Older women/younger girls - a lesbian picture/story thread

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I collected girls and Lacy was my latest acquisition. She just didn't realize it yet.
"I came like you asked me to," she said, perching on the side of the bed. "I wore the clothes you sent."
"Do you like them?" I asked.
"I suppose," she said. "They're not what I would normally wear."
"You look very nice," I said with a friendly smile, hiding the burning ache between my legs and the dark desires that rippled through my body.
"Thank you," she said, blushing. "But, don't you think it's a little... revealing?"
"Not at all," I purred. "A girl like you should always show off your legs, especially your legs in nylons. I'm going to dress you like this a lot from now on."
She blinked and frowned, parsing the words slowly. "What... what do you mean?"
"About what?"
"You said... you said you were going to dress me... I thought, I thought you just wanted to have sex with me."
"Lacy, honey, I do want to have sex with you and I am going to do that more than you can possibly imagine." I spoke my words carefully, studying her reaction. This phase of the collection process was the part where it was most likely to go wrong. I didn't want to overplay my hand. My particular hobby was one that it paid not to attract too much attention to. "But I want you for much more than just sex."
She sighed and chewed on her lower lip, tapping her high heeled shoes together. "Then... what do you want me for?" she asked, almost as if she was afraid to ask.
"I want to own you like a doll. I want to possess your body and use it however I want. I want to dress you and pose you, sometimes with other girls."
"Other... girls?"
"Yes, the other girls in my collection."
"Collection..." she sighed. It wasn't a question, more an acceptance.
"You will become an obedient mannequin for me. And, if you wanted, we can explore ways of making you more like a mannequin than you can possibly imagine."
"Oh...?" she said, sounding both terrified and intrigued.
"Suggestion, trance, some call it hypnosis. I can turn you into a lifeless statue, unable to do anything but obey. You'd be completely mindless, blank, utterly under my control. But you'll remember the things I do to you, the things I have other girls do to you..."
She sighed and closed her eyes. I could tell she was on the verge of panic. This was the point of no return, the point where I could no longer laugh off my shocking suggestion as a joke or a goof. This is where it got deadly serious.
"Lacy, I need to hear you say it before I take you down to my collection room. Do you consent to becoming a part of my collection and give yourself to me, body and mind, surrendering all agency to me to do all the things I've described and more besides?"
She fell silent and gazed at the floor. It was now or never, fifty fifty.
"Yes. Yes, I want that."
As if there'd been any doubt!
 
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She looked like an angel, an avatar of perfect innocence. Every part of her was perfect, unsullied, unspoiled. I felt a tremendous urge to mother her, even though I knew she was a woman grown. I wanted to shield her from the darkness of the world, to protect her, to delight her...
But there was another part of me, the dark part, the part that I knew would win out in the end. It always did. It was the part of me that could only corrupt, the part that knew only submission and domination, the part that wanted this delicate flower to do unspeakable things, to me, to herself, to others. The part that wanted to hear her beg for more and beg for mercy in a single breath.
It was this part of me that the girl had come looking for, the part that she herself craved.
After all, where was the fun in being good?
 
She fell silent and gazed at the floor. It was now or never, fifty fifty.
"Yes. Yes, I want that."
As if there'd been any doubt!

Dear, we both know there's actually not a 'fifty fifty' for the one who has it in its nature and instinct. It's 51/49 at worst. No matter how much doubt might be in the way. No matter how dark and wrong the offer might sound, they always accept ;):kiss:

She looked like an angel, an avatar of perfect innocence. Every part of her was perfect, unsullied, unspoiled. I felt a tremendous urge to mother her, even though I knew she was a woman grown. I wanted to shield her from the darkness of the world, to protect her, to delight her...
But there was another part of me, the dark part, the part that I knew would win out in the end. It always did. It was the part of me that could only corrupt, the part that knew only submission and domination, the part that wanted this delicate flower to do unspeakable things, to me, to herself, to others. The part that wanted to hear her beg for more and beg for mercy in a single breath.
It was this part of me that the girl had come looking for, the part that she herself craved.
After all, where was the fun in being good?

It amazes me that how perfectly you're able to turn the feelings of a domme into words. :heart:
 
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cWhFxIfl.jpg

I collected girls and Lacy was my latest acquisition. She just didn't realize it yet.
"I came like you asked me to," she said, perching on the side of the bed. "I wore the clothes you sent."
"Do you like them?" I asked.
"I suppose," she said. "They're not what I would normally wear."
"You look very nice," I said with a friendly smile, hiding the burning ache between my legs and the dark desires that rippled through my body.
"Thank you," she said, blushing. "But, don't you think it's a little... revealing?"
"Not at all," I purred. "A girl like you should always show off your legs, especially your legs in nylons. I'm going to dress you like this a lot from now on."
She blinked and frowned, parsing the words slowly. "What... what do you mean?"
"About what?"
"You said... you said you were going to dress me... I thought, I thought you just wanted to have sex with me."
"Lacy, honey, I do want to have sex with you and I am going to do that more than you can possibly imagine." I spoke my words carefully, studying her reaction. This phase of the collection process was the part where it was most likely to go wrong. I didn't want to overplay my hand. My particular hobby was one that it paid not to attract too much attention to. "But I want you for much more than just sex."
She sighed and chewed on her lower lip, tapping her high heeled shoes together. "Then... what do you want me for?" she asked, almost as if she was afraid to ask.
"I want to own you like a doll. I want to possess your body and use it however I want. I want to dress you and pose you, sometimes with other girls."
"Other... girls?"
"Yes, the other girls in my collection."
"Collection..." she sighed. It wasn't a question, more an acceptance.
"You will become an obedient mannequin for me. And, if you wanted, we can explore ways of making you more like a mannequin than you can possibly imagine."
"Oh...?" she said, sounding both terrified and intrigued.
"Suggestion, trance, some call it hypnosis. I can turn you into a lifeless statue, unable to do anything but obey. You'd be completely mindless, blank, utterly under my control. But you'll remember the things I do to you, the things I have other girls do to you..."
She sighed and closed her eyes. I could tell she was on the verge of panic. This was the point of no return, the point where I could no longer laugh off my shocking suggestion as a joke or a goof. This is where it got deadly serious.
"Lacy, I need to hear you say it before I take you down to my collection room. Do you consent to becoming a part of my collection and give yourself to me, body and mind, surrendering all agency to me to do all the things I've described and more besides?"
She fell silent and gazed at the floor. It was now or never, fifty fifty.
"Yes. Yes, I want that."
As if there'd been any doubt!

this is wonderful. thank you so much
 
0RYNEN0l.jpg

She looked like an angel, an avatar of perfect innocence. Every part of her was perfect, unsullied, unspoiled. I felt a tremendous urge to mother her, even though I knew she was a woman grown. I wanted to shield her from the darkness of the world, to protect her, to delight her...
But there was another part of me, the dark part, the part that I knew would win out in the end. It always did. It was the part of me that could only corrupt, the part that knew only submission and domination, the part that wanted this delicate flower to do unspeakable things, to me, to herself, to others. The part that wanted to hear her beg for more and beg for mercy in a single breath.
It was this part of me that the girl had come looking for, the part that she herself craved.
After all, where was the fun in being good?


Love this. :cattail:
 
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The paradox of being tied was that it made her feel free. Deprived of the ability to move, she found herself released from the burden of decision and the possibility of mistake. When all you can do is nothing, there is no wrong answer to give. All that remained was to wait.
 
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The paradox of being tied was that it made her feel free. Deprived of the ability to move, she found herself released from the burden of decision and the possibility of mistake. When all you can do is nothing, there is no wrong answer to give. All that remained was to wait.

So pretty! :kiss:
 
VBAabKpl.jpg

The paradox of being tied was that it made her feel free. Deprived of the ability to move, she found herself released from the burden of decision and the possibility of mistake. When all you can do is nothing, there is no wrong answer to give. All that remained was to wait.

so true for me. the more that is decided, the better
 
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What is it they say about boiling a frog? If you put them in cold water and gently raise the temperature, they don't even realize what's happening till it's too late.
It was the same with Kendra, my new assistant. Oh, I didn't boil her alive, if that's what you're thinking... but her world did heat up considerably after coming to work for me.
It started with simple compliments about how she looked, how she acted. But I soon started making requests, simple changes that she accepted without question. Changing how she dressed, how she spoke, the way she walked, the way she sat. I moulded her slowly over a period of months, creating the girl I wanted her to be. Docile, soft, classically feminine, always wearing nylons and heels, skirts not slacks, make-up that was more than an afterthought.
I'd ask her to get me things from the bottom drawer, over and over, studying her body as she bent down, letting her know that I was looking at her without a hint of self-conscious. In time, she started to perform for me, relishing my appreciation, craving every sordid look, flashing ever more thigh or popping her heels to show me her soles.
At that point, I knew then that my assistant was ready. It was time to complete Kendra's transformation and claim my prize.
And when I offered my pussy to her, she didn't even blink. She simply dropped to her knees and gave me everything I asked for and more besides.
My little frog, you might say, was boiled.
 
8qSac7Ql.jpg

What is it they say about boiling a frog? If you put them in cold water and gently raise the temperature, they don't even realize what's happening till it's too late.
It was the same with Kendra, my new assistant. Oh, I didn't boil her alive, if that's what you're thinking... but her world did heat up considerably after coming to work for me.
It started with simple compliments about how she looked, how she acted. But I soon started making requests, simple changes that she accepted without question. Changing how she dressed, how she spoke, the way she walked, the way she sat. I moulded her slowly over a period of months, creating the girl I wanted her to be. Docile, soft, classically feminine, always wearing nylons and heels, skirts not slacks, make-up that was more than an afterthought.
I'd ask her to get me things from the bottom drawer, over and over, studying her body as she bent down, letting her know that I was looking at her without a hint of self-conscious. In time, she started to perform for me, relishing my appreciation, craving every sordid look, flashing ever more thigh or popping her heels to show me her soles.
At that point, I knew then that my assistant was ready. It was time to complete Kendra's transformation and claim my prize.
And when I offered my pussy to her, she didn't even blink. She simply dropped to her knees and gave me everything I asked for and more besides.
My little frog, you might say, was boiled.

her surrendering to her mistress was very absorbing
 
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"A gift from the Countess," said the ambassador as she showed me to my room. "To say thank you for your help with the Coriolis affair and to make your weekend more pleasant," she said with knowing smirk, gesturing at the group of girls before me.
"I don't understand," I replied, genuinely confused. The girls gazed at me with pleasant smiles and perfect postures, long legs arrayed like posed mannequins.
"What is there to not understand?" said the ambassador. "They are yours for the weekend, to do with as you please."
I felt my heart begin to pound and a wave of dizziness wash over me as I realized what she meant. The Countess had said she'd send a gift to my room, I'd expected a fruit basket or a bottle of champagne, but this...
"That's very kind of the Countess," I replied, surveying the group of young beauties before me. Each one was more lovely than the last; each one glowing with the radiance of youth. "But I really can't accept. In my country we don't..."
"With respect, Ms. Ford, you are not in your country now," replied the ambassador, her thick accent lending weight to her serious tone. "You are in the Countess's country, and such an offering is a gesture of the highest respect. These girls are picked from the Countess's own college of courtesans and companions. They are born to serve a mistress, born to be utterly obedient and utterly discrete. They were selected according to your preferences and..."
"Wait," I said, interrupting her as she spoke, "my preferences. What do you mean?"
The ambassador turned to me with an expression of subtle bemusement. She raised her eyebrow and smirked. "Why Ms. Ford. The Countess knows all about you. Every minor perversion, every obsession, every fleeting fantasy and secret fetish. She knows about the girl in Las Vegas and the exclusive club. She knows about the auctions that you attend and the temptations that you flirt with there. She knows about the stories you write and the sins you enjoy."
She paused and allowed the full weight of her words to settle in my mind. I felt exposed, undone, as though my entire life had been laid bare, simultaneously angry that the Countess had revealed me so easily, but also something else... excited.
"This is a unique opportunity, Ms. Ford. These girls are truly yours for three nights. They will do just what you ask of them, and more besides. They will not question you, they will not judge you, they are your dolls. You will have the mansion and all of its contents and amenities for your private use, from the moment I drive away until the moment I return on Monday morning. What happens in these walls will remain yours and yours alone." She paused, studying my reaction. "Or... you could walk away forever, pass the Countess your thanks and take an early flight back to America and your secret fantasies, never to find out what might have happened."
I turned from her and sighed, brow furrowed in a likeness of concentration, as if the choice she'd handed me was any choice at all. At the front of the group of girls, a pretty young blonde with aqua eyes smiled at me and shifted in place, resting her hand on the knee of the girl beside her, idly stroking her black nylon-covered thigh, shifting the hem of her short dress ever higher.
From somewhere far away, a voice spoke and I realized that it was mine. "Thank you Madame Ambassador. I'll see you on Monday."
 
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Lara always liked her Aunt Karen. She was the black sheep of the family, a Bohemian among conformists. Aunt Karen had a quick wit and a sarcastic sense of humor. She had an acerbic manner and didn't suffer fools gladly, making little secret of what she thought of Lara's parents and their humdrum, suburban lives. It was this rebellious streak that appealed to Lara, that drew her to the older woman and made her seek her wisdom during turbulent times as a growing girl.
It was Aunt Karen that gave Lara her first liquor, helped her smoke her first joint, counselled her on deeper urges and darker desires that Lara could never have talked to her mom about. She was as much a friend as a relative, and the trust between them was unbreakable.
But trust soon fades in the face of temptation, and Aunt Karen brought such sinful temptation indeed. With soothing words and soft touches, she seduced young Lara, leading her beyond the borders of trust and into a forbidden realm of untold pleasure. With promises of secrecy and discretion, she quieted Lara's fractured mind, allowing her to surrender to the persuasion of desire.
When Lara finally realized what was happening, it was far too late. Her corruption was complete, her betrayal of decency and family the twin reminders of her downfall. An owned girl, she became Aunt Karen's plaything, her toy, her amusement, slave to her whims and the anticipation of more. Passed between Aunt Karen's friends, a constant high of pleasure and pain, of need and hunger and overwhelming sensation.
And, as the older woman undressed her once more, leading her anew down a path that was by now so familiar and intoxicating, Lara knew only one thing. Thanksgiving dinner would never be the same again.
 
I wish for more truly feminine lesbian experience. The only lesbian women I'm aware of look like truck drivers?
 
INCREDIBLE! Simply wonderful. It amazes me how you can picture the deepest darkest layers of a slave or domme's personality, thoughts and opinions so beautiful and turn them to words. If a crap like "50 shades of grey" sold that many, a single short story like this must sell billions! you are wonderful Ella!

I wish that were the case, but I can assure you that short stories like this do not sell billion :)

Ella x
 
she quieted Lara's fractured mind, allowing her to surrender to the persuasion of desire.
When Lara finally realized what was happening, it was far too late. Her corruption was complete, her betrayal of decency and family the twin reminders of her downfall. An owned girl, she became Aunt Karen's plaything, her toy, her amusement, slave to her whims and the anticipation of more. Passed between Aunt Karen's friends, a constant high of pleasure and pain, of need and hunger and overwhelming sensation.
And, as the older woman undressed her once more, leading her anew down a path that was by now so familiar and intoxicating, Lara knew only one thing. Thanksgiving dinner would never be the same again.

:devil::kiss:
 
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