Lesbian BDSM Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  “Th-th-thank you,” I sobbed.

  Thwack! She struck me again, barely giving me time to recover from the first. I screamed out and squirmed in her grip, tugging against her strong hand in my hair, desperate to get away. But she held me in place, and her hand returned to my ass. With two probing fingers, she reached between my legs and plunged into my pussy, drawing her fingertips back and forth.

  “Oh, goodness me,” she purred, pressing down on my clitoris and sending hot ripples of pleasure through my body, clashing in my stomach with the waves of pain from my ass, forming a curiously compelling blend of ecstasy and discomfort. “You’re so wet for your Aunt Madeline, aren’t you?”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” I sobbed. “Thank you ma’am,” I added, remembering I’d missed one.

  Her hand raised once more and as she held it there above my ass, I felt a strange sensation wash over me: anticipation. Despite the pain, despite the discomfort, despite the degradation, I realized that I wanted her to strike me, I wanted to feel the kiss of her discipline. I wanted to be a good girl. More than anything.

  Thwack!

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Thwack!

  “Thank you, ma’am!”

  Thwack!

  “Oh thank you, ma’am! Thank you!”

  “Are you ready to be fucked now? Are you ready for me to pound that pretty young cunt of yours? Are you ready to beg for me to let you come?”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” I cried out, sobbing with pain and pleasure, pussy roaring with frantic need. My thighs were dripping wet, soaking my flesh. I needed to feel her inside me, I needed to be impaled on her, helplessly rammed full of her hot length! All thoughts of Suzy had gone from my mind now, all recollection of Mona and Sarah and Miranda, of Jessica and Abigail, of Audrey. Right now, all that existed in the universe was my throbbing pussy and my desperate need to be used by this voracious older woman.

  She swapped hands, moving her spanking hand into my hair, then she pulled me back off her lap. In a single motion, she stood and moved to my rear, then pushed me forward and to the side so that my body collapsed down on the sofa, ass pushed up behind me, face and breasts pushed down into the comfortable cushion by her deceptively powerful hand.

  I felt her lower herself down behind me, felt her naked flesh brush up against my bare ass as she forced herself between my legs, pushing my feet apart. My body was no longer my own, I felt like a ragdoll in her grip, going where she pleased, bent into shape according to her sordid whims. And I allowed this, I invited it, I welcomed the loss of self, of identity. To exist solely for another’s pleasure, that was all that I wanted.

  She entered me without warning, pushing the hard plastic cock into my aching pussy like a thick sword, slowly, deliberately, halting her penetration at the point where I felt that it would end me completely. She pulled back and eased the hard member out of me, teasing the tip of it against my hole until I moaned out loud. Then she rammed it forward again, harder, faster, deeper. I felt my pussy stretch in a maddeningly compelling way, hot waves of pleasure roaring out from my pelvis like tidal waves. I felt it fill me, felt my entire body completed by the enormous rod as it drove into me. And still I wanted more.

  “Yes! Yes, oh yes!” I cried out, squirming in her grip, struggling to move but finding myself held tight.

  Again and again she drove her cock into me, flesh slapping against flesh, sharp hand striking my bottom as she rode me like a rodeo bull. It became too much, overwhelming, intoxicating, the combination of utter pleasure and icy pain on my burning ass. I rocked back and forth, encouraging her motion. My fingers clawed into the expensive material beneath my hands, grabbing handfuls of security as though anchoring myself in this reality. And still she rammed me, time after time, deeper and deeper, pushing into me and pulling out, in and out, in and out, meeting little resistance on the slick opening of my dripping pussy.

  From deep inside me, I felt a familiar presence rise, a looming essence, a broiling ball of fire. Demanding attention, it spread out from my pussy, tendrils of sensation igniting wildfires in my body, in my limbs, nerves set ablaze with the growing climax. I turned into it, letting it wash over my consciousness, chasing the release that it offered, that it promised. Onwards and upwards it built, spiralling up into the high atmosphere, dovetailing with the pain in my ass and the sweet humiliation of surrender. It became overwhelming, overpowering. My entire sensorium became focused on the growing sensation, the building sense of imminent release. I reached out with my mind, synchronizing my frantic cries with the pulsing beat from my pussy.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” I sighed, faster and faster, spine arching upwards as the intolerable tension grew evermore.

  Then I remembered. Remembered what she’d said. That I would beg to come, plead for release. And I knew then that the orgasm was not mine to take. It was hers to give. So I begged, I begged like I’d never begged before, begged as though my life depended on it.

  “Please Aunt Madeline!” I screamed. “Please may I come? Please may I come?” My voice was high and shrill, a frantic appeal for mercy, for sympathy.

  But she didn’t answer me, never even acknowledged my appeal. She only pounded me harder, reaching around my waist and touching her free hand to my throbbing clitoris and massaging it quickly, fingers moving around it in lazy fast circles.

  My pleasure intensified, impossibly so, twin beams of utter ecstasy roaring out from my clit and my pussy. I screamed, a cry of utter frustration and total need. “Please! Please! Please!” I cried, feeling my mind begin to crumble under the onslaught of the thwarted climax.

  Then she spoke, finally, ramming the black rod home one final, impossible time. “You may.”

  The orgasm was on me in a flash, her words timed with a rise in its intensity. I allowed it to wash over me, allowed it to saturate me, a roaring tidal wave of pleasure, molten and white hot. I felt my body explode, a thousand supernovae exploding at once, a thousand expanding spheres of sensation.

  “Shit, shit shit!” I cried out as my body rocked and spasmed, intolerable tension released in bursts of small motion. My pussy was singing, my skin crawling with myriad tingles. My legs kicked out, seeking futile purchase on the slippery floor, strappy heels thwarting any friction.

  And then it ended and I collapsed down onto the sofa, energy leaving me like a departing storm. I felt myself go limp, still impaled on the slippery rod of the older woman. I breathed out, deflating like a balloon, devoid of animation or even consciousness. My vision collapsed to a fuzzy tunnel, eyes heavy with exertion and the memory of the orgasm. When she pulled back, sliding out of me and leaving a sudden void, I whimpered and moaned, a cry of both relief and loss, mind racing with a thousand confused thoughts, tired awareness struggling to parse a hundred new sensations. And then I fell into a light doze, an exhausted half sleep as she prowled around me.

  ---

  For hours more, she used my body. Rousing me when she’d considered me recovered enough for more of her insatiable attention. Urging me to my feet or my knees or onto my back with honey instructions or barked orders. Demanding my tongue, or my pussy, or my ass, receiving and giving pleasure in equal measure, using me until I could barely stand, could barely think. I must have felt the sweet kiss of climax ten times that endless night, and I begged for every single one.

  But, in time, she tired and fell asleep beside me on her wide bed, snoring softly, face flushed with exertion and the cooling embers of her multiple orgasms.

  I waited until I was sure she was sound asleep then sat up in the bed, gazing down at her. It occurred to me that I shouldn’t do what I was about to do, shouldn’t betray my Aunt Madeline in such a cruel way. But then I thought of Suzy and her pretty, masculine face, the intense charisma of her smile, her mocking tones of encouragement. And I knew that I had to go through with it.

  Without breathing, I slid off the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping older woman. I reached down and picked up my dress, torn in several places after the intensity
of the last few hours. I picked up my shoes and my stockings, holding the bundle of clothes before me like a ball of rags. Then I tiptoed across the room and out into the hallway, trying to ignore my aching limbs and pussy. Heading to the door, I recovered my jacket from the back of the chair and fished around for my cellphone. With trembling fingers, I tapped out a text message.

  She’s asleep. I’ll buzz you up.

  Then I moved to the apartment intercom and flicked the button marked “open”. A grainy black white image flickered to life on the handset and I saw Suzy, Mona and Sarah sneaking past the camera. As she walked past, Suzy turned to look at the camera as though sensing that I could see her. Her mouth curled up in a wry smile and she winked, one single flutter of her large blue eyes. My heart skipped a quick beat.

  Minutes later, they were standing with me in the hallway. Without a word, Sarah and Mona peeled off into the apartment, opening leather bags and padding through Madeline’s home on soft shoes. Then Suzy stepped up to me and grabbed my face, holding me under the chin. She narrowed her eyes and moved my face left and right, as though she was inspecting me.

  “Did she hurt you?” Her voice was laced with a concern that was surprising and touching. I felt a hot rush light up my tired body.

  “N-no, Suzy,” I stammered, gazing up at her with a look of hopeless adoration.

  She leaned forward and kissed me then, a hot, deep joining of mouths, tongue darting forwards to meet mine, rolling together in a wet dance. My pulse soared and I felt myself become dizzy, overcome with the familiar taste and scent of her, hot leather and sweat and lipstick. As she broke off the kiss, I stumbled back against the wall, quivering legs barely able to hold me, watching with wide eyes as Suzy disappeared into the apartment.

  For the next ten minutes they worked, flitting this way and that, barely making a sound, filling their bags with whatever trinkets and riches they could. I didn’t help them, couldn’t help them. It was all I could do to slip my dress over my head, not bothering with my shoes or stockings. I was paralysed with confusion and emotion and fear. I waited by the door, wishing more than anything that they would finish soon. Until, finally, the four of us gathered in the doorway.

  “Let’s go. Miranda is waiting in the van downstairs,” Suzy whispered, and the others nodded.

  One by one, they filed past me, out into the hallway beyond.

  “I thought I recognized you,” came a sudden voice from behind us as Sarah and Mona turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  I spun around, freezing in place at the familiar voice. Suzy stopped too, turning to stare at me with a look of uncharacteristic confusion.

  “You’re Nicole Preston, Lucile Preston’s daughter.”

  I gazed back into the apartment at the naked Madeline Richards, standing there in the dim light of her home. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Beside me, out of sight, Suzy glared at me with growing urgency.

  “You probably don’t remember, but we met several years ago, when you were still in high school.”

  I shook my head. It was possible. My mother had many powerful friends.

  “And now you’re robbing me,” she said with a weary tone of disappointment. “Guess you’re not a good girl after all.”

  I sighed, shocked by how much the barbed stab hurt me.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this you know?” she said, her voice lower than a whisper. “Let your friends go, stay behind. I’ll tell the police you were kidnapped, forced to do it. Or maybe we’ll not tell anyone. You could be free of them, free to return to your life. Or stay, here with me.”

  I glanced around at Suzy. She was wide eyed and frantic, her lips pursed in a snarl. “Now!” she mouthed.

  I turned back to Madeline, genuinely tempted by her offer, genuinely contemplating freeing myself from the strange, rough life I’d found myself in.

  “If you go, then there’s no turning back. You’ll be a criminal, hunted by the police. I’ll see to it that you spend many years behind bars. You think I treated you roughly, just you wait…”

  A thousand thoughts were running through my mind, a thousand considerations. What did I want? Did I want my old life? Did I want my old friends? My family? Or did I want Suzy, and Mona, and Sarah, and Miranda? Did I want the life that I’d found myself living this last week. To be a toy, a plaything, a possession, perhaps even a fugitive? Did I want the freedom to choose or the freedom to submit? To belong, to obey. Did I want to be a good girl? Did I want to be Suzy’s good girl?

  I turned to Madeline Richards one final time and flashed her a last look with my eyes. “Sorry,” my expression said. Then I turned, and ran down the corridor with Suzy, her powerful hand gripping my arm, guiding me, pulling me, directing me.

  And, for the first time in my life, I felt alive.

  Epilogue

  The air in the motel room was hot and thick with desire and need, a rich cocktail that was fueled by the adrenaline of a perfect job and the sweet taste of womanly camaraderie. It was an orgy of the senses, liquor and drugs and lust, naked bodies writhing together in a blissful release of pent up energy and insatiable sapphic appetites.

  And in the center of it all, in the eye of this storm of tongues and mouths and legs and arms, was the girl, the new toy, Blindfolded and bound into helplessness, passed around from woman to woman, made to climax countless times, her body a tool to give or receive pleasure, to use as they saw fit. And use her they did, because victory made them horny and liquor made them bold.

  But she never complained, she never moaned, she never spoke of the intense throbbing pain in her pussy, the ache in her limbs, or the countless scratches and bite marks across her perfect skin. Because beyond these fleeting sensations, beyond the temporary discomfort or the roaring pleasure, she knew one thing and one thing above all else.

  She belonged to them. To Mona, to Sarah, to Miranda. But, most of all, to Suzy. Her body was no longer hers, her will was no longer her own.

  What more could a good girl ever need?

  THE END

  How I Became Her Pet

  by Ella Ford

  Chapter 1: Obedience

  The hallway tiles are cold and hard beneath my knees, but I don’t mind. Nor do I mind the cool draught that blows across my naked breasts and causes my nipples to harden. In truth, my nipples would be hard anyway, but with anticipation rather than cold.

  It’s nearly five o’clock. Five minutes before, to be precise - I like to get into position several minutes early to compose myself and get into the correct frame of mind before the mistress gets home.

  I shake my head and clear my thoughts, placing my hands flat on my thighs in the way that she has instructed me to. The mistress likes to be greeted by her pet when she arrives home from a difficult day at the office. She likes to find her pet kneeling in the hallway, completely naked but for a leather collar, in a state of near arousal, ready for her to play with.

  For the last two hours, I have been preparing myself, as I do every day. I began with grooming - bathing myself, shaving myself completely bald, ensuring that any unsightly blemishes are covered and that my hair is perfectly arranged in a tight ponytail - another one of the mistress’s requirements.

  Throughout this process, I focused my mind on the mistress and her exquisite body. I filled my thoughts with images of her pretty face, gazing down at me with love and affection as I curl around her legs. I imagined the soft touch of her hand, scratching me behind the ear, or stroking my breasts as I lay back and allow her to explore my body. I thought of her punishments. The sharp slap of her hand on my bottom as she tenderly corrects my behaviour, making me the best pet I possibly can be. I think of her rewards. The taste of her body, her feet, her pussy, should she allow me that privilege.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around and I got into position in the hallway, my body was filled with a luscious warmth and a deep hunger. I know, without needing to check, that my pussy is slick with lust, ready for her to do with as she pleases. I l
ong to dip my fingers into my sex, to touch myself in that special place that is reserved for her. But I do not, for that would be disobedient and the mistress favors obedience over all else. I must be a good pet and put aside my own desires. I must earn the mistress’s love, suffer her punishments, relish her sweet rewards.

  I hear the sound of an engine, then the slam of a car door, and I ready myself. I am aware that my heart is beating quicker and my breathing has become shallow and fast. I feel a mixture of anticipation and apprehension - anticipation of the mistress’s arrival and what she will allow me to do to her tonight; apprehension about her mood, about what kind of a day she has had and how she might want to take out any frustrations on me.

  I blink and focus my mind, fervently hoping that today was a good day for the mistress, but resigned to the alternative.

  A key rattles in the lock and I straighten myself up, lifting my chin up so that my neck is visible and exposed. I arch my back slightly and push out my breasts, wanting her first sight of me to be as pleasurable as possible. The door pushes open and she steps inside the house.

  As usual, the mistress is impeccably presented. A smart cream business suit, with tight pencil skirt and blazer, over a dark satin blouse that emphasises her perfect breasts wonderfully. I gaze up at her face, experiencing a rush of affection as she smiles down at me with glistening red lips that I long to taste.

  She fixes me an ice cool stare, her deep blue eyes locking on mine. “And how is my pet today? Have you been following your rules?” she asks, her voice soft and friendly, yet laced with an undercurrent of command and authority.

  I merely nod and smile, remembering that the mistress prefers her pet not to talk unless absolutely necessary. “Your mouth is for pleasure, not chatter,” she has told me on a number of occasions.

  “Good girl,” she purrs and squats down beside me, lifting her hand to scratch behind my ear. I sigh at her touch, and lean my head into her, nuzzling her palm with my cheek. Then she stands and reaches across the hall to a small table by the wall. I hear a familiar metallic jingle and watch as the mistress retrieves my leash, then bends down again and clips the chain to the silver ring at the front of my collar.