by Ella Ford
In no time at all, I sensed her behind me. She kneeled between my legs and I felt the soft brush of her stockings against my thighs. I shuddered, and gripped the cushion tightly, desperate for release. Then I felt a cold presence against my pussy lips as the mistress teased the bulbous head over my moist labia. Back and forth she moved, brushing my clit and causing me to moan out loud with eager anticipation.
Then she stopped, pausing with the tip of the cock pushing against my tight, young hole. A sudden feeling of apprehension flooded through me. I’d never taken anything that big before. The two boys I’d slept with had been tiny in comparison, but even their unimpressive cocks had felt like they were splitting me in two. What on earth would the mistress’ monstrous strap-on dildo feel like?
Before I could dwell on the question too long, Ms. Jones thrust forwards into me. I gasped as I felt her slide the rigid length into me, gradually filling me until the sensation felt intolerably pleasant. Then she pulled backwards and slid it outwards, reversing the stroke and causing me to sigh at the perceived absence. Without pause, she thrust forwards again, faster and deeper. I moaned and dug my fingers deeper into the sofa. The feeling of completeness was almost indescribable, having the thing fill me up totally. I wanted the sensation to never end, I wanted it to intensify, to never stop filling me.
I sensed my mistress falling into a rhythm, pounding my pussy with an increasing frequency that rocked me back and forwards. With every stroke, my pleasure intensified until I feared I could take no more, then with the next thrust I discovered I could. Faster and faster she moved, ramming me deep with the thick shaft, stretching my throbbing hole. I felt her hands grip my hips, digging her nails into my skin, pulling me back into her, impaling me deeper and deeper. I allowed my body to be guided, making myself little more than a ragdoll under her control. I was hers! She was my owner, my mistress, my possessor, and it felt wonderful to be possessed!
I became aware of a low moaning, a constant cacophony of pleasure, and then I realized that it was coming from me. My entire sensorium collapsed down until the intense jolts of electricity from my pussy encompassed the sum total of my awareness. In my world, there was only the sense of being filled and being complete, the constant beat of glorious pounding.
I felt my breathing quicken and I clutched the sofa tighter than ever. Once again, the looming visage of my orgasm rolled into view, yet I did not embrace it. I pushed it away from me, struggled to focus my mind and keep myself centered. I wanted this sensation to last forever, did not want to face losing that exquisite feeling of fullness, so I battled the temptation with all my might.
The mistress continued to drill me, unaware of my inner struggle. Her thrusts became a blur of constant motion, each drive of her hips slamming into me, taking me so deep that the sound of her skin slapping against mine brought to mind the sound of her hand spanking my ass earlier. At once, I was cast back to that intense pain and the feeling of helpless vulnerability that I’d felt as I lay across her lap.
The recollection broke my concentration and I felt my mind crest the wave of my surging orgasm. Too late, I caught myself, but it was no good. The orgasm exploded in my body and washed over me, drowning my senses in a sudden rush of pleasure so intense that I felt myself blacking out into a few moments of sweet oblivion. When consciousness returned, I felt my entire body become tense, and my arms and legs thrashed about on the sofa. I arched my back and threw my head backwards, straining to release the furious energy that raged inside me. But it was no good, the sensation was too intense. A panic took hold of me, an intense feeling that I could not escape this sensation, that it would only build and build until I could stand it no longer and I would go crazy.
But in time, the surging pleasure fell back to nothing and my body relaxed. I fell forward on the sofa, sliding off the mistress’ slick cock. My arms and legs became limp, twitching now and then with the memory of the orgasm and its ferocious power.
In time, I felt the mistress’ warm hand on my back. She stroked her fingers upwards and began to scratch behind my ear. I purred loudly, leaning into her touch, relishing the feeling of contentment and submission.
I was a good girl. An obedient girl. My mistress loved me. It was all I ever wanted.
THE END
Dominating Summer
by Ella Ford
Prologue
I sometimes think back to that night in Vegas. I think about how I was before, and how I am now. I marvel at the change in myself, the fundamental disconnect between the two people. What was it, exactly, that caused such a drastic shift in everything that defined me as a person? Was I simply acting on deep seated needs and desires that I had yet to confront but which were always present? Or was this sudden departure new and novel, the natural consequence of circumstances and opportunity?
I wonder if I should have done things differently, should have behaved in a manner more appropriate to my temperament. What would you have done in my position? How would you have reacted if offered such a unique and compelling opportunity? An opportunity that had no consequences, no repercussions, no responsibilities. An opportunity to have complete control over another person, to indulge your deepest fantasies and explore desires that you had never even considered before. What if that person was another woman? Would that alter things? Would you be more tempted?
I think about the whole encounter when I lie awake at night. I replay it in my mind. I savor the thrill of discovery, the overwhelming newness of the sensations that flooded through me. I think about the sight of her, kneeling before me, head bowed, awaiting my command. I think about the feeling of her on me, in me. The soft warmth of her skin, the eager stroke of her tongue. I think about her muted cries of pain as I bring my hand down on her…
I shudder and drop my hand between my legs. I’m wet already and my fingers sink between my moist lips to begin their familiar work. I catch my clit between my index and middle finger, squeezing gently as my mind drifts back to that far away night. The sights and smells, the taste and touch; the gaudy Vegas night and the dry warmth of the desert air.
How did it all begin? How did I find myself here? Like most things, it began with a single phrase...
Chapter 1: Temptation
“I’m sorry Mr Martinelli, the state of Nevada will not be issuing you with a license at this time,” I stated matter of factly, not allowing the grandiose office in which I sat to intimidate me.
I shuffled in my seat, awaiting a response. I expected a plea, a bribe or perhaps a threat. Vincent Martinelli had a fearsome reputation in Nevada. A second generation Italian immigrant and owner of several mid-sized casinos and clubs on and off the Las Vegas Boulevard, he was a man for whom getting his own way had become a defining characteristic. His long history of skirting the boundaries of legality in pursuit of what he wanted was well known in government circles, yet he’d never been careless enough to cross the line in an actionable way.
Martinelli stared at me, his hands held together under his chin with the tips of his index fingers touched together and held against his lips. He was a big man, heavy set and muscled. His complexion was dark and Mediterranean, with receding, oily hair slicked back against his head. The suit he wore was expensive and tailored, his gold cufflinks glinted with inset diamonds in a gaudy display of wealth and power.
He didn’t appear angry or disappointed at the rejection, in fact, he almost seemed amused by it. His eyes regarded me thoughtfully and his mouth turned upwards in a smirk. He turned to the woman who sat next to him and whispered something behind his hand to her. She smiled herself and nodded. The woman had been introduced to me only as “Summer”, Martinelli’s assistant. She was quite beautiful and sat stiffly beside her boss with a straight back and hands crossed neatly in her lap. She had yet to say a word in the meeting.
Martinelli turned back to face me, grinning broadly.
“Miss Lacey… Or may I call you Charlotte?” he asked.
“Miss Lacey will do for now,” I replied, kee
n to not succumb to his manipulations.
He smiled again, not missing a beat, “Miss Lacey, I appreciate your candidness in this matter. Might I ask what caused the board to reject our application?”
I fished in my bag and pulled out the case file, opening it on my lap and retrieving the relevant form. I read from the case notes directly. “The application for a liquor license on behalf of The Kneeling Girl club,” I paused, allowing my disgust to briefly flash across my face, “is summarily rejected. The board finds that the application does not comply with state laws on moral decency and promotes a dubious view of sexuality that it is not in the state’s interests to allow.”
Martinelli’s smile never faltered, he simply nodded along silently as I read the remainder of the judgement. As I reached the closing remarks, he returned to his contemplative stare, then finally spoke.
“And you Miss Lacey, were you involved in this decision?”
“Mr Martinelli, as you know fine well, I was principal investigator on this application,” I replied.
“And the judgement reflects your views?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as though the very idea of a woman having influence in such weighty matters surprised him.
“Yes, yes it does,” I shot back, coldly. I could feel a rising sense of indignation.
“I see,” he spoke and paused again. “If I might be so bold, what was it about The Kneeling Girl club that you find so objectionable?”
I felt anger brimming over inside me. A defensive urge to lash out at this misogynistic man and tell him exactly what I thought about his sordid venture. I forced myself to remain calm and took a breath. “I think the wording of the judgement says everything that is required Mr Martinelli. Your application was simply not morally acceptable to the state of Nevada. We had no choice but to reject it.”
This made him laugh. He threw his head back and clutched his stomach, a rumbling guffaw that echoed around the room and caused the dainty teacups on the conference table to rattle in their saucers. Beside him, Summer smiled demurely, never once flinching from her perfect pose.
He finally stopped laughing and wiped his eyes with his fingers. “Why Miss Lacey, you speak about the state of Nevada as though it were some high paragon of moral virtue!” He stood and walked to the full length glass window that overlooked the desert city before us. “Look around Miss Lacey, this is Las Vegas! There are no morals here, haven’t been for a long time. Proud home to a thousand vices and perversions, no shame or judgement. If you want it, you can find it in Vegas.”
I narrowed my eyes, the rising tide of my dark mood threatening to overwhelm my better judgement. “Mr Martinelli, all of what you say is true. Vegas is indeed an anything goes city and the state provides some latitude in this regard. Yet even in this liberal utopia, your application was deemed too much. Now, what does that say about you, Mr Martinelli?”
He turned to face me, his composure slipping for just a single second before he reigned in his anger and spoke in a friendly tone. “Miss Lacey. This is the real world. And in the real world, certain people, both men and women, wish to possess girls and use them for whatever purposes their sordid desires dream up. It is simply the fact of it. And mark my words, without a legitimate outlet, these people will find a way to fulfill their cravings. What The Kneeling Girl provided was just such a legitimate outlet. A consensual and safe venue for exploration and stimulation.”
I finally allowed my anger to flood out of me. “It is wrong Mr Martinelli,” I spat, “you are asking the board to legitimise slavery! The girls who you will be offering are not simple sex workers, they would be possessions, toys to be used and abused and discarded at will!”
He breathed out through his nose, gathering himself. His expression softened and the pleasant smile spread across his face again. He returned to his seat on the other side of the conference table and sat down.
“I’m genuinely sorry you feel that way Miss Lacey. I wish I could have convinced you to see things from my perspective, but if that is your final decision, then there is little point in continuing this conversation. I wish you a good day and a pleasant stay in Vegas.” With that, he turned to the paperwork in front of him and said no more.
I gathered my own papers, and stood to leave, nodding at Summer and wishing Martinelli a curt good day as I marched out of the office.
---
I took a taxi back down the Strip to my hotel, still trembling from the confrontation. I felt angry with myself for losing my temper like that, it was most unprofessional. I gathered myself together and thought about the meeting.
I expect that Martinelli thought I was a hopeless prude. A recent divorcee in her mid-thirties, bitter and broken and furious in her hatred of men. But that wasn’t the truth. In my decade working for the state licensing commission I had issued countless licences to brothels and casinos. I had no problem with women using their bodies for sex, if that was what they wanted.
But there was something about Martinelli’s proposal that didn’t sit right in my mind. The idea of girls consenting to be owned and used by the rich members of an exclusive club was wrong. I didn’t understand how it could be anything other than that. It sent a bad message to young girls in the state, that money could buy anything - even people. I couldn’t be a part of that, simply couldn’t.
The taxi arrived at my hotel and I paid the driver, then decided to head to one of the restaurants in the casino for some dinner. It was beginning to get dark outside, the oppressive heat of the desert night illuminated by the endless colored lights of Vegas-after-dark. City of sin, where everything was permitted and nothing was shameful. I shuddered, hating the overwhelming tackiness of it all and longing for my early morning flight back north to Reno to arrive quickly.
---
After an unsatisfying meal of bland Chinese food, I headed up to my room to turn in for the night. My employers had booked me into a decent hotel for a change and I’d been upgraded to a luxury suite on check-in, something I didn’t think anything of at the time. But as I look back now, it all seems a little fortuitous.
As I rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, I massaged my neck and rolled my head, thinking of the warm jacuzzi bath that I would take when I got to my room. It would be good to relax after such a stressful day in this choking heat. I reached my floor and stepped out into the corridor, wandering off down the endless identical hallways to my room.
Arriving at my door, I used the keycard to let myself in. I flicked the lights on and headed past the bathroom, dropping my bag on the chair by the wall and beginning to unbutton my blouse, eager to get into the tub as quickly as possible. I stopped, suddenly realising that I was not alone.
On the large king-sized bed by the far wall a girl lay on her back. She was almost completely naked, wearing nothing other than a blindfold and a pair of black high heeled shoes. Around her neck, a ribbon was tied in a perfect bow. Her hands were crossed over her stomach, her legs were straight and she lay perfectly still in the center of the mattress. At the end of the bed was an ice bucket with a bottle of Champagne in it. Attached to the bucket was a cream envelope.
A sudden fear that I had the wrong room flashed into my mind and I looked around to orientate myself. Sure enough, there was my suitcase, propped up against the suite’s sofa where I’d left it. If I was in the right room, then surely this girl wasn’t.
I inched towards her, clearing my throat to alert her to my presence. “Ex-excuse me,” I stammered, “I-I think you might have the wrong room…”
The girl didn’t respond, and I suddenly thought she might be unconscious, or … worse. I stepped forward again, moving to within a few feet of the end of the bed. I stopped, suddenly sure I recognized the girl who lay before me. I thought for a second, then remembered: Summer!
What on earth was Martinelli’s assistant doing in my room? I thought, my mind racing.
She stirred, shifting her hands on her stomach slightly, almost imperceptibly, but reassuring me that she was indeed alive. I s
poke again, more forcefully this time, “Okay, I’m not sure what Martinelli’s game is, but it isn’t funny. I’d like you to leave this minute Summer.”
The girl didn’t respond. I looked around, wondering whether I should call hotel security and trying to imagine how I would explain this situation. My eyes fell on the Champagne bucket at the end of the bed. I caught site of the envelope again and noticed that something was written on it:
Miss Lacey, please read me.
I moved to the envelope and pulled it off the silver bucket. I turned it in my hands, not sure what to expect and scared to read the contents for reasons I couldn’t explain. I finally plunged my fingers into the envelope and pulled out a rectangular cardboard note, embossed with Martinelli’s corporate logo. The note was written with a delicate handwriting, flowery and precise. It read:
Dearest Miss Lacey,
It is my deepest regret that we were not able to reach an understanding today. As a gesture of my goodwill and to prove there are no hard feelings, I offer you the gift of Summer. She is yours for the night. Enjoy her as you will.
Yours,
Vincent Marinelli
I looked over the note, my earlier anger returning with a vengeance. How dare he try to bribe me? How dare he break into my room and violate my privacy like this? How dare he put Summer in this situation?
I threw the note to the floor and turned to Summer. The girl remained on the bed, unmoved since the moment I entered the room. I put my hands on my hips and spoke with a tone that articulated my rage. “Summer. I want you to take off the blindfold, stand up and put some clothes on, then leave. You can tell Martinelli that the board will hear of this and his future applications will go very badly indeed.”