Forced Lesbian Submission Books 1-10

by Adrian Amos

  Milly reacts to my unveiling by running her hands up my chest and cupping my breasts. Her hands are so small that they can barely reach around my large tits. I lean back into her, resting my head on her shoulder as I continue to grind my ass into her. She bites my shoulder as she pinches my nipples between her fingers.

  “Ahh,” I moan, arching my back as her fingers pull on my nipples. I turn my head toward her and she sticks her tongue in my mouth, twirling my tongue and my nipples at the same time.

  Her hands move down and I feel her tug on my pants. I lift my ass up and shimmy my pants and underwear off in one movement, kicking my flip flops to the side as I completely undress myself for Milly.

  She closes her thighs as I spread mine, opening my pussy up to her. As I continue to move to the music, she pushes her fingers down my stomach and between my lips. Her touch is perfect, making me quiver as her fingers split me apart.

  I'm already far wetter than I would have thought, but her fingers push me beyond decency, soaking her hand in my juices as she shakes my clit.

  “I wanted you for so long, you don't even know,” she says to me, “I wanted to be inside you. I wanted to grab onto your big tits.” She squeezes them for emphasis, basking in my pliable flesh. “I wanted to lick your neck.” She does. “And bites these ears.” She does, causing me to moan and shift against her. “I've watched guys fawn over you before. I know it's you're weakness. I know it drives you wild. I know so much about you.”

  “Do you?” I mutter, panting in her mouth as she kisses me again.

  “Yes. I've admired you for so long. I know how to take care of you. You just have to let me.”

  “You really think you can take care of me?” I whisper, wanting to hear her talk about me some more.

  She reaches down and pushes her fingers inside of me. I moan as I hear her slosh my juices between my legs.

  “You just need to give into me. Let me fuck you like I've always wanted. More than just today.” She pumps me with her fingers.

  “Ahh. Why would I let you do that?” I want her to. I want to keep feeling this passion she emanates. I just want her to tell me.

  “Because I know you want it. You want to be treated right. Give in to me,” she says, biting my ear, weakening any resistance possible. “Once I own you, I'll make sure you get straight A's for the rest of your time at school. You'll get any job you want.”

  “Really? You'd do that?” She is merely adding to an already irresistible pot for me.

  “That and more. I love you, Allie.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. You've earned your paper back, but if you tell me you're mine, that you'll be with me, I'll make you feel a whole lot better than all those posers you hang out with. They don't care about you like I do.”

  She really loves me. It's not just an obsession. She wants to take care of me.

  I feel weak, but I meekly respond, “Please, take care of me, Mistress.”

  I can feel the happiness and excitement travel through her. I can also hear a shift in her tone, one even more commanding than before.

  “Stand up,” she says. I stand up, wobbly on my legs from straddling Milly. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a black strap on. She ties it to herself and sits back down in the chair.

  “I told you I wanted to be inside you, and I wanted to fuck you.” She pats her lap again. “Come here, beautiful.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I say, her title given a whole new meaning to me. I straddle her again. She wraps her arms around my back and guides the dildo with her other hand. She slides it in, easily inserting through my slickness. She wraps her arms around me and bucks her hips, driving her new dick into me.

  I grind my hips into her, riding my caretaker and pushing my clit into her. She takes my nipple in her mouth, sucking my pink flesh, nibbling my excitement from my body.

  My body absorbs her lust, slamming into her as my Mistress fucks me.

  She lifts me from the seat with a violence I didn't expect. She pushes me to the table and drapes me over it.

  She pushes the dick back in and fucks me from behind, punishing my pussy with force.

  “I'm going to make you love me,” she says, “I'm going to fuck so many orgasms out of you until you can't see me any other way.”

  I grunt, trapped between her dick and the table. She makes me feel like I deserve this, like I've done nothing but mistreat her. But all I did was never notice her.

  Maybe that was the worst thing I could have done.

  But she's getting her vengeance, and my pussy is about to burst.

  “Yes, yes, yes! Keep fucking me with your big dick, Mistress.”

  She grabs my waist and thrusts as hard as she can. The momentum final sends me over, “I'm coming!”

  She pulls the dick out and lifts me from the table, wrapping her arms around me in a hug as my body spasms. I push my pussy against her leg as her warmth inhabits me. She kisses my neck lightly as my body relaxes, coming down from the crest of pleasure.

  “I just wanted to be a part of your first orgasm with me,” she says, rubbing my back as I melt into her.

  I hear that and only one thing pops into my mind.

  “I hope it's not the last.”

  * * *

  “What homework do you have?” she asks me.

  I cuddle up to her, feeding off her naked warmth. “I have a Psych paper do on Monday.”

  “Okay,” she says. She kisses me and gets up out of my bed, her small, naked frame lithely gliding to my computer.

  As I move to follow her, she points at me and commands, “Stay.”

  I do, lying back in bed. This reserved, coy girl can barely talk to people in school. When we're together, I set the pace of conversation for us when we're talking to others. But when we're alone in the bedroom, she becomes the dominant matriarch that tells me how to behave. I feel safe, no longer interested in trying to win the attention of the people around me. I'm just set on being here with her.

  She starts typing on the computer, her quick mind already working on getting me through school. I pull the covers over me, but Milly turns back to me. “No. Leave them off.”

  I push them aside, revealing my naked body to her. The way she watches me never makes me feel self-conscious, and I feel as comfortable naked around her as I do clothed.

  “Do you need me to be your muse again, Mistress?” I ask, submitting to my watcher.

  “Always.”

  I give her a show, running my hands over my body: cupping my tits, pinching my nipples, touching my pussy.

  She watches while she works, somehow capable of researching and writing while I play with myself.

  I think about my status, begging for her and her time, feeling only content when this tiny woman is towering over me.

  “Oh, it feels so good, Mistress,” I tease her, letting my pussy soak the sheets.

  “Good girl,” she says, “Keep pleasuring your beautiful body for me.”

  Her adoration drives me wild, only making me want more. “Do you really love me?” I let the words slip out, begging for affirmation.

  “Yes,” she responds, “And I know you'll love me soon enough.”

  I smile. “You're silly,” I say, pushing two fingers into me. “I already do.”

  She stops. “You do?”

  The look on her face is precious. I know it's all she's ever wanted from me. “Of course. I want you all to myself,” I titter, using the most innocent voice I can. “But just to be safe,” I say, giving her my best look, “You better fuck another orgasm out of me.”

  She licks her lips. As she comes toward me, I spread my legs wide, splitting my pussy for her to see, for her to lust at.

  I'm ready to be taken care of.

  - - -

  Conquered by the Sirens

  The winds are violent.

  After a steady course along the Mediterranean, a sudden upsurge in gusts and waves sends us careening off course. Men are rushing around the ship, tending to the
masts and sales, lashing down all loose materials. I'd help them prepare the ship, if I had any experience with sailing. Actually, experience on a ship at all would have been useful.

  But I lied about that. I am no sailor, merely a person trying to escape to a new world, to Arabia, away from my Spanish kin. I needed passage, so deception of my shipping experience was the only way to secure it for free, or at least in exchange for time spent manning the ship.

  They would have probably looked past that if they had found out, probably would have just thrown me in the brig until our destination―had I not also lied about being a man.

  I'm dressed in the baggiest clothes I could find, pilfered from the tavern where I found this crew. I have on a flat cap, concealing my wavy brown locks pushed into a bun. I try to avoid eye contact and keep my words short so my false tenor is not exposed.

  A woman on a ship is a curse, one that is fabled to doom men. If they knew I was one, I wouldn't even see the brig: I'd see the bottom of the ocean.

  But my escape is needed, even at these grave risks, to avoid my abusive mother and father. I need a destination far away from them, where they can never find me.

  But as I pray that I am not discovered, and that the inclement weather not damn me instead, the clouds roll off and the waves dissipate. From a dangerous storm to the calmest scene I have ever seen, something does not feel right.

  The sea is dead―no commotion of waves or wind―except for the faintest sound in the distance. A slight humming so faint, nearly imperceptible, that I think I'm imagining it.

  All at once, the men stop their work and look forward the ship. Eyes half closed and transfixed, the men sway in their shoes and are lifeless as the ship moves toward an island without agency.

  As dusk approaches, the ship creeps forward, and the faint sound still plays in my ears. As I watch the island, unsure of why we've changed course, I notice crags in our direct path jutting from the sea.

  If we hit those, we'll surely sink!

  But no one moves, the captain as enraptured as his men. I call to them, disregarding my interest to stay silent.

  No one responds. I run among the men, shouting, shoving, slapping, kicking.

  No one flinches, let alone responds.

  I can do nothing to wake them nor stop the ship. I don't know how to change direction and I can't unfasten the boats from their ties.

  As we come close to breaking on the rocks, I try to move the men from the ship, but again, none of them budge, and I am left with no choice but to jump overboard.

  As I hit the water, its chill consumes me, leaving me stunned in my sudden immersion. When I recover, I swim to the surface, pulling away from the ship. As I swim away, I can hear the crack of wood striking the rocks, and as I turn back, I can see the men on the ship begin to feebly shout. They scream, but still do not move, as if they're halfheartedly watching their own deaths unfold without the ability to stop it from happening.

  As the ship breaks apart, I continue to backpedal through the water toward the island. The men fall into the water. Some sink like stones, others clamber for the rocks, reaching up to grab a hold of something. They don't reach for the rocks, but something on top of them. In the falling darkness, I can see a faint outline of something on the rocks. A person or a creature. It soon disappears from the ledge, and the men that were climbing to reach it slowly succumb to the water.

  They're dead. All of them.

  I didn't know any of them, but such a loss of life is startling.

  But my focus falls back to making it to shore and surviving.

  So I swim, recalling the overhead strokes that my uncle taught me. I keep my pace even, trying to conserve energy as I swim a couple miles to the island.

  I reach the beach and crawl up the sandy slope. I collapse onto the sand and lie there to catch my breath. I look out to sea, but it's too dark to see where the ship scuttled.

  I lay my head back down and rest.

  Suddenly, I realize the faint sound I had heard on the ship is still humming somewhere, but twice as loud now.

  I can finally make it out. Voices singing a melody in a language I don't understand. The voices, though, are angelic, the purest sound of heaven to ever grace my ears. Soft and melodic, they seem to hit multiple notes at the same time, and produce a tremulous quality, as if ethereal to the mind.

  The voices slowly grow louder, and slowly I begin to close my eyes, enchanted by the song. Colors dance in my head while pleasure quakes through my body, intensely prickling my skin as if being lightly caressed. I run my hands over my skin, feeling the sharp response of my body tingling.

  The song comes up to me now, only feet from my exhausted body. The smell of salt and ocean approach with it, breathing it in like ambrosia. A smell, sweet like ambrosia, also wafts in.

  When I open my eyes, I see two beautiful women standing above me. One is bright blonde and the other dirty. They're wearing jeweled bands across their foreheads, like crowns, and their skin is flawless and pale. Neither is wearing a shirt, their breasts free from confinement. Both have medium sized breasts and tiny nipples, glistening with moisture from swimming in the ocean.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  The dirty blonde speaks, “I am Agla, and this is my sister, Molpe. And you are?” Her voice is heavenly, melodic to perfection. It resonates in my head, sending shivers down my spine.

  “I'm Penelope,” I respond, “What are you doing here?”

  “Why,” Agla says, “This is our island. We would ask you the same thing.” Again, her voice is majestic, and I have to hold my breath in order to steady myself when I hear it.

  “I was on a ship, over there,” I point in the distance, “Until the sailors began to act strangely and crashed upon the rocks.”

  “You were on that ship?” Molpe says, astounded, “A woman?”

  A woman? I reach for my cap only to realize it has fallen off my head. My hair has fallen out of its bun and my wavy brown locks have fallen to my shoulders.

  “I was trying to get to Arabia. It seems in my foolishness I doomed those men. If I had not gotten on that ship, they'd still be alive, not cursed to the depths.”

  Agla laughs. Her voice is dripping in multi-tones, echoing off nothing. “No, my dear girl,” she says, “We were the ones that doomed them.”

  “What?” I say, furrowing my brow at the odd statement.

  “Penelope,” Molpe injects, “Can you not tell that we are sirens?”

  “Sirens? The creatures in the stories?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I sit up and realize that they are not human. Their upper bodies are that of beautiful women, but their bottom half is a large fish tail―scales white and glowing―which they used to crawl up the sands from the ocean.

  “My God!” I cry out, trying to scurry back away from the monsters.

  “Stop. Do not be scared by our looks,” Agla says. I quit my escape, settled by the mere mention of the word, at once reassured and soothed by a magical conviction.

  “I can't believe you're real.”

  “We are. We have been for centuries.”

  I shake my head. “You said you doomed those men? What did you mean by that?”

  “We sang our song,” Agla says, “Enchanting those men, forcing them to drive themselves into us and destroy their ship.”

  “Why would you do that?” I ask, shocked by the easy admission of their deeds.

  “Because we seek the treasures of men. Jewels and coins and crowns, their sparkles lining our homes as gems of beauty.”

  “You killed them for money?”

  “Money?” she asks, “I don't know what that is. Again, we did it for the jewels and coins with the symbols on them.” Molpe nods, agreeing with her sister.

  Remembering from my history, sirens are creatures that want nothing but the objects of men, dashing their conquests on the rocks and stealing whatever they can find. Their songs are hypnotic, confusing, and disorienting, forcing listeners to abandon all safet
y to approach the beautiful maidens.

  I don't remember them having tails, though.

  “You look like mermaids,” I say.

  “Sometimes we are confused as such. Sometimes we go by both names.”

  Looking around, I notice very little on the island. No houses or huts, no establishments of any sort. Just forest and beach, most likely surrounding caves hidden throughout.

  “What do you want with me?”

  They look at each other. “We have never had a woman here before. Ships never carry them through our territory. They also are resistant to our call.”

  “Resistant?” I ask, thinking about how I was unfazed on the ship as all the men were locked in stasis.

  “Men are weak and fragile: it takes but a nudge to send them off course,” Agla smiles, superficial and hollow in its sentiment, “Women, on the other hand, are not so easily tricked. They are not undue sexual creatures, so they resist our songs with ease.”

  “So you have no control over me?” I ask.

  “We didn't say that,” Agla says, raising a finger, “We know you felt our song. As we can sink men from afar, it seems as we get closer to you, you become susceptible to our charms. You are resistant, not immune.”

  “So I am a curiosity. What else? I have no coins or objects of beauty on me.”

  “On the contrary,” she says, “You are an object of beauty. An object of men. One we have never seen, and may never see again.” She slithers over to my side and places her hand on my shoulder. “We like to play with our objects. See what makes them beautiful.”

  “You can't play with me! I won't allow it,” I shriek, wanting to scurry away again but unable to compel myself to move.

  “Unfortunately for you, you don't have much of a choice.”

  She opens her mouth and begins to hum. A gorgeous melody carries the air, covering the world as if it were a natural phenomenon, part of the very existence of nature.

  It resonates at point blank, making me arch my back as a chill is sent throughout me, my body tensing as excitement travels within me.