Paul Gable - A mother enslaved

Lydia Framington was a good woman. She had never, ever let a man touch her except her husband. And after Greig had died, she had been very, very careful not to put herself in any situation where she might succumb to sex. Why she had started having these feelings of wanting to be dominated Lydia didn't know.

But now she lay here roped to the headboard of the bed, the line looped around her wrists and cinched so hard her fingers were starting to turn bluish white. She tried twisting her wrists a little and winced in pain, her full lips turning down slightly at the edges.

At least, she thought, he had left on her bra and panties. There was some bit of modesty left to her. She rubbed her thighs together, feeling the slightly sexy rub of her cunt-lips against one another while her ass-cheeks slid over the bare mattress.

It had all been so strange, so bizarre. That ad in the paper, her voice cracking when she answered it, the man's cruel laugh as she entered his home clutching her purse as if her life were contained in it. And now… and now she was half-naked, her arms stretched high behind her head, her wrists bound to the wooden turrets of his bed. Lydia's eyes scanned the area as she lay there and waited for the man to come back.

That was the worst thing, she thought, feeling her nipples starting to thicken under her bra cups. The waiting was making her pulse race while her stomach flip-flopped and knotted in cramps of tension. This was the first time she had ever been with a strange man, and doing this sort of thing. Ropes! Bondage! Discipline! Humiliation! The words echoed through her mind, making that strange warm tingle in her cunt worse than ever!

Oh, how that burning itch was making the velvety surfaces of her pussy twitch when they slipped against each other! This was the worst it had been ever? Just lying here, thinking of that strange tall, dark-haired man smirking down at her made her shamefully close to climax! He had ordered her here, had commanded her to take off her white blouse and dark-blue skirt, then had bound her this way.

There would be more, he assured her before disappearing through the darkened doorway and leaving her alone with her rattling thoughts. Lydia cringed. She had told her daughter Shari such lies about tonight. Would the girl suspect her mother had something going on the side? After all her lectures on morality and on good girls, wasn't she a hypocrite, lying as she was now, waiting for this man to rape her… or do something worse?

Footsteps! Lydia tensed, her fingers curling and the nails biting into her sweaty palms. She heard the floorboards creaking under his weight as he approached the bedroom. More than ever the woman could feel her nylon panties pressing against her wet cunt, the silken material feeling shocking good against the swollen, sensitive cunt-meat. God, what a whore she was becoming!

"Good. You're not like some of the others who try getting away," he said, wiping one hairy paw over his full lips.

Lydia spotted a can of beer in one hand, the gold sides slightly crushed in by his full fingers. He had changed from his Levi's to a strange outfit, one the woman found oddly exciting as well as terrifying. Max, as he called himself, had pulled an a pair of tight-fitting chaps, the black leather compressing his muscular flesh while letting the bulge between his legs protrude from the opening between his legs.

He had taken off his white cotton t-shirt. Lydia could see all too well his hairy chest, his full, hard, rounded muscles and the line of hair that went, from between his nipples down to his… his crotch! Oh, the thought of it made her cunt pulse with rising heat! He was going to rape her, fuck her here on this mattress with her hands roped behind her. She moaned through her clenched teeth, rubbing her cuntlips against each other again, and feeling the electricity from her clit seeping into her cuntmeat! It was horribly delicious!

"What… what are you going to do to me?" she finally asked.

Max threw back his head and laughed, dropping one hand down to his crotch and rubbing his cock through his Levi's.

"You read the ad. You answered it. You guess," he said threateningly.

Again Lydia moaned, twisting her body against the mattress as he approached the side of her bed. He was silent, his eyes drinking her in… her flat stomach, her full white thighs, her tits, now large and red-tipped – now flattened out, her long blonde hair fanned out behind her.

Oh, he was touching her! Lydia closed her eyes and let out a breathy moan, her flesh puckering into goosepimples. She felt the backs of his fingers brushing over her flesh, up to her nipples, then down to her bellybutton before making tiny circles to her cunt. Oh, oh, oh! He was barely touching the curly tops of her blonde pussy-hairs!

That teasing sensation made her cunt-muscles contract in pulsing sensations. Lydia jerked her ass-cheeks off the mattress, silently begging for more touching. If only he would stick a finger in her. Yes, yes, she wanted fucking, needed fucking! It had been too long since she had had something in her cunt other than her own nervous fingers trying to take the edge off the awful feeling of loneliness. If only…

"Eaghghhghghhh!"

Max had curled his fingers around her pussy hairs, twisting them around, then tearing a fistful of them from her cunt-mound. The woman shrieked, her eyelids fluttering while her legs shot apart, then folded protectively over one another. It felt as if someone had dropped a handful of coals into her pussy. The woman screamed again as Max shoved his hand under her crotch, sticking his forefinger into her pussy while pushing his thumb into her asshole.

He was finger-fucking her in both openings, shoving and pushing while grunting into her face. Lydia screamed again, the hot, spicy pain in her ass adding to the throbbing sensations sparking from her clit. She drummed her legs against the squeaking mattress, her head snapping from side to side while the blonde hairs splashed over her reddened face.

"Hot and wet, man, that's the way a woman should be," he muttered, pushing aside her panties even more to get a better hold of her cunt.

Lydia jerked her legs back, her knees snapping together and trapping his hand between her thighs. She rolled her ass up, her tits jiggling against one another as the pain still shot through her body. Again and again the woman pulled at her arms, her wrists chafing against the brown rope cutting into her skin.

He was thrusting his fingers in and out now, pushing forward, then pulling back, bracing the rest of his hand against the narrow band of sensitive flesh separating her asshole from her cunt. Lydia grunted with each push, her back rubbing against the mattress while the big man continued fucking her with his hand.

Max pulled out, raising his hand to his nose and smelling his greasy fingers.

"Yeahhh, good hot pussy. That's what it smells like," he said, pushing his fingers up against the woman's nose.

Lydia could smell herself! A woman in rut! That's what she was. She could smell the odor, the smell of a hot, juicy cunt eager for more. Max reached down, unbuckling his belt, taking it by one end and sliding it from the black loops of his trousers.

He held the buckled end, looping the broad belt, then snapping the halves together. The sound reminded Lydia of a pistol shot. Reaching down with both hands, Max slid his fingers under her hips, rolling her onto her belly, her arms twisting painfully around one another. She buried her face between her crossed arms, feeling terribly vulnerable, so naked. Then there was the sensation of those fingers again sliding under her bra strap, pulling up – once, then twice, then hard a third time until the band snapped.