Abdul Hakeem motioned at the plate nearest her on the table. A luxuriant feast lay spread out before her.
"Eat, slave."
He didn't have to tell her twice. Starving, Keiko ate. The fare here was far better than the meager bits of corn, refried beans, and vegetables that the guards put in her dog bowl in her cell. She reached for a bratwurst. The smell of actual meat made her salivate. She could hardly believe her good fortune as she wolfed down not one, but two of the sausages on her plate. The following few minutes were marked by a surprisingly companionable silence as she and Abdul continued to eat.
Then, the enigmatic black man finally pushed away the last of his food. He gave her an appraising stare.
"You must have many questions, slave."
Keiko wasn't sure what to say. It was hard to know where to begin.
"Where am I?" That seemed as good a place as any. "What is this place?"
Abdul adjusted the dark-rimmed glasses on his face. His somber eyes were the opposite of sunny. A darkness and sadness clung to the lines of his mouth too no matter his facial expression.
"You might call this a way station of sorts."
"A way station?" She pushed aside her plate. Curiosity now eclipsed Keiko's hunger. "Can you... can you get me out of here?" she blurted, reverting to the most primal instinct of all -- fear and the need to escape.
Abdul Hakeem gave her a long look. It maddened her how unreadable he was. It was like she had met the man with the ultimate poker face.
"If you wish to survive in a place such as this, Slave Keiko, I suggest you learn better discipline. Do not waste a single act. Do not waste a single word. Do you understand?"
She wasn't sure she did, but she nodded, held her tongue, and waited for him to continue.
"This place is one of dozens on the outskirts of Tokyo. The man who owns it is the son of a powerful yakuza. His name is Takashi Saito. He collects young Japanese girls, trains them, and sells them to the highest bidder."
"Trains them?" Keiko couldn't resist. She hoped her outburst wouldn't anger Abdul, but the man let it pass.
"He takes them to places like this to first break them in. Clients of every ilk, from dirt-poor to the wealthiest 1%, come to 'sample the goods.' After a month or two, the more promising girls who haven't been sold yet are taken elsewhere for training. Some will be trained to be high-priced call girls and 'escorts' serving crime bosses and corrupt politicians the world over. Others will be sold to... well, one might say 'men of means with unconventional tastes.' Some don't survive the training," he noted darkly. "And some don't survive their owners." Abdul seemed to pause to let that sink in.
Keiko felt her heart skip a beat.
"Are you... are you one of these men?" she asked, afraid to hear his answer.
The black man took a sip of his wine, then put the crystal goblet back in its place.
"Yes and no," he murmured. Abruptly, though, his attention now diverted elsewhere. The rear double doors to the banquet hall were just starting to open. Keiko followed his gaze to the newcomer. A slightly overweight Arab man walked in. He was naked, just like Abdul, and he wore a heavy golden chair around his neck. He walked with a Japanese girl behind him. She was naked too, her wrists cuffed behind her.
"The one you see there, his name is Sheikh Muhari. He is such a man." Keiko noted the way the bald Sheikh approached a table nearby. The Japanese girl he had with him wore a metal collar around her neck. From it a chain dangled. He had been leading her on it as a leash, dragging the girl behind him. Now, pulling up a simple stool and shifting the chair aside, he took a seat at the table. The girl stood beside him as he ate, her eyes downcast.
Keiko took the time to take a good look at her. She was more lithesome than Keiko yet somehow more voluptuous too, her body proportions a study in contrast. The girl was much paler than Keiko too, with impressive bubble-like breasts, and the areolae of her nipples sported a color of lightest pink. Those innocent, expressive brown eyes matched her furtive, shy-seeming face. Her black hair flowed down to the middle of her back. None of those qualities were what fixated Keiko's attention and stoked her fears though.
The girl's 'adornments' did that. The Japanese slave girl standing beside Sheikh Muhari had a silver hoop dangling from each of her pierced nipples and another silver hoop dangled from the girl's pussy -- a horizontal clitoral hood piercing.
Abdul's voice intruded on Keiko's horror.
"The girl you see standing there, her name is Chiyoko. She came a few weeks before you did. It's been maybe a month and a half since Saito's people brought her in. Sheikh Muhari last night chose her as one of his new purchases. Tomorrow he will leave with the girl as his property."
It took all her effort to stop from shivering, but Keiko managed it. That poor girl. What would happen to her? As if Abdul had read her thoughts, he continued on.
"Sheikh Muhari has a reputation for brutality. He expects complete obedience from his girls and he enjoys demeaning them."
Keiko nearly jumped out of her skin as Sheikh Muhari now barked at Chiyoko.
"Get down here and suck my balls, bitch." Chiyoko hurriedly knelt between the fat man's legs. She began to suck gently on his ball sac, switching back and forth, the sounds of her slurping and softly sucking soon filling the banquet hall. The Sheikh continued to eat, oblivious to the girl's attentions, as if it were the most mundane thing to have a girl sucking one's balls in the middle of a meal. His cock turned rigid, engorged with blood -- but still the Sheikh ignored the slave ministering to his testicles. Those same testicles, hairy and covered in sweat, looked anything but appetizing.
At last, he grabbed Chiyoko by the hair and thrust her head away.
"Enough, bitch. Your ball-sucking skills could use some work. Now tongue my asshole."
Keiko blanched. She wanted to look away, but out of morbid fascination she continued to stare. The Sheikh pushed his stool away, stood beside the table and kept eating. She watched as Chiyoko now knelt behind him. Pressing her face between the Sheikh's ass cheeks, she began to flick her tongue into his wrinkled opening. It was appalling. Disgusting. Words could hardly describe the demeaning reality of the scene unfolding. Keiko looked away. The soft sounds of Chiyoko's ass-licking still drifted to their table though.
"Will that be my fate?" Keiko asked bitterly.
Abdul looked at her steadily. "That depends on you. I can give you a way out of sorts, but you must do exactly as I say."
Keiko looked at him carefully, trying to detect any sign of deception.
"Anything. I'll do anything you ask." What did she have to lose?
"Good," Abdul said. "Consider this a test. Follow my lead and obey me without question. Understood?"
Keiko nodded. She knew nothing of this man. Could she trust him? Given the kind of men who would frequent a sex slave ring, she seriously doubted it. And yet there was a sincerity in his tone and in his eyes that somehow coaxed out that desire to trust him nonetheless.
Abdul rose up and walked over to the Sheikh's table. Keiko followed. He then took a place standing beside the Sheikh.
"May I join you, Sheikh?"
Muhari nodded. "Of course, my young friend."
No sooner had Abdul begun to take a sip from a goblet of wine at hand, he motioned at Keiko.
"Get behind me, slave. My ass requires your tongue."
Keiko gaped, barely hiding her outrage. Was the bastard actually telling her to eat out his ass? She thought about slapping him. She thought about running. Keiko thought about doing anything except for the vile thing he had just demanded of her. In the end, though, she chose to play the long game. Practicality won out. With a shuddery breath, the naked Japanese girl knelt behind the imposing black man. Ever so tentatively, she began to flick her tongue into his anus. To her relief, he had showered recently judging from the smell of soap and body wash, but the task remained difficult to stomach. As Keiko's tongue caressed Abdul's asshole, she tried to listen in on their conversation.
"I see you've found a prospect, Hakeem. Is the cunt for you or for your father?" the Sheikh asked with amusement.
"For my father," Abdul replied.
"Pity," the Sheikh rumbled. "It is about time that you claimed a slave girl of your own, is it not?" The Sheikh laughed, a thunderous chuckle that shifted his bulky frame. "You are too much the Boy Scout, Hakeem. You do not have your father's streak for cruelty or his penchant for doing the harsh things that need to be done to succeed in this business."
