Paul Gable - Daughter and mother in bondage

"What are you talking about?" Christine said, still trying to keep her voice even while terror leaped in her veins. Her sandaled feet slipped on the concrete floor while her eyes darted about, searching for some escape route and finding none.

"Over here."

Brad pulled her, twisting his head around every now and then.

Christine was losing her courage fast. They moved from beneath the yellow circle of light toward one wall. Christine could make out something, a large frame – like object standing just in front of her. Brad turned away from her for a moment to check out the contraption.

"Wh-what is this?"

"Somethin' you're gonna like. It's meant to make you listen to me… me and my brother, that is, in case you got any kind of funny ideas about gettin' away 'til we're through with you."

This was mad, insane! He was talking like a lunatic.

"I don't know what your game is, but I've had enough of this!" she snapped, yanking free of his loose hold, then wheeling about and heading for the stairs. Perhaps with enough bravado Christine felt she could pull off her escape.

She was wrong. Brad grabbed her again, jerking her back, snarling at her.

"You ain't gonna leave this basement 'til I'm good and ready to let you. My brother's gonna be home in a sec. 'Til he gets here, we're gonna have us a good hot time."

"No, oh no!"

Christine twisted in his arms once more, this time with a growing conviction that the Rudd brothers were really going to hurt her.

"Damned cunt!" Suddenly Brad let her go.

Christine fell back, one leg tangling up in the other. As she stumbled, her arms stretched out for balance, Brad advanced, striking her hard across the face with the back of his hand. "Uhhh… ooohhhh!" she moaned.

The stunning blow had its effect. Christine jerked, her arms flailing in the air. She fell, sliding on her side, her chin striking the cracked concrete.

"Come on."

Christine felt Brad helping her off the floor, hauling her up like a sack. He was draping her over one arm, dragging her to that wooden device. Now, she could make out the thing much better. It was a sturdy wood frame raised up from the floor by another larger wooden frame. Two large iron rods were attached that enabled the inner frame to rotate. It reminded Christine of the vanity mirror on her dresser.

Tied to the corners of the upper boards of the inner frame were thin leather thongs.

The sandals slipped from her feet as Brad shoved her forward, barking at her to stand up. It was almost impossible for her to straighten her body. The force of that horrible blow had knocked the wind from her. She could still feel the slap across her face while her head pounded and throbbed from her violent fall.

"Come on, don't be such a fuckin' cry baby! Come on, up we go!"

The fog was clearing from Christine's mind quickly. She looked up at the frame, her lower lip trembling while tears began to burn in her eyes. This was some horrible device of torture. She could see that now. Now she realized the Rudd brothers were sadists, men who enjoy inflicting pain on others.

Brad sensed her hesitation and pushed her forward hard, his hand nearly punching her between her jutting shoulderblades.

"Ohhh!" Christine gasped.

"You listen to me good, baby. You cooperate and you won't get hurt… much. You fuck around and I'm gonna clean up this fuckin' basement with you."

Christine stopped, staring at him and realizing Brad wasn't joking. She nodded in fearful agreement, fearing what would happen next.

There was some sort of locking device, preventing the inner frame from rotating as Christine carefully stood on a narrow board, turning around and facing Brad. It was so strange! She felt like a picture, framed by the heavy wood on either side of her. He moved around the device, checking the wood, shaking it at times and nearly knocking her from the floorboard.

Satisfied, Brad bent down and told her ta spread her legs. Christine did as she was told, tightening her fingers around the sideboards as Brad began tying thongs around her ankles.

"Oh God, God," she whispered, closing her eyes and feeling the thin leather strips being fastened to her ankles, keeping her feet tied firmly to the floorboard.

"Now for your arms."

"What?"

"Come on, stretch 'em up 'til your fingers touch the top… to either side, just like your legs." Christine felt so vulnerable as she held her arms high over her head.

Brad stood in a chair, tying double figure eights around her wrists. In a few moments she was helpless, her arms and legs spread, wrists and ankles tied securely.

"Now for a little fun. You ever see somethin' like that before?" Brad asked, stepping off the chair and moving around to the front. "It's a little machine invented sometime back in the fifteen century in England. They used to use it to get info outta some prisoners. My brother Ed and I saw it in a picture book once and we thought we could have a little fun with it." Brad paused, putting one hand on the frame. "I didn't think about you for it… but what the hell."

Christine sucked in a nervous breath and held it, tensing her arms and legs as she felt her body moving down and around. Her head was moving toward the floor while her feet were coming up. She felt the weight of her twisting body increase on her ankles and wrists as she quickly became parallel to the floor. Around her, Christine heard the wood creaking from the movement.

"Yeah, yeah, just like I figured it'd work," Brad commented.

"Oh nooooo…"

He stopped the movement. The leather thongs were tightening around her wrists and ankles, cutting off the circulation to her toes and fingers, making them chill from the lack of blood.

Again and again Christine begged Brad to let her go. She would say nothing if only he would let her out of this horrible contraption. Christine twisted her head around, staring tearfully up at him, her hair hanging down toward the floor.

"No way, baby, no way."

He was enjoying this, loving her discomfort. The inner frame made another turn. The wood creaked and her head edged closer to the floor.

Christine could feel her tits rolling up in her halter toward her chin while the blood rushed to her head. At least the tension in the leather thongs eased on her ankles and wrists. Now she found herself supporting her body on the palms of her hands as her feet pointed right at the beamed ceiling.

"What are you going to do?" she gasped, her hair fanned out under her on the floor.

"Just what you think," he answered cryptically.

There was a delicious air of anticipation, of suspended excitement as Christine shifted her weight, feeling her ass rubbing against the center wood beam that ran up and down the full length of the inner frame for support. It was a strangely delightful sensation to feel those tiny splinters scratching against her asscheeks. Christine wondered about that sensation, wondered why it was making her pussy itch and throb again when by rights she should only feel disgust and fear at what was about to happen.

"Uhhhhhh…" she groaned.

But deep in the core of her belly she felt the familiar tightening of sexual excitement, felt the hot tension building in her cunt while her nipples itched and stiffened teasingly.

Now more than ever she wished Brad would tear off her halter and short shorts to see how swollen and hot her pussy was. It was so terrible how this device was turning her into a rutting, perverted whore. But there was nothing Christine could do about it. The feeling was there, overpowering her, overwhelming even her natural feeling of fear and disgust at what the savage young man was doing to her!

"Gettin' hot… real hot?"

Her pussy itched while her cuntlips were steadily swelling, the frothy, rubbery edges rubbing together! Christine closed her eyes and fought with herself as she tightened her crotch in a wild attempt to put out the awful raging fire of lust. But all she did with that movement was increase the desire.