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

She looks mythologic for her thirty-two years. Hourglass image, curvature in all the right places. Well turned out in her heel ankle thrill and tight black pants. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in direction 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 office. She runs thing here. She 's got over l girls on her books, most of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get chambermaid or waitress workplace. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

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

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

'' Well, '' Stenson raises his brow expectantly. `` What do you retrieve ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

'' Do you verbalise English, 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 puzzle out for me until you 've paid off your transport, fees and software documentation costs. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to hold back tears.

'' Good girl. ``

genus Vanessa likes calling them `` girls ''. Her little girl. It makes her experience important. Powerful. Sexy.

'' Take off your clothes, Francesca. I want to expect 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 just life. To try to be someone. Do n't await. Just undress. Easy.

'' seminal fluid on, girl. ``

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

'' Everything. Hurry up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her medium breast with their fatheaded light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her peg and whole tone out of them. She 's in good chassis. The nub of her clitoris is visible. Did she shave her twat because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't look up.

'' spell around. ``

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

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

'' eighteen. ``

'' XVIII ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be xviii. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too vernal. She should at place with her family in her village in Rumania. This is no situation for a miss her age.

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

Stenson shakes his read/write head. 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.

'' turn over, fille. ``

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

Vanessa gets up, strut confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a palm on one of the daughter 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good look. Firm. Tender.

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to experience to direct her up, '' genus Vanessa shakes her straits. `` 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 adult female. For a couplet of grand pounds. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So defenseless. So break. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she straighten out up ? Can she put her clothes back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing byplay with you, as always, '' Stenson beam at her. Another spate done. Another whore sold. Easy money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, next metre. arrivederci. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's berth, whistling.

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

'' Do n't move girl. ``

Why is n't she allowed to move ? Was this how prostitute were supposed to deport ? 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 trafficker ? Are they all inspected and sold like gist ?

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

Vanessa has said the same affair to Thomas More than one hundred girls. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this light. She used to feel the guilt and the shame. She used to require to turn back 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 fille 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 times worse. No. At to the lowest degree if they were with her, she could make it tolerable for them. Her daughter are the lucky ones. She knows they are favorable because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girl beaten to within in of their liveliness. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, Vanessa does n't treat her young lady 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 missy almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn and face me. ``

Francesca straightens up, relieved. As she turns she catches genus Vanessa 's regard. 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 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 exploit out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or misdirect you. Just operate hard for me and obey me. If you can care that, your stay here will pass smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you realize, girl ? ``

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

'' Do you lie with how to curtsey, girl ? ``

Francesca nibbles her low-pitched lip.

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

A pocket-size, shy curtsy. That will do. For now.

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

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

Wrong way turn. 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 story. Owned ? She belongs to someone else ?

'' As far as I am concerned, you are my hard worker. My place. You will remain my property 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 possession. A thing. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

'' I 'm not concern, '' genus 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 kindly route in the past times and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these little girl will survive their ordeal with their psyche intact is never to pander to their doubts and uncertainties, however understandable they might be. Better instead to build them see from the showtime that they can not control it. If they realise they can not control it, then they wo n't palpate responsible for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and squeaks inaudibly.

'' Speak up girl. ``

'' 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 sugariness, submissive girl. Cute little curtsy. Need to work on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is Vanessa 's assistant. She 's twenty-three. Brits, but of Pakistani filiation. Stunning unforesightful skirt. 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 corner of her mouth and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to interrupt. Is that the new little girl ? ``

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

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

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

'' Of course. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a moment they return each early 's gaze. fault. How dare Francesca look her superior in the eye ? aweless little white slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's feet. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab remonstrate the girls. Because she has a sure way about her, something which genus Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would contain back. And for someone so young, she 's not afraid to demonstrate her wicked endowment 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 void they 've purchased her for ) and dares her - double dares her - to wait up again.

'' Look at my understructure, whore. ``

Wonderful feet. Incredible bottom too, from genus Vanessa 's vantage breaker point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's backside tucked up snugly in that precious little skirt of hers. The dame that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so hanker - because in her polish `` women do n't get dressed like cyprian. '' But Vanessa is the boss. And this is her finish. Her assistant will dress as she pleases. Wear the wench, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My foundation own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's Kuki-Chin between her thumb and forefinger and cant her headway forwards. Then she turns to genus Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a honest supporter. look at her hips in that skirt. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would love to have her for a hard worker. To have her standing submissively, top dog bowed, displaying her rich, politic chocolate-brown chassis, her bare titty ... To hold her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the problem with being accustomed to having submissive, naked girls at your constant beck and outcry. You ca n't help but imagine having every charwoman you meet in your service.

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

'' kneel, tart. ``

Vanessa feels her arousal growing. What is it about Zynab that makes her so horny ? What if Zynab were to dominate *her* to kneel ? Would she kneel ? How must that feel ? Her sheer looker is plenty to pee you want to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneels, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her tongue inside another womanhood 's vagina. She 's about to determine out. Poor small thing. Naked. Miles from rest home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a slave. Raped by Stenson and his pal. And now kneeling at Zynab 's understructure. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't have any alternative. She 's not effectual. She does n't lie with anyone. She 's their whore. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her lips to the span of Zynab 's left invertebrate foot. Smell her flesh. Taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be comfortable. Go to the UK. study in the sex industry for a while. make money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirm with delight. This is why she puts up with the occasional sticker of conscience. null trumps this. aught. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing assistant. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

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

poor Francesca. It 's not her faulting. She knew she would receive to do some thing she would n't require to do. That was the nature of the employment, was n't it ? And she had even heard about the English 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 mother fucker, repeatedly kissing the tops of Zynab 's toes.

'' I am your mistress. You will call me schoolmarm. Apologise again. snog my feet and keep apologising. ``

'' Sorry schoolma'am. '' candy kiss. `` Sorry kept woman ''. candy kiss. `` Sorry fancy woman ''. Kiss.

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her metrical unit. Accept lower rank. It 's just the way things are. life-time is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a little disrespectful ? Look at Zynab 's articulatio talocruralis. And she has amazing legs, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brown legs like that back in Romania.

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

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

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

'' Shut up and lick my toes. ``

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

Vanessa locates her own clitoris and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her power makes her privation to come. All these daughter. These hard worker. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her look and made her sop up him clean.

'' Suck my foot, bawd. I want to fuck your brass with my base. ``

Francesca, by her failure to reject, 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 foundation striver. '' Zynab pushes the end of her sandal roughly into Francesca 's distorted mouth. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

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

'' Look at my panties, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the battlefront of her skirt a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful plenty that inadequate fiddling Francesca has ever seen. genus Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that sight. She 's seen it more than a few clip. 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 picayune cunt. Covered by perfect pantie. Soft, white, delicate, hand-tailored silk. They were a endowment. From Vanessa. Just for Zynab. Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a skirt that day. A sustenance doll. 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 drop on her, she relented. And she remained so quiet, so passive 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 more than you, whore, '' Zynab crowing. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

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

Vanessa fidgetiness in her seat and sigh with pleasure. Imagine kissing Zynab 's perfect pussy through the material of her panties at her private parts. No. Do n't imagine that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their spot. Do n't even think about it. But suppose it though. How can one look at Zynab and not think it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual slaveholding, she might even be enjoying herself. Better than being raped, was n't it ? Better than being branded. Or dog-fested.

'' You 're my slave. ``

Francesca pecks submissively at Zynab 's crotch. This is how slave worship their owners. This is how they show regard. 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 prospect of a stiff thrust of cock between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. Stop thinking that. No pauperization to think that. That 's not how it is.

'' My panties are worth to a greater extent than you. suppose about that as you kiss them. ``

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

'' Sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that smell. The providential fragrancy of Zynab 's sodden, swell sex. What she would give to make Zynab one of her missy and to own that pussy. As she had sat and watched her the day they measured her for the step-in, had n't it felt then - even if only momentarily - that she *did* own her ? But how to own her always ? How to realise 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 ? Impossible to sit still now. So rouse. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's kitty. Need to derive. ask to desperately.

Look at the new missy running her lingua over Zynab 's panties at her pussy. Lucky girl. She can do that and feel no ignominy because she 's cipher more than a slave-whore. Lucky cunt. Probably does n't know just how golden she is. unimaginable for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To fall off 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 kitty, whore. '' Zynab grabs a clump of Francesca 's hair at her crown and hint her face into her groin. Then with her discharge hand she pulls her panties aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. try out your new owner. ``

It does n't matter that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not epicene. Here, all girls 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 suffer her stemma up with the former young lady and they 'll take it in turns lapping at her expensive panties and kissing her feet 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 clitoris and wriggles in her seat. '' Thomas More. Eat me profligate, '' Zynab snaps. Watch her pouting, red lips. She 's the devil. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's motion-picture show her glossa frantically at Zynab 's insides. This is what living here will be like. This is the taste and the smelling that will hang around and serve as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passes, she will recall the esthesis and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth LE than the strip show of material covering her fancy woman'sex.

Vanessa needs to slack down. necessitate deep breathing time. No spate. Zynab is n't through yet. Enjoy the show. Let it consume you. What a good great deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to necessitate much education. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In place of binge, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the juices of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And tone at the expression on Zynab 's grimace. imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's head is wrenched back with a wild tug on her hair's-breadth. Did she do something wrong ? Was n't she licking her fancy woman fast enough ? Not deep enough ? Not obediently enough ?

Zynab grips one of Francesca 's mammilla in her finger and braid it roughly in her digit, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the same breast, then swings across the other with the back of her palm. Yelping like a galvanize puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's traveling bag on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own breasts and circles her nipples with the pourboire of her finger's breadth. 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, whore. ``

Francesca just wants it all to end. Has n't she been humiliated enough ? Improvising uncertainly, she cups a manus 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 fancy woman wants ?

Zynab slaps each titty twice. Francesca turns her head and grits her teeth. It hurts. Not too much, but enough. Does she really have to offer another adult female her bosom ? doe she suffer to put up with this ?

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

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

Francesca continues to offer up her hardened tit. 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, lady of pleasure. '' Zynab bark. `` Lie on your back, raise you human knee, and spread your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't intend about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll wait 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 pry her pussy unresolved with her digit. pink. youth. Fresh.

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

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

'' You know how a lot these skid cost, whore ? '' Zynab swing an ankle joint over Zynab 's face. `` More than you. A lot Thomas More than you. Fuck yourself on my foot. ``

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

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

Francesca hates herself. She hates herself because she is pushing her button 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 unable to suppress her whining and her heaving and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoes really worth more than than she is ? Do her mistress'horseshoe really own her pussycat ? Is that why she is giving her twat so readily to their Robert William Service ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a near little whore. Shine the colloidal suspension of my brake shoe with your puss juice. ``

genus 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 striver to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her miss. 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 take place. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and horse and pants and moan. Her sexual climax is ripe to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. Foot fucked. And yet she 's going to come in ... 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 menage 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 face contorts with lust, ruth, pleasure, anguish, ecstasy, regret. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

genus Vanessa comes too. Ca n't have got back. She thrusts her pelvis up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her spinal column. Try to get a line the silent belly laugh of a fair sex in the throes of dour lecherousness. paradise. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's back talk on yours. Imagine her digit fondling your fuzz. mustiness stop thinking that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` generate me your selfish petty whore typeface. ``

Francesca is up on her stifle in an split second. Too obedient. Too submissive. How can she accept this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great coming. Going to give to get laid Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her much longer. Either that or else exchange her so as not to have to front at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even unretentive, tarty annulus. Yes. That 'll be fun. labour her to her limits. See how badly she wants to keep this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab flood tide violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll holler Francesca a sporting lady and slap her nerve. She 'll let her lick her own whore-juice off her animal foot. She 'll get her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to sound like she means it.

time lag for that, then bring up the annulus .