Lesbian BDSM Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  There was a collective gasp around the table and Beulah’s mouth fell open in surprise. She wasn’t used to being talked about like that.

  The table erupted into a chorus of chattering voices, with my lawyer leaning forwards to perform damage control as he had so many times in the last few, pointless days. Beulah didn’t have a chance of getting a significant slice of Jeremy’s fortune, his will had been watertight, and she wasn’t the first of his awful family to crawl out of the woodwork. I attended these sham hearings with grim reluctance, allowing the Beulahs of the world to fling their sordid accusations at me, then authorized my lawyer to pay them a derisive sum that barely covered their plane ticket and legal fees. It was more than they deserved.

  I allowed the noise of the room to fade into the background, a droning buzz that seemed unimportant and distant. Then I turned my attention to what had distracted me so much in the first place.

  At the end of the table, perched on a straight backed chair and lost in a world of concentration, was Jenna, the hearing’s stenographer. She was a mousy, plain looking girl with large glasses and an unfashionably messy hair style that sat atop her head like an explosion of brown static. She was wearing a plain, white blouse with a rounded collar, buttoned up to her slender neck, and a rough, brown skirt, tan pantyhose and flat loafers. She looked like the high school librarian, all twitchy and nervous, constantly pushing her glasses up her pretty button nose. But there was something about her, something intriguing and hidden. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  At the time of Beulah’s hearing, I was still a fledgling mistress. I’d met Beth just a month before, and she’d moved into my house just a few weeks later. As yet, she was my only doll and I was slowly discovering the depths of my desires and the limits of my lust, exploring her body and allowing her to explore mine and her own submission. But my new instincts were beginning to evolve, developing into something grander, more ambitious. Beth was a wonderful possession and an endlessly enjoyable plaything. But I wanted more, I wanted a harem of girls like Beth, who would serve me and pleasure me and each other.

  I gazed down the table at Miss Jenna, studying her face and her hands as they danced over the sleek stenotype. The shouting and bickering continued around me, with my lawyer skillfully dismissing the claims and accusations.

  At once, she looked up and caught my eye, realizing suddenly that I was staring at her. I didn’t look away. Instead, I flashed her a sultry smile and narrowed my eyes, lifting my pen to my mouth and touching the tip to my painted lips.

  The girl blushed and hunched her shoulders, looking down at the machine that her fingers were dancing over. After several seconds, she glanced up again. A subtle shift of her eyes in my direction, seeking verification that she hadn’t imagined my attention. I leaned my head to the side and smirked, meeting her gaze, then I winked.

  She exhaled softly and her lips cracked into a faint smile, then she turned her attention back to her work. Did she like women? I wondered idly. I felt a rush of desire, most at odds with the stuffy, boring circumstances in which I found myself.

  The Claudia Ross of three months ago would never have felt like this, would have never dared contemplate what I was contemplating. But I was different to that repressed doormat. Changed by a chance encounter in a Vegas hotel, driven by awakened instincts that I never knew I had, but relished the exploration of.

  I had to have her. The notion rose in my mind like a resplendent phoenix, saturating my thoughts and banishing the trivial distraction of the hearing to the very back of my concerns. My was suddenly awash with images, sordid dioramas in which Jenna was the centerpiece; naked and posed, subjected to whatever filthy ordeal I could conceive. Her young legs spread, pink pussy open and exposed...

  “Folks, I don’t think we’re getting anywhere here,” said Eric Danvers from out of nowhere, interrupting my indulgent fantasy as he shuffled a shabby pile of papers into misaligned pile and wiped a fleck of spittle from his chubby chin. “Should we take a recess for lunch? Back here for two?”

  Danvers, Christa Black and the grotesque Beulah stood as one and flashed me a trio of hostile looks, as though it was my fault they were trapped in this stuffy, tastefully decorated prison. Then they turned and filed out of the room.

  “Help me out here Claudia,” said my lawyer. James Reinhold was a good man, a long time friend of the family. He looked exasperated and tired. This was the third such greedy in-law that he’d helped me swat away. “We’re not going to get these people to crawl back under their rocks if you keep antagonizing them.”

  I smiled back at him. “I know Jim, but where’s the fun in behaving myself?”

  He made a low harrumphing sound and shook his head, then wished me a pleasant lunch and headed out of the meeting room.

  Finally. I was alone with Jenna. I turned and flashed her a quick glance. She was hunched over her stenotype, examining some text on the small screen, tiny wrinkles of concentration scrunching up her button nose as she peered over the top of her oversized glasses.

  “I’m sorry about this whole thing,” I said.

  Jenna looked up suddenly and twitched her mousy face. “Excuse me?” she said, with a timid voice.

  “I’m sorry that you have to sit through such an undignified display. Some people are just awful, don’t you think?” I said, making a show of sorting my papers into a neat pile.

  “I-I guess,” she stammered.

  “I wish there was some way that I could make it up to you,” I purred with a sultry tone. Looking back, I realize that this seduction was clumsy and rash, a massive risk. But I was driven by desire and a strong need to have this cute, meek girl. I gave the wider implications of my actions not a single thought.

  “That’s really not necessary Miss Ross,” said Jenna, glancing back down at her stenotype. A soft flush rose in her cheeks and she flicked her eyes up nervously, catching my gaze, a subtle signal that my instincts were right. Despite her timid reticence, I sensed a side to the girl that wasn’t immediately apparent. Or was it my lust-heightened senses? In the coming months and years, I would become more skillful at recognizing girls who fit my particular requirements. But my instincts were dulled at this early stage, and I found it very easy to see desire where there was none.

  “Come over here,” I said boldly, shutting my leather file and slipping my glasses off my nose.

  Jenna looked up and blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Come over here so I can see you,” I said with a commanding tone.

  “Miss Ross, I’m not sure what…”

  I clapped my hands and pointed at the floor beside me. “Now,” I growled, suddenly realizing how risky this move was. I had no idea if this girl had submissive tendencies, no idea if she even liked women.

  There was a moment of silence and calm, neither of us moving or speaking. I opened my mouth, intending to apologize and dismiss the whole thing with a casual wave. But then she blinked quickly, three times, and pushed back in her seat, rising to her feet and turning in my direction.

  I exhaled with a light relief as the short, plain girl stepped slowly around the long conference table, each stride taking an eternity of milliseconds until, finally, she stood before me, shuffling on the spot with nervous trepidation.

  “I-I saw you looking at me,” she whispered, “during the hearing.”

  “I was.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs, turning to face her.

  “Wh-what do you want?” she breathed, barely audible even in the stillness of the room.

  “I want you, Jenna,” I said matter-of-factly, without a pause for thought.

  She blinked in surprise and exhaled, backing away half a step.

  “I-I’m not…” she protested meekly.

  “Then leave, the door is there,” I said, lifting my hand and gesturing at the large, oak panelled doors on the other side of the room.

  Jenna’s head turned to follow my hand and a look of relief crossed her face. But she didn’t move. Her gaze
returned to the patch of floor between us.

  “Take off your glasses and hand them to me,” I said.

  She reached up with trembling hands and removed her large, matronly spectacles. Then she held them out in front of her, offering me them with timid obedience. I took them and folded the arms down, placing them on the table beside me.

  “Lift your face, look at me,” I said.

  The nervous girl lifted her head, looking for all the world like a rebellious teenager caught in an obvious lie. She was quite beautiful, freed from the heavy weight of the ugly glasses. She was a dishevelled urchin, unkempt hair and delicate features, with the small amount of makeup she wore applied sparingly, almost redundantly.

  “You’re very pretty,” I beamed and her face flushed a delicate pink, highlighting her high cheekbones. “Bend over the table, please.”

  She gasped at the sudden turn in the conversation and her mouth fell open. She blinked rapidly, eyes flicking towards the door. I knew how she felt, the prospect of someone returning to the room terrified and thrilled me in equal measure. But thoughts of being caught in this sordid seduction were secondary to my need to touch this girl, to taste her, to have her taste me and do my bidding.

  “I-I can’t…” she said, lowering her gaze to the floor.

  “You can and you will,” I replied firmly, tapping the table beside me. I swept my arm across the hard surface, moving my papers and stationery to one side, providing her a clear space to lower herself down onto.

  She followed my moves with rapt fascination, nibbling on her lower lip, eyes wide with fear and arousal. I felt a rush of warmth in my body as I studied the girl and her inner turmoil. I knew she wanted it, I knew it. I can’t explain it - it was like a second sight, an ability to discern the intangible. Ten minutes ago, this pretty, plain girl had been going about her job, with no thoughts of desire or lust or submission. And now she was being guided down a path that she may not have previously contemplated. The realization of her needs and wants warred inside her with her sense of propriety and rightness. But deep down, she wanted to obey me, she wanted to give her body to me and experience the sensations that I offered her as a gift. I knew she did.

  Reluctant, halting, she turned and faced the table, shuffling forwards until her thighs touched the hard surface. Then she bent at the waist, lowering her upper body down onto the fine mahogany, until she rested on her elbows, her breasts pushed against the table. With a hesitant sigh, she lifted her head and stared resolutely forwards, awaiting whatever it was that I had planned for her.

  I allowed myself to relax a little, made an effort to control my pounding heart. I could scarcely believe I was doing this. The risk was great, the stakes total. At any second, Danvers or Black or the awful Beulah could return to the room and catch me. But the risk heightened the sensations and desires that were driving me. Jenna Lee forbidden, off-limits, she should have been unobtainable. But in the early days of my new life, I felt as though nothing was off-limits to me, nothing was immune to the force of my will and the strength of my desire. I wanted the young girl, and I would have her.

  I shifted my chair until I was beside the bending girl, studying her body. I lifted my hand and touched her ass, caressing the round globes beneath the rough material of her unflattering skirt. Then I gripped the hem of the garment and pulled it roughly up around Jenna’s legs until it gathered around her hips, exposing her to me.

  Jenna sighed and flattened her hands against the table, presumably feeling the thrill and fear of exposure for the first time. “Please… I shouldn’t…” she whimpered, whispering her words with a husky timbre.

  “Do you want me to stop, Jenna?” I asked, touching the palm of my hand to her pantyhose-covered ass, stroking the warm, trembling flesh.

  She shifted away from me less than an inch. There was nowhere else to go. “Yes… No…” she stammered, breathing quickly and lifting her head. Every other second, she glanced at the door.

  I forced my hand between her legs, enveloping my fingers in the warmth of her sex, plainly discernable through the material of her nylons and her panties. There was a hot wetness there, an insinuation of moisture that spoke only of lust. I forced my fingers apart and she spread her legs in response, shuffling her feet to the side until they were a shoulder’s width apart. She whimpered and sighed, trapped like a deer in headlights, but willingly so.

  I shifted again until I was behind her, rolling my chair across the hardwood floor. I moved both hands to caress her ass cheeks, then lifted my right hand and slapped sharply, causing a harsh crack to echo around the large room. She gasped and squealed, but didn’t try to stand. “Oh god, oh god,” she said, lifting her head back and breathing quickly.

  “Are you a good girl Jenna?” I asked with a sultry purr.

  “I-I am, I am,” she whispered.

  I shifted my hand back between her legs and cupped her pussy, pressing down on the warm material of her pantyhose. “Are you wet Jenna? Good girls don’t get wet, do they?”

  “I…” she started but didn’t finish. Instead, she moaned out loud as I pressed down on her clit, arching her back upwards until she was staring at the ceiling.

  “How wet are you exactly?” I purred, feeling the still-new feelings of lesbian desire rising in my body. It had been mere weeks since I’d found Beth and my sexual awakening, and the sensations that flooded my body were fresh and novel, but exquisitely familiar. The boiling warmth in my pussy, a slight tingle of anticipation bringing a rash of gooseflesh to my warm skin, my quickening breath and pounding heart.

  I stroked my trembling hands over the soft nylon that was stretched taut over Jenna Lee’s ass, relishing the response that my touch elicited in the young girl. Then I reached down and plunged my fingernails into the material over her pussy, taking hold of the delicate gauze and ripping it open in a sudden, rough movement. Jenna’s head shot up from the table and she gasped loudly, struggling slightly in my grip. “Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered with a hint of convictionless rebellion.

  I gazed down at the hole in her pantyhose, a wide portal centered on her pussy. Her white cotton panties, juvenile and large, were visibly damp and achingly naive. I gripped the soft cotton and shifted it to one side, revealing the pink wetness of her sex. She gasped as cold air touched her exposed labia and a light shudder ran through her body. She moaned and lowered her head.

  With tender care, I touched my fingertips to the soft flesh of her pussy, barely making contact with her slick folds. She inhaled sharply and writhed on the table, flattening her palms against the hard surface. I touched her again, harder this time, deeper, plunging my fingers deep into her sex, enveloping my digits with her wetness.

  “Oh my,” I drawled, feeling a rush of desire and the thrill of control, “you are very wet down here, young lady.”

  She panted and nodded, peering back over her shoulder as I continued my intimate exploration of her exposed pussy.

  “I thought you said you were a good girl?” I purred, finding her clit and pressing it against her pelvic bone. She gasped and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut and reaching forward with her hands.

  Without shifting my fingers from between her legs, I stood up from the chair and pushed it aside, then leaned over her prone body. “Put your arms behind your back,” I said softly, grabbing a handful of her mousy hair. She sighed and shook her head, struggling in my grip. I responded by lightly squeezing her clitoris between my fingers, tugging at the bulbous nub with gentle insistence. The girl moaned and lifted her head. I could see beads of glistening perspiration forming on her cheeks and forehead, could feel the rhythmic jackhammer of her heart pounding in her body.

  Eventually, she shifted her weight, lowering herself off her elbows and lying flat on the table. Then she curled her arms behind her back, gripping her wrists with her hands.

  “Good girl,” I breathed and moved my hand from her hair to her arms, pinning them in place. “Do you like to be restrained? Do you like to be helpl
ess?” I said, pushing down on her back and sliding my fingers through the slick warmth of her pussy, massaging the tender folds.

  She breathed out and moaned lightly. “Y-yes Miss Ross, yes I do,” she whispered.

  I began to quicken the pace of my fingers, moving my hand back and forth through her pussy. She was dripping wet, hot and slick with lust. I smeared that immaculate moisture over her lips, back to her asshole, causing fevered moans of pleasure from the captive stenographer. As my manipulation intensified, she began to shift in my grip, struggling from side to side in a convictionless attempt to escape. All thoughts of interruption or exposure seemed to have fled now, from both our minds. Jenna was lost in the frantic grip of sensation that was causing her to quake with pleasure; and I was taken by the exquisite thrill of control, the sense of complete domination over another.

  As my fingers moved, I allowed my racing thoughts to surge ahead. I gazed down at the girl beneath me as she struggled and moaned. I imagined her mouth between my legs, imagined her sitting on Beth’s face. I dared to consider owning her, dressing her as I saw fit, posing her alongside my winsome brunette, mounting her for display and setting her body in a stance that reflected her sexual being. As I pressed down hard on her bulging clitoris and gripped her slender wrists behind her back, I genuinely thought that I might have found my second doll.

  The thought thrilled me, sending waves of hot warmth through my body, causing me to shudder uncontrollably. Without even touching my own pussy, I felt the exquisite thrill of arousal. I quickened my fingers, plunging two slender digits into Jenna’s tight hole. The girl cried out and sighed as my hand filled her. I pulled my arm back, then pushed forwards again, deeper this time, feeling the warm envelope of her pussy around me, an indescribably wet cavern that demanded exploration.

  I squatted down and released my grip on her wrists. She remained in position, with her arms crossed behind her back, I noted with distant satisfaction. My hand continued to piston back and forth, filling her more with every insistent stroke. With my other hand, I found her clit again and began to squeeze it, running the slick bulge through my fingers and massaging it with my thumb. Jenna squealed and moaned, her head thrashing back and forth on the table as my manipulations continued.