Chapter 6 - Rescue on the waves

Sailing off on the ‘Zephyr’ made Edward Pembroke feel like a true man of the sea. He let Kwame handle the sailing and spent his days admiring the stunning Mediterranean vistas. With the wind in his hair, the sun on his back, and the saltwater in his nostrils, he relished the freedom and adventure. Although he had enjoyed the playboy lifestyle, he was acutely aware that he was living on borrowed money and borrowed time.

As he spent his time formulating his nefarious plans, Pembroke couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He hoped that this venture, if successful, would secure him a permanent position as a procurer for the Crown Prince. The prospect of such a life—filled with travel, wealth, and beautiful girls-thrilled him. The knowledge that it would be made on the lives and heartbreak of countless innocent people did not even register with him.

The night, it became cold and stormy. He retreated into the cabin. Kwame was not put off by the weather, and had hauled Rebecca out of her compartment, and was fucking her over the side of the yacht railings. Rebecca was terrified, staring down at the dark stormy waters, she thought she might fall in, while the Nigerian’s massive cock pumped inside her. He grabbed roughly at her breasts, and bit into her upper back, lustily rewarding himself for a hard few hours navigating in the darkness.

“Please, please, I cannot ... please just let me be...” screamed Rebecca, she was sore and tired, hungry and cold and her insides were not getting any chance to repair themselves from his constant fucking of her.

Kwame ignored her pleas but suddenly heard something else. It was shouts and screams, but from another boat, out in the darkness.

Kwame quickly pulled out of Rebecca, and pulled back her hair, and threw her onto the deckfloor. Putting his huge dick away, he cuffed and gagged the blonde woman, dragged her back to the little compartment, and threw her inside unceremoniously. She banged her head and was almost upside down, but Kwame did not care, he was terrified this might be the coastguard.

“Sir!” Kwame shouted. “There is a boat approaching!”

Pembroke and Kwame rushed out to see what was happening. They peered through the darkness with binoculars. It wasn’t a boat but a large, flimsy dinghy, and it was sinking, clearly in trouble.

The dinghy was overcrowded with refugees, growing panicky as the weather worsened. They had sent a distress call to a charity rescue boat, which had messaged back saying they would arrive in two hours. When they saw the ‘Zephyr,’ they were delighted and assumed it was the rescue boat arriving early.

Abdul Majid, the de facto captain of the flimsy vessel, was growing scared but did not want to worry the dozen or so passengers. He was relieved to see the boat and messaged the rescue boat he had been in contact with earlier, but got no response. He assumed the arriving boat was the rescue vessel and that they must be out on deck, ignoring their radio.

Abdul might have wanted to verify that this was the rescue boat they had messaged earlier, but right now, he did not care. He had to get his passengers out of the sinking dinghy and to safety! All the passengers were waving and shouting, desperate for help in the darkness.

“Ah, it’s just some refugees, let’s ignore them” Kwame was relieved. His libido returned and he suddenly wanted to pass this vessel so he could get Rebecca back on deck to finish off inside her.

“Not so fast, Kwame.” Pembroke was looking carefully through his binoculars at the passengers. “One should always be compassionate and look out for one’s fellow man. Perhaps we should take a closer look.”

Fatima El-Tayeb was terrified and freezing. She had made the rash decision to leave Libya 48 hours ago in the vessel with her husband, Farouk, and her 18-month-old baby. Libya offered nothing for them, and they had long dreamt of making a new life in Europe. She was only twenty years old, beautiful but modest. In the stormy weather, she could not hide her face or her figure under her life belt, as she and her fellow passengers were soaked from the spray of the sea and the waves. She screamed along with the others in utter terror, feeling scared for her infant daughter whom she clasped to her bosom. It was cold, and the water felt like a knife just touching her. She did not want to know what it would be like to be in the water, but the vessel seemed to be sinking lower and lower, and there had been no sign of this rescue boat.

Her cousin, Zara, was beside her. Just eighteen, and as beautiful as Fatima, she held on to her cousin, utterly petrified.

Like the others, they screamed for help from the boat passing nearby. It seemed like an oasis of comfort in this harsh, unforgiving sea. They could see two figures on deck. “Please help us, for God’s sake!” they screamed. Fatima’s husband was almost crying with relief. “We are saved!”

“Are there any boats in the vicinity, can you check?” asked Pembroke. “No, sir, not anywhere close by.”

“And how long before we reach Karataş?”

“Should be by tomorrow night, sir.”

Pembroke took another look at the frightened but beautiful face of the young girl holding the baby. The baby seemed at first an inconvenience but to a man like Pembroke, any problem could be turned to a solution. The girl next to her had no children and looked just as stunning.

Pembroke asked Kwame a few other questions. Kwame smiled and nodded. “Trust me, sir, I can show you what I can do!”

“Let’s have a little fun shall we” smiled Pembroke with an evil flint.

He took out the loudspeaker and called out to the vessel. “We can take you aboard, and take you to Cyprus. But you must swim over to our boat, and climb up the ladder. If you stay on the boat, we cannot accept you, and your asylum claim cannot be processed!”

The passengers were perplexed but the captain, Abdul, understood. Under the rules of the sea, if they willingly got on the rescue ship from a safe vessel, they might be refused entry to Cyprus and never allowed back to Europe. They had to go through the charade of ‘abandoning ship’ to assist their asylum claims.

The dinghy vessel pulled up alongside the Zephyr. Abdul tried to contact the rescue ship again and took a photo of the Zephry for future checking, but could get no signal in this weather in such a deserted place.

Kwame swiftly threw a rope around a loop on the dinghy, preparing it to be towed.

“I don’t understand, why do we have to swim to the boat!” Fatima was furious. Even with life jackets, neither she nor the passengers could swim.

“Don’t worry, the life jackets will keep you afloat. It’s just a matter of being in the water for no more than three minutes. That’s all it will take for us to get up that ladder!” replied her husband.

The clean Zephyr looked so inviting to the desperate passengers.

“Women and children first!” shouted Pembroke through the loudspeaker, eyeing the frightened young women among the group of men. They looked so vulnerable when they were frightened, he thought. It was the kind of vulnerability he relished the most.

A mini jacket was put on Fatima’s daughter, and her husband kissed them both. All passengers then all got into the water together and swam the few meters towards the yacht and the slim ladder leading up to the deck.

Zara was first, and Pembroke watched with pleasure as she climbed up the ladder, her soaking wet clothes clinging to her figure.

“You are safe now, my lady” Pembroke spoke in Arabic, and Kwame gave Zara a blanket and directed her towards a small bench on the other side of the yacht.

Farouk watched, still freezing in the water, as his wife Fatima ventured up the ladder, holding their daughter.

“There, there, we have you now!” Pembroke spoke to her in Arabic, smiling. The young woman was shivering and soaking, crying with relief now that she and her child were safe.

Farouk shouted up. “I will come now.”

Pembroke had to act quickly. As Farouk was close to the top of the yacht about to hop onto the deck, he smiled with happiness, seeing his young wife safe and sound with his daughter on a small bench. He was freezing, but now they were safe! He turned and looked at their savior, the face of Edward Pembroke. Pembroke smiled at him and offered a hand.

“Thank you, Sir! You saved us!” Farouk held his hand up to take Pembroke’s, but Pembroke’s face suddenly fell away, replaced by the open sky. With horror, Farouk realized the ladder had come away from the side of the yacht.

“What?” shouted Farouk in confusion, and suddenly he fell back into the cold water.

The others in the water panicked. The ladder had broken, and there was no other way to get up! Abdul’s teeth were chattering. He trusted the ship’s crew to be able to get them a rope or something.

But instead, the engine started on the boat. With horror, Abdul and the others watched as it motored away. Farouk and others swam desperately to the side, banging on the side, but there was no way to climb up.

Realizing what was happening, Abdul swam desperately back to the dinghy but was horrified to see that the rope attaching the “rescue boat” to the dinghy was now towing it away with it!

Fatima and Zara did not understand what was happening. The black man had disappeared to pilot the boat, and the man who had been their rescuer now approached them, amidst the background noise of the engine and screams and shouts from the sea. He produced a gun.

Abdul, Farouk and the others in the water waved and screamed, not understanding what had happened. The boat and the dinghy vessel were soon out of sight and the engine noise dissipated among the howls and waves of the sea. The men called to each other, afloat in their life jackets, and desperately tried to come up with a solution.

But there was none. Their phones were all soaked or gone. They could only try and stay alive and afloat and hope that another boat might see them. But the water was very, very cold, and the cries of the men gradually grew quiet. Finally, Abdul called out and realized he was alone. He was still afloat, but the cold of the Mediterranean soon claimed him.

The dinghy vessel was abandoned a few miles away by the Zephyr. Pembroke calculated that the men would not last long in the water. They would be floating corpses by daybreak, if not sunk. It would be just another tragic loss of life among desperate refugees fleeing for a new life. No one would realize that there had been three survivors.

Pembroke smiled behind dark glasses at the two terrified and devastated young women, who had witnessed their menfolk being abandoned to a horrifying death and were now bound, gagged, and naked, entirely at the mercy of these two sick monsters. Fatima only prayed that they would have some mercy on her infant daughter, lying in a makeshift cot in the pilot cabin.

As the two Swedish sisters, Ingrid and Freja Johansen, engaged in online conversation with Edward Pembroke, they couldn’t help but giggle at the adorable scene unfolding. Edward, with his hippy appearance and passionate activism, sat with his infant daughter, Heather, on his lap. Heather, a bundle of energy and curiosity, awkwardly played and crawled around him, occasionally reaching up to grab onto his T-shirt or tug at his floppy black hair.

The sight of Edward interacting with the toddler, balancing his role as a dedicated activist with that of a loving father, melted the hearts of Ingrid and Freja. They exchanged smiles as they watched Heather’s playful antics, charmed by the genuine affection and warmth in Edward’s interactions with his daughter.

“I think it’s great that you can care for your daughter, your wife is so lucky!” Ingrid, the seventeen-year-old eldest sister, expressed, her admiration evident in her words. As a proud proponent of women’s rights, she found Edward Pembroke’s support of his wife’s full-time career as a doctor incredibly inspiring. His dedication to both his family and his activism resonated deeply with Ingrid and Freja.

Edward Pembroke’s social media account, previously owned by a disillusioned hippy, portrayed him as an idealist with connections to all major left-wing organizations.

Idealism resonated deeply with Ingrid and Freja, igniting a fervent desire to enact positive change in the world and earn the admiration of their parents, Ronald and Maria Johansen—renowned left-wing activists and environmental scientists. The Johansen family had faced significant challenges in their activist pursuits, including financial struggles and backlash from an Azmarian oil company after exposing their illegal labour practices and environmental degradation.

Ronald and Maria wanted to shield their children from the hardships they themselves had endured. They encouraged their daughters to fight for change from within and, as such, sent them both to the best schools while teaching them the value of kindness and compassion.

Edward Pembroke chuckled as cuddled Heather while trying to discuss the forthcoming protests against the military naval parades off the coast of Sweden in the next few weeks. He was looking forward to being there, but he was disappointed that Ingrid and Freja’s parents would not be.

“You really should get your parents’ permission, girls. I’m not sure this is that safe. I mean, I will be going, but the police might be heavy-handed, and it’s risky to take the boat out there.”

“Oh, we will be fine. We don’t want to involve our parents; they are so frightened for us!” Ingrid replied.

“Haha, you remind me of me at your age! I hope Heather grows up to have your spirit!”

Ingrid and Freja enjoyed a few more moments watching the doting father interact with his gurgling, smiling infant daughter before they logged off. Freja, fifteen years old, felt more determined than ever.

“I know Mum and Dad won’t let us, but I know they’d be proud! We have to do this!” she declared passionately.

Ingrid smiled at her sister. “Oh Freja, I guess I will have to come to look after you then!”

The two girls giggled and excitedly chattered about the upcoming protest. They were passionate about the cause, believing the ugliness of the NATO war machine should not be tolerated in their hometown. They were thrilled to join an online group planning to disrupt the naval parade.

Edward Pembroke turned off his laptop, and his playful expression vanished. Suddenly, ‘Heather’ or rather Ayesha, was not so fun anymore. He got up and swept back his hair, took off his fake glasses, and swept Ayesha up in his arms. The small room had been made up to look like an average spare bedroom of a busy activist needing to look after his daughter and get in touch with his online acolytes. It was very different from the rest of the complex Edward Pembroke was currently in.

He carried Aisha in his arms, the young toddler oblivious to the very odd surroundings, clinging to Pembroke like he was her real daddy. Pembroke was thinking of the two blonde Swedish teenage sisters, their long lithe bodies, and how he wanted them here, soon.

The child smiled again as Pembroke entered into a further hall and a large spacious gym room. She had recognized her mother, although she was looking ... a little different.

Fatima and Zara Al Al-Tayeb were naked. Their hands were tied behind their backs, and their ankles were cuffed and connected with elasticated cord which restricted their movement and prevented them from kicking or raising their feet. They were each gagged with large ball gags which stretched their mouths obscenely.

As they stood, Pembroke noted with pleasure the subtle distinctions between the cousins. Both were about five feet five, Fatima had a voluptuous figure with generous curves in all the right places. Her breasts were full and round, with nipples that hardened at the slightest touch. Her hips swayed with discomfort drawing attention to her softly rounded stomach and toned thighs.

Zara, on the other hand, had a leaner physique. Her breasts were smaller but perky, accentuated by dark nipples that stood out against her pale skin. The contrast between her smooth stomach and muscular legs was striking, making it clear the eighteen-year-old enjoyed regular exercise.

Both girls were in tears, Fatima in particular was sobbing, watching Pembroke hold her daughter.

Behind them, stood Rebecca Parker and Layla Al-Haraz. Rebecca was clad in a black PVC mini dress, low cut displaying her buxom tits with black pump high heels. She wore stockings held up by suspenders and Pembroke was eager to know what she was wearing underneath. She had ruby red lipstick and black mascara to complete the slutty look, her blonde hair and blue eyes a contrast to the dark Al-Tayeb girls and her companion beside her.

Layla was, to say the least, a striking figure. Half of her face was marred by a landscape of scar tissue and burnt skin. The scars were jagged and deep, giving her a fierce, almost robotic appearance, particularly around her left eye, which was completely encircled by the damaged tissue.

The right side of Layla’s face retained its natural beauty and her light chocolate Yemeni complexion.

Her black hair cascaded down the beautiful side of her face, while on the other, there was just the reddened tissue where the hair should be. Her lips were maroon, and in contrast to Rebecca, her sparkling black eyes and wicked grin showed she was enjoying this. She had long given up on any hope of an ordinary life, and this brutal prison was a step up from prison in Yemen.

Layla was wearing a pair of black PVC hotpants and a black PVC bra top with black boots on high heels. She was slim and petite, but her angry spirit raised her above her five feet three figure and Pembroke was in no doubt who would be the overseer of Rebecca and, by extension, the other girls.

Layla was looking at the naked girls from behind, admiring their form, their cute firm buttocks, wobbling slightly with their sobs. Through their bound arms, Layala noted with satisfaction the thin red lines caused by her cane. She had taken on her role as overseer with gusto and had beaten both girls when they had refused to lick her own pussy.

Rebecca had cried when she witnessed Layla beating the crying girls, flinching from their being forced to perform unwillingly on the snarling little Yemeni woman. Rebecca felt even worse when she realised that she would soon be forcing these girls to perform on her and that she would have to hit them as well.