by Ella Ford
As I devoured her with my mouth, the mistress became lost in her own world of ecstasy. Her hands left my head and settled on the ornate arms of the chair, gripping so hard that her knuckles turned white with effort. The confirmation of her pleasure spurred me on and I attacked her clitoris with renewed vigor, rhythmically grinding it against her body with my soft tongue. She wailed and moaned, screaming out, “Yes, yes, yes! There! Yes!”
Her breathing, already short and fast, reached a crescendo then stopped and her entire body became rigid. I felt her leg tighten around my head, locking me in place with my mouth on her pussy. I sensed her body arch above me, her head pushing back against the chair back while her chest thrust forwards. Her neck muscles strained, tendons visible with the force of her orgasm. I began to think that she might injure herself, such was the intensity of her climax.
But then she finally breathed out, and with that one exhale, the tension left her body and she collapsed back on the seat. Her stockinged leg dropped from my shoulder and I shifted my body to rest my head on her soft thigh. As she recovered, I stared at her lovingly, studying the soft lines of her face and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was truly a beautiful woman, especially so in the cooling afterglow of post-orgasmic bliss. Her hand moved and came to rest on my head once again, lightly stroking my hair and brushing against my ears.
I shuddered and closed my eyes. At that moment, I belonged to her, I was her pet and the mere touch of my mistress caused me immeasurable amounts of joy and contentment. I hoped that this moment would never end.
---
I sat at the mistress’s feet like this for several blissful minutes, enjoying the attention of her soft touch. Then at once, she sat up and her previous composure returned.
“Kneel please, Cassandra,” she snapped as she pulled her skirt down and straightened her hair.
I pulled myself up to my knees and shuffled away from her feet, then I sat back and folded my arms behind me. Finally, I lowered my gaze, focusing on the mistress’s shoes and trying to ignore the warmth throb of desire between my legs.
The mistress shifted in her seat and reached to the side, pulling up a jet black jewelry box, the kind that might contain a necklace or bracelet. She leaned forwards and held the box out in front of her, then slowly lifted the lid, showing the contents to me.
Inside, was a leather collar resting on a crimson velvet cushion. I stared at it, studying its fine workmanship and intricate detailing. It was a thin strap of black leather with a silver buckle on one side. The circumference of the collar was studded with diamonds which twinkled in the room’s dim light. On the opposite side to the buckle was a silver ring, about half an inch in diameter.
“This is the collar of my house Cassandra,” said the mistress, her voice soft and controlled. “Whoever wears this collar is marked as my property. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Yes, mistress.”
“I’m showing you this because we are about to take a trip, you and I,” she said and I sensed that there was more to this summoning than a simple lunch serving.
“Mistress?” I finally summoned the courage to ask. I didn’t want to sound as though I was questioning her, but I was genuinely intrigued about what was going to happen.
She smiled at me tenderly, then reached into the box and took the collar in her slender fingers. Leaning forward, she reached behind me and lifted my hair off my neck, then threaded the collar around and fastened the buckle. Finally, she sat back once more and cocked her head to one side, examining her work.
“We’re going to go shopping,” she eventually replied, satisfied that the collar met her requirements.
“What are we shopping for mistress?” I asked, enjoying the way that the collar felt around my neck. It was less a physical feeling and more of a mental awareness of my own submission. I was marked as hers now, collared and owned.
The mistress took hold of my chin and lifted my face upwards until I was staring directly at her. A filthy smirk spread across her face and she licked her lips provocatively.
“Girls,” she finally replied.
Chapter 2
The car sped through the darkened streets of the city and I stared out of the window at the deserted pavements and rain-drenched buildings. I had no idea where we were, or where we were going.
After my collaring, the mistress had sent me to the maid’s quarters and asked me to shower, shave myself and dress in a fresh uniform. “I shan’t have a maid of mine appearing in public with the scent of detergent and a rampant bush,” she’d scolded, tapping my ass with the palm of her hand as I obediently headed off to prepare myself.
When I returned to the drawing room, the mistress was sitting in exactly the same place as before, in exactly the same upright position, but she’d changed into a sleek, black cocktail dress. The long garment hugged her figure tantalisingly and was slit down the length of her legs to reveal a pair of strappy silver sandals. Her raven hair was pinned up, held in place by a pair of decorative chopsticks, revealing her slender neck and upper back.
It was the first time I’d seen this side of the mistress and I gasped at the change in her. She appeared to be every inch the seductive vamp, and my curiosity about our destination deepened.
With graceful ease, the mistress stood up from the chair and stepped towards me. She stopped in front of me and fussed with my short black dress, flicking off a stray piece of lint and straightening the white apron tied around my waist. She frowned, “You’ll have to do I suppose. At least tell me that your seams are straight?” She took hold of my shoulders and spun me around, then examined the backs of my legs.
I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking my lucky stars that I’d taken extra care to ensure my stockings were aligned perfectly. Such details were very important to the mistress, I’d learned from bitter experience.
Satisfied, she spun me around to face her once more, then reached down to pick up a black leather leash from the table. Hooking a finger beneath the collar around my neck, she pulled me close and clipped it to the small silver ring. Then she stepped back and studied me, holding the leash in her hand. She smiled and nodded, then gave a gentle tug on the leash and led me out into the hallway where she stopped to retrieve a small silver clutch purse and refresh her lipstick. Finally, she pulled me through the door, out to the front of the house where a car awaited.
As we approached, the driver emerged and tipped his cap at the mistress. He paid me no such courtesy, instead treating me to a filthy leer that lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time on my legs. Otherwise, he appeared utterly unfazed by the fact that the mistress was leading me around on a leash. He simply opened the passenger door and stood back to allow us to enter.
And there we sat, the mistress and I on the backseat of this expensive black sedan as it made its way downtown.
For the first time in my service with Miss Katherine Foster, I found that my journalistic tendencies were overwhelming my submissive urges and I was desperate to know more about where we were headed. The mistress had been infuriatingly vague, refusing to add any more to what she’d so far divulged.
This was all part of her game, I knew that. She enjoyed tormenting her maids, teasing us with limited information about her intentions towards us, but stopping short of providing any real details. In some cases, such a vague promise of pleasure or the faintest hint of punishment could be overwhelmingly arousing. But in this case, the only thing aroused was my curiosity. For the first time in weeks, I began to imagine how this trip might feed into my story.
“Oh Cassandra,” the mistress said, finally breaking the silence between us, “I can almost hear the gears in your mind cranking.”
“Mistress?” I replied, attempting to sound like the docile pet that she required us to be.
“Oh, come now. That inner journalist of yours is working overtime right now. Trying to work out where we’re going, figuring out an angle that could win you that coveted Pulitzer. Am I right?”
I blu
shed and said nothing. Sometimes, it was like the mistress could read my mind.
“Well, my faithful maid, today is your lucky day,” she said with a chuckle. “I brought you with me tonight for a specific reason. I brought you with me precisely because you are a reporter. I want you to include our destination in your story. I want the world to know about it. Do you understand?”
I thought for a second, genuinely confused by the whole conversation. I still didn’t know exactly where we were going, yet the mistress wanted me to write about it. What could it possibly be? She’d said we were going shopping, but for girls. Was she taking me to a brothel? Did she intend to acquire the services of some prostitutes? I frowned, thinking that this explanation, while sordid and intriguing, was scarcely worth this whole charade.
I was about to answer when the mistress continued speaking. “My dear Cassandra. You have learned much in the last few weeks. You’ve learned about yourself and your fellow maids. You have had the faintest glimpse into a world that you can barely comprehend. For, you see, your service to me is the merest tip of the iceberg. There are forces at work that are far greater than you can possibly imagine.”
I struggled to keep my gaze straight forward. “I-I don’t u-understand,” I stammered, unable to shake the feeling that I was being led by the leash into something that I wanted no part of. I longed to return to the mistress’s house, to return to my simple life of servitude and pleasure.
She placed a warm hand on my knee and patted it gently. “Of course you don’t understand. How could you? You were raised to believe in the equality of men and women, in the sanctity of personal freedom and self-determination. How could you possibly face the truth that is right beneath your nose?” she snapped, her voice laced with disdain and contempt.
I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond.
“Imagine, my dear, that there is a particular organization. An organisation with a very particular membership criteria, that only the most powerful men and women in society even know about, let alone are members of. Imagine that this organization existed with a singular purpose, to provide a very specific service to its members and its clients. Imagine that this purpose was to allow men and women to purchase the servitude of girls. Girls who are both fully willing, and generously compensated.”
“L-like slavery?” I responded, painfully aware of how naive and sheltered I sounded.
The mistress laughed heartily, hooting her amusement loudly and slapping her thigh. She reached forward and grabbed my hair, turning my head to face her.
“You make it sound like a bad thing,” she quipped and smiled warmly at me. “My dear, as you are gradually coming to understand, there are certain people - certain women - who want nothing more than to give themselves to another person. To sign over their body and soul, to become nothing more than a possession. Do you deny that this could be the reality? That someone could not consensually agree to such a fate?”
I sniffed, trembling under this unexpected grilling. “N-no mistress,” I managed to reply, remembering my own willing submission to her.
“And what do we do with possessions? Why, we buy them, we sell them, we trade them. We package them up and give them as a gift. And if everyone is getting what they want, then where’s the harm?”
My mind reeled as I struggled to take this all in. I'd previously assumed that my understanding with Katherine Foster was unique, or at least rare. A particular sexual arrangement that benefited us all. But was I hopelessly naive? Were we truly the tip of a sordid iceberg that touched every part of society?
“Mistress, where are we going tonight?” I asked, finally bringing my trembling voice under control.
She turned to me and smiled. “Tonight, we’re going to The Auction, a yearly gathering of members of The Alpha Exchange - an organization that trades in the possession of girls. There, you will finally come to understand what it is to submit.”
She fell silent, not saying a single word for the rest of the journey. I turned my attention forward once more and worked very hard to shake the intense feeling of foreboding that had descended on me.
---
The car drove onwards, through the darkened city, leaving behind the wide-laned freeway and the welcoming residential areas, and entering a district that was altogether less seemly. I didn’t recognize it, but found myself suffering an intense feeling of disquiet at the endless rows of boarded up shops and abandoned warehouses. The streets were mostly deserted, but on occasion I thought I caught a glimpse of a shambling figure staggering between the harsh pools of light from the streetlamps or cowering behind a garbage dumpster. Was this really the kind of place that society’s elite gathered? It was, I supposed, the last place a person might expect to find such an decadent soiree.
In time, the car pulled up outside one of the faceless brick warehouses. I peered out of the window, trying to catch sight of any sign of our destination, but the building appeared entirely abandoned, left to rot and decay like the tragic slum that surrounded it.
The driver stepped out of the car and hurried around to the mistress’s door, then pulled it open and stood aside. Miss Foster swung her legs around and stepped out, nodding to the driver as she did so. As she stood, I felt a gentle pull on the leash, an insistent tug that spoke her intentions more than words ever could. Reluctantly, I shuffled along the seat and stepped out of the car, standing alongside the mistress and the driver.
“Thank you Simmons. That will be all,” she said, dismissing the driver with a wave of her hand.
“Yes ma’am, enjoy your night,” replied the man, bowing his head as he stepped away and marched briskly around to the driver’s side of the car.
As the vehicle drove off, the mistress fixed me with her icy glare and pulled the leash taut, causing me to stumble slightly on the uneven ground.
“Now Cassandra, it is vitally important that you listen carefully to what I am about to say. This isn’t a PTA bake sale. This is the Alpha Exchange, and its members are the kind of men and women who would eat me and, by extension, you for breakfast. Nevertheless, there are rules.”
I nodded, struggling to focus on her words despite the looming feeling of apprehension that was causing my mind to race and my heart to pound loudly in my ears.
“You should stay with me at all times, unless I give you leave to be out of my sight. You must follow my every command. If someone else tells you to do something, you must look to me for instruction. You should address the guests as either ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’, but never ‘master’ or ‘mistress’. You should not talk at all with the other maids. Do you understand?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Say it!” she snapped, tugging the leash once more.
“Y-yes, mistress, I understand,” I managed to say, my voice trembling with nervous excitement.
“Very well,” she said and led us towards the building.
We followed the drab brick wall around a corner and found ourselves outside a large, green iron door. As we approached, a small panel at head height slid aside and pair of eyes peered out, scanning the mistress and then me. Satisfied, the panel snapped closed and the door swung open.
“Remember, stay close,” the mistress breathed as we stepped inside. Did I detect a note of trepidation in her voice? That prospect terrified more than I can adequately describe. For weeks now, the mistress had been the steadfast rock of stability in my life. Utterly unflappable, unfazed by anything, in complete control of any situation. But now she seemed as nervous as I felt. I scolded myself inwardly for doubting her, and struggled to focus on what was happening.
We entered the warehouse and followed a short darkened hallway around a corner. The man who had peered through the iron door stood at the end of the hall beside a thick, red velvet curtain. He nodded at the mistress as she approached.
“Miss Foster, welcome back,” he spoke gruffly, then pulled aside the curtain.
I blinked as I gazed into the large room before us. It was a large space, dimly
lit and high ceilinged. It appeared wholly out of place in the decaying warehouse. Deep burgundy walls and dark mahogany furniture, plush velvet seats and rich leather sofas. It appeared like the drawing room of some old gentleman’s club, but writ large, far bigger and more densely populated with guests than such a space ever would be.
The air was thick with smoke and the cloying aroma of incense. I blinked rapidly, not used to such an oppressive atmosphere. But it didn’t seem to bother any of the other partygoers. I glanced around, attempting to take in the startling array of people that surrounded us, and found myself dumbstruck by the things I saw.
Everywhere I looked, I saw couples. For every pair, there was a well dressed man or woman who was standing chatting with others, or sipping on an extravagant drink, or merely sitting on a sofa, enjoying the party. The men wore the finest tuxedos, a decadent uniform that varied little between them beyond the occasional fanciful bowtie. The women on the other hand wore dresses that were varied and sumptuous; flowing skirts or draped chiffon gowns in every color imaginable. Some wore masquerade masks, holding them against their faces with slender poles; others wore opulent fur stoles, soft hides that flowed over their shoulders and down their chests.
It could have been mistaken for, I would imagine, any high society ball. If not for the fact that every guest was accompanied by a girl. Some were on leashes, like me. Some simply stood beside their owner, peering off into space in a submissive trance. Others kneeled at their master or mistress’s feet. Some wore maid outfits, much like my own, and some were completely naked, their bare breasts and young pussies exposed for all to see.
I scanned around the room, drinking in this overwhelming vista. I found myself thrilled by it. Such an open display of power, of dominance and submission. As I surveyed these peculiar people, I felt a hot flush flooding through my body. There was so much to take in, so much to learn about. With a slow dawning, I gradually came to realise that this world was unlike any I had ever known, and was so diametrically opposed to anything I had been taught. My mind raged, a war of sensibilities. My own independence and free will, once so prized and coveted, now beleaguered and threatened by this exciting new outlook. A need, an overwhelming need, to be owned, to be used, to be possessed. I struggled to reconcile my two sides, but knew, without question, which faction would win.
