Lesbian BDSM Mega Bundle Read online

  Lesbian BDSM Mega Bundle

  by Ella Ford

  Making Their Maid

  Breaking Their Maid

  Taking Their Maid

  Collecting Beth, Shy Intern

  Collecting Chloe, Society Brat

  Collecting Christa, Curious Lawyer

  Owned

  Bound

  Used

  How I Became Her Pet

  Lesbian Layover

  Copyright © 2016 Ella Ford. All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First published 2016 by Second Wolf Publishing

  http://secondwolf.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. All characters are 18 or over. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Making Their Maid

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Breaking Their Maid

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Taking Their Maid

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Collecting Beth, Shy Intern

  Chapter 1: The Viewing Room

  Chapter 2: Acceptance

  Chapter 3: Choices

  Chapter 4: Delivery

  Epilogue: Collected

  Collecting Chloe, Society Brat

  Chapter 1: Play Time

  Chapter 2: Entitlement

  Chapter 3: Capitulation

  Epilogue

  Collecting Christa, Curious Lawyer

  Chapter 1: Sharing

  Chapter 2: The Hearing

  Chapter 3: Christa

  Chapter 4: The Graduate

  Epilogue: The Gift

  Owned

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Bound

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: The Exhibition

  Chapter 2: The Private Viewing

  Chapter 3: A Very Special Project

  Used

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Epilogue

  How I Became Her Pet

  Chapter 1: Obedience

  Chapter 2: Adoption

  Chapter 3: Training

  Chapter 4: Breaking Her In

  Lesbian Layover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Epilogue

  More by Ella Ford

  Making Their Maid

  by Ella Ford

  Prologue

  The two girls stood side by side, almost completely naked. The brunette wore pretty white stockings, held up by a frilly lace garter belt, and strappy silver sandals on her dainty feet. She was winsome and refined, with shoulder length curls that framed her delicate, pale features. The hooker was a stark contrast to her companion. She wore only bright red platform heels with a peep toe. Her hair was long and straight and a rich auburn. Where the brunette was small and fragile, the hooker was curved and unsubtle; full breasts and wide hips with a face that was painted to entice.

  Both girls’ arms were crossed behind their backs; they stood with their shoulders almost touching and their feet spread slightly apart, waiting. The brunette appeared calm and composed, happy to stand like this for as long as was required, while the hooker appeared twitchy and nervous, clearly resenting this enforced servitude.

  What a pretty pair they make, thought the blonde as she watched them from the hard backed chair. The virgin and the harlot, she added, then smiled at the idea that the brunette was anything like a virgin. Still, she played the role well enough.

  “Listen lady, I told ya, I ain’t into this kinky stuff okay?” protested the hooker with no real conviction in her voice. “I’ll do girls, but this…” she added, trailing off as the blonde locked her withering stare on her.

  “Fine. Then leave. You know the arrangement. Three thousand dollars for one night of your time. If you don’t want it, then Vegas is not short of hookers who will.” She flicked her icy blue eyes across the room to the desk and the pile of crisp, one hundred dollar bills. The hooker followed her gaze and sighed, shoulders slumping as she resigned herself to her fate.

  The blonde turned back to the girls and studied them idly for a few moments, enjoying the submissive way that they stood to attention. She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and placed her chin in her palm.

  “Turn to face each other,” she whispered. She was no stranger to the company of Vegas hookers, enjoying their company whenever she came to this dreadful city on business. But she had never involved the brunette before. Her mind raced with the possibilities and the thrill of control.

  The two girls turned on their heels, the brunette reacting smartly and instantly, the hooker taking an eternity of seconds to respond.

  “Stand closer,” said the blonde, gesturing them together with a sweep of her hand. The two girls shuffled towards each other until their breasts were pushed together and their toes were almost touching. They stared into each other's eyes, lacking anywhere else to look. It almost looks romantic, thought the blonde with a smirk. She found herself relishing the way their nipples brushed against each other as they breathed, the way the hooker looked down on the shorter brunette.

  “Why don’t you kiss for me?” purred the blonde, crossing her legs and shifting her body in the seat. She could feel her excitement growing, enjoying how it felt to dictate her wishes to the two girls, the way they looked together.

  The hooker snorted in protest, a feeble attempt at rebellion, but then she leaned her head forwards and touched her ruby lips against the brunette’s delicate mouth. The pair were nervous and restrained at first, each kiss nothing more than a light peck, but they soon found themselves lost in the moment and gave in to their desires. In no time at all, their hungry tongues were rolling together, eyes squeezed tightly shut and lips sliding back and forth.

  The blonde allowed them to enjoy each other for several minutes, studying their movements, cataloging the points of contacts on their bodies and the intimate friction they caused as they moved together. Then she stood and slipped the black satin robe off her shoulders.

  The hooker caught sight of her standing from the corner of her eye and gasped, pausing with her lips pressed against the brunette’s. Hanging between the legs of the blonde was an enormous plastic appendage, fastened to her body with an intricate arrangement of thin leather straps that snaked around her waist and through her legs. The blonde swung her hips provocatively, and the thick length swayed before her, a meaty metronome marking out the rhythm of her desire.

  The hooker’s eyes widened and she broke off the kiss, opening her mouth to protest.

  “Don’t even think about it, bitch
,” said the blonde with a viper’s smile. “Now both of you, bend over the bed. Let me see those pretty slut pussies of yours,” she commanded, not giving the slightest hint that this was anything other than a firm requirement.

  “Y-yes ma’am,” said the hooker, still eyeing the swaying rod. The brunette nodded as well, her face sparkling with a different emotion to the hooker: anticipation.

  The girls stepped across the room, hand in hand, then dropped together to kneel beside the bed, bending their bodies to rest on the silken bedsheets and spreading their legs wide to reveal the treasures that lay there.

  The blonde casually followed them, watching them move, relishing their bodies and the sense of nervous trepidation that filled the room.

  I’m going to enjoy this, she thought and lowered herself into position behind the trembling hooker.

  The hooker left the room at three am, exhausted and spent, clutching the pile of notes to her chest.

  After she left, the brunette and the blonde curled up on the bed together, the petite brunette resting her head on the blonde’s lap adoringly. The blonde stoked her slender fingers through the other girl’s curls and sighed contentedly.

  “I enjoyed seeing you with another woman,” she said.

  The brunette sighed and smiled, stroking her hand up the inside of the blonde’s naked thigh, not saying a word.

  The blonde thought for a moment, then spoke. “I think it’s time that I got you a plaything.”

  Chapter 1

  “Oh hi! You’re early! Hang on a second, I’ll buzz you in,” said a soft female voice through the gate intercom.

  I took a step back and peered through the imposing wrought iron gates at the house beyond. It was single level and pristine, nestled in the hills overlooking the city and surrounded by a high white wall. The house was modern and clean, with sharp lines and crisp corners, a modern fortress that betrayed no hint of the comfort within.

  After a few seconds, the gate began to trundle to the side, propelled by an unseen mechanism hidden in the wall. I took a deep breath, then started to walk up the long path to the house’s intimidatingly large door. I clutched my bag to my side, suddenly very nervous and apprehensive. I needed this job so badly, I really hoped I didn’t screw it up.

  As I approached, the door swung open and a woman stepped out to greet me. A petite brunette with porcelain skin and delicate features. She was wearing a light summer dress with a pretty floral print, tied around her slender neck with a single strap, leaving her shoulders and back bare and revealing her pale, unblemished skin.

  “Hi!” she said pleasantly. a warm smile spreading across her refined face “You must be Leanne?”

  I took a deep breath and composed myself. “Yes, I’m Leanne. I’m pleased to meet you.” I held out my hand and she took it in hers, shaking enthusiastically. “We spoke on the phone?” I added.

  “Yes, yes. You’re the art history major?”

  I blushed, remembering that I’d given the woman as much detail as I could, desperate to get the interview. I’m not sure that having a degree was strictly necessary for the role of housekeeper, but it couldn’t hurt, I figured. “Ah, yes,” I replied with a smirk, “my greatest folly!”

  She smiled back at me and cocked her head to the side. “Oh nonsense,” she said, “what is it they say? ‘An education is something that stays with you long after what you’ve learned has been forgotten’!” She laughed at this and I joined her, instantly put at ease by this woman’s pleasant nature.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Anyway, I’m Sarah Goddard, it’s very nice to meet you. Won’t you come in?” she said, stepping aside and motioning inside the house. I smiled at her again and nodded, then stepped past her through the door.

  The contrast between the interior and exterior of the house was shocking. From the outside, the house looked cold and imposing, a featureless, white facade that gave little hint of its true character. But the inside was the complete opposite. Warm and welcoming, with endless personal touches and intricate features.

  As I stepped into the wide entrance hall, I gazed around at my surroundings, taking in the rich wooden decor and fine furnishings. It was worlds away from my college dorm or the ratty little one room apartment that I’d rented in the city. I felt instantly at ease, calmed by the warmth of the home.

  “We’ll chat in the living room, it’s through there,” said Sarah, gesturing through a broad arch into a vast, open space beyond. I thanked her and stepped through, aware of the way my heels clicked on the oak floor as I walked. “I hope you’ll forgive us, I just got a text from CJ. The traffic on the turnpike is horrendous apparently, so you may have a little wait before we can get started. Is that okay?”

  I nodded, wanting to appear as flexible as I possibly could.

  She touched me on my upper arm, an intimate gesture that seemed friendly yet out of place. “Excellent! Please, take a seat. I was just fixing a coffee, would you like one?”

  I smiled. “I’d love a coffee. White, no sugar, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back,” she said and turned on her heel, stepping off towards the kitchen area.

  I looked around, taking in my surroundings and admiring the view from the vast glass doors that dominated the far wall of the room and the pristine, azure pool on the deck outside. Oh god, I thought to myself, I have to get this job.

  As I lowered myself down onto the comfortable sofa, I thought about how I’d got here.

  It would be fair to say that I’d been down on my luck a little lately. Graduating with an art history major had been a rude slap in the face, as I realized that very few people actually cared about art or history, let alone art history. If I’d lived in San Francisco, or New York, then maybe I’d have had better luck, but the job prospects for someone with my qualifications were effectively nil here in the mid-west. It didn’t seem to matter that I had been head cheerleader, or class president, or that I’d graduated valedictorian. All that employers cared about were experience and knowledge, and I had neither. I’d even tried raising my skirts and lowering my tops, attempting to leverage the womanly features that I’d been blessed with. But even that did little other than get me scrutinised uncomfortably by a succession of middle aged men (and some women!).

  Even worse, I found that I was overqualified for more menial roles, getting turned away from burger joints and diners with as much regularity as more skilled roles.

  I was about to give up and call my parents, suffering the humiliating prospect of asking for help and accepting what they’d always told me: some degrees are more of a millstone than an advantage. With a heavy heart, I gave the classified ads one final glance, not really believing that I would find anything suitable. But one advertisement caught my eye:

  Professional couple seeks live-in maid. Competitive pay, non-smoker only, discretion a must. Call 555-453-909.

  I’m not sure what it was about the tiny, unassuming text. It didn’t even stand out on the page, sinking among the gaudy work-from-home scams and burger flipper ads. But my eye was drawn to it, and I found myself compelled by the quaintly old-fashioned prospect. Without a single moment of hesitation, I’d called the number and my course was set.

  And here I was, sitting in the most opulent house I’d ever been in, feeling strangely underdressed and ungainly beside the refined and graceful Sarah Goddard. I found myself wondering what her husband was like, the mysterious CJ. I glanced around the room, hoping to see a photo, but the couple seemed to prefer abstract art and eclectic ornaments to pictures of themselves. Anyway, whatever CJ Goddard was like, he must be very successful. Such a house, up here in the exclusive hillside suburbs, must be worth two million easily.

  Sarah Goddard stepped back into the room, her wedge heels tapping on the wooden floor, and I turned to her with a smile. I felt relaxed and at ease here in this welcoming house with its friendly owner. She approached the sofa and placed an ornate tray with three coffee cups on it. As she bent down
, I couldn’t help but notice as her loose summer dress pulled tight across her bottom. No visible pantie line, the minx! I thought to myself and felt instantly guilty. Such reprehensible thoughts were a relic of my time as a cheerleader and had no place in my life now.

  “I’m sure CJ will be here in a few minutes. The traffic isn’t normally this bad,” she said apologetically as she sat down opposite me. As I watched, the petite brunette straightened herself up, holding her neck and spine perfectly straight and laid her hands flat on her lap. There was something peculiar about the way she held herself, something rigid and proper. I studied her, attempting to gauge the woman that sat before me.

  She seemed to be young, only a few years older than me. Her porcelain features were doll-like and delicate, with a button nose and rich, brown eyes. She wore minimal make-up, not appearing to need it with her fresh, youthful complexion.

  As I studied her, she appeared to be doing the same to me. She sat in silence and gazed at me, appearing to be in a semi-trance, scrutinizing me with those eyes like pools of darkness. Reflexively, I felt myself mirroring her pose, pulling my spine straight and lifting my head.

  I coughed, suddenly needing to break the silence between us, and reached forward to pick up my coffee. “What is it that you do Mrs Goddard?” I asked, scrambling around for a question to ask.

  She smiled back at me, and I realized for the first time that her smile was a painted facade, an autonomic response that was android-like and superficial. I wondered what she was really thinking beneath that pretty, youthful face. “Oh, I guess you could say that I’m a housewife. I look after CJ,” she said, leaving the sentence hanging like that as if she wanted to add more but was stopped by some instinct that I couldn’t identify.

  I pondered this, wondering what secrets lay in this house, my previous feeling of security and comfort shaken slightly. What hold did CJ have over his wife? What was the truth of their relationship?