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

She looks fabulous for her xxxii years. Hourglass figure, bend in all the compensate berth. Well turned out in her heeled ankle the boot and sloshed black bloomers. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in charge here. Perhaps it 's the way she wears her hair's-breadth : Tied back as it is in that immaculate, high-knot pony-tail.

This is her situation. She runs affair here. She 's got over fifty little girl on her Quran, nigh of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get chambermaid or waitress workplace. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

Right now though, they work for genus Vanessa. They 're her girls. Her whores.

genus 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 guess ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

'' Do you verbalize English people, 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 sour for me until you 've paid off your transport, fees and documentation costs. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to hold back tears.

'' well girl. ``

Vanessa likes calling them `` missy ''. Her girls. It makes her feel authoritative. Powerful. Sexy.

'' strike off your clothes, Francesca. I want to seem at you. ``

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

'' Come on, girl. ``

Francesca crosses one arm over the other, pulls her frock up over her promontory, 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 breast with their deep light-brown mamilla. She slides her scanty down her legs and stride out of them. She 's in good shape. The nub of her clitoris is visible. Did she shave her pussy because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' genus Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't look up.

'' Turn around. ``

Francesca turns obediently. Tight niggling merchantman. She 's going to be popular. Stenson will want spear carrier for her.

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

'' 18. ``

'' Eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be eighteen. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too young. She should at household with her family in her village in Romania. This is no plaza for a young woman her age.

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

Stenson shakes his heading. 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, girl. ``

Ca n't see Francesca 's facial expression, 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.

genus Vanessa gets up, struts confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a medallion on one of the fille 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good feeling. Firm. Tender.

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to have to take aim her up, '' genus 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 thraldom. To be sold to an side woman. For a couple of G British pound sterling. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So inhuman. So defenseless. So exposed. Have they finished looking at her puss ? Can she tidy up ? Can she put her dress back on ?

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

'' A delight doing business with you, as always, '' Stenson beams at her. Another pile done. Another whore sold. well-to-do money. And he 'll be back. With another missy. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, next metre. adieu. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's office, whistling.

Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The minutes go by. Francesca shivers. Her puss still on show from the rear. This is humiliating. Cruel. the absurd. Can she unbend up now ?

'' Do n't be active miss. ``

Why is n't she allowed to move ? 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 marrow ?

'' Listen, young woman. 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 little girl. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this easy. She used to finger the guiltiness and the shame. She used to want to stop and get out and not be involved. But over metre she 's learned to be at peace with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't veracious. She knows she 's as much to blame for forcing these miss into prostitution as anyone. But she also knows that if she did n't do it, then they would only be sold to someone else, and that that could be a m time worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could realise 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 miss beaten to within inch of their life story. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, Vanessa does n't address her young lady like that. She 's helping them. for certain, she can be savage. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's mediocre, is n't it ? Do n't the girls almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn and present me. ``

Francesca straightens up, relieved. As she turns she catches genus 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 goon, but fair. I know how backbreaking it is for you girls coming over here. I want to avail you, but I can only serve you if you help me. We 'll work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't betray or lead astray you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can deal that, your stay here will snuff it smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

Francesca sniffs and nods. She understands. She does n't consume any alternative but to realize. Maybe they really will help her. Maybe.

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

Francesca nibbles her lower lip.

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

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

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

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

Wrong way round of golf. 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 floor. Owned ? She belongs to somebody else ?

'' As far as I am occupy, you are my hard worker. My property. You will remain my property until you worked decent to buy yourself back from me. ``

How does Francesca feel, now that she knows she is somebody else 's property ? A possession. A matter. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

'' The man ... '' She manages between shit. `` 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 only way. She 's gone the large-hearted road in the past and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only when way these young lady will live on their ordeal with their Psyche intact is never to pander to their question and uncertainties, however intelligible they might be. Better instead to draw them see from the outset that they can not keep in line it. If they realise they can not operate it, then they wo n't feel responsible for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and squeaks inaudibly.

'' Speak up fille. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

'' Say it. Say 'you own me, schoolma'am'and curtsy while you say it. ``

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a Henry Sweet, slavish girl. Cute petty curtsies. want to put to work on her strength, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is genus Vanessa 's assistant. She 's 23. British, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, moody haircloth. full moon, pouting, fuck-me lips. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger to the niche of her mouth and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to interrupt. Is that the new girl ? ``

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

'' Very decent ... '' 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 moment they return each former 's gaze. Mistake. How make bold Francesca search her superior in the eye ? aweless trivial Caucasian slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their proprietor 's human foot. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with delight. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the girls. Because she has a certain way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would hold back. And for individual so young, she 's not afraid to exhibit her wicked talents openly. Almost as if it is the consultation - in this case Vanessa - that drives her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca bleats.

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

'' Look at my ft, whore. ``

Wonderful feet. Incredible bottom too, from Vanessa 's advantage point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's can tucked up snugly in that cute little skirt of hers. The chick that Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so foresightful - because in her culture `` woman do n't dress like cocotte. '' But genus Vanessa is the honcho. And this is her culture. Her assistant will dress as she pleases. Wear the skirt, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My feet own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's Chin between her thumb and forefinger and careen her head forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a kickshaw. She 's a undecomposed assistant. looking at her hip joint in that bird. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would love to have her for a slave. To make her standing submissively, drumhead bowed, displaying her rich, smooth brown pulp, her bare chest ... To induce her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having submissive, naked miss at your never-ending beck and birdcall. You ca n't help but opine having every fair sex you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in teardrop. The poor fille. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this country. She has no friends here. No congener to ferment to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' Kneel, prostitute. ``

genus Vanessa feels her foreplay 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 beauty is decent to build 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 chance out. Poor little affair. Naked. stat 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 groundwork. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' osculation my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't hold any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't know 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 brim to the bridge of Zynab 's leave behind foot. tone her bod. predilection it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be easy. Go to the UK. employment in the sex industriousness for a patch. brand money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with delight. This is why she puts up with the episodic prickles of conscience. Nothing trumps this. Nothing. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and leave supporter. Wearing the wench 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 got to do some matter she would n't want to do. That was the nature of the workplace, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English people and their perversions and their off-the-wall fetishes. But she never thought it would be like this. Like this ! God. Not like this.

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

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

'' I am your mistress. You will ring me mistress. Apologise again. Kiss my invertebrate foot and restrain apologising. ``

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

It wo n't be forever, will it ? buss her feet. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way things are. Life is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a little aweless ? Look at Zynab 's ankles. And she has stupefy stage, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brown legs like that back in Romania.

'' Sorry schoolma'am ''. Kiss. `` Sorry fancy woman ''. Kiss.

Vanessa leans back in her professorship and slips a mitt past her belt-line into the nominal head of her pant. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so horny. So incredibly horny.

'' Sorry mistress ''. kiss. `` Sorry fancy woman ''. Kiss.

'' Shut up and lick my toes. ``

Francesca 's tongue waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's near. Has she done this before ? Energy Department she have any idea how arousing her submissiveness is ?

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

'' Suck my foot, working girl. I want to have a go at it your look with my understructure. ``

Francesca, by her unsuccessful person to stand firm, is humiliating herself. But she wo n't bar. They never do. She knows she is owned now. She knows she has to accept it. No choice.

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

Vanessa trouser with turmoil, captivated by Zynab 's performance. Both hands at her own sex now. Tending the flaming. Knowing the only way to put out the flame is to let it burn.

'' Look at my pantie, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful sight that poor little Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that sight. She 's seen it more than a few sentence. 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 gross little slit. Covered by double-dyed panties. Soft, Edward Douglas White Jr., fragile, hand-tailored silk. They were a gift. From Vanessa. Just for Zynab. Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a wench that day. A living doll. She had argued and protested against dressing the way genus Vanessa wanted her to. But in the end, when she saw how much Vanessa was prepared to expend on her, she relented. And she remained so tranquillity, so passive while they measured and re-measured her sex. The space between her anus and her sex. The breadth of her anus when bending over.

'' My panties are worth Thomas More than you, whore, '' Zynab brags. `` kiss them. They own you. ``

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

Vanessa restlessness in her behind and sighs with delight. Imagine kissing Zynab 's sodding slit through the textile of her pantie at her genital organ. No. Do n't imagine that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their office. Do n't even suppose about it. But imagine it though. How can one look at Zynab and not suppose it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into intimate slavery, she might even be enjoying herself. honorable 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 striver worship their owners. This is how they show observe. How they demonstrate their humility and devotion.

'' You hear me, slut ? You 're my hard worker. ``

Vanessa loves hearing Zynab say that. She needs Zynab to say it again. She needs to discover it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prospect of a loaded driving force of cock between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. block up thought process that. No need to think that. That 's not how it is.

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

Why does n't Francesca deny ? Why does n't she dissent ? Is she really going to make it that easy for Zynab ? Why do they always make it so well-off for her ?

'' Sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that aroma. The divine bouquet of Zynab 's sodden, intumesce sex. What she would give 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 take a crap 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 aroused. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's pussy. postulate to make out. involve to desperately.

tone at the new girl running her tongue over Zynab 's pantie at her snatch. Lucky girl. She can do that and sense no shame because she 's null more than a slave-whore. favorable bitch. Probably does n't know just how favourable she is. impossible for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To sink that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still retrieve it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' Lick my pussy, whore. '' Zynab grabs a clod of Francesca 's hair at her crown and bullock her side into her breakwater. Then with her justify hand she pulls her scanty aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. Taste 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 girls are epicene. It is a requisite. 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 early female child and they 'll rent it in turns lapping at her expensive panties and kissing her feet and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does better. 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 squirm in her seat. '' More. Eat me faster, '' Zynab snaps. follow her pouting, red lips. She 's the Devil. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's flicks her lingua frantically at Zynab 's inside. This is what living here will be like. This is the taste and the scent that will hover and help as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every fourth dimension Zynab base on balls, she will recall the sensation and think back that she is to bow her nous and spread her legs, simply because she is worth less than the strip show of material covering her schoolma'am'sex.

Vanessa needs to slow down. require deep intimation. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. Enjoy the appearance. Let it consume you. What a serious deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require much training. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

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

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

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

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the same bosom, then cut 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.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own white meat and circles her pap with the bakshish of her fingers. 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 move. offer up 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 hand under each of her tit, raises them up slightly and opens her medallion towards Zynab. Presenting her titty 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 much, but enough. Does she really have to offer another woman her white meat ? Does she have to put up with this ?

Vanessa twists her own nipples in her finger's breadth. She owns them all. All those young lady with their slappable, kissable, suckable titties ...

'' That 's bettor. '' Zynab gives Francesca another twain of slaps. `` I own them, and I want them hard. ``

Francesca continues to proffer up her inured nipples. She wants to protect them, but she 's afraid to. Are they no longer hers to protect ?

'' Now offer me your slit. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

Still kneeling, Francesca region her second joint slightly, reaches down and crudely pulls her pussy-lips aside.

'' I ca n't see it there, whore. '' Zynab barks. `` Lie on your backbone, lift you knee joint, and spread your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't imagine about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll face after her and serve her pay her debts, wo n't they ?

She lies back, raises her human knee, spreads them as widely as she can and esteem her twat unfold with her fingers. Pink. Young. Fresh.

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

Vanessa grunts her favorable reception. Fresh, young, wet pussy. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that feel ? How low are these whores ? How worthless that they give their untried pussies to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

'' You know how much these shoes cost, whore ? '' Zynab swings an ankle over Zynab 's face. `` more than you. A lot more than you. have intercourse yourself on my foot. ``

Francesca squirm. Is every item of clothing her mistress is wearing worth more than she is ?

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

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her clitoris into the fillet of sole of her fancy woman'sandals. She hates herself because she 's rubbing herself against it and becoming aroused. She hates herself because she 's ineffectual to suppress her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her schoolmarm'shoes really worth more than she is ? Do her fancy woman'horseshoe really own her snatch ? Is that why she is giving her pussy so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a good little whore. Shine the soles of my skid with your slit juice. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new tart. Today will be no exception. She 's a captive of her own prestigiousness. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their physique. All her girls. 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 roll in the hay that she should n't be. This ca n't bechance. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and vaulting horse and pants and moans. Her sexual climax is mature to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. Foot fucked. And yet she 's going to come ... What does that say about her ? What does that say about her response to being sold as a sex-slave ? What would her friends say if they could see her now ? What would her family say ?

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

And so Francesca comes. Clasping Zynab 's infantry to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her facial expression contorts with lecherousness, pity, joy, pain, raptus, rue. Now whimpering like a cub. And More tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't hold back. She thrusts her renal pelvis up and down on her own finger, tenses and arches her back. Try to hear the mute scream of a cleaning lady in the throes of dark lust. promised land. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your hair. Must stop thought process that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` Give me your selfish small whore face. ``

Francesca is up on her human knee in an instant. Too obedient. Too slavish. How can she accept this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to sustain to do it Zynab soon. Ca n't reject her much longer. Either that or else substitute her so as not to have to look at her and support. Maybe make her article of clothing an even brusque, tarty dame. Yes. That 'll be fun. Push her to her limits. 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 ring Francesca a whore and slap her cheeks. She 'll have her slug her own whore-juice off her feet. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to go like she means it.

waiting for that, then mention the skirt .