Paul Gable: Mom in a harness

And then it was over. Arlette sighed with exhaustion, her body crumpling to the floor. Jack pulled his mouth from her pussy, and he wiped his face with the back of one hand.

"Gotta get you back home so your old lady don't find you gone. But this ain't the end of it, baby. This ain't the end of it at all."

As Jack began unfastening the leather cuffs and straps, Arlette thought back to the conversation between him and her mother. He had gotten near her, had raped her the way he had raped Monica. There was a sense of shame. But also, there was a sense of triumph, the feeling a woman gets when besting another, even if the rival was her own mother!

Two more days had passed since Arlette had lost her cherry in that brutal fucking spree. On the third day, a Santa Ana desert wind blew through Los Angeles, clearing the hazy air and raising temperatures into the hundreds. Arlette sat in her bedroom, watching the tall eucalyptus trees near the house bending and swaying in the steady breeze. At times, the windowpanes rattled from the blasts as leaves and twigs scattered through the area like straw. School would start in one week. She would be going back to Hollywood High, going to classes, smiling at her friends and trying to explain why she hadn't been around for the past two weeks. All the phone calls that were unanswered or unreturned, all her friends who came by to find her "ill" or uninterested in talking – yes, she would have to come up with some sort of explanation.

Arlette smiled, drawing one finger over her pouting lips while she rubbed her thighs together, feeling that tingly, itchy electricity rippling over her cunt once more. What would they say if she were to tell them the truth. She was fucked, fucked good and hard. More. Not only did her mother's lover seduce and fuck her, but he had beaten her and tied her up.

And even more than that! She had loved it! Yes, she had enjoyed having those ropes and restraints cutting into her flesh as the riding crop smacked her again and again! She had cried tears, but tears of pleasure as well as those of pain. What would her friends say then? What would all those so-called fast girls think of her? Surely, they had never crossed the lines she had!

"Ooooohhh…" she sighed.

Arlette turned from the window, her hands in her lap, rubbing over her sensitized thigh flesh. She was wearing her shorts and halter, rubbing her bare feet over the bedroom rug. It had been two whole days since Jack had seen her, touched her. He had come over once or twice, but Monica had been there, and there was no communication between them. Had he tired of her? Did her mother offer more to him than she did? Arlette sighed, kicking her toes against the side of her bed, screwing her eyes up and wondering about that. What did her mother have that she didn't?

"Oh, this is so wrong!"

Arlette bit her pouty lip. Standing up, she started to walk to the door. Maybe a glass of warm milk would settle her confused young mind. Stopping by the doorway, she turned and caught her reflection in the long glass mirror fastened nearby the bathroom doorway.

Yes, she was attractive, damned attractive. Turning sideways, the girl ran her hands up and down her naked belly, feeling the tiny hairs tickling over her fingers. She sucked in her stomach until her ribcage was showing a little more. Yes, she understood why Jack had wanted to squeeze between her thighs. And now a chilly fire raged between her thighs, a fire only Jack, she felt, could put out.

But Jack wasn't around. Her fingers slipped off the doorknob, and they slid around her shorts, pulling them down, then sliding her halter off. Yes, she was attractive. Arlette stepped from her shorts, twisting first to the right, then to the left, admiring her cunt bush, her firm, red-tipped tits, her boyish hips. She felt something between want and shame.

"Oh, it's so good… so very good," she whispered, her fingers sliding down to her cunt thicket. Arlette felt dizzy, felt her body rocking from side to side. Her fingers were doing strange things to her, making her feel so hazy and dreamy, yet terribly aware of every sensation in her body. When her fingers touched her slit, then spread her sticky cuntlips apart, the girl made a small animal sound in her throat, feeling another feverish tingle sweep through her belly.

"Ohhhh!" she gasped.

Arlette couldn't stop the feeling. She knew she could bring herself off. But somehow that wasn't the same, wouldn't quench the raging fires between her white, shivering legs. No. She would have to see Jack. Opening her eyes, the girl saw her body, saw the flush across her chest and belly, saw the glistening juices dampening her thighs. Yes, Jack would know how to help her, would know how to take care of the pulsing ache down there between her thighs.

"Fuck…" Arlette whispered.

Monica was gone for the afternoon, at the doctor's or something. Her mother had told her that she would return at five-thirty, and it was only three now. Yes, she would go to Jack's. As shameless as that was, as much as it would make her sluttish, Arlette felt she had no choice. She was a young woman driven by passions of which she had little understanding. The teen knew that only someone like Jack could satisfy her.

"I shouldn't go."

Arlette pulled her shorts back on, gasping as she felt the material caressing her feather-soft pussylips. Zipping up the sides, then sliding her halter carefully back over her tits, Arlette adjusted the top, barely covering the red areolas that had by now become so sensitive. Yes, she was a young woman in heat, in high arousal. She could almost smell herself as she twisted the doorknob and walked into the empty corridor. Behind her, the windowpanes rattled again as the Santa Ana winds increased.

Jack's. I'll find it. I think I can find it, Arlette thought to herself as she walked slowly down the stairs, feeling the itchy walls of her cunt rubbing together slickly.

Some distance away, Jack was finding himself well involved with another woman. "Ooooooohhhhhhhh!"

"Slut! You came crawlin' over here practically on your hands and knees for a fuck. And now you tell me you don't want it," he nearly shouted in a hoarse, broken voice.

"Not like this! Oh, God, not like this!" Monica had gone to the doctor's, rushing over to Jack's house after a quick phone call. Like Arlette, the woman had felt the itch in her cunt became unbearable. Perhaps it was the Santa Ana winds making them restless. "Like hell, you don't wanna get fucked around with like this!" he countered, a sneer crossing his face. "You couldn't take a man normally now if you wanted!"

The statement cut through Monica like a guillotine blade. As she stood there, rubbing the red spot on her cheek where the big man had just slapped her Monica knew what he was saying was true. Something inside her had snapped, had broken the first time Jack tied her up and fucked her. Sex and pleasure was somehow related to pain, to the kind of sensations she could draw from the ropes and restraints he fastened to her.

Monica drew back from the big man standing spread-legged in front of her, adjusting the straps of her light, pink dress. But perhaps this wasn't the time to satisfy her lusts. Even though she was so very hot down there, she had Arlette to consider. Her daughter was at home and acting extremely strangely. Perhaps she should get back early and have a heart to heart talk with the young girl. After all, they hadn't been close for such a long time now.

"Now take off those fuckin' clothes, and we'll get down to partyin'."

Jack was unbuckling his belt, opening the front of his Levi's. Lowering her eyes, Monica could see that bulge between his legs, pressing up against the front of his jeans once more. His prick was hard – hard and thick, ready to ream into her after some foreplay. And Monica knew only too well what kind of foreplay Jack wanted. She trembled, backing away, her hands crossed over one another, then gripped her narrow shoulders.