by Ella Ford
Then something snapped inside the pretty young submissive, the student who had found her way to my house without any help from me. A sudden strength powered her body to new feats, causing her to push her hips up off the bed into Christa’s face, arching her spine. Christa, Beth and Chloe held on, locking their mouths on the soft flesh and riding her orgasm like rodeo cowboys.
“Ah!” screamed Charlotte, pushing her head back into the bed. Her hands flew out to her side, grabbing at Chloe and Beth, frantically pawing the other girls. Her legs went rigid and straight, laser beams of toned, young flesh, shooting out to frame Christa in their majestic length. She began to quake violently, rocking back and forth, gripped by an intolerable maelstrom, a private tempest that raged in her young body.
I felt a pang of jealousy, a fleeting wave of longing. But the thought was soon banished by the remembrance of ownership. There four girls were mine. This scene of total pleasure and utter fulfillment was mine to invoke or take. Charlotte’s pleasure was my pleasure, and that one thought thrilled me more than anything. Above all else, I felt joy that it was Christa and her skilfull, attentive tongue that took Charlotte’s virginity, that introduced her to the world of lesbian love. It was a wonderful initiation.
Charlotte’s writhing and quaking reached a peak, an apex of sensation and pleasure. Then her orgasm pulled back from her like a receding tide and her body fell still, collapsing back to the bed with a long sigh. Chloe, Christa and Beth shifted, realigning themselves to snuggle into Charlotte’s cooling body, resting their heads on her chest, her stomach, her thigh; laying tender touches on her burning flesh. Playtime was over, for now, and my dolls seemed to lose their animation, becoming lifeless and still, like discarded toys.
---
“I want what you have,” said Christa.
It was hours later. Hours after Charlotte’s initiation and her introduction to my small harem. Christa had left her sisters and approached me in my office, knocking decisively on the panelled door and stepping in with definite purpose. She still wore her doll costume, black nylon stockings and high stiletto heels, perfectly smooth pussy exposed for my inspection.
“What do you mean?” I asked, inwardly knowing what it was she was saying, realizing that this was the endpoint of a trajectory initiated all those years ago in the stuffy law office bathroom. The realization made me a little sad, but also thrilled me somewhat.
“I want…” she began with her head lowered, falling into the submissive stance with an autonomous ease. Then she raised her head and fixed her eyes on mine. “I want to be a collector, I want girls of my own,” she said firmly, narrowing her lips, clearly fearing how I would react.
I nodded and glanced down at my papers, closing my file and considering her words. Christa wasn’t my first doll to graduate, and she wasn’t the first doll to want her own dollhouse. A previous acquisition, Paige, had found her submissiveness was merely a fleeting phase, that she much preferred to dominate the other girls in my collection. It had been a turbulent time, but we had both agreed that it would be better if she found her own way, sought her own dolls. Paige was not a bad girl, and I’d used a tiny slice of my fortune to set her up, to buy her property and get her started. She was now a prolific collector in her own right, and we remained good friends and occasional lovers.
But Christa was different. She’d been with me for years, my second girl and a particular favorite. I’d always known she had a willful side, but the limits of her rebellion always fell well short of the limits of her submission. In truth, I always thought it would be Sarah who made this request, not Christa.
“Very well. That is your right,” I said, attempting to smile but feeling deeply bereft. “We will all miss you Christa,” I added, my voice trembling.
She nodded, her pretty, sculpted face ashen and grey. “Thank you mistress,” she said, and with those words, I realized that no matter where she went, she would always be my doll, would always belong to me. Sending her out into the world was like spreading my seed, creating enclaves of Claudia Ross that would always see my house as theirs. A sudden notion struck me.
“Christa, I want to give you a gift, something to help you on your way,” I said with a wry smile.
“Mistress?” she said, her sad face regaining a hint of color as she realized that my acceptance of her wishes was total.
“In good time my pet,” I replied, “in good time.”
Epilogue: The Gift
Now
“I’m ready, mistress,” said Christa from the door to the viewing room. I finished straightening the delicate lace at the top of Sarah’s white nylon stocking, and then gave her thigh a gentle pat. The tiny brunette straightened her back and lifted her head, falling into the virginal pose that she knew I loved. I gazed up at her on the onyx plinth, admiring the gentle rise of her tiny breasts, the way her long tresses of dark curls tumbled over her shoulders. The young doll gazed forwards into empty space in the center of the room, her face blank and expressionless, hands held out before her, palms upturned in a gesture of silent offering. I knew only too well what she was that she offered, it was the same thing all of my girls offered me - herself. Totally and utterly.
I glanced around at my other girls - Beth, Chloe, Mai, Elise, Brittany. And finally, Charlotte, my newest acquisition. Charlotte stood on a plinth at the end of a row alongside Beth, Chloe and Mai. The pretty college girl had been dressed in the revealing attire of a slutty sorority girl - a tight, white blouse, tied in a knot beneath her breasts to reveal her flat, unblemished stomach. A short, plaid skirt, barely long enough to a called as such. On her legs, knee length, white socks, with ballet flats on her feet. She looked delicious, utterly corruptible, with her hair in pigtails and her lips gleaming seductive red. I felt a pang of self doubt as my eyes fell to her neck and the sparkling jewelled collar that I’d put on her moments before.
“Come in, Christa,” I said, snapping myself out of my momentary flutter and moving to stand beside Charlotte. “It’s time to say goodbye to your friends.”
Christa stepped into the room. It was the first time I’d seen her fully clothed in a long time, the first time she’d been dressed in something other than a pair of black stockings and precarious stiletto heels. Instead, she was wearing a red skirt suit, with a black blouse. Her legs were bare and she wore high red pumps and a delicate ankle bracelet. Her hair was held back in a tight ponytail and she’d found her old glasses from wherever she’d hidden them. No longer Slave Christa, no longer Doll Christa, this ravishing beauty was Christa, the lawyer, Christa the collector.
I sighed and watched her circulate the room, touching each girl in turn on the thigh, seemingly animating each one from her rigid pose, then beckoning them forwards for a passionate kiss. First Brittany, then Mai, then Elise, then Chloe, and finally Beth. Christa lingered longest here, locking her mouth on the pretty brunette, her oldest slave-sister. Charlotte and I peered at the two girls as their tongues slid together in a sensual dance, a seemingly never-ending clinch that was both wistful and sensual at the same time. Then Christa released Beth and the elfin brunette returned to her mannequin pose, a glistening jewel of a tear springing from the corner of her eye.
Christa turned to face me and pursed her lips, nodding. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything.”
I nodded, knowing that she was referring to the downtown apartment I’d gifted her and the contact I’d given her in one of the most prestigious law firms in the city. Christa would not have difficulty establishing herself in this town, not while I watched over her. But I knew that she was also thanking me for the last three years, for the gift of ownership that I’d given her, for allowing her to discover her true calling.
“Come over here Christa,” I said, “I have one final gift.”
She stepped over and stopped beside me, crossing her hands behind her and lowering her head. I reached over and touched her chin, encouraging her to look me in the eye.
“You’re not a doll any more Christa,�
� I said tenderly. Then I reached beside me and picked up a red velvet box from the shelf on the wall. It was tied with a satin bow. I held it out to her and she took it gingerly, as if expecting a trap or a trick.
“For me?”
“Yes. Open it,” I said, growing impatient.
Christa plucked at the bow with slender, manicured fingers and slowly eased the lid off the box. Inside the gift was a black velvet cushion and a folded length of leather leash. The leash was studded with jewels and glimmered in the soft light of the viewing room. She gasped and lightly brushed her fingertips over the exquisite object. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears.
“That’s not all,” I said, and glanced at Charlotte, focusing on the collar around her neck. It was studded with the exact same gemstones as the leather leash, a companion piece that had no equal.
Christa gasped again and Charlotte unfroze, turning to face her new mistress.
“Will you have me?” said the student, purring seductively with a tone that dripped with wanton lust.
Christa nodded, face lighting up with an expression of joy and desire that I’d seldom seen before.
“Take her,” I breathed, “before I change my mind!”
Christa giggled like a schoolgirl and unfolded the leather leash, clipping the metal snap at the end onto the silver ring on Charlotte’s collar.
The two girls’ eyes met and a sudden unspoken communication flashed between them in an instant. Do you submit to me? asked Christa without saying a word. I do, mistress, was Charlotte’s implicit response.
In that instant, a new collector was born and a new collection established. A new bond between mistress and slave, owner and owned. A bond that was between themselves, and the other girls that Christa enticed into her collection.
But Christa and Charlotte would always belong to me, deep down. They’d always bow to my will and come running when I called, to do whatever it was that I asked. And rest assured, I would call and I would ask.
Because, really, some girls just want to be owned.
THE END
Owned
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1
I felt a rough hand grab my head and force me down, pushing me into a stooping hunch. Another hand closed around my upper arm and pushed me forwards.
“Step up,” said a male voice. It was deep and forceful, but didn’t belong to the owner of the hands that held me in place.
I lifted my left leg, frantically shifting my head in the rough hessian sack that obscured my view, a vain attempt to see where I was stepping. The hand on my upper arm guided me forwards and I felt something solid beneath my foot. My ankle turned painfully as I lost balance on the tall high-heeled shoes, but the man holding me in place prevented me from falling. I found my footing, then lifted my right leg and stepped up onto the platform.
The quality of the sound changed, becoming echoey and metallic. The floor beneath me seemed to move as I did. I was in a van! I realized with a distant sense of satisfaction. Then the floor shook once more and the entire structure creaked in protest as the man holding my arm stepped up to join me.
“Set her down,” said the other voice, and I felt the rough grip shift to my shoulders, forcing me down to my knees.
“Over by the side,” said the man holding me. I cast my head around inside the rough sack, struggling to understand what he was asking me to do. I felt completely disoriented, unable to find my balance with my hands cuffed behind my back.
I sensed myself beginning to panic. My heart was hammering fast and the hessian sack was warm and stifling, making it difficult to get my breath. A sudden rush of vertigo swept over me. Just thirty seconds ago I was getting out of my car in a deserted, underground car park. And then… what? It was all a blur, a flurry of hands and activity.
“Move!” snapped the voice outside the van.
The hands on my shoulders pushed me and I fell to the side, striking the side of the van with my upper arm. I gasped and cried out as a sharp stab of pain rippled through my body, but the jolt broke my paralysis. I gathered my legs to my chest and leaned back against the cold metal of the van’s body.
The floor bounced once more, and I heard the slap of shoes landing on hard concrete, then the doors of the van slammed shut. Seconds later, the engine fired into life and we began to move.
I tried to gather myself together, to bring my breathing under control, but my heart was hammering too fast and I sensed that I might pass out. Suddenly, I had to get the bag off my head, I had to breath clean, cold air. I thrashed my head to the side wildly, losing control of myself, the progression of the panic beyond my ability to reign in. I fell to the side, struggling on the floor of the van, pulling against the cold metal restraints around my wrists. The sharp bracelets dug into my slender wrists, nipping my skin and intensifying my terror. I was warm, too warm, I had to get free…
“Calm down,” a sudden voice emerged from the van to my right. “You need to get a hold of yourself.”
The voice was calm and low, barely a whisper. It was female, and I sensed a hint of fear behind the refined New England accent.
I took three deep breaths, then righted myself, sitting up against the metal wall once more. The motion of the van made it difficult to keep balanced and I cursed the handcuffs that held my hands in place and the stiletto heels that prevented me from placing my feet flat on the floor. But the panic had abated for a second. I felt myself somehow calmed by the presence of another.
“Who-who are you?” I stammered.
“Does it matter?” came the reply. “Who we were is no longer important, don’t you think?”
From my left, towards the back of the van, another female voice rose in a frantic titter, then sniffed and began to sob. How many were in here with me? I thought.
I ignored the sobbing and continued, feeling as though this conversation was the only thing preventing me from falling into a catatonic stupor. “I-I’m Jess. Jessica Martin.”
The voice to my right snapped back. “I don’t care who you are bitch. Now shut the fuck up, you’ll get us into trouble,” she hissed, then fell into silence.
I sighed at the sudden rebuke and opened my mouth to speak again, but said nothing. What was the point? Instead, I focused on the van, trying to visualize its motion, counting turns in the vague hope of figuring out where we were going. But there was very little point. The car park had been in a part of town that I was not familiar with. I couldn’t even have said for certain which direction we were headed, let alone which street we were on.
“Listen, I’m sorry okay… It’s just…” the woman to my right said. Her voice calmer now.
“It’s okay,” I breathed. The magnitude of what was happening was finally sinking in and I felt a different panic beginning to emerge, something deeper and more profound, beyond the initial shock of the abduction. “Did you get the note?” I added, shiting my body to face her, freeing up my arms as they were beginning to fall asleep.
The third woman sobbed as I spoke, a pitiful cry of regret and fear. I tried to ignore her and focus on the calmer presence of the other woman.
“Yes, I got it,” she replied distantly.
I felt a strange sense of relief. That the other woman was in the same situation as me seemed to calm me greatly. Had she met Lydia as well? Suddenly, I was seized with an urge to get the bag off my head, to see who I was talking to. I felt a strange bond with the woman, one that I couldn’t explain. I started to flick my head to the left and right, struggling to loosen the drawstring around my neck.
“What are you doing?” the woman hissed, her voice low and urgent.
“I-I have to get the bag off!” I exclaimed, thrashing my head back and forth. The bag remained firmly in place and I began to fear the drawstring had been knotted in place. Oh god, I was trapped!
“Sit still and be quiet!” I sensed the woman move towards me.
Suddenly, from the back of the van, the third woman began to wail. A thin, hi
gh-pitched cry that echoed around the metal box. “I made a mistake! I made a mistake! I’ve changed my mind! I’ve changed my mind!” she began to babble quickly, her words punctuated by loud sobs. I sensed her begin to throw her body around, slamming against the side of the van, making metallic thumps as she struck the walls. “Please! I want to go home!” She sounded frantic and out of control.
The van skidded to a halt, brakes screeching. I lost my footing and slid forwards, striking the other woman and collapsing back onto the floor. I was suddenly overcome by her presence; the soft material of her dress, the scent of her perfume and sweat. Where we touched, I could feel the jackhammer beat of her heart, fast and insistent, matched only by my own frantic pulse. We gathered ourselves together and huddled at the front of the cabin as the doors to the rear swung open.
The warm air in the van was replaced with a rush of cold night. I shuddered and pushed up close to the unseen woman, feeling her do the same to me. Towards the back of the space, the third woman was sobbing uncontrollably, but had stopped thrashing around.
“Ah shit, number two is a basket case,” said a male voice. I recognized it as the guy that had manhandled me into the van.
“Ditch her,” came the decisive reply. “Too risky. We’ll explain to Lydia when we get in.”
There was a grunt of agreement and a sudden flurry of motion. The woman cried out and sobbed again. “No! No! No!” she protested, though it was no longer certain what she was protesting.
I heard a soft thump, the sound of a body hitting soft ground. Then the doors to the van slammed shut once more and the muffled sound of number two’s cries became distant and unimportant, fading to nothingness as the engine roared back into life and the van started moving again.
I felt my heartbeat returning to normal. My remaining companion sobbed quietly to herself, her previous fire thoroughly extinguished by the weight of apprehension. I shifted my body and sat up again, not yet willing to leave the other woman and return to where I was. Instead, I sat in stunned silence, barely able to believe what was happening.