Al-Haraz looked up, her eyes peering at her from above her mons. “All you sluts orgasm from my licking. You all enjoy it in the end. I don’t know why you pretend, haha,” the older woman taunted.
Then, Mrs. Al-Haraz hopped up and pushed Lucy down to the foot of the bed. “Lick my feet,” she commanded, her voice filled with authority and amusement.
Mrs. Al-Haraz played with herself, fingering her pussy and enjoying the feeling of Lucy’s tongue along her insoles, between her toes, and the sucking of her toes, moving from foot to foot. Lucy’s tongue grew tired, and it was hard to keep her balance without the use of her arms. She saw the brown feet quiver as she licked, her eyes trailing up the brown legs that tapered to the area between her thighs, where Mrs. Al-Haraz’s fingers played quickly with her slick pussy, masturbating and sighing in pleasure.
“AAAgghh,” the Yemeni woman bucked and arched her back as she came loudly. She then brought her wet fingers to her own mouth and then down to Lucy’s mouth. “Ahhh, that was nice. Now, slave, no need to stop. I am going to go for a snooze, but I want my feet still licked. If I wake up and don’t feel your tongue on my feet, well, then you will be punished,” she grinned evilly. “The Master always asks me who has been naughty and who has been nice. You do not want me to tell him you were naughty!”
Lucy tried to blot out the misery, the only way to not go crazy, as she rested her tired face against the feet and drew her exhausted tongue across the saliva-soaked skin. She watched her overseer start to purr and lie back as if asleep. She knew she could not stop; she had to believe that obedience was the only way to avoid punishment, to get through this.
“Ow, ow, ow … please … no…”
“Shut up, Kasia! That was only three fingers; you took four two nights ago! Now it’s time you took my whole fist!”
“But please, it was so sore, I still cannot sit down, nnnnnnn…”
Kasia was in Nadim’s bedroom, on all fours, legs spread, biting into a pillow. Her face was purple, and her eyes were shut tightly, arms and hands shaking with pain. She felt such agony from the forced opening being made between her legs.
The smell of tobacco and alcohol filled the room, and even the generous offer of some whiskey down her throat had not dulled the pain as the Nadim tried to distend her asshole wider. Kasia’s agony was palpable, her muffled cries of pain echoing around the room as she bit harder into the pillow, trying to endure the unbearable sensation.
“OK, now the fourth finger goes in,” Nadim grinned, pulling the right buttock hard apart, the sphincter flesh being splayed obscenely to one side, as she spat on it.
“It’s going to tear! AAAAAhhhhhh!” Kasia screamed, trying to move her hips down to the bedsheets. But his hand followed her, still stuck in her asshole. With nowhere to go, he was able to use pressure to force his hand inside as she remained pressed against the bed.
“Fuck, oh-oh-oh,” Kasia’s eyes bulged out, and she shook as if hyperventilating, breathing fast and shallow.
“Good girl, now for the thumb. I want you to breathe out and push out, and try to lift your butt up in the air to meet me. Come on, Kasia,” Nadim smiled, utterly engrossed in his task.
He wriggled his hand around, spitting once more, and worked it into the anus, which was slowly widening. The ring grew thinner and thinner as his knuckles disappeared into her flesh. Her cries switched from low and guttural to high and squeaky as, with a slimy sound, his hand slid in to the level of his wrist, his whole hand now inside her ass. Nadim smiled, satisfied with his work.
He ever so delicately moved his fingers around inside her, feeling the gooey insides as Kasia’s body gently quaked. She felt vulnerable as never before, aware of the fingers moving inside her guts, like a truly foreign object. The pain was accompanied by the terrifying knowledge that he could rip her apart if he wanted to.
She barely felt the warm splash of fluid against her buttock, but soon afterward, his fist withdrew from her asshole, leaving it distended like a rosebud. Kasia moved her hand back, feeling her asshole, just grateful it was still there in one piece. She barely acknowledged the cum on her buttocks. The hollow of her insides slowly closed, and the pain subsided, then returned.
“Taste this,” smiled Nadim as he ran his fingers over her lips, the utter filth of the insides of her ass mixed with blood overpowering her senses.
Kasia felt her stomach, fearing she had an internal injury, while her other hand massaged her aching asshole. Ever since this brute had been brought in, no girl’s asshole was safe. He favored some, particularly having a predilection for toned, muscular asses, and Kasia’s seemed perversely attractive to him. She hoped the Master would soon return and put a stop to it. She prayed she might be sold soon to a merciful, kinder owner. ———-
Konrad had only tits on his mind when he walked into the hall that evening. He quickly scanned the array of nipples and breasts, making his selection before even matching them with a face.
Samira had been the unlucky girl chosen. Now, she was on his bed, wiping blood from her ear. “Sir, you bit my ear, it’s bleeding!”
“Hmmmm, yeah it was tasty. I don’t care,” he replied, engrossed in the space between her thighs. His voice was muffled as he licked and ate her delicate folds, sending her into an orgasm while she feared where and when he would next clench his teeth.
As she breathed through the sensation, she longed for the Master’s return. The staff were always wilder when he was away, and though the Master was strict, he was slightly more predictable. Like the other girls, she had begun to secretly wish to be called to his bedroom for the night.
“Ow!” she screamed suddenly as she felt a nip on her inner thigh.
“Sorry, Samira, you were made to be eaten alive,” he laughed, bringing himself up and stroking his huge cock before plunging it inside her.
Amina and Farah were performing their familiar routine as mother and daughter for Dmitri in his bedroom. He sat drinking vodka, naked, marveling at the sight of the two Afghan females.
They started with a lap dance, their bodies moving sensually to the rhythm of the music. Amina and Farah rubbed their breasts against Dmitri’s face and each other’s, their nipples brushing against his skin. The erotic display intensified as they began sucking on each other’s tits, moaning softly.
Farah then got to her knees, her face nestled between Amina’s buttocks, her tongue exploring while Amina continued to sway sensually in front of Dmitri. He watched, his eyes glazed with lust, taking in every detail.
Soon, both women were between his legs. Amina licked and sucked at his balls, her tongue swirling around them, while Farah sucked hard on his cock with a skill learned and perfected at the complex. The synchronized movements of their tongues and lips drove Dmitri wild with pleasure.
As the intensity grew, they moved to the ground, positioning themselves in a 69 before him. Their bodies intertwined, tongues and lips working feverishly on each other, the room filled with the sounds of their passionate moans. Dmitri watched, transfixed, as Amina and Farah continued their erotic performance.
“I would never have believed Afghan women would stoop so low,” Dmitri growled, tauntingly. “I would have thought they would have killed themselves before debasing themselves in such a disgusting, filthy manner. Mother and daughter, how can you live with yourselves!”
Farah and Amina ignored the taunts, which they barely understood anyway. They knew this was wrong, but they also knew they loved each other and that this display now felt natural—like survival—to keep going and stay together. The best response would be to satisfy Dmitri’s lust and avoid provoking a painful punishment.
As Dmitri came behind Farah and mounted her doggy style, Amina obediently anticipated his requests. She moved her face behind Dmitri, pulling his buttocks apart, and plunged her tongue into his crack, tracing it from his swinging balls up to his asshole to pleasure him as he fucked her daughter.
Dmitri could barely contain himself and soon came inside Farah. He then collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the alcohol and sexual ecstasy. The two Afghans quietly licked and sucked at his cum-covered cock and balls, allowing him to peacefully drift into sleep. Once Dmitri was asleep, they snuggled up next to him, lying on his chest, staring into each other’s eyes and holding each other’s hands. It was their way of reminding each other that they had survived another brutal night of fucking, but they were alive.
Edward Pembroke smiled at the stewardess as he boarded the flight to Adana from Zurich. It had been a whirlwind few days of intense work and lucrative deals, but now it was time to return to the grind.
He looked around at the laughing tourists, the happy families, and particularly the cheerful young women and stewardesses. Everyone was brimming with excitement, whether heading home or setting off on a holiday, and he couldn’t help but catch a bit of their joy.
In the midst of the cheerful chaos, an impatient father’s voice cut through the noise. “Maria, where have you been? We’re going to miss our flight!” His stressed tone was unmistakable. His daughter, a cute young blonde girl in short denim shorts and a yellow sleeveless vest that showed off her tanned limbs, had been absorbed in a Peppa Pig cartoon on a screen, her toy dinosaur clutched tightly in her small hands.
“Sorry, Daddy, I got distracted,” she said, her big eyes full of innocent apology.
“We’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes!” The mother, a flustered middle-aged woman, hurried over with a worried frown. “We were so afraid we might have to leave without you!”
Pembroke chuckled softly as the little girl was gently guided away by her relieved parents. Yet, amidst the amusement, he felt a pang of wistful regret.
For once, he was returning to the complex without any newly captured booty and hoped that the staff wouldn’t be too disappointed. As the blonde girl disappeared from view, Pembroke reminded himself of the importance of staying vigilant for opportunities. The sales were steadily increasing, but he knew he had to continually seek out new sources to keep his stock fresh and maintain a steady supply of girls for both training and sales.
“There could be no rest for the wicked,” he mused with a wry smile, his eyes concealed behind dark glasses as he observed the laughing air stewardesses, carefree as they made their way to their local hotels.
The large black box stood in the center of the hall, while the girls looked at it ominously. The organization had a good run of luck, but Pembroke was nervous about his girls being stuck inside for 18 hours and wanted further checks. On this occasion, the box would need to hold two girls.
The two guinea pigs chosen were Efua and Lucy, both of whom were the same height as the rather tall Russian sisters who would be the ultimate occupants of the box as it took them to their new life somewhere in India. Natalia and Tatiana watched the inanimate black box, how lifeless it looked in the center of the hall, beyond the glass walls of their cell like a monument. It was silent, still, not a hint that two human beings were trapped inside.
Every half hour, Jamal, Mrs. Parker, or Mrs. Al-Haraz would check on the occupants with an infrared respiratory sensor to ensure they were still breathing inside.
After 18 hours, Pembroke entered and checked his watch. “Natalia and Tatiana,” he smirked at them through the glass wall of the cell, “how long did that feel for you? Soon, it will be you in that box. But when you come out, you’ll be stepping into your new life as slaves for a very particular owner with a taste for rather thrilling torture equipment! I can’t help but wonder what delightful sights will greet you upon your emergence!”
The Russian sisters held their hands together tighter, just looking at the box, praying for the strength to endure the journey, and hoping their new owner would be kinder and more merciful than anyone here.
The staff opened the box, following the same detailed instructions that would be available to Aarav Mishra. Under a layer of packets of seeds was a hollowed-out circular socket where two black-clad bodies were wrapped in a 69 position, their heads nestled between each other’s legs, packed tightly against each other’s crotches. Their legs were entwined, ankles pulled up nearly to their own ears, positioned sideways and horizontal. Their arms were around each other and tied together, with their ankles also bound. Their faces were masked, goggles covered their eyes, and gags filled their mouths, with small pipes through the gags leading to vents.
The figures were pulled up, barely able to stand as their legs, like jelly, refused to support them. They were disentangled and their legs lifted, trembling. Their goggles and gags were peeled off, and their hoods pulled down.
Their faces were stark, eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the light. Fear and exhaustion etched deep lines into their expressions, their breaths shallow and labored. The marks from the restraints were evident on their wrists and ankles, a grim reminder of their ordeal. The room was silent except for their ragged breathing,.
Pembroke cringed at the smell. The girls had pissed and soiled themselves. Their black suits were peeled off, revealing their naked flesh down to their panties, which doubled as nappies to conceal the smell and mitigate any leakage of fluid or filth from the interior of the box. At least the smell had not breached the box, thought Pembroke, although he would have to apologize to Mr. Mishra that the girls were likely not to arrive as pristine showgirls. But it was the price to pay for the secure and easy transit of slaves in today’s world.
“Well, girls, how was that? Eighteen hours in there!”
Efua and Lucy still could not speak, their breasts quivering and eyes darting around, having hallucinated and gone crazy from being so confined for so long with barely feeling their bodies.
Mrs. Parker helped Efua and Lucy to the toilets, taking off their panties and showering them. She rubbed their limbs to get the feeling back into them, though they still looked shell-shocked.
“Now girls,” Pembroke said to the Russian sisters, “Efua and Lucy are obviously very stressed and shocked. But when you are taken out of the box, you must remember that first impressions count. You should do your best to present yourselves well to your new owner.”
Natalia and Tatiana said nothing, just stared back at their captor, tormentor, and slaver, silently vowing that one day they would be free and have their revenge.
“Master, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disobedient. Please, my English is bad, that is all.”
“Well, Yasmina, your prospective buyer cannot speak Arabic—only English. If you want to please him, understand him, or even beg for mercy, I suggest you learn quickly from the other girls in the short time you have left here.”
Pembroke was exasperated. He was certain that Yasmina’s poor English was not the only reason for her failure to deliver her lines convincingly and perform with the necessary emotion. His clothes were damp, the result of the bondage chair beside him, which had been used with a wet towel and basin of water. Yasmina was also wet, her revealing nurse’s uniform soaked through. Pembroke hoped this would enhance her allure rather than make her appear shoddy.
The truth was that Yasmina had been very reluctant to star in her video, even rolling her eyes and forgetting the rather sparse dialogue, not acting out the rather simple, if lewd and obscene, actions. Motivation had been brought about by strapping her in the chair, holding a towel over her mouth, and pouring water through it, forcing the towel into her throat, making her feel like she was drowning. Pembroke repeatedly made her recite the lines after he said them, and if she got it wrong, the towel would go back down her throat.
“I’m sorry,” sobbed Yasmina. “I … I will remember this time.”
“And act it out. I want to see real passion. Just be a fucking whore, OK?” spat Pembroke. He realized he could never be a film director. “Now, action!”
Yasmina went through the gyrations, the dances she had been taught in previous training sessions in her nurse’s outfit. The white zip-up dress was outrageously short, barely covering the creases of her buttocks, and as she bent over, it revealed the whole of her ass cheeks split by her white thong. White stockings clung to her legs, held up by suspenders. Her dress, adorned with a large heart, was zipped up and held on her chest by straps, showing off her cleavage as she whipped her wet hair around. She licked her lips, staring at the camera.
“Hello, doctor, I can be your nurse, your patient, anything, but above all, I will be your slave.” She sucked her thumb, then brought it down between her buttocks as she bent over and ran it under the thong over her exposed pussy lips as she pulled the thong to one side.
“Doctor, you can treat me, heal me, or use me as you please. I am here to serve, to obey, to fulfill your every desire. My body is yours to explore, to examine, to enjoy. I live to be your slave, to feel your touch, to hear your commands. I am your nurse, your patient, your slave. Your wish is my command, your pleasure is my duty. My body is yours.”
Pembroke held his breath as Yasmina maintained her sultry gaze at the camera, stepping out of her dress and peeling down her thong. Clad only in her white suspenders and stockings, she lay down and pulled her pussy lips apart. “I am ready for my examination now, Doctor. Please carve me up!” She rubbed her clit and frigged her fingers inside her, spreading her legs as she faked an orgasm after about fifteen seconds.
“Cut!” Pembroke sighed with relief. “Finally! Thank you, Yasmina. That was a good take. I am sure your buyer will appreciate it. This should seal the deal and perhaps get me a little extra money!”
Yasmina lay back, her eyes reverting to their lifeless state, gazing upwards. She hadn’t understood everything she had said, but something felt off about asking her owner to “carve her,” and she resolved to ask what it meant later.
Yasmina lay back, her eyes reverting to their lifeless state, gazing upwards. She hadn’t understood everything she had said, but something felt off about asking her owner to “carve her,” and she resolved to ask what it meant later.
“Dry yourself off, Yasmina,” Pembroke tossed her a towel. “And get those clothes back on. You look so damn sexy in them. I’ve been frustrated because I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for the last few hours! We are going back to my bedroom now, where I am going to fuck that sweet sexy nurse ass of yours!”
Just a few minutes later in his bedroom, they were making passionate love, Yasmina stripped down to only her stockings and suspenders, straddling Pembroke as she rode him cowgirl style. She rubbed her breasts in pleasure, while Pembroke marveled at the beautiful clear olive skin of the Moroccan beauty, her full lips, and sultry black eyes occasionally meeting his.
Beside the table on his desk was a small penknife, the blade open, appearing innocuous. Pembroke liked to test himself and his girls, and this seemed an ideal occasion. He looked into Yasmina’s eyes and knew that through the fog of sex and the sensation buzzing from her pussy, she still harbored the desire to kill him, to escape from the recordings of her.
The knife was easily within her reach. Both Pembroke’s hands were on her, cupping her breasts as they shook within his grasp as she bounced up and down. Her left hand was so close. Could she do it?
Pembroke was also occupied by staring down over her body and her lovely skin. Would the Doctor really be as cruel as to slice into her youthful body? What would he do? He thought of what he could do to Yasmina with his penknife and reasoned that if Yasmina had any inkling of what fate was in store for her, she should grab the penknife and fight for her life now.
“Now suck my cock, and keep your eyes on me. Keep eye contact while you suck me,” Pembroke commanded, now relaxed as the knife was far from her grasp. He stared into her eyes as she stared into his, her mouth engorged with his cock, moving in and out of her throat.
For Yasmina, it was hell. She had to stare into the eyes of the man who had kidnapped, tortured, and imprisoned her and her friends. Now he was leering down at her, looking into her soul as she sucked on his cock.
Should she bite down hard? What would happen? He could drag her off; it wouldn’t kill him, it might just injure him. He would surely kill her, perhaps skin her alive, but might it stop him from doing this to others? Would a ruined manhood help her fellow prisoners?
She hated herself for being what she was—a slave, forced to obey, fellating him like a whore, like an object. She did nothing—neither took the knife nor bit into his manhood. Was she a coward? Or was she smart? Was he daring her? What was going on behind those cold, black eyes of his?
Pembroke finally climaxed, holding Yasmina’s face down to his crotch as he felt his release, expelling his cum into her throat.
He led the girl back to the hall and the cell, his hand playfully tickling along her lower back and buttocks as she walked, enjoying the ripple of her flesh with each step. It might be the last bit of vanilla sex Yasmina ever had, if what she was to endure could even be termed sex, from what the Doctor had implied to Pembroke.
He hadn’t bothered to put on any clothes, his naked form and semi-erect cock on display as he went to the cell. He unlocked the door, pushed Yasmina in, and locked up again, facing the dozen or so silent, naked girls inside. To him, they meant nothing; he didn’t even need to put on clothes in front of them.
He noticed that Elira, upon seeing him, had come to the front of the cell opposite him. She went down on her knees on the other side of the glass wall, staring at him, her dark eyes not leaving him. She looked submissive, yet adoringly at him, her gaze unwavering.
Pembroke’s interest was piqued. The girls were usually either sullen or terrified, scurrying away from him. But Elira had displayed herself like this in front of everyone. He knew from previous recording summaries that she had refused to join in plots against him, had never said anything bad about him, and had even defended him against insults, enduring mocking and anger from the other girls.
He stood just a foot from her, on the other side of the glass wall, holding her gaze. Her eyes seemed to implore him to take her. He had planned to spend the night alone, reviewing some reports and messages in bed. He checked himself, realizing he wouldn’t always have access to so many available girls; he should make the most of it.
He re-opened the cell door. “Elira, come out. I can see you are horny. Come with me to my bedroom, you little minx.”
Elira walked out, head bowed but back straight. “Yes, Master, thank you.” Pembroke slapped her ass and ordered her to walk beside him, holding his hand. The other girls wondered—was she trying to manipulate him, or was she turning into Master’s girl?
Pembroke didn’t bother showering, forcing Elira to taste his sweat and the juices of Yasmina on his cock as she sucked on it obediently. He recalled taking her virginity, how she had needed the intervention of Mrs. Al’Haraz to manage the pain and bleeding and force her to go through with it.
Now, she fucked him with grace, skill, and enthusiasm. When she sucked him, she recognized the taste of Yasmina from their pairing earlier that day in 69 training, and felt only a pang of jealousy that another girl had been around her Master’s cock. She sucked hard, having been on the cock-sucking machine; whenever she was put on the 9-inch dildo, she would imagine it was her Master’s cock, the same size, and suck furiously, determined to please and impress him when given the chance.
She came several times, as did he, and afterward nuzzled in his armpit in bed, not minding his sweat and musk, savoring the comforting smell of her Master. She was only slightly annoyed by the lingering aroma of Yasmina’s pussy.
“Well done, Elira,” Pembroke kissed her head, stroked her hair, and ran a finger along her body down her hips, letting it linger gently between her buttocks. “You have adapted to your new life quickly and well. You are a great example to the others.”
“Thank you, Master,” she nuzzled into his chest, savoring his chest hair, grateful for the masculinity after so many endless hours of female company and flesh and bodily functions.
“Do you miss your family, your old life?” Pembroke asked casually.
“Thank you, Master,” she nuzzled into his chest, savoring his chest hair, grateful for the masculinity after so many endless hours of female company and flesh and bodily functions.
“Do you miss your family, your old life?” Pembroke asked casually. “Master, yes, I feel sorry for them. They must miss me, and I know I should miss them. I don’t like the exercises and having to … do things with the other girls, but I … I cannot explain it…” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Master, I know I am only one of your girls. I’m just a slave, and you will sell me to another man, but … I love you!” She sobbed into his chest, her emotions overflowing. “I’m sorry, Master, please punish me if I’ve done wrong, but I didn’t ask for you to kidnap me. And now, I’m in love with you, and I hardly ever see you. It’s not fair!” She wiped her tears, her voice breaking with sorrow and desperation.
Pembroke smiled, flattered by her confession. What was it about being a brutal, domineering slave owner that made beautiful seventeen-year-old slaves attracted to him, he wondered.
“Don’t worry, Elira, I won’t punish you for falling in love with me,” he chuckled. “I am flattered. It’s a useful skill to develop, to fall in love with your owner.”
“Master,” Elira raised her head, tears streaming down her face. Her breasts swayed freely, and her nipples brushed against his chest hair. “If you like, I could be your personal slave. You could do anything with me, anything. I could stay with you, work for you, maybe even be like Madam Parker or Madam Al-Haraz. I can tell you about the other girls, the ones who say mean things, who make up plans, and about how they are trying to escape or reach people on the outside, to help you!” Her eyes shone with sincerity.
Pembroke smiled at her affectionately, kissed her on the lips, and wiped away her tears.
“You have to remember to think of yourself as a product, Elira. You are stock, not staff. I did not thrive in this business by being soft-hearted.” He saw Elira’s face fall. “I would lose out on a lot of money by not selling you. It is so tempting to hold on to you girls. Do you think I wouldn’t like to keep two beautiful Russian sisters here? But the money I get for them helps run this place and brings me plenty of money to enjoy. Surely you can see that.”
“But Master, maybe buyers will not want or pay much for me,” she said, her eyes downcast. “But with you, I could be the most loyal servant, the best slave, maybe even help you train the girls. I don’t want to escape, honest, I swear. You can keep me here. I just want to stay … with you.” She sighed and lay back tenderly on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, awaiting the punishment, even looking forward to it.
“Oh Elira,” he smiled casually, kissing her again on the top of her head. “You’ve only been here a few weeks. I think you are a true submissive from an unhappy family. You are best suited for this life! You’ll be here a while for training, and we generally operate on a last-in, last-out basis, so you will have plenty of time to spend with me and serve me. Maybe you’ll tire of me, but I am confident you will be an excellent slave for whomever I decide to sell you to.”
Elira didn’t respond; she just cried.
“I tell you what, Elira,” Pembroke wiped away more tears. “Some of the buyers are very, very bad men—twisted, depraved, and merciless. I won’t give you names, but some of the girls sold and to be sold are in for very painful lives as slaves. Their lives will not be long; in fact, they may even pray for an end to their suffering,” he warned her. “But you, I will hold you back, like an ace card, for a nice owner, relatively nice,” he checked himself, “someone who does not want to torture his slave. Someone you can worship and have a long life with, fulfilling your submissive nature. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, Master. You are kind and merciful. I understand you have to be hard and tough in your work, but thank you,” she said softly.
Pembroke quietly hoped he would be able to fulfill this promise, but he knew he might end up making similar promises to too many slaves. If someone picked out Elira and offered a good deal of money for her, he knew that his promise to her would be dropped like a hot stone.
He thought it might be fun to change the mood, and perhaps test her obedience. “Of course, Elira, I cannot say that you might not change my mind during your tenure here. It is refreshing to have an obedient girl who embraces the life she is going to have to live. Tell me, would you be willing to help me run this place in any way I order you to?”
“Of course, Master,” said Elira, her eyes brightening with hope.
“Well, I only have two female staff, who are also slaves: Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz. If I am going to expand, I would need another. I think you have the potential to get to that stage of ordering girls around, but, well, your mother, she was quite strict, wasn’t she? She beat you and controlled your brothers. Do you think she would be a useful candidate?”
“Wh-what? My- my mother, here? But Master, she is … she…”
“What?” Pembroke said flatly. “What is wrong with procuring your mother? She is not so attractive anymore, but if she can control you girls, then she could be useful. Of course, she would be brought in line. I could threaten the rest of your family; I’m sure I could motivate her. Why would your mother not be good at this job if you think you could do it?”
Elira panicked, was he fucking with her? Was this a test? She had given up on her family, but seeing her own mother here would be a nightmare for so many reasons.
“Imagine your mother ordering you around here” smiled Pembroke “ordering you to lick pussy as she ordered you to clean your bedroom, maybe ordering you to lick her pussy. Look at Amina and Farah, here the rules of the outside world do not apply!”
He could feel the heat coming from her cheeks and probed further. “What does your mother’s body look like, tell me.”
“My mum, she is not so attractive anymore,” said the young girl in embarrassment. “She had five children”
“Elira!” Pembroke raised his voice making her jump. “You told me you wanted to be my slave, and now you are being disobedient! Now answer the question, or I will have to punish you!”
Elira winced at his change in tone and it overrode her embarrassment. “She has a big tummy, it hangs out over her hips, her breasts, they are big but kind of saggy, her bum is … really big, with cellulite…” she wrinkled her nose at the thought of her naked mother.
“How would you feel about your mummy sitting on your face” chuckled Pembroke, needling her.
“Hmmm Master I am sorry, I would find it … gross and disgusting … but if you commanded it I would have to do it” she bowed her head again and put her face against his chest again.
“What about your daddy” asked Pembroke, “I am old enough to be your father and you say you love me, that tells me you must have some feelings for your father. You told me, or rather Adnan, that he spanked you in your underwear. If you were my daughter, I would have molested you by now, so there must have been something, come on tell me, what is his body like?”
Elira swallowed hard. “He is hairy, hairier than you, he is fat too, with big wide shoulders, he is…”
“You have seen him naked? Describe his cock to me”.
Eira breathed hard into his skin. “Master, he did use to, lay with himself in front of me. His cock was a lot smaller than yours, and he never touched me with it, but he came like men do, with the semen coming out of his cock.”
“Master, I understand that you like to make fun of me, but … I accept it. Your joy at my expense, I accept it, honestly. I just want to make you happy.”
Pembroke looked at her, his amusement fading slightly. “That’s good to hear, Elira. Obedience and acceptance are valuable traits. Just remember, everything I do is to mold you into the perfect slave, someone who will be highly prized by your future owner.”
He couldn’t believe she could be the perfect slave. He ran his finger down between her buttocks until he poked into her anus. His finger slid in easily.
“I see Nadim has had his way with your bottom. You are quite loose here,” said Pembroke.
“Yes, Master. Mr. Darwish likes to … play with us in that hole. It is painful, but I understand that it is your wish we be used in this way.”
“It is important, as your owner will want to use that hole, but I do think he has gone too far. Some of the girls’ assholes are like torn ribbons,” he laughed. “Nadim, he likes boys, mainly, so that explains it. I understand there is a market for boys, not just girls. Perhaps we should exploit it.”
Elira was silent.
“You have a nice younger brother, Valon. He looks cute; I am sure Nadim would like to spend a night with him, as would many men. What do you think? Should he be our first male acquisition?”
Elira’s heart sank at the thought of her brother being dragged into this nightmare.
“Master, he is only twelve!” she wailed.
“You have a very optimistic view of human nature,” laughed Pembroke. “He would be just as valuable as you are, though it would mean a radical change to my organization setup, perhaps you could train him? Would you help me acquire him, perhaps trick him into coming to an isolated spot, if you are really my dedicated slave?”
Elira’s heart raced. The thought of betraying her brother filled her with dread, but she knew she had to respond carefully.
“Master, my life is no longer my own, I tel myself that I have to put my faith into you, that whatever will happen, will happen.”
Pembroke chuckled. It was cruel to torture this loyal young girl like this, though she was likely just a hormonal mess. He enjoyed watching the turmoil play out in her eyes.
“Let us put your family to one side, Elira, for a moment. Though you should always remember, I will always have them in my sights, and if I thought your little brother would make me some money, you can rest assured I will try and put him in the cell with you! But for now, let me illustrate my methods to you. It’s too late for you now, of course; you are already in my hands. I want you to see how the acquisition process goes.”
Pembroke pulled out his phone and read a message from Katalin. She was eager for his help; in her charity work, she had access to many refugees and was wondering if he could give them jobs.
He smirked, knowing this could be a perfect opportunity. “Elira, watch closely. This is how the acquisition process begins,” he said, showing her the message. “We will take advantage of every opportunity that comes our way.”
He dialed the phone, spreading his legs as he directed Elira. “Lick my asshole while I talk to this lady. She’s a target herself. Imagine the scene: she could soon be naked in the cell with you, and you’d have to explain how you listened to her voice while I planned her kidnapping. You might even have to admit that you could have warned her during this call, could have saved her, but you didn’t.” He smirked.
There was a slight delay in the conversation, just a fraction of a second, and Pembroek’s finger hovered over the mute button in case Elira dared to raise her voice. So he knew any warning from her would be futile. He wanted to manipulate her, to drive home the point that even with the chance to act, she remained a coward and naturally a slave.
Elira could barely remember the point, just weeks ago, when her Master’s demands had felt foreign and dirty. Now, she considered it a privilege to serve him in even the most debased ways. His body felt like a symbol of a power she was compelled to serve. She secretly yearned to call him ‘Daddy’ instead of ‘Master.’
Katalin was at her desk in her office in Budapest when she took the call, thrilled, still fixing her hair despite it being a voice call. “Hi Edward,” she said, trying to be professional and hide how much she craved to hear his voice.
“Hi Katalin, hope all is well at work. Just a quick call, I’m between meetings at the moment but I have an urgent job for which two of the men you put forward might be ideal. It’s a bit of a risk on my part but I believe in you if you recommend these men, and I think they can do it.”
“Oh yes,” stuttered Katalin. “Really, Edward, they are fine young men. Saif, he has a degree in engineering, and he’s a part-time actor, so charming! And Manny, he’s a trained nurse and could be in the Olympics as a boxer, if any country would just accept him,” she sighed in frustration at how these refugees were being denied opportunities to fully participate in society. “I think it’s great you can help them!”
Lying flat on his back in bed, an arm behind his head, his legs spread, a beautiful teenage girl’s face between his legs licking him in the most intimate way, Edward tried to think. “Yes, Katalin, I’ve already contacted them. It’s a simple piece of work, but they’re well suited to it, and I can safely say they passed the interviews,” he smiled.
“Oh wonderful, Edward,” she bit her fingers, hoping he wasn’t with another woman, though she felt he was irresistible. “Of course,” she teased, “Edward, you must be an equal opportunities employer.” She wanted any reason to stay in contact and develop their business relationship further. “I do have plenty of young women, many of them sex trafficking victims or potential victims who need good, honest work, something to give them hope and experience, to feel they can do something with their lives.” She prided herself on remembering the mantra and again twirling her hair.
“Katalin, darling, you are a natural in business,” he grinned. “The way you push these workers onto me—haha. If you insist, send me their details, age, experience, and full photos and ID. I’m sure I can find work for them, something to match their talents!”
“Oh, thank you, Edward. I’m so happy I’m making a difference with this job. I really think I’ve found my niche,” Katalin bounced happily in her chair.
“Great, well, I will get in touch soon,” smiled Edward. “I have to go now, the meeting is opening back up.”
“Oh yes, you’re busy,” Katalin laughed nervously. “Goodbye!” She hung up and stared dreamily out the window, imagining his body in bed next to her.
Elira gazed up at him, over the horizon of his balls as her tongue continued to work inside his asshole and massage him, partly in awe of his evil yet mesmerizing conman technique.
“You see, Elira, Katalin has earned herself a stay of execution while I make use of her. The best employees in this business are those who don’t know they’re working for you. And you have to admit, stateless young female refugees are perfect for my type of product. No need to worry about protective families or overly concerned law enforcement.” He smiled down at Elira, pleased she was still licking as he played with her hair.
“How close were you to killing yourself when we first communicated via that website?” he asked, curious.
Elira paused her task to respond. “Master, I was very depressed, but honestly, I don’t think I was ever going to commit suicide. And I don’t think I would have followed your suggestion about doing it in the place you recommended.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Elira,” said Pembroke grimly. “Too many beautiful girls died, needlessly, and for what? No abduction opportunities even came close to presenting themselves.” His smile came back when he looked back at Elira. “But it was a good way to find troubled, vulnerable girls like yourself, right?” he stroked her cheek smiling as she went back to licking his asshole without having to be ordered to. “Perhaps that it is its greater value. Poor Elira, you really fell for Adnan didn’t you?”
“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, I fell in love with … well … you, I suppose, but I was stupid.”
“Haha, do not apologize, Elira. Your naivety brought you to me! And you are only young. There is a reason why we target the young; it’s not just your firm, tight bodies, it’s that you are easier to trick, to manipulate, to mold.”
Elira felt lost, she was only seventeen. What he was saying made sense even if it was wrong and would be crazy in the outside world. Here, surrendering to her superior Master just made sense.
“I am very careful, Elira. Most of the girls I target, they escape, usually without noticing it. If you had hesitated when I asked you to get in the van, if you had just approached anyone in the street or the police for help instead, or if you had done a bit more digging to prove Adnan was real or taken any other number of precautions, or just had some good luck, you would be safe now, in Sarajevo or back with your family. You would never have realized you had been so close to spending the rest of your life as a sex slave and would think nothing of this encounter years later as you got married, had children, became a grandmother. Instead, well, I don’t think you will ever have stop thinking about how you entered this life.”
Elira felt a tear come to her eye. His cruelty burned into her, but it did not turn her off him. “Master, I am stupid, I deserve to be here, it is what would make me the perfect slave. My gut told me to trust you” she sniffed to stop crying “and it led me here, so I think it is my destiny to be your slave.”
Pembroke was impressed by her logic. “That is a good way to think about it” he smiled. “You are a good girl, Elira, I will try and do right by you, I promise.”
As the two Indian ex-military mercenaries exited the private military plane at Oradea International Airport, they eyed the two suit-clad, sunglassed figures waiting on the tarmac with caution.
One was Black and the other Arab, both large, impeccably dressed, and exuding confidence.
“Gentlemen,” the shorter Arab man addressed them smoothly, “do you have the documents for the goods?”
The mercenaries wordlessly handed over the contract and the bill for the transfer of the goods. They noticed a third man watching from afar.
They were led by the two suited men, who looked well-practiced, to a large black box on wheels. “Be careful,” said the black man. “Make sure the vents are kept open; the plants still need oxygen during the flight.”
The mercenaries still did not speak but took the box back to their plane. It was heavy, and while they had their suspicions, they did not want to know what was inside. Their job was to handle this trade and inform their boss, Aarav Mishra, of its nature and the organization making it. So far, it seemed pretty professional.
Nadim Darwish thanked the two men afterward, smiling as he gave them an envelope with cash. “Don’t tell Katalin,” he said, still smiling.
Saif and Manny had been excited about this job and felt like action heroes afterward as they shed their suits and took the bus back to Budapest. “Man, do you think we just did a drug deal?” Manny asked.
“No idea,” Saif said, laughing, “but the money is great. I think Katalin might be taken advantage of,” he laughed. “So yeah, I think it’s better just to say it went normally and keep the money to ourselves.”
Both men agreed it had been a nerve-wracking, if fun, experience to pose as two security men passing off a botanical transaction in an airport. It was lucrative and probably not very legal, but what they didn’t know about it, they didn’t care. They should just enjoy the money.
Aarav Mishra was satisfied with the reports of the handover of the goods. The organization seemed professional and complex, more than just this one man, Edward Pembroke. His thoughts of disposing of Pembroke to hide the trail of his rather nasty predilections dissipated. The efficiency and professionalism displayed during the exchange hinted at a well-organized and resourceful network, capable of handling delicate and illegal operations with precision.
The next day, Aarav Mishra’s schedule was packed, filled with high-level meetings with politicians, shareholder briefings, and consultations with senior engineers.
That evening, Aarav attended the ostentatious birthday party of his youngest daughter, Geeta, who had just turned thirteen. Geeta, the center of attention in a jeweled designer lehenga, received lavish gifts, including a custom-made diamond necklace and a luxury car she was still far too young to drive. “Thank you, Daddy,” she grinned and hugged him, as he prided himself on providing for his loving family and the success of his ventures. However, as he watched his daughter dance in her costume, his eyes drifted to her slender curves and then to the item that had been on his mind above all else for the last few days.
That night, Aarav Mishra finally gave orders that he would not be disturbed for the next six hours. He retired to his private shed witin his complex in Madras, which, in reality, was a massive structure. Inside, he activated a secret door that led to a large subterranean dungeon.
Descending into the depths of his hidden lair, Aarav’s mind shifted from the day’s professional engagements and family celebrations to the dark, concealed activities that dominated his private world. He slipped into his uniform: a black leather thong, chaps, bondage strings wrapping tightly around his chest, and knee-high leather boots. In this forbidden space, he shed the guise of Aarav Mishra, the respected businessman, devoted family man, and benevolent philanthropist. Here, he became a creature of his most sinister desires.
Only he had the keys and the access codes. Within the dungeon lived two men full time. Manjit and Balham were brothers, wiry and strong in their fifties, driven by their loyalty, low intelligence, and rampant sexual energy. Both former convicts and sex pests, they had no future outside and were content to live in the dungeon. They wore only loincloths, minding the dungeon in the darkness lit by torches and soft electric lights.
The dungeon was a testament to opulent depravity, a labyrinth of gothic horror and indulgence. The walls were adorned with portraits of sadism and shelves lined with whips, floggers, and paddles of the finest leather and craftsmanship. An array of dildos in various sizes and materials stood ready for use, and screens continuously played explicit pornography, casting an eerie glow on the room’s contents.
Wardrobes brimmed with BDSM lingerie, from leather corsets to latex bodysuits, catering to every conceivable fetish. The space was equipped with an array of torture devices: medieval-style racks, St. Andrew’s crosses, and medical examination tables with straps for securing unwilling participants. Benches with intricate restraints sat alongside custom-built cages and suspension rigs, each piece designed for both function and form, reflecting Aarav’s limitless wealth and dark inclinations.
In the center of the dungeon was a red-carpeted shrine with a portrait of Aarav, depicting him as a deity with women kneeling before him. Torches with flickering flames hung on either side, casting a sinister light. To each side of the shrine were two small cages, each barely large enough for a person to curl up and crouch. Inside each cage were naked local girls, their haunted eyes peering out through the bars.
The girls in the cages were thin and frail, their bodies marked by bruises and abrasions, remnants of their prolonged captivity. Their hair, once likely full and lustrous, now hung in tangled, unkempt strands, falling over their faces and adding to their ghostly appearance. Their eyes looked dead as if all they had to look forward to was death itself, a testament to the terror and hopelessness that had consumed their existence.
Before the shrine knelt two white women, Natalia and Tatiana Akhmadova, naked, their hands were behind their heads, their eyes downcast, their breasts heaving with fear at the grim surroundings and the ominous presence of their new master. Their pale skin glistened under the dim light, highlighting every shiver and twitch of their bodies. They were young and beautiful, their features delicate and refined, now contorted with dread.
“When I watched American movies as a boy, I dreamt of this moment,” Mishra said, his voice filled with a twisted thrill. His dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he gazed at the sisters. He was thrilled to have white women kneeling before him, fulfilling a perverse fantasy he had harbored for years.
The sisters, Natalia and Tatiana, were repulsed by the sight of him. His flabby, hairy body and unattractive features made him physically repellent, but it was his evil eyes that truly made him unsettling. Those eyes, filled with a malevolent intensity, seemed to pierce through them, stripping away any hope of mercy or escape. Their revulsion deepened as they glanced at Manjit and Balham, the wiry, nearly naked old men who had controlled and tormented them in this grim underworld. The brothers’ rough, scarred bodies and lecherous gazes added another layer of horror to their captivity.
The dungeon reeked of despair, and the sisters’ hearts pounded with fear and disgust as they knelt, exposed and vulnerable, before their captor. The oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon, with its dim, flickering torchlight and the eerie glow of the pornographic screens, intensified their terror. Every sound, every movement, seemed amplified, echoing the silent screams of those who had suffered here before them. The sinister shrine, the cages with their haunted occupants, and the instruments of torture all spoke of a place where humanity had long been forsaken.
Mishra could barely keep his hand from his crotch, eager to masturbate already at the sight of these two beauties. “Slaves, how do you address me?”
“Our Lord,” they sang in unison. “We are yours to own, to play with, to fuck, to torture, to pleasure. We will serve you for the remainder of our lives here, Lord.”
“Excellent, slaves. Damn right too!” He stood before them, his hairy crotch in front of their faces, his thong barely covering his erect penis now.
“Now, perform for me. You should be trained well. I know I paid enough for that in the price, so I want to see your performance with each other now!”
Natalia and Tatiana’s spines chilled at the command as their eyes looked over the unattractive body they would now have to worship. They turned to each other, their eyes met, and silently told each other’s minds to stay strong, not cry, and perform.
The two sisters ran their hands over each other’s bodies, exploring intimate areas as they had been trained, caressing familiar breasts, tangling fingers in each other’s hair, and sharing a deep kiss. They took solace in the beauty of each other’s bodies and fell to the ground, their hands moving passionately between their legs. Their eyes remained locked until, in silent agreement, they moved their faces down each other’s torsos, licking hungrily along their breasts and taut stomachs, trailing down to their smooth mons.
Their tongues met each other’s pussies, licking and sucking ravenously, eliciting moans of pleasure. They savored the taste and sensation, knowing that pleasuring each other would be their favorite escape in this hellish place.
Mishra could barely contain himself. Manjit and Balham stood impassively to the side as guards, but their hungry stares betrayed their desires. They knew that once their master, who owned their lives just as much as he did the girls, had taken these sisters for the first time, they would also have access to the girls’ bodies—provided they left no marks without his permission.
The sisters continued their sensual performance, their hands and tongues exploring each other with a mixture of practiced skill and desperate passion.
Mishra retired to a garish red bed to the side, stripping off his bondage clothes and lying naked against plush cushions, his eyes never leaving the erotic display before him. “Girls, don’t be selfish. Come serve your Lord,” he commanded, his voice dripping with sinister anticipation. “Come to the bed. You should know what to do without me telling you. I want to see what my money has paid for! And remember, after our fun, I’ll introduce you to the torture equipment around here. How well you please me will determine how much pain you’ll endure later, so be good girls”
Natalia and Tatiana exchanged a look of dread, steeling themselves for what was to come. They moved toward the bed, their long wavy brown hair cascading over their shoulders, framing their blue eyes filled with fear. Their pale white skin contrasted starkly against the bright red bedclothes and Mishra’s dark skin.
Crawling onto the bed, they began to caress Mishra’s flabby, hairy body, their hands moving with a mixture of revulsion and resignation. Their lips met his skin, kissing and licking with forced enthusiasm, trying to elicit pleasure from their captor while suppressing their own disgust. They moved with a desperate sensuality, their hands exploring his hairy cock and balls, hoping to appease him and lessen the torment that awaited them. Mishra’s eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he watched them touch and kiss each other, their breasts pressing together, fingers teasing their pussies and assholes.
“That’s it,” Mishra groaned, his voice heavy with lust. “Show me how much you want to please your Lord.”
Both girls reluctantly thanked their training for suppressing their gag and vomit reflexes as they kissed the ugly man, his stubble and mustache prickling them, his breath foul and hungrily swallowing their tongues. Every inch of his body was licked, and the powerful business magnate sighed as they stuck their fingers and tongues up his asshole, experiencing something he had never before had with the most expensive escorts. He came in Tatiana’s mouth as he squeezed Natalia’s breasts tightly, moaning.
“That was wonderful, my compliments to Pembroke, he trained you well!” he sighed. Checking his watch, he smiled. “Now, I think those tight, gorgeous white bodies need to be stretched. Let’s get you girls on the rack! Balham, Manjit, help me!”
Balham and Manjit stepped forward eagerly, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. The sisters’ hearts pounded with renewed fear as they realized their ordeal was far from over.
“The greatest sin you girls can commit down here is to bore me,” Mishra grinned evilly. “So forget any fantasies you may have about getting used to this life. To survive, you will always be on your toes, forever screaming!” His teeth gnashed in lust.
Natalia and Tatiana shuddered at his words as Balham and Manjit grabbed their arms. Tatiana was placed on a rack wheel, tied on her back, while Natalia was ordered to turn the wheel, stretching her sister’s body taut. As the wheel turned, Tatiana’s stomach muscles stretched painfully, her breasts jiggling like jelly, the only part not pulled tight. The skin over her pelvis became impossibly taut, her pelvic bones jutting out as if they might pierce through. Her thighs strained, sinews standing out sharply, and her arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Her face turned red with pain and fear.
Natalia tried to suppress the urge to scream in fright at what was happening, praying that her Lord would stop her before she caused any permanent injury to Tatiana. Her heart pounded with terror, each turn of the wheel intensifying her dread. Every creak of the apparatus and every groan from Tatiana made her fear for her sister’s life.
Mishra smiled at the level of obedience despite the terror in the eyes of the slave. He knew precisely what the human body could endure on this rack, having gone further—a little too far—with rather less expensive girls before.
“Stop! That’s enough for now; that looks beautiful,” he commanded, running his hands over Tatiana’s stretched torso, marveling at how slim she was and how he could almost span her waist with his grip. Her breasts heaved gently, with no slack in her body at all. Her face hung down, upside down, red, mouth agape, eyes wide and staring into space, her brown tresses falling down. Mishra caressed her from her face, up over the contours of her body—her neck, clavicle, breasts, stomach barely concealing the organs within, and trembling thighs—before bringing his mouth down to taste her pussy.
He glanced at Natalia and pointed to Balham. “I will eat your sister, and you will suck Balham. As soon as either your sister or Balham comes, I will release her. And then you will go on the rack,” he grinned wickedly.
Natalia’s heart pounded with dread as she moved towards Balham, her fear mingling with the desperate need to save Tatiana. Balham’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as Natalia knelt before him, her hands trembling. Mishra’s mouth hungrily worked on Tatiana, his hands roaming her stretched body, eliciting moans that mixed with cries of pain. Tatiana’s body twitched involuntarily, her face contorted in a mixture of agony and forced pleasure.
The oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon grew thicker, the flickering torchlight casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Natalia focused on her task, knowing that every second brought Tatiana closer to relief and herself closer to the same fate. Balham’s grin widened as Natalia began, her practiced mouth and fingers working desperately to bring him to climax, even venturing to his hairy asshole.
Natalia felt a moment of victory as Balham groaned and flooded her mouth with salty semen. Feeling triumphant, she turned around and announced, “Lord, this slave has made the gentleman cum,” then knelt down, expecting her sister to be released.
But Mishra did not look up; he ignored her, continuing to lick like a hungry wolf. A minute passed, and Natalia swallowed a small cry, realizing how naive it was to think he would follow his own rules if it meant denying himself pleasure. She stayed silent, ignoring the blatant rule-breaking, understanding now how foolish it was to expect anything resembling fairness here.
The silence was broken as Mishra loudly grunted, aggressively devouring Tatiana’s pussy, as if tasting her cum in triumph.
“Yes! God, you both taste great!” Mishra knelt back, licking his lips, and pointed to Balham and Manjit. “Get her off the wheel, and put that bitch on!” He pointed to Natalia, not even acknowledging his earlier rule-breaking.
Natalia’s heart sank as she watched Balham and Manjit move to obey. As she was strapped in, she felt her body stretch painfully, her muscles straining against the bonds. She looked into the sad eyes of her sister, Tatiana, now tasked with turning the wheel. The sight of the ashen faces of the silent girls in the cages around them added to her despair.
Natalia’s body expanded, every inch of her skin pulled tight, her joints screaming in agony. She tried to focus on Tatiana, drawing some small measure of comfort from their shared suffering, but the pain was overwhelming.
Mishra watched with a satisfied smile, relishing the torment he inflicted. “Good, good,” he muttered, running his hands over Natalia’s taut body. “Let’s see how far you can go.” He checked his watch, he had another two hours before he would have to leave to take his daughter to her pony riding lesson.
For the girls, Pembroke’s complex now seemed like a haven of safety compared to this hellish dungeon.
Meanwhile, in central Paris, Edward Pembroke smiled as he admired his reflection in the mirror at Cifonelli, the renowned tailor. He wore a bespoke Brioni suit, the epitome of luxury and elegance. “Excellent tailoring, thank you,” he remarked.
The tailor thanked the distinguished gentleman, who left a generous tip before departing. Mr. Pembroke then made his way to the prestigious Cercle de l’Union Interalliée, a gentleman’s club in central Paris where he could work productively and network with other high-value individuals.
As he sipped the exquisite coffee, he thanked the beautiful waitress who had brought it to him in the opulent surroundings. “Merci beaucoup. The coffee is almost as delightful as the company,” he said with a charming smile.
She blushed slightly and replied, “I’m glad you enjoy it, Monsieur. If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Pembroke leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps you could recommend something equally exquisite to accompany my coffee?”
The waitress giggled softly. “We have some delightful pastries, but I think a gentleman like yourself deserves something special. I could bring you a selection?”
“That sounds perfect,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. “But only if you promise to bring them personally.”
“Of course, Monsieur,” she responded, her eyes meeting his with a playful sparkle. “I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”
As Pembroke worked through his messages and reports, he admired the luxurious environment. The rich wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and plush furnishings spoke of wealth and refinement. He also kept his eye on the waitress, who frequently caught his gaze and smiled. Her uniform clung to her curves, the elegant skirt skimming just above her knees, accentuating her long, toned legs in sheer black stockings. Brown hair cascaded around her face, framing almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with mischief.
She returned with a tray of assorted pastries. “I hope these meet your expectations, Monsieur.”
“They exceed them,” he said, taking a pastry and holding her gaze. “You have excellent taste.”
“Thank you,” she replied, her cheeks flushing. “I hope you enjoy them.”
He took another sip of his exquisite coffee, savoring both the taste and the sight before him. “I have no doubt I will,” he said smoothly. “And perhaps, if you’re not too busy later, you could join me for a coffee break?”
The waitress laughed softly. “We’ll see, Monsieur. Enjoy your pastries.”
Pembroke watched her move gracefully away, her curves and confident stride intriguing him. He reminded himself with a satisfied smile to always remember what pays the bills. As his thoughts strayed to the darker aspects of his business, he felt utterly content in his new, prosperous life.
Khadija Amrani giggled shyly with the other girls at the ice cream party in their local café in downtown Brussels. Now 16, she tried to join in the gossip among her hijab-wearing friends about the local boys. She had even fake-boasted about liking a boy named Adnan to provoke some giggles. But the truth was, she wasn’t into boys at all. The sex-segregated nature of her local community suited her perfectly, as she had no interest in boys—only girls.
It was something she struggled with, often finding herself staring or lingering too long into the eyes of her friends, some of whom she had developed insatiable crushes on. She hoped it would pass; she wanted a normal life, to fit in, and to be a part of her Muslim community. But it felt impossible.
Her only outlet was online. Despite many scammers and boys pretending to be girls, she sought out chaste online friendships with girls who had the same feelings. Over the last few weeks, she had slowly fallen in love with a Parisian girl named Miriam. Miriam, also Moroccan, wore a hijab, was of similar age, and shared her desires. Their chats had moved from talking about their lives to something deeper, and Khadija found herself falling in love.
Not wanting her parents to discover this online relationship, Khadija found ways to have whispered conversations, leaving voicemails, and sometimes chatting on camera. Miriam’s cam was clear but delayed, and she looked pretty and beautiful. They spoke together in Moroccan Arabic, deepening their bond.
What Khadija didn’t know was that Miriam Ben-Ali was, to all who knew her, believed to have died in a tragic accident in Istanbul, with her remains interred in a grave in Tripoli. Yet, a girl who looked and sounded exactly like her, going by the name Miriam Sebaai, had a visible social media presence and had become the object of Khadija’s affection.
In reality, the real Miriam Ben-Ali was alive, although not quite so well, with Konrad Fischer. Using advanced AI technology, Fischer had managed to replicate Miriam’s voice and appearance. With ongoing participation from Miriam’s recorded footage and photos, the AI created a convincing persona. Miriam appeared on screen with only a slight delay, seamlessly mouthing conversations. At other times, an AI version of her, perfected from hours of footage, interacted on screen, saying various sentences instantly. Khadija had no idea she was falling in love with an artificial construct.
Konrad enjoyed the challenge of software development, despite the countless hours he had invested in fishing for many girls online. He had gotten very close with many of them, but none had bitten this particular hook yet for the organization.
Konrad did enjoy spending time with the real Miriam, who often spent hours out of her cell in his little study. Sometimes she was naked, sometimes in full hijab, and sometimes under his desk as he coded new attributes of the system. She had occasionally wondered how she could use these interactions to ask for help, but she rarely ever spoke directly to Khadija, if at all.
Her hours spent with Konrad did not endear her to him at all. The more she had to speak the lines and appear on screen smiling, for later or near-instantaneous processing for the conversations, the more awful she felt for poor Khadija. She had a horrible feeling that after all this time, this girl might actually soon be joining her in the cell at the complex.
Edward Pembroke found his visit to the offices of Legrand & Carter to be a humbling experience. Initially, the lawyers had sounded curious and somewhat intrigued over the phone. However, their interest quickly waned and turned nearly hostile when he presented the accounts of Bereketli Yemcilik, seeking their expertise on import-export contracts.
The company had been transporting animal feed from an airport in Nantes, and customs officials, acting on their curiosity, had inspected the black boxes, finding nothing but animal feed. It was a good facade of legality and a test of how regular these checks might be. Yet, the lawyers were incredulous about why a Turkish-listed company needed a private jet to transport ‘exotic’ pet and animal feed and how it could be generating such substantial profits.
Pembroke sighed as he exited the sleek offices. He was in desperate need of legal support to help keep his transit activities from falling under further scrutiny, but finding a crooked lawyer seemed to be a challenge, even in the sophisticated legal landscape of Paris.
“Clémence Carnot! I cannot believe it’s you!”
Pembroke froze, an icy chill running down his spine at the sound of the familiar name—his pseudonym used to pose as a Parisian lawyer months ago. Had he been recognized?
“Monsieur Carnot, I think it is best you leave immediately!” An angry, red-faced man in a suit was storming out of the offices towards Pembroke. Pembroke balled his fists, ready to strike, when he realized the man was looking past him.
The suited man approached a tall, bald, elderly gentleman in a pinstripe suit carrying an umbrella. “Monsieur Carnot, you keep trying to meet the partners, but it’s not happening. You are barred from this building and every respectable firm in Paris. Now clear off!”
Pembroke watched as the bald man, deflated, sighed and remonstrated but ultimately gave up. The man then looked at Pembroke.
“Nothing but bastards in that building. I wouldn’t work there if I were you.”
“Oh, I don’t work there, and I’m not a client. They refuse to work for me.”
“Haha, they are cowboys anyway.” The bald man scrutinized Pembroke as if trying to place him. “Have we met?”
“No, Monsieur…”
“Clémence Carnot, at your service. Import and export attorney. Forgive me if you’ve heard my name before or recognize me for less savory reasons.”
“I am Edward Pembroke.”
“Are you English?”
“Yes, but my mother is French,” Pembroke replied, intrigued by the man’s job title. “I say, if you are in import-export, then I might be interested. I must warn you, none of these firms seems to want to act for me.”
Carnot raised an eyebrow. He considered himself a legal master, yet his reputation had been so ruined by the events of the last year that he had no regular income and could not work for a respectable firm. His networking was terrible, and this man seemed like an easy client.
“Well, Mr. Pembroke, why don’t we have a coffee if you want? It seems we both have had our meetings cut short.”
“And you see, they let these people into our country,” said Carnot angrily, “and this is what they do. That poor Charlotte Spencer—her parents felt awful. They held nothing against me. But no one employs me because those evil bastards stole my identity.”
“I heard about Charlotte Spencer. Yes, she was from London, a dreadful affair,” sympathized Pembroke. “They found who did it, didn’t they?” “Well, yes. Needless to say, some black man, Kwame something or other,” spat out Carnot. “But it was a whole gang who did it—Algerians. The man who impersonated me, from what was described to me—black greasy hair, dark skin, dark eyes—was some swarthy Arab,” he spat. “I mean, who would think a lawyer with a name like mine would look like that? I don’t buy it at all, to be honest. I think it was people out for my job who dragged me into it.”
“It was awful. If only they could just give up the body,” Pembroke shook his head, clenching his fist. “The family could have some peace.”
“Oh, Mr. Pembroke, your England is overrun too by immigrants. It’s all ghastly,” Carnot spat.
“Well, I am half French,” smiled Pembroke, trying to steer the conversation.
“Yes, but you’re European. We play by different rules than those savages, you see,” Carnot replied angrily.
“Well, I can say the borders are pretty tight,” said Pembroke. “My business finds it hard to move our product around Europe, and we have been seeking legal advice to back us up.”
“Oh yes, a good honest man like yourself—they will go after you and your business,” mocked Carnot. “Not all the illegals. Damn it, Mr. Pembroke, I offer my services to you. I have forty years of legal experience in import-export, and I can help you out. I don’t have many other clients, so I can focus solely on you.”
“Well, Monsieur Carnot, I would be happy to discuss terms,” smiled Pembroke. “Where is your office?”
“I don’t have one. You will have to come to my home in the 16th arrondissement,” replied Carnot.
“That sounds fine,” Pembroke agreed.
“Excellent,” Carnot said, his mood lifting slightly. “Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?”
“That works for me,” Pembroke replied, extending his hand. “I look forward to it.”
The next day, Pembroke called at a large house with sprawling gardens and was shown in by an old maid. Monsieur Carnot, the only other occupant of the house, greeted him. Dressed in a tweed cardigan, Carnot had evidently been gardening but now took the time to show Pembroke around the house. Books were piled everywhere, giving the place a somewhat ramshackle feel. Pembroke couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at having been the cause of Carnot’s fall from grace, though he consoled himself with the thought that Carnot’s racism might have balanced the scales of karma.
Carnot put on a pair of large, old glasses and began reading through the accounts of Pembroke’s company. As he did, the incongruous sight of a young girl appeared in the doorway. She was red-haired, with brown eyes, tall and slim at about five feet seven inches, and had an athletic figure. She wore just a t-shirt and tiny hot pants.
“Oh, Claire, for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on and don’t embarrass my client!” shouted Carnot.
“Sorry, Grandpa,” smirked Claire. She winked at Pembroke, who smiled back.
“I’m sorry, this isn’t very professional,” flustered Carnot. “That is Claire, my granddaughter. She is staying here because my son, her father, died in a motorcycle accident a few years ago, and her mother has decided she would prefer to go off backpacking by herself somewhere in Asia.”
Pembroke nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Carnot sighed, “Thank you. It’s been difficult, but we manage. Now, where were we?” He adjusted his glasses and focused back on the documents.
Pembroke excused himself to use the bathroom, and on the way there, he bumped into Claire again.
“You another big-shot drug trafficker?” laughed Claire.
“Heavens no, I merely transport animal feed.”
“Haha,” giggled Claire, her eyes locking onto his, her teeth biting her lip. “It’s okay, my grandpa doesn’t really need the money; he needs the work more. He won’t tell the police. It’s a game to him, helping you get away with it.”
“Young lady,” Pembroke raised his eyebrow, “that is no way to talk to a legitimate businessman.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” flirted Claire, still in her hot pants, her t-shirt so baggy he could see right down it, almost showing off her breasts. “Are you going to spank me?”
“Maybe later,” winked Pembroke as he pushed past her, now a little more nervous about what Carnot thought about his accounts.
He had also noticed the telltale self-harm scars all over Claire’s arms, which, for a man of Pembroke’s inclinations, were like a homing signal.
Returning to the study, Pembroke found Carnot looking troubled. “I’m sorry again about Claire. She has psychiatric issues, self-harm, suicide attempts. I try to keep her here, but she disappears at all hours. I can only pray she grows out of it,” said Carnot as they concluded matters.
“I understand, Monsieur Carnot. And I am happy to start a retainer with you. I also have another favor to ask. It would be for a charity close to my heart, pro bono, but of course, my fees will match the work you need for them.”
“Certainly,” said Carnot.
“Well, it is a refugee charity,” Pembroke began, seeing Carnot’s expression sour. “But for genuine victims of human trafficking.”
“Oh, in that case, of course, I would be delighted to help!” smiled Carnot. “Just tell me what you want.” The old man seemed in a much kinder mood now, especially having agreed to a generous retainer.
As Pembroke walked out of the house, Clare came down again, having changed into a hoodie with nothing underneath that he could see, smiling as she came down to wave him off. “Hopefully see you again, Mr. Pembroke,” she said, hugging him and pressing a slip of paper into his hand.
He read it as he walked to his Uber.
“Clare – call me x KIK – PetiteFleurClare”
Miriam sighed as Mrs. Al-Haraz approached the cell, calling her name, dressed in a blue maxi dress. “Don’t you pout at me!” snarled the Yemeni woman as she slapped Miriam’s bottom while walking past. “Mr. Fischer needs you again!”
They walked side by side out of the hall and towards Konrad’s study. He was staring at the screen but lit up when he saw the naked figure of Miriam enter. “Do your work, Miriam,” Mrs. Al-Haraz snarled into her ear. “Let’s see if we can trap this bitch. Can you imagine, a fucking lesbian?” she spat in disgust, while simultaneously fondling Miriam’s breasts, cupping her face, and French-kissing her before strolling away.
Konrad spun around in his chair, displaying that he was wearing nothing but a smile and an erection. “Let’s get to work, Miriam,” he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The following morning, at the elegant Café de la Paix, Pembroke strolled inside wearing a tailored Armani charcoal grey suit, paired with a crisp white shirt and a deep burgundy tie. He was there to meet Iranian businessman, Mr. Ali Reza, a man he had thought was only interested in sports betting and who often appeared as an avuncular character in interviews he had seen.
“Ah, Mr. Pembroke, you are a hard man to get hold of. Perhaps you are in demand?” smiled Mr. Reza.
Pembroke relaxed, sipping his coffee. “It is my products which are in demand, Mr. Reza, not I,” he said modestly. “I merely facilitate their transfer from the world out there,” he gestured to the streets, “to my client’s possession.”
“I have some very nefarious friends, Mr. Pembroke,” Reza smiled. “I would not be here with you if I thought you were not useful to me.”
At that moment, a waitress approached their table. She had sleek black hair tied up in a bun and dark, captivating eyes. Her slim figure was accentuated by a fitted blouse and a pencil skirt that hugged her curves perfectly.
“Bonjour, messieurs,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting. “May I take your order?”
Pembroke glanced at Reza before turning his attention back to the alluring waitress. “Is it too early for some whiskey?” he replied, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Pour vous, monsieur, jamais trop tôt,” she replied. “I’ll bring it right away.”
“How much do you think that order would cost?” Reza smiled, watching the girl walk away.
“Well,” Pembroke smiled back. “That particular product will have to be collected first, then poured into a glass, and transported to our table, just ready to drink. I think the collection of the product would be a substantial addition to the price, considering there might be well-stocked products ready to be poured into your glass.” He winked.
Reza chuckled, catching the subtext. “Indeed, Mr. Pembroke, quality always comes at a price.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “You know, I do have some desire for particular … things. It’s hard to have a wife, you know. Divorce would cost me a lot more than one of your products, which is why I think it’s a worthwhile investment. My wife wants to know where I am if I go to a club in Los Angeles or Ibiza, but if I have my own man cave in our home … I guess, Mr. Pembroke, you know more about me than I do about you.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Reza, discretion is my trade. I feel better knowing you have a nice, secure place to stock my product. The very last thing I want to think about is having sloppy customers who let them out. They are to be treasured, you know. Soundproof too, you know how the fairer sex can be noisy.”
They both laughed as the waitress returned with the whiskies, bending over to give them both a tantalizing view of her tight behind in the skirt.
“Just how ruthless are you, Mr. Reza?” said Pembroke, his tone dropping to a sinister whisper. “It is distasteful to bring this into our negotiations, but necessary. We do not sell to saints and white knights. This kind of trade among distinguished gentlemen is dependent on strict secrecy, which ultimately depends on, shall we say, limited prospects for the girls Let’s just say they will never get too many wrinkles.”
Reza’s smile faded, replaced by a predatory grin. “Mr. Pembroke, I assure you, my reputation, my family, the lives of my children, and my business depend on it. What you don’t know about me would have me in prison for a long time already. You don’t get to where I am from where I was by playing nice or taking prisoners. And I recognize the eyes of someone who has squeezed the life out of another, Mr. Pembroke. Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.
Pembroke nodded, satisfied with the response. “Good. So do you have a type in mind?”
“Black, to start with, pure West African, not mixed race, beautiful,” said Reza casually as he drank his whiskey. “If my business goes well in the next six months, I might come back for more, and a particular girl I have had my eyes on. But for now, I want a black girl, it’s what I’ve been dreaming of.”
Pembroke breathed in, relishing the sudden eruption of true desire and the nature of their business in such smart surroundings. He surreptitiously looked around to check if anyone had heard.
“I can send you a video and photos of a girl, Ghanaian, who might be perfect for you.”
“Would I recognize her from the news? A missing girl?” Reza was curious.
“Well, until money and flesh pass hands, my discretion does not let me disclose too many details of the girl beyond physical attributes. And of course, whether there is no one after her, or a million policemen on the prowl, we caution that the same precautions should always be taken to secure the product.”
“Oh, of course,” laughed Reza. “Forgive me, you are right, and I applaud your discretion. You have a good reputation. Just tell me the age.”
“Twenty.”
“Excellent. Let me see her. I have the storage facilities for her. What about price?”
“May I inquire about the girl’s planned residence location? Transport can often be logistically complex and cost a lot of money.”
Reza breathed in. “I am at your mercy, Mr. Pembroke. You probably know I spend most of my time in my villa near Monaco. I would prefer she is delivered to my door.”
“That can be arranged,” smiled Pembroke. “Well, perhaps you would like to view her before suggesting a price.”
“You are right. Thank you,” Reza took the phone. “You know, this is extraordinary. I spend months haggling over a house, or a business, or even a vase, and here I will buy a human life for a small fortune based on a video and some pictures. But from what I have heard, your products have all been first class.”
The two sat in silence, sipping the whiskey as Reza viewed the video and pictures with the sophisticated clientele all around them chatting happily.
“Excellent, she is all I want. I can tell she is feisty, and the more the better. I need a challenge privately; I cannot hit my wife, but believe me, I will hit her,” grunted Reza. “Two hundred thousand, including transport.”
“Three hundred fifty thousand dollars including transport,” countered Pembroke nonchalantly.
“Two seventy-five, all inclusive?” suggested Reza.
Pembroke stuck out his hand. Reza grinned and grabbed it.
And just like that, Efua Agyeman was sold and her life traded away, while Pembroke ordered another whiskey to celebrate, flirting with the waitress while he and Reza smiled and chatted about the lewd things Reza planned to do to poor Efua.
While still under the influence of the whiskey, Pembroke began chatting on Kik with Clare. She mentioned she was bored, and he responded by saying it was a crime for a pretty girl like her to be bored in Paris.
She responded with an explicit picture. “Naughty girl,” Pembroke replied. “You promised you would give me a spanking, remember?” she messaged back with an innocent smile.
“Well, your grandfather is my lawyer. I have to be careful,” he messaged back. What on earth was he doing? Paris was full of girls, so why on earth was he indulging this foolish girl?
“I might try and kill myself tonight if I can’t go out,” she sent him a picture of her arm with a small cut and a knife.
Pembroke sighed. Providence kept throwing these situations at him. Carnot would be a valuable asset, and targeting Clare for acquisition and sale might not even be worth it, let alone trying to have fun with her. But her desperation and vulnerability presented an opportunity he couldn’t ignore.
He typed back, “Clare, put the knife down. This isn’t the way to handle things. Meet me at the park near your place in an hour. We’ll talk.”
Later, they were sitting on a secluded bench in a quiet corner of a park. Pembroke was wearing a baseball cap and a jacket over his suit, not eager to be recognized or remembered while chatting with Clare. Despite the cold, she was wearing obscenely thin leggings and a hoodie, straddling the bench and facing him. He suspected she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
“You know, Clare,” Pembroke told her gently, “you have a lot to live for. You’re still young; things will change.”
“What will change? I know I’m hot,” she leaned back, letting the hoodie rise and exposing more flesh on her stomach, “and I’m still unhappy. So when I get older and uglier, it will only get worse! If it’s this bad now, I might as well end it.”
Pembroke sighed, trying to maintain his composure. “It won’t always be like this, Clare. You’re in a tough spot now, but it will get better. You have to give it time. You have potential, beauty, and youth. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
Clare stared at him, her eyes filled with a mix of defiance and desperation. “You don’t understand. Nothing feels right. I don’t belong anywhere. The only time I feel anything is when I’m doing something extreme.”
“Well if I wasn’t married with three children back in London, I would recommend you come and read medieval poetry with me in my hotel room.”
Clare bit her lip and smiled. “What if it’s French…”
Pembroke smiled, leaned in, and kissed her softly. “Why don’t we get an Uber to my hotel room, then?” he suggested, his voice low and inviting.
Clare’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and curiosity. “Alright, Mr. Pembroke. Let’s go,” she replied, standing up and pulling her hoodie up slightly, teasingly.
Clare was wild in bed, her slim body and tiny waist writhing wildly as she screamed and shouted with abandon, so much so that Pembroke feared the hotel staff might complain. She sucked him with feral intensity, grunting wildly, her movements frantic and uncontrolled. Her hands tore at her own hair as she rode him cowgirl style, arching her back, sweat dripping off her as if she were driving out evil spirits with each thrust. Her orgasm was intense, shaking her entire body as she collapsed onto him, panting and spent.
“My God Clare, that was wonderful”
“Thank you Daddy” she cried as she hugged him.
He held onto her, stroking her body as she shook and cried in his arms. He was enjoying her, and was also looking forward to another meeting with her grandfather soon, but could not help but be tempted by the thought of how she might fit in at the complex and under the strict training of the overseers.
“I have a meeting with your grandfather this evening, Clare, I am afraid I will have to go soon. I really cannot go on with this, there is my family and…”
“I know, daddy,” sighed Clare. “I wish I could stay with you. I wish I could have a daddy like you forever—a nice man, a wife, kids, a boring job, looking after me.”
“I’m not your father, you know,” grinned Pembroke.
“You feel like it,” she said, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she played with his cock again.
“Clare, if your grandfather finds out you’re doing this with me, it will terminate our business relationship,” Pembroke warned.
“Don’t worry, Johnny. He checks my phone, so I uninstall the apps and commit your profile name to memory. No digital trail, don’t worry,” she grinned.
“That is reassuring,” thought Pembroke. “Can I see your necklace?”
“Sure,” she said, bringing her breasts up to his face. Pembroke sucked her nipples as he played with the necklace, checking the shape, weight, and details of the pendant hanging from it.
“Let me have a bathroom break,” he said, moving to his things, taking out some toiletries, and disappearing for a few minutes. Clare lay back, frustrated.
A minute later, he reappeared, and they made love again, shifting into a 69 position. With expert fingers borne of practice, while she sucked on his cock and he occupied his mouth with her pussy, his hand went to her breasts and played with her necklace again. As he munched on her clit, sending her gasping between his legs in orgasm, she didn’t feel her necklace pendant being opened up, and a small tracker being fitted inside, and closed again.
Clare’s moans grew louder as she lost herself in the pleasure, oblivious to Pembroke’s covert actions. Pembroke smiled and came on her lips, clarity returning to him, but he still felt he was making the right choice. Fortune favors the brave, he thought.
“Now, we really need to get back, what a hectic day, I will have to message your grandfather and my associates I am running late.”
“The sex was great, but I am still going to kill myself sometime,” Clare pouted.
Pembroke sighed. “Have you ever thought of writing a suicide note?” “What?” She was startled.
“An actual suicide note, as if you are doing it for real,” he said, walking up to her naked body and running his fingers over her breasts, playing with her necklace, testing it. “Express yourself, as if you really, really are going to do it. Then read it a few days later; it might be perfect therapy. Leave it out for all to see, and if you chicken out, you’ll have to get rid of it, but it might be an interesting read.”
Clare looked at him, confusion and curiosity mingling in her eyes. “You think that would help?”
“It might,” Pembroke said, his tone softening. “Writing can be a powerful way to release your emotions. Sometimes, seeing your thoughts on paper can give you a different perspective.”
She considered his suggestion, her expression contemplative. “I guess I could try. It sounds weird, but maybe it will help.”
“Just leave me out of the note, haha,” said Pembroke.
“Oh, Edward, of course I would never implicate you,” she cooed. “Your poor wife and kids if I did, haha.”
As they traveled in the Uber together, Pembroke had to keep swatting away Clare’s hands from his thighs. It occurred to him that if he asked her to come to the complex and become a slave, she might actually say yes. “Is your red hair natural?” he asked, trying to distract her.
“Yes, why?” she grinned, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows.
“Just curious,” he smiled. Clients always seemed to ask for red hair.
Clare giggled, leaning closer to him. “You have a thing for redheads? Any more weird questions?”
Pembroke checked his messages and sucked in his breath, noting the time. He asked the driver where he was from.
“Senegal.”
“Min ayna anta?” Pembroke asked.
“What?” the taxi driver responded, puzzled.
“Oh sorry, I thought they spoke Arabic in Senegal.”
“No, sorry, I cannot speak Arabic,” the driver laughed.
Pembroke smiled and turned to Clare. “Well, a stupid question. Don’t you speak Arabic in Senegal?”
“No, I wish I could though! Gosh, you’re so clever!”
Pembroke smiled and made a call to Nadim and Jamal in a group call at the complex, switching to Arabic.
“Salam, Nadim, Jamal,” he greeted them.
“Salam, boss,” Nadim replied. “Boss, Khadija, the lesbian girl from Brussels, has gone crazy about Miriam. She is coming to Paris! She says she is going to an Islamic girls’ conference but wants to meet Miriam this evening or tomorrow. She leaves tomorrow, so we need to move fast.”
“Wow, well done to Konrad. I suppose we cannot control teenage girls’ hormones,” Pembroke said, swatting Clare’s hands away from his crotch again.
“Speaking of which, I have a new candidate, a redhead. She should be very popular. I am in the middle of sorting out a plan. I have her tracked; I just need to sort out a plausible disappearance story. She’s suicidal so I’m pursuing this. It’s all very fluid, though,” he continued, turning and smiling at Clare, who was leaning her head on his shoulder and hugging him.
“Should I fly out?” said Nadim. “I think I could get to Aérodrome de Toussus-le-Noble by midnight if I prepare now with the boxes and the seeds. Do you also need Dmitri?”
“Yes, Nadim, it would be good to have Dmitri here too.” Pembroke threw his arm around Clare protectively. “The redhead is crazy, so there might be opportunities tonight or tomorrow. I would need somewhere to store her. As for the lesbian, we will need to coordinate with Konrad and find a good acquisition point. It might be tough. Keep me updated on where she is, and I can scope out where she is staying tonight. For now, I have a meeting with our new lawyer.”
Nadim nodded. “Understood. I’ll make the necessary arrangements and keep you posted.”
“Oh and some good news as well” continued Pembroke. “I secured a deal for Efua this morning. Subject to final confirmation, of course, but hopefully we should soon be able to transport her out to Monaco, so a nice turnover in stock for us.
“Well done boss!” the two men congratulated their boss.
Pembroke ended the call and turned his attention back to Clare, who was now snuggled against him, seemingly unaware of the dangerous plans being made around her. He stroked her hair gently, his mind already working through the logistics of the night ahead.
“You are so intelligent, Jimmy,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t call me that, Clare. Do you still think you will write that note?”
“Yes, I will, and tonight I am going to go craaaazy,” she laughed.
“Well, I will be tucked up in bed,” Pembroke smiled back.
“Don’t worry, you won’t get any texts. I’m gonna leave my phone behind.
That makes for the wildest nights. Plus, I always send texts I regret,” she sighed. “Going out without a phone makes it like living in the moment. No pictures or stupid stuff like you must have done when you were young.” “Ha, won’t your grandfather be worried?”
“He will be tucked up in bed. I’ll be getting ready to go out when he’s still snoring,” she laughed.
“Well, Clare, maybe writing the note will clear your head,” Pembroke said firmly. “Anyway, I think you should get out here and walk the last ten minutes. It is going to look suspicious if we arrive together at your grandfather’s house.”
“OK,” pouted Clare. “But your KiK profile is still here,” she pointed to her head, “so I can still message you tomorrow.” Her eyes turned serious. “I would love to see you again before you leave Paris.”
“I hope that happens,” smiled Pembroke. He kissed her as she got out.
Pembroke was pleased to see Mr. Carnot again, apologizing for being late. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carnot, I am very busy seeing clients here in Paris, and occasionally I have to be a bit of a salesman and have a few drinks with them,” Pembroke smiled.
“Not to worry, Mr. Pembroke,” Carnot replied. He had reviewed the accounts of Bereketli Yemcilik again and was no fool. He knew there was money to be made from Mr. Pembroke and also knew that there would be some interesting legal arguments ahead, which excited him.
“I have prepared the documents for you to review, Mr. Pembroke. I hope this resolves any immediate difficulties, but of course, I will be on call 24/7 for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carnot,” said Pembroke appreciatively, reviewing the documents. “Now, if you don’t mind, we could have that meeting?” Pembroke opened up the Zoom meeting with the refugee charity. There were four people involved: Carnot, Pembroke, Katalin, and the manager, Mrs. Kuzy.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Pembroke began. “Thank you for joining this meeting. I wanted to introduce you to my associate, Monsieur Clémence Carnot, who is very well respected in the field of import/export. He may be able to help you with some difficulties and queries related to your charity, particularly as it pertains to immigration and the challenges of bringing migrants and their possessions in and out of their countries.”
Carnot nodded, offering a polite smile to the participants on the call. “Good afternoon. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I’m here to offer my expertise and support in any way I can, Mr Pembroke is a good client of mine and has kindly agreed to meet any and all costs of my advice, so please don’t hesitate to ask me anything.”
The call went well with Mr. Carnot and Mrs. Kuzy doing most of the talking, and Pembroke was pleased. Making good inroads with a refugee charity in Hungary would be invaluable for his business.
As the talk concluded, Katalin asked if she could speak with Pembroke. Pembroke continued in Carnot’s study while the old man went to have his dinner and chastised his granddaughter for her “pornographic leggings.” “What would Mr. Pembroke think if he saw you, Clare?” he was scandalized.
Clare tutted at him and went to her room. Angry at her grandfather, at her stupid dead father, at her selfish mother, and even the bland Mr. Pembroke and his no doubt perfect wife and family in London, she sat down and wrote down her rambling suicide note.
“Edward, thank you so much. Really, we cannot afford such legal advice, and Mr. Carnot, wow you really do network with impressive people! It’s so generous of you, really!”
“Oh Katalin, don’t thank me, it’s a tax write-off,” Edward laughed. “But it’s good to know it’s helping vulnerable people, and Mr. Carnot is happy to help too. Really, it’s not that much money.”
“You are too kind and too modest. How are you so successful in business?” marveled Katalin.
Edward smiled modestly. “It’s about building relationships and understanding people’s needs. But it’s a lot of work, and travel!”
Katalin smiled at him. “You know, Edward, I was wondering if I could ask—Saif and Manny, they spoke so highly of you—if there was more work for our clients.”
Pembroke blew out his cheeks thoughtfully. “You know, Katalin, I have a feeling this might not be legal, depending on where they are. I would love to do it, but employing refugees illegally can carry serious consequences. Morally, of course, I am fine with it—who wouldn’t be?”
“I know, right!” Katalin got serious. “Our clients have to work. The money they get is ridiculous, but the governments refuse them work permits! We have so many young girls here, Edward, turning to prostitution, porn, because they can’t get jobs. Then they get deported—it’s so unfair!”
Edward shook his head and sighed at the camera. “I mean, I do know people looking for staff but it’s … awkward.”
“Like what?” Katalin stared intently. “I have two wonderful girls here—they are so young, but they are both sex trafficking victims. There’s Linh from Vietnam and Ayesha from Bangladesh. I’ve been trying to keep them away from their old pimps, but it’s hard when I can’t give them any work!”
“I’m wracking my brains,” Pembroke said. “I know a respectable American family with a yacht in the Mediterranean looking for staff, but they specified two males.”
“Edward,” Katalin rebuked, “that’s a bit sexist. Surely women can work on a yacht as well!”
“Haha, well, Katalin, it’s not my decision. They are a good family, though, so I need decent people for the job.”
“Oh, these girls are so sweet. They are wholesome but have been taken advantage of by vile perverts,” Katalin shuddered. “That’s why I feel so responsible and am reaching out to you.”
“Thanks, Katalin. That puts a bit of responsibility on me,” he laughed. “They should be safe on this yacht from traffickers—maybe not sharks though!”
“I can vouch for the girls, Edward, and for you to them. I would feel so much better knowing they are under your care.”
“Send me their details, and I’ll discuss this with the Van Stantons. They have to think of their children.”
“Of course,” Katalin said happily. “Oh, and Lila and I have booked our trip to Egypt! I can’t wait for her to see it!”
“That sounds wonderful, Katalin. What dates are you going?”
Katalin gave him the dates and slyly asked, “Why, are you thinking you might stop there?”
“Haha, maybe! Well, Katalin, it was great to chat and be of use. I should be leaving Mr. Carnot’s house now to let him have his dinner. Please send me the girls’ details!”
“Not a problem. See you,” smiled Katalin.
Pembroke noted down the dates for Katalin and Lila’s Egyptian trip. Linh and Ayesha both sounded interesting; he would have to check them out.
He said goodbye to Mr. Carnot after hearing Clare shouting at him through her bedroom door. Mr. Carnot wearily waved farewell, promising to email soon with work. Pembroke felt a little sad that this angry scene might be the old man’s final interaction with his granddaughter, assuming everything went well tonight for Pembroke’s own nefarious plans.
Konrad was sweating at his desktop; this was intense. Khadija wanted to chat constantly. Despite his excuses, he had still felt obliged to send out numerous voicemails, texts, selfies, and voice chats. Miriam had been forced to help, speaking various sentences that were almost instantaneously processed into responses and providing updated videos while dressed in a hijab against the wall of Konrad’s study, being naked from the waist down in an obscene display. She felt awful about what she was doing, entrapping a poor girl into a kidnapping. The AI generator could barely keep up with the pace needed to convince Khadija she was still talking to a real person.
Khadija felt a spring in her heart as she sat in her train seat to Paris. Her parents had relented on her trip when she told them it was for an Islamic conference, which she fully intended to attend, and she hoped Miriam would be there too. Tonight, she had accommodation sorted with the ‘sisters’ in the organization, and they were chatting happily about going for coffee and ice cream later that night.
A part of her knew it would be late when she got into Paris, and she had been flirting with Miriam all afternoon and evening. She hoped Miriam would be the first to suggest they meet tonight, for anything.
She checked herself in her makeup mirror and assessed her figure in her tight T-shirt and jeans under her robes in the bathroom. She could barely think of anything but Miriam as she scrolled through her photos, waiting for the next message, which was coming frustratingly slowly.
When her phone buzzed again, her heart leapt, and she quickly opened the message.
“Hey, Khadija! Just thinking I hadn’t realized you get into Gare du Nord. It’s a bit scary around there; are you sure you can get to your place from there? Just thinking, I could meet you for a late-night coffee when you get in, maybe show you a way to get to your place?”
Khadija’s face lit up with a smile. She quickly typed back, her fingers trembling with excitement.
“Absolutely! I’d love that. I’ll text you as soon as I arrive x.”
She sent the message and leaned back in her seat, her mind racing with thoughts of their upcoming meeting. This trip was already shaping up to be more exciting than she had ever imagined.
Pembroke was back in his hotel room, poring over his laptop. He meticulously examined Google Earth photos of Paris, street maps, and the transcripts of the calls and messages between Khadija and Miriam. He reviewed the tracker map of Clare and noticed she was still at home. He hoped she would keep her necklace on, and that she would not actually go through with any suicide attempt.
Nadim and Dmitri were in the air, en route to Paris. On the plane were two black boxes marked “RH” for redhead and “KA” for Khadija Amrani, with token boxes of seeds and grains over the empty interiors. If all went well, they would be returning with both boxes full.
Khadija felt terrified in Paris. She had made an excuse to separate from her group, not daring to reveal she was meeting a friend—least of all a lesbian friend. She could barely say the word to herself.
She found it hard to hear Miriam on the phone and instead relied on texts, directing her to a late-night ice cream parlour. Sitting alone, the concerned owners approached her.
“You don’t look like the kind of girl who should be alone this late at night,” the owner gently asked.
“No, my cousin is coming, honestly,” Khadija smiled nervously. When would Miriam arrive? Her nerves at being alone in this dangerous-seeming city was compounded by her nerves about meeting Miriam. What if they both wanted to leave after two minutes? Well, she could just go back to her friends or the hotel; it wasn’t far.
Outside the parlour, there was a prominent sign for a bowling alley up the road. She had noticed it as she walked in and now stared at it again; it dominated the view.
It was getting late, and she was worried she was being stood up. Was Miriam a fantasy? A joke? Or a girl like her who had just got cold feet, thinking she couldn’t go on a date with a girl? Khadija felt dirty for daring to think this could happen with another girl like her, religious. Of course, it wouldn’t—this was against her religion. It would humiliate her family to know. She began crying to herself and was about to get up and go when she got a call. It was Miriam.
“Hi Khadija, sorry I’m late!”
“Miriam, hi!” Khadija was excited and heard the sound of bowling balls in the background. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the bowling alley up the street. I thought we could meet here instead. It’s quieter and less crowded.”
A thousand miles away, Konrad Fischer was running the soundtrack of a bowling alley in the background as he desperately typed in voice commands to match the voice of Miriam Ben-Ali. The autistic pervert was not the best mind to seduce young lesbian girls but he was doing his best. He also had to keep up with the text messages from Pembroke constantly updating him as to his progress and location and Khadija’s location.
On the floor next to him, the real Miriam sat in tears, listening to Khadija’s voice—the hope, the life in it. She cursed herself for not having the courage to shout a warning, if it could be heard, or anything, to prevent Khadija from soon entering the same miserable slave existence as she.
“Hi Khadija, I think I see you. Do you see the sign? If you just walk across the car park, it’s fairly safe even if it’s dark. Trust me, I can see across it from where I am. Just come over and into the red door, and I’m there!” Khadija’s heart was racing as she looked across the dark car park. Miriam had already seen her! She tried to fix her clothes and walk tall and statuesque. She noticed a group of young men approaching and held back, waiting for them to pass. Once the coast was clear, she strode across the car park, trying to appear calm and casual, rehearsing her first lines and imagining how she would greet Miriam—a kiss on the cheek, a quick salam…
“Khadija?” a male voice called from her left side.
“What … who…” Khadija began, turning towards the voice. Before she could react, a black figure emerged from the shadows, and an arm stretched out. She felt a rod prod against her side, and suddenly, it felt like her insides were shaking with electricity. Her body convulsed, her eyesight blurred, and everything went dark and silent.
Pembroke tensed as he tried to drive the old Fiat Panda he had rented at late notice that evening. The car rattled with every bump, and the brakes squeaked ominously. The deposit of 500 euros was more than the car was worth, but it was better than supplying ID, and he did not have any intention of returning it anyway.
He drove back near his hotel, parking the old Fiat Panda inconspicuously. Awkwardly, he changed from his black parka, trousers, boots, and woolly hat into a more casual evening suit and shoes. Locking the car, he nervously glanced at the trunk, thinking of the tightly bound female captive within, gagged and blindfolded, immobilized inside a sack. It would be a bad time to have his car stolen with such precious cargo inside, he thought ruefully as he made his way back to the hotel.
Inside, he enjoyed a drink at the hotel bar to calm his nerves and provide an alibi. Sipping his martini and admiring the beautiful young piano player, he felt a pang of pity for Khadija—a good girl undone by her trusting nature. He made a silent toast to Konrad, who at that moment was mauling and brutally raping Miriam in triumph. He had earned it; dozens of hours had finally yielded a result.
Pembroke returned to his hotel room, quickly packed, and checked his messages and the whereabouts of Clare Carnot. But primarily, he noted that Dmitri and Nadim had landed in Paris. He prepared himself, gathered his things, and left the hotel. He felt much safer driving Khadija around Paris than leaving her parked on a side road.
Clare felt cleansed after writing her suicide note. She had poured out all her frustrations, anger, and childhood memories, even cutting her arm to let the blood stain the paper. But afterward, it was as if a spell had been lifted. She felt free.
She waited until her grandfather was asleep and the bleeding on her arm had stopped. Then she showered and changed into a bright red thong, slipping on a tiny black dress over it. She giggled at how the red of her thong peeked through if she bent to one side. She wore no bra—her perky breasts didn’t need one, and if her nipples showed through her black dress, so what? With high heels and a black leather jacket, she looked like a single girl ready to cause trouble. She let her red hair tumble down and painted her lips a vivid red, fingering her necklace and feeling a sense of renewal.
She left her phone at home and took only a small amount of cash. Boys would pay for her drinks. She crept out of her window, met the taxi she had ordered, and looked forward to a night of fun and dancing to see where it would take her.
Pembroke drove Nadim and Dmitri through the brightly lit streets of Paris, past clubs and bars still open well after midnight, witnessing fights, arguments, and police patrols. Pembroke couldn’t help but note the difference in kidnapping a conservative girl at an ice cream parlour at 10:30 PM and then having to wait for a party girl to leave a nightclub at 3 AM.
At the club, Clare danced with abandon, feeling the music pulse through her. She let the rhythm carry her away, her earlier darkness forgotten in the throbbing lights and pounding bass. Boys eagerly paid for her drinks, and she basked in the attention, reveling in the freedom she felt.
As the night wore on, Clare found herself in a daze, a mix of alcohol and euphoria blurring her senses. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the bar, and laughed it off. A young man introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Rabah.” He was tall and cute, Clare thought, muscular and somewhat lizard-like, with an air of danger about him.
Rabah had his eyes on Clare all night and had waited until she seemed sufficiently drunk to make his move. Now, he approached the red-haired girl, who danced freely, her red panties showing under her black dress, her sweating thighs driving him mad with desire, her nipples pressing against the fabric of her dress. He wanted her.
“You’re cute,” slurred Clare, her eyes half-lidded with intoxication.
“Why don’t we go somewhere else, quieter?” Rabah suggested, leaning in close.
“Sure,” Clare stumbled, her vision blurring slightly as she tried to focus on him.
Rabah took her arm gently, guiding her through the throng of partygoers and outside.
Rabah was thrilled when Clare made no effort to fend off his hand as he ran it over her back and down to cup her buttocks as they walked down the road. He spotted an alleyway and a small park, guiding Clare in with him. She was so drunk he had to hold her up.
He took her behind some bushes and ran his hands up her skirt to her waist, digging his fingers into her panties while forcing his tongue into her mouth. Clare was too intoxicated to resist, her mind clouded and her body limp.
Rabah pulled her thong down her legs and bent her over. He hurriedly put a condom on, then forced himself into her, running his hands over her breasts as she could barely speak.
Suddenly, Rabah heard a voice. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
He froze, looking around. Three figures emerged from the shadows, one holding a camera pointed directly at him.
The tallest of the trio approached menacingly. “Wallet now, and phone!” he demanded.
Rabah stuttered, realizing he was surrounded. He fumbled for his wallet and phone, handing them over quickly.
The tallest man took the wallet and pocketed the phone. He glanced at the ID. “Rabah Bougherra,” he snapped, then held up the camera phone. “We have all the footage here, of you raping this girl.”
Rabah’s face went pale. “Please, I can explain—”
“Save it,” the man interrupted. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to disappear, and you’re never going to mention this to anyone. If you do, this footage goes straight to the police. Understand?”
Rabah nodded frantically. “I understand. I’ll disappear. Just don’t release the video.”
The man smirked, satisfied with Rabah’s fear. “Good. Now get out of here.”
Rabah stumbled to his feet, glancing nervously at the unconscious Clare before fleeing into the night.
The tallest man turned to the other two. “Let’s get her out of here before anyone else shows up.”
After using the cash from Rabah’s wallet to buy a late-night kebab for them all, Pembroke, Dmitri, and Nadim drove on. The plan was back on track, but they needed to move quickly and carefully. They stripped, bound, and gagged the two captive girls, placing them inside the black boxes.
At the Aérodrome de Toussus-le-Noble, they wheeled the boxes through the waiting area. Clare was barely conscious, her body limp and unresponsive. Khadija, on the other hand, was fully aware, her brown eyes wide with terror as she looked at the three men looming over her. They had sliced off her garments, leaving her curled up naked in a compact circular container. The container could be sealed over itself and was then placed inside a larger box that could also be securely sealed, literally trapping her in silence.
The sun was starting to come up, casting a faint glow over the horizon. Nadim was getting ready to start up the plane for takeoff when they got a visit from the customs police.
“Bonjour, messieurs,” the officer greeted them, his eyes sharp and inquisitive. “Routine check. May we see your cargo and flight details?” Pembroke’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced a smile and nodded. “I’m afraid there must be some mistake. We cleared all this earlier. We spent quite a lot in legal fees and do not feel it’s fair to be inspected all over again.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What is the problem?” “The material inside is very sensitive, and we have our rights,” Pembroke flailed desperately. “This is an abuse of process.”
The officers looked at the three men, the two boxes, and the private plane. This was very irregular. The lead officer stepped forward, his demeanor growing more stern. “Sensitive material or not, we have a duty to inspect. Open the boxes.”
“Not until my lawyer gets here!” Pembroke insisted, his voice rising in desperation.
Dmitri and Nadim recognized the desperation in Pembroke’s voice. They knew the gravity of the situation and felt their own anxiety rising. Pembroke’s facade was cracking, and the fear of being caught was written all over his face. Far from enjoying his riches, he realized he might be facing a long, harsh prison sentence.
Clémence Carnot, Pembroke’s lawyer, was an early riser and was surprised to see a missed
By 9:30 AM, he was at Aérodrome de Toussus-le-Noble in a smart pinstripe grey suit. Pembroke was there waiting for him in a crumpled suit, accompanied by two employees of Bereketli Yemcilik, who were in Paris to pick up an air freight transit of two boxes of exotic animal feed for onward travel to Turkey.
The customs police wanted to inspect the boxes, and Pembroke was adamant that they should not. Carnot wondered why Pembroke was so insistent, but felt his legal duty was to his client. Besides, if it was some drugs, who cared? Most should be legalized anyway. What mattered was acting for his apparently wealthy client, impressing him, and the cut and thrust of legal work.
His determination deepened when he distastefully noticed the customs police were all North African or Black and thought, “What right do these foreigners have to decide what goods can and cannot be transported around Europe?”
“I just got here,” said Pembroke, sighing. “The men are in a bit of a pickle and I thought this was an excellent opportunity to ask for your services. I hope you don’t mind the early morning call-out; our fees should recompense you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Pembroke. I can deal with these … idiots,” Carnot muttered.
Carnot approached the customs officers with a confident stride. “Bonjour, gentlemen. I am Clémence Carnot, legal representative for Mr. Pembroke. There seems to be some misunderstanding here. My client has all the necessary paperwork, and we have already gone through the proper channels to clear this cargo.”
The lead officer, still suspicious, folded his arms. “We have a duty to inspect any cargo that raises red flags. Sensitive material or not, we need to ensure everything is in order.”
Carnot sighed theatrically, pulling out a stack of legal documents. “I understand your position, but this is highly irregular and unnecessary. We have every right to proceed without further delays. If you insist on inspecting the cargo, you will be in direct violation of several international trade and transport laws.”
The officer hesitated, glancing at the documents. Pembroke and his men watched anxiously, hoping Carnot’s aggressive approach would work.
Carnot pressed on, his tone sharp. “This is harassment, plain and simple. My clients are legitimate businessmen. Any delay in their schedule could result in significant financial losses, for which you will be held accountable.”
The police officers took Mr. Carnot’s card, and the officer googled him, finding his history as a celebrated lawyer. They studied the legal documents, which baffled them.
“The law states,” Carnot said, “you must give my clients notice when they land with that document that any cargo would be searched, and I doubt you did that, did you?”
The lead officer, now visibly uncertain, glanced at his team. “We did not issue a specific notice for this cargo. We were acting on a general mandate.”
“Then you are in clear violation of the legal protocols,” Carnot asserted. “I suggest you allow my clients to proceed without further hindrance.”
The officer, feeling the weight of Carnot’s legal prowess and the lack of proper procedure on their part, reluctantly stepped back. “Very well, but be advised that any discrepancies will be reported and thoroughly investigated.”
“Of course, officer. We have nothing to hide,” Carnot replied smoothly. As the customs officers walked away, Pembroke let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Clémence. That was really impressive. However, I have something to admit.”
“Really?” Carnot arched his eyebrow.
“There was nothing untoward in the boxes, as I think you may have suspected,” chuckled Pembroke. “Let me show you.”
Pembroke led Carnot to the boxes. Underneath the screwed-off lids were packets of seeds and grains, carefully arranged across the top layer. “You see, no drugs here!” He smiled, lifting the lid to reveal the innocuous contents, though not delving too deeply within the box. “I just did not want those interfering customs police, the deep state, to interfere in my right to do business. And to be honest, Mr. Carnot, I wanted to see you in action. You really are worth your retainer.”
Carnot smirked, still proud of his legal performance as he ran his hands over the box, wondering what the initials “RH” stood for. “Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence. Just ensure all your dealings remain as legitimate as these grains and seeds appear to be.”
“Of course, Clémence,” Pembroke said, closing the box and locking it securely. “You have my word. Now, I just need to clarify a few things with my associates here. I hope you don’t mind my butchered Arabic,” he sighed self-deprecatingly.
“Oh, better than mine. I have none,” smiled Carnot, a little disappointed that a proud Englishman like Edward Pembroke should have to learn such an ugly tongue for business.
Pembroke turned to Nadim, switching to Arabic. “Take the boxes back to the complex. Khadija should be preserved as a virgin for now, at least in her vagina. I know you, Nadim, try and be gentle with her asshole!” He then moved his eyes to Carnot, speaking in English again, “This gentleman’s granddaughter, on the other hand, I want her brutally raped and knocked about a bit. She is a little crazy, and being given a good beating as well as rape might be the one treatment the spoiled little bitch has never had.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Nadim replied with a slight smile, trying not to giggle in the face of the arrogant lawyer.
“OK, well, be on your way. I should spend some time with this old man, clear a few things up in Paris, and get some sleep before returning later on!”
As Nadim and Dmitri wheeled the boxes away, Pembroke turned back to Carnot with a composed demeanor. “Thank you once again, Clémence. Why don’t we share a cab back to Paris? I have more business there but need to leave late this afternoon.”
Carnot was delighted, and the two chatted warmly about Pembroke’s business and Carnot’s unfair dismissal from Paris’ legal life as a result of the Charlotte Spencer saga.
“I worry about Clare, Mr. Pembroke,” he sighed. “She is so young and wild. She goes out all the time without telling me where she goes, stays out all night without her phone. One of these days, I fear she will end up like that poor girl Charlotte and disappear. Paris is full of undesirables these days, and a pretty young girl like Clare, who dresses as she does…” He sighed with genuine worry.
Pembroke listened, nodding sympathetically. “I understand your concern, Clémence. It’s a dangerous world out there, and young people often don’t realize the risks they take.”

🔞 Candy.AI 🔥 AI Sex Chat – Roleplay, Erotic Stories, Try for Free 🕹️

By Edward Pembroke
#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen