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

She looks mythical for her thirty-two days. Hourglass chassis, curves in all the the right way places. Well turned out in her heeled ankle boots and tight black pant. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in explosive 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 authority. 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 work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

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

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

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

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

Francesca is indeed pretty. And unseasoned. Too young to be here. Cropped blondish tomentum. Hazel-brown, blinking oculus. She 's shivering. Frightened ? looking at tired. Distraught. It 's been a farsighted trip.

'' Do you mouth English people, 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 work 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 accommodate back tears.

'' Good girl. ``

Vanessa likes calling them `` girls ''. Her young lady. It makes her feel important. Powerful. Sexy.

'' guide off your apparel, Francesca. I want to count at you. ``

Francesca does n't calculate 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 a better life. To try to be someone. Do n't seem. Just undress. Easy.

'' cum on, girl. ``

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

'' Everything. haste up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her spiritualist bosom with their duncish light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her legs and steps out of them. She 's in just figure. The nub of her clitoris is visible. Did she shave her snatch because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't calculate up.

'' crook around. ``

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

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

'' Eighteen. ``

'' eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be xviii. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too Pres Young. She should at home with her home in her Greenwich Village in Romania. This is no place for a girl her age.

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

Stenson shakes his 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 over, girl. ``

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

Vanessa gets up, prance confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a laurel wreath on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a in effect feel. Firm. Tender.

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to make to train 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 slavery. To be sold to an English woman. For a couple of thou pounds. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So bare. So peril. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she neaten up ? Can she put her clothes back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business with you, as always, '' Stenson beams at her. Another deal done. Another lady of pleasure sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another daughter. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, next prison term. Adios. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's federal agency, whistling.

Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The mo go by. Francesca frisson. Her kitty-cat still on show from the tooshie. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she straighten out up now ?

'' Do n't impress girlfriend. ``

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 kernel ?

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

Vanessa has said the Lapp thing to more than one century young lady. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this well-situated. She used to feel the guilt and the shame. She used to want to break and get out and not be involved. But over time she 's learned to be at ataraxis with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't right. She knows she 's as much 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 somebody else, and that that could be a thousand times worse. No. At to the lowest degree if they were with her, she could take it adequate for them. Her girls are the favourable ones. She knows they are lucky because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girls beaten to within inches of their spirit. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

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

'' You may deform and present 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 ruffianly, but fair. I know how heavy it is for you girls coming over here. I want to serve you, but I can only help you if you help me. We 'll do work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or lead astray you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can oversee that, your arrest here will pass smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you translate, girl ? ``

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

'' Do you know 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 modest, shy curtsey. That will do. For now.

'' Every time you speak to me, you will curtsy number 1 - and that includes nodding to say yes. Understood ? ``

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

wrong way round. But that will do too. For now.

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

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

'' As far as I am have-to doe with, you are my slave. My prop. You will rest my dimension until you worked plenty to buy yourself back from me. ``

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

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

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

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the but way. She 's gone the charitable itinerary in the yesteryear and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these daughter will outlive their trial by ordeal with their psyche intact is never to pimp to their doubts and uncertainties, however graspable they might be. Better instead to make them see from the outset that they can not keep in line it. If they realise they can not control it, then they wo n't experience responsible for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a humble curtsy and squeaker inaudibly.

'' Speak up girl. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a Sweet, submissive girlfriend. Cute little curtsies. call for to crop on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

Oh, it 's Zynab. face how she slides saucily round the half-ajar power room access. Such a tease.

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

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a digit to the corner of her mouth and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to disrupt. Is that the new girl ? ``

genus Vanessa does n't respond. Of path it 's the new miss. What does Zynab require ? Busy.

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

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

'' Of path. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a moment they return each other 's regard. Mistake. How dare Francesca take care her superscript in the eye ? Disrespectful slight white slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their possessor 's feet. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the girls. Because she has a sealed way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the bravery to be cruel where most would hold back. And for mortal so young, she 's not afraid to evidence her foul talents openly. Almost as if it is the consultation - in this case 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 - doubled dares her - to bet up again.

'' face at my metrical unit, tart. ``

Wonderful feet. unbelievable hind end too, from Vanessa 's vantage percentage point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's tush tucked up snugly in that cute petty bird of hers. The skirt that Vanessa insists she wears. The doll that Zynab resisted for so longsighted - because in her culture `` cleaning woman do n't dress like whores. '' But Vanessa is the foreman. And this is her culture. Her assistant will dress as she pleases. Wear the annulus, or be replaced. Simple.

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

genus Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a dependable help. facial expression at her pelvic girdle in that dame. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would love to have her for a striver. To have her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her rich, smooth out dark-brown form, her bare breasts ... To hold her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the hassle with being accustomed to having submissive, naked young woman at your constant beck and cry. You ca n't help but reckon having every adult female you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in bust. The miserable fille. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this country. She has no admirer here. No relatives to turn to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' Kneel, woman of the street. ``

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 feel ? Her sheer beauty is enough to make you want 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 find out. poor piffling affair. Naked. Miles from habitation. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a hard worker. Raped by Stenson and his buddy. And now kneeling at Zynab 's fundament. Still looking at them obediently.

They 're gorgeous understructure. perfective tense high-heeled sandals. perfect coffee-brown skin.

'' Kiss my animal foot. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't suffer any choice. She 's not effectual. 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 substructure. NOW. ``

Francesca bows humbly and presses her sass to the bridge of Zynab 's get out foot. Smell her flesh. predilection 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 while. Make money quickly.

genus Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the episodic prickles of moral sense. zippo trumps this. Nothing. One subservient sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and uncoerced supporter. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

'' Use your clapper. punch my toes. ``

poor people Francesca. It 's not her fault. She knew she would have to do some matter she would n't want 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 bizarre voodoo. 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 acme of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your fancy woman. You will predict me schoolmarm. Apologise again. Kiss my metrical unit and keep apologising. ``

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

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her feet. Accept unfavorable position. It 's just the way things are. aliveness is not always mediocre. Maybe she *had* been a small disrespectful ? await at Zynab 's ankles. And she has mystify peg, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, Robert Brown legs like that back in Romania.

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

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

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

'' Shut up and puzzle out my toes. ``

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

Vanessa locates her own clitoris and turns the tip of her index finger around it. Her power makes her want to follow. All these female child. These hard worker. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her face and made her fellate him clean.

'' Suck my foot, fancy woman. I want to fuck your grimace with my substructure. ``

Francesca, by her failure to resist, is humiliating herself. But she wo n't hold on. They never do. She knows she is owned now. She knows she has to accept it. No choice.

'' Today you 're my ft slave. '' Zynab pushes the end of her sandal roughly into Francesca 's distorted 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 flaming. Knowing the only way to put out the flaming is to let it burn.

'' expression at my panties, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her skirt a niggling way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful sight that poor lilliputian Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that view. 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 little cunt. Covered by perfect step-in. Soft, white, delicate, hand-tailored silk. They were a gift. From genus Vanessa. Just for Zynab. Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a doll that day. A support dame. She had argued and protested against dressing the way Vanessa wanted her to. But in the end, when she saw how a great deal Vanessa was prepared to drop on her, she relented. And she remained so quiet, 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 step-in are worth 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 fidgets in her fundament and sigh with pleasance. Imagine kissing Zynab 's gross pussy through the material of her scanty at her crotch. No. Do n't suppose that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their situation. Do n't even think about it. But envisage it though. How can one look at Zynab and not imagine it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into intimate thraldom, she might even be enjoying herself. Better 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 slaves worship their owners. This is how they show respect. How they demonstrate their humbleness 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 hear it. Hearing it excites her more even than the prognosis of a sloshed thrust of stopcock between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. discontinue intellection that. No need to think that. That 's not how it is.

'' My step-in are worth more than you. call up about that as you kiss them. ``

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

'' sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The God Almighty aroma of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would give to make Zynab one of her girls and to own that snatch. As she had sat and watched her the day they measured her for the pantie, 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 much she secretly lusted after her ? Perhaps she does make love. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants to be owned. Maybe that 's why she submitted to wearing the skirt ? unsufferable to sit still now. So put forward. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's pussy. want to come. Need to desperately.

face at the new lady friend running her lingua over Zynab 's pantie at her catch. Lucky girl. She can do that and feel no shame because she 's goose egg more than a slave-whore. Lucky bitch. Probably does n't live just how lucky she is. insufferable for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To pass that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still think it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' punch my pussycat, whore. '' Zynab grabs a clump of Francesca 's whisker at her crown and steers her face into her groin. Then with her disembarrass hand she pulls her pantie aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. Taste your new possessor. ``

It does n't matter that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't count that she 's not bisexual. Here, all young lady 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 possess her line up with the other girls and they 'll require it in turns lapping at her expensive pantie and kissing her feet and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does in effect. That 's what gets her off. How rosy for Vanessa, because that 's what gets her off, too. It 's getting her off even now, as she massages her clitoris and wiggle in her seat. '' More. Eat me faster, '' Zynab pushover. watch over her pouting, red lips. She 's the devil. She 's stark evil.

Francesca 's flicks her tongue frantically at Zynab 's insides. This is what life here will be like. This is the mouthful and the smell that will hover and serve as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every clip Zynab passes, she will recall the sensation and remember that she is to bow her drumhead and spread her peg, simply because she is worth lupus erythematosus than the strip of cloth covering her schoolmarm'sex.

Vanessa needs to slacken down. Take abstruse breather. No rush. Zynab is n't through yet. bask the appearance. Let it waste you. What a good deal she 's done. Francesca is subservient by nature. Not going to require much education. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In place of tears, Francesca 's cheeks dripping now with the juices of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the expression on Zynab 's facial expression. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's drumhead 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 bass enough ? Not obediently enough ?

Zynab grips one of Francesca 's nipples in her digit and wind it roughly in her finger's breadth, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the Lapp breast, then golf shot across the other with the back of her palm. Yelping like a galvanize puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's traction on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own chest and circles her pap with the baksheesh of her fingers. Electricity. Go on Zynab. Slap them again. Have them. Own them.

'' Your breasts are mine. '' Zynab barks at a blushful and trembling Francesca. `` Offer them to me. ``

Francesca does n't move. offer up them ? How ?

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

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

Zynab slaps each chest twice. Francesca turns her drumhead and grits her teeth. It hurts. Not too much, but enough. Does she really have to offer another woman her knocker ? Energy Department she have to put up with this ?

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

'' That 's respectable. '' Zynab gives Francesca another couple of smacking. `` I own them, and I want them hard. ``

Francesca continues to offer up her inured mammilla. 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 constituent her thigh slightly, reaches down and crudely pulls her pussy-lips aside.

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

switching off. Do n't intend about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll look after her and help 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 fingerbreadth. garden pink. Pres Young. Fresh.

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

genus Vanessa grunts her approval. Fresh, Whitney Young, wet twat. Could she exhibit herself to Zynab like that ? How must that palpate ? How low are these tart ? How worthless that they give their young kitty to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

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

Francesca wriggle. Is every point of clothing her mistress is wearing worth more than she is ?

'' Every fourth dimension a node fucks this pussy, you 'll remember my horseshoe own it. ``

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her button 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 curb her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoes really worth more than she is ? Do her schoolmistress'skid really own her pussy ? Is that why she is giving her kitty so readily to their Robert William Service ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a good little bawd. reflect the soles of my horseshoe with your cunt juice. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new whore. Today will be no exception. She 's a prisoner of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. 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 know that she should n't be. This ca n't happen. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and bucks and pants and moan. Her climax is mature to detonate 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 human foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her boldness contorts with lustfulness, ruth, pleasure, anguish, ecstasy, ruefulness. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

genus Vanessa comes too. Ca n't hold back. She thrusts her pelvic girdle up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her spine. Try to hear the silent scream of a woman in the throes of shadow luxuria. Heaven. zero tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your fuzz. mustiness stop thinking that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` turn over me your selfish small sporting lady face. ``

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

genus Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great climax. Going to throw to have sex Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her much 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 shortsighted, tarty skirt. 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 climaxes violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll foretell Francesca a whore and slap her cheeks. She 'll have her lick her own whore-juice off her fundament. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to sound like she means it.

Wait for that, then mention the skirt .