Chapter 16 - Rebellion and submission, and promises of stardom

Camille was performing an intricate and challenging pose. Balancing precariously on one leg, she raised her other leg straight up, her foot extended gracefully above her head. Despite her flexibility and training, Camille found the position difficult to maintain. Because unlike in her previous life, here she was naked, being watched by a crowd of people, and between her legs was a teenage girl, nervously licking at her exposed vagina.

The four men were sitting on comfortable chairs taking in the glorious sight of Fatima, running her tongue between the split legs of the beautiful red-haired French girl, as she moaned with the strain and the pleasure. Beside the girls, Mrs. Al-Haraz stood ready with her switch stick, in a tiny black dress, the small cane designed to cause pain without leaving a mark. She was prepared to quickly punish any mistakes.

Behind the two girls, the other captives remained in the cell behind the glass walls, watching with discomfort, praying they would not be expected to copy Camille’s extraordinary feats. Outside of the cell, the only other two females were Mrs. Parker and Freja.

Mrs Parker, dressed in the same style black dress as Mrs. Al-Haraz, was halfway through the electrolysis process on the naked and face-down Freja, who was strapped securely to the table. With meticulous care, she inserted a slender, needle-like probe into each hair follicle, delivering a brief burst of electrical current to destroy the hair growth cells. Freja flinched slightly with each zap, feeling a mix of a pricking sensation followed by intense heat, as Mrs. Parker then gently removed the treated hair with sterilized tweezers.

The only sounds in the room were the murmurs of appreciation from the men, the sound of Fatima licking, the moans of Camille, and the hum of the electrolysis machine.

Pembroke was enjoying reaping the fruits of his labors. The complex was not much; it was neither a hotel nor a beach on the south of France with nice restaurants, but he could enjoy the most beautiful girls in the world, against their will. Travelling around and abducting young women was thrilling, but also exhausting.

“Good, Camille. Now, the other leg!” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded.

Camille let her raised leg down, straining with effort. “Uugh,” she groaned softly, her muscles protesting the movement. She took a deep breath, then shifted her balance and began to raise her other leg, extending it upward with visible effort and determination. Fatima waited patiently on her knees, then stuck her tongue inside her pussy again.

For Freja, each tiny prick and the subsequent burst of heat felt like a public spectacle of her suffering. Mrs Parker had now been working for hours on the young Swede, from her ankle now to her buttocks and starting to venture into her crack.

“You are doing great, darling,” Mrs. Parker whispered into Freja’s ear, bending over her with a chilling intimacy. Freja’s body tensed even more. Ingrid, watching from the cell, detected her sister’s discomfort from her buttocks twitching together, and felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. The sight of her little sister’s naked, vulnerable form being subjected to the lecherous hands of Mrs Parker, the older woman’s underwear visible as she bent over the girl, made Ingrid sick.

Mrs. Parker ran her hands over Freja’s beautiful little buttocks, admiring their perfect form. The small, smooth globes were flawless, their texture like polished silk under her fingers. She traced the cleft between them, leading up to her lower back. Her fingers lingered on the dimples there, appreciating the intricate details. She gently kissed Freja on her right ass cheek before commencing the electrolysis on her ass crack, with one hand stroking her blonde hair.

“Now Camille, next position!” Mrs. Al-Haraz commanded.

Camille put her foot down and carefully adopted the downward dog position. She lowered her head to rest uncomfortably on the ground, making her torso perpendicular to the floor. She then spread her legs wide, her toes just about touching the ground. Her buttocks faced the ceiling as she supported herself with her hands on either side. Every muscle in her body tensed, straining to hold this inverted position, showcasing her flexibility.

“Fatima, lick her pussy! And Zara, get your ass out here!” barked Mrs Al-Haraz.

Zara looked up, her eyes blazing with frustration. She pleaded for mercy, but a threatening glare from Mrs Al-Haraz silenced her protests. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Zara trudged out to join the girls, each step simmering with resentment.

“Lick Camille’s asshole!” snarled the Yemeni.

The men were treated to a sideways view of the white body of Camille, upside down, her legs coming down in a triangle to support her, with the kneeling Libyan cousins on either side of her, their mouths feasting between the redhead’s legs.

Two tongues now playing with her holes, together with the stress of her upside down position, sent Camille’s face the same colour as her hair as she struggled to breathe while the men chuckled, their cocks growing harder.

Zara closed her eyes, but her nose kept bumping into her cousin’s. Their tongues kept meeting at Camille’s upturned perineum. Every time she opened them, she saw her cousin’s beautiful brown eyes facing hers.

After several minutes, they stopped. “Zara, you now, raise your right leg like a flamingo!” shouted Mrs. Al-Haraz.

Zara groaned; she hated this. She had been forced to practice but was not flexible. Reluctantly, she raised her leg, forcing it high and supporting it with her hands as she hopped on one foot, her leg raised but bent inelegantly.

“Camille, your tongue on the asshole, Fatima, lick your cousin’s pussy!” Mrs Al-Haraz shouted with glee.

At the feeling of the warm tongue on her pussy folds, Zara immediately lost her bearings and her leg went to the ground. Mrs Al-Haraz struck her on the stomach twice with her switch. “Concentrate, bitch!”

“Please ... please, I cannot, I try, but no...” Zara pleaded, her hands clasped together in front of Mrs. Al-Haraz.

The older Yemeni woman furiously struck Zara’s hands away. “Do it now!” she commanded, her voice sharp and unyielding.

Zara’s tears flowed freely as she tried again, desperately holding her leg but only managing to get it to a 90-degree angle, bent at the knee. She struggled to stay balanced on one foot, swaying all over the place, her body trembling with the effort and frustration. But it was the sight of the men leering and giggling at her, her tits jiggling with her jerking movements, her comical attempts to stay balanced, that really cut to her heart.

At the first touch of a wet tongue against her asshole, she broke down again, stumbling forward.

“Useless bitch!” Mrs. Al-Haraz angrily swatted her again.

This time, Zara lost it. She angrily pushed the Yemeni woman away and faced Pembroke, who stayed calm and impassive.

“I am not an animal! You cannot treat me like this. I AM A HUMAN BEING! WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS! GOD WILL HELP ME! YOU BASTARD!” she screamed, her voice shaking with fury and desperation.

The females in the room were shocked at her insolence. Pembroke clicked his fingers, and Jamal got up. Zara shrank back at the large ogre’s menacing approach.

“I’m sorry. Please ... don’t hurt me...” she babbled away in Arabic, curling up into a ball and crying.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz,” said Pembroke. “Take Zara and tie her to the post. I want her caned on her back, 25 strokes. Make it hurt.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz grabbed the young woman by the hair and dragged her to the post. Pembroke got up and addressed the rest of the girls.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated. Neither will the kind of rudeness and cheek expressed by Zara. You will now see her punishment.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz secured Zara to the post, her wrists tightly bound above her head, leaving her back exposed and vulnerable. Nearby, Mrs Parker stroked Freja’s back to comfort the girl, who was to witness her first caning. Zara’s sobs grew louder, her body trembling in anticipation of the pain. Mrs. Al-Haraz picked up the cane. With a swift, practiced motion, she brought it down on Zara’s back, the sharp crack echoing through the room.

Zara screamed in agony, her back arching involuntarily as the searing pain shot through her body. The other girls watched in terror, their faces pale and eyes wide with shock. Each stroke of the cane was precise and merciless, leaving angry red welts on Zara’s skin. Her cries grew more desperate with each strike, but Mrs. Al-Haraz showed no mercy.

By the time the twenty-fifth stroke landed, Zara was a sobbing, broken mess, her body slumped against the restraints. The room was filled with a shocked silence, the girls unable to tear their eyes away from the horrific scene.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” Pembroke said, his voice cold and commanding. “Disobedience and disrespect will not be tolerated.” He cast his eyes at Holly and Ingrid in particular, who looked aghast.

But it was not all relaxation for Pembroke at the complex. He had several messages from Elena Petrova, who was excited and thrilled to be in Istanbul.

“Nikolai, we are so excited to be here in Turkey!” Elena’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm over the phone.

“We?” asked Nikolai, aka Edward Pembroke, in his office.

“Oh,” Elena was a bit put out. “My friend Vitaly, he is accompanying me. You know, he just ... wants to make sure I am safe and also wants a holiday...”

“Oh, of course,” said Pembroke. “That will be fine!” He composed himself, knowing it was to be expected that Elena would not come alone.

“Now, the film set is not advertised in location; it is in southern Turkey. So, you have to get down here. I can give directions ... it could be a fun road trip for you and Vitaly!”

Elena’s excitement and idealism were audible to Pembroke down the phone. She was clearly swept up in the thrill of the adventure.

Pembroke had already meticulously crafted a convincing setup for his fake movie project using AI and purchased social media accounts. The facade was so believable that many real people were desperate to join which had given him even more evil ideas.

As the conversation ended, Pembroke’s smile widened with devious satisfaction. Soon, another unsuspecting victim would be caught in his carefully woven web.

It had taken hours, but now Ingrid and Freja were hairless on their bodies, the electrolysis having been completed for now. They sat together in the cell, Freja’s head buried in her sister’s shoulder, as they consoled each other at the brutality and depravity they had witnessed and endured.

Holly sat apart, isolated. The girls here seemed to her to have lost all hope, their spirits broken. They did not offer her any reassurance or condolences about her situation, merely a sad look of sympathy.

Zara had started talking to herself, her voice a frantic whisper, ignoring her cousin’s desperate attempts to calm her. Her eyes were wild and unfocused as she stared at the three new arrivals, her gaze so intense and hostile that it frightened them. They shrank back, the inmates at this facility seemed as threatening as their beastly captors.

Suddenly, Zara’s demeanor shifted from eerie silence to explosive violence. She lunged at the glass walls, headbutting them with terrifying force. Each impact reverberated through the room, a sickening thud that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. Zara cursed in Arabic, her words a garbled mix of rage and despair, her flailing arms striking out at anyone who tried to approach her.

Her cousin and the other girls tried to pull her away, but Zara’s strength, fueled by madness, made her a formidable force. She fought them off with a frenzied energy, her fists and elbows connecting painfully with their bodies. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she slumped to the ground, her body trembling, her face a bloody mess. Sobs wracked her frame, her spirit broken.

Later, Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz walked into the room. They approached the glass cell. They both looked exasperated at the sight of Zara, her beautiful visage now marred all over by the bloody wounds she had inflicted upon herself. Zara sat on the ground, still whimpering.

Mrs. Parker spoke, ignoring the badly injured Libyan and addressing the two young Swedes. “Ingrid and Freja, lovely to see you both so hairless and beautiful! You will both be spending tonight with myself and Mrs. Al-Haraz, to take you away from this ... unpleasantness,” she said, waving dismissively in the direction of Zara and the other girls. The depressing scenes of the naked girls slumped on the bench and on the floor, their faces sullen and eyes vacant, filled the room with a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.

Ingrid and Freja exchanged a wary glance, and they gripped each others’ hands.

“You will not be together” clipped Mrs Parker. “One will sleep with me, and one will sleep with Mrs Al-Haraz. You will choose which.”

The two girls turned to each other, their foreheads touching, and held each other’s faces, speaking quietly in Swedish.

“Freja, you choose whom you want.”

While Mrs. Parker was obviously a lecherous woman with eyes for both of them, Mrs. Al-Haraz seemed more cruel and ghastly, with her face half-burnt and almost mutant in appearance. Her leering eyes set against her scaly flesh made them both feel ill. She seemed even more sexually aggressive than Mrs. Parker.

Freja’s eyes filled with fear and uncertainty as she looked at Ingrid. The choice felt impossible. They clung to each other for a moment longer, drawing strength from their bond before Ingrid finally whispered, “I will go with Mrs. Al-Haraz. Stay strong, Freja.”

Freja nodded, tears brimming in her eyes as she steeled herself for what was to come. They broke their embrace and turned to face the two women, their faces a mask of resigned determination.

“I want Mrs. Parker,” said Freja, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

“I want Mrs. Al-Haraz,” said Ingrid, matching her sister’s determination.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she looked at Freja, while Mrs. Al-Haraz’s expression turned even more sinister, her burnt features twisting into a cruel smile.

“Very well,” Mrs. Parker purred, extending a hand towards Freja. “Come with me, darling.”

Mrs. Al-Haraz gripped Ingrid’s arm with a vice-like hold, her scaly flesh brushing against Ingrid’s skin. “You will learn to obey,” she hissed, dragging Ingrid away.

The two sisters exchanged one last glance, silently vowing to stay strong for each other as they were led away into the unknown.

Freja was led by the hand by Mrs. Parker out of the room as Mrs. Al-Haraz unlocked and then relocked it, bringing Ingrid with her. Mrs. Al-Haraz then locked Mrs. Parker and Freja into Mrs. Parker’s room, which was a spacious cell with clear glass walls. Inside, there was a comfortably made double bed, some books and magazines on a table, a wardrobe, and other amenities that offered a semblance of normalcy.

Mrs. Al-Haraz then led Ingrid away to her own room. It was clear that Mrs. Al-Haraz had seniority, but her eyes were fixed intently on Ingrid, her predatory gaze unnerving the young girl.

“Finally, Freja, darling, I have you all to myself,” Mrs. Parker purred as she embraced the frightened Freja. Her touch was possessive, her intentions clear as she held Freja tightly, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“Darling, I hope you are not too frightened by today’s events. You have to get used to it. Zara...” she trailed off. “Zara is a problem for us, the Master is losing patience. But you, my little flower,” she pushed Freja’s nose like a button, “you are too cute to be beaten. That is why you must pay attention, work hard, and obey the Master. Promise me that, Freja. I don’t want to see you hurt; I want to look after you.”