Chapter 64

JD Hart came home late from the bar in a small town in upstate New York, feeling the weight of his years and the alcohol in his veins. His hair, now gray, bore the marks of the last two tumultuous years. He glanced at the picture on the hallway wall of his daughter, Hailey Hart. She had disappeared while on vacation in Spain, never to be found. The photo showed a blonde, smiling girl, her face full of life, and JD felt a deep pang of sorrow as he thought about what had happened to her.

Since her disappearance, JD’s life had unraveled. He lost his job and his family; his wife and three remaining children had left him due to his violent, drunken outbursts. Now, alone in his home, he went into the room where he had created a shrine to Hailey. He reached for her favorite childhood toy, a cuddly red octopus, and sighed as he remembered how she had cherished it, even as a teenager.

He thought he heard a noise, but this was a safe neighborhood, miles from the city. He dismissed it and continued stroking the toy, lost in memories of Hailey’s love for it.

The noise came again, louder this time. JD got up to investigate, peering out of the room. The last thing he heard was a muffled gunshot. He felt a searing pain in his stomach and, before he could react, another shot rang out, striking him in the head. He collapsed to the floor, lifeless, his blood pooling around the cherished red octopus toy.

Isabela Silva had endured a traumatic few days. At just nineteen, she had an enjoyable, if hectic, life in Madrid, working as a bartender with plans to study accounting. She was accustomed to fending off amorous advances from men vying for her attention. Her black curly hair, bronze skin from her African heritage, a cute nose that wrinkled when she laughed, and black pools of eyes framed with large lashes made her stand out. Her long legs and hourglass figure, with a tiny waist, only added to her allure. Just a week ago, she had the world at her fingertips.

Then everything changed. A white van, a gun, a mysterious plane trip, and travel by truck—all while blindfolded—transported her a thousand miles away. Now, she found herself in a different world, one she had never imagined could exist in 2029.

She was in a place where girls were being trained as slaves, captured, and sold to powerful men. Among a gaggle of girls from around the world, Isabela saw varying degrees of resignation and acceptance of their new life. The staff members were vicious and lecherous, showing no compunction as they imposed their will on her since her arrival. The bright future she had once envisioned was now gone.

References to the “Master” echoed around her, inspiring awe and obedience among the girls. They all lived within one cell surrounded by clear Perspex walls, viewed like zoo animals by everyone in the main hall. The hall contained a variety of clinical equipment, bondage devices, and sinister glass coffins covered with ornamental carpets that emitted strange sounds. The girls whispered that these coffins contained horrible creatures like snakes and rats, used as punishment for those who did not obey their trainers or who defied their new status in life.

Isabela’s world had transformed into a nightmare, and she was currently outside of the cell, having been manhandled by one of the giant brutes who helped run the complex. She had been strapped to a table on her back. Like the other girls, she was, as she had been all the time since arriving, naked. Looming over her, practicing hair removal with electrolysis over her body, was an older female.

The older woman was incongruous. Unlike the other girls, and similar to the other older female overseers, she was older and clothed, albeit in outrageously sexualized clothing. She wore a black leather dominatrix outfit, complete with a corset that cinched her waist tightly, accentuating her curves. Thigh-high boots with stiletto heels clicked menacingly against the floor as she moved. Her outfit was adorned with metal studs and chains, and a small leather whip hung from her belt. The woman’s heavily made-up face wore a cruel smile as she continued her work, her eyes reflecting a cold, calculating malice. Most ominous were the tattoos covering her face, intricate designs that twisted and turned, adding an even more sinister edge to her already terrifying presence. Her jet-black hair, obviously dyed, framed her face, and her dark eyes held an unnerving, predatory gleam.

“What is going to happen to me?” whispered Isabela, hoping that despite her captor’s evil and sexual appearance, there might be a glimmer of gentleness within her.

“You are going to be trained here, to be the perfect slave, according to the Master’s high standards, and sold to an appropriate gentleman where you will live out the rest of your life,” the older woman said simply. “And you will refer to me as Madam, or Madam Nagy. I am just a woman, but the Master has given me authority over you girls, so you will all respect me.”

“Are you a slave too?” Isabela asked, her confusion growing. Was even the woman inflicting the painful zaps on her skin also a slave?

“Yes. The Master chose to keep me here to keep you girls in line and prepare you for your lives,” said the woman with a regretful air. “It was not my choice; it is the Master’s choice. Like you, I only stay alive by his wishes, but it is an honor to serve him. You will shortly dedicate your life to your own owner. We must all learn to serve and to accept our fate. Once you realize there is no escape, it becomes easier to serve and accept our lot.”

“But surely there must have been an escape. How long have you been here?”

“Madam. Call me Madam,” Madam Nagy gently slapped Isabela on the face, her smile tight.

“Sorry, Madam. How long have you been here?”

“I was captured four years ago, with my niece. I was a silly woman in the outside world. I had no future. Would you believe it,” the older woman smiled with pride, “but the Master convinced me, in the outside world, that he was in love with me,” she smiled to herself and laughed, “but of course, the Master was just teasing me. He wanted to capture me, and my niece, and two other girls. I was very useful to him without realizing it,” she muttered sadly.

“Was your niece sold?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Nagy’s expression turned distant, a mix of regret, sadness, and pride. “Lila. She served her owner well, from what I understand. I had been due to serve the same owner myself, but he sadly died. After that, well, we older women are not as popular as you young flowers,” she smiled and touched Isabela on the nose, “and I would not have blamed the Master if he disposed of me as I was of no use to him as a commercial product, but he allowed me to live, to serve him as a trainer and overseer here.”

“And you never saw your niece again?” Isabela’s eyes grew wide at the woman’s acceptance of this bizarre, awful world.

“No, I do not know what happened to her, and I do not ask. We are slaves for life. It would have been a blessing to see her again, but that is not up to me. It is up to her owner, and the Master, and what plans they had made. I have accepted that my fate is not mine to decide, and the same for her. I hope she accepted it too, whatever became of her and wherever she is, and that she did our Master proud.”

Isabela swallowed hard. This woman seemed to be utterly mad, completely institutionalized, or both. She had read about slavers who, in the last few years, had begun kidnapping girls and selling them. The state of the world and its deterioration had been frightening, but Brazil was just as dangerous as Spain, and she had tried to be careful, just not careful enough.

Mrs. Nagy tried not to think about Lila. She remembered how terrified and disgusted her niece had been while they were prisoners together and felt immense guilt for bringing her into this life. She had never dared to ask what had happened to her, not wanting to confront the obvious truth: she was dead.

Dr. Ivanov had died while having sex with Lila in his medical surgery in the basement underneath his home. Lila might have thought that his sudden heart attack was her ticket to freedom. Unfortunately, it was her death sentence. Dr. Ivanov’s wife, Lydia, had been shocked when she couldn’t access the basement and instead received a message to call a “Philippe Papin.” The gruesome truth about Dr. Ivanov’s life became clear to her soon after.

Pembroke’s girls were sold with several guarantees. One item of concern was that the buyers were invariably distinguished, respected family members, sometimes half a century older than their young slave girls. None wanted their deaths to bring an unpleasant blemish to their reputations and embarrass their families, so Pembroke offered a service of “cleaning up” evidence of their debauchery while their glowing obituaries were being prepared. In the case of Lila Kovacs, between Ivanov’s heart attack while abusing the slave girl over the operating table and his well-attended funeral, Edward Pembroke had attended to his property, consoled Lydia, and efficiently, quickly, and discreetly removed evidence of his evil hobby. In the process, he disposed of Lila without leaving a trace. He hated having to destroy his still beautiful and healthy young product, but it was a key selling point he boasted to his clients: they could relax in their old age with their slaves, knowing that they would not suffer undue scandal upon their deaths. Thus, plans were put in place to destroy their slaves immediately upon news of their Master’s passing.

“Why did the Master tattoo your face?” asked Isabela, fascinated by the older woman’s facial tattoos.

“It was his wish,” smiled Mrs. Nagy. “And also to stop himself from bringing me outside to help him capture girls,” she giggled to Isabela. “I would love to do that work. I am very loyal to the Master. I have no interest in escape, and I have so many ideas for bringing in more girls, but unfortunately, the outside world thinks I am missing, and there are still missing pictures and reports looking for me. So the Master decided it was too risky and, to avoid temptation, branded me.” Mrs. Nagy shrugged. “As long as the Master likes it, I like it.”

“But how can you enjoy kidnapping us? It’s awful, my family is missing me,” wailed Isabela.

“I am sorry, Isabela,” Mrs. Nagy sighed, though her eyes held no genuine remorse. “It is the way of nature. You girls should be better protected by your families. It is natural that, as a young, pretty girl, evil men will want to take you. Slavery is more well-known now, so you should have had more warning than I did four years ago. It is the way of nature,” she smiled nonchalantly. “The Master deserves me. He is not some oaf; he is clever, intelligent, charismatic, and he tricked me. I cannot complain. Your owner will have made his money somehow; he also deserves you. Life is not fair; the strong get what they want. The Master has me, and chooses to have me around, because I satisfy his wishes,” she declared with unsettling pride.

“The Master, and this whole disgusting operation, is evil. I hope he is caught.”

Mrs. Nagy’s expression darkened as she squeezed Isabela’s arm tightly. “You will not disparage the Master in any way in my presence, girl! You will show him respect. Not only will he punish you, but I will punish you too!” Her grip tightened, and her eyes flashed with a cold, cruel malice.

“I ... I am sorry, Madam,” Isabela stammered, remembering her helplessness and the beatings and violent rapes she had already endured. She knew how easily she could descend into the most despicable punishments from here.

“It’s okay, darling, as long as you remember,” Mrs. Nagy said, her tone softening but still chilling. “I remember what it is like to be new here. You just have to get used to it and, above all, obey and want to obey. Take pride in pleasing your master. Tell me, how were you brought here?”

Isabela swallowed hard at the painful memory. “I’m from Brazil but living in Madrid. I was working a night shift in a bar and walking home like I did every night for weeks. A van just pulled up, and two guys jumped out in ski masks with guns, and pulled me in. They tied me up, and I never moved or was able to talk until I got here.”

Mrs. Nagy tutted. “Such a lack of finesse, no creativity. I keep telling the Master, if he let me out, none of you girls would be safe,” she giggled, seemingly unaffected by the alarming things she was saying. “Trickery works better than brute force. It sounds like Dmitri and Konrad,” she tutted again. “I would have gotten you,” she licked her lips unsettlingly, staring at the frightened Brazilian, “and maybe some of your good-looking friends too. You would have trusted me, an older woman. It would be so easy,” she laughed in frustration. “The Master really needs to let me out to get some girls for him,” she laughed.

Isabela felt a coldness descend on her as she realized there was no way out; everyone here was evil in their own way. This obscenely dressed woman, even more sexual in her clothes than naked, was more of a pervert than the rest of them.

“Will I ever see my family again?” Isabela whispered.

Mrs. Nagy just smiled primly and shook her head. “Absolutely not. Oh, unless you have some hot cousins and sisters, do you?”

Isabela asked, “Why? What does that have to—do you mean—?”

“Yes, if they are easily available. But also, if you misbehave, your family are hostages, remember that. Don’t think it is an idle threat, and it continues after you are sold. If you decide that you don’t want to participate in your new life, even to the extent of trying to end it yourself, then your family will be targeted. I have seen proof of it many times. Don’t you worry, the Master does not issue threats he does not carry out!”

“But he cannot do anything if the police or the ... world catch him.”

“Maybe,” shrugged Mrs. Nagy. “But it hasn’t happened yet. What does that tell you? A lot of very powerful men like or tolerate this.”

“How can you like living here?”

“Well, I have no choice, but it’s all I have now. I wouldn’t know what to do outside anymore. I was a lost, stupid little girl who was getting old. I needed direction, and I get it here. And I still need correction every now and then,” she turned to Isabela and pulled up her tiny micro skirt, showing her buttocks which were crisscrossed with red lines. “The Master did this a few weeks ago. Only He is allowed to punish me,” she said proudly. “I still need to be punished to keep me performing, but well, I also think,” Mrs. Nagy blushed, “that the Master cares about me.”

“I just want this to stop. I think I will lose my mind,” sobbed Isabela.

“Isabela, you seem like a nice girl,” Mrs. Nagy ran her hands over her fleshy, pneumatic breasts rising up like little from her chest. “I think you might be fun in bed. A rare treat for the girls here is to spend a night in my bedroom.” She moved closer to Isabela’s face. “You get to wear nice underwear, nice cotton panties,” she ran her hand over Isabela’s still stubbly pussy, “in a warm bed, with me—a little respite from these other bitches.” Mrs. Nagy then ran her finger along Isabela’s pussy lips and licked it. “Yes, I think it might be nice for both of us. What do you think?”

Isabela just turned her face away, trying to focus on something else while Mrs. Nagy continued her work on her and chuckled, “Think on it, girl. Soon you will be begging for my bed.”

Edward Pembroke was relaxing in the business lounge at JFK airport, dressed in a tailored navy Tom Ford suit that accentuated his sharp, confident demeanor. His Rolex Submariner, a recent addition to his collection, gleamed on his wrist, a source of quiet pride for him. He wore a pair of Cartier glasses, their sleek design complementing his polished look. Sipping his coffee while working on his laptop, he effortlessly attracted the attention of a mother and daughter pair nearby.

Susan Potter and her daughter Matilda were on a month-long holiday to Europe, excited to see the sights. Both women, accustomed to the luxuries that their considerable wealth afforded them, were glad to be away from the tourist riffraff for their flight to London from New York. Susan, a strikingly beautiful blonde with a tall, attractive figure and an air of sophistication, was intrigued by the handsome, mysterious businessman making calls in various languages. Her daughter Matilda, with model-like looks, the same blonde hair, and a graceful, tall stature, watched her widowed mother’s obvious attraction with amusement. Susan couldn’t help but feel proud of her daughter’s stunning appearance, the resemblance between them uncanny.

“Excuse me, are you French?” Susan drawled in an upper-class New England accent. “It’s my favorite accent.”

“Well, I am a citizen of the world,” Pembroke replied smoothly, running his hand through his greying wavy hair. “But French is just one of the languages I speak fluently. And you two look like sisters, if I may say so. Ready for the catwalk in Paris?” he added with a smile.

“Oh, you!” Susan laughed at the compliment. “This is my daughter, Matilda. She should be a model, don’t you think? Look at her!” she beamed. “I’m Susan, Susan Potter.”

“Edward Pembroke, at your service,” Pembroke responded, shaking her hand.

“We’re off on a month-long trip. If you have any recommendations...” Susan said, moving a bit closer to him with a sparkle in her eye.

“I would love to help with that,” Pembroke smiled. He glanced at his phone. “Sorry, I need to take this call. It’s going to be another French conversation. Can you speak it?”