Paul Gable - The preacher_s wife in bondage

She watched as he stood up unsteadily, pulling his wrinkled trousers up around his hips and buckling them, then looking a bit guiltily at the device from which Ellen had fallen. The straps lay open invitingly, something that made the woman shiver with both fear and a kind of perverse wish she could be back on the bench once more. He moved a few feet toward her then stopped, covering his mouth with a fist and coughing lightly.

"You still have the devil in you, sister," he said, his voice far softer than it had been. "We have to meet again. We have to keep trying to reclaim your soul."

Ellen lay quietly on the floor, looking up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. Reverend Davis drew himself up as if that stare accused him of things he would rather not think of. His face growing darker, the man nudged her with the toe of his shoe. She cringed away with a whimper drawing her hands over her tits while drawing her legs together. Instinctively his thick lips curled into a sardonic smile, one the reverend quickly fought back and shook his head.

"I will save you, sister. I will make sure that you return to the flock, even if it costs me my own soul."

When he climbed the stairs. Ellen pulled herself up from the floor, gathering up her ripped dress and panties and wondering how on earth she was going to drive from Hyatsville back to her husband's parsonage.

Obviously the reverend had thought of that problem as well, returning with a handful of dresses hanging limply from his arms.

"My late wife's," he explained, dropping them at her feet, purposely avoiding looking at her – he turned and went back up the steep wooden stairs.

Ellen quickly fished through the pile, finding a dress that fit her. She didn't bother with panties or a bra. Eyeing the bench and the generator warily, she could only think of leaving as quickly as she could.

Clutching her purse tightly to her body, Ellen tiptoed through the dark, heavily curtained living room, catching sight of the older man bent over the Bible in his study. He seemed to have forgotten her, not even glancing up when the front door squeaked down and she rushed from the house. Sliding into her car, she looked back at the old house, halfway expecting the reverend to come stumbling down the porch stairs, cane in hand, demanding that she return to his basement. Her fingers icy, trembling, she started the car and squealed away from the curb, not caring what the neighbors might think.

All the way back home, Ellen kept thinking of what had happened. It was like a fantastic erotic nightmare. She could still feel the nibbling bite of the clips on her tits and cunt and ass. She could still feel the sting of the whip against her ass, the blows against her face, her tits, her cunt. Glancing up several times into the rearview mirror, she caught sight of the red marks on her cheeks and chin. Her body was marked, she knew. She could feel the welts still swelling hotly as she turned down the highway and headed toward her husband's parsonage.

What had happened to her? Why was she smiling, in spite of the horror she had endured? What kind of woman was she becoming? Was Reverend Davis right? Was she a wanton whore, a woman possessed by the devil?

Ellen could hardly see the road, hot tears of confusion blinding her.

It was only when a blue pickup abruptly sideswiped the right side of her sedan that Ellen shook the heavy veil of her daydream from her mind, slamming on the brakes and nearly fishtailing off the road.

Slowing, while regaining control of her car, she saw Caleb and Joe Crenshaw in the pickup that now blocked her way. They were grinning at her, Joe having opened the door and stepped out while Caleb was switching off the engine. Joe was walking slowly toward her, scratching his cock-bulge in broad daylight, with the biggest grin on his face. Ellen couldn't believe this! They were coming at her as if… as if she really was that kind of whore, that kind of Satanic slut Reverend Davis called her!

"Hey Ellen – come on. We got some more surprises for you. We'll get Mindy Sue for some fun, and the two of you can suck us off while we…"

That was all Ellen had to hear. She recovered, twisting the wheel all the way to the right and stepping on the gas. She heard her rear wheels spinning in the gravel, a shower of stones filling the air.

Joe backed away while Caleb stood openmouthed on the running board of the old pickup. Ellen barely kept control of her car, swinging around the startled men and bouncing it back onto the highway. She glanced up in her mirror, seeing them both looking at her as she accelerated and headed toward home.

No more, she thought, blinking away more tears.

She would have to hide the wounds from her husband. That would be easy enough to do, Ellen thought bitterly. Her husband Michael only groped haltingly for her in the dark once a week – if that. He would never notice anything.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Ellen's last encounter with Reverend Davis. Her husband had several times remarked on the surprising number of phone calls he'd received from the elder minister requesting both him and his wife Ellen visit him. Ellen politely turned the requests down, leaving Michael confused about her reasons for the refusals.

The purple and red marks disappeared from her flesh, things her husband hadn't noticed. The Crenshaw boys had stopped attending Sunday services, and Ellen had curtailed her outdoor activities to shopping and occasional gardening.

For a while, the woman thought her wild times were over. Perhaps she was getting a grip on herself at last. The horrific delight she had experienced in the ropes and feeling the men violate her that way was possibly a phase. Later, much later, she would go to another minister and confess, only this time having several years of good works to back up her repentance.

Twice she had caught sight of Mindy Sue in the congregation and wondered about Joe Crenshaw's words. She looked demure, not even staring at Ellen as the preacher's wife sat in the front pew and tried without success to think of God.

The terrible visions continued, visions that involved the Crenshaws and Reverend Davis until Ellen thought she was losing her mind. At night she ground her teeth until she thought Michael would awaken to the horrid sound. She tossed and turned, her dreams filled with erotic visions of the men fucking and beating her. She would awaken with a start, sitting up straight in bed while her white cotton nightgown clung to her sweaty flesh. She swore she could taste cum in her mouth, and more than once brushed her trembling fingertips over her cunt to see if indeed there was cum oozing from her fuck-slot.

At the start of the fourth week, Ellen was sure she would have to commit herself. She couldn't go on this way and continue to be Michael's wife.

That was the evening she received the phone call from the Crenshaw brothers. Her fingers twisted the black cord around nervously while she pressed the hot, sweaty-damp receiver to her ear. Michael was in the next room, working on his sermon.

"So we gotta get you away from your husband tonight," Joe ordered, his voice firm.

"I… I can't. Michael's working on his sermon and…"

Ellen stopped. She couldn't believe what she was doing! She stopped herself, feeling her heart stand still as Joe laughed at her.

"You'll come – unless you want me to come on by and take you. Bet your old man'd freak out if he saw me wrestlin' you to the floor, huh?"

Ellen's face flushed, her fingers nearly twisting the cord from the receiver. She bent over, pressing her lips to the phone while keeping her back toward her husband.

"Please, don't make me do this!"

She could feel her cuntal walls caressing one another, juice bubbling from her cunt and wetting down her crotch while her nipples stood firmly against her bra. This was worse, far worse than anything her dreams had conjured. She was shamefully close to climax – just talking with this man!