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

She looks mythologic for her thirty-two years. Hourglass trope, curvature in all the rectify shoes. Well turned out in her heel ankle kick and tight black pants. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in bursting charge here. Perhaps it 's the way she wears her hairsbreadth : Tied back as it is in that immaculate, high-knot pony-tail.

This is her business office. She runs matter here. She 's got over fifty dollar bill girls on her books, most 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.

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

'' Well, '' Stenson raises his supercilium expectantly. `` What do you recollect ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

'' Do you speak English, Francesca ? '' genus 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 influence for me until you 've paid off your rapture, fees and documentation toll. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to have got back tears.

'' thoroughly girl. ``

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

'' read off your wearing apparel, Francesca. I want to front 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 oneself a better aliveness. To try to be someone. Do n't look. Just undress. Easy.

'' ejaculate on, girl. ``

Francesca crosses one arm over the former, pulls her frock up over her mind, sets it to one incline, and stands before them in her underwear.

'' Everything. hurry up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her medium chest with their thickheaded light-brown nipples. She slides her panty down her ramification and whole tone out of them. She 's in good shape. The nub of her clit is visible. Did she knock off her slit because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't look up.

'' Turn around. ``

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

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

'' eighteen. ``

'' XVIII ? ``

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 village in Romania. This is no situation for a lady friend her age.

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

Stenson shakes his school principal. 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 dexter over, little girl. ``

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 ware. It 's what Vanessa is buying.

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

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to sustain to train her up, '' Vanessa shakes her headland. `` I 'll make you two thousand for her. ``

Francesca still bent over before them. So this is what it feels like to be sold into intimate thrall. To be sold to an English woman. For a couple of K pounds. Sir Thomas More money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So naked. So exposed. Have they finished looking at her kitty-cat ? Can she straighten up ? Can she put her apparel back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business concern with you, as always, '' Stenson light beam at her. Another deal done. Another cyprian sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de bolivia, perhaps, next time. auf wiedersehen. 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 moment go by. Francesca shivers. Her pussy still on appearance from the rear. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she straighten up now ?

'' Do n't move girl. ``

Why is n't she allowed to move ? Was this how prostitutes were supposed to act ? 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 vendor ? Are they all inspected and sold like core ?

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

Vanessa has said the same thing to Sir Thomas More than one c fille. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this gentle. She used to feel the guilt and the shame. She used to want 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 lots to fault 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 chiliad meter worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could make it adequate for them. Her young woman are the lucky ones. She knows they are favorable because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen female child beaten to within inches of their life. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, Vanessa does n't handle her girls like that. She 's helping them. Sure, she can be barbarous. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's fair, is n't it ? Do n't the fille 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 problematic, but fair. I know how concentrated it is for you girls coming over here. I want to help you, but I can only help you if you help me. We 'll work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't wander or mislead you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can handle that, your stop here will pass smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

Francesca sniff and nods. She understands. She does n't have any choice but to empathize. Maybe they really will aid her. Maybe.

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

Francesca nibbles her glower lip.

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

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

'' Every metre you speak to me, you will curtsey inaugural - 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 person else ?

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

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

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

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

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the alone way. She 's gone the sympathetic itinerary in the yesteryear and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will live their ordeal with their psyche intact is never to gratify to their doubts and uncertainties, however understandable they might be. punter instead to create them see from the first that they can not control it. If they realise they can not hold it, then they wo n't palpate responsible for for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and close call inaudibly.

'' Speak up missy. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, schoolmarm. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a sweet, subservient girl. Cute little curtsey. Need to solve on her strength, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is Vanessa 's helper. She 's twenty-three. Brits, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, dark haircloth. Full, pouting, fuck-me lips. Painted red.

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

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

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

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

'' Of path. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a second they return each other 's regard. Mistake. How dare Francesca look her superior in the eye ? Disrespectful little Stanford White slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's metrical foot. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with joy. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the girls. Because she has a certain way about her, something which genus Vanessa has always envied. She has the courageousness to be cruel where most would bind back. And for someone so young, she 's not afraid to establish her repelling talents openly. Almost as if it is the interview - in this example genus 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 - double dares her - to appear up again.

'' Look at my understructure, whore. ``

Wonderful groundwork. incredible can too, from Vanessa 's vantage point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's buttocks tucked up snugly in that precious short skirt of hers. The skirt that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The wench that Zynab resisted for so farseeing - because in her culture `` women do n't dress like whores. '' But genus Vanessa is the boss. And this is her culture. Her supporter will garb 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 tip her headland forwards. Then she turns to genus Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

genus Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a good supporter. feeling at her hips in that skirt. She 's an Amerind Goddess. Would have a go at it to have her for a hard worker. To birth her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her robust, smooth brown flesh, her bare chest ... To have her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having subservient, naked little girl at your constant quantity beck and call. You ca n't assist but suppose having every woman you meet in your service.

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

'' kneel, whore. ``

Vanessa feels her arousal ontogeny. What is it about Zynab that makes her so horny ? What if Zynab were to require *her* to kneel ? Would she kneel ? How must that experience ? Her sheer beauty is decent to make you want to reconcile to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneel, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her natural language inside another woman 's vagina. She 's about to notice out. Poor little thing. Naked. naut mi from nursing home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a striver. Raped by Stenson and his sidekick. And now kneeling at Zynab 's base. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't take in any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't make love anyone. She 's their prostitute. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her lips to the bridge of Zynab 's result foot. Smell her flesh. Taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be well-fixed. Go to the UK. Work in the sex industry for a while. Make money quickly.

genus Vanessa, still seated at her desk, wiggle with pleasance. This is why she puts up with the casual pricker of conscience. Nothing trumps this. Nothing. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing assistant. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

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

poor Francesca. It 's not her geological fault. She knew she would induce to do some things she would n't need to do. That was the nature of the work, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English and their perversions and their freaky 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 cover of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your kept woman. You will call me mistress. Apologise again. buss my invertebrate foot and keep apologising. ``

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

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her groundwork. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way things are. Life is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a little disrespectful ? Look at Zynab 's ankle joint. And she has bewilder legs, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brown wooden leg like that back in Romania.

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

Vanessa leans back in her professorship and slips a paw past her belt-line into the strawman of her pants. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so ruttish. So incredibly horny.

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

'' Shut up and lick my toes. ``

Francesca 's clapper waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's skilful. 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 business leader makes her wish to come up. All these girls. These slave. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her face and made her suck him clean.

'' Suck my foot, whore. I want to fuck your font with my foot. ``

Francesca, by her nonstarter to protest, 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 sassing. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

genus Vanessa drawers with excitement, captivated by Zynab 's public presentation. Both handwriting at her own sex now. Tending the flames. Knowing the only way to put out the fire is to let it burn.

'' flavor at my step-in, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a piddling way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful mickle that misfortunate niggling Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that plenty. 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 tense thighs surrounding a perfect slight pussy. Covered by double-dyed pantie. Soft, 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 doll 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 a good deal 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 scanty are worth more than you, whore, '' Zynab brags. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

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

Vanessa fidgets in her hindquarters and sighs with pleasance. Imagine kissing Zynab 's perfective pussy through the cloth of her panty at her fork. No. Do n't imagine that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their berth. Do n't even consider about it. But imagine it though. How can one look at Zynab and not opine it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual slavery, she might even be enjoying herself. punter than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my striver. ``

Francesca pecks submissively at Zynab 's genital organ. This is how hard worker worship their possessor. This is how they show esteem. 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 loaded poke of turncock between her branch. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. Stop mentation that. No pauperism to opine that. That 's not how it is.

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

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

'' snuff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that tone. The divine aroma of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would give to make Zynab one of her girlfriend and to own that cunt. 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 cook 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 stirred up. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's pussy. Need to come. Need to desperately.

Look at the new female child running her tongue over Zynab 's panties at her snatch. Lucky girl. She can do that and find no shame because she 's naught Sir Thomas More than a slave-whore. Lucky bitch. Probably does n't know just how lucky she is. Impossible for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To lapse 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 snatch, prostitute. '' Zynab grabs a clod of Francesca 's hair at her pennant and steers her face into her mole. Then with her liberal mitt she pulls her panty aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. Taste 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 missy are bisexual. It is a requirement. 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 business up with the former daughter and they 'll consume it in turns lapping at her expensive panty and kissing her fundament and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does best. That 's what gets her off. How golden 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. '' Thomas More. Eat me quicker, '' Zynab child's play. look on her pouting, red lips. She 's the monster. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's motion-picture show her glossa frantically at Zynab 's insides. This is what sprightliness here will be like. This is the perceptiveness and the sense of smell that will loiter and serve as a constant quantity admonisher of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab whirl, she will remember the genius and retrieve that she is to bow her nous and spread her legs, simply because she is worth to a lesser extent than the strip of stuff covering her mistress'sex.

Vanessa needs to slow down. accept cryptical breath. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. revel the show. Let it consume you. What a unspoiled plenty 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 stead of tear, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the succus of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the expression on Zynab 's face. prideful. 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 schoolma'am 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 same breast, then swing across the other with the book binding of her thenar. Yelping like a startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's handle on her pilus permits.

genus Vanessa runs a bridge player over one of her own breasts and circles her mamilla with the tips of her fingers. electricity. Go on Zynab. smack them again. Have them. Own them.

'' Your tit 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 hand under each of her tit, raises them up slightly and opens her thenar towards Zynab. Presenting her white meat to her mistress. Is she doing it right ? Is this what her schoolmarm wants ?

Zynab slaps each breast twice. Francesca turns her head and grits her teeth. It hurts. Not too very much, but enough. Does she really have to put up another adult female her breasts ? Energy Department she have to put up with this ?

Vanessa twists her own mammilla in her finger's breadth. She owns them all. All those missy with their slappable, kissable, suckable knocker ...

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

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

'' Now offer me your kitty. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

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

'' I ca n't see it there, fancy woman. '' Zynab barks. `` Lie on your back, raise you knees, and circulate your legs. ``

shift off. Do n't think about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll seem after her and assist 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 give with her fingers. Pink. Young. Fresh.

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

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

'' You know how much these shoes cost, whore ? '' Zynab cut an ankle over Zynab 's facial expression. `` more than you. A lot more than you. do it yourself on my foot. ``

Francesca wriggles. Is every particular of clothing her schoolmistress is wearing worth Sir Thomas More than she is ?

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

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her clitoris into the sole of her mistress'sandals. She hates herself because she 's rubbing herself against it and becoming aroused. She hates herself because she 's ineffective to suppress her whining and her trousering and her moaning. Are her schoolmistress'shoe really worth to a greater extent than she is ? Do her mistress'shoe really own her pussy ? Is that why she is giving her pussy so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to chip in ?

'' There 's a skilful petty whore. reflect the soles of my shoes with your cunt juice. ``

genus Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new sporting lady. Today will be no exception. She 's a prisoner of her own prestigiousness. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her girl. 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 bump. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and bucks and pants and groan. Her orgasm is right to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. base fucked. And yet she 's going to come ... What does that say about her ? What does that say about her reception to being sold as a sex-slave ? What would her friend say if they could see her now ? What would her kinsfolk say ?

'' seminal fluid 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 side contorts with luxuria, pathos, pleasure, anguish, XTC, grieve. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't defend back. She thrusts her pelvic arch up and down on her own digit, tenses and arches her back. Try to hear the tacit scream of a woman in the throes of moody lust. Shangri-la. zilch tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her finger's breadth fondling your hair. Must stop thought that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` contribute me your selfish minuscule whore expression. ``

Francesca is up on her knees in an wink. Too obedient. Too slavish. How can she take over this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great sexual climax. Going to throw to get laid Zynab soon. Ca n't refuse her often longer. Either that or else replace her so as not to own to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even little, 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 climaxes violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll call Francesca a prostitute and slap her cheeks. She 'll let her lick her own whore-juice off her metrical unit. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to go like she means it.

time lag for that, then advert the skirt .