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.