by Ella Ford
I pushed forwards again, even harder, thrilled by the feeling of having a girl impaled on my rigid appendage. I gripped her leg, clutching her slender calf to me tightly and rubbing the soft sole of her foot against my cheek. My own pussy was alive with stimulation as the rough leather of the strap-on harness put pressure on my clitoris with every forward thrust. The feeling urged me on, drove me to pound Nicole’s tight hole harder and harder, faster and faster.
Meanwhile, Sarah had begun grind herself against Nicole’s face, moving her hips rhythmically back and forth and using Nicole’s face for her own pleasure. It was majestic to watch, two women locked in a display of pure debauchery, the perfect yin and yang of dominance and submission. Sarah appeared lost in it, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, both of her hands roughly massaging her perky breasts, her small nipples as hard as bullets.
“Oh fuck yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed and I worried momentarily that the neighbours would hear her cries, but the thought disappeared as my hips thrust forwards and my clit was caught under the tight leather harness once more. My voice joined hers in a crescendo of utter pleasure.
Then Nicole too cried out, her orgasm fast approaching. My hips moved back and forth, pounding the plastic cock deep into her; Sarah’s hips moved back and forth, grinding her wet pussy against Nicole’s face. And in the middle of this maelstrom of pounding and grinding, Nicole’s hot body was cast around like a leaf on the wind, and she was loving it.
“Mistress! May I please come! May I please come!” she shouted frantically, and I realized that it was getting to the point where it would no longer be an option to delay her pleasure.
“Yes! Yes! You may come!” I shouted back, driving the hard rod into her faster and deeper with every passing stroke.
Her breathing quickened and became shallow, her hands snaked up and wrapped around Sarah’s hips, locking herself in place, then she finally gave herself over to the embrace of the climax. Her body bucked upwards, sliding down the slick dildo until it almost flopped out of her. Her chest pushed forwards and I feared that she might throw Sarah to the floor behind the bed, but the redhead maintained her balance.
Then Nicole screamed an endless scream of pure pleasure! From deep between Sarah’s legs, her muffled shouts signalled her intense ecstasy.
As the orgasm took Nicole, Sarah ground her hips against her face one final time, quickening her pace and reaching her own point of climax. Her hand fell between her legs, and her fingers pressed down on her pelvic bone, intensifying the power of the orgasm. Her head fell back and her eyes snapped closed. Her neck muscles strained as she fought against the building tension, then she cast herself in it and the relief of release washed over her. Her hips bucked forwards and she doubled over, still squatting on Nicole’s face.
Finally, my two friends were satisfied and their bodies went limp, limbs falling to the bed beside them as the tension left their bodies. They panted heavily together, skin glistening with tiny beads of perspiration. I stepped back and the plastic cock fell out of Nicole’s pussy. I studied it as it hung before me, gleaming with wetness.
With shaking hands, I unbuckled the harness and the strap-on fell to the floor among the piles of discarded clothes. I wasn’t finished yet.
I stepped forward again and climbed up on the bed beside Nicole and Sarah’s exhausted bodies. I crawled to the wall end, and turned around, laying back on the comfortable pile of cushions, then I spread my legs and revealed my throbbing pussy.
My two friends watched me settle into position, their bodies piled together like broken down dolls.
“Nicole, Sarah, eat my pussy,” I commanded, falling back into the dominant role that I found so comfortable. Without needing to be asked twice, my two friends jumped to attention and crawled up the bed to where I lay.
I marvelled at how fantastically erotic they appeared, both totally naked but for sheer black stockings, both possessing a look of hungry intensity in their eyes that made them appear slightly animalistic.
I raised my knees and pulled my legs back behind my head, spreading myself as wide as I possibly could so that the two girls would have enough room to work. Then they set upon me. Sarah went for my clit, stabbing her tongue forward and falling on my aching nub with surgical accuracy. Nicole found my asshole and began work there, licking back and forth on the sensitive opening. Together they moved, operating in perfect unison, redhead and brunette heads bobbing up and down as their tongues moved across my aching loins.
I’d like to say that I fought off the orgasm for as long as I could, but in truth I was so desperate for satisfaction and so utterly aroused by the attention of the two women, that it was all I could do to hold on for ten seconds of this intense attention.
One minute, I felt a soothing warmth building in my pussy, distant and manageable, but exceedingly pleasant; and the next, I felt the impending surge of orgasm rushing forward to meet me. I didn’t attempt to resist and instead released myself into the furious maelstrom of my desire.
It washed over me, overwhelming me utterly with its mind numbing force. I felt it sweep through me, an elemental force of nature that defied description. My body exploded, my pussy erupted and a fresh warmth spilled forth across the faces of my two friends. I screamed out loud and gripped the bed with clawed fingers as the tsunami raged through me. The feeling of intense, never-ending pleasure was like nothing I’d ever experienced before or since.
My body thrashed around on the bed, my legs kicked back and forth. I felt myself losing grip, losing my anchor in this reality, dragged upwards to the stratosphere. All of those pointless cliches and none were close to the truth of the feeling. I tried in vain to keep hold of it, to prolong the intensity, but it finally left me and I returned to the world, spent and exhausted.
With tingling arms and legs, I collapsed to the bed, my legs still wrapped around Nicole and Sarah.
“Holy shit. That was intense,” I finally managed to say.
Then from somewhere far away, Nicole spoke up. “Bet you my orgasm was better,” she quipped and the three of us burst out laughing.
---
I would be lying if I said that our stupid bet hadn’t changed our relationship - not just for Nicole and me, but for Sarah as well. All three of us discovered sides of ourselves that we hadn’t previously known before, or dared not acknowledge.
And the arrangement between Nicole and myself? Well, it became a regular thing. Every weekend we’d take on the roles of maid and mistress. I’d order her around, she’d dress up for me and spend long hours playing with my pussy. Sometimes Sarah would come round and we’d double-team Nicole, enjoying the changed dynamic between us when there are three hungry pussies to deal with.
In fact, we like it so much that we’re moving in together. Me and Nicole. We’re buying a house upstate - something bigger, more modern, with more distance to the nearest neighbour. Oh, and the house has an expansive basement - something that could very easily be turned into, I don’t know, a sex dungeon maybe? Just a thought, you never know what fancy will take you next.
THE END
Training Her Hooker Maid
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1
Now
I step back and admire my handiwork. The petite blonde is bent double over the ornate, mahogany table in the dining room. Her tight black dress is pulled up to her waist, revealing her lack of panties and the soft bulge of her young pussy. Her legs are spread apart a shoulder’s width and clad in seamed black stockings, perfectly arranged so that the thin line of the seam runs down the exact center of her shapely legs. On her feet, she is wearing six inch stiletto heels that cause her toned calf muscles to tighten in a most appealing way.
Her arms are tied behind her back, a simple hemp rope, neatly wrapped around her wrists to secure them together. Her head rests on the table, docile face gazing at me lovingly with a mix of adoration and fear. I feel a familiar surge in my pussy, a radiating warmth that pulses through my body and ignites my every sense.
The girl is young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen - I’ve never bothered to find out. She still possesses the vital qualities of youth. Her skin is pale and flawless, a curious contradiction considering her difficult past. Her breasts are small and perky, perfect handfuls of soft flesh with pink nipples that harden to rigid bullets when she is aroused. Her ass is firm and takes a spanking really well, I can testify to this with a degree of confidence.
She looks, for all the world, like the classic all American girl - pretty, vibrant, fresh faced, innocent. Admittedly, with her ass in the air and her pussy lips gaping wide for all to see, “innocent” is perhaps not the right word. But it’s all about context, you know? Context and potential.
It was precisely this potential that led me to select her in the first place. The feeling that a girl like her was in the wrong place and needed a helping hand out of the mess she was in.
I swear to you, I had good intentions at the time.
I move to stand behind her and stroke her back tenderly. The girl moans, a pleading cry that seems halfway between begging to stop and begging to start. I’m never really sure with her, and the ambiguity thrills me. My hand works its way down her back and across the soft flesh of her ass, where I pause for a moment and caress her warm skin. She moans again, and it becomes clear what her intent is. With a twist of my wrist and flourish of my fingers, I push between her legs, brushing her pink lips with the lightest of touches.
I plunge my fingers into her labia, relishing the sticky warmth of her delicate folds, and press down on her clitoris. She moans loudly and lifts her head from the table. I shush her and withdraw my fingers, pausing to lick the moisture from them with my eager tongue. She’s incredibly wet down there. Good, it will make entering her with the strap-on much easier.
It will be a good session tonight, she seems willing and receptive. It is not always like this, sometimes she needs to be taken in hand. But isn’t that always the way with maids? One simply must put in the time to train them to one’s wishes, to teach them how to behave and how to act. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.
I think back to that first night and my crazy plan. Like I said above, I began with good intentions, something that you may or may not believe. I swear to you it’s true, but sometimes, even good intentions have unexpected outcomes.
I look down at the waiting girl and smile. Sometimes good intentions have very unexpected outcomes.
Before
I parked my car in the darkened parking lot across the street from the corner where the girls gathered after dark. It was a cold fall night in late November and a chill wind was blowing in from the lake and plucking the last remaining leaves from the beech and sycamore trees that lined the streets in this ramshackle and deprived part of town.
She wasn’t there yet, but I knew that she would be. I’d returned to this spot every night for the past week. Watching, waiting, formulating my plan and running over in my mind what I would say to her. Honestly, if anyone took the time to care, they’d probably think I was a cop or a rapist, but I was neither of those things.
In fact, I was an executive for a top firm downtown and a moderately successful one at that. It would be fair to say that it would do my career no good at all to be caught hanging out in this part of town, spending hours watching the prostitutes and streetwalkers plying their trade with the faceless men who drive up in non-descript vehicles and take their pick of the assorted beauties.
I gazed across the road, studying the small group of six or seven girls who had gathered outside the broken down liquor store. Young girls and older women, all decked out in gaudy attire, short leather skirts and bright tops cut from various tacky animal prints. Long legs clad in fishnet pantyhose and high heeled shoes, no protection against the harsh wind and bitter chill. Each of the women shared the same look of hardy resolve and weary despair. Expressions carved out of granite and weathered by time, aging them beyond their years.
Yet there was something alluring about the motley gathering, something primal and sensual. Raw sexuality, up for sale to the highest bidder. Society’s rejects, the lowest rung, but not yet lost.
I caught a motion out of the corner of my eye and turned to see her. She was walking towards the gathered women from the gloom of the railway bridge, as she had every night. Like her colleagues, she wore the uniform of her profession - short skirt, torn fishnet pantyhose, a faux-fur jacket pulled tightly around her shoulders against the chill wind, but too short to provide any real warmth. Her high heeled shoes were strappy and loose, but she walked with confidence and poise.
She joined the women in front of the liquor store and the harsh light of the dilapidated shop front lit her face for the first time. She was young, younger than her fellows, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her hair was scraped back and, even from this distance, appeared dirty and matted. Her make-up was sloppily applied, a hasty mask to hide the blemishes of poverty. But there was a spark in her eyes that time had not yet extinguished, a tiny flash of hope that this was not how things were meant to be. Something in the way she greeted the other women, in the way she looked to them with friendly companionship, not bitter resentment or jagged envy.
It was this spark that had drawn me to her when I first encountered her on the subway all those weeks ago, brushing past her as she hurried off the northbound train. It was this spark that had haunted my dreams, plaguing my nights with the overwhelming feeling of senselessness and loss. I didn’t know her name, I didn’t know her story, had no idea about her character or hopes, but I could not get her out of my mind.
I had returned to the subway stop days later, hanging around on the platform at the same time as that first encounter. She hadn’t appeared the first night, nor the second, but on the third night, she’d stepped off the train at precisely the same time, the same look of tainted innocence on her pretty face. With my heart hammering, I followed her out of the station and under the railway bridge to the street corner. Then I hurried back home, plagued with indecision, my mind racing with possibility.
After a week, I came to a decision - I was going to save this girl, to use my wealth and resources to lift her up from the fate that had befallen her. To offer her the hand that no-one had previously. I’d offer her a job, steady employment, lodging and food, provide a bedrock of stability in her tumultuous life.
I had the best of intentions and was motivated by nothing more than altruism. I swear to you, though you will not believe me, there was nothing more to it than that.
---
The girls on the corner thinned out. A few wandered off, heading somewhere else, somewhere less cold and exposed. A few got into cars - battered old family sedans with drivers cloaked in darkness as they bartered for services - driving off into the city night and whatever fate awaited their transient union. As each car pulled up, I held my breath, sure that this would be the one that took her away, as she’d been taken each night previously. But the unorthodox desires of the clientele didn’t stretch to what she was offering. As each car pulled away, I let out a sigh of relief when I saw her still standing there.
In time, only two girls remained. A haggard looking veteran, too old to be guaranteed customers, but too poor to seek shelter from the cold and give up on taking money home that night.
I took a deep breath, realizing that this was my only chance, and maybe the girl’s too. I started my car and reversed out of the parking space then pulled out into the street. Crawling along at a snail’s pace, I approached the corner. Aware that I was about to do something that could jeopardize my entire life, my career, my place in society, I gingerly approach the two women.
I pulled up several meters from the pair, mimicking how I’d seen the other customers behave, then I rolled down the passenger side window and waited. My heart was hammering in my chest and I realized that I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. After a few seconds, the two of them walked towards me and the older woman leaned over and peered in the open wi
ndow.
She blinked a few times, clearly surprised to see a woman, and an affluent one at that. “Are you lost honey? The rotary club doesn’t meet on Mondays,” she quipped, and cackled heartily. Her voice was coarse and gravelly, a heavy smoker by the sounds of it. Her chipped nails were yellowed and rough, backing up the observation.
“N-no,” I stammered, painfully aware of how weak and reedy my voice sounded, “I’m not lost… I want…” I stopped, suddenly having no idea of what I was going to say. Instead, I raised one slender finger and pointed at the young girl who was standing behind the other woman.
The older woman smiled and laughed again. She leaned in and winked at me. “I get it honey, you want a bit of rough tail. Don’t we all?” she walked off, cackling to herself and touched the girl on the shoulder. “Hey Lillian, this one is yours, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” then she wandered back up the street and disappeared into the liquor store.
The girl watched her leave then leaned into the car window and I saw her up close for the first time. She looked tired, the kind of weariness that someone her age shouldn’t feel. But her face was pretty nonetheless - full lips, painted a dark red, and emerald eyes that shone in the dim light and distracted from the matted blonde of her hair.
“Hey lady, it’s extra for lesbian… I don’t normally do chicks, but it’s a cold night and you look decent enough. Just no kinky stuff, okay?” she said to me matter-of-factly and I realized then that she thought I was there for sex. I mean, why wouldn’t she? I considered protesting, but realized that anything I said would sound weird and might scare her off.
“Sure, whatever you need. Can we go to my place?” I said, with no real idea of how one procured the services of a prostitute.