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“No it’s not worse, Melena,” the general presses, almost pleading. “Just think what the Slavers will do to you.” “I won’t give in to them,” I insist firmly, and then remember my rank, and say, “No way, Sir.” The general pauses, leaning forward to make a steeple with his forearms, elbows on the desk, and tries a new tack. I can see the deep furrows of age in his face. His skin is quite brown, tanned from leave spent on sunny planets. “Have you ever met a woman who’s been fully processed through Aghara-Penthay?” he asks. “Of course not,” I reply. Slaves are almost never recovered by the free planets of the Republic, once they’re taken. After capture, women disappear into the hidden places of the universe, the cellars, the dungeons, the pits and the cages of those who can afford them on the worlds that don’t respect law and order. While women might have equal rights in blowjob most of the Republic, possessing a vagina instead of a penis means a human becomes property as soon as she sets foot on Slaver territory. Occasionally women return from the station orbiting Aghara-Penthay, where they can enter and leave under the escort of a registered male “owner”, but I’ve never met a woman who has been down on the planet’s surface. Females only go there when they’re lost, and on their way to be processed outdoor and sold by the Slavers. “I think you should meet one, Melena. It would give you some perspective.” And without giving me time to reply the general leans forward and presses the intercom on his desk. “Ask Beyala to come in, please,” he says to someone. While we wait for this Beyala he offers me coffee, but I’m pissed with him and I refuse. I sit back petulantly in my chair and fold amateur my arms under my chest. It is only a couple of minutes later when the girl enters. She’s wearing a standard ship jumpsuit, the navy blue that designates a civilian, but despite her entirely generic attire I can tell immediately what she once was, a slave of Aghara-Penthay, because Beyala has the mark. The slave mark – an indelible sign that a woman has been processed on the surface of that vile planet. Beyala’s imprint reminds me of dark make-up, eyeliner or perhaps a tattoo, swirling patterns that emerge from the edge of her right eye to decorate the right side of her face. The spiral design is the same one that has been used by the Slavers for centuries, and is supposed to remind the observer of the letter that starts the word ‘slave’ in the ancient galactic universal script. Even though it’s a barbaric thing to inflict I must admit that adorning Beyala, it adds to blonde the beauty of an already exceptionally striking woman. Unlike some marks and brands which owners apply to the thigh or the shoulder blade, Aghara-Penthay’s Slavers choose to mark the girl’s face, because for the rest of her life unless she veils herself it will be almost public impossible to disguise. With each person she meets, their eyes will track to the mark before they go anywhere else, reminding the girl and everyone else constantly of what she is. I realize I’m being rude and staring, and yet I notice Beyala is watching me with almost as much interest as I’m studying her. Embarrassed, I look away, down at the desk. Her cunt was aching again, oozing juices into her panties. I don’t like it.” "You are brave and I like it". "Imagine blowjob if I had a pile of sex toys that I could bring forwards and demonstrate to Jonathan as he watched me with his hand on his cock. "Good girl," Julie smiled with pleasure, "then tomorrow we will look at completing the list, but for now after watching you and your mother perform I need relief." Then all faces turned to the door as a tall, willowy nude paced into the room, her heels tapping on the wooden floor and a dark-suited, white-haired man on either arm. My fourth period was over too fast, and then I was stumbling to fifth period in a daze, my heart hammering in my chest. So, Bridget, the deal with this one of my cafes is “what do bachelorettes and bachelors do up to the public time they go out at night. “What? I shake as I cum. To her horror, her entire face was lit up like a spot light. “I’m sorry,” Grace said, laughing hard as well. I was on the outdoor pill feeling we weren’t ready for a family. The third amateur lesson. But Daddy she might get depressed if I tell her I'm not into women. "I need to know how you feel about this. In a few years, she might even let Eric be her new whipping boy. It only had one place to go blonde and she was it.