Paul Gable - Mother in bondage

"And I'm supposed to wait around until I get a call from them?" Peter finally said, realizing that Glenda wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Yes. I guess they want the ransom delivered like this to make sure I don't call the police. Please, Peter. Do as I say. I want her back. Then we can call out the National Guard it you want to, but please, this time…"

"All right. All right. I'll be back around four this afternoon," the lawyer said, patting Glenda comfortingly on the shoulder as he left.

The brunette sat in the drawing room the rest of that morning and afternoon, watching the hours drag by as she waited for five o'clock to come. The Holmes ranch was about a half-hour ride from her home. It had been deserted far the past ten years in the back hills behind Glenda's estate. Now it was going to be the meeting place for this sordid affair.

Finally five o'clock came. But Peter wasn't there.

"Tell Mr. Thomas that I've gone out. He'll know where I am," Glenda told Hilda as she tucked the briefcase under her right arm and hurried out the door. She'd separated half of the money and stuffed it a paper sack that she had hidden in the wall safe above the fireplace. That was just another piece of insurance. If they tiled anything funny, she still had the other two hundred fifty thousand tucked safely away.

"I'll call him later," Glenda shouted over her shoulder as she jumped into her car and started the engine quickly.

Images of rape and torture whirled through Glenda's mind as she sped down the highway toward the Holmes ranch. It was already beginning to get dark. The brunette had her doubts about going to the ranch alone. But she didn't have much choice.

As the sun slowly sank behind the bare, rounded hills, Glenda turned up the dirt road leading to the collection of run-down buildings and wondered what kind of condition Alana would be in when she was finally released by her kidnappers.

Pulling up in front of the main ranch building, Glenda spotted two cars parked behind the house. She wasn't alone! Her heart skipped a beat as she opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air.

Would her stepdaughter be there? Would she at least be able to see her?

These questions racked Glenda's mind as she slammed the door behind her and walked over the loose gravel in front of the house to the sagging wooden porch. The ranch was deathly quiet. Almost too quiet.

Glenda felt goosebumps break out all over her body as she reached out and opened the front door. Stepping into the darkened room of the old ranch house, Glenda immediately saw two silhouettes sitting opposite one another by a large, rectangular table.

"Mrs. Williams, I guess," the man on the right said, turning slowly toward her.

The room was too dark for Glenda to make out his features. But the woman knew instantly that this was the man who phoned her.

"Yes. I've got the money. Now, where's my daughter?" she asked, still holding the briefcase tightly under her arm.

"She's safe. Let's see the cash," the man said, pushing the chair back and standing up.

"Take your blood money," Glenda said, throwing the briefcase onto the table top.

"Must be nice to be that careless about two-hundred fifty thou," the man commented wryly as he turned the briefcase around and opened it.

The other man reached over and turned up the flame on the hurricane lamp that had been burning low in the middle of the table. The sudden bright red glare lit up both faces of the men. The one counting the money didn't look familiar. But the other man was all too recognizable. It was Sam, leering at her like a satiated vulture while his partner counted the stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

"How you been, bitch?"

"Where is she?" Glenda said, feeling her fingers tremble with revulsion and terror.

"It's all here," the other man said, closing the top of the briefcase softly and locking it.

"Good. You want to see your daughter? Come on," Sam said, leering at her as he stood up.

Automatically, Glenda shrank back from the approaching man and stepped back onto the porch.

"She's not out there. You've got to go downstairs," the other man said, pushing the heavy table back and revealing a large, square trap door.

Both men bent down and pulled the door open. A sudden flood of light filled the tiny room.

"Down there?" Glenda asked nervously as she edged her way back into the room.

"See for yourself," Sam said, pointing into the hole.

"Oh my God!" Glenda cried, peering down into the basement.

There was Alana, all right. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing, yet," he said, reaching out and pushing the woman forward.

"Ooooooh!" Glenda cried out, pitching forward as she lost her balance. She fell several feet before she reached up and grabbed onto the edge of the floor just in time. Her legs dangled into the basement as Sam and the other man stood above her and laughed.

"There's another couch just for you, baby," Sam said, stepping forward and pressing the heel of his right shoe down lightly on the fingers of Glenda's left hand. The pressure increased, and the brunette realized that she'd have to let go soon if she wanted to have a hand left.

"Got another one for you, Sid," the other man in the room called down into the basement as he stepped on Glenda's other hand.

"God!" the brunette screamed as the pain became too strong.

Her fingers slipped out from under the men's shoes and she plummeted down to the concrete floor of the basement.

"Got 'er," a tall, blond, crewcut man said as Glenda moaned in pain.

It was a miracle that no bones were broken. As it was, the brunette's head swam in a sea of pain and horror as she felt her wrists being pulled behind her back and bound savagely with rope.

"You'll never get the rest of the money," she murmured as Sid began tying her ankles.

"Well see," Sam said, climbing down the ladder. "Right now, you ought to meet the gang."

Glenda shook her head and looked around the basement. It was large, lined with thick damp bricks and brightly lit by several bare overhead lightbulbs. There were couches, like the one Alana was strapped onto, all over the room. Racks filled with whips, riding crops, cat-o-nine-tails, pokers, branding irons and other instruments of torture lined two walls of the basement, while several sets of rings hung from the ceiling at the other end of the room.

So this is where Sam and his buddies took girls for their kind of "fun". It was like the medieval dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition.

As Glenda's eyes moved from the racks and couches to the eight men standing at the other end of the room staring at her, she gasped in surprise. Many of them were her neighbors, prominent lawyers and doctors who were obviously into this kind of thing.

"I can't believe it!" Glenda cried a she saw thorn all looking at her with twisted smiles.

"We're all into this, Glenda," Bob Dennis, a surgeon who lived next door to her said. "Sam gets the girls and we – well…"

"We've done nothing to you," she pleaded a they all started to walk closer to her.

In a few minutes Glenda found herself stretched out on her belly. The man named Ski pull up Glenda's jersey while another man reached around Glenda's sides and unbuttoned her slacks.

She recognized him as George Hardman, an economics professor at Berkley who moved into the neighborhood two months ago. He was wearing just a pair of jockey shorts now, and his big, thick cock pushed hard against the piss-flap of his white cotton jockeys.

"I've always liked white women's asses." George said, slipping his fingers under the waistband of Glenda's slacks and yanking them down to her knees.

The brunette, finding herself stripped naked in front of all these men, started screaming in humiliation. She tried to grind herself into the couch, tightening her ass-muscles in a vain attempt to hide as much of her exposed body as possible. Naked in front of her friends and neighbors!