J Bradley: Wife in bondage

She couldn't see clearly, but she could see. What she saw made her heart pound and her shameless pussy twitch in spite of her resolve that it would dictate to her no more.

Velma's T-shirt was up over her big, pointed tits. The firm cones jutted and jiggled. The nipples stretched from the ends like ruby nubs.

Her naked ass was round and tight and lushly wide. It shook and swiveled and pumped back and forth. Ellen could see the girl's mound, the blonde fuzz of her pubes.

She could see the puffy cunt lips, too, the way they separated succulently around the thick cock imbedded between them. She saw them slide up and down the orgasming shaft, her vaginal muscles milking and sucking.

The spike of her clit peeped between the fleshy lips at the top of her cleft. It was unusually long. It throbbed redly as the girl came and tossed her head and squealed out her orgasm.

But what caught Ellen's eye, what she really stared at through the thin spot in the black blindfold, was Stan's jamming, stuffing, bucking cock.

The weave of material made the vision fuzzy, but it didn't hide the quick revulsion that swept through her.

She had sucked that cock. She had swallowed the white syrup that spurted from it. She could see a foaming sample of it right now at the mouth of Velma's quivering pussy flesh as the stuff blasted up into her succulent cunt and drained backwards and was whipped to a froth by the stirring and pumping of his cock in the girl's flowing cunt.

Ellen wanted to gag. She felt her throat constrict. She even tipped her head forward slightly. Her body seemed to catch. And then she shuddered instead.

She shook all over, her cunt tunnel squeezing and sucking just the way Velma's pussy was doing right now at the peak of her orgasm. Tingles went all through her body, even to her fingertips and the ends of her swollen tits.

God, she'd come again! She'd had an orgasm!

Ellen gasped. A long, low moan escaped her lips. She'd just imagined it. And yet her pussy felt warm and lush, fluid and silky inside. And the warmth was spreading through her abdomen so that there was no doubt.

Shameless, foul!

That's what she was. Gram had been right all along. There was no way she would ever change, no matter how hard she tried, no matter who she married or what airs she put on.

An adult woman who sat tied to a chair, in fear of her life, at the mercy of her frightening, animalistic kidnappers who had just assaulted her and raped her – such a woman, peering through the worn threads of her blindfold until she had a voyeuristic orgasm, was beyond redemption. Utterly worthless!

Burke Chidsey looked at his watch again. It was after one. The showing had ended at ten-thirty. Even allowing for something to eat or drink afterwards with a friend she hadn't expected to meet there, she was still too late. Besides, she would have called and told him. Ellen was that way.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it in the pit of his gut.

He took a sip of the drink he'd just made, made a face, and threw it out. He glanced at his watch again. It didn't tell him a damn thing.

He smacked his fist into his palm. He caught sight of the motion in the dark kitchen window, his reflection dim on the glass. He looked at the vague image of himself and saw the brown hair, the broad shoulders and good build, the fuzzy outlines of his features. He knew them to be slightly craggy, but they were bland in the bad mirroring by the window.

He didn't feel bland. Not a damn bit. He kept picturing the big car twisted around a tree, all shattered glass and torn, crumpled metal.

He kept picturing her pretty face, marred with blood, ashen gray under the streaks, her lips bluish, her auburn hair strewn about, her eyes staring and popped and seeing nothing. Or would they be closed?

He wrenched his mind away from the image and moved purposely through the big house toward his study. He stood by his desk and put his hand on the phone. He hesitated. He looked at the creeping hands of his watch again. He took his hand from the phone.

He turned and clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the portraits of his parents on the wall. They were turned toward each other. They were smiling.

They hadn't been smiling the last time he'd seen them. Nor had his wife or his little girl, who had driven over to Marion to pick up his parents.

They'd been screaming in silent terror, their voices stopped by the sturdy, impenetrable oak the sleepy drunk had made them run into when his car had wandered in their path.

Burke squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about them. He should assume Ellen was all right. But when it had happened once in your life and had wiped out your whole family at the same time, it was difficult not to imagine the worst had happened again.

He sighed heavily. He was bone tired and was beginning to feel it. He'd worked late by himself at the store, trying to finish the inventory. He'd even let Wanda go at five, confident that if he put himself to it, he could finish early enough to be back when Ellen returned.

The image of his salesgirl floated in his mind. Girl, hell! She was all woman – lush and curving and one of the most sensual he'd ever met.

Her hair was raven and glossy. She wore it long. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth wide and full. Her eyes were shockingly violet. Her tits were high and wide-spaced, appearing larger than they were by the way she carried herself.

She could have looked sluttishly cheap any time she dressed for it. Her waist was slim, her ass tightly packed and in constant motion.

Only she never looked cheap. She looked like a million. She lent a magnificently elegant air to his store when she held a necklace to her throat or latched a bracelet around her wrist for a customer.

She'd come to him a year ago for the job, and she'd been an outstanding plus. For sales and image, anyway. There was only one drawback to her.

She wanted him to fuck her so badly her pussy sloshed when she walked.

Just thinking about her now, Burke could feel his prick grow warm and start to fill. He thought of the sleek line of her thigh and hip and the way her ass was so round and tight inside her skirt when she stooped to open one of the display doors, and he swore at himself under his breath.

What a hell of a thing! He was worried sick about his wife just now and getting a hard-on thinking about Wanda.

But it was getting that way. Things were reaching the crisis point. He was going to have to fire her or fuck her – he couldn't take the torment much longer.

He knew he wouldn't feel so tempted if Ellen were different. Seven years, now, and he'd gotten nowhere with her. He hadn't reached her.

He wasn't able to put the problem into words. If he could do that, maybe he could solve it. There was just a subtle, indefinable aloofness about her that he couldn't conquer, and it was beginning to bother him more than he wanted to admit.

Take tonight, for example. Other men might be loading up the shotgun to go find the hot rod who was fucking his wife and keeping her out late.

Burke wasn't. The thought hadn't even entered his mind. He trusted Ellen totally. He knew she wasn't out screwing. He knew it not because she didn't fuck, not because she was a man-hater or anything like that.

He'd never had any trouble getting her to fuck. He got all he wanted, any time he wanted. But that was the root of his problem.

She would come into his arms. She would let him feel her sweet tits and run his hands all over her body. She would open her legs and offer her pussy to him and let him fuck it all he wanted. She would lift her hips and switch them around and squeeze around his cock with her silky pussy muscles and draw the sperm right up his thundering prick any time he wanted.