Chapter 25

“Oh, Freja, isn’t it lovely to wear underwear and sleep in a nice, comfy bed?” Mrs. Parker asked.

“I guess,” replied Freja. She was getting used to Mrs. Parker but still felt guilty about finding any enjoyment in this situation while her sister languished in a cell with the other naked girls. Freja knew she was effectively giving her body to the middle-aged Englishwoman for some comfort. Although Mrs. Parker was nicer than the others, Freja didn’t want to think about what would have happened if she had refused her invitations. All the girls understood very clearly that they could not refuse the advances of any of their overseers.

Mrs. Parker always looked forward to having the lovely Freja in her bed.

“Oh, I love your little girl panties!” she cooed, admiring the tight white panties with red strawberries all over them. She ran her hand over them and up the teenager’s toned stomach, then over her vest top, feeling her pert breasts through the cotton material.

Freja stirred, enjoying the luxury of the bedclothes and even the warmth and matronly nature of Mrs. Parker. She allowed herself to curl up in her bosom, finding a sense of motherly care that she had sorely missed. She breathed in the woman’s heavy scent, feeling a conflicted comfort.

Mrs. Parker smoothed over Freja’s blonde hair, making sure she could have a nice view of the delightful girl’s blue eyes as she propped herself up on her side. She kissed Freja on the forehead, feeling her nipples harden against Freja’s breath.

Freja nervously cast her eyes up to meet Mrs. Parker’s. “Madam, what is going to happen with Zara?”

Mrs. Parker’s expression softened, though a hint of hesitation lingered in her eyes. “Zara is ... in a difficult situation,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But I promise you, Freja, you are going to be the cutest, sweetest slave girl your owner will have. As long as you always, always do as you are told, you might even enjoy yourself,” she beamed, tapping Freja’s nose playfully like a button, smiling.

“But, Madam, I don’t...” Freja’s words dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to be a slave. I want to go home. My father might be dying. I’m scared of what’s going to happen. I just ... is there any way I can get home in the future?”

Mrs. Parker leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. “That is a naughty question, Freja. I should really put you over my knee and give your bottom a good spanking through those panties for asking it! But I will just tell you anyway. There is no way out. I cannot help you. Neither of us are getting out of this alive. You have to accept it, Freja, as I have.”

Freja felt a cold wave of despair wash over her. Rivulets of tears began streaming from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Freja,” Mrs. Parker said, her voice tinged with regret. “It’s a cruel fate for you. You might have had such a wonderful life on the outside, but you have to focus on the future now, on how to please and how to obey. You don’t want to end up like Zara.”

“What is the Master going to do with her?” sobbed Freja, tears choking her words.

“I don’t know, Freja, but she is not much good to him anymore. And look what happened to her family, not just those two poor girls, but their families—more could have died. She was selfish, Zara. She should have accepted her fate.”

Freja thought of her parents, grieving her. Perhaps it was lucky they thought she and her sister were already dead. The Master could be even crueler.

“When will we be ... sold?” Freja couldn’t bear to say the word.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Parker hugged the poor girl. “I dread to see you go. But the Master has committed you to an owner, that much I know, along with your sister and five others.” Mrs. Parker wished Freja could stay forever with her.

“But the Master still needs to find the seventh girl!” Mrs. Parker exclaimed with unsettling cheer. “Isn’t it thrilling to wonder who it will be? How will he manage it? The Master is so ingenious. Hearing all the different stories about how you girls ended up here is fascinating, don’t you think?” She beamed with admiration for the Master.

“He is lucky,” said Freja flatly. “My sister and I, and Sara—we were unlucky. Anything could have happened!”

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Parker said, patting Freja on the nose again. “The Master made his own luck. And I’m sorry about your friend. The Master, he is so ... ruthless,” she added sadly. “Those poor Russian girls, they were so scared of him. I was talking to them earlier when I was lasering their hair off. Their English is not bad. I just had to tell them what I tell you, Freja: just keep doing as you’re told.”

“Do you think he will get arrested or the police will find us?”

Mrs. Parker straightened up, aware that the Master might be listening. “Now, Freja, that is rude! You should not wish ill luck on the Master! I’m afraid that demands a spanking. Now, come over my knee.”

She forced Freja out of bed and over her knee, her grip firm and unyielding.

“You must learn to respect the Master,” Mrs. Parker said sternly, raising her hand. The sharp sound of the first slap echoed in the room, followed by Freja’s stifled cry.

As Mrs. Parker continued, Freja’s mind drifted to the command “always obey.” The thought gave her a strange, cold comfort—she would not have to hope, nor think, if she just gave in.

After what felt like an eternity, Mrs. Parker finally let her up. “Now, remember to behave,” she said, her tone back to its unsettling cheerfulness. “The Master doesn’t like cheeky girls.”

Freja nodded numbly, her ass cheeks aching, and returned to bed, trying to hold back tears.

“I must say though, Freja, your bum looks delicious in those panties,” Mrs. Parker said, her voice lowering to a purr. “And giving you that spanking has made me quite horny...” She reached out, running a finger lightly over Freja’s back, causing the younger woman to shiver.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mischief and desire.

“Perhaps, a little more playtime is in order,” Mrs. Parker whispered, her hand now trailing down Freja’s side. “Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

Freja remained silent, her body tense.

“Good girl,” Mrs. Parker cooed, noticing Freja’s submission. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Freja’s ear. “Just relax and do as you’re told.”

As Mrs. Parker’s hands continued to explore, Freja’s thoughts drifted, wondering how far she had come from the innocent virgin who once had big dreams of a future where she could make a difference to the world.

She kicked her legs up, allowing the older woman to peel her panties off, and sighed as she buried her face between her thighs. As Mrs. Parker’s experienced tongue jabbed at her clit and a finger explored her insides, Freja’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

A small moan escaped her lips despite herself, her body responding even as her mind recoiled. She wondered, as the sensations washed over her, if a life of sex, slavery, and pain might be bearable if she began to blot out all of her dreams of freedom.

In the now incredibly cramped cell, tensions were starting to build. Sabine had noticed that Ingrid was missing her sister, who had been taken by the lecherous Mrs. Parker.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid. I pray that Freja is okay. It is so cruel to take her away for so long...” Sabine said softly.

“Fuck you, disgusting lesbian,” Ingrid spat at her, spitting on the ground. She feared that the tall German girl would do to her what Mrs. Parker was doubtless doing to her little sister right now.

Sabine shrank back, despondent and alone, feeling the sting of Ingrid’s harsh words. She was ashamed to admit that she had been looking at the Swedish girl, her blonde hair, and her superb figure. But more than sex, she just wanted companionship. She could never have imagined that in a small cell with thirteen other naked girls, she would feel so alone.

Elena and the two Russian sisters were having their own talk in Russian, comparing dreadful notes about their abductions and how serious and dangerous this Pembroke man must be.

The four Libyan girls were having an unhappy meeting in the corner.

“I don’t understand, how could Daddy have fallen for it?” moaned Zara as she heard about the trip to Istanbul and “Mr. Rahma.” Her sister tried to comfort her, their breasts intermingling as they hugged.

Miriam was still in shock, holding her chest and placing a hand between her legs to hide from the other girls, even though everyone was naked. She looked nervously at her cousin Fatima, who looked guilty and miserable.

“I swear, I never said anything about you two,” said Zara, her one remaining eye losing tears. “The Master is a sick pervert, but he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths unless he knew about you girls. He would have just done nothing, or killed someone in the family.”

“Well,” said Fatima tetchily, “he has my daughter. We knew he was evil. You girls have to learn not to cross him.”

Zara looked at her cousin, her resentment boiling over after weeks and now months of being cooped up together, having forced lesbian sex, and sharing every intimate act with each other.

“Maybe you helped him. That’s why my sister is in here and not yours. What if the Master finds out about Yasmin or Laila?”

“He already has my daughter!” spat out Fatima, angry that Zara was bringing up her own sisters. She was ashamed she had given Pembroke details and clues about procuring Zara’s sisters, but they were her cousins too, and she had tried to avoid it.

“You are the cause of this,” continued Fatima angrily. “This unspeakable, disgusting mess. I endured it, but you couldn’t. You did that to yourself!” She pointed to her cousin’s scarred face. “And you made him take revenge! You are why these girls are here. Now their lives are over, too!”

“You fucking helped him!” Zara looked at the girls and then pointed accusingly at Fatima. “Your fucking cousin here, she helped that bastard plan your kidnapping.”

“Fuck you!” shouted Fatima. “You couldn’t just do as you were told!”

“Because I’m not a fucking slave!”

“You are a slave, and now these girls are slaves too! All because of you!” cried Fatima.

The two girls pushed each other, grabbing at each other’s hair, their faces contorted with anger and pain. Samira and Miriam, terrified and desperate, screamed at their only two friends in this awful place. They had always looked up to Zara and Fatima, but now the two were fighting like vicious cats. Samira and Miriam tried to break up the fight, their pleas for peace drowned out by the escalating chaos.

In their struggle, the four bumped into the other girls in the cramped cell. Within moments, the confined space erupted into a chaotic melee. Nubile young naked bodies clashed against each other, banging against the walls and tumbling to the ground. Screams and shouts filled the air, turning the cell into a cacophony of fear and desperation. All the girls turned animalistic, lashing out after weeks or months of captivity, brutal treatment, humiliation, and degradation.

The men ran into the hall, astonished by the high-pitched shrieking and the sight of flesh bouncing off the walls and on top of each other.

“STOP, YOU LITTLE CUNTS!!” shouted Jamal who brought out a hose while Kwame opened the door. The giant Syrian turned the power hose on the girls. The cold, forceful spray hit the tangled mass of bodies, shocking them into stillness as the water pounded against their skin. The chaotic noise gradually subsided, replaced by gasps and the sound of water hitting the floor.

A few minutes later, Pembroke was having a meeting with the men. Zara and Fatima were tied up, bound and gagged in boxes in another room. The remaining girls had been cowed into obedience and were now shivering, trying to dry off in the cell.

“It is important that Zara, and all the others, see the fruits of her disobedience. Now that Samira and Miriam are here, I think she is now only useful for one final task. I must say, she really is a troublesome young girl! For now, however, we shall have a bit more fun with her before disposing of her.”

He turned to Jamal. “Did you collect those leopard snakes that have been breeding nearby?”

“Yes, I did, boss,” sniggered Jamal, eagerly looking forward to whatever sick surprise Pembroke had planned.

A few hours later, the men carried in two clear Perspex boxes that looked like coffins. The girls in the cell watched with growing trepidation. Zara was back in the cell, gagged and bound with her hands behind her back. Her sister Samira cradled and hugged her, desperate to talk to her and promising they would get through this hell together.

But a few minutes later, the murmurs of fear turned into screams of terror. Jamal walked in, wearing gloves and holding snake-handling equipment. He carried four hissing snakes, their skin patterned with leopard-like spots. The snakes writhed and moved, adding to the terrifying sight. Though they were not venomous, none of the girls knew this, and even if they had, their fear would have remained.

The girls climbed onto the benches as if the snakes were already on the ground. They hid behind each other, tried not to catch Jamal’s eyes, and cried, hoping they would not be chosen for whatever horrible game was about to be played. The cell was filled with screams and sobs, the girls’ faces pale with terror as they watched the snakes slither in Jamal’s hands.

Pembroke strode theatrically in front of the cell, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Ladies! In light of the disturbances earlier, I should remind you that there should be no fighting among you! I do not want to see my merchandise damaged! Now, as a form of punishment and spectacle, I thought perhaps we should have a friendly, a very friendly, game played out here.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, a sinister smile spreading across his face. The girls, already trembling, exchanged fearful glances.

“I am going to have four pairs out here,” Pembroke said casually. “Zara and your sister Samira. Fatima and your cousin Miriam. Natalia and Tatiana. Ingrid and Freja. You can call this ... Family Fortunes!”

The girls not picked cried with relief, while those chosen felt their blood run cold with dread. The air was thick with tension as the selected pairs stepped forward.