Paul Gable: Mother in bondage

Glenda Williams reached up with her right hand and brushed several strands of her long, silky black hair away from her blue eyes. She held onto the long, brown leather reins with her left hand, guiding the powerful black horse around the hurdle count one more time.

"Let's go, boy," Glenda whispered in a low voice, bending over the homed saddle and brushing her full lips against the pointed tip of the horse's light ear. Slapping the animal hard across the muscular butt with her riding crop, Glenda dug her heels into his sides and spurred the horse forward a breakneck pace.

"Up! Up!" Glenda shouted as she wrapped bath her slender arms around the horse's neck and pressed her lithe body tightly against the animal's sweaty back. The first hurdle drew closer and closer as the pounding of the horse's hoofs rang in Glenda's ears.

"How'd you like to slip your cock into somethin' tight like that?" Sam Becker, the stablemaster asked his young teenaged assistant as the two of them leaned against a wooden fence and watched Glenda work out her horse.

"Ever seen a pair of tits on anyone like that? She's over thirty years old."

The boy flushed red at Sam's speech, turning away and pretending to be fixing the bridle that he held trembling in his fingers. He'd watched Glenda Williams and her eighteen-year-old daughter work the horse out before, and each time he fell more and more in love with them. He didn't know which one he preferred. The girl was fresh and bouncy, radiating innocence and wild excitement. But there was a sultry sensuousness about the mother. The way she walked, talked, moved gracefully about the grounds of the estate – she reeked of breeding, wealth, intense sexuality. Each had her own brand of attraction to offer. And each equally ignored Brad Graham. The frustrated boy was sure that neither woman really knew him except as that scruffy person who took the horse after they got through with it.

"Yes sir, slipping my big old dick into that old dame's cunt would feel mighty fine – mighty fine," Sam said, gluing his eyes on the woman's body as she and the horse cleared the hurdle and rushed headlong to take on the second one.

"Ohhhhh!" Glenda cried out as the two of them landed after clearing the second hurdle. One more to go. It was the highest one. Glenda reached back and whipped the animal's flank. The woman could feel the horses rippling muscles with her legs as she pressed them hard into his sides. It was strangely exciting.

"Go, damn you, go!" Glenda shouted as the horse raised his forelegs and pushed up with his powerful hindquarters.

The woman felt an unspeakable thrill of excitement and sexual release as horse and rider were airborne for a few seconds. The wind whipped through Glenda's long hair, sending it fluttering in every direction as she clung wildly to the animal's neck. They cleared the top bar of the last hurdle!

"Uhhhh!" Glenda was exhausted. She'd been around this course five times within the past hour with Destroyer, her new jump horse. This was the first time that he had cleared all three hurdles.

"Good ride, Mr. Williams," young Brad said as he jumped over the fence and ran over to the horse.

"Thank you, Brad," Glenda said, inhaling sharply and trying to catch her breath. "I'd take him around another time, but I'm exhausted," she sighed, throwing her left leg over the saddle and sliding down to the round. "Take care of him for me won't you?"

"Anything you want from the stables, Mrs. Williams?" Sam huffed out as he ran up to the standing woman.

Sam Becker was about five-eight, two hundred pounds of sweaty, dirty fat, with black, stringy hair that always seemed to be matted down with one kind of filth or other. He carried the foul smell of the stables with him wherever he went. Glenda would have fired him long after her husband Carl had died. But he knew horses. And raising jump horses and exhibiting them were her prime passion now.

"No, thank you, Sam," Glenda said, smiling briefly at him.

Glenda knew what the stablemaster was thinking. It was the same thing that every man around the area thought whenever she shot into view. An empty cunt, aching to be filled with inches of hot cockmeat.

The black-haired woman turned around to look at Brad before she started up the long path to her home.

"Oh, Brad. Come up to the house in about an hour or so. I want to talk to you about the salary you asked for," Glenda said, nodding at the boy before she started up the bill for her home. She ignored the snide chuckling she heard Sam give out as she swung her arms back and forth and climbed the path toward the large, white wooden antebellum mansion that crowned the land of Falconhawk. It was all hers now, little compensation for the loss of Carl.

"Ahhhhhh!" Glenda exhaled as she looked up at the bright blue afternoon sky.

The crisp autumn air, the Santa Inez mountains in the background, and the smell of freshly cut grass made her senses reel. All this was hers. And to think that ten years ago, Glenda didn't have the proverbial pot to piss in. She'd been working in a cheap restaurant just outside of San Bernardino. Carl literally waltzed into her life, paying court almost immediately to her as soon as he walked into the dinky coffee shop.

At tint Glenda thought he was just playing around. But after their first date, she knew that he was serious. He liked the way she moved – the way she talked, joked, laughed. Carl said that she had all the qualities of a well-bred lady, unfortunately without all the trappings well-bred ladies had. He was down in Southern California on business for just a few days. She had to make up her mind soon. He wanted to marry her!

To Glenda, it was like being Cinderella and Snow White all at once. She didn't know if she loved Carl or not. But she did know that she'd had enough of that restaurant and all the cheap jokes about her big titties and firm thighs. Her buttcheeks were black and blue almost constantly from all the pinching she took.

Glenda accepted. Carl made up a story about her background, rehearsing it with her shortly after their wedding ceremony in Los Angeles. She'd come from the East – Bar Harbor, Maine. She was an obscure heir to the present-day Astor fortune. Carl knew that the story was twisted and vague enough to satisfy his neighbors. Few of them had contacts in the East that could verify or deny this story. Besides, Carl was powerful enough and respected enough to be taken at his word.

For ten years, Glenda lived the life of a storybook princess. Wealth, power, position – they were all hers, along with a good deal of love from Carl and his eighteen-year-old daughter Alana. It was in the final three years of their marriage that Glenda and Carl developed a passion for horses. They started breeding them for racing at first. Then Glenda saw some of her neighbors put on a jump show. From that point on, she concentrated on horses.

"Oh Carl," Glenda said sadly, stopping for a second some thirty feet in front of the pillared mansion and looking sadly at the portico.

She remembered how the two of them would start every weekend out by a wild fuck in bed. He'd taken to fucking her doggie-style, churning his fat seven-inch dick in and out of her upturned pussy while he strummed her clit with one hand and squeezed her titties with the other. Then after a quick shower, they'd both take the horses out on an early-morning run. It was good – too good to last. One day Glenda came home from a shopping spree and found the long, curved driveway filled with cats. They belonged to friends and neighbors out to console her on her loss. Only minutes after she'd left to go shopping that morning, Carl had collapsed and died in their bedroom from a massive coronary. He was only forty-two, and every inch a man. Big chest, flat belly, powerful legs, powerful cock. Carl believed in working out continually. "You'll live a hell of a lot longer with good exercise," he would always tell her.