Chapter 59

Khadija could not believe the horrific nightmare she had been plunged into. She thought of her family and how she had betrayed them, going behind their backs for a date with another girl, something they would have told her was unclean, dirty, heathen. Now she couldn’t ask for help even if she wanted to. Was this her punishment from God?

She remembered the feeling of euphoric anticipation walking to the bowling alley, her heart racing with excitement. But then, nothing but pain and discomfort and blackness until she was taken out of her tiny prison. She was stretched out, naked, on a plane, looking out at the clouds through the windows. Who on earth were these brutal men?

An evil-looking thug had pulled her out, naked, and thrown her on the floor of the small plane, deserted but for him and the pilot. He slapped her, then ran his hands and even his mouth all over her, every inch of her body, when no man had ever seen her naked.

Dmitri, Nadim, and then the monstrous appearance of Jamal had terrified her, but Khadija’s nightmare expanded when she was shown the complex and the horrible visages of Jamal and Mrs. Al-Haraz, both scarred and disfigured. Mrs. Al-Haraz wore a leather corset that pushed up her breasts and barely covered them, fishnet stockings, and stiletto heels that clicked ominously on the floor. Half her face and head were a morass of burned flesh, vainly made up with garish makeup and lipstick.

Mrs. Al-Haraz approached her with a twisted smile, leering at her trembling, naked body. “Welcome to your new home, you filthy little lesbian,” she hissed. “You’ll learn your place here very quickly.”

Khadija was pushed into the hall to view the clear glass cell in which all the female slaves were kept. She was astonished at the sight and the surprised yet resigned faces of the beautiful girls inside.

“Here, you will get all the pussy you crave, you fucking pervert,” Mrs. Al-Haraz whispered into her ear, trailing her tongue along Khadija’s earlobe, making the poor girl shudder.

Outside the cell stood a friendlier-looking blonde woman, offset by her lewd outfit. She wore a one-piece bodysuit,, which clung to her buxom figure. Looking to be in her forties, she had a seductive smile and an air of faux kindness. She was patting an examination table with straps.

“Hello, dear, it must have been traumatic for you; it always is with you girls,” she cooed, her voice syrupy sweet. “Come on, hop up and let’s get that hair off your body and have you marked, my lovely.”

Khadija’s legs felt weak as she approached the table, her mind reeling from the surreal horror of her situation. The blonde woman’s hands were surprisingly gentle as she helped Khadija onto the table, but the straps that quickly secured her limbs told another story. The mix of false tenderness and cold efficiency was terrifying.

“That’s it, dear,” the woman said, running her fingers through Khadija’s hair before moving to her body, “Let’s make you ready for your new life.”

While Khadija was being groomed and prepared in the hall in front of the other girls, Clare was having her own preparation, with both Konrad and Nadim sharing her in an orgy of violent depravity.

Clare barely remembered anything after midnight. She recalled laughing about the suicide note, reminding herself to get rid of it as soon as she got home.

After that were snippets: a man at the club, a park, being in a tight confined space, and suddenly sobering up to find herself crouched in a tight coil, her hands bound behind her back, ankles tied, and a gag down her throat. She couldn’t move, see, or hear properly.

Finally, there was an explosion of light, and her tired limbs were stretched out. She was in daylight, on a plane, with just one passenger, an ugly, thuggish-looking man with a Russian accent. He responded to each of her muffled pleas with a slap to the face and a laugh.

She was naked, still bound, and had been laid on the floor of the plane. The man had taken off his own clothes and thrown himself on top of her. He had pulled her bound ankles up in the air as she was on her back, exposing her obscenely, as he massaged his lurid cock in front of her and plunged inside her. The pain and the inability to breathe properly had made her think she would have a heart attack as his cock sliced into her, pushing her insides apart. All the while, the thug just leered at her like a hungry dog on heat.

Konrad had enjoyed Miriam’s body in the time they had spent together, but he was eager to have access to a new white body. He devoured her pale flesh with his teeth, ignoring her cries and whimpers. He bit into her toes and fingers, as if laying his claim on virgin snow.

Nadim’s eyes and hands had gone straight to her toned buttocks, admiring her willowy figure and relatively narrow, boyish hips. His hands ran along the backs of her thighs and her lower spine before meeting in a mash of her flesh. He squeezed her buttocks between his palms, admiring the texture and firmness, then splayed them apart to reveal the reddened holes between them. Without hesitation, he buried his face in them, running his tongue along the crack and into any crevices he could find, savoring the taste.

“Nooo! Please help! Where ... where am I! What is going on? Help! HELP!” Clare screamed, her hands free as she desperately tried to slap Nadim away from between her legs and push Konrad away from biting her extremities. They ignored her pleas until she grabbed Konrad’s hair. He gripped her wrist, forced it down, and squeezed his hand around her throat.

“Don’t stop us from doing anything to you, okay? I want to fuck and eat you, little bitch. Just cooperate and let me enjoy you!” His eyes were wild, boggled like a madman’s.

Clare tried to resist, but Konrad’s grip tightened around her throat, cutting off her breath. She gurgled, the lack of oxygen intensifying the sensations from Nadim’s tongue inside her pussy, sending tremors through her body. It felt as if his tongue had snaked its way inside her, all the way along her spinal column to her brain.

“If you want to breathe, then use your mouth properly,” Konrad growled, standing over her. He grabbed her hair and positioned himself above her, forcing his cock into her mouth. He thrust deeper, filling her mouth and pushing past her tonsils into her esophagus. He felt the bulge in her throat and delighted in the change of color on her face to almost that of her red hair, her eyes widening in panic. A hissing noise escaped her as her windpipe was blocked, her desperate attempts to breathe only adding to his twisted pleasure.

Dmitri felt her asshole loosen around his fingers as her body surrendered to Konrad’s violation of her throat and the lack of oxygen. Taking advantage, he hurriedly thrust his manhood inside her preferred hole and began pumping vigorously.

Konrad continued to thrust in and out of her throat, easing out just enough to let saliva bubble out of her mouth and allow her to gasp for air. Clare had never experienced such a rough fuck as this—two massive cocks pumping in and out of her holes at either end of her body. She could barely even feel her arms and legs let alone use them to fight the invaders off.

Khadija’s heart raced as the painful electrolysis worked its way over her body. The blonde woman patiently continued, humming to herself. From inside the cell to the side, there was murmuring and whispering as the gaggle of female prisoners pressed against the perspex glass walls, gazing out at the new meat.

“Now, darling, before I turn you over, I’m going to give you a little tattoo,” Mrs. Parker smiled at her. “A little mark that the rest of the girls have, to signify your new life here. Then you can have a toilet break, and we’ll move on to hair removal on the back of your body.”

“Wh-what? No, I don’t want a tattoo! I don’t belong here, I just want to go home. My family will be looking for me. I cannot get a tattoo; it won’t come off!”

“That’s the idea,” said Mrs. Parker, stroking her cheek consolingly. “I’m sorry, I’m sure your family will be looking for you and will miss you very much. But this new life, this is forever. The tattoo means you belong to the Master. No matter who owns you in the future, it signifies that this is how you came to be a slave and where you were trained.”

“What? I am not a slave, I don’t ... I just wanted to meet someone!”

“So I heard,” winked Mrs. Parker. “That was rather naughty, but if it’s any consolation, there will be plenty of opportunities during your stay here to play with other girls.”

“NO! I’m not some pervert! I’m not that kind of girl, I don’t belong here!”

“Khadija, you are young and beautiful, and you have been kidnapped. You are precisely the kind of girl who belongs here, I’m afraid. Now, please calm down; this attitude is getting a little tiring,” sighed Mrs. Parker.

The older woman tightened the binds around Khadija’s arm and wrist, rendering them completely immobile. She then took out a large gag, wrapped it around Khadija’s head, and plugged it into her mouth to prevent any distractions.

With precision, the symbol “ب П P” was worked onto the inside of her wrist. Khadija cried as she watched the tattoo needle deposit its permanent ink into her skin, marking her forever. The realization hit her that her family might already have disowned her after everything that had happened.

Mrs. Parker released Khadija to go to the toilet, but she refused to go in front of all the other girls and Mrs. Parker. “Now, now, silly girl. Privacy is a thing of the past, Khadija. Just do it, and then I will clean your insides.”

Khadija, running her fingers over her tattoo and her smooth, hairless skin, couldn’t handle this further humiliation. “NO! I WANT out of here!” She pushed Mrs. Parker down and ran to the hall door, but it was shut.

“Khadija,” sighed Mrs. Parker, “you are going to get yourself punished.” Mrs. Parker pressed a button, and within minutes, Konrad entered, furious that his time with Clare had been disrupted. He was naked, sweating, his cock swinging and pointing up towards his chin in erection.

Khadija watched, frozen in fear, as if a monster were approaching. She couldn’t speak as Konrad grabbed her by the hair and slapped her. “You will obey Mrs. Parker!”

“Khadija,” Mrs. Parker said firmly, “you will pee and empty your bowels and clean yourself with this.” She pointed to a dildo-shaped showerhead attached to a bidet. “Or I will do it for you, and if I have to do it, I will let Mr. Fischer put that large thing between his legs straight up your bottom afterward, and it will hurt. So please, do it yourself!”

Khadija stared at the ground, her face burning with humiliation, as she went through her ablutions. Mrs. Parker stood to the side, arms folded, not enjoying the situation either. “Make sure you stick it right up your ass, Khadija,” she instructed, her back turned. “I will be sticking my fingers inside afterward, and you will lick them clean, so no excuses!”

“Finished?” she asked the girl.

“Y—yes.”

“Call me Madam or Madam Parker, OK?” she said curtly.

“Yes, Madam Parker.”

“Is your ass nice and clean?” Mrs. Parker approached her, her eyes steady on the huge eyes of the younger girl. She wrapped her arms around Khadija, planted both hands on her buttocks, and let a hand drift into her crack. An index finger wormed its way into her wet asshole, digging inside, provoking a frown on the girl. Then she brought it out and to her lips and sucked it clean.

“Good girl,” Mrs. Parker smiled. “Now, why don’t you get back on the table, and let’s get you finished!”

Hours later, Clare and Khadija languished in the cell with the other girls, both now silky smooth, branded, and, in the case of Clare, brutally raped countless times.

“Why don’t you girls resist? Why do you sit here and do nothing if you are prisoners?” Clare screamed at them.

“Please be quiet,” Elira spoke firmly to her. She fingered her collar, aware that their collective word limit would soon expire. “We are slaves. We are not permitted to talk about things like that.”

Clare looked around for allies. “What the hell? You have been kidnapped. Your families must be looking for you. We can get out of here if we work together; we just need a plan!”