White shirt

Miguel cleared his throat.

"I do not know when the bitch last saw water."

The director slowly continued his tour of her.

Laila still kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

The director ended his tour and stood right in front of her.

He put a finger under her chin and pushed it slowly upwards.

"Look at me."

The girl looked at him.

Ahead of her was a late forties, slim and tall.

Everything about him was long, his fingers, his ears, even his sharp-edged nose stretched through his horse-like face.

His dark hair had been combed back with glittering pomade.

He wore a dark suit with a vest, a white shirt without a tie and smelled penetrating aftershave.

"Very tasty." he ran his tongue over his upper lip.

She looked again at the piece of carpet between her feet.

"What about Miguel, fancy a threesome?"

With these words he walked casually to a table in the corner, on which stood numerous decanters, spirits and glasses.

Laila heard a soft clink as he opened the lid of a glass carafe.

"Ah, whisky, 12 years old."

He raised a glass questioningly in Miguel's direction.

She looked out of the corner of his eye at Miguel.

With a crimson head, he strode toward the director.

His voice cut through the room loudly.

"My brother was brutally murdered, you could pay me a little more respect, the only thing I put into this bitch is the barrel of a revolver to tear her guts."

Laila jumped at the words, as if Miguel had beaten her.

She knew that here he only gave the image of the merciless patriarch he expected.

Nevertheless, they met his words deep inside and she felt miserable.

The director shrugged bored.

"Go ahead, she's not registered yet."

Miguel left the room without another word and Lapuente sneered at him.

Delightfully, he took a big gulp of whisky and wandered to his office door.

Casually he pushed her with his hip and looked at Laila again.

"So scissors lady" he spread his arms out, "welcome to my world, here I am God and devil. I tell you when you eat, sleep and talk. This is your personal forecourt to hell."

He sauntered slowly back into the room.

"But you can earn yourself certain privileges, let's see if you have any brains, undress."

Laila desperately thought of the silver tube, feverishly considering how to escape the situation. Slowly she raised her head and approached the director.

She tried to make her voice sound sexy, but was not satisfied with the result.

Her ears sounded like a hoarse croak in her ears.

She laid a hand on the director's chest and began to circle him.

"You are a powerful man here."

Laila drove her hand over his shoulders.

"I think they should have as much fun as possible, but unfortunately Miguel is right, my last shower is more than overdue, but now I could do things for her that would not put her in contact with my filthy body."

Laila closed his eyes briefly and grabbed him firmly between his legs and slowly began to massage the fabric in his crotch.

She stepped in front of him and put a hand on his neck.

With gentle pressure she pulled his head down, looked deep into his eyes and kissed gently his narrow lips.

Lapuente put both her hands on her shoulders and pushed them relentlessly down until she was kneeling before him.

"If you hurt me with your teeth, I'll tear them out with pliers one at a time. "

He watched as Laila fiddled fiddly with the silver buckle of his belt.

The girl reminded her trembling fingers to rest.

She was not allowed to show any weakness here.

From above she felt his predator-like, attentive gaze.

Laila concentrated on the piece of dark cloth, right in front of her eyes.

Cleverly she opened the button of his pants and slowly pulled down the zipper.

Laila hooked her thumbs at his hips in the waistband of his pants and pulled them down together with their underpants.

Full of discomfort she looked at his half-erect manhood.

What had she been thinking? But it was too late to back down.

Laila gently pushed his thing up and ran his tongue over the underside of his swelling phallus.

As she circled her tongue gently around the smooth skin of his tip, Lapuente raked his long fingers into her thick hair and pressed her face relentlessly against his body.

She closed her eyes and let the humiliation go through desperately.

The pressure on the back of her head became more and more intense.