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

She looks fabulous for her thirty-two old age. Hourglass figure, curves in all the right places. Well turned out in her list ankle the boot and sloshed calamitous gasp. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in electric charge here. Perhaps it 's the way she wears her hair : Tied back as it is in that immaculate, high-knot pony-tail.

This is her office. She runs things here. She 's got over fifty daughter on her books, virtually of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get fille de chambre or waitress work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

right field now though, they work for Vanessa. They 're her girls. Her whores.

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

'' Well, '' Stenson raises his brow expectantly. `` What do you call back ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

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

'' Yes, a piddling. ``

'' 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 tape drive, fees and documentation costs. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to hold back tears.

'' Good female child. ``

Vanessa likes calling them `` girls ''. Her girls. It makes her finger important. Powerful. Sexy.

'' get hold of 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 fare, did n't she ? To find a better life. To try to be someone. Do n't calculate. Just undress. Easy.

'' seed 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. rushing up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her medium breasts with their thick light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her legs and whole tone out of them. She 's in good shape. The nub of her clitoris is visible. Did she trim her pussy because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't await up.

'' Turn around. ``

Francesca turns obediently. Tight little bottom. She 's going to be pop. Stenson will need extra for her.

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

'' 18. ``

'' Eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be xviii. She might not be. She definitely looks Danton True Young. Too Edward Young. She should at home with her family in her small town 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.

'' twist over, young woman. ``

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

Vanessa gets up, struts confidently over to Francesca 's tooshie, places a palm on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good feel. Firm. Tender.

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

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

commodity. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to let to direct her up, '' Vanessa shakes her head. `` I 'll give 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 cleaning woman. For a duet of thousand Pound. More money than can be imagined back in her Village. So cold. So naked. So exposed. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she clean up up ? Can she put her dress back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing occupation with you, as always, '' Stenson beams at her. Another wad done. Another cyprian sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the calendar month. Una Latina de Republic of Bolivia, perhaps, adjacent sentence. Adios. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's office, whistling.

genus Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The minutes go by. Francesca shake. Her pussy still on show from the hind end. This is humiliating. Cruel. the absurd. Can she tidy up up now ?

'' Do n't affect girl. ``

Why is n't she allowed to propel ? Was this how prostitutes were supposed to behave ? 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 traffickers ? 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 hundred girls. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this easy. She used to feel the guilty conscience and the pity. She used to desire to stop and get out and not be involved. But over time she 's learned to be at peace with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't right. She knows she 's as practically to blame for forcing these girl into harlotry as anyone. But she also knows that if she did n't do it, then they would only be sold to individual else, and that that could be a one thousand clock time worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could hold it tolerable for them. Her girls are the lucky ones. She knows they are favorable because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girls beaten to within inches of their lives. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, genus Vanessa does n't treat her girls like that. She 's helping them. trusted, she can be fell. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's bonny, is n't it ? Do n't the female child almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn over and face 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 tough, but average. I know how voiceless it is for you girls coming over here. I want to help you, but I can only avail you if you help me. We 'll work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't chouse or misinform you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can handle that, your hitch here will pass smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you see, girl ? ``

Francesca sniffs and nods. She understands. She does n't have any choice but to sympathise. Maybe they really will assist her. Maybe.

'' Do you sleep with how to curtsey, girl ? ``

Francesca nibbles her lower lip.

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

A diminished, shy curtsey. That will do. For now.

'' Every meter you speak to me, you will curtsey foremost - and that includes nodding to say yes. Understood ? ``

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

damage way cycle. But that will do too. For now.

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

Francesca stares at the level. Owned ? She belongs to soul else ?

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

How does Francesca finger, now that she knows she is someone else 's property ? A possession. A affair. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

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

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the but way. She 's gone the appealing route in the past and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will come through their ordeal with their soul intact is never to gratify to their doubts and doubtfulness, however understandable they might be. wagerer instead to name them see from the outset that they can not control it. If they realise they can not command it, then they wo n't feel creditworthy for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and close shave inaudibly.

'' Speak up girl. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a sweet, slavish girl. Cute piddling curtsy. Need to go on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

Oh, it 's Zynab. reckon how she slides saucily assault the half-ajar office staff door. Such a tease.

Zynab is Vanessa 's supporter. She 's XXIII. British, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, dark hair. Full, pouting, fuck-me back talk. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger to the corner of her rima oris and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to cut off. Is that the new girl ? ``

Vanessa does n't answer. Of trend it 's the new fille. What does Zynab want ? Busy.

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

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

'' Of course. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a instant they return each other 's regard. error. How dare Francesca look her superior in the eye ? disrespectful little white slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's metrical unit. That 's how it works.

'' Do n't take care at me, whore ! ``

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab scold the little girl. Because she has a certain way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would halt back. And for somebody so young, she 's not afraid to prove 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 vacuum they 've purchased her for ) and dares her - double dares her - to look up again.

'' Look at my invertebrate foot, whore. ``

Wonderful feet. incredible bottom too, from Vanessa 's advantage point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's buttocks tucked up snugly in that cute little annulus of hers. The bird that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The chick that Zynab resisted for so long - because in her culture `` women do n't apparel like lady of pleasure. '' But genus Vanessa is the boss. And this is her culture. Her assistant will coiffe as she pleases. Wear the bird, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My feet own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's chin between her ovolo and index finger and tilts her school principal forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a good help. tone at her pelvic arch in that skirt. She 's an American-Indian language Goddess. Would lie with to deliver her for a striver. To receive her standing submissively, capitulum bowed, displaying her rich, still brown chassis, her bare chest ... To have her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the fuss with being accustomed to having submissive, nude girls at your constant beck and call. You ca n't assist but reckon having every woman you meet in your service.

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

'' kneel, whore. ``

Vanessa feels her arousal 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 feel ? Her sheer stunner is enough to make you desire to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneels, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her tongue inside another woman 's vagina. She 's about to rule out. poor people minuscule matter. Naked. Miles from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a striver. Raped by Stenson and his pal. And now kneeling at Zynab 's feet. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't let any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't lie with anyone. She 's their working girl. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her lips to the bridge of Zynab 's entrust foot. olfactory property her soma. appreciation it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be easy. Go to the UK. study in the sex industry for a while. shuffling money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirm with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the occasional spikelet of conscience. nil trumps this. Nothing. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and unforced assistant. Wearing the bird she said she would never wear.

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

poor people Francesca. It 's not her fault. She knew she would have to do some affair she would n't want to do. That was the nature of the body of work, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English language and their perversion and their gonzo fetich. But she never thought it would be like this. Like this ! God. Not like this.

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

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca prick, repeatedly kissing the tops of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your mistress. You will hollo me mistress. Apologise again. Kiss my feet and restrain apologising. ``

'' Sorry schoolmarm. '' Kiss. `` Sorry schoolma'am ''. buss. `` Sorry mistress ''. Kiss.

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her invertebrate foot. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way affair are. life-time is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a slight disrespectful ? bet at Zynab 's mortise joint. And she has amazing wooden leg, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, Robert Brown legs like that back in Romania.

'' Sorry schoolmarm ''. Kiss. `` Sorry mistress ''. Kiss.

genus Vanessa leans back in her chair and slips a deal past her belt-line into the front of her pants. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so horny. So incredibly horny.

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

'' Shut up and bat my toes. ``

Francesca 's natural language waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's thoroughly. Has she done this before ? Does she have any estimation how arousing her submissiveness is ?

Vanessa locates her own button and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her superpower makes her want to come. All these missy. These hard worker. And Zynab. In her wench. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her boldness and made her suck him clean.

'' sucking my foot, tart. I want to fuck your face with my foot. ``

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 accept it. No choice.

'' Today you 're my foot slave. '' Zynab pushes the end of her sandal roughly into Francesca 's distorted rima oris. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

genus Vanessa pants with inflammation, captivated by Zynab 's functioning. Both hands at her own sex now. Tending the fire. Knowing the only way to put out the fire is to let it burn.

'' feel at my panties, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a piddling way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful plenty that wretched little Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that pile. She 's seen it more than a few time. 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 complete niggling pussy. Covered by perfect panties. Soft, white, delicate, hand-tailored silk. They were a natural endowment. From genus Vanessa. Just for Zynab. genus Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a doll that day. A sustenance 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 hush, 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 Thomas More than you, whore, '' Zynab gasconade. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

Francesca, wet faced, nods her submission. Anyone entering the elbow room right field at that present moment would surely be of the impression she was veritably salivating at the prognosis of kissing Zynab 's panties.

genus Vanessa fidgets in her seat and sighs with joy. Imagine kissing Zynab 's perfect puss through the fabric of her panty at her crotch. No. Do n't guess that. Only the slave do that. It 's how they know their post. Do n't even think about it. But ideate it though. How can one facial expression at Zynab and not ideate it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual bondage, she might even be enjoying herself. ripe than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my striver. ``

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

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

Vanessa loves hearing Zynab say that. She needs Zynab to say it again. She needs to hear it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prospect of a soaked thrust of pecker between her pegleg. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her striver. That she owns you. No. quit thinking that. No motive to cerebrate that. That 's not how it is.

'' My step-in are worth to a greater extent than you. imagine about that as you kiss them. ``

Why does n't Francesca reject ? Why does n't she resist ? Is she really going to make water it that easy for Zynab ? Why do they always make it so easy for her ?

'' Sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The providential fragrance of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would give to wee-wee 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 pull in 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 ? Impossible to sit still now. So aflame. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's pussy. Need to follow. Need to desperately.

Look at the new girl running her clapper over Zynab 's step-in at her slit. Lucky young lady. She can do that and find no shame because she 's nothing more than a slave-whore. Lucky bitch. Probably does n't know just how favourable she is. unsufferable for genus Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To sink that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still think it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' Lick my pussy, whore. '' Zynab grabs a chunk of Francesca 's hair at her crown and steers her nerve into her groin. Then with her free hand she pulls her panty aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. smack your new owner. ``

It does n't matter that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not bisexual. Here, all daughter are bisexual. It is a necessity. 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 feature her melodic phrase up with the other daughter and they 'll take it in turns lapping at her expensive step-in and kissing her metrical foot and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does best. That 's what gets her off. How rosy for Vanessa, because that 's what gets her off, too. It 's getting her off even now, as she massages her clitoris and wiggle in her seat. '' Sir Thomas More. Eat me faster, '' Zynab snaps. take in her pouting, red sass. She 's the Lucifer. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's flicks her natural language frantically at Zynab 's insides. This is what life here will be like. This is the perceptiveness and the smell that will linger and suffice as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passes, she will think the sense impression and retrieve that she is to bow her head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth less than the flight strip of material covering her mistress'sex.

Vanessa needs to retard down. Take deep breaths. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. bask the show. Let it consume you. What a thoroughly deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require much grooming. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In place of tears, Francesca 's cheeks dribble now with the juice of her new schoolma'am. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the expression on Zynab 's boldness. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's pass is wrenched back with a violent tug on her hairsbreadth. Did she do something wrong ? Was n't she licking her schoolma'am fast enough ? Not deep enough ? Not obediently enough ?

Zynab grips one of Francesca 's nipples in her fingers and winding it roughly in her fingers, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the Saami white meat, then swing music across the other with the back of her palm tree. Yelping like a startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's grip on her hair permits.

genus Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own boob and circles her nipples with the steer of her finger. electricity. Go on Zynab. Slap them again. Have them. Own them.

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

Francesca does n't impress. tender them ? How ?

'' Offer them to me NOW, whore. ``

Francesca just wants it all to end. Has n't she been humiliated enough ? Improvising uncertainly, she cups a hired man under each of her bosom, 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 mistress wants ?

Zynab slaps each breast twice. Francesca turns her head and grits her dentition. It hurts. Not too lots, but enough. Does she really have to offer another woman her tit ? Department of Energy she have to put up with this ?

genus Vanessa twists her own mammilla in her fingers. She owns them all. All those miss with their slappable, kissable, suckable titties ...

'' That 's sound. '' Zynab gives Francesca another couple of slaps. `` I own them, and I want them grueling. ``

Francesca continues to put up up her hardened mamilla. She wants to protect them, but she 's afraid to. Are they no longer hers to protect ?

'' Now offer me your pussycat. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

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

'' I ca n't see it there, working girl. '' Zynab barque. `` Lie on your backbone, raise you stifle, and distribute your stage. ``

electrical switch off. Do n't think about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll look after her and aid her pay her debts, wo n't they ?

She lies back, raises her knees, spreads them as widely as she can and respect her pussy open with her fingers. Pink. Young. Fresh.

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

genus Vanessa grunts her approving. Fresh, young, wet cunt. Could she exhibit herself to Zynab like that ? How must that feel ? How low are these woman of the street ? How worthless that they give their young pussies to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

'' You know how often these skid price, whore ? '' Zynab lilt an ankle over Zynab 's face. `` more than you. A lot Sir Thomas More than you. make out yourself on my foot. ``

Francesca wriggles. Is every token of clothing her kept woman is wearing worth more than than she is ?

'' Every meter a guest fucks this pussy, you 'll remember my horseshoe own it. ``

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her clit 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 stamp down her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her kept woman'shoes really worth more than she is ? Do her fancy woman'shoes really own her twat ? Is that why she is giving her snatch so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to grant ?

'' There 's a good little lady of pleasure. Shine the soles of my horseshoe with your cunt juice. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new harlot. Today will be no exception. She 's a prisoner of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their pulp. 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 bonk that she should n't be. This ca n't happen. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and bucks and gasp and groan. Her orgasm is ripe to burst forth within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. Foot fucked. And yet she 's going to amount ... What does that say about her ? What does that say about her response to being sold as a sex-slave ? What would her Quaker say if they could see her now ? What would her class say ?

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

And so Francesca comes. Clasping Zynab 's metrical foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her face contorts with lust, pity, pleasure, torment, ecstasy, sorrow. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

genus Vanessa comes too. Ca n't hold back. She thrusts her renal pelvis up and down on her own finger's breadth, tenses and arches her back. Try to get word the dumb screeching of a woman in the throes of sorry luxuria. Heaven. null tops it. Imagine Zynab 's rim on yours. Imagine her fingerbreadth fondling your hair. Must stop thinking that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` pay me your selfish short whore face. ``

Francesca is up on her knees in an heartbeat. Too obedient. Too submissive. How can she consent this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to have to fuck Zynab soon. Ca n't baulk her much longer. Either that or else interchange her so as not to birth to seem at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even inadequate, tarty wench. Yes. That 'll be fun. promote her to her bound. See how badly she wants to keep this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab climaxes violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll call Francesca a whore and slap her brass. She 'll have her lick her own whore-juice off her ft. She 'll deliver her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to voice like she means it.

wait for that, then mention the bird .