Paul Gable: Her mother in bondage

"No!"

Rhoda managed to cover her face, half blocking his blow. She fell to the right, her feet sliding out from under her.

"Ughhh!" the woman groaned, her head striking the toilet bowel. She was sprawled on the floor, her legs wide apart.

"Not a bad way to start you off. You gotta listen to me, bitch, or I'll take care of you," he snarled.

Rhoda was stunned. She felt him curling his fingers in her hair, yanking her head up. The woman groaned, feeling herself being turned around, being draped over something. It was the toilet bowl. She found herself looking into the shallow clear water, her elbows resting precariously on the edges of the plastic seat. He still had her by the hair, telling her she was going to learn a lesson she'd never forget.

He forced her head down, wedging her body between his powerful legs and forcing her head into the toilet bowl!

"Unnghhhnooo!"

She fought him, stiffening her elbows, tensing the muscles of her arms, trying to push back with her knees. But he had her wedged in. He raised his right hand and slapped her hard on the back of her head, dazing her for a moment.

"Get down there, bitch! Down where you belong?" he snapped.

Rhoda let out a groan, her elbows straining. He was holding her head with both hands now, his knees pressing hard against her sides. Something very cold and wet was brushing her nose and forehead. God, he was shoving her head into the toilet water.

"No, please…"

She felt his fingers tighten against her skull. Then there was nothing, nothing but the sensation of cold water washing over her face, her ears, the back of her neck. Rhoda held her breath, struggling desperately, clawing at the cold porcelain bowl, fighting for her life.

A strange buzzing sound began in her head. Her lungs felt as if they were going to burst. He was moving her head from side to side, her face striking the edges of the bowl. Her hair floated like a halo around her head. No, no, she couldn't die this way! It was too awful! Again she fought desperately, slapping back with her right hand, pushing up with her left. The buzzing in her ear increased.

Then she felt the water rushing around her face, crashing into her nose and eyes and mouth with a roar. He flushed the toilet, jamming her head down farther until her nose was flat against the bottom drain.

"Ahhhhhh!"

When the water reached low level, Rhoda was able to let out her breath, cough, gag, then suck in another deep breath before the bowl started to fill with water. Just as the water reached her ears, the big man pulled her back, throwing her flat on the floor, folding his arms across his big chest and laughing at her.

Rhoda couldn't speak. She held her belly and gagged, coughing violently, sucking in air so hard that she was hurting her chest. Her hair hung in blonde wet tangles around her neck. Water cascaded down her chest to her navel and pussy.

"You're not gonna fuck around with ol' Brad no more, are you?"

Rhoda shook her head back and forth, still holding her belly. It seemed as if she couldn't get enough oxygen to feed her air-hungry lungs. She didn't care what he did or thought at this moment. The woman wheezed and choked, glancing sideways at the toilet bowl, then up at Brad.

"You… pig," she choked out, regaining her normal breathing.

Brad's face darkened. He gave her another brutal slap across the face. The blow was so violent that it sent her sprawling across the bathroom floor. She stared malevolently at the big man. The sting of his palm throbbed on her cheek. But still she felt anger rather than fear at this point. How dare he do this to her and her daughter? What right did they have?

"You're a pig, whether you beat me or not!" she shouted defiantly, brushing back some wet hair that had fallen across her face, "You're nothing, you hear me, nothing!"

Brad looked as if he could kill her. Then his face relaxed, his sensuous lips curling into a smile.

"You're nuts, you know that, baby? You're really crazy. Nobody says shit like that to me and gets away with it." His fingers tapped against his thighs.

"What are you going to do, shove me back in there?" she asked, pointing at the toilet bowl.

"Better stuff," he said, grabbing her by the wrist.

Brad hauled her up, dragging her out of the tiny bathroom and down the hall. She followed reluctantly, pulling back, at times swinging one foot around and trying to kick him. Rut he was much stronger.

Rhoda stumbled along the dark corridor. He swung her around when they reached a bedroom, throwing her through the doorway as if she were a sack.

"Get down there, baby, on the bed," he said, going up to a dresser and pulling open the drawers.

Nervously the woman did as she was told, sitting on the edge of her king-sized bed and watching.

Brad fished through various drawers. He sent up a rain of panties, bras and other personal items. When he turned around, Rhoda saw he had several pairs of nylons draped over his arm.

"Get back and on your fuckin' hands and knees," he said derisively.

Brushing away tears of anger and fright, the woman turned around, getting on her hands and knees, exposing her cunt and asshole to that animal. She heard him laughing, then move up to the bed. The mattress sagged as he slid onto the bed, making her hanging tits sway back and forth. Her stiffening nipples nearly touched the soft coverlet.

"We're gonna have a real good time," he whispered, looping the nylons around her wrists, then threading them through the wooden ornamental rods in her Spanish-style headboard.

Rhoda sucked in a nervous breath.

Brad was thorough, tying the nylons tightly to each wrist, then fastening the nylons to the headboard. He looped one long stocking around her knees, making sure she couldn't move them.

Rhoda was breathing heavily, feeling her flesh grow hot and wet from nervous anticipation. The longer he didn't do anything, the worse it was. She turned her head, peering over her shoulders, seeing him fishing in his pocket for something.

Brad smiled more broadly at her when he saw her staring wildly at him.

"Ready, baby? Man, I know you're ready for some action. Bitches like you scream a lot, but they really dig pain, know what I mean?"

"You're sick, sick!" she shouted.

Brad shrugged, pulling a silver lighter from his pocket and smiling. He toyed with a child-like fascination with the lighter.

"Well, baby, if I'm sick, then you're in one hell of a lotta trouble, right?"

Rhoda felt her flesh crawl. She cringed. He had something terrible planned. He was only playing with her, watching her reaction, enjoying the way she cringed, the way she looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. She shuddered. For some strange reason her pussy started to tighten and flutter. Rhoda remembered she'd read somewhere where extreme danger or anger could actually produce sexual arousal in a person. The hormones or something go wild, producing all sorts of strange side-effects.

Her tits moved from side to side, her nipples growing long and hard. Her breath became more labored as Brad flipped open the top of the lighter and gave the tiny wheel a flick. A tall red-orange flame shot up, flickering. Rhoda knew he was going to burn her with that thing, knew, it without having to be told. And grotesquely this thought aroused her further. Her cunt dampened, juice seeping from her velvety little hole. Droplets clung to her frazzled blonde cunthairs like dew.

Brad saw her, saw her arousal. He felt his cock stirring in his trousers. He reached down with his left hand and gave his stiffening cock a squeeze.

Rhoda sobbed, tugging at the nylon bonds. She twisted back and forth, trying to tear free. But the silken material only tightened the more she struggled. Her cheeks flushed, her pussylips became hot, slick, bloated. Brad moved the lighter back and forth in front of his face, the light from the flame making his rugged face appear lurid, hellish, as if he'd just risen up from hell with the express purpose of torturing her.