Chapter 23

Teresa Yildiz tried to get to sleep, but constantly got up in the middle of the night to check Sophie’s bedroom. But it was still empty. She noticed her laptop was not there for the first time. She went through her bed and drawers to look for any clues. On a whim she checked that her passport was still there. The cute atmosphere of her daughter’s bedroom conflicted sharply the the explicit images she had seen earlier of her and she wondered what other secrets she had hidden from her. What had she done with her laptop?

Pembroke awoke that morning and checked online news and what social media he could see of Sophie. Nothing, other than some comments from random men on her Facebook complimenting her on her photos and asking if she wanted to ‘hook up.’ Pembroke chuckled, she would surely have deleted her social media if she had been out in the real world, with those photos and video floating about.

Still, nearly 48 hours now since she would have been last in contact with anyone. Could it be that the police knew and were lulling any kidnapper into a false sense of security? But why? He would not slip up. His van was still securely hidden in his garage but it was not due to be returned for another couple of days.

He brought some breakfast down for Sophie. She was still in her yellow underwear, looking sullen and dejected.

“This will be eaten, we do not want a repeat of last night’s unpleasantness, right?” Pembroke glared at Sophie, who flinched. He looked at her cuts and saw that they were now healing well. Her eye was still closed up and now dark blue. She still did not seem to be moving perfectly. “Are you still hurt?”

“Yes, sir, my side hurts, and my ankle, and my face. “ Sophie then looked meek as if frightened to suggest it was his fault for beating her up.

“Well, it will get better. Remember I will try and limit violence to either a bit of fun, or to stop you acting silly, and doing something stupid like trying to escape or refusing to do as you are told. I can hurt your mind much more effectively and that is what the next major punishment will be if you are not a good girl in future. Are you going to be a good girl?”

Sophie nodded, looking down at her food.

“Address me PROPERLY! Always remember I am your owner, your superior. Address me as sir and look at me.”

Sophie nearly dropped her food in fright at the raised tone of voice. “Yes sir, I will do what you want, I don’t want to be hurt.”

“Good girl” he smiled.

He fed his mother and got her ready for church. He put on concealer again for the scratch marks, and shaped his stubble to not look so down and out. After taking Sophie’s breakfast away, he drove his mother to the Sunday service.

Pembroke was not a Christian but had been raised in a very religious household. It was the least he could do for his mother to bring her here. He noticed some young girls at the service, dressed conservatively but still with plenty of flesh on show, in view of the weather. They looked so pure and innocent like Sophie had been. He was sorry he was corrupting her so, but again thrived on the knowledge that any of these good young Christian girls, in their nice skirts, jeans, and T shirts, could, if he so wanted, be reduced to nakedness in a cell, completely at his mercy.

After the service he said hello to a fellow churchgoer and was introduced to their daughter, a pleasant young girl, Mabel. Mabel looked in her mid teens, with braces, dimples, cute brown eyes and hair. She smiled shyly at him and he admired how the sun danced on her hair. She was in a mid-length denim skirt and a checked shirt. Pembroke wanted to tell her that he knew a girl who just two days ago had been just like her. He imagined Mabel under her clothes, in the same underwear Sophie was now wearing. He watched her walk away and ruefully regretted that he would not see Sophie’s hair be lit up in the sun like that. And he missed that innocent cute look, that had now been banished probably forever by her experience in the dungeon, which was only just starting.

Meanwhile, Teresa Yildiz was back at the police station. She demanded to speak to an officer.

This time the police were more sympathetic. Even so, she had only been confirmed as uncontactable for less than 24 hours. Teresa gave a statement and then went out to sort herself out with a laptop and a phone.

Pembroke strolled through his charming home town of Wilowbridge, pushing his mother along in her wheelchair, buzzing with the sights and sounds of summer revelry. Laughter danced on the breeze, and the air thrummed with a happy energy. He still had the smell of Mable’s perfume, in his nostrils, light and pleasant. The news about Sophie was still quiet, and that only added to his carefree mood.

He savored a sweet ice cream at a bustling cafe, perched happily beside his mother as they watched the vibrant scene unfold. The cafe girl couldn’t help but smile at the heartwarming sight of the older gentleman with his mother. It probably wasn’t a frequent outing for them, and she admired Pembroke’s devotion. The generous tip he left only solidified her positive impression, though she’d have been quite shocked to have known Pembroke’s daydreams about her while she served their ice creams.

A thrill of anticipation bubbled in his chest as he got home. He couldn’t wait to indulge in the contents of his basement again, yet a touch of wistfulness lingered for the glorious sun and the happy crowds. It was a shame he couldn’t have both at once. But with a shrug, he reminded himself that sunshine would always be there for the taking. Unlike, well, the unfortunate girl down below.

Pembroke blanched as he opened the door. The scene that greeted him was a sharp contrast to the happy sunlit atmosphere of his house and the outside. There was an immediate stench of urine and sweat and bad odours which had had not noticed before.

Sophie was looking at him depressed and with trepidation. Pembroke was annoyed, of course he could not blame her, but her manner and the smell contrasted unhappily with the joyous scenes above ground.

“Now Sophie, it stinks in here. And I want you to be happy, or at least appear happy, it won’t do for you to be mooching around and making me feel guilty, it won’t work!”

Pembroke brought down a mop, some cleaning fluids, and cloths. He looked at Sophie’s clothes and the sleep sacks still drying discreetly indoors in his spare room. He must get a tumble dryer, he thought. He cannot let the damp into his house and he cannot have young girls’ knickers visible on his clothesline!

Pembroke brought the cleaning material down. He had intended to supervise her directly but really could not stand the smell.

“Now Sophie, I want this place scrubbed clean. Start outside here, but do not go behind the curtain. I will be watching on my monitor the whole time! It stinks down here, so I don’t want to be down here until it’s fresh, unless it is to discipline you in which case I will be down quicker than a flash!”

Sophie tentatively gripped the mop. Having a cleaner like Sophie, dressed in knickers and small vest, was something men would normally pay a lot of money for!

“Then do your cell. Afterward you will be cleaned of course and we will change you out of those delightful but no doubt dirty clothes. I will think of what you might look nice in! Now get to it! I will be watching, if I see any slouching, any half assed cleaning, any prying behind the curtain, well I might add to that black eye and maybe you will be back in that sack, even if it stinks of your piss!”

Pembroke sat in his conservatory with his mother, watching Sophie on his laptop He must get around to that collar, he thought. But she worked hard, and he was pleased to see her on her hands and knees in her own cell working at the toilet and sink and the floor. Good girl, he thought, even prisoners took pride in their cells and wanted them clean. It was a sign of some self-respect.

“Great work, Sophie, it smells much better!” Pembroke beamed at her as he came back down. The air conditioning would do the rest, he thought. “Now, for today I think I would like you in these...” he brought out a pair of black panties, low waisted but conservative around the ass so it would not eat her cheeks like her floral panties had. The vest would reveal her belly button, he calculated. She handed him back her clothes and showered in front of him. He was a metre away on the other side of the cell door and put his hand on the glass. Sophie, with the water cascading down her, tried to ignore him and shut her eyes as the water went through her hair. She knew that he could do whatever he wanted, and waited for the dreaded hand to touch her skin but it did not come.