Chapter 60

“Come on, you lesbian whore,” Mrs. Al-Haraz hissed at Khadija, her voice tinged with both disgust and palpable lust. From within the cell, the other naked inmates watched through the glass wall. They observed as Khadija knelt before Miriam, who was lying on her back in front of her at the very heart of the spacious hall. Mrs. Al-Haraz, in stark contrast as the only one fully clothed, donned a vivid deep red thong bikini complemented by matching strappy high heels. In her hand, she brandished a lightweight cord whip, using it to coax the newcomer to engage more intimately with the beautiful Moroccan teenager lying down vulnerably before her, her legs invitingly parted.v

“You fantasized about Miriam, sneaked away from your family to pursue your desires with her. Why hesitate now?” Mrs. Al-Haraz bent down, laughter dripping with mockery as she stared into Khadija’s face. “We’ve seen all your messages. The Master kept us well-informed about the foolish girl, all wrapped up in her filthy dreams, soon to join us here. You’ve truly disgraced your family.” As Mrs. Al-Haraz paused, biting her lip, a new taunt formed. “Just imagine if the Master shared your messages with Miriam with your family and friends. Perhaps he already has, to justify your mysterious disappearance. Think of their shame!”

The messages had indeed been uncovered. Khadija’s family, unable to accept the notion that she had ever gone to Paris, had instead fueled a local Muslim mob’s rage. The misinformation and their refusal to believe the truth led to a violent attack on an LGBT center in Brussels, under the mistaken belief that she had been seduced by the gay people living there. The center was burned to the ground, killing two people inside, a tragic consequence of their misguided anger and the broader tensions within the community.

Tears streamed down Khadija’s cheeks, splashing off her breasts as the harsh reality of Mrs. Al-Haraz’s words sank in. The thought that her family would first be shattered by her disappearance and then by the public disclosure of her secret lesbian affair was unbearable. She imagined them wishing she were dead rather than face the scandal. She felt like the architect of her own downfall, perhaps even deserving of her fate. Yet, as she gazed at Miriam—naked and exposed—she felt no desire. What she had wanted was to hold Miriam’s hands, perhaps share a kiss, not this forced lewd exhibitionism devoid of any affection. It was the antithesis of love.

“Come on, Khadija, it’s okay,” Mrs. Al-Haraz whispered into her ear, her tongue briefly and “accidentally” grazing her earlobe. “You’re in the right place here. I like pussy myself,” she confessed. Khadija flinched as she felt the Yemeni woman’s hand slip under her and gently stroke her bare undercarriage. “And Miriam is so pretty, there’s no shame here. You’re here to please your Master, and he wants this to happen. You might not see any other women after you are sold, so you should enjoy the pussy here.”

“And if you don’t start licking between her legs now,” Mrs. Al-Haraz stood back, her tone sharp, “I will start whipping Miriam’s breasts. You said in your messages that you’d do anything for her, so it’s time to live up to that. You don’t want to see your girlfriend in pain, right?” Mrs. Al-Haraz let the whip dangle and tickle along Miriam’s torso, savoring the ripple of discomfort across her taut stomach. “So come on, Khadija, don’t be selfish.”

Khadija moved forward reluctantly on her hands and knees, positioning herself between Miriam’s legs. Despite her orientation, she had never truly contemplated the intimate details of another girl’s body. Like her, Miriam was hairless, the delicate contours of her vagina subtle yet distinct. As Khadija drew closer, a strong musky scent filled her nostrils. Her lips met the soft, fleshy folds, and she hesitantly extended her tongue, tracing the intricate textures. With each tentative lick, the taste grew more pronounced—a sharp, almost bitter flavor that intensified as the area became increasingly moist.

Miriam lay back like a lifeless doll. She had been eaten and licked so often down there, much more vigorously, that this was noting. At least it was not Konrad sinking his teeth into her insides.

“You will not get away with this!” Clare’s voice shattered the silence as she banged furiously on the glass wall. “I will make you all pay for this!” At the other end of the hall, Jamal and Pembroke sat, largely detached from the unfolding scene. Jamal distracted himself with cards, while Pembroke reviewed documents on his laptop, barely glancing at the performance. Clare’s outburst drew a sigh from Pembroke, who, though reluctant, knew he had to maintain order.

“Jamal, if you please,” Pembroke said calmly, his eyes not leaving the screen. “I believe she’s not fond of snakes.”

Jamal stood, a grim resolve in his posture, and approached the cell. “Do you want to shut up and be quiet, or should I make things worse for you?” he threatened.

“Come on then, do your worst! Be a big man and hit a woman,” Clare screamed defiantly at the giant deformed Syrian before her. “I’m not afraid of you, and I won’t be your slave! Next time you put your cock in my mouth I will bite it off!”

Pembroke cleared his throat, drawing the anxious gazes of the other women to him, the true authority in the room. “I’m afraid, Clare, you need to respect us and your fellow slaves,” he stated firmly. “It is unpleasant for the other girls to hear such disruptions to the order of things.”

Jamal opened the door of the cell, easily deflecting the punches and kicks from Clare, and grabbed her by the hair as the other girls quickly moved to the side of the cell. He dragged her out, her feet barely touching the ground as she screamed, until they reached a rectangular box covered with an Arabic carpet. With one hand, he flung off the carpet, still holding Clare by her hair, her feet swinging in the air. Inside the box, four grass snakes hissed and writhed, suddenly exposed to the light and agitated by the commotion.

“NOOOO! FUUUCKK!” Clare erupted into a frenzy, thrashing wildly in Jamal’s grip, her words dissolving into sheer terror. Jamal paused and glanced at Pembroke for guidance.

Pembroke weighed the options before him. Granting Clare one final chance crossed his mind, yet the opportunity to observe the psychological impact of such an ordeal intrigued him. Understanding that threats lose their weight unless occasionally enforced, he made his decision with a solemn nod to Jamal.

Jamal acted swiftly, delivering a sharp punch to Clare’s stomach that silenced her cries as it knocked the wind out of her. With Clare subdued and limp, he gripped her more firmly with one hand. Then, with a swift movement, he lifted the lid of the snake-filled box. Carefully, he slid the stunned Clare inside beside the hissing grass snakes and quickly sealed the lid. The glass walls of the box allowed everyone in the room to witness the horrible scene as the snakes slithered around the terrified teenager.

Several of the girls in the cell refused to look, and gripped their friends and partners, sobing into their arms.

“Khadija, make Miriam cum and I will release Clare” Pembroke shouted out to the two on the floor.

Amidst the chaos, Pembroke’s voice cut through the heavy air, his command aimed at Khadija who was still on the floor with Miriam. “Khadija, make Miriam come and I will release Clare,” he declared loudly.

Khadija, overwhelmed by the grotesque spectacle, burst into tears. After a brief hesitation, driven by desperation, she returned to her task between Miriam’s legs, licking fervently, almost frantically. She moved her tongue up and down with all the force and speed she could muster, grateful that this position spared her from witnessing Clare’s torment.