In the basement, the expansion of the slave population was well underway. Srey, the Cambodian girl, was now in charge of the overseers. The Mistresses had streamlined the factory structure to peak efficiency: the four original Thai overseers each had their own ‘hunting ground’ within the various departments, and their ranks had been bolstered by six young girls.
The uncastrated slaves—strong men used for heavy lifting—were kept under constant, sadistic control. In the intervals between tasks, the young overseers demanded their privileges. A slave who spent the day hauling fifty-kilogram loads would crawl whimpering across the barracks floor at night under Srey’s whip, begging to satisfy her perverse lusts in the most humiliating ways imaginable. The stronger the man, the greater the thrill the girls felt in breaking him.
Yet, this work was not entirely without risk for the young ladies. Despite the presence of eleven overseers, the growing group of slaves was becoming increasingly difficult to control. Some uncastrated slaves came into contact with the truck drivers arriving to unload cargo, which heightened the risk of discovery. Communication was difficult, as the drivers were Chinese or Thai while the slaves were Cambodian or Burmese. Moreover, the drivers were always in a rush, yet any contact whatsoever was considered undesirable.
Loading and unloading operations—with the exception of the laundry—fell under Christiaan’s office. Deliveries were already continuing for sixteen hours a day and were soon to shift to a twenty-four-hour schedule. This process had to be kept completely separate from the uncastrated slaves. Christiaan’s three office staff worked in shifts from a secure, enclosed office that they never left.
The drivers would report there with their paperwork and handle the loading and unloading themselves. As a result, the paperwork was never checked against the actual cargo. Deng, Tik’s brother, noticed that the drivers *did* cross-check the delivered goods in the opposite direction. He mentioned this to his sister.
Despite their unorthodox—and, for him, unhealthy—relationship, they supported each other through thick and thin. Tik let him work on the loading docks. He began working increasingly long days there, which meant his sister took her aggression out on him less often. Deng had also spoken with Oh. She was extremely sadistic and cruel, yet intelligent. She knew that Deng was both Tik’s brother and her slave—albeit one with special status.
Oh realized that men could achieve nothing there. Those with status worked in the city office; she spied on these men, but they had never seen her, as her operational area was confined to the laundry. At Tik’s behest, Deng investigated the greatest security risk in the laundry. Many women and few castrated slaves worked there, so the risk in that regard was manageable. However, the heavy-duty slaves did sometimes come into contact with the truck crews.
The female overseers kept a close watch on this. They wore uniforms with pleated skirts and low-heeled boots, and carried batons and stun guns. They used these weapons frequently, even in the presence of regular staff. According to Oh, the greatest danger was that a slave might cause a scene and that word of it would spread. This realization sealed the fate of the uncastrated men; they would soon be silenced. After all, a previous, overly curious driver had already ended up in the basement.
The workdays were exhausting for Deng, but thanks to a clever organization of his tasks, the burden was manageable, and his apathy gradually faded. When the volume of trucks became excessive, he presented his sister with a detailed proposal for change. Deng loved his sister; she treated him like a slave, yet they had been having sex for years. At the same time, however, he began to develop feelings for Oh. She was flattered by this, but—calculating as she was—she immediately saw how it could work to her advantage.
Tik discussed her brother’s proposal with Parichat and raised the issue of the dangers in the basement. Together, they fleshed out the plan: loading and unloading operations had to be strictly separated using a new airlock system so that slaves never came into contact with outside personnel. This required structural modifications. To provide an official cover for the costs, they would cite the risk of industrial espionage regarding the electronics.
The laundry facility was already operating this way; work there was compartmentalized, and the laundry was collected by paid staff—primarily relatives of the female overseers. This move strengthened their standing within the families and reduced the risk of betrayal.
Tik also pointed out to Parichat that the number of overseers could not increase indefinitely due to management challenges. The entire system needed an overhaul. They decided to summon the other ladies for a high-level meeting.
Meanwhile, Parichat kept a tight grip on things in the world above. Her Dutch boyfriend, Christiaan, was so deeply entangled in her web of sex and finance that he was operating on autopilot. The constant fear of her physical and sexual humiliations had completely erased his moral compass. Like a robot, he signed the export papers, knowing that every container was filled with goods produced by the blood and sweat of castrated slaves.
Wannapah and Tou watched from the catwalk as Srey inspected a new batch of slaves. The machine was running flawlessly. The regular police didn’t even dare come near the factory anymore; the Mistresses were too powerful and too wealthy. Moreover, they had criminals at their disposal who would kill for them for a price. Millions flowed in every month, and thanks to Oh, the laundry business was now turning a profit as well.
With the expansion into the laundry business, the empire had reached the limit of its diversification. For a time, the laundry had absorbed the majority of new slaves, but that scaling-up had halted for the moment. The four Mistresses knew that an even larger facility would attract too much attention from the authorities. The focus shifted from growth to cold, calculated optimization.
The basement was now a closed ecosystem. In newly built industrial kitchens, cheap rice and fish scraps were boiled in massive vats—just enough to keep the hundreds of slaves functioning for eighteen hours a day. Medical care, too, was structured like routine machine maintenance. A trained overseer acted as the basement’s ‘doctor’. Her task was simple: for slaves with infections, the inflamed tissue was cut away extensively and cauterized, and/or the wound was packed with cheap antibiotics so they could immediately return to their stations at the machines.
The factory showed no mercy to those who were no longer profitable—whether due to old age, exhaustion, or missing production quotas three days in a row. They were selected for the execution platform without any bureaucratic red tape. Broken tools were destroyed immediately to avoid wasting precious food. Not long after, work was organized into teams. Team members became responsible for one another and were quicker to report each other, which significantly enhanced the safety of the female overseers.
The discipline of this well-oiled machine was put to a brutal test one afternoon. Srey was walking through the transport crew’s dormitories when an uncastrated slave—who had somehow managed to remain unchained—snapped. Driven by sheer desperation and humiliation, he lunged at her from behind and wrapped his calloused hands around her throat. But Srey had grown up in the rough frontier lands. She drove her fingers into his eye sockets with full force, wrenched herself free, and shattered his kneecap with a precise kick from her steel-heeled boot.
The uprising was over in seconds. The man lay writhing on the ground, surrounded by overseers with whips and stun guns drawn. It immediately became clear that things needed to be organized differently. Wannapah and Tou were on duty and were summoned; Tik was off.
“He’s yours—finish him off right now,” Tou told Srey. Srey relished the fact that she was being granted this power. Wannapah—just as cruel as Tou but more subtle, and always focused on profit—agreed with her this time. Yet Tou was becoming a problem with her impulsiveness; too many good slaves were dying or becoming unfit for work under her watch. Moreover, she was a bad influence on the other overseers, making them far too brutal.
Srey did not hesitate; she now had the right to kill. She had the man dragged by his shattered leg to the central hall, leaving a trail of blood across the concrete floor. In full view of the entire factory floor—now dead silent—she carried out the punishment. Using a heavy, lead-weighted whip, she systematically shredded his back until no skin remained visible. The man screamed in agony as Srey continued to strike with cold precision. Unable to stand, he had collapsed to his knees. She looped the noose around his neck and hauled him upright by it. She waited until he opened his eyes and stared death in the face. Without a flicker of emotion, she kicked the lever. The trapdoor sprang open. A deathly silence instantly descended upon the cellar. Not a single slave moved; with heads bowed, they mechanically resumed their work.
The torture chamber in the cellar reeked heavily of leather, sweat, metal, and the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood. Two strong men knelt side by side on the ice-cold concrete floor. Their wrists were bound behind their backs with thick, stiff leather straps. Their tense torsos glistened with the sweat of fear, while thick, purplish-red welts from earlier punishments already burned across their backs and buttocks.
Overseer Oh paced slowly between them. Her heavy boots clicked against the floor with a chilling regularity. In her right hand, she held a heavy, braided black leather whip, its tip still damp from recent use. She wore a skimpy, tight top and an ultra-short leather skirt that accentuated her firm, bare thighs. She was deliberately wearing no underwear.
“You both failed,” she said softly, almost tenderly—a tone that made her cruelty all the more terrifying.
“One too slow, the other too arrogant. We are going to correct that now.”
She planted her boots in front of the first slave, a broad-shouldered transport worker. Without warning, she struck. The heavy whip flashed through the air and cracked loudly across his shoulder blades. The man let out a raw, stifled cry and his entire torso arched, but the tight straps held him on his knees.
“Count,” she sneered.
“One… Mistress…” he groaned.The next blow landed mercilessly lower, striking his bare buttocks with full force. The leather cut deep into the skin, which instantly split open in a thin, swelling line where dark blood began to bead.
“Two… Mistress…”With cold, mathematical precision, she dealt him another six brutal blows. She deliberately targeted the most sensitive, nerve-rich areas of his buttocks and back—striking just hard enough to break the skin while leaving the underlying muscles intact for the heavy work ahead. By the eighth blow, the man was trembling all over. Tears streamed down his cheeks, yet he kept his head bowed.
Oh turned toward the second slave. He was younger and leaner, and his breathing was terrifyingly rapid from having watched the scene.
“You got to enjoy his pain,” she whispered, slowly dancing the tip of her whip across his bare back. The leather grazed his shivering skin—a sadistic prelude.
“Now it’s your turn. And I’m not in a merciful mood today.”
Without warning, she struck with devastating force. A heavy blow landed across both shoulder blades, and he screamed out. A second blow followed immediately, lower down on his kidneys, instantly succeeded by a third deep across his buttocks, raising thick, bluish, swollen welts. She dealt him twelve blows. Slowly. She deliberately paused to savor his gasping for breath and the way his muscles contracted in agony. By the end, his head hung limply forward, strands of saliva dripped from his mouth, and his back had been transformed into a bloody landscape of deep, split-open flesh wounds.
“Now,” she said, her voice husky and heavy with sexual arousal.
“Your mouths.”She took her seat on the low leather couch, spread her legs wide, and hiked her skirt up beneath her breasts. Her wet, fleshy slit glistened lustfully in the harsh fluorescent light. Using the blood-smeared tip of her whip, she nudged the first slave’s chin upward and beckoned him closer.
“You first. Tongue inside. Deep. If you go too fast or are too rough, I’ll add another fifteen lashes. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” he stammered, his lips trembling. The man leaned forward eagerly and pressed his mouth against her exposed crotch. His tongue slid wildly between her swollen labia, seeking out her clitoris and beginning to swirl feverishly around it. She sighed deeply, grabbed his hair with her free hand, and—with brutal force—pulled his face deeper into her wet juices. She kept the whip at the ready. Whenever his rhythm didn’t suit her, she let the leather lash down mercilessly onto his already raw, broken back. He flinched and whimpered in pain, yet sheer terror drove him to lick even more intensely, deeply, and vigorously—exactly as her sadistic desires demanded. After several minutes of intense stimulation, she roughly yanked him away by his hair. Moisture—her own juices mingled with his saliva—dripped from his chin.
“Switch,” she commanded, rolling her eyes. The second slave shuffled forward, trembling, and was immediately clamped between her taut thighs.
“You go harder. Shove that tongue in until you’re practically choking. Suck!”
He obeyed blindly. His tongue bored deep inside her, while his lips sealed tightly around her clitoris, sucking powerfully. She moaned loudly; her hips began to jerk wildly, and she openly rubbed her wet crotch against his face. Meanwhile, she lashed out viciously with the whip at the first slave’s buttocks—forcing him to watch while his own hard cock stood uselessly and painfully erect between his legs.
“Watch closely,” she commanded, reveling in the dual stimulation of pain and pleasure.
“This is how you serve me. I tolerate no half-measures!”
Her orgasm was near. Her thighs clamped around the second slave’s head like a vise; her hand clawed so deeply into his hair that she nearly smothered him against her burning vulva. Her breathing grew short, sharp, and ragged. As the intense climax washed over her, she pressed him against her so fiercely that he gasped for air and his eyes rolled back. Her abundant juices streamed over his mouth, cheeks, and chin. She held him in an unyielding grip until the last satisfying shivers had ebbed from her body.
Only then did she let him go. Both men knelt before her, breathing heavily, their mouths glistening with her fluids, their backs burning from bloody welts. The young overseer stood up, coolly adjusted her leather skirt, and looked down at them with an air of superiority. Her eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated power.
“Follow me. Crawling.”
The men, still tightly bound, were tethered to a short chain. They were forced to crawl on hands and knees behind her, all the way from the dark cellar back to the ground-floor laundry—a segregated facility staffed by many women and few men. It was a terrifying spectacle of total dominance and dehumanization: a seventeen-year-old girl in tight leather and high heels, followed by two naked adult men—covered in bloody welts, bruises, and her bodily fluids—crawling like dogs.
As they left the torture chamber and moved through the central cellar corridor, a deathly silence reigned. The slaves there had just witnessed a brutal public execution. Oh saw the fear and the deathly hush, and that absolute power instantly aroused her again; she felt the wetness trickling between her legs once more. With a few vicious cracks of her whip, she urged her two bleeding human dogs to crawl faster toward the laundry.
This extreme display of absolute power was beginning to draw the attention of Tik and Wannapah. They were watching her closely; Oh had to be removed from Tou’s vicinity quickly, before she could beat the entire slave population into a state of irreparable ruin and destruction.