by Ella Ford
After many minutes of this, she lightly pushed Elizabeth forwards to the table. Elizabeth stumbled forwards, tripping on the heels yet somehow managing to keep her arms folded behind her back. As I watched, the mistress walked over to the table and tapped the end of the flogger handle on the cold wood surface.
Without hesitation, Elizabeth clambered up onto the table, spun herself around and lay back. She stretched her legs out along the legs of the Y and placed her head back to where the straps at the other end were. She then moved her arms to either side of her head, and waited patiently.
The mistress studied her, as I did. Slowly, she walked around the table, teasing the flogger across Elizabeth’s body, lightly drawing the leather cords between her legs and through her exposed pussy. Elizabeth gasped at each touch, her breath coming in quick pants now.
Finally, the mistress put down the flogger and moved to Elizabeth’s ankles. With practiced ease, she clips the ankle cuffs into the waiting clips, securing her legs into position. Then she moved to the top of the table and similarly clipped Elizabeth’s wrists into position. Last of all, she took the leather strap at the end of the table and fastened it around Elizabeth’s forehead, tightening the buckle so that her head was locked into position.
Now totally secured, Elizabeth gave a token struggle, pulling at the straps and clips to test her latitude, but she was held fast. Her body relaxed and her breathing quickened once more.
“Cassandra,” the mistress turned to me and spoke, “I hope tonight will prove to be a learning experience for you.”
“Yes, mistress,” I replied, unable to take my eyes off Elizabeth’s prone body and her parted pussy that called to me from the elbow of the Y shaped table. Her lips glistened in the dim candlelight. I realized for the first time that the other maid was enjoying this, that the whole situation was turning her on. Did she want to be punished? Did she seduce me purely to put herself at the mercy of the mistress?
“I’m choosing not to punish you tonight, even though you are equally culpable for disobeying me. Instead, I want you to observe what happens when you act against my wishes. Your time here can be infinitely pleasant, or it can be deeply painful. It is your choice.” She turned to Elizabeth on the bench. “Elizabeth here chose the latter. She chose to allow her own desires to guide her, and to forget that she belongs to me and that my will is everything. For that, she must be punished.”
Her stern face, softened to a friendly smile. “Elizabeth, are you ready for your punishment?”
Elizabeth replied, her voice quiet and breathless, “Yes, mistress.”
“How do we ask for punishment Elizabeth?”
“Please mistress, may I be punished?” replied Elizabeth, and I realized that this was not a first for her. There was an anticipation in her voice. For the first time, I noticed that I too was feeling aroused.
The mistress stepped away from the table towards me. Roughly, she grabbed my upper arm and pulled me forwards to where Elizabeth lay. She put me into position between her spread legs, and motioned for me to kneel. I looked down, there was a padded leather cushion there, and I allowed myself to fall down onto it. I looked up and found myself mere inches away from Elizabeth’s wet pussy. I could smell her desire, a thick, musky scent that was primal and overwhelming. I was suddenly struck with an urge to plunge my tongue forwards and taste her, to drink in the juice of her lust. But I held myself back, awaiting the mistress’s command.
Swisssh-crack. The first stroke from the flogger landed on Elizabeth’s naked stomach. The girl gasped as it landed. It seemed to be more out of anticipation than anything, since the blow wasn’t particularly hard. The mistress raised her arm, and brought the flogger down again, harder this time and Elizabeth yelped with pain. Her body writhed, pulling against the restraints that held her.
“Cassandra, eat Elizabeth’s pussy,” the mistress commanded, turning her attention to me even as she raised her hand for another stroke.
Without hesitation, I leaned forward and plunged my tongue into Elizabeth’s smooth pussy. The taste was intoxicating! Exotic and vital, it seemed utterly new yet entirely familiar. This was the taste of womanhood, a taste I had known all my life, yet was something strange and unexplored. The taste fired my mind and I lapped at it greedily. Tentatively at first, I explored my new surroundings, dragging the tip of my tongue across the tight entrance of her hole, and up to the hard nub of her clitoris.
The mistress brought her arm down once more and struck the underside of Elizabeth’s upper arm. The girl cried out in pain and her body bucked beneath me. I eased off, backing away from her pussy while her body quaked.
“No!” she scolded. “Please don’t stop!”
I took the hint and buried my head between her legs again, gripping her stockinged thighs with my hands to steady myself. I fell into a steady rhythm, lightly teasing her clitoris with my tongue, and keeping an eye on the mistress, who stalked around the prone maid. Every time the mistress raised her hand, I increased the pressure on Elizabeth’s clit.
Swisssh-crack, came the stroke of the flogger. I forced downwards, swirling my tongue with fevered concentration. “Oh shit! Yes! Yes!” cried Elizabeth. Any lingering doubt that I had about her enjoyment of this process faded in an instant. Her pussy was dripping wet, slick with my saliva and her own juices. I eagerly lapped at this heady cocktail, sucking the moisture from her warm lips into my mouth and drawing my tongue across the throbbing bulge of her clitoris.
The mistress wandered around to stand behind me. As I continued to lick at Elizabeth’s pussy, I tensed my body, anticipating the sting of the flogger. Moments passed and Elizabeth continued to writhe as my tongue worked her damp sex. Then suddenly, swisssh-crack, and a burning pain across my back and shoulders. I flinched and yelped, but remained locked on Elizabeth’s clit. The other girl moaned as I briefly increased my pressure on her and I felt her breathing quicken.
“Don’t you dare cum unless I tell you, Elizabeth,” scolded the mistress. “You know by now that you must beg me to orgasm. Only I can grant you pleasure, do you understand?”
Elizabeth continued to moan, yet managed to reply between each laboured breath. “Y-yes, mistress.”
“And you, Cassandra, do you understand? Do you submit to me? Do you place your life in my hands? Do you grant me power to control your every sensation?” she asked. Swisssh-crack, the flogger fell on my back again and the pain radiated through my entire body. Oh fuck, it felt good. I have no way to explain how something so painful could have felt so good, but it did. My pussy throbbed and burned and longed for attention. I dropped my hand between my legs and began to roughly squeeze my clitoris and lips between my fingers.
Swisssh-crack, once more, the flogger fell on me, harder this time and the pain intensified.
“Ask!” scolded the mistress, and I understood immediately what she meant.
I pulled off Elizabeth’s pussy and craned my head backwards to face the mistress. Elizabeth moaned her disapproval. “Please mistress, may I cum?” I asked, attempting to control my trembling voice.
She gazed at me thoughtfully. “You may,” she replied, her voice sugary and calm.
Without hesitation, I turned my attention back to Elizabeth’s hot pussy and locked my mouth on it, drawing her delicious folds inside me and sucking at her clitoris with feverish determination.
“Oh fuck!”, cried Elizabeth, “Mistress, please may I cum too?” she almost shouted, unable to control herself.
“You may,” replied the mistress.
I dropped my hand between my legs once more and began to frantically finger myself as I devoured Elizabeth’s sex. Almost at the first touch, I felt a rolling presence in my belly and the familiar building presence of the orgasm approaching.
Swisssh-crack, the flogger landed on my back again and I gasped, the confused feelings of pain and pleasure shot through my body and the sensation of climax intensified.
Swisssh-crack, I tensed, but this time the flogger landed on Eliza
beth’s stomach and I felt her body jump beneath me.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” she cried and her breathing quickened to short, sharp pants. I felt her hips push upwards, as much as the restraints would allow and I moved my tongue and my fingers, faster and faster. Pressing harder on the maid beneath me, and harder on my own clitoris. My body moved in perfect rhythm now, hot beats of pure desire. The blossoming orgasm inside me grew and my senses faded to focus only on the wet lips of Elizabeth and my own throbbing pussy.
Swisssh-crack, the flogger landed on my body. Swisssh-crack, this time on Elizabeth’s. Swisssh-crack, swisssh-crack. Faster and harder, every stroke bring us both closer to our inevitable climax.
Then, as one, we both exploded. I clenched my hand as the final wave of pleasure broke over me, and I felt Elizabeth’s entire body become hard and rigid beneath me.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she moaned and pulled frantically at the restraints in a futile bid for freedom. The rolling wave of pleasure washed through my body, sweeping away any semblance of normal thought. There remained only the bright white supernova of my climax, hot and intense, burning at the very core of my being. I surrendered myself to it, as I had surrendered myself to Katherine Foster, and it consumed me totally. I became lost in the vastness of the sensation.
And then, it ended. Our bodies returned to the earth and I collapsed down underneath the table, slumping forward on the leather cushion. Distantly, I could hear Elizabeth’s labored breathing and from the corner of my eye, could see her feet twitching, pulling weakly at the leather straps that still held her in place.
“Excellent,” I heard the mistress say under her breath, “and now for round two.”
I sighed, a moan of equal parts longing and apprehension.
---
Playtime went on long into the night. As the hours rolled by, the punishment gave way to pleasure. The mistress had us fuck each other in a multitude of ways, and made us beg to be allowed to pleasure her.
I found myself swept along by it all, craving the taste of Elizabeth’s sweet pussy more and more, or the soft stroke of her tongue on my own hot sex. But most of all, I longed for the mistress. I longed for her approval and her recognition. I longed for the taste of her as well, and when she finally granted me permission to pleasure her, I did so without hesitation.
Later, as I lay awake in the dim light of the maid’s quarters, I thought about the day. Elizabeth shifted behind me, her naked body rubbing against mine and her arm tightening around my chest. I relaxed into her, enjoying the soft warmth against my skin which still burned from the attention of the flogger.
What on earth happened today? How had I ended up in this position? Why did it feel so very right to me, why did I crave more?
As I drifted away, I wondered what the following day would bring.
THE END, FOR NOW
Maid To Be Owned
by Ella Ford
Prologue
My name is Cassie Cook, and I’m a reporter. At least I used to be. Nowadays I am known only as Cassandra. And whether or not I am a reporter any more, I’m not sure.
What is certain is that I am a maid. A servant in the house of Miss Katherine Foster, CEO of Foster Pharmaceuticals and my mistress. I placed myself in her service in order to write a story - the story of my submission and her dominance. It was my mistress’s idea, her attempt to correct her tarnished reputation, to convince the world that although her control over her maids is total, it is also consensual. That a woman can offer herself to another, to become a possession and surrender each and every power in her arsenal. But, also, that such a surrender is the ultimate form of free will - the gift of your personhood, the most you can give, the truest form of expression.
At first it was about the story. I immersed myself in this strange world of dominance and obedience, intending to write the most honest account I could. But as I released myself into her control and felt the sweet thrill of objectification, it became about so much more.
My life is now a curious paradox: the simplicity of routine - cleaning, washing, ironing - and the complexity of attempting to please my mistress. To gauge her mood, to anticipate her wants, to bring her pleasure in whatever ways she desires and to place my own needs to the back of my mind. All the while, maintaining the pretence of my old life, the subtle lie that each sordid act that I perform is in the service of my journalistic integrity. Yet I know, deep inside, that each frantic pounding, each screamed orgasm, draws me further from the personal relic of my past life and closer to the enticing beacon of my perfect submission.
The mistress has shown me where I fail; that I am, at heart, a bad girl and that I need correction. I welcome her punishments and the pleasure that accompanies them. I welcome the taste of her sex and the soft touch of her hand on my ass. I crave the attention of my fellow maids, sisters in servitude, and strive to pleasure them as they in turn pleasure me.
So am I a reporter still, or not? I accept that this is not my decision. If my mistress wishes me to be a reporter, then so be it. If my mistress requires me to write an honest account of my submission, then I shall. My body, my soul, my mind and my destiny all belong to her now, and I freely give them.
Chapter 1
Ding ding ding.
I was passing by the drawing room on my way to the laundry when I heard the soft chime of the silver bell that the mistress used to summon one of her maids. Over the last few weeks, I had come to crave and dread that tiny sound in equal measure. On the one hand, it could signal that mistress wished to use my body, either for her own pleasure or mine. These were the good times, the times that I dreamed about as I lay in bed beside Elizabeth, the tall blonde with the willful attitude and eager tongue.
On the other hand, the bell could signal something darker. If the mistress was angry, or one of us had displeased her somehow, then that soft chime might bring with it the promise of a dressing down or, worse, a punishment.
An involuntary shudder ran down my spine as I remembered the painful sting of the mistress’s leather flogger, a sensation that I had come to both love and hate in equal measure. The mistress had trained us to associate the cruel bite of the whip with the soft tongue of one of our fellow maids, by having the punished girl’s pussy eaten during her flogging. It was a surprisingly effective means of control, making us crave correction, and I found myself experiencing a hot flush of anticipation as I thought back to the times that the mistress had seen fit to punish me.
I sighed and straightened the crisp, white apron that I wore over my tight, black dress. It was not my place to second guess the mistress, it was my place only to obey. I set off back up the hallway to the drawing room as the bell rang a second time, its insistent chime causing me to hurry as fast as I could on the sharp, black stiletto heels that I wore.
Upon reaching the grand double doors, I knocked lightly three times and then cautiously entered. The mistress was sitting on a comfortable chair by the fireplace, an open book in her lap. She looked up as I entered and beckoned me forward, a friendly smile on her face that was completely at odds with the forceful dominatrix that she became during playtime.
“Cassandra, please, come in,” she said with a warmth that made me immediately cautious.
“Yes, mistress,” I nodded and stepped briskly across the room to where she sat. Stopping several feet before her, I stopped and folded my arms behind my back, thrusting my chest out in the submissive way that I knew the mistress enjoyed so much. With my legs parted a shoulder’s width, I fixed my gaze on the portrait above the fireplace and awaited instruction.
The mistress closed the book and put it on the small table beside her, then slowly crossed her stockinged legs and studied me.
Miss Katherine Foster had only two looks generally. The first, the look she wore today and most days, was that of an efficient business woman, sexy but serious. A beige, knee length skirt that hugged her shapely figure and emphasised the enticing curve of her hips, with a pristine blazer and soft black satin blouse. On her le
gs, she wore tan stockings that looked impossibly smooth and always flawless. Finally, she preferred heels that enhanced her height and allowed her to stand eye to eye with the powerful men and woman that she did business with.
The second look was a look that was reserved for her household business only. That look was one of a debauched dominatrix, a complex and intimidating uniform of high boots and leather straps, heavy makeup and intricate corsetry. It was a look designed to inspire feelings of discomfort and unease, but also arousal, in those that were privileged enough to see it. I shuddered slightly as I remember that look, and a familiar warmth lit up my pussy with feelings of distant longing.
The mistress continued to stare at me and I found myself becoming self-conscious. I wasn’t yet sure whether this summoning was the good or bad kind, it was sometimes so difficult to tell and the mistress liked to employ misdirection when dealing with the expectations of her maids. I tried to settle my mind by telling myself that whatever the mistress wished, it was my place only to obey.
Finally, she spoke, her voice purring with catlike contentment. “Cassandra, my dear, you look hungry. I think it is nearly lunchtime, don’t you?”
I blinked twice, stifling a sigh of relief. Lunch was my favorite meal.
The mistress shuffled forward on the seat, stopping when her bottom was perched on the edge. Then she gracefully took hold of the material of her skirt and hiked it up her thighs, gathering it around her hips. Then, with glacial slowness, she opened her legs and revealed her perfect pussy to me, she was wearing no panties. I struggled to remain focussed on a point directly ahead, wanting nothing more than to turn and gaze at the soft, pink flesh of her labia and the neat strip of raven hair that drew the eye to that exquisite center of pleasure.
