Zynab's Skirt

"More. Eat me faster," Zynab snaps. Watch her pouting, red lips. She's the devil. She's perfect evil.

Francesca's flicks her tongue frantically at Zynab's insides. This is what life here will be like. This is the taste and the smell that will linger and serve as a constant reminder of who she is and what she has become. Every time Zynab passes, she will recall the sensation and remember that she is to bow her head and spread her legs, simply because she is worth less than the strip of material covering her mistress' sex.

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

In place of tears, Francesca's cheeks drip now with the juices of her new mistress. 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 violent tug on her hair. Did she do something wrong? Wasn't she licking her mistress fast enough? Not deep enough? Not obediently enough?

Zynab grips one of Francesca's nipples in her fingers and twists it roughly in her fingers, 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 startled puppy, Francesca cowers as far as Zynab's grip on her hair permits.

Vanessa runs a hand over one of her own breasts and circles her nipples with the tips of her fingers. 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 doesn't move. Offer them? How?

"Offer them to me NOW, whore."

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

Zynab slaps each breast 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 breasts? Does she have 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 titties...

"That's better." Zynab gives Francesca another couple of slaps. "I own them, and I want them hard."

Francesca continues to offer up her hardened 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 thighs slightly, reaches down and crudely pulls her pussy-lips aside.

"I can't see it there, whore." Zynab barks. "Lie on your back, raise you knees, and spread your legs."

Switch off. Don't think about it. It'll be alright. They'll look after her and help her pay her debts, won't they?

She lies back, raises her knees, spreads them as widely as she can and prises her pussy open with her fingers. Pink. Young. Fresh.

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

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

"You know how much these shoes cost, whore?" Zynab swings an ankle over Zynab's face. "More than you. A lot 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 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 unable to suppress her whining and her panting and her moaning. Are her mistress' shoes really worth 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 give?

"There's a good little whore. Shine the soles of my shoes with your cunt juice."

Vanessa is close. She always comes after buying a new whore. Today will be no exception. She's a prisoner of her own prestige. A slave to her own seduction. She owns flesh. Their flesh. All her girls. They belong to her. Even Zynab, in a way, belongs to her. God. If only she did.

Francesca is close too. She knows she shouldn't be. She surely must know that she shouldn't be. This can't happen. Not to her. Not like this. It was never like this in Romania. She squirms and bucks and pants and moans. Her orgasm is ripe to explode within her. Raped. Sold. Humiliated. Foot fucked. And yet she's going to come... What does that say about her? What does that say about her response to being sold as a sex-slave? What would her friends say if they could see her now? What would her family say?

"Come then, you selfish whore," Zynab snaps at her.

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

Vanessa comes too. Can't hold back. She thrusts her pelvis up and down on her own fingers, tenses and arches her back. Try to hear the silent scream of a woman in the throes of dark lust. Heaven. Nothing tops it. Imagine Zynab's lips on yours. Imagine her fingers fondling your hair. Must stop thinking 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 instant. Too obedient. Too submissive. How can she accept this?

Vanessa rides her aftershocks as they ripple through her. God. Great orgasm. Going to have to fuck Zynab soon. Can't resist her much longer. Either that or else replace her so as not to have to look at her and suffer. Maybe make her wear an even shorter, tarty skirt. Yes. That'll be fun. Push her to her limits. See how badly she wants to keep this job. Replace her if she refuses.

Zynab climaxes violently in Francesca's face.

When she's through, she'll call Francesca a whore and slap her cheeks. She'll have 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.

Wait for that, then mention the skirt.