Chapter 37

Afshan’s dreams were a chaotic blend of vivid and disturbing images: her family, Ivan with his throat brutally slit and blood splattered across the car, and the unnerving memory of a childhood visit to the dentist.

When she awoke, it was to the taste, feel, and smell of human flesh all around her. Camille’s hair was in her mouth. She rose with the others, having to use the toilet and shower in full view. For the first time, she felt odd being completely hairless, though none of the other girls had any hair except on their heads. She tried to avoid touching the others and sat down, trying to avoid the sight of buttocks in her face.

The cell was quiet. The girls formed groups but did not speak, not wanting to use up their words. Months of being cooped up together meant that some didn’t need them much. A few couples sat holding hands and embracing.

The smell was overpowering. The collective smell of each pussy in the cell had amalgamated into an overpowering aroma that seemed to have sunk into her skin.

The Afghan mother and daughter were having a tough time. They had seen war and poverty like no one else in the cell, but this was like something from a horrible fantasy they had both been too afraid to even imagine. Farah could not breathe; the claustrophobia, the overpowering smell, and the touch of flesh so near triggered a panic attack. Her mother held her, consoling her, trying to stop her shaking and screaming. Their near-identical bodies pressed together, their equally pneumatic breasts pressing against each other.

After a while, some of the girls told them to shut up. “You’re using all the words! It’s only ten o’clock; I want to be able to speak!” hissed the red-headed Camille. The Afghan pair were as terrified of these naked, strange girls as they were of anything else in the complex.

Pembroke was in his office. He was reading about the case in Poland and Belarus, and the missing Ivan Kozlov and Afshan Malik. No one seemed to care about the unnamed Afghans.

He wished he had not had to involve Kozlov, but they needed to cross the militarised border. He wondered how much online exposure Firas Rahma had. He was unknown on the Polish side of the border, which seemed the only side to care about the cases, which reassured him.

Mrs Parker brought him his coffee. Pembroke ordered her to give him a foot massage as well. He needed to relieve his stress.

As Mrs Parker knelt at his feet, rubbing his soles, she looked at him.

“Master, please may I have permission to speak?”

Pembroke looked down imperiously.

“Yes, but suck on my toes as you speak, I’m sure you can still articulate the words.”

Mrs Parker took his hairy toes into her mouth and sucked and licked between them, trying garble the words out through the toes.

“Master, I worry about your stock. I am afraid some of your girls might become ill or worse, and lose value for you. I think the overcrowding of the cell is not good.”

Pembroke smiled. She was desperately trying not to offend him but was also keen to help the poor girls who must be suffering immensely.

“It is good for morale,” he said. Which meant it was terrible for morale, which was precisely his aim.

“I think it is good for the girls to experience such an environment. We must prepare them for all sorts of unpleasantness, and the new girls must get a good impression. I don’t want Afshan and the Afghans to get any false hopes about having a nice environment to live in. This hellish introduction lets them know what they are in for from the get-go.”

“If you wish it, Master,” Mrs. Parker said no more and continued to lick and massage his feet.

After a minute, Pembroke sighed. “You are right, Mrs. Parker, it is bad for business. One of those girls will get sick; it’s like a Wuhan wet market in there! Tell you what, in 48 hours, seven of those girls will be out of here forever, off to their new owner. Then it will be a much more manageable eleven girls in one cell, and I’ll look into extending it.”

Mrs. Parker tried to hide her disappointment. What it meant was that Freja, for whom she had developed deep feelings, would soon be gone from her life forever.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Parker. I know you’re thinking about your little Swedish girlfriend. But you cannot form attachments here too deeply. Besides, there is so much pussy around, you will always be spoiled for choice!”

Mrs Parker tried to hide her sadness and tried to work his feet to make him move on to something else.

“You can spend your last two nights together, don’t worry. Freja can sleep with you until she departs with the rest of them. Now...” Pembroke realized he had to assert his power.

“You were a little naughty to question me, Mrs Parker. I know you meant well, and you were probably right, but nonetheless, I think it deserves a little punishment, don’t you think?”

Mrs Parker swallowed. “As you consider, Master.”

“Yes! And I consider you shall have five strokes on the bottom with the cane. Not too much! Just enough to leave some marks for a few days!”

Pembroke gestured her to get up and bend over the bed. He fetched the cane and whacked her five times in quick succession.

Mrs Parker screamed and jumped around, and five discrete red lines snaked across her buttocks by the end of it.

Pembroke felt bad about caning his loyal servant, but he did enjoy how her meaty ass wobbled with each strike, unlike the firmer and perter buttocks of the younger girls.

He also needed to show Mrs Parker that despite her position she was still below men, and could be punished just as easily as the girls. And it would do the girls good to see their overseer have a few lines on her ass, to make them forget any silly notions about females having any chance of equality and dignity in the complex, and in their new lives.

A few hours later, Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Al-Haraz entered the hall. Dmitri, Konrad, and Jamal hovered in the background, looking menacing.

Mrs. Parker was dressed in a short cream dress that barely covered her knickers and nude shoes. Mrs. Al-Haraz wore a sheer black basque and black high heels.

“Amina Khattak! Farah Khattak! Mummy! Daughter! Out, now!” Mrs. Al-Haraz barked, gesturing with her fingers for the Afghans to get up inside the cell.

The grotesque face of the Arab woman was frightening enough without the snarling threats and abrasive manner.

Two mats with restraints were thrown on the ground in front of both overseers. They were wider and longer than a human body, with cuffs on all four corners.

Mrs Al-Haraz opened the cell door and shouted again into the cell.

“Khattak bitches! Out now!”

She grabbed Farah by the arm and yanked her out. Her mother followed, pleading and not understanding anything that was going on.

“Down!” The Yemeni pointed to the mats.

The Afghans hugged each other, looking from Parker to Al-Haraz.

“Down! Lie down!” Mrs. Al-Haraz was getting angrier.

Mrs. Parker tried to be gentler. She walked to the young Farah, placed her hands on her shoulders, and gently pushed her down to her knees. She patted the mat, then pushed her gently down again until her back and shoulders were touching the mat and she was fully lying on her back.

Mrs. Parker smiled at her and took her hands, bringing them to the corners and tying them to each corner, then did the same with her ankles. Farah was too frightened to resist, instead she looked helplessly at her mother.

Amina felt like a failure, unable to protect her daughter. Instead, she feebly lay down as well, submitting to the inevitable.

Both girls felt the air between their legs, their smooth pussies now feeling extra vulnerable. Amina tested her binds and tried to bring her thighs together, but realized that if they wanted, anyone could have full access between her legs.

Mrs. Al-Haraz peeled off her basque and stood above Amina’s head, her high heels planted on either side. She crouched down, giving Amina a full gynecological display.

The Yemeni looked down at Amina’s shocked eyes, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She brought her finger to her vagina and said, “Pussy.” Then she moved her finger to her anus and said, “Asshole.” She repeated the motion back and forth like a twisted lesson in English vocabulary. “Pussy. Asshole. Pussy. Asshole.”

She then moved her hand up to her mouth, keeping eye contact, and formed a V shape with her fingers around her mouth. Obscenely, she moved her tongue between the V shape, flickering it vigorously. It shocked Amina to see it and understand the implications. “Lick. Lick. LICK,” she taunted.

She moved her finger down to Amina’s mouth, tracing her lips, and ran it along her tongue. “Lick,” she said again, waggling her own tongue at her.

She then moved the finger back to her vagina, then to her anus, and back again. “Pussy, asshole, pussy,” she repeated, before bringing her hand back to her own mouth and making the obscene V gesture again. “Lick.”

Mrs Al-Haraz then brought her pussy forwards and planted her ass crack on the poor woman’s face. “LICK” she shouted this time.

Amina moved her face to the side, locking eyes with her daughter for a second before Mrs. Al-Haraz grabbed her hair roughly and forced her head straight. She rubbed herself along Amina’s features, feeling the strong nose rub against her clit and then inside her pussy. She allowed herself to sink even deeper.

Amina could barely breathe now. She had never seen such a display of genitalia, man or woman, but now it was enveloping her face. She couldn’t even see properly anymore; she just knew it was blocking all air, and she was struggling to breathe. Reflexively, she moved her tongue, running it along God-knows-what as if to make space for air to get in.

“Fuckkk,” screamed the Yemeni in ecstasy.

The girls in the cell watched on. Afshan was horrified, glued to the strange scene, but also perturbed that it seemed so banal and normal to the others.

Mrs. Parker walked to the cell door, opened it, and called out, “Kasia, Sophie, come out here, please.”

The two walked out, knowing they would have to do something gross. Mrs. Parker directed them to stand next to each of the Afghan girls’ feet.

Mrs. Parker then stripped off her dress and peeled off her knickers, throwing them to one side, now naked apart from her nude shoes. Some of the girls noticed the red stripes on her ass.

“I wonder what the bitch did to deserve that,” whispered Holly, next to Afshan.

Mrs. Parker squatted over Farah’s face. She smiled and stroked the young girl’s face. She tapped her own vagina. “Pussy, pussy.” Then she slipped her finger back to her anus. “Asshole, asshole.” She reached back and placed her finger on Farah’s vagina. “Pussy.” Then she slipped her finger just inside the girl’s anus, making her squirm. “Asshole.”

She giggled and leaned into the girl’s face, wagging her tongue. “Lick.”

Farah, overwhelmed and terrified, tried to close her eyes and block out the horror. She did not understand Mrs Parker’s next words.

“Oh darling, I’m sorry but this is going to happen whether you want it or not.”

She let herself down, allowing her buttocks to sink around the girl’s face, sighing as she felt the breath and movement of the mouth on her pussy.

“Lick, baby, lick” Mrs Parker mouthed.

Eventually, the young girl’s tongue began to wag. She shut her eyes and tasted the nectar of the older woman, provoked by her tongue, slowly pouring down her throat.

Mrs. Parker smiled at the features of the young girl and played with her black hair. She had no embarrassment in front of the dozen or so remaining girls staring at her through the glass of the cell. She turned over her shoulder. “Sophie darling, get your face down there, and lick that sweet pussy, OK?”

Mrs Al-Haraz noticed this and shouted back at Kasia. “Kasia, lick that cunt!”

Kasia and Sophie gave each other a look and knew they had no choice. They knelt down, grabbed the dusky thighs pulled them up to widen the area to work on, and put their mouths against the soft flesh.

Neither of the females had ever had more than a finger against these parts, and Farah was a complete virgin. Both lifted their bottoms off the air as much as they could in shock at the touch of the hot, wet tongues pressing into their most intimate areas.

Kasia felt the inside of Amina’s thighs strain as she tried vainly to press her legs together, but only succeeded in rubbing against her ears. Both girls looked along the rippling stomachs to see the convulsions within both of the Afghans and the writhing asses of their overseers as they rode their faces.

After several minutes, both the overseer ladies had come onto the faces of their unwilling charges, their pussies coating the confined faces between their legs with their fluids.

Mrs. Al-Haraz pointed at Farah’s body, and both ladies ordered the two girls to help them.

“We need to get Farah on top of her mummy for a 69, my darlings,” Mrs. Parker commanded Kasia and Sophie. “Let’s make it happen—grab her and help me out!

Farah was still in shock from what had happened to her mouth and between her legs. She was helped to her feet gingerly and then pulled towards her prone mother. Suddenly, all four women wrenched her down, pulling her legs apart to position them over Amina’s face. They forced her to kneel, attaching her ankles to another pair of cuffs at the side of the mat and locking them in.

Farah began cursing, knowing what was coming. Four pairs of arms seized her hands, pulling her forward with relentless force until she collapsed on top of her mother. The overseers quickly attached new cuffs to the sides, and each girl pulled Farah’s wrists towards them, securing her in place. She was now on all fours, knees spread wide, positioned over her mother.

Farah tried to maintain her dignity, but in her attempt to stare ahead and avoid looking down at her mother’s bare crotch, she arched her back even further, exposing her asshole and pussy to the girls in the cell. The girls felt sorry for the mother-daughter pair but were also fascinated by the taboo nature of the scene. This kind of torture wasn’t painful, just utterly humiliating. Enough girls had been broken by now to actually be turned on by seeing these conservative women have their minds shattered and humiliated in such a sensual, forbidden way. pussy!”

Mrs. Parker appeared in front of Amina’s face, smiling down at her as she pushed down on Farah’s tailbone, forcing her crotch closer and closer to her mother’s mouth. Amina tried to turn her face away, but Mrs. Parker held her hair firmly, shaking her head at the woman. She stuck her tongue out and wagged it as if to instruct. “Lick!” Mrs. Parker commanded. “Lick pussy!”

As if to instruct her further, Mrs Parker leaned in closer without breaking eye contact with Amina and began tonguing her daughter’s asshole. Her saliva dripped down through the wrinkles of the flesh of Farah’s labia and dangled down until it settled on Amina’s lips.