by Ella Ford
The woman frowned and drummed her fingers against her arm. “Oh my, you are new, aren’t you?” she said. “Now sit up fucking straight and cross your arms behind your back!”
The change in her mood was shocking and quick, a flicked switch from pleasant conversational to barking dominance. I moved instantly, lifting my body onto my legs and straightening my back, crossing my arms behind myself in a way that felt unnatural and strange, but which pushed my breasts forward provocatively. My knees parted slightly to distribute my weight in the uncomfortable kneeling position and I felt the dress ride up my thighs and a cool gust of air kiss my naked pussy. I wasn’t wearing any panties. Suzy had insisted.
Madeline Richards lowered herself to sit beside me, sitting on the comfortable sofa and crossing her legs before her with a whisper of nylon on nylon. She gazed at me with narrowed eyes, her stern face softening to something matronly and welcoming.
“That’s better,” she purred, reaching her hand up to cup my cheek with her soft palm. I leaned into her touch, closing my eyes and shivering at the sudden and unexpected intimacy. “You don’t seem like the usual girls,” she continued, studying my face with her roaming eyes. “Sure, they scrub up well. Expensive dresses and pretty shoes, the uniform of their trade I suppose. But a whore is a whore, and they never seem to be able to lose that dead eyed stare or hopeless expression with lipstick or perfume.”
She paused and stroked her fingers down to my chin, then wrapped her hand around my neck and gripped me hard, not quite a choke but not far off. Instinctively, I lifted my head and opened my mouth, sucking precious air into my lungs, trying to fuel the pounding jackhammer of my heart.
“But you, my dear… There’s something about you. I don’t know whether to fuck you or take you shopping like a favorite niece.” She appeared lost in thought, as though struck by a sudden notion, gazing at me all the while. “What did you say your name was?”
I sighed and forced myself to remain calm. “Cindy, ma’am,” using the name that Suzy had told me to use. “Or whatever you want to call me,” I added.
The older woman laughed, blood red lips parting in a deep guffaw, revealing rows of perfect teeth like a predatory animal. “Oh my, you are a little whore. How silly of me to think otherwise,” she smiled. “Now, Cindy, are you going to be a good little girl?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded.
“Tell me how you’ll be good?” she said, releasing my neck and sitting back in her seat.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to, ma’am,” I said, lowering my gaze, trying to calm the relentless pounding of my heart, the irresistible urge to stand up and flee.
She lifted her crossed leg and touched it to my bare arm, stroking up and down my skin with her nylon covered foot. The touch was electric, indescribably soft. A velvety warmth that conjured fields of gooseflesh on my naked skin as it brushed up and down.
“Take off my shoe,” she purred, sinking back into the seat. “With your mouth.”
I nodded, numbly absorbing the unfamiliar direction. Ever since that night in the bar, I’d found I had a remarkable propensity for taking instruction, for hearing the words of powerful women and acting on them without thought and with only token reluctance. Distantly, I wondered how on earth this had happened to me. I was usually so measured, so controlled, so sensible.
I twisted my body, keeping my arms behind my back and she lifted her leg again. Breathing hard, I lowered my head to her foot and took her slender heel in my mouth, gripping it with my teeth. The shoe was expensive and delicate, the finest leather and the most exquisite craftsmanship. But it could have been a k-mart loafer for all the difference it made to me. At that moment, with that rich and powerful woman’s shoe in my mouth, all I could think about was the intense perfume of her foot, breathing it in through my nose, filling my lungs with the powerful scent of her. Leather and sweat and a flowery scent, a musky cocktail of dominant privilege and pure woman. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, a complete shock to my already overloaded senses. I felt myself reacting in ways I would never have imagined possible before I met Suzy. But in this post-awakening world, it seemed that anything and everything was possible.
With unfamiliar thoughts and urges racing through my mind, I began to slowly tease the shoe off her foot, slipping it over her heel, sliding it off her toes with glacial precision, savoring the slow reveal of her pretty foot, the way her toes danced and writhed in their pantyhose prison, stretching at the thin nylon that encased them, muted jewels that demanded attention. Then I sat to attention, resting back on my heels, submissively kneeling before my temporary mistress with her shoe hanging from my mouth, sneaking quick glances at her incalculably fascinating foot as she lazily rotated her ankle inches from my face.
She peered down at me with rapt fascination, then raised her eyebrows. Drop it, her expression seemed to say, as though flashing a command at a well-trained puppy. I opened my mouth and let the shoe fall to my lap, barely registering it as it rolled off onto the hardwood floor and passed beyond the horizon of relevance. All that I could think about now was the proximity of her toes and the warm softness of her sole.
She lifted her leg and arrested her ankle’s slow gyration, then touched her toes to my mouth, playfully dragging my lower lip down. I caught a hint of a taste of her, salty and alive, and my pussy roared for more.
“Now, I’m going to fuck your tight little cunt and I’m going to fuck it hard,” she mused and moved her toes over my face, stroking me with light touches that felt insanely soft. “I have a very special toy that I save for just such an occasion,” she said in a low tone. “And when I do, you’re going to beg me to let you come, you’re going to plead with me for the sweet kiss of release.” Her sole brushed down my cheek, overwhelming my senses with its feather touch and the thick scent of her foot. “I may even let you,” she continued. “Would you like that? Would you like to come for your Aunt Madeline, Cindy?”
I nodded urgently, heart racing, mind galloping forward at a thousand miles an hour. I wanted to come for her so badly, I want to feel her inside me, pounding me with her special toy. My pussy ached and throbbed, all thought of Suzy and the gang and her dishonest scheme banished from my mind by this animal intensity.
“Maybe you are a good girl after all,” she smiled. She used the words “good girl” as though it was a specific state, a self-explanatory aspiration, and I knew instinctively what she meant. I wanted to be a good girl. I needed to be. I felt in the very depths of my soul that I could be a good girl. But most of all I knew what happened to bad girls, and I didn’t want that. Or thought I didn’t. I would be a good girl for Madeline Richards or Suzy or anyone who gave me what I wanted the most.
“Use your mouth,” she said suddenly, voice lowered to a sickly, girly drawl. She touched her fingertip to her lower lip and nibbled at it distractedly, gazing at me with large puppy-dog eyes, a far cry from the menace and authority of before.
I felt a wave of relief wash over me, a sweet feeling of permission that I’d craved so badly. Without thinking, I grabbed her leg above her foot, relishing the sensation of touch as my fingers wrapped around her slender ankle, the silky smooth feel of her nylon pantyhose. I began to tease my finger over her sole, stroking the wrinkled flesh with my nail and relishing the way she squirmed and writhed as I caressed her. I held her before me, lifting her foot until my face was inches from it. My eyes crawled over the silky length, studying every precious part of it. The ball of her heel, the soft curve of her arch, the length of her toes. With trembling fingers, I plucked at the seam, straightening it until it followed the line of her toes with meticulous precision. I was fascinated by this, the strangest of details, that undulating sinusoid that framed the pretty, writhing collection of painted digits.
Then I leaned forward and pressed my face against her sole, burying my nose in the space behind her toes. I breathed in, unable to resist the maddeningly compelling urge to fill my lungs with her, to overwhelm my senses and short circuit
my consciousness with this new thrill. My tongue flicked out and I licked her, beginning at her heel and trailing my wetness up to the tips of her toes. She sighed and moaned, every hot touch of my mouth provoking new depths of reaction from her. I glanced up at her as I wrapped my mouth around her toes, pleading with her for affirmation, for praise, for reinforcement.
She seemed to sense my need. “Oh my, you are a good girl after all,” she purred, then added, “I’m going to make you come so hard.”
I felt a rush of pleasure, a wave of warmth spreading out from my pussy and igniting my nerve endings, causing me to intensify the action of my mouth on her hot foot. I became frantic, insatiable, kissing quickly along her sole, nibbling at her arch, sucking on each of her perfect toes in a mad quest for taste and sensation. Her pantyhose became drenched with my spit, darkening patches of dampness wherever my mouth landed. My hand stroked up her leg, fingers wrapping around the toned muscle of her calf, reaching up to the soft place behind her knee, mind overloading with a hundred different sensory inputs.
Then I felt her flick her other foot to the side, a distant thump signalling the departure of her other shoe. On my thigh, I felt her foot touch me, caressing me with a distracted exploration. She began to tease her toes up and down my leg, her silky nylon soles sliding easily against the soft material of my stockings, probing upward to the bare flesh of my upper thigh and the hot place between my legs. Instinctively, I shifted my position, spreading my knees further apart, revealing my pussy to her. It was a move of both submission and invitation, a incitement to whatever action she wanted.
I felt myself becoming dizzy with the intensity of it all. The constant presence of her foot on my mouth, her toes, her velvet sole. The long length of her leg, stretching before me like a desert highway to a place that seemed distant and forbidden, yet oh so desired. And her insistent probing of my body, an unsubtle exploration, by her toes and her eyes. The way she looked at me, eyes narrowed and hungry, flicking over my body, my breasts, my bare arms. She seemed animalistic and predatory, breathing quickly with shallow sighs. And I realized then that this was the starter course for her, the warm up act in a long show in which I was the main attraction. The thought thrilled and terrified me, and I wondered distantly what she was going to do to me.
All of a sudden, she pulled her foot back, moving it quickly away from my mouth. “Ow!” she cried out urgently, grabbing her toes with her hand and glaring at me with an urgent look of shock and anger.
“M-ma’am?” I stammered, gasping quickly, a sense of loss and deprivation washing over me in the absence of her taste.
“You bit me!” she said.
“No!” I had really, but only light, playful nibbles, nothing that would cause her pain. I felt my pulse quicken, my heartbeat accelerate in my chest. With a sudden dawning realization, I became certain that this was part of her game, part of the elaborate act in which I’d become a major player. I dipped my head and forced my voice to lower with mock-shame. “I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean it.”
She sighed, still rubbing her pantyhose covered foot. “Oh Cindy, I had such high hopes that you would be a good girl. But you’re just like all the rest.” She sounded genuinely distressed, genuinely disappointed. I wondered how many girls she’d subjected to this sordid role play, how many girls had played along with her power fantasy.
“Please forgive me ma’am,” I whispered, trying to quell my mounting fear, trying to invoke a sense of genuine remorse.
She sat back, releasing her foot and studied me with a pensive gaze. Then she rose up from the couch and stood over me, arms crossed and gazing down at where I kneeled. “I want you to stay where you are, I’ll be back in a minute.”
And then she turned on her heel and hurried across the room, stockinged soles padding across the hard wooden floor of the living room.
I let out a long sigh of relief and tried to calm my racing thoughts. Where had she gone? What was she doing? What would she do to me? How long would this go on for? But with every panicked inquiry, a constant backdrop of curiosity, of impatience, of desire. As I kneeled there, arms held loosely behind my back, heart beating quickly, I realized that some deeply buried part of me wanted this. It craved the confusion, the lack of control, of certainty. It was so very different from my usual life, so utterly removed from the rigid order and high expectations of an upper class New England upbringing. It was intoxicatingly different; to be a toy, a possession, a plaything. To be used.
After ten minutes, she returned. She stepped back into the room without a word and I chanced a quick look around, my heart skipping a beat as I found her standing in the arched entranceway. The older woman was naked, or practically so. She’d removed most of her clothes, except her tan stockings and a white lace garter belt. My eyes crawled over her body, taking in her porcelain pale skin, perfect and unblemished; her modest breasts, full and pert, topped with hard pink nipples that pointed at me like accusations; over her flat stomach, or wide hips to the creamy flesh of her upper thighs.
But it wasn’t her body that my eyes finally settled on, it wasn’t her naked form where my attention was inescapably focused with laser precision. It wasn’t her hands on her hips or the long line of her stockinged legs, or the slender length of her exposed neck, hair held up in a messy tangle behind her head. It was none of these thing. As Madeline Richards, state’s attorney, gazed back at me from the entrance to her living room, silhouetted in the brighter light of the corridor behind her, the thing that held my attention was the swinging, plastic cock that hung between her legs.
My mouth fell open and I blinked with surprise and fear. The rigid length dangled from her hips, held in place with a complex arrangement of leather straps. It was black and textured, rippled with a latticework of veiny protrusions. It must have been nine inches long, bigger than any cock I’d ever seen, and several inches around, terminating in a bulbous helmet that traced a lazy arc in the air between her legs as she playfully bounced her hips back and forth. I felt my pussy throb with anticipation and trepidation. Could I take such a length? Would I have to? Could I still end this sordid little game?
I didn’t speak up, because I didn’t want to speak up.
“Oh Cindy,” she purred, teasing her fingertips across her pale chest, over the flesh globes of her breasts. “Oh Cindy, I’m so disappointed with you. You’re such a bad girl, hurting your Aunt Madeline like that.”
I lowered my head and remembered my role, feeling a mounting sense of panic rising in my stomach.
“Do you know what happens to bad girls, Cindy?” she asked in a low tone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “Bad girls are punished.”
“Very good, Cindy,” she said and stepped across the room, returning to the sofa beside me. She lowered herself down and perched on the edge, the black cock hanging between her legs like an afterthought. I glanced down at her feet, soft nylon soles lying flat on the floor, and a hot rush of warmth spread outwards from my pussy as I remembered the touch of them, the taste of them, the smell of them. The thought momentarily banished my uncertainty and made me dizzy with the memory. Then she lightly patted her thighs and glanced at me, sitting up straight.
I blinked and looked back at her, not sure what she intended. And then it dawned on me and I sighed. She patted her thighs once more, not a single word passing between us, and I slowly lifted myself to my feet, wincing as blood flowed back into my aching legs. Then, without any hint or notion of resistance, I lowered myself down onto her lap, resting my belly on her thighs and my hands flat on the floor at the other side.
I could scarcely believe this was happening, could scarcely believe that I was allowing this to happen. I was twenty, a woman grown! I’d never been spanked in my life, but here I was, resting over the lap of an older woman, an older naked woman! What was happening? Why did I want this so much?
She lifted her hands, one onto my back and the other to my legs, caressing the soft nylon stockings that covered my thighs. With e
ach sweep of her hand, she reached up higher until she touched the hemline of my dress and slowly pulled it up, lifting it over my bottom to gather at my waist. I felt a kiss of cold air on my behind, on my pussy, felt the cooling wetness between my legs as I was exposed to her. Then her hand cupped my ass cheek, moving in lazy circles on the firm flesh. I sighed at her warm touch, savoring how unfathomably good it felt to be so helpless in her grip, prone and exposed, deeply vulnerable and utterly at her mercy.
At once, she moved her hand from my back to my head, gripping a handful of my hair in her fingers and pulling my head up and back. I gasped and cried out, shocked by the force of her motion, the ferocity of her grip, an intense juxtaposition next to the gentle caress of her hand on my ass.
Then she raised her arm and brought her palm down on my behind with a sharp slap. Thwack! The sound echoed around the high room, followed quickly by my cry of pain. An icy jolt of pain radiated out from the point of impact, a sharp sting that tingled like a thousand needles jabbing into me at once. Then her hand resumed its gentle caress, causing me to sigh in confusion at the conflicting feelings from my rear.
“What do you say to your Aunt Madeline, Cindy?”
“Th-thank you, Aunt Madeline,” I said, playing along with her sordid fantasy without any conscious capitulation, knowing only that this is what was required of me.
Her arm raised again and I braced myself, feeling the warmth of her touch leaving the burning flesh of my ass. Thwack! The second strike was harder than the first, focused on the exact same spot. I gasped in pain, hot tears welling in my eyes and rolling down my cheek. My ass throbbed with hot pain, the thousand needles becoming ten thousand, microbursts of agony exploding underneath my skin.
