Climax: Volume 2

by Ella Ford

  The thought thrilled me, sending waves of hot warmth through my body, causing me to shudder uncontrollably. Without even touching my own pussy, I felt the exquisite thrill of arousal. I quickened my fingers, plunging two slender digits into Jenna’s tight hole. The girl cried out and sighed as my hand filled her. I pulled my arm back, then pushed forwards again, deeper this time, feeling the warm envelope of her pussy around me, an indescribably wet cavern that demanded exploration.

  I squatted down and released my grip on her wrists. She remained in position, with her arms crossed behind her back, I noted with distant satisfaction. My hand continued to piston back and forth, filling her more with every insistent stroke. With my other hand, I found her clit again and began to squeeze it, running the slick bulge through my fingers and massaging it with my thumb. Jenna squealed and moaned, her head thrashing back and forth on the table as my manipulations continued.

  Without thinking, driven by need and lust alone, I lowered my head and pushed my face into her ass, covering mouth with the totality of her flesh. My tongue darted forwards and found her asshole, relishing the taste of her and the heat of her desire. I began to poke at that puckered hole and she tried to pull away, sighing and gasping with every forced trespass.

  “Oh god, oh god, stop, stop,” she breathed. Every word was a soft whisper, snippets of meaning between quick, sharp pants. I sensed she was close to climax, felt the rising tension in her body. Attacked on three fronts, her body could take this kind of assault no longer. I quickened my pace once more, pushing my tongue deeper, thrusting my hand further into her, twisting my wrist and hooking my fingers into the rough penny of her g-spot.

  Something inside her broke, a sudden flick of a switch and a point of no return being crossed. Her spine arched upwards and she flung her head backwards, the cords on her neck standing out with granite hardness. Her moaning stopped and the room fell into a charged silence, an electric tension that bristled with sexual energy. Her hands tightened into claws, knuckles made white with the force of the orgasm raging silently through her body. Then the tension broke and her head fell forwards onto the table. She began to breathe quickly. “Ah, ah, ah, ah,” she moaned quickly. Her arms and legs began to twitch and shake uncontrollably. For an eternity of long seconds, the pretty stenographer thrashed and shook in my grip, my fingers still deep inside her.

  Then she stopped and her body collapsed down onto the table, her legs splayed out to the sides, no longer able to take her weight. She began to inhale and exhale, taking long breaths as though tasting air for the first time. I slid my hand out of her slick pussy, relishing the shudder of relief as the presence left her.

  I took a step back and lowered myself to my chair, crossing my legs and studying the prone body of Jenna on the table before me. The torn mess of her tan pantyhose framing the glowing pink geography of her pretty, young pussy. She was barely moving, arms still crossed behind her back. A single flat shoe kicked off in the throes of her passion lay off to the side, revealing a stockinged sole and painted toenails. She looked quite beautiful and quite submissive, lying there as the intense maelstrom of her frantic orgasm faded from her body.

  “Did you enjoy that Jenna?” I asked.

  She nodded, barely moving her body. She opened her eyes and peered back back at me.

  “Yes. It was… yes…” she whispered.

  “Good. There’ll be more like that when I get you home. I can’t wait for you to meet Beth,” I said, barely even thinking about what I was saying. In my mind, the transaction was done, the collection complete. Jenna had taken my hand and my tongue and given herself to me, her capitulation more binding than any signature. How naive.

  She shifted on the table and lifted herself up. “What?” she said. “I don’t understand.”

  I smiled and placed my hands on my lap. “You’re mine now. Your old life is over,” I said, echoing the words I’d used to mark the transition of Beth from shy intern to owned doll. In that case, the words had triggered a look of release and relief, a liberation from the expectations of her existence and the glorious freedom of her submission.

  But Jenna was not Beth.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she snapped, swinging her body round and perching on the edge of the table. She began to shuffle her skirt down her legs.

  I felt a flutter of doubt in my mind. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Kneel down before me,” I said, but my voice cracked and there was little conviction there.

  Jenna shook her head and hopped off the table. She reached down and grabbed her shoe, slipping it on her stockinged foot. “Lady, this was a mistake,” she snarled, backing away from me. “I don’t know what you think this was…”

  “But,” I said, knowing that this was a massive error on my part. I’d been greedy, allowing myself to be guided by my desires and my lust. I made an inward vow to be more careful in the future.

  “Sorry Miss Ross, I’m leaving now,” said Jenna, turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

  “Wait,” I said, a final attempt at regaining control. But she didn’t stop. Instead, she turned and fixed me with a venomous stare.

  “You’re sick, you old pervert,” she spat and pulled the door open, disappearing into the hallway beyond.

  I exhaled sharply, a hot flush of anger and loss lighting up my face. How did I get it so wrong? I thought to myself, gazing at the floor.

  Suddenly, there was a noise from the open doorway. I looked up and blinked in surprise. Standing there, framed in the entrance, was Christa Black, my opponent’s co-counsel. The tall blonde was staring at me with furious concentration, her painted red lips hanging open with obvious shock, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

  I lifted my hand and wiped my mouth, still wet with Jenna’s pussy juice.

  “What…” I began, barely able to speak, “what did you hear?”

  Christa Black exhaled sharply and crossed her arms in front of her, glancing off to the side with a look of confused puzzlement on her sculpted face. “Everything…” she breathed, then turned on her heel and disappeared into the corridor with a quick bounce.

  “Shit,” I said to myself as the full implications of what had happened washed through my racing mind.

  Chapter 3: Christa

  Before

  The hearing reconvened an hour later. At two on the dot, Beulah and Eric Danvers filed into the meeting room and took their seats. A minute later, Christa Black stepped into the room, holding her briefcase and papers, a distant look in her eyes. She flashed me a quick look, but otherwise said nothing. She appeared deep in thought and I wondered how long it would be before she or Danvers revealed the depths of my debauchery to the room, no doubt granting Beulah the victory she so craved. How had I been so stupid?

  “Did everyone have a good lunch?” said Danvers pleasantly.

  “Very nice, thank you,” said James beside me.

  Danvers glanced in my direction and looked at me expectantly. I realized that he was waiting for me to speak. Oh god, did he know?

  “It was… uh… very tasty,” I said.

  Danvers furrowed his brow and gazed at me. “Are you okay Mrs Ross? You seem a little off-color,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. Beside him, Christa Black looked up from her papers and met my gaze.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I said, struggling to maintain my composure while the panic rose in my gut, making me want to stand and flee from this place and find a deep hole to crawl into. “I’m just tired, and this heat… you know…” I said, then looked down at my papers, shrinking from the intolerable scrutiny of the opposition. But most of all, trying to escape the icy gaze of Christa Black, her piercing blue eyes burning into my soul with the weight of her stolen knowledge.

  Had she told Danvers what she saw? What she heard? I glanced down the table at the stenotype. Jenna’s chair was unoccupied, the girl hadn’t returned after she stormed out of the room earlier. Didn’t anyone else wonder where the girl was?

 
; Danvers followed my eye and seemed to read my thoughts. “Ah, yes, you’ve noticed that Miss Lee isn’t with us.” I nodded distantly, flicking a guilty look at Christa Black. The pristine blonde beauty was still staring at me dispassionately. “Poor thing took ill over lunch. She won’t be returning today. The office is sending down another stenographer within the hour, but I don’t think we need to wait for the replacement. I’m sure we can wrap up quickly here and let Mrs Ross get back home, don’t you James?”

  I glanced around and James Reinhold nodded enthusiastically. “Heavens, yes. Let’s get this over with and get on with our lives,” he said and shot Beulah an acidic look.

  The chubby woman across the table pursed her lips and snorted through her porcine nose.

  “Okay, let’s get down to it then,” said Danvers, shuffling his file. “Did anyone else have anything else to add?”

  I glanced at Christa Black who was still studying me with that intense glare. She appeared deep in thought, wrestling with the internal weight of the knowledge that she possessed. I gazed back at her, studying her face, trying to read her expression, silently imploring her to hold onto the secret of my humiliation.

  Danvers looked around the table, taking in every person in turn. “Nothing? Then I think we’ll break for deliberation. James you’ll receive our offer by thursday week and …”

  “Wait!” said Christa Black suddenly, her model face snapping away from me, turning down the table to Danvers. “There’s s-something else…” she breathed, barely audibly and utterly different from her normally confident voice.

  I felt a wave of panic wash over me. This was it. I was about to be exposed. They’d find out about me, about my secret. They’d find out about Beth. I’d done nothing wrong, but I would be judged, humiliated. Exposed as an aging lesbian predator, an insatiable sex fiend. My heart began to pound, my body felt hot and burned with my inner shame. My vision swam and I felt dizzy. I was suddenly gripped with a desperate need to be out of that room, out of that building, out of this universe.

  I stood quickly, pushing my chair back with a force that made it crash against the wall of the meeting room. “I… I don’t feel… I have to go…” I said, shrinking under the weight of the surprised looks that followed me to my feet. I turned on my heel and pushed past James, stepping around the table on trembling legs. I reached the door and didn’t stop, pulling the handle with unchecked force and staggering out into the corridor beyond. Then I ran, ran as fast as I possibly could.

  Behind me, the fading voice of the awful Beulah echoed in my mind. “How typically Claudia,” she sneered, “her kind are so undignified.”

  ---

  The building’s bathroom was bright and clinical, lit with a harsh light. It felt pleasantly cool after the oppressive heat of the meeting room. I leaned forwards and splashed cold water over my face, not caring about getting spots of wetness on my blouse and skirt. The refreshing ice cold liquid cooled my burning cheeks and shocked my heart into a more manageable rhythm.

  I hung my head down and forced my breathing to slow. I could scarcely believe what had happened, how badly I’d screwed up. At this very moment, Christa Black was likely telling Danvers and James and Beulah everything that she’d seen and heard, my peculiar demands and Jenna’s abject refusal. My life was over, my reputation ruined. All because I couldn’t control my basest desires.

  Behind me, the door to the bathroom creaked open. I didn’t turn to see who it was, could barely stand to face anyone at that moment, so deep was my malaise.

  “Are you okay,” said a female voice.

  I glanced up and peered in the mirror before me. It was Christa Black, standing inside the door, studying me with a look of puzzled interest.

  “Leave me alone,” I moaned, closing my eyes and wishing her away.

  “I-I said I’d come to see how you were…” she began. There was a halting, soft tone to her voice. Almost reverential.

  I turned to face her, and leaned back against the bathroom counter.

  “I’ve had better days,” I said, still not sure whether Christa had told my secret.

  “I wasn’t,” the tall blonde began, then paused and glanced around, nibbling on her lower lip. I studied her, for the first time if I’m perfectly honest. I’d been so caught up in my sordid fantasy over the plain, obtainable stenographer Jenna, that I’d scarcely given the statuesque lawyer a second glance. Christa Black was tall, easily several inches taller than me in her high, pristine, stiletto heels. She wore a bright red sleeveless dress with a skirt that reached down to just above her knees. Her legs were bare, with smooth, tanned skin that perfectly complimented the seductive color of her dress. Her blonde hair was gathered in a tight braid that fell down her back and bounced as she walked. She peered back at me over expensive glasses that had slid down her nose slightly. “I wasn’t going to tell them what I saw,” she continued, and I noticed a soft glow highlighting her sharp cheekbones. “It was just a form that needed signing.”

  I felt a wave of relief washing over me. “Oh,” was all I could bring myself to say.

  Christa shuffled on her heels, crossing her arms before her and glancing around the bathroom. “What you said to that girl, to Jenna,” she said, then paused.

  “Which bit?” I asked, suddenly wondering where this was going.

  “You said ...she was yours. She belonged to you.” She lifted her head and pushed her glasses back up her nose, scrutinizing me with a furious intensity.

  I paused and glanced away from her, wondering what on earth was happening. Was this an elaborate trap? An attempt to goad me into revealing more intimate details about my life, feeding me enough rope to hang myself. I didn’t think so. There was something about the way that Christa Black was staring at me, an intensity and a curiosity that was almost palpable.

  “She clearly didn’t think so,” I smiled wistfully.

  “Who is Beth?” said Christa, leaning her head to the side. How much had she heard?

  “Beth is… Beth is…” I stammered, struggling to put into words the strange relationship that my first sex slave and I had. At least words that didn’t make me seem like an awful, old pervert.

  “Does Beth belong to you as well?” asked Christa matter-of-factly, her expression revealing nothing of her intent.

  “Yes, Beth and I have an understanding,” I said, deciding that I was too far in to deny any of it now.

  “What is it? I want to know,” she demanded, a note of entitlement creeping into her tone. “I need to know,” she added with a breath.

  “Beth is my possession, my plaything. She obeys me without question, she has submitted to me completely. Beth has accepted my authority and my dominance.” I laid it all out bare, allowed the truth to flow from me and hang in the air between us, ominous and looming. “Beth is my doll.”

  Christa took a step back, her hands falling to her sides limply. Her face lit up with an expression of shock and confusion, eyes wide and mouth agape. But she didn’t turn to leave, she didn’t spit back a condemnation, didn’t react in any way.

  “Does that shock you?” I said, feeling a sense of control returning to my actions. There was something happening here that I did not yet recognize, but which would come to be so familiar and welcomed in the coming months and years. Christa’s face was frozen in a look of surprise, yes, but there was something else: realization. A realization that something she had previously not dared imagine possible was real and obtainable. That her darkest desires and most shameful needs were shared by others, that she might achieve that which she craved the most.

  “A… little…” she replied after an eternity.

  “Only a little?” I asked, leaning my head to one side, taking a single step over to her. She didn’t back away, remaining resolutely glued to the spot. “Does it disgust you? That a woman might be owned by another woman, body and soul?” I said, taking another step forward.

  She lowered her head, brow furrowed in deep concentration, fighting some inner battle
that I couldn’t comprehend. “No,” she replied resolutely.

  “Does it… appeal to you?” I breathed, reaching her side and trailing a single fingernail down her bare arm. She shuddered under my touch, but didn’t flinch.

  “I… I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Would you like to find out?” I said, caressing the soft nape of her neck and taking hold of her golden ponytail with a firm grip.

  She exhaled deeply and lifted her head, shutting her eyes and parting her lips. How had I missed this? How had I failed to see what was right in front of my face? Suddenly, I began to recall flashing images of the hearing, brief snatches of recollection from the previous two days. The way Christa Black had barely said a single word, following Eric Danvers’ directions to the letter. The way she had taken compliments about her appearance with a simpering acceptance, lowering her eyes and blushing.

  If I’d met Christa several months later, after honing my collection technique, I would have performed my due diligence on her, ensuring that she possessed the personality traits common in the slave archetype. I’d undoubtedly find that she was an underachiever, a quiet girl with much promise but little ambition. I’d find that her relationships were invariably disasters, a search for something that she could not articulate, but which frequently led her down an incorrect path. I’d perhaps find her internet history filled with tentative searches for unfamiliar terms: submission, dominance, consensual sexual slavery; a ceaseless quest to answer an unasked question.

  But without this information, I only had my instincts to go on, and my instincts had led me down the wrong road, pursuing Jenna Lee. I silently cursed myself and vowed to be more diligent in future, choosing my acquisitions with more care and attention. Then I turned back to Christa.