Chapter 38

Pembroke sprawled across the basement bed, his slaves lying on top of his massive, hairy frame, their faces pressed into his hairy chest. His thick nipples, even bigger than theirs, grazed their skin. His attention lingered on Grace, her body softening with new curves, her belly subtly rounding.

“Look at you, child,” he rumbled. “Your tits are filling out so nicely.” His mouth closed around one of her teats, teasing it until Grace squirmed, her giggles dissolving into breathless moans. His hands wandered lower, fingers slipping between their thighs, teasing the damp heat of their pussies.

He chuckled, his voice a dark purr. “Grace, my dear, your belly’s getting rounder by the day. Have I been feeding you too well?”

Leila’s throat tightened. She met Grace’s wide, terrified eyes, and Grace reacted instantly, her lips sealing around Pembroke’s nipple, sucking frantically, as if she could distract him from the truth of her pregnancy.

“Ah, this is wonderful,” Pembroke sighed, eyes closed, as he groped the girls. He had suspected Grace was pregnant. He didn’t mind—in fact, he was curious to see how her body would change, her belly and tits swelling. But only for a while. He had already decided: he was going to kill them both.

“Such delicate little hands,” he murmured, licking Leila’s wrist, marvelling at its fragility. He squeezed her thigh. “My, my, how skinny you still are.” His hand traced Grace’s chest—growing, but not too big.

Pembroke was already calculating which size bone saw he’d need to order to cut through their small bodies. It shouldn’t be too difficult. He wondered what else to do with their remains. He flipped Grace onto her stomach and bit her buttock. She squealed as he laughed. When would he next have two exquisite little humans he owned so completely? Perhaps he could even eat their bodies after he had cut them up.

“Children, I want a tongue massage, all over my body - now.”

He stretched out, fingers interlaced behind his head, as the two of them set to work. Their tongues slid over his armpits, his stomach, his thighs, his cock, the soles of his feet. Leila watched Pembroke’s blissful face, hoping that the master would be pleased, that good performance could keep Grace alive, at least for a little longer.

Grace, though, let herself imagine something impossible: that he might cherish the baby growing inside her, that this basement could become some warped version of a family home.

Pembroke was thinking about something else, even darker – about how he would take their lives. Their necks were so fragile—he could snap them in an instant. Or should he make their deaths a spectacle? A final performance would fetch a premium, but did they deserve a painless, humane death? He wondered if he was getting too sentimental about his slaves, perhaps it was a good thing their lives would soon be coming to an end.

Decisions, decisions, he mused to himself, parting his legs to let Grace’s tongue slide between his buttocks and probe his asshole.

---------- Pembroke had spent hours filming the girls, every sordid sexual act imaginable, driving the girls to their limits. The footage would be released posthumously, a macabre illusion to mask their disappearances. He couldn’t risk their vanishing from the internet aligning with his own exit from the country.