by Unknown
BC-1010 MOTHER IN BONDAGE by Paul Gable
FOREWORD
Who can judge a person’s reactions during stress situations? The prisoner of war who gives in to his captors’ demands, the kidnapped heiress who joins forces with her abductors — both must act without past experience to guide them. The end result can be either a very negative or a positive experience.
In MOTHER IN BONDAGE, Glenda Williams finds herself in just such a situation. Held captive, then degraded and forced to perform abnormal sexual acts, she nonetheless finds within herself hidden resources, a strength of character she never realized she had.
Glenda Williams suffers through an unspeakably horrible experience, but she comes through with her sensibilities intact, knowing she is more of a woman.
The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Glenda Williams reached up with her right hand and brushed several strands of her long, silky black hair away from her blue eyes. She held onto the long, brown leather reins with her left hand, guiding the powerful black horse around the hurdle count one more time.
“Let’s go, boy,” Glenda whispered in a low voice, bending over the homed saddle and brushing her full lips against the pointed tip of the horse’s light ear. Slapping the animal hard across the muscular butt with her riding crop, Glenda dug her heels into his sides and spurred the horse forward a breakneck pace.
“Up! Up!” Glenda shouted as she wrapped bath her slender arms around the horse’s neck and pressed her lithe body tightly against the animal’s sweaty back. The first hurdle drew closer and closer as the pounding of the horse’s hoofs rang in Glenda’s ears.
“How’d you like to slip your cock into somethin’ tight like that?” Sam Becker, the stablemaster asked his young teenaged assistant as the two of them leaned against a wooden fence and watched Glenda work out her horse.
“Ever seen a pair of tits on anyone like that? She’s over thirty years old.”
The boy flushed red at Sam’s speech, turning away and pretending to be fixing the bridle that he held trembling in his fingers. He’d watched Glenda Williams and her eighteen-year-old daughter work the horse out before, and each time he fell more and more in love with them. He didn’t know which one he preferred. The girl was fresh and bouncy, radiating innocence and wild excitement. But there was a sultry sensuousness about the mother. The way she walked, talked, moved gracefully about the grounds of the estate — she reeked of breeding, wealth, intense sexuality. Each had her own brand of attraction to offer. And each equally ignored Brad Graham. The frustrated boy was sure that neither woman really knew him except as that scruffy person who took the horse after they got through with it.
“Yes sir, slipping my big old dick into that old dame’s cunt would feel mighty fine — mighty fine,” Sam said, gluing his eyes on the woman’s body as she and the horse cleared the hurdle and rushed headlong to take on the second one.
“Ohhhhh!” Glenda cried out as the two of them landed after clearing the second hurdle. One more to go. It was the highest one. Glenda reached back and whipped the animal’s flank. The woman could feel the horses rippling muscles with her legs as she pressed them hard into his sides. It was strangely exciting.
“Go, damn you, go!” Glenda shouted as the horse raised his forelegs and pushed up with his powerful hindquarters.
The woman felt an unspeakable thrill of excitement and sexual release as horse and rider were airborne for a few seconds. The wind whipped through Glenda’s long hair, sending it fluttering in every direction as she clung wildly to the animal’s neck. They cleared the top bar of the last hurdle!
“Uhhhh!” Glenda was exhausted. She’d been around this course five times within the past hour with Destroyer, her new jump horse. This was the first time that he had cleared all three hurdles.
“Good ride, Mr. Williams,” young Brad said as he jumped over the fence and ran over to the horse.
“Thank you, Brad,” Glenda said, inhaling sharply and trying to catch her breath. “I’d take him around another time, but I’m exhausted,” she sighed, throwing her left leg over the saddle and sliding down to the round. “Take care of him for me won’t you?”
“Anything you want from the stables, Mrs. Williams?” Sam huffed out as he ran up to the standing woman.
Sam Becker was about five-eight, two hundred pounds of sweaty, dirty fat, with black, stringy hair that always seemed to be matted down with one kind of filth or other. He carried the foul smell of the stables with him wherever he went. Glenda would have fired him long after her husband Carl had died. But he knew horses. And raising jump horses and exhibiting them were her prime passion now.
“No, thank you, Sam,” Glenda said, smiling briefly at him.
Glenda knew what the stablemaster was thinking. It was the same thing that every man around the area thought whenever she shot into view. An empty cunt, aching to be filled with inches of hot cockmeat.
The black-haired woman turned around to look at Brad before she started up the long path to her home.
“Oh, Brad. Come up to the house in about an hour or so. I want to talk to you about the salary you asked for,” Glenda said, nodding at the boy before she started up the bill for her home. She ignored the snide chuckling she heard Sam give out as she swung her arms back and forth and climbed the path toward the large, white wooden antebellum mansion that crowned the land of Falconhawk. It was all hers now, little compensation for the loss of Carl.
“Ahhhhhh!” Glenda exhaled as she looked up at the bright blue afternoon sky.
The crisp autumn air, the Santa Inez mountains in the background, and the smell of freshly cut grass made her senses reel. All this was hers. And to think that ten years ago, Glenda didn’t have the proverbial pot to piss in. She’d been working in a cheap restaurant just outside of San Bernardino. Carl literally waltzed into her life, paying court almost immediately to her as soon as he walked into the dinky coffee shop.
At tint Glenda thought he was just playing around. But after their first date, she knew that he was serious. He liked the way she moved — the way she talked, joked, laughed. Carl said that she had all the qualities of a well-bred lady, unfortunately without all the trappings well-bred ladies had. He was down in Southern California on business for just a few days. She had to make up her mind soon. He wanted to marry her!
To Glenda, it was like being Cinderella and Snow White all at once. She didn’t know if she loved Carl or not. But she did know that she’d had enough of that restaurant and all the cheap jokes about her big titties and firm thighs. Her buttcheeks were black and blue almost constantly from all the pinching she took.
Glenda accepted. Carl made up a story about her background, rehearsing it with her shortly after their wedding ceremony in Los Angeles. She’d come from the East — Bar Harbor, Maine. She was an obscure heir to the present-day Astor fortune. Carl knew that the story was twisted and vague enough to satisfy his neighbors. Few of them had contacts in the East that could verify or deny this story. Besides, Carl was powerful enough and respected enough to be taken at his word.
For ten years, Glenda lived the life of a storybook princess. Wealth, power, position — they were all hers, along with a good deal of love from Carl and his eighteen-year-old daughter Alana. It was in the final three years of their marriage that Glenda and Carl developed a passion for horses. They started breeding them for racing at first. Then Glenda saw some of her neighbors put on a jump show. From that point on, she concentrated on horses.
“Oh Carl,” Glenda said sadly, stopping for a second some thirty feet in front of the pillared mansion and looking sadly at the portico.
She remembered how the two of them would start every
weekend out by a wild fuck in bed. He’d taken to fucking her doggie-style, churning his fat seven-inch dick in and out of her upturned pussy while he strummed her clit with one hand and squeezed her titties with the other. Then after a quick shower, they’d both take the horses out on an early-morning run. It was good — too good to last. One day Glenda came home from a shopping spree and found the long, curved driveway filled with cats. They belonged to friends and neighbors out to console her on her loss. Only minutes after she’d left to go shopping that morning, Carl had collapsed and died in their bedroom from a massive coronary. He was only forty-two, and every inch a man. Big chest, flat belly, powerful legs, powerful cock. Carl believed in working out continually. “You’ll live a hell of a lot longer with good exercise,” he would always tell her.
Glenda sighed again, then walked slowly up the stain to the front door, slapping her riding crop gently against the side of her right boot.
“A good day, ma’am?” Hilda, the maid, asked as she opened the door and took Glenda’s cap and crop from her.
“Not bad, Hilda. Destroyer’s looking fine. I hope to show him won,” the woman said, smiling gently at the maid.
As she walked through the long entranceway, Glenda stopped at the end and took a long glance at herself. She was wearing tight-fitting black riding coat that was opened all the way down the front. The white cotton blouse beneath the coat clung to her chest and big tits.
Glenda never wore a bra, something her daughter criticized her for and something Sam Becker always looked forward to. The tan riding pants displayed her long, slender legs and firm thighs, while the black riding boots added a touch of masculine power that heightened rather than detracted from her femininity.
Glenda knew she was highly desirable. She could read it in the eyes of every man from her lawyer to the foul smelling Sam Becker. The woman smiled at her reflection, raising her right hand and smoothing down her hair. After Carl, it would take quite a man to satisfy her.
“Mother?” Glenda heard a young voice suddenly call out from above her.
“Alana? I thought you’d be gone by now,” Glenda said, walking out into the large reception area of the living room. Glenda’s pretty, blonde daughter leaned over the polished oak railing that ran along the top landing of the stairs and looked at her stepmother.
“Mother, do I have to go?”
“Come on, Alana. You know your father would’ve wanted you to. It’s just for the night. Your grandmother insists on your visiting at least once a month,” Glenda said, feeling a flash of something like hatred and fear. Glenda had never gotten along with Carl’s mother. Glenda guessed that his mother knew she didn’t come from any wealthy family. She always enjoyed giving the brunette cold, killing looks whenever she could. Any semblance of civility stopped after Carl’s death on the old woman’s part. But Glenda kept trying to be pleasant to her.
Besides tying to make life easier for Alana and everyone around, Glenda realized that the old lady still owned a large hunk of stock in Carl’s computer company. She could cause a lot of trouble if Glenda rattled her cage once too often.
“She’s so stuffy. And all she talks about is how stupid you are,” Alana said, wrinkling up her nose.
Glenda curled her fingers into fists. She forced a smile onto her face and looked up at her daughter.
“Never mind that. You get ready, and I’ll have James drive you over there,” Glenda said, walking into the study from the reception area and closing the door quietly behind her. Glenda walked over the thickly piled carpeting to the tall dark-wood wet bar. She opened the glass cabinet doors and pulled out a bottle of gin. She poured herself a tall gin and tonic. She was beginning to down more liquor every week, something that alarmed her when she was sober.
What was the problem? Money? She had plenty of that. Carl’s mother? She’d had plenty of that before and it never really bothered her. Loneliness?
“Uhhhhhhhh,” Glenda sighed, feeling the liquor bum down her throat and fire up her belly. That damned tingle in her cunt started up again. Yep, that was it! Glenda walked stiff-legged over to the long, brown leather couch at the other end of the room. Glenda kept telling herself that no man could satisfy her pussy the way Carl did. But she was still a vital, normal woman. Second-best was better than nothing at all.
Glenda sat down on the edge of the couch and took another long swig from the cold glass. The silence of the room made her think that a pave would sound like this — quiet, oppressive, chillingly still. She wasn’t dead yet! She couldn’t stand to be cloistered up like some kind of penitent nun!
“God!” she moaned again, looking down at the ice cube floating around in the center of her glass.
That odd, throbbing ache rippled through her cunt again. Glenda leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. She’d have to use her fingers again tonight. God, how she hated doing that! It seemed like such a waste. And when she held her stiff clit between her fingers, rolling it around like a tiny ball until she thought she’d pin on the wrinkled sheets from excitement, Glenda was only seconds away from bellowing out for any man to come charging in and finish up the job.
But the brunette had always gone over the edge and cum with her fingers all over again. It started along the insides of her thighs like a tiny series of electric shocks, until her cuntlips, her buttcheeks and her belly felt heavy, flushed and hot.
“Mmmmmm,” Glenda groaned.
Another attack of the hornies. But this time she couldn’t seem to shake them. Before she’d managed to drive those erotic thoughts out of her mind until she’d climbed into bed. But now… It had to be the gin and all the excitement from riding Destroyer that afternoon.
Glenda sighed. The brunette took one long, last sip from her drink, then put the glass down on the cocktail table and stood up. She felt hot wetness enveloping her swampy pussy as she started walking toward the large wooden study doors.
Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she stepped out of the study and into the brightly-lit reception area of the mansion. Glenda wondered why she was so excited. Then it struck her that she’d invited young Brad Graham over to discuss his salary. She couldn’t talk to him. Not now, not with her pussy juicing and fluttering like the box of some hot whore.
Glenda couldn’t trust herself. Her mind was buzzing with frustrated sexual desire and booze.
As Alana walked sullenly down the stairs carrying her overnight suitcase, Glenda suddenly wanted to ask her stepdaughter to stay at home. The brunette didn’t trust herself alone with the boy.
“Maybe you should stay home,” Glenda said, reaching out and taking her stepdaughter gently by the shoulders.
“No, Mother. You’re right I should see Nana at least a couple times a month,” the girl said sweetly, kissing her mother lightly on the cheek.
“Well, take care of yourself,” Glenda said, sighing in disappointment as she walked arm-in-arm with her stepdaughter to the door. “James will bring you back tomorrow,” she called out as Alana ran down the long stairway to the black Cadillac parked in the drive.
The gray-haired chauffeur tipped his hat at both Glenda and Alana as the girl climbed into the rear seat and slammed the door shut. The brunette stood at the top of the steps and waved good-bye to her daughter. As she turned to go back into the house, Glenda caught sight of Brad climbing up the hill. Sucking in a ragged breath, she told Hilda to make the boy comfortable in the den while she went upstairs to change.
“Damn, damn, damn!” Glenda said as she ripped off her riding clothes and threw them carelessly on the king-sized bed. She stripped down to her sheer white panties, then ripped open the closet door and pulled out a long blue dress.
As she closed the door, Glenda glanced in the mirror and saw a dark, wetness staining the crotch panel of her panties. It was pussy juice, leaking out from between her puffy labes and soaking her briefs! Would the boy smell it? Would he be able to sniff her out and see that she was in heat?
Glenda could feel her nipples tightening with
excitement as she pulled the dress over her head. The rough material scratched her tit-tips teasingly, sending tiny shocks of excitement rippling through her big tits and down to her cunt. Glenda reached back and zipped up her dress, slipping into her heels and starring quickly to the door of her bedroom. She had to get rid of the boy quickly. If she didn’t treat him coldly and brusquely, there was no telling what kind of trouble she’d get in with him.
“Madam will be down shortly,” Glenda heard Hilda say as she stepped out of her bedroom onto the landing. She saw Brad disappear into the study.
Glenda started down the stairs. The more the brunette tried to pull herself together, however, the more she felt her dignity and coolness disappearing. Her clit began to burn like a flaming jewel. Each step down the stain added to the friction of her cuntal surfaces rubbing against her clit-tip. The throbbing in her pussy seemed to rob her of her strength. Her twatlips were red and hot.
Glenda felt worse as she reached the bottom of the stairs and walked slowly toward the study. She was tempted to ask Hilda to accompany her. But that would be an insult to her self-respect. She could handle herself. She was a mature woman. If she wanted to, she could face the hot, young, vital Brad Graham with a cool, sexless eye and stare him down mercilessly.
Glenda kept telling herself this as she reached forward with icy cold, trembling fingers and pushed open the doors to the study.
“Mrs. Williams,” Brad said, smiling sheepishly at her as Glenda walked in briskly and closed the door behind her.
The brunette refused to look at the young boy as she moved gracefully behind the large wooden desk in front of the English manor-style window and opened the top drawer. Drawing out a large green ledger book, Glenda opened it up to the last page and traced her right forefinger down a row of figures. She concentrated on the statements of salaries of her employees, even though the woman sensed that Brad was aroused by her presence.
“Brad, I’m glad you called my attention to your salary. Actually, my lawyer Mr. Duncan’s been taking care of everyone’s pay. But I see that yours is far below the rest of the staff. I’ll have a talk with him tomorrow,” Glenda said, closing the ledger book with a loud snap and shoving it back in the top drawer. Glenda stood behind the desk, looking and almost feeling as cold and businesslike as the characters Joan Crawford used to play.
