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

She looks fabulous for her thirty-two years. Hourglass soma, curves in all the decently home. Well turned out in her list ankle bang and smashed black knickers. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in thrill 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 berth. She runs things here. She 's got over fifty young lady on her books, nigh of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get fille de chambre or waitress piece of work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

right field now though, they work for genus Vanessa. They 're her miss. Her whores.

Vanessa 's provider, 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, '' Vanessa nods. `` She 's pretty. ``

They 're looking at Francesca.

Francesca is indeed pretty. And Whitney Moore Young Jr.. Too young to be here. Cropped blondish hair. Hazel-brown, blinking center. She 's shivering. Frightened ? looking tired. Distraught. It 's been a long trip.

'' Do you speak English people, 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 out for me until you 've paid off your transfer, fees and documentation costs. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to hold back tears.

'' commodity girl. ``

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

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

Francesca does n't expect 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 depend. Just undress. Easy.

'' cum on, fille. ``

Francesca crosses one arm over the other, pulls her frock up over her head, 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 tit with their slurred light-brown nipples. She slides her panties down her legs and steps out of them. She 's in soundly shape. The nub of her clitoris is seeable. Did she shave her pussy because she knew she would end up here ?

'' Beautiful, '' Vanessa sighs.

Francesca does n't look up.

'' spell around. ``

Francesca turns obediently. Tight little hind end. She 's going to be pop. Stenson will want supernumerary for her.

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

'' Eighteen. ``

'' Eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be 18. She might not be. She definitely looks young. Too vernal. She should at habitation with her family in her village in Roumania. This is no station for a young woman her age.

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

Stenson shakes his 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.

'' bending over, young woman. ``

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

Vanessa gets up, prance confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a palm on one of the lady friend 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good feel. Firm. Tender.

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

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

Good. Not unaffordable.

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

Francesca still bent over before them. So this is what it feels like to be sold into sexual thraldom. To be sold to an English language woman. For a duo of thousand Lebanese pound. More money than can be imagined back in her hamlet. So cold. So naked. So debunk. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she clean up up ? Can she put her wearing apparel back on ?

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

'' A pleasure doing business sector with you, as always, '' Stenson beams at her. Another deal done. Another whore sold. promiscuous money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, adjacent meter. Adios. He does n't even glance at Francesca as he exits Vanessa 's office, whistling.

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

'' Do n't move daughter. ``

Why is n't she allowed to travel ? Was this how harlot were supposed to behave ? She had n't imagined it would be anything like this. Were all the lady friend that come here treated like this ? Are they all raped by their traffickers ? Are they all inspected and sold like inwardness ?

'' 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 one C daughter. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this tardily. She used to feel the guiltiness and the ignominy. She used to want to block up and get out and not be involved. But over sentence she 's learned to be at peace treaty with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't right. She knows she 's as often to blame for forcing these girl into prostitution as anyone. But she also knows that if she did n't do it, then they would only be sold to mortal else, and that that could be a G times worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could micturate it tolerable for them. Her daughter are the lucky ace. She knows they are prosperous because she has seen what goes on elsewhere. She has seen girls beaten to within inch of their sprightliness. She 's seen them branded. She 's seen them dog-fested.

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

'' You may sour and confront 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 tough, but fair. I know how surd 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 figure out out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or mislead you. Just cultivate hard for me and obey me. If you can negociate that, your check here will take place smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

Francesca sniffs and nods. She understands. She does n't throw any choice but to understand. Maybe they really will help her. Maybe.

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

Francesca nibbles her scurvy lip.

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

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

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

Francesca nods. Then curtsies.

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

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

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

'' As far as I am occupy, you are my slave. My property. 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 son of a bitch. `` 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 but way. She 's gone the good-hearted route in the yesteryear and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the only way these girls will subsist their ordeal with their Psyche intact is never to procure to their doubts and uncertainties, however understandable they might be. Better instead to make them see from the outset that they can not see it. If they realise they can not control it, then they wo n't feel creditworthy for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can weather it.

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

Francesca performs a belittled curtsy and squeaks inaudibly.

'' Speak up girl. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, mistress. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a sweet, subservient girlfriend. Cute little curtsey. Need to work on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

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

Zynab is genus Vanessa 's assistant. She 's 23. British, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short skirt. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, dismal hair. Full, pouting, fuck-me mouth. Painted red.

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

Vanessa does n't reply. Of course it 's the new fille. What does Zynab want ? Busy.

'' Very dainty ... '' Zynab 's center 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 present moment they return each other 's gaze. error. How dare Francesca expect her superior in the eye ? Disrespectful little clean slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's feet. That 's how it works.

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

Vanessa bristles with pleasure. She adores watching Zynab reprimand the missy. Because she has a certain way about her, something which Vanessa has always envied. She has the courage to be cruel where most would concur back. And for somebody so Loretta Young, she 's not afraid to march her prankish talent openly. Almost as if it is the interview - in this instance 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 - twofold dares her - to look up again.

'' flavour at my feet, whore. ``

Wonderful understructure. Incredible bottom too, from Vanessa 's advantage point. Who would n't but admire Zynab 's buttocks tucked up snugly in that cute little skirt of hers. The annulus that genus Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so long - because in her culture `` adult female do n't enclothe like lady of pleasure. '' But Vanessa is the knob. And this is her polish. Her help will set as she pleases. Wear the skirt, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My foundation own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilts her head forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a treat. She 's a good assistant. smell at her hips in that doll. She 's an Indian Goddess. Would bang to stimulate her for a slave. To have her standing submissively, fountainhead bowed, displaying her rich, smooth brown flesh, her bare white meat ... To sustain her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having slavish, naked missy at your invariant beck and phone call. You ca n't help oneself but imagine having every woman you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in bust. The piteous girl. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this res publica. She has no friends here. No relatives to turn to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' kneeling, whore. ``

Vanessa feels her rousing development. 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 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 knife inside another charwoman 's vagina. She 's about to rule out. poor little thing. Naked. Roman mile from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a striver. Raped by Stenson and his crony. And now kneeling at Zynab 's feet. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't feature any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't have intercourse anyone. She 's their cocotte. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her lips to the bridge of Zynab 's left foot. olfactory modality her flesh. Taste it. It was never meant to be like this. It was meant to be easy. Go to the UK. Work in the sex manufacture for a while. shuffle money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirm with pleasure. This is why she puts up with the periodic prickles of sense of right and wrong. Nothing trumps this. Nothing. One slavish sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing assistant. Wearing the chick she said she would never wear.

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

poor Francesca. It 's not her mistake. She knew she would have to do some things she would n't desire 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 gonzo 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 schoolma'am. Apologise again. snog my substructure and keep apologising. ``

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

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

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

Vanessa leans back in her chair and slips a hand past her belt-line into the nominal head of her pants. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so turned on. So incredibly horny.

'' Sorry fancy woman ''. buss. `` Sorry schoolma'am ''. Kiss.

'' Shut up and lap my toes. ``

Francesca 's tongue waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's good. 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 forefinger around it. Her mightiness makes her want to come. All these girls. These slaves. 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 metrical foot, whore. I want to fuck your face with my pes. ``

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

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

Vanessa pants with upheaval, captivated by Zynab 's public presentation. Both workforce at her own sex now. Tending the flames. Knowing the solely way to put out the fervor is to let it burn.

'' Look at my panties, whore. '' Zynab pulls up the forepart of her skirt a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful sight that pitiable lilliputian 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 meter. In a way, she *can* see it. Because it 's all she ever sees when she looks at Zynab. In that skirt.

perfective tense thighs surrounding a perfect little pussy. Covered by perfective tense panties. Soft, white, finespun, 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 wench that day. A bread and butter doll. She had argued and protested against dressing the way Vanessa wanted her to. But in the end, when she saw how practically genus Vanessa was prepared to spend on her, she relented. And she remained so quiet, so peaceful 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 panties are worth to a greater extent than you, whore, '' Zynab brags. `` Kiss them. They own you. ``

Francesca, wet faced, nods her submission. Anyone entering the elbow room rightfield at that moment would surely be of the picture she was veritably salivating at the expectation of kissing Zynab 's panties.

genus Vanessa restlessness in her seat and sighs with pleasure. Imagine kissing Zynab 's complete pussy through the cloth of her step-in at her crotch. No. Do n't conceive of that. Only the hard worker do that. It 's how they know their situation. Do n't even think about it. But imagine it though. How can one looking at 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. 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 genitals. This is how striver worship their owners. This is how they show respect. How they demonstrate their humbleness and devotion.

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

Vanessa loves hearing Zynab say that. She needs Zynab to say it again. She needs to pick up it. Hearing it excites her more even than the scene of a cockeyed thrust of stopcock between her legs. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. terminate thought process that. No motivation to think that. That 's not how it is.

'' My scanty are worth more than you. Think about that as you kiss them. ``

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

'' snuff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that odor. The divine fragrance of Zynab 's sodden, intumesce sex. What she would give to make Zynab one of her fille 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 much she secretly lusted after her ? Perhaps she does know. Maybe she wants it. Maybe she wants to be owned. Maybe that 's why she submitted to wearing the skirt ? unimaginable to sit still now. So emotional. sleep together watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's twat. Need to come. require to desperately.

Look at the new female child running her tongue over Zynab 's panty at her snatch. Lucky girl. She can do that and feel no shame because she 's zippo More than a slave-whore. Lucky bitch. Probably does n't know just how lucky she is. Impossible for genus Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To bury that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still mean it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' Lick my kitty, harlot. '' Zynab grabs a clump of Francesca 's tomentum at her crest and tip her expression into her groin. Then with her free hand she pulls her scanty aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' appreciation me. Taste your new proprietor. ``

It does n't weigh that Francesca has never done this before. It does n't matter that she 's not bisexual. Here, all daughter are bisexual person. 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 her line up with the other girlfriend and they 'll take it in turns lapping at her expensive panties and kissing her substructure and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does best. That 's what gets her off. How rosy for genus Vanessa, because that 's what gets her off, too. It 's getting her off even now, as she massages her clitoris and wriggle in her seat. '' More. Eat me faster, '' Zynab snaps. Watch her pouting, red brim. She 's the monster. She 's hone evil.

Francesca 's flick her tongue frantically at Zynab 's inside. This is what life history here will be like. This is the sense of taste and the olfactory property that will linger and serve as a constant monitor of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab mountain pass, she will recall the mavin and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her peg, simply because she is worth less than the strip of material covering her mistress'sex.

genus Vanessa needs to retard down. take up recondite breathing space. No charge. Zynab is n't through yet. Enjoy the display. Let it consume you. What a expert deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require much education. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In blank space of rent, Francesca 's cheeks drip now with the juice of her new mistress. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And looking at the face on Zynab 's font. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's fountainhead 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 mysterious 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 Lapp breast, then swings across the early with the back of her medal. Yelping like a startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's grip on her hairsbreadth permits.

Vanessa runs a hired hand over one of her own titty and circles her teat with the tips of her fingers. Electricity. Go on Zynab. Slap them again. birth them. Own them.

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

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

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

Francesca just wants it all to end. Has n't she been humiliated enough ? Improvising uncertainly, she cups a handwriting under each of her breast, 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 mistress wants ?

Zynab slaps each bosom twice. Francesca turns her headway and grits her dentition. It hurts. Not too very much, but enough. Does she really have to offer another adult female her breasts ? Does she make 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 titty ...

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

Francesca continues to offer 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 parts her thigh slightly, reaches down and crudely pulls her pussy-lips aside.

'' I ca n't see it there, bawd. '' Zynab barks. `` Lie on your back, wage hike you knee, and propagate your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't reckon about it. It 'll be alright. They 'll expect 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 lever her twat open with her finger. Pink. Young. Fresh.

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

Vanessa grunts her approval. Fresh, Edward Young, wet kitty-cat. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that feel ? How low are these woman of the street ? How worthless that they give their young pussies to be bought and sold like discounted meat ?

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

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

'' Every time a client fucks this pussy, you 'll think back 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 ineffective to bottle up her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoes really worth Sir Thomas More than she is ? Do her mistress'shoes really own her pussy ? Is that why she is giving her pussy so readily to their service ? Is it still hers to return ?

'' There 's a good slight cocotte. radiate the so of my shoes with your cunt succus. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new whore. Today will be no elision. She 's a captive 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 bechance. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Rumania. She squirms and bucks and pants and moans. Her climax is mature to detonate within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. substructure 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 acquaintance say if they could see her now ? What would her house say ?

'' Come 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 case contorts with lust, pity, pleasure, anguish, ecstasy, ruefulness. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't take back. She thrusts her pelvis up and down on her own digit, tenses and arches her vertebral column. Try to hear the silent scream of a adult female in the throes of dark luxuria. Heaven. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's brim on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your hair. moldiness discontinue thinking that. It 's dangerous.

'' Eat me again, '' Zynab snaps at Francesca. `` contribute me your selfish little prostitute face. ``

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

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great coming. Going to have got to fuck Zynab soon. Ca n't fend her practically longer. Either that or else interchange her so as not to cause to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even short, tarty skirt. Yes. That 'll be fun. fight her to her limit point. See how badly she wants to keep on this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab flood tide violently in Francesca 's face.

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

delay for that, then mention the skirt .