Lesbian BDSM Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  “That dumb cunt,” said the other woman after minutes of silence. “She knew what she was getting into, we all did,” she added under her breath, as much to herself as anyone else.

  I pondered her words, thinking back to that first afternoon in the coffee shop in Brooklyn. The first time I met Lydia, the time my life changed forever.

  ---

  “Tell me what it is you want, Jessica.” The older woman gazed at me with a warm smile, then reached across the table and picked up a single sachet of sugar. She proceeded to tear the top of the tiny, pink packet and emptied it into her coffee. Then she picked up her spoon with slender fingers topped with burgundy painted nails and began to stir.

  “I-I thought Darla told you,” I replied. My voice was thin and reedy, trembling with an agitation that I couldn’t control. An hour ago, I’d seemed so sure of what I was doing, but now I wasn’t so certain. That drunken conversation I’d had with Darla, the unburdening of my deepest desires had seemed so cathartic, so cleansing. The look of recognition from Darla, the people she’d spoken of, the promises she’d made, it all seemed so simple. But now, sitting across the table from Darla’s friend Lydia, I felt my confidence and certainty wane. Did I really want this?

  “I need to hear you say it yourself,” replied Lydia patiently. She lifted her coffee and took a small sip, never once taking her eyes off mine. Lydia was older than me, perhaps by as much as ten years. She had a stern, serious appearance, with dark brown hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail. The clothes she wore - crisp, smart, business-like - spoke of wealth and taste; while the tan pantyhose and strappy, high-heeled sandals on her legs and feet radiated a self-assured confidence that felt quite intimidating.

  I took a deep breath and allowed myself several long seconds to gather my thoughts. I want to be…” I began.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to be owned.”

  Lydia raised an eyebrow and set her coffee cup down on the table. She sat back in her chair and stretched her long legs out in front of her. “Owned? What do you mean?”

  I felt a soft flush creep across my face. I was ordinarily very private, not even telling my closest friends how I felt. Confessing to Darla had been an emotional leap in the dark, fueled by alcohol and driven by a difficult situation at work. And now this strange woman wanted me to tell her my deepest feelings here?

  Lydia seemed to sense my trepidation. She leaned forward and laid her hand on mine, halting the nervous destruction of a paper napkin on the table before me. “Take your time Jessica. It is very important that you tell me what it is that you want so that we can help you get it. Now, what do you mean by ‘owned’?” she said quietly.

  I sighed. “Sometimes,” I began, “sometimes I find it all to be too much…” I felt light-headed and distant, hearing my voice as though watching from across the room.

  “Go on.”

  “Making decisions, taking responsibility. There’s too much… to think about.” I repeated the same thoughts I’d expressed to Darla without even thinking about it. The words embodied feelings that I’d had since I was a very little girl, they were the perfect articulation of my inner self.

  “What else?”

  I paused, gathering my courage. “I have a dream,” I started. “I’ve had it since I was little. In my dream, I’m a doll. I’m owned by someone - I can’t see who, I never can.”

  Lydia raised her eyebrow again and leaned her head to the side. “A doll?”

  “Yes. I’m an object, a possession. I have no mind, no thoughts. I exist for someone else. They dress me, they play with me. I’m simply theirs, nothing more.”

  “Does that appeal to you?”

  I glanced down at the table, the flush in my cheeks burning bright. “Y-yes.”

  “Is it a sex thing?”

  “Yes… no…” I stammered, finding it difficult to articulate. “Sex could be part of it, if my owner wanted. That’s the point, you see? I don’t get a say.”

  Lydia sat back in her chair and cross her legs over one another, brushing a speck of lint from her nylon covered knee. She smirked. “That doesn’t sound like a very modern fantasy,” she said.

  “Isn’t it?” I asked, thoughts crashing around in my head, eager to be expressed.

  “What do yo mean?”

  “Well,” I said, “I consider myself a feminist. I consider myself capable of making choices about my life.”

  “Admirable,” she smiled back at me mockingly.

  “So, if I choose to give myself to someone, then isn’t that my right?”

  She glanced off to the left and considered my words. “It’s not modern, but it is a common fantasy,” she finally said.

  “It’s more than a fantasy, it’s what I want.”

  “Is it?” She sat forward again and rested on her elbows. “Have you thought about the reality of what you want? I mean, really thought about it. Beyond the realms of fantasies or dreams. The actual reality of it?”

  “Y-yes… I mean… yes,” I said unconvincingly.

  “Let me spell it out for you,” she said, her face growing serious suddenly. “When you are owned, you lose your right of self-determination. You cannot speak out, you cannot refuse, if you don’t feel like doing something, you must do it anyway and appear to enjoy it. If something disgusts you, you must swallow your distaste and do it anyway. You are not owed anything, you do not deserve anything. It is not your choice to stop and it is not your decision to start.”

  As she spoke, her voice became distant and her eyes drifted off to the right, gazing over my shoulder. I sensed that she her words carried some significance in her own life.

  “I understand that,” I said.

  “We’ll see,” she replied, sitting back again. “How do you think I can help you,” she added, almost dismissively.

  I felt a rush of surprise. “I-I… Darla said that you… she said that you knew people who...” I said, wondering if this whole thing was a ridiculous joke.

  “People who could help you get you what you want?” she finished for me.

  “Yes.”

  She studied me, eyes flicking over my face. She crossed her arms and lifted a hand to her chin, tracing the line of her lower lip with a single manicured finger. Then, finally, she spoke. “I know people who can help,” she said and my heart skipped a beat. “I know powerful people who have enough money to buy whatever it is they want. People who have needs and the ability to satisfy them. But I must be sure.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure that you are serious about this. Sure that you realize what it is you are asking, that this isn’t simply some late-teenage fantasy, that you haven’t just read Fifty Shades of Grey and want to get your ass spanked. I need to know that you are prepared to give up everything.”

  “I-I am,” I said, breathless with fear and excitement, never more sure of anything I’d ever felt in my life.

  Lydia sat back and thought for a whole minute, her brow furrowed with concentration, trying to read my intentions. Then she sat up and began to stir her coffee again, gazing down at the table before her.

  “I want you to stand up and go into the bathroom. Enter the first stall on the left, kneel down on the floor and take off your shirt and bra, then cross your arms behind your back.”

  Her words hung in the air between us for an eternity of seconds. I blinked, shocked by the sudden tone in her voice and the change in direction of the conversation.

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  She looked up from her coffee, her lips thin and tight, eyes narrowed and smouldering with power. “Did I stutter?” she asked with a viper’s menace in her voice.

  I shook my head, unsure what to do, suddenly gripped by a desire to stand up and leave and forget this whole crazy idea. But to my surprise, I found myself nodding and getting to my feet. I glanced around the crowded coffee shop and located the bathroom. Then, with a final glance at Lydia, I set off across the room with my heart hammering in my chest and my vision swimm
ing. What on earth was I getting myself into?

  ---

  The bathroom floor was cold and hard, porcelain tiles that caused my knees to ache within minutes of lowering myself down in the cramped stall. The air was colder in here than the shop outside, and the slight chill caused my nipples to harden and shivers to ripple up and down my spine. I glanced down at my body, naked from my waist upwards and suppressed an urge to succumb to my rising panic. I shifted around, trying to reposition myself so that my legs weren’t quite so uncomfortable, and wondered quietly to myself what was going to happen. Was this a test? Some kind of peculiar initiation to see how good I was at following orders?

  Suddenly, the door to the bathroom swung open and I heard the tap of heels on the hard floor. I gasped and considered grabbing my clothes to cover myself. What if this wasn’t Lydia? The door to the stall was unlocked, there was no indication that I was in here. I closed my eyes and waited, trying to bring my breathing under control, trying to concentrate only on maintaining the uncomfortable kneeling pose with my arms crossed behind my back.

  The footsteps stopped outside my stall and I lowered my head to peer underneath the door. It was Lydia. I recognized her strappy sandals and tan pantyhose, with burgundy nail polish on her pretty toes. I felt a surge of relief wash over me. Lydia would see that I’d done exactly as I was asked and she’d agree to help me find what I needed.

  The feet outside the stall pivoted and walked away, stepping quickly across the bathroom. One by one, I heard each of the other three stall doors swing open and then closed. My heartbeat began to quicken again, suddenly unsure of what was happening. Finally, I heard a loud metallic click from over by the entrance. Was Lydia locking us in here?

  Before I could speculate further, the feet re-appeared outside my stall. There was a moment’s pause, then the door swung open slowly. I blinked and gazed out at Lydia as she filled the doorway. Her head leaned to one side and she studied me, eyes flicking up and down my body, lingering on my naked breasts and my stomach. I tried to ignore the creeping sense of self-consciousness and instead lowered my gaze to her toes, concentrating on the delicate leather straps that wrapped around her feet.

  She took a single step towards me, entering the stall. The door fell shut behind her, trapping us in there together. The tiny space barely had enough room for one, let alone two women. There was less than two feet between where I was kneeling and where Lydia was standing, I could smell her perfume, could discern the fine mesh detail of her pantyhose. What on earth was happening? Am I still being tested? Will she make me swear an oath or something? my racing mind demanded. Hard to believe that I was once so naive.

  “I didn’t expect you to do it,” said Lydia, crossing her arms and parting her legs slightly. She peered down at me, her face a mix of interest and disdain. “So few girls actually mean what they say.”

  “E-Excuse me?”

  “You’d be surprised how many girls think they want what you want, but actually just want a firm tap on their ass. I blame Twilight, it legitimized the dominant relationship for a generation of girls. Suddenly, after decades of being told that we were equals, that we should be treated with respect and dignity, some dumb vampire movie comes along and girls realize that it’s okay to want to be treated like an object.”

  I had the sudden sense that Lydia was talking to herself as much as me. I glanced up, my attention attracted to a sudden motion before me. Lydia had reached down to her knees and hooked her fingers under the hem of her skirt.

  “But what most girls actually want is someone to pay their bills for them. They don’t want to be owned, they want to be kept. Do you see the distinction?” she asked, and then started to slowly pull her skirt up around her thighs. I gasped as I realized that she was wearing thigh-high stockings, not pantyhose, the intricate lace top revealing themselves as the tight material of her skirt ascended her legs.

  “Y-Yes,” I said, but I wasn’t really sure what she meant. “What do you want?” I added timidly. She ignored my question.

  Lydia’s skirt reached the top of her thighs and I gasped again. She wasn’t wearing any panties. For the first time, I realized that this initiation wasn’t over, that she wasn’t yet convinced that I was more than the dumb, deluded girls that she’d spoken about. I felt my panic return, quickening my heartbeat and my breathing. I wasn’t a lesbian! I’d never been attracted to a woman! A surge of vertigo washed over me as my situation crystallized into reality around me - kneeling down, topless and prone, inches away from this strange woman’s most private area. What was I meant to do? Could I even do it?

  “What those girls don’t realize,” continued Lydia, “is that being owned means that you no longer have a say. When you’re told to do something, you do it without thinking. Obedience is your only responsibility.”

  She stepped towards me and touched a hand to my cheek. Then she lifted her right leg and placed her foot on the seat of the toilet behind me, bringing her pussy to within an inch of my face. I gasped in fear, suddenly overwhelmed by the closeness of the other woman, the overpowering aroma of her sex, perfume and desire.

  Before I could flinch away from her, she shifted her hand and plunged her fingers into my hair, grabbing a handful of my honey-blonde curls and violently tugging my head backwards. I let out a mewing yelp and gasped again, blinking quickly, the rising tide of panic flooding my thoughts.

  “Now, Jessica, it’s time for your final test. Are you ready?” she purred, gazing down at me, kneeling between her legs.

  I nodded urgently, needing more than anything else to be far away from there. I was in over my head, unsure of what it was that I wanted.

  “Have you ever tasted pussy before?” she drawled, then moved her free hand between her legs, teasing her fingertips across her shaven sex. She parted her fingers and spread her lips open, revealing the pink flesh within. I glanced away from her, but was unable to resist looking back at the complex sight before me.

  I shook my head, half in answer to her question, half in a futile attempt at resistance. But my struggle was half-hearted.

  “I have an owner in mind for you, I think you’ll do very well with them.”

  I shook my head and whimpered, a pathetic final rebellion. But a secret side of me thrilled to her words and the casual way that she was treating me. The way she spoke about me, as though I was an object, a possession. I was to be handed over to some rich man, treated as a sexual toy with no more say over my own destiny. It was what I always wanted, what I’d described to both Lydia and Darla. But still, a hint of reluctance colored my thoughts, a need to exert my personhood, to stand up and leave and never looked back. I was overwhelmed with a sense that my life was at a crossroads and what I chose to do in the next few minutes would define my future for years to come. Did I really want this? Did I want to give up my liberty so easily?

  Lydia moved quickly, slipping her hand from her pussy and lifting her arm behind her, then bringing the flat of her palm down on my cheek. With my head held in place, the slap landed hard and made a loud crack that echoed around the bathroom. I cried out and felt tears spill from my eyes. Before I could react, Lydia leaned down and pushed her fingers into my mouth. She was still wet from her pussy, a salty, vital taste that was like nothing I’d ever experienced.

  “Do you like that bitch? Do you like it when I treat you like shit?” she snapped at me, fixing her manic gaze on my face.

  I nodded and grunted around her fingers as they filled my mouth. “Yes!” I replied, and realised that I meant it. My heart was beating quickly, and my sense of panic was gripping me with an iron fist, but underneath it all, I felt a sensational thrill that was unique and unlike anything I’d felt before.

  “Then eat my fucking pussy!” said Lydia with a triumphant roar. I felt the hand in my hair tighten its grip and pull me forward. In a split second, my face was pushed against her pussy, nose and mouth blocked by the wet flesh and overwhelming sense of woman before me. My panic rose in a sudden surge and I cri
ed out, my voice muffled by the dripping sex. I tried to shake my head, but her hand held me in place, preventing me from moving. I lifted my hands and grabbed at her legs, trying to push myself away from her. But I was weak compared to the other woman and couldn’t find purchase. I struggled against the adrenaline and forced myself to relax, realizing that my only hope was to capitulate.

  She tugged on my hair and pulled me back, angling my face up towards her. I was wet with her juices, the taste of her still echoing around my mind. She leaned down and swept her tongue across my mouth, lapping at me like a cat in a bowl of milk. I closed my eyes and allowed her to do what she wanted, surrendering to her kiss and feeling the first blossom of my own lusts.

  The scenario in which I found myself in was maddeningly paradoxical. I was on my knees, unable to move, forced to do something that was so out of character for me normally. But I loved it. I loved the fading echo of pain from the slap, the feeling of cooling warmth on my cheek. I loved the sense of suffocation that I’d felt as I was buried in her hot pussy. I loved the lack of control and agency, the sense that I was being used. This, this, was what I wanted, what I’d always wanted.

  Abruptly, she lifted her head and pulled me forward again, this time allowing me some freedom of movement. I seized the latitude given and pushed out my tongue, tasting her properly for the first time. I licked upwards from her hole to her clit, savoring the response in her body. Her grip tightened and her hips pushed forwards, momentarily smothering me. I pulled back and she allowed my movement, then I licked at her again, and then once more, long strokes, pulling my tongue through the complex folds of her pussy.

  I was acting on instinct, focusing on what I knew would bring me pleasure, trying not to focus too much on the actual act, lest it ignite my panic once more. Instead, I focused on the taste of her, and the feel of her slick flesh against my face. I pressed forwards, moving my attention to her clit and pressing down there. She grunted and moaned above me, moving her other hand to grip my head. She began to grind her hips forwards, riding my face as though I was nothing.