Paul Gable - Mom in a harness

Three long days passed. On the fourth, Monica was in the livingroom, her mind focused on one thing only. Cock! How awful that she, a college-educated young woman, could now only think of prickmeat, of that long, thick cock that hung from Jack's crotch. He hadn't been around for the past few days, and that absence was making Monica very, very nervous. She was a mature woman, wasn't she? She could control her emotions. But more and more, Monica found herself fixing drinks, swallowing the burning liquor to quiet the rioting emotions in her body. Now, standing there alone in the livingroom with the darkening shadows of evening drawing across her legs, Monica thought of Jack and trembled, the ice cubes rattling merrily against the glass. It was awful, terrible. The feeling of her cuntlips swelling over the swollen nub of her clit took her breath away. She shivered, closing her eyes, trying to push that feeling away. But it just wouldn't disappear. Even just standing there, Monica felt shamefully close to a climax.

Damn!

She took another swallow, then guiltily put the glass down as she heard Arlette come in through the back door into the kitchen.

"It's a beautiful sunset, mother," the girl said, pushing her fingers through her hair. Monica said nothing, stepping in front of the glass, afraid her daughter would think she was turning into an alcoholic if she saw the vodka tonic. Monica had seen her daughter's disapproval several days ago when she downed two glasses of red wine for dinner. And people talked about how immoral the younger generation was!

"Oh, yes, very lovely," Monica gasped, wondering if now was the time to find out about her daughter, about how she felt about… certain things. Arlette walked past, bending down to flick on a table lamp, then throwing herself rather carelessly onto the wide sofa. Picking up a magazine, the girl thumbed through it slowly, tucking her long legs under her ass. With the short skirt she wore, Arlette was exposing her asscheeks in that position. Monica eyed the girl with disapproval, wondering if she should say something about her daughter's dress.

"Something wrong, Mother?" the girl asked, noticing Monica's stare.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. It's just that… I hope you weren't wandering around in that outfit. It's very revealing, Arlette."

The girl frowned, closing the magazine, then laying it on the table. They had had this kind of discussion before with poor results.

"Mother, I'm capable of taking care of myself. Besides, some of the girls at school would call this modest," Arlette retorted, affecting a bored expression. Then her face cleared. "Where's Jack, that handyman? I haven't see him around here for the past few days. Is he through?"

Monica felt a shudder ripple through her body. It was some time before she could compose herself and answer Arlette's question. Was her daughter studying her? It felt as if those clear blue eyes had suddenly become sharp, inquisitive. That was silly. What on earth could Arlette possibly suspect?

"No. He's been… ill, I believe. I'm sure he'll be back. I… I haven't heard from him, though." Her words came out haltingly, strained. Monica saw her daughter's forehead wrinkle, and she felt her breath coming in shorter and shorter pants. Dear God, she had to get away from here, or she would surely give herself away.

"Oh," Arlette commented softly, sighing, then reaching forward for the magazine. Monica collected herself, feeling another craving for a drink, yet afraid to fix one in front of her daughter. The mall down the way. Yes, she would drive to the mall, do some late afternoon shopping, then perhaps stop in for a cocktail to steady her nerves at a respectable restaurant. Surely not to look for a man. Oh no, not that! Just a drink, something that would cool down the aching, pulsing itch that was driving her out of her mind.

Arlette shrugged at her mother's sudden announcement, saying she would fix something for both of them for a late dinner. In a way, she was glad for the absence. Something had happened the afternoon she had left her mother, she was sure of it. The way Monica acted, Arlette was certain that Jack had been there once more, fucking her mother. As the front door slammed, the girl stretched her legs over the coffee table, staring at their fullfleshed whiteness, wondering if Jack would enjoy taking her to bed! Yes, she was certain he would. He was a horny man, a big man, a man who enjoyed beautiful, vulnerable things, exactly what Arlette felt she was. "Oooohhhhhhh…"

Closing her eyes, the girl lightly traced her fingernails up and down her bare thighs. Just that light touch sent shivers of delight racing straight for her clit! Arlette tensed her thigh and ass muscles, rubbing her heels over the coffee table. Yes, just the thought of that big man bent over her mother, whipping the blonde with his belt while driving his cock into her cunt made Arlette whimper through her nostrils with excitement.

"Ohhhh… Jack," the teenager sighed. She could see the ropes now, could see the pantyhose cutting her mother's flesh while he drilled her pussy, his fat, high-riding balls slapping noisily against her asscheeks. How Monica had twisted and moaned, squealing with unspeakable delight with each forward driving, clit-splintering move of his prick. There was the sound of her mother's car backing from the drive, then squealing forward on the street heading toward Santa Monica Boulevard. Was she really going to the Galieria Shopping Mall, or was she heading for a secret rendezvous with Jack?

"Damn!"

Arlette curled her fingers into two tight fists, pressing them against her thighs. She felt left out, abandoned by those two. She was a mature woman… or nearly so. Why didn't Jack come on to her? Why didn't he take her in his arms, throw her to the bed and… and… do things to her.

"Oh!" she gasped.

Arlette flushed beet red, pulling her legs from the coffee table and bolting upright. What could she be thinking of? She was a good girl, a decent girl. Those kinds of thoughts would surely get her into a sort of trouble from which she would never escape! What her mother did was one thing. But she had a chance, a chance not to slip into that filthy hole that…

The phone! Standing up, Arlette walked to the hall, wondering if her mother had suddenly had a flat or something, and needed help. Once the receiver was against her ear, however, Arlette knew it wasn't Monica at the other end of the line.

"I'm comin' over to fix the drain in the back garden," Jack said before Arlette even had a chance to speak. She found her voice, clearing her throat. How her fingers grew cold and numb around the receiver!

"My… my mother isn't here right now. Maybe you could come over a little later… or tomorrow," she said, surprised at how low her voice had become.

There was a long pause, broken only by the steady, heavy breathing of the stud. Arlette felt that awful rushing tingle between her legs, that concentrated mushy heat in her furry pussy while her cunt walls trembled under the rising excitement.

"I'm comin' over anyway. They're talkin' about rain tomorrow. The place'll flood unless the drain's fixed. See you in a bit."

A clattering sound was followed by the dial tone. Arlette stood there transfixed by her own private horror, still holding the phone in one hand. No, she couldn't be alone in the same house with Jack. She couldn't trust him, couldn't trust herself. What would happen if something did go on between them, then her mother walked in and found them.

Arlette's mind whirled around like a merry-go-round. Finally placing the receiver back in the cradle, she simply stood there. Arlette couldn't have been more terrified. She wanted to rush outside, leaving the door open for Jack while she searched for her mother. Instead, Arlette stood there, then slowly walked into the livingroom and waited for Jack.