Paul Gable - Mom in a harness

"Gonna play games, huh? Still can't get over that shy stage. Dumb bitch," he muttered, wiping his nose with one hand, still smirking down at Monica. "Okay, I can play the same stupid game, baby."

Monica let out a small cry as Jack lunged for her, catching the woman by the wrist, then spinning her around. She screamed again as he twisted her arm back and up, her knuckles pressing against the space between her shoulderblades and her knees buckling from the pain. How her elbows and shoulders ached as Jack twisted her arm up and around a little more, one knee jammed into the small of her back. Tears sprang out from under her lashes as the woman began sinking toward the floor.

"Okay, baby, we're gonna go all the way now… all the way. I've been buildin' somethin' special downstairs for you in the basement. I think you're gonna like it."

"Oh, no, not down there… no!" Monica had never seen Jack's cellar, but he had intimated several things about it that made her shudder with something between hot curiosity and fear. Now he was pushing her out of the livingroom, her feet stumbling over one another, her head hanging down and her long blonde hair washing over her face. They were in the kitchen now. Jack let go of her wrist, pushing her hard between her shoulders.

Monica slid forward, stumbling, her hands striking the sink and refrigerator as she fought for her balance.

"Ooooohhhhhhh!"

Crashing against the stove, her hands knocked over the burner plates, the black cast iron clattering to the tiled floor.

"Stupid slut!"

Jack slapped her hard across the back of the head, then grabbed her hair and yanked back. "Aieyeyeyyeyeeee!" she screamed.

Monica thought he had sheared off a hunk of her scalp. Pulling her head back even harder, Jack then let go and shoved her forward once more, sending the screaming blonde against the cellar entrance door. Her nose flattened against the wood, and her hands clawed the molding for support.

"Down you go."

Monica eyed Jack suspiciously, brushing the hair from her face. Would he push her down the stairs, laughing as her body rolled and bounced over the steps? That thought made the heat rise once more in her crotch. Her pussy quivered in anticipation of… of what?

"Come on."

Grabbing her hand, Jack moved down past the woman, pulling her down, down into the cellar. Monica descended the steps reluctantly, pulling back at times, her feet sliding dangerously over the steep steps. If only she had a weapon, a knife. Surely, that would be the only way she could escape this man, this style of life that had entrapped and entranced her!

Monica shivered as she reached the bottom of the stairs. A damp draft wafted up between her warm thighs, making her shudder once more. The woman hugged her body, closing her thighs and bending one leg in to warm her chilling cunt. The draft continued wafting over her pussy hairs, raising gooseflesh underneath. Monica knew she was going to be tortured. "Come on."

Again, Jack gripped her shoulders, his voice making her cringe. He gave her a push, sending her stumbling forward toward a water heater.

"What… what are you going to do to me?" Monica asked haltingly.

Jack said nothing, swaggering over to her, that cold, cruel gleam making his eyes hard and glassy like those of some hideous doll. Monica backed away, her heart sinking with terror.

"I don't want this. Whatever you may think, I don't want… this," Monica whispered, shaking her head slowly, her hands still crossed and covering her tits.

"Sure you do."

With that, Jack grabbed her shoulders, knocking her hands away. Monica let out a squeal, snapping her head back, feeling her brain grow numb with fear. He was tearing the straps from her shoulders, reaching around and opening the zipper. She felt the dress loosening around her thighs and bodice, sliding down, down toward her feet. Twisting around in his grip, Monica looked into Jack's hard, glittering eyes and saw he could sense her arousal.

"Don't want it huh, baby? You want it so bad, you can hardly stand."

Monica felt her dress slide off completely, then her panties, then her bra. With a quick, savage movement, Jack slashed the back of his right hand across her jaw, sending the woman reeling back, one foot tangling over the other. Monica fell backward, her ass striking the cold concrete floor and half knocking the wind from her.

"No!" she cried.

Jack smiled grimly at her. He seemed about to say something, then changed his mind. Reaching down, he pulled violently up with one arm, dragging her across the floor. Something popped in her shoulders. Monica half slid, half crawled, begging him to stop, asking him to let her go.

"Shut up," he snapped, dropping her hand, then slapping Monica hard across the left cheek. The woman screamed out, her arms flailing to either side as, once more, she slipped back onto her bare ass, barely keeping herself from falling over.

Jack satisfied himself that Monica wouldn't be moving around for a short while. He walked over to a large, scratched green-metal tool cabinet, unlocking the doors, then opening them. Monica stared at the large box, seeing what she thought were chains and other similar devices laying on the six shelves within. There were the tell-tale sounds of metal against metal. Jack pulled something out, then turned and walked over to her. Cuffs! Again, the cuffs, again, the trappings of mastery over her.

"Oh, no!"

Monica tried crawfishing away, her asscheeks sliding uncomfortably over the cold, cracked concrete floor. Jack moved forward, raising one foot, then cracking his heavy black leather boot on her ankle. Monica's face slackened and blanched, a scream dying in her throat as she looked tearfully up at the big man. No, he would get no cries from her, no moans of mercy. Those sorts of things made him only more savage, more brutal, more unforgiving. The small bones in her feet were threatening to crack and break under the force of his foot. Meekly, Monica offered her hands to the big man, turning her face away to hide her tears.

"Better," Jack muttered.

Pulling her arms behind her, he once again cuffed her wrists, linking the two leather loops together so the woman wouldn't be able to escape. It had been difficult for Monica to keep her chafed wrists from her daughter's eyes. Long dresses and high collars had managed to hide some of the other marks of Jack's affections.

"Uhhhhh…" she moaned.

Monica felt her pussy starting to cream the moment she felt the leather tightening around her small wrists. It was happening again. The restraints, the bondage, the savagery was starting all over. And how she looked forward to it as much as she dreaded it!

"Come on, Monica, come on."

Jack picked her up, leading her forward, making her keep her face lowered to the ground while his hands rubbed familiarly and lustfully over her rounded asscheeks. At times, she felt his fingers pinching her smooth, white assflesh. Again, a cry came to her lips, but she managed to swallow it, her feet scraping over the cold basement floor.

"Here." Jack made her stop by a double sink, telling Monica not to move as he slid a chair over to her. The scraping sound made her cringe. "Just a sec, and I'll have things ready for you."

He was standing on the chair, reaching up into the rafters for something. There was more clattering, then the sound of metal rubbing against wood. Dust and chips of wood filtered down onto her shoulders and hair. Looking up, Monica caught the sight of heavy chain uncoiling from a position above her, then falling down fast to each side of her body. An inch either way, and her shoulders would have been crushed by the iron links!

"Oh God! God! This is savage," she whispered, her eyes widening at the two strands of chain jiggling and swaying to either side of her body.