by Ella Ford
My own fingers mirrored Sarah’s exploration, slipping around my panties and sinking into my dripping pussy lips. I wasted no time in finding my own clitoris, massaging it with a familiarity that only a woman knows. I was filled with a sudden urge to come, there and then. It was not negotiable, it was something that couldn’t be ignored.
Sarah seemed to sense my urgency and began to move her hand faster. The purple dildo became a glistening blur, plunging deeper and deeper into Chloe’s pussy. The brunette began to plant hot kisses on Chloe’s ass, supplementing the relentless attention of her hand with the gentle softness of her mouth on Chloe’s raw skin.
Chloe howled with pleasure, panting with short, sharp gasps. I could see her hands grip the far side of the desk, clutching it until her knuckles turned white.
I felt the first tremors of my building orgasm rising in my midsection as my fingers plucked and pressed on my aching sex. A broiling sea of molten desire, bubbling over with every passing second. I narrowed my eyes and quickened my fingers, focusing on the exquisite sight of these two docile girls fucking on the desk in front of me. My vision collapsed to a narrow tunnel that terminated on the pair and their lithe young bodies - the slender length of Chloe’s legs and the sensual curve of her ass; her screams and moans, her thrashing and flailing body; the quick, eager motion of Sarah’s hands and mouth, so eager to please, so hungry for fulfillment. Before I could think about resisting, the orgasm crested its containment, exploding outwards from my pussy in a supernova of pure, white light.
I thrashed about in the chair, legs stretching out before me, animated by a tension that gave painful life to every muscle in my body. I felt a furious, raging wave of sensation flood through my body, setting every tortured nerve ending alight with an unstoppable fire.
A spark of my ecstasy flashed across the room to the desk, carried on the wave of my moans and screams. It infiltrated Chloe’s psyche, triggering her own spasm of pleasure. Her body lurched as her spine arched up, lifting her body off the desk. Sarah wrapped her arms around Chloe’s thighs and buried her face in the redhead’s asshole, riding her like a rodeo bull.
Chloe screamed out, uttering a curse that would have turned her snooty mother’s hair white.
For endless seconds our mutual orgasms raged, trapping us in our own private worlds of pure pleasure.
Then the madness ceased and we both slumped back; Chloe on the desk, sprawling out, arms limp around her head; and me in the chair, legs kicked out and hair a dishevelled mess.
On the floor beside Chloe’s pussy, Sarah sat back on her heels, breathing heavily, her face slick with Chloe’s pussy juices.
The three of us fell into a cooling silence, allowing the batteries of our desire to recharge before any of us dared to move again. I found myself staring at Chloe, studying the regal redhead as she dozed on my desk. She was the perfect object, a porcelain possession that belonged to me utterly, a piece of equipment like the other items on my desk: a stapler, an ink pen, a young fuck toy. But she wasn’t always like this, wasn’t always so docile.
My mind flashed back to the party three months ago, to the very first time I met Chloe, to the time she almost destroyed everything that I had worked so hard to build.
Chapter 2: Entitlement
Before
The party was a typically lavish affair. Ostensibly a charity ball, but really a paper thin excuse for the rich to flash their wealth among those of a similar ilk, drinking and dancing and engaging in the relentless game of oneupmanship that disgusted me so.
In my former life, as Mrs Jeremy Ross, such parties had been a commonplace event, a necessary trapping of privilege. I suffered them on Jeremy’s arm and thin high heels, smiling sweetly, allowing myself to be paraded around like a company asset. But I secretly hated them. The people were awful, the food mediocre and the atmosphere poisonous. After Jeremy’s death, I vowed never to subject myself to such subtle torture ever again.
But, yet, some things cannot be avoided, and so I found myself attending a ball thrown by Jeremy’s charitable trust. I had considered not attending, sending my regards and apologies, and instead spending the evening watching my pretty dolls fucking each other senseless. But at the last minute, I’d relented, accepting that, as a governor of the trust, it was my responsibility to endure the party. For all Jeremy’s faults, the charitable trust he’d set up was a worthy cause and one that I wholeheartedly supported.
So I’d fished out my best cocktail dress and had Beth fix my hair into something vaguely presentable, then I’d taken a car to the lavish mansion that hosted the event.
The party was organized and hosted by Tabitha Phelps, wife of one of the most wealthy businessmen in the state and generous patron of the charity. I hated her, she was a viper in pantyhose, a two-faced sow who spoke sweetly to your face and spat venom behind your back. I knew for a fact that she viewed me in low regard, seeing me as a low class uplift who had married into the Ross fortune. I knew that she suspected me off killing Jeremy, of sleeping around. My only consolation in this awful woman’s continued existence was that she seemed to have not a single clue about the growing harem of docile lesbian slaves that I was accumulating.
“Claudia, I’m sooo glad that you could make it,” wailed Tabitha Phelps as she greeted me in the hallway of her lavish colonial style mansion.
“Tabitha, you look lovely tonight,” I lied without a hint of sincerity in my voice.
We air kissed and she gripped my upper arms, fixing me with a look that was supposed to be matronly and concerned, but which ended up weighted with the disgust and contempt she obviously felt. “Tell me, Claudia, dear heart, are you taking care of yourself, all alone in that huge house of Jeremy’s?” she said without bothering to hide her opinion of me. “You’re looking awfully pale and gaunt,” she added, furrowing her brow.
“I’m keeping fine, thank you Tabitha,” I said, not eager to get into a passive aggressive game with this awful woman. “I love your hair, is that color new?” I added, unable to resist the dig.
Tabitha frowned and snorted through her nose. “Well, anyway. I think you’ll know everyone here. Be sure to say hello to Alastair,” she added, referring to her equally obnoxious husband, then turned on her expensive heel and disappeared into the party with a shrill cry of recognition.
I shrugged my wrap off my shoulders and handed it one of Tabitha’s staff with a pleasant smile. The poor girl looked terribly nervous and barely old enough to drink. At least she could take refuge from this awful crowd in the kitchen, I thought to myself.
For the next several hours, I circulated around the privileged mob, pressing flesh with senators and judges, feigning grief as the subject of my late husband was raised time after time. It seemed that virtually everyone thought very highly of Jeremy and considered his loss a terrible, terrible shame for the world. Notwithstanding that most of them had tried, at one time or another, to ruin Jeremy and vice versa. But all of these transgressions seemed to be forgotten. It seems that death was the ultimate leveller, the forgiver of all trespasses, absolver of grudges.
By ten o’clock, I could stand it no longer. My feet were aching and my head was beginning to throb. I excused myself from the group of lawyers and accountants who were chattering enthusiastically about the latest Republican presidential nominee line up, and headed off to find a bathroom.
The Phelps’ house was vast and ostentatious, with gaudy, lurid decoration and tasteless trinkets from around the world. Tabitha thought herself the height of style and sophistication, but her home was more like an airport gift shop. I chuckled to myself as I headed up the wide staircase, my mind already thinking about which of my girls I would take into my bed tonight. Perhaps Christa? The tall, blonde lawyer was vivacious and bold, a sexual tigress, but one that was easily tamed. She had a weakness for feet and would be more than happy to massage my aching soles, with her fingers and her mouth. Before working her way up my leg... I shuddered at the idea of that eager tongue lapping at my drippin
g sex and hurried up the stairs with a quickened pace.
I reached the first landing and looked around, unsure which of the many rooms leading off this long corridor was the bathroom. The house was enormous, with more rooms than Tabitha and Alastair could ever use. I sighed and considered returning to the party to ask one of the serving girls to point me in the direction I needed, but realized that I’d never live it down if Tabitha overheard me begging for help to pee!
So I looked around, verified that I was completely alone and headed off down the corridor, trying each door in turn. Room after room in the same pretentious style as the rest of the house, guest bedrooms and studies, each still smelling of packing paper and dust, as though they’d never been occupied by actual people.
I reached the end of the corridor and pushed open a door, barely thinking about what I would find, needing only to pee and take the weight off my throbbing feet. I stepped into the room and blinked, surprised to find this room lit by the low light of a table lamp and several candles.
“Hello, can I help you?” a female voice said, a clipped New England accent with a demanding tone.
I peered around the door and located the owner of the voice. She was reclining on the opulent looking bed in an expensive looking black cocktail dress, her long legs kicked out before her, crossed at the ankle, twinkling silver sandals wrapped around dainty feet. In her hands she held a cellphone, which she was flicking at distractedly in that maddening way that the young had.
“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “I didn’t realize there was anyone in here. I was just looking for a bathroom.”
She smiled sweetly and I recognized the girl at once. Her distinctive red hair and gleaming emerald eyes; that long, feminine body with full breasts and wide hips. The girl on the bed was Chloe Phelps-Roper, the niece of Tabitha and Alastair Phelps. We’d met before, but I sensed that she didn’t remember me. Small wonder, as she’d been a precocious thirteen year old brat at the time, more concerned with getting her own way than social niceties. I remembered her as a gawky mess, all pigtails and retainers, awkward and clumsy and slightly overweight. But those piercing green eyes and mop of red hair had imprinted on my mind.
I studied the girl. The Chloe that I remembered was all but erased, leaving only the distinctive hair and eyes. The woman in her place was elegant and regal, a fashionably curvy body with perfect skin and a hint of youthful vitality that radiated out into the room. She was quite breathtaking, and I sensed that she knew this only too well.
“Please come in and sit down, let’s talk,” she said, more a demand than a request. She swung her legs around and sat on the side of the bed, then patted the space next to her.
“I-I really should be getting back,” I replied, not wanting to spend a single second longer in Tabitha’s house, let alone sit talking about boys and bands with her precocious niece!
Chloe’s face hardened with an “I want! I want!” expression that a child would use to demand cotton candy. “Sit, please. I’m bored and lonely up here. Aunt Tabitha’s friends are frightful bores,” she said.
Well, on that we can agree, I thought to myself and reluctantly stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. I moved to the bed and sat down beside the young redhead, then smiled at her awkwardly. I felt strangely ill at ease. This wasn’t my comfort zone, having a young girl demand things from me. It was usually the other way around.
“You’re Claudia Ross aren’t you?” said Chloe, narrowing her eyes and studying me.
“I… yes, yes I am,” surprised that she recognized me. “We met when you were a lot younger,” I said.
She looked off into the distance, deep in concentration. “I don’t remember. But I do recognize you,” she said with a shrug. “Aunt Tabitha talks about you a lot. She doesn’t like you much,” she added.
I raised my eyebrow, suddenly interested in what Tabitha Phelps found so interesting about me to talk about with her young niece. “Oh really? What does she say?”
“She says you killed your husband,” said Chloe matter-of-factly. No surprise there then. “And she says you’re an awful slut.”
I should have been shocked, but I wasn’t really. I cared precisely not at all about what Tabitha thought about me. I shifted on the bed and stood to my feet. “I should be going, my car is waiting for me,” I lied, suddenly needing to be away from this strange situation.
A sudden sound caught my attention and I gasped. The creak of a door and a movement behind us. Chloe Phelps-Roper and I both turned as one, the look of angry entitlement melting from the redhead’s face to be replaced by a sly smirk.
On the other side of the room, a door had opened and a warm orange light was spilling out of the bathroom attached to the suite. As I watched, another girl emerged, shuffling quietly with an obvious nervous reluctance. I gasped again. It was one of the serving girls from the party downstairs, I recognized her immediately as the pretty young blonde who had taken my wrap when I first arrived, endless hours ago. But now her functional dress uniform had all but gone, and she stood in the doorway partially naked, wearing only a pair of opaque black hold-up stockings and some dainty, flat ballet pumps.
As I watched, she hung her head as if inviting approval, and crossed her hands over her unkempt pussy, protecting her modesty with the futile gesture.
I turned to Chloe and glared at her. “What is going on here?”
Chloe lifted a finger to her mouth and adopted a sly smile. “Oops,” she purred, “you caught me.”
She shifted on the bed, gathering her legs up and then crawled to the other side. She raised a single, slender, impeccably manicured finger and beckoned the blonde girl over. The serving girl shuffled on the spot for a few seconds, then stepped over to the bed and stood beside Chloe, never once raising her head or looking us in the eye.
“This is Violet,” said Chloe. She reached out and stroked her hand over the blonde’s shapely ass. I felt suddenly very uncomfortable. “She’s one of Aunt Tabitha’s staff, and my playmate when I visit. She has a very talented tongue!” she added with an impish smirk.
Violet’s face flushed red and the faintest hint of a smirk lit up her pretty face.
“Does your aunt know about this?” I asked, wondering what the staunchly conservative Tabitha Phelps would think if she found out that her niece was fucking a woman. I smiled inwardly as I realized that she’d likely be more offended that Chloe was fucking the hired help than another girl.
Chloe laughed to herself and lightly tapped Violet’s ass, causing the girl to flinch and squeal. I found myself wondering whether Violet enjoyed her secretive relationship with Chloe, or whether she simply saw it as an extension of her job, just another room that needed to be cleaned. She looked uncomfortable, certainly, but not unwilling.
“Aunt Tabitha doesn’t know shit. She thinks I’m a pretty little virgin heiress, saving myself like a good Christian. She has no idea how much pussy I’ve had,” the redhead said, the coarse brutality of her words sounding especially sordid with her rich, Bostonian accent. “Tell me, Claudia, have you ever had a woman?” she asked with a sly smile, stroking her hand up and down Violet’s leg.
“T-that’s none of your business,” I said and turned on my heel. “I should be going, my car…”
“Stop!” snapped Chloe as I made for the door. “Where are you going? We’re just getting started!” she said with an entitled tone.
“I’m leaving, right now,” I said, trying to gain control of the situation and sensing it slipping out of my grasp. But it wasn’t the elegant redhead that I was ceding authority to… instead, my own desires were flooding me with waves of temptation. I could sense the familiar feeling of hunger and lust rising up in my body, fueled by the sight of the naked serving girl, so ripe and corruptible, or the challenge of bringing Chloe to heel, breaking her and bending her to my will.
“If you leave, I’ll tell Aunt Tabitha that I caught you fucking Violet. I’ll say I came into my bedroom and found you eating her lowe
r class cunt!” spat Chloe with a petulant snarl. I stopped where I was and turned to face her, glowering at the tall redhead. “Oh Aunt Tabitha, I’ll say, it was terrible! She was wearing my panties and her tongue was in that girl’s special place!”
Chloe laughed manically, and reached up to grab Violet’s arm. She pulled the younger blonde onto the bed beside her and directed her down on her knees.
“Show Claudia your pussy, Violet, there’s a good girl,” purred Chloe, switching between her spoiled brat and sex kitten personas with a manipulative skill that I found curiously enticing.
Violet turned around and lowered her head to the bed, lifting her ass in the air and spreading her legs slightly until I could see the complex pink folds of her young pussy.
“You wouldn’t…” I said, feeling genuinely concerned that this entitled brat might do exactly what she threatened.
“I will,” she spat. “She’ll believe me as well. She believes everything I tell her. You’ll be finished in this town, just another dyke widower who liked the taste of common pussy!” She was almost hysterical now, not at all in control of the situation, driven by her own sense of entitlement and a history of getting her own way. In her mind, there was no difference between whatever sordid intent she had in mind for me, and getting the latest Gucci handbag or diamond heels. She was Chloe Phelps-Roper, she got what she wanted.
I considered leaving anyway, letting her tell her awful aunt exactly what she wanted. But something held me in place. It was the thought of my dolls, my growing collection of girls. The last thing I wanted was for Tabitha’s loose tongue to invite interest in my life, to provoke the unique interest of the concerned conservative mob. I couldn’t leave, I was trapped by this willful brat and her clumsy threat. Damn.
“Wh-what do you want from me?” I said, feeling a twinge of genuine concern. But for all the resentment and anger I felt towards this bratty redhead, there was something else beneath. The sight of Violet’s pretty pussy on the bed beside Chloe, it’s glistening wetness a hint of obvious arousal. The hungry way that Chloe was studying me, a sexy inexperience in her eager eyes. I found myself wondering just how many women she’d been with. Was she as prolific as she claimed, or were her sapphic adventures limited to just her vacation plaything? For the time being, I decided to play along with her sordid game. “P-please, promise you won’t t-tell your Aunt,” I added, sounding as pathetic as I possibly could.
