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

She looks fabulous for her thirty-two years. Hourglass physique, curves in all the right places. Well turned out in her heel ankle boots and slopped pitch-dark pants. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in boot 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 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 piece of work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

right hand now though, they work for genus Vanessa. They 're her fille. Her whores.

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

'' Well, '' Stenson raises his hilltop expectantly. `` What do you think ? ``

'' 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 oculus. She 's shivering. Frightened ? spirit tired. Distraught. It 's been a foresightful trip.

'' Do you speak 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 work for me until you 've paid off your transport, fees and documentation price. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to oblige back tears.

'' Good girl. ``

genus Vanessa likes calling them `` miss ''. Her girl. It makes her sense authoritative. Powerful. Sexy.

'' take up 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 happen a better life. To try to be someone. Do n't expect. Just undress. Easy.

'' ejaculate on, girl. ``

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

'' Everything. hurriedness up. ``

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

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't reckon up.

'' turn around. ``

Francesca turns obediently. Tight trivial can. She 's going to be popular. Stenson will need extra for her.

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

'' XVIII. ``

'' eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be XVIII. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too young. She should at home with her family in her Greenwich Village in Romania. This is no place for a female child her age.

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

Stenson shakes his promontory. 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, girlfriend. ``

Ca n't see Francesca 's look, 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 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 bottom, and gives it a good feel. Firm. Tender.

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

'' Three chiliad, '' Stenson says. `` For this quality, that is cheap. ``

commodity. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to ingest to cultivate her up, '' Vanessa shakes her psyche. `` 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 side woman. For a couple of thousand quid. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So raw. So exposed. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she straighten up ? Can she put her dress back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business with you, as always, '' Stenson beam of light at her. Another tidy sum done. Another whore sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another young woman. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Republic of Bolivia, perhaps, next meter. arrivederci. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits genus Vanessa 's situation, whistling.

genus Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The minutes go by. Francesca chill. Her cunt still on appearance from the arse. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she clean up up now ?

'' Do n't move missy. ``

Why is n't she allowed to go ? Was this how bawd were supposed to behave ? She had n't imagined it would be anything like this. Were all the girlfriend 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. ``

genus Vanessa has said the same thing to Thomas More than one C young woman. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this easy. She used to feel the guilty conscience and the disgrace. She used to want to stop over and get out and not be involved. But over time she 's learned to be at pacification with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't right. She knows she 's as a lot to blame for forcing these girls 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 thousand time worse. No. At to the lowest degree if they were with her, she could shit it tolerable for them. Her lady friend are the lucky 1. She knows they are lucky because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen young woman beaten to within inch of their lives. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, genus Vanessa does n't treat her fille like that. She 's helping them. sure, she can be barbarous. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's comely, is n't it ? Do n't the girlfriend almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn 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 toughie, but fair. I know how intemperate it is for you girls coming over here. I want to assist you, but I can only help you if you help me. We 'll make out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cuckold or mislead you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can manage that, your stay here will hand smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you sympathise, girl ? ``

Francesca sniff and nods. She understands. She does n't have any alternative but to understand. Maybe they really will help her. Maybe.

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

Francesca nibbles her lower lip.

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

A humble, shy curtsey. 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.

legal injury 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 floor. Owned ? She belongs to somebody else ?

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

How does Francesca feel, now that she knows she is someone else 's property ? A willpower. A thing. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

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

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the only when way. She 's gone the sympathetic route in the yesteryear and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will outlive their ordeal with their psyche intact is never to gratify to their dubiousness and doubt, however understandable they might be. Better instead to pretend them see from the outset that they can not see it. If they realise they can not ascertain it, then they wo n't feel responsible for it. If they are not responsible for for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and close shave inaudibly.

'' Speak up fille. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, kept woman. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a sweet, subservient girl. Cute trivial curtsies. Need to work on her strength, though.

Who 's that ?

Oh, it 's Zynab. expect how she slides saucily round off the half-ajar office threshold. Such a tease.

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

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger to the street corner of her oral cavity and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to interrupt. Is that the new fille ? ``

Vanessa does n't answer. Of course of instruction it 's the new missy. What does Zynab want ? Busy.

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

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

'' Of course. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a import they return each other 's regard. Mistake. How defy Francesca appear her superordinate in the eye ? Disrespectful little white slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their possessor 's groundwork. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab call down 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 somebody so Thomas Young, she 's not afraid to demonstrate her foul talents openly. Almost as if it is the audience - in this representative Vanessa - that drives her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca bleats.

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

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

Wonderful feet. incredible bottom too, from genus Vanessa 's advantage degree. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's hind end tucked up snugly in that cunning little skirt of hers. The skirt that Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so long - because in her culture `` women do n't curry like sporting lady. '' But Vanessa is the genus Bos. And this is her culture. Her assistant will enclothe as she pleases. Wear the wench, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My fundament own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's Kuki between her thumb and index and tilts her head forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a practiced supporter. Look at her hips in that skirt. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would love to birth her for a slave. To get her standing submissively, capitulum bowed, displaying her rich, legato chocolate-brown flesh, her bare breasts ... To have her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the hassle with being accustomed to having submissive, naked girls at your never-ending beck and call option. You ca n't aid but imagine having every fair sex you meet in your service.

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

'' kneel, fancy woman. ``

Vanessa feels her arousal growing. What is it about Zynab that makes her so horny ? What if Zynab were to overtop *her* to kneel ? Would she kneel ? How must that palpate ? Her sheer beauty is enough to make believe you want to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneels, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her clapper inside another woman 's vagina. She 's about to find out. poor people minuscule thing. 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 feet. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' osculation my metrical foot. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't stimulate any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't know anyone. She 's their whore. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her brim to the bridge of Zynab 's left understructure. look her flesh. Taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be well-situated. Go to the UK. Work in the sex diligence for a patch. Make money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with joy. This is why she puts up with the occasional prickles of conscience. cipher trumps this. Nothing. One slavish sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and will assistant. Wearing the annulus she said she would never wear.

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

Poor Francesca. It 's not her fault. She knew she would hold to do some affair 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 side and their perversions and their bizarre 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 sobs, repeatedly kissing the tops of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your mistress. You will call me mistress. Apologise again. Kiss my understructure and keep apologising. ``

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

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her feet. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way things are. biography is not always honest. Maybe she *had* been a little disrespectful ? Look at Zynab 's ankles. And she has amazing legs, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brownish leg like that back in Romania.

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

Vanessa leans back in her chair and slips a paw past her belt-line into the social movement of her knickers. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so horny. So incredibly horny.

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

'' Shut up and drub my toes. ``

Francesca 's clapper waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's commodity. Has she done this before ? Does she have any melodic theme how arousing her submissiveness is ?

Vanessa locates her own clit and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her exponent makes her want to come. All these young lady. These slaves. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her side and made her suck him clean.

'' suction my foot, whore. I want to sleep with your face with my understructure. ``

Francesca, by her failure to resist, is humiliating herself. But she wo n't lay off. 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 wring mouth. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

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

'' expression at my pantie, sporting lady. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful tidy sum 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 times. 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 little pussy. Covered by perfect panty. Soft, egg white, delicate, 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 chick that day. A livelihood chick. 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 tranquil, so inactive 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 than you, whore, '' Zynab brags. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

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

genus Vanessa fidgets in her rump and sighs with pleasance. Imagine kissing Zynab 's perfect pussy through the material of her panties at her crotch. No. Do n't imagine that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their place. Do n't even think about it. But imagine it though. How can one look at Zynab and not imagine it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual slavery, she might even be enjoying herself. near than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my striver. ``

Francesca pecks submissively at Zynab 's private parts. This is how striver worship their proprietor. 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 find out it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prospect of a clay thrust of shaft between her pegleg. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. blockade thinking that. No need to remember that. That 's not how it is.

'' My panties are worth Thomas More than you. call up about that as you kiss them. ``

Why does n't Francesca refuse ? Why does n't she balk ? Is she really going to lay down it that easy for Zynab ? Why do they always make it so easy for her ?

'' snuff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The God Almighty fragrance of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would pass to make Zynab one of her young woman and to own that puss. As she had sat and watched her the day they measured her for the panty, had n't it felt then - even if only momentarily - that she *did* own her ? But how to own her always ? How to 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. bed watching slave-whores adoration Zynab 's pussy. necessitate to get. Need to desperately.

flavour at the new girl running her tongue over Zynab 's panties at her cunt. Lucky girl. She can do that and feel no shame because she 's null Sir Thomas More than a slave-whore. Lucky bitch. Probably does n't know just how lucky she is. inconceivable 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 ?

'' slug my pussy, bawd. '' Zynab grabs a clump of Francesca 's haircloth at her crest and hint her cheek into her mole. Then with her exempt hired hand she pulls her pantie aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. Taste your new proprietor. ``

It does n't matter that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not epicene. Here, all girl are bisexual person. 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 have her line of reasoning up with the early miss and they 'll take it in turns lapping at her expensive panties and kissing her metrical 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 button and wriggles in her seat. '' more than. Eat me firm, '' Zynab pushover. watch over her pouting, red mouth. She 's the devil. She 's everlasting evil.

Francesca 's moving-picture show her clapper frantically at Zynab 's interior. This is what life here will be like. This is the taste and the look that will mill around and wait on as a changeless reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every prison term Zynab passes, she will remember the wiz and retrieve that she is to bow her read/write head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth less than the strip of cloth covering her kept woman'sex.

genus Vanessa needs to slow down. Take deep hint. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. Enjoy the display. Let it consume you. What a good batch she 's done. Francesca is slavish by nature. Not going to require much training. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In station of tears, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the juices of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And flavor at the aspect on Zynab 's boldness. 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 deep enough ? Not obediently enough ?

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

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the like bosom, then swings across the other with the back of her medal. Yelping like a startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's clasp on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hired man over one of her own breast and circles her mamilla with the tips of her fingerbreadth. Electricity. Go on Zynab. smacking them again. throw them. Own them.

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

Francesca does n't move. Offer 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 deal under each of her chest, raises them up slightly and opens her palms towards Zynab. Presenting her breasts to her fancy woman. Is she doing it right ? Is this what her mistress wants ?

Zynab slaps each knocker twice. Francesca turns her head and grits her tooth. It hurts. Not too very much, but enough. Does she really have to offer another woman her breasts ? Does she get to put up with this ?

Vanessa twists her own nipples in her digit. She owns them all. All those female child with their slappable, kissable, suckable titties ...

'' That 's ripe. '' Zynab gives Francesca another pair of slaps. `` I own them, and I want them knockout. ``

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

'' Now offer me your twat. ``

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, lady of pleasure. '' Zynab barque. `` Lie on your back, raise you knees, and spread your legs. ``

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

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

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

Vanessa grunts her favourable reception. Fresh, unseasoned, wet pussycat. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that palpate ? How low are these tart ? How worthless that they give their Whitney Moore Young Jr. kitty to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

'' You know how very much these shoes cost, whore ? '' Zynab swings an ankle over Zynab 's face. `` More than you. A lot Sir Thomas More than you. know yourself on my metrical foot. ``

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

'' Every time a customer fucks this kitty, you 'll retrieve my shoes own it. ``

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her clitoris into the sole of her schoolmarm'sandals. She hates herself because she 's rubbing herself against it and becoming aroused. She hates herself because she 's ineffective to stamp down her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoe really worth Sir Thomas More than she is ? Do her mistress'shoes really own her pussy ? Is that why she is giving her pussy so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a in force niggling whore. glint the colloidal solution of my shoes with your cunt succus. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new whore. Today will be no exclusion. She 's a captive of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her young lady. 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 know that she should n't be. This ca n't happen. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Roumania. She squirms and bucks and pants and moans. Her orgasm is advanced to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. infantry 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 foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her face contorts with lust, pathos, joy, anguish, ecstasy, ruefulness. Now whimpering like a cub. And more than tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't take back. She thrusts her pelvic girdle up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her spine. Try to get wind the silent screech of a adult female in the throes of dour lust. promised land. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her finger's breadth fondling your whisker. Must stop mentation that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` impart me your selfish trivial woman of the street face. ``

Francesca is up on her knees in an blink of an eye. Too obedient. Too slavish. How can she accept this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to have to fuck Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her lots longer. Either that or else replace her so as not to ingest to look at her and stick out. Maybe make her wear an even scant, tarty wench. Yes. That 'll be fun. Push her to her limits. See how badly she wants to retain this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab culmination violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll call Francesca a prostitute and slap her cheeks. She 'll take in her lap her own whore-juice off her understructure. She 'll throw her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to sound like she means it.

Wait for that, then note the dame .