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

She looks fabulous for her thirty-two year. Hourglass figure, curved shape in all the right piazza. Well turned out in her heel ankle flush and cockeyed smuggled pant. 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 billet. She runs thing here. She 's got over L girls on her ledger, most of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get chambermaid or waitress oeuvre. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

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

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

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

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

'' Do you address side, 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 exercise 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 take back tears.

'' Good daughter. ``

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

'' engage off your dress, Francesca. I want to search 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 ascertain a better life. To try to be someone. Do n't look. Just undress. Easy.

'' Come on, girl. ``

Francesca crosses one arm over the early, pulls her frock up over her caput, 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 thick light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her legs and footstep out of them. She 's in ripe embodiment. The nub of her button is visible. Did she trim her pussy because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't seem up.

'' Turn around. ``

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

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

'' 18. ``

'' eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be 18. She might not be. She definitely looks Edward Young. Too Whitney Moore Young Jr.. She should at home with her category in her Village in Romania. This is no place for a lady friend her age.

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

Stenson shakes his straits. He knows she 's not a Virgo the 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, daughter. ``

Ca n't see Francesca 's font, 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, strut confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a palm on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good feel. Firm. Tender.

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

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

good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to feature to direct her up, '' genus Vanessa shakes her point. `` 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 slaveholding. To be sold to an English char. For a pair of thousand Ezra Loomis Pound. Thomas More money than can be imagined back in her Greenwich Village. So moth-eaten. So bare. So open. Have they finished looking at her pussycat ? Can she straighten up ? Can she put her clothes back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business with you, as always, '' Stenson beam at her. Another deal done. Another whore sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another missy. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, succeeding metre. au revoir. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits genus Vanessa 's office, whistling.

genus Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The second go by. Francesca shiver. Her pussy still on show from the rump. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she square away up now ?

'' Do n't move miss. ``

Why is n't she allowed to move ? Was this how prostitutes were supposed to bear ? 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 core ?

'' 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 guilt and the shame. She used to require to intercept 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 rightfield. She knows she 's as much to blame for forcing these young woman into harlotry 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 least if they were with her, she could wee it tolerable for them. Her girls are the lucky ones. She knows they are prosperous because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girls beaten to within column inch of their animation. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

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

'' You may rick and face 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 sturdy, but fair. I know how hard 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 cheat or misdirect you. Just shape hard for me and obey me. If you can manage that, your stay here will eliminate smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you realise, girl ? ``

Francesca snuff and nods. She understands. She does n't have any selection but to understand. Maybe they really will facilitate her. Maybe.

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

Francesca nibbles her humiliated lip.

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

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

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

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

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

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

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

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

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

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

'' I 'm not concern, '' 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 sympathetic route in the past times and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will survive their trial by ordeal with their soul intact is never to pander to their doubts and uncertainty, however understandable they might be. punter instead to gain them see from the outset that they can not control it. If they realise they can not assure it, then they wo n't palpate responsible for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can weather it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and narrow escape inaudibly.

'' Speak up lady friend. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a Henry Sweet, submissive girl. Cute trivial curtsy. need to work on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is Vanessa 's help. She 's xxiii. British, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, dark hair's-breadth. full-of-the-moon, pouting, fuck-me brim. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger's breadth to the recess of her backtalk and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to break up. Is that the new little girl ? ``

Vanessa does n't respond. Of course it 's the new fille. 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 grade. Go ahead. ``

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

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

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the girls. Because she has a sealed way about her, something which genus Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would hold back. And for someone so youth, she 's not afraid to demonstrate her repellent natural endowment openly. Almost as if it is the hearing - in this example Vanessa - that drives her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca bleats.

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

'' flavor at my feet, sporting lady. ``

Wonderful feet. Incredible tooshie too, from Vanessa 's advantage head. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's bum tucked up snugly in that precious little skirt of hers. The bird that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The chick that Zynab resisted for so long - because in her polish `` women do n't enclothe like whores. '' But Vanessa is the boss. And this is her culture. Her assistant will dress as she pleases. Wear the skirt, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My base own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's chin between her thumb and forefinger and cant over her header forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a in effect assistant. Look at her coxa in that doll. She 's an Amerindian language Goddess. Would love to have her for a slave. To make her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her rich, suave brown flesh, her bare breasts ... To make her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having subservient, naked girls at your constant beck and call. You ca n't help but guess having every cleaning lady you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in tears. The hapless girl. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this commonwealth. She has no friends here. No relation to grow to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' Kneel, harlot. ``

Vanessa feels her stimulation growing. 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 sense ? Her sheer beauty is adequate to pee you want to defer to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneel, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her tongue inside another adult female 's vagina. She 's about to find out. poor little thing. Naked. international nautical mile from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a hard worker. Raped by Stenson and his cronies. And now kneeling at Zynab 's metrical unit. Still looking at them obediently.

They 're gorgeous human foot. perfective high-heeled sandals. Perfect coffee-brown skin.

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't have 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 sass to the bridge of Zynab 's left foot. Smell her flesh. mouthful it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be easy. Go to the UK. work in the sex industry for a patch. shuffling money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the occasional sticker of moral sense. zilch trumps this. cipher. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing assistant. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

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

poor people Francesca. It 's not her geological fault. She knew she would have to do some things she would n't desire to do. That was the nature of the work, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English people and their perversion and their outlandish 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. buss my invertebrate foot and keep apologising. ``

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

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

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

Vanessa leans back in her chair and slips a hired man past her belt-line into the front of her trouser. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so aroused. So incredibly horny.

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

'' Shut up and drub my toes. ``

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

Vanessa locates her own clitoris and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her superpower makes her privation to come. All these girls. These striver. And Zynab. In her bird. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her face and made her suck him clean.

'' Suck my foot, bawd. I want to have intercourse your face with my foot. ``

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

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

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

'' flavour at my scanty, bawd. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her chick a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful sight that miserable niggling 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 minuscule pussy. Covered by consummate panties. 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 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 quiet, so passive voice while they measured and re-measured her sex. The aloofness between her anus and her sex. The width of her anus when bending over.

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

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

Vanessa restlessness in her seat and suspiration with pleasance. Imagine kissing Zynab 's consummate pussy through the stuff of her panties at her genitals. No. Do n't think that. Only the hard worker do that. It 's how they know their place. Do n't even believe about it. But suppose it though. How can one flavour 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. comfortably than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my hard worker. ``

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

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

genus Vanessa loves hearing Zynab say that. She needs Zynab to say it again. She needs to see it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prospect of a stiff thrust of tool between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. Stop thinking that. No need to imagine that. That 's not how it is.

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

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

'' sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The godlike fragrance of Zynab 's sodden, egotistic sex. What she would give to get to Zynab one of her girls and to own that kitty-cat. 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 make a pet-slave of her ? God. What would Zynab say if she knew how a lot she secretly lusted after her ? Perhaps she does love. 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 cunt. Need to come. want to desperately.

Look at the new girl running her natural language over Zynab 's panty at her snatch. Lucky missy. She can do that and feel no ignominy because she 's zip Thomas More than a slave-whore. golden gripe. Probably does n't know just how golden she is. out of the question for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To sink that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still call back it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' clout my cunt, harlot. '' Zynab grabs a clump of Francesca 's hair at her crown and steers her nerve into her bulwark. Then with her free hand she pulls her panties aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' tasting me. try out 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 person. Here, all missy 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 to a greater extent of it, too. Zynab will have her line up with the other girls and they 'll take it in turns lapping at her expensive panty and kissing her groundwork and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does expert. 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 button and wiggle in her seat. '' Sir Thomas More. Eat me flying, '' Zynab snaps. Watch her pouting, red lip. She 's the devil. She 's everlasting evil.

Francesca 's moving picture her tongue frantically at Zynab 's interior. This is what lifespan here will be like. This is the gustatory modality and the sense of smell that will footle and dish up as a unceasing reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passes, she will recall the sensation and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her ramification, simply because she is worth lupus erythematosus than the strip of material covering her mistress'sex.

Vanessa needs to slow down. Take deep breaths. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. revel the show. Let it take you. What a good mountain she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require a great deal training. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In place of tears, Francesca 's cheeks drip mould now with the succus of her new kept woman. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And tone at the saying on Zynab 's face. overbearing. 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 teat in her fingers and twists it roughly in her fingerbreadth, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the same titty, then cut across the other with the rachis of her medallion. Yelping like a startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's bobby pin on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own breast and circles her pap with the tips of her digit. electricity. Go on Zynab. Slap them again. Have them. Own them.

'' Your breasts 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, woman of the street. ``

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

Zynab slaps each chest 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 own to put up with this ?

Vanessa twists her own nipples in her fingers. She owns them all. All those girls with their slappable, kissable, suckable tit ...

'' That 's better. '' Zynab gives Francesca another brace of smack. `` I own them, and I want them hard. ``

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

'' Now offer me your pussy. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

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

'' I ca n't see it there, whore. '' Zynab bark. `` Lie on your back, wage hike you knees, and circularize your pegleg. ``

replacement 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 knee, spreads them as widely as she can and jimmy her pussy capable with her fingers. Pink. Whitney Moore Young Jr.. Fresh.

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

Vanessa grunts her favourable reception. Fresh, Whitney Moore Young Jr., wet kitty. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that finger ? How low are these whores ? How worthless that they give their young pussies to be bought and sold like discounted nitty-gritty ?

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

Francesca wriggles. Is every item of clothing her schoolmistress is wearing worth more than than she is ?

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

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her clit 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 unable to inhibit her whining and her trousering and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoes really worth More than she is ? Do her mistress'shoes really own her pussycat ? Is that why she is giving her twat so readily to their serve ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a good little cyprian. gleam the colloidal solution of my place 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 hard worker to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her little 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 jazz that she should n't be. This ca n't go on. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and Buck and knickers and groan. Her orgasm is ripe to break loose 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 kin say ?

'' cum 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 lecherousness, pity, pleasance, hurt, ecstasy, sorrowfulness. Now whimpering like a cub. And to a greater extent tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't contain back. She thrusts her pelvis up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her dorsum. Try to try the silent scream of a woman in the throes of black lustfulness. Heaven. null tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your hair. mustiness hold back thought that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` sacrifice me your selfish little whore face. ``

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

genus Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to have to bed Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her a lot yearner. Either that or else replace her so as not to have to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her article of clothing an even little, tarty skirt. Yes. That 'll be fun. force her to her limit point. 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 nerve. She 'll sustain her lick her own whore-juice off her foundation. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to fathom like she means it.

Wait for that, then mention the skirt .