Slave Procurement Part 14 –

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#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen

By Edward Pembroke

The conclusion to the tale of Edward Pembroke’s sex slavery business, years later

JD Hart came home late from the bar in a small town in upstate New York, feeling the weight of his years and the alcohol in his veins. His hair, now gray, bore the marks of the last two tumultuous years. He glanced at the picture on the hallway wall of his daughter, Hailey Hart. She had disappeared while on vacation in Spain, never to be found. The photo showed a blonde, smiling girl, her face full of life, and JD felt a deep pang of sorrow as he thought about what had happened to her.
Since her disappearance, JD’s life had unraveled. He lost his job and his family; his wife and three remaining children had left him due to his violent, drunken outbursts. Now, alone in his home, he went into the room where he had created a shrine to Hailey. He reached for her favorite childhood toy, a cuddly red octopus, and sighed as he remembered how she had cherished it, even as a teenager.
He thought he heard a noise, but this was a safe neighborhood, miles from the city. He dismissed it and continued stroking the toy, lost in memories of Hailey’s love for it.
The noise came again, louder this time. JD got up to investigate, peering out of the room. The last thing he heard was a muffled gunshot. He felt a searing pain in his stomach and, before he could react, another shot rang out, striking him in the head. He collapsed to the floor, lifeless, his blood pooling around the cherished red octopus toy.
________________________________________
Isabela Silva had endured a traumatic few days. At just nineteen, she had an enjoyable, if hectic, life in Madrid, working as a bartender with plans to study accounting. She was accustomed to fending off amorous advances from men vying for her attention. Her black curly hair, bronze skin from her African heritage, a cute nose that wrinkled when she laughed, and black pools of eyes framed with large lashes made her stand out. Her long legs and hourglass figure, with a tiny waist, only added to her allure. Just a week ago, she had the world at her fingertips.
Then everything changed. A white van, a gun, a mysterious plane trip, and travel by truck—all while blindfolded—transported her a thousand miles away. Now, she found herself in a different world, one she had never imagined could exist in 2029.
She was in a place where girls were being trained as slaves, captured, and sold to powerful men. Among a gaggle of girls from around the world, Isabela saw varying degrees of resignation and acceptance of their new life. The staff members were vicious and lecherous, showing no compunction as they imposed their will on her since her arrival. The bright future she had once envisioned was now gone.
References to the “Master” echoed around her, inspiring awe and obedience among the girls. They all lived within one cell surrounded by clear Perspex walls, viewed like zoo animals by everyone in the main hall. The hall contained a variety of clinical equipment, bondage devices, and sinister glass coffins covered with ornamental carpets that emitted strange sounds. The girls whispered that these coffins contained horrible creatures like snakes and rats, used as punishment for those who did not obey their trainers or who defied their new status in life.
Isabela’s world had transformed into a nightmare, and she was currently outside of the cell, having been manhandled by one of the giant brutes who helped run the complex. She had been strapped to a table on her back. Like the other girls, she was, as she had been all the time since arriving, naked. Looming over her, practicing hair removal with electrolysis over her body, was an older female.
The older woman was incongruous. Unlike the other girls, and similar to the other older female overseers, she was older and clothed, albeit in outrageously sexualized clothing. She wore a black leather dominatrix outfit, complete with a corset that cinched her waist tightly, accentuating her curves. Thigh-high boots with stiletto heels clicked menacingly against the floor as she moved. Her outfit was adorned with metal studs and chains, and a small leather whip hung from her belt. The woman’s heavily made-up face wore a cruel smile as she continued her work, her eyes reflecting a cold, calculating malice. Most ominous were the tattoos covering her face, intricate designs that twisted and turned, adding an even more sinister edge to her already terrifying presence. Her jet-black hair, obviously dyed, framed her face, and her dark eyes held an unnerving, predatory gleam.
“What is going to happen to me?” whispered Isabela, hoping that despite her captor’s evil and sexual appearance, there might be a glimmer of gentleness within her.
“You are going to be trained here, to be the perfect slave, according to the Master’s high standards, and sold to an appropriate gentleman where you will live out the rest of your life,” the older woman said simply. “And you will refer to me as Madam, or Madam Nagy. I am just a woman, but the Master has given me authority over you girls, so you will all respect me.”
“Are you a slave too?” Isabela asked, her confusion growing. Was even the woman inflicting the painful zaps on her skin also a slave?
“Yes. The Master chose to keep me here to keep you girls in line and prepare you for your lives,” said the woman with a regretful air. “It was not my choice; it is the Master’s choice. Like you, I only stay alive by his wishes, but it is an honor to serve him. You will shortly dedicate your life to your own owner. We must all learn to serve and to accept our fate. Once you realize there is no escape, it becomes easier to serve and accept our lot.”
“But surely there must have been an escape. How long have you been here?”
“Madam. Call me Madam,” Madam Nagy gently slapped Isabela on the face, her smile tight.
“Sorry, Madam. How long have you been here?”
“I was captured four years ago, with my niece. I was a silly woman in the outside world. I had no future. Would you believe it,” the older woman smiled with pride, “but the Master convinced me, in the outside world, that he was in love with me,” she smiled to herself and laughed, “but of course, the Master was just teasing me. He wanted to capture me, and my niece, and two other girls. I was very useful to him without realizing it,” she muttered sadly.
“Was your niece sold?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Nagy’s expression turned distant, a mix of regret, sadness, and pride. “Lila. She served her owner well, from what I understand. I had been due to serve the same owner myself, but he sadly died. After that, well, we older women are not as popular as you young flowers,” she smiled and touched Isabela on the nose, “and I would not have blamed the Master if he disposed of me as I was of no use to him as a commercial product, but he allowed me to live, to serve him as a trainer and overseer here.”
“And you never saw your niece again?” Isabela’s eyes grew wide at the woman’s acceptance of this bizarre, awful world.
“No, I do not know what happened to her, and I do not ask. We are slaves for life. It would have been a blessing to see her again, but that is not up to me. It is up to her owner, and the Master, and what plans they had made. I have accepted that my fate is not mine to decide, and the same for her. I hope she accepted it too, whatever became of her and wherever she is, and that she did our Master proud.”
Isabela swallowed hard. This woman seemed to be utterly mad, completely institutionalized, or both. She had read about slavers who, in the last few years, had begun kidnapping girls and selling them. The state of the world and its deterioration had been frightening, but Brazil was just as dangerous as Spain, and she had tried to be careful, just not careful enough.
Mrs. Nagy tried not to think about Lila. She remembered how terrified and disgusted her niece had been while they were prisoners together and felt immense guilt for bringing her into this life. She had never dared to ask what had happened to her, not wanting to confront the obvious truth: she was dead.
Dr. Ivanov had died while having sex with Lila in his medical surgery in the basement underneath his home. Lila might have thought that his sudden heart attack was her ticket to freedom. Unfortunately, it was her death sentence. Dr. Ivanov’s wife, Lydia, had been shocked when she couldn’t access the basement and instead received a message to call a “Philippe Papin.” The gruesome truth about Dr. Ivanov’s life became clear to her soon after.
Pembroke’s girls were sold with several guarantees. One item of concern was that the buyers were invariably distinguished, respected family members, sometimes half a century older than their young slave girls. None wanted their deaths to bring an unpleasant blemish to their reputations and embarrass their families, so Pembroke offered a service of “cleaning up” evidence of their debauchery while their glowing obituaries were being prepared. In the case of Lila Kovacs, between Ivanov’s heart attack while abusing the slave girl over the operating table and his well-attended funeral, Edward Pembroke had attended to his property, consoled Lydia, and efficiently, quickly, and discreetly removed evidence of his evil hobby. In the process, he disposed of Lila without leaving a trace. He hated having to destroy his still beautiful and healthy young product, but it was a key selling point he boasted to his clients: they could relax in their old age with their slaves, knowing that they would not suffer undue scandal upon their deaths. Thus, plans were put in place to destroy their slaves immediately upon news of their Master’s passing.
“Why did the Master tattoo your face?” asked Isabela, fascinated by the older woman’s facial tattoos.
“It was his wish,” smiled Mrs. Nagy. “And also to stop himself from bringing me outside to help him capture girls,” she giggled to Isabela. “I would love to do that work. I am very loyal to the Master. I have no interest in escape, and I have so many ideas for bringing in more girls, but unfortunately, the outside world thinks I am missing, and there are still missing pictures and reports looking for me. So the Master decided it was too risky and, to avoid temptation, branded me.” Mrs. Nagy shrugged. “As long as the Master likes it, I like it.”
“But how can you enjoy kidnapping us? It’s awful, my family is missing me,” wailed Isabela.
“I am sorry, Isabela,” Mrs. Nagy sighed, though her eyes held no genuine remorse. “It is the way of nature. You girls should be better protected by your families. It is natural that, as a young, pretty girl, evil men will want to take you. Slavery is more well-known now, so you should have had more warning than I did four years ago. It is the way of nature,” she smiled nonchalantly. “The Master deserves me. He is not some oaf; he is clever, intelligent, charismatic, and he tricked me. I cannot complain. Your owner will have made his money somehow; he also deserves you. Life is not fair; the strong get what they want. The Master has me, and chooses to have me around, because I satisfy his wishes,” she declared with unsettling pride.
“The Master, and this whole disgusting operation, is evil. I hope he is caught.”
Mrs. Nagy’s expression darkened as she squeezed Isabela’s arm tightly. “You will not disparage the Master in any way in my presence, girl! You will show him respect. Not only will he punish you, but I will punish you too!” Her grip tightened, and her eyes flashed with a cold, cruel malice.
“I … I am sorry, Madam,” Isabela stammered, remembering her helplessness and the beatings and violent rapes she had already endured. She knew how easily she could descend into the most despicable punishments from here.
“It’s okay, darling, as long as you remember,” Mrs. Nagy said, her tone softening but still chilling. “I remember what it is like to be new here. You just have to get used to it and, above all, obey and want to obey. Take pride in pleasing your master. Tell me, how were you brought here?”
Isabela swallowed hard at the painful memory. “I’m from Brazil but living in Madrid. I was working a night shift in a bar and walking home like I did every night for weeks. A van just pulled up, and two guys jumped out in ski masks with guns, and pulled me in. They tied me up, and I never moved or was able to talk until I got here.”
Mrs. Nagy tutted. “Such a lack of finesse, no creativity. I keep telling the Master, if he let me out, none of you girls would be safe,” she giggled, seemingly unaffected by the alarming things she was saying. “Trickery works better than brute force. It sounds like Dmitri and Konrad,” she tutted again. “I would have gotten you,” she licked her lips unsettlingly, staring at the frightened Brazilian, “and maybe some of your good-looking friends too. You would have trusted me, an older woman. It would be so easy,” she laughed in frustration. “The Master really needs to let me out to get some girls for him,” she laughed.
Isabela felt a coldness descend on her as she realized there was no way out; everyone here was evil in their own way. This obscenely dressed woman, even more sexual in her clothes than naked, was more of a pervert than the rest of them.
“Will I ever see my family again?” Isabela whispered.
Mrs. Nagy just smiled primly and shook her head. “Absolutely not. Oh, unless you have some hot cousins and sisters, do you?”
Isabela asked, “Why? What does that have to—do you mean—?”
“Yes, if they are easily available. But also, if you misbehave, your family are hostages, remember that. Don’t think it is an idle threat, and it continues after you are sold. If you decide that you don’t want to participate in your new life, even to the extent of trying to end it yourself, then your family will be targeted. I have seen proof of it many times. Don’t you worry, the Master does not issue threats he does not carry out!”
“But he cannot do anything if the police or the … world catch him.”
“Maybe,” shrugged Mrs. Nagy. “But it hasn’t happened yet. What does that tell you? A lot of very powerful men like or tolerate this.”
“How can you like living here?”
“Well, I have no choice, but it’s all I have now. I wouldn’t know what to do outside anymore. I was a lost, stupid little girl who was getting old. I needed direction, and I get it here. And I still need correction every now and then,” she turned to Isabela and pulled up her tiny micro skirt, showing her buttocks which were crisscrossed with red lines. “The Master did this a few weeks ago. Only He is allowed to punish me,” she said proudly. “I still need to be punished to keep me performing, but well, I also think,” Mrs. Nagy blushed, “that the Master cares about me.”
“I just want this to stop. I think I will lose my mind,” sobbed Isabela.
“Isabela, you seem like a nice girl,” Mrs. Nagy ran her hands over her fleshy, pneumatic breasts rising up like little from her chest. “I think you might be fun in bed. A rare treat for the girls here is to spend a night in my bedroom.” She moved closer to Isabela’s face. “You get to wear nice underwear, nice cotton panties,” she ran her hand over Isabela’s still stubbly pussy, “in a warm bed, with me—a little respite from these other bitches.” Mrs. Nagy then ran her finger along Isabela’s pussy lips and licked it. “Yes, I think it might be nice for both of us. What do you think?”
Isabela just turned her face away, trying to focus on something else while Mrs. Nagy continued her work on her and chuckled, “Think on it, girl. Soon you will be begging for my bed.”
________________________________________
Edward Pembroke was relaxing in the business lounge at JFK airport, dressed in a tailored navy Tom Ford suit that accentuated his sharp, confident demeanor. His Rolex Submariner, a recent addition to his collection, gleamed on his wrist, a source of quiet pride for him. He wore a pair of Cartier glasses, their sleek design complementing his polished look. Sipping his coffee while working on his laptop, he effortlessly attracted the attention of a mother and daughter pair nearby.
Susan Potter and her daughter Matilda were on a month-long holiday to Europe, excited to see the sights. Both women, accustomed to the luxuries that their considerable wealth afforded them, were glad to be away from the tourist riffraff for their flight to London from New York. Susan, a strikingly beautiful blonde with a tall, attractive figure and an air of sophistication, was intrigued by the handsome, mysterious businessman making calls in various languages. Her daughter Matilda, with model-like looks, the same blonde hair, and a graceful, tall stature, watched her widowed mother’s obvious attraction with amusement. Susan couldn’t help but feel proud of her daughter’s stunning appearance, the resemblance between them uncanny.
“Excuse me, are you French?” Susan drawled in an upper-class New England accent. “It’s my favorite accent.”
“Well, I am a citizen of the world,” Pembroke replied smoothly, running his hand through his greying wavy hair. “But French is just one of the languages I speak fluently. And you two look like sisters, if I may say so. Ready for the catwalk in Paris?” he added with a smile.
“Oh, you!” Susan laughed at the compliment. “This is my daughter, Matilda. She should be a model, don’t you think? Look at her!” she beamed. “I’m Susan, Susan Potter.”
“Edward Pembroke, at your service,” Pembroke responded, shaking her hand.
“We’re off on a month-long trip. If you have any recommendations…” Susan said, moving a bit closer to him with a sparkle in her eye.
“I would love to help with that,” Pembroke smiled. He glanced at his phone. “Sorry, I need to take this call. It’s going to be another French conversation. Can you speak it?”
Matilda interjected, “No, we can’t understand a word, don’t worry.” She laughed, “My mom and I know like three words between us. That’s why we need a guide.” She winked at Pembroke and nudged her mother.
Pembroke smiled back and answered the phone, switching to French. “Ah, General Nbuki, I hope all is well?”
“Pembroke, my Hailey still doesn’t eat or drink without it being forced down her throat. The whip doesn’t make much difference, but I don’t want a bloody mess, not when she is still such a pretty white girl,” the general laughed down the phone.
Pembroke sighed with distaste at the brutal Congolese warlord’s lack of tact and manners, but his diamond mine was lucrative enough to afford him one of his highly prized products, a young American girl, Hailey Hart.
“Well, General, she did come with a warning that she was feisty, but we trained her hard and well, and she exhibited good compliant behavior when she was transferred. There had been a notable uptick in her performance after we murdered her uncle. It is very unfortunate with these selfish girls that it takes a death in their family for them to realize the gravity of their responsibilities and improve their conduct. Has she been informed about her father’s death?”
“Yes, she reacted badly, as you would expect, and she refuses to believe it.”
“Well of course,” Pembroke said sympathetically. “The death of a father is always a tragic event, and given that she is mostly responsible for his passing through her behavior, it is only expected that she feels guilty as well. One must allow for a period of grieving.”
“Well, if this doesn’t work, I think I will just dispose of her. It is a bit annoying, Pembroke. You know she is only nineteen, with a beautiful body. I wanted to have her until she was thirty-five. I cannot afford a new slave girl every two years!”
“Of course, General,” said Pembroke sympathetically. “I fully understand your concerns.” He looked at the red octopus toy he had with him as part of his hand luggage. “I have one of her childhood toys which I will send you. It should prove as a reinforcement that we have reached her family, and that her father is dead. It’s red, and if you look closely, you can see her father’s blood still on it,” Pembroke flicked some dried blood off his fingertips. “Who knows, it may even comfort her.”
“I hope so, Pembroke,” the general responded. “If it doesn’t work, what should I do?”
“It is up to you, General. Remember, this is a free service to ensure her compliance. She has a large family; she will know that our threats will not end with her father, after her uncle. Frankly, she needs to grow up. She is nineteen, not a child. She needs to think of her family when she is told to perform for you.”
“Well, I appreciate the efforts you have gone to, Pembroke,” the general conceded. “And I do hope this motivates Hailey. Once she gets over the shock, as you say, it would be a shame to have to go through her whole family because she refuses to carry out … the kind of things I like.”
Pembroke momentarily squirmed at his memory of “the kind of things” the general liked. Truly, he was a purveyor to exotic tastes but always had to remember, the customer is always right.
“I hope you tell your friends, General,” Pembroke laughed congenially. New slavers were entering the market, and his new add-on services were not just generous; they were necessary to outcompete his competitors.
“I will, Pembroke. You are a good man to do business with. Send me the toy, and hopefully Hailey will soon become a bit more sprightly!” he laughed.
Pembroke ended the call. “Forgive me, I am very busy, even while traveling.”
“That’s okay,” Susan said, draping herself over the sofa across from him. “I could listen to you talk French all day.”
“What do you do?” Matilda asked, crossing her legs and showing off her short denim skirt, mirroring her mother’s flirtatious behavior towards the mysterious man.
“I work in recruitment. I match individuals with employers around the world,” Pembroke replied.
“Oh, what industry?” Matilda continued, intrigued.
“Very high-end, discreet services for the super-rich,” Pembroke smiled. “Soft skills, people skills, that are very hard to certify on paper, but they rely on me to judge who is going to be a great asset or not.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Susan said, crossing her legs under her summer dress, eyeing his expensive clothes. “You sound very interesting, Mr. Pembroke.”
Pembroke smiled, appreciating their interest. “Thank you, Susan. It’s a unique line of work, and it keeps me quite busy. But it’s always rewarding to make the right match.”
“It would be great if you could recommend us places to see and stay,” said Susan. “You see, I’m worried about Matilda here. She is gorgeous.”
“I can see, just like her mother,” Pembroke smiled.
Susan laughed again, and Matilda smiled and blushed. “Oh, on a serious note,” Susan said, “we have heard so much about these human traffickers and slavers in Europe now. It’s gotten so dangerous in the last few years! I just want to enjoy our holiday knowing we will be safe and that some filthy kidnapper is not going to take us away to be sold at a slave market!”
“Mom, don’t exaggerate,” giggled Matilda.
“Your mother is right,” Pembroke said, sipping his coffee. “It’s a serious concern, and I commend you for thinking about it. I would be happy to give you peace of mind and some recommendations to avoid any untoward risks from these inhumane people. It’s such a vile thing; I never heard of such a thing until recently!”
“Why do you think it sprung up all of a sudden, and why can’t it be stopped?” Matilda asked with concern.
“Well, I can only assume that unfortunately, governments and men in power are involved or interested in it. It is awful; one can only imagine the torment families go through, wondering if their daughters are dead or serving…” Pembroke took his glasses off and squeezed his eyes. “I am so sorry, it makes me angry, hearing about the recent cases.”
“Oh yes,” Susan said, “that recent case about that Greek politician who had a Chinese girl in his basement, kidnapped from a trekking trip in Morocco, that was insane!”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Matilda laughed. “Plenty of girls wouldn’t mind being the slave of some handsome millionaire,” she said, thinking of the Greek politician’s handsome face as he was led away to prison.
“That story turned my stomach,” said Pembroke. Indeed, it had made him very angry. Nikolas Papadopoulos had asked him for a slave, but Pembroke had turned him down, thinking, correctly, he was not a serious person. He was proved correct when Papadopoulos allowed his slave, purchased from an alternative provider, to escape. This, along with other amateur slavers who allowed their employees to be arrested while trying to kidnap girls, or who sold them to clients with money but soft natures who then released them, had put the whole slaver industry in a precarious position. Fortunately, Pembroke’s own organization had remained steady, profitable, and reputable while other opportunists made quick money and then ended up in prison.
“I’m sorry, we should talk about something else,” Susan said, casting a stern eye at her daughter. “Forgive my daughter.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Pembroke brightened. He looked at his phone again. “Forgive me, another call, Arabic this time. I hope you won’t be listening in,” he laughed.
“Again, we just speak English,” Susan sighed. “I can’t help but feel sad we miss out on so much being monoglots.”
Pembroke smiled sympathetically, then answered his phone. “Ah, Mr. Al-Mansour, how are you? I presume you got my message?”
“Yes, Mr. Pembroke. It is disappointing, but to be expected. I know you try your best.”
“Yes, young Diana is very well protected, though she does not know it. Kidnapping her, getting her out, and making it seem like an accident without leaving a body is very difficult, even with common girls. With a well-connected family like Diana’s, I am afraid it just would not be possible. Given your connection to her father, it would be negligent of me to recommend it to you, as the investigations would never cease.”
“Yes, thank you for that, Mr. Pembroke. I know you are a consummate professional.”
“Now, I have plenty of other girls in my cellar…”
“I am interested, yes, Mr. Pembroke, and Diana is beautiful, but it’s more than just sex, as you are probably well aware,” Mr. Al-Mansour’s tone darkened. “I am afraid I want you to continue with Diana, but forget about the kidnapping part. I just want her dead.”
“Oh, rather final then!” Pembroke raised his eyebrow. “If it makes you feel better, Mr. Al-Mansour, one would never know from dealings with her father that you hated him that much!”
“Yes, well, I like the fact he will never find out who did it. I have a dinner with his family next month, and whether Diana is in your hands or mine, or rotting away in a hole in the ground somewhere, the main thing is I want to see an empty seat where she usually sits and I want to be offering her father condolences.”
Pembroke sighed at the driven nature of these high-net-worth individuals. Sociopathy was a nasty trait, bad for Diana, but wonderful for Mr. Al-Mansour’s business acumen and his ability to pay Pembroke handsomely for the gruesome task. Well, he thought, if he wanted to do business with nice people, he would have opened a cupcake shop.
“I must say it is against our business ideals to carry out straightforward hit jobs. It feels like a cheat and a waste of a beautiful young woman,” Pembroke sighed. “Are you sure you could not be placated by one of my other girls?”
“Perhaps as well, but Diana has to disappear, and if you cannot capture her for a slave, then she should become a corpse to be buried by her family. Her living happily ever after is not an option,” Mr. Al-Mansour said, his tone carrying a subtle threat.
“Very well, Mr. Al-Mansour. Now, we will still have to do surveillance, and one must understand there is an opportunity cost not just of pursuing other girls but of the potential resale value of a girl like Diana that has been lost.”
“You don’t have to transport her or train her, or come up with an elaborate story about why her body is never recovered, Mr. Pembroke. I expect a good discount.”
Pembroke thought about what other services he could add on for more value. “Would you like it if Diana was … violated before her particularly brutal passing?”
“Yes,” Mr. Al-Mansour smiled down the phone. “Of course, it must still be untraceable, but yes, I want her father to know that it happened to her!”
Pembroke promised himself he would not get in Mr. Al-Mansour’s crosshairs. He was very different in private from the public genial Iraqi online services provider who had risen from scrap metal buyer to billionaire.
“Well, that will, of course, cost more than a bullet to the head.”
“$100,000,” said Mr. Al-Mansour.
“Oh, sir,” Pembroke was wounded. “We are talking about the taking of a human life here, not just a kidnapping, and with added-on particulars. I should think $400,000 is a fair price.”
“$300,000 then,” Al-Mansour said. “And I want the rape to be really brutal.”
“Very well, $300k then. We will adjust our plans accordingly, and it should be doable within the next month,” Pembroke smoothly allayed his concerns.
“Good. Thank you, Pembroke. Keep me informed,” Al-Mansour hung up.
Pembroke turned to the Potter women after hanging up.
“That seemed like a tense negotiation, but I sense you held your own,” Susan smiled at Pembroke, admiring his skill at negotiating even though she did not understand the language.
“One does not always encounter such conversationalists as yourselves,” Pembroke grinned. “It is a pleasure to talk about anything but work.”
“Even if it’s about sex slavery,” giggled Matilda.
“Matilda,” scolded Susan. “Mr. Pembroke, we should meet up in London. I can tell you where we plan to go, and you can help us plan. Unless your wife objects…”
“Oh, I am divorced,” sighed Pembroke. “Of course, we are still close, and I still love my daughters. I always like to bring them something home from my travels.” He held up his red octopus.
“What is that? Looks cute!” smiled Matilda.
“I have a sense for what my daughter likes, and it makes me think of her when I look at what I need to buy for her. It makes me remember what it is all for.”
Susan took the toy and stroked it admiringly. Divorced? This just got interesting. She handed it back, barely noticing the tiny flecks of dried blood that had gotten on her dress from it.
“Yes, London is my town. I can show you so many things,” he smiled at them. He suddenly sighed again. “Would you believe it? Another phone call, this time in Russian!” he laughed.
The Potter women listened to the incomprehensible language as they eyed each other. Matilda grinned at her mother, knowing she really fancied this man.
“Ah Dmitri, how are things? Have you scouted out the interception point?” Pembroke asked, his tone businesslike.
“Yes, boss. I’ve seen her walk past about seven times now, same route, alone, to school. The jammer is working, so we think we have a ten-minute window to get her and disappear.”
“Excellent. The buyer is getting so impatient he has increased his bid for her! He wants her to stay in her school uniform, so please don’t rip it, and she must remain a virgin, not just her vagina, so tell Nadim to control himself!”
Dmitri chuckled down the phone. “Yes, boss, we know. It will be business but fun. It’s nice seeing her walk through the park in her little uniform every day, not having any idea she is getting close to disappearing off the face of the earth forever.”
“Absolutely,” Pembroke said. “But we might have some more targets as well. In fact, they might even be accompanying young Jessica on her new journey to our complex.”
“Oh, boss? Are these recently added targets?”
“I have only just met them,” Pembroke said happily. “American, mother and daughter, my favorite combination. The mother is about forty-five, blonde, with nice big tits, around five foot six, and still has a good figure. Her daughter looks about eighteen, very similar, blonde, nice tits as well, and really slim. I might be in a position to control their travel itinerary; they are in London tonight. I will try to find out more and send Konrad the details so we can get a full background check on them. I am getting on a flight to London now. Hopefully, by the time I land and the females are verified to be good targets, I can set up procurement, maybe in England or France. I will keep you posted, but of course, the main focus is on Jessica for now.”
Putting his phone down again, Pembroke turned and smiled at the women. “What do you girls do?”
“Oh, we are ladies of leisure,” said Susan. “I feel guilty pulling you away from work, but you seemed to enjoy that call more!”
“Oh yes, some calls are better than others,” he smiled. “We were discussing a successful placement. It’s always satisfying to see when someone’s dreams come true in my line of work. I feel great knowing I can change someone’s life, and sometimes it hits them when they least expect it, realizing their life will change forever. The anticipation of a successful placement can be even more thrilling than the placement itself.”
“Sounds amazing,” Matilda’s eyes shone at him. “You have a fascinating job, Edward.”
“Oh, it looks like your flight is boarding. Edward, I hope that we will be together in first class?”
“Well, I will be there,” grinned Pembroke. “You ladies would be wonderful company for the flight.”
As they began to walk off, he groaned apologetically. “One more call, ladies, this time in English so you can be nosy and listen in!”
The ladies pricked up their ears as the tall, handsome man strode beside them, taking the call.
“Ahmed, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Eddie. We need to talk, now. I know you are flying to London. I have booked a restaurant in Mayfair for us, I will send you the details. It’s urgent.”
“Well, Ahmed, thank you, but that is such late notice, and I might have plans,” Pembroke arched his eyebrows towards the smiling American blondes.
“I will explain later, but you need to know that the King is dying. The Crown Prince will shortly be King, and things are going to change in Amzaria. This will affect your organization and our arrangements, Eddie. So I want you to meet me immediately after you land.”
“Oh, goodness, that is quite a development. But it was surely to be expected. Surely, though, things should go on as they always have.”
“It’s a new world, Eddie. We live in the old one. I’ll speak to you tonight. Enjoy your flight.”
Pembroke ended the call and turned to the women with a reassuring smile.
“It seems I have some unexpected developments to address,” he said, his tone light. “But let’s not dwell on that right now. I’m looking forward to our time together. If you’re ready, we should head to the departure gate.”
Susan tilted her head slightly, her eyes sparkling. “You’re too kind, Edward. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you. I’m looking forward to our time in London.”
Edward Pembroke felt confident striding into the illustrious “L’Ambrosia” restaurant in Mayfair, central London, being shown to his table while still wearing his clothes from New York earlier in the day. A bit of plastic surgery had helped him feel more at ease about hiding from his past life here, but even the clothes and confidence from his new riches disguised him just as much.
“Ahmed, a pleasure,” he greeted, extending his hand to the tall, impeccably dressed Arab man. Ahmed Al-Masri exuded an aura of class, elegance, and power, his tailored suit a perfect complement to his commanding presence.
“Edward Pembroke,” Ahmed said coldly. “Sometimes I forget I created you.”
“Come on, Ahmed, we can still enjoy the food here,” Pembroke winked, “as long as it’s on the Azmarian government’s account.”
“You lead me to our main topic, Eddie,” Ahmed said unsmilingly. “It’s about your enterprise, which I rather worryingly think of as our enterprise, given its highly illegal nature.”
“Ahmed, I have supplied the Crown Prince with ten girls now, and many other members of the Royal Family. They are very attached to my services, and of course, I have branched out.”
“I knew it would cause a headache sooner or later,” sighed Ahmed.
“You said you had news about the old King?” asked Pembroke, eyeing the menu.
“He is ninety-six years old, throat cancer, a month to live, hardly unexpected,” Ahmed said dryly. “The Crown Prince is terrified of finally getting a job for the first time in his life.”
“It’s a constitutional monarchy, though?”
“Not like here. The old man lived long enough that people just accepted things like eunuchs and what are basically slaves in the palaces. The rumors of white slaves are just that—rumors, but if anyone finds out the King of Azmaria has white English and French slaves that were kidnapped from the streets years ago, it would cause an international incident or war and the end of the monarchy.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you thought of that when you asked me to provide the girls.”
“Well, the old King held everything together,” said Ahmed. “The liberals have been waiting impatiently for this moment, and the Crown Prince is good for bossing around slaves inside his dungeons but nothing else. The palaces are going to be opened up for inspection and auditing, and the Prime Minister wants to launch inquiries into behavior going back 50 years.”
“Oh dear,” Pembroke said. “I’m sure the Crown Prince has been rather naughty.”
“It’s me as well. I don’t give a fuck about the Crown Prince, a disgusting coward of a human being,” snarled Ahmed. “We just need to cover things up, and sadly some fun traditions have to end. Sex slavery being number one on the list.”
“I presume the lovely girls within the Crown Prince’s harem, who have done so well to stay alive, will shortly be given the chop?”
“Yes, the Crown Prince broke down in tears, not because he wanted to save their lives but because he was terrified he would lose his toys. He begged for another month with them, before the last possible day, and then they are to be disposed of, quickly and without trace, along with his loyal staff, some of whom have been with the Royal Family for half a century.”
“Well, sounds harsh,” laughed Pembroke. “But Ahmed, my dear fellow, while I am sad to lose such a wonderful client, there is such a feeding frenzy all over the world now for my kind of product. I have not let you down, none of my girls have escaped, nor have they even been suspected of being sex slaves, they just…” pfff “disappear. You can trust us. Surely we can continue to serve the world with our product?”
At that moment, a young woman approached—beautiful, with brown hair and an elegant face—a college student, in a smart pencil skirt and blouse to take their order.
The men smiled at the young woman and gave their orders. “There are millions of men who would pay for that girl to disappear into their own private dungeons, Ahmed. It is a crime against human nature to try and stop people like me from taking her!”
“You have made your money, Eddie. Enjoy yourself and disappear.” Ahmed sipped his water. “Let someone else take her. You are connected to us at the hip. We set you up, we give you passports, we take a commission from sales. We cannot let you continue. So I am sorry, but you need to stop.”
Pembroke sighed. He guessed Al-Masri was right. He should stop; it was only a matter of time before he was caught. But it was such an addictive business as he looked at the wealth of the clientele and the poor, beautiful young women serving them.
“So you want me to sell up and disappear into the sunset?”
“A little more clear cut than that, Eddie. Not so much an ‘everything must go’ as an ‘everything must die.’ We don’t want more products going on. We are prepared to offer you a lump sum to compensate you for the loss of profit, but we would prefer your girls to be terminated immediately and end up as ashes rather than remain around for years. Of course, we do not expect you to recall your existing products; we long accepted that risk. Oh, and cease all your current operations.”
“That’s a pity,” said Pembroke. He was thinking of Jessica Miller, and how he had spent weeks leering at her over social media and candid photos, trailing her as she walked to and from school each day in her uniform. Just fourteen, she had been a highly desired target, and now he would have to inform the buyer that the operation would have to be canceled, and young Jessica would make it to school tomorrow after all, never having any idea of the stroke of luck that had just intervened on her behalf. He also thought of Susan and Matilda Potter. Oh well, he could still have some fun with Susan, he smiled, though it would have to be entirely consensual and end with her going back happily to her family. He sighed ruefully.
“I am surprised you haven’t been caught already, Eddie,” remarked Ahmed dryly. “You’ve sailed too close to the wind. I was quite concerned when I heard that Amanda Bridgerton had committed suicide by jumping off a cliff, yet her body was never found.”
“Oh, that,” Pembroke smiled. “Well, I told you, the poor girl had a traumatic few years. The rape, the trial collapsing when the accused disappeared,” he winked, “and the videos of her naked being circulated endlessly. It was hardly unexpected that she would kill herself.”
“You made it personal, Eddie. I presume she recognized you at some point?”
“Yes, she did, but don’t worry, it was a special arrangement,” Pembroke said, sipping his water again. “She was sold directly to a specialist client of mine. He has a high turnover of products, if you know what I mean. Only the naughtiest girls get sold to him. In fact, it’s a shame you’re not giving me more time to get rid of my stock. He would be an ideal purchaser for a mass end-of-life sale.”
“No more sales, Eddie, and no more abductions,” Ahmed said firmly.
“What about my loyal staff?” Pembroke asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Those freaks and degenerates will never be able to get a new job,” Al-Masri laughed. “Eddie, I hope you don’t have any loyalty to them. We both know you have no pensions ready for them. It’s best their employment is terminated—permanently.”
“I suppose it is kindest, in many ways,” said Pembroke wistfully. “Kidnapping, holding, and torturing people isn’t the kind of thing one puts on a CV, and it would probably be better for humanity if such individuals were not in the employment market.” Pembroke sipped his water again. “And you’re right, I had vague suggestions for a pension, but as yet, my salary outgoings are remarkably low. They probably expect a reward at the end of employment. Yes, from a business point of view, a permanent cutting of ties would be better for all of us.”
“I will be inspecting your complex soon, Eddie—in about ten days. By then, ‘Bereketli Yemcilik’ should be insolvent, and their complex should have suffered a catastrophic fire. There should be no trace of employees, and undeniable evidence that all the people we’ve discussed are no longer among the living.”
At that moment, the waitress returned with their food. She was beautiful, with a bright smile and an air of happiness, completely unaware that she was serving such evil men.
________________________________________
It had been a difficult week for Edward Pembroke. Far from the glamour of New York and London, he was back at the complex, fielding furious calls from clients about aborted abductions. Pembroke had, in a bid to placate them, merely insisted the operations would be delayed.
And they might well be. Pembroke was keeping notes and potential clients. He watched Jessica Bridgerton’s TikTok profile, frustrated that she was with her parents and not currently being branded by Mrs. Al-Haraz, but he promised himself that her time would come, once he had set himself up somewhere else, perhaps as a lone sole trader.
He had explained to the staff that there needed to be modifications to the complex in anticipation of a major government inspection, so there could be no more girls, and the existing ones had to be sold quickly to handle the inspection and renovation. He did not want to tell anyone that the complex would soon be burnt to the ground and that his staff had only a week to live.
However, in direct contravention of Ahmed’s orders, annoyed at having to obey him and eager to make money, Pembroke instinctively set up a fire sale. Prices were lower than usual, and he winced as Isabela, who had only just arrived, was sold for the paltry sum of $50,000 to a loyal customer who had set up his private island off the coast of Scotland. He told himself it was better than disposing of her for nothing.
He was not stupid; he knew that it was not just his staff and his girls that Al-Masri and others in the Royal Family wanted dead. He was a liability, and he wanted as much money as possible because he planned to disappear from Al-Masri as well as from the rest of the world soon. And while he cringed at the low prices the girls were sold for to the lucky buyers, he at least consoled himself with the fact that no commission was being paid on the sale prices.
The days went by and a feeding frenzy started after rumors abounded that Edward Pembroke was selling up. He was contacted by Kenji Takahashi, a Japanese porn baron and gangster.
“Edward, my old friend, I hear you are offering good prices!”
“Kenji, you old devil,” Pembroke sighed down the phone, “you’re going to take advantage of me, I suppose?”
“Hehe, well, I thought now might be a good time to indulge my even wilder tastes.”
“Do you still have the girls I sold you?”
“Oh, Miriam and Linh?” asked Kenji. “Yes, still here! Good girls, very obedient, still very young, and I am very fond of them, which is why I wanted new fresh stock for what I desire.”
“Those girls will have you around their little fingers,” laughed Pembroke.
“Oh, don’t worry, I still keep them in line. Linh can barely sit down at the moment; I whipped her like a dog across her ass last week, just for fun!”
“Good to now you are not going soft in your old age! So how can I help?”
“Well, I’ve got a pet tiger, and I’ve always had this wild idea of pitting him against a real live human. You know, a woman with a fierce spirit, preferably someone a bit older. I thought I’d keep her around for a few days, have some fun, and then see how she fares against the tiger. Capture it all on film for posterity, that sort of thing. Do you have anyone suitable?”
“Interesting!” Pembroke’s tone was that of an enthusiastic salesman, though he sighed inwardly. It was inevitable that these depraved requests would come. The girls’ expensive price was often their best defense against an early, brutal death.
“Yes, it is something that I also wanted. Linh and Miriam are nice meek girls, and I want to keep them around for a few more years yet. I want an older woman, someone who has lived, but is still beautiful.”
“Well,” thought Pembroke, “my current products are all quite young; the oldest is twenty-two.”
“I can wait. There is no hurry,” Kenji replied.
“How much would you be willing to pay?” asked Pembroke, his interest piqued.
“$300,000. It’s cheap when you consider actress salaries, and this would be the role of a lifetime,” Kenji laughed. “And all for a few days’ work! I don’t plan on making money from the movie, but it would be nice to finally release it—assuming the actress wouldn’t be traced back to me.”
Pembroke thought for a moment and said, “Hang on.” He called in Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Al-Haraz, and Mrs. Nagy to his office. They came in and lined up in front of him. Mrs. Parker was in her late forties and getting plumper; her breasts were large and sagging, and her looks were fading. Pembroke had practically commanded she wear more modest clothing. Mrs. Al-Haraz was still fierce and had a beautiful body, albeit with a burned-off face. Mrs. Nagy was still the beautiful woman Pembroke had seduced on the flight to Azmaria, four years older but still had an athletic body, shown off by her red bikini.
“Line up, ladies. I am going to take a photo of you,” Pembroke said, snapping a picture and sending it to Kenji. “Now, ladies, leave us.” He spoke back to Kenji. “Those are my staff. Normally, they are not for sale; they are worth more as trainers and overseers. But in view of business operational overhauls and reorganizations, I would be happy to let one of them move on to a new life—or death—elsewhere for the right price.”
“I prefer the tall woman with black hair,” Kenji referred to Mrs. Nagy.
“Excellent. We can agree on $300,000,” Pembroke was delighted. He was sad to lose her, but he would soon lose her anyway. And the money helped sweeten his despair at seeing so much good product slip through his fingers for low money. “She really is a tiger. I must insist, however, that I get to see the movie!” he smiled down the phone.
“Haha, it’s a deal, Edward. I am looking forward to it. I can fly her over with a jet from your place.”
“Fantastic,” Pembroke was delighted. More stock off his hands, more money, and an interesting conclusion to Katalin Nagy’s life as a slave.
________________________________________
One man who had his hands full over the next week was Clemence Carnot. The old man, now needing a walking stick to get to his laptop at home, sat down next to a picture of Clare Carnot, whom he had never given up seeking. He touched the picture tearfully as he started up his laptop and joined a video call with his best client, Edward Pembroke.
“Clemence, how are things?” Pembroke said kindly to the old man, noting the toll the years had taken on him.
“Oh, I’m good, Edward. You know, I just realized it’s soon the fourth anniversary of Clare’s disappearance, and also it’s been four years since you started instructing me. Funny, I never noticed that before. But no matter, life goes on. It’s hard, trying to remember her,” Carnot said sadly.
“I’m so sorry, Clemence.” Pembroke ruefully realized that if he were to mark the anniversary of every girl’s disappearance that he had been involved in, he would not have many free days left in the year.
“But I still have work to do,” Carnot said proudly. “And I will make sure all your transactions go through smoothly!”
“Thank you, Clemence. It’s a lot to ask for. This week we have a lot of activity. Then it should be relatively quiet.”
“I hope so. You know, Edward, maybe it’s just Clare’s anniversary making me sentimental but…” Clemence sighed, and Pembroke thought he saw a tear.
“Go on, Clemence, what is on your mind?” Pembroke was concerned.
“Edward, I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t care if what you are doing is illegal or what drugs you are selling. At least you seem to be selling them to everyone and not just Western countries. In fact, I would rather you send our trash to them than the other way around,” he laughed bitterly.
Pembroke laughed uneasily, thinking of how successfully Carnot had arranged to have the ‘trash’ sent around the world, including his own granddaughter. “Well, Clemence, we do recognize diversity in our market…”
“No matter. Look, Edward, for God’s sake, just stay safe. And whatever happens,” he breathed in, “thank you for what you did for me, my friend.”
Pembroke smiled tightly, meaningfully. He knew what he referred to. Carnot had spent over a year obsessing over Clare’s disappearance and, in particular, fixated on Rabah Bougherra, who had fled to Algeria and whom he was convinced was the culprit. The French police had tried to extradite him to no avail. Carnot’s anguish was intensified when a video surfaced, seemingly of Bougherra taking part in what appeared to be a gang rape of Clare in a park near the club where she was last seen with him. Furious that he was being taunted, the video had given him a stroke.
He had approached Edward for help, convinced of his underworld connections. Edward had arranged for Bougherra to be kidnapped outside Algiers and forced to confess on video, addressing Carnot directly, admitting his part in the rape, murder, and disposal of Clare. He was then shot dead on video by his assailants.
Carnot had learned where Clare’s body was but could not show the video to the police for obvious reasons or reveal why he knew so much. According to Bougherra’s tearful confession, Clare’s body was buried somewhere in a park near the exclusive Parisian neighborhood of Neuilly-sur-Seine.
One of the reasons why Carnot, despite his advancing years, had worked so hard for Pembroke over the last few years was because he needed to finance his search of the park. He rented different parts to dig up at a time, looking for the body, fighting local authorities and police interference, and angrily berating them publicly for failing to find his daughter. He had already remortgaged his house and really needed Pembroke’s work just to stay afloat now.
Many local residents were angry, baffled, or concerned, thinking Clemence Carnot had lost his mind due to the tragic loss of his granddaughter. One particular individual, however, found the whole affair quite amusing. Laurent Dubois had been a trainee under the tyrannical rule of Clemence Carnot in his early years as a lawyer and had been relentlessly bullied. Determined to surpass his former mentor, Dubois rose through the ranks, started his own firm, and seized a major client deal that Carnot lost after his name was tarnished by the kidnapping scandal involving Charlotte Spencer. Using every ounce of his guile, ruthlessness, and unscrupulous tactics, Dubois maneuvered his way to becoming one of France’s top lawyers, reveling in the power his underhanded methods afforded him.
His wealth allowed him to construct a mansion in Neuilly-sur-Seine. While his wife and children resided in one wing, he had a private, secret basement built for his own use. Through various dealings, he became acquainted with Edward Pembroke and was thrilled to discover that Monsieur Carnot’s granddaughter was available as a commodified human being. The decision to mislead Carnot about the park in view of Dubois’s home had been the result of a private joke between Pembroke and Dubois, each sharing the same twisted sense of humor.
As Dubois laughed out his window at the old fool throwing away his life’s savings digging holes in search of Clare, he took great pleasure in venturing to his basement, where the real Clare Carnot was held captive. The basement was a modern-day dungeon, a chamber of horrors reminiscent of medieval times.
The fourth anniversary of her disappearance featured on a TV news bulletin had just made Dubois hornier to get home that day.
Clare was shackled to the cold stone walls, her wrists bound by heavy iron manacles that cut into her flesh. Dubois reveled in her torment, employing instruments of pain that harkened back to the Dark Ages. He would use a cat-o’-nine-tails whip, its leather strands embedded with shards of glass, to lash her back, leaving her skin raw and bleeding. An iron maiden, a spiked sarcophagus, stood ominously in the corner, a constant reminder of the suffering that awaited her if she defied him.
He would also employ a rack, stretching her limbs to the brink of dislocation while she screamed in agony. Dubois took particular delight in using a thumbscrew, tightening it slowly, crushing her delicate bones while watching her writhe in pain. His cruelty extended to clamping her nipples with iron pincers, applying excruciating pressure that sent waves of agony through her body. Sometimes he would attach weights to these clamps, letting them dangle and pull, intensifying her torment. Each visit to his basement was a new opportunity for sadistic pleasure, as he devised increasingly cruel ways to break her spirit and relish in her suffering by extension, that of his long time rival.
That particular evening, as Carnot worked away on Pembroke’s transactions, Dubois approached a wooden bench, positioning Clare face down and securing her wrists and ankles with leather straps. He reached for a heavy leather strap, its edges worn from frequent use. He brought it down with a loud crack on her buttocks, leaving red welts in its wake. The sharp sting made Clare cry out in pain, but Dubois was far from done.
Next, he picked up a cane, thin and flexible, and began delivering precise, agonizing strikes across her bare buttocks. Each lash left a searing line of pain, the cane whistling through the air before making contact with her tender flesh. Clare’s cries echoed off the cold stone walls, but her tormentor remained indifferent, reveling in her agony.
For his final act of cruelty, Dubois retrieved a spiked paddle. The surface was embedded with small, blunt spikes designed to puncture the skin without causing deep wounds. He struck her repeatedly, each blow driving the spikes into her bruised and battered flesh, causing tiny droplets of blood to bead up on the surface.
“Your grandfather, the old bastard, he has hardly any more money left. He has spent it all looking for you. God, I hope he goes senile,” Dubois hissed into Clare’s tearful, distressed face, hoarse from screaming. “I want to tell him the truth, see the realization in his eyes, then he forgets, and then I tell him again the next day,” he sneered, before disrobing. “Now, time to service my cock. All that torture just gets me started…”
Nadim Darwish was brimming with twisted satisfaction as he landed his plane at Adana International Airport. He relished the power of the controls, having just offloaded two girls at a remote airstrip in Kazakhstan. His mind was already racing ahead to what he hoped would be a delightful encounter with Mrs. Nagy. Those bitches who thought they had any authority were merely pathetic women who needed to be put in their place. The boss had promised him some enticing rewards upon his return, which he fantasized would involve indulging in the Hungarian whore in the most depraved ways.
The thrill of hunting for new victims was intoxicating, and he eagerly anticipated replenishing their stock after the inspection. He was particularly excited about returning to Damascus; his niece Lina had matured into a striking beauty, and he was eager to add another of his family members to his collection, both for his own perversions and for the organization.
Striding through the airport with a swagger, Nadim enjoyed the admiring glances he received, feeling self-important. When he met Mr. Pembroke, he soaked up the approving nods from his boss. As he hopped into the passenger seat of the pickup truck, he joked with Pembroke about the successful transport, confident and lecherous.
“I have a little surprise for you,” Pembroke said with a smirk. “It’s in the back. It’s rather delicate, so handle it carefully.”
Nadim’s eyes gleamed with sick anticipation. “Oh, thank you, boss,” he leered, his mind already racing with depraved thoughts about who or what might be waiting for him. As he climbed into the back of the truck, it was dark, and he fumbled around, puzzled by the shadows. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light struck, and he collapsed, lifeless, onto the truck’s floor.
________________________________________
Dmitri Roskov had spent several indulgent days aboard the Zephy, relishing the freedom of the open sea after successfully delivering a shipment of girls to coastal rendezvous points. The handovers had been smooth, with the girls now so inexpensive that minimal security was required to guard against their capture. Despite his enjoyment of the maritime freedom, Dmitri couldn’t shake his disappointment at missing the chance to return with new, terrified girls.
As he sailed along the coast of Cyprus, he cast envious glances at families and women on the beaches, basking in the sun, and reveling in their carefree moments. The sight of them in their bikinis and swimsuits, laughing and savoring ice cream, stirred a dark yearning within him. Dmitri’s seasoned expertise made it all too easy to imagine how effortlessly he could snatch one of them away. The contrast between their innocent enjoyment and his grim fantasies only heightened his frustration.
Upon landing at Karatas, Dmitri Roskov was greeted by a smiling Edward Pembroke in his pickup truck. The two exchanged pleasantries in Russian during the long drive through the arid farmland of southern Turkey. Their conversation was lively, punctuated by Dmitri’s eager recounting of his recent activities.
As they stopped for a break, Pembroke exited the vehicle to relieve himself. Dmitri, following suit, stepped out and began urinating. In the midst of his moment of casual relief, Dmitri’s last sight was his own exposed, vulnerable penis. Without warning, Pembroke’s Glock roared, the shot ringing out as Dmitri’s head jerked violently from the impact, sending him collapsing to the ground. ———- Back at the complex, Pembroke was saddened to the point of tears at the empty cell, now vacant permanently for the first time in nearly five years. The scent of sex and pussy still lingered, a reminder of years and years of despair and horror for the girls. Nail marks on the walls, attempts at graffiti, and dried bloodstains told the dreadful stories of every girl who had been unfortunate enough to be captive within the clear glass walls. But for Pembroke, it was a memory of the best time of his life.
There were still matters to resolve and one final sale to complete. Pembroke was furious when Kenji Takahashi informed him of a delay in payment and the flight of the product.
“I’m sorry, Edward,” Takahashi said. “I don’t understand the problem. I will have the money, and the jet just needs a bit more time to arrange. It will be next week. Why is that such a problem? She is still going to be around, right?” He chuckled.
Pembroke didn’t want to reveal his desperation, but he knew that Mrs. Nagy’s departure was crucial for meeting the deadline set by Ahmed Al-Masri. He called her into his office.
“Ah, Mrs. Nagy, it’s been a while. Four years you’ve been here. How do you feel about your employment?”
“Master, I am very happy,” she said, dropping to her knees. “I only pray that I can continue to serve you for years to come.”
“You have been an excellent slave, Mrs. Nagy.”
“Thank you, Master. It has been the honor of my life to serve you,” she replied, bowing her head. Clad in her purple thong bikini with tattoos adorning her face and body, she embodied the essence of an exotic slave.
“How has it felt seeing all the girls being cleared out?”
“Master, it is not my place to question your decisions. If you need to replenish the stock, I would be honored to travel with you. As a woman, I have more guile than the men, and I could be very valuable in obtaining young girls for you. I would be honored to bring more females into your stock to help you prosper further. Please forgive me and punish me if I have spoken out of turn, Master.”
“No, you will not be punished, slave. You have been very loyal to me. Thank you for your suggestion, but I’m afraid I have a different path for you. You are to be sold, Mrs. Nagy, to a gentleman in Japan.”
Mrs. Nagy bristled, gasping as she stifled a cry. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I—I understand, Master. Are you retiring, Master?”
“Yes, my dear,” Pembroke said gently, kneeling to wipe the tear from her face. “The money from your sale is going toward my retirement. I’m sorry we cannot continue this, but it was always going to end someday. What gave you the idea?”
“Master, I noticed we stopped ordering the usual products a while ago. I … I haven’t had birth control for weeks now.”
“Yes, well…” Pembroke sighed. “I don’t think you’ll need birth control where you’re going. You needn’t worry about getting pregnant. Unfortunately, your time with your new owner will be brief. I would have preferred a longer stay for you, but given your age and the substantial offer I received—along with the rather … specialized plans for you—this was the best option. You should take pride in that.”
“Master…” Mrs. Nagy’s voice wavered. “I … I don’t understand…”
Her resolve shattered, Mrs. Nagy broke into heartfelt sobs. “I will strive to make you proud in the limited time I have with the new owner. I accept that my fate is yours to decide; it always has been. I’ve known this all along, Master. I just … I love you, Master.”
As she wept, Pembroke stroked her hair gently, his touch a mixture of tenderness and emotional detachment.
“Now, Mrs. Nagy,” Pembroke said with a detached tone, “you’ll be shipped out soon, but until then, I’ll be moving you to a different location. Ironically, you’ll get your wish to leave the complex, though it will be far from pleasant. This will be the final time you serve me.” As he spoke, Pembroke began to undress, carefully removing Mrs. Nagy’s bikini top. “So why don’t you make sure to please your Master one last time? Be a good girl for me, just this once more.”
For the next hour, Mrs. Nagy and Pembroke engaged in passionate lovemaking. The reality of her impending fate loomed heavily over her—she was to be sold to an unknown buyer who would soon end her life. The man who had seduced, kidnapped, and enslaved her was now also providing her with the love she craved from him in her last days. But he would still sell her and have her killed, just for money and convenience, and to move on. Yet, she still loved him. As he came deep inside her, she looked into his eyes, desperate for something that approached the all encompassing adoration she had towards her evil master, but again, found nothing but empty, cold shark eyes.
A few hours later, Mrs. Nagy found herself with Pembroke in a bunker just outside the main complex—an old military command center. The place was barren, save for dusty, decades-old military rations that were surprisingly still fit for consumption. Mrs. Nagy watched as Pembroke approached an old safe, inserting a series of USBs and laptops into it. He then attached a chain from the wall to an ankle cuff around her legs, restricting her movement to only a few meters and, crucially, preventing her from reaching the stairs leading to the main exit and fresh air.
“A few more days here, Mrs. Nagy, or should I say Katalin,” Pembroke said with a smirk. “And then I’ll have you flown out to Japan. In the meantime, just hang tight.”
———- Over the next 24 hours, Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz as the only women left, found themselves at the mercy of the three men who remained. Mrs Parker had long been left off the menu in favour of the younger girls but now her holes were more inviting. Pembroke mindful of the limited use for the two female bodies, had indulged in covering every inch of Mrs. Parker’s body with welts, marks and bruises from whips and canes. The huge cocks of Jamal and Konrad explored her every orifice with brutal intensity. She realised now, with the girls gone, this was not a temporary makeover, this was the end, the end of the organisation, and her brutal fuck-torture was the end of life office party.
Mrs. Al-Haraz had initially reveled in the torment inflicted upon Mrs. Parker, finding a dark satisfaction in the chaos. However, as the alcohol flowed and the atmosphere grew increasingly frenzied, she came to a harrowing realization: she was just as vulnerable as Mrs. Parker. Soon, her body became as covered in whip marks as the white blonde. As her own imminent demise became clear to her as well, she resolved to fight for her life, and started spitting, cursing and scratching the men.
Pembroke admired the fight in the little Yemeni woman, as he and Jamal watched her try to fight off Konrad, but he laughingly overpowered her, and forced himself inside her, sinking his cock in her and fucking her as hard as he possibly could, trying to wipe the angry grimace from her face and make her cum despite herself.
“Fuck you! You ugly bastard!” Mrs Al-Haraz screamed and tried to claw at the German’s eyes as she fought the sensations of the orgasm from the deep pounding he was giving her. But Konrad swatted her away and leered down at her, looking into her eyes, searing coals of enmity, as she swore back at him, refusing to show any pleasure from his violation of her.
Pembroke hung back, letting Mrs Parker suck his cock, as she desperately cried to her self, thinking at least in all this wretched time, she had saved her children, he had not harmed them. She now just wished for the pain to end and did not want to see what she was hearing behind her to her Yemeni counterpart as she enveloped her mouth around the pulsating member of the evil Edward Pembroke.
Pembroke and Jamal exchanged looks. Jamal had known Pembroke for years, long before this organisation, and trusted him, and believed that Pembroke trusted him far more than these newcomers.
Konrad’s face contorted in ecstasy as he climaxed inside Mrs. Al-Haraz, her body arching in response. At that moment, Jamal seized the opportunity, slipping a garrote around Konrad’s neck from behind and yanking it tightly. Mrs. Al-Haraz watched in horrified amazement as her rapist clawed desperately at the Syrian, trying to reach behind him to free himself.
But Jamal maintained his grim grip, and Mrs. Al-Haraz felt his manhood shrink inside her, and withdraw as he moved back, writing, shaking as he continued to wildly flail his arms, his eyes bulging in the same way he had tried to make Mrs. Al-Haraz do just seconds early, a trail of cum falling from his cock connecting it to her vagina as life slipped from his face.
Finally, he slumped to the ground, dead. Both women were now shivering with fear before the two naked brutes.
“Well done Jamal” smirked Pembroke. He eyed the gun on the table, the one with which he planned to shoot the giant Syrian just after these two females were similarly disposed of. “Now, let me finish what Konrad started…”
“NOOO Master, you Bastard!” Mrs.Al-Haraz was on her feet, and ran towards the gun but Pembroke outran her. Laughing, he took the gun, and placed it insider her mouth, as he groped her breasts, and ran his hand over the side of her head, over the burnt flesh. “You would have been so beautiful Leyla” he taunted. He forced the gun insider her pussy. “Would you like it here, or in your ass, bitch?” his eyes gleamed with nothing but lust, and evil. Mrs. Al-Haraz just spat back in his face, trying to head butt him, and successfully got a fingernail into his eye.
“Fuck you, you whore!” Pembroke threw her to the ground, and seeing her spread legs, fell on her, and his already erect cock sank itself into her pussy, while his hands went around her throat.
His eye was barely open, and in fury, he tightened his grip his face a mash of spite, as the woman’s face turned purple, and the fire in the eyes, slowly went out. Jamal watched, transfixed, as the Yemeni’s face went stiff, as Pembroke pumped inside her, climaxing just as her body went stiff with death.
Pembroke sighed and leaned back in triumph. “Ha, now Mrs Parker, I hope you will fight as Mrs Al-Haraz did, you see I –”
His voice trailed off and his face went white as he turned to find Mrs. Parker standing before him, her naked, scarred body trembling. Her hands shook, but she held the gun with a fierce determination, pointing it straight at him.
“Rebecca,” Pembroke said, managing a forced smile as he stood up, his earlier bravado faltering. “Put the gun down, Rebecca. I tell you what, how about we—”
A gunshot cut him off, and Pembroke’s expression twisted in shock. He staggered backward, clutching at the bloody hole that had appeared in his stomach. The force of the shot made him stumble, and he collapsed to the floor, his face pale and eyes wide with pain and disbelief. Mrs. Parker, her breath coming in ragged gasps, stared at him with a mixture of fear and grim satisfaction.
“You cannot kill me, you bitch!” Pembroke snarled, his voice hoarse with pain as he crawled toward Mrs. Parker, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His eyes were wild, and his movements were desperate.
Jamal, still in shock, watched with a mix of fear and confusion. He took a tentative step forward.
Mrs. Parker, trembling uncontrollably, pointed the gun at both men. Her face was a mask of terror and desperation. Her hand shook violently, and as panic set in, she made a sudden decision. With a shuddering breath, she shoved the gun into her own mouth. Her eyes were wide with a mix of resignation and anguish. The sound of the trigger being pulled was deafening.
Mrs. Parker’s body convulsed briefly before collapsing to the ground, the gun slipping from her limp hand. Jamal rushed forward. As he grabbed the gun, he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Parker’s face—a grotesque, burst-open sight not unlike his own face.
His eyes darted to Pembroke, who lay motionless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around him. Jamal’s breath caught in his throat as he realized the full extent of what had happened. Pembroke, the man he had followed and in some ways loved, was dead.
________________________________________
Jamal was heartbroken, and clueless about what to do. Pembroke had confided in him that they would kill everyone in the complex and leave together to go and live in Syria where they would set up another complex and start afresh. Jamal had nothing else to live for, he had no family and the last five years had been so all consuming that he could think of nothing else but to follow Pembroke. Now, he was lost.
He knew he had to leave, but remembered what Pembroke had once told him, that if he died, he wanted his remains burned and destroyed and thrown out to sea. He took Pembroke’s naked body t the incinerator, and in a few hours had processed the man into a small vase of ashes.
Drunk and numb with despair, Jamal left the complex behind—a place now marked by the stark remnants of brutal years: three naked dead bodies and the detritus of endless suffering. He no longer cared about the horror he was leaving in his wake.
He drove with a shaky hand, clutching the vase of Pembroke’s ashes as he made his way to Karatas. Despite his limited sailing experience, he managed to find the Zephyr, the yacht he had only been on a few times before. In his intoxicated state, he fumbled with the controls but managed to start the engine, unmoor the boat, and head out into the Mediterranean.
As the night enveloped him in darkness, Jamal’s navigation was erratic. The boat swayed and bobbed on the choppy waters, and Jamal’s grief mixed with his drunken haze. After he was out of sight of land, he hurled Pembroke’s ashes into the sea, watching them scatter into the dark water.
In the act of throwing the vase, he lost his balance and slipped over the side of the boat. The cold shock of the water snapped him briefly into clarity, but his drunken state left him disoriented. He flailed about, desperately trying to find a way back up onto the yacht. His search for a ladder proved futile; he realized with a mix of horror and bleak amusement that there was no way to climb back aboard.
Tired, drunk, cold, and disoriented, Jamal struggled against the encroaching darkness. The icy water and his overwhelming despair drained his strength. Despite his efforts to stay afloat, exhaustion soon claimed him, and he succumbed to the sea.
Ahmed Al-Masri’s rage intensified when Pembroke stopped answering his calls. With a platoon of operatives, he arrived at the complex to a scene of horror: the decaying corpses of Konrad, Mrs. Parker, and Mrs. Al-Haraz, stark evidence of the complex’s grim past. The complex was otherwise empty, but the signs of years of horrific sexual abuse were unmistakable. Frustratingly, there was no sign of Edward Pembroke.
In response, Ahmed had the remaining bodies incinerated and set the complex ablaze. Meanwhile, the King of Azmaria clung to life, and the Crown Prince kept his harem girls alive for a few more weeks. Ahmed awaited the mass culling with growing impatience and curiosity, knowing that up to fifteen beautiful girls from various sources, including Pembroke, would soon need to be destroyed, all awaiting the signal of the King’s death.
Nearly three weeks after the complex was destroyed, Turkish authorities were unable to trace anyone of significance connected to it. All traces of Hasan Al-Khitab and ‘Bereketli Yemcilik’ seemed to have vanished as if they had never existed.
Hakan Çalhanoğlu, a local surveyor investigating the site and the fire, decided to check an old bunker he had noted from previous surveys. When he opened it, he was horrified to find a middle-aged woman—naked, heavily tattooed, and chained in the cellar. Despite her grim condition, she appeared well-fed, with old Turkish army rations and drinks nearby.
The discovery of Katalin Nagy, a Hungarian woman missing since a holiday in Egypt four years earlier, quickly captured global attention. As she gradually shared the details of her horrific ordeal with investigators, the true extent of Pembroke’s criminal activities came to light through the files discovered in the bunker’s safe.
Pembroke had meticulously compiled records of every kidnapping, sale, and transaction, along with detailed documentation of all communications. His extensive archive unveiled a vast and intricate network of criminal activity, deepening the worldwide shock and scrutiny surrounding the case.
The investigation soon expanded to include a roster of wealthy and powerful figures, such as Dr. Viktor Ivanov, a highly respected late surgeon; Brad Watkins, an American billionaire; Laurent Dubois, a French lawyer; Kamal Abdelrahman, an Egyptian magnate; Arjun Jakhu, a Bollywood film producer; and Aarav Mishra, an Indian IT kingpin, and many, many others. Kenji Takahashi, a Japanese criminal, was also among those implicated, still furiously pursuing Pembroke for the delivery of Katalin Nagy right up until the Japanese police arrested him and found two girls, Miriam Ben Ali and Linh Nguyen in his basement.
The organization’s chief lawyer, Clemence Carnot, was devastated and humiliated upon discovering the horrifying truth about his client’s vile trade. He had to deal with his own unwitting facilitation of it and his impending arrest for sex trafficking of well over a hundred girls, including his own granddaughter. Overwhelmed with shock and shame, and the knowledge that his ‘friend,’ the evil Edward Pembroke, had used him to carry out these atrocities around the world, he chose to take his own life.
However, the most intense focus fell on the Royal Family of Azmaria, drawing significant media attention and speculation about their potential involvement in the disgusting trade in female flesh.
The King of Azmaria died just as news reached the Kingdom of Katalin Nagy’s discovery. The liberal prime minister immediately tried to launch an investigation into the late King, and the Crown Prince.
However, seizing the moment amid the global outrage and media frenzy, Ahmed Al-Masri, the country’s Interior Security Minister, publicly expressed his revulsion toward the ruling class. He implicated both the government and the Royal Family in the practice of sex slavery, capitalizing on the heightened focus to accuse them of direct responsibility for the vile trade.
Al-Masri seized power in a dramatic coup, capitalizing on the nation’s chaos. Amid the unrest, the liberal Prime Minister was shot by a mob protesting the mistreatment of the girls outside the parliament. In the ensuing confusion, it was reported that the Crown Prince and several prominent members of the Royal Family had taken their own lives, choosing death over the exposure of their abhorrent practices. In addition, several senior servants and even slaves, who coincidentally would have dealt extensively with Al-Masri over the years, also died either through suicide or by being attacked by angry assailants.
In front of the world’s media, Ahmed Al-Masri paraded the Crown Prince’s harem, including Charlotte Spencer, Dilan Talebani, Elena Petrova, Anna Gao, Camille LeClerc, Ingrid Johansen, Freja Johansen, and seven others who had been held in sexual slavery. Dressed in modest Islamic clothing, the women stood around Al-Masri as he publicly denounced the abuses they had suffered.
With a mixture of feigned revulsion and strategic display, Al-Masri apologized for their mistreatment, positioning himself as their savior. He declared his intention to serve as acting president and promised to uphold and protect human rights, including the rights of women, as part of his new governance.
The girls had endured immense suffering, with some having borne children by the Crown Prince. Years of abuse—both psychological and physical—coupled with their forced separation from their families, made reintegration into their former lives profoundly challenging.
Across the world, wealthy and powerful men were arrested, and their properties searched. Most girls were recovered, and returned to their families. Some, unfortunately, were not, and their ‘owners’ sentenced to murder if they were still alive, or if they were still within the reach of justice.
Katalin Nagy had no surviving family to turn to; her parents were deceased, and her sister held her responsible for the disappearance of Lila, whose remains had never been found. Yasmina Benyousse, another victim sold to the disgraced surgeon Viktor Ivanov, had also been lost to the same dark world of exploitation.
Marked by prominent tattoos and the scars of extreme abuse, Katalin had nowhere to go. She was placed in a psychiatric ward in Istanbul for her protection and care. It was discovered that Pembroke had made her pregnant in the final days of his reign. At 45 years old, Katalin chose to keep the baby, who was born a girl and named “Lila,” in honor of the niece she had lost.
Amid the worldwide shock and sensation, the greatest mystery remained Edward Pembroke himself. Despite his high-profile status as an international playboy, few people had any inkling of the malevolent reality behind his charming facade. The revelations of his horrific involvement in the global slave trade stunned many, but equally perplexing was the enigma of his origins and disappearance.
While Pembroke had been a well-known figure, no one had known where he came from or where he had vanished. Despite intense searches and efforts to track him down, he remained elusive. The man who had expertly concealed his true nature continued to evade capture, a shadowy figure hunted across the globe yet never found.
The girls who were released tried to rebuild their lives and reconnect with their families, but the shadow of their ordeal never truly lifted. No matter how hard they worked to move on, the fear of Edward Pembroke haunted them, an ever-present specter lurking in the dark corners of their minds. They could never fully relax, knowing that the man who had caused them so much suffering might still be out there, ready to strike at any moment. The memory of their tormentor, the so-called “Master,” remained a relentless, terrifying presence, a reminder that their nightmare might never truly end.

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By Edward Pembroke
#Abuse #BDSM #Rape #Teen