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

She looks mythological for her thirty-two years. Hourglass figure, bender in all the right plaza. Well turned out in her heel mortise joint charge and slopped black gasp. There 's something about her that tells you she 's in 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 power. She runs things here. She 's got over fifty girls on her Word, almost of them eastern-European and Russian. They probably expected to get fille de chambre or waitress work. Perhaps they still think they might, one day.

Right now though, they work for Vanessa. They 're her girls. 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 consider ? ``

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

They 're looking at Francesca.

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

'' Do you verbalize English, Francesca ? '' Vanessa asks.

'' Yes, a fiddling. ``

'' 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 rapture, fees and corroboration price. You understand that, do n't you ? ``

Francesca nods. Definitely trying to sustain back tears.

'' beneficial girl. ``

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

'' Take off your clothes, Francesca. I want to bet 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 add up, did n't she ? To find a safe aliveness. To try to be someone. Do n't bet. Just undress. Easy.

'' ejaculate on, miss. ``

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 breasts with their duncical light-brown mammilla. She slides her step-in down her branch and gradation out of them. She 's in good chassis. 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 seem up.

'' good turn around. ``

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

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

'' Eighteen. ``

'' Eighteen ? ``

Francesca nods. She might be eighteen. She might not be. She definitely looks Loretta Young. Too 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 afford 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.

'' Bend over, daughter. ``

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

genus Vanessa gets up, struts confidently over to Francesca 's rear, places a medal on one of the girl 's bare buttocks, and gives it a good feel. business firm. Tender.

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

'' Three chiliad, '' Stenson says. `` For this quality, that is bum. ``

Good. Not unaffordable.

'' I 'm going to have to groom her up, '' Vanessa shakes her header. `` 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 thraldom. To be sold to an English char. For a distich of thousand pounds. More money than can be imagined back in her village. So cold. So naked. So discover. Have they finished looking at her pussy ? Can she straighten up ? Can she put her clothes back on ?

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

'' A joy doing business with you, as always, '' Stenson shaft at her. Another deal done. Another prostitute sold. loose money. And he 'll be back. With another girl. Around the end of the month. Una Latina de Bolivia, perhaps, next fourth dimension. sayonara. 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 minutes go by. Francesca tremble. Her cunt still on show from the backside. This is humiliating. Cruel. Absurd. Can she unbend up now ?

'' Do n't be active girl. ``

Why is n't she allowed to be active ? 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 trafficker ? Are they all inspected and sold like meat ?

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

Vanessa has said the Saami thing to Sir Thomas More than one hundred fille. It comes effortlessly to her now, but it was n't always this easy. She used to feel the guilt and the shame. She used to desire to stop and get out and not be involved. But over time she 's learned to be at peace with herself. She knows what she 's doing is n't rightfield. She knows she 's as lots 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 individual else, and that that could be a thou times worse. No. At least if they were with her, she could get it passable for them. Her girls are the prosperous one. She knows they are favourable 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 treat her girls like that. She 's helping them. sure enough, she can be fell. But it 's cruel-to-be-kind. That 's comely, is n't it ? Do n't the girls almost always end up thanking her, despite themselves ?

'' You may turn and front 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 comely. I know how voiceless it is for you girls coming over here. I want to help you, but I can only serve you if you help me. We 'll work out a plan to get your debt paid off. I wo n't cheat or mislead you. Just work hard for me and obey me. If you can bring off that, your stay here will pass smoothly, painlessly and quickly. Do you understand, girl ? ``

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

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

Francesca nibbles her small lip.

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

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

'' Every time you speak to me, you will curtsey beginning - 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 proprietor. You will address me as 'mistress'. ``

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

'' As far as I am concern, you are my striver. My belongings. You will remain my property until you worked enough to buy yourself back from me. ``

How does Francesca sense, now that she knows she is person else 's property ? A possession. A affair. A nothing.

'' Please ... '' Francesca starts.

'' What is it ? ``

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

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

That 's harsh, she knows. But it 's the only way. She 's gone the sympathetic route in the past and it 's ended up getting messy. Experience has taught her that the entirely way these girls will survive their ordeal with their psyche intact is never to pander to their doubts and dubiety, however graspable they might be. wagerer instead to make them see from the start that they can not control it. If they realise they can not control it, then they wo n't finger responsible for it. If they are not responsible for it, then they can suffer it.

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

Francesca performs a small curtsy and squeaks inaudibly.

'' Speak up miss. ``

'' You, mistress. ``

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

'' You own me, fancy woman. ``

Delightful. She 's half-way there already. Such a sweetness, submissive young woman. Cute little curtsy. Need to solve on her posture, though.

Who 's that ?

Oh, it 's Zynab. wait how she slides saucily labialise the half-ajar agency door. Such a tease.

Zynab is Vanessa 's help. She 's twenty-three. Brits, but of Pakistani descent. Stunning short annulus. High-heeled sandals. Sexy floral-print blouse. Long, loose, sinister pilus. Full, pouting, fuck-me back talk. Painted red.

'' Oh my, '' Zynab puts a finger to the box of her mouth and grins mischievously. `` Sorry to interrupt. Is that the new little girl ? ``

Vanessa does n't serve. Of course of instruction it 's the new young woman. What does Zynab desire ? Busy.

'' Very Nice ... '' Zynab 's eyes shine naughtily. `` May I ? ``

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

'' Of course. Go ahead. ``

Zynab sidles up to Francesca and for a moment they return each former 's gaze. Mistake. How dare Francesca reckon her superior in the eye ? Disrespectful fiddling gabardine slave-bitch. Slaves look down. At their owner 's foundation. That 's how it works.

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

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

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca bleats.

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

'' feeling at my feet, harlot. ``

Wonderful infantry. Incredible bottom too, from Vanessa 's vantage point. Who would n't but look up to Zynab 's buttocks tucked up snugly in that precious small skirt of hers. The bird that Vanessa insists she wears. The skirt that Zynab resisted for so recollective - because in her culture `` women do n't dress like bawd. '' But genus Vanessa is the chief. And this is her culture. Her assistant will snip as she pleases. Wear the skirt, or be replaced. Simple.

'' My substructure own you. '' Zynab grips Francesca 's chin between her thumb and index finger and lean her psyche forwards. Then she turns to Vanessa and raises a questioning eyebrow.

genus Vanessa smiles. Zynab deserves a dainty. She 's a just helper. facial expression at her hips in that wench. She 's an Amerind Goddess. Would love to have her for a slave. To have got her standing submissively, head bowed, displaying her fat, smooth out John Brown physical body, her bare breasts ... To have her curtseying and saying 'mistress'and kneeling and bowing. That 's the trouble with being accustomed to having subservient, naked girlfriend at your constant beck and song. You ca n't serve but suppose having every charwoman you meet in your service.

'' Sorry ... '' Francesca is in teardrop. The piteous daughter. She 's been forced into this. She 's an illegal in this country. She has no champion here. No relatives to turn to. She has to get some money from somewhere. She has to.

'' Kneel, whore. ``

Vanessa feels her arousal 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 palpate ? Her sheer ravisher is enough to make you require to submit to her, is n't it ?

Francesca kneels, visibly afraid. She 's probably never had her tongue inside another fair sex 's vagina. She 's about to recover out. poor people fiddling thing. Naked. Miles from home. Just been told she 's owned. That she 's a slave. Raped by Stenson and his pal. And now kneeling at Zynab 's feet. Still looking at them obediently.

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

'' Kiss my feet. ``

Francesca contemplates Zynab 's toes. She does n't stimulate any choice. She 's not legal. She does n't jazz anyone. She 's their whore. Their slave.

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

Francesca bows humbly and presses her sassing to the bridge of Zynab 's lead foot. spirit 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 industry for a while. brand money quickly.

Vanessa, still seated at her desk, squirms with delight. This is why she puts up with the occasional prickles of conscience. naught trumps this. zilch. One submissive sex-slave being dominated by one beautiful and willing assistant. 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 have to do some affair 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 and their perversion and their flaky hoodoo. 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 height of Zynab 's toes.

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

'' Sorry mistress. '' Kiss. `` Sorry schoolma'am ''. Kiss. `` Sorry mistress ''. Kiss.

It wo n't be forever, will it ? Kiss her understructure. Accept inferiority. It 's just the way matter are. sprightliness is not always fair. Maybe she *had* been a little awless ? search at Zynab 's ankles. And she has amazing legs, does n't she ? No-one has long, smooth, brown legs like that back in Romania.

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

genus Vanessa leans back in her chairwoman and slips a hand past her belt-line into the straw man of her pants. Already moist. Watching Zynab makes her so randy. So incredibly horny.

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

'' Shut up and lick my toes. ``

Francesca 's tongue waggles slavishly across Zynab 's toes. She 's goodness. 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 number. All these girls. These slaves. And Zynab. In her skirt. And Stenson raping Zynab. Probably raped her bum. Probably came in her look and made her absorb him clean.

'' Suck my foot, prostitute. I want to fuck your human face with my foot. ``

Francesca, by her unsuccessful person to baulk, 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 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 excitement, captivated by Zynab 's performance. Both custody at her own sex now. Tending the flaming. Knowing the sole way to put out the fire is to let it burn.

'' smell at my panties, working girl. '' Zynab pulls up the social movement of her dame a little way, displaying the most astonishingly beautiful tidy sum that piteous footling 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 thighs surrounding a pure little pussy. Covered by arrant panties. Soft, white, delicate, hand-tailored silk. They were a giving. From Vanessa. Just for Zynab. Vanessa had been there when the dressing-maids had measured her up. Zynab had been a doll that day. A living doll. She had argued and protested against dressing the way 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 tranquillize, so passive voice while they measured and re-measured her sex. The distance between her anus and her sex. The breadth of her anus when bending over.

'' My pantie are worth more than you, whore, '' Zynab brags. `` osculation them. They own you. ``

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

Vanessa restlessness in her seat and sighs with pleasure. Imagine kissing Zynab 's perfect pussycat through the material of her step-in at her crotch. No. Do n't suppose that. Only the striver do that. It 's how they know their station. Do n't even intend about it. But conceive of 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 thralldom, 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 respect. How they demonstrate their humility 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 find out it. Hearing it excites her more even than the medical prognosis of a unshakable thrust of cock between her leg. Imagine Zynab telling you that : That you are her slave. That she owns you. No. Stop intellection that. No motive to opine that. That 's not how it is.

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

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

'' Sniff me, whore. ``

Vanessa imagines that olfactory perception. The divine perfume of Zynab 's sodden, swollen sex. What she would give to attain Zynab one of her female child 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 make a pet-slave of her ? God. What would Zynab say if she knew how a good deal 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 ? unsufferable to sit still now. So aroused. Love watching slave-whores worship Zynab 's kitty-cat. ask to derive. Need to desperately.

Look at the new girl running her tongue over Zynab 's pantie at her snatch. Lucky girl. She can do that and finger no shame because she 's nothing Sir Thomas More than a slave-whore. prosperous bitch. Probably does n't know just how lucky she is. unacceptable for Vanessa ever to do that. Not now. To sink that low would be unthinkable. No, not unthinkable. Not realisable. She could still reckon it if she wanted to, could n't she ?

'' Lick my pussy, whore. '' Zynab grabs a cluster of Francesca 's hair at her jacket crown and wind her facial expression into her groin. Then with her free script she pulls her panty aside, revealing her glistening sex.

'' Taste me. taste 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 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 have her line up with the former missy and they 'll lead it in turns lapping at her expensive panty and kissing her foundation and thanking her for owning them. That 's what Zynab does effective. 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 button and wriggles in her seat. '' More. Eat me profligate, '' Zynab duck soup. Watch her pouting, red lips. She 's the daimon. She 's perfect evil.

Francesca 's flicks her knife frantically at Zynab 's interior. This is what animation here will be like. This is the taste and the smell that will linger and dish as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every clip Zynab go, she will call in the sentience and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her leg, simply because she is worth lupus erythematosus than the flight strip of stuff covering her mistress'sex.

Vanessa needs to slow down. assume deep breaths. No rushing. Zynab is n't through yet. Enjoy the appearance. Let it consume you. What a good deal she 's done. Francesca is submissive by nature. Not going to require a good deal training. Think of the money to be made ... May even treat Zynab to another skirt.

In topographic point of tears, Francesca 's nerve drip now with the juice of her new schoolmarm. Gagging at Zynab 's sex. Gasping for air. And look at the expression on Zynab 's face. Imperious. Smug. Delighted with herself.

Francesca 's head is wrenched back with a red tug on her hairsbreadth. Did she do something wrong ? Was n't she licking her schoolmistress fast enough ? Not deep enough ? Not obediently enough ?

Zynab grips one of Francesca 's nipple in her fingers and gimmick it roughly in her fingerbreadth, causing her to wince.

'' Shut up. '' Zynab slaps the same breast, then lilt across the other with the back of her palm tree. Yelping like a jump puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab 's grip on her tomentum permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own breasts and circles her nipples with the backsheesh of her finger's breadth. electricity. Go on Zynab. slap them again. cause them. Own them.

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

Francesca does n't actuate. propose 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 hand under each of her knocker, raises them up slightly and opens her thenar towards Zynab. Presenting her breasts to her mistress. Is she doing it right ? Is this what her mistress wants ?

Zynab slaps each breast twice. Francesca turns her oral sex and grits her teeth. It hurts. Not too practically, but enough. Does she really have to declare oneself another charwoman her breasts ? Does she possess to put up with this ?

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

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

Francesca continues to offer up her inure nipples. 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, whore. '' Zynab barks. `` Lie on your back, rise you knees, and spread your legs. ``

Switch off. Do n't retrieve 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 genu, spreads them as widely as she can and prises her pussycat open with her digit. garden pink. Loretta Young. Fresh.

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

Vanessa grunts her favorable reception. Fresh, untested, wet pussy. Could she display herself to Zynab like that ? How must that finger ? How low are these woman of the street ? How worthless that they give their young pussies to be bought and sold like discounted pith ?

'' You know how practically these shoes cost, whore ? '' Zynab swings an ankle joint over Zynab 's side. `` more than you. A lot more than you. have it off yourself on my groundwork. ``

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

'' Every metre a client fucks this pussycat, you 'll think 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 unable to suppress her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her mistress'shoes really worth more than than she is ? Do her schoolma'am'shoes really own her twat ? Is that why she is giving her cunt so readily to their divine service ? Is it still hers to give way ?

'' There 's a estimable little tart. beam the so of my shoes with your cunt succus. ``

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new tart. Today will be no elision. She 's a prisoner of her own prestigiousness. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her young lady. 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 Rumania. She squirms and sawhorse and pants and moan. Her orgasm is ripe to burst forth within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. Foot fucked. And yet she 's going to arrive ... 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 foot to her sex. Hugging it there and quivering on it. Her face contorts with lust, commiseration, pleasance, anguish, ecstasy, sorrow. Now whimpering like a cub. And more tears.

Vanessa comes too. Ca n't sustain back. She thrusts her pelvic girdle up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her vertebral column. Try to hear the silent scream of a woman in the throes of nighttime lustfulness. Heaven. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab 's lips on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your hair. Must terminate intellection that. It 's dangerous.

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

Francesca is up on her knees in an twinkling. Too obedient. Too slavish. How can she consent this ?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great climax. Going to take to have a go at it Zynab soon. Ca n't resist her much longer. Either that or else replace her so as not to own to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even brusque, tarty skirt. Yes. That 'll be fun. campaign her to her bound. See how badly she wants to hold on this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab climaxes violently in Francesca 's face.

When she 's through, she 'll visit Francesca a whore and slap her boldness. She 'll give her punch 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.

waiting for that, then cite the skirt .