Chapter 6

Lola had eventually drifted off, and was dreaming of being back in her apartment with her mother. Ready for breakfast at the table, both happy when in the dream, her mother started complaining about her horrible boss, Edward Pembroke.

At that moment, she woke up, the aroma of Pembroke’s armpit was in her mouth as she found her face buried in the nook of his arm. She looked at the unshaven double chinned face, his eyes closed still snoring, his large body under her like a huge Jabba the Hut. She felt her collar, it was still tight.

Pembroke stirred and woke up. He blinked at Lola and smiled, before kissing her. “Good morning Lola, I hope you slept well, I had the most glorious dream. Your mother had joined us, I even dreamt I had her against that...” he pointed to a X shaped cross across the basement “ ... and I was using the whip on her.”

Lola winced at the mention of her mother, and a whip. Pembroke pushed her off, and took her collar off her. “Poor little girl” he mocked, using his strong hands to untie it. “No special knots, just brute strength needed. Completely girl proof, those puny little hands can’t get out these collars” he laughed. Most of the basement was locked down on the basis that the locks could be opened by pure strength, by the likes of brutes like Pembroke, and certainly not by teenage girls like Lola.

“Now, I have to get ready for work. You will remain down here until I get back. What am I saying, you’’’ remain her for the rest of your life!” he slapped her on her bare bottom, laughing.

He disappeared upstairs while Lola tip toed around the basement. Other than the horror of the various cages and mechanisms, she could not see anything that was of comfort. Pembroke returned, still naked, his cock flopping about, his belly juggling, carrying a small tray. It was designed for cats, and had three depressions as trays, one for water, one for what seemed like porridge and the other a mixture of mashed up potatoes, vegetable and meat.

“Now Lola, to learn your place as a slave, you will eat like a slave.” Pembroke put it down on the ground. “No eating with utensils, nor with your hands, you will eat like an animal, on your hands and knees, and eat directly from the bowl. Now, down on your knees, and come and eat this! Here, use this for your hair.”

Pembroke tossed her a hair bobble, to tie back her blonde locks. Lola didn’t say anything, just tied back her hair, and crawled towards the food. Her stomach was rumbling, she had not eaten anything but sweat and cum for nearly 24 hours.

Looking up nervously at Pembroke, she saw him offer a slight smile and a nod toward the bowl. Licking her lips, she felt embarrassed—humiliated, —like an animal. Bowing her head, she hesitated before leaning down to lap at the water, then began eating the food.

The porridge was bland, the mashed-up food unremarkable, but she forced herself to chew and swallow without using her hands. “I’m just a child” she told herself, “This isn’t fair, this isn’t my fault” but she still felt the shame, as Pembroke’s hand lovingly caressed her upturned bony buttocks as she chomped down on the food.

“Good girl, eat it all up!” Pembroke ran his finger up and down her pussy. “Yesterday was the first day in the rest of your life, Lola. It’s good for you that you don’t answer back, you’ve been a good girl so far.” He rubbed her cut on the size of her face. “Of course, there will be some cheekiness, it wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t a bit rebellious” he also massaged her hip, noting the slight bruise where she had landed after being slapped the previous night. “But all in all, you’ve proven yourself a nice obedient girl so far. Make sure you keep it up!” he slapped her bottom authoritatively.

As she finished, Pembroke stood and brought out a set of clothes. He held them up, inspecting them with a casual air before turning his gaze back to her.

“You know,” he said calmly, his voice smooth and composed, “I thought it would be difficult to find something ... sexy for a girl of your size.” He tossed the clothes onto the floor beside her. “But I shouldn’t have worried,” he added with a smirk.

His eyes flicked to the tray in front of her—it was empty. A satisfied nod followed.”Good girl,” he said softly, yet there was an edge to his voice. “Now, put those on.”

Lola licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her movements hesitant, as if bracing for another violent blow. Was she even allowed to use her hands?

She held the clothes up piece by piece, her heart sinking with every reveal.

A purple vest with a plunging neckline. A matching purple thong, the crotch emblazoned with a cartoon tongue. A ridiculously short pink ra-ra micro skirt. And purple slippers with oversized, fuzzy straps.

The ensemble was garish, humiliating, and absurd all at once. In some ways, it felt more explicit than being naked.

Slowly, hesitantly, she began to dress.

“I am afraid that since I started procuring your clothes for your confinement. I have begun to entirely sympathize with parents who complain about the sexualization of children. These clothes are being marketed to 12-14-year-olds—children! They should be allowed to grow up with innocence, not forced into adult aesthetics before their time. That’s what I say anyway” laughed Pembroke, almost to himself.

He turned and marveled at Lola, now dressed in the short, flirty pink rara skirt. Her tight purple vest clung to her slender torso, the fabric stretching smoothly over her petite frame, her small breasts subtly outlined beneath.

“I have to say though, for my personal taste, that outfit looks splendid on you.” He gestured toward the cameras mounted on the ceiling.

“You’ll be on camera at all times. It’ll be nice to glance at you now and then while I work. Far better than something boring or just being naked eh? Now here will be your cell today.” He led her into a cell situated in the middle of the basement, surrounded by cold metal bars. Inside, there was a small toilet and a drinking fountain, but nowhere to sit.

“Now, there will be no laziness for you, my girl.” He switched on a screen and created a playlist of videos to play on a loop. He then took from a drawer a nine inch thick black dildo, and put it through the bars of the cell onto the floor. The videos showed porn, specifically, it seemed, blowjob porn, close ups of women sucking on cocks, licking balls, deep throating, focusing on nothing more than the womens’ faces and the male organs. Pembroke had no intention of allowing Lola to see a full male ever again, even on screen, except him.

“You will practice giving head with that dildo. You did OK yesterday for a beginner, but to really make me cum in your mouth, which is what a real slave girl should do, you will need to practice sucking and getting my cock deep down your throat. It takes hours of practice, and I want you to practice on that dildo and follow these videos. I will be checking in on you, and you will be judged on your skill improvement when I get back. Remember, that drawer, and the back of my hand...” he gestured to the claustrophobic drawer and Lola shuddered.

Pembroke whistled cheerfully as he left the basement. Lola sat there, knees knocking together, at least she was alone, free from him, for the first time for a day, but the porn on the screen, the bars, the dildo in her hand, and the cold cameras facing her, the racy outfit she had on, she could not pretend she was not still in hell. She burst out crying and sat down in a corner of the cell. Out loud she cried “Mommy, please ... help me!”

Lisa Chapman had to take a taxi home from the police station that morning. She now had no car, was seriously out of pocket and had no job. She wondered what to do next. Call her ex? Lola was not in the apartment when she got back, and she realized she had no choice.

Her ex laughed when she complained that Lola had left her, and had said she was going back to him.

“Why the hell does she not have a phone? You are a useless mother” he complained down the phone. The truth was he couldn’t care less about Lola. He really didn’t want to look after her, but he sure as hell didn’t mind looking for a way out of paying child support.

“Maybe I’ll let you know if and when she shows up, or maybe not” he taunted her, and turned off the phone.

Lisa cursed down the phone. She might lose custody of Lola. She might lose the apartment, she now regretted flouncing out of McQuintile yesterday. Maybe she could patch things up, and at least get a good reference and notice period for the apartment? She needed to know where she stood before going to the police or the social services about Lola.

Edward Pembroke was enjoying his last few weeks at work. He even smiled at the junior secretaries as he walked in, who usually were creeped out by him. He would miss Lisa Chapman sitting opposite him, and so was surprised when, nearly at midday, she showed up again in a mini skirt and jacket, her hair perfectly styled, and a gracious smile on her face.

“Hi Mr. Pembroke, I think I owe you an apology,” she said sheepishly, subtly showing off her legs. “I reacted badly yesterday. I understand—the company wants to let me go. I just said some things I shouldn’t have. I just wanted to say sorry, and, well, do I have a notice period and a reference? Also, I should enquire about my apartment, you know ... how much time we have left...”

“Don’t worry, Lisa, about your outburst,” Pembroke smiled indulgently. “I was very sorry to have to relay the bad news to you. I understand you were angry. I can be a tough boss, but I was only pushing you so you might pass probation. I think the top management just doesn’t want to take people on,” he smiled kindly. “I have some connections—maybe I can help you find another job. I know you’re a hard worker.”

Lisa wondered—had she been imagining Pembroke as the creepy, malignant, horrible boss these last few months? Might he actually be able to help her? In any case, she wouldn’t have to work for him anymore, so what harm was there in indulging him a little, showing off her legs again if he liked it? She smiled and flirted with him. She needed this. She was staring down a potential criminal record, Lola was missing, and her ex-husband might not even tell her where she was.

Soon Pembroke had re activated the camera under their desks, and was soon on his private WiFi leering at Lisa’s knickers under the desk while she performed another mindless task, while another screen showed Lola in her cage, pacing in the tiny cage in her rara skirt and vest top still, looking cute.

He typed in his voice commands which used his own voice. Lisa was oblivious to the message he was typing to her daughter on his keyboard just feet away. He typed “Now Lola, I notice that dildo on the ground is not being used. I told you to practice, while your Master is hard at work.” He smiled as Lola jumped at the sound of his voice booming from the speakers, her eyes darting around in search of the source.

Lisa glanced at her boss, who was grinning at his screen. What a weirdo, she thought. He must really love his work. She wished she could feel the same, but she despised this dull world of software engineering. She wasn’t cut out for it; she could never imagine her eyes lighting up at lines of code the way Mr. Pembroke’s did. With a sigh, she turned back to her own screen.

Poor Lisa did not suspect that Pembroke’s eyes were lighting up at the sight of her teenage daughter in a cage, crouched on her haunches, her rara skirt riding up to reveal her bare thighs, her buttocks brushing against her ankles, as she awkwardly pushed a huge black dildo, the size of which would have made her mother blush, down her throat.

“Lisa, perhaps I could take you out to lunch,” Pembroke said with a smile. “As a token of appreciation for all the hard work you’ve put in.”

“Oh, yes, please! Thank you,” Lisa replied eagerly, her mind already working. She was determined to get something out of Pembroke before she left—a reference, a recommendation, anything. She returned his smile, masking her unease.

“Just one final email,” he said, his fingers already poised over the keyboard. “Now, Lola, keep sucking on that dildo for the next hour or two. I’m taking your mother out to lunch, but I’ll be recording you and checking to ensure you’ve been practicing diligently when I return.”

He hit ‘send’ and glanced briefly at Lola’s screen. He caught a fleeting glimpse of despair in her eyes—the realization that this grueling task would continue, uninterrupted, while her mother had to endure his company on the outside. For Lola, there was no escape—not even when her tormentor was physically absent.

Pembroke generously ordered and paid for an upscale lunch at a seafood restaurant. Lisa felt momentarily spoiled, even allowing herself a glass of wine. Pembroke, ever probing, leaned in slightly over his lobster.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving. I hope you find something else soon. Your daughter—Laura, is it? She must be settled by now.”

Lisa flinched inwardly at the wrong name but forced a polite smile. She didn’t like thinking about her daughter while staring at Pembroke’s rather unappealing face—his mouth open, chewing messily, bits of food threatening to escape with every bite. Her daughter was the light of her world, pure and untouched by people like him.

“Oh yes, we’re happy here—or, I hope we will be. Mr. Pembroke, I was wondering if we might still be able to stay at the company apartment for a little while longer?”

Pembroke smiled, a thin stretch of lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do, Lisa. I also know someone who’s hiring. I think it’s important—for your daughter—that you have a job again.”

Lisa shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to talk about Lola, especially not here. The thought of her bright, sweet little girl in the same mental space as her intimidating and grotesque manager made her stomach churn.

She sipped her wine, nodding politely, eager for this lunch to end.

That evening, Lisa was screaming down the phone at her useless ex-husband, Tony.

“Tony, just fucking tell me where she is!” she yelled, her voice cracking with panic and rage.

On the other end of the line, Tony lounged in a grimy trailer, a beer in one hand, his new girlfriend giggling in the background. He smirked, relishing the chaos. Tony would do anything to avoid paying another cent in alimony.

“Relax, Lisa. I’ll take care of her when she comes here,” he drawled lazily. “If she’s really missing, why don’t you just call the police?”

But the truth was, Tony didn’t actually know where Lola was. She hadn’t contacted him—not yet. And honestly, he didn’t care. For all he knew, the girl wasn’t even his. And besides, if Lisa was so worried, why wasn’t she calling the police?

Lisa slammed the phone down, her chest heaving as she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. Her daughter was out there somewhere, and no one—not even her own father—seemed to give a damn.

But what could she tell the police? She’d only been out of a police cell for less than 24 hours. If this went the wrong way, she could lose custody entirely.

Maybe she should stay quiet ... just one more day.

That evening, Pembroke descended into the basement, his slippers scuffing softly against the floor, his dressing gown loosely tied around his waist.

In the center of the room in her cell, Lola stood rigid, her back straight, hands clasped tightly in front of her skirt as if she were smoothing out invisible wrinkles. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and tense, like a schoolgirl summoned to the headteacher’s office.

“Good evening, Lola,” he said softly, his voice dripping with an unsettling warmth. “I had a very pleasant date with your mother today. She didn’t mention you though.”

Lola swallowed hard, her throat dry, as she tried to suppress the tremor in her hands. Would this session last hours more, what could he force her to do. She fought hard to stop herself from retching as Pembroke slowly pulled his dressing gown apart, letting it fall open to reveal his large, imposing body. His sagging belly hung over the thong he was wearing, his pale, fleshy skin marred with patches of wiry, dark hair clinging stubbornly to his broad chest and shoulders. His muscular arms hung heavily at his sides.

His heavy double chin wobbled slightly with each labored breath, the skin folding over itself in pale, sagging layers. His cruel, fleshy lips curled upward into an unsettling smile, their corners glistening faintly with moisture. His bulbous nose, riddled with visible pores and tinged red at the tip, loomed over his mouth.

His beady eyes, small and sunken, glimmered with a predatory light beneath his deeply furrowed brow. His greying hair, thin and wiry, sprouted wildly from the sides of his head in chaotic tufts, while his bald top shone under the fluorescent lights.

Lola flinched, pressing herself against the bars at the back of the celll as Pembroke’s large, powerful hands gripped the handle. With a slow, deliberate twist, the mechanism gave way with a heavy click.

She sighed shakily, a bitter pang of defeat settling in her chest. That cruel, stubborn handle—the one she’d fought with for hours, her small, trembling hands slipping helplessly over its unyielding metal—had yielded effortlessly to his thick, hairy fingers.

“Come out,” he said simply, his voice commanding. “And bring that dildo with you.”

He turned his back to her, exuding an unsettling confidence as he strode across the basement. He plopped himself down onto the sagging beanbag. His legs splayed wide, his arms sprawled limply at his sides, as if he were some grotesque king. The thin strip of his thong strained against his pale flesh, just barely covering his modesty. His stomach pooled over his lap, and the light threw sharp shadows across the rolls of his body.

In one meaty hand, he lazily held a remote control, while he took in the glorious sight of his captive, looking gorgeous in her short skirt and vest. “You look good enough to eat, Lola” he grinned. “Now, let’s play your favorite playlist, let’s get you dancing, hold that dildo like its a microphone, and lets play some of your favorite tunes, I believe you know the words, so you should be able to sing and dance along...”

Lola’s blood ran cold as the opening notes of her favorite Taylor Swift song filled the basement. The familiar melody, once a source of comfort and hope, now felt like a cruel mockery.

Those lyrics had always been hers—words she’d whispered to herself in quiet moments, clutching her pillow in the dark. They had carried her through the loneliness of school hallways, the sting of whispered insults, and the hollow ache of being misunderstood. That song had been her refuge, her private anthem, a flicker of hope that one day someone—someone—would love her enough to take all the pain away.