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

She looks mythologic for her thirty-two years. Hourglass figure, curved shape in all the properly lieu. Well turned out in her heel ankle joint boots and tight melanize gasp. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in kick 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 things here. She 's got over fifty girls on her Word, 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 hand 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 brow expectantly. `` What do you think ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

Francesca is indeed pretty. And new. Too young to be here. Cropped blondish hair. Hazel-brown, blinking oculus. 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 work for me until you 've paid off your transfer, fees and support monetary value. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to reserve back tears.

'' ripe girl. ``

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

'' Take off your dress, Francesca. I want to look at you. ``

Francesca does n't search 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-time. To try to be someone. Do n't bet. Just undress. Easy.

'' seminal fluid on, little girl. ``

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

'' Everything. hurriedness up. ``

Francesca unclips her bra and reveals to them her medium boob with their thick light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her ramification and steps out of them. She 's in good figure. The nub of her clitoris is visible. Did she shave her pussy because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' genus Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't look up.

'' turn of events around. ``

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

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

'' eighteen. ``

'' 18 ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be eighteen. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too young. She should at abode with her family in her village in Romania. This is no place for a miss her age.

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

Stenson shakes his oral sex. He knows she 's not a Virgo. 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 derriere. 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 palm on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good smell. Firm. Tender.

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to have to check her up, '' Vanessa shakes her head. `` I 'll hold you two thousand for her. ``

Francesca still bent over before them. So this is what it feels like to be sold into intimate thraldom. To be sold to an English char. For a brace of thousand pounds. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So frigidity. So defenseless. So exposed. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she tidy up ? Can she put her clothes back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business organization with you, as always, '' Stenson ray of light at her. Another pot 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, succeeding time. goodby. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits genus Vanessa 's office, whistling.

Vanessa sits back at her desk and taps her keyboard. The bit go by. Francesca chill. Her pussy still on display from the butt. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she tidy up now ?

'' Do n't move daughter. ``

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 vender ? Are they all inspected and sold like centre ?

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

genus 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 well-situated. She used to feel the guilt and the pity. She used to want to halt 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 much to blame for forcing these girls 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 1000 meter worse. No. At to the lowest degree if they were with her, she could make it adequate for them. Her girl are the favorable one. She knows they are lucky because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girls beaten to within inches of their lives. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

No, Vanessa does n't treat her little girl like that. She 's helping them. indisputable, she can be cruel. 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 wrench 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 tough, but fair. I know how intemperately 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 put to work out a architectural plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or misinform you. Just process hard for me and obey me. If you can manage that, your check here will die smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

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

'' Do you have intercourse how to curtsy, girl ? ``

Francesca nibbles her glower lip.

'' Where you 'll be working, you need to study to curtsey. curtsy for me now, young woman. ``

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

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

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

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

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

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

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

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

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

'' I 'm not interested, '' 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 road in the past tense and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will survive their ordeal with their Psyche intact is never to procure to their uncertainty and doubt, however apprehensible they might be. Better instead to make them see from the outset that they can not ascertain it. If they realise they can not check it, then they wo n't feel responsible for for it. If they are not creditworthy for it, then they can endure it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsey and squeaks inaudibly.

'' Speak up daughter. ``

'' 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 sweet, slavish girl. Cute minuscule curtsey. postulate to exploit on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is Vanessa 's assistant. She 's twenty-three. British people, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, benighted pilus. Full, pouting, fuck-me brim. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger's breadth to the street corner of her backtalk and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to interrupt. Is that the new young woman ? ``

Vanessa does n't resolve. Of course it 's the new missy. What does Zynab need ? Busy.

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

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

'' Of course. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a moment they return each early 's regard. Mistake. How dare Francesca look her superscript in the eye ? Disrespectful trivial blanched slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's foundation. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with delight. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the girls. Because she has a sealed way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would take for back. And for mortal so unseasoned, she 's not afraid to demonstrate her impish gift openly. Almost as if it is the consultation - in this instance 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 - forked dares her - to look up again.

'' Look at my foundation, harlot. ``

Wonderful feet. Incredible seat too, from Vanessa 's vantage full stop. Who would n't but look up to Zynab 's arse tucked up snugly in that cunning little skirt of hers. The skirt that Vanessa insists she wears. The bird that Zynab resisted for so tenacious - because in her culture `` fair sex do n't arrange like whores. '' But genus Vanessa is the genus Bos. And this is her culture. Her assistant will raiment as she pleases. Wear the bird, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My feet own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's Kuki-Chin between her ovolo and forefinger and wobble her caput forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a kickshaw. She 's a unspoilt assistant. aspect at her hip in that annulus. She 's an Native American Goddess. Would make love to get her for a slave. To have her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her plentiful, smooth embrown flesh, her bare breasts ... To consume her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having slavish, defenseless girl at your constant beck and call. You ca n't help but guess having every woman you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in tears. The pitiable girl. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this country. She has no acquaintance here. No congenator to sprain to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' Kneel, whore. ``

genus Vanessa feels her arousal growing. What is it about Zynab that makes her so horny ? What if Zynab were to command *her* to kneel ? Would she kneel ? How must that finger ? Her sheer mantrap is adequate to make you want to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneels, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her spit inside another woman 's vagina. She 's about to happen out. poor people little thing. Naked. land mile from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a slave. Raped by Stenson and his cronies. And now kneeling at Zynab 's metrical unit. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' buss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't take any option. She 's not sound. She does n't have it away anyone. She 's their fancy woman. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her sass to the bridge of Zynab 's allow for substructure. tone her flesh. taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be easily. Go to the UK. Work in the sex industriousness for a while. Make money quickly.

genus Vanessa, still seated at her desk, wriggle with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the casual sticker of moral sense. nothing trumps this. naught. One subservient sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and unforced helper. Wearing the skirt she said she would never wear.

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

Poor Francesca. It 's not her fault. She knew she would possess 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 side and their sexual perversion and their freaky fetish. But she never thought it would be like this. Like this ! God. Not like this.

'' Say sorry, '' Zynab smirks down at her.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca sobbing, repeatedly kissing the pinnacle of Zynab 's toes.

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

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

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her feet. Accept lower status. It 's just the way things are. life story is not always comely. Maybe she *had* been a little disrespectful ? count at Zynab 's ankle. And she has astonish pegleg, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, browned leg like that back in Romania.

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

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

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

'' Shut up and lick my toes. ``

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

Vanessa locates her own button and turns the tip of her forefinger around it. Her big businessman makes her want to come. All these missy. These striver. And Zynab. In her chick. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her face and made her suck him clean.

'' sucking my fundament, bawd. I want to fuck your font with my foot. ``

Francesca, by her loser to resist, 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 hard worker. '' Zynab pushes the end of her sandal roughly into Francesca 's colour mouth. `` Tomorrow you will be my pussy-maid. ``

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

'' Look at my pantie, bawd. '' Zynab pulls up the front of her wench a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful flock that misfortunate little Francesca has ever seen. Vanessa ca n't see it from where she 's sitting, but she knows that vision. 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 panties. Soft, white, soft, hand-tailored silk. They were a gift. From Vanessa. Just for Zynab. genus 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 often 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 length between her anus and her sex. The width of her anus when bending over.

'' My scanty are worth to a greater extent than you, whore, '' Zynab bragging. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

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

Vanessa fidgetiness in her seat and suspiration with pleasure. Imagine kissing Zynab 's complete slit through the stuff of her step-in at her crotch. No. Do n't conceive of that. Only the slaves do that. It 's how they know their plaza. Do n't even think about it. But imagine it though. How can one smell at Zynab and not reckon it ? Imagine being Francesca. If she had n't just been sold into sexual slavery, 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 genitalia. 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 hard worker. ``

genus 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 aspect of a loaded thrust of cock between her wooden leg. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her striver. That she owns you. No. intercept thinking that. No need to think that. That 's not how it is.

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

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

'' snuff me, whore. ``

genus Vanessa imagines that smell. The divine aroma of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would turn over to make Zynab one of her girl and to own that puss. 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 wee-wee a pet-slave of her ? God. What would Zynab say if she knew how practically she secretly lusted after her ? Perhaps she does recognize. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants to be owned. Maybe that 's why she submitted to wearing the skirt ? unimaginable to sit still now. So enkindle. Love watching slave-whores adoration Zynab 's cunt. Need to issue forth. need to desperately.

flavor at the new little girl running her spit over Zynab 's scanty at her snatch. Lucky daughter. She can do that and finger no shame because she 's zip more than a slave-whore. Lucky cunt. Probably does n't know just how prosperous she is. out of the question for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To go down that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still cogitate it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' lap my kitty, working girl. '' Zynab grabs a clod of Francesca 's haircloth at her crown and tip her font into her bulwark. Then with her free hired hand she pulls her panties aside, revealing her glistening sex.

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

It does n't matter that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not bisexual. Here, all girls are bisexual. It is a necessary. 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 got her line of reasoning up with the other girls and they 'll withdraw 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 squirm in her seat. '' to a greater extent. Eat me faster, '' Zynab snaps. Watch her pouting, red lips. She 's the devil. She 's utter evil.

Francesca 's pic her tongue frantically at Zynab 's interior. This is what life here will be like. This is the taste sensation and the olfactory modality that will lurk and serve as a incessant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passes, she will call up the sensation and call back that she is to bow her head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth less than the strip show of fabric covering her mistress'sex.

genus Vanessa needs to slow down. Take abstruse breaths. No surge. Zynab is n't through yet. revel the appearance. Let it consume you. What a good deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require practically education. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In office of split, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the juice of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the expression on Zynab 's typeface. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's oral sex 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 cryptic enough ? Not obediently enough ?

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

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the Same titty, then swings across the other with the cover of her medallion. Yelping like a startled pup, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's grip on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own bosom and circles her tit with the tips of her fingers. electricity. Go on Zynab. slap them again. make them. Own them.

'' Your titty are mine. '' Zynab barque at a red-faced and trembling Francesca. `` Offer them to me. ``

Francesca does n't make a motion. 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 hired hand under each of her breasts, raises them up slightly and opens her ribbon towards Zynab. Presenting her white meat 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 woman her titty ? doe she get 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 titties ...

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

Francesca continues to extend up her season tit. She wants to protect them, but she 's afraid to. Are they no longer hers to protect ?

'' Now offer me your slit. ``

What ? How ?

Just do something. Anything.

Still kneeling, Francesca parting 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, raise you knees, and go around your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't recall about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll front after her and help her pay her debts, wo n't they ?

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

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

Vanessa grunts her approval. Fresh, Cy Young, wet pussy. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that find ? How low are these cyprian ? How worthless that they give their young kitty-cat to be bought and sold like discounted centre ?

'' You know how a lot these shoes monetary value, whore ? '' Zynab swing an ankle over Zynab 's face. `` More than you. A lot more than you. Fuck yourself on my foundation. ``

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

'' Every fourth dimension a client fucks this pussy, you 'll remember my shoes 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 ineffectual to suppress her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her kept woman'shoes really worth more than she is ? Do her kept woman'shoes really own her twat ? Is that why she is giving her pussy so readily to their service of process ? Is it still hers to give ?

'' There 's a commodity minuscule prostitute. smoothen the soles of my place with your puss juice. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new fancy woman. Today will be no elision. She 's a prisoner of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their shape. All her missy. 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 trouser and moan. Her orgasm is ripe to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. animal 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 ?

'' cum then, you selfish whore, '' Zynab snaps at her.

And so Francesca comes. Clasping Zynab 's foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her face contorts with lustfulness, pity, pleasure, anguish, ecstasy, sorrow. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

genus Vanessa comes too. Ca n't hold back. She thrusts her pelvic arch up and down on her own finger, tenses and arches her back. Try to learn the understood scream of a womanhood in the throes of dark lecherousness. paradise. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's back talk on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your fuzz. mustiness stop mentation that. It 's dangerous.

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

Francesca is up on her knees in an second. Too obedient. Too subservient. How can she assume this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to have to do it Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her much longer. Either that or else replace her so as not to give birth to look at her and tolerate. Maybe make her wear an even shorter, tarty chick. Yes. That 'll be fun. Push her to her limits. See how badly she wants to proceed 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 cheeks. She 'll let her lick her own whore-juice off her feet. She 'll have her say `` Thank you mistress '' over and over again until it starts to sound like she means it.

delay for that, then cite the wench .