by Ella Ford
Mistress Melinda pulled back, nearly leaving me, but then reversed her stroke and pushed the dildo into me once more. Deeper this time, harder than before. I gasped, then gasped again as she pushed it into me a third time. The feeling was indescribable, a low buzz in my abdomen, building with every hard thrust and threatening to envelope every sense.
I allowed it to consume me, making no attempt to resist the furious forces that built inside. I let myself go limp, allowed the mistress to control my body. I didn’t want to escape, didn’t want to be anywhere but here. The fireball that gathered pace in my pussy was the perfect avatar of my submission. Small at first, yet irresistible and all encompassing. It came to dominate me, to guide my every thought, to become my only focus.
Far, far away, the pounding continued; hard, deep thrusts that came so often they seemed to blur into one, until the pulsing waves from my sex was a constant roar of pure pleasure. I released myself into it, embracing the feeling as I had embraced my submissive nature and it swept over me, rewarding me for my obedience, granting me my desire and causing my mind to explode!
My body shook with the intensity of it all. I reached out, finding Jessica’s soft hand. I gripped her as she had gripped me, eager to share the full force of this relentless climax.
“Oh, mistress! Yes! Yes!” someone cried out, and I became aware that it was me, my scream an involuntary reaction that I neither could control nor wanted to.
On and on it went, raging through me for what seemed like an eternity. And then, finally, it ended. My body went limp, sinking down into the cool leather. I felt myself blacking out and didn’t attempt to resist, welcoming the sweet release of oblivion.
From somewhere far, far behind me, a woman was laughing. “Happy fucking birthday!” she purred.
---
The following week, I seek permission from my mistresses to run a very special errand. For the first time in many months, I am allowed out into the world alone. I can’t say that I enjoy the trip, and miss the security of my collar and leash. But it is necessary.
The point of my errand is to deliver this story, the original purpose of my servitude. A crisp manilla envelope with a stack of pages containing the sordid details of the last few months of my life.
It occurs to me that I could just forget about the whole thing, throw the envelope in the trash and walk away, never to be heard from again. I wonder to myself if the girls who dropped off the face of the earth to become maids in the service of Katherine Foster had the same notion - to simply walk away, to embrace their new lives and disappear forever.
It’s a tempting prospect. But something deep within urges me forward, pushing me to carry out my assignment, the final act of Cassie Cook. I knew what it was. My deep seated urge to obey, to follow instructions to the letter. My writing of this story had been the wish of Miss Foster, my former mistress; it was her first instruction to me, and as such, it was difficult not to carry it out.
The envelope contains one final item, paper clipped to the body of the story itself. My resignation letter, giving my notice to the newspaper that I still notionally worked for. It is terse and functional, as detailed as it needs to be.
I pause briefly before dropping the envelope in the mailbox. Is this really what I want? I think back, remembering the soft embrace of Elizabeth, the cruel kiss of Miss Foster’s flogger, the tender warmth of her tongue. I think of my new life, with Mistress Melinda and Mistress Jessica, their strange relationship that echoes my own submission. I think about serving them, attending to their needs, surrendering myself for their pleasure…
And I realise that I want nothing else. With not a single further thought, the envelope drops into the mailbox, and I walk away, never once looking back.
This is the end of my story. Or more accurately, it is the end of Cassie Cook’s story. The story of the maid called Cassandra is only just beginning...
THE END
Training Her Asian Maid
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1
The last thing I expected when I posted the help wanted ad in the local newspaper was that I’d end up as a dominant lesbian mistress to a submissive Japanese maid. But that was before I met Hanako.
Maid wanted: recent divorcee seeks eager girl for household duties. Cooking, cleaning, laundry and more. Must be hard worker, decent pay.
Looking back, knowing what I now know about the enticing world of submission and domination, I realize that the wording of the ad could be misconstrued to believe that I was seeking something beyond a simple housekeeper. But I swear to you, all I wanted was a little help around the home.
My name is Jennifer Clark. You’ve probably never heard of me, but if I told you that my name used to be Jennifer Harper, then a spark of recognition might fire. If it did, then you probably read the tittle-tattle pages in the local rag. Because, for a brief period about six months ago, I was a minor celebrity in such wholesome periodicals. The reason for my notoriety? The heated divorce from my ex-husband, Philip Harper - CEO of Harper Enterprises and Grandmaster Asshole!
Philip was a liar, a scoundrel and a cheat, and I wasted nearly twenty years of my young life with him - from doe-eyed high school senior, to shell-shocked divorcee plagued by regret and bitter self-recrimination. The end of our marriage was very public and very vocal, and I wish I could say that I conducted myself in a manner befitting my reputation, but, in truth, I wanted to take that no good wretch for every cent I possibly could!
Despite Philip's army of elite lawyers, I’m happy to say that I took a sizable portion of this estate, certainly enough to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. And when the whirlwind of accusations, hearings and mud-slinging finally abated, I found myself in my mid-thirties, moderately wealthy and owning a ludicrously large penthouse apartment in the heart of the city.
After rattling around in that oversized space for a few months, enjoying the silence of solitude, I finally decided to spend some of my money and hire a maid. Someone to help out with the boring household tasks that I really had no appetite for. To cook and clean and do the laundry. Nothing. More. Than. That. Honestly.
And here’s where this story really begins.
---
The ad received a lukewarm response, to say the least. A few half-hearted applicants that seemed to me to be more interested in seeing the inside of my apartment than the inside of my laundry room. One girl, a flighty young thing who introduced herself as “Candy, just Candy”, chewed bubblegum throughout her interview and professed to know little about housekeeping beyond what she’d seen on TV soap powder commercials. Needless to say, “Candy, just Candy” did not receive a call back.
I was beginning to despair of ever finding someone suitable for the position, when I received an intriguing voicemail.
“Hello Miss. My name is Hanako, from Tokyo, Japan. I’d like to apply for the position as maid, if it is still … um … available?”
The girl’s accent was strong, and instantly recognizable as Japanese, though her English was perfectly adequate. There was a lilting tone to her voice, soft and playful, yet somehow yielding and respectful. It’s hard to say what immediately attracted me to Hanako from that handful of haltingly pronounced words, but I had a good feeling in my stomach about her and promptly called her back.
In person, her accent was a little harder to understand, but we eventually agreed for her to come to the apartment the next day at noon.
---
The following day arrived and at the exact stroke of noon, the concierge called up and announced Hanako’s arrival. I breathed a little sigh of relief at her excellent timekeeping and told Henry to send her up.
Minutes later, the doorbell rang and I hurried to the door to open it. Standing in the hallway was Hanako, a tiny thing who must have been barely five feet tall in her flat shoes. She looked young, perhaps twenty or twenty one, with perfectly smooth skin that was porcelain pale and entirely unblemished. Her jet black hair was short and held back in a neat ponytail
. It served to draw attention to her delicate features and almond eyes.
I think I’d be lying if I said that I was attracted to her in a physical way in the first moment. In truth, the idea had simply not even occurred to me at that time. Girls were aesthetically pleasing, to be sure, but I felt no sexual attraction, or didn’t believe I did. Hanako was simply a winsome beauty who was pleasant on the eye and possessed a nervous charm that I found most endearing.
The young Japanese girl bowed deeply. Her hands crossed before her and her eyes lowered, she dipped her head and held the position for several seconds.
“Hanako, I presume?” I said, feeling very hopeful that she would prove to be exactly what I was looking for.
“Yes, Miss. I am… um… very pleased to meet you,” she replied, stumbling through the sentence with an appealing perseverance.
I invited her in and we moved to the living room where I motioned for her to take a seat on the comfortable leather corner couch that dominated most of the room. I noticed that she waited to be asked to be seated, hovering beside the sofa until I gave her leave to sit. I found this facet of her personality to be immediately thrilling, a far cry from “Candy, just Candy” who had flopped down onto the couch without a second thought, sprawling back as though she was settling in to watch “The Young And The Restless”.
Hanako sat down on the sofa, keeping her back perfectly straight and her head held up. She was wearing a loose, patterned blouse and denim shorts, with thick black tights and flat ballet shoes. As she sat, she held her knees together and rested her hands flat on her thighs. She looked up at me with her head bowed slightly and smiled. I smiled back, captivated by her yielding presence and impressed by her natural poise.
I sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa, crossed my legs and rested my chin on my palm, studying the girl before me.
“So, Hanako, how long have you been in the US?”
The girl looked at the floor and thought for a few seconds. I couldn’t decide whether she was parsing the English or thinking of how to answer. She looked up and replied. “I come…” she paused and corrected herself, “I came here four days ago. I want to study in American college.”
“You want to earn money for studies?” I asked, wondering how such a fragile young thing could have the courage to leave her home country and fly to somewhere foreign and strange, with no money and no job. In some ways, I admired her independence. It was so different to my own youth - marrying my childhood sweetheart at eighteen and living a pampered life of wealthy decadence.
“Yes Miss. I serve you, and next year, I study.”
“What do you want to study Hanako?”
She thought for a second, looking for the words and eager to express herself clearly. “I want to be a law… a lawyer, Miss.”
There was something intriguing about the way that she referred to me as “Miss”, the way her head bowed as she addressed me. I thought back to the other girls that I’d interviewed. One of them had even called me by my first name! Hanako’s attitude was entirely humble and thoroughly refreshing. I knew in that instant that I had found my maid.
I smiled at her, relaxing a little. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine in America Hanako, your English is excellent.” She blushed deeply, her pale cheeks glowing an angry red, and she squirmed in the seat.
“Thank you, Miss. You are very kind.”
“Now, about the job,” I began. Her head pricked up, and I sensed her relax slightly. “You will cook and clean for me, and do the laundry. You will live in this apartment, I will provide a room for you. You will have Saturdays and Wednesdays for yourself, but I expect you to work for the rest of the time. I shall provide a rota for your tasks. Is that clear?”
I did my best to sound stern and commanding, but in truth I found it difficult. Philip had always taken care of the house staff during our marriage and this kind of interaction was foreign to me. But for all that it was not in my nature, I nevertheless felt something appealing about setting out my rules to this timid creature. The way that she nodded along with my words, the look of concentration on her face as she struggled to absorb my instructions.
I realize now that the faint hint of power and dominance I felt in those moments was the first hint of something deeper, something darker. Something that would only become apparent in the days and weeks that followed, but which would come to encompass my being in ways that I couldn’t have possibly imagined.
Sensing that the job was hers, she beamed back at me. “Yes Miss, I do whatever you want.”
It may have been my imagination, but I swear that there was an emphasis in her reply, a subtle intonation on the word “whatever” that was probably an artefact of her imperfect English. But regardless of whether the implied meaning was there or not, I felt something inside myself. A faint warmth in my midsection, fueled by possibilities that I had previously never considered.
“Excellent, you can start right away,” I finally replied.
Chapter 2
The following day, I had a number of appointments in town - lunch with my best friend Helen, and an afternoon meeting with my lawyer to tie up the final loose ends of my apocalyptic divorce.
After the interview, Hanako had returned to her hostel downtown and retrieved her belongings - a meagre collection of two small backs and a large overcoat. She returned to the apartment and began to unpack, settling herself into the sparsely decorated bedroom and setting about her initial tasks. I watched from the couch as she flitted around the apartment, lightly dusting here and there and fastidiously arranging ornaments and heirlooms in perfect alignment. She seemed perfectly content to follow the rota that I had provided for her, and offered not a single word of complaint at the type or number of chores that I required.
As I set out for my appointments, I felt confident that I’d made the right decision in hiring Hanako, and didn’t spare a single thought about leaving her alone in my home.
---
The day was hectic if unmemorable. Lunch with Helen was pleasant, as it always was. My best friend had a very happy marriage, and a very active and imaginative sex life, that she delighted in describing to me with every sordid detail. In truth, I enjoyed this glimpse into such an open and unrestrained relationship, it was so unlike my own marriage. Whether Helen and her husband were seducing a college girl online to join them in a threesome, or experimenting with whips and handcuffs, my friend’s life was an endless voyage of discovery that intrigued me almost as much as it made me blush.
This week’s escapades involved Helen’s husband tying her to their bed and torturing her bare feet; first with inescapable tickles and then with his tongue and mouth.
“Oh God, Jenn, I had no idea that having my toes sucked could make me feel that good! It was so… unexpected, you know?” I nodded and smiled, but like most of Helen’s filthy adventures, I didn’t really understand the appeal.
The meeting with the lawyers was not even half as interesting as Helen’s titillating tales. For three hours I sat in the stuffy office of the senior partner, reviewing endless documents and signing countless forms and declarations. But by the end of it, I was entirely free. With no further loose ends, my marriage was finally consigned to my own personal history books. I left the lawyers office with a sore back but a glad heart and headed home.
---
The apartment was warm and light, welcoming me with a tantalising aroma of cooking from the kitchen.
“Hanako, I’m home,” I called, not wishing to startle the girl with my sudden presence.
I heard a sudden patter of feet on the hardwood floor of the living room as Hanako scampered out to greet me. She stopped before me and bowed her head, folding her hands before her. To my surprise, Hanako was dressed in loose black dress with cap sleeves and a low cut chest. The dress ended above her knees, revealing slender legs covered in sheer black pantyhose, with the same flat shoes that she had worn yesterday. Around her waist she’d tied a white apron, crisp and cotton, with a lace trim. She app
eared like a stereotypical maid, one that you might expect to find in old British sitcoms - saucy and exaggerated, designed to entice more than for practicality.
“I like your outfit Hanako,” I said honestly.
“Thank you miss,” she replied, blushing, “I search Google to find what maids in America wear.”
I smiled at her, but didn’t say anything. Her attempt to please me was most welcome, even if she had accidently ended up dressing like a porn cliche.
“I’ve had a very long day Hanako and my feet are aching. Would you be a dear and fix me a drink? A gin and tonic would be lovely, thank you.”
She bowed deeply, then turned and hurried back to the kitchen. I made my way into the living room and collapsed into the couch, slouching back into the comfortable leather cushions and closed my eyes.
After a few minutes, Hanako was standing before me again, holding out a short glass with my beverage. I took it and thanked her with a smile. She took a step back and waited, her head lowered and her hands held together in front of her.
“May I do anything else for you, miss?” she asked, her voice soft and enticing.
I considered this for a moment, studying the fragile girl. The creamy expanse of her chest, the rise and fall of her small breasts. The endless length of her slender legs. I found myself entertaining strange thoughts, peculiar urges that had no place in my mind and which were quite unexpected. I wondered what her skin felt like, wondered how it would be to … kiss her, to taste her soft lips on mine.
I thought back to Helen and our earlier conversation. How daring and bold her sex life seemed, so open to experimentation and self-exploration. I remembered the look on her face as she’d described her husband’s tongue on her feet, the warmth of his mouth around her toes.