Mother In Bondage - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE
    
    “Hilda! Did you see which way she went?” Gl­enda gasped out as she staggered from the study into the re­cep­tion area of the man­sion.
    “Down the hill,” the maid said, look­ing curi­ously at Gl­enda.
    The bru­nette barely had enough time to slip her dress back over her lithe body. Her hair was still mat­ted down and tangled from the fuck­ing she’d re­ceived from Brad. Her ha was flushed from all the ex­cite­ment a few minutes earlier. In the back­ground, Gl­enda could hear the boy strug­gling with his pats, try­ing to pull them on quickly as she tried to di­vert Hilda’s at­ten­tion from the study. “I’ve got to find her,” Gl­enda said as she took Hilda by the hand and led her to­ward the draw­ing room. “Call Dr. Mor­ris. Tell him to come over here right away. Tell him that Alana’s hys­ter­ical.”
    “From what, ma’am?” Hilda asked, her face show­ing ob­vi­ous con­fu­sion.
    “Don’t ask ques­tions now. Just tell him to come over!” Gl­enda said an­grily as she closed the draw­ing room doors quickly and ran back to the study.
    “Get out of there!” Gl­enda hissed.
    “I’m try­ing to get my zip­per up. It’s stuck!” Brad whined as he peeked through the cracked doors.
    “Hold your shirt over it. Hold your damned hands over it. I don’t care, but you’ve got to get out of here,” Gl­enda said as she pulled Brad out of the room. “If they find you in here, I’ll be ruined and you’ll be out of a job. Now get back down to the stables and help me look for Alana.”
    Brad stumbled out into the re­cep­tion area, hold­ing his shirt over his fly and look­ing around in every dir­ec­tion with em­bar­rass­ment.
    “I don’t think Alana’ll be too happy to see me,” Brad said as he inched to­ward the door.
    “You can help any­way. You’re partly re­spons­ible,” Gl­enda said, re­fus­ing to ad­mit to her­self that she’d done everything ex­cept put up neon signs out­side her win­dows beg­ging for a fuck. “Got it!” Brad cried out hap­pily as he gave one fi­nal yank on his zip­per.
    “Bravo! Now maybe you can help me find my daugh­ter,” Gl­enda said a little sar­castic­ally as she stood by the opened front door, wait­ing for the boy to fin­ish but­ton­ing up his shirt.
    “Maybe she’s at the stables. Alana told me once that whenever she was feelin’ low, she’d come down and talk to the horses,” Brad said as the two of them ran out the door.
    “I’ll check then. You go over by the race track and hurdle run and see if you can spot her. If you do, don’t go after her. Come back to the stables and let me know,” Gl­enda ordered as she ran down the steep hill to­ward the three low wooden build­ing five hun­dred yards away.
    Panic gripped the bru­nette as she came closer to the stables. Once she found Alana, what could she say? The girl had ob­vi­ously caught her in the act. There was noth­ing she could do ex­cept ad­mit, to the ob­vi­ous, then beg for the girl’s for­give­ness and un­der­stand­ing.
    Alana had to know that a nor­mal wo­man had nor­mal drives. And if these drives were frus­trated in one way or other, they were bound to take strange turns when they fi­nally burst loose. And con­sid­er­ing the situ­ation, mak­ing it with Brad Gra­ham wasn’t all that strange.
    “Alana?” Gl­enda called out softly as she reached the large, dark en­trance of the first stable build­ing. “Alana?” Gl­enda called out again, smooth­ing down her hair as she pecked into the dark build­ing.
    “She ain’t here,” someone with a deep voice said from the dark­ness.
    “Who’s there?” Gl­enda asked, feel­ing her hair stand up on end.
    “Sam Becker,” the sta­ble­man said, walk­ing slowly out of the dark­ness up to her.
    Gl­enda straightened her back and struck an au­thor­it­arian pose in front of the leer­ing man. There was some­thing an­im­al­istic about Sam that ter­ri­fied Gl­enda. Play­ing the cold rich bitch was the only way she felt she could fight him off. The bru­nette knew that he wanted her cunt. She could feel his eyes peel­ing off her clothes every time she walked in front of him. It was a dirty, hu­mi­li­at­ing feel­ing, and she’d have fired him months ago. But Sam was one of the best stable mas­ters around. If she wanted good, prime jump­ers and racers, she had to have Sam around su­per­vising the other work­ers and tak­ing over when they didn’t know what to do.
    “Mr. Becker,” Gl­enda said coolly, look­ing around with an air of un­con­cern, “I’m look­ing for my daugh­ter. If you see her, please send her back up to the house.” Gl­enda turned around and was about ready to leave.
    “I sure will, Ma’am. That is, if you and Brad are through fuckin’ on the floor.” Sam laughed loudly as he fol­ded his big hands across his big belly.
    “What? How dare you.” Gl­enda cried out, clench­ing her fin­gers into two tight fists and wheel­ing around to face him. Her face was flushed with rage and shame as she stared at the laugh­ing pig.
    “Come on, Mrs. Wil­li­ams. I know all about you and what you like,” Sam said as he leered hotly at her. “You cunts are all alike. You play hard to get. You think that your pussy’s made of gold or somethin’. But when you get a good, fat, hot dick stuffed in it, then it’s ‘OH­HHH, NOOOO!’ and all that shit un­til you pop your load.”
    Sam lowered his hands to his crotch and star­ted nab­bing his fat fin­gers up and down his fly. Gl­enda felt her skin crawl­ing with hor­ror and re­vul­sion. Sam was get­ting out of con­trol.
    “You’re drunk!” Gl­enda cried out, slowly back­ing away from him.
    “Sure, I’ve had a little bit,” Sam said, sud­denly let­ting out a loud belch.
    “And you’re dis­gust­ing!” the bru­nette said in a low, trem­bling voice as she raised her hands pro­tect­ively over her big tits. How did he know? How could, he have heard about what happened un­less Alana had come down here and told him.
    “You and your fuckin’ daugh­ter – two of a kind. Two big ice­berg bitches un­til you get a fire in your pussy’s.” Sam stumbled to­ward Gl­enda.
    “What have you done with my daugh­ter?” the bru­nette asked, feel­ing hor­ror creep over her as she thought that Alana might have come in con­tact with the stable mas­ter earlier.
    “Nothin’! Nothin’!” Sam replied, stop­ping a few feet in front of her and reel­ing from to side with a stu­pid grin plastered on his pussy face. “She came down here an star­ted talkin’ to Des­troyer. Couldn’t help it, Mrs. Wil­li­ams. I over­heard, and I apo­lo­gize,” Sam slurred out, bow­ing mock­ingly in front of her. “That’s where I heard about you and the kid.”
    Gl­enda looked around her. Where was Alana now? When the girl real­ized that Sam had over­heard her, she prob­ably bolted. But where?
    “I didn’t touch her. Too bad. She’s got a nice little ass, Mrs. Wil­li­ams. And I like nice, little asses,” Sam said in a low, husky voice.
    Gl­enda re­cog­nized that tone of voice, and real­ized that she’d bet­ter get out of there while she could.
    “Thank you, Mr. Becker,” Gl­enda said coolly as she star­ted to leave.
    “You ain’t goin’ any­where ‘til I’m through with you,” Sam sneered, lurch­ing for­ward and grabbing her by the right arm.
    “Let me go, you pig!” Gl­enda screamed, slash­ing the air with the fin­ger­nails of her left hand as she tried to twist free of Sam’s tight grip.
    “Fight­ing bitch, aren’t you? I like a fighter,” Sam growled, his left hand mov­ing quickly through the air.
    Gl­enda felt some­thing hard and heavy crash across her right cheek.
    “Ohhh,” the bru­nette cried out.
    All the breath was knocked out of her with that blow. It was so hard that it knocked the wo­man free of Sam’s tight grip and sent her stum­bling and spin­ning to the hay-covered floor un­der them. Gl­enda caught her­self with both hands as her knees scraped pain­fully across the sharp stubble and straw. Her brain buzzed as she heard Sam’s loud, harsh laughter echo through the stable.
    “Try any­thing like that with me again, and you’ll get worse,” Sam said, reach­ing down and wrap­ping his hands tightly around Gl­enda’s nar­row waist.
    The bru­nette was still too dazed to fight. She felt him pick her up, then drag her like a dirtied old dishrag into the foul-smelling stable. This was Sam’s home – the place where he was about to vi­ol­ate Gl­enda in the worst way pos­sible.
    “Leave me alone,” the bru­nette pleaded in a soft whis­per.
    But Sam pre­ten­ded not to hear her. He dragged her roughly across the floor, swear­ing and mut­ter­ing to him­self un­til they came up to a sawhorse. Gl­enda was gradu­ally com­ing to her senses. All she needed was an op­por­tun­ity to spring free and run out of the stable. The bru­nette had a feel­ing that Sam was pre­par­ing some­thing grot­esque for his own pleas­ure. Gl­enda wanted to be no part of his sick per­ver­sion.
    “Gotta get some rope,” the fat man mumbled as he dropped the bru­nette like an old sack of pota­toes and star­ted stum­bling to­ward a large, half-opened cab­inet.
    Gl­enda saw her chance. The bru­nette sprung up quickly and sprin­ted to­ward the opened front door.
    “Oh no, you don’t!” Sam said, drop­ping the rope he’d pulled out of the cab­inet and run­ning after the wo­man.
    The sounds of Sam’s beat­ing feet rang louder in her ears. If only he could reach the open­ing in time. If only.
    “Owwwwww!” the bru­nette howled, feel­ing her halt be­ing yanked back hard by the stable mas­ter. The sud­den pres­sure and un­bear­able pain brought Gl­enda crash­ing down to her knees.
    “OHHH! OWWWWW! NOOOOOO! OWWWWW!” the wo­man cried out in agony as Sam kept pulling her hair vi­ol­ently in every dir­ec­tion, swear­ing at her for try­ing to es­cape.
    “When I get through with you, bitch, you’ll think this was the best part,” Sam said, his face twis­ted into a mask of bru­tal­ity and hate. Gl­enda cringed on the floor as she saw him draw back his hand spin. It crashed down on her face like a tum­bling boulder, send­ing her reel­ing back­ward un­con­scious.
    When Gl­enda awoke, she found her­self sit­ting astraddle the sawhorse. Sam had stripped her na­ked, teth­er­ing her wrists and ankles with the half-inch rope to the bot­tom halves of the legs. The rough wooden crosspiece bit into her crotch pain­fully. Gl­enda raised her head from the cross­bar and shook it, try­ing to fo­cus her eyes and see what was hap­pen­ing around her.
    “Like your new home?” she heard Sam ask some­where be­hind her.
    It was hard for Gl­enda to turn her head. But she man­aged to do it, twist­ing around in her bonds un­til she spot­ted Sam stand­ing about three feet be­hind her. He was stripped to the waist and sweat­ing heav­ily. In his right hand was one of the rid­ing crops she’d used so of­ten when ra­cing the horses.
    “What are you go­ing to do to me?” Gl­enda asked in a trem­bling-voice.
    Sam just laughed, slid­ing the leather crop slowly up and down in his right hand while he kept star­ing at her na­ked body. He laughed again, then walked up to her, point­ing the rid­ing crop at her ass.
    “I told you I like ass meat,” Sam said, chuck­ling as he pushed the cold leather crop against her right butt cheek.
    Gl­enda felt her assflesh pucker up im­me­di­ately as she felt that in­stru­ment slide teas­ingly up and down her butt. Sam was en­joy­ing him­self im­mensely. He en­joyed watch­ing her face re­gister dis­gust and fear as he moved that rid­ing crop closer and closer to­ward her puckered bung­hole.
    “You and your daugh­ter – two cold, rich bitches,” Sam muttered, slid­ing the long leather rod now into the tight crevice that ran between Gl­enda’s full, firm as­s­cheeks. “Well, old Sam’s gonna pull you down from that fuckin’ ped­es­tal, baby. And you’re gonna love every fuckin’ second of it.”
    Be­fore Gl­enda could say any­thing, she heard some­thing hiss through the air. Sud­denly she saw the rid­ing crop sail­ing down to­ward her left shoulder.
    “UGH­H­H­H­HHH!” the bru­nette cried out as the poin­ted tip of the crop bit into her tender skin.
    Hot tears of shame and pain sprang to the wo­man’s eyes as she felt an­other hot flash of agony across her lower back. There wasn’t any kind of rhythm to the beat­ing Sam was giv­ing her now. He slashed the crop across her spine, then sent it whist­ling down and smack­ing over Gl­enda’s trem­bling shoulderblades.
    “Stop it! NOOOO!” the bru­nette howled, jerking and twist­ing in her bonds as the crop slashed over and over across her flesh.
    Gl­enda couldn’t be­lieve this was ac­tu­ally hap­pen­ing. It was im­possible! It was me­di­eval! Only a few minutes ago she was locked in the safety of her home. And now this!
    “P-please! NO! OWWWWWWW! OH, GOD, HELP M-MEEEE!” Gl­enda cried out each time the rid­ing crop knifed into her. But her beg­ging seemed to drive Sam into a hot­ter fury. He grunted and laughed, sweat­ing with the work of beat­ing the groan­ing bru­nette.
    “Bitch! Bitch!” Sam grunted each time he hit her with the rid­ing crop.
    Gl­enda grim­aced in pain as her body twis­ted and bucked con­vuls­ively. The sharp wooden ridge of the sawhorse grew more and more pain­ful as the lash­ing seemed to in­crease both in speed and in in­tens­ity. Fi­nally Sam brought down the crop with an angry thwack­ing sound across her back. The bru­nette jerked her head up and let out a thin, high-pitched shriek. Her eyes bulged with agony as the scream di­min­ished to a low, grow­ing moan.
    “You’re one hell of a wo­man,” Sam said, chuck­ling as he looked at the red welts that sprang up all over Gl­enda’s sweaty body.
    Her skin gleamed. Gl­enda al­most mumbled a thank-you to Sam for stop­ping the bru­tal beat­ing for a while. She felt faint with agony.
    “You bas­tard!” Gl­enda fi­nally said, turn­ing around and spit­ting into his face.
    Sam wiped the glob of spittle from his eye, then he grabbed a hand­ful of hair with his right hand. Yank­ing up­ward, he pulled to the left un­til her face was tilted up.
    “Slut!” he cried out, lift­ing the crop up as high as he could raise it. Sam then brought it down hard, slash­ing the tip of the crop across Gl­enda’s right tit. She babbled out a cry of strangled pain as her body shuddered from the sud­den at­tack.
    “You’ll never get away with this,” Gl­enda moaned, drop­ping her head to the cross­bar of the sawhorse after Sam let go of her hair and backed away. “When I get free, I swear I’ll hunt you up no mat­ter where you hide!”
    “Then I might as well get as much pleas­ure out of this as I can,” Sam said, arch­ing his eye­brows and walk­ing up to the bound bru­nette again.
    Gl­enda cringed as she saw him lift the rid­ing crop high in the air again. He brought it down hard and fast across Gl­enda’s right as­s­cheek. The wo­man bit her lower lip hard, try­ing to stifle a groan. She stared at the bare wooden wall just in front of her, con­cen­trat­ing on a broken slat, as she tried to ig­nore the ag­on­iz­ing pain that ripped across her vi­ol­ated butt. Her eyes were glazed and dilated.
    Gl­enda felt her lips trem­bling un­con­trol­lably in spite of all the self-con­trol she could muster. Sam kept slash­ing the leather crop across her tender, quiv­er­ing assflesh as Gl­enda re­fused to ut­ter a cry. The ag­on­iz­ing fiery heat made her body jerk, how­ever, with each bit­ing clit. That was enough for Sam.
    “Oh­h­h­hhh,” Gl­enda fi­nally sighed as Sam stopped the whip­ping for a second and res­ted.
    He dangled the rid­ing crop over her left but­tock, grin­ning as he watched her re­ac­tion. Gl­enda in­vol­un­tar­ily stiffened her muscles, wait­ing for the slash­ing pain. It never came.
    She ex­haled with re­lief, re­lax­ing as the crop kept mov­ing teas­ingly and lightly along the smooth skin of her as­s­cheek.
    Sam saw his chance. Quickly, without warn­ing, the stable mas­ter raised the crop and slashed it vi­ol­ently across her smooth right buttcheek. This time Gl­enda couldn’t con­trol her­self. A cry of agony erup­ted from her full lips as she lurched for­ward from the un­ex­pec­ted at­tack. That sud­den move caused the sharp, splintered edges of the sawhorse to dig pain­fully into her pus­sylips and in­ner thighs. Sweat poured out from un­der Gl­enda’s arms and down her fore­head as Sam con­cen­trated on her right buttcheek, lash­ing it red with streak marks and welts.
    “AH­H­H­HHH! NOOOOO!” Gl­enda shrieked as her fin­gers clawed at the legs of the sawhorse.
    Tears star­ted to run down her flushed, puffy cheeks.
    Gl­enda twis­ted her wrists and ankles with every ounce of strength she could muster, try­ing to break free of her bonds. But it was im­possible. Sam was too ex­per­i­enced a horse­man and knew too much about knots and ropes to make a mis­take in ty­ing her up. She was trapped un­til he was fin­ished with her.
    “Take it! Take it, bitch!” Sam growled now, bring­ing down the crop hard.
    Gl­enda howled, pray­ing God that someone would hear her. But Sam had closed the big wooden doors to the stable be­fore fly­ing into her with the rid­ing crop. Most of the hands were out in the fields, ex­er­cising the horses. No one would be near the build­ings for sev­eral hours yet. In that time, he could do any­thing to her.
    “G-God­ddd!” Gl­enda cried out as the stiff leather crop cut deep into her tit­ties. She bucked back, then lurched for­ward as the tip of the his in­stru­ment slashed into her nipples.
    Her in­ner thighs were rubbed red from con­stant fric­tion with the sharp edge of the cross­beam. As the crop cut across her right cheek, Gl­enda mer­ci­fully felt her­self los­ing con­scious­ness. She gave out one fi­nal long, low moan of pain be­fore her head sank and she slumped over the beam.
    The bru­nette had no idea how long she’d been un­con­scious. When she awoke, Gl­enda found her­self off the sawhorse and back on the ground. Her wrists were bound to­gether as were her ankles, and she was ly­ing on her right side. There wasn’t a mound in the barn.
    Strain­ing her head up­ward, Gl­enda could see from the light that filtered through the cracks in the stable walls that it was late af­ter­noon. She must have been un­con­scious for sev­eral hours.
    Where was Sam? What was he plan­ning to do with her? What had he done – if any­thing, with Alana?
    Gl­enda tried her best to creep across the floor.