Moira didn’t know what she was to do, what to say. All she knew was that her life was hanging by a scant thread; at the whim of a god well known for...his volatility. He was a stunning specimen of masculinity, and Moira felt her body respond even as she wilted under his impenetrable stare. “And what,” she asked softly, hoping that her supplicating behavior would diffuse the danger she was in, “may this insignificant witch do for her Lord?” He snorted most inelegantly, “Insignificant? Oh, my dear. Christine Jones sweated in the torrid desert sun as she labored as an a****l as ordered by sheik Omar. At noon the sheik rode by on his horse accompanied by his mistress , Farah. Farah looked down on the chained blonde as she labored under the lash of the slavedriver and said : « Shiek Omar, I need a small a****l to turn the treadmill which powers my river craft. Will you give me this slut as a gift ? I assure you I will not be gentle with her . She will work on the open deck of my craft under. More

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