Paul Gable - Mother in bondage

Glenda sighed again, then walked slowly up the stain to the front door, slapping her riding crop gently against the side of her right boot.

"A good day, ma'am?" Hilda, the maid, asked as she opened the door and took Glenda's cap and crop from her.

"Not bad, Hilda. Destroyer's looking fine. I hope to show him won," the woman said, smiling gently at the maid.

As she walked through the long entranceway, Glenda stopped at the end and took a long glance at herself. She was wearing tight-fitting black riding coat that was opened all the way down the front. The white cotton blouse beneath the coat clung to her chest and big tits.

Glenda never wore a bra, something her daughter criticized her for and something Sam Becker always looked forward to. The tan riding pants displayed her long, slender legs and firm thighs, while the black riding boots added a touch of masculine power that heightened rather than detracted from her femininity.

Glenda knew she was highly desirable. She could read it in the eyes of every man from her lawyer to the foul smelling Sam Becker. The woman smiled at her reflection, raising her right hand and smoothing down her hair. After Carl, it would take quite a man to satisfy her.

"Mother?" Glenda heard a young voice suddenly call out from above her.

"Alana? I thought you'd be gone by now," Glenda said, walking out into the large reception area of the living room. Glenda's pretty, blonde daughter leaned over the polished oak railing that ran along the top landing of the stairs and looked at her stepmother.

"Mother, do I have to go?"

"Come on, Alana. You know your father would've wanted you to. It's just for the night. Your grandmother insists on your visiting at least once a month," Glenda said, feeling a flash of something like hatred and fear. Glenda had never gotten along with Carl's mother. Glenda guessed that his mother knew she didn't come from any wealthy family. She always enjoyed giving the brunette cold, killing looks whenever she could. Any semblance of civility stopped after Carl's death on the old woman's part. But Glenda kept trying to be pleasant to her.

Besides tying to make life easier for Alana and everyone around, Glenda realized that the old lady still owned a large hunk of stock in Carl's computer company. She could cause a lot of trouble if Glenda rattled her cage once too often.

"She's so stuffy. And all she talks about is how stupid you are," Alana said, wrinkling up her nose.

Glenda curled her fingers into fists. She forced a smile onto her face and looked up at her daughter.

"Never mind that. You get ready, and I'll have James drive you over there," Glenda said, walking into the study from the reception area and closing the door quietly behind her. Glenda walked over the thickly piled carpeting to the tall dark-wood wet bar. She opened the glass cabinet doors and pulled out a bottle of gin. She poured herself a tall gin and tonic. She was beginning to down more liquor every week, something that alarmed her when she was sober.

What was the problem? Money? She had plenty of that. Carl's mother? She'd had plenty of that before and it never really bothered her. Loneliness?

"Uhhhhhhhh," Glenda sighed, feeling the liquor bum down her throat and fire up her belly. That damned tingle in her cunt started up again. Yep, that was it! Glenda walked stiff-legged over to the long, brown leather couch at the other end of the room. Glenda kept telling herself that no man could satisfy her pussy the way Carl did. But she was still a vital, normal woman. Second-best was better than nothing at all.

Glenda sat down on the edge of the couch and took another long swig from the cold glass. The silence of the room made her think that a pave would sound like this – quiet, oppressive, chillingly still. She wasn't dead yet! She couldn't stand to be cloistered up like some kind of penitent nun!

"God!" she moaned again, looking down at the ice cube floating around in the center of her glass.

That odd, throbbing ache rippled through her cunt again. Glenda leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. She'd have to use her fingers again tonight. God, how she hated doing that! It seemed like such a waste. And when she held her stiff clit between her fingers, rolling it around like a tiny ball until she thought she'd pin on the wrinkled sheets from excitement, Glenda was only seconds away from bellowing out for any man to come charging in and finish up the job.

But the brunette had always gone over the edge and cum with her fingers all over again. It started along the insides of her thighs like a tiny series of electric shocks, until her cuntlips, her buttcheeks and her belly felt heavy, flushed and hot.

"Mmmmmm," Glenda groaned.

Another attack of the hornies. But this time she couldn't seem to shake them. Before she'd managed to drive those erotic thoughts out of her mind until she'd climbed into bed. But now… It had to be the gin and all the excitement from riding Destroyer that afternoon.

Glenda sighed. The brunette took one long, last sip from her drink, then put the glass down on the cocktail table and stood up. She felt hot wetness enveloping her swampy pussy as she started walking toward the large wooden study doors.

Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she stepped out of the study and into the brightly-lit reception area of the mansion. Glenda wondered why she was so excited. Then it struck her that she'd invited young Brad Graham over to discuss his salary. She couldn't talk to him. Not now, not with her pussy juicing and fluttering like the box of some hot whore.

Glenda couldn't trust herself. Her mind was buzzing with frustrated sexual desire and booze.

As Alana walked sullenly down the stairs carrying her overnight suitcase, Glenda suddenly wanted to ask her stepdaughter to stay at home. The brunette didn't trust herself alone with the boy.

"Maybe you should stay home," Glenda said, reaching out and taking her stepdaughter gently by the shoulders.

"No, Mother. You're right I should see Nana at least a couple times a month," the girl said sweetly, kissing her mother lightly on the cheek.

"Well, take care of yourself," Glenda said, sighing in disappointment as she walked arm-in-arm with her stepdaughter to the door. "James will bring you back tomorrow," she called out as Alana ran down the long stairway to the black Cadillac parked in the drive.

The gray-haired chauffeur tipped his hat at both Glenda and Alana as the girl climbed into the rear seat and slammed the door shut. The brunette stood at the top of the steps and waved good-bye to her daughter. As she turned to go back into the house, Glenda caught sight of Brad climbing up the hill. Sucking in a ragged breath, she told Hilda to make the boy comfortable in the den while she went upstairs to change.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Glenda said as she ripped off her riding clothes and threw them carelessly on the king-sized bed. She stripped down to her sheer white panties, then ripped open the closet door and pulled out a long blue dress.

As she closed the door, Glenda glanced in the mirror and saw a dark, wetness staining the crotch panel of her panties. It was pussy juice, leaking out from between her puffy labes and soaking her briefs! Would the boy smell it? Would he be able to sniff her out and see that she was in heat?

Glenda could feel her nipples tightening with excitement as she pulled the dress over her head. The rough material scratched her tit-tips teasingly, sending tiny shocks of excitement rippling through her big tits and down to her cunt. Glenda reached back and zipped up her dress, slipping into her heels and starring quickly to the door of her bedroom. She had to get rid of the boy quickly. If she didn't treat him coldly and brusquely, there was no telling what kind of trouble she'd get in with him.