Paul Gable - Mother and daughter in bondage

Janice took another sip of her drink, listening to the light tinkle of the ice against the glass. It was then she realized, that her fingers were trembling. With excitement, with anticipation? Another sip, this one calming her nerves even more.

Mechanically, Janice began rubbing her wrists, looking down at the places where those bonds had been. She could still feel the silk of the bathrobe belt, the pull of the pantyhose as her body was bent back in that horribly awkward position. It had given her the feeling of complete helplessness. And that had some how increased her sexual excitement. It was all so mixed up. Janice couldn't figure it out, wasn't sure if she wanted to as she finished her drink and began to prepare another. Just as she was dousing the melting ice with tonic, the phone rang, the jangling making her hair stand on end.

"Yes?"

There was some hot breathing as a response. Hank. She knew it, could feel it in her bones. A rush of chilly heat flashed through her body as Janice leaned against the wall, twisting the plastic-coiled phone cord in one hand.

"It's been a long time, baby. I wanna get that thing into you, know what I mean. The wife's asleep. Come on over."

Hank's mating call! Still, in spite of his crudity, it made her burn with desire.

"No, my daughter's upstairs and… and I don't think I should see you, Hank. I mean…"

"I mean things went too far the last time and…"

Janice couldn't finish the last sentence. She felt the big man's anger, felt his overwhelming desire to strike her for that attempted defiance. Biting down on her lower lip, Janice twisted the phone cord more frantically, wishing she had the courage just to hang up the phone and get on with her life.

"I said you was gettin' that ass over here now! Now don't gimme any lip, or I'll come over there and fuck the shit outta you right there in your living room with the Goddamned door open. You can let your precious daughter see you then, along with half the neighborhood," he threatened.

"All right, all right," she replied breathlessly, feeling the receiver get all sweaty against her ear. "I'll be right over."

The garage! Putting down her drink, Janice turned and peered at herself in the mirror. She was still attractive, pretty even. She should be dressed in furs, going out to the finest restaurants with a sophisticated man, not slinking around in backyards to fuck around in some dirty, greasy garage.

But still, the woman went, first going to the foot of the stairs and calling up softly to her daughter. No answer. Good. Sharon must not have been feeling well and went straight to bed. Inhaling a deep breath, Janice turned, then walked quietly into the darkened kitchen, pausing only for a moment at the rear door. Some force, some horrible dark force was stirring in her now, making her pulse race and her heart quicken as she stepped into the night air and walked toward the bushes separating her property from the Harrington's.

"No, oh, no, what… what are you doing to me?"

Hank said nothing as he held the thirty-inch length of half-inch rope in one hand and doubled it to check its strength. He had already done enough.

Chains and cuffs! This was something straight out of a medieval castle! When she had walked into the garage, Hank had subdued her quickly, pulling off her shorts and blouse, panties and bra, then shoving her toward the center of the building. At first, Janice had thought he was going to fuck her right then and there on the greasy floor. But the big stud had other, more spirited plans for Janice. Struggling against his big, restraining hands, the young woman had found herself being jerked under the support beam overhead. Only then did she realize a set of newly polished silver chains hung from the wood, attached to the beam by two half-inch eye screws. At the far end of the chain supports were two leather cuffs of about two inches in length, a square silver buckle sewn to them. With little coaxing, he forced the terrified woman to raise her hands and slip her wrists into those cuffs, buckling them tightly, then adjusting the overhead chains until Janice's toes swung at least three inches from the floor.

"Ohhhhh," she gasped.

How her muscles and tendons stretched, pulled taut by the weight of her own twisting body! She let her head fall back, feeling the ticklish sweep of her long blonde hair over her ass as the muscles in her shoulders pulled and ached. Fanning her toes, Janice looked around and saw Hank still examining that rope.

"I been shoppin' around these past few days… down in West Hollywood, at a place called the Pleasure Chest," he began, his voice low, steady. Glancing up at the hanging blonde, he smiled in a strange way, a way that made Janice shiver. "You'd be amazed at all the shit they got down there… all kinds of things you'd dig, I think."

"No, no," Janice whispered, denying more to herself than to Hank.

"Maybe not," he said, shrugging, then straightening the rope. "But I sure found a lotta stuff… and I'm gonna try it out on you, baby."

"You don't know what you're saying," she gasped, eyeing him with growing fear.

Hank only laughed, tossing the rope to the ground, then walking over to a series of brown paper bags lined up against his workbench. Janice followed him with a fear-stricken gaze, watching as he dived into one bag, then pulled out what appeared to be clothespins. They were metal clamps of some sort, clamps with wire attachments dangling from one end.

"This little gem… well, you'll find out," he said, his eyes narrowing as he approached the hanging woman.

"No, no, don't…"

Janice screamed, snapping her head back, curling her fingers until her nails dug into her palms. Tiny shocks of pain coursed over her flesh while she bent her knees and kicked out against Hank, the movement making her body swing violently in the clattering chains, stretching her aching shoulder muscles even more.

The woman let out another scream. Oh, God, what was he thinking of doing to her nipples? There was a sudden shock of pain, a feeling as if he had pierced one with a scalpel! Letting her head roll forward, Janice saw that Hank had clamped one of those awful things on her right nipple. The saw-toothed clamp was biting into her sensitive flesh, nearly breaking the skin as it hung there. Gritting her teeth together, letting a low groan escape from her throat, Janice watched as Hank took the other clamp and did the same thing.

"Oooowwwwwww!" the blonde screamed, her body snapping and writhing like a pinned serpent while her legs shot out in either direction. Her tits jiggled heavily against her chest as more and more choked cries escaped from her lips. The pain shot into her brain, knifing deep in her skull. And those clamps, the teeth, how they bit into her nipples. Janice was certain that they were drawing blood! She thought of herself as being martyred here in the garage, crucified on Hank Harrington's sadistic perversions! The chains rattled maddeningly around her as she twisted again, something popping in her shoulders from the bobbing, jerking motions.

"Hmmmmm…"

Hank was humming some country and western tune as he fished around in the bags once more, coming up with several lengths of red and blue wire. These he twisted around the leads coming from the clamps, letting them fall against Janice's sides. The woman stopped her moaning, becoming more and more used to the stinging pain around her nipples. What was he doing? Why was he attaching the wires to the clamps biting down so painfully on her nipples?

Then he pulled something else out of the bag. It was long, silvery and round. A dildo! It had to be at least twelve inches long, much longer and fatter than the cock he had dangling from his legs.

"Nice little gem, huh? The guy said this kinda thing drives women nuts once it gets goin'. It makes 'em all soft and wet inside," Hank commented, studying the dildo, then he looked up with some amusement in his eyes at the terrified, wired blonde in front of him.