Dilan and her Teacher Part 1/6

Edward Pembroke is a teacher who only fantasises about enslaving a schoolgirl, until Dilan enters his world and he makes his dream a reality

Chapter 1

Edward Pembroke looked out the classroom window at the foggy northern English fields. For a moment, he forgot his school pupils silently scribbling their test and cast his mind back to when he was their age. At fourteen, he had been a short, scrawny, shy blond teenager whose only ambition had been to get the attention of one of the girls in his class, but in vain. Now fifty-two, his hair was grey and thinning, and the six-foot schoolmaster had long since abandoned hopes of controlling his protruding paunch and regaining the youthful frame he once had.

He realized failure had happened slowly, then quickly. A failed attempt at a acting career, which resembled a hobby to others, but was actually a deeply desired dream. A disappointing time at university during which he had not found anything stimulating about his law degree beyond the cute students who ignored his advances. A failed attempt at a series of clerical positions at blue-collar building companies in which he found he could not deal with the machismo of working-class builders. Finally, those who can, do, and those who cannot, teach, and at thirty-three, Pembroke had gone into teaching. His strict father had long since given up on him and died soon after. His sister had gone to Australia twenty-five years earlier and come back once, leading to an awkward catch-up at a restaurant. Family, it turns out, was not something that Pembroke was ever going to have to rely on.

Young Edward had proudly believed he would never have to rely on his family. Yet he had scorned advice to “get on the property ladder” just as the housing bubble had grown in the ’90s, preferring to save for trips to Southeast Asia, a rather onerous recreational drug habit, and an expensive flat in London that would now cost nearly twice his monthly salary to rent.

Firmly ensconced in middle age, the death of his father had not therefore been the only reason why, just a few years earlier, he had moved from his bedsit outside of London to a flat in Willowbridge, Norfolk. His parents’ house, which he had long derided as boring and reminiscent of his authoritarian childhood, was now his only chance of spending the latter half of his life in anything other than a shoestring existence. His sister had a successful career in Australia, and Pembroke realized that this was now his ticket to the suburban life he had once dismissed as boringly easy.

One month ago, his mother had finally passed away from cancer. The caring responsibilities toward his mother, his invisibility as he went about his childhood streets, and his complete lack of social life had brought home to Pembroke that time had come and gone, and the best part of his life was now over. What had he made of it? Nothing.

Now, though, he had at last something that so many more successful workers now craved: a two-story property separated from the nearest neighbors by fifty yards in several different directions. The gifts his mother had made to him to avoid inheritance tax now meant that he could face a pretty comfortable life. His sister seemed uninterested, save for the money that she seemed to only reluctantly accept. Deep within him, he understood his sister’s unwillingness to have anything to do with her parents or him. And it seemed very unjust that he should benefit from her distaste for her own family, but so be it.

“Sir, I’m finished!” shouted a nasally voice from the back. Pembroke immediately snapped out of his thoughts and remembered he was once responsible for and facing a classroom of thirty fourteen to fifteen-year-old girls and boys. He recognized the voice before turning around. “Simon, if you are finished, just check your answers. There is still five minutes left. I hope your answers are as good as your speed,” Pembroke rasped. A few voices chuckled.

“Sir,” Simon piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’ve checked them three times already. I’m confident they’re perfect.”

“Well, Simon, let’s not rush perfection. Go through them again. It’s a good habit,” Pembroke turned back to his desk, glancing at the clock ticking away the remaining minutes of the test.

As he resumed his vigil, a low murmur began to spread through the classroom like wildfire. It seemed that Simon’s proclamation had emboldened his classmates. Pens that should have been scratching paper were now tapping impatiently on desks, and the once neatly aligned rows of students had started to resemble a group of restless birds ready to take flight.

“Sir, I think I need more time,” called out another voice, this time from the middle row. Pembroke sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You all had ample time, Lucy. Manage it wisely next time.” He couldn’t help but notice Lucy exchanging triumphant glances with her friends.

A sudden burst of laughter erupted from the back. Pembroke raised his voice, attempting to regain control, “Alright, settle down, everyone. We still have a few minutes left, and I expect you to use them wisely.”

The unruly whispers didn’t subside. Pembroke, growing increasingly exasperated, decided to take a stand. “That’s it! The next person to disrupt this class will retake this test!” This threat did not make sense, but Pembroke was growing both desperate and had his eye on the clock. The empty threat worked for less than a minute before another voice broke the silence.

“Sir, are you going to punish us if we fail?” Pembroke winced and tried to maintain his composure. The voice belonged to Sarah Mainwaring, one of the many girls in his class who used their sexuality to tease Pembroke. Pembroke knew the pitfalls of any sort of interaction with his female pupils and tried to avoid their eyes at all times. He realized he could not hide his quickening breathing as he struggled to maintain his composure and avoid blushing. As he aged, any sort of banter had become more dangerous to pursue, and the initial shy interest many girls had expressed had turned to indifferent mockery and hostility.

“Right,” sighed Pembroke audibly. “The test is over, leave the paper on the table, and I will collect them. See you next week.” Despite the class (and test) ending a minute before appropriate, there were no complaints, and the pupils loudly grabbed their bags as if to escape a burning airplane to get out of the door while a few kept scribbling. Pembroke sat at his front desk and tried to remain impassive as the laughter and glances of his departing pupils tried to attract his attention.

The last remaining pupil was Sehar Chaudhary. Her eyes were downcast and Pembroke took the opportunity to glance and run his eyes over her a second longer than was safe. Was she displaying herself for him, were her downcast eyes and tardy walk out of the classroom a bashful invitation for him to admire her? Like all the girls at his school, Chaudhary wore her skirt more akin to a clubbing outfit than a school uniform. Her brown thighs disappeared up her green skirt tantalisingly close to their meeting point. Her short socks and skirt displayed half of her body in the form of her fit sleek legs. Her black hair hung over her face with her red lips (which ignored policy on make-up) showing through the dark bangs. Pembroke decided against a last look at her backside as she walked out of the door, ever mindful of the danger of being caught even when in apparent safety.

Dealing with his irresistible sexual attraction to the young girls in his class had been tortuous for him. The glimpses of white fabric between the thighs and up the skirts of girls in his front row, the heady feeling he got when they locked eyes on him to ask or answer a question, still got to him despite his stoic repression of his own sexuality during his classroom hours. His dour demeanour was partly a by product of the suppression of much of his human instincts.

‘If those young girls knew what I really wanted to do them’, smirked Pembroke to himself. Surely they knew, they knew they had this power. He hated them and loved them for it. Sehar Chaudhary, his latest fixation, could pass for a 25 year old model yet and he had to control himself over the 14 year old whose skirt rode right up to her hips while she bit her lips listening to him explain some problem while trying to avoid staring at the garish bright colors of her panties exploding from the brown and green of her flesh and skirt. Half English half Pakistani, she had not been hard to find online, like all his pupils. Pembroke had learned to know the ways of the internet well, the crimes of Gary Glitter having been a clarion call for being discreet and safe on the internet.

Pembroke thought on the contrast between the sober school girl, Chaudhary, and her instagram pictures. If anyone saw the photos he had saved on his computer of her, they would never have suspected they were sexualised pictures of a fourteen year old, rather it could have been Gigi Hadid. His favourite pictures were those without make up, with her hair up, which displayed her innocent, clear look which enabled him to match her photo with her knowledge of her true innocence. Her tiny taut waist which only slightly flared at the hips, enough to show her womanhood but slight enough to keep her youthful physique alive.

Pembroke had never been in trouble with the police. He had seen plenty of more risqué images than Ms Chaudhary clothed in a thong bikini, both in terms of lack of clothing and in maturity of the subjects. He had a few meetings with prostitutes in Cuba and in Thailand, with girls who were obviously very young, but he could not have any idea of their true age. The internet and the dark web satisfied his urges. These had been abated by a string of semi successful relationships including one serious 8 year living together relationship he had with a fellow teacher. It fell apart years after he had lost sexual interest in her. His addiction to pornography of all kinds never really cured what really ailed him, which was his lack of interest in anyone but the most beautiful women and girls who were clearly out of his league.

Chapter 2

Edward Pembroke entered his own abode, his family home, of three bedrooms, a living room and conservatory and kitchen and several store cupboards. He resisted the urge to have a glass of wine and instead supped on green tea while watching the latest must see Netflix series. Bored, he began to scroll his phone. A burst of flesh from another teenage influencer piqued his interest. “I prefer men over 40 but am shy about approaching them in case I am rejected” was the byline over an image of a blonde girl in nothing but gym shorts and bra sucking her finger suggestively. Pembroke chuckled, but could not get the erotic thought from his head. Reaching under his trousers, he massaged his penis while reaching for his laptop and opening his pornhub page. He only rarely lapsed into his darker tastes and only on a particular laptop he kept hidden inside a bed header.

After climaxing, he put his phone and laptop away. He hoped for the day when his libido would desert him and leave him a more sane man. But it seemed that day would never come. Rather than focusing back on the TV series, his mind instantly returned to sexual desire, specifically Sehar Chaudhary.

There was one reason why Pembroke had recently thought more of his fantasies he had fought so hard to batten down. Since moving into his parents’ house, he realised that he had access not only to the house, but to the basement his father had built decades earlier in the 1970s in a fit of nuclear war hysteria after a particularly harrowing TV series. The basement had initially served as a store of cheap radios his father had bought from China in the 1990s when trying to start a business on the side which did not take. Since then it was largely unused saved for the washing and drying machines, which had been replaced by a smaller new version in the kitchen.

The basement was reachable by a door under the stairs, which opened onto another stairwell reaching down to a larger room the size of the living room and kitchen combined. There were no windows, but there was an air conditioning vent. Pembroke’s mother had been annoyed by the excruciating whirring of the washing machine, and his father had obligingly constructed a soundproofed partition separating the door at the bottom of the stairwell and the rest of the basement. The space in between was small and useless, save for a small chest of drawers which held nothing but spare bin bags. Pembroke had never thought much of the basement and had been unaware of the extra padding and wall put in until he had moved back in with his mother. Having become aware of it anew, his mind had raced with possibility. He already had a whole house, a whole four walls and a roof with which to call his own and to safely hide himself from the world. But he also had something which was a staple of so many erotic fiction stories he had read, a place in which he could hide not just himself but anyone else, specifically, a hapless victim.

There was nothing like the faint glint of hope to awaken the desire for sexual conquest. Pembroke was old, he was getting fat, and there was no good looking young girl who would look at him with anything other than pity, disgust or indifference. It was with sorrow that he bade farewell to the chance of bedding such women in his thirties though in truth he had never had a meaningful sexual encounter with anyone he had found attractive. The only attractive women he ever had consensual sex with were prostitutes, and the only women he had meaningful sex with were women whom he avoided seeing naked such was his lack of attraction to them.

He knew he could never persuade a young woman to willingly spend time with him let along have sex with him. But the basement… he could not think of any use of it other than as a lurid sex dungeon. He could not get rid of it or fill it in and he couldn’t think of any other use of it, so the idle fantasy of its misuse, in moral terms, filled his head.

The thought of Sehar Chaudhary in his basement came to him moments after he had climaxed over some thirty-something lesbians indulging in some extremely unhygienic behaviour on pornhub. Would these thoughts never go away? He allowed himself to entertain the whimsy but also thought of the many ways in which any idea of holding a young woman prisoner would be utterly implausible, so as to banish it from his mind.

Firstly, he would have to kidnap them. Pembroke had never so much as punched someone in his life though he had often fantasised about violence. While he had seen awful things, sexual and non-sexual, on the internet he was not sure he would be able to carry them out himself. Striking a girl was one thing, in fact he sometimes wished he could, it was only fair given their torment of him. In fact, the older he got the more he felt corporal punishment was probably necessary for girls and boys. But actually holding her down while she cried for help?

He recalled one experience he had in Thailand. The pimps he had met in late 1990s Phuket were much less “professional” than those he was now obliged to deal with in clubs in his later visits, in fact he often now dealt directly with the prostitutes directly who felt confident enough to be HR professionals. In 1998, he had met one woman on the beach, initially he had assumed she was just another prostitute, she looked about thirty five which then seemed old to Pembroke. Instead, she had pointed to the young girl beside her, who looked like her sister.

“Thirteen, sir, thirteen. Just 10 dollar..” Pembroke had been weary enough to guess she was likely older than thirteen but she was gorgeous, small breasted and cute faced. She was unsmiling, but then why should she be? That morning, Pembroke had been recovering from a hangover after a party with other western tourists. They were all still wasted after partying until 5am. Pembroke had not come for the drugs or dancing and had quickly realised none of the European girls were interested in him. He had hung back and instead satisfied himself by staring at their bikini clad bodies as they writhed to the music around the fires.

Now, it was about 11am, and a Thai woman in jeans and bra top, padding along the sand, was proposing 10 dollars for “something” with the young girl trailing behind her. She was wearing a sarong and a vest top and was quite modestly dressed. Both were barefoot.

“Where?” grinned Pembroke, interested but also aware that just putting out the slightest problem in their proposed transaction would also get rid of the situation, and, by extension, his own urges.

“Love hotel, over there. You take her, you come back in 2 hours, you two you do anything.” She pointed to the white office building about 200 metres inland from the beach. By coincidence, Pembroke had already been there, two days prior he had brought a twenty something street worker in for an hour, to a clean room where they had perfunctory and terrible sex for half an hour. He had also seen a few western tourists couples disappear in there for fun, which was not something they could do in their hammocks.

He was aware the hosts were quite happy to let anyone in, for just 5 dollars an hour. Pembroke was also relaxed by the absence of a male pimp. He would have felt not just guilty but frightened of the consequences of taking their women let alone their girls. The older woman also looked at him with faint disgust. However she was not physically imposing, neither was the girl, and there seemed to be an active dislike between the two. For this reason, Pembroke felt the woman, the pimp, might actively want him to take this girl as a punishment to her. Pembroke nonchalantly agreed, and handed over 10 dollars, which was, for him, the least risky part of the venture. If she ran off with the money it was no big deal.

The woman babbled in Thai to the girl with some anger in her voice. The girl went from being confused, to apparently pleading with the woman, and finally seemed to cede to the woman’s angry remarks. “You take her to hotel, no problem, you wear condom, two hours, if longer you give more money, 10 dollar an hour, ok” A this point the woman was holding up the girls arm by the elbow. “She give you everything you want, I tell her!” And she pointed at the girls face while making eye contact with her. The girl mumbled something while staring at her feet. Pembroke was then shocked by a slap to the face from the woman to the girl. The girl’s face jilted upwards. Pembroke half expected to see a nosebleed or something. The girl looked shocked and kept repeating one word back to the woman. “Chan Saya, chan saya!”

The woman suddenly changed demeanour, faced Pembroke and smiled while pushing the girl with her hand to the small of her back. “You enjoy. You do everything. She will do everything you want.” Her face lit up and suddenly Pembroke saw a glimpse of the happy Thai hooker who chatted up middle aged westerners at night. The girl looked into the distance then furtively glanced at Pembroke, their eyes met. She held out her hand and Pembroke took it. He smiled at her and looked at the woman “Thank you!”. He turned his back on her while walking towards the love hotel, his young, 5 foot companion striding beside him.

Pembroke kept looking over his shoulder, and saw the woman walk away along the beach back in the direction they had come from. Silence seemed to come over their surroundings, there were not many people on the beach except for some westerners drowsing on their beach loungers and others far to the left and out in the sea. The area was far from the built up areas and while the touristic nature of the place meant it felt safe, it was also a magnet for thieves and worse. Pembroke had not felt afraid before, but suddenly, he felt that anything could happen in the next hundred metres before getting to the hotel, and he would have to defend himself not as a tourist with some moral high ground but as a man taking a young prostitute to a brothel.

Thankfully they arrived at the hotel and did not receive so much as a second glance when paying for the room. The concierge barely broke off his conversation with the woman folding towels behind him. He heard the faint sound of German and laughing from somewhere as they both made their way to the room. He was no longer holding hands with the girl, who followed him.

Once in the room, Pembroke had been forced to take the imitative. He realised he would either have to let her go, or be assertive. “You need bathroom?” He first asked and she nodded. He pointed to the bathroom, while pondering how to proceed. He realised he was starting to shake, was she a virgin? She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still clothed. He realised he need the bathroom too but was loathe leaving her as she looked like she would escape. He figured he would take this chance and took his things into the bathroom with him. If she did not escape while she had the chance, it would make it easier to do what needed to be done.

He emerged with his top off. He girl was sitting on the bed, her legs together and head bowed and hands between her knees. Pembroke thought he would croak the next words out “We both go shower now. You come in with me.” The girl looked at him. Then she got up and walked in while he held the door open.

Pembroke first pulled off his own towel while she had her back to him. His adrenalin was pumping as she turned around, she looked shocked, she stared at his penis, now erect, and sprang back in shock. The sight of a naked man in a hotel bathroom after, you followed him in when he had just a towel, after you had clearly been procured for sex, should not have shocked her and this betrayed her inexperience.

What if she started screaming? “Shhhh!” He pre empted this. He put her hands on her shoulders, and stared into her, weighing his hands down on her, before slipping off her strappy top. She had nothing underneath. Like most Asian girls she had small breasts, these were puffy and the nipples small and dark. She pulled her arms out, and they stared at each other, her mouth open, while he gripped the elastic of her sarong before pulling it down to her ankles. He then yanked her top down, past her hips, then all the way down her legs. She was naked save for a full pair of panties.

Lying on his sofa in his parents old house in England, Pembroke licked his lips as he remembered those panties. They were black with pink lining, with faint pink hearts dotted among the black. With her clothes around her ankles, on an impulse he had lent his head forwards and pushed his nose into her crotch, she didn’t make a sound. He suddenly began kissing through the fabric, the smell was intoxicating, though the fabric was thick, and he broke off to start chewing on the inside of her thighs. The girl began to moan.

“Let’s go shower.” Pembroke dug his fingers into the knickers elastic, and in a moment of bloodlust, dug his nails into her skin around the edge of the panties, and ripped them down. The girl squealed and suddenly he realised he did not want the hotel staff breaking down the door. Instinctively he said “sorry”, but then grabbed her by the neck, as she came up to below his shoulder, and guided her into the shower area. She remained with her back to him, while he turned on the water.

The warm water was very weak, but it was enough to lather them both. Pembroke started with himself, then rubbed the girl from toe to head in soap. He wanted her clean. His finger stayed on her anus, and she squeaked and pressed herself against the wall. “You be quiet” he said, into her ear, while his finger remained circling her anus. His other finger was massaging her vagina. It was easier to finally move his finger inside her by her bottom, eventually. His finger moved around and he withdrew his other finger from her vagina to rub her hair clean of soap. Finally he rested his mouth on the top of her head as he fingered her anally and vaginally “You do everything, remember?” Pembroke has said.

He brought her out to the bed. She had a slight fuzz of pubic hair, and her butt cheeks were boyish and slim. “Please” she cried. He needed to maintain his momentum and so rubbed his hands all over her body while clamping his mouth on hers. “Mouth open” He growled and realised that he was going to do something he would never have imagined just twenty minutes earlier.

He crawled down her body, and began to eat her out. He pushed her thighs back over her shoulders, revealing her sex organs in wild detail. His tongue could not find any opening despite intense licking and he began to know she was a virgin. The animal inside him made him bite her butt cheeks and inside of her thighs. Her moaning turned to whelps.

“Shut up! You stay quiet! You understand?” He broke off and pointed at her, like an angry parent at a child. He picked up a pillow, bit into it, and threw it at her face “understand?” and she bit on the pillow, while he returned his face to between her legs. His tongue went everywhere, while his penis began to hurt with desire. Reluctantly, he grabbed one of his condoms and put it on. He did not want to risk contracting anything here. When he was prepared, he went back between her legs and positioned the head of his penis against her opening, but nothing would give. He grabbed her hands, held them down, and lowered his face until it hovered over hers, he could only kiss her forehead but still enjoyed being so close to her terrified face.

“Relax” he had said, while gently pushing. After much crying, his penis began to work its way inside her. She began to cry tears, and quietly wailed with her eyes shut. Every further push inside brought a new quiet scream, and her mouth would open as wide as it could in shock. Eventually he was fully in and found his rhythm. After cumming into the condom, he withdrew and noted the blood all over the white bedding. The girl lay on her side, her hands between her legs. Pembroke looked at his watch. He wanted more.

He could see the girls winking anus between her cheeks as she lay in the foetal position. He ran his hand all over her smooth body while wondering what to do. “Get up” He commanded, and lifted her to the doggy style. He got another condom and put it on. He spat between her cheeks and rubbed it in before slipping a finger inside and twisting. “Ah… no… please no.. hurts” Pembroke pretended not to hear. She was so much smaller that he almost had to lift her off the bed by the waist, to line up his penis against the star of her anus. He then gripped her hip bones, and pulled her back while watching the tip of his penis start to submerge around her crinkled bumhole.

“Ahh.. ahh” as she rose and turned her head and brought a hand to try and grab his penis, to take it away presumably. Pembroke reached forward and slapped her across the top of the head. “ You do as you are told OK? Quiet!” This turned her complaining into pitiful wailing as she buried her head in the pillows again, while suddenly he was able to pull her back and his cock disappearing into her, while her cheeks and backs of her thighs bounced back against hard body.

He wished he could see her face, and only saw her head arch back as she sucked in air, while he began pumping as hard as he could. Her small frame felt so helpless in his hands as he fucked her. He delighted in how much physical sensation including pain he could cause her helpless little body. But it was not long before he came again.

They spent the rest of the time cuddling, she remained quiet with her hands around her face the hold time, he stroking her all over. The feeling of touching her like petting a cat felt so arousing, and he fucked her one last time before getting up to leave. There was blood all over the bedding now. He did not want her to remain there as a potential witness, so dragged her out with him. He brought her down to the beach where they had met. There was no sign of the woman. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Bye” He said, before making for the westerners hostel, where he promptly gathered his stuff and checked out before leaving for another part of Thailand.

Pembroke climaxed again on his sofa to this memory. He wondered how easy it would have been to pay “someone” to keep that girl. If he could keep her in the basement he could keep her forever. He still remembered her smell, and the jolting body completely powerless to his strength and her resigned looking face. After a few minutes, his mind had still not cleared the sexual thoughts he had gathered. Instead, the feelings he had were still there. He took his laptop and brought it down to his basement. He turned up the volume, and selected a youtube video entitled, “loud screaming” and started playing it. He winced, and left after closing the inner padded door, the downstairs outer door then went upstairs and closed the door to the stairwell. He listened. From the top of basement stairdoor, in his main hall, he could hear nothing. He opened the doors back up, even from the top of the stairwell, nothing. He opened the outer door, and heard something, then the padded door and winced again at the piercing screams. He repeated this several times and went into various different rooms upstairs to see if he could hear anything. But nothing was heard of the youtube videos of screams, nor of Metallica, nor female opera music.

Pembroke brought his laptop back upstairs and sat back on his sofa. He mused to himself that he could bring a girl into his basement, and no one would hear or know. One hurdle had been cleared. But still, he laughed, the idea was ridiculous and he would never entertain it.

Chapter 3

“Mr Pembroke, your flies open” cried Sasha Duilk, from the front row. Mr Edward Pembroke, chalk in his right hand, instinctively looked down. Cue laughter from the year 4 pupils in front of him supposedly learning their maths. Giggles erupted around the classroom from girls and boys.

“Grow up” snarled Pembroke and he turned back to the board. “You are here to learn maths, not make jokes.”

Every so softly, Pembroke heard someone whisper “paedo.” He could not help but flinch. As an unmarried middle aged male, this was the worst accusation. He ignored it but remained fixated on the floor. “Now let’s carry on with this. Thomas can you finish this?” He called out one of the better behaved boys. He tried to remain calm. He had often thought of getting a different career. The stress of these kids was not even so great as the rabble had taught in London. But he did not want to attract attention in his home town.

This class was full of attractive girls. He suddenly wished he could teach just boys, or that he could ignore these girls that were tempting him.

After class he sat in his car. He was terrified of any accusations against him or even just rumours. He absentmindedly stared into the distance then suddenly realised he was looking right at a group of girls. He awakened himself, and began to start his car. He could see the girls look back at him, frowning as if to call him a weirdo.

Driving past them, he nodded and smiled curtly, looking back he could see them laughing. He recognised one of them, a Susan Gao. Asian, super intelligent, she was a first class maths pupil. She would take great pains in class to try and get him to make a mistake in explaining some concept. She had a tongue piercing and wore extremely short skirts and had dyed red hair. He had almost developed a crush on her, but thought he had quashed it.

Damn it, he thought. I hate these girls. I cannot have them but they can easily ruin me and torment me.

That night he binged on hard core pornography, starting at porn hub before relapsing through the dark web into more questionable content while also looking at legal but immoral videos of girls being whipped red and raw while screaming in Hungarian for mercy. He sat up to 3am. As he woke up the next day, he realised he had a problem.

Weeks passed and Pembroke became more at ease with the pupils again. He did this while indulging in the fantasy about having one of them in his basement. This gave him some power in this imaginary scenario. Meanwhile, he began renovating the basement. He didn’t really think anything would come of it but it was good to fix the place up. The old washing machine and dryer went. He installed lighting and scrubbed the place clean. Meanwhile, once his mothers will had resolved he began to complete the sale of their holiday home in France. This was going to give him some hefty cash and he began to wonder what to do with it.

Chapter 4

The school holidays came and went. Pembroke went on a holiday to France where he completed his holiday home sale. He then satisfied his urges with some prostitutes he met through telegram though the risqué nature did not make the experience enjoyable. The thought of keeping a prisoner even sought him to read the novel “the collector” by John Fowles. Absences from porn only lasted a few days before he relapsed again.

Then in August, just before school got back, some asylum seekers were moved into a hotel in the Willowbridge town centre. It was decried as being full of “military aged males” however it was also reported that there were a number of families. It was reported that children at the hotel would soon be attending Willowbridge High School.

Before school opening, Mr Pembroke was invited to give a talk to some new pupils. Other teachers had told him that it was suspected that some of the families had been trafficked as they included young children and that they did not all seem to be related.

The day before the invitation talk, Pembroke met up with some old friends from the area in the pub. He had not had many friends but felt it important to keep in touch especially as he was living here. If things did not work out here, he would probably sell up here and move to a larger city but in the meantime he did not want to seem like a weirdo.

One of these old friends was Nigel, now a police detective. He, Edward, and two others, talked for hours over pints over old times and their families. Pembroke felt a tang of regret over not having a family though did express an interest in joining some clubs to find a partner. Thoughts of schoolgirl fantasies, porn and sex disappeared from his mind as he realised he had not had much interaction outside of the teacher pupil dynamic recently.

However, this changed when Nigel brought the subject to the asylum seekers.

“You see, we don’t know who this lot are. We think they are Albanian, but they say they are Kurdish. How hard can it be to get that right?” Nigel grew exasperated. He made his feelings clear that he wanted them gone and asylum seekers sent packing, in general.

“There are a group of young girls and boys in that hotel who are supposedly sisters and brothers, but they’re not. We don’t know who they are, but they might be trafficked. Today, a bunch of them checked out of the hotel and have just legged it; it happens all the time. One of them was supposedly 15, but who knows. A lot of them have family somewhere else and don’t want to say who, as their family is here illegally. And a lot of the rest are going to work as prostitutes somewhere, but we don’t even know. No one knows.”

Pembroke started wondering about the hotel full of kids and thought of the young girls and what they were going to do here. He wondered idly if he might find them on Telegram advertising their services.

“Four days ago, this girl just upped and left. She claimed to be 16 but might have been 25. We can’t stop them leaving, and we have not got a clue where she might be now. She is either happier where she is or she is working in a cannabis factory or turning tricks in London or Manchester. Honestly, there are too many of them to cope.”

Pembroke agreed and wondered out loud when the system would collapse. “They should really bring in ID cards. She might be in Ireland now; a lot of them go over there now.”

“You’re right,” Nigel answered him. “Anyway, we can only do what we can. Unless a dead body turns up, we just make a note in the system and wait for them to appear somewhere.”

The conversation turned to other matters, and eventually, they all went their separate ways. Pembroke wondered how tomorrow’s talk would go.

Chapter 5

Pembroke arrived, tanned and suited, for the talk. He was not particularly ambitious and had no desire to climb the ladder. All he knew was that he was there to talk about math briefly and how enjoyable it had been here as a pupil (which would involve a lot of lying). There were three teachers, one social worker, and seven pupils.

Four of the pupils were young men who ranged from various nationalities, including Sudanese, Somali, Iraqi, and Afghan, and who all looked at least 21. The other three were girls: one was 11, short and chubby, hijabbed, and from Somalia. Another was Iraqi, hijabed, and claimed to be 13 but looked closer to 19. The last girl wore a hijab, which did not hide the fact that she was quite beautiful. Pembroke could not stop looking at her.

After the talk, Pembroke chatted with the pupils in broken English, though one could speak fluent mockney. The beautiful girl, Pembroke noted, was called Dilan, and was Kurdish. Her English proved quite good. Pembroke listened intently as she spoke with his colleague, Ms. May, an old English teacher.

“I am from Turkey, but I’m Kurdish. I come from Turkey.” She smiled sadly at Ms. May.

“Well, I am happy that you are here now, and I hope we can look after you. Who are you here with?” said Ms. May. She was gentle but genuinely concerned.

“I have an uncle in Manchester. My parents are dead, so it’s just me and my other brothers and cousins.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Ms. May. “I wish we had never had this war. How old are you?”

“I am twelve; my thirteenth birthday is next month,” smiled Dilan. It struck Pembroke that she would have been born well after the invasion of Iraq and not for the first time, felt very old.

Pembroke had no idea how much of this was true, but he couldn’t help but believe the twelve-year-old girl who seemed withdrawn, shy, and quiet. He wanted Ms. May to push her, who had brought her here, how could she be unaccompanied

The girl’s face was perfectly oval, and her eyes were slightly green against her alabaster skin. She looked more European than Arabic, though her hair was that of raven black, or so it looked from her eyebrows. Her nose crinkled at the small joke Ms. May made, which made her look even cuter. She reminded Pembroke of a young Corinne Cléry, a French actress from the 1970s and 1980s he had once fallen in love with from the screen. She was about 5 feet 5 inches and slim, though her relatively modest dress gave no further hint as to her figure. Pembroke could not help but dream about her having heard her story and the stories about trafficked girls.

After the talk, Pembroke encouraged Ms. May to ask the social worker about how the young pupils had come to the country, expressing faux concern. The social worker, who seemed rather blasé about sharing the story, pointed out that all she knew was that they had arrived by boat from Calais in a larger Kurdish contingent. She said they were worried about the girls, as they thought the asylum seekers in the hotel were predators themselves, and some were actively involved in sex trafficking. The girls were going to stay with a foster family for the time being and not at the hotel, but the young men were constantly following them. The social worker complained that if the girls went out and met them and then disappeared, there was nothing they could do.

Pembroke could not help but imagine this girl, Dilan, as his victim. Again, he pulled himself together, he was not going to kidnap anyone!

Chapter 6

The first day back at term was depressing. A lot of pupils had shot up in height and he could hardly recognise them. He taught one class with an asylum seeker who stayed on his phone the whole time. Girls who had been pre pubescent a few months ago now looked like models. Pembroke had to be careful, as sudden immersion back in a world of gorgeous young girls dressed in tiny skirts and see through shirts in the still warm September sun had caught him off guard.

The following day, he glanced at his maths class register and noted the name ‘Dilan Barzini.’ It must be her, he thought, it was a third year class. As he watched them stride in, he recognised her. He felt obliged to specifically welcome her and nodded warmly to her with a smile.

“Welcome Dilan. I hope our class will make you feel at home here.”

“Thank you, sir” she smiled back.

Pembroke noted that she was not wearing a hijab. Instead she was wearing the full school uniform. She was stunning. Her shirt was tight and revealed pneumatic breasts underneath, held in by a wired bra visible through the sheer white shirt. She was wearing short sleeves. Her arms were relatively hairless, from what he could see, which was again leaning towards her European side. Her hair was wavy and dark brown, as opposed to what he had imagined previously. Her legs were slim and athletic; they were bronze-brown, and her hips swayed gently as she walked, betraying her womanhood. Her smile revealed a beautiful row of pearly white teeth, and her eyes twinkled.

Pembroke immediately thought back to his childhood crush, Jenny Montgomery. She too had the hazel green eyes and twinkling smile. She had entranced young Edward Pembroke. Once, Pembroke had decided to follow her home from school to find out where she lived, out of curiosity. Jenny had clocked this, and the next day told the whole school he was a creep and a pervert. Later the next day, a bigger boy, called Tony, had called him out as a creep and punched him out in front of the whole year. Everyone cheered for him and it took months for Edward to work off the creep nickname. Jenny had started going out with Tony soon afterwards. She never engaged with him again except for once at a bus stop, when she stopped talking as soon as she saw him. Then one of her friends had come over and told him “clear off, why don’t you perv over someone else.”

Pembroke sighed to himself. It could have been worse. He recalled an event at university. His first year, there was a quiet girl called Yvonne. He thought they might be kindred spirits. She was cute, bespectacled, and as he thought, a perfect first girlfriend. Unfortunately, young Edward was a little shy and decided to make his moves on her at a uni night out with the rest of the dormitory. He had surreptitiously poured vodka into her existing vodka and cokes. Plainly drunk, he offered to take her home. He brought her to her place, stopping on the way at a corner shop to buy some wine.

He had tried talking to her on the way home but she was slurring her words and began talking about how funny she thought he was. At first it seemed complimentary but then she revealed that she had heard the others make fun of him for looking into the girls dorm rooms at night through the windows. Pembroke had froze, he had no idea he had been spotted doing this and felt humiliated. Yvonne tried to comfort him, and believed Edward when he told her this was all lies. They then began kissing, though she pushed him off when they tried having sex. The next morning, they woke up in bed together. Yvonne began freaking out, ordering him to leave her room. She had apparently not remembered anything of the night before leaving the pub.

Pembroke left her dorm room and hoped she might some round. But instead, a few days, later, he received word that a complaint of rape had been made against him, by university staff. The police were not involved and Yvonne later admitted she did not believe they had sex as she still had her knickers on. However, Pembroke had been ordered to move out of the dorms and never saw any of his old dorm mates again.

Pembroke shook himself out of it and began teaching the class. He asked Dilan some questions and was pleasantly surprised again at her level of English though her maths was not very good. He got through the rest of the day and began to look forward to having Dilan in her class.

The next week, some of the pupils stopped coming to class, being the older ‘boys.’ Then the following week, he received a warning from the headmaster to inform him of the attendances of the young girls as one had disappeared from her foster home. Meanwhile, he noted that Dilan was settling in well, and noted her flirting with the older boys in the school playground. She seemed shy but also aware of her natural beauty and its power.

At the same time, tensions were running high in Willowbridge. More asylum seekers had arrived at the hotel and the town centre was becoming awash with young men flirting with and harassing young women. More pupils including boys and girls were being enrolled and another young girl had disappeared from the school. Another drink with Nigel and pals had confirmed that she was seen near the hotel with the older asylum seekers and most likely had run off with them to a larger city. Another girl was constantly being returned to a foster home from the asylum hotel.

The asylum seekers were also hanging around the school gates waiting for girls. Pembroke witnessed several girls getting into their cars and wondered where they had got the money for the cars with a tinge of jealousy at his own failures to seduce schoolgirls as a young adult.

He was reminded of his own escape from disaster when at 23, working oddjobs while struggling to get any work as an actor after a year in drama school he had tried to get a girlfriend at the local school where he was helping to fix the showers. He had gone in while the girls were at PE and was able to go through their things, and had found a few pairs of worn panties left lying around, and pocketed them. Had it been a few years later, he mused, he would probably have tried putting in secret cameras. His attempts at chatting up the girls were awkward, and he was eventually warned not to approach them as it was unprofessional, by his boss. His boss later confronted him about accusations from the school about missing girls’ underwear. Pembroke had protested his innocence, but in the end he was fired. His work was deemed to be not up to scratch along with the accusations which still rankled him.

He was therefore mystified at how these older men could seduce these schoolgirls who seemed to him to be goddesses compared to the poor Aasian and African lads who wore terrible clothes and could barely speak English. It was one day when he say Dilan chatting with one f the older pupils who had since left the school, that he suddenly became madly jealous. Though he did note that she had the sense to walk away from him, after briefly entertaining his chat.

Chapter 7

At the start of October, Dilan began to stop coming to class. Pembroke had a good excuse to try and find out why so asked the headmaster.

“Apparently it may be an internal family matter. We had received word from the police because she had left her family home and disappeared for a few days. She told the police she had visited her uncle in Manchester but wanted to come back.”

“You mean she has come back?”

“Oh yes, They are trying to get her into different accommodation in case her uncle or someone tries to find her so she is back at that asylum hotel right now. Scandalous really, but she should be back at school this week I think anyway.”

Pembroke breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure why. He looked forward to having her back in class, but there were plenty of other pretty girls. He began to think that this obsession of Dilan was unhealthy. He got home, and avoided porn, and began to think about either selling this house, or at least getting rid of this basement which had put the thoughts into his head. The money from the French house sale had come through, and he might be able to afford a flat in London where he could live more anonymously. Or he could buy his own place abroad, and live on savings for a while.

Chapter 8

The following day, Pembroke was teaching his year 4 maths class. He asked for a volunteer to come to the board to correct an equation. The first attempt was by a boy called David, who had got it comically incorrect. There were no new takers.

Pembroke idly pointed out Natalie, who was looking out through the window. Annoyed, she stormed to the front of the class, and set out the correct answer. She then walked back. “Did you just want to check out my arse, sir?” she said loudly to the amusement of the rest of the class. Pembroke was shaken and despite himself, turned red. “That’s enough, settle down”. He wished for the class to be over.

Later that same day, he took his class for year 2 and saw that Dilan was there. He could not help but breathe a sigh of relief and happiness and hoped no one would notice it. She was even lovelier than before. She had, he noted, just turned thirteen. He wished he could see an older sister or her mother to see what she might turn out like. Given her willowy frame he was confident she would not turn out fat in her later years.

The class itself was in tumult. One boy called Joe, was a known troublemaker and had not done his homework. “Fuck off sir, you’re such a queer” he said. Pembroke was mortified; he knew he had to react to such language. “All right, be off with you, off to the headmaster’s office. I will not tolerate that language.” The boy left the classroom though would probably just leave school for the day. Pembroke was flustered about being called a queer. “Sir, are you gay, are you not married?” chirped in Lucy Gibbons, another little bitch. “That is not relevant, I am your teacher.”

Pembroke, despite being a teacher, really struggled with enforcing authority once it was breached. The class laughed even more. He turned his back to write on the board, and then felt a wet tissue paper hit him on the back of the head. “Right that’s it, no more of that, who did that?”

There was silence, followed by more tittering. He looked at Lucy Gibbons, the little wench had opened her legs giving him a clear view up her skirt. He quickly averted his eyes. “Oi, sir you’re not gay I just caught you looking up my skirt!” Cue more laughter. Pembroke shouted “Enough, settle down, Ms Gibbons keep quiet and behave. “ Flustered, he shouted at them to open page 44 and do the exercises. He glanced at Dilan, who was laughing as well. Suddenly a shout of “paedo” went up from outside the room. It was Joe, who had come back and was trying to attract attention from outside the room.

Pembroke walked out of the classroom, admonished Joe to leave the school premises, and returned. He set the class to do the exercise at page 44, then made an excuse and went out again to the bathroom. He did not see Joe, but went to the cubicle where he released his bowels partly as a relief against the stress. He felt like not going back but realised he must not leave the class unattended. He wiped himself with toilet paper and hurried back to the class.

He returned and asked everyone if they could do the questions. One girl briefly assented and he relaxed at the relative calm. Then he detected some giggles, followed by more laughter. “Stop laughing” Pembroke shouted. He looked at Dilan who was scoffing in laughter, then at others who were whispering, looking at him and then laughing. He began to panic, was his fly undone? No…

“Sir, you’ve got toilet paper still hanging out of your ass” shouted Lucy. Pembroke was aghast, toilet paper he had used to cover the toilet seat had stuck to his backside and was protruding out of the side of his trousers. He ripped it out, and threw it in the bin. The class erupted in laughter.

Pembroke felt like crying but finally forced himself to smile. “Very funny. Now back work.”

The humiliation really stung him. A flashback came to him. He was thirty and working as an admin in a building company here he fancied he might be a quantity surveyor. There was one very attractive woman he fancied called Melanie and lots of other working class men who constantly bullied him.

On a work night out, he had a bit too much to drink and approached Melanie, whom he had barely spoken to , and asked her if she wanted to dance. Melanie had laughed and agreed, but unknown to Pembroke, one of his co workers friends was her boyfriend. At the end of the night, he had shown up and along with his co workers, they held Pembroke down, stripped him naked, and cellotaped him to a pole. His whole company had seen him naked. It was chalked down to banter but Pembroke was so humiliated he had to leave the company.

As he walked to his car later that day, he saw Dilan and some girls from her class chatting to the asylum seekers outside the school gates. As they saw him, he saw their eyes light up, and they began to laugh together at him.

That night, Pembroke drank a bottle of wine, and went down to his basement, where he began to imagine what a dungeon might actually look like.

Chapter 9

The next day, Pembroke arrived for school hungover. He heard the staffroom teachers complain about the asylum seekers not showing up and about a young girl who had just turned up in Manchester it seemed for the second time. They complained about how the asylum seekers were harassing the girls and how could they be expected to keep tabs on all the children that were now coming in.

Pembroke clocked Dilan and looked at her with the same obsession as before, except now she became an object of hatred as well as lust. He was weary of acting on it. When he was in his mid thirties, a 22 year old girl Polish girl, Kasia, he knew through his part time acting had turned him down for a date and had been apparently offended he had even thought of her as a suitable match for him. He had grown so angry at her and so disillusioned that in a bad attempt for revenge, he had began stalking her. He discovered her place of work, her acting classes, her commute and her myspace profile. He had developed a routine of following her, but did not know what to do about it. He would have forgotten about it and moved on with his life, had it not been for what may have been his last stalking day. He was walking behind her on her way to her gym, when he noticed her bag was open at the back. He quickly caught up with her, and managed to reach in and grab a wallet.

With the wallet, he had found her bank cards and her house keys. He already knew her address. He did not really know what to do with the rest of the wallet so threw it away. But he knew she lived in a mixed flat share and so took a day off work, waited for her to leave her flat, and then at 10am, let himself into her flat. He had guessed her room from the lights that turned on soon after she went in, and was able to figure out it was the third floor and the room itself. London had so many anonymous flatshares that unless someone saw him snooping around, they would not mind the noises, particularly as there was no shared living room anyway. In any case, it was a huge risk. He opened the correct door after first knocking and announcing himself as what would be an electricity repair man. He recognised the interior room from her social media photos. He went through her drawers and dirty washing and took her underwear, as well as some notebooks, and searched the room for anything more interesting. He was able to open her desktop computer, and noted it was password protected, then found the password written on a piece of paper in the drawers underneath the desk. He logged in and went through her photographs. He was able to find her passwords saved for each website, including hotmail, myspace and others and noted them for future reference.

He left, kept her underwear and read her diaries at his leisure as well as logging in and snooping through her emails. He continued to stalk her though more sparingly as he reasoned she must now have contacted the police and be aware that she had been burgled and had her underwear taken.

Pembroke did have some rohypnol which he had bought on the dark web out of idle curiosity. He had no idea what it really was but reasoned that he would not be the one taking it and if it didn’t work, then no harm done. It had been gathering dust as he had been scared to actually use it. He had only done it a few times so far. Once he had not even seen the girls whose drink he spiked, another time he sighed in frustration as a male friend had downed the spiked drink. On two other occasions he had been able to keep track of some girls whom he had spiked. On the first occasion, the girl did not seem to be affected by it. On the second occasion, he was pleased to see the girl did quickly become incapacitated and slumped down in her table, though was soon surrounded by her concerned friends, and Pembroke had watched, annoyed, from the other side of the club as she was half carried out by her female friends to presumably bring her home safely.

He went to a party for a drama club where he knew she would be at. He tried to keep a low profile but noticed Kasia dancing. He went to the toilets, pulled out her panties which he had brought in his pocket, and began to smell them in anticipation of what might happen tonight. He returned and tried to get close to her to see if he could get at her drinks. In an unguarded moment, she and her friends went back to the dancefloor, and he popped three pills in the three drinks, then turned back to the other side of the club. This time he would take no chances that the girls would be able to help each other. He was then recognised by some people he knew through the drama club and was chatting to them. Nobody knew or cared that he had asked out Kasia or noted any connection between them.

Later that night, he noticed Kasia and her friends becoming louder, and then lying crouched at their table. However, there was a posse of people with them helping them. Pembroke walked out with them, hoping for a chance to get at the girls or get into their taxis, but some other people were accompanying them. Suddenly, Kasia saw him. Through her bloodshot eyes, she slurred “you bastard, its you, you spike my drink.”

Pembroke panicked, but everyone else laughed it off. They had no reason to suspect Pembroke of anything. However, Pembroke disposed of everything he had taken from Kasia’s flat. This proved very lucky, as a few days later he was questioned by the police about the spiking and the burglary at her flat. He protested his innocence. The police agreed and were sympathetic, the only evidence they had against him was Kasia’s suspicion based on him having asked her out, as well as her suspicion he had been following her. No charges were ever brought.

Chapter 10

A few days later, some packages arrived in the post. While drunk, Pembroke had ordered some articles he planned to use. They included a sexy maid’s outfit, a pair of kinky handcuffs that he would never trust to hold a genuine prisoner, bondage rope, more complex bondage ties and restraints and a garter belt bodysuit as well as several butt plugs. Pembroke was glad they arrived in plain packaging. The total cost was laughably low and he wondered how the Chinese economy could afford such exports.

Pembroke put them away but began to work on his plans for his basement. He reasoned it could hold a bedroom and a “living” area. He made a more substantial order, this time of motion and non motion cameras, loud speakers and microphones. Just the ordering and the fantasy was enough to arouse him. He told himself that just wiring up the room would be the fun part even if he never did anything further.

One thing he struggled to check was whether anyone would hear a loud banging on the ceiling, wall door of the basement. Once the microphones arrived, and cameras, he first set them up in different areas upstairs, and banged and screamed as hard as he could in the basement. He then inspected the footage. He was impressed at the technology. It managed to pick up the faint playing of music from a nearby funfair outside, but not the banging and clanging from down below in the basement.

Pembroke was relieved but also terrified at every little development like this. If the basement had turned out not to be soundproof or just 90% soundproof, he would have had to abandon his plan. But with each little success, there remained fewer and fewer reasons not to go ahead with this. One failure would mean he could back to his normal life. But if the plan had a chance of success he knew he would see it through until he failed.

He wanted a prisoner who could have some semblance of a normal life of a prisoner and so bought up some teen fiction from charity shops. He was also interested in buying “normal” teenage girl clothes from such shops but deemed it too suspicious. As it happened, temu had lots of options for young girls’ clothes and the orders kept coming in. They were all kept in the basement. An apparition wall was built which would divide the “normal” room from the fun room.

A cheap bed was purchased from a charity shop, though the base had to be thrown away when Pembroke realised he could not fit it down stairs and through the door. A new detachable base was built and assembled below in the living room from Ikea. Some shelves with Enid Blyton books and Harry Potter, Twilight, and Nancy Drew (Pembroke was old fashioned) were set up. Drawers with close such as modest panties, thongs, socks, pyjamas, nighties, sweaters, tracksuits were kept. The basement was a little chilly and a heating system was installed.

Lingerie of a more sexual nature was next. Adult lingerie was purchased as well as children’s lingerie all online. Bondage costumes were not sold in child sizes, for obvious reasons. But most of the young teenagers on Pembroke’s radar were almost the size of small size Chinese women.

The “fun room” would take up most of the space. In addition to this, as a precaution, Pembroke purchased an industrial use metal cage. The idea of this was for around a front door. People could come in through a door but would then have to wait in a little caged off area outside the door to get further access. The reasoning was to stop a prisoner from being able to wait right outside the door although cameras would show every part of the basement, including from a TV screen just outside the padded door into the basement. Pembroke realised that one had to be extra careful and also would need to impress upon the prisoner the absolute security to convince them to stop any plans of escaping or attacking him. An unsuccessful escape attempt was not something he wanted to encourage. The cage was purchased from an industrial supplier, with Pembroke using his fathers old company contacts for this.

The process of ordering, trying and discarding, re-ordering, setting up and rigging all this took a few weeks. The cost made a dent in the money from the French house sale. But he reasoned it was worth it. But he reasoned it was worth it. If he ever decided to sell his house, he did wonder what he would have to do about the basement, and thought he should have kept the old washing machine and dryer to have to hand to put back there, to maintain the illusion of an old abandoned basement. A clean swept empty basement might look suspicious, though not as suspicious as the one that was not rapidly filling up.

To enter the basement required a key code to be entered of 8 numbers which Pembroke had memorised and written down upstairs. To get out, the same code had to be entered along with a physical key. In addition, another key was required to get through the cage surrounding the basement door.

Pembroke tried his best to break through the cage. He could not, and even tried picking the lock but this failed. He also repeatedly tried the basement door but could not budge it by force or by guile. The plastering on the walls had been well done, and unless one had a hammer and chisel no shawshank redemption style tunnel could be dug without being quickly discovered, and would take months for a man let alone a teenage girl with no tools beyond books and clothes.

Pembroke was frequently exhausted at class. He would frequently be up until 2am working on his basement. However, his singularity of purpose meant that he had an aura of confidence in class and somehow this rubbed off on his pupils.

One thing that had occurred to Pembroke was his prisoner may not just want to hurt him. In fact, just as US prisoners were not allowed shoelaces or belts, he had to consider what precautions to take about preventing her from self harming herself. Ultimately, he could not look after her 24/7 and could not keep her in bondage forever which would likely be a fate worse than death for her. Nevertheless, he purchased some straightjackets, which were for sexual purposes but, he reasoned, would be enough to control a young girl. He thanked God that he was not gay. He could not imagine having to control and maintain a young man down here.

Special bondage equipment was purchased, again online. A “fucking bench” in which the prisoner would be strapped down on her tummy, her hands tied underneath the bench, while further down the bench lower benches would accommodate her shins with restraints to tie around her ankles, as the prisoner would be forced to have her bottom in the air. The bottom lower benches could be pulled apart or closer together, to dictate how high the prisoners bottom would rise, doubtless to accommodate the fucking position and perfect position of the penis. The legs of the whole bench could also be adjusted to change the height, particular if the user wanted to be kneeling or standing while performing doggy style sex on the helpless prisoner strapped down.

Another trickier device was a sex sling which hung from a hook built into the ceiling. Pembroke was reluctant for several reasons. It seemed to be a staple of every sex dungeon he viewed online and read about. His first concern was drilling the hook in. Would it damage the ceiling? However this was allayed by the fact that he was very keen to have other reasons to have a hook. Having a prisoner hanging from her wrists and strung up taut on her tip toes was something he really wanted to experience.

He was more worried that sling would collapse. He made a mental note not to perform “missionary” sex on any hapless victim tied up on the sling for fear the combined weight would collapse it. The fall to the ground would likely injure the prisoner (and himself if he was stupid enough to leaning on top of i/her). He purchased a sling designed for gay men. Again he thanked god he was interested in slim girls and not beefy men and hoped the weight factor would be taken care of. He had never heard of any lawsuits involving collapsing sex slings so trusted in the manufacturers.

More devices were purchased, some online, and some from sex stores in London. A St Andrews cross was assembled in the basement, in the shape of an ‘X,’ where the victim could be tied by arms and legs to the tops and bottoms of the same. An ‘examination’ table with gynaecological footrests for inspection and restraints along the sides. More innocent items were purchased at the local Tesco. Feather dusters and electric toothbrushes might seem like normal devices. But Pembroke had other intentions. Tickling an outstretched girl, and using the electric toothbrush in lieu of a vibrator were both things he wished to copy from porn videos he had watched over and over.

Chapter 11

The thought of pornography brought Pembroke to consider how he might make his own. He still thought of Dilan as his primary intended victim, but if not, it would be another schoolgirl, someone who would be recognised eventually if the footage were released.

He had his own brush with porn making in the early 2010s. At the time had a casual relationship with a Filipino girl some 15 years his junior. She had a beautiful body, but was self conscious and shy. Pembroke had exerted his own dominant side over her in the bedroom and they had fantastic kinky sex.

Eventually, Pembroke persuaded her to be filmed for sex. She at first refused. He threatened to leave her, saying their sex life had stalled. She pleaded for the relationship to continue and he agreed. She cautiously agreed to be filmed having sex with Pembroke in front of his new camera.

The Filipina girl, Violet, had reasoned that as Pembroke was entering into a teaching career, there was no way he would allow sex videos to be made public in which his face was visible. However, unbeknown to her, he had already looked into and mastered the art of blurring is face out in the videos. They broke up soon after and Pembroke began a steady relationship with someone from his work. He uploaded all the videos with his face blurred out. A few years later he googled Violets name and saw that she had been indentified and even tagged on porn websites and in porn revenge websites. He saw his old account and saw the old videos now had hundreds of thousands of views. His face was blurred effectively in all videos, and he was never identified. He and Violet had no real mutual friends, and so none of her family, friends or acquaintances would have any idea who the white male body belonged to.

He had not heard from Violet in years but could see that she no longer had any social media profiles up. On googling her, there were very little results except for links to porn websites where someone, perhaps old workmates/schoolmates who recognised her, had commented writing her name and talking about her. Pembroke still watched the videos occasionally. They were wiped from his computer but he was able to find them online by keywords in certain sites. He signed when he saw how his own body had deteriorated. He admired Violets beautiful body, her olive skin and her breasts bouncing up and down as she rode him cowgirl style, laughing and looking into the camera. “God, promise me you won’t ever show anyone this!” she said, before dismounting and turning her ass splayed for the camera to see, while she sucked on Pembroke’s penis as he lay back. Every so often he raised his head in the video and the blurring came back. The title of the video was “promise me you wont ever show anyone this” with 33 comments underneath. Some exclaimed how hot Violet was. Others lolled at how stupid the girl was to trust that the video would not be shown. Others posted angrily that the video should be taken down. And one comment stated “this is Violet Bayaco, stuck up bitch that worked in UCL hospital, haven’t heard from her in years this used to be her FB- …” which led to a facebook profile which no longer existed.

Given the revenge porn laws now in existence, Pembroke hoped he was out of the woods with Violet. He figured that Violet must have been aware of the videos and dropped out of sight online and maybe went back to the Philippines. She may even have taken her own life, the thought did sometimes darken his mind, but then so did the consequences of what he was going to do now.

He wanted to video his “conquest” and wanted to put it online. However, this might lead to him being caught. For one thing there was an outside chance a video could give a clue as to the whereabouts of the victim. He had read that Osama Bin Laden had nearly been caught because of the rock formation in the caves behind him in his videos.

The videos would also raise awareness of the victim. He had intended Dilan to be his victim, not just because she was so lovely, but because she could vanish and not be subject to a huge search. If any such victim became news, then anyone connected with her, such as an old teacher might fall under suspicion. There was the option of keeping the videos private, but then could he trust himself not to post them online or on the dark web some night?

Chapter 12

Pembroke’s classes continued. He grew more authoritarian and confident but still had problem classes. Lucy Gibbons had placed a period-stained tampon within the pages of her homework, which was sent to him. Dilan, his favoured pupil (and victim), disappeared again in late November. He was kept informed that she had briefly appeared at a school in Manchester, and then late at night had turned up at her old foster home, the hotel, and who knows where else. Pembroke became nervous with each disappearance, as he might never see her again. But there was another feeling: relief. Up to now he had done nothing illegal. If Dilan left, there was no obvious replacement victim. He could not pick up a local girl, who would be more likely to appear missing on the scale of Madeline McCann. There were other asylum seeking girls at the school as well as some chav girls whose disappearance might not cause much disturbance, but none of them interested Pembroke. He was interested in sweet attractive girls who unfortunately for him are also valued very highly by society.

In early December, Dilan appeared again. She appeared to have a boyfriend who picked her up outside school. Pembroke was now impressed, how could a girl just turned 13 be able to run off every other day at school with a grown man and the authorities do nothing about it? She seemed more withdrawn and did not speak to classmates as she used to. She was re-emerging as the perfect victim.

Pembroke had something else to consider. Health. He had managed to procure her records and noted her excellent health with nothing to consider. Of course there were periods and the possibility of pregnancy. Pembroke had no interest in going all this way to procure his own sex slave and then having to wear condoms. Through the dark web, again he had managed to procure a ready supply of the contraceptive pill. Of every item bought so far, this was the hardest to explain. Even on the dark website he had to explain that they were a couple whose culture did not allow contraception yet did not want children (yet). The pills duly arrived.

One thing did bother Pembroke, or at least it bothered him less than he felt it should. He did not feel overly bad about taking a young girl against her will to be his slave/prisoner. He considered he was owed sex from such girls, and that he could provide for her in his basement. He foresaw a life of sadness and mistreatment if Dilan stayed in the real world. She would get used to her life, it would just be different, and there was just no other way he could get what he wanted.

But, there was a strong possibility that she might die or that Pembroke would be forced into a situation where he would have to kill her. In the taking of her, if she escaped or fought back to the extent where it was he or her, he might have to kill her. If she attacked him in captivity he might have to kill her to stop her hurting him, or just to stop her escaping. He could also imagine having to sell the house, or even meeting the woman of his dreams in “real life” and not wanting to have her around if he wanted to embark on a happy life with his new spouse. Or what if the years went by and he was starting to get dementia, and the thirty something Dilan would be stuck in the basement? In such situations, releasing her would spell doom for him. His rational brain told him that he had to be prepared to kill her in cold blood. But the same thing that had hindered him all through all his life also hindered his considering the full implications here. He just could not envisage far enough into the future to the point where killing her would have to happen. And so he ignored it.

If Dilan got sick, through some mysterious illness, could he live with himself if he ignored her pleas to see a doctor? He was quite capable of masturbating over the videos of Violet and the thought she had been condemned to a life of humiliation. But could he sit in his sofa year after year knowing a crying girl was wasting away down there? He would have to find out. His life would depend on it.

Chapter 13

His rage against the sexuality of young women had caused him to make impulsive moves before. He had been over forty, greying, and had gone to a nightclub with old acting chums. Each of whom had an unsuccessful life as he had. They had gone from pub to pub before trying a club in central London. His partner had wished him well and gone home to bed.

Inside the club, he gawped at the lovely young things wearing next to nothing. He muttered to his old friends about the girls and what he wanted to do to them. His old friend was not impressed, and had not been for some time that evening. He had three children at home one of whom was a fifteen year old girl and he felt very uncomfortable being in a nightclub and listening to Pembroke perv over girls who looked like his daughter. He left as did the others while Pembroke stayed on till closing time, imagining his younger days but knowing he would never have had a chance with these girls then anyway.

Outside, he saw a blonde girl in a silver mini dress with giant hoop earrings. Her mascara was running and she was clearly drunk and walking on her bare feet. She walked into a small courtyard near the club, and sat down on a slab and started smoking. Pembroke wandered closer, and cursed himself for not having a condom. The girl passed out, he saw the cigarette hanging from her hand slip to the ground. Nobody else seemed to have noticed her but then…

“Alright mate, you having a look at this slut too?” an unkempt, scruffy beggar had just come up to me and like me had seen the whole scene. Pembroke tensed, ready for a fight. “Don’t worry, my man, lets have a look, enough for both of us…” The man lowered his voice and said “come on before anyone sees…” They both looked furtively before ducking into the courtyard.

“You all right love?” said the beggar, “hmmm .. I can ..” the girl trailed off… she was completely drunk. She was lying on her back, her silver dress covered her cleavage well but was now already hitched up so high her black thong was showing. Her blonde hair was splayed around her, she didn’t sound English, and was perhaps a tourist or student. The beggar began stroking her legs. Pembroke stroked her face, figuring it was a way of reviving her at least, but she just hmmmed further. Suddenly, Pembroke saw her handbag, as did the beggar.

“Here, lets divvy it up…” he said, Pembroke saw the most important thing, a condom, and quickly pocketed it. The beggar grabbed the phone and a small purse. There was also a passport, which the beggar let him keep. “Ingrid Nielson, Danish, born 5 February 1997” Pembroke had a double take, she was just 18. The beggar had some cash and was counting it. Pembroke whipped out his phone and began to photograph the body of young Ingrid.

“Here keep me out of the photos” joked the beggar. “I can’t get into her phone” he moaned. Pembroke took a quick look at it, there was a fingerprint security. “Hang on let me check” said Pembroke, and he took the phone and quickly pressed each of Ingrid’s fingers against it. Eventually there was a “ blip” and the phone opened. He handed it to the beggar. “Great mate”, he answered, “Im gonna see if shes got some money in there…” Pembroke looked around; nobody seemed to know there even was an entrance to the courtyard. But he did not want to stick around too long. There were lights just strong enough that he didn’t need flash but he was weary that people might see them. He kept taking pictures and pulled her dress up to her waist and down exposing her breasts.

“Here, I saw her first… I got first go” said the beggar.

“Ok , let me keep her knickers then.”

“Sure thing mate, then im gonna fuck her. She’s gorgeous.”

Pembroke could not disagree with that. He quickly slid her thong off, she was completely hairless underneath. Her eyes remained closed. He pocketed the thong while the beggar climbed on top of her. He wasn’t going to wear a condom.

Pembroke retreated near the entrance and was ready to either run, or pretend to help rescue her if anyone came. He had once been with a drunk unconscious girl before, had nervously waited, but had to abandon his plan when a group of people came by an spotted them, and he ran off. This time, he was determined he would get some of that beautiful Danish girl. He listened to the beggar sighing and couldn’t believe the girl didn’t wake up. She must have been drugged. This was then karma for all the spiking he had done before ever being able to capitalise on them. His penis was rock hard.

Eventually the beggar clambered off her. “Hang on just let me get her prints on the phone again.” Pembroke doubted he would be able to make use of any apps to get money out. He did suggest to the beggar “listen if you can’t get any money out of it, why not change her facebook profile photo to her like that.”

The beggar was zipping up and chuckling. “Sure thing fella, haha” as he took her thumb to log into her phone.

“Do it in a few minutes though, her friends could come out if they see it and Ill still be fucking her, here it gives you time to go through her other apps, they might have fingerprint access too” said Pembroke as he tried to get the condom on his penis.

“Good thinking friend,” laughed the beggar whose face was lit up as he looked for banking apps. I got her contactless anyway Im gonna get some booze in that shop if you want some.”

Pembroke was taking a few more photos of Ingrid this time her legs spread grotesquely and her vagina clearly the victim of a recent fucking. He had a feeling that as soon as he came the last thing he would want to do or should do is spend a second longer with the beggar or in the vicinity.

“Maybe” said Pembroke. He had never had sex in front of another man before, but be grunted into the blonde girls face and opened her eyelids to look into her gorgeous Nordic eyes. He kneaded her soft breasts and licked her face from her chin, along her lips and along her nose. He didn’t last long.

As soon as he climaxed he immediately realised he had to get out of there. “Keep the phone do whatever with it” he said. He kept his condom on his flaccid penis as he zipped up and walked away without saying a word.

Months later when googling her name, he found out that the beggar had been arrested following CCTV footage of a shop where had used her cards to buy alcohol nearby. Grainy CCTV had shown two men in the courtyard with her but neither could be clearly indentified from it, only the beggar from his jacket which matched him in the shop CCTV footage recorded while he was using her card. His DNA also matched a semen sample taken inside her. Pembroke had kept her passport and her thong since that night but threw both away shortly afterwards. The photos he made sure were untraceable and then uploaded on various extreme websites.

Chapter 14

December 5th. The town had begun preparing for Christmas and the mood had permeated into the school . The girls had long since worn black tights which allowed them to more comfortably wear the short hemlined skirts and the top darker band of the rights was often visible as they sat cross legged in class. Pembroke often wondered whether skirts were shorter in winter though realised he had no way of measuring. Tales of teachers measuring girls’ skirts was not something he had ever encountered.

Using youtube videos and after self study over several months while dealing with the “easier” part of the basement installation, Pembroke had also undertaken the hardest part so far, installing a bathroom in his basement. Fortunately there had already been some basic plumbing from the 1970s although the old toilet and cistern had since broken and was disconnected. Pembroke realised this would have to be an ongoing project and once entered to find water flooding the basement. Having fixed this, he realised this would have to be taken care with further education on his part. Hiring a professional for this would be too late now. He could not explain the cage, the reinforced doors, the cameras and microphones much less the bedroom and equipment, to any plumber. He realised he should have dealt with this first, but he also realised that a career as a plumber might be a good alternative to teaching. By the first week of December he was satisfied the toilet was working well. The hard cistern could of course be used as a weapon but he reasoned this would have to be a risk to take. He was a germaphobic and wanted his prisoner to be clean at all times.

The shower had proved straightforward until the question of hot water came up. Like a pet owner, he felt responsibility towards any prisoner and felt that cold showers for the rest of their lives might be an imposition too far, particularly given that they would be required to stay clean, and clean shaven everywhere. A douche head for cleaning the bowels and vagina internally was fitted to the head on the above a drain which along with the rest of the water and sewage was pumped up to the main disposal system.

He mused at his reluctance to enforce cold showers on someone whom he was planning on imprisoning for the rest of their life, but reasoned that even prisons have standards for murders. His prisoner was going to be girl who pleased him and who was being punished for the sexual frustration wrought by her gender. While watching movies of girls being punished with whipping, paddling and the like, he could hear their genuine screams in pain born out of the marks on their body. He remembered the impact statement given by Ingrid reported in the media, and could well imagine the hurt he had caused her, to the Thai prostitute, Violet and many others. But he could also fantasise and empathise with being tied up, and being taken and kept in bondage. On the other hand, the thought of watching a video of a girl screaming in agony from being under a cold shower was not something that excited him, although it did occur to him that it was the one pain he had experienced, whereas being kidnapped, raped and sexually tortured was something that he had only fantasised about.

Eventually he figured out how to get time limited hot water to come out and how to control it so it never got too hot. A sudden burst of scalding hot water into the back passage of a girl who was douching would probably cause serious internal injuries. The shower was placed not in the bedroom but in the corner of the larger room near the St Andrews cross, and a shower curtain was installed which though the curtain itself was only long enough to be pulled across one side. While Pembroke did not want the rest of the room to get too wet, he noted he could afford some splash in the relevant direction and did not want a situation whereby the prisoner was out of view of the cameras.

The cameras were now linked to his computers set up in his office. He had bought several monitors so that it started to resemble a supermarket detective’s office.

Chapter 15

December 7th. Pembroke was now fixated on Dilan. It helped in his other classes. He no longer blushed or felt self conscious about dealing with cute young girls like Lucy Gibbons or Sehar Chaudhary. He ignored their flirting and realised he was getting less flak from pupils. He cringed when he began to realise how obvious it might be that there was an attraction between him and the girls in his class. He had given up on dating sites and other than periodic drinks was happy with his own company. His work on the basement kept him busy and fulfilled a sense of purpose.

He had Dilan in his class for three hours a week when she showed up. In his mind, it was a done deal and he felt he was in an arranged marriage with her. She had grown an inch and was now about five feet four. Her breasts remained pneumatic and he guessed she was still a size B. She was withdrawn in class and did not seem interested in her classmates. Pembroke watched her leaving school each day from his car, and noted that she would either walk into town or chat with the lads hanging around school. He suspected something was going on with what looked like an east African guy. He could not imagine a girl from a traditional family being allowed to date such a man. This emphasised to him that he had struck lucky. She was from a dysfunction family and importantly, would not be missed. He recalled being horrified by President Assad and ISIS yet curious about the latter’s interest in sexual slavery. Rather than pay for expensive holidays to abroad to have fleeting sex with prostitutes, he hoped soon for a day in which he could use his privilege to purchase a young girl from the developed world, legally, yet also knew ISIS would be more likely to cut his head off if he relocated to Syria. In any event, he now thanked the chaos of the arab spring and ISIS for delivering Dilan to him without the complications of protective parents and brothers in her home society.

He was careful not to linger on her or chat more than he had to. While she had been chosen because her disappearance might not lead to a massive kidnap manhunt, he had to approach it as if police would question everyone. He did not want police to hear stories about how Dilan thought her maths teacher was a creep and would follow her around. Despite this, Pembroke took plenty of photographs of his target. Her social media was limited to twitter with some generic tweets and a music site. He could not find anything more. His phone was his weapon for this and he took photos of her waking in and out of school. This was a huge risk, taking photos of girls was something people were weary of and the surreptitious nature of them meant they were not of great quality. And so, Pembroke embarked on a huge risk and installed hidden cameras in his class room. Money was now no object, he had plenty left and each little project only took a bit more.

The cameras were placed for the whole class but were focused on different areas as he could not predict where she would sit. His dashcam was also used for basic footage. He had a small montage built up and after this took out the classroom cameras. He could always have said they were for his own protection in case of false accusations, he reasoned, but the stress of them being discovered was too much.

He recalled his little experiment with hidden cameras. Temptation from reviewing the forums had given in and he had purchased a small ring camera which he had placed in a bag. He spent hours in London tube stations at the weekend, collecting upskirt videos, before the urge to escalate things grew. His school at this time was in east London. There were changing rooms and shower areas and after research and asking questions on the forum he managed to hide his camera in a coat hook on the inside of the door to a shower room. He did not connect this to his own account. Instead, he just wanted to check if it was discoverable. Lady luck shined on him. The camera was discovered a few days later. The school was thrown into a panic. Teachers were questioned although the suspicion fell on the boys. There was no link from the camera to any other outside account or device, and authorities thought (wrongly) that it had been used before and since abandoned by its user.

The widespread belief that some pervert had already gotten away with it, and recorded videos for god knows how long and since taken away the evidence, caused shockwaves throughout the school. Several girls were withdrawn from the school. Lawsuits were threatened. One female teacher took six months off sick believing that she must have been recorded and would soon see herself on some website.

Pembroke alone knew the truth. He was greatly relieved and felt almost guilty that he could not reassure the women that no videos had ever been recorded. In fact one female teacher was so upset she had a nervous breakdown in the staffroom in front of him. He felt like telling her that he had no sexual interest in her, she was forty and too fat and that if there were any videos of her, he would have just deleted them without even watching. It did occur to him how vain some women were. The young girls seemed to take it far better. They were much more used to being recorded from an early age, and they were the ones Pembroke had intended to record and share online. Fat middle aged teachers were not his prey.

Pembroke took this as a sign to stop with the cameras. There were news stories now about police stopping voyeurs in stations and of more cameras being recorded. He disposed of the ring cameras but again kept the footage secure as well as already uploaded to various voyeur sites.

Chapter 16

The Christmas holidays were a convenient window in which girls like Dilan might disappear, Pembroke reasoned. It was a time when families reunited and the police and social workers would probably conclude she had gone with other family. From staff gossip, he gathered that one girl who had joined in October who was fourteen had since disappeared and they had been waiting three weeks to hear from her. There did not seem to be any urgency.

Pembroke was able to access Dilan’s records and found that her “uncle” had never once contacted the school despite being listed as next of kin. He wondered how often Dilan communicated with others. Which unknown person would suddenly announce that they had spoken with her every day and now she was gone?

It was now coming to the point of no return. Pembroke’s lust for Dilan was growing every night. He had purchased a school uniform, the official one of their school, just ready for her. He would have to measure her to get her size in order to properly get her clothes but wanted her in the outfit he knew so well.

He watched for signs of insubordination or stubbornness but she seemed to have an aura of sadness and resignation to her. She was swimming in hormones like all girls but looked distant as if she was being controlled by forces unknown. She would sometimes look at her phone in class but he never saw her type out a message. He had recently had one girl, fifteen year old Maureen Stewart, accuse him of victimising her for criticising her homework or lack thereof. She was not attractive to him but still, her mouthful of invective in class gave him pause for thought. Having her constantly defy his commands in the basement, would wear him down. He needed someone who was naturally submissive, punishing one of the naughty loud chav girls might give him great satisfaction while thrashing them in revenge for their slights over the years, but on a 24/7 basis he could imagine them grinding him down until they ended up owning him. He much preferred sweet quiet girls who seemed to naturally know their place and would submit to a man. He sure Dilan was such a girl and her upbringing would help her. One day, he noticed her having tracks of tears on her face as she sat staring at her paper. She could not guess she would soon be in an environment where those problems would be gone.

The winter darkness afforded cover for the taking of Dilan. Pembroke had spent months waiting for an opportunity. He rented a car, kept it parked behind his own, and spent some evenings listening to music and driving close to her foster home that she was addressed at. The foster mother had nine kids and had complained about the conduct of one asylum seeker, who had brought a girl from the school back to his bedroom. He once saw Dilan emerge at 8pm in jeans and coat, and followed her on foot as she walked into town and back to the asylum hotel. He walked back to his car outside the foster mothers and stayed there waiting for her to come back. By midnight he realised she was staying out for the night and so drove home. This was interesting… he doubted that Dilan was a virgin though this did not bother him so much. He was more interested in the dysfunctional nature of her life here and the fact that no alarm bells seemed to be raised by a thirteen year old girl leaving a foster home and spending the night in a hotel. The next day, he saw her in school with a large backpack, obviously full of her things. She had her school uniform on, the same coat as the night before, and smelled of cigarette smoke. He could not abide the smell, but knew that smoking was something Dilan would not be doing for much longer.

He knew that there were no easy options to obtain young sex slave for himself. He had so far been lucky with money, his home and his lack of nosy neighbours. He suddenly thought of his sister in Australia. She may never come home but if she did she may want to see her old house. This encouraged him to add a further point to his basement. He built a large horizontal door over the stairwell so that if one opened the door under the stairs under the hall, they just saw a well kept broom cupboard. The floor looked like a floor, except for a well disguised handle that could be pressed and then pulled up to reveal the stairwell underneath. He would tell his sister the basement had long been filled in and there was no way to get back down to it. It would also mean no nosy visitors who happened to open the broom cupboard would have any notion that there was a subterranean prison underneath them.

Dilan herself represented an easier target than the much loved and cherished girls who had extended families. He had known these girls’ families would raise hell if they disappeared and that the police would overturn every stone looking for them including checking dashcams, house door footage, CCTV, teachers and their stories. As a lonely bachelor he would be a prime suspect just because of this. Just a look through the right hard drive in his home, or through his cloud, would be enough to go to prison let alone widen the investigation which would inevitably find the sex dungeon and prisoner in his basement.

In the event he was caught, he told himself he would kill himself. Then again, he had once thought if he did not become a successful actor and instead led a lonely suburban life, he would kill himself. Could he do it? A life in prison for such a crime would be a sentence of misery and fear.

He researched the story of Natasha Kampusch. She had been kidnapped in 1998 at the age of ten and was held as a prisoner in the basement of her kidnapper Wolfgang Prilopil for eight years before escaping in 2006. Prilopil had held her in a soundproof basement. The police had even interviewed him about her disappearance and he lived alone just like Pembroke. The similarities seemed uncanny.

Prilopil had taken a ten year old German girl, whom he had carefully selected, and who lived an hour away. A stroke of luck had seen the young girl carry her passport on the day of her kidnapping, and the police had been forced to widen the search abroad. Pembroke was unnerved, his plan was to kidnap his own pupil. He felt nauseous at the thought of media attention and a widespread search. He wished he had taken Dilan back in September and feared she had made enough friends and connections that she would be missed. His whole plan was predicated on the constant talk of the asylum girls and boys vanishing without much fuss, but what did he know for sure? Surely these youngsters were showing up at their families. While the authorities might not know about them, if one of them actually disappeared from their families, they might raise hell.

Kampusch had escaped after being allowed outside to hoover Prilopil’s van while Prilopil had gone inside to take a phone call. Before this, he had taken her outside and allowed her to interact with other people and had even taken her skiing. While he had at first been strict about not allowing young Natalie outside of her basement, he had, as the years rolled by, grown complacent. Pembroke could imagine how the girl would have grown so obedient that he could take her to meet acquaintances, allow her out with him as a chaperone and fool himself into thinking only his presence was needed to intimidate her into stopping all thoughts of escape. He imagined Prilopil’s terror on the day she escaped. Presumably distracted by the phone call, he must also have heard the vacuuming continuing and believed Natasha was continuing her work. When Pembroke read about how Prilopil went back out and saw the vacuum still running and his girl vanished, well, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach in sympathy with Prilopil. The latter had committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a train while the police were looking for him, later that day. Pembroke knew he had to be prepared to do this too.

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