by Ella Ford
An Asian girl climbed up on the table beside me and positioned herself so that her feet were on my face. Then she calmly instructed me to lick her soles. I obeyed without question, my mind operating on a level that didn’t provide for the facility of objection or preference. Greedily I lapped at her nylon covered feet, relishing the cloying aroma of her, wrapping my lips around her toes and nibbling at her perfect arch. The Asian girl masturbated while I did this, frantically rubbing at her pussy with long, manicured fingers. Then, satisfied, she turned and left, not a single word spoken between us other than the terse order.
A statuesque black woman approached the table and stalked around it. She was shaved bald and deeply attractive, with a perfectly symmetric face and ebony skin as black as night. She smiled down at me and I attempted to smile back, to regain some semblance of control over my tortured body. Then she bent down and began to nibble my ear. Nothing more, just light sucking and biting of my lobe and soft strokes of her tongue, but the sensation drove me wild. The fading embers of my desire were stoked once more and my pussy began to throb anew, eager for more, eager for release from the restraints and the ability to act on these unfamiliar impulses that had rocked my body for these many hours. For endless minutes she teased me, and I thought she might go further, shifting her attention to the rest of my body. But she remained focused on my ear, and then stood and walked away, lightly teasing her slender fingers across my breasts as she departed.
I shuddered, ready to scream as the powerful urges raged through my body. But at the same time, I was eager for respite and release, an end to the maddening burden of sensation.
Then the door to the room swung open and the gathered women fell silent. Heads popped up from between legs, kisses stopped mid-flow. I strained my neck to see what was happening, but I was too exhausted to move, barely managing to lift my head an inch off the table.
A group of women had entered the room, flanking a single radiant centerpoint. I struggled to focus, blinking my eyes rapidly to clear the tears and tiredness from them. It was Imelda, the host of the party. The stern school mistress from before was gone, and in her place was a being that bubbled with sexual energy. She wore a lacy black basque and black nylon stockings, with insanely high stiletto heels. Her hair was once again gathered up behind her head, but this time in a sensual tussle that was chaotic but purposeful, serving to expose her slender neck.
But it was to her waist that my eyes were drawn. Fastened to her hips with thin leather straps, was a monstrous strap-on dildo. The grotesque appendage swayed before her as she walked, its ten inch length topped with a bulbous helmet and shot through with rippled veins. It was flesh colored and glistened with a wetness that I can only assume belonged to the last guest that Imelda had encountered.
On either side of Imelda stood a group of followers, the six girls of her entourage. Each girl was young, not a single one of them over twenty I judged, and each one was deliciously attractive. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, a latino girl, an Asian. Each girl was dressed differently, some wearing stockings, others in bras and panties. One girl was completely naked, her perky breasts full and inviting. The entourage fawned around Imelda, pawing at her shoulders, her arms, her hair. My tired mind saw them as cleaner fish, frantically tending to the shark that gave them their existence. Imelda was that shark, ruthless and driven, taking what she wanted, when she wanted.
“Have you had a good time honey?” she asked, and her entourage tittered.
I nodded, unable to do anything else, but painfully aware that this simple gesture did little to express my feelings about this strange night.
Imelda smiled warmly. “Good, then I think it’s time that I brought the evening to a close and gave you the release that you presumably desire. Girls, take her down,” she commanded and snapped her fingers together. The six girls moved instantly, surrounding me on all sides and frantically fiddling with the straps that held me in place. I felt a wave of relief washing over me. Was it finally over? Had I survived?
My legs were released first and my feet were lowered down by two of the girls. My tired muscles tingled as blood rushed back into them, sensation returning with a surge of painful static. Then my arms were released, and finally the straps that held my body in place. I tried to move, to coax my body into a sitting position, but I was too weak from exertion and could only lie there, held in place by my useless body as much as I had been by the leather straps.
“Pick her up and put her on the sofa,” said Imelda, pointing at a comfortable leather couch by the far wall. Two pairs of naked girls were lying there, bodies entwined together but transfixed by the spectacle unfolding before them. As Imelda pointed at their nest, they scattered like startled birds, finding new roosts where they could continue their trysts.
The entourage took hold of me, a girl on each of my legs and arms, one girl supporting my head and another beneath my ass. Then with no effort at all, they lifted my limp body and carried me from the hard surface of the table over to the sofa. Then they swung me around and placed me gently down so that my ass was on the edge of the seat and I was slumped back in the comfortable couch.
I began to suspect that the evening wasn’t quite over yet. The conversation in the room had risen again, an excited drone of whispered chattering that was brimming with eager anticipation.
Imelda stepped forwards and stood before the sofa. She raised her arms and the room fell into complete silence.
“Ladies,” she said, her voice raised as though addressing a society dinner. “Ladies, thank you for coming tonight. And thank you for coming tonight …” There was a ripple of nervous laughter in the room at the obvious joke. “As you know, I enjoy putting on a show at my parties, and tonight’s festivities would not have been possible without the willing cooperation of Katrina, our lovely centerpiece here.” There was a light applause, and I felt myself blushing uncontrollably. Somehow, being called out as their fuck toy was more embarrassing to me than actually being the fuck toy. “But the evening is nearly at an end, so it’s time to close the night with a bang! So ladies, I ask you to take your partner, take a new partner, take anybody! And let’s fuck like there’s no tomorrow!” she roared and the room erupted into noise. A cacophony of whoops and hollers and frantic activity.
My eyes remained fixed on Imelda as she stood above me. She appeared to be studying me, her gaze flicking from my face to my breasts to my pussy. Then she snapped her fingers and the entourage jumped into motion.
With an almost choreographed efficiency, each of the six girls took a part of my body. Two girls took hold of my arms, two girls took a breast each and two found my legs. Then each girl began to kiss and worship me.
Six hungry mouths licking and biting at me. The wave of sensation was overwhelming, the all encompassing warmth of attention, sucking at my toes, my fingers, my nipples. I lay back in the couch, utterly unable to move, and moaned uncontrollably as the girls devoured me with their mouths. With every touch, every caress, every wet kiss, I felt my fire begin to rage once more. Surely for the final time, surely I had nothing more left to give? But slowly, inevitably, it began to build.
Then I became aware of a new presence, a new touch. This time it was on my pussy, so far neglected by the entourage. I forced my heavy eyes to open, blinking to focus. Imelda had moved between my legs, falling to her knees there. She regarded me intently, a filthy smirk on her pretty face. I flicked my eyes downwards and saw that she was teasing the tip of the strap-on dildo across my tired pussy lips.
I gasped as I realized what was about to happen, suddenly gripped with a fear that I would not be able to take any more.
Imelda noticed my apprehension and her smirk turned to a smile, then she slowly eased forwards, pushing the rigid length into my tight hole. I moaned out loud, squeezing my eyes shut as the thing slid into me. I was so wet down there that there was no resistance to entry, no discomfort, but the sensation of being filled was so total that my body erupted with a wave of indescribable satisfactio
n. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced, a sense of completeness that felt wonderfully right.
With glacial slowness, Imelda reversed her stroke and pulled the dildo out of me and I sighed, a mixture of relief and regret that it was going no deeper. Before I could gather my thoughts, she pushed forwards once more, faster this time, less restrained, deeper. I moaned again, overwhelmed by the sensation from my pussy and the endless pleasure from the attention of the six girls on my body.
I felt Imelda’s strong hands grip my thighs as she quickened her pace. Thrusting into me and pulling back, endless repetitions of increasing frequency. With every thrust of the piston within me, the fire that had ravaged my body through the entire night was kindled. Against every expectation, I found that I still had something to give, and a fireball of desire began to build, sending jolts of pure pleasure throughout my entire body.
I cried out, “Oh yes, oh please yes!” unable to control my voice and my body. Meanwhile, the sounds of the room entered my mind at a subconscious level, the sound of women fucking, skin slapping against skin, pleading cries that matched my own, and the peaking orgy fired my passions to yet greater heights.
Faster and faster Imelda drove the dildo into me, gripping me tightly, pulling me forward towards her until the ten inch length was entering me totally. Every thrust was pure ecstasy, the pinnacle of lust and want. Suddenly, I felt one of the girls move, leaving my throbbing nipple behind and beginning to kiss her way down my body. Distantly, I wondered where she was going. Then I felt a warmth on my clitoris as she began to lick down there.
I screamed out my approval, writhing on the sofa, held in place in this sensual prison of mouth and tongues. The feeling of being pounded hard, the feeling of my clit being teased and the constant background thrill of wet attention on my whole body. The restraints were gone, but I could no more have moved my body now than I could have an hour ago. I was paralysed with sensation, locked in place with utter pleasure.
My mind soared, rising out of my body, propelled upwards by the force of my desire. I turned back, gazing down at my body and the naked, writhing creatures that serviced me. A seething mass of female flesh, all focused on one purpose, me.
And then the fireball erupted. A familiar trigger tripped, a point of no return. I felt my breathing quicken and a warm flush spread through my body. I didn’t try to fight it, couldn’t try to fight it, such was its insistent power. I released myself into it, allowing the surge of feeling to wash over me. My body quaked and I hunched myself, pulling my arms and legs away from the girls of the entourage. Inside me, the fire raged, fueled by the continued thrusts of Imelda and her hungry cock. I screamed out, begging for her to stop, imploring her to continue. I lost myself for a split second, my consciousness suddenly engulfed by the surge of the orgasm as it roared through me. Higher and higher it pushed me, raging through my body and tearing at my entire being. I began to feel as though it might never end, an inexplicable fear that was matched by a fervent hope that it wouldn’t. My senses faded, collapsing to a singularity of sensation, a burning point of pure pleasure, intense and unstoppable. It consumed me until I could feel nothing else.
And then, at once, it ended. The animating force left my body and I exhaled deeply, deflating like a punctured balloon. The pounding stopped and Imelda slid out of me, causing micro-quakes in my body as my tortured pussy signalled it could take no more! I fell to the side, my head resting in the lap of one of the entourage girls. I relished the soft warmth of her skin, the subtle aroma of her desire. She stroked my hair tenderly and I felt myself slipping off into the irresistible embrace of sleep.
---
I woke hours later. The room had cleared, but for a handful of naked women, curled up on sofas or cushions. A thin shaft of light shone in through a gap in the drapes, indicating that it was morning.
My entire body ached, muscles singing with the remnants of exertion. How long had I been strapped to the table? I had no idea. Time appeared to lose meaning after a certain point. How many woman had used me? Ten? Fifty? All one hundred guests? Again, I had no way of knowing. Aside from the scenes I have described to you, the remaining encounters all merge into a background blur of tongue, and flesh, and pussy.
In the weeks that followed, I would find myself remembering glimpses of these trysts as I laid awake at night. The image of a head between my legs, bobbing up and down; the feeling of being engulfed by a complete stranger’s pussy as she squatted over my head; the sudden sting of pain, both hated and desired in equal measure.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking my body and rousing me into full wakefulness. I opened my eyes and peered upwards. It was Karen, my best friend and the one who had got me into this whole mess.
“Did you have a good time honey?” she asked with a wry smile.
I nodded, barely able to form a complete sentence.
“You look exhausted. What do you say we grab a coffee and you can tell me all about it?” she said.
I nodded again, but then spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “Sounds good … Listen, last night … did you? Did we … ?”
She looked down at me and stroked my hair tenderly, then winked. “Let’s find your clothes and get that coffee shall we? And maybe I’ll tell you all about it.”
THE END
How I Became Her Pet
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1: Obedience
The hallway tiles are cold and hard beneath my knees, but I don’t mind. Nor do I mind the cool draught that blows across my naked breasts and causes my nipples to harden. In truth, my nipples would be hard anyway, but with anticipation rather than cold.
It’s nearly five o’clock. Five minutes before, to be precise - I like to get into position several minutes early to compose myself and get into the correct frame of mind before the mistress gets home.
I shake my head and clear my thoughts, placing my hands flat on my thighs in the way that she has instructed me to. The mistress likes to be greeted by her pet when she arrives home from a difficult day at the office. She likes to find her pet kneeling in the hallway, completely naked but for a leather collar, in a state of near arousal, ready for her to play with.
For the last two hours, I have been preparing myself, as I do every day. I began with grooming - bathing myself, shaving myself completely bald, ensuring that any unsightly blemishes are covered and that my hair is perfectly arranged in a tight ponytail - another one of the mistress’s requirements.
Throughout this process, I focused my mind on the mistress and her exquisite body. I filled my thoughts with images of her pretty face, gazing down at me with love and affection as I curl around her legs. I imagined the soft touch of her hand, scratching me behind the ear, or stroking my breasts as I lay back and allow her to explore my body. I thought of her punishments. The sharp slap of her hand on my bottom as she tenderly corrects my behaviour, making me the best pet I possibly can be. I think of her rewards. The taste of her body, her feet, her pussy, should she allow me that privilege.
By the time five o’clock rolled around and I got into position in the hallway, my body was filled with a luscious warmth and a deep hunger. I know, without needing to check, that my pussy is slick with lust, ready for her to do with as she pleases. I long to dip my fingers into my sex, to touch myself in that special place that is reserved for her. But I do not, for that would be disobedient and the mistress favors obedience over all else. I must be a good pet and put aside my own desires. I must earn the mistress’s love, suffer her punishments, relish her sweet rewards.
I hear the sound of an engine, then the slam of a car door, and I ready myself. I am aware that my heart is beating quicker and my breathing has become shallow and fast. I feel a mixture of anticipation and apprehension - anticipation of the mistress’s arrival and what she will allow me to do to her tonight; apprehension about her mood, about what kind of a day she has had and how she might want to take out any frustrations on me.
I blink and focus my mind, ferv
ently hoping that today was a good day for the mistress, but resigned to the alternative.
A key rattles in the lock and I straighten myself up, lifting my chin up so that my neck is visible and exposed. I arch my back slightly and push out my breasts, wanting her first sight of me to be as pleasurable as possible. The door pushes open and she steps inside the house.
As usual, the mistress is impeccably presented. A smart cream business suit, with tight pencil skirt and blazer, over a dark satin blouse that emphasises her perfect breasts wonderfully. I gaze up at her face, experiencing a rush of affection as she smiles down at me with glistening red lips that I long to taste.
She fixes me an ice cool stare, her deep blue eyes locking on mine. “And how is my pet today? Have you been following your rules?” she asks, her voice soft and friendly, yet laced with an undercurrent of command and authority.
I merely nod and smile, remembering that the mistress prefers her pet not to talk unless absolutely necessary. “Your mouth is for pleasure, not chatter,” she has told me on a number of occasions.
“Good girl,” she purrs and squats down beside me, lifting her hand to scratch behind my ear. I sigh at her touch, and lean my head into her, nuzzling her palm with my cheek. Then she stands and reaches across the hall to a small table by the wall. I hear a familiar metallic jingle and watch as the mistress retrieves my leash, then bends down again and clips the chain to the silver ring at the front of my collar.
My heartbeat quickens and a warmth spreads through my body, like food coloring diffusing in water. The leash means that the mistress is in a playful mood and that I might be allowed to taste her, or have her taste me. My spirit soars at the prospect.
With a gentle tug on the leash, the mistress begins to walk off in the direction of the living room. I drop forward onto all fours, keeping up as best I can with her purposeful strides, trying to avoid becoming tangled up in her long legs. I love to walk beside her like this, to come to heel when she asks me to.
