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In search of Sophie 9

10679 words | 0 |4.67
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Sophie Yildiz is a vulnerable young girl who makes terrible decisions and falls victim to dangerous predator, Edward Pembroke

Chapter 41
“Fucking refugees, there all young men, no women and children I tell you!” Ms Grimshaw was on her third pint, making another racist tirade with her fellow teachers in the pub after another hard week.

“It is frustrating to see, I think the women and children are left behind, there should really be a way we can help them directly come to the country, I can understand why they think its dangerous” replied Edward Pembroke, carefully sipping his second pint. He was indeed very interested in helping vulnerable young females enter the country illegally.

Not being of foreign extraction he had resigned himself to not being able to indulge in what he saw as a potential goldrush of young flesh which must be there for the taking along the migrant routes of Europe.

He had given up on taking a young girl from the UK, it was just far too dangerous with the growing awareness of online dangers, greater virus protection and developments in computer forensics. English girls were among the most protected species on the planet now!

Pembroke set up a fake website, making it look like an official organization called “UK Refugee Headquarters.” He created fake profiles of attractive young men and women and added text in Arabic, English, and French to make it seem legitimate. The site featured fake testimonials from Muslim women and phony lawyers.

Pembroke’s target audience was desperate families seeking a better life, who wouldn’t question the site’s authenticity. He knew they lacked the education and resources to verify its credibility. He made sure the website’s IP address was untraceable, adding to the illusion of legitimacy.

Unfortunately for Pembroke, the vast majority of refugees were young males. But every so often he would come across examples of young women and daughters who seemed completely desperate but very weary and did everything through wily negotiators.

Communication was done via email and text messenger. Pembroke avoided anyone who seemed to have any serious education or talked about actual lawyers or professionals, or who mentioned they had family ready to help the process.

As a potential people trafficker, Pembroke had one ace up his sleeve, the bona fide UK passport of Linda Hillal, Sophie’s cousin, who he had stalked previously. This legitimate document became his trump card, a ticket to deceive immigration authorities and traffic individuals into the UK.

In addition to Linda’s passport, Pembroke procured a batch of counterfeit passports. While these fakes appeared passable to the untrained eye, they lacked the authenticity of Linda’s document. Only those naive to the workings of passports would be fooled by these cheap imitations.

With Linda’s passport in hand, Pembroke could facilitate the illegal entry of individuals into the UK. However, there was a cruel twist to his scheme: only someone who resembled Linda—a young Middle Eastern teenage girl—could successfully use the passport. Any attempts by family members to use the inferior counterfeit passports would inevitably lead to failure, leaving the intended victim stranded and alone upon arrival in the UK.

Pembroke spent hours on his laptop every evening after work sifting through potential applicants, most of whom were either timewasters, or became suspicious very quickly, or who were families who had no teenage girl with them.

Pembroke found the whole thing quite tedious, though having Sophie suck him off as he waded through the desperate but decidedly unappealing applicants did make it more pleasurable. While most of his hunts were unsuccessful, there was at least some fun to be had with stalking girls in shopping malls, online chatrooms, and at schools or hacking into their systems. This was just boring, and he very rarely even saw pictures of the potential victims so was unsure how he would know if a target would even be worth it.

Yasmin Talebani, a 40-year-old mother, held her 14-year-old daughter Darya tightly, both of them overcome with tears. How could they continue? It was a bitter, freezing February morning in 2016 when they received the devastating news: their beloved Leyla, the radiant light of their lives, had tragically drowned in the Aegean Sea.

They were stuck in a refugee camp near the Turkish-Greek border, unable to cross into Europe for months. Leyla had managed to escape to Germany years ago, a beacon of hope for their family. Yasmin had been immensely proud of her; Leyla had mastered German and tirelessly aided refugees, volunteering with a charity to ensure their safe passage across the Aegean. Her absence now left a chasm of despair.

The Talebani family had endured unspeakable losses in the Syrian civil war, losing brothers and Yasmin’s husband. As Syrian Kurds, they saw no future of peace in their homeland. Yasmin was overwhelmed with grief and faced a devastating choice: to surrender to despair, to languish in the wretched cold of the camp, or to return to Syria, to the clutches of her despised in-laws and extended family.

But amidst the agony and loss, Yasmin couldn’t bring herself to give up. Leyla’s memory, her sacrifice, fueled a flicker of hope within Yasmin’s heart. How could she betray Leyla’s legacy by surrendering to despair?

The two single women dressed conservatively in hijab, hoping to avoid unwanted attention in the camp. They were wary of the traffickers who promised them safe passage, especially after the tragedy that befell Leyla and the stories they had heard about other girls. Yasmin did not trust the Pakistanis and Arabs who seemed to be organizing, their leering gazes unsettling her and her daughter as they cautiously approached.

Yasmin had not been educated and used her daughters basic English to help her as they tried to navigate websites online on her smartphone.

Yasmin idly came across “Refugee Headquarters UK” and Yasmin looked at their site. They looked legitimate, the CEO, a Saira Khan, looked like a kind woman, and decent muslim. Without much expectation, she and her daughter composed an email on the site, explaining their situation and asking for help.

Pembroke lounged in the basement, perched upon his latest creation—a peculiar contraption resembling a toilet seat integrated into his workstation. Stark naked, having just indulged in carnal pleasures with Sophie, he now turned his attention to reviewing website inquiries.

Beneath him, concealed within the modified toilet seat, lay Sophie’s head. A hidden compartment allowed her to rest her head and extend her body diagonally beneath the seat, her face positioned to protrude from underneath. It was a grotesque seat, designed to facilitate Pembroke’s perverse desires. It allowed Pembroke to comfortably sit on her face as she lay casually underneath. She was not restrained in any way, she simply knew that if she did not comply, she would be beaten and thus constantly ran her tongue along the ass crack occupying her entire vision within the confines of the toilet seat compartment.

Pembroke read the sorry tale of the Talebani family, now down to just two female members. Pembroke sent back a formal email outlining their services, two thousand dollars per passport which included flights and half would be payable up front. It was actually incredibly generous, but, Pembroke thought, not cheap enough to arouse suspicion. He wanted to catch the truly penniless in his honeypot and did not want to price them out.

Idly he also asked them about poor Leyla, as his organization were always keen to support fallen volunteers who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

A response was received a few minutes later with a link to Leyla’s social media and a commemoration of her life with charities. Pembroke let out a gasp, and Sophie felt his anus dilate on her tongue and guessed he must like whatever he was reading or looking at.

Pembroke read the profile and the links related to the deceased Leyla Talebani, each one gushing about her wonderful personality, or lamenting her tragic fate, from dozens of friends. Pembroke, however, grew a repulsive fascination that eclipsed any semblance of empathy or respect for the departed. To Pembroke, Laila’s humanitarian efforts, her noble sacrifice, and her untimely demise were mere footnotes compared to the objectification of her body.

What truly captivated Pembroke were the images of Laila in swimsuits and revealing attire, showcasing her youthful beauty. Despite the circumstances, he shamelessly ogled her, dissecting every curve and contour with a perverse gaze. The sight of her slender frame, ample bosom, and shapely legs fueled his depraved desires, a macabre dance of lust over the tragic death of a once vibrant young woman.

In Pembroke’s twisted mind, Leyla’s death was not a tragedy but an opportunity squandered, a waste of what he saw as nothing more than a beautiful object to be possessed and consumed. His callous disregard for her humanity, was matched only his eager desire to know more about her fourteen year old sister and how he might be able to help her.

Pembroke sent back a heartfelt message feigning compassion to the Taelbanis and said that as allies in the refugee struggle, they were now determined to help the family of such a wonderful spirit as their sister Leyla. He asked for their headshots and descriptions to match any passports that they may be able to get for them.

Pembroke’s quick reception of Darya and Yasmin’s headshots sparked a twisted sense of satisfaction within him. Yasmin’s stoic, weathered features hinted at a life marked by hardship and resilience, while Darya’s youthful innocence radiated from her cherubic face. Pembroke’s gaze lingered on Darya’s image, drawn to her hopeful smile and undeniable attractiveness, he saw how she resembled her beautiful older sister.

“Sophie, come up here and look at this.”

Sophie was glad to get out of the stuffy sweaty confines of the seat compartment after spending half an hour stuck in Pembrokes asscrack. She breathed in the relatively clear air of the basement and sat on his lap as he fondled her and pointed to the pictures of Leyla Talebani.

“You see that girl? So lovely, don’t you think? Well, she’s dead. Yes, yes, so very sad. Drowned in the sea helping people. But she has a younger sister! Think of this girl like your Jenny! See how attractive she was … a pity she is shark food now” he laughed as Sophie stared sadly at the screen. This girl looked like she had enjoyed and made the most of her short life, at least.

“Remember you found me so ugly before I captured you, now look at her, you cannot deny she is beautiful, and look at her sister…”

Leyla looked at the small headshot of Darya. “This could be your new cellmate! She looks like her big sister, so just imagine…” he clicked back to Leyla… “licking every inch of that body hmmm? imagine yourself like one of those fishies in the sea, eating away at her right now haha”

Sophie was used to his sick sense of humour, and had heard so many boasts of girls who he was soon going to kidnap, but none of them ever were caught. While she felt sorry for this girl, she did not really think it would happen.

Nor did Pembroke, it was a long shot, but he might as well give it a go, if this didn’t work out, he would finally throw Linda’s passport away and try something else.

“OK, more admin to do, come on Sophie, back under my ass, I need a nice tongue in my hole if I am going to keep saving the world’s refugees!”

Later, Pembroke arranged a short video call. Yasmin and Darya received notice from Saira Khan that Henry Forquahar, their lawyer, would take the call, and use translation services during it, to advise them what would happen next.

Yasmin and Darya were nervous ahead of the meeting. They both dressed and brushed up in their most formal attire they thought they had, and both appeared at one of the webcam conversation while they saw the lawyer, Mr Forquahar, in suit and tie, appear on their tiny screen.

Forquahar was, of course, Edward Pembroke. He explained to them that the charity had been able to procure some passports for the two of them and could deliver them at Istanbul Airport. All they had to do was pay a thousand dollars and he would organise the flights and send the passports over and his organization would meet them at the airport in London.

Pembroke was annoyed when he was told they needed a few weeks to get the money. He wanted to just waive it there and then and get them (or one of them) over asap but could not reveal his impatience and so said, warmly, that this was fine, in English while typing the same in Kurdish through the translation app.

For Yasmin and Darya it was a gamble, they could either be conned or fall into traffickers’ hands or escape the uncertainty of a refugee camp and a war that had claimed most of her family. For Pembroke it was a gamble that her cute teenage daughter would maybe not be attractive enough for a fat old 56 year old to want to fuck and that he might lose a stolen passport that had not proven much use anyway. He smiled, the risk was all the Talebani’s, he could relax.

Yasmin Talebani’s desperation clawed at her soul, driven by the fervent hope that her daughter Leyla’s tragic death would not be in vain. She took on every odd job she could find, scraping together every penny she could muster.

In moments of unbearable desperation, Yasmin found herself forced into unspeakable acts, prostituting herself to men for the sake of a few extra coins. The shame of her actions weighed heavily upon her, leaving her wracked with guilt and self-loathing. She shed silent tears in the solitude of the night, masking her anguish from Darya, her precious daughter, the only family she had left.

She envisioned a future in the UK, a new beginning where she and Darya could find solace and security. In moments of doubt, she summoned the memory of her other deceased daughter, drawing strength from Leyla’s selfless sacrifice.

For Yasmin, every ounce of shame and every sacrifice made was a small price to pay for the chance to see Darya thrive in a safe and prosperous country.

Yasmin finally got five hundred dollars which she sent to the account given, an untraceable anonymous payment method Pembroke had used to rent vans and other equipment. She sighed as the money went through, remembering the awful things she had done to get the money together.

Pembroke had tempered his expectations and so was pleasantly surprised to receive the five hundred dollars. He did not really have any use for it, and so decided to splash out on some luxuries.

He purchased a PVC body bikini for Sophie with an obscene mask, resembling a gas mask, which hid all the features of her face including her eyes and mouth, and also a new torture sleeping sack, in which the victim would be immobilized and unable to feel anything on their skin, which would, from what Pembroke had read, make them feel like their body had disappeared or was weightless, leading to insanity. He was always keen on these types of torture on Sophie to gauge her reaction, and chuckled at the irony that poor Yasmin may have inadvertently paid for her daughter’s future torture equipment!

“Mama, are you sure about this? Why are we not on the same flight?”

Yasmin was nervous but wanted to hide it from Darya. Mr Farquahar had explained to them that two separate flights had been booked to avoid the airport system detecting the two passports together. Although this refugee charity seemed like good hearted people, they were breaking their own laws to bring them into their country.

The passports were picked up from a delivery outlet at Istanbul airport, along with their tickets. Darya’s flight would leave tomorrow at midday and Yasmin’s would leave at 6pm. Darya would meet Mr Farquahar at the airport and they would wait for Yasmin at a centre nearby for Yasmin’s flight and they would all then claim asylum together with him as their lawyer.

“Don’t worry, Darya, this is safer than getting on a boat. I am sure Leyla is up there looking down on us, guarding us, along with Papa, and Bilal and Mohammed” referring to the rest of their family, victims of war and tragedy.

“Now Sophie, I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but you might be spending your last night as the only girl in my basement!” Pembroke cheerily greeted Sophie in her cell as he brought her food along with a package. “Here is a present, I want you to try it on, its a bit different, but might look a bit sexy and if we do have a new guest tomorrow I want you to look special for them! We want to provide a nice welcome, you remember how hard it was for you?”

Sophie thought back to her kidnap, the shock, the horror, and the crushing realization that she would not escape. “Yes daddy.”

“Well it will be hard for this girl, so you need to work with me to provide a good welcome. Go on try it on…”

Sophie looked at the obscene outfit and slipped off her panties to get into it. She fervently prayed that Pembroke would be caught in this latest kidnap attempt, and she could be free.

It was a Saturday morning and Pembroke had again rented a van, with fake number plates and the bondage paraphernalia he had used on Sophie. He put on his finest suit and drove off in the direction of Heathrow airport.

Darya and Yasmin clung to each other in a tight embrace, tears streaming down their cheeks as they stood in the bustling airport terminal in Istanbul. The unfamiliar surroundings of the airport spoke of a world they longed to be a part of, yet one that felt impossibly distant. The security guards stood as silent sentinels, a barrier separating them from the civilized world they so desperately yearned for.

As Darya prepared to pass through security, Yasmin felt her heart constrict with fear and anticipation. Neither of them had ever set foot on a plane before, and the prospect of leaving everything they knew behind filled them with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

With a mixture of apprehension and determination, Darya, or ‘Linda Hillal’ presented her passport at the gate. As she disappeared beyond the threshold, Yasmin felt a surge of pride and longing wash over her. “See you in London, mama!” Darya called out, her voice echoing through the terminal.

Yasmin smiled through her tears. With a trembling hand, she blew a kiss to her daughter, silently willing everything to go smoothly, praying that in a few hours they would be reunited in a new life, together in the UK.

Pembroke received a text from Yasmin. Her daughter had gotten through security. He put his foot down on the accelerator and into the fast lane of the motorway. The web was set!

Chapter 42
Pembroke parked as close to the arrivals as he could, but it was still a long way away. Everything was ready, the pre payment cards to pay the parking, the new taser gun, the box, and restraints. His white van was pristine but was a white van, what would Darya think?

And what would happen if Yasmin actually got through? For one thing he should probably use more fake passports and make proper money from this venture, he chuckled. He would then just have to deal with the consequences that Yasmin would be on British soil arguing with immigration authorities here and demanding that her missing daughter be dealt with.

He also had a portable modem and his laptop. Everything about his fake organization would soon be taken offline once he had Darya taken care of.

Sophie sat in her cell, unable to concentrate on her new book, Far From the Madding Crowd. She looked at the obscene costume and wondered how her life would change, from relative quiet and solitutde to having to share everything with another human, including all of Pembroke’s depravity. She had almost wanted to beg her ‘daddy’ to keep her alone and not bring another girl into their world.

But her darkest fear was that something would happen on his ‘mission’, he would never return and she might be trapped down here, starving to death, for weeks if no one else knew she was here!

Pembroke checked himself in the mirror, the fake beard, the glasses, the expensive and elaborate suit would all serve to impress Darya, and hide his identity from any CCTV footage.

Darya had been terrified about taking off on her first flight. The plane was full of people from all over the world, and she marveled at mingling with individuals she imagined to be rich and famous. As the plane descended, she looked out at the green countryside of England. She felt a rush of excitement about the future and was thrilled to be in this new and foreign land. She only wished her mother was still with her, and hoped she would have the same feelings she did.

Darya’s stomach was a knot of nerves as she used Linda Hillal’s passport to get through security. She thought she looked nothing like this girl though there were similarities. Outside, Pembroke sat in his van, hoping that she would not be stopped and deported. Ironically the immigration authorities’ investigation might be much more effective in tracking him down than any missing child hunt.

Pembroke eventually walked to the departures area, holding up a sign that read “Linda Hillal” as agreed. He felt incredibly vulnerable; the sign could identify him if the police were looking for someone connected to the stolen passport, or alert anyone who might recognize him and later link him to Darya.

He was starting to sweat, and tried to imagine how he would talk to Darya, and allay her concerns, trying to remember the basic Kurdish phrases he would use as an introduction.

Darya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders as she was waved through with Linda’s passport. She walked down the corridor, realizing there would be no more security checks from now on, and she soaked in the atmosphere of cheerful homecomings and excited tourists in the arrivals lounge.

Pembroke had already spotted a few candidates who might be Darya, but they all walked past him. Then he saw Darya walking towards him. He held up the sign and his breath as she came closer.

Barely a wisp of a girl, her beauty was untouched by the trials she’d endured. Her dark eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes, sparkled with a nervous energy that only heightened her charm. When she smiled, a pair of adorable dimples dented her cheeks, transforming her hopeful gaze into pure sunshine. A simple olive green headscarf, artfully draped to reveal a single glossy raven-colored curl cascading down her forehead, framed her heart-shaped face. The worn leather satchel swung lightly at her hip, the only companion on her trek to a new beginning. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, scanned the bustling crowd, searching for the welcoming face that signified a new life. She spotted his sign saying “Linda Hillal,” waved, and came over, her face radiating happiness as she recognized the kind benefactor who had helped her family.

“Mr. Farquahar?” Darya’s voice, lilting with a foreign accent, rang out across the arrivals hall. Her eyes, the color of melted chocolate, shone with a happiness that seemed to defy the long journey she’d just endured.

“Yes, Darya, it is I!” A kind smile creased Pembroke’s face. “I am so very pleased to meet you. Welcome to England!”

Darya couldn’t contain a shy smile. The cacophony of the airport—the rhythmic rumble of luggage carts, the multilingual announcements, the excited chatter of fellow arrivals—somehow felt like a welcoming symphony. It was a far cry from the tense silence that shrouded her life in the freezing camp. Here, in this bustling, safe world, possibilities bloomed like vibrant flowers. She felt a sense of security settle over her, a stark contrast to the constant fear that had become her norm. And Mr Farquahar seemed like the epitome of the kind English gentleman, whom she had only seen in movies, like a kindly grandfather or uncle.

“Bi xêr hatî Engilistanê.” Pembroke struggled to pronounce the welcome and Darya giggled. “Is OK, I speak English a little!”

“Excellent, haha but do not worry we have interpreters nearby at the centre, have you been stopped by the police?”

“No, they allow me enter, no problem!”

“Good, good, well we can now go to the center nearby where we will meet the rest of our staff, and then we will wait for your mother, she should be here later this evening and we can approach the police together to make a request for asylum. I do hope your mother’s trip goes smoothly!”

“Can I talk with my mother?”

“Yes, yes! Let us go to our transport first, walk with me please!”

Darya, with a newfound lightness in her step, followed her Mr Farquahar out of the airport, her heart brimming with hope for the future.

God she really was naive, Pembroke thought, but this must be so reassuring for her, all these police, and of course she was traveling on a fake passport! She must fear the police more than anyone, especially after her experiences in Syria. Little did she know that she should be screaming at them to help her, he smiled to himself.

He struggled to think how Leyla the older sister could have been so educated and yet her mother and her sister so clueless, even if Darya was only fourteen.

They walked out to the car park and for the first time, young Darya felt some unease. Pembroke’s initial legal jargon had run out of steam and she wondered why he was alone. They were far from the airport crowds and the white van looked just like the vans driven around her native Syria. It did have some coverings and a stick-on picture of children playing with the slogan “Protect the Refugees.” She had expected a limousine or something more substantial. But she could still see people everywhere, carrying suitcases and families babbling to each other.

Darya had very few frames of reference, she could run back to the people or get in the van.

Pembroke sensed her unease and brought out his phone, with pre-paid credit. “Why don’t you call your mother while I drive you to the centre, it’s just over there…” and he pointed to a building vaguely in the distance.

Darya was grateful to speak to her mother, remembered her fear of the boats taking the refugees on the oceans, and climbed in to the van.

“Here, try this!”

He drove off, and let Darya work her phone. She looked around the van, it looked clean but sparse. There was an empty wooden box in the back and she wondered what was going on.

Pembroke listened to the babbling Kurdish as he drove off, through the parking area, and onto the main road. He noticed Darya was guarded, and obviously her mother was telling her to be careful, but she was also distracted enough to not notice they were not going towards the building he had gestured to.

As Pembroke drove along out of the airport, he took the first side road he knew of which was quiet, comprising only of stockyards empty on a Saturday. He tried to hide his nerves, he could sense the girl getting more suspicious by the second. He scanned behind him and in front of the lay-by, there was no one there.

He had given her limited credit and patiently waited for the phone call to end as he drove around. When he heard the beeps, signalling the call had ended, he expressed concern.

“Wait, I will put in more credit.”

He drove to his selected spot, and slowed the van to a halt.

He reached into his side pocket pretending to look for credit for the phone. “Can you pass me the phone?”

Darya, preoccupied with thoughts of what she was going to say to her mother before the call was cut off, handed the phone over without much thought. Her mother had been talking about an aunt in London who she had just gotten in contact with, who had offered to meet her in the airport. Her mother had been discussing an aunt in London who had just contacted her, offering to meet Darya at the airport. The aunt, an elderly woman, had missed earlier messages because she was on holiday and had told Yasmin she would meet them at the airport as she did not trust these refugee people. Darya was about to inform her mother that they were heading to a refugee center and the aunt could meet them there. Her mother, concerned, had been asking who else was with Mr. Farquahar and was about to warn her to be cautious when the credit ran out.

As Darya handed over the phone absentmindedly, she saw Mr. Farquahar pull out another device. He took the phone in one hand while his other hand aimed the device at her stomach. Darya looked at it curiously, but before she could react, a violent jolt of electricity surged through her body, sending her into convulsions.

Her muscles contracted uncontrollably as pain and panic overwhelmed her senses. Her vision blurred, and she fought to understand what was happening. Pembroke’s face remained impassive as he continued to press the taser against her. Her screams were choked off by the electric shocks coursing through her.

Pembroke had practiced this move with Sophie, watching her crumple to the ground. He had felt sorry for her and tried to limit the practice, but it was vital to test the taser on another human being. The last thing he wanted was to have to physically fight Darya to subdue her.

Pembroke looked around again and saw no one approaching. Satisfied that they were alone, he pulled back Darya’s seat and dragged her limp body into the back of the van.

As she began to regain consciousness and scream, he swiftly cuffed her hands and ankles. Panic surged through Darya, but before she could react further, Pembroke grabbed her by the throat and held a knife inches from her face.

“Eger tu deng derdixînî, tu dimire,” he hissed. “You make a sound, and you die.”

Darya initially hadn’t known what had happened. She had thought she was having a heart attack—was this what it felt like? She blacked out and came to, finding her wrists and ankles tied in the back of the van. Farquahar was no longer the besuited gentleman she had trusted. His suit and shirt were disheveled, and he was sweating as he forced a gag into her mouth. His face, previously gentle and polite, was now twisted into the red visage of evil.

The knife glinted menacingly before her eyes, and she stared at it, terrified.

Darya’s heart pounded in her chest, fear coursing through her veins. She could feel the roughness of the gag against her lips, the cuffs biting into her skin. Pembroke’s cold eyes bore into hers, devoid of the kindness they once held.

Her mind flashed back to the moments before the attack, the brief phone call with her mother, the mention of her aunt in London. Pembroke’s earlier politeness had been a facade, a mask to lure her into a false sense of security. She was kidnapped!

With his prey immobilized, Pembroke returned to the front of the van and pulled back the curtain. He saw a group of workmen approaching. Quickly, he grabbed his phone and pretended to argue with someone on the other end. He could hear the muffled murmurs of Darya in the back, and prayed the men wouldn’t notice anything amiss, given his disheveled appearance and the fake beard that was about to fall off.

“You can’t park here, mate!” one of the beefy, muscular men shouted as they passed.

“Yes, I know, sorry—damn emergency. I’m off now, thanks!” Pembroke replied, trying to sound exasperated but calm. He revved the engine, desperately trying to drown out the sound of Darya’s moaning that the workmen might hear. The noise caught their attention, and they stared at him with suspicion.

As he drove off abruptly, the van lurched forward, and Pembroke saw the workmen exchanging puzzled glances in his rearview mirror. “Fucking asshole,” one muttered as they continued on their way.

Heart pounding, Pembroke navigated through the roads, constantly checking his mirrors to ensure he wasn’t being followed. He needed to find a safe place to regroup on the way. The encounter with the workmen had been a close call, but lady luck had shone on him, he was thrilled with how easily he disabled and tied Darya up, reliving his smooth aim of the taser in his mind with pride.

In the back of the van, Darya strained against her bindings, the reality of her captivity sinking in. This was her darkest fear, traffickers! But how, this had all seemed so legitmate! Where was she being taken?

Pembroke stopped at an isolated park, scanning the area to ensure no one was watching before parking the van. He took Darya’s phone, switched it off, and threw it into a small pond. He kept the SIM card, planning to dispose of them in drains later.

After confirming there was nothing else of interest in her satchel, Pembroke moved to the back of the van to check on his captive. Darya lay there, trembling in her long black robe that covered jeans and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. He frisked her thoroughly, finding only some jewelry and nothing else of concern.

Satisfied that she had no means of communication or defense, Pembroke took a moment to compose himself. Darya’s wide, terrified eyes followed his every move, her mind racing with fear and confusion. In the back of the van, her terror grew as he changed out of his suit. She had never seen a man any where close to naked before and as he crouched in just his underpants, she prayed that he would not rape her.

But Pembroke was methodical and efficient, and disciplined enough to know this was not the time. He changed into workmen’s clothes with a high visibility jacket, and new glasses. As she watched him put his suit and fake beard into a bag, Darya despaired at how easily she and her mother had been fooled.

Pembroke stepped outside and swiftly ripped off the refugee-themed stickers and webbing from the van’s exterior, changing the number plates once again. Satisfied with the disguise, he returned to the van and wordlessly opened the wooden box. Tears streamed down Darya’s face as she surrendered to the dark captivity, feeling like she was being buried alive. Pembroke closed the lid over her, sealing her fate within the makeshift coffin.

Driving off, Pembroke’s mind raced with adrenaline-fueled thoughts. An hour later, he stopped again and checked his burner phone, finding missed calls from Yasmin. He quickly texted her back, assuring her of Darya’s safety and well-being. He then brought out his laptop and portable modem, meticulously removing his website offline and any online trace of the organization.

At a nearby cafe, Pembroke disguised himself as an ordinary workman and grabbed a coffee and sandwich. Despite his appearance of normalcy, his mind was still reeling with the enormity of what he had done. He disposed of his rubbish, including the dismantled burner phone and SIM cards, before checking on his captive in the box to ensure she was still alive.

Meanwhile, Yasmin grew increasingly concerned as she failed to contact her daughter. The texts from Mr Farquhar offered little reassurance, and conversations with her aunt only heightened her anxiety. Why had the woman chosen now to surface with this information? Yasmin wished she hadn’t, longing for the simplicity of ignorance. As she approached security for her flight, her heart raced with uncertainty.

What happened next unfolded exactly as Pembroke had meticulously and deliberately planned. When Yasmin’s passport was scrutinized at security, it was immediately flagged as fake, bearing the name of a wanted terrorist. Panic seized Yasmin as she realized the gravity of the situation—she would not only be turned away from her flight but arrested on suspicion of terrorism!

Little did Yasmin know, Pembroke had intentionally chosen the name of a wanted terrorist to ensure she would be out of the way, incapacitated by authorities while he executed his plan with Darya. As Yasmin pleaded desperately for her innocence, her words fell on deaf ears. The security officers, fueled by suspicion and protocol, were unmoved.

Yasmin’s world crumbled as she was handcuffed and escorted away. She was charged under terrorism laws and denied access to legal representation for the next seven days as she was incarcerated in a women’s prison.

Seven days. Not only had she missed her flight, but she would also be unable to contact Darya for a whole week. The thought of her daughter’s worry and uncertainty tore at Yasmin’s heart. She could only hope and pray that Darya was safe and okay in London, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around her.

Pembroke would never know if his plan worked or not, he never had any intention of waiting for Yasmin’s flight, and he had severed all communications with her now. It was late at night as he pulled into his home, hoping nobody would think anything of a white van, and he was still nervously thinking of the worst-case scenario, that Yasmin was at Heathrow airport and pleading with the police about her missing daughter.

Pembroke gazed at the wooden box in the back of his van, memories of past captures flooding his mind. With practiced efficiency, he retrieved the dolly and carefully wheeled the box upright, its contents shifting abruptly with the change in orientation. Inside the box, Darya felt herself tossed about roughly, her heart pounding with fear and disorientation. What awaited her beyond the confines of her wooden prison?

Closing the garage behind him, he took in the paraphernalia he had used. As Pembroke heard the muffled murmurs and cries emanating from the box, he left it in a spare bedroom and made his way to check on his mother, who lay in her bed, attended to by helpers. Closing the garage behind him, he took in the paraphernalia he had used, the reality of his actions sinking in.

In the privacy of his own home, Pembroke changed his clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over him.

He could not believe it had worked! He only wished he had a way of checking on Yasmin. He had been comforted by a lack of news on Sophie’s disappearance, but with Darya, there was no way to know if she was missed or not or if Yasmin had alerted UK police.

If his plan had worked, Yasmin would still be in Turkey, maybe even in prison. If so, then Darya really was without any chance of help!

Pembroke made a trip down to the basement. Sophie sat up, she reminded herself to commiserate with her daddy if he had failed to pick the girl up, she remembered the cruel beating he had given her when he seemed to detect some satisfaction from her when he revealed previous failings in his plans.

But he seemed very happy, in fact radiant, as if he was a professor who had just invented time travel.

“Sophie, I am so pleased to announce … you are going to have a new younger sister!”

Sophie was shocked. She did not know what to say and her face was agape.

“Haha, I can see you are excited! But not half as excited as this girl will be, we are going to welcome Darya now, of course, she is upstairs, still with her outside world clothes on! She is tied up in the box. I will bring her down here, now it is important she gets a good reception, something to welcome her into her new world!”

Sophie did not respond. Her own world was upside down, another human? For the first time in years?

“Now, I want you in that outfit, I will get you in the mask, come on!”

Pembroke helped Sophie out of her panties and vest, almost ripping them off her in excitement. Pembroke noticed how tall Sophie was compared to Darya, she was of course nearly three years older, and looked much more adult, especially in the black latex PVC knickers and bra.

he mask was unlike anything Sophie had ever seen before. Its design was elaborate, containing a bit that pressed against her teeth, effectively silencing her. The exterior covered all her features, rendering her unrecognizable to anyone who might see her. Yet, through the mesh covering the eyes, Sophie could still see, albeit with limited visibility, as if through sunglasses. However, from the outside, her eyes remained hidden, adding an extra layer of anonymity.

The mouthpiece resembled that of a gas mask, and combined with the bit gag wedged in her mouth, it restricted her ability to speak, leaving her only able to breathe heavily. “You look and sound like Darth Vader!” Pembroke chuckled.

The only semblance of humanity visible on Sophie’s head was her fiery red hair, pulled up into a large ponytail at the top. However, the rest of her head was encased in black plastic, rendering her appearance utterly inhuman, which is how Pembroke wanted her to appear to Darya.

The mask was held in place with a padlock, preventing Sophie from taking it off.

“Now, Sophie, I want you to say something, anything…”

Sophie’s attempts at speech were futile, reduced to mere moans behind the confines of the mask.

“So you cannot speak? Nod your head if you cannot speak…”

Sophie nodded in confirmation, her neck movements restricted by the mask.

“Excellent. And can you breathe okay?” Pembroke’s inquiry pierced through the silence.

Sophie nodded once more, though the effort was accompanied by a hint of struggle. Despite the limitations imposed by the mask, she managed to convey her ability to breathe, albeit with some difficulty.

“Wonderful, you look terrifying Sophie, my God this young girl is so innocent, I think you will scare her more than me! And that is that you must do! The sooner she accepts submission the easier this will be for her!”

Pembroke motioned for her to adopt a naru pose.

“I want you to be like this when she comes in. I do not want you to help her in any way, she will be begging you, she will see you as an ally, but you are not, you are going to help me ease her into her life here, remember?”

Pembroke’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm as if orchestrating a joyful musical rather than the degradation of a terrified kidnapping victim.

“Now, it’s very important you obey me. Just know that I know best, okay? It’s going to be upsetting,” Pembroke’s expression shifted to one of feigned sadness, though his eyes betrayed a sense of sinister determination. “But it must be done. I am sure this girl is going to be very traumatized, but it’s just something we need to overcome, and it will all work out in the end!”

“Now, drink this bottle of water, I need you to be ready to pee for me, on my command.” Pembroke winked at her. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fun!”

Sophie remained in the basement, her body tense as she knelt on the floor, her palms turned upwards on her thighs in a gesture of submission. With Pembroke’s departure, the basement fell into an eerie silence, the only sound echoing the steady noisy rhythm of her own breathing through her mask, echoing within the confines of her mask. Soon, a third human would come into the basement.

Chapter 43
Pembroke changed into just a thong and his dressing gown. He dimmed all the lights of the house, and dragged the wooden box into his bathroom. Opening it, he saw the crumpled black gown writhe around and she faced him. Her eyes squinted in the bright bathroom light, but did not hide how scared she looked. She did not smell good either, she spent hours in a box after flying a thousand miles, and had no chance to go to the toilet,

Pembroke relished her discomfort and prepared himself for the next step. He lifted her out of the box and into the bathtub. “You keep still -’bedeng bimine’!”

Darya was now used to the light, and watched him disrobe into just a ridiculous looking thong, showing off his large, hairy and repulsive body. His face had seemed pleasant in a suit as a kind uncle figure, but now the double chins and jowels, the red cheeks and balding grey hair made her want to throw up. She had never seen a man naked, she had been so sheltered, and her lack of experience with mala anatomy left her totally unprepared with the sight of his hairy belly and chest and thick legs. What lay beneath his black thong seemed to her to be the stuff of nightmares.

Pembroke produced a knife, and started to cut through her clothes. The black gown was first, then her cute Mickey Mouse T shirt disappeared into shreds. Darya cried loudly when her upper body was left exposed and she felt his rough hands run over her skin. She shut her eyes and prayed it would stop, that someone would save her. Pembroke continued, and took his time to slice through her jeans. She was left in just bra and knickers which soon also were ripped off and left in a black bin bag with the rest of the shreds of her clothes, to be discreetly disposed off as soon as possible.

Pembroke turned the shower on, deliberately setting it to cold. Darya screamed from behind her gag as the jet of ice hit her, and Pembroke washed away all the detritus and unpleasantness, forcing her onto her stomach parting her cheeks and pushing the shower head into her. Darya waved her head around manically and bumped it against the taps, almost knocking herself out, but it did stop her screaming and she was just reduced to soft painful gasps of pain as Pembroke completed his task. He started to enjoy himself as he soaped her down, her skin was so soft and clear. Light brown but so dark compared to that of Sophie. Her body was much more petite, and like Sophie she had little body fat outside of her pert little buttocks and budding breasts. She had a dark thatch of black hair between her legs and under her arms which would have to come off eventually, but not now.

He grabbed a sleep mask and put it over her eyes. He towelled her off, and attached a new spreader to her ankles to replace her cuffs, which was elasticized and allowed her feet to move about a foot from each other, so she could take short steps.

“OK, now we go to your new home, darling. Time to meet your big sister. Welcome to the rest of your life!”

She barely came up to his shoulder as he marched her in front of him, turning off the bathroom lights and guiding her through the darkness. This would not be a good time for guests, he thought, as the large man in a thong guided a blindfolded naked girl, her ankles and wrists cuffed, through the hallway.

He guided her into the stairwell and down the stairs. “Where, where are we going?” she stuttered. “To your home, where you will spend the rest of your life” he responded in a deadpan manner, hoping she would understand all the words.

He opened the doors and cage, and he was delighted to see the figure of Sophie, in the submissive naru pose, out of her cell in the middle of the basement. She was in her black bikini but what grabbed his attention was the mask. She looked like a mixture of a pony with Darth Vader, her masked face looking impassively at him through the dark impenetrable screen. The rising and falling of her chest gave away the palpitations that bounced around within her.

Sophie could not believe it. It was a real live girl, that her captor had brought in. She was naked, and looked to be younger than her, with her hands cuffed behind her back and a gag and blindfold in place. Even with her eyes obscured she looked like she was crying, her face red and tear stains falling down her cheeks. The darkness of her skin next to Pembroke’s white flesh and her tumbling black locks spoke of her middle eastern ethnicity. She actually did remind her of her cousin, Linda, whose passport Pembroke had used to lure her into this trap.

Pembroke left the girl standing there, terrified, as he closed the doors and turned on the monitor. It revealed text which Sophie did not understand, but which was Kurdish Arabic. It was accompanied by a female robotic voice.

The cinema screen played scenes of lesbian sex, with the rolling subtitles continuing to carry the text message. The words sounded very strange to Sophie, but made terrifying sense to the poor frightened blindfold naked girl who heard it.

“Darya, your old life is gone. You are now in your new life. You will never see or hear from your family again. You will spend the rest of your life in this dungeon until you die.”

“Darya, you are here to serve your new father, who you will call “Daddy” he who has brought you here. You will obey his every command without hesitation no matter how painful or distasteful it is to you. He owns you, body and soul.”

“Darya, you are here to give pleasure to Daddy. Your beautiful body will serve him in every sexual way possible. You may never reject him. Daddy is going to punish you very harshly for disobedience or failure to serve him sexually. Get used to using your body.”

“Darya, you have a new sister, Sophie. You will have sex with her too and spend the rest of your life with her. You and Sophie will not be friends, you will be lovers, and you will serve Daddy together.”

“Darya, remember that this is your new life now. You are a sex slave to Daddy. Obey him and think of sex, always. There is nothing else but this, and nowhere else for you. No one will exist for you, except for Daddy and Sophie.”

The voice continued to recite the messages on a loop. Pembroke took the blindfold off Darya, who jumped in shock at the sight of the sex dungeon.

What seemed normal to Sophie and Pembroke was, of course, utterly disgusting. There were naked pictures of Sophie on the walls, including some of her in her normal clothes, pre capture. There were various instruments of sexual torture including the St Andrews Cross, the saw horse, ropes dangling from the ceiling and other delights. There was a clear glass cell, built for a prisoner. But what shocked Darya the most was the other person in the basement besides Pembroke, a woman in a shiny black bikini, kneeling submissively and facing her with her head concealed behind a black mask, making her look like a horse. The eyes were hidden behind a bug like screen and the front extended like a gas mask. Plumes of red hair sprouted from the top of the mask, and coupled with the pale white skin were the only clues that Sophie was there.

Sophie felt broken hearted as she saw the girl look right at her in fear and scream. Pembroke took her gag out, and she started babbling and crying.

“Please … help me … no … MUMMY!! … HELP … Please don’t hurt me, LET ME GO! LET ME GO!”

“Be quiet, BEDENG BE”! shouted Pembroke after he had tired her of loud pleading.

“No… “ Darya continued to scream and shout in Kurdish, her feet stomping up and down as much as the length of ankle cuffs would allow. She tried to shuffle past Pembroke to get to the cage door, and Pembroke just looked at her with amusement, watching her little bum wiggle as she tried to open it with her mouth, and then turn her wrists from behind her back to try something.

Pembroke knew violence was unavoidable as a deterrent, and with a reluctant sigh grabbed her hair and pulled, flinging her back across the basement floor. He was pleased to see that Sophie barely flinched.

“Do not help or comfort her, Sophie, you only do what I tell you to, OK?”

Sophie felt her tears sting her skin within the mask as she continued to watch the poor girl pick her self up and start screaming again, while Pembroke grabbed her hair and lifted her off her feet.

Pembroke loved how light she was, much lighter than Sophie! He flicked her little tits as they jiggled while she was suspended in thin air. Darya screamed as her hair pulled against her skull, until her let her go and she fell onto her face. Giggling, Pembroke slapped her upturned ass, the slap reverberating around the room.

“NOO … MR FARQUA…” The girl started to plead, and cry even more. Pembroke stood impassively. She began babbling again in Kurdish.

“Silence. Obedience. BEDENG BE! GULIBER!” Pembroke wanted her to shut up.

The girl started to sob, wondering what was going to happen. The voice continued to drone calmly, telling her of her horrid new life she was being forced into.

“NO … NOT ME … Please … I no want this … I WANT TO GO HOME!!!”

Pembroke casually swatted the side of her head with the back of his hand, and could not believe his own strength as she flew to the side off her knees.

“Now Sophie, are you ready for a piss?” Pembroke asked her as casually as if for a cigarette, despite the bizarre request and the outrageous scene.

Sophie could not speak, and merely nodded.

“Excellent, now Sophie, all those exercises, your toned stomach, look at that little girl, I think you could take her in a fight, don’t you?”

Sophie continued to breathe heavily, her chest rose and fell violently as her breath was restricted by the mask.

Pembroke took a step towards Sophie, over the prone and groaning body of the girl.

“I asked you a fucking question, Sophie, can you take her down in a fight?” He glowered at her.

Sophie panicked and nodded. Was this a fight to the death?

“Good. Because if you don’t do what I tell you to do, you are going to be spending the next few hours with Ronald the rat in your torture sack. This little girl has just been beaten up, she has her hands tied behind her back and her ankles tied together. You’re nearly seventeen and she is fourteen. You can overpower her! I want you to take those knickers off first, then attack that girl and hold her down so you can sit on her face. If you can’t do that, then it’s rat time for you, OK?”

Sophie felt her heart about to burst, she had never had the rat inside a sack with her before, she genuinely believed he would do it! Pembroke knew it too, her heaving breasts were up and down like waves thanks to her agitation, he did not need to see her facial expression!

“Here is some assistance for you, Sophie.” He picked Darya up, and lightly jabbed her in the stomach. It was light for him, but Darya doubled up in pain, severely winded.

“OK go, grab her by the hair first, and bring her over to the shower area, it’s easier to clean up the piss. So that three litre bottle of water you drank, I hope you haven’t been pissing because I want to see it all come out of your pussy into her face!”

Sophie got up, and pulled down her knickers, which had gripped onto her skin. Darya looked up through the pain, and saw this strange creature taking her knickers off and walking towards her. Was this some ally or another evildoer?

Sophie gently took her by the elbow and she followed her to the shower area. She pushed her to the ground, and then straddled her. Pembroke had been disappointed by her lack of fight, but grinned when Darya suddenly moved like a worm as she saw that Sophie was trying t position her pussy over her face.

“NO … NOOOO…!” Darya was a little fighter! She struggled free and got to her feet and Sophie desperately grabbed her hair to pull her back down.

“Come on Sophie! I’m rooting for you!” Pembroke was laughing at the scene.

Sophie struggled to breathe with the effort, and to deal with the desperate girl who was clawing at her mask. Darya was more terrified of this being was it a human or a devil? Was she dead? In hell?

Sophie dug deep threw her over her knee and back on the ground, and grabbed her wrists, pinning her down. She pushed her hands to extend them over her head, as she shuffled forwards, bending forwards to lean on top of her hips. Darya’s hands behind her back pushed her pelvis forwards and she could only kick to try and get out of position.

“Excellent Sophie, you have her! Now let’s see that piss flow all over her face!”

Darya’s kicks became more futile as she could not kick up to where Sophie was, and she turned her head to the side to not have to look at the vagina and anus staring at her, oddly hairless. She had looked at her own vagina in the mirror but the smells and sights centimetres from her nose made her want to throw up. Suddenly, she saw the labia lips part, and a golden flow of liquid splashed directly into her eyes.

Pembroke cheered as he heard and saw the piss flow out of Sophie into the face of the helpless girl. Sophie’s mask hid the utter shame and disgust she felt for herself as she did this.

Darya coughed and spluttered and tried to close her mouth but her nostrils became blocked and to breathe she had to open wide, letting more piss into her windpipe. Sophie heard the coughing and saw fizzing liquid pool around her soaked hair.

Darya thought she might die, and in desperation, after what seemed like minutes, she bit into Sophie’s thigh.

Sophie screamed as much as she could through the mask, and fell off Darya. She grabbed her thigh and pointed to the bite mark as if to plead with Pembroke that it was not her fault. Pembroke laughed, it had been worth it. The girl turned to her side, coughing and trying to control herself in a puddle of urine.

Pembroke approached her, and slapped Darya again across the face as she fell back to the spot beside Sophie. He took his own cock out, and began pissing over the rest of Darya’s body. “Bedeng Bimine – stay still” Pembroke’s calm demeanour, as the piss sprayed over Darya’s tits and stomach, made her resign to the situation and she lay back and cried as the spray hit her body.

“Excellent, well done Sophie. Now I think Darya here needs some alone time. I am going to put both of you in the cell. Are you OK?”

Sophie nodded through the mask but was anything but.

“Good, now I will be watching later and I do not want you to comfort her or anything. Stay aloof.”

Pembroke locked them both in the cell. Sophie had put her knickers back on, and felt relatively clean but the piss was all over the floor in front of them and Darya was coated in it. She was still cuffed at her wrists behind her back and at her ankles,

“Good night you too!” Pembroke smiled and left them.

Darya recovered herself and thought of her position. She was in a clear glass cell with a … thing … in some sexy costume and a mask that covered her, looking like some kind of minotaur. She would not or could not speak and had just pissed all over her. The stench of piss was overpowering.

The only sounds now were from the bright screen showing the explicit pornography, which Darya had never seen before. She looked at the women lick each other’s pussies, and then at the thing in her cell, remembered her pussy on her face. The voice … the commands … she was a sex slave, the thing of her nightmares!

She wished she could use her hands, she felt so sore from journey and the beatings. She wondered about her mother. Would she make it to England? How could they find her here?

She tried to look at the masked woman, to find any humanity. But she just sat there, not moving, not saying anything.

Earlier today she had been in Turkey with her mother, but safe. Then she had flown on a plane for the first time, and experienced the most wondrous experience at the London airport, the start of a new life. All that … to fall to this hell … Would all this be a dream? Had the plane crashed? The nauseating smell and the revolting imagery stopped her thinking this was a dream. This was real, but she was in hell.

Pembroke showered and checked his charges on the monitor. He saw Sophie, in her mask, sit impassively while the girl cowered in the corner of the cell a few meters from her. She was curled up in a ball, probably crying.

He had checked the news and could find nothing about a Darya or Yasmin Talebani going missing. He hoped that Yasmin was back in Turkey, ideally in a prison cell. He reflected on an excellent day’s work, feeling like a God. He had doubled his sexy flock! He went to bed exhausted after a long arduous day, dreaming of the day to come tomorrow, when he would continue to break his new slave in.

Like her daughter, Yasmin was also in a cell and could not sleep with stress and worry. Had Yasmin known that her situation was far better than her daughter’s she would screamed with sadness. Yasmin had been interrogated for hours and was now with ten other women in a cramped bunked bed cell. The officers had no interest in her daughter and thought it a tall tale. It was very convenient that her daughter had taken an earlier flight. And so nobody was searching for a Linda Hillal or Darya Talebani in Turkey or England. Yasmin could only pray that her daughter was safe and sound and she would hear from her on her release.

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