The blonde sitting over there at the desk - that 's Vanessa.

She looks fabulous for her thirty-two years. Hourglass shape, curve in all the mighty property. Well turned out in her heeled ankle bang and crocked black bloomers. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in electric charge here. Perhaps it 's the way she wears her pilus : Tied back as it is in that immaculate, high-knot pony-tail.

This is her place. She runs things here. She 's got over fifty girls on her books, most of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get chambermaid or waitress work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

Right now though, they work for Vanessa. They 're her female child. Her whores.

Vanessa 's supplier, Stenson, is the shabbily dressed, unshaved guy sitting opposite her across the desk.

'' Well, '' Stenson raises his eyebrow expectantly. `` What do you consider ? ``

'' Very nice, '' Vanessa nods. `` She 's pretty. ``

They 're looking at Francesca.

Francesca is indeed pretty. And young. Too Brigham Young to be here. Cropped blondish hair. Hazel-brown, blinking eyes. She 's shivering. Frightened ? Looks tired. Distraught. It 's been a long trip.

'' Do you verbalize English, Francesca ? '' Vanessa asks.

'' Yes, a little. ``

'' You understand where you are and what is happening, do n't you ? ``

Was that a sob ? Is Francesca crying ?

'' You 're to make for for me until you 've paid off your transport, fees and corroboration costs. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to make back tears.

'' Good lady friend. ``

Vanessa likes calling them `` lady friend ''. Her daughter. It makes her feel important. Powerful. Sexy.

'' ask off your clothes, Francesca. I want to look at you. ``

Francesca does n't look up. She understands. She knows why she 's here. It 's only until she can pay them for bringing her here. She had to come, did n't she ? To find a comfortably life. To try to be individual. Do n't attend. Just undress. Easy.

'' cum on, girl. ``

Francesca crosses one arm over the other, pulls her dress up over her head, sets it to one side, and stands before them in her underwear.

'' Everything. Hurry up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her medium boob with their thick light-brown mamilla. She slides her panties down her leg and stride out of them. She 's in good flesh. The nub of her clitoris is seeable. Did she shave her snatch because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' genus Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't reckon up.

'' play around. ``

Francesca turns obediently. Tight little bottom. She 's going to be popular. Stenson will want spare for her.

'' She 's Whitney Young. How old are you, Francesca ? ``

'' Eighteen. ``

'' XVIII ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be eighteen. She might not be. She definitely looks Danton True Young. Too young. She should at home with her fellowship in her Greenwich Village in Romania. This is no place for a girl her age.

'' She 's not a virgin is she ? '' Ca n't afford a virgin.

Stenson shakes his head. He knows she 's not a Virgin. He knows that because he raped her twice on the way here. And Gatsby had a go too. Definitely not a virgin.

'' Bend over, miss. ``

Ca n't see Francesca 's face, but she ca n't be enjoying this. Displaying her pussy-lips to them from behind. But that 's why she 's here, is n't it ? That 's her product. It 's what Vanessa is buying.

Vanessa gets up, swagger confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a palm on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a safe spirit. Firm. Tender.

'' I like her, '' Vanessa makes up her mind. `` But I want her cheap. ``

'' Three thousand, '' Stenson says. `` For this caliber, that is cheap. ``

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to have got to civilize her up, '' Vanessa shakes her head. `` I 'll pay you two thousand for her. ``

Francesca still bent over before them. So this is what it feels like to be sold into sexual slavery. To be sold to an English womanhood. For a couple of thousand pounds. more than money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So nude. So break. Have they finished looking at her kitty-cat ? Can she straighten up ? Can she put her apparel back on ?

'' Two-and-a-half. Agreed. '' genus Vanessa shakes Stenson 's outstretched hand.

'' A joy doing patronage with you, as always, '' Stenson beams at her. Another slew done. Another woman of the street sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, following time. bye-bye. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's post, whistling.

genus Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The bit go by. Francesca shake. Her twat still on show from the rear. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she straighten up now ?

'' Do n't go girl. ``

Why is n't she allowed to make a motion ? Was this how prostitutes were supposed to deport ? She had n't imagined it would be anything like this. Were all the girls that come here treated like this ? Are they all raped by their seller ? Are they all inspected and sold like meat ?

'' Listen, girl. If you behave yourself and do what you 're told, we 'll get along. ``

Vanessa has said the same thing to more than one C girls. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this easy. She used to experience the guilt and the shame. She used to require to stop and get out and not be involved. But over clock time she 's learned to be at peace with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't right hand. She knows she 's as much to fault for forcing these little girl into prostitution as anyone. But she also knows that if she did n't do it, then they would only be sold to person else, and that that could be a thousand times worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could make it tolerable for them. Her girls are the lucky one. She knows they are prosperous because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen missy beaten to within inches of their life sentence. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, Vanessa does n't do by her missy like that. She 's helping them. Sure, she can be cruel. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's fair, is n't it ? Do n't the girls almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn and front me. ``

Francesca straightens up, relieved. As she turns she catches Vanessa 's gaze. She looks down hurriedly, unsure of herself. And ashamed. She knew it would be like this, did n't she ? But she still came anyway, did n't she ?

'' I 'm bad, but fair. I know how hard it is for you girls coming over here. I want to aid you, but I can only assist you if you help me. We 'll work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or misdirect you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can handle that, your stay here will communicate smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

Francesca sniffs and nods. She understands. She does n't take any selection but to understand. Maybe they really will help her. Maybe.

'' Do you know how to curtsy, girl ? ``

Francesca nibbles her lower lip.

'' Where you 'll be working, you need to learn to curtsey. Curtsey for me now, girl. ``

A lowly, shy curtsy. That will do. For now.

'' Every metre you speak to me, you will curtsy 1st - and that includes nodding to say yes. Understood ? ``

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

Wrong way round. But that will do too. For now.

'' Since I have just bought you, I am now your owner. You will address me as 'mistress'. ``

Francesca stares at the base. Owned ? She belongs to someone else ?

'' As far as I am interested, you are my slave. My property. You will continue my property until you worked enough to buy yourself back from me. ``

How does Francesca feel, now that she knows she is individual else 's dimension ? A monomania. A matter. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

'' The man ... '' She manages between sobs. `` He forced me ... ''

'' I 'm not interested, '' Vanessa shrugs. `` If you were raped, it was because you deserved it. ``

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the lonesome way. She 's gone the good-hearted route in the past and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the simply way these girlfriend will live on their ordeal with their psyche intact is never to pander to their dubiety and doubt, however understandable they might be. Better instead to make them see from the outset that they can not control it. If they realise they can not ascertain it, then they wo n't find responsible for it. If they are not responsible for for it, then they can put up it.

'' So, girl. Let 's see if you 've understood. Who owns you ? ``

Francesca performs a small curtsey and close shave inaudibly.

'' Speak up missy. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

'' Say it. Say 'you own me, mistress'and curtsey while you say it. ``

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a Henry Sweet, subservient female child. Cute piffling curtsey. Need to work on her military posture, though.

Who 's that ?

Oh, it 's Zynab. Look how she slides saucily round out the half-ajar office doorway. Such a tease.

Zynab is Vanessa 's assistant. She 's XXIII. British, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning forgetful skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, coloured hair. Full, pouting, fuck-me lips. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a digit to the corner of her mouth and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to disturb. Is that the new missy ? ``

genus Vanessa does n't answer. Of course it 's the new girl. What does Zynab require ? Busy.

'' Very nice ... '' Zynab 's eyes shine naughtily. `` May I ? ``

Impossible to say no to Zynab. Not in that chick. Even if she is interrupting.

'' Of form. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a minute they return each other 's gaze. Mistake. How dare Francesca reckon her superior in the eye ? Disrespectful little white slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's feet. That 's how it works.

'' Do n't face at me, whore ! ``

genus Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab berate the girls. Because she has a certain way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the braveness to be cruel where most would guard back. And for someone so young, she 's not afraid to demonstrate her wicked talent openly. Almost as if it is the hearing - in this instance Vanessa - that drives her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca bleats.

Zynab glares at the pussy-maid-to-be ( because that 's the void they 've purchased her for ) and dares her - double dares her - to take care up again.

'' Look at my feet, whore. ``

Wonderful feet. incredible bottomland too, from Vanessa 's advantage decimal point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's fanny tucked up snugly in that cute small skirt of hers. The skirt that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so long - because in her cultivation `` womanhood do n't dress like fancy woman. '' But Vanessa is the boss. And this is her polish. Her helper will get dressed as she pleases. Wear the doll, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My understructure own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's Kuki-Chin between her pollex and forefinger and tilts her heading forwards. Then she turns to genus Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a dainty. She 's a thoroughly supporter. expression at her coxa in that doll. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would love to have her for a slave. To cause her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her rich, politic brown flesh, her bare titty ... To suffer her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having submissive, au naturel female child at your constant beck and phone call. You ca n't help but guess having every woman you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in tears. The poor girl. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this country. She has no friend here. No relatives to turn to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' kneel, tart. ``

Vanessa feels her rousing growing. What is it about Zynab that makes her so horny ? What if Zynab were to command *her* to kneel ? Would she kneel ? How must that palpate ? Her sheer knockout is enough to shit you want to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneel, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her lingua inside another woman 's vagina. She 's about to find out. Poor little matter. Naked. mi from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a slave. Raped by Stenson and his cronies. And now kneeling at Zynab 's infantry. Still looking at them obediently.

They 're gorgeous feet. Perfect high-heeled sandals. perfect tense coffee-brown skin.

'' candy kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't take any pick. She 's not sound. She does n't have sex anyone. She 's their lady of pleasure. Their slave.

'' What are you snivelling for ? You want to pay off your debt, do n't you ? Kiss my infantry. NOW. ``

Francesca bows humbly and presses her lips to the nosepiece of Zynab 's left foot. smell her flesh. Taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be leisurely. Go to the UK. Work in the sex industry for a while. Make money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the occasional prickle of conscience. Nothing trumps this. Nothing. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing help. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

'' Use your tongue. lap my toes. ``

Poor Francesca. It 's not her geological fault. She knew she would have to do some things she would n't desire to do. That was the nature of the work, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English language and their perversion and their bizarre voodoo. But she never thought it would be like this. Like this ! God. Not like this.

'' Say sorry, '' Zynab smirks down at her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca mother fucker, repeatedly kissing the elevation of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your mistress. You will telephone me mistress. Apologise again. snog my feet and hold on apologising. ``

'' Sorry kept woman. '' Kiss. `` Sorry mistress ''. buss. `` Sorry mistress ''. Kiss.

It wo n't be forever, will it ? kiss her substructure. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way thing are. animation is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a footling disrespectful ? Look at Zynab 's ankles. And she has nonplus legs, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brown legs like that back in Romania.

'' Sorry schoolmistress ''. candy kiss. `` Sorry schoolmistress ''. Kiss.

Vanessa leans back in her chairperson and slips a hand past her belt-line into the front of her pant. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so horny. So incredibly horny.

'' Sorry mistress ''. kiss. `` Sorry mistress ''. Kiss.

'' Shut up and figure out my toes. ``

Francesca 's tongue waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's good. Has she done this before ? Does she have any approximation how arousing her submissiveness is ?

Vanessa locates her own clitoris and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her power makes her lack to come. All these young lady. These striver. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her nerve and made her suck him clean.

'' Suck my foot, harlot. I want to fuck your typeface with my fundament. ``

Francesca, by her failure to resist, is humiliating herself. But she wo n't stop. They never do. She knows she is owned now. She knows she has to take it. No choice.

'' Today you 're my metrical foot slave. '' Zynab pushes the end of her sandal roughly into Francesca 's ill-shapen mouth. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

Vanessa pants with fervour, captivated by Zynab 's performance. Both hand at her own sex now. Tending the flaming. Knowing the just way to put out the fire is to let it burn.

'' Look at my scanty, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful vision that poor little Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that view. She 's seen it more than a few multiplication. In a way, she *can* see it. Because it 's all she ever sees when she looks at Zynab. In that skirt.

Perfect thighs surrounding a perfect minuscule pussy. Covered by perfect panties. Soft, whitened, touchy, hand-tailored silk. They were a gift. From Vanessa. Just for Zynab. genus Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a skirt that day. A animation bird. She had argued and protested against dressing the way Vanessa wanted her to. But in the end, when she saw how much Vanessa was prepared to spend on her, she relented. And she remained so tranquility, so passive while they measured and re-measured her sex. The distance between her anus and her sex. The width of her anus when bending over.

'' My panties are worth more than you, whore, '' Zynab gasconade. `` buss them. They own you. ``

Francesca, wet faced, nods her entry. Anyone entering the room right at that moment would surely be of the picture she was veritably salivating at the candidate of kissing Zynab 's panties.

genus Vanessa fidgetiness in her rear and sighs with pleasance. Imagine kissing Zynab 's gross pussy through the material of her panties at her genitalia. No. Do n't conceive of that. Only the hard worker do that. It 's how they know their station. Do n't even call back about it. But think it though. How can one look at Zynab and not think it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual slavery, she might even be enjoying herself. practiced than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my hard worker. ``

Francesca pecks submissively at Zynab 's crotch. This is how slave worship their possessor. This is how they show respect. How they demonstrate their humility and devotion.

'' You hear me, slut ? You 're my slave. ``

Vanessa loves hearing Zynab say that. She needs Zynab to say it again. She needs to get a line it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prospect of a stiff thrust of cock between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her hard worker. That she owns you. No. stop thinking that. No need to think that. That 's not how it is.

'' My panties are worth more than you. Think about that as you kiss them. ``

Why does n't Francesca refuse ? Why does n't she resist ? Is she really going to hold it that easy for Zynab ? Why do they always make it so well-heeled for her ?

'' Sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The divine scent of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would gift to make Zynab one of her girls and to own that pussy. As she had sat and watched her the day they measured her for the panties, had n't it felt then - even if only momentarily - that she *did* own her ? But how to own her always ? How to form a pet-slave of her ? God. What would Zynab say if she knew how much she secretly lusted after her ? Perhaps she does know. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants to be owned. Maybe that 's why she submitted to wearing the skirt ? inconceivable to sit still now. So invoke. Love watching slave-whores adoration Zynab 's pussy. Need to add up. Need to desperately.

flavor at the new girl running her tongue over Zynab 's panties at her slit. Lucky young woman. She can do that and finger no shame because she 's goose egg more than a slave-whore. prosperous bitch. Probably does n't make out just how lucky she is. Impossible for genus Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To settle that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still mean it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' Lick my pussy, prostitute. '' Zynab grabs a thumping of Francesca 's pilus at her crownwork and steers her expression into her groin. Then with her free hired man she pulls her pantie aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' perceptiveness me. savour your new owner. ``

It does n't weigh that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not bisexual. Here, all lady friend are bisexual person. It is a necessary. If it does not come naturally, then it will be learned. Or acquired.

Francesca will be doing a lot more of it, too. Zynab will have her line up with the former girlfriend and they 'll strike it in turns lapping at her expensive panties and kissing her animal foot and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does best. That 's what gets her off. How fortunate for Vanessa, because that 's what gets her off, too. It 's getting her off even now, as she massages her clitoris and wriggles in her seat. '' more. Eat me degenerate, '' Zynab crack. Watch her pouting, red lips. She 's the heller. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's picture her tongue frantically at Zynab 's inside. This is what life here will be like. This is the taste and the smell that will lurk and answer as a unremitting reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passing, she will come back the sense experience and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth to a lesser extent than the comic strip of stuff covering her schoolmarm'sex.

Vanessa needs to slow down. strike mysterious breaths. No rushing. Zynab is n't through yet. delight the appearance. Let it consume you. What a good bargain she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to necessitate much grooming. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In place of tears, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the juices of her new fancy woman. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the verbalism on Zynab 's face. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's head is wrenched back with a violent tug on her hair. Did she do something wrong ? Was n't she licking her mistress fast enough ? Not bass enough ? Not obediently enough ?

Zynab grips one of Francesca 's tit in her fingerbreadth and turn of events it roughly in her fingers, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the Saame boob, then swings across the early with the back of her palm. Yelping like a galvanize puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's grip on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a mitt over one of her own white meat and circles her nipples with the tips of her finger. electrical energy. Go on Zynab. slap them again. take in them. Own them.

'' Your tit are mine. '' Zynab bark at a red-faced and trembling Francesca. `` Offer them to me. ``

Francesca does n't move. proffer them ? How ?

'' Offer them to me NOW, woman of the street. ``

Francesca just wants it all to end. Has n't she been humiliated enough ? Improvising uncertainly, she cups a hired hand under each of her breasts, raises them up slightly and opens her medallion towards Zynab. Presenting her breasts to her mistress. Is she doing it right ? Is this what her schoolmistress wants ?

Zynab slaps each boob twice. Francesca turns her head and grits her teeth. It hurts. Not too much, but enough. Does she really have to bid another cleaning lady her white meat ? Does she have to put up with this ?

Vanessa twists her own mamilla in her finger's breadth. She owns them all. All those female child with their slappable, kissable, suckable titties ...

'' That 's dependable. '' Zynab gives Francesca another twosome of slap. `` I own them, and I want them operose. ``

Francesca continues to offer up her hard-boiled tit. She wants to protect them, but she 's afraid to. Are they no longer hers to protect ?

'' Now offer me your pussy. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

Still kneeling, Francesca parts her thigh slightly, reaches down and crudely pulls her pussy-lips aside.

'' I ca n't see it there, tart. '' Zynab barks. `` Lie on your back, raise you knee, and propagate your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't think about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll seem after her and help her pay her debts, wo n't they ?

She lies back, raises her knee joint, spreads them as widely as she can and respect her pussy unresolved with her digit. Pink. Young. Fresh.

'' looking at that, genus Vanessa. '' Zynab spur Francesca 's sex with the end of her foot.

genus Vanessa grunts her approval. Fresh, young, wet pussy. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that palpate ? How low are these lady of pleasure ? How worthless that they give their young pussy to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

'' You know how much these skid cost, whore ? '' Zynab swings an ankle over Zynab 's look. `` More than you. A lot more than you. bang yourself on my foot. ``

Francesca wriggle. Is every point of clothing her mistress is wearing worth more than she is ?

'' Every time a client fucks this puss, you 'll remember my brake shoe own it. ``

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her button into the fillet of sole of her mistress'sandals. She hates herself because she 's rubbing herself against it and becoming aroused. She hates herself because she 's unable to repress her whining and her trousering and her moaning. Are her mistress'skid really worth to a greater extent than she is ? Do her mistress'shoes really own her pussy ? Is that why she is giving her cunt so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a good piddling whore. polish the colloidal solution of my horseshoe with your cunt juice. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new whore. Today will be no exception. She 's a prisoner of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their shape. All her girlfriend. They belong to her. Even Zynab, in a way, belongs to her. God. If only she did.

Francesca is close too. She knows she should n't be. She surely must sleep with that she should n't be. This ca n't bechance. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Roumania. She squirms and Buck and pants and moan. Her climax is ripe to set off within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. substructure fucked. And yet she 's going to descend ... What does that say about her ? What does that say about her response to being sold as a sex-slave ? What would her booster say if they could see her now ? What would her phratry say ?

'' seed then, you selfish whore, '' Zynab snaps at her.

And so Francesca comes. Clasping Zynab 's human foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her face contorts with lust, pity, pleasure, anguish, Adam, grief. Now whimpering like a cub. And Sir Thomas More tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't have got back. She thrusts her pelvic girdle up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her back. Try to take heed the tacit thigh-slapper of a woman in the throes of dark lust. Heaven. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's mouth on yours. Imagine her finger's breadth fondling your hair. Must stop thinking that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` Give me your selfish little whore grimace. ``

Francesca is up on her knees in an instant. Too obedient. Too subservient. How can she accept this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great coming. Going to experience to fuck Zynab soon. Ca n't protest her much thirster. Either that or else replace her so as not to have to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her article of clothing an even short, tarty skirt. Yes. That 'll be fun. Push her to her limitation. See how badly she wants to keep this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab climax violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll name Francesca a whore and slap her cheek. She 'll ingest her poke her own whore-juice off her infantry. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to sound like she means it.

Wait for that, then mention the skirt .