Chapter 20 - Dirty games, hope for a saviour, and marketing

“Ah, my friend,” Mr. Yildiz said, his voice steady despite his age, “thank you for bringing custom to my hotel. But I know how to run it. This is my domain.”

Firas Rahma, sensing the old man’s pride, approached him with a respectful nod. “I don’t intend to change the essence of your hotel,” Rahma said. “I only want to make some adjustments to ensure the comfort and well-being of our guests. Specifically, there are some girls with asthma who require clean air, and I would be honoured if you let me ensure the room is suitable for them.”

Mr. Yildiz paused, considering the sincere request. Rahma continued, “As the Quran says, ‘Whoever saves one life, it is as if he has saved all of humanity.’ By making these small improvements, we are not just helping these girls; we are fulfilling a sacred duty to protect and preserve life.”

The wisdom in Rahma’s words and the genuine concern for the well-being of the guests resonated with Mr. Yildiz. He finally spoke, his tone softened by understanding. “Oh well, kind sir, in that case, yes. Your assistance is most appreciated.”

Rahma smiled, his dark features beaming down on the diminutive Yildiz. “Excellent, the families will be so relieved, these girls are so vulnerable. I have a handyman who can come around soon and look after the room in question.”

Mr. Yildiz bowed in agreement, realizing that some refurbishment in that room could indeed be beneficial. Although he didn’t know much about asthma or how exactly they would fix the room—maybe they would have some sort of giant inhaler in there?—he trusted the gentlemanly, pious man standing before him.

Rahma made his way back to his hotel where he took some calls. After checking on Dmitri’s progress, he spoke with Jamal. The girls were responding well to Mrs. Al-Haraz’s brutal training in his absence, and he chuckled as he described his tattooing experiments on Mrs Parker’s arm. Rahama/Pembroke winced a little, he hoped his blonde mistress would not be too disfigured by all these tattoos, but it was necessary for his plans.

Pembroke then strode outside of the hotel, where he had a good view of the Bosphorus. The sight of the shimmering waters and the bustling activity on the strait provided a perfect backdrop for his next call. He returned a message to Sheila Johnson, suggesting they have a video call. The American woman had been sending him a stream of messages, still lovesick after their time together in Marseille.

Pembroke carefully chose the best spot with the most picturesque background. With the wind gently blowing through his hair and the iconic sights of Istanbul behind him, he adjusted his crisp shirt and answered the call.

“Sheila, darling, you should come here. Istanbul is amazing!” he exclaimed, flashing his most charming smile.

Sheila’s face lit up on the screen, her longing evident. “Edward, it’s so good to see you! I’ve been missing you terribly.”

“I’ve been missing you too, Sheila,” Pembroke replied smoothly. “The city is full of wonders, and I think you’d love it here. The history, the culture, the energy—it’s all so invigorating.”

Sheila sighed wistfully. “It sounds perfect. I wish I could be there with you right now.”

“Why not make it happen?” Pembroke suggested, his eyes twinkling. “There’s so much we could explore together. Think about it.”

Sheila’s eyes softened as she considered his words. “I’ll see what I can do. It would be wonderful to be with you again. I am still traveling with my daughter, so I hope my husband doesn’t suspect anything. It will be safer if she is with me when we meet, less suspicious.”

“Great,” Pembroke said, laughing, his smile broadening. “Cassie would love it here.”

“Well, we were just in Istanbul,” laughed Sheila. “I think Cassie might be a little suspicious if we were to return, and by extension, my husband, haha.”

“Well, what about a little Greek island? So quiet, so nice—perfect way to wind down after a tour of all the European cities.”

“That sounds amazing, Edward,” Sheila said, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Tell you what,” Pembroke said smoothly, “I can give you some recommendations. There are some places I can reach by my yacht. It’ll be a delightful escape.”

Sheila grinned. “Perfect. I’ll start making plans, but send me your recommendations, I will let you know as soon as possible.”

“Wonderful,” Pembroke replied. “I can’t wait to see you and Cassie again. We’ll have an unforgettable time.”

As they ended the call, Pembroke smiled. With a final glance at the Bosphorus, he turned and headed back to his hotel, ready to tackle the next challenge.

Charming half-senile hotel owners, desperate Libyan refugees, and amorous American military wives were all much easier, Pembroke noted with chagrin, than scouring Istanbul’s electronics markets for the kind of device he wanted.

Eventually, Pembroke was able to find a specialist store that could configure two secure two-way text messaging devices to communicate exclusively with each other. The pretty young girl serving him fancied he might be a spy—perhaps British, Israeli, American, Russian, or Saudi? She was entranced by his affable, paternal manner and was also titillated by his desire for such specialized technology.

Pembroke flirted with her, joking, “Oh, it’s nothing too glamorous, I assure you. Just a little project to keep in touch with an old friend in a unique way. We like to keep things private and secure.”

The girl giggled, clearly enjoying the banter. “That’s quite fascinating! You must have some interesting stories.”

Pembroke leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You wouldn’t believe half of them if I told you,” he said with a wink.

After contacting the agency, Pembroke made his way back to the same flat housing the mean Chechens and their female inmates. He appeared nervous as he approached the men, speaking to them in normal English.

“I’m sorry, my wife, she doesn’t...” Pembroke began, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“OK, OK,” said the man, exasperated. “Give us the money.”

“Can I see another girl this time?” Pembroke asked, his voice steady.

The Chechen smiled, sensing an opportunity. “Sure, we have another girl, but for a new introduction, a little more money...”

Pembroke smiled outwardly but inwardly cursed these men for lightening his wallet once again. He hoped it would be worth it; he didn’t want to reveal that he knew Tatiana had a sister there and hoped they would send him to Natalia without him having to ask specifically.

As he handed over the extra money, he maintained his nervous demeanor. The Chechens counted the cash quickly, then one of them motioned for him to follow. They led him down the hallway, the air thick with the scent of sweat and despair.

Finally, they stopped at a door. The Chechen knocked twice and opened it. Inside, a young woman with beautiful full breasts, dressed in a transparent red teddy dress sat on a shabby couch, her eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Pembroke nodded, recognizing the girl as the sister of Tatiana.

“Hello, Natalia,” Pembroke said softly to the girl, who remained cross-legged on the couch.

“Geoff?” she asked back in broken English.

“Yes, it’s me. I spoke to your sister yesterday. Did you speak to her?”

Natalia nodded, her eyes cautious but hopeful.

“Then you’ll know I am here to help,” Geoff said gently. “Yesterday, when I saw your sister, I won’t lie, I did not have the most honourable intentions, but I had no idea you girls were kept like this. I had to come back...”

Natalia’s eyes softened a bit, but she still seemed wary. Geoff knelt beside her, lowering his voice. “I know this situation is terrifying, but I promise I’m going to get you out of here. Both you and your sister.”

She looked at him, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “How?” she whispered.

Geoff glanced around the room, ensuring they weren’t being overheard. “I have a plan, but it will take some time and cooperation. Do you trust me?”

Natalia hesitated, then nodded slightly. “What do we do?”

Pembroke took out his messaging device. “These men don’t allow phones in here. In fact, they have a service that blocks calls, texts, and the internet,” he said, his voice calm and convincing. Pembroke was truthful in the first instance but lying in the second.

Natalia nodded. “The bastards. You know, all the men who see us, they know this, and they must know why, and it doesn’t seem to touch their conscience.” Her face crumpled up in a frown. She softened, “But you seem different.”

Pembroke offered a reassuring smile, trying to maintain his facade. “You need to keep this, to stay in touch with me. Hide it somewhere in the room, can you? I promise it will be a couple of days, maximum.”

“You work for the British government?” asked Natalia, remembering what her sister had told her.

“Yes, but I’m just a diplomat, see. I have some contacts. I just want to know about this place first ... tell me everything...”

Natalia Akhmadova’s tale was a sad one. She had been taken and threatened with the life of her child back in Russia. One of the men was from her local town. Both men lived in Istanbul and controlled a number of flats with different girls. They kept a watch over them with the help of their mother and aunt. The men were sickening hypocrites and would go to pray at the local mosque while the older women looked after the flats.

“Interesting,” Pembroke said, with concern. “And what about your families? You know, you could claim asylum, all of you, in the UK. But please, tell me their details. I want to know everything—your daughter, parents, siblings. It’s important I know of everyone you care about, whomever these vile men might want to hurt to get to you.”

Pembroke meticulously noted down the details Natalia provided. He was pleased to see that she came from a decent middle-class background, with parents who were poor but cultured teachers. Not only were these girls beautiful, they were well-educated and refined. They had no business being forced to serve the riff-raff in a run-down neighbourhood in Istanbul. They should belong to a man of high standing.

“I will try and arrange something,” Pembroke said, his voice filled with determination. “I know decent people here—lawyers who can help you. Just keep texting me from that device, and hopefully, we will have an opportunity to get you both out and get these men away from you and your families.”

Natalia’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. “Thank you, Geoff. I don’t know how to repay you.” She shyly traced a finger on the palm of his hand. “I hope you don’t think less of me because we were forced into this situation.” She was starting to develop a crush on this noble man, who made her feel so safe compared to the brutes who controlled her.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Pembroke replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just stay safe and keep in touch. We’ll get through this together.”

“I just wanted a normal life for me and my daughter, Geoff,” Natalia said, her voice trembling slightly. “I hope I can give her that, and that my sister and I can get out of here...” She looked into his eyes, feeling a connection. Maybe, outside this nightmare, this kind man could be a good suitor. Despite being tempted by a prostitute, he had shown restraint and compassion, qualities that set him apart from the others.

Pembroke nodded. “Natalia, I hope that one day you will meet a man who will treat you with the respect and dignity you deserve. You should never be shared or mistreated like these animals have done to you. If it were up to me, you and your sister would be out of here, pursuing your education, and on the path to meeting the right man who truly appreciates your worth.” As he stood up to leave, he squeezed her hand gently. “Stay strong. I’ll be back soon with more news. Remember, you’re not alone in this. Just keep me updated and answer my queries as I page you.”

Natalia watched him go, feeling a mixture of hope and longing. She dreamed of a future where she could be free, where her daughter could grow up without fear, and where perhaps she and Geoff could build something beautiful together. For now, she clung to the hope that he represented, praying that his promise would come true.

Pembroke made his way back to his hotel, wondering how much money the Chechens made a day out of those two whores, and how he should go about setting an asking price for the two of them as complete sex slaves. He hoped the brutality they had faced would mean their training would not be such a shock to them as it had been for the other girls, but it would still be quite fun. He smirked as he imagined how Tatiana and Natalia Akhmadova would fit in at the compound.

Hundreds of miles further south, Mrs. Parker rubbed her forearm ruefully, upset at the reckless abandon with which Jamal had just tattooed a crude cedar tree symbol on her. The design wasn’t even good, and she would have to bear this ugly mark for the rest of her life without understanding why the Master wanted it. Despite all the niceties and perks, this tattoo was another stark reminder of her enslavement. However, at least she had some authority here, wearing a purple mini dress and heels that complemented Mrs. Al-Haraz, who stood beside her in a red PVC thong and bra, thigh-high boots, and an extravagant ponytail. Mrs. Al-Haraz’s red lipstick only emphasized her garish, burned face.

The ten naked girls they were in charge of had no such dignity. They were all in a conga line, each on all fours, their faces uncomfortably close to each other’s backsides, enough that their noses brushed against the insides of their buttcracks. This degrading “therapy” was a humiliation designed to break their spirits, and strip them of their dignity. The room was filled with the quiet shuffling of limbs, the occasional stifled sob, and the interesting mutterings of the audience, Jamal and Kwame.

Mrs. Parker walked alongside the naked conga line, gently patting each one of them on the buttocks with a rubber cane. They were positioned at one end of the hall, with their ten bodies stretching out from the wall in a line, facing the opposite side about forty meters away. The girl at the back, Camille, had the soles of her feet touching the wall. The girl at the front, Freja, was the only one with her face not in another girl’s ass and faced the other side of the hall some forty meters away.

“OK, girls,” Mrs. Parker began, “on my say, you will start eating the pussy of the girl in front of you. Be sure to work hard; we will be checking constantly! After three minutes, I will shout ‘Go,’ and the girl at the back, in this case, Camille, will stop licking, get up, move quickly to the front of the conga line, get down on all fours, and press her bottom against the face of the girl in front—Freja.” Mrs. Parker stopped to give Freja an appreciative pat on the head and a friendly smile.

“After another three minutes, I will shout ‘Go’ again, and the girl who is now at the back will get up, go to the front, and the process will repeat. Every three minutes, the conga line moves one girl forward.” She smiled at the weary faces. “Now, I estimate that for the front girl of the conga line to be at the opposite wall, it should take about...” She totted up in a little notebook, “ ... about two and a half hours! What a fun way to spend two and a half hours, ladies! Now, if I shout ‘Go’ and you don’t have to move, then you don’t stop licking, OK!” Mrs. Parker said authoritatively.

“That’s right, bitches,” snarled Mrs. Al-Haraz. “You will be licking for hours, non-stop. No laziness! And no going to the toilet!” She cackled, her voice dripping with malice.

“Mrs. Al-Haraz is right,” Mrs. Parker chimed in, though she sounded almost apologetic. “You were warned, ladies. I hope you made all the efforts to go to the toilet that you could.”

The girls groaned and whimpered as they considered the possibility of the girl in front of them needing to go. They had fought to use the showerhead, desperate to stick it up their asses to clean themselves out and evacuate themselves in the little time they were given when the exercise was explained, and had tried to empty their bladders as much as possible. The girls looked at the pristine pussies and assholes in their faces right now, to which they were all accustomed, and dreaded what might happen over the next few hours.

“Start! shouted Mrs Parker, as she clicked the stopwatch. The sound of ticking, and the sound of licking, were the only sounds now in the room.

The girls licked at the pussy of the girl in front of them, while their own was tickled by the tongue from behind.

“I want to see enthusiasm, girls! I want to see the eyes of the girl in front of you light up with pleasure! I want to see those neck muscles bulging, that tongue flickering!” Mrs. Parker walked slowly back and forth, her eyes scanning the line, trying to spot any stragglers.

The rhythmic ticking was interrupted by a sharp “tock,” and Mrs. Parker shouted, “Go!” Camille immediately took her mouth off the pussy in front of her, got up, and walked to the front of the line.

“Quickly! Run!” Mrs. Parker reached across and swatted Camille on the bottom, prompting her to skip forward and get on her hands and knees. She then moved backwards until her ass pressed against Freja’s face. Freja saw the slim, pert buttocks come back towards her and the French girl’s genitalia approach her mouth.

“Lick, Freja!” Mrs. Parker chided her.

The licking continued, and some moaning started. Mrs Parker smiled as she watched Anna struggle to keep her face on Charlotte’s ass and her arms uprights, as behind her Sabine took advantage of the exercise to return her tongue to a place she had known so well, with skill and precision.

Another tock. “Go!” shouted Mrs. Parker. This time it was Zara, who brought her marked and deformed face from behind Sabine and got up, jogging to the front, carefully positioning herself and backing into Camille’s face.

“No stopping or looking around!” Mrs. Parker angrily swatted the backs of a few girls who had paused to glance at the Libyan moving up the line. “If you are not the girl who is moving, then you don’t stop. Your tongue keeps moving up or down, in a circle, or whatever you are doing to please your girl, OK?”

Zara allowed herself the brief privilege of having empty space in front of her, free from another girl’s sweaty asscrack, if only for three minutes. The wall was close, but still far enough that it would take hours for her to reach the other side at this rate. She took in the sight of the four overseers staring lazily at them, like zoo animals, and wondered what it would feel like to degenerate into just that—an unthinking zoo animal obeying every command.

Every three minutes, Mrs. Parker would shout “Go!” and the girl at the back would stop, get up, and move to the front of the line, and the girl in front would continue her humiliating task while the other girls continued. This relentless cycle continued under the strict and watchful eyes of Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz, who patrolled the line, enforcing compliance with harsh words and occasional swats.

Charlotte felt relief when she finally had her pussy free from Anna’s tongue. She had orgasmed twice and desperately wanted to close her legs and stop the brutal assault on her sensitive folds, but she knew that would result in a beating. Having clear air on her pussy felt like such a relief. In three minutes, her pussy would get licked again, but at least her mouth would get a break. Her tongue was exhausted, and the pussy in front of her had orgasmed so much that its taste had changed from sweet to a fresh, salty urine that continually leaked down her throat. It was Fatima, and it would be her pussy she would be eating for two more hours.

Despondency hit when she saw Kwame move to the front of the conga line, taking out his cock and presenting it to the lead girl to suck on. Her mouth would get no break after all. When she moved to the front, Kwame pushed his cock to her lips as soon as she was down. She choked and gagged as he forced it down her throat, and she was grateful for the “Go” command and for the familiar dark-colored ass-crack of Fatima to appear in front of her face again. The smell of the Libyan’s pussy might now be overpowering and sour, but at least she was not going to choke to death on it.