Edward Pembroke – Slave Procurement Part 5

#Abuse #Rape #Teen 39 seconds ago

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By Edward Pembroke Kidnappings along the sea as Pembroke continues his campaign from the North Sea to the Mediterranean

It was 5 AM, still dark, and the three idealistic young girls were freezing, the cold biting through their layers of clothing. They stood on the deserted beach, a few miles from Gothenburg harbor, looking out at the calm water. Ingrid and Freja Johansen were joined by their friend, Sara, an Albanian girl with blue hair, nose piercings, a little chubby, but with the same fire as the girls for social justice.

“Don’t worry, girls, we can do this! Let’s not be shown up by the boys!” Ingrid smiled, trying to infuse confidence into the group. The three girls shared an impromptu group hug, seeking warmth and reassurance. Despite their brave faces, Ingrid, Freja, and Sara were secretly nervous about the task ahead, especially Sara. Although the boys’ gentle mocking was mixed with genuine concern, the girls were insistent that they sail on their own, as girls only.

Their mission was ambitious and fraught with risks. As peace campaigners, they had planned a daring stunt to coincide with a NATO speech presentation. Early in the morning, under the cover of darkness, the girls would set sail from one isolated beach while the boys departed from another on the opposite side. Their objective was to converge at a central point in full view of the shore, where a ceremony was taking place. The synchronized unfurling of their brightly colored banners was intended to capture the attention of the spectators and TV cameras present.

Ingrid and Freja had been inspired by the activist Edward Pembroke, who had recounted his own daring stunt from the 1990s during a video call with them. Pembroke had described his experience in great detail, recounting how he and his friends had pulled off a similar action to convey a powerful message of peace. Despite his vivid storytelling, he had warned the girls against attempting such risky endeavours. However, Freja had almost detected a wink from him, suggesting a hint of encouragement.

They had shared the story with their wider circle of politically conscious friends, convincing them that they too could make a powerful statement. They hadn’t told their parents about their plan, knowing it would cause worry and disapproval. Yet, they hoped that by succeeding, they would make their parents proud. As the early hours of the morning approached, the girls readied their boat. The boys were already setting sail from the far side.

“All right, girls, enough of this nonsense!” The girls gasped, as three figures approached. In the darkness, they could make out that the men were in military fatigues and berets. Two of them, one black and one white, stood back with mean looks on their faces. The head figure approached, wearing a stern, paternal expression.

“Now girls, we cannot have this type of thing. It’s dangerous for you and highly illegal. I am afraid we are going to have to detain you for the duration of the ceremony.”

He saw one of the girls reach for her phone. “Put that away! Right, give me your phones, all of you! You could get yourselves in even worse trouble. Now, come on, hand them over.”

The girls were shocked but handed their phones over. “Sorry, sir, we were just going to protest. We are not terrorists.”

“Corporals, take these ladies, cuff them, and put them in the back of the van. You are coming back to the base, and you can call your parents from there.”

Ingrid and Freja felt their hearts sink. Their grand plan to prove themselves and deliver a message of peace was collapsing before their eyes. As the corporals approached with handcuffs, the girls looked at each other with a mix of fear and disappointment.

The head figure, seeing their distress, softened his tone slightly. “Look, I understand your intentions, but this is not the way to go about it. You could have been hurt or caused a major incident. We’ll sort this out back at the base.”

The two corporals brought the two blonde sisters to the van. Freja saw the van and noticed that it did not look like a military vehicle. She spoke in Swedish to her sister. “How do we know these are real soldiers?”

“No talking, ladies,” said the black corporal, Kwame Okor. Freja looked back and saw the taller man in charge, standing with Sara. “Why is she not coming with us?”

“We need to get you girls strapped in first,” Pembroke responded. As the van door opened, the girls looked at each other again. It was a normal van with a large black case and padding on the walls. Was this an arrest, or a kidnapping?

“Get in!” The black corporal shoved Ingrid, and Freja was pushed in by Dmitri. The two men followed the girls inside. Once inside, the men’s faces gleamed with aggression. The girls noticed that the military uniforms were cheap knock-offs. The men had even more ropes and gags in their hands and grabbed the girls roughly, tying them up. The girls started to scream, but it was not long before they were gagged.

The sound of the screams was muffled from within the van, but it could be heard by Sara, who was now shaking with fear. She looked at the hard face of the soldier standing beside her. She had secretly been relieved when these men had shown up, thinking it meant she would not have to go through with this crazy plan with the Johansen sisters. Now, it seemed clear they were being kidnapped.

Sara’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. She looked at Pembroke, trying to gauge if there was any chance of reasoning with him. “Please, just let us go. We won’t tell anyone, I promise,” she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Pembroke stared at the girl. Fat, with a stupid short haircut, she was not the kind of girl that Pembroke wanted in his slave ring. And she was a witness. He looked at the boat, and then back at Sara.

The two corporals came back out of the van and approached the terrified girl. “It was stupid of a fat ugly girl like you to get mixed up in this. I am afraid you won’t be joining your friends.” Pembroke clicked his fingers and Dmitri put his hand to the girl’s mouth to stifle any screams while Kwame held her arms down.

“Don’t be too rough, don’t leave any marks. Just hold her under water until it’s done. I am going to get changed.”

Pembroke ignored the muffled pleas and whining as the men carried Sara toward the water. As he walked to the van, he casually checked that Ingrid and Freja were still inside the case, tied up and gagged, before changing into his special wetsuit.

As Pembroke changed, Dmitri and Kwame dragged Sara into the cold, dark water. Her struggles were weak against their combined strength, and as the water rose around her, her eyes widened in terror. She tried to scream, but Dmitri’s hand kept her silent.

Back in the van, Ingrid and Freja could hear the muffled sounds of struggle and splashing. Panic surged through them as they realized something terrible was happening to Sara. They tried desperately to free themselves, but the ropes were too tight, and the gags stifled their cries for help.

Pembroke emerged from the van in his wetsuit, looking every bit the part of a professional diver. He approached the water’s edge, where Dmitri and Kwame were finishing their grim task. The water was still, save for a few ripples.

“Is it done?” Pembroke asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dmitri nodded, and Kwame released his grip on Sara’s lifeless body. She fell on to the rocks, her eyes open in terror, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She was dead.

“Good. Now, let’s get moving. We have a schedule to keep,” Pembroke said, motioning for the men to return to the van.

“Good luck boss!” Dmitri smiled.

Pembroke gathered his things, and carried Sara’s body into the boat. He called to the men as they got into the van. “Don’t stop until you are in Denmark! I will call you when I get back to my hotel. Keep the girls hidden OK!”

Both men gave a thumbs up before getting in. The van drove off.

Pembroke got in the boat, and sailed off, with the dead body of Sara beside him. He had done this in the army a few times and had practised a few days ago with the same kind of boat. Now, he was able to get about a mile out quite quickly, and the sun was still behind the horizon. He approached a rocky outcrop, heaved Sara over the side, and swam into the cold waters, thanking whoever had designed this wetsuit. He looked behind and was satisfied the boat was being blown further and further out to sea. It took him half an hour to swim to the rocks, but he was able to get up and run along them to the shoreline. By now the sun was up, and he hoped no one had seen him. He found his bike hidden behind bushes, with small backpack, took off his wetsuit and changed into a sports cyclist outfit and pedalled as hard as he could towards his hotel with his clothes in the backpack.

Pembroke called his two accomplices from the hotel. They were now in Denmark, travelling down to Germany. Pembroke cheered, congratulated the men, and told them he would meet them in Marseille.

He dumped his clothes and bought a new suit, and made his way to the airport. By now, there had been a major incident at the NATO event. The boys had successfully appeared in the background with horns and flags, but the girls were nowhere to be seen. Soon a full scale search was launched, and the coastguard found their empty boat out to sea.

Pembroke was suited, freshened, and suave in the special airport departure lounge, waiting for the flight to Marseille and enjoying the complimentary food and wine. The dark-haired man in the suit looked every bit the businessman on the go. Little did anyone know about the evil depravity he was involved in.

Pembroke took a call from Dmitri and spoke in Russian. “Hey, you guys keep those girls secure, just let them drink water and get the toilet stuff sorted. They have to remain virgins, remember!” He laughed as Dmitri spoke with angst about how hot the girls were, and how frightened.

Then he got a call from a number he recognised. It was Ahmed Al-Masri. “Ahmed, my friend, this is Edward Pembroke speaking.”

“Eddie, you dog. Two Swedish girls, Ingrid and Freja Johansen, suspected drowned in the North Sea. Anna Gao, suspected drowned in an Alpine lake. Camille LeClerc, suspected drowned in the Mediterranean. Where is the variety haha!”

Pembroke sat back and laughed into the phone, enjoying the sick repartee. “Ah Ahemd, what can I say, we have only had one real disappearance so far, Charlotte in Paris, I am being discreet!”

Ahmed looked at his daughters through the window of his palatial house in Azmaria, smiling at them. There was no way he would let any harm come to them. But he had no sympathy for the other girls who had to suffer for his employer, and for his own perversions.

“What about Sabine Muller who disappeared with Anna Gao? Quite the coincidence. A very pretty girl. Why do I suspect you are stocking up on other girls on top of your target list?”

Pembroke paused, he did not like Ahmed’s tone. “A man is allowed to have fun, and make money Ahmed. The Crown Prince cannot have every girl on earth.”

“Just be careful Eddie, remember you are working for us. I knew you would do something on the side, but just be careful.”

Pembroke ended the conversation, pausing to reflect on the fact that he needed to be discreet about his extra girls. However, being too discreet would not help him find buyers. To make his dream come true, he needed to build a brand that appealed to the super wealthy with no morals. Of course, once a buyer was satisfied, they wouldn’t want Pembroke continuing his operations. The Crown Prince might even want him dead or develop a craving for even more girls.

Pembroke spoke in English to a waiter clearing his plates, catching the interest of the American woman nearby. Sheila Johnson, 45, was on holiday with her 18-year-old daughter, Cassie. Her husband, a senior American and NATO military official, had encouraged them to take a break from their military base in Denmark.

Sheila was thoroughly enjoying her European trip, particularly because she had recently caught her husband in another affair. She noticed Edward Pembroke, with his expensive suit and well-coiffed hair, switching effortlessly between Russian, Arabic, and English. He seemed like a sophisticated, cosmopolitan man.

With a few glasses of wine in her, Sheila, dressed in a low-cut green dress, adjusted it slightly lower and began to flirt provocatively with him.

“What a cunning linguist you are, sir!” she giggled.

Pembroke was startled. Had she been listening in? He soon realized she was just a tipsy woman looking to flirt. He noted her attractive features: blonde hair, the look of an American farm girl, and a buxom, trim figure squeezed into her summer dress, ready for the Riviera. He smiled back at her.

“Ah, thank you! I can work well with my tongue. I have to, for my business,” he replied cheekily, raising a glass of wine. “Where are you headed?”

“Marseille,” Sheila drawled. “My name is Sheila.”

“Edward Pembroke, pleased to meet you. And it looks like I’m going to Marseille too!” Pembroke smiled flirtatiously.

Sheila was so bored with her military-chatting husband, aware that she still had a great body and wanted some fun. She crossed and uncrossed her legs in front of this sexy stranger. She wondered what kind of businessman he was—international, maybe a spy? She found him alluring, this Englishman with the exotic background.

“Who are you traveling with?” asked Pembroke, with a touch of mischievousness, noticing the wedding ring on her finger.

“Oh, just my daughter Cassie and I. I have a husband who is … boring,” she replied, waving off the mention of him. Sheila returned her gaze fiercely to Pembroke, playfully bouncing her bare leg on her knee.

“Mom! The flight is boarding, we have to go…” a young girl approached, wearing lime green hotpants, a white t shirt. A vision of youthful beauty with sun-kissed skin and flowing blonde hair that framed an angelic face, looked every bit her mother’s daughter. She blushed when she saw her mother flirting shamelessly with the handsome man.

Pembroke, his smile softening at the sight of the flustered girl, turned towards her. “You must be Cassie,” he said politely, his voice gentle.

Cassie, still blushing furiously, mumbled a confirmation. “Y-yes,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her smile revealed a flash of metal – braces lining her otherwise perfect teeth. Pembroke idly wondered how hard it would be to remove braces himself from a captive girl, or perhaps there might be a market for teens wearing braces, after all they seemed so common nowadays.

“Well, ladies, perhaps we will run into each other in Marseille! I would love to show you my yacht, I am only staying until tomorrow, but I am all over Europe!”

“Oh wow, well, Cassie and I are trying to see as much of Europe as possible. Maybe we will keep bumping into you,” laughed Sheila, biting her lip, her eyes hungrily devouring the appealing man in front of her.

“Oh really,” grinned Pembroke. “Perhaps I can show you some nice restaurants in Marseille tonight?”

“That would be heavenly,” purred Sheila as they all walked to the departure gate.

Later, Sheila and Cassie were finally away from Pembroke and seated on the plane.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Cassie exclaimed, throwing a tantrum and putting her bare legs up against the seat in front of her.

“Listen, Cassie, your father had his fun, so can I. Just let your mother have a little fun, OK?” Sheila replied firmly.

After landing in Marseille, Pembroke checked in with Jamal and with Dmitri and Kwame. All was going well at both ends. That evening, he had dinner with Sheila. Sheila wore a short black dress with plunging neckline and slit up to her hips. She played with her long blonde hair, pouting her lips and doing everything she could to flirt with her date.

Edward Pembroke regaled her with tales of his background growing up between London and Cairo, going to Oxford, then the Sorbonne in Paris, working in Wall Street and Moscow then going off grid and having his private equity fund. Sheila was spell bound by the charismatic globe trotter and loved the idea of going on his yacht.

Halfway through the meal, they got a visit from Sheila’s daughter, Cassie. Cassie had worn a lime dress so flimsy it was nearly transparent, with a plunging neckline that exposed her cleavage and a hemline so short it barely covered the crease of her buttocks, leaving little to the imagination as she walked. Sheila had been furious when she saw her in it, but Cassie had told her she shouldn’t be judging her after she was plainly out to sleep with “that guy” tonight behind her husband’s back and so Sheila relented.

Pembroke saw her coming well before Sheila, and so had time to compose himself. “Cassie! My God, I hope you don’t walk up any steps in that dress, where are you going?”

“I’ve met some folks online, mom, I’m going to a club. I just need some money.”

Pembroke smiled at Cassie and Sheila. “Ah, Sheila, you must remember what it is to be young and reckless!” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

Sheila sighed but smiled, handing Cassie some money. “Alright, here you go. Just be careful, okay?”

Cassie took the money with a grin. “Thanks, Mom! I’ll be fine.” She ignored Pembroke, thinking him a sleazy creep and viewing her mother’s behavior as a betrayal of her father.

As Cassie disappeared into the crowd, Pembroke turned his attention back to Sheila, sensing her momentary discomfort. “Well, it looks like we’re both free for the evening. How about we make the most of it?”

Sheila recovered. “You know I’m married, right?”

“The ring gave me a clue.”

“Well, my husband is a no-good piece of shit, so I feel like this is my time to … play,” she said, fingering her wine glass and giving Pembroke a lingering look.

Pembroke’s smile widened. “I understand completely. Sometimes we all need a break from reality.”

An hour later, Sheila was naked, on top of Pembroke and riding his cock, waving her head her hair flying around as she bucked like a tiger. The two fucked till they were lashing with sweat, their hair soaking and sticking to their faces as they kissed every inch of each other’s bodies.

As they lay together in bed afterward, Pembroke ran his hand idly over Sheila’s body. Her breasts were fleshy but firm, and her hips wide, accentuating her hourglass figure. He marveled at the softness of her skin and the way her body seemed to fit perfectly against his.

Sheila sighed contentedly, nestling closer to him. “That was … exactly what I needed,” she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

Pembroke smiled, his hand continuing its leisurely exploration. “I’m glad I could be of service,” he replied playfully, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Sheila looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering desire. “Do you think we’ll meet again after tonight?” she asked softly.

“I hope so. If you’re traveling around Europe, I’m sure we can arrange something,” Pembroke said with a playful glint in his eye. “I pop up everywhere, but of course, you would need to keep it a secret from your husband…”

Sheila laughed softly, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I think I can manage that. Cassie can keep her mouth shut too. Poor girl, I think she’s a little embarrassed, but I’ve told her, her dad has it coming,” she replied, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest.

Pembroke was thinking of the money he had spent on the dinner with Sheila tonight. On the travel and logistics of the kidnap of the Swedish sisters, on the costs of the Zephyr and the bills for the complex in Turkey. All the other things. He was living beyond his means even accounting for the future sale of the seven girls, of whom he now had five. He needed to continue. The image of Cassie, her thighs almost meeting before disappearing in that green dress. He was sure some wealthy perverted pig would be willing to pay good money for her. The restaurant bill for tonight would be a welcome investment if he could capture and sell her. ‘You have to spend money to make money’ he reasoned, and he could not deny that having Sheila in his bed was not a bad outcome.

“Let’s see my yacht tomorrow before I take off. Bring Cassie; the harbor is magnificent!” Pembroke suggested with a smile. He sniffed her hair affectionately, wondering if she might be a marketable product herself, or if he might later be forced to take revenge on her for Cassie’s poor conduct as a sex slave.

“Oh, I would love that!” Sheila purred, her eyes lighting up. “Poor Cassie, I hope she is okay. You know, earlier today, three girls went missing in Gothenburg, drowned in the sea while trying to pull some political stunt. It just makes me so scared about Cassie.”

“Oh, my dear, you don’t have to worry with me. I am an excellent sailor. You would be safe with me as your captain,” he reassured her with a wink.

She giggled, feeling comforted by his words, and they leaned in to share a kiss, her worries forgotten as she lost herself in him again.

“Do you think anyone is looking for these girls? It’s been so long, surely one of these girls is important enough to someone, that there will be a search and they will find all of us…”

Zara was whispering to her cousin, Fatima. Six girls—Sabine, Anna, Fatima, Zara, Charlotte, and Camille—were sitting against the wall in the cell located in the underground hall. They were allowed out for a few hours each day for exercise, but only within the hall. They were permitted to go outside only when all the men were at the compound, and even then, only as part of a coffle, with each girl chained to the next by their collars, which were fitted on before the exercise.

The smell was bad, but the girls were getting used to it. No clothes, not even underwear, had been allowed. The cousins, who had previously been fiercely protective of their modesty in front of anyone, had now lost their inhibitions around each other. But the shame of the lesbian sex they had been forced to carry out with each other still went unspoken between them.

“Zara, I just have to stay positive for Ayesha. If he is going to sell us, then maybe the next man will be better, and I can escape from that.”

“What kind of man buys a woman from a man like Pembroke.” Zara spat out the words. “I wish I could kill him.”

“Quiet, girls!” Jamal was playing cars against himself at a table at the far end of the hall, mindful of his instructions to keep the girls’ communication to a minimum. Psychologically, it was better to break them down, and of course to stop any foolish talk of resistance and escape. The girls were given nothing to occupy themselves with, just six naked females with a long bench and a large mattress, and a shower, a toilet and a water fountain.

Charlotte had transformed from a haughty and proud girl into a bedraggled, zombified figure. She mumbled to herself, pulling out her hair one strand at a time to pass the time. There were no tennis matches, no friends, no parties, and no studies to fill her schedule—just endless hours of nothingness with only the other naked girls beside her. She avoided eye contact with the others, thinking of the disgusting things she had been forced to do to with every one of them.

Camille felt the same. Like most of the girls she had no interest in women, and even though the other cell occupants were beautiful, the smell and the sounds and watching them go to the toilet beside her every day disgusted her. She leaned her face against the cell walls, staring out at the empty hall around it, just artificial lighting and a single secure exit door, desperate for the space, to be away from this naked flesh and the smell of pussy everywhere. Like the rest of the girls she thought of her family and friends and her life outside. Was it all over? Would she ever get out, and could she recover from this.

She cringed when she saw Fatima’s back, still criss-crossed with red lines from the caning, mirroring her own. The pain had been one distraction for a few days, and the welts were still so thick she wondered if they would be permanent.

Sabine and Anna had been grateful for each other’s company in the early days of their confinement. However, the constant suffocation of being locked together, naked, with the other girls, the lack of privacy, and the way their conversations could be overheard by everyone was destroying their intimacy. What could they talk about? Their exciting plans, the beauty of the forest they had been hiking through, education, skiing, their work? None of that felt real here; it felt absurd to discuss the outside world. Beyond hugging, they barely showed any sign of affection towards each other as a couple.

Sabine had been raped constantly in all her holes, while Anna had ‘only’ been anally and orally raped. They had been forced to have obscene sex with each other and every other girl in the cell for the men’s amusement, and so they could not enjoy it between themselves. It was not just that it would be in front of their cellmates, but their brutal experiences here had tainted sex for them, maybe forever, whether they got out or not.

Jamal got up and left. Some of the girls began to chatter. Zara and Fatima spoke in Arabic a little louder. Camille said to no one in particular “that fucking freak, he makes me sick to look at him.” “I feel ill, I need to get out of here!” Anna was aggravated, she felt a fever coming on, it was her period and she hated having the blood freely running out of her.” “We need a doctor to look after us” wailed Sabine, anxious for Anna.

“Who cares, first to die is the luckiest.” Charlotte spoke without looking up, as she knelt on the ground playing with her hair.

“I agree!” Zara had picked up a little more English since her arrival. “I am going crazy, I want them to kill me.”

Anna still had some hope. “My father will do everything to find me. I am sure you all have the same, something will come up!”

“The bastard killed my relatives and my family think I am dead” spat out Zara.

“They think we are all dead, except you Charlotte, you are the only missing girl here,” said Camille, ruefully recalling Pembroke’s taunts to them.

Charlotte’s disappearance was indeed the only genuine kidnapping known to any police force, the other girls were missing, presumed dead. Her family were going berserk at the slow progress of the French police, who had been baffled, but had a description of the African driver who had collected her. But Charlotte didn’t care. Her world had been destroyed over the last few weeks. She stayed silent, drawing imaginary circles on the wall.

Jamal returned with Mrs Al-Haraz. He had gone to check on her, and released her on her request into the hall. The older woman was clean, and in a long vampires dress and high heels, clicking as she followed Jamal. She did not seem to mind being a prisoner, this was heaven compared to the one she had been inside in Yemen and even her life before that.

She and Jamal whispered together in Arabic. Jamal grunted, he did not trust any female and was just as happy to knock her around as the girls.

Mrs Al-Haraz approached the cell. “Hello bitches. I need a slut to sleep with me tonight. Any volunteer?”

All the girls shrank back. It was not just the mutilated face of the woman that still disturbed them, but her cruelty.

“Anna?” She leered at the mixed race Swiss girl, she loved her slim petite athletic body.

“So-sorry Madam, I am on my period.”

Mrs Al-Haraz noticed the red marks around her pussy and tutted. She looked elsewhere, scanning the sea of breasts and hips and hair of different colors. She did not want the marked backs of Camille and Fatima, they reminded her of her own, still painful a few days later. She looked at the bedraggled blonde hair of Charlotte, hiding her face but she knew the beautiful blue eyes beneath.

“Charlotte?” She smiled lustfully.

“Madam, I too have period” and Charlotte slipped her finger between her legs, and brought it up for Mrs Al-Haraz to see, bright red. The older woman sighed again, she did not want a bloody pussy. She looked at Sabine, at the curly brown hair and the blue glacial eyes, and the tall toned body with the perfect pneumatic breasts, covered in bruises still from bite marks.

Jamal suddenly spoke up in Arabic and the two had an argument, which was settled with Jamal clenching his fist and walking up to the Yemeni woman, towering over her.

“Well, Sabine” the older woman spoke cordially “you will be getting fucked by Jamal. So, Zara, you, will come spend the night with me.”

Sabine shuddered as she looked at the even more deformed Jamal again, and his hulking body. She prayed it would be just sex and not a night of cuddling in his huge hairy body and having to kiss his mouth, half open to the air with the scarring. She felt a touch from Anna in sympathy.

Zara was furious. She spat out words in Arabic towards Mrs-Haraz. The two women shouted at each other through the glass wall, muscles tensing in their necks, and spit landing on either side of the glass.

Jamal sighed, and opened the cell door. His huge size frightened them all into silence, even Zara. He hauled her out of the cell without saying anything, and spoke to her quietly in Arabic. She bowed her head and cried.

“Come, lick my pussy here” taunted Mrs Al-Haraz. She lifted her dress up, revealing she was wearing nothing underneath and ran her hands over her pussy. Zara cried, but walked to where Mrs Al-Haraz was, and knelt down. But something stirred within her. She gripped the older woman’s buttocks and moved her face closer to her pussy, then suddenly bolted up to her feet and pushed her overseer away. She backed off, and started shouting furiously in Arabic, that she was not a slave, and that she could not do this anymore. Mrs Al-Haraz was furious and grabbed her hair and the two started fighting.

Jamal sighed again, and with barely any effort lifted Zara off Mrs-Haraz, then threw her to the ground, and kicked her in the stomach. The girls in the cell gasped and Fatima screamed. Jamal lifted the spluttering girl to her feet and slapped her again. She was barely conscious now and could barely stand up by herself. But she could still scream a volley of curses at Jamal, about his face, his mother, and what she wanted to do to him.

Jamal tried to calm himself, but could not let it slide. He clenched his fist and punched her, right on her mouth. She went silent, and flew back through the air, landing on her back, knocked out cold, her hair splayed around her, he arms and legs spread out lifelessly.

The other girls had witnessed a lot of violence during their captivity, as opposed to hardly anything beforehand, but this was another level, a man punching one of them like he would a man in a fight. Fatima banged her hands on the wall screaming and calling for her cousin to wake up. Mrs Al-Haraz was used to more violence than this, and spat on the girl’s face, and kicked her in the sides with her feet.

Jamal lifted her up by her hair, dragged her back to the cell, and threw her inside. Fatima went to her cousin and cradled her, slapping her face to get her to come around.

Outside the cell, there followed another argument between Mrs Al-Haraz and Jamal, though the woman knew to keep her voice down. She was used to taunting violent men and skirting the line between annoying them and getting herself beaten up.

Jamal sighed angrily. Fucking women. He turned to the cell. Zara’s eyes were open, and she was moving slightly. Blood was all around her mouth, and he spotted a tooth on the ground. He would have to explain this to Mr Pembroke. It was lucky that Zara had not been kidnapped to order, even so, a missing tooth was not a good look.

“Camille, shower quickly, then come with me. I don’t care about period. I am going to fuck you in all holes, come on.” Camille blanched at the order. She was already disgusted by this man who had already raped her, but having witnessed this violence, she was terrified, but knew better than to resist. She ran the water over her, wincing again as it went over her cane marks on her back.

“Sabine.” Mrs Al-Haraz leered at the German girl, who was still shaking from what she had witnessed and had been looking anxiously at Zara slowly recovering. “You will spend the night with me, you take a shower too.”

Sabine waited for Camille to finish, while discreetly holding Anna’s hand. Tears flowed down her face, which she hoped would wash off in the shower.

That ‘night’ (though the girls had no way of knowing it was so) they were treated to the sight of Jamal in the far corner of the hall, on a mattress, brutally fucking Camille, who screamed in pain as his rough hands ran all over her deeply marked body. The French girl cursed his stamina, as even though he came constantly inside her, he would soon be hard again in minutes. Jamal loved the red lines across the white skin of her petite back, like a little white tiger, he smiled, his hands almost able to fit together around her waist as he fucked her from behind. Camille felt her cervix being battered, looking up through her tears and her red locks, she saw the four remaining naked figures in the cell, staring at her like zombies.

Meanwhile Sabine was spending the night in the bedroom of Mrs AL-Haraz. Her bedroom was a large cell with clear glass doors, opening out in a hallroom, much smaller than the hall the girls were in. There were cameras on Mrs Al-Haraz’s cell at all times and she was locked in there by Jamal and the men, but her ‘room’ was luxurious by the standards of the girls. She had racks of clothes and lingerie, games, picture magazines, (though she could not read) a large double bed, and a sink and toilet. It was the nicest surroundings she had ever lived in.

She seemed proud to show it off to the girls when she ‘invited’ one of them to sleep with her. She admired the statuesque beauty of Sabine, the muscles of her 5 feet 9 figure still apparent, her hard stomach leading up to her firm gravity defying breasts. The latter had taken a lot of punishment, the men and Mrs Al-Haraz and even Mrs Parker could not resist sucking hard on her tits, as if willing her to release milk to them.

“You like pussy, so you like me, right?” the Yemeni woman grinned and stuck her tongue into the German girl’s mouth. Sabine knew better than to fight back. She despised this woman, the sight of the burned flesh, her evil flashing eyes, even her pussy smelled and tasted like burnt flesh.

Mrs Al-Haraz could not get enough of Sabine. Pale skin fascinated her since being a little girl and having so much European flesh to taste now made her delirious. How could she ever want to get out of here? The men should let her be security, she would run these bitches even more harshly than the men.

“Please … you’re hurting me!” Sabine could not stand the constant biting, all over, buttocks, thighs, her back, her neck.”

“You remember, I am in charge of you. Call me Madam. You have to do everything I say, OK?” The Yemeni woman cackled at her. “Now, lick me feet.”

Sabine tried to stifle her sobs as she ran her tongue over the dark small feet of her tormentor, as the latter sighed and enjoyed the sensations of the hot wet tongue along her insoles and between her toes. She loved having her feet licked. These pretty rich white girls, just a few weeks ago they had the world at their feet. Now they were at her feet.

A thousand miles away, much happier scenes were unfolding in the harbor of Marseille. Cassie and Sheila were sashaying together, with Cassie teasing her mother about her night with Pembroke and Sheila teasing Cassie about staying out so late. In truth, Cassie had been home by midnight, finding the attention from the men toward her revealing outfit a bit overwhelming.

Now, in matching bikinis and sarongs, the mother and daughter were linking arms in the morning sun as they walked alongside the grinning Edward Pembroke, dressed in white trousers, a white shirt with a handkerchief around his neck, and deck shoes.

“Oh Edward, is that your yacht? It’s beautiful!” Sheila exclaimed.

“Why don’t you come aboard and check it out?” he grinned.

Sheila traced her fingers along the railings of the yacht, wondering if she could persuade her daughter to ‘bump’ into Edward Pembroke again. A boat trip would be so romantic.

Pembroke looked through his dark glasses at Cassie, admiring her form, she was like her mother, but slim, eighteen, beautiful concave toned stomach, innocent smooth face and her braces glittered in the sun. Her blonde hair reminded him of his guests who would arrive soon.

“Why don’t I show you the compartment?” He let them down into the holding compartment, and the mother and daughter giggled as they could barely fit in together, their breasts touching as they laughed embarrassingly. They oohed and aahed at the glass floor and the water beneath.

“God, Mom, you don’t know anything about this guy. Imagine if he’s a pirate and takes girls away across the sea,” Cassie playfully teased her besotted mother.

“Well, that might be fun,” Sheila laughed in response, making her daughter roll her eyes in embarrassment.

Pembroke watched them disembark, his eyes focused on Cassie, her smooth toned slim legs, and her impossibly cute buttocks visible through her sarong. It felt so wrong to let females off the boat like this without raping and kidnapping them.

“Oh Edward, you are a gentleman” said Sheila as he helped them on to the harbour again.

“Not a problem, but let us keep in touch, I am always around the Med!” Pembroke winked.

Sheila waved goodbye as they walked off, trying not to look at the handsome man who had stolen her heart for a night and half a day. Her daughter wondered how far she would go this time and whether her father would find out.

Soon after the delightful mother and daughter were out of view, two other individuals appeared looking very different. Kwame and Dmitri were tired but happy after over a days’ driving from Gothenburg. By now, the body of Sara had been recovered and divers were still looking for the Johannsen sisters in the water, but hope was fading. And with good reason, instead of lying in the deep outside southern Sweden, the Swedish sisters were encased in two black boxes in the back of a van in Marseille.

“Excellent work guys!” Pembroke congratulated them both. “Let’s get the merchandise aboard, and stock it in the yacht compartment securely.”

The cases were carried aboard, then the yacht had to be sailed out to sea to hide the activity from view before the girls were released. Ingrid and Freja were terrified. They had gone from freezing on a Swedish beach about to get on a boat, to being bound and contorted in darkness until they could not feel their bodies. Only the occasional snap of light, fondling and rough cleaning and feeding from these ugly, brutal men had been a break from it. Now, they were roughly pulled from the cases. The bright sun and sea of the Mediterranean was a shock to them. How had they gotten all the way here?

They could only moan into their gags as their limbs were stretched out, and their remaining clothes ripped off. Hands roamed all over them. Pembroke, who had just an hour ago lusted over the nubile Cassie, made up for it with pinching and kissing their bodies now. They were forced into the compartment for now, their bodies packed together upright like sardines, bound hands and feet. Their terrified blue eyes stared up at Pembroke as he placed the seal on the small container. In the darkness, the girls could only manage muffled screams. Barely able to see, their breasts meshed against each other, and they held their foreheads together, trying to console one another, desperate to speak and offer comfort.

The Zephyr set off on its journey to Turkey as Pembroke sent another text to Sheila. He really hoped he would see the Johnsons again. Life was good, he smiled to himself, feeling the sun on his face and the wind in his hair as they sailed through the Mediterranean.

Fourteen 18-year-olds from Willowbridge High School had excitedly booked a wild holiday together, seven boys and seven girls, to the infamous Greek party resort island of Diafthora. Among them was Holly Streatham, a beautiful and bookish girl who most of the boys fancied. Holly, with her slim figure, five-foot-five frame, and captivating brown hair and eyes, was eager to embrace adulthood, dance, and drink the nights away.

Despite the group’s enthusiasm for partying and sleeping with each other, Holly remained more reserved. While her friends flaunted their thong bikinis and indulged in the debauchery, Holly’s shyness and reluctance kept her from joining in on the romantic escapades, making her all the more alluring to the boys around her.

“Come on, Holly … Josh really fancies you. Why don’t you just put it out for tonight? I might bring back two guys tonight,” her roommate Sally teased, dressed in nothing but a minuscule yellow thong, spreading sun lotion all over her bare breasts. Holly blushed and looked at her phone, feeling embarrassed. Unlike Sally’s daring attire, Holly wore a more conservative red bikini with full-coverage bottoms, betraying her reluctance to join in the wild atmosphere

“I just want to dance to the music, I don’t want to sleep with anyone here!” Holly insisted, her conservative nature growing stronger with each day she spent on Diafthora.

“Why don’t I rub some sun lotion on you? Might loosen you up,” Sally teased, playfully spraying some lotion on Holly and running her hands over her legs. Holly giggled, “Sally, get off me, haha!” The two girls play-wrestled, nearly naked, on the bed. Holly eventually relented and hid her face in her arms to hide her embarrassment and secret pleasure while Sally ran her hands all over her firm thighs and buttocks, humming contentedly. Holly wondered if she should have some more wine this time, and let things happen, she might enjoy this holiday after all.

A few hundred miles away, six girls were dressed in even less and definitely not enjoying themselves. Mrs Al-Haraz had them lined up, naked as usual. She was in her black mini dress, with black lipstick and makeup, carrying a light switch, swishing it through the hair. She spoke in Arabic and broken English.

“OK, now we do all six! This time, no mistakes OK?” She put her hands on her hips, her voice menacing.

“Down Dog! Al-kalb al-munhani!” They all quickly moved into the downward dog pose. They planted their hands and feet firmly on the ground, forming an inverted V shape. Sabine struggled, her legs slightly bent. “Straight legs, Sabine!” barked Mrs. Al-Haraz, as the tall German girl grunted, breathing deeply, trying to push her heels closer to the ground, feeling the stretch in her hamstrings.

After a minute, she shouted again. “Submission! Al-istislam!” Immediately, the girls dropped to their knees, sitting back on their heels with their backs straight, and their palms facing up resting on their thighs. Fatima had a slight slouch in her back, feeling the pain from the whip marks still hurting her. She concentrated hard, adjusting her posture to straighten her spine, feeling her overseer’s judgmental eye on her.

“Hold! Al-tamassuk!” The girls stood with their legs apart, bending into a 90-degree squat. Their backs remained straight as they placed their hands behind their heads. Anna found it hard to keep her back straight, trembling slightly as she held the squat. “Keep that back straight, Anna!” commanded Mrs. Al-Haraz. Anna gritted her teeth, determined to maintain the position, her thighs burning from the effort.

The Yemeni woman smiled as she paused, waiting for the first girl to fail, relishing the vibrating thighs and knees in front of her and the gasps of effort. It was Anna who gave up first, despite being so used to skiing in that position, prompting a whack on her hips from Mrs Al-Haraz.

“OK, Worship! Al-ibadah!” The girls were grateful for the release and went to their knees and stretched their arms far in front until their breasts touched the ground, placing their hands wide apart. Zara had a hard time keeping her arms straight, struggling to push her broken nose to the ground, feeling the pain. “Put your face to the ground Zara!” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s voice cut through the air. Zara tried to focus on her breathing, inching her hands forward and arching her back to achieve the pose, trying to ignore the pain.

“Cat! Al-qiṭ!” They moved to their hands and knees, lifting their buttocks and arching their backs. Charlotte felt the strain in her lower back, struggling to lift her head high and arch her back properly. “Higher, Charlotte!” Mrs. Al-Haraz’s strict tone was relentless. Charlotte took deep breaths, trying to ease the tension and improve her form, gazing at the black emptiness of the ceiling.

“Bridge! Al-jisr!” The girls pushed up into a bridge position bending backwards, their feet and hands on the ground, supporting their arched bodies. Camille, the gymnast, held the pose effortlessly, her body forming a perfect arch with her pelvic bones facing the ceiling. “Perfect form, Camille,” Mrs. Al-Haraz acknowledged, albeit with a stern nod. Camille did not smile and struggled to stay in position as she felt a finger from the Yemeni trace her pussy lips in this vulnerable position.

“Hmmm, the hair is growing back. More electrolysis today I think. OK, girls, you can finish, well done. But soon you will have to do the handstand. You are beautiful athletic girls and must learn to please your owners!”

The girls were grateful for a break and led back into the cell. They had spent hours learning the positions, practicing and being beaten when failing to remember or perfect them. And this was only the beginning. Handstands? Cartwheels? Only Camille found them all easy.

In the cell, the atmosphere was depressed, sour, and angry.

“I cannot go on, cousin,” Zara said to Fatima. “I don’t want this anymore. Look at my mouth, my nose. When the Master returns, he will punish me even more. I have to get out of here!”

“Zara, please, think of my daughter, think of your family, think of me. Look at my back, I am getting punished too,” Fatima pleaded.

“I am the one who has to live this life, and I cannot. I have tried. I need to do something to escape from here, and if I cannot escape, then I don’t want to live. I’m ugly now anyway, look what that brute did to me.” Zara shivered she spoke, watching the evil gaolors walk off.

Charlotte was complimenting Camille on her acrobatic poses with a slight smile.

“Thanks, Charlotte. But it’s not what I want to do with my skills. I thought I might have a chance at the Olympics growing up. Now all I will be is a doll that can do tricks for some … animal. My life means nothing. My parents, they love me so much, everything they gave me, that beast is going to hoover up.”

Charlotte started to cry. “I’m so sorry, I understand. All my years of dreaming I was going to be someone, and that … that pervert just snatched me. I have nightmares thinking of what my parents are going through. I only pray they never find out what became of me!”

The two hugged and their tears dripped down onto each other’s backs.

Sabine and Anna were having a tenser conversation.

“He couldn’t get to me, Sabine. I was on his list, but he couldn’t kidnap me. He tried impersonating a sports marketer, he must have tried so hard. But I’m not stupid, and my father was so protective. The only time I left him was to go on that hiking trip with you. That bastard saw my weak spot. You.”

Sabine was taken aback. “I cannot believe you blame me! He kidnapped both of us!”

“That monster, Dmitri, you got him out of prison, like an idiot. You allowed the Master to track you with your own pendant.”

“Anna, it was your idea to go to the lake!”

“If I had never met you, I would not be here. My father could have protected me. If I had a boyfriend and not a girl like you—useless—then maybe he could have saved me. You are naïve; you let them fool you. Well, I guess you pay the price too, but still, I feel like a fool for my relationship with you.”

“Anna! You cannot mean that!” Sabine was sobbing, she could not believe her girlfriend was turning against her.

“I am glad we are being sold separately, Sabine, at least I will not be reminded of the reason I got taken!” Anna was glaring at her lover now with open hostility.

Sabine withdrew to a corner of the cell and huddled with her head between her knees. The German girl wanted to believe it was not just because Anna was on her period that she was so wayward. The Swiss girl tried not to think of her family, and her life outside, but struggled to think of anything positive about her situation.

Mrs. Parker entered the hall with Dmitri, wheeling a surgical table and the electrolysis equipment. Dmitri opened the cell door. “All right, ladies, Mrs. Al-Haraz noticed that you all had some body hair growing back, so it’s time to get rid of it! Charlotte, you are up first, come on, hop up and let me strap you in!” Mrs. Parker adopted a cheery, matronly voice and smile, dressed in her short mock nurse’s uniform, the breastline and hemline outrageously revealing.

Charlotte hesitated, fear evident in her eyes. Mrs. Parker’s forced cheerfulness only made the situation more surreal and terrifying. With trembling legs, Charlotte moved toward the table, her steps slow and reluctant.

“That’s a good girl,” Mrs. Parker cooed, as she helped Charlotte onto the table. “Now, just lie back and relax. We’ll have you all smooth and clean in no time.”

Charlotte was first strapped in on her stomach, her legs spread wide apart, giving Mrs. Parker clear access to her nether regions for the hair removal. Mrs. Parker ran her hands all over her body, searching for hairs to be treated.

Charlotte clenched her fists, her body tense with fear and humiliation. She could feel every touch as Mrs. Parker’s hands moved methodically over her skin, pausing whenever she found a patch of hair that needed treatment.

The electrolysis equipment buzzed to life, and Charlotte braced herself for the pain. Each zap felt like a burning needle, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The process was slow and meticulous, with Mrs. Parker taking her time to ensure every hair was treated.

Dmitri approached Mrs. Parker, interrupting her and whispering something in her ear. Mrs. Parker looked over at Sabine and Anna, who were standing at opposite ends of the cell.

“Anna and Sabine, my dears,” Mrs. Parker called out in her falsely sweet voice. “Dmitri has suggested you put on a show for us while this treatment is taking place. It will be a chance for you to show affection for each other. Why don’t you come to the center of the room?”

Sabine and Anna’s blood ran cold. They knew it was an order. They didn’t want to talk to each other, let alone do this, in front of everyone.

Reluctantly, they walked toward the center of the room, their steps slow and heavy with dread. The tension between them was palpable, and the thought of being forced to perform in front of their captors was almost too much to bear.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes sparkled with a twisted delight as she watched them approach. “Come now, no need to be shy. Show us just how much you care for each other.”

Sabine’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at Anna. The bitterness and blame from their earlier argument still hung between them, but in this moment, they were united in their shared horror. Anna’s face was a mask of resignation, her eyes hollow with despair.

They reached the center of the room and stood there, unsure of what to do. Dmitri’s cold gaze was fixed on them, his presence a constant threat.

“Dmitri wants to see a 69 between you, on the floor.”

“Please, we don’t want to do this,” Sabine pleaded, her voice trembling.

“Do as you’re told,” Mrs. Parker snapped, her cheerful facade slipping to reveal the cruelty beneath. “Or there will be consequences.”

With no other choice, Sabine and Anna lay down. Sabine lay flat on her back, while Anna gingerly moved over her, robotically. She could still recall the joy of doing this in the outside world, but now, under the watchful eyes of their captors, the act was an awful reminder of everything they had lost.

Mrs Parker felt some sympathy for the girls, but they were gay, they should enjoy this, especially compared to other tortures. “Come on girls, let’s see those tongues in pussies!”

Like Anna, Sabine was on her period. Before the kidnapping, they had laughed at how synchronized they were, thinking it was a sign they were meant for each other. Now, it just meant they would both be forced to taste the disgusting metallic blood oozing from their pussies for the entertainment of these evil bastards. A few minutes ago, Anna had sworn she would never talk to Sabine again, now she was confronted with the familiar sight of her pussy lips, smeared with blood, forced to eat it. She in turn felt the familiar tongue inside her, sighed, and returned the favour.

Sabine had been hurt badly by Anna’s rejection but now got no pleasure from licking her lover. The sour taste of her period blood blocked all happy smells and sensations she had experienced in happier times. Both licked and cried quietly, while Dmitri watched on, playing with his cock.

Mrs Parker continued with Charlotte’s body, working over from head to toe, feeling the twitches and twerks in the young girl’s body. Unlike the girls, she could admit there were parts of this job she was growing to love.

Meanwhile, Pembroke and the two men were enjoying the lovely nubile bodies of the Swedish sisters Ingrid and Freja. A few days ago, the girls had dreamt of braving the harsh North Sea and making a brave statement, terrified of the dark waters. Now, they were facing the sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean, bent over the rails of the Zephyr, as they were each being anally raped by Kwame and Dmitri. Pembroke had ordered that their vaginas be entered with nothing more than one finger, lest the Crown Prince be disappointed with the lack of virginity of his youngest slaves. But assholes, he reminded his men, recovered more easily and had less of the stigma of reproductive betrayal, and so these were fine to indulge in.

Of course, the pain was not any less for the girls, as the huge cocks of the men entered them with minimal lubricant. Fortunately they never had to sit down, as the tight compartment meant they just stood up leaning on the walls and on each other. Their assholes, permanently on fire now, were not the only holes to be abused. The gags meant they could not speak to each other at all, and were only removed when for feeding, watering, and for cocks being placed into them.

Kwame and Dmitri had longed to get their hands on the blonde girls properly having endured a 30 hour drive, only having a brief sight of their bare skin when opening up the boxes to see their painfully contorted forms, to feed them and wash their excretions away from between their legs. Now, holding their perky breasts, and meandering their hands across their beautiful silky smooth skin, they could have their reward. Even the badly performed blowjobs felt like heaven as they cradled the fine soft blonde heads of the beauties.

“Poor girls” smiled Pembroke, as he watched the girls be re-gagged, and re-bound ready to be placed back in the compartment. “A yacht on the Mediterranean is most girls’ idea of a perfect holiday, but for you, it must be hell! Don’t worry, you will be trained well in the use of your mouths and assholes when we get you to my base, it will get easier. For now, my main focus is on getting you girls there!”

The girls looked at the monster, realizing this was the same Edward Pembroke who had cajoled them into the enterprise in the first place, who must have planned this whole kidnapping for at least weeks. He had gleefully taunted them that the body of their friend Sara had been found. The Johanssen girls were still missing presumed drowned, and stormy weather had hindered further searches. It had sparked a huge political backlash with people blaming NATO for provoking such a dangerous demonstration from idealistic young people. Others blamed the stupid woke idiots for their own demise. Others hinted at a conspiracy by the military complex to spoil the protest and possibly murder the girls, with rumours that a figure in black had been seen coming ashore in the early hours of the same morning, close by where the boat was eventually found, but these were dismissed as politically motivated fantasies.

Pembroke smiled at the saucer shaped blue eyes of the girls as they looked up at him as he eased the cover over their compartment, confining them to hours more of darkness alone. Their slim smooth tight bodies were such a contrast to the lovely Sheila Johnson, but he had enjoyed sex with all of them. He still noted with a determination that he could fit a third girl in with the Swedish girls, and, thinking of the money, realized he must start thinking of getting more girls on each venture.

Suddenly, the boat engine started to cut out. “Kwame, what is wrong?” Pembroke’s voice was edged with panic. What if they needed rescuing? He would be forced to release his precious cargo to the bottom of the ocean! All the hard work and money spent would be wasted, and the Crown Prince’s orders would be broken. The thought of the Crown Prince withholding half of his original asking price made Pembroke’s palms sweat.

Kwame furrowed his brow as he quickly checked the engine. “I’m not sure, sir. It could be a problem with the fuel line or the engine itself. I’ll need a few minutes to diagnose it.”

Pembroke watched anxiously as Kwame worked, his mind racing. He couldn’t afford to have the yacht stranded, especially with the girls on board.

Eventually, Kwame realized the problem. There was a leak. He had some replacement fuel, but he would need to check in somewhere to fix it before that fuel leaked out. Then they would need more fuel. They needed to land somewhere to do this.

“Where is the nearest port?” asked Pembroke, his anxiety palpable.

“Diafthora,” said Kwame. “We should only need a few hours there, and we can take off. It’s safe enough; they will not check anything. I’ve often landed there with drug shipments. It’s a party island full of tourists!”

Pembroke nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Make it happen, Kwame. We can’t afford any to any nosy police see our girls!”

Kwame set a course for Diafthora, the yacht turning towards the island.

As they approached, the vibrant lights and sounds of the party island came into view.

“Make sure to wash, feed, and water the girls before we are in sight of the harbour” warned Pembroke. The men obliged. Ingrid and Freja looked vainly at the lights ahead of them. They could hear dance music, and the faint sound of shrieking and cars, the sounds of people enjoying themselves. If only they could scream for help. This vision of normal life and joy, within reach, seemed so cruel, compounded when they were roughly retied and gagged and dumped back into the darkness of their compartment.

As Kwame moored the yacht, Pembroke was pleased no note no one bothered to check them. Kwame went to work, to find fuel and some materials to fix the yacht. Dmitri agreed to stay with the yacht, ready to act in case anyone became too nosy. Pembroke decided he would go for a walk, stretch his legs, and enjoy the sights and sounds of the young revellers enjoying themselves.

Pembroke sat enjoying a beer in the town square, watching the scene unfold around him. The older Greeks were eating and drinking with their families, engaged in lively conversations and sharing laughter. They exuded a sense of tradition and warmth that was deeply rooted in their culture.

In stark contrast, the rowdy young English holidaymakers were roaring and screaming, their behaviour chaotic and unruly. The girls wore outrageously short hot pants and skirts, while the men were mostly shirtless, showing off their sunburned torsos. Their boisterous behaviour amused Pembroke, but he also noticed the looks of disgust and fear from the Greek families. The older generation cast disapproving glances at the wild antics of the tourists, clearly uncomfortable.

Pembroke soon found a large group of about a dozen young English tourists, who all looked about eighteen, half boys and half girls, sitting at the table behind him. He was about to move but was curious about the dynamics between them. Each girl seemed immature but dressed provocatively, like fresh meat, while the boys were loud but revealed an awkwardness beneath their bravado. It became clear they all went to the same high school together.

Pembroke sipped his beer, mixing lecherous glances at the young girls with nostalgia for his own youth. Maybe the attraction, to himself and to the future buyers of his girls, was for their own youth to return, not necessarily the girls themselves.

Pembroke’s effortless capacity to soak up valuable information allowed him to overhear that the group of young English tourists were staying at a large house all to themselves. It was large and yellow, right by the harbour, near a tattoo shop. They repeatedly reminded each other of the code to get into the box containing the keys for the front door within earshot of Pembroke. Interesting, Pembroke thought, but hardly useful to him. He would have to leave soon as the sun started to go down.

One of the boys had a large crate with him, filled with small cans of cider. “Guys, remember our promise,” he said. “We all have to drink these tonight, in honour of Dave!”

Pembroke listened further and gathered that Dave had been the leader of their group but had died tragically in a motorcycle accident. For reasons that were not fully explained, the cans of cider had been Dave’s favourite, and the group planned to celebrate his memory by drinking them together later at their house.

The lad with the cans disappeared back to the house while the group continued chatting. Pembroke took another look at the girls. These were obviously the hot girls of their year, the in-group. The boys were all fit and sporty-looking, and the girls were lithe and attractive.

Pembroke sighed, he could not help himself. He told himself it would just be a bit of fun. He casually finished his beer and went for a stroll by the harbour. He noticed the yellow house just a few hundred metres from where the Zephyr was. He saw the lad from earlier, having obviously deposited the cans back at the house, leave the house to return to his group. Pembroke strolled to the front on the house, used the code he had heard, and was able to walk in. The house was empty, but was full of the paraphernalia of the young tourists. He noticed the little cans on the table.

He had an idea. “Why not?” He thought to himself. It would be a bit of fun, he would not hope for much. He returned to the yacht and noted that Kwame was making good progress with the repairs.

“Good work, guys. Why don’t we take a break?” Pembroke suggested, feeling a bit more at ease now that things were on track.

“Listen, Kwame, I’m sure you know how to source some good drugs around here,” Pembroke continued. He had noticed plenty of Nigerians on the beachfront offering drugs, but none had approached him. He looked more like a middle-aged local, not the kind of tourist interested in their wares.

Kwame nodded confidently. “Certainly, sir!”

“Purely for business purposes, Kwame,” Pembroke emphasized. “Don’t draw attention to yourself, and come back here afterward. Here, this is what I would like…” Pembroke handed Kwame a small list of specific drugs he needed.

Kwame glanced at the list and nodded again. “Understood, sir. I’ll be discreet.”

Pembroke made his way to a local pharmacy. With a few euros, he bought some Benzodiazepines, Antihistamines, and little clear stickers for small punctures. But as a natural thief, he discreetly slipped a few condoms and a pack of hypodermic needles into his pockets.

He met Kwame back at the yacht, and in the cabin, he skilfully mixed up some of the illicit drugs together with what he had bought from the pharmacy and soon had a water bottle full of a dark brown cocktail of drugs that would be enough to send a herd of horses crazy.

The whole time, Pembroke had kept the yellow house in his sights. Finishing his cocktail, he swished it around and then carried it in a paper bag to the yellow house door. “This is crazy,” he thought. “I have the girls on my yacht; I don’t need this. We should just get back to Turkey!” But his sense of adventure overrode his caution, and he once again used the code to retrieve the keys and gain access to the empty house.

He quickly made his way to the cans on the table and turned each one upside down. Carefully, he opened the bottle full of the cocktail of drugs. Taking a measured amount each time, he siphoned it into the hypodermic needle. One by one, he inserted the needle into the upturned base of each can, squeezing the drugs inside. Afterward, he placed a small transparent sticker over the imperceptible hole. It was barely noticeable to the naked eye and stopped any leaking.

Pembroke worked swiftly but meticulously, ensuring that each can received its dose and that the stickers were applied seamlessly. Once he was done, he carefully arranged the cans back in their original positions, making sure nothing looked out of place. He emptied the remainder of the bottle, washed it out with water, and put it and the used syringe and unused stickers in his paper bag.

He smiled as he wondered what this might do to those strong young bodies, what chaos it might unleash. If all else failed, it might be amusing to watch. He took another look around, and walked from room to room, spying some used bikini bottoms and knickers, and took a few of them and placed them in the same paper bag after sniffing them. He licked his lips, remembering the nubile bodies he had seen at the table earlier.

He made his way out and put the key back in the box. As he walked out, he turned and bumped into the rowdy bunch as they came back.

“Heeeyyy Stavros!” One boy laughed and tried to lift him up, another ruffled his hair. “Hey, what’s in the bag, Stavros?” Another boy joined in the banter, taking a half-hearted rummage around the bag, seeing just an empty water bottle and what seemed like handkerchiefs or underwear at the bottom.

Pembroke panicked. These boys might beat him up in any event, and certainly would if they realized he had been in their house stealing the girls’ underwear. And if the police got involved and found the needle, checked the cans, and then the contents of his yacht … he was finished!

“Hey! Guys, let him down, you’re being assholes!” The voice came from one girl who pushed herself to the front, grabbed Pembroke’s paper bag back from the boy’s hands, pushed the other boy who had lifted Pembroke by the waist, and angrily lectured them.

“You boys are animals! This is this man’s home town, we are just guests! No wonder the locals hate us. You’re giving us all a bad name. Let’s just enjoy ourselves without annoying them.”

She turned to Pembroke and gave him the bag back. “I’m so sorry for my friends, sir.”

The boys sheepishly agreed. “Sorry, Holly, you’re right.” “Yeah, sorry, man.”

Pembroke was in shock but graciously nodded to the slim brown-haired, brown-eyed English girl. Speaking in what he hoped would sound like Greek-accented English, he said, “Thank you, madam,” and appeared fearful of the boys before scuttling away.

“You boys, you cause so much trouble,” Holly Streatham was so disgusted with them and felt so sorry for the man they had just terrified, going about his business.

Pembroke hurried back to “The Zephyr,” his heart still pounding from the close call. He couldn’t believe his luck that the girl had intervened. Once back on the yacht, he took a deep breath, calming his nerves and reflecting on how close he had come to disaster.

“How long now, Kwame?” Pembroke asked, his nerves still slightly on edge.

“Just a few more hours, sir,” Kwame responded. “We should be ready to leave by midnight.”

Pembroke nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anticipation.

Meanwhile, in the party house, the young English teenagers were showering and getting ready for another night of partying. The girls were in their underwear, laughing and shrieking and dancing. They were boasting of the men they would “pull” and how small their underwear was, showing off their thongs with some daring to go full commando to even more shrieks.

Holly was blushing, trying to avoid the gentle digs from Sally, who was trying to get her to dance with her. Her friend was topless, in just the tiniest pair of pink panties, and Holly felt sure Sally was going to try and sleep with her tonight. Holly had on a sensible pair of white knickers and a bra and was feeling sober but tried to join in the lively atmosphere. She smiled at her friends, thinking that in a few months, she would go off to university and perhaps leave them all behind. She felt a mix of excitement and sadness, knowing that this might be one of the last times they would all be together like this.

Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself caught up in the excitement, dancing, and singing along with the rest of the group. The room was filled with music, laughter, and the infectious energy of youth.

The boys finally joined the girls in the main living area, the atmosphere growing even more electric. The cans of cider were distributed, and the group gathered in a circle, ready to toast to their friend Dave. Holly accepted a can, smiling as she raised it with the others.

“To Dave!” they all cheered, clinking their cans together.

Holly took a sip, feeling the cool, fizzy drink slide down her throat. She looked around at her friends. No matter what the future held, she knew she would always remember nights like this—full of laughter, friendship, and the shared joy of being young and alive.

Pembroke was in his cabin, dozing off the earlier beers, when he was woken by rowdy shouting. It was those English tourists again, now off to party into the night. He quickly put his cap on and crouched down behind the wheel of the cabin, hoping they would not look across and notice him.

The voices grew louder as the group made their way into the center of town, their laughter and shouts echoing across the water. But Pembroke detected something more—a hint of aggression, some slurring in the shouting, and saw the girls and boys stumbling slightly as they walked. One girl stumbled and fell onto the ground, legs akimbo, revealing her underwear, as her friends giggled and laughed, trying to help her up.

The effects of the drugged drinks were becoming apparent. The group’s movements were uncoordinated, and their behaviour was increasingly erratic. Pembroke grinned and brought out a pair of red and white bikini bottoms he had earlier stolen, and inhaled deeply with a sly smile. Who knows what the night might bring, he thought. Pembroke changed into some different clothes, putting on a different pair of glasses. His effortless disguise was second nature to him, a skill honed with necessity.

“You guys stay on board,” he instructed. “Kwame, I hope we can leave soon?”

“Yes, boss. I think we can leave within an hour if we need to,” Kwame replied.

“Excellent. I’m going to go back out, but you two need to be ready to go, OK?” Pembroke emphasized, making sure they understood the urgency.

Kwame nodded, and the other crew member acknowledged the instructions with a thumbs up. Pembroke felt a surge of confidence as he stepped off the yacht, blending into the bustling activity around the harbour.

He made his way back toward the center of town, where the rowdy group of English tourists had gone. The streets were alive with the sounds of nightlife, the energy of the island in full swing.

As he approached the party district, he could see the young tourists mingling with other revellers, their intoxication evident in their stumbling movements and slurred speech.

Pembroke noted a fight breaking out between some of the boys and some Greek waiters. The boys were off their heads, while the girls were in tears, screaming and squealing. Pembroke chuckled at the chaos he had wrought. One of the English boys, who had almost fished out the hypodermic needle and the girls’ underwear from his bag earlier, had squared up to a bouncer, who proceeded to punch him right on the nose, knocking him out.

Families were leaving the squares amid this chaos while Pembroke watched from a distance. Some of the girls were sitting on a bench, their short skirts rising up, and their underwear clearly visible. Pembroke thought to go over but noticed a group of Pakistani men wandering over. “Fresh meat attracts too many flies” Pembroke muttered with annoyance. These men were going to capitalize on his work!

Like a wily predator, Pembroke noticed one girl splitting off from the herd. A blonde girl in a tiny orange mini dress and tottering heels had gone into a little passageway behind a restaurant. The fighting and shouting had distracted the others. Pembroke quickly slipped into the passageway behind her.

The narrow alley was dimly lit, the sounds of the bustling nightlife fading into the background. Pembroke moved quietly, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He spotted the girl leaning against a wall, her head resting on her arm as she tried to steady herself, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

“Hey, are you alright?” Pembroke called out softly, wanting to test the waters.

The girls turned, then suddenly retched and vomited on the ground. Pembroke looked away distastefully, then saw the girl had collapsed on the ground. “Good grief” he muttered.

He approached her cautiously, seeing that she was now completely incapacitated. Her tiny orange mini dress was now stained and hitched up to her hips, displaying pink knickers underneath. She lay motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Pembroke took another look around and knelt down, going through her bag. He fished out a passport and phone. She was Sally Thompson, date of birth 13 February 2006. “Just 18, poor girl,” Pembroke sighed to himself. Her blonde hair was splayed around her soft, youthful face, her eyes glassy and staring unfocused. She mumbled softly, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Pembroke said softly. “I will help.”

He peeled of the pink panties and pocketed them, and noted with satisfaction her small shaved pussy glistening in the streetlights. He pulled her dress down so that it now formed just a small belt of fabric around her waist, and spread her legs while kneading her breasts.

He checked again, and put a condom on his cock, before entering into her. Her only response, was to open her mouth silently, her eyes going to the back of her head, as he pumped her. He enjoyed fucking her, although he would have loved more time.

He came into the condom, then pulled out, taking another look at the beauty beneath him. Too bad, he thought. He could not take her past all those people to the yacht. He grabbed her phone, noticing several missed calls from ‘mum.’ He noticed she had eye scanning security. He pulled up an eyelid of the girl, and pressed the phone up to the retina. He smiled as it opened up. There were several messages of concern, and from other girls whose messages seemed incoherently written. He took some photos of the prone Sally Thompson, making sure to make the pictures as lewd as he could, her breasts, pussy and asshole all visible in them. With an evil grin, he sent them to all her friends on facebook, intagram, whatsapp and her family group, even changing her profile picture to one with her legs spread and pussy gaping open.

He turned the phone off, pocketed it, and walked off. As he turned the corner, he almost bumped into some Nigerians. He smiled at them. “The girl there is ready for you guys.”

He noticed the guys cheering each other as they saw the prone girl, and walked towards her. He smiled, these guys would fuck her as well, with or without condoms, muddying the waters of any rape investigation.

The square was now a scene of chaos. One of the girls was lying out cold, her face covered in blood from being punched by one of the Pakistanis. The other Pakistanis were fighting the English boys, with one waving a knife. He winced as one English boy smashed a glass against one guy’s face. He moved quickly, noticing another one of the girls being helped into a taxi with two other random men, who looked guilty as hell. Pembroke smiled conspiratorially with them, he was sure this girl was going to meet the same fate as Sally.

Pembroke walked past the harbour and threw Sally’s phone into the water. If only he could have fitted her into his pocket, then it would be so easy to traffic women!

As he approached the Zephyr, a sixth sense told him to try the yellow house again. He ordered Kwame and Dmitri to start up the yacht and get ready to leave on his return. Carefully, he went to the house again and opened the front door again. He listened carefully, surely he would them if they were at home. But there was nothing but silence.

He noticed the empty cans with a satisfied grin. He took up a plastic bag and scrunched the cans and swept them all into it. Best to dispose of the evidence, he thought. He was about to head back out when he heard a soft moan from one of the rooms. He thought about leaving anyway, but curiosity got the better of him.

He looked inside. There was a boy and girl in bed together, fully clothed. They were both passed out. He was impressed with whatever cocktail he had cooked up, it was certainly effective!

He moved to the bed and poked the boy ready to strike if he attacked. But the boy slept through it. He noticed the girl beside him, clad in a skirt and t-shirt, with white underwear, also out for the count. It was the girl who had saved him earlier!

He stroked her brown hair and the kind soft face, silently thanking her. But then he saw a large suit wheel on a suitcase, and an evil thought occurred to him.

He removed the contents of the suitcase, gently lifted the girl in his arms, and placed and stuffed her inside the suitcase. She stayed unconscious through the whole thing. With a further thought of ingenuity, before sealing the suitcase, he picked a knife from the kitchen, cut a thin line across her arm, and caught the blood in his hands. He brought it to the bed, letting it drip on the boy, and the sheets, and in a trail towards the open window.

He then wheeled out the suitcase and bag of empty cans and waited for a couple to walk by, before marching quickly towards the Zephyr. The sound of the suitcase was drowned out by the Zephyr’s engines as it got ready to go.

Dmitri and Kwame were intrigued by what their boss was bringing aboard but were professional enough to know that it was imperative they leave before asking questions.

As the yacht took off, he noticed some of the girls staggering back to the house, holding on to each other for support. “Just in time,” he thought.

As the harbour got further away, the sounds of music were replaced by the sirens of ambulances and police, and the flashing lights of police cars zipped up and down the harbour. The violence in the square had distracted all police resources.

When they were a mile out to sea, Pembroke opened up the suitcase and read the passport of the girl he had taken. “Molly Streatham, date of birth 18th March 2006” Pembroke grinned at this new captive. She was still out of it.

Dmitri and Kwame marvelled at their boss’ ingenuity and admired the new toy. Pembroke stroked her skin and tended to the wound on her arm. He bound her, trying to be gentle in thanks for her earlier intervention of saving him. “Thank you, my little bird,” he said as he waved her hair back from her face to put in a gag. “You really are too nice for your own good, I promise I will try and treat you nicely for saving me, within reason, of course” he smiled as he flicked her little pink rose of a nipple on her soft white breast.

He squeezed her into the compartment with Ingrid and Freja, as if forcing another book into an already overstuffed shelf. The Swedish girls moaned in fright at the intrusion as the unconscious English girl was lowered in among them. Now they could barely breathe, their bodies pressed so tightly together, each breast of the three squashed against the other.

Ingrid’s eyes widened with fear as she tried to shift to make room, her breathing quick and shallow. Freja whimpered softly, the claustrophobic space becoming even more unbearable with the addition of another person. Pembroke, unfazed by their distress, closed the compartment door, securing it firmly.

The girl with them might as well be dead, she was only supported upright by the fact there was not a spare inch for movement. The last thing the sisters saw before darkness descended again, was jets of vomit shoot out from behind Holly’s gag into their faces, as they contemplated this new nightmare, every breath a struggle.

Pembroke smiled at the moonlit night, as he contemplated a fun and hugely productive diversion. Diafthora truly had been a wonderful short break for him but had become a holiday of horrors for the young English tourists.

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By Edward Pembroke #Abuse #Rape #Teen