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

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Everyone assumed that I was Ms. Ford's niece, visiting from college and painfully shy. I wonder what her achingly conservative friends would have said if they'd known I was her collared girl, her owned pet? Or if they knew about the things she did to me in the dead of night...
 
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"Slaves share a bed."

It was the first thing we learned at Ms. Ford's. Before we learned to kneel, to obey or to come on command. Before we learned the odd compulsion to be good girls for the older woman, or the bitter sting of her flattened palm.

Ms. Ford, more than any other, knew that the comfort of togetherness and the soft warmth of a slave-sister's body beside you was an essential emotional component of a life filled with the humiliation and pain of punishment, and the intolerable highs of unrestrained pleasure.
 
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She asked me the other day why I made her dress in pantyhose, even if we weren't going out, even if she wasn't wearing heels, even on days where her only tasks were to clean the house and prepare dinner.
It's a question she asks regularly. She finds sheer pantyhose to be fussy and old fashioned, not the kind of attire for young, modern woman such as herself.
I should have, I suppose, punished her for questioning my wishes. She's normally a good girl, but sometimes, rarely, her inquisitive nature gets the better of her and this can manifest as disobedience. I didn't, though lord knows I would have enjoyed a spanking.
Instead, I shrugged and asked her a question in return.
"What is an owned girl's prime motivation?"
"To serve her mistress," she replied with an almost autonomic reflex.
"How does she serve her mistress?"
"By being obedient, loyal and always willing," she replied. The words tripped off her tongue with ease. I'd trained her well.
"Willing to do what?" I continued.
"To make my body available to her at all times, to be available for pleasure whenever Mistress wishes it."
"Good." I beckoned her close and tapped her shoulder, a shorthand command that I wanted her in the kneeling position. She dropped without hesitation and peered down at the ground, hands resting gently on her lap. I touched her chin and lifted her head. "And what, would you say, gives your mistress the most pleasure of all?"
She paused. I knew she had a lot of options to chose from. Then realization dawned and her pretty grey-green eyes widened. She smiled widely.
"Obedience."
I touched her cheek and she leaned into my caress like a puppy.
"Very good. Now do you see why you must wear pantyhose at all times?"
She nodded, slowly at first, then with a sure certainty. She smiled. "Yes, Mistress. Because you wish it."
 
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Kate awoke on the deserted street just after dawn, rising from a deep slumber like a bubble of air from the deep, dark sea. She looked around, unsure of where she was or how she got there. The last thing she remembered was the crowded bar downtown… and the writer. Yes, the writer! An older woman, charming, unrestrained and unapologetic. Kate strained hard to focus her waking mind on the events of the previous night, but her memories were opaque, as if shrouded in mist.
She remembered the writer’s eyes - deep and blue, like midnight lakes. She remembered feeling relaxed, a sensation of sinking, of floating. She remembered leaving the bar, though never deciding to. Almost as if the decision was made for her. And then a room, plush, decadent, dimly lit and sweetly scented.
She remembered kneeling, feeling naked, out of control, observing her actions with surprise but no reluctance. She remembered pleasure, and pain - to her clouded recollection the two were indivisible. Pleasure and pain and a strong compulsion to obey. The thrill of reward, the sting of failure.
She shook her head in utter bewilderment. Then she lifted her foot, suddenly noticing a cold damp feeling. Her shoe was missing, her stocking toes wet, though the road beneath her feet was dry.
A final recollection then - the writer, standing over Kate’s aching, smouldering body. Clutching the shoe in her slender hands, she spoke only once. “A souvenir,” and then, only blackness.
 
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This thread is so sexually intense.Probably one of the hottest on lit at the moment.Thank you Ella
 
EllaFord said:
Mistress of her domain.
the dark of her basement
the perfumed finery of her bedroom.
Click to expand...

Magical words :heart::rose::kiss:

So missed this thread and was thinking about it last night!
Thanks a lot. hope you update it more often dear Ella! :rose:
 
The Music Lesson Segued....

...into a different rhapsody....
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EllaFord said:
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It wasn't until her hand slipped into my panties that I knew there was anything wrong. Do you believe that? Perhaps not, I wouldn't blame you.
I was eighteen, naive, prone to flights of fancy and an abundance of trust. In the depths of my innocence I fell for their soft words and whispered compliments like a rube, nodding along to their pretty talk and promises of discretion.
Was I complicit in my own downfall? Not consciously. When two older women tell you there's nothing to be ashamed of in nakedness, that you have a beautiful body, that you're just going to pretend you're a model and pose for photos, it seems like a game among friends. When two older women that you trust say these things, two older women that your mom trusts, you play along. Because every step seems natural, each sordid progression is but a short hop from the last.
But when she slips her hand between your legs, breaching the defensive line of your pretty lace panties with a sigh, you suddenly realize. When she pushes her fingers into that uncharted region that once seemed so forbidden, you know that your fate is sealed. When she whispers into your ear, telling you in exquisite and deliberate detail just what she and her friend are going to do to you, the myriad ways that they'll use your body, every sordid perversion and lingering humiliation... When she speaks these words you feel something different, something new, something that excites you though you don't yet know why.
And when she asks you, with calm precision, if you'll be a good girl for your new mommies, all you can do then is nod.
Click to expand...

Lovely!
 
EllaFord said:
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“Shh, baby, lie back, don’t say anything. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone to find out about us, would we? We wouldn’t want anyone to find me with my hand down here, sliding between your legs, pushing apart your thighs, slipping my fingers into your little white panties. What would your mom think if she knew you’d invited her best friend to your room, if she knew that you’d let her best friend touch you here, or even here… Oh, baby, you like that do you? Promise me that you’ll remain perfectly quiet and perfectly still and I’ll show you what else I can do with my fingers.“
Click to expand...

wow, this is the best thread ever ...
please continue
 
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