Climax: Volume 1

by Ella Ford

  I lowered myself to squat behind her and tenderly stroked her hair. She shuddered at my touch, leaning back slightly towards me.

  “It’s Kate isn’t it?” I spoke, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Yes, sister.”

  “What are you doing here Kate?” I asked as I lightly traced my fingertips down her upper arms.

  The girl’s breathing had quickened and she spoke quietly between each short inhale. “I chose not to take either pill. I couldn’t do it. They said… they said that this was my final test. That I would prove my worth to the sorority by pleasing a senior sister.”

  As she spoke, I felt the cock between my legs growing ever harder. It was now fully erect and pointed upwards away from my body. The sensation was indescribably strange, the mere presence of it on me was frightening and thrilling at the same time. It felt alive, burning with a fire that was unfamiliar and invigorating. I felt a strong urge to move my body, to force my hips forward and thrust my throbbing cock into the hesitant girl before me.

  I licked my lips and suppressed these notions for a few minutes more. I wanted to prolong this moment, to explore my dominance.

  “How will you please me Kate?” I asked in a tone that surprised me. Equal parts authority and seduction. I was revelling in this strange ritual.

  “I-I will please you in whatever way you wish sister. I am yours to command,” the girl replied, her voice trembling and faint.

  “Good, very good,” I purred and gently took a handful of her soft hair, then pulled her head back and to the side. She allowed me to direct her, surrendering herself to me completely.

  With her neck exposed, I leaned forwards and brushed my lips against her soft skin. She sighed at my touch, moaning audibly as I kissed her. Slowly, teasingly, I worked my way up her neck, planting tiny kisses as I went. When I reached her ear, I lightly flicked my tongue against her earlobe. She sighed again, whispering “Oh yes, please, yes” under her breath.

  I took her earlobe in my mouth and nibbled at it and this sent her wild. She squirmed under my touch, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. I tightened my grip on her hair and tugged at her head. She bowed to my dominance and settled down.

  My new cock throbbed now. It felt full and ready. As I teased Kate’s ear, it rubbed against the naked skin of her back and I felt her warmth upon me. I was overwhelmed with a curious urge to rub myself against her, capturing the hard rod between her back and my belly and using our bodies to stimulate myself. But I resisted. It wasn’t Kate’s back that I wanted to use.

  Grabbing her hair once again, I stood and dragged Kate to her feet. The time for teasing was over and I moved with an urgency that I could not control. I walked across the room, pulling the girl with me. She made no moves to resist, allowing herself to be roughly manipulated by me. We reached the bed and I pushed her forwards forcefully.

  I felt out of control now, driven by a passion that I had never felt before. Whatever beast had been created by the red pill was now free and it had one thing in its mind. I thrilled at this, at the sense of release. It was as though my entire life had been building to this moment, this sweet act of dominance.

  Kate scrambled on the bed and I studied her, cowering before me, unable to take her eyes off my swinging cock. Her face was a mixture of fear and longing, an intoxicating mix of feminine desire. I climbed up onto the bed next to her, my feverish mind focused on only one thing: Kate.

  I approached her and paused, my face inches from hers. She was breathing quickly, I could feel the warmth of her on me and it deepened my desire by an immeasurable degree. Without further hesitation, I gripped her head around her ear and plunged my fingers into her hair, holding her in place. Then leaned forwards and pressed my lips against hers. She didn’t struggle or attempt to resist, she merely opened her mouth and surrendered to my rough kiss.

  I wanted to devour her! To taste her in me, to be overcome by her sweet aroma. I pushed forwards into her mouth and swept my tongue back and forth seeking out hers. With no conscious thought, we slid together, craving the taste of the other as our tongues danced their frantic dance.

  My hands roamed over her, cupping her breasts and pulling at her nipples. They wandered down her body, over her flat stomach, to her hips and finally, between her legs. I forced her open, parting her knees so that I could find what I wanted and then plunged my fingers home. She was wet, dripping with desire and my fingertips found no resistance as they rubbed at her lips. Her back arched and she pulled away from my kiss as my digits pressed on her clitoris. I tightened my grip and pulled her back to me, locking out mouths together once more. She relented and went limp in my arms, a ragdoll that was mine to do with as I wanted.

  And what I wanted was to fuck her. My new cock was pulsing with an energy that I had never experienced. It guided me now, drove me forwards with a singular intent. I pulled back from the kiss and moved to kneel between Kate’s parted legs.

  Like a woman possessed, I frantically reached down and pulled the flimsy summer dress over my head and cast it behind me, not caring where it landed. With barely a pause, I grabbed Kate’s ankles and lifted her feet up onto my shoulders. Then I leaned forwards until she was pinned between me and the bed and my cock was forced against her pussy.

  I gazed down at her and she gazed back at me. The fires of our passions were burning brightly now and our objectives were clear. She nodded to me, a frantic little motion that conveyed a universe of desire. I reached down with my free hand and gripped my cock, surprised by how hard and thick it felt in my hand.

  Hesitantly, I teased it across her labia and she shuddered beneath me. Then slowly, I eased it into her, locating her tight hole and pushing onwards. Her eyes widened as my thick girth penetrated her and I idly wondered how deep I should go. I studied her for signs of discomfort, but her face was a picture of pure pleasure. I focused instead on the sensations that I felt in my own body.

  My cock felt surrounded, gripped on all sides by a warm wetness that was all encompassing. I reversed my stroke and pulled backwards and was immediately aware of a magnificent friction that dragged at the skin of my rod and flooded me with feelings of pleasure. I longed for more and drove forwards once again, enjoying the sensation of impaling her pussy on myself.

  Kate was lost to it now, her body trapped beneath me, unable to move she surrendered herself. Her eyes were tightly closed and her mouth open as she moaned with delight.

  I felt a strong urge to move faster and quickened the pace of my thrusts. I forced myself deeper and deeper into her, harder each time, our flesh slapped together with every stroke. And with every stroke, my pleasure intensified.

  The urge to be ever deeper ruled my actions now and I fell forwards between her legs and lay on her body, still pumping my hips forward into her. I was overwhelmed by the sensation of our skin touching, rubbing together as I drilled my rod into her. She gazed up at me and I lowered my mouth onto hers, kissing her with a frantic longing that could not be satisfied. My eager tongue lapped across her soft lips and I savored every sweet taste of her.

  Our bodies rolled together, breasts pressed together, legs and arms entwined. And endlessly, endlessly, my cock pounded her pussy. We became a finely tuned engine, each part moving in perfect harmony, each stroke of that relentless piston driving us forward.

  And then I felt something. A tiny urge that could not be ignored. An urge to move faster, harder, deeper. I allowed it to guide me and my body moved almost without conscious thought, driving my cock into her with renewed vigor. The urge intensified until it was all that I could feel.

  I was moving quickly now, the waves of sensation from my penetrations had blurred into one constant stream of pleasure and the fire from my cock raged out of control.

  Then suddenly, my body spasmed, forcing me forwards one final time. A white heat shot out of my belly and lit up my cock with a bright intensity. I felt a peculiar surging sensation that dazzled my mind. My hips pushed downwards onto Kate’s body, desperately attem
pting to find the deepest point and then my cock exploded. Once! Twice! Three times! Each surge accompanied by a forward stab. It seemed to go on forever, a pulsing torrent that would not end. It felt unbelievably good, inexplicably primal and right. I longed for it to never end.

  Kate wailed beneath me, her head pushed back into the bed and the muscles on her neck taut and bulging. Her own climax raged through her body as I pumped her full of my hot seed. I felt her sharp nails dig into my back and this intensified my own pleasure to an unimaginable degree.

  And then, without warning, whatever faucet had opened within me shut off and I collapsed down on top of Kate, my entire body tingling with the absence of sensation. I felt the animating force withdraw from my futanari cock as it softened, still within Kate’s body. I had no desire to pull out of her, no desire to uncouple myself from this inexplicable joining.

  For endless minutes, we lay together, our breathing labored as our bodies cooled.

  ---

  I’m a Delta Iota Kappa girl now. As part of a sisterhood, I am a member of something that is grand and vast. My sisters look out for each other, we protect our own and honor our traditions. Other sororities look upon us with envious eyes. They covet our success, our confidence, our magnetism.

  Yet they can never know the secret that binds us together. For it is our strength, our power and it is our greatest asset. We are now, and ever will be, the Futanari Sorority.

  THE END

  Maid To Submit

  by Ella Ford

  Prologue

  My name is Cassie Cook. I am a maid in the service of Miss Katherine Foster, my mistress.

  My mistress owns me, body and soul. I am hers to do with as she pleases. I am her plaything, a toy that she can do what she wants to. I exist at her bidding, and I live to serve and pleasure her. If my mistress asks me to do something, it is not my place to question her, it is only for me to obey her willingly and without hesitation.

  If my mistress wishes to use my body, she is entirely free to do so. My body is hers, she may use it as she wishes, whenever she wants. My pussy, my tits, my mouth. Everything that I am, is hers.

  If my mistress wishes me to pleasure her, then I will obey without hesitation. It is my honor and privilege to be able to taste her, I live for this.

  If my mistress sees fit to punish me, then I will accept it without question. My mistress seeks only to make me a better submissive and sometimes I need to be punished.

  My submission is total, my surrender complete. This is my choice and it is one that I make with open eyes and eager heart. The gift of my life is not one that I give lightly, but one that only I can give. And I give it to her, I offer myself daily to her and kneel at her feet.

  This may be confusing to you. You may question why a person in the modern world might enter into such a curious arrangement. Why do I and my fellow maids crave the dominance of another, why do we seek to offer ourselves in such a degrading way?

  I didn’t fully understand myself, yet the feeling was always within me, I just didn’t realize it at the time.

  And so, I offer you my story. Every word of it is true, every sentiment is honest. It is the story of how I offered myself to my mistress, how I became a willing slave in the House Of Submission.

  Chapter 1

  The taxi drove through the leafy suburbs and out into the affluent gated communities of Chambers Park and I gazed through the window, taking stock of my situation.

  Cassie Cook, ace reporter. What a joke. In the seven years that I’d been at the Midtown Tribune the closest I’d got to journalistic notoriety was when the organizer of a wet t-shirt competition soaked me and the contestants I was interviewing. Someone uploaded a video of it to the internet and it went viral overnight. Imagine my amusement when I got into the office the next morning to find that someone had replaced my desk plaque with one that read “Cassie Cook, Busty Correspondant”.

  Apart from that, my seven years on the front line of local news reporting had mainly consisted of the weakest stories imaginable - cat saved from tree; farmer eats body weight in blueberries; minor disturbance at seniors bridge tournament.

  It would be fair to say that I’d just about given up on the Pulitzer that had been my ambition since the day I published my first article in the middle school newsletter. These days, I’d settle for winning the office lunch club raffle.

  I stared out of the taxi cab at the passing neighbourhoods. The endless tract housing estates had thinned out and been replaced by tree-lined streets of spacious McMansions, pristine and white in the shimmering haze of the hot summer day.

  Today was my last chance to strike it big. A chance opportunity had landed me with the possibility of an audacious scoop that might, possibly, propel me forwards in my career and give me the recognition I deserved. Alternatively, it might all turn out to be a complete waste of time and I’ll be back to chasing down leads in the on-going “garage sale bandits” story!

  It all started the previous day. I was whiling away the hours at work, dreaming of the long bubble bath I was going to have that night, when an email arrived. The sender address triggered a tiny jolt of recognition in my mind so I clicked it open:

  From: katherine.foster@fosterpharma.com

  To: cassie@midtowntribune.com

  Subject: An opportunity

  Ms. Cook,

  I hope you don’t mind this unsolicited email, but I wanted to reach out to you directly, without the tedium of PAs and scheduling.

  I’d like to invite you to my home and offer you exclusive rights to my story. You will interview me, tell my story as you wish and then publish.

  I trust that you realize what an opportunity this presents? If so, please be at home by 3pm on Thursday 21st.

  Yours sincerely,

  Katherine Foster

  I read through the email a number of times, unable to believe what I was seeing. Katherine Foster wanted me to interview her? At her house? Oh my god! This was huge! I…

  Okay, okay. I’m getting carried away. Let me fill you in on why this was such a big deal to me.

  Katherine Foster was the CEO of Foster Pharmaceuticals, the second biggest pharmaceuticals corporation in North America. They were the very definition of “Big Pharma” and Katherine Foster had built the organization up from literally nothing. So, a pretty interesting prospect for an interview right? Powerful business woman, rags to riches story? But that wasn’t why Katherine Foster was really interesting.

  For the last three years, Katherine Foster had been mired in a scandal of an entirely unsavoury nature. A scandal that had taken its toll on her company’s share price and really killed her bottom line.

  In 2012, a young woman by the name of Charlotte Duval had set out one morning with the intention of interviewing for an internship at Foster Pharma. Duval was 21, fresh out of college and a real all American girl. She had a bright future ahead of her, was expected to go on to do great things... Her family haven’t seen her since that day. She simply disappeared off the face of the earth.

  Oh, don’t get me wrong, nobody thinks she was murdered or anything. In fact, her parents got a letter through the mail several days later, written in Duval’s own handwriting. It confirmed that she was safe, for them not to worry and requested that they not come looking for her. Of course, Charlotte’s parents did exactly the opposite and took the letter directly to the police and the whole thing exploded from there.

  Pretty soon, other worried parents came forward and the case ballooned to involve six similar incidents - pretty, intelligent, young girls; each girl interviewing at Foster Pharma or one of her subsidiaries; each girl disappearing then or soon after with only the briefest of contact with their friends and family.

  The police worked the case, but eventually let it go due to lack of evidence of any wrong-doing. Apparently, Katherine Foster was completely clean. From there, the papers ran with it, speculating on what might have become of the “Foster Six” and eventually the rumor mill concocted lurid tales of
sex slavery and people trafficking, with Katherine Foster the evil mastermind that coordinated the whole sordid affair.

  Foster herself did little to set the record straight, and instead withdrew into her private estate on the edge of the city.

  That brings us to the present day, and this curious email. I was, perhaps, about to blow open the story of the decade and I could barely contain my excitement. Was Katherine Foster ready to come clean on what happened to the six girls? Or was this all some elaborate diversionary tactic, a PR exercise to win back her position as corporate America’s sweetheart?

  I dragged myself back into the present and glanced out of the window. The gaudy McMansions had now faded behind tall, ivy covered walls and imposing wrought iron gates. We were getting close.

  Several minutes later, the taxi pulled up at the gate of a particularly grand looking house and I paid the cabbie. As the car drove away, I gazed up at the home of Katherine Foster and began to feel the first tingle of nerves. There was so much riding on this story. The fate of six talented young girls, the future of an entire company. Not to mention my own lacklustre career.

  As I wrestled with my apprehension, the gate before me buzzed and slowly swung open. Gingerly, I stepped forward and began the long walk up the gravelled drive to whatever lay before me.

  If only I’d known then what I know now. That the Cassie Cook who emerged from Katherine Foster’s home would be very different to the one that entered. Would I have still gone through with it?

  ---

  I reached the entrance to the house, a vast, heavy black door set between two grand, imposing marble pillars. Everything about the place screamed luxurious decadence. It was the kind of house that walked the line between classy and gaudy without ever truly becoming either. Most of all, it spoke of money, and plenty of it. I wondered what secrets lay behind the countless windows on its imposing facade.