Chapter 3

A week later, fifteen slave girls, stripped of their clothing and dignity, were being trained at Pembroke’s complex. Each girl moved in a mechanical, trance-like state, walking in a slow, deliberate circle around Mrs. Al-Haraz. They were on their tiptoes, striding with their knees lifted high above their waists in a precise, almost robotic goose step. Their hands were placed firmly on their heads, as if held there by some invisible force.

She wielded a long whip, waving it with the precision of a fishing rod. With a calculated flick of her wrist, she would gently snap the whip to catch the girls whenever their knees dropped, their heels touched the ground, or their eyes strayed from where they were commanded to focus—on the buttocks of the girl in front. Each snap was a reminder of the control she exerted, maintaining their trance-like obedience.

The whip struck with a fluid motion, landing all along their bodies, wrapping around their backs, hips, and legs. Each strike was precise, leaving barely perceptible marks on their skin, accompanied by soft gasps from the girls who were struck.

Sweat dripped off the girls as they moved in the oppressive heat. They did not dare ask why this was necessary; it was about exercise, humiliation, control, and degrading their sense of self.

One girl finally broke down. Elena Mazzollo, still a new recruit after just a week of horror, screamed in pain. “I can’t! I can’t! When can we stop?” she cried out, stumbling around in exhaustion.

“Why does it talk?” Nadim Darwish, one of the male overseers and the organization’s pilot, jumped up in anger. “Why does it talk? The slaves don’t talk!” He had been playing cards with another male overseer, Jamal, and was annoyed by the female’s complaining. He slapped Elena across the face, and in her exhaustion, she fell to the ground.

He glowered at Mrs. Al-Haraz, as if blaming her for the slave’s outburst. The Yemeni woman felt the sting of his disapproval and redirected her anger towards Elena. The poor Italian girl lay on the ground, exhausted, tired, and utterly overwhelmed. As Mrs. Al-Haraz stood over her, she noticed that Elena’s bottom was already covered with cane marks, as was her back. Like a passport officer searching for another spot to stamp, she coldly wondered where she could strike her next.

“You’re going soft, Mrs. Al-Haraz,” the Syrian taunted, his voice laced with disdain.

“No, I haven’t,” Mrs. Al-Haraz shot back, her tone defensive. “Look at her back and her ass—I’ve already covered the bitch in marks!”

“I think it needs to play with the rats” smiled Nadim.

“Noooo Noooo please God help me!” Elena’s screams echoed through the dimly lit room. She begged for mercy, her body trembling with fear and exhaustion. “Please, have mercy on me,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her pained face. “I can continue, please, it’s not my fault. I’m sore, I’m injured ... I got tired!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears as Nadim dragged her to the covered box.

The other girls remained standing on tip toes, focusing on the bottoms of the girl in front. They knew that they could be next in line for this cruel treatment. They heard but did not dare look at the new inmate being hauled across the floor, thrown into the box, and then its lid slammed shut.

Amidst the screeches and thumps from Elena’s frantic attempts to escape the box, Mrs Al-Haraz shouted above it all. “Start again from the beginning, trot! Let that serve as a lesson!”

The scene continued to unfold in a haze of exhaustion and despair. Each girl longed to stop, but they were driven by a fear that kept them moving despite the searing pain in their thighs and the burning ache in their toes. Their bodies were shattered, minds numbed, as they stared at the hypnotic rhythm of the buttocks in front of them, following the endless circle, around and around, again and again.

Every so often, a quick snap from the overseer’s whip would jolt them back into a harsh reality, electrifying their weary bodies with fear. The sound of Elena’s desperate whimpers, prayers, and cries from the box echoed in their ears, a haunting reminder of their shared fate. There was no future to look forward to, no hope beyond mere survival.

Elena had witnessed more in the past week than in all her twenty years of life combined. Her eyes now held the thousand-yard stare of someone who had endured horrors few could imagine—scars of relentless sexual, physical, and emotional abuse etched into her soul.

Her punishment, for the simple act of begging for a break from the grueling, senseless exercise, was far from over. That night, she was taken out and ‘invited’ to spend the night with Konrad Fischer, one of the male overseers.

Konrad, a German in his mid-forties, had been recruited ad hoc by Pembroke, who saw him as the perfect candidate for the sex slavery business due to his extensive criminal record, disturbing predilections, and his background in software engineering. His unique skill set and depraved nature made him a valuable asset in managing the twisted operations of the complex. He had been brought in from a day-release program as a long-term sexual offender, with nothing to return to outside the facility. Standing at six feet four, with long, straggly blonde-grey hair, he was a gangly figure, but his wiry strength and cruel tendencies made him a formidable presence. His large, calloused hands hinted at the brutality he could—and would—inflict, perfectly suited to the depraved world Pembroke controlled.

That night, Elena faced yet another ordeal, one that would push her further into the abyss of fear and despair.

Fischer had a sadistic pleasure in biting, savoring the sensation of sinking his teeth into the flesh of the girls, leaving his mark all over their bodies. He rarely got to indulge in this twisted desire to its fullest, as it left such long lasting marks, and with business picking up and a fast turnover, the girls were often just weeks away from being transferred to their new owners—or potentially so.

Elena had only been here a week, with months of grueling training still awaiting her. As she was escorted to Konrad’s bedroom, her body trembling with fear, he practically salivated at the sight of her. He was naked, bending over her by a foot in height, his erect cock poking at her stomach.

“Get on the bed, Elena,” he commanded, a strange smile spreading across his face—a twisted, almost childlike expression on the face of a giant. His huge hands roamed over her trembling body, skimming over the welts and scars that marred her back and buttocks. His eyes greedily sought out the unmarked expanses of her pale skin. As she lay down on the bed, paralyzed with fear, he grabbed her upper arm and sank his teeth into it, relishing the feel of her flesh beneath his bite.

“AAAAAGHHH!” Elena screamed, her voice filled with desperation. “No, Mr. Fischer, please, it hurts! You’re going to cut me!”

“I DON’T care,” Konrad growled, his eyes lighting up with a manic intensity, like a drug addict in the grip of his addiction. He twisted her arm, exposing the tender inside, and bit down on a new spot. His teeth sank into her flesh, biting, sucking, and chewing the firm skin with a sickening relish, completely consumed by his sadistic pleasure.

“AAAGGHHH! Please, please, let me suck your cock! I’ll lick your balls, just please don’t hurt me!” Elena pleaded desperately in staccato fashion, trying to raeson with this madman.

“OK, for now, suck me” he lay on his back and allowed Elena to do the work, while he turned on the screen and to watch a porn video.

Elena’s tears mixed with saliva as she complied, rubbing her bruised arm, gagging on his huge nine inch cock, trying not to rub her teeth as she had been trained on dildo sucking exercises.

Konrad lay back and relaxed enjoying her tongue. There would be time for biting later. For now he enjoyed the pretty girl sucking on him while he watched two cam girls on screen. This was a wonderful life, he thought.

With the camera rolling, Anya positioned herself on the bed, her soles and buttocks facing the camera. She leaned forward, resting on her elbows, casually flipping through a gossip magazine. This was so easy, she thought—just reading a magazine, arching her back slightly to show as much of ass to the camera as possible, showing off her pussy and bumhole, knowing that the viewers were eagerly watching. She had turned something as simple as her daily routine into a profitable endeavour, capitalizing on the attention and money sent by her paying customers.

Beside her, Irina was meticulously grooming her girlfriend’s ass crack running her fingers along her skin around her genitalia with a practiced precision. With a pair of tweezers in hand, she carefully searched for any stray stubble to remove.

“This is so easy!” said Anya, laughing.

“Hey, I’m working” Irina slapped her ass, as she found another dark hair between Anya’s pussy and asshole and plucked it out.

Irina playfully rubbed the sharp end of the tweezers against Anya’s delicate little bumhole and elicited a gasp and a tightening of the little pink sphincter.

“Oooo,” Anya moaned softly, her back arching even higher in response to the unexpected sensation.

“Hey, think we should try that new dildo now? Do you think you can handle it?” Irina teased, her tone light but challenging as she grinned at Anya.

Anya raised an eyebrow, responding with a playful smirk. “Have you cleaned it? God knows where it’s been—maybe in some sixty-year-old man’s ass.”

Irina giggled. “God, that makes me sick! I should’ve told Daria to clean it and convinced her it was a melted statue of the Virgin or something.” Both girls burst into laughter.

Irina then pulled out the dildo, a bright blue corkscrew-shaped contraption, about eleven inches from base to tip, with a wide base and spiraling ridges that made it look both intimidating and absurd. The base was nearly as wide as Irina’s hand.

“It’s huge!” Irina exclaimed, examining the dildo with a mix of awe and apprehension. “But don’t worry, I cleaned it—bleach, washing-up liquid, boiling water, the works. I tell you what, I’ll try it first!”

“Cool, but wait, let me check that user is online, he said he would pay five hundred dollars each time one of us sticks it inside us!”

“Yeah, he is online, I checked,” Anya said.

“Why not ping him, tell him his favorite toy is going to go inside his favourite girl” Irina smiled.

Anya playfully pouted, “Maybe I’m his favorite,” before making a bold bet with Irina to see who could take the huge blue dildo further inside them. As they waited for their client’s response, Anya teasingly prepared Irina by licking and sucking on the dildo before moving down to her already wet pussy. She expertly pleasured Irina, knowing that her girlfriend’s glistening petals would soon be receiving the massive toy with pleasure and pain.

Irina got on her knees and looked down nervously at the large winding toy, its cute color belying its huge size. Its phallic shape intimidated her as saliva dripped from her vagina down to its tip. She pulled her pussy lips apart with her fingers as she lowered herself slowly. The tip went in easily, followed by the first widening ridge, and then she felt more pressure as it widened, causing her inner vaginal walls to expand, along with her mouth and eyes.

“Ooooogh ... I don’t know how I’m gonna handle childbirth.” Irina moaned desperately, her hand gripping the dildo as she forced it deeper into her tight, wet folds. With each twist and push, she could feel herself getting closer to the edge, but she needed more. Anya joined in, licking and teasing Irina’s swollen clit and pulling her hair back and kissing her neck. With a final grunt and a powerful thrust, Irina slid the dildo deep inside herself before collapsing and pulling the dildo out of her pulsing vagina with a loud, satisfying sound.