Chapter 51

Fatima Al-Tayeb pushed her body to the limit, trying to find a reason to go on. Her motivations were purely negative: to save her daughter, to protect her family, to avoid more pain from the evil Mr. Harris. But how could she continue? There was no dignity in this life, no point, nothing to live for except to sacrifice herself for relatives she prayed would never find out how she had lived.

She was on a rare trip ‘outdoors,’ within a high-walled area resembling a rodeo stadium. Harris had meticulously planned for some private alone time with just him and his slave pony girl. Fatima knew this setting all too well; it was his twisted playground, a place where she was forced to endure his cruel games.

“Giddy up! Giddy up, girlie! Come on now!” Harris shouted with twisted delight. He had always loved horses and women, and his new hobby of combining the two had consumed him over the last few months. He spurred Fatima on, relishing in her humiliation and pain.

Fatima wore a demeaning ponygirl bondage outfit designed to strip her of any dignity. A tight leather corset cinched her waist painfully, accentuating her forced posture. Attached to the corset were straps that held her arms in a strict, immobile position behind her back. Her legs were encased in thigh-high boots with impossibly high heels, making every step a precarious challenge. A faux horse tail protruded from a plug, embedded i her asshole, adding to her humiliation.

Around her head, a bridle and bit gag kept her silent, with blinders on either side limiting her vision to only what was directly in front of her. A plume of feathers adorned the top of her head, completing the dehumanizing ensemble. Harris had ensured every detail of the outfit was meticulously designed to degrade and control her, turning her into a grotesque parody of a pony.

“Keep those knees up, girlie! Yee-ha!” Harris shouted, whipping her gently on the buttocks to encourage her. Fatima trotted around in a circle, endlessly, for no discernible outcome. Harris simply enjoyed the movement, the sights, the sweat, and most of all, the humiliation.

Soon, Fatima would be back down in her subterranean dungeon, where another small race track served as her usual place of torment. Harris would abuse her there, having pierced her nipples and hung little bells from them that jingled as she ran. He liked to force her to pull him around on a small chariot, all the while tapping her with the whip, and sometimes hitting her quite forcefully, either to punish her for perceived laxity or out of sheer animal lust.

She was kept with the horses and had not seen another human being other than Harris in weeks, or perhaps even months—she had lost track of time. Harris only spoke to her in cruel taunts, angry outbursts, or dehumanizing appraisals of her body.

She missed her old life, her family, her husband, her daughter. She even missed the complexity and the humanity of the other girls she had once known. Here, she felt she was becoming an animal.

She was not allowed to talk, even without the bit. Harris had installed a small microphone, and once, when he heard her whispering a prayer, he whipped her until she was bloody.

“Animals don’t talk, they never fucking talk, and you are a fucking animal,” he had snarled at her.

Despite the constant torment, Fatima’s body had grown stronger, more resilient. Her thighs were firm, her backside sculpted from the relentless exercises Harris subjected her to. This transformation only seemed to fuel his depraved desires, making her both an object of his sadistic pleasure and his lust.

In the stables, he often finished a ride by fucking her from behind, pawing at her breasts, and skull fucking her with her arms still tied behind her. Despite her animal get-up, he could not stop running his hands all over her smooth body, his sexual fantasy since he was a boy.

She ate from a bowl like the horses and drank from the same water. Harris did not mind that he was the one who had to clean her after urination and defecation for she was rarely allowed to have her hands free. She spent most of her time in her stall having nothing to do but stare at the wall.

“I wonder what you will be like when you start to lose your mind,” Harris mused, his voice dripping with malice. “I would, having nothing to do here but ride around, get fucked, and stare at that wall.” His blazing eyes bore into her, the face of an evil man twisted with sadistic pleasure. “The sooner you become an animal, the better for you.”

Fatima thought the same. Her life was forfeit, at the hands of this monster. She only hoped she might die soon at his hands and have release.

Pembroke had been thinking of pony girls as he appraised Lucy’s naked body, admiring the lines and curves of her athletic figure. Lucy, strictly bound, could do nothing but flinch and shiver as his fingers ran all over her.

Elira, of a slighter build, had grapefruit-sized breasts, a slim waist, and a carved figure that Pembroke enjoyed toying with. Both were excellent catches, he considered, and he hoped both would be suitably impressed with their induction into his twisted world.

Both girls, gagged, bound, and barely wiped clean between their legs, were ordered into the hall. They gazed in astonishment at the naked females in the cell on the side. Both were then forced onto their knees. Nadia and Yasmina were ordered out of the cell to slide themselves underneath Lucy and Elira, positioning their faces between the girls’ legs, looking up at their exposed genitalia.

“Nadia, Yasmina, you will start to eat our new guests. You will stop when I tell you,” Pembroke commanded with a sadistic smile. “Don’t worry about refreshments; I have a feeling they will arrive in your mouth at some point, and I expect you to swallow everything our new friends give you.”

Nadia and Yasmina, with trembling obedience, began their degrading task, their faces pressed close to the pussies and assholes of the two newcomers, and their tongues began to lick. Lucy and Elira, powerless and humiliated, could do nothing but endure the violation.

Meanwhile, Mrs Parker and Mrs Al-Hara called the rest of the girls out for a full training session. “This will be your new life before you are sold, ladies, so pay attention. Today, you can enjoy your friends’ tongues but from tomorrow, intensive training for you!

The girls started off on the cocksucking machines, their mouths forced around dildos for fifteen minutes at a time. Occasionally, they shrieked with pain as they missed a cycle, causing the electrodes attached to their nipples and pussies to buzz with a painful shock.

After a total of an hour with four different dildos, the slack-jawed, slobbering girls were ordered to continue using their mouths. They were paired with another girl and forced into fifteen minutes of French kissing. With nothing to sustain them other than each other’s saliva, they soon began to complain about being thirsty.

“Now girls, come on, suck the spit from your lover’s mouths, there is plenty of moisture to go around for now!” said Mrs. Parker mischievously, batting away their pleas for bathroom breaks.

Elira couldn’t help herself. She had only masturbated occasionally before, but the relentless tongue action from Nadia had driven her to countless orgasms. Suddenly, she exploded in Nadia’s mouth with a stream of piss. Nadia pulled away, choking on the urine that stung her eyes and burned her throat. She gasped for breath, the acrid taste lingering in her mouth, while tears of humiliation streamed down her face. The scene was chaotic and degrading, each girl trapped in their own personal hell, their dignity and humanity stripped away by the sadistic pleasure of their captors.

Pembroke merely laughed. “Come along, Nadia. Our poor new girl here has had a traumatic journey, much like your own! You should be more tolerant and glad for a drink!” He sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Now, I want you to lick all that up off the floor before you get your face back between her legs.”

Nadia, trembling and humiliated, bent down to follow his command, her cheeks burning with shame as her tongue ran along the rough surface of the ground, sucking up the sour pools of piss. Elira was mortified, and looking at these girls made her nauseous, the violence was one thing, this was just ... unnatural.

Meanwhile, the main girls were now ordered to form different pairs for 69 practice. They awkwardly positioned themselves, their bodies aligned in degrading compliance, their tongues hesitant but obedient as they made contact with each other’s pussies.

The room filled with the sounds of their reluctant efforts, tongues moving tentatively at first, then more insistently under the pressure of their captors’ watchful eyes. Hands were placed on each other’s thighs and hips, some in reluctance, others in genuine love for their partners. The Russian sisters, and the Afghan mother and daughter, again showed that family ties helped with the passion of their lesbian sex.

Next, the girls were re-paired again. One girl in each pair had to place a dildo gag in her mouth, the strap tied around her head, and lie down flat on her back. The seven-inch dildo protruded obscenely from her mouth, u into the air.

The other girl in the pair had to position herself above her partner’s face, lowering herself until the dildo slid up inside her. She was to continue until her pussy lips met the outstretched lips of the girl lying beneath her.

The room was filled with muffled groans and the slick sounds of the dildo moving in and out. Each girl had to balance precariously, hands gripping thighs or hips for support.

“Faster! Harder! Come on, girls, bounce up and down! I want to hear your pussies smack on those faces, and I want to see those titties bounce!” shouted Mrs. Parker encouragingly.

The girls, their faces flushed with exertion, moved faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the muffled groans and whimpers of the girls below. Their breasts bounced with the rhythm, and some girls forgot the discomfort of the girls beneath them, losing themselves in orgasm, soaking the faces of their partners.

Elira and Lucy watched in a daze, the surreal, degrading spectacle unfolding before them like a nightmarish parody. The room’s oppressive atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and arousal,

Elira and Lucy, still forced to watch, felt their minds teetering on the edge of madness after what seemed like hours of tongues and fingers inside their pussies and assholes from the poor, tired girls beneath them. The relentless assault on their senses left them in a haze of exhaustion and humiliation.

“OK, girls, that’s enough for now! Now for feeding time!”

Nadia and Yasmina slid out from beneath the newcomers, their faces covered in piss, cum, and other detritus from being under their asses for two hours. They joined the other panting, exhausted, sweating girls in getting down on all fours and eating with their mouths straight from the cat bowls of food.

“Elira? Lucy? Come on, you must be hungry. Here is your food!” Mrs. Parker set down four bowls, two for each, water and food, with vegetables and meat. They were bound so they did not have the temptation to use their hands. Both were exhausted.

Lucy just stared at the bowl in front of her.

“Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Parker tapped her on the ass with a long cane. “I will have to beat your bottom with this cane if you don’t eat, so please,” she smiled, “eat up!”

Elira, seeing the futility of resistance, leaned down and began to eat from the bowl, her stomach growling with hunger despite the humiliation. Lucy, still hesitant, felt another sharp tap from Mrs. Parker’s cane, the sting of it a clear warning.

Reluctantly, Lucy lowered her face to the bowl and began to eat, the taste of the food mingling with the bitterness of her tears. The room was silent except for the sound of the girls eating, their spirits broken, their dignity stripped away, so thought the new arrivals.

A few hours later, Lucy was strapped to a table, naked, while Mrs. Parker tattooed Pembroke’s brand onto her wrist. Pembroke approached them, smiling at Mrs. Parker.

“This is what two million dollars looks and feels like,” Pembroke said, running his hand along the hollows of her stomach, up her breasts, and grabbing one with one hand, squeezing the flesh and tweaking the nipple while staring into Lucy’s frightened eyes.

“Where is Fiona?” asked Lucy, finally gathering the courage to ask about her friend.

“Fiona will not be joining you in your new life. Unfortunately, she had another path to follow, though it was one in which she has been of immense benefit to me and my enterprise, and to your new Master’s enjoyment of you for the rest of your life in peace without any intrusion,” Pembroke said, smiling down at the prone woman.

Lucy’s heart sank at his words, realizing the grim fate that awaited her. Mrs. Parker continued with the tattoo, her hands steady, marking Lucy as property, as something owned and controlled.

“I don’t understand. Who has bought me? And where is Fiona?” Lucy asked, her voice trembling.

“Your new owner. Their identity will not be known to you until you meet him. After that, you may never see another human being again,” Pembroke said, his tone whimsically thoughtful. “As for Fiona, she is somewhere where she won’t be revealing anything to anyone. To the outside world, to everyone who matters—including your family—both you and Fiona were murdered yesterday in Sarajevo. So, try to think of Fiona as having been murdered,” he smiled cruelly, “and think of yourself as having died as well. This is your second life, your slave life.”

A wave of despair crashed over Lucy. The thought of her family believing she was dead, of Fiona’s fate being sealed, and of her own future being nothing but a life of servitude and isolation was almost too much to bear.

“Accept your new reality, Lucy,” Pembroke said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “The sooner you do, the easier it will be for you, and for me.” He scooped up a tear from her face and licked it. Then, he ran the same finger along her pussy, gently dipping it inside to capture her flavor. He brought his finger to his mouth and tasted her. Lucy’s body shuddered with revulsion, but she knew any resistance would only bring more suffering.

“Mrs. Parker, well done on her tattoo. But why no electrolysis?” Pembroke inquired.

“Master,” said Mrs. Parker, “I think the young lady has waxed herself in preparation for her performance. We may need to wait for her hair to grow back.”