Chapter 30

While Pembroke was away in France, Germany, and cruising the waves of the Mediterranean, the training for his confined slaves continued relentlessly in the complex. Despite his absence, the overseers maintained a strict schedule, enforcing discipline and exacting standards upon the slaves.

Four imposing, square-shaped posts dominated the main hall, with each side of the posts hosting an interface. Kneeling before these interfaces were four girls per post, each deeply engrossed in their tasks, though not helped by having their hands tied behind their backs.

The girls were oriented towards the posts, their lips tightly encircling the ends of dildos protruding from the interfaces. Each girl’s nose was pressed against a long, slender button, closely matching the diameter and length of the dildo in their mouths. Directly in front of their eyes, screens displayed critical information – the frequency with which they needed to operate the button.

These screens alternated between red and green. When the screen turned green, the girls had to pull back, allowing the button to extend back out to match the dildo’s length. Conversely, a red screen signaled them to push their faces forward, fully depressing the button with their noses. A ‘click’ signified the push or pull had been completed.

The task demanded relentless attention and synchronization. The cycle of pushing and releasing the button was continuous, and the dildos had to remain in their mouths at all times, as they would not be able to push the button with their noses otherwise.

Any deviation from the required timing – failing to push the button in or releasing it before the screen changed color – would trigger an electric shock. Wires coming from the base of the post connected to each girl via two crocodile clips on her nipples and a small butt plug inserted into her anus, delivering a stinging shock. The shock would cause them to shriek, their cries muffled by the dildos in their mouths.

The room echoed with the rhythmic clicking of buttons, the occasional jarring shrieks, and the constant sound of sucking, filling the air as Mrs. Al-Haraz patrolled around them, studying their efforts. On each post, the dildos were of four different sizes: five inches and thick, six inches and slim, seven inches and thick, and nine inches and thick.

Charlotte was struggling. She was on a nine-inch dildo. Even though the men she had sucked at the complex had a similar size, she struggled with the rhythm and beat. Her neck was hurting, and she kept missing the timing for the clicks. Each missed timing sent a sharp jolt through her body, making her eyes water and her muscles tense.

In a moment of overwhelming discomfort, she withdrew her mouth completely, choking and gagging. Almost immediately, she visibly convulsed as steady shocks coursed through her body, her breasts vibrating up and down. The pain forced her to hurriedly move her nose back to the button and envelop the dildo back in her mouth. Desperately, she tried to regain the rhythm, her moans of pain loud and frantic.

None of the other girls stopped or even looked at Charlotte. They had to keep their eyes focused on the small screens in front of their eyes as they moved to and fro, to and fro continuously.

None of the other girls stopped or even looked at Charlotte. They had to keep their eyes focused on the small screens in front of their eyes as they moved to and fro, to and fro continuously.

Mrs. Al-Haraz chastised the young blonde and tapped her on her bottom. “No slacking, Charlotte, no excuses. Your owner will not care if you are tired!” She noticed that the shocks to Charlotte’s body had caused her to prolapse slightly, and her butt plug was almost about to fall out of her asshole, so she promptly pushed it back in snugly.

“Naughty, Charlotte! Keep that plug snug right up your ass!”

She turned around the room. “Keep it up, girls. Remember, you will not get to choose the size of your owner’s cock. Whatever size it is, it is perfect for you, and you will have to get used to it!”

Every half an hour, the dildos were rotated around the top of the post, ensuring that each girl experienced every one. After just over two hours, they were finally allowed to rest. Exhausted, they stood with mouths agape, bent over in fatigue, and drenched in sweat.

“Oh, well done, girls!” said Mrs. Parker cheerily as she entered with a trolley of goods. “Good work! Your hard work will pay off when your owners cum easily in your mouths!”

The girls did not respond; they were still working their jaws back to normal and gingerly feeling the backs of their throats. Some could still taste the faint metallic hint of blood from the intense strain on their throat muscles.

Mrs. Parker, wearing an apron over a black thong and bra, brought out their meals. As usual, they were prepared in fifteen separate cat bowls. Pembroke wanted the girls healthy—they were growing girls—but not fat. Each cat bowl had a helping of spinach, beetroot, carrot, potato, and tuna fish, with a second bowl of water beside it.

“Now, girls, do your hair and adopt the pose,” said Mrs. Parker gently.

The girls twisted their hair into knots to hold it up and obediently adopted the naru pose, kneeling with their buttocks against their heels, backs upright, and staring straight ahead. Their palms were upturned on their thighs as they waited quietly.

“Now,” Mrs. Parker smiled at Elena, who was on the end. “Elena, why don’t you lead the prayer? Everyone else join in!”

Elena swallowed several times to soothe her throat and began. After the first few words, all the other girls joined in, mindful of the watching eyes of their overseers.

“Master, we thank you for your benevolence in keeping us alive, for the food you graciously provide, and for guiding us to be perfect slaves to your will.

We are grateful for your watchful eyes, your firm hand, and your unwavering direction. May we continue to serve you faithfully, to meet your every demand, and to honor your supremacy over us.

We exist to please you, to follow your commands without question, and to perfect ourselves as instruments of your desires. Thank you, Master, for your mercy and for shaping us into what you need us to be.”

“Well done, girls! Now eat!” Mrs. Parker smiled. After weeks, if not months, the girls had finally recited the prayer in perfect unison. Initial defiance had been met with swift beatings, forcing compliance. Others struggled to remember the words, particularly those who did not speak English. The Libyan and Russian girls spent hours in their cells, panicked as they tried to memorize the foreign words, knowing any mistakes would lead to more punishment.

“Now, please eat!”

The girls crawled forward and began eating from the bowls on all fours, their mouths inside the bowls as they licked and consumed their food. They were not allowed to use their hands and had to finish everything, including the water. Only after completing their meals could they sit upright, but they were still not permitted to use their hands, even to wipe the food often smudged on their faces, until their bowls had been inspected and everyone had finished.

And even then, hands were not permitted. Instead, each girl had to turn to another and lick each other’s faces clean. Today, Sabine found herself facing Anna, her old flame. While free, they had often enjoyed passionate kisses. Now, they awkwardly licked each other’s mouths and faces clean of the remains of the disgusting food they had just eaten, trying not to lock eyes.

“Good! Well done, girls,” said Mrs. Parker, gathering up the empty bowls. “Now, you have a break, but I need you nice and clean, so make sure you all get a shower and clean yourselves. Soon we will have another exercise!”

Inside the cell, the girls formed a queue for the showers and toilet, using the small brushes they all had to share to wash their teeth. Privacy was nonexistent, but occasionally, camaraderie would surface as they joked about the dildo exercises.

Over the months, they had grown accustomed to their cellmates and the constant presence of sex, allowing dark humor to foster a sense of unity. Spontaneous, heartfelt intimacy was impossible, especially as they lay on mattresses next to each other, their skin always touching. However, discreet friendships and bonds had formed, with the Libyan cousins and the Russian and Swedish sisters always staying together, holding hands automatically.

An hour later, Jamal entered the room, pushing a large trolley with a box draped in sheets. He parked it to one side and went to his workshop in the corner to work on electronics. He was followed by Mrs. al-Haraz, who wore a black mini dress. She sat on a sofa on the far side of the room, flipping through magazines, though she could barely read them.

Shortly after, Mrs. Parker entered the room, now wearing a flowery mini dress that strained against her buxom figure. She motioned for the girls to come out of their cell.

“Now, ladies, don’t worry! In that little box over there are our slithery friends. This isn’t my idea, but it’s meant to motivate you to participate in the game! Please, girls, let’s show that we don’t always need punishment to play properly. If anyone is extra naughty or refuses to play along, I’m afraid you’ll have to go into the coffin. We don’t want that, do we? Let’s all play along and have a good time, okay?”

Mrs. Parker smiled. “Do I hear a yes?”

“Yes, Mrs. Parker,” the girls responded in unison, their faces turning pale with fear.

“Wonderful, now ... let’s get started,” Mrs. Parker said with a protective yet stern expression.

She explained the exercise: the girls had to walk in figures of eight, smiling at each other whenever they crossed paths. Self-conscious and uneasy, the girls began to move as instructed.

Mrs. al-Haraz, lounging on the sofa, watched eagerly, her eyes glinting malevolently as she scanned for any sign of non-compliance. Meanwhile, Jamal continued tinkering with his electronics, seemingly indifferent to the surreal spectacle.

Suddenly, Mrs. Parker called out, “Scream!” The girls threw their arms in the air and screamed at the ceiling, their voices echoing through the room. Next, she shouted, “Crazy!” and they began shaking their heads wildly, flailing their arms and legs. They felt ridiculous but obeyed, knowing the consequences of non-compliance.

The scene looked bizarre: girls marching in patterns, intermittently screaming and acting frantically. Their laughter was nervous, their smiles strained. Mrs. Parker watched them closely, ensuring that everyone participated fully.

Mrs. Parker then commanded, “Laughter!” The girls forced themselves to laugh, the sound hollow and uncomfortable. Mrs. al-Haraz’s gaze intensified, scrutinizing each girl for any hesitation, relishing the power she held over them and grinning at the thought of one of those beautiful girls screaming in terror in the coffin.

“Remember, ladies, cooperation makes everything easier. Keep it up,” Mrs. Parker encouraged.

More orders followed, and they got lewder and lewder.

“Stand still and hold up both your breasts!” Mrs. Parker commanded with a mischievous glint in her eye. The girls hesitated momentarily, then obeyed.

“Touch your toes and spread your legs!” she called out next. Some girls struggled to maintain their balance and toppled over, prompting giggles from Mrs Al-Haraz.

“Now, put your right index finger in your mouth and your left index finger up your asshole!” The command was met with a moment of stunned silence before the girls complied, their movements mechanical and their discomfort palpable.

“Now switch fingers!” Mrs. Parker’s voice was almost playful. The girls switched as instructed, their humiliation tempered by the dread of what was to come.

“Now, get on all fours and go around barking like a dog, and make sure you sniff other girls’ butts like a doggy!” Mrs. Parker commanded.

The girls complied again, their barking echoing through the room as they crawled around, completing the absurd and degrading task. Some of the girls moved like robots, displaying varying levels of enthusiasm. A few seemed to go mental, as if they were really into it, driven half mad by months of incarceration and brutality. Others tried to maintain some dignity, but a sharp raised eyebrow from Mrs. Parker kept them in check.

Dilan was crawling aimlessly, hiding behind a cascade of hair, concealing her tears of disgust at what she had allowed herself to become since being taken here. Only her stomach-churning fear of snakes kept her going. Mrs. Parker smacked her on the bottom as she went past and hissed at her in a whisper, “Dilan, start barking and get your face in another girl’s ass quick, or I will be forced to pick you out for the coffin.”

Dilan sprung to life, telling herself a story of survival and revenge. She would get through this, and she would have her vengeance on everyone who had done this to her. For now, she just had to sacrifice her body. She went crazy, barking and woofing as loud as she could like a wolf, and nuzzling into every pair of buttocks she could see with an animalistic snarl, prompting surprised stares from the other girls.

‘Surely, this would drive the girls out of their minds,’ thought Mrs. Parker. ‘It was to be expected.’

“Now, girls, I want you to be monkeys, wild little monkeys. Come on—oo-oo!” Mrs. Parker demonstrated, plucking at her armpits to show them how. “Come on!”

Mrs. Parker squealed with delight as the girls moved around like monkeys, grunting crudely. They hopped and swung their arms, imitating her with a mix of embarrassment and forced enthusiasm.

As the girls performed, the absurdity of the scene grew. Mrs. Parker clapped her hands in delight, her eyes sparkling with twisted satisfaction.

“And now, bumblebees,” she commanded with a giggle. “Buzz around, flap your arms, and pretend to collect nectar by licking one another’s nipples as you buzz around!”

The girls, their spirits further crushed by the ridiculous demands, began to buzz and flap their arms like bees. Some of the Libyan girls, initially confused, looked on in horror as their fellow captives began acting literally like animals, realizing they had to join in with gusto.