by Ella Ford
“Oh, we’re going to have such fun with you Cassandra,” she purred and then reached forward to hook a slender, manicured finger beneath my collar. As she pulled me forwards and locked her mouth on mine, I suddenly wondered what she meant by ‘we’. Who was she referring to? The mistress and her? But before I could ponder further, she began her assault on me, kissing me passionately and licking her tongue over my lips.
I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer presence of her. The intense aroma of her perfume, the warmth of her breath on my face, the feel of her lipstick on my lips - sticky and wet and unfathomably soft. I put up no resistance to her and parted my mouth, opening myself to her insistent jabs. She darted inside, probing me with her eager tongue and finding my own. Our mouths danced together, and she pulled me harder towards herself until I feared I might topple forward. I became light headed, intoxicated by her attentions, but then suddenly she pulled away.
She released my collar and I sat back on my heels as she fell backwards onto the sofa. Her hand returned to her crotch and she began to playfully tease her lips between her two fingers. She smiled at me with an expectant look that told me all I needed to know about her intentions. I waited for her word, barely able to contain my own desire to taste her young sex.
“What are you waiting for, girl? An invitation? Eat my pussy!” she finally snapped, clearly not used to dealing with a submissive.
I leaned forward onto my hands and knees and lowered my head, never taking my gaze off the girl’s deep blue eyes. She bit at her lower lip as I approached and her hand moved up her body to fondle her breast. I sank my mouth into that warmth chasm, licking her with a long stroke of my tongue. She moaned as my flesh touched hers and lifted her feet off the ground.
“Oh fuck, yes, that feels good. Do it again!” she cried, kneading her breasts roughly. I complied with her wishes and lapped my tongue up the length of her slit, probing as far down to her asshole as I could and pushing on her labia as I traversed its length. She exhaled sharply and cast her head back against the cushion behind her.
One of her hands fell from her breast and landed on my head. I felt a sudden tug as she grabbed my ponytail and pulled me towards her. Stumbling, I fell onto her pussy and gasped, its hot moisture covered my face. My tongue thrashed around in its welcoming embrace, eager to explore every wet corner of its new prison.
Above me, Jessica screamed out loudly. Her body rocked from side to side, and she sank deeper into the seat, rotating her hips up until the full expanse of her pussy was angled towards me.
With my balance restored, I set to work on her pussy in earnest. First I found her hole, then jabbed forward with my tongue. I held it tight, rolling it up into a mini-cock. Her tight, young entrance yielded to my advances and I slid inside her. She moaned once more as I pushed myself forward, relishing the taste of her inner sanctum.
Then I sat back and laid my hand on her wetness, lubricating my fingers with her juices. She stared at me, ravenous for more and hungry for my attention. One by one, I licked my fingers clean, drinking in the hot taste of her and moistening my fingers yet more. Then I dropped my hand and gently pushed two slender fingers into her. Her body tensed and she inhaled once more. I slowly rotated my hand to stretch her in every direction, marvelling at my control over her, how she responded to my every touch.
As I slowly worked my fingers back and forth, I bent over once more and teased her clitoris with my tongue. She jumped, shocked by the sudden jolt of pleasure that my touch caused. I did it again, harder this time, pressing down on that small nub of joy and dragging my tongue across it. Her body seemed to shiver and she began to pant loudly.
I set to work, swirling around her sensitive clit as my two fingers jabbed into her. I turned my hand and curled my fingers to stroke the front wall of her pussy. I found what I was looking for, the rough penny of her g-spot. As I touched it, I pressed down with my tongue on her clitoris and she screamed out, louder than ever.
Faster I worked, my tongue flicking across her with a rhythm that matched her frantic breathing. She was moaning constantly now, sharp little inhales and exhales. Her face had become flushed, an angry red that colored her chest and neck. Her hands roamed over her body as she became lost in her own private ecstasy, squeezing her tits and caressing her stomach.
Inside myself, I felt my own flush of pleasure. The girl tasted simply wonderful and I was overcome with a mad urge to dive upwards and wrap her in my arms. But my training held me where I was. It was not my place to guide the sensual acts of desire. It was my place to simply obey. For now, this seductive girl was my mistress and I was duty bound to please her. With great difficulty, I supressed my base urges, inwardly vowing to take out my frustrations on Elizabeth when we got back to the house.
Finally, the frantic motion of my tongue and the relentless pounding of my fingers became too much for Jessica and she exploded beneath me. Her body bucked, her back arching up and forwards. She pushed her head into the soft cushion behind her and time seemed to stop. She didn’t breath for an age of seconds, face and body locked in its own internal struggle against the forces of sheer pleasure that raged within her. I felt her hole grip my fingers and I felt a warm wetness spreading across my face and she came with all her might.
And then she relaxed and fell back onto the sofa, laughing uncontrollably. I pulled back and wiped my face, returning to the kneeling position and enjoying the sight of her post-orgasmic bliss.
“Oh fuck, that was amazing, amazing!” she cried. I glanced around to find that the two girls were lying together, watching our sapphic congress. The redhead was propped up on her elbow, idly teasing the brunette’s nipple with her thumb and forefinger. As our eyes met, she winked at me knowingly. One submissive to another, sisters in servitude.
The mistress was still sitting on the sofa, watching me, a curious smirk on her face.
Jessica began to pull herself together and pulled her knees up onto the sofa and curled up on the soft cushions. She began to lightly suck her finger as she studied me.
“Okay Katherine, I’ll take her. You shall have the money in the morning.”
I blinked, my mind reeling. What did she mean? She’ll take who? Me? Take me where? I didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about, which seems wonderfully naive when I look back now. “Mistress?” I breathed, barely able to speak as confusion clouded my thoughts.
The mistress laughed. “Oh Cassandra. Don’t you yet realise? I have sold you, to Jessica. You are hers now, she is your new mistress.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, a sudden stab of hurt at the unexpected betrayal. “B-but mistress, I-I don’t… want…”
She interrupted me as I spoke. “You don’t want what? To be owned? To be possessed? To submit? You wanted it before, what has changed? Don’t you understand, this is your life now. You are an object, to be passed around at the whim of your owner. Your place is only to serve. Do you see?”
I blinked, falling silent as the full realization hit me. This was all part of it, the trip to The Auction wasn't just to give me a glimpse of this sordid world where flesh is pedled and lives are bartered. It was to show me that I am a part of that world. To color my story, my damnable story, with the true knowledge of my new nature. Only through this clandestine trade can I ever truly understand what it means to submit.
My eyes fell to the ground and I peered inwards. Beneath the sting of betrayal, of rejection, I caught a glimpse of something else, something different. It was excitement, a sordid thrill. The idea of being used like this, of being so casually discarded into the possession of another aroused me more than I could have possibly imagined. The realization shocked me, this internal revelation surprising me far more than the mistress’s casual rejection.
I raised my head and looked the mistress… Miss Foster… directly in the eye and said, “Yes ma’am, I see.”
She smiled at me, her face lighting up with whatever passed for pride in that calculating, reptile mind of hers.
&nb
sp; Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug as my new mistress took hold of my ponytail and pulled my head back so that I was staring up at her.
“Come then little one, it’s time to get you home,” she purred, her voice oozing with sultry desire, “Melinda will be getting back from her trip soon and we have to get you wrapped up for her birthday tomorrow. You’re going to make the most wonderful present!”
My submissive heart skipped a beat.
THE END, FOR NOW
Maid To Be Shared
by Ella Ford
Prologue
My name is Cassandra, I used to be a reporter. I still am, if you believe my tax returns. But in every other way, every way that matters, I am no longer a part of the world I once knew.
The story that you are reading is the last obligation of that old life. It is the final obituary of Cassie Cook, reporter; and the truthful account of the birth of Cassandra, maid. It is the story of my new life, my new self; how I got here, and where I am going. The story of how I became a submissive lesbian maid.
My new life is one of belonging. I belong to my mistresses. They own me completely, providing for my needs and keeping me safe. In return, I offer them my body and my mind. I give them all that I have and all that I am. I worship them, physically and mentally. They are the shining stars that light my life. I indulge them in their fantasies, play their games with them, accept their punishments.
It is a life of learning and acceptance. Every day, I learn about myself. I discover more about what it means to submit; I learn about what it means to be owned. I accept that I am a possession, a prized toy that exists entirely for my mistresses to use. I accept that this is true for as long as I choose it to be. And it is a choice, mark my words, one that I make willingly.
It is a life of exploration. Each frantic session with my mistresses lets me explore the limits of my pleasure, or my tolerance for pain. I explore what it means to be owned, to be marked as property, a commodity with a singular purpose.
It is a life of pleasure, exquisite and limitless. The pleasure of a woman’s kiss, the soft touch of her tongue on my sex, the taste of hers on mine. The harsh sting of a flogger’s kiss, the fine line between pleasure and pain.
Most of all, it is a life of control and willpower, devotion and obedience. This is what I chose, the dominance of another and my willing submission to them. For I am a maid, it is all I ever was and all I ever will be.
Chapter 1
“Get in the box honey,” my new mistress commanded. Her voice was low and uncertain, a faint tremble audible beneath the thick valley-girl accent.
It had been only hours since we’d left The Auction, bidding my former owner Miss Katherine Foster goodbye and hurrying from the party to a waiting limousine. I had been allowed to dress before we left, retrieving the tight, black cocktail dress from Miss Foster and slipping my precarious black stiletto heels over my stockinged feet.
As we were about to leave, Miss Foster had handed me the crisp, white maid’s apron that the girls in her service were required to wear. “Goodbye Cassandra. I’m sorry it came to this, but I hope you’ll understand why I did it,” she said. I was sure I could detect a note of regret in her voice.
I took the apron graciously and tied it around my waist. Miss Foster had sold me to her goddaughter, Jessica Gordon-Chambers. She’d done it to educate me, I knew that. To educate me in what it meant to truly submit to another, to surrender your life and your autonomy; to become little more than a possession to be traded or sold at will. In Miss Foster’s eyes, such knowledge would provide essential flavor for the story that I was writing, a story that began an unfathomably long time ago, back at the end of my old life.
The story was intended to chronicle my own submission, my willing descent into sexual servitude. But it had become so much more than that, as I’m sure Miss Foster intended. It had become a truthful account of what it meant to serve, what it meant to be owned. An eye-opening account of a world beneath a world, where girls are bought and sold in a sordid marketplace of consensual slavery. And this final chapter would be the most important of all.
I suppose I should have been thankful to Miss Foster. My story up until this point had been largely one-dimensional. A racy account of lesbian servitude, to be sure, but one that was more about the physical side of domination and less about the deeper aspects. In selling me, body and soul, to another, she had opened my eyes to my own nature. That I was a commodity, and that everything - even me - had a price. But for all that I understood her motivations, I couldn’t help but feel a bitter sting of rejection.
My life at Miss Foster’s house had become a comfortable routine of domestic duties and carnal pleasures. It was a simple existence where my only responsibility was complete obedience. I had come to feel deeply secure in that insular environment; the complex demands of my mistress, the unquestioning attention of my fellow maids; the soft warmth of Elizabeth and her tender embrace. As I stood at the end of that comfortable life and looked back, I realised that I would miss it deeply.
I gathered myself together and sniffed. “Yes, Miss Foster, thank you,” I finally replied, erecting a mock wall of indifference between us. It was petty, I know that now, but I couldn’t help it. I thought I saw her flinch at my reply, and it pains me to admit that this pleased me greatly. She nodded, then leaned forwards and unfastened the collar around my neck. The collar was a symbol of her ownership of me, and no longer had any meaning. As she took it from me, I felt a sudden pang of absence that went beyond the physical removal of the that simple leather ring.
Then we turned and left, meeting Miss Gordon-Chambers’ driver at the side entrance of the deceptive warehouse. We drove downtown in silence, to my new home, a plush penthouse apartment in one of the high rise buildings that towered above the city below.
“D-did you hear me honey? I said get in the box!” snapped my new mistress. Jessica Gordon-Chambers was young and undisciplined as a dominant, I could tell that straight away. Her voice lacked the same implicit threat that Miss Foster’s had. I had no sense that I would suffer anything more than a half-hearted telling off if I disobeyed her, and so my wilful nature gave me pause.
I looked down at the box where the pretty blonde girl was pointing. It was a cardboard cube, with sides several feet across. The outer surface had been wrapped in shiny gold paper and the lid was tied with a wide red ribbon. It was just big enough that I could climb inside and curl up.
“Mistress?” I enquired. It occurred to me that if Miss Foster had given the order, I would be in the box already and grateful for the opportunity!
She looked back at me, allowing her frustration to show on her attractive face. Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. “Don’t question me Cassandra! I own you and I’m not afraid to punish you,” she threatened half-heartedly. “Melinda will be home soon and I intend to have her birthday present wrapped by the time she gets here. Now take your fucking clothes off and get into the box!”
She allowed herself to snap and I flinched slightly, feeling the familiar feelings of obedience start to wash over me. I will admit that her sudden confidence thrilled me slightly. I wanted to be told what to do, but I wanted to be told what to do in a way that allowed no room for question.
“Yes, mistress,” I nodded and started to undress. For the second time that night, I slipped out of the tight black dress and folded it over the sofa. Then I slipped out of my heels and rolled my sheer stockings down my legs. Finally, I straightened myself and stood tall, folding my arms behind my back and proudly displaying myself for my mistress to inspect.
She eyed me hungrily, a look that reminded me of the look she’d given me as I ate her young pussy in the side room of the warehouse, just hours earlier. I felt a familiar wave of desire wash over me, and for the first time since arriving at the spacious penthouse, my thoughts turned to my new owners.
Jessica Gordon-Chambers was young and rich. A beautiful society princess with every advantage life had to offer. Melinda was her girlfriend,
and someone I knew very little about. The couple had caused ripples in the gossip columns in previous months by openly declaring their relationship and igniting a minor scandal in high society thanks to Melinda’s low class upbringing.
I found myself wondering what it would be liked to be owned by this couple, to be shared between them like a family pet. I was used to anticipating the wishes of one woman, but two?
“Good girl,” purred Jessica, “now climb inside!” She pointed at the open box and I stepped forwards. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, and skipped off to a desk to the side of the room. Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a length of red ribbon. Then she walked back to where I stood and tied the ribbon around my neck, finishing it with a large bow. Stepping back, she examined her work. “She’s going to love her present! We’re going to have so much fun with you!”
“Yes, mistress,” I nodded and took a step towards the box. Gripping the sides, I swung my left leg over the rim, then my right, and sat down. It was tight, but with my knees drawn up to my chest I could just about fit in. I wondered how long I would be able to hold the uncomfortable position.
Jessica moved to stand beside the box and peered in, then she bent down and took hold of my chin, angling my head upwards until I was staring directly at her. She studied me for a few seconds, then leaned forward and touched her lips to mine. My heart raced as her soft mouth touched me, the familiar taste and texture of her painted lips caused an intense feeling of desire to wash over me. I sighed as she stood up, longing for more.
“Now, be quiet. There’s a good girl. She’ll be here any minute,” and with that, she lifted the lid and placed it on the box. I bowed my head slightly and allowed the darkness to wash over me.
---
Half an hour passed and the air in the box was hot and damp. My knees and ass were beginning to ache from being in the same position for such a long time and I began to wonder if I would be able to stand when I was required to. Then, just as I thought that this torment would never end, I heard the sound of the apartment door opening and then closing.