Paul Gable
The preacher_s wife in bondage
CHAPTER ONE
Ellen Weathersby sat quietly in the pew of her husband's church, her mind alive with the images of hell that her husband was expounding in front of her. "The pain, my children, the pain of a bee sting is magnified a thousand, no, one million times in hell. Think of it!"
She was, and her mind was alive with pictures that would have made her husband weak. Ellen moved her pert ass back against the stiff back of the pew, feeling every inch of her body alive with the forbidden lust her husband raved against. When he began talking once more of the ropes and gags the devils used, Ellen closed her eyes, pressing her knees tightly against one another, feeling her cunt grow hot and wet between her shivering white legs.
"God help me, God… God help me," she whispered, her moist lips moving slightly as her cuntal walls buckled under the increased sexual heat. Opening her eyes, she turned and saw several old women nodding approvingly at her haunted whisper. If they only knew what she really wanted! The thought of being naked and vulnerable while rough and rowdy men fucked her sent shivers racing up and down the blonde woman's tense thighs.
Ellen shifted her position uneasily on the wooden bench, tucking her legs under the pew and biting her pouty lower lip to regain some control over herself. It was wrong – dreadfully wrong – to have these thoughts drifting through her mind. She tried concentrating on the words thundering from her tall husband behind the pulpit. But all Ellen could think of was those big-cocked studs of her fantasies laughing at her, pointing at her as they pressed their boots against her face and ground her into the dirt.
"Oh…"
Drawing a flowered handkerchief and pressing it to her trembling lips, Ellen quickly edged her way from the pew and walked briskly from the church. The rub of her swollen cuntlips against her clit made her knees shaky. It was a miracle, she thought as she inhaled the cool evening air, that she hadn't collapsed there in the doorway. Michael, her husband, still blasted away at the evils of the flesh – while Ellen could only crave them. Had he noticed her leaving? The attractive blonde clutched her black leather purse and shook her head, feeling the world closing in on her. No, she doubted he had seen her leave.
Ellen was feeling trapped as she hurried down the darkening road, her heels making sloshing sounds against the loose gravel. They were trapped out here among boring people whose lives were defined by the rotating crops and hellfire religion. It was more than she could take.
Walking more slowly now, Ellen began enjoying the feelings rushing through her thighs making them so tender while her cunt throbbed like an opened, festering wound. She was so wet down there. She could feel her panties clinging itchily to her swollen cunt-lips while more and more warm juice seeped from her cunt-hole and wet down her pussy-hairs. God in heaven! How was she supposed to live like this?
In a moment, the woman realized she was some distance from the old clapboard church. She was approaching a low, long house with a rusty tin roof that was sagging badly in the middle. She stopped, her breath catching while one hand fluttered up to her throat.
The Crenshaws!
She had seen them many times – a family of white trash, men who sneered at women and used them cruelly for their own pleasure. People whispered about the brothers saying they were worse than their perverted father who was now in prison for some unspeakable crime. Ellen paused, looking at the dim light seeping through the yellowed shades.
She started to turn around – when the front door suddenly flew open. A half-dozen naked girl rushed screaming from the house, her hands in front of her. Immediately behind her was a bare-chested man. Ellen hid in the shadows, watching as the girl turned toward her and ran as fast as she could. The man was too fast, however, catching up with the screaming girl and grabbing her by the hair.
"Ow! Lemme go, you… no, no, don't!"
"Little fucking slut! What'd you think we was gonna do to you here, huh?"
Ellen winced as she watched him wrestle her to the ground, pulling her up by the hair, at times while kneeing her in the face. That was Joe Crenshaw, the eldest of the bunch. He was the dark-haired one, the one with a mustache. The girl was sobbing now, begging him to let her go while he threw her back onto the road and started to raise one leg. He was going to kick her in the face!
"You stop that, Joe Crenshaw, or I'll call the sheriff!"
Ellen had no idea how she'd managed to get the courage to shout that. Joe put down his leg, turning and frowning into the darkness. The girl wasted no time, scrambling out from under him and pulling what was left of her dress over her naked tits. She rushed to the other side of the road, clinging to an old elm tree and trying to regain her breath.
"What the… oh, it's you… the preacher's wife. What the hell are you doin' out here, ma'am?"
Ellen felt her skin grow prickly as she walked forward, smoothing her trembling hands on her white dress. She looked at the trembling girl now. Her mouth was swollen, and bruises around her forehead and neck had just started to show. The Crenshaws – at least this one – had obviously been abusing her for some time. She could smell just the faintest trace of liquor coming from the girl and guessed Joe had managed to lure her into the house with promises of booze – this was a dry county – then jumped her.
"I was out for a walk," Ellen replied, tilting her chin up defiantly. "You've not right to treat this girl that way. Now, you let her go, Joe Crenshaw."
She watched his big fingers curling into two fists and thought for a moment he was going to hit her.
"Thank you, ma'am, thank you," the girl whispered, then she disappeared quickly into the shadows. Ellen watched her run, then turned and started walking back to the church. She would have to talk with her husband about these trashy people.
"Hey, where the fuck you think you're goin? I'm gonna get me some pussy – one way or another. And if it ain't from Mindy Sue, then it's comin' off your sassy ass!"
Ellen wheeled around, her eyes wide while her mouth opened. Never, ever had anyone talked to her that way! She was hardly a prude. But she had always been treated with some bit of respect. She started to say something. But Joe was moving toward her, one hand raised high in the air. She cringed, starting to cry out while drawing one arm up toward her forehead. It was too late. His hand swung down, crashing against her right cheek and nearly shattering the bone. Ellen cried out, her knees buckling as a white-hot pain flashed across her face. She fell backward, her ass bouncing on the gravel while her dress flew up around her waist. She could hear Joe trampling on the gravel, his boots crunching the loose stones as he stood between her splayed legs and peered down at her.
"Help, oh God, help me, somebody!"
"Shaddup!"
He spread his legs, bending down and bringing his right arm back once more. Ellen managed to shake the fuzziness from her throbbing head, reaching back with both hands and craw-fishing back. She could feel the tiny stones stabbing into her thighs, tearing at her juice-dampened panties. Joe followed, bringing his fist down against her face a second time and knocking her completely down onto the gravel.
"No! No!"
Ellen felt his big hands curling around her body, pulling her up from the gravel and dragging her what seemed like miles to the house. She caught brief glimpses of a filthy kitchen, an unkempt living room littered with beer cans, and finally a darkened hall. In a moment she found herself pitched through the air, landing on her side on a musty mattress thrown against one wall. It smelled horrible! She rolled onto her back, digging her heels into the filthy material and looking at Joe while he started unbuckling his belt and staring down at her.